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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

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Sidequests are part of the story so it’s still my ballpark shut up it’s time for

Read Part 1 here!

Part 2 || Part 3

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Rules/overview this rewrite in the beginning of Part 1

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Side quests, side quests, side quests. What are they? And what are they doing here, on an Age of Calamity rewrite? I must admit, game design is not an inherent forte of mine, and I like to think that my only “expertise” would be on writing and storytelling. So what the fuck is a fool like me doing here

Well my dear ladies, lads, and gentlefolk, if your memory does serve, I did say that the format of Age of Calamity was one that served the major plot and story beats for it’s cutscenes, and its worldbuilding and good parts of it’s character development for its gameplay and side quests. It’s actually a concept that can be seen in shows and movies too, although obviously it’s origins are in TTRPGs and videogames. Definition wise, a side quest is any deviation from the main story and plot that serves to flesh out an optional/overseen aspect of the game. So there’s out perfect outlet for worldbuilding, characters, and even a bit of humour. Side quests, by definition, can’t simply be just XP grinders, because otherwise you could…..just make an XP grinder. It’s like saying you’re getting your kids a bike, but then you get them a stationary exercise one. Sure it’s functionally the same and gives the same benefits, but it could be so much more.

Does Age of Calamity have good side quests? I’d actually argue, yes. I mean sure, it’s not exactly gonna hold a candle to Fallout or Witcher 3, but there are great memorable side quests that do serve their purposes in this game.

A fan favourite is “The So-Called Knight,” in which Link spars Mipha, Teba, Sidon, and Revali, a conflict of the Sidon’s confidence and belief in Link, with Revali’s skepticism and grudge against him. Not only is it great fandom content, but it explores the carrying POVs of several characters in a fun way. We also have Hestu’s Dance Competition, and the Miss Vai Battle Pageant. What they lack in serious character tone, they make up for in humour and world building. Even the quests that have nothing to do with the main cast of characters, like the Questionable Escort Mission, still provide funny and interesting details about the world, like how the Yiga Clan is still ever persistent in trying to take down Link with monsters and Windcleavers alike.

It’s not like those side quests were functionally useless either, all of them still provided great amounts of exp and materials. What specifically made them great and memorable was their small little stories and character/world details. Of course, that’s not to say you can’t have the occasional plotless boss rush every now and again, those are fun in their own right and it’s good to have variety. But just thinking about it...what were everyone’s least favourite sidequests? The timed Yiga Escape? The ones where you sit around defending strongholds? The one hit death Hair-Width Trials? Ah...so all the least enjoyable side quests were the ones that were difficult, with no enjoyable character or worldbuilding to back it up….interesting interesting….interesting pattern indeed.

So, let’s improve the game a bit further. I do need to pace out my future character arcs somehow. I tried to make use of the existing quests where I could, but it’s just eaaaasier to just not think about it and do it from scratch. Just shove these in place of all those quests whose only description is “monsters have been spotted here! Take Mipha and go to work!” and stuff like that. Alrighty then! Here’s my take on cool side quests for every single character thus far, along with their paired gambit attacks. Prepare for heists! Drama! Simping! And Bananas!

Link: Mastering Stasis

Ok I have no idea when this quest unlocks so just for my purposes assume this only becomes available after Link pulls the Master Sword.

Engage the hordes of monsters that have been spotted in Hyrule Field. Now is a great time to master the use of the Stasis Rune. Impa and Zelda accompany you, but it seems stasised monsters aren’t the only thing coming to a tense standstill…

This isn’t anything that special, I just want to further highlight this tension that Zelda and Link have, as it’s something touched upon in Botw, but never really mentioned or used ever in Hwaoc. Now more than ever, Zelda has an excuse to have a rocky relationship with him because she could actively see just how far he’s coming in such a short amount of time. Classic “he probably hates me so I guess I’ll hate him” thing.

You play as Link, the game gives you your little prompts on how to use Stasis, you take out a few hordes of Bokoblins and blah blah blah. I wanted to use an earlier level to establish Zelda’s relationship sooner as obviously it’s gonna be important to the story. But of course like all side quests it won’t kill you to skip out. Text dialogue can be Zelda saying science shit like “This will be a good opportunity to test out the full limits of the Stasis rune” and then Impa’s all “Yep! We got your back, Princess! We’ll clear out these monsters in no time.”Then Link the little angsty shit that he is says nothing, and as you play you clear out more and more bokoblins Zelda just says “...” and then we can toss in a Moblin or two in there for gambit voice stuff.

Gambit dialogue with Impa would be supportive, her usual spunky dialogue. I had two ideas for Gambit attacks with Link: One where Impa does that thing where she cuts a giant laser through the air, but it’s aimed towards Link and he parries it right in a monster’s FACE because I think it’s badass and also a good way to show trust and stuff. The second thing was Impa’s giant bomb barrels, but Link is the one to somehow ignite them, because he is an arsonist after all. He can even have a chaotic Sheikah blue glint in his eyes like blue flame, I can already picture it so clearly given how anime/dramatic Impa’s movements are. Impa sets bombs, Link *teleports behind Moblin* nothin personal, kid.

Also right at the end of their gambit attacks, Impa and Link should try to fist bump or something (cause the whole “cool guys don’t look at explosions” thing that Impa usually does on her own) but are interrupted by eggbot jumping up to try and join in. And then Impa can be annoyed and try to punt it or something. That’s not just self-indulgent that’s in her character she totally would and I want to make use of the fact that eggbot travels around with Link. The success of her attempts to punt him can vary.

If Link does a gambit with Zelda, her dialogue can just be her usual monotone Princess stuff, “Thanks for lending your strength,” or “There is still much more to do!” just purely professional, we’re not at a stage yet where she’s buddy buddy with Link. Their gambit attacks can still be cool though. One idea I had was Zelda using stasis, and you know how when you use it in botw everything lights up with that sonar effect? So Link stands besides Zelda, and she activates stasis, the first “sonar” light wave reveals the stasised monster, and you see it from the view of the Sheikah Slate. Then with each additional flash of sonar you just see this silhouette of Link going absolute ham on a monster. And then when the stasis “ding ding ding ding ding” is done, everything’s just dead. Can you see my inspiration from Persona 5 yet? Second idea was Zelda using cryonis and makes an ice ramp for Link to shield surf on and ram into a monster. For entertainment purposes Zelda should also be putting frogs on said slide. (Also also the reason I’m putting Link as the main focus for those gambit attacks is because I want to juxtapose it with future gambits where Zelda may or may not be more powerful…)

Anyhow anyhow, so this side quest, you beat some bokoblins, theres a moblin or two. However as you progress Zelda’s dialogue because a bit more passive aggressive, maybe Zelda can be a bit irritated at how quickly Link is defeating everything before she can even contribute. Impa can comment on this like “She hasn’t exactly been warming up to you, has she…” and then the last point of the side quest, Zelda runs off, there’s a...let’s say a big horde of blue or black Moblins. Or a horde of Wizzrobes, I’m not too picky on it. Link can save her and do a gambit or whatever, but the point of importance is that Zelda leaves with the clear mindset off, “You don’t need to keep coddling me, I can handle my own” to Link, but is “Thank you, I’m glad you’re here,” to Impa.

Now I stole was inspired to use this based on this comic by @novellanova, and you should check it out here. But basically, at the end when all the monsters are dead and the last few text boxes are rolling, Impa says something like “Gee, at this rate I might have to protect you from the princess! Hmm…. you know, maybe if you two had the opportunity to hang out more and get to know each other, she’d warm up to you! Ha! That’s it! I’ve made up my mind. Listen up Link, from now on I’m gonna let you man the wheel when it comes to protecting Zelda. So with me out of the picture you better take the opportunity to be the nicest, most helpful, and most effective body guard there is. I know you already are, but still, if I hear that one little Chuchu so much as splat in her direction I will take you down...got it?” And, that’s that.

Side quest done. Fun Link gambits with Impa and Zelda, some little character POVs on the situation, plus an explanation as to why Impa doesn’t accompany Zelda everywhere/nods to the cutscenes of Botw as to what happened to Impa. Alright, that was probably the most boring one so let’s move on to

Daruk: A Rumbling Stomach

Alright I’ll be honest...I have no idea what to do with Daruk. Especially when Yunobo’s not here, I got zip-zero to work with considering his character is non-existent. Further down the line I’ll certainly try to give him more nuances and the like, but I’m afraid the majority of my character efforts have been towards Astor, Revali, Zelda, and [REDACTED] so this is my apology ahead of time, rock fuckers.

This is my take on how to make those timed quests more fun. So basically, the premise of this stage is that Daruk was just happily hanging around trying to enjoy his rock roast, when a monster surprised him and he dropped it, and now it’s rolling down the hill. This is based on my real Breath of the Wild experience where I had to trek up that Volcano path to bring a rock roast for that shrine quest, but at the very top I dropped it and had to chase it down before it fell into the lava below.

Daruk is eager to chow down on the finest rock roasts this year has to offer! It’s too bad things go downhill when monsters start to ambush. Defeat key enemies and rescue Daruk’s tumbling meal before this year’s wait goes to waste!

So, that’s what this is. The stage opens and Daruk says “NOOooOO! My rock roast! Damn monsters!” and you have to defeat baddies and catch up to the rock roast before the timer runs out and it falls into lava. And then when you finish and get back the rock roast that’s pretty much it….except SIKE no it’s not. Because a lot of these timed quests usually have a “surprise! There’s more!” thing at the end so I’ll do that here too. So Daruk has saved his rock roast and he’s talking about how he’s going to enjoy it in all its deliciousness, when he’s cut off by a random Goron’s scream. Turns out, Daruk’s yelling at the monsters about desperation to retrieve his lost lunch has attracted monsters to some traveling civilians, and now you gotta go beat a Talus, or a couple of Moblins, or something...Again I don’t really have level set or idea when these side quests unlock so just use your imagination. Once Daruk defeats the monster(s) the Gorons can thank him, and then one of the Goron kids can be like “Ooo! Is that a super special rock roast?!?” And Daruk is all: “Ah! Well all the best Goron heroes eat plenty of rocks! This here is the gourmet stuff. You can only get it once a—” And the kid’s like “Woah! I’ve always wanted to have one, that’s why I’ve been training hard so I can explore more of the mountain. Where’d you get it??” And Daruk can sputter a bit, before finally sighing and giving into his instincts. “Ah….well, why don’t you have it? You’re probably really hungry after running around with those monsters…”

“Woah really?? Are you sure—”

“YEAH JUST TAKE IT ALREADY GO”

“Woah, thank you!” and then the Goron kid and co run off. Cue Daruk crying to himself in the background. Daruk may have an appetite, but I like to characterize him as the Goron Hero first and foremost.

I’m sure that doesn’t stop him from mourning his rock though.

Mipha: Stronger Sentiments

Mipha and Daruk talked a whole bunch about training together so that Mipha can grow stronger, and Daruk was catching on to her crush on Link and it was a nice interaction in between them except for the fact that we never see them do the damn training so that’s what this is.

I think this is as good an opportunity as any to make this a Hair-Width quest, the ones where you can’t take one hit. The difficulty of a level is one of the most effective ways to put the players in the boots of a character to experience the same struggles they do. If the player works hard, then they automatically associate that with the character working hard. So, yeah, let’s have Mipha kicking ass and working to be strong enough to protect Link.

Mipha is determined to grow stronger. Daruk and the other Gorons are helping out with an intense training session by Gut Check Rock. Prove yourself by defeating all the enemies you encounter!

So Mipha is sparring with the Gorons, you fight through them and the captains and blah blah, the final boss is fighting Daruk without getting hit.

“I promise not to hurt you more than I’m capable of reversing.”

“Ha! Give me all you’ve got, princess!”

You fight, cue the special music or whatever. I mentioned that gambit dialogue/attacks could also work to be custom for the character that you’re fighting, so I’m thinking something like this. Daruk slams the ground and rocks and magma sprout up around him like jagged pieces of glass, but Mipha is no where to be seen. Daruk’s kinda huffing and puffing, “Where’d you go Mipha…” and then FWOOSH, giant geyser right behind him. [yes I KNOW I overuse the *teleports behind you* “nothing personal, kid” thing but I think it’s COOL and you can’t stop me] So anyhow, you know that thing in Avatar where Pakku is just riding at the top of a whirlpool and destroying everything? That’s Mipha.

Daruk turns around and scratches the back of his head. “...huh….that’s not good.” Cue Mipha swooping down to deal the defeating blow.

So Mipha wins, she can mention how wonderful it was and how much stronger she feels. And she can thank Daruk, and he’s all “No problem!” but he mutters something like “And I thought Gorons hit hard...now I know how Link feels.” End side quest….SIKE it’s another surprise boss at the end. A Goron captain suddenly reports that an Igneo Talus has appeared nearby.

Mipha goes up to fight it, but wow! Link is already there. They both fight it, but it’s clear that Link didn’t need her help that much. You can defeat the Talus with a Mipha/Link gambit. It’s similar to Link’s usual “swing sword in a giant circle and become a death windmill” but Mipha kinda enhances it with water or something and it puts out the Talus. I wanted this ending with a focus on how strong Link is just to show that while Mipha is improving, she’s still not yet where she needs to be.

Daruk: “Sorry I wasn’t much help at the end there, I was busy, uh, stretching.”

Mipha: “Oh it’s quite alright, Daruk. We were both quite tired from today’s training.”

Daruk: “Well I dunno about that...seems to me you were quite lively and active as you fought beside Link. *wink*”

Mipha: “Huh!?!? W-What is that supposed to mean??”

Cue laughter from Daruk. Mipha is flustered. And Link is just...confused, as always.

Urbosa: Mighty Thunder of the Gerudo

So in the game this is just some normal outpost capturing, stronghold defending side quest, but we’re gonna spice it up just a bit.

An important excavation site is being overrun by monsters, and Urbosa has set out to engage them. Defend and capture the outposts, in order to prevent this valuable place from falling into enemy hands…

So you fight as Urbosa, defeat some enemies and blah blah. When you first arrive there, I want one of the Gerudo Captains to be like “Lady Urbosa? Where did you come—What are you doing here? Aren’t there areas of greater importance for you to be at right now?” Urbosa says something like “Nevermind that now, let us focus on achieving victory over these rotten beasts.”

As the battle goes through, it is revealed that this excavation site is where Zelda’s mother would often work and hang out with Urbosa. Urbosa says some stuff like “Her Majesty would not be happy to see all these monsters heading here!” *decapitates Moblin* and then she can say other dramatic stuff at the end like “We have fought well...for her memory” and other classic lesbian pining. Some guard at the end can say “Perhaps you should move on and help out somewhere else, Lady Urbosa. We can handle the clean up from here.”

“Sure,” Urbosa replies, “Just another moment.” And then cue reminiscing. “She always did love these machines…”

And just other sentimental stuff like that. If you’re gonna be a coward and hold out on the Champion death angst, then you best be pumping that angst and emotion from somewhere, you know?

Also yay for worldbuilding! At least in my rewrite, the Guardian excavations and stuff were overseen by the Queen. Could be a reason Zelda hangs out with Sheikah tech so much...who knows who knows... who knows what other implications this has, it’s just a side quest after all.

Revali: Anti-Ice Training [get it??? Cause in this one, Revali’s gonna break the ice with some other characters?? I’m funny I swear]

Ok so for this one, I want to pull Revali’s character away from just “the birb that doesn’t like Link” and give him some other stuff to stand on. Obviously, there would be other side quests in a fully fleshed out game that did even more to characterize him, but for my rewrite I’m only dedicated this post and one other future post to sidequests, so I gotta really bring out what I can for the few side quest stories I have time to tell

Revali sets out alone to deal with some monsters by the Hebra trail. Although intended as an isolated moment to hone his skills, he finds himself with unexpected company. Defeat key enemies.

So you play as Revali and at first you’re alone, taking out Ice Lizalfos and the like. Revali’s text dialogue can say stuff like “Hmm...not fast enough” “My current needs to be stronger” “*mutters* Can’t compete with lightning and magma with aim like that.” Just stuff that establishes that he’s working hard to really prove himself as the best, but is still a bit insecure about his position. He thinks he’s better than Link, sure, and he certainly thinks that being a princess or a chief doesn’t automatically make you the best. However by this point, Revali has battled alongside the other Champions and seen their skill in battle, and has developed some respect for them. Afterall, Champions were chosen in some part for their skills, unlike Link or Zelda who destiny just thrust greatness upon.

So Revali has this slight insecurity that compared to lightning, and magic healing, and magma, with chiefs and princesses and titles of heroes, he and his efforts will be overshadowed and forgotten, unfairly deemed the useless one. Thus, here he is, training in solitude, not wanting anyone to see the imperfections and mistakes until he is absolutely perfect.

Except for the fact that after you beat a Wizzrobe, the other three Champions show up.

Revali: Wh—Huh?? What are you all doing here?

Urbosa: Well, we all have to travel with the princess to that Tower in a few hours, so I recommended we find you and hang out until then

Mipha: And a good thing too! Look how many monsters there are

Revali: I’m actually doing very well on my own right now. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or something, so why don’t you head on back and let me handle this.

Daruk: Aw, it’s not that we think you can’t do this. It’s that you’re hogging all the fun! Urbosa: And that it would be more efficient if all of us went to work

Daruk: That too

Revali: Look it’s not—you all can’t just—this is not just about—AUGH, look, I’m just trying to train myself at the moment, and I don’t need you all to mess with my drills

Urbosa: Training, hm? Well how about this...you let us continue helping you with these monsters, and after, I’ll let you in on a good Gerudo training technique

Revali: Hmph. Fine, whatever gets you out of my tail feathers faster

So Revali and the Champions clear out the monsters. Revali can have gambit attacks/dialogue with each of the other Champions. This is already incredibly long so perhaps I’ll save specifics for another time, feel free to use your imagination. Urbosa teasing Revali and they make a thunderstorm, Mipha and Revali swimming in the sky and kissing—wait that’s—

When all the monsters are cleared, which honestly isn’t tooooo many, Revali speaks again.

Revali: So what’s this oh-so-holy technique you had in mind, then?

Urbosa: Ah yes, well really it’s quite simple. It’s called…

Urbosa: One-on-one combat

Now Revali fights Urbosa. It think it’d be really fun if your allies on a stage could swap to a boss, and I wish hwaoc had a bit more freedom with the interactions as a whole, but ah well, that’s what I’m here for I guess.

So when you/Revali defeat her, it’s a good accomplishment! Not only for you the player, as Urbosa would not be the easiest to beat, but also because match-up wise, Revali prevailing over Urbosa is a big feat as their styles are quite opposite, arguably with the strength in favour for Urbosa.

Revali might at first have the mindset that Urbosa is overconfident and thinks she’s got an easy win on Revali, but that mindset is quickly proven wrong when 1) the difficulty of the gameplay itself shows how they’re both doing their best and 2) Urbosa with her Gerudo qualities is probably shouting stuff like “give it your all!” and things.

And so, as you beat her...

Revali, kinda huffing and puffing, but just a bit:: ...you….held back

Urbosa: Come now, do you really think of me as someone who’d do that? I’m almost insulted.

Revali: Hmm...perhaps not then....

Mipha: Wow! What a wonderful fight from both of you.

And then insert some other dialogue from Daruk or something that shows the Champions acknowledging the training and hard work Revali must have put in to be so skilled. Perhaps it’s not so bad, when you train with others and your skill is fully appreciated by your frie—GAH. Perish the thought, they’re all just a bunch of royal fools who can’t hold a candle to the skill of a Rito Master….probably…

Revali: Well unlike you lax fools, I tend to take my job seriously. I don’t have time to longue and banter when the princess is still expecting me in an hour or two

Urbosa: Oh alright, let’s get to it then. What’s the expression? “The early bird gets the w—”

Revali: Gross. No. Don’t finish that sentence, I beg you.

Urbosa: Oh? Well why don’t you fly off to escape my dreadful tones then?

Revali: ...Heh, don’t be absurd…

Revali: Without me, you’ll all probably get lost. So, I suppose I should stick around for that sake Great Fairies: Dress to Oppress

The Great Fairies are holding a fashion competition and rating people’s outfits. Poorly judged outfits gives them the right to compensation combat. Defeat all your less than fashionable allies.

...

...yeah.

It seemed funny in my head, alright? cOme on, just imagine…

Revali, fully expecting to win: Well?

Great Fairies: Hm...I don’t know dear, all the colors are very clustered. Perhaps if you were taller—?

Revali: bWHAKT!? *other angry bird noises*

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Daruk: I brought my BEST out today! :D

Great Fairies: Is that a….chain?

Daruk: TWO chains, actually. :D

Great Fairies: Oh honey…

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Great Fairies: Ooo! Our little hero is about to come out! Wonder what he chose...a knight in shining armour? A handsome desert voe? Ooo!! And those Snowquill braids always made him look so cute…

Link: *comes out in the Tingle Outfit*

Great Fairies: …

Great Fairies: …………..hm…..

At the end of the side quest, after you beat everyone, the Great Fairy wins because of course they do.

Great Fairies: Oh my! What an unexpected outcome...but it really couldn’t have gone any other way. I declare the judges the winner! I mean just look at me, I’m as dazzling as a jeweled desert flower, because I am! Ohohohoho…

This side quests unlocks the Tingle Outfit

Hestu: Forest Dance Festival

Alright this quest was already pretty perfect, BUT, I just want to use this opportunity to say that all of Hestu’s gambit attacks makes his allies and enemies do special dances. Absolutely abSURD that Hestu can only make the lesser smaller enemies dance on occasion, nonononono, my guy Hestu is making everyone dance. You can’t stop this. Nothing I say will ever top the imagination, so just take my word that this is a good thing. [Reluctant Revali doing the macarena against his will in sync with Hestu and they bash someone’s head in...ah the possibilities.]

Maz Koshia: Links to the Past

Ok so before I get into this, a few things. This quest takes place well after the tower activations in Akkala. Age of Calamity leaves a whole lot of plots holes as to why a Monk is just...here, and what the point of the shrines are, and personally my first reaction to all this was just a five minute extended “huuhhhhhh???”

So here is my headcanon, explanation, thing, canon to the world of the Kip Cut story. Ones all the Sheikah Towers were activated, that officially woke up all the Shrines, because we know that the Towers and Shrines are all connected to the same system. [See Great Plateau Tower activating all the Shrines and Towers, and Creating a Champion explanation on the system] But when all the monks were in their little altars and noticed how Link hadn’t dont a single one, they were like “what the fuck.” Monk Maz Koshia, who is kinda the head honcho of the monks and probably the only one powerful enough to go out in the world anyhow, sets out to see what the deal is, and after many a teleportation and telepathic communication, he figures out that Link is just running around with the Master Sword already. This kinda confuses him, because the whole point of the Shrines was to test Link and give him the spirit orbs so that he could grow strong enough to get the Master Sword, but he somehow already has it...so hmmmm something fishy is going on in this timeline. So Link technically hasn’t proven himself at all, Maz Koshia ambushes him, they do their little combat trial, Link passes, and Maz Koshia’s like “ok cool so you’re not useless.”

So now Monk Maz Koshia has cast aside his old monk duties of waiting around for a couple hundred years, in favour of just hanging out with Link and continuing to train him combat wise. Shrines are still explored by Zelda and co because they are important areas to establish teleportation pads, and whenever they’re there, Maz Koshia forces Link to get in a shrine to get a spirit orb, which is not only useful in general for health, but since Link already has the Master Sword, the other characters can get the spirit orb too. (So all those little heart upgrades that you see on the map, those are all just in the real Botw Shrine locations, rather than just scattered around randomly. Also I’m ignoring the stuff about talking to Hylia in order to exchange for stamina or heart containers because the game never talks about her, or stamina, and I’m not about to create an entirely new custom gameplay feature for this game, fuck you.)

I like to think that Maz Koshia is very selective about the Shrines he encourages people to try out. “Oh nonono, don’t bother with Qukah’s….lazy ass, only set up one little mountain that you have to blast through with lightning and that’s the entire puzzle! Disgraceful...Here, Kaam Ya’tak has set up a wonderful Trial of Power for you. I’m sure you’ll find the level design quite thrilling. They spent a lot of time on the critical thinking aspects so have fun!”

“I should warn you that this one was made by one of the millennials...yes, those youngins who were only initiated 1000 years of age. Honestly, they lack so much experience. Ms. Agana over here was experimenting with something called ‘motion controls?’ Pretty lazy if you ask me. Traditionally I would just stick to combat and block and switch stuff...but ah well, variety I suppose.”

Right, what was I talking about? Oh right! This is a sidequest. So Monk Maz Koshia doesn’t really have...a character??? Or a personality??? So I don’t really know what to do with him other than use him as an outlet for world building. Apologies to the Monk….fuckers? Stans? Feel free to leave me a comment about how I missed all the nuances of his character or something I’m all ears.

On an expedition to mark more Shrines and establish more teleports for the Kingdom, a large horde of monsters is spotted, seemingly with the intention to destroy these Ancient relics. Link and Maz Koshia use this opportunity to sharpen their combat skills. Protect the stronghold and defeat key enemies.

And then that quest would just kinda echo the stuff I said earlier about the world. (As Maz Koshia defends a Shrine, somewhere Qukah Nata is smugly shouting “Bet you wish ALL of them were protected with a giant mountain now, do ya?)

Also Link and Maz Koshia’s gambit attack involves the Master Cycle. I don’t have the specifics, but damn if I want some call backs to Botw while also having fun.

Impa: Steal Yourself [Yiga Clan Escape]

In an act of pure hatred and malice, the Yiga Clan has snuck into Kakariko Village in the dead of night…and stolen all the Swift Carrots! Impa sets out to get them back, as well as taking something else as a form of swift revenge...Escape before the time runs out.

Ok I can explain.

So you know how the Yiga and the Sheikah have kiiiiinda been murdering each other a bunch in Botw, going as far as to kill a deserter’s wife and threatening to murder his kids, and also people on both sides were sorta massacred for no reason? And alsoooo one of those people who literally lived during that time of the massacre is just kinda floating around now? And you knooooooooww how the Yiga Clan just kinda joins Zelda’s side later on and we’re not supposed to think about the implications of that too hard because they’re the funny banana ninjas, haha? Yeah well neither Age of Calamity or I really have time to explore the moral grey areas of an alliance between two warring factions, one of which has a leader who doesn’t really seem to remember the reason why they hate Hyrule which brings into question whether the lackeys even know their clan’s history, and brings about the moral dilemma of criminalizing the ignorant, and also there’s the whole other dilemma of depicting the side that submitted to their oppression as being “in the right” and the topic of a race of people being pitted against their own by a higher power is really brushed over sO WE’RE JUST GONNA TOSS ALL THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND MAKE THEM ACT LIKE RIVALLING HIGH SCHOOLS, OKAY? OKAY! This is fine this is fine—

So I have dubbed the High School mascot of the Sheikah, the Swift Carrot. And although there does seem to be some internal debate about whether the carrot should be replaced by the Fortified Pumpkin, the hero of Hyrule Link favours carrots so that’s that. Then of course, the mascot for the Yiga Clan is the Mighty Banana. The two sides hate each other and steal their food symbols to be petty. I’ll be covering the side quests of Kohga and the other later characters in another later post, but just know that Kohga will have his banana heist sidequest too.

So anyhow, you play as Impa. Maybe she can say a piece of dialogue or two about how she has to uphold the image of her people as she has to lead them one day. And then, this side quest is just her retrieving the carrots and running off with the Yiga’s big banana supply before she’s caught. This is based on that “Escape the Yiga Clan” quest if you couldn’t tell.

Custom gambit defeat of Impa vs Kohga: On one hand I think it would be badass to see Impa’s Sheikah skills go up against the Yiga Clan tactics. Kohga summons a giant metal ball to throw, Impa teleports behind him “nothing personal, kid” nO fuck I’m doing it again away goes to swing a blade at his face. He blocks it with his little energy shield thing, but not before an entire conga line of Impa clones start slashing at him until he’s defeated by a giant explosion. So yeah, that’d be badass and cool. But on the other hand…

Kohga, stomping his feet and having a fit: I cARROT believe you would do something this terrible! Give us back those bananas right now! D: ….please? You can keep the gross orange sticks.

Sooga: He asked nicely. You wouldn’t deny the wishes of the most polite and charming Yiga Chief there is, would you?

Impa: No can do, Yiga scum! I’m afraid this cruel action wasn’t veggie nice of you so I must exact justice! Now it’s my time to split. *Impa clones gather and throw Kohga into a giant frog’s mouth. Impa runs off with a sack of fruit [fruit (derogatory) if you will] cackling into the horizon*

Zelda: The Path She Laid For You

The King has order Zelda to head to the Temple of Time, in order to see if anything there could help awaken her powers. Zelda sets off quietly, with minimal company, as not to attract too much attention lest the Town’s folk be hit with another attack. It seems, however, that these precautions won’t be enough...Defeat key enemies

So this is a pure Zelda sidequest, with no other characters except for eggbot because I said so. Starts out normal when SURPRISE! Bunch of monsters appear and Zelda has to whip out her iphone and fight them.

Also!! Good time for the Hollows to show up, and you know, tell her what a failure she is and all that. Convince her that she's useless and gonna doom everyone. All that good stuff!! It’s just nice to catch up with the villains and see how they’re doing, you know? ‘Sup Hollow Urbosa, last I saw you were barely spitting words in the Lost Woods, and now you’re giving full hard-hitting insults to Zelda’s character and ability? Good for you, Queen, good for you.

So Zelda and a handful of guards are fighting off monsters, and Zelda has to beat the Hollows too. Her gambit dialogue when she defeats Hollows can be stuff like “You’re not the real ___” or something idk, I don’t have a lot of experience with the evil clone trope, I’ve never played Ocarina of Time. But one specific I DO want to highlight is that Zelda uses the nearby Sheikah Tech to defeat the enemies. I find it a bit weird how Zelda just knows how to use those random water canons in the Faron region in later chapters, so we’re just gonna at least set up a pattern so that it makes a bit more sense later. Plus! This is in front of the Great Plateau, AKA Gate Post Town/Garrisons AKA oh lOOK it’s that area where Link and Impa and eggbot first meet in that Impa introduction scene of my rewrite so we have already established that Sheikah Technology is being stored here and ready to use! Continuity in world building! Nice.

So Zelda uses her knowledge of Sheikah Tech to defeat the Hollows, when...dun dun dun! Astor appears. But you don’t fight him...

Astor: Have you listened to one word spoken to you today? Why are you still resisting? Let me help you.

Zelda: And what exactly is your plan? You wish to kill me, then?

Astor: Not quite. I mean, if you do die, there are ways I can manage, so if some stray Yiga blade happens to strike you I’m not completely doomed.

Astor: But no, the most optimal outcome for everyone is the one where you live yet. You must see the truth as I do, and let me fix this. I can undo this terrible knot destiny has thread for you. [and insert other fate sisters and sewing metaphors here]

Zelda: But how? What’s your game here, if you’re truly claiming to be in everyone’s best interest then why all this secrecy?

Astor: Ah...ever the one to look for the facts and logic, hmm? Can’t blame you, you get it straight from your mother.

Zelda: …!

Astor: But...I’m afraid even if I did tell you now, you’re in no state to truly grasp it. No...the only way this works is for you to truly understand the position you're in, and the stakes that hang in the path before you.

Astor: And if I have to kill every King, Champion, or knight to get you to understand…

Astor: Then so be it.

[dun dun dun]

Zelda: No! I won’t let you hurt anyone, I swear it!

Eggbot [just pretend eggbot can have dialogue boxes too]: *chirps*

Astor, suddenly noticing eggbot: ...You…you’re one thing I still don’t—

Eggbot chirps again beside Zelda, both seeming to be angry at Astor’s words. Eggbot releases a glowing flash of light. Kinda like a...flash bang? [is that the right word idk]

Astor: Ah—! *and he teleports away to escape* Astor: Until next time then...Princess

And that’s pretty much the sidequest. Zelda can question what exactly eggbot did, but he’s not exactly the most verbal in responses. Finally it ends with Zelda going home, “He was still right though...I’m still sitting in failure, with not a hint of my powers awakening. All I have is some Sheikah tech, some exhausted shoulders….and well, you, I suppose, little one.”

“Come, it’d be a waste to continue forth in this condition. Let’s go back to the castle.”

Eggbot: *happy whistles and chirps*

= = = = =

Tune in next time folks, as we dive back into the main event! Needless to say, Chapter 4 is where the shit starts to go down...

#Hwaoc: The Kip Cut #hwaoc spoilers #hwaoc #hw aoc #hw age of calamity #age of calamity #hyrule warriors age of calamity

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years

Note

Hello, I had a really cute idea for a request if you dont mind. Since it's been lockdown and stuff could I get a Zim x S/o where they're finally able to see eachother after isolation. Bonus for fluff if that's ok with you?

This request??? Amazing. Absolute perfection. And of course there’s going to be fluff!! Chaotic and feral Zim is great, but I love me some soft Zim.

Oh, and there’s no specific age here. Could be high school, could be adults, I’ll leave that up to the reader.

Blinking furiously, your eyes eventually settled on a squint as your phone cast painfully bright light into your face. The surrounding comfort of darkness was fended off by the harsh screen you continued to stare at. Nothing had changed in the past hour, nothing new was written. You weren't sure what you were hoping for.

A simple 'FINE' within a chat bubble marked the end of your conversation. Normally, you would snicker to yourself about how he flat out refused to write in lowercase, but the anxiety gnawing at your stomach prevented you from doing so.

Sighing, you rolled onto your side, hanging half off the bed in order to plug your phone in for the night. After that was accomplished, you flopped onto your back, staring into the black abyss that was your bedroom ceiling.

Quarantine had been a lot more difficult than you had originally thought. At first it was fun, you could be as much of an introvert as you wanted and could take care of your responsibilities on your own time and schedule, for the most part anyway. But once the weeks turned into months, and those months began to increase exponentially, it became a problem. Going just a bit stir crazy was bad enough, but the worst part was being unable to see Zim.

Again, at first, you didn't think it would be such a bad thing. He tended to get a bit clingy and possessive, so you thought a little me time would do you some good. But as time stretched onward, you realized that you missed the little roach bastard more than you had anticipated.

Of course you couldn't see him, considering not only the high human-to-human spread, but neither of you were quite sure to the extent Irkens would be affected, if it would be much more dangerous for Zim than an average human. As if that factor wasn't bad enough, Zim was already a huge germaphobe, so he rejected the idea of even socially-distanced hangouts with masks and all that.

So, being responsible and considerate, you had agreed to stick to text communication. It was fine at first, and you both talked regularly. Until about a month ago. Your worries began at the occurrence of two solid weeks of radio silence. Assuming the best, you waved it off as maybe he went to space and therefore couldn't get Earth cell reception. Finally, he had contacted you again, but brushed off any questions regarding the period of being off the grid. However, any response he gave you was short and simple, often a yes or no without elaboration, even to prompts where those answers weren't even valid.

This is where the unease began. Your mind began to run rampant with thoughts on the matter. What if he had gotten tired of you? The reasonable person inside of you told you that if that was indeed the case, then his loss, but that didn't mean you had to be happy about it. Just when you would convince yourself everything was fine, you managed to come back with something else, always a variation of the last negative thought. What if he had realized that he liked being alone, that he missed being a lone wolf soldier focused on destroying the world with no one to care about? You could never fully refute that one. After all, was a genetically modified alien soldier truly content being tied down by something such as a relationship?

The only thing that brought you any solace was that he had reached out to you that morning, requesting your presence at his base. Things had gotten better, allowing for the two of you to meet with contact, person to person. Well, person to Irken. Of course, your brain wouldn't let you enjoy that. It just had to spin some tale that would send you into a spiral of dread. Now, as you laid in your bed, sheets bunched in your fists, you were convinced that he wished to break up with you. Well, at least he had the decency to do so in person, if that even was the case.

You wanted nothing more than to be overjoyed that you would finally be able to see him after all this time. You had become quite attached to Zim, more than you ever would like to admit. You should be filled with excitement. However, you felt nothing but a sinking feeling that made your skin crawl.

"Just...please let me have a good night's sleep, would you?" You pleaded with your mind, shifting onto your side to face your wall, letting your eyes shut tight.

(more under the cut)

Unfortunately, you and your brain have two very different ways of defining 'a good night's sleep'. Trudging into the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead, you couldn't hold back the massive yawn. Stretching, about ten different joints popped as you remembered tossing and turning for a majority of the night. The worst part was the two or so hour period of staring blankly at the ceiling, mind racing with ideas of nothing at all.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror revealed you to be looking like hell...and not on wheels. More like hell discarded on the side of the road next to an empty shopping bag. Dark circles rested under your eyes, which weren't only from the previous night. Your sleep schedule had been almost non-existent thanks to quarantine, some nights you wouldn't surrender to slumber until three in the morning, and other days you would succumb to sleep's tantalizing claws at four pm.

Not to mention that you could barely remember the last time you had worn anything but pajamas or sweats. Groaning, you pulled on presentable clothes, as if this was the largest inconvenience you could ever be faced with. Not that Zim would care, but you didn't want to be shown up in the outfit department by a being from beyond who wore the same saturated pink military uniform every day.

You didn't even bother to glance at the time, it wouldn't matter. Either way, Zim would most likely chide you for being late, even if you were an hour early. You weren't sure if the construct of time even existed in the reality that was Zim's mind. Now that you thought about it, you couldn't say for certain if you had even set a specific time arrangement. All you had agreed upon was to be there some time in the morning.

It didn't matter regardless, he would be there whenever you decided to show up. He hadn't left his base once for the duration of quarantine. Zim had patience when it came to being cooped up for long periods of time, you would give him that much. It was about the only time he had patience, but it counted nonetheless.

That negative feeling wouldn't cease tugging at you as you meandered your way to Zim's base, quite literally dragging your feet down the sidewalk. Occasionally, you would come across a stray stone or pinecone, and you'd strike out with a half-hearted kick, watching it skitter across the pavement.

The entire walk was forgettable, and you had made the trek enough times for your brain to transition into autopilot until you made it to the fence line. The first few times you went to his place were unsettling. Now, you were completely unfazed as the security gnomes eyed you when you padded up the sidewalk, approaching the door. Their beady laser eyes tracked your every breath, but by this point you were unbothered. Besides, you were fairly sure that Zim had put you on the white list, so they shouldn't shoot at you unless it was a direct order.

You pressed the doorbell, folding your hands neatly in front of you as you waited for Zim to answer, scrambling to get a heartfelt speech together in your head. Whatever string of words you had managed to stitch together was thrown out the window when the door swung open, revealing a very animated GIR decked out in his doggy disguise. He frantically waved a black 'paw' to you, a grin splitting his face.

"Hi, Sparky!!" He hollered in your face, greeting you with a name that wasn't yours, per usual. Before you could even open your mouth to respond, he began talking again, in very much an outside voice. A chip right off the old Irken block. "Didja bring the pizza?!" The little robot inspected your arms curiously, stepping around you to make sure you weren't hiding the greasy pie behind your back.

"I, uh, wasn't aware I was supposed to be bringing pizza." You knew this was just an instance of GIR being GIR, but you went along with it anyway. He couldn't help himself, it was just the way he was wired. Or, maybe it was the fact that his brains consisted of useless pocket junk. It didn't really matter. GIR moved back to stand obediently in the doorway, you peering around the frame to see if Zim was anywhere to be found. He wasn't, which only made the nerves worse. Despite your worry, you kept your voice even and neutral. "May I come in?"

"Mhm!" He hummed, jumping aside to let you in. You closed the door behind you, standing around awkwardly for a moment before turning back to GIR, who was already shimmying out of his doggy suit.

"Do you know where Zim is?" Something seemed to click with GIR, however, it was not something that would answer your question. The poor robot burst into tears, which also wasn't out of the ordinary, falling face first into the floor and pounding his metal claw on the tile.

"That boy missed you so much!! He so sad, he even cried!! He loves youuu...!" He wailed, loud enough to draw Minimoose into the room who offered a soft and sad 'Nyah', seemingly agreeing with the statement. You couldn't confirm, since only Zim and GIR were fluent in the language you lovingly called 'Moosinese'. Tears continued to stream down the robot's metal face as he screamed, Minimoose resting a comforting purple nub on his back.

"Is that true?" Your response was calm, having dealt with GIR's outbursts many a time. You couldn't attest to the accuracy of his words, considering correct information was almost similar to a Russian roulette wheel when it came to GIR.

And as if nothing had ever happened, the robot immediately perked up, popping up to his feet with a smile, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. "Yep!! Master's been down in the base the whole time!! Just sittin' there all shmoopy-like!" A giggle followed, pushing his previous bout of sadness into the past.

"Nyah!" Minimoose showed you a bucktooth grin as he looked to you purposefully.

"Really? Fascinating." Again, you couldn't speak Moosinese, but still, you nodded. The purple moose appeared to be satisfied with your response, floating off to who knows where.

"You wanna come play with the piggy with me?!" GIR bounced up and down, eager to drag you off to roll around on the floor and have a tea party with whatever pig he had brought home this week.

"Maybe some other time, GIR." You weren't opposed to spending time with the little robot, but he wasn't exactly who you were here to see. He didn't seem offended, all he did was shrug his metal shoulders.

"Okie dokie!" He brought his claw up to his forehead in a salute, turning away from you and making a mad dash to the kitchen. You heard a noisy metallic clang echo from the kitchen, and you didn't need to witness the event to visualize GIR smacking face-first into the cabinet.

"Careful, GIR! My milk squid experiment is in there!" A familiar voice rang out from the kitchen, and two immediate questions sprung to mind. The first was why in the name of anything would you keep milk in the cabinet (even if it related to a squid)? The second being just what in the hell had he been doing all this time?

The whiny complaints had quieted to low grumbles as just the alien you wanted to see paced into the living room, eyes cast downwards, antennae drooping. The words that had been forming in your throat were choked into barely a squeak when you got a closer look at him. Zim still didn't seem to notice you, red bug eyes trained on the tile, hands clasped behind his back. That wasn't the surprising bit. A jacket you thought you had lost some time ago was thrown on over his invader uniform. You couldn't remember if maybe you had left it there or maybe Zim had taken without your knowledge, but either way, he was swimming in it. The sleeves were rolled up to meet his wrists, gloved hands peeking out from the fabric. Most of the jacket itself was well past his thighs, stopping just above the knee. It had been just a bit big on you, so of course it would be massive on him. You felt any unease you were feeling immediately leave at the sight. Clearly, he hadn't been enjoying the separation as much as you thought.

"I was wondering where that coat went." A chuckle slipped past your lips. Finally, Zim seemed to notice you, head snapping in your direction, antennae perking up to attention.

"Eh?" He didn't quite register your phrase, almost as if he had been wearing your coat for so long that he had forgotten it wasn't a part of his usual attire. "Y/n, I don't-" Zim looked down at himself, finally realizing why you were staring at him like that. He wriggled out of the jacket faster than you could gush about how adorable it was, throwing it forcefully behind the couch. "YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!!" He shrieked, pointing a clawed finger at you, antennae flattening against his head in curt embarrassment.

"So, you like my stuff, huh?" You asked cheekily, relishing in his refusal to look at you as he unknowingly clutched the hem of his invader uniform, scuffling his boots on the tile. You couldn't help but snicker. It wasn't often Zim would let himself be sheepish, since he normally knew nothing of shame.

"Nonsense!" He waved a hand dismissively, eyes still refusing to meet yours, although without his contacts, it was a bit hard to tell where exactly he was looking if his head wasn't turned. Crossing his arms tight to his chest, he wracked his brain for possible excuses. "I was just, er, working on repairs and didn't want to get my clothes dirty! Yes! I found this filthy piece of clothing and figured it would suffice." You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he would never admit to the true motivations behind his actions.

Lucky for you, someone else chimed in to voice your exact thoughts. "That's a lie." The computer spoke up from nowhere in particular, monotone voice bringing a growl to rise from Zim's throat.

"YOU'RE LYING!! There is no evidence of this!" The Irken jabbed a claw up towards the direction of the many cables and wires strung across the ceiling. This wouldn't be the first time you've witnessed him get into a spat with his computer. They could be quite entertaining to watch, actually.

"Proof." The computer said in a matter-of-fact tone, the gargantuan TV screen buzzing to life, static clearing to reveal a recording of internal base camera feed. The date was in Irken, but you were wise enough to surmise that it was from some time over the quarantine.

The screen displays Zim begrudgingly wandering over to the voot cruiser in the hangar. In the video feed, he looks decently depressed, antennae slack and hanging limp, posture slouched. He climbed into the ship, looking for something. Whatever it was, his search came to an unresolved end as he lifted your jacket from the seat. Apparently, you had left it in there the last time he had taken you for a flight. His eyes darted around to make sure he wasn't being watched, slipping on the coat and hugging his arms to his chest. The sleeves extended well past his hands. He brought them to his face, sniffing them. A delighted smile ghosted his mouth as he rubbed the sleeves against his face.

"Why would you record that?!" His voice cracked at the end, and you were trying your best to hold in a laugh as the TV faded back to static for a split second before opening on another instance.

This time the video depicted GIR and Zim sprawled out on the couch, watching something on the TV. Zim was wrapped in your coat as if it were a blanket, seeming to be content enough with it. GIR had reached out a claw for the article of clothing, wishing to share. Zim hissed, yanking the coat away from his grip, swiping a clawed hand out like a cat. Clearly, he wanted it all to himself.

This time you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. You tried to apologize, especially since the Irken standing next to you looked absolutely horrified. You were sure he felt his dignity had just faded away right along with the video feed.

"Oh, and my personal favorite." The computer added helpfully as yet another recording presented itself on the TV. This one was a bit tougher to make out.

Zim was down in the depths of the base, and much was dark, the only light being cast from a large monitor just off screen. You were able to see Zim, sitting on the floor, sporting your jacket. He stared longingly at the sleeves that covered his hands. After a moment he shoved his face into his arms and knees as tears slipped down his face. You could only make out the tears due to the light being thrown from the monitor, making them glisten like jewels. Separation appeared to be much harder on him than you had thought. Maybe that was why he had been ignoring you, although it seemed counterproductive. It was possible that texting you made him miss you more.

Zim was not amused in the slightest by this particular clip. He stamped his foot on the tile, making frenzied cutting motions with his arms.

"COMPUTER!!!" His voice was high in volume, but a nervous chuckle laced each syllable. "I think that is quite enough!"

The computer groaned, cutting the feed back to static, eventually switching the TV off completely. "I was just trying to be accurate."

"You only seem to care about accuracy when it is of no benefit to Zim!!" You could only imagine what was going through Zim's head in the moment, because from the outside, he was a ball of red hot rage. However, the computer was having none of his antics, going dormant once more.

"Zim? You're up here." You raised a hand above your head to indicate his anger level. "I need you to be down here." You lowered your hand to your abdomen, knowing that was a complete stretch to ask for. Especially since he was so upset he was stringing together curses in Irken. He would only speak in his native tongue around you when he was incredibly furious. His teeth were gritted tightly, foot tapping audibly on the tile.

"That damn computer." His growl was closer to that of a feral animal, and although he was calm enough to speak in English, he still required some de-escalation.

"Relax, we'll just pretend it never happened."

"Good. Forget about those recordings." His eyes were narrowed, but he was relenting his irritation.

"What recordings?" You shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. Zim seemed appeased, and in a split second, all of his anger was gone and replaced by something else entirely. All the fight seemed to leave his body as he looked to you, red eyes softening completely when they caught your own. He seemed relieved to see you, as if being away was one of the hardest things he had been through in years.

Wordlessly, he strode over to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your chest. Soft Zim was a rare occurrence, but these moments were something you absolutely treasured. It almost made the months of isolation worth it.

You returned the action, and the second you put your arms around him, every muscle in his body relaxed. It was a bit strange, really. To have a hardened alien soldier all but melt in your arms. He wrapped his legs around you as well, clinging to you like a koala. It wasn't hard to maintain balance since he really wasn't all that heavy.

"Couch." He mumbled, his chin resting on your shoulder as his arms were draped around your neck, your own arms supporting him under his legs. A chuckle fell from your lips at his behavior. At first it seemed like he had no energy, but in reality, it was closer to him being soothed by your presence. You were about the only living creature, scratch that, the only thing in the entire universe that could ease him like this; even he wasn't sure why you had this effect on him.

"Sure thing." You walked him over to the couch, using one arm to snag your jacket off the floor before sinking down into the cushions. There was a bit of a strange smell emanating from where you sat, most likely due to GIR spilling countless snacks, messes that weren't completely cleaned up. It wasn't super potent, and in that particular moment, it wasn't one of your concerns.

As you sat on the couch, Zim remained cuddled into you. A snicker slipped out as you tossed your coat over him as if it were a blanket. At first you assumed he would protest, proclaiming that he wasn't cold, nor a weak little smeet who needs to be cared for. So when he removed his arms from you, you were bracing yourself for a lecture and/or rant. However, all he did was tuck the jacket around him better, silently snaking his arms back around you afterward.

"You really did miss me, huh?" It was a redundant question, since without even saying, you both were aware of the answer. Still, you wished to hear him say it. It would put you in good spirits.

"Your absence was...not pleasant." His voice was uncharacteristically hushed, muffled by your clothes. His words were chosen delicately, as they always were when he didn't want to admit to something that he knew to be true.

"So you missed me." The smile that was spread on your face shone through your voice.

"If that is what you would like to think." Zim made an attempt at being snarky, but any mockery in his words was half-hearted at best. Breathing a sigh, you let your head fall back against the back of the couch. You knew full well that was the best you could hope to glean from him, even in his current subdued state.

"For the record, I missed you too."

"As you should. Zim is very great." Looking down, you were met with a sight that melted your heart. The coat still wrapped around him, arms still clinging to you as if you would walk out any minute. Zim's eyes were closed as he laid his head in your lap, quiet purrs rising from his throat as your fingers absentmindedly played with his antennae. You almost thought he would fall asleep.

"I know. You're the coolest Irken I know." You may have only known one, but still. Zim was pretty amazing in your book, despite being a self-absorbed idiot at times. A pleasant silence settled over the room for a moment as you continued to twirl his antennae between your fingers.

His eyes still closed, Zim spoke again, mumbling, "Zim's next plan is to eradicate these abhorrent human pandemics." The words slurred together a bit, and although you knew Irkens to not sleep due to lack of biological necessity, whenever he was completely relaxed, he tended to get drowsy.

"Good luck with that. I support your efforts one hundred percent." Despite the first statement harboring a twinge of sarcasm, the second was completely genuine.

"Does Zim detect a hint of ridicule?" His words may have been a challenge, but not a single eye opened even a crack, not a single muscle in his body so much as twitching.

"All I'm saying is I haven't seen much progress on your original plan of eradicating the humans, and it's been how many years?"

"Quiet or I'll steal another one of your inferior human zip-cloth thingies." He may not have technically stolen the first one, but you had to make a mental note to keep track of your jackets and hoodies. Or at the very least, make sure to keep the ones you wore often out of reach. You supposed in the end it didn't really matter. You would know where to find them if they did happen to go missing. And besides, he did look rather cute in them.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #invader zim x reader #zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim one shot #invader zim oneshot #one shot #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #request

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angelisverba · 5 years

Text

golden

in which y/n’s life is dark, but the fae king sees she’s golden.

word count: 12k

pairing: y/n and the Fae King, Harry

warnings: allusion to suicidal thoughts, angst, & a very sad reader.

note: This is my fic for the #FineLineFicChallenge that @hsogolden is hosting. I submitted for Golden! Enjoy :)

It was a known fact, that one isn’t to mess with the Fae.

Don’t try to communicate with them.

Don’t try to find them.

Don’t do anything with them.

Masters of twisting the truth because they cannot tell lies, the ethereal beings were dangerous in the sense that they cared not for anything but their own interest. If they wanted your lover, they would do everything to take them from you.

But y/n wasn’t one to listen to the rules.

Especially one that promised her a better life, at no cost other than to seek it.

Her life wasn’t exactly shit, but it also wasn’t enjoyable. It was bland. And, to put it straight, lonely.

She had no family, and no friends or lovers. Life had made surviving her number one priority, and bouncing from job to job her favorite hobby. The girl lived in an apartment that had her feeling like a heroin addict, and she’d never had a dose of drugs in her life that wasn’t Tylenol. And, well, she had the looks of one; a feral, dead look in her eye accompanied with a malnourished body from eating what her pocket change allowed her to: ramen noodles.

It was pathetic. She had to shower using a cup because the overhead didn’t work, and she couldn’t sit because the bathtub was full of rust on the edges. Her walls were cracked and at night there was a faint scratching of nails in the ceiling. The sink was missing a knob, the light bulb in the mini-fridge didn’t work, and neither did the one in her room.

But, she couldn’t complain because it was all she could afford. Y/n was grateful that she had a roof over her head, even if it was infested with rats, and the cheapest, tattered clothes on her back. At least she had food, water, clothes, and a home, right? Even if it was the worst quality and her unfortunate state of mind made it worse?

View it however, she was done. Had been for a long time, but she didn’t really know how to stop, how to live a new life.

Until that night.

* * *

* **

It was another lonely night for y/n, and those she usually spent in chic bars she would never be able to afford, sipping on drinks and observing. Learning; mentally taking notes of how rich people lived their lives and all the mannerisms that came with it because maybe, just maybe, if she acted like one, she’d be one. That dainty toss of the wrist, the graceful, hypnotizing tilt of the chin that told a man you were interested.

She didn’t dress like she was going to the bar, which made her stick out like a sore thumb in the high-ceiling, leather-furnished, glass-walled place, and she didn’t drink alcoholic beverages. She sat at the far end of the bar counter, sipping on a glass of tap water the bartender gave her because he pitied her, and watched. That last part didn’t really matter because it turned out, rich people got more drunk than people with less money than them-- a blacked out woman (or three) ending up on the marble floors at the end of their outing. Men never tried to talk to her because she always showed up in ragged jeans and shirts with holes in them, and women wouldn’t even look her way.

That is of course, until another dead-eyed person walked up to the counter.

She was a Scottish woman, or maybe Irish-- y/n couldn’t remember much. Only that she talked of fairies prancing and singing around mushroom tops and a fairy king that got angry when she said thank you. Drunken slurs, that were only made more incomprehensible by her accent, spilled from her lips at the first sip of brandy, and at the sound of her foreign tone, y/n’s ears perked to hang onto every word.

“Never in my forty two years of putrid life did I see something like that, and I doubt I ever will again.” The woman said to the bartender. She was wearing a sleeveless cardigan the color of hazelnuts when they’ve fallen off trees, decorated with golden medallions that jingled every time she moved her shoulders. Big, was an appropriate word to describe her hair; voluminous, blown out Barbie waves that plumped at the top of her head and bounced all down her back to end at her hips. Her eyes were an engaging amber color, the kohl black charcoal on her eyelids enhancing them like boiling magma, the reddish-brown shade in stark similarity with the blood-red shade of paint on her thick lips. “Dance with us, to your heart's content, so fun you’ll want to never stop, them little brats tried to get me, they did! If it hadn’t been for the Fae King, well--” she huffed, a jerking movement with her entire body, “-- I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure.”

The bartender, a middle-aged man in a flannel with a 5 o’clock shadow sprinkled on the lower half of his face, pursed his lips and rolled his eyes as he wiped down a shot glass with a rag. “Sure as hell never seen a drunk lady talk about faeries before. Santa Claus? Sure, but faeries? You must be on some heavy stuff, ma’am.”

Y/n was staring into the center of her glass, watching the water ripple, strangely comforted by the slow movement of the liquid; her fingers tapped rhythmically at the ridges molded into the edges of the cup. It looked as if she wasn’t paying attention, with eyes cast downwards, but every inch of her was standing on edge, eager for a story. Essentially, this was the reason why she came to these bars when she felt like it, to catch a story; be entertained. Her own life wasn’t enough, she needed more, even if it didn’t belong to her.

“Aye, lassie!” shouted the woman, lifting her glass with a pointed finger towards the lonely girl at the other end of the bar.

At her loud exclamation, y/n glanced up to see what was the cause of the remark, and found the woman looking at her with a peculiar, interested look in her eye. Y/n twisted to look behind her, oblivious that the woman’s true subject was her. Expecting someone to be standing where the woman pointed, she returned to her original position, confused.

“Lassie, it’s you I’m talkin’ to, listen to this tube, says faeries aren’t real. You believe me don’t you?”

Because the feeling of humor was so scarce in her life, it had turned into a strange and foreign feeling rendering her useless in how to react-- and while y/n found the woman humorous in her drunken ramblings, she wasn’t quite sure how to express it. A wormy smile played on her lips as she nodded her response, the bartender throwing her a bewildered look because it was the first time he’d seen her interact with anyone other than him.

“Well den, I guess you’ll listen to me, won't you? I’ve gotto tell sumone or I’ll go radge.” The woman throws her head back and finishes what’s left of her drink, wiggling two fingers at the bartender to signal: she wants another. Y/n watches from her seat as the lady hops off her seat, one hand on the counter to keep her standing as she wobbles over in her direction; the medallions on her cardigan tinkling with every swish of her hips. When she stood, the dull heels of her knee high boots slapped against the sleek floor, the noise making y/n jump.

“Listen, here,” she sat on the empty bar stool next to y/n with a labored huff, “don’t you ever go walking round the woods on a full moon. My own mother been telling me that since I was on her tit, and I should have listened.” Her tone was slightly spiteful, and exasperated at her own action. She made the same gesture at the young girl, two long-nailed fingers curling and drawing y/n closer to her, as if she was going to tell her a secret.

Never go walking in the woods on a full moon.

“The trees- they speak. Got ears I’m telling ya,” The woman’s voice rasped at her hushed tone. “Will o’ wisps are sweet talkers, I’m telling ya!”

Y/n bit her lip in efforts to keep a building laugh in. The stranger didn’t look at all drunk, she was in complete control of her facial features, and her voice was funky because y/n wasn’t used to the accent. If it hadn’t been for the tell-tale empty glasses she kept generating, one wouldn’t even be able to tell.

Finally deciding to propel the conversation further, she said, “Is that so?”

“Swear on the Fae King himself, I do! Told me to find the mushrooms for a good time, coz I was out for a piss half mad with moonshine. Knew what they were doin, they did. I thought they meant those that make ya loopy, shite don’t even know what made me listen to them.” She grumbles the last part to herself, her chin tilting down to touch her chest as she frowns.

“What happened next?” Y/n asked, propping her chin on the flat of her palm.

The woman looked up, startled like she’d forgotten there was someone there. “Next? Next…. Next, oh yes!” Crossing her legs, she angled her body sideways to y/n. “Will o’ wisps said to walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms and I did! I did! And, and it got me to the fairy realm. ‘Course I didn’t know until after the king himself told me. But this... this circle of sky opened up-- like,” her head tilts to the side as she thinks of ways to form her thoughts into words. “Like the sky fell and was standing before me. Go through it and find eternal happiness, they told me.”

Walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms. Go through it and find eternal happiness.

As soon as those words left the Scottish woman’s lips, y/n was hooked. A part of herself that had slowly been locked away throughout her pitiful, self-depreciating life, and, that part of her came to life-- it bloomed awake, triggered by the words eternal happiness. An earth-shattering revival.If this woman wasn’t spitting shit, then… this was her chance.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her voice went soft and hazy, recalling the images of a far away land. “It was green… everywhere. And the flowers were alive.” She snaps back into a more solid tone, “They fairies were too-faced little bitches, though.”

Y/n nodded, noting and agreeing. “Tell me more.”

Needing to further probing, the tales continued. “They tried to get me to eat, to dance. And I nearly did, you know? I would have, had it not been for the king… I’d be dead.” The bartender slid a glass their way, a manicured hand reaching to catch it without turning to look at it. “He saved me from them. He apologized for his subjects actions, even housed me for the night, and escorted me out the next day. Mentioned something about…” Her head cocked, eyes squinting. “A star telling him not to wipe fairy dust against my forehead to make me think it was just a dream.”

Someone in the distance dropped a glass, and a shattering noise was heard; reduced to a meager tinkle. The bartender whipped his towel in anger, and went to see what the fuss was about.

“He was truly… well I can’t even explain it. You’d have to see it with y’own eyes.”

Y/n tapped her forefinger on the plushy center of her lips three times before saying, “And, what exactly do I have to do to see it with my own eyes?”

The question simmered in unknown waters while the woman registered what y/n had asked. It was clear; the transition of her eyes going from unfocused and dazed to serious.

“Why, lass, would you want to find those piece of shites?” Her head bobbled. “After I just-”

“I just wanted to hear you tell the story, that’s all.” Y/n shot to respond, set on getting the stranger to tell her how to get to the fairy realm. Every atom in her buzzed with friction against each other, excited, elated to have what basically a reason to life again. What Wonderland was to Alice, this was to her.

A rabbit hole.

“Legend goes that if a pure-hearted being leaves offerings for the Fae, the Fae may respond. This is why lil’ tikes always talk about, having dem-- imaginary friends. They’re fairies-- they friend, that is. Fae people show themselves to children because they’re pure. Maidens before their wedding night, if desolate, go missing in the woods because the fairies take them. As for me? They wanted to take advantage of me. It’s process; fickle people they are.” A hand waves in the air, brushing away intrusive thoughts. Y/n leaned further into the woman, lips pursed in interest. “Anyways, my mother, her mother and her mother’s mother, have all had encounters with them after long periods of offerings of home-made foods, and planting flowers in the woods. Slowly, over-time, they gather the courage to show themselves. But, what happened to me was the Summoning of the Full-Moon. And- HEY! ‘Nother one please.” She repeats the same motion from before, sliding back the empty glass.

“What is the Summoning of the Full-Moon?” Tapping her fingers to attract her attention again, y/n’s eyes follow the woman’s desperately.

“Right, right. Fleet aren’t you?” She chuckled. “The Summoning of the Full-Moon happens when the moon is full, and you drink a glass of moonwater from the past full moon. To get the moon water, just leave out a pitcher of water in clear view of the moon when it’s full, that way, when the next full one comes around, you drink a glass. The moon charges the water with it’s energy, and it’ll give ya’ the ability to see will’o wisps.”

The bartender slid another glass, and the woman took a swig before continuing. “Will ‘o wisps are spirits that appear as floating blue flames of fire, usually three atta time at first; one disheartening and appearing behind the last as you move closer to them. They guide travelers, y’see? They lead you to what your heart wants the most-- or wherever destiny takes you-- depends on which one is mighty. It all takes off from there.” At her last words, the small glass listed, and slammed back down empty.

Y/n nodded slowly, absorbing the information that was unloaded on her. Moon water. Will o’ wips. But,

“What happens next?”

“It’s up to Destiny and wherever She wants ta take ya, lass.” The woman winked, her long, curled lashes fluttering closed momentarily. “Of course, that is if we’re talking about a hypothetical situation, isn’t it?”

Y/n was about to give a flustered response, when a man decked out in a black and white suit, with shades, an earpiece and slicked-back dark hair, tapped the woman on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. The woman lifted a hand and dropped her eyes to the floor, directing some but not all attention to the man. An abrupt change in her voice sends shivers down y/n’s spine; the friendly rasp converting into a chilling, demanding scorn. “Tell Alex he’ll lose 30k from his next check if he doesn’t fix this in an hour. I’ll be out as soon as I wrap up the lovely conversation I’m having with this lassie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man says, nodding and walking the way he came.

Lifting her eyes from their casted gaze, the woman locks with y/n’s curious, seeking eyes, and sees. She understands now. The questioning. The peaking glint of interest.

It makes sense.

“Play your cards right, child.” The woman sighed, her voice suddenly ages older than she seemed. “Play them right, and you’ll find eternal happiness… but, make one wrong move and you’ll screw yourself over forever.”

Then she got up and left. Feet landing one after the other with a firm stance, and a swagger in her walk that hadn’t been there before.

Strange, y/n thought.��How quick her demeanor went from drunk to composed. After that fleeting thought came a tsunami of questions. What was she doing in the woods? What woods? What dis the woman take with her?

But it was too late because the was far gone, and she was left to sit and ponder the countless outcomes that could come if she were to go through with this. For one, eternal happiness. It’s natural for anyone to try and seek it. Who wouldn’t? Especially y/n, who’d been deprived of dopamine for... well, forever. Her childhood was about as good as her current life. Parents who yelled at each other, and at her, leaving her only company to be the stray cats that would lick the tears off of her cheeks; raspy tongues eliciting giggles from the small girl. It was a treasure, what she had found.

She would be stupid if she didn’t at least try.

* * *

* **

Y/n left her measly apartment on a day where the clouds looked like objects you could pluck from the sky; fluffy, white cotton shapes that overlapped and left small sifts of space where the sun shone through in beams. All was shadowed with soft colors; rough edges turned tender, perfectly appropriate for the way the giddy girl felt inside. Floaty, heady, and delicate with a skip in her step. Aloof with happiness and a tickle in her rib. She no longer cared about anything. The latter was true. She didn’t even tell her landlord she was leaving, or anyone else for that matter. Everything that belonged to her and truly significant, was inside a wicker basket she tucked in the crease of her elbow. Food, and a blanket because she wasn’t sure how long she’d be waiting for the Fae to respond.

The Fae.

After extensive research at her local public library, y/n realized how… complex these creatures were. It was no joke was she was getting into, and the Scottish woman has been right. Make one wrong move, and it was over. The ethereal beings had the power to make the rest of her life living hell if she messed up before eating their food.

Eating their food,

was all she had to do

to stay.

Bound by whatever magic they possessed, she wouldn’t be able to leave the Fae realm if-- when-- she bit into something from their world. Like giving your soul to the devil, but instead it was faeries who pranced in delight, not flames. This promise, this reward had restored something in y/n that hadn’t been there in years. Child-like glee, innocence, purity. Call it what you want. But it was there; a fresh sprite in her soul. Restoration of a youthful essence.

But it was there, and it was back twice as strong as when it previously existed in her. Ignited by the words she drank from her computer screen; early morning rises to the library, and late night walks home after closing time fueled her through two months. The first, she dedicated to attaining a jar of moon-charged water.

There was a mason jar in her cabinet that she used to eat blueberries and milk in, which was the only portable-type cup she had. The night before a full moon, she filled it with tap water, and set it on her window sill. For the first three hours into the dark, y/n watched the moonlight dance in the water like the aurora borealis. Her eyes would focus and unfocus with possibilities of her future; the possibilities of her eternal future extending from the tips of her toes like the yellow brick road. Images of dewy meadows and heart-shaped ponds full of lilies flooded her mind. Willow trees and flowers to make flower crowns and tea out of. She wanted it. Wanted to live among the Fae, and wander aimlessly with beauty and prose.

She yearned for it.

Y/n woke the next day with a jar of... water. It didn’t look any different then from when she poured it into the cup, other than the fact that the glass was dewy from the cold of the night. Her fingerprints decorated the sides where she gripped it, and after bringing it up to her eyes for closer inspection, she set it on her pillow, and left for the library.

Her seek of Fae knowledge continued, with more vigor now that she’d acquired the water. Everyday consisted of books, online pages, audiobooks; anything she found she ate up like she was starving for it.

And in some ways, she was.

Swallowing more that could fit in her mouth, y/n came to learn that the Fae weren’t exactly the comforting go-lucky deities she’d come to perceive them as. Beautiful, sure, but not all of them. And certainly not sweet.

Anything, but sweet. Y/n found that faeries were actually formidable creatures that enjoyed watching trouble develop. Legend has it, that the Fae were those caught in the in-between land at the time God shut the gates of heaven, and Lucifer trapped demons in hell. They could be angels or demons; fallen angels, outcasts, forgotten on the human plane. Belief in angelic behavior is reported, but lesser than the haunting actions, or bewitching incidents. It was a blind treasure hunt, the one she was getting herself into.

However, it she wouldn’t let that stop her. In some ways, she felt entitled to an explanation, a slice of truth; and answer. It would be an act of sadism to derive her of euphoria after she’d lived so, so shitty. She owes it to herself to seek them out.

Even if they could haunt her forever, take her first born, and or make her dance until her feet were reduced to stubs, she needed to look. Anything would be better than her reality.

Her adventure started with the seek of Rowan trees, sacred trees commonly associated with the Seelie court, the lesser malicious group of fairies. If... her expectations are even a fraction real, then she’s set. Good to go. Safe.

Or at least, once she found them she would be safe. The woods before sunset were enchanting, with golden tones littering the leaves and bark with glittering light. Pieces of peach-colored sky peeking through the empty spaces in the tree canopy, shadows dancing on her skin with every giddy step she took. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going, only that she was looking for the Rowan trees, and the increasing amount of flowers was a good sign (according to the internet). It had been about an hour since she went off the set trail, the ground growing more unleveled with each step. Squirrels and rabbit would scurry across her way every time a branch cracked underneath her feet, and since her eyes were set on the shrubby part of the trees-- looking for the tell-tale red berries of the trees she was looking for-- the furry animals skittered more often than nought.

Slowly, the sun snuggled deep in the horizon, and the remaining light shifted to created harshly shadowed edges on the trees. This prompted y/n to panic, her searching eyes growing faster in their movements. No, no, no, it couldn’t be dark yet. She hadn’t found the trees yet. It would be dark with....

With no light to light her way.

Light. Small flames of blue light, was what the Scottish woman said the Will ‘o wisps were. And to see them, all she had to do is drink the moon water.

The moon water that was in her wicker basket.

With the last of the sun floating away, y/n hurried to flip open the top of her basket, deft fingers dipping in to wrap around the cool mason jar. She screwed it open, lifting it to her lips and taking two generous mouthfuls of the water. She needed to sip at it cautiously, because the offering acceptance took time, and she’d need more than one night to work this out.

To find her way back to whatever spot the spirits took her, she’d need the water. There would be no waiting at the gates of the realm, given that the faeries were suspicious creatures, and it would take time for them to judge and be comfortable around her; deem her a pure maiden at heart. Hovering in the area where she placed her gift would jeopardize any chance at them accepting, or even considering her entrance into the realm

She would have to be patient. And she would be.

Y/n was full of buzzing energy and she let her eyes adjust to the growing darkness. The sun had gone down completely. The trees reduced to smeared shadows and mysterious shapes. Her skin was victim to a crisper kind of air- the cold having a sharper edge to it in the absence of sun. The moon shone brightly, she could see it through the same spaces where the sun had shown through; a milky-white face in the sky, frozen mid-yawn, and though her light was strong, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through the wood’s thick roof of leaves.

The path space that formed in the gaps of the trees, was cloaked in a pitch blanket, general figures of branches and trees ghosting in her squinted line of vision. Shivering, she shrugged the quilt she carried onto her shoulders, and it was when huddled into herself when she heard the first whisper.

We hear you.

It was one voice; one whisper. And hundreds resonating behind it. A small, shy, wispy call out to her, sounding as if it were right at the lobe of her ear.

Y/n is startled, and she jumps, clutching her fists tighter towards her chest, the basket digging into her hip and chafing on the skin in the crook of her elbow, but she doesn’t pay any mind to it because holy shit it’s happening.

Often reported, the wisps whisper or make high pitched whirring noises to catch the attention of the traveler. This was it. What she was hearing, was the calling. The will o’ wisps.

Her head whipped wildly from side to side, searching for the hovering blue and it’s incandescence. Eyes wide with seeking fervor, lips parted as puffs of air left her lips when her chest came down, y/n felt a rush of adrenaline course through her spine.

“Who can hear me?”

Suddenly, a flashing burst of electric blue color appeared in the distance, about 10 steps away from her current position. She gasped at the sudden outbreak, her eyes stretching to their maximum diameter. All the inklings of doubt that had seeded themselves in her break uprooted and flew in the wind; gone. Real. It was all real.

And she was doing it. She was helping herself. Providing to her soul what she couldn’t for years: happiness. The mere appearance of these spheres entities sent a buzz of ecstasy to the center of her core because they were real and she was really doing this.

I can

Three chants of ‘I can’ tinkled, one after the other, appearing with every she took towards the spirit. Her knees shook slightly, goosebumps prickling on her knees with every movement. Eerily, branches crack underneath the soles of her shoes, and she can feel the dispersion of energy against her feet when the wood cracks. With the lack of sun, and how she’s so hypnotized by the will o’ wisps, she doesn’t see the thick hump of tree root sticking out from the ground, the tip of her shoe catching on it and causing her to fall fly forward and dig her nose in the dirt. The basket gets crushed between the dirt and her hip, the abrupt and uncontrolled pressure eliciting a pained yelp from her. Her hand comes out stiffly from underneath the blanket, rushing to push herself back up and relieve the intrusion. As she’s hissing, the dreamy, other-worldly whispers say,

Oh no

Are you okay?

Are you still able,

To come and play?

Smaller, quieter, different toned whispers echo each murmuring, creating a dizzying, mind-spinning effect. To a certain extent, it disoriented her. But the tender, cooing voices smoothed over her unease and comforter her. Encouraged her, even.

Huffing, y/n dragged her dungaree covered knees underneath her, and sat kneeled for a moment.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She panted, the experience amazing her. “Who are you?”

She stood again, feeling her dented basket with her other hand while she waited for a response.

We are messengers of Destiny

We will take you

To what your heart wants most

Be quick, Your Majesty

They won’t way forever

Your Majesty? Now why on earth would they call her that? Befounded, she walked with cautious steps towards the first spirit, and tried to caress it with her fingertips. She wanted to feel it, hold it. But alas, as soon as her hand got close, it disappeared as quickly as it came, and reappeared behind the other two that were in line. The trio produced a bio-luminescent radiance that would surely stump any scientist who tried to explain the logic behind it. There simply was no other reasoning to the phenomenon, other than it was magic.

She knew that. Could feel the altered tensions in the proximity of the will ‘o wisps, calmer and still where they were. Beats of her heart pounded where her tongue lay, dry, in her mouth. She wasn’t royalty.

“Why are you calling me that? Why… why are you calling me your majesty?” Y/n stared intently to the very core of the wisps, noticing the change of color at the center. White flickers of tiny bodily shapes, like the spirits were dancing idly in their own capsule of light.

Destiny calls you so

Destiny yearns for you

You’re almost there

Be quick, Your Majesty

She didn’t understand. Your Majesty, was a title reserved for royals wasn’t it? She was not one. In the midst of her confused and amazed state, a lineage of wisps appeared behind the third one, creating a long path that went straight and then made an abrupt turn left. Enchanted, she followed in a zombie-like state. This was real and it was happening. It was real because her nose was bitten-raw from the cold and her nails pinched into the skin of her palm. Pain didn’t exist in dreams, and her hip still ached where the basket has pressed against it.

This wasn’t a dream.

Will ‘o the wisps flickered in their formation, bursting away when she came into proximity. The exhilarating thrill of attempting to catch; chasing, is what caused her to let out a squeaky giggle that eventually grew into harmonious laughter. Light, gleeful chortles bounced between the trees, and if anyone were to hear here from a distance they’d surely think the woods were haunted.

Eventually, she reached the turn, and was set onto a winding, twisting road of curving blue light. Y/n was light on her feet, raising them high and setting firmly on the ground. She began to run.

She ran and ran until her throat went dry, her lungs burned, and her thighs ached; body begging for a break, heart high on the drug of hope. Every slight twist in the wood only motivated her further, coaxing her towards her end target of… wherever the wisps were taking her. She was so submerged in the task of following that she was quite surprised when she arrived at a clearing; a circular space where the trees curved around, almost respectfully. The wisps made a beeline towards the middle, where they made the same pattern the trees did, forming a circle around a ring of mushrooms.

It was almost comical, the way the red-topped, white-dotted mushroom were arranged in a circle big enough to lay, sprawled, in the middle.

You’ve made it

You’re here

Destiny wishes you luck

Stay strong, Your Majesty

And then, they dissipated; flip of a switch and the lights were off.

For two days, she waited. The first night, she layed her homemade thumbprint cookies and honey in the center of the ring, leaving a sweet kiss on the wooden plate, and walked aimlessly until the balls of her feet ached. It wasn’t that far, because she had already done so much walking, and the girl was drained from the events she’d witnessed. Y/n settled in an alcove of tree roots, wrapping herself snug with her quilt but shivering despite her efforts. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she waited until the morning, wanting to make the food she brought last as long as possible.

She woke with the faint images of golden petals floating around her, faeries dusting shimmering substances on the top of her head, and a demanding grumble in her stomach. The dirt underneath her hand was soft, dipping in where her the pad of her fingers dug in to push herself up. Instantly, she was met with the feeling of something wet striping up her cheek, a sniffing like noise filtering through her ears.

Blinking, y/n groggily turns her hear, and comes face to face with... a pig. It snorts when it see her move, sitting back on it’s haunches and looking up at her with bunched cheeks so it looked like it was smiling. Y/n’s jaw dropped in shock. Where had this pig come from?

It’s pink skin was a cool contrast in the light of the late-morning sun (y/n was never much of an early riser), and upon closer inspection, she saw the pig was a he. His nose was twitching with interest at the stranger he’s encountered. Ears floppy, bent and jiggling with every call squeal he exhibited, hooves half dug into the dirt. He watched patiently, inspecting and almost waiting for orders.

“Where’d you come from?” She asked, intrigued at his presence. They both shared a small moment of staring at each other in wonder until her stomach emitted a stale gurgle, pleading for food. The piglet (which he was, given his small stature and clean snout), squealed again, standing up with a jump and walking around in a circle three times, chasing after it’s curly tail before stilling, with his rump facing y/n. He began to walk backwards, continuing until his back legs came up on her lap, and he plopped himself down, tilting his head up with a pleasant smile, while y/n stared at the small creature, astounded.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” She said with a light giggle, reaching with one hand for her basket, and the other to pet the small thing’s head. She might as well embrace him, so she had company.

The basket was right by her shoulders while she lay, meaning it was now behind her because she had sat up. Clutching the pig so he wouldn’t fall out of her lap while she moved, she twisted her upper body to grab the basket, and the pig adjusted himself, pressing his two front feet onto her lep repeatedly. Making shushing noises, she flipped open the wicker flap, and reached in to grab whatever she found.

A sleeve of ritz crackers, that she ripped open eagerly, popping the first cookie into her mouth. Chewing, she looked around for the first time that day.

She was surrounded by much, much bigger trees than the ones she was venturing in the day before. Tall, brooding giants; rows and rows of trunks thicker than her wingspan and arching branches casting shadows on those who walked underneath. Might and wise, but silent and still. And intimidating network of roots on the ground mirrored the intertwining leaves above her, so high up she had to throw her head all the way back to see the expanse.

Breathtaking, is what it was. Y/n hadn’t been this connected with nature since that field trip she took with her third grade class to the blooming tulip meadows. She appreciated their presence, basked in the beams of light that shone through and grazed over the grass and moss on the trees. She even stopped eating, transfixed by the image before her, and she would have continued pondering in the glorious, godly image of greens and brown had the pig in her lap not shifted to sniff at her hand.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, glancing down at his curious tilted head. “Want some crackers, too?” Y/n wriggles her fingers into the brown packaging and took out two cookies, setting one on her tongue and extending the other towards the pig. He sniffs at it, his snout twitching, before cocking his head and picking it up with the side of his mouth. The pig gets close to her, placing the flat underside of his chin in the groove of her neck, snorting appreciatively.

“You’re a cute one,” she hums more to herself, tracing the pads of her fingers on the piggy’s back.

They fall asleep like that again, after y/n had finished the sleeve of crackers. The girl so calmed by the image presented in front of her, she slipped into a light slumber, the breeze and waving sheets of leaves lulling her eyes closed.

She spent the day like that, rationing her food, and sleeping, the pig switching positions from her lap, to her side, and eventually by her feet. The thick quilt she had brought stayed on her shoulders at all times, keeping her warm in the crispy forest air.

Nearing the sunset again, a butterfly landed on the tip of her nose, stretching its wings and tickling her awake. Her eyes fluttered opened when everything around her was lit a golden haze; the tell-tale sign that the sunset was near, and so was the night. The blue butterfly flew away when she took the first breath, and she watched it fly away with hazy eyes, not fully awake and aware yet.

Y/n jumped when the piglet let out a squeal, and upon looking down, she saw that he had remained settled into her side while she slept.

With a smile on her lips as she placed her hands on her back to stretch, she said, “Well, hello there!” She patted his head, and he leaned into her touch. “You stayed!”

The pig smiled, which sounds ridiculous but his lips really turned upwards, filling his eyes with a glint, and squealed his response. Y/n’s heart warmed at the sweet animal, happy that she had company and wasn’t alone. Her friends, she realized, had always been furry. Animals were the only beings that were ever welcoming of her, treasured her presence, and reciprocated the love she had to offer.

“Will you stay through the night as well?” The girl remarked, scratching behind the piglet’s ears. “I sure hope so.” A sad look took over her face, the corners of her lips pinching downwards as a sudden wave of forlorn thoughts washed over her.

She was sitting in the forest, all by herself, following after a drunk woman’s rants because that it what her dissatisfaction led her to. That’s how much she lacked. That’s how much she yearned for. It goes to show the large chunk that was missing, because she had no second thoughts about doing so. It hurt, knowing no one would worry about her, and that she had nothing to regret leaving.

As if sensing her unease, the pig started bucking up into her hand, his snout blowing onto her palm and tickling her skin. The action made her laugh, her first genuine, comfortable laugh at an act of humor. A deep, belly chuckle that made her cheeks hurt.

She had learned to laugh again.

Y/n got up from her spot on the forest floor, and stretched with her arms reaching towards the canopy, fingers splaying and tightening the skin between them. Taking a deep breath, the corner of her lip quirked up in her smile.

Night two was underway and she was ready.

With her furry companion, the girl picked her basket up and began her walk in the general direction of her arrival. It was hard to tell, because it was pitch black when she made it to her spot, but either way she walked far enough that she would need guidance from the wisps to get back on the correct track.

The sun repeated the same routine it had the day before, splashing an assortment of colors on tree bark and leaves, streaking the sky wild orange taints and soft blues to contrast. It was ethereal image, the one she was witnessing. Like something out of a documentary, except she was there, seeing it with her own eyes.

Her neck was starting to hurt with how much she craned it to see the mesh of vibrancy in the sky, and the piglet alongside her had often bumped it’s small snout on her ankle when she stopped moving to gaze. When night finally came, the moon was a partly eaten up by shadow, her color less vibrant that the day before. But it was fine, because according to research, what mattered most was the first offering on the full moon.

Repeating the same steps from last night, y/n took another drink from her glass, and blinked three times exactly, waiting for the wisps to formulate in front of her.

And they did.

But there was something different about it this time. They were quiet, a change from their past fizz of whisper. Confused, y/n tilted her head and tried to speak to the.

“Hello?”

Silence. Not even the whistling sound of their breaths. The wind had stopped, and as the line of blue orbs created a twisting route between the trees, the hairs on y/n’s spine stood on end. The air was charged with... a certain potential that was impossible to miss. A certain static of promise.

Tonight was the night.

As she walked towards the wisps, her footsteps were accompanied by the soft pitters of her tiny friend, stuck by her feet still, despite everything happening around them. Could he see them too? Was her cold? He probably was. If y/n was cold, then he was too. Deciding to not only warm herself up, she took out her blanket and bent down to pick him up, cradling him against her chest and wrapping the blanket around him as well, to which he responded with a cuddle into her neck.

With purpose in her step, the hopeful girl began her journey, following the marked up path left by the wisps. It was, as expected, longer than the first. She had ensured that she was far enough away before settling down for the night.

Nevertheless, she made it to the blue luminescent ring of red-topped mushroom (like the ones from Mario), and stared.

It was apparent, that she had no clue what to do next.

“Now what? Tell me what to do?”

The last wisp, placed in the center of the ring, spoke for all the spirits the first time since they appeared that night.

Destiny had spoken once, She will not speak again.

The knowledge you need to open the realm,

is one you already know.

Furrowing her eyebrows, y/n took a moment to digest the message.

She knew? She knew how to open the gate? The extent of her research only described protocol on fairy manners, what they were like, and what to do in the case of an encounter. Never explicitly the steps to open the realm to meet them. Yet, the wisps said otherwise. They claimed she knew the ways to open the realm.

How could that be true…

OH. The Scottish woman! The Scottish woman had told her exactly what to do. Walk counter-clockwise around the circle of mushrooms.

And that was it.

All she had to do.

Y/n was in the middle of contemplating if she should do it or not, given she had only presented one offering, when she saw the note.

In the middle of the ring, lay a fist sized scroll that was only visible because the last wisp hovered above it. The pig next to her glanced from her to the script, and skipped over to clutch the script with his mouth, and trotted over to give it to her.

The wisps didn’t disappear when the pig approached it, but it raised higher above the ground, above her head and just past that; blue light glowing just a bit brighter.

The girl bent to get the note from the piglet, and gave it a small pat on the head before unrolling the thick paper. It had a very quality feel to it, grooves tickling her finger-pads. The slip, not much better than her hand, read,

the pie was delicious. we are most appreciative of it. proceed.

The black inked scripture widened her eyes, sending a shiver up her spine.

Well, that settled her question. She could, proceed.

And she did. Y/n placed the note in her basket, and picked up her small friend, needing the emotional support. Her lungs expanded in a burning breath, bracing herself for what was to come. No turning back now.

She angled herself so her feet were parallel to the mushroom she was near, and began to walk. Please let me in, please please please let me in. I need this, please. She begged mentally. The girl wasn’t sure what would happen if this went wrong. Her hopes were high, and the crash would be devastating.She begged to whoever would listen; whoever was in charge. Please let me in.

Nothing happened, until she passed her third mushroom.

The remaining will o’ wisp began to expand, it’s light turning a lighter blue color, bubbling out and expanding into a concrete oval, growing in size as she made her way around the ring. The pig in her arms was quiet, not affected by what was going on like he saw it happen everyday, but y/n, on the other hand, was having her mind blown. Her lips were parted as soft breaths came out of them, scared to breathe to her full capacity, watching as the color of light went from blue to yellow. The two colors merging in a gradient shift, the orb growing bigger and larger as water expands when spilled on a flat surface.

Fleeting shadows danced through the portal, like the reflection of birds flying over a lake’s surface.

Y/n picked up the pace on her last round, and a breeze began to blow out her hair. the light from the now door-sized hole turned a golden color; a glittering, metallic shade of yellow that swirled in a spiral at the speed of her steps, dizzying her. The far-away sounds of a child’s giggled resonated through the forest, coming from the golden circle in the ring.

When she stopped at her starting mark at the end of the third rotation, the portal rose higher, higher, higher, and then floated down like a swaying feather in the air, the golden beams of light now shooting skyward.

It came to lay on the grass covered floor, flattening in the area inside the circle of the mushrooms, the gold-lined edge nearly touching the tip of her show.

The front of her face was covered in the golden light, her eyes gleaming in the colored glow. Laughter sounded from it, the sound of music teasingly escaping, low enough that she could hear it over the lapping water noises from the portal.

The pig, still in her arms, began to thrash and squirm, squealing wildly until y/n finally let him go, and he didn’t hesitate to jump in the pool of gold.

“Wait, wait no, n-,” y/n protested, but his curly tail was gone before her hand even attempted to catch him.

After his leap, the portal rippled, and cleared into a calm mustard yellow splashed with... clouds? It was a piece of sky that fell to the ground, just like to woman had said. Without thinking twice about it, she jumped through, just like her friend had done.

Her body was instantly met with a chilling wind, as if she wasn’t wearing any clothes. It was a disorienting feeling of shooting up, and coming back down like she was falling, landing in the same spot where the portal had been, except now it was closed. Her butt ached where is received most of the impact, and y/n groaned as she pushed herself back up, the budging feeling of her basket restricting her arm movement present, but… the weight of her clothing was gone.

And, when she glanced down at her body, it was confirmed that she was bare.

As in, no clothes, no underwear, no bra or panties.

Y/n shrieked.

Who, when, and how had her clothes come off if she hadn’t taken them off herself? She ignored the fact that she was in the fairy realm to cover herself with her hands, glancing up to see who may have seen her, only to view a landscape unlike any other.

Rolling hills, seemingly endless with giant trees on top of each one, bigger than the ones she had slept alongside, with flower-filled valleys and and a crystalline river that cut a path through a hill and disappeared into an arch of trees. Children with elvish features stared up at her from the nearest valley, blue flowers littered in their hair to match the pink color tinted in their cherub cheeks. Brown ad white rabbits alike roamed around her, does grazed in the meadows. The sun was nestled in the horizon, just barely peeking in the dip of two hills, sky the same glittering golden color the portal had been. Everything was untouched by technology. No building or antenna towers, but homes in tree trunks or underneath giant mushrooms.

The faeries were staring at her. All with features a human would posses, but a certain other-worldy-ness regular people didn’t posses.

They were all beautiful, with full lips and striking eye colors to match their leafy outfits pertaining to their niche. Two of them ran up the hill on which she sat, edgy grins on their lips as they approached her with their hands behind their backs. One was dressed in the fluffy feathers of a peacock, black hair slicked back and tucked behind his ears, curving up at the nape of his neck. The feathers draped over his shoulders and fanned around his arms, ending just at the end of his wrists so the his hands showed; talons in the place of nails. His lips were beak like, the cupids bow dragging over his bottom lip to imitate a bid’s curved mouth. The other man standing next to his was dressed just the same, except that he had no hair and his ears curved like a ram’s above his head.

Suddenly, her pig friend jumped onto her lap, and began the same squealing as before. Urgent and forbidding, pressing his rump back into her, but leaning forwards as if to ward them off.

“You again, Angus?” The one with the ram horns said, quirking his eyebrow into a perfect arch at the same time his tilted in that direction, giving him a graceful yet mechanical look. Intimidating and cold. His voice was equal to the ear-splitting sound of a fork against plate.

The other one spoke. “How’d you get away from Harry this time, you littl-”

“Pias and Rye? You best stop right there!” Another voice spoke, making y/n twist her heard towards where a crowd had formed in the nearest valley. Mostly creatures with childish features, holding fruits of bunches of petals to their bare chests.

There was a woman, with curly red hair and striking blue eyes. Droplets of water seeped from her skin, collecting at the dress she was wearing, which looked like rippling bodies of water floating above her skin, the placed surrounding her most intimate areas a darker color of water, whereas everything else was translucent. A blob of liquid floated near her head; a crystalline globe of water that contained a golden koi fish that moved on its own around it’s companion, swirling around her unruly red coils of hair.

“Well if it isn’t-”

“I’d shut it, if I were you. Just wait until he hears that you weren’t going to follow protocol. Now, leave.” At her emphasis, her grey eyes flashed bright white momentarily, scaring even y/n, but fulfilling their purposes in warding off the other two fairies. They turned around and left with their prides damaged, turning back to look every other step.

The woman turned to look at y/n, her face transformed into a welcoming smile.

“Hello, my name is Marianne, Welcome to the Fae realm.”

* * *

* **

Marianne took y/n to the river, opposite the way the two other faeries left, and clapped her hands to snap everyone's’ gazes away, while y/n listened to every command with no hesitation.

One their way to the river, y/n was covered in monarch butterflies that flew from a nearby bush, arranging themselves like a skirt on her hips, their wings twitching and fluttering with every step she took. Her top half was taken care of by her pig friend, whom she learned was called Angus, which she clutched to her chest like when they walked around the mushrooms.

Marianne apologized for the other faeries’ behavior, and led her into a giant water lily, holding her hand as she stepped in. The large green leaf coasted down the river, giving y/n a proper sight-seeing experience. They passed by tree roots that elevated above the water’s surface, and passed through the center of a hill like a tunnel. The golden skies seemed to place a filter on everything it touched, making it look like the water held diamonds, and the dew on other floating lilies were pearls. Leafy branched from willow trees on the river bank reached out to touch the newcomer, caressing y/n’s bare shoulder’s as she passed. She watched it all happen with parted lips, intoxicated by the luxurious feeling of magic pouring over her; skin coated in remnants of glittering water from the tips of the tree leaves that dipped in water.

So fixed on the trees and their giant glory, y/n didn’t see the stone castle coming into view from behind the passing green hill; the river turning into the castle’s moat, floating alongside the uneven stone walls patterned different colors from time, sun, and water, but magnificent in it’s ancient glory.

The girl noticed Marianne staring at her, and in her embarrassment, she turned around to attempt to compose herself, but her efforts were thrown away when her eyes found the castle. Romantic, rustic walls covered in curtains of ivy that grew all around. Blinking, y/n gasped as the lily pad came to a stop right before the entrance of the tunnel underneath the bridge, and rose to meet it. She glanced down to see they were off the river’s surface, level with the top of the stone arch. Marianne stepped off, her bare feet stable on the path and she extended a hand for y/n to grab onto.

Stunned, she took hold of the woman’s wet grip, and followed after her, throwing her head back to view the entirety of the castle. Windows with no glass carved rows into the walls, allowing sun to stream in to the rooms and halls. The drawbridge lowered for the two guests, dropping with a loud rustling of chain.

Walking across is at, goosebumps possessed her skin, and she felt the shameful, poking sensation of being exposed settle in her breastbone. Castles meant kings and queens; she was being brought to the king and she was practically naked.

Her chest rose, and her stomach filled filled nervous breaths. Her pals became moist against Angus’s furry one, who seemed calm and sated with the whole ordeal.

Once across the drawbridge, they were met with an open courtyard framed by the castle walls, a cobblestone path leading to an arched entrance, where Marianne followed The courtyard was full of wild grass up to her ankles, stone arches in the middle of the scene, with rope swings and flowers hanging down, ominously still. A bench centered in an arrangement of statues of men in heroic poses holding harps and arrows, a floating body of water in the place of a fountain. Much, much more attracted the girls curious eyes, but Marianne pushed past a curtain of foxgloves, and led her into the castle hall and her view was cut off, dragged into... the throne room.

The throne room clearly because in the center of the sun-lit room, there was a throne covered with wild flowers where the king sat, legs spread and back against the seat as he listened a subject speak.

He wore a red ensemble, by-far the most magnificent of anyone in the room. Transparent garments the color of cranberries draped on the broad expanse of his olive-skinned shoulders, waves of the material hanging loosely on his hard biceps, a tassel tied around his waist to taper an accentuate the strong muscles seen through the garment. The cloth bunched at his groin, and fell in folds around his muscular thighs and down his calves, stopping at his ankles and exposing his bare feet.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of his throne, each finger falling after the other, adding to the powerful aura of his character. Plump lips colored that matched the tone of the nipples that poked through the thin fabric on his chest, mouth arranged into a hard, concentrated line as he listened. Eyebrows dipped just slightly, drawing attention to the vibrant emerald eyes that gleamed in the sun that illuminated his castle. Structured jaw that twitched with the movement of his lips, leading down to the delicate skin of his neck, equally delectable as the rest of him.

Y/n knew he was the king by the tell tale crown that rested on his head. A golden wrap of laurel leaves that nestled on the caramel curls that were pushed back and away from his face.

She wasn’t aware that she was holding her breath, until he glanced up and locked eyes with her. His eyes brought instant relief to her, her body uncoiling, lungs releasing the air their were holding. His lips pulled up into a pleasant smile that made her heart leap and causing one to appear on her face, too. Oddly, she felt safe the instant her eyes landed his, the green sating all of her doubts.

“Marianne? And Angus? Angus is that you?”

Angus jumped from y/n’s arms, landing on the stone floor with a snort and running over to meet the king, jumping into his arms and nuzzling his snout into the king’s face.

The absence of the pig in her arms, left her breasts bare for all to see, and given y/n was transfixed by the king’s voice, smooth like honey with a beautiful scratch that was pleasing to listen to, she didn’t rush to cover herself.

Meaning the king, and the subject he was speaking to, had the time to look at the curves of her chest.

An unreadable look took over the king’s face, and he frowned down at the floor before saying, “You may leave now, Rives.”

The subject cleared his throat, and rushed out at his king’s command. He snapped his fingers, and two of the butterflies on her legs flew up and covered her nipples with their wingspan.

“Your Majesty,” Marianne bowed, and y/n looked over at her before doing the same thing, awkwardly curtsying and the king’s lips quirked at her attempt. “I found her with Pias and Rye. They planned to trick her, Your Highness.”

“Very well, Marianne. You may leave now.” He said. The woman bowed and left without turning back, leaving y/n alone with the king.

A moment passed, ensuring the water fairy had left before he began to speak again, leaning forward on his throne and smiling fully at the human. Y/n instantly took note of the dimple on his cheek, and she blushed at the simple fact that he was looking at her while she was so exposed.

“Oh! My apologies, surely you’d like some clothes wouldn’t you?” He asked rhetorically.

Y/n nodded sheepishly, and crossed her arms over her torso.

“Right, well let’s see.” He stood, letting Angus on the floor with a small pat to his head, and walked off into another archway on the left side of his throne, mumbling “come, come” to get y/n to follow him. She walked behind him, shamelessly grazing her eyes over his back, adoring the way his muscles dimpled his shoulder blades, and hating the way she can’t see the cleft of his buttocks of the strategic bunching of the fabric, the color darkening and making it hard to see through it.

The archway led to a short hall of portraits and moss-covered head statues, before opening to a steep staircase, which the king stepped on, going all the way up and choosing the right branching of stairs from the landing. By the time they reached the top, y/n was huffing and her thighs ached from the walks in the forest.

The stairs opened to a hallway of rooms, and the king entered the third on the right, revealing a sun-lit room. The corner closest to the window was covered in tree tranches, twigs extending and branching along the pink colored wall, small leaves and flowers twisting up to the roof, splaying over the bed to create a net of petals around the fame of it.

He led her to the center of the room, and sat one of the chests. She stood nervously, unsure of where to take her place because she didn’t want to offend him. It was easy to do that with faeries.

“Stand right there,” he pointed to an elevated tree stump opposite of him.

Y/n felt the butterflies flutter wildly at the drastic movement of her knee hiking up, and her ears burned red when she felt cool air blow on her intimate area.

“Now turn to face me.” She turned, and came face to face with the king, who sat with his ankles crossed, and hands clamped between his thighs, back straight.

He removed a hand, and snapped once.

Instantly, the butterflies flew off of her body, and out the window.

Y/n yelped, and rushed to cover herself, forearm over her breasts, palm at her mound.

“M’lady I need you straight so I can adorn you with clothing. I’d have someone else do it, but it’s just me here.” The king said, voice a whisper. His eyes drooped, eyebrows slanting and softening his whole demeanor.

Y/n would have responded, said something to protect her modesty, but she was just too out of it. Her brain running on autopilot by the events that had occurred, that she went pliant under his orders and obeyed. She wasn’t even ashamed anymore.

The king’s fingers moved along her figure from a distance, twiddling across her body, and as he did so, a milky glitter grew upwards from the tree stump, wrapping around her calves and up her thighs, tightening just lightly at her hips, and resting snugly up her torso. Setting on her shoulders, she blinked slowly at the finished product, her tongue too tied to attempt a dreamy woah.

He had dressed her in a silk toga, the material so light it felt like she was wearing nothing.

“There we go!” He cheers, another small smile gracing his lips, melting y/n.

“I am most appreciative, Your majesty.” She bowed her head respectfully, her hands coming to fold at her navel.

“It is alright to say thank you. M’trying my absolute best to dilute a lot of the negative stigma around my people, but with fools like Pias and Rye it’s nearly impossible.” He stops, shaking his head to himself before looking back up and saying, “And you can call me, Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry, my name is y/-” before she could finish her sentence, the Fairy King interrupted her with a green flare of his eyes, heat radiating off his translucent cranberry ensemble, licking her skin with warnings of heat.

“I don’t want to know your name.” He said, his voice changing from jovial to demonic. His eyes pinch closed, and his shoulders tense, momentarily reeling himself back in, and the licks of heat turn a soothing cool. “Please, not yet.”

Harry sounds nearly broken, pained by the restriction.

“I-” y/n started. She collected herself, taking a deep breath before saying, “I understand.”

His eyes opened again, and uncertain fire blazing in the green of his irises. “Do you? Do you really?” Harry’s tone is mocking, angry. He’s mad, but not at her and she knows that. Deep down inside her, she knows this is him baring himself, this is him slipping her a piece of information, and she’s grateful they get to start off an a truth slate, but not at the way he’s presented himself.

He’s got no right to talk to her that way, she feels.

“Yes! I do understand! It’s the reason why I’m here!” She fires back at him, her nostrils flaring, and eyes wide. By the time she’d finished with her aggravated statement, her chest is heaving.

Both go quiet, the revelation heavy between them. Harry realizes that one, he’s been extremely rude, and two, he and this girl may be more alike that he thinks.

“Why are you here?” He asks, his face doing the thing again, there his eyes droop downwards like a puppy’s when it’s begging. Soft. tender.

Y/n takes a deep breath, and begins. “I need to escape. If.. if I stayed even a moment longer I wholeheartedly believe I would have died. Everyday was a mindless drone, and it was eating at me. I came to ask for permanent residence in your realm.”

When Harry doesn’t respond, y/n crosses her arms over her chest, and picks at the skin of her elbow nervously. Her throat closes up and eyes well up with tears. But, she’s not sad. She’s overwhelmed with emotion because for the first time, she’s admitted it out loud; formulated into a coherent thought instead of a general feeling.

The king, touched by her vulnerability, gets close enough to her that so he can uncross her arms to stop the girl from harming herself. This stranger, so unexpectedly placed into his world, understood him. She knew what it was like to go unnoticed; to not get what she wanted out of life. But to risk forever? Is that really what she wanted?

“I do not know if this much of a wise decision. The rules of my realm are diff-”

Y/n grips at his arms, her eyes pleading and her tone desperate. “Please,” tears slip from her eyes, and neck veins protrude in stress, “You don’t understand. The past day has given me more than I’ve ever received from my life. Do you know much happiness Angus has given me? Or standing on a lily pad while trees touch my shoulders? Let me stay.”

She’s shaking him, grip so tight her nails make crescent marks in his skin.

“Do not cry, my lady,” he begs, voice just barely audible. “You must understand the severity of your words. This lifestyle is not a situation in which you can change your mind when your heart so pleases. The fairy life is forever.”

“I don’t care. I will die, if I go back.”

“Your species will perish either way. Humans are destined to die.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone. At this, y/n drops in a heap of desolation, and places her face in her hands, shoulders shaking her sobs.

Her begging, her uprooting, was all for nothing. Her hopes were crashing, she wouldn’t survive this fall.

The strings of Harry’s heart pull ferociously at him, his instinct telling him he has to help her. He has to. Even if it goes against everything faeries stand for. He was king, he could do whatever he wished

He bent down, his feet bending at the toes in a crouch, and he placed a hand on the girls wrists, pulling them away from her face so he could see her when he uttered the words, “But, I will give you three days.”

At that moment, y/n thinks he looks magnificent. A curl has slipped from the crown’s grip, falling to rest over his left eye, and his eyes sparkle with golden specks of the sun that slip past y/n’s shoulders and his face. Shadows ghost over the left side of his face, accentuating the right side, and y/n sees for the first time, the small moles on his chin, and the bags underneath his eyes. Bags that come from nights of no sleep.

She knows because she had them too.

“Three days?” It comes out wet, her voice thick with the saliva that had collected in her mouth, and the mucus at the back of her nose.

“A period of time for you to be sure of this choice. A human can go three days without food or water, and I wish for you to have the most time possible. You cannot eat or drink, because by fairy law you are bound to stay the moment it passes your throat. I will not allow a forced decision. This is a choice you must make on your own.” When y/n’s eyes began to fall, the king placed a warm hand on her cheek, drawing her eyes back to him. He needed to know she was sure, and her eyes would let him know everything.

She was sure. She was very sure, and he could see that. More than that, she was even irritated he’d make her wait that long.

“Three days?” She asked

“Three days.”

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deanofwhumpuniversity · 4 years

Text

Writer’s Month 2: Quarantine

Alright, I was gonna fix this, and then conjugating hadst and wend and cometh was becoming painful so I went back to the original and gave up.

Hey look at me, writing twice as many words as I meant to then giving myself a headache trying to fix it.

Content Warning: animal attack, illness, disorientation, vomiting mention, manhandling, captivity, restraint, chains, muzzle, collar, medical experimentation, poisoning of a sort, choking, religion, self-harm, scratching, head banging, and death. Tell me if I missed anything.

From the diary of FTL Collings I

It has come to light that Elyot had been bitten by the beast we subdued two nights hence. He hid the bite from us, but as it refused to heal, we came upon him cleaning blood from the ragged bite by the riverside this evening. The flesh was rent, and had we not all been present for the slaying of that monster, we might not have been able to tell that the wound was made by its gnashing teeth.

Elyot begs and cries even now, swearing upon his damned soul, that the injury was caused when he was dashed upon the ground, dragged by the ankle in that foul beast’s grip. But the mark is deep, moving inward upon his body, and not drawn across it; though I would not need such examination to expect the lie.

The others of our company wish to exterminate the man before he become something other or, at this rate, pass of exsanguination. I have implored them that this be a perfect opportunity to find a treatment or, failing in that, to study a captive beast.

***

I was woken in the night by much shouting and noise from above. I rushed to the matter in only my nightclothes, to see Grandhem and Metzger corralling Elyot up the attic stair, goading him at the point of long pikes to keep their distance. The dying man had been shackled hand and foot, and wore the same unwashed clothes he has since we had found him out last night.

He struggled to make progress up the stairwell in his restraints, finally losing his footing and tumbling sidelong back down the wooden steps. He groaned and curled in upon himself there in the dust; the others holding their weapons found themselves retreating, seemingly unwilling to let the falling man simply impale himself, their lances now effectively keeping them at bay. I shouted for them to let me through, but there was no clearance to jostle round them and make my way to Elyot’s crumpled form.

They jeered at him to rise and continue on, but he only managed to drag himself to a seated position and sat dazedly upon the filthy floor. Impatient, Metzger lunged forward and jabbed his spear into Elyot’s ribs, forcing a ragged, breathless cry from the man’s throat. Metzger retreated back when Elyot turned onto his side, away from the weapon, then turned over onto his stomach. He got his knees under him, face still to the floor and panting with fear and exhaustion, then put his hands down to steady himself while he rose to his feet.

They shouted “Up!” and waved their pikes toward the steps again, and Elyot cast a pleading look at me behind them before turning and trudging toward his fate. I imagine the upper floor of this place was once a master room and nursery, as it consists of a loft and tiny anteroom, with a dutch door between. It was through this door, into that tiny chamber that they ushered him, locking both halves of the door behind.

I wanted to tend to Elyot’s new injuries, but the boors made clear their intent to guard the door that evening, and said they would allow me entry once the moon had set and they felt he would be less dangerous. But when I returned in the morning with bread and water, I found the whole company waiting for me outside the door to his prison.

They did not run me off, instead waving me closer, while flattening themselves against the wall to either side of the door. I thought they meant to draw him out and kill him, and wanted no part in it. I shook my head at them; Metzger leapt forward and wrenched the cup from my hand. He opened the top of the door and swung it open, stepping away and holding the water at arms length toward the square of darkness.

I heard Elyot before I saw him; bare feet on dusty floorboards and clank of chain on cuff. He stepped into the light, looking more bedraggled and unrested than before, to no surprise. As soon as his hands took the bottom of the cup, Metzger released it, and stepped away. Elyot raised the water the bare few inches his restrained arms could manage, then lowered his head to meet it.

As soon as his face turned down to the cup, the men either side of the door struck, bringing crooks down against his head and neck, slamming the top of his chest into the bottom half of the door. Another man stepped in and began to assault Elyot with some metal device that I soon saw was a muzzle. It was fitted for an animal, not a man, and it did nothing to prevent his cries; though the metal frame would keep his teeth from biting distance, which was surely the men’s intent. Not that Elyot seemed to have energy enough to cry out, lowing whimpers and drawn out moans the only sounds he made as he pushed feebly against the edge of the door.

Once they had him securely muzzled, they unlatched the bottom door and swept into the room, grasping and restraining him from all sides. To my shame, I was rendered frozen by the sudden barbarism of these men I had known, and made no move to help him, useless as I know this would have been.

I retrieved the cup of water where it had clattered to the floor in the attack, and looked up when I heard a metal hammering from the tiny room. The men had secured a length of chain to a spot above the door, and now Metzger was advancing on Elyot with a wide band of metal in his hands. The prisoner was held all-around, and his teeth well-contained, but as he tossed his head side to side, Metzger’s approach was trepidatious. He sidled forward step by cautious step, finally worming the iron collar under Elyot’s neck and securing it with a heavy padlock.

With the click of the lock, much tension seemed to go out of the men, and they retreated from the room. The last closed the bottom of the door; when all had gone from the attic I approached Elyot with the bread, holding it as far as I could reach toward his kneeling, exhausted form. He made no movement toward it; no movement at all save breathing, and after long minutes my arm grew tired. I spoke quietly to him, imploring him to eat, but received no response. I would have felt callous simply tossing the food upon him, or the dusty floor before him, so I withdrew and set it upon a table to offer it later, when he might be in renewed spirits.

I spent the rest of the day carting my medical equipment up into the larger upstairs room, finding little help from my compatriots. I wonder what the purpose of their cruelty be, if it not make them feel safer entering the attic.

Once I was content with the setup of my new workspace, I approached the half-open dutch door with the bread and fresh water. Elyot was standing now, turned toward the small window opposite, but he responded to my voice, and shuffled into the light when I called to him. Upon seeing my offerings, he reached up, toward the back of his head, but the chain between his wrists clanged against the muzzle, and his reach came up short. Taking the cup from me, he turned his head sideways and began messily pouring the water down his face, leaving tracks on his dirty skin as it trickled toward his mouth.

I cringed inwardly at the thought of him crumbling chunks of bread into the squares of the muzzle, and decided that shackled and collared would be enough to keep our compatriots satisfied. I urged him toward the opening and reached round his head, opening the buckle at the back and letting it fall away. There was no aggression on his face, only a profound sadness that I felt mirrored in my own soul.

I spent the nights in that room on a small mat of furs, feeling the villain for that small comfort. I did go about asking for his bed and things, but the others had laid claim to everything the man had owned, as if they already considered him dead. Even had I found some cure for him, I wonder if he might ever have returned to a good standing among them.

My first attempts at his salvation were with mistletoe and aconitum, called wolfsbane by many and thought of as a keepsafe. I laced his food with pure herbs, which only caused him to violently purge it from his system. I ground them into a powder which I bade him inhale; this drove him into a waxy catatonia, unresponsive and unblinking. He spent a day in this state before he began to stir, as from a troubled sleep, and another day passed before he was more or less himself again.

I made an elixir of aconitum, tempered with every sort of soothing herb I had at my disposal; even this his body rejected in every way. As the month wore on, his state deteriorated; he became wracked by causeless pains, falling to the floor and screaming, gnashing his teeth. Sometimes he would refuse to eat, and spit curses at me from his dark cell. Never did he lash out at me or cause me injury, despite my assurance to this, the others would daily check me for bites and scratches.

Knowing that could I not cure Elyot before the full moon, he would likely be lost completely, I began to consider administering him Last Rites, while he was still somewhat of sane mind. I kept my portion of meat from dinner, and took it into his cell as a sort of last meal. I took his hands and prayed with him, and having nothing extra to spare, I took the silver cross from around my neck and clasped it upon his. Immediately a light came into his eyes, a clarity, and he smiled for the first time since before the night we had met that fateful beast. He took the medallion in his hands and gasped that he could no longer feel the draw of strange forces on his limbs, or the fog in his mind, that he had called “the pull of the moon.”

I went out among the others and asked to borrow any crosses they might have among them. Metzger told me that if I meant to perform a Papist exorcism he would lock me in that room with Elyot and be done with us both. I assured him that was not the case, and was able to gather a few necklaces from the men, including one of twine and wood with which to test my hypothesis.

Returning to the attic, I draped the wooden cross upon Elyot and took back my silver one. At once his eyes darkened, and he began to shake and strike his head. A low growl began deep in his throat and I quickly pushed my cross back over his head. He returned to a docile, human countenance and I had my answer. It was not the cross that kept the sickness at bay, but silver.

With one of the other crosses I made an ionique argent, an elixir of ground silver in oil, and returned to him with this last hope of a cure. Still wearing both my cross and the wooden one around his neck, he accepted the offered cup and raised it to me with a hopeful smile on his face, before taking it to his lips. With his short chain he had to curl into himself to tilt the cup back and swallow every drop.

Elyot righted himself and relinquished the cup to me, then turned his gaze to the night outside the small window, smiling all the while. A small cough escaped him, then another, as his brow furrowed. In moments he was coughing in earnest, mouth hanging open as he gasped to draw breath between each wrack of his lungs. His eyes were wide and I could see the whites all around his irises as he searched my face for answers. He began to scrabble toward me on hands and knees, choking all the while. I managed to back out of the doorway and close the bottom door before he clambered into it, and I watched over its edge as he huddled on the floor, alternating between clawing at the door and at his own throat, leaving gouges in both the wood and his flesh.

The tendons stood out in his neck, and I swear I could see all his veins turning darker in the dim light. At the last he gripped his neck with both hands and began to thump his forehead into the door weakly as his coughs turned to whistling rasps. This could have taken hours, for all I know it seemed to, but the night outside was still fully dark when he collapsed onto his side and moved no more. I sat awake with my back to the door all that night, and did not enter until the sun had fully risen the following day.

He never moved again, though Metzger insisted on keeping watch until the full moon came and passed. Four days, he lay in that room, before we buried him still wearing both crosses. The others speak of him no more.

#whump #writersmonth2020 #captivity tw #medical whump #religious whump #self harm tw #death tw #choking tw #monster whump #werewolf #chains #muzzle #collar #missives from the dean

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leggomylino · 4 years

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Dark Rising☽✮☾Act Two

☽✮☾ Dark Rising Masterlist ☽✮☾

Genre: Horror/Thriller, Drama, Romance, Comedy

Pairing: NCT’s Johnny Suh x fem!reader (x ???)

Word count: 9.3k (we’re covering a lot of ground in this one! :D)

Warning(s): mentions of blood, yandere-esqe themes, cuts/injuries, soul stealing and kidnapping. Possibly more in the future depending on what the original authors decide. They write for ot9 and so do I.

A/N: Main Masterlist in BIO! | This is a spinoff series to the SKZ fanfiction Twisted Karnival, by @gaiyofanfiction. It can be read alone, but you are encouraged to read the original story first. At the authors’ request, I will take this down if asked to do so. I do not own Twisted Karnival or Stray Kids, or Johnny Suh, or any characters used in this. All credit goes where credit is due. The events that happen in this story are not canon in the original story, this is simply a work of fandom and appreciation, and thus will tie into canon events as closely as possible in respect to the original works. All that being said… Thank you. <3

~ ☽✮☾ ~

It was two in the afternoon. After complaining to Johnny that there was no way you were staying overnight in some spooky, definitely-haunted, no-fun funhouse little-shop-of-horrors, he ended up grumbling about how useless you were already proving to be and walking you all the way home. You, useless! When he was the one that came to you for help!! The nerve of that guy!!!

“I have an order for...y/n?” a waiter asked, stopping just at the corner of your table. You smiled gleefully while bobbing your head, smacking the already dish-packed tablespace, pastry crumbs and croissant flakes flitting about the area. “Yeah! Set ‘er right here, please!”

“Hn.” Johnny scoffed, watching disdainfully as you shoveled a double order of German chocolate cake down your throat and washed it down with a caramel milkshake. “Do you ever stop eating? I swear you’ve inhaled the entire dessert menu in less than an hour.”

You kept onto that milkshake until the last drop was gone, eyes peering up boldly to meet his. “...I thought you didn’t swear,” you asked, setting the glass down and going for the cherry that awaited you in its cream-stained contents. C’mere, you! <3

Johnny looked away, albeit for just a moment. He began crunching commands into his phone. “I don’t, but—”

“Then buttout.”

He gave an annoyed sigh. Outside the Urban Grind Cafe, life went on as normal, despite the fact that hundreds of people had gone missing just last night. Whispers filled the streets and alleyways, about sons and daughters who never came home, mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles that never called, never left a message of any possible sudden work meetings or last-minute plans; but no one had the gall to actually say anything out loud. It was as if they were afraid to, defaulting to cling onto false hope: Oh, it’s okay. They probably stayed out so late they decided to crash at a nearby inn. Maybe there was an all-nighter event. ...Who, so-and-so? (S)he’s a party animal, probably went to (friend name)’s house.

“...ou listening to me? Hello? Johnny?”

You’d pushed yourself up to wave the blank cherry stem in his face, lightly poking his nose with it. Johnny flinched a bit, swatting your hand away while you chuckled and fell back into your booth seat.

He groaned. “Y’know, most guys don’t care much for girls that--”

“What? Eat a lot? Talk back? Interrupt your call to the Mothership?”

“...Yes. All of those.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Bite me.” ...Then you had to smirk, pausing a moment as you crossed a spoonful of pudding from bowl to blissful heaven. “...Are you by chance trying to say that--”

“No. Definitely not.” He gave you a serious glare that stopped any giggling rising in your throat. “Enough chit-chat. You can keep stuffing your face if you want, but I need you to listen to me.”

You wanted to throw your spoon at him, but the risk was greater than the reward of seeing him with vanilla pudding all over his face and a black eye. So instead you grunted, shoveling another spoonful of whip cream. “Yeah, alright, I’m listening. But I still have questions for you too. Like, how come—”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full. No one wants to see that.”

“...”

Now you really were going to throw that spoon. Or you would have, if the same waiter from before hadn't shown up with a helping of creme brulee. Yum! 😍

“......” Johnny folded his hands before his face, leaning in with elbows on the table. “...I’ll start from the beginning. As I told you before, I’m—”

“An angel, yes, I know.”

“...Right. And it’s my mission, along with the other messengers, to combat the evils of this world and defend mankind. However, we can’t always act alone, because we’re not allowed to corrupt freewill...and that’s where matters can get really complicated.”

You continued inhaling creme brulee, eyes flitting back and forth between Johnny and the dessert before you.

“A long time ago...a long time ago, there was a period of peace on this earth. It didn’t last long, but time flows differently in the realm above this one.” He steadily exhaled, and abruptly his face scrunched up in distaste, seeming to decide on something. “...I lied, this is going to take too long, and you don’t need to know everything; at least, not yet. All you need to know is that there was a short period of prosperity, and then...something serious happened, and one of our own was cast out to be…”

He cleared his throat. You paused again, setting your spoon down to listen more intently.

“...She was…” He swallowed. “...She was sent down to earth. But only because of the sacrifice that many of us made on her behalf.”

Your head tilted, drawing a blank. “...Sacrifice?”

“Yes. She was tricked by demons and did some things she shouldn’t have. Her punishment was to be cast out to the other side, but many of the others stood up for her and offered to take her punishment in her stead.”

“Wow...she must have been a true saint.”

The look in Johnny’s eyes was soft and distant. “...She was. She was beautiful, and had the purest heart imaginable. But she failed to guard that heart, and she was deceived into a great sin.”

“So...sort of like, Eve and the Tree of Knowledge?”

He nodded. “In a sense, that’s an accurate comparison. It’s not the same per say, but loosely speaking, yes. That day…” ...His voice grew quiet. “That day, everything changed. The sky grew dark, and everything sort of lost its color, if not just for a single moment. There was a cackle of laughter that echoed from down below, but we could all feel it, with our own intuition. We knew she was gone.” A painful sadness filled his eyes. “And there was nothing we could do. There was nothing...I could do…”

“But...wait,” you said. “I thought you said you all made a great sacrifice for her? And then something about her being on earth?”

He rested his arms down on the table. “We did, and there was. After many trials and God’s grace, she was still stripped of her wings, but rather than being sent to the underworld, she was reborn a human.”

“...That’s...a punishment?”

Johnny scowled. “Think about it. Use that big head of yours.”

“Hey! ...Urk, well, okay…” You frowned, steadily losing your appetite as you shuffled the remaining three bites of creme brulee around. “I guess that makes sense. Life does kinda suck from time to time, and heaven is supposed to be pure bliss.”

“It is,” Johnny assured, the corners of his mouth raising just slightly. “It’s wonderful. And life on earth is no picnic, but it’s much better than an eternity below. Trust me.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I get it…” Paused again. “...Hey, so, what was her name? Can you tell me?”

“Yeah…” He of course, paused for effect. The suspense was practically suffocating, the way his features seemed to sharpen, the hollow silence that filled the small space around the booth the two of you shared.

What if...What if it’s… —Am I…? Could I be—

“Her name is Evangeline.”

...Oof. You mentally shunned yourself for being so conceited as to have thought it could possibly have been you. But then...

An image of a girl with silky smooth hair and bright, passionate eyes filled a blank space in the center of your mind. Quickly, you swallowed down your most recent mouthful you’d forced in too soon, coughing a minute before leaning over a tower of empty dishes, a cup of tea nearly spilling over given how hard you slammed the table. “That...That girl from before.” There’s anxiety rising in your chest, though you’re not sure why. “Was it her?”

Johnny’s eyes widened in slight surprise, almost seeming to have trouble focusing on your own. “Yeah. Good guess.”

Not really. Somehow, you just...knew.

“Whoa...so then…” You slowly descended back into your seat...then jumped back up with more fervor than before, startling a few nearby customers. This time, you did end up spilling that cup of tea. “Those demons have her! They have your one true love! We have to save her!!”

“Uuuu—“ Johnny was leaning back, glaring at you again with even wider eyes. “Whoa, okay, I never said we were in love. And if you can find it in that pea-sized brain of yours to settle and keep your voice down, I’ll agree that you’re right and it is a main aspect of the mission.”

“Wha?!” You did glue your bum to your seat, but as for lowering your voice? Quite the opposite. “Just a second ago you were saying I have a big head, and now I have a small brain?!”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Isn’t that how it always goes with brazen girls?”

“Brazen?!” You rolled up your sleeves. “Oh, I’ll show you brazen—!”

“E-Excuse me…” Your waiter had partially hidden himself behind an empty tray he was holding. “I’m sorry but, I’ve been getting a few complaints about the volume of noise over here and um...we don’t allow violence in our cafe. If you don’t calm down, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Oop— well, it certainly wasn’t your fault!

“Tell that to him!” You roared, pointing an accusatory finger at...no one.

Johnny was gone, a closing door and the faint scent of aftershave the only trace that he’d ever been.

Something heavy and full of numbers was set down timidly beside you. It carried a hefty burden on your nearly-empty coin purse, causing it (and any excitement you’d had left) to shrivel up and die.

“Your bill, miss. You can pay at the register over there.”

…………

The wails of a heartbroken young woman filled the chattering silence.

~ ☽✮☾ ~

“I can’t believe you just LEFT me!! What kind of a gentleman does that?! Huh?!?”

The two of you were wandering the back alleys of town, taking some sort of shortcut somewhere, you had to assume. All you knew was that you were lucky you had a decent sense of direction when it came to navigating the city and not many people were incredibly tall and wore an old trench coat in the middle of Spring.

Johnny glanced back at you from over his shoulder, at the angry expression on your face where puffs of animated smoke arose, and your hands rubbed raw from having to wash dishes. He smirked. “I never said I was a gentleman.”

You faltered, feeling like a ton of bricks had fallen on your head.

AAARGH! You seriously wanted to pound him into a poundcake for this! You’d only know him for like, what, a day? Maybe two? And he was already unbearable to be with! Did you seriously have to work with this guy…?

“You were supposed to treat me! That was your apology for scaring me half to death and getting me involved in all this! Y’know, a real man would have— oof!”

You bumped right into his frozen backside. After quickly retreating two steps and rubbing your nose, you placed aggravated hands on your hips like some sassy middle school student.

“Oh, what is it now?! Wait, don’t tell me…” You turned one palm to gesture upward. “There’s a demon! Oh NOOOO, what will we— mmph!”

Johnny secured one hand over your mouth, the other balled and ready for action. His voice was tight and laced with concern. “Be quiet, and start walking back, slowly. Get to a populated area as soon as possible. Don’t make a sound you can help, understand?”

What-

“I just don’t understand,” a gruff voice said. “I’m always careful about counting tickets. Jeongin and I sealed the chamber after everyone was accounted for. I know.”

“Well obviously, you miscounted this time.” a second said. The hairs on your neck were beginning to stand. “It’s fine, it’s just one human. That’s nothing compared to the hull we got this time; and anyway, it’s not like they were special or anything. You were probably too distracted by my new sub— I mean, our new plaything, to be paying very good attention.”

The first voice let out an ominous growl.

They were talking about you; you didn’t need the proof of seeing them with your own eyes. Seeing wasn’t always believing. Their voices alone dripped with malice lying secret beneath succulent temptation, the most dangerous of siren songs.

A song...didn’t Johnny mention something about that before?

...Hey, wait a sec. Did those guys just say you weren’t special? 💢 How rude!!

Something pushed you scant but roughly away, towards the faint rays of sunshine feebly reaching out from the nearest shopping district. “Get going. Move.”

You furrowed your brow at the man separating you and danger lurking up ahead. “Okay, okay!” you hissed. “No need to be so rough…”

You’d taken about three nimble steps back the way you came at a cat burglars’ waltz before the mutters up ahead once more caught your attention. When you turned around to look, Johnny had vanished, and you found yourself whipping in every direction before nervously taking shelter behind some pipes jutting out the back of the nearest building.

“Sigh. This is stupid. I could be spending time with our precious doll but instead I’m stuck out here looking for a heap of rubbish.”

The second devil’s eyes grew menacing and serious, a soft purple hue sweeping over the surface. You shuddered at the sudden temperature drop. “My creations are not rubbish. It was just a misfiring of signals caused by the pressure of the oncoming storm. I can ensure that it doesn’t happen again when we get back, now quit whining about your screwup and help me look.”

“...A…” The first demon paused, frowning concern at his partner. “...Not to sound like Jisung, but is that even possible?”

The other snorted, bending down to shuffle through a pile of old broken pipes and other junk. “Han wouldn’t have even known what I’m talking about. But yes, it is possible...ah! Here she is~”

He smiled while pulling out a small toy robot, the hair and paint job looking...rather real. The first demonic being, who you could now see had hair the color of a Halloween sunset and a face full of stars, made a slightly grotesque expression, being sure to hide it stoically the moment his comrade looked back. “Great for you, now can we get back?”

“......” The latter looked sideways, almost seeming to be looking right at you. Your breath hitched, squeezing the pipe in front of you so hard it may well have burst. He closed his eyes with a smile. “...Yeah, sure. But first, there’s something I wanted to get off my chest as well.”

Freckles looked puzzled. “Wha? Right now? To me?” He furrowed his brow with a slightly annoyed pout. “Why? What is it?”

“Well…”

His voice dropped slightly. You leaned forward in a feeble attempt to listen.

“...Do you remember what Chan was saying? About the concern for lack of performers?”

“Huh? When did Chan say— OW! Why did you step on me?!”

The robot man frowned, glaring. “Do you remember what he said now?”

“...Ah…” Freckles glanced around. He suddenly seemed to catch wind of something, smirking the next moment. “...Yes, I do recall hearing something about that. I was, uh...busy...before.”

Mr. Robot rolled his eyes. “...Right...you were at that...thing. Anyway,” he announced loudly, “I don’t know what I’m going to do! He asked me to hire more performers, so I’ve decided to hold tryouts for new talent tonight at 8 pm.”

“Oh? Tonight at 8 pm??”

“Yes,” he repeated rather...automatedly. “Tonight at 8 pm sharp.”

“...”

Freckles abruptly leaned forward, whispering something. Robo-boy heaved a sigh, muttering back, then announced once more, “Oh, fine! We can hold it at 9 pm if that’s what you really want.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to— mm?!” A piece of duct tape was slapped over his mouth from the other’s toolbelt. He began pulling him promptly farther down into the alley, toy doll secured in the other arm.

“Great, so 9 pm sharp then! We better hurry or we won’t be ready for all the star talent!” ...And then they were gone.

You wasted no time scrambling around to find Johnny, wheezing out his name into the dim-lit area: “Johnny! Johnny?! Johnny!! Where are you?”

A flourish of feathers rushed past you from an offbeat breeze, fading into silver dust that vanished in the dank air. Something landed beside you, a bored expression on its face.

“...Don’t tell me you actually believed all that.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He nodded to where the demons had once been gossiping. “That. Over there. If you couldn’t tell that was a trick to lure you back there, then we have a lot more work to do than I was hoping for.”

Your cheeks inflated to represent a pouting Jigglypuff. “It’s not like that! Don’t be so suspicious, they don’t even know I’m a Sailor Guardian chosen by the Moon!”

“A...A what?”

You grabbed both his hands. “We’ll never know unless we try! This could be our chance to save your one and only true love!!”

“Urk—“ He winced. “...I told you, she’s not my true anything! Quit putting words in my mouth!”

You took a step back. “But—!”

“No.” He groaned. “...I thought you hated being involved in this whole spectacle, anyway. Since when do you want to march into a demon-infested funhouse and pick a fight?”

...You had to think about that a moment. He did have you there; but being a hypocrite was sort of your thing. And what about Evangeline?! “...Since...Since…!” Urgh! “Since I have this! And this!!”

You held up the necklace and whistle proudly, both of which had been resting in your pocket. For some reason, Johnny stared at them in contempt and rising anger. “I told you, these are not toys! And do you mean to tell me you weren’t wearing the necklace this whole time?!”

You’d been cackling proudly until...this point. “...Uh...y-yeah—“

“Idiot!”

“Whaa!” You fell on your bum, the weight of his words sending you flying. Johnny just glared like he had every right to throw you into the nearby dumpsters and trash piles where that toy robot had been. “You’re so naive and dense! I told you, you need to be wearing that necklace at all times! DO NOT take it off, ever, for anything!”

He snatched the whistle out of your hand, leaving marks of anger in his wake. A small hiss of pain left your lips, and you held your breath, gripping the injury in pain. When you let go a second later, a stain of blood greeted your eyes.

You’d opened your mouth to say something back, but he silenced you real quick, waving the silver whistle inches away from your face. “And this is not a toy! You can’t use it whenever you feel like it, or put your full reliance on it! It’s only for a serious emergency when I’m not around, or you get separated from me and need immediate help! It’s strictly for dangerous situations only, as a backup plan! It can’t be your only means of fighting, because I can’t fight all your battles for you! I TOLD you this, I’m not allowed to intervene in the laws of freewill! Why can’t you open your ears and listen to me?!”

“...I-”

“What? You what?” He tsked. “Are you just too stupid and incompetent to do that too? Good grief, you really are useless…hey, wait…” His eyes shifted down, to your hand now nestled in the sleeve of your trendy store-bought Letterman jacket. You were shaking and breaking out in goosebumps all over. “...What’s wrong with your hand?”

You refused to answer him, the silence blaring far and wide. The heated haze gently lifted from over his eyes, awakening him from his rampage; but it was too late.

“...Y/n…” He kneeled down. You let out a hiccup, followed by a sniffle. Guilt quickly took him over. “...Y/n, I’m—“

Your head shot up like a volcano erupting, red-faced and teary-eyed. The atmosphere was yours to command, anger rising over everything. “SAVE IT!” You roared, snatching the whistle back. You ran with all your might down the alley, made a swift turn into civilization, and kept running until you were exhausted and could run no farther, and had to result to power-walking, even after Johnny had called for you to stop, to slow down, to wait, to come back.

You ran all the way home, glaring heatedly at the dumb slender whistle in your hands before tossing it into the blender, and slamming the on button. But for some reason, it refused to start. When you took it out and tested the power, it worked just fine. When you tossed the whistle back in, it wouldn’t start at all.

Letting out another frustrated scream, you instead marched upstairs, throwing open the balcony doors and tossing it as hard as you could into the forest behind your house. You hoped a rabid squirrel or a bobcat would find it and carry it far, far away...maybe swallow it or something.

With a defeated huff you collapsed to your knees, resting your arms and head on the balcony railing. Seriously, why did Johnny have to be like that?! It wasn’t your fault this was all happening so quickly, and there was a lot to take in— forty eight hours ago, you’d been a normal girl just doing your job, minding your own business, living your life. And now you’d been scouted out of nowhere by some tall wack-job claiming to be an angel, when you hadn’t even seen his wings...just a few feathers, and an impulse to believe…

Why? Why were you so gullible? Why would you just believe him without knowing for sure? Even if he did have the strange power to calm you… well, now he’d also hurt you.

Your cellphone buzzed, but you ignored it. The home phone rang, but you let it go to voicemail.

“Y/n, it’s me. Pick up. We need to talk.”

What the heck...how did he get your phone number? How did he…?

Hng. You were starting to learn not to question Johnny, save for the matter of his true identity, in the scheme of how fast things were going. He may be an angel, and he may not be. But he was basically out of your league in terms of being crafty and resourceful.

A notification bell chimed from your computer, the screen coming to life. You could have sworn you turned it off before leaving the house, though…

You sat down at your desk and searched for a notification to respond to, but there was nothing. Strange. Wait...what was this?

There was a window minimized on standby. You opened it, finding a digital flyer for the Twisted Karnival.

The words spoken by the two demons before resonated in your mind: tryouts for new talent. 9 pm sharp.

Your fingers tightened around the necklace still in one hand, and as much as you wanted to hurl it off the balcony as well, you threw it over your head instead, burying the pendant beneath your shirt. You were still mad, but if you were going to do this, you weren’t going to be stupid about it. You’d march right over there and blend in perfectly; you’d put on a disguise so good, no one would be able to recognize you, not demons, not even Johnny! And this necklace would provide you with protection, just like he said! ...That was what he said, right…? ...Whatever. You’d make this work no matter what! Even if it was a trap! You’d just have to turn it around and bust that trap! Then he’d really see who was useless!!

“Who’s resourceful now?” You’d say. “Huh?!”

A sharp sting pierced your right hand, and you winced, shutting down your computer and running across the hall to wash the wound. It really wasn’t that bad of a scratch, so you had no idea why it was stinging so much…

Sigh. There were a lot of things you didn’t know as of late. Instead, glaring back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you decided to focus on things that you did know.

And one of those things was that you were about to prove Johnny very wrong.

~ ☽✮☾ ~

After taking a nap to be in tip-top shape for kicking demon ass, fueled by rage and determination to prove a point, you awoke just shy of eight to find you’d gained a bit of common sense...in other words, you were starting to have doubts.

According to plan, you were to march into uncharted enemy territory that had a 50% chance of being (...okay, 99.9%...) a trap, without Johnny, without anyone, to fight supernatural beings that possessed freaky powers you likely didn’t stand a chance against. You had no strategy, no combat experience, and no weapon save for the silver cross that was supposed to keep you safe somehow; but you couldn’t even remember exactly what it did. Something about making you invisible, maybe…? ...There was just so much information…

Perhaps you needed to think this through a bit more carefully, now that the previous flames of anger had died down to a subtle wisp of ember. With the smoke clearing, you were now able to see the real danger that lied up ahead; it was like you were standing there all over again, on carnival grounds, watching that girl’s life being sucked away…

No, not sucked away. It’d been corrupted. She’d been put under some sort of spell, and supposedly, you were the only one...or at least, the one chosen...to stop it. Johnny has chosen you for this. There was something he said...there was a reason you were chosen for this. Again, too much information in too little time…

...What if that was you? What if you rushed in there, full of spirit but no power to back it up, and ended up just like her?

...Even if that were to be the case, and you were wrong, and Johnny did turn out to be crazy, you couldn’t just abandon the thought of someone in need. Not when you’d seen her suffering with your own eyes, waiting to be saved.

You still didn’t know why it had to be you, but time was running out, your alarm clock reading 8:15. You’d made up your mind. You’d just have to find out along the way. If you died trying, well, hey— at least you died trying. You wouldn’t turn your back on someone in danger.

And even if I did call the police,what are they gonna do? Heck, the demons would probably brainwash them and have ME arrested instead. 🗿💧 There’s no way I’d be able to afford a bail fee on my school salary!!

Okay, y/n, it was time to get ready! Game on!! —Hey, hold on.

After jumping out of bed with a fiery new spirit, you looked down to your hand before you. The injury Johnny had given you…

...was completely gone.

~ ~ ~

Standing outside the carnival gates was like standing at the gates of a cemetery. As creepy and unfavorable as one could imagine, it was ten times worse.

You hadn’t known what to wear exactly in regards to the demon-slaying-attire department, but you also needed a good disguise, so you’d opted for your one-piece swimsuit from middle school that you miraculously found lying in your closet and just as miraculously still fit your matured body. A solid navy blue, you paired it with some stretchy ballet flats and a trench coat similar to Johnny’s belonging to your roommate, Jisung...more on him later. Basically you’d probably be owing him a new one after this, which may or may not have been more expensive than a brainwashed-officer’s bail fee...since it was…

Givenchy?! 😱 S-Son of a—

“Oh! There you are!”

AHH!

The appearance of Cherry Boy nearly made you jump out of your skin. He was so close, his face smiling sweetly to you from the other side of the twisted black fence, the thickening fog washing out his pale features (other than that blindingly bright red mop on his head). You pulled your Jisung’s jacket like a hug.

“Uhm...y-yes! Hahah, heeere I am~”

A strangely excited glint filled the young boy’s eye. Oddly enough, he didn’t move to unlock the gate for you or anything; in fact, he did the opposite, stepping back into the dense miasma as the gate just...opened itself… “You almost didn’t make it! Good thing you got here on time! Auditions are about to start!”

Your jaw was about to drop, but you did good to snap it shut, not wanting to show any forward emotion that may tip him off. You were an unsuspecting young girl, just trying her luck at auditioning to perform in the risingly-famous Twisted Karnival. No big— ...

Hold on. Cherry Boy had seen you. He’d gotten dangerously close to you and looked right in your eyes and spoken directly to you. But…

Weakly, but with fever, you patted your chest. Checked your pockets.

Johnny’s necklace was gone.

“Are you coming~? No need to be shy! Come on in! Oh, what’s your name?”

You stared horrifically into the blank atmosphere filled with mist. You couldn’t see Cherry Boy anywhere. “...Y/n...I mean!” Shit. “That’s what I wish my name would have been! But it’s really, uh...uh...S-Samantha!”

You could no longer see the demonic redhead anymore, but you could feel his presence twice as strong. His voice sounded as if he were right in front of you. “Samantha…? Hm. You sure don’t look like that name suits you at all. No offense or anything, it’s still such a lovely name for a lovely young lady~”

And then he was right behind you. His breath tickling your ear.

“Say, since you like the name y/n so much, how about we call you that instead? What do you think about that?”

...You thought you were this close to whopping this guy in his cute face and making a break for the shelter you passed two left turns ago. But alas, he was gently walking you forward, escorting you to your doom awaiting you in one of the many striped tents hidden in the mist. No turning back now.

The moment you crossed the gate’s threshold, something instantly didn’t feel right.

“So what will you be auditioning for today?” he asked in a bright, cheerful voice. It stood out like a sore thumb given the dank depressing carnival air. “Oh, I’m not one of the judges or anything, I’m simply curious to know.”

Okay, this was it. You’d decided on the way over that you would be auditioning in some form of acrobatics, since you’d also had minor experience in gymnastics as a kid and well...that’s really all you had to go on…

You sunk your head farther down into Jisung’s thousand-dollar jacket. Man. This plan is already proving to have way too many holes. What should I do?

You had to give him some kind of answer. “Um...yeah, sure! I’m...auditioning for…” You gulped. Felt his eyes glued to you, like a bullet to the back of the head. “...Uh, it’s a surprise! No spoilers!”

You’d jumped forward and spun around, making an X with your hands. Cherry Boy blinked.

“...Oh, I see! Yes, of course...wouldn’t want to ruin the fun!”

“Right?!” Phew.

“Yes, of course~” He stepped around you, pulling open the side-flap of a smaller tent to your left. “Well, here we are!”

“Oh, but…” You examined the size of the tent. No we ain’t. “This isn’t the main tent?”

“...No, it isn’t.” Cherry Boy confessed. He pointed somewhere North, maybe toward the center of the carnival. It was too hard to tell with all this blasted fog in the way. “The Main Tent is that way. I’ll be escorting you there once you finish getting ready! We have a professional makeup artist on standby, so hurry and get changed, and we may be able to make it on time!”

A wha??

“H-Hold on— I already have a costume—!” …

There was no holding on. He’d already pushed and closed you inside.

The tent was small and dim-lit by candlelight, barely big enough for four people. It held a trunk, a narrow wardrobe, and a compact vanity with a box of tissues and makeup supplies. A smiling young woman was waiting for you, one leg crossed over the other in her tight pencil skirt and bright pink lipstick. She looked...a little pale and...out of place. Like she didn’t belong in a circus, or a carnival, or whatever.

The woman didn’t say anything, not even when you slightly waved and muttered a less-than-confident hello. She stood up, gestured for you to sit down, and started mechanically slapping random compacts of powders and shadows to your face. The oddest scent of burnt rubber filled the air the more she awkwardly jerked and moved…

“Um...are you okay…?” You frowned. “Ma’am, you’re kind of...well, your movements are—”

She dropped the blush she was holding and paced over to the other side of the tent, jerkily, where the wardrobe was. Something snapped as she took a step halfway there, and she suddenly dipped, but before you could finish gasping at her expense and leap across the space to steady her she’d righted herself like nothing happened. Uncomfortable with all of it, you stared strangely at the blush that simply rested on the floor.

“Hey, Miss? Are you sure you should be working right now? I think that maybe you oughta go home...also, I’m sorry but, I don’t know the policy here...is makeup supposed to be left on the floor?”

She, again, didn’t answer. Something clicked and sparked while she rummaged the closet, though, and next thing you knew she was wrestling you into a new outfit.

“Hey, hold on, stop it! I don’t need a costume, I brought my own! I’m wearing it! Please— ack!”

Your face smacked into plastic, floor-abandoned foundation shoved up your nose.

After managing to shove her off and sneezing/coughing a few times, you were yanked before a mirror that...definitely wasn’t there before. Spooky…oh, but…!

The girl that greeted you back actually wasn’t that bad. Her makeup was kind of sloppy, but the idea behind it was pretty classy and kinda sexy. The outfit you now wore— a pure white leotard with an open back and a flashy, glittering pink trail (y’know, those skirts that are open in the front, like a cape for your waist), and pristine, matching white gloves— altogether, the ensemble was...dare you admit...actually pretty dang cute.

This woman may have had too much caffeine or been drunk off her ass, but she knew what she was doing in the scheme of things. “Say, this is actually really cute! Thanks!”

She bowed. Very unnaturally. It was way too low, like you were royalty or something, and you could have sworn there was a spark next to her hip. Weird. When she didn’t get back up and you could hear Cherry Boy calling, asking if you were ready, you snatched your Jisung’s coat and skipped out of there, muttering another awkward thanks.

Outside the tent Cherry Boy was grinning at you from ear to ear, a disgustingly adorable rosy tone to his cheeks that counteracted to your false one. Curse him. “Wow, look at you!” He padded closer to stroke your cheek, an action you didn’t call for to occur. It left you stiff and frozen solid, color fleeing where his skin met yours. “...That outfit certainly is stunning...to make a last debut in.”

Those last words didn’t quite make sense to you, but you were more concerned with the way he was examining you, scanning his eyes up and down the length of your body like you were an exhibit on display, and he was an aspiring artist, trying to take in everything that he could…and the fact that he still had his hand on you…

You felt like a corpse. But also, for some unnamed reason, you felt almost angry...

“Jeongin! Hurry up— oh!”

Both you and Cherry Boy— Jeongin, you guessed— pivoted your heads in the direction a new player called from the main stage. After only seeing a silhouette for the longest two seconds of your life, at last, Mr. Robot himself came into view.

Nervously, you gripped the sides of your sparkly half-skirt, shivering from both the chill of settling mist and the heavy negative vibes ascending in the air. When Jeongin released you, you stumbled back a step and a half, gripping the gaping hole swelling in your gut. Your mind clouded with backlash thicker than this impenetrable fog: how stupid this was, how dumb you were, that you should have never come—

You came to a death trap empty handed with no survival skills or redeeming known qualities except that you were somehow “the one.” ...Were you insane?!

Just like Johnny’s outburst, it was too late to escape. You were already too far in. Two of them now knew you were here, and you couldn’t even run if you’d wanted to; fear held you down like a magnet, and the hole in your stomach was beginning to fester.

Yet, beneath that, in the pit of your stomach, in the center of that swirling vortex, there was also something...stirring…

...Maybe you just need to throw up again. “You must be the last audition we’ve been waiting for! Everyone else has already gone, we’re just waiting for you!” Robo-boy smiled like a kid that knew he’d won before the game was over. “Are you ready?”

You dragged your foot a step back, then another, clinging to your coat for dear life. It was a miracle you even found your voice at all. “H-How did you know I was going to audition? How did you know I’d come here?”

...What? The jig was basically up anyway.

“Hmm…” He thought. Or pretended to. “I suppose you could say we had...a hunch.”

And then you aren’t sure what happened, because the next second his eyes were glowing that purple hue you saw in the alleyway, only it was stronger now...brighter...and you were left with nothing but a will to follow him.

Though you could no longer control your movements, you still had an awareness that was all your own. Jeongin and Robot Guy snickered the whole way they led you to the Main Tent, joking about how they wished they’d had more time to play and experiment before it was time for you “to go.” They laughed at the expense of how smoothly you’d just waltzed right into their plan, and Robo Boy in particular stated something along the lines of hoping one “Chan” would allow him to use your body as a spare part (or spare parts) for some side project he was working on...whatever the heck that was supposed to be. It didn’t sound good.

You jerked and jimmied on the inside, pulling back with all your might, but it proved fruitless on the out. Like you weren’t even struggling at all.

Dang it, dammit all! I can’t move!!

Struggle and pull as you might, it was completely useless...just like Johnny had called you. Useless. You really were useless…

The two demons (well one, really) marched you through the back entrance of the mothership, down a dark passageway, and directly to the stage...only to make an unannounced sharper-than-a-knife right turn and up a tall ladder hidden behind some dull velvet curtains. Every step and reach was intensified, like your senses had become twice as strong; you were more than aware of what was happening, being forced to lock in on the current moment.

When you reached the top, you were standing on a thin white platform...with nothing but a thin, fraying rope that led to the other side. To a matching platform some three hundred, four hundred feet away.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Robot Boy called from below. “But I riffled through your brain and found a coherent thought about wanting to try your luck at a game of balance? It should prove to be quite...interesting.”

He let you look downward, only for a moment. If allowed to show expression, your jaw would have hit the floor...er, platform. The main tent was HUGE— way more massive within that it looked outside. It was like a freakin’ coliseum made to look more festive and carnival-istic, though gothic-ly so. There had to be at least a thousand seats, probably more...and all sorts of strange equipment and contraptions littered the stage. Canons, various raised platforms, hoops, some large...vacuum...thing?

The demonic population had grown. Instead of two, there were now seven of them...and after you’d closed and opened your eyes, a whole room full. Every seat had been filled: with a demonic creature, a shadowy blob, or some kind of horrific mortification of the two…

You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. Tilting your head to face forward again, two of the seven original monsters had teleported themselves to be waiting on the platform opposite to you, one sitting, the other standing. The standing one flashed you a smile that would have been priceless were it not tainted by brutality and fear; the other one, a short but muscular man sitting down, was holding a ball of fire in one hand. He rolled it gently onto the twine connecting the distance between, and the whole thing engulfed in a line of fire. You whimpered, but still couldn’t move.

The Givenchy coat caught onto the flames, or perhaps the flames caught onto it— regardless, it burned away and crumbled to ash, but amazingly the fire didn’t touch your body...or at least, you didn’t feel anything. You were now standing vacantly in the borrowed outfit that was most likely your funeral gown. Nothing but a hollowed version of your former self.

The standing demon that had a killer smile to boot flashed you his pearly whites in the most graceful way possible, and carefully but with little effort he walked into the flames, though he remained completely unscathed. He padded and strolled across the wire with the gracefulness of a swan, pausing when he reached the center. He did not waver, didn’t lose his balance or second guess himself, for an instant, never taking his eyes off of you rather than where he was walking. He extended a graceful hand out to you.

“Come to me...my angel.”

His eyes glowed green, the color of emeralds in a sea of fire. It was beautiful, mesmerizing…

Slowly, you raised you right slipper, taking a placid step forward—

“Y/N!!!”

Huh…? Who—

A blindingly white light pierced the skies, washing out everything around it.

“Release!!!” Someone yelled.

One of the demons cursed, and whatever spell that had been holding you vanished, your heart turning you towards the source. Could it be…? Was it really…?

It was. You smiled.

“Johnny!”

...And then feeling something hot and burning dangerously close, stared into the pits of hell you’d almost walked and fell into. “AAAAAH!!”

Something swooped by and grabbed you, like an eagle catching and carrying off its prey. Fearfully, you tilted your head back to see…

“Johnny!!” :D

“Yes, you already announced that,” he smirked. But wait…

Curiously, you focused blurry eyes on what had been supporting the weight of you both behind him. It was soft and feathery, a mix of brown and white, glowing faintly with a yellow-golden aura…

It was Johnny’s wings. He really was an angel...for real this time.

“Don’t worry,” he said, zigzagging slightly to avoid incoming fireballs and flying daggers. “You’re safe now, I promise. But you have to—“

“WHAAAAAA!!!”

“W-Why are you still crying?! I just told you you were safe!”

“That’s not iiiiiit!” You sobbed. “I...I thought bad of you before. I still didn’t believe what you were saying, but...you were telling the truth all along. ...And…” You looked up to him with teary eyes. “J-Jisung’s jacket...I’ll never be able to pay it off! I’m gonna be poor forever!! Whaaaa…!!!”

“What—?” 💧

“Grrr…” one of the demons growled. “Quit MOVING!!”

A flaming kunai came hurling after the two of you at blinding speed compared to the previous attacks, and at last your luck had run out...or maybe not. Fortunately, though Johnny went down with a hurt wing, the two of you managed to crashland on the nearest platform, and he flicked the knife away like it’d only barely punctured him.

“Goodbye, BLTs…” you sobbed, still too hung up on broke-life. “Goodbye, kpop album collection—“

Johnny gave you the 🗿💧 face. “You can cry about being broke later! Right now, I need you to focus on becoming Sailor Moon and stopping these guys!”

“What?! But why can’t you— aah!”

You both ducked for cover as a flaming frisbee-contraption nearly cut both your heads clean off, slicing through the pole behind you. Gulp.

Johnny scowled, his temper rising again. “I TOLD you already! Don’t make me have this argument with you again, I— ...hnn,” he groaned. “I’m sorry...for the way I treated you before. I should have found a better way of introducing all this to you. I should have known better and I shouldn’t have lost my temper…” His eyes sparked with a fire as he turned to you, determination leaking from every part of him. “But right now I need you to set all that aside and focus on the mission! Please! You can do it, Sailor Y/n!”

“B-But…” You faltered still. “I-I don’t know how! What am I supposed to do?!”

“For starters,” he squinted his eyes, tossing something over your head. “Wear this. And don’t lose it next time!”

“Ahh!” You smiled gleefully, relief washing over your nervous system. “The necklace! You found it!”

“Enough talk!” A new demon you had yet to meet, with smooth parted hair and a tiger at each side of him, smiled up at you from the center stage. “I have orders from Chan. We are to eliminate this girl and the angel immediately.”

Uh-oh. You worriedly took a few steps back, as his eyes glowed a yellow hue that only got brighter. The beast beside him growled and hissed, positioning themselves to pounce and attack.

“All of you stand back. I’ll finish her myself.”

“What? No fair, you and Felix and Seungmin always have all the fun, with your dumb tinkering and running around selling tickets.”

“...That’s Felix and Jeongin, Han.” Robot Demon said.

Han rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Minho and everyone else gets to have just as much fun. I haven’t even gotten to do anything yet!”

“Would you shut up?!” Green-eyes yelled from above. “All you do is ride that dumb bike of yours all over camp! It’s annoying and you’re constantly running into stuff and scaring away potential victims!”

Han’s eyes glowed pink. “Oh-ho! Looks like someone remembered to take his bitchy pill this morning, huh Hyunjin~? PMS still got you down?”

Green-eyes...threw his shoe at him.

Freckles— Felix— sighed, scowling almost as much as Robot Guy (Seungmin?) and the others were. He placed his hands on his hips in a familiar sassy-middle school student pose. “Can we maybe not fight right now? If you haven’t noticed, we have company.”

Hyunjin blinked, shifting his attention to the star-faced boy. “Woah, hey, was Felix actually sensible just now?”

“ENOUGH!” Minho barked. Everyone else snapped to attention. He sighed. “All of you stay out of this and go strengthen the barrier or something. Let me handle these two, I’m more than enough of a match.”

“For a little girl and an old man?” Han scoffed. “I’d hope so.”

“Go.”

“Hmph.” Han swung around over a bike behind him, probably the one Hyunjin had been complaining about. “Fine. I’m out of here.” He smirked. “I’m gonna go cut in line to play with my doll~”

Hyunjin stared at the retreating dust incredulously as he zoomed away. “WHAT?! Oh no you’re not! I have her next!”

He flipped off the tightrope with ease, landing just as gracefully as before and retrieving his missing shoe. He then hightailed it after him.

“......” The man who’d quietly been sitting on the platform (besides trying to kill you with flaming balls of fire) sighed once they left, jumping down the long distance and landing like it was nothing as well. “I better go make sure they don’t kill each other again. You got this, Minho?”

Minho growled. “I told you, I did. Get out of here.”

He held his hands up, rolling his eyes a bit. “Okay, okay. See you later.”

He met your eyes before vanishing, the orbs glowing orange. You “eep”-ed and covered yours, and you heard a distant chuckling as he vanished from sight.

When you opened them, a small fire burned at your feet.

“AHHH! Hot, hot, HOT!!”

You danced and jumped into Johnny’s arms, the remaining demons chuckling at your expense.

“Awww, did Changbin’s fire burn you? It’ll be okay, if you come down here and let my babies eat you, I’ll make sure it’s a swift and painless death.”

“Hey, wait,” Seungmin frowned. “Leave her body in one piece. I may be able to use it for my latest side project.”

Minho frowned more. “You sure as hell didn’t say anything when Changbin and Felix were throwing flaming daggers.”

“That’s because I knew they’d miss. You actually have a chance of mauling her.”

In the background, Felix twitched. “Hey! I did so land a hit!”

“Yeah, one. That did little to no damage.”

“Shut up!!”

They just kept going back and forth like this. Back and forth, back and forth. As they bickered, you followed Johnny’s gaze to one of the far side entrances, where the ones called Han and Hyunjin had disappeared through.

You thought. And pondered. And puzzled. Until…

“Oh!” You declared, landing a fist in your palm. “That must be where they’re keeping your one true love!”

“Huh?!”

The remaining three demons all turned to look at you. Wait, you could have sworn there’d been four, though…? “Hm? Coming up with a strategy to escape?” Minho chuckled, crouching down. “I can’t allow that.”

Now it was your turn to scowl, a new confidence suddenly swirling within you like a vortex. Really, you were just tired of being here, and getting kind of hungry.

You pointed an accusatory finger at Minho, mimicking your best Sailor Moon pose. “Augh, enough already! I’m sick of being here and I wanna go home!” You flashed a few more poses, giving your best fighting stance. “Alright demons, listen up! In the name of the Moon™, I’m shutting this carnival down! Get ready!”

“U-Uh…” Behind you, Johnny began to sweat.

Minho laughed again, the other two standing their ground with a smirk. “Are you now?” He ran a hand down the back of one of his beasts, the creature both purring and growling lowly. “And just how do you plan on doing that? Hm?”

…Well once again, the supernatural had gotten you there. “Uh...I’ll…” You wracked your brain for an suitable answer that wouldn’t make you sound too dumb or inexperienced. “...report you to the BBB! I’ll make sure to leave a bad review, too! No stars!”

Johnny facepalmed.

“......” Minho turned over his shoulder. “...What is she talking about? What’s a BBB?”

Felix shrugged, appearing just as lost. “No idea. Let’s just take her soul and give it to this guy. It’s gonna be my turn to play with our doll soon. ♥ ”

Like beetle juice, Hyunjin reappeared in the doorway, arms stretched wide in prehistoric rage like a certain popular internet meme. His hair and clothes were a mess from the previous battle with Han. “Wha?! No way, Chan said I could have her next!”

Minho began groaning and growling all over again. “Quit fooling around! We have to fight already!”

Felix gave him a skeptical glare. “What? But you told us to—“

“Be quiet!” His eyes shone brighter. “Go get her!”

“Grrrrwar!”

The tigers both pounced in unison, landing halfway up the pole and making an unnaturally powerful climb toward you. You shrieked, latching back onto Johnny and demanding he take you as far and high into the clouds as he could go.

But he didn’t. Instead, he pushed you off (gently...ish), squaring your shoulders to face him as death quickly crawled up from below. “Listen! I’m only going to say this once! You can and will do this! Believe in yourself!”

“WHAT?!” It was an understatement to say you were panicking; you were downright having a nervous breakdown. “WHAT THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?! I LIED, I CAN’T SHUT ANYTHING DOWN!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO—“

And then he just...floated away from you.

Your jaw dropped. “JOHNNY!!!”

“Grwar!!”

“AAAA!!!”

You braced yourself as one of the tigers pounced, knocking you back. When someone (Johnny) broke your fall but you still managed to land with a thud, you wasted no time hopping to your feet and making a beeline for the exit, tossing as many obstacles as you could behind you in an attempt to give yourself time.

“Stay away! Leave me alone!! EEP!!!”

You tripped as the other tiger came out of nowhere, tackling you down. Because Johnny intervened and held it back for a fraction of a second, you instead skidded forward, faceplanting a far wall.

“Ow…! Dang it…” You looked back over your shoulder, as Minho and the two beasts were closing in, twistedly stalking closer. Spinning and pressing yourself as hard against the wall as you could, your eyes frantically scanned the area for Johnny, but he was too busy distracting the other two...really three...from ganging up on you, even if Minho had insisted for them not to.

“It’s over…” He mused, splaying an open hand toward you. “Finish her.”

“GrwaAAAAR!!”

“AAAA—!!!”

...This was it. You held your breath. Shielded your face. Closed your eyes. Waited for it to be over…

…But, then…

Time came to a stop. Your stomach churned, swirling, the vortex growing stronger. Stronger, stronger, and stronger, until…

You heard Johnny gasp, the chaos of battle coming to a halt. “Y/n…!!”

“Ahhh...aAAAAAAH!!!”

Something dark and vibrant exploded throughout the room, the source coming from your stomach. The fabric over the area burned away, leaving a sizzling hole, rays of ultraviolet light beaming forth. It sent the creatures fixing to murder you flying the other way, soaring past Minho, who cringed and squinted his eyes, shielding them with one arm. The sudden windstorm caused his hair and clothes to whip around him, all of it like a scene out of a movie…

“What...What the hell…?! ...Nngh, ahh!”

Then he went flying as well. But not from the wind as you’d momentarily thought. When the light faded and the air settled down, a dark shadow landed before you, having attacked Minho. The shadows dripped and slithered into a pool beneath it’s center, revealing…

A boy. A man with purple hair.

From somewhere far off, you heard Johnny say something, remaining as still as the waters of a cysteine chapel:

“...Oh, shit…”

...Guess he did swear after all.

~ ☽✮☾ ~

A/N: Hi, everyone! c: Thank you for reading the Dark Rising series thus far, it’s been a blast to write! If you liked this story, please do me favor and give it a like and reblog! And be sure to leave me your thoughts in the tags or my inbox, it means a lot and I’d greatly appreciate it! Thank you so much for reading; I’ll see you in Act Three!! <3

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nonbinary-octopus · 5 years

Text

Virgil The Wee Vampire Chapter 9: Not Remotely Nuclear

Summary: The bois eat dinner and talk about adoption

Content/Trigger warnings: I think we’re good on this one.

Wordcount: 1.4K

Chapter 1: The Hungry Little Vampire

Masterpost

More stories

~~~~~

Logan was working that day and didn’t get home until around dinner time (The fact that they had arranged dinner time to be shortly after Logan got home on the average day was irrelevant), so Patton and Roman explained Roman’s suggestion over spaghetti.

As Roman had predicted, Logan had a theory as to why Virgil had taken to Patton so well. It was actually fairly similar to what Roman had said earlier that day, with Patton being there when Virgil most needed someone and filling the hole in Virgil’s heart. But, Logan being Logan, his theory included several citations to studies he had read sometime in the past and one he’d read over his lunch break.

“So…” Patton asked hopefully, “can we adopt him?”

Logan adjusted his tie. “From what I’ve gathered, vampires —as with vampire bats and humans— seem to be very social creatures,” he said. “It would almost certainly be detrimental to Virgil’s health if he were to go entirely without interaction. Ideally, he ought to be among his own kind—” Patton’s face fell. “—but as it appears Virgil is the only vampire in the area, that would prove difficult. It may be possible to assist him in finding another colony of vampires. However, not only do we not know where to look, or whether another colony would even be willing to take him in, but the act of moving away from everything that’s familiar would likely negatively affect his psyche.”

“So… what should we do?” Patton asked, eyes wide and pleading.

“Since we cannot provide the best scenario solution, we ought to try for the best we can do,” Logan said. He took another bite of spaghetti. “This is very good, by the way. Did you use a new recipe?”

Patton’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “Oh, the spaghetti? Yeah, I put an eggplant in the sauce,” he said. “But what about Virgil?”

Logan took a drink. “The way things stand now,” he said, “our best course of action appears to be to go with your plan and offer Virgil a home and companionship.” Patton lit up, and Logan continued. “Of course, he may decline, but I believe that living with us would be healthier for him than the alternatives currently available, even though we could not provide anything like a traditional family structure, either by human standards or vampire ones.”

“A family can be three best friends and a tiny vampire,” Roman answered with a grin.

Logan smiled back. “I did say ‘traditional.’” As the matter seemed to be settled, he asked, “Roman, how has that tricky quick change been coming?”

Roman lit up. “I think we’re nearly there,” he said. “There are now five actors assisting, and last night we got down to twelve seconds. And today I came up with a way to use some of the same pieces so they don’t have to come off!”

“How fast does it need to be?” Patton asked, temporarily distracted from his thoughts of adoption.

“If we can do it in five seconds, that would be perfect,” Roman answered. “But anything less than ten would honestly be pretty great.” He beamed. “I cannot wait to see you two’s faces when you see the play, it’s been a lot of fun to costume for, and we’ve got such a good cast. I love them all.”

The others smiled back at him, unable to resist his enthusiasm. “Opening night,” Patton promised.

Logan nodded. “I have double and triple checked that I will have that evening off, and that should there be any emergency for which I might ordinarily be on call, at minimum two other fully qualified individuals will be present.”

“Did anything exciting happen at work today?” Patton asked him.

“Nothing that is both non-confidential and wouldn’t turn your stomach,” Logan replied calmly. “Overall, my shift went optimally.” He ate another bite of spaghetti, looking thoughtful. “I did hold an infant.”

“Awwww!” Patton squealed.

Logan couldn’t help a grin. “It was less adorable at the time, as said infant was crying shrilly,” he admitted. “And I’m sure someone else could have done a better job of comforting. But yes. You would have enjoyed being there.”

~~~

After dinner, Logan put the leftovers away while Roman rinsed off the plates and serving bowls and put everything in the dishwasher.

Patton stood by the kitchen window, looking out at the darkening sky. The sun, while low, was still entirely above the horizon. Logan joined him, putting a hand reassuringly on Patton’s elbow.

“What if he says no?” Patton asked, not looking at the others.

“Then we will give him our best wishes and an open invitation to visit any time he likes,” Logan answered.

Patton made a distressed sound.

“Maybe think about something else for a while,” Roman said from the sink. He scooped up some water and flung a spray of droplets at their backs. They both jumped, though Logan tried to hide it, and Patton squeaked in surprise. “You can’t do anything right now to affect the result,” Roman continued. “So it’s useless to stress over it.”

Logan nodded. “It will take several minutes for the sun to set,” he said. “While we wait, why don’t we put a puzzle together?”

Patton nodded. “Okay. Roman?”

“I’ll catch up when I’m done in here,” Roman answered. “Still gotta wash the cooking dishes.”

“Very well.” Logan lead Patton away, leaving Roman in the kitchen by himself. They went to Logan’s room instead, and Patton immediately went to Logan’s puzzle shelf, while Logan stacked books and papers to clear space on his desk.

Patton ran a finger down the sides of the boxes, listing them out loud. “Butterflies, under the ocean, castle, old house covered in plants, medical diagrams, waterfall…” He paused, lingering on a box, and then grinned and tapped it twice. “Kittens!” Careful not to dislodge the rest of the stack— puzzles were fun, but none of them wanted to put together half a dozen at once again— Patton eased the kitten puzzle out of the shelf.

Logan turned to see. Patton held up the puzzle with a wide grin, and Logan couldn’t help grinning back. It was indeed an appealing picture, and Patton’s smile was contagious. Logan pulled his desk chair off to the side out of the way and waved Patton over. With a bounce in his step, Patton crossed the room and put the box on Logan’s now-empty desk, easing the lid off to expose the puzzle pieces within.

“Dump ‘em?” he asked.

“Dump them,” Logan agreed, so Patton upended the box, pouring puzzle pieces across the entire top of the desk. Then he replaced the lid and set the whole thing at the back of the desk, leaning against the wall so that they could reference the picture but it was out of the way.

Together, the two of them started shifting the puzzle pieces around. Logan flipped them over so they were lying face up, while Patton spread them out thinner. Then, once all the pieces were facing up, Logan began to sort them by color. Patton picked out a couple edge pieces for the border, but then he noticed that he could put one of Logan’s piles together to show a ball of yarn, and did so.

Gradually, the puzzle took shape. There were either twenty-three or twenty-four kittens (Patton and Roman had both counted, but they couldn’t agree on whether or not the tail sticking out from the side of the couch and the face peeking out from the front of it belonged to the same cat), and as each was completed, Patton gave it a boop on the nose, or if it was facing away, a fond pat. Logan thought Patton was far cuter than the kittens, but said nothing in words, only gazed at him warmly.

The puzzle was over half done when they heard a yelp from the hall. Patton looked toward the half-closed door worriedly. “Was that Roman?”

“It did sound like him,” Logan answered, still looking at the puzzle. “But as it was his ‘unexpected moth in my face’ or ‘suddenly the lights are off’ scream, rather than one of true fright, I doubt there is reason for concern.”

Patton looked unconvinced, but as no more sounds of distress followed, he returned his attention to the puzzle.

They only had a handful of pieces left when there came a knock, and the door opened further. On the other side stood Roman, and to the others’ surprise, Virgil was standing on his shoulder, holding on to Roman’s ear to keep his balance.

For several seconds, nobody said anything. Then Virgil said, very softly, “Hi.”

~~~~~

Chapter 10: Virgil Gets Up to Shenanigans

~~~~~

Taglist: (please tell me if you’re not getting tagged! Also, if you change your username, you really should notify the people whose taglists you’re on. Tumblr somehow automatically knew to update @pawtonsanders to @dannydeceito, but not @pansexualincineratorgirl to @thomassandersismygayidolll . (luckily, I was able to find that original taglist request and see the new username to update it, but if you asked to be on a taglist via a comment rather than an ask, or if you did it before I started tagging such posts more thoroughly, I have no way to do so. And really, checking up on your new username is not my responsibility.))

@yourfreindlyneighborhoodnerd @aroundofapplesauce @kaytikitty @kitkat-kiwikat @panic-at-the-everything27 @darkle-elkrad @justanotherpurplebutterfly @smolkuriboh27 @hiddendreamer67 @cricks-loves-you @nonasficcollection @tiny-enby @comicsimpson @fioxypurr @starlightvirgil @just-another-rainbowblog @battleblaze @whatschooldoesntteachyou @nienna14 @unicornlogansanders @twilight-trix @sanderssidestrash27 @icecoldparadise @hedgiehoggles @axyzel @stillebesat @awkwardcat @dannydeceito @thomassandersismygayidolll

#original #my writing #sanders sides #my sanders sides writing #Virgil the Wee Vampire #gt #sanders sides gt #Vampire Virgil au

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happypsyduck · 5 years

Note

Would it be possible to request a Leon x NonBinary s/o?? Maybe a little scenario could be 'his s/o is having a hard time explaining to people what NB is and they're having extreme dysphoria and Leon helps them cope with it' ??? 🖤💜💛 thanks love.

Info: Reader is Nonbinary (originally female), warnings for dysphoria. Note this is my first time writing for such a character so if I offend please enlighten me on how so I can fix! Also, might not be exactly what is asked, but this is the idea that came to me, hope you like!

It was what Leon had been afraid of since he had begun dating you and as he stared at his phone he just had to reread the headline on the damn gossip sight that also had a picture of the two of you hand in hand as you walked the shore of one of the wild area lakes. Champion Leon has a new girlfriend??! It was simple and direct and no doubt all over social media by now and taking a swipe over to Raihans page would confirm it. Luckily his dragon rival was doing his part to tell people to calm down and chill out, but it would probably be useless.

Overall was it really that harmful? Not really, he had you and you both were completely in love, so it was mostly true. The problem was the word ‘girlfriend’. At first Leon himself had mistaken you for female, so did most strangers on the street, but the first time you had met he was corrected gently by you. He had said something simple, trying to be flattering as you’d stumbled upon each other training out in the wild area, asking what a lovely young woman was doing in a dangerous spot he was in when you simply told him you were Nonbinary.

He knew for a fact he had given you a blank stare in that moment, having heard the term before, but you were the first he had met. Recovering as best he could he apologized and though he still screwed up in your subsequent meetings he got better each time and was falling more for you each time. When you agreed to a date he was overjoyed, but he assured you he would try to keep it low key as the media would be all over him if they found out he was dating. He knew even worse that they would assume so he wanted to be sure things were clear and his next interview he had been planning, with you there by his side, to finally tell the public about you both and make it clear just who you were.

Now that was completely shattered and he was shaking his head to try to figure out what to do first and thought that you should know as soon as possible about this. He was just about to dial your number when a text would come through from Raihan and Leon felt his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach as he read it “They just saw it and went rushing towards Hammerlocke gates to the wild area, you better hurry up, they were pale as a sheet”

A dysphoric episode was what he was fearing the most from the stupid headline and he knew if you were running from everyone it was going to be a bad one. Sending a text back in thanks he would luckily have an idea of where you were going from all of the times you two had spent out there. It was the safest place to spend time together without worrying of prying eyes, at least he had thought, and he would be rushing fast as he could from where he had been in Motostoke. His sense of direction being terrible as it always was it would unfortunately take him two hours to finally get there, but he did get to your favorite spot in Dappled Grove.

Eyes casting about he would spot you on the shore of the lake, heart clenching as he could see your shoulders shaking, but he was uncertain if you were crying or angry at first. Approaching slowly he would make his footsteps heard, giving a wave when you look to him, still uncertain your expression. He knew enough as he came to sit not to touch you yet no matter how he wanted to just pull you into his arms. Noticing you were wearing the oversized hoodie he had given you a few weeks ago he would just try talking, “Well Meowths out of the bag” being the first thing that came to him before scratching the back of his neck, “I am sorry it was through that gossip column though, they don’t talk to people at all, just post what they want”

He was angry at them, completely, and he had it in a mental note to talk to Chairman Rose about what they could do about them, but he needed to focus right now and was relaxing a little as you did finally say something, “It just had to be a picture of that day, just my luck” He could hear the frustration in your tone and honestly he could handle a lot better when you were mad over things then sad, though he was working on the latter! That day at the lake he did know why you were frustrated, you had gotten a new binder in the mail and it had been too small, hopping into the trees when your back started to hurt to take it off and it must have been a few minutes later the picture was taken so he could understand why they made the mistake.

Letting his hand slip from his neck he would bring it to your shoulder slowly before sliding it down your back, happy when you didn’t stiffen to the touch, “We’ll set them straight, Y/n” he tell you first and foremost, pressing a kiss to the top of your head when you would come to rest to his shoulder, “I will be right by your side the whole time and you know you have more then just me in your corner” he remind you gently. All his and your friends supported your relationship and most of them got your pronouns right, a few slip up here and there, but they were always quick to apologize.

Another idea would then come to him and he was humming thoughtfully, “Why don’t we set up camp out here huh? Bit of a break from everything?” he suggest, though really not taking no for an answer as he press another kiss to your temple before rising. He had been about to head out to find you before anyways so all his camping stuff was with him and making sure it was In a bit more secluded spot he would go about getting the tent and a fire pit set up, “Come on sweetheart” he encourage as he got out his pokeballs to let out who he currently had with him, Charizard and a new one he had caught, a Shellos.

Charizard would immediately greet you with a friendly nuzzle before lighting the fire for Leon and a tiny smile would come to your face. Pokemon didn’t care what you looked like really, your gender or anything like that, they just cared who you were and how you treated them. Soon letting out the one you currently had with you, your little Wimpod, you would make your way over to where your boyfriend was looking through ingredients for dinner while the pokemon would have a chance to interact. You would pull up the sleeves of the hoodie to help, the oversized fabric helping you to not see what had been shown in the stupid picture and Leon had no intention of telling you to take it off unless it became a fire risk.

You would slowly forget about the issue for this time out here alone, Leon right in it being just what you needed and soon had curry made. Eating something you made together always helped a content feeling come over you and soon you would be settled in front of the fire on a blanket, just leaning into him once more as you watched the pokemon play. Shellos and Wimpod seeming to be having a small practice battle when a bright light would shine around your pokemon. Watching the little creature evolve you could feel Leon giving you a squeeze before Golisopod was rushing over to you happily. The day was definitely far from perfect and there was a long road ahead to making sure everyone understood the truth, but right now Leon was just happy you were his.

#pokemon #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #pokemon x reader #pokemon leon

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massieh · 4 years

Text

Transfigure ( rewrite ; first draft ), Chapter 1. word count: 3,270.

The full moon illuminated the river, casting the world around us in black and white. The river, a sheet of obsidian glass beneath the glow, wrapped around my feet and begged that I join in with the current.

Just let it all go; be free.

Something hit my hand, hard and cold. At first, the feeling sent a chill down my spine, and reflex demanded that I throw it. Though useful in the field, that instinct was well out-of-place here. Carefully, calmly, I raised the object into the candlelight.

It was one of the bottles that Kane repurposed for a candle holder, an idea he had when we first found the place months before. The wax stick jammed into the top had already burned down so far into the neck that it stained the glass around it black. Even the wax seal could not hold back the smell. Whatever was inside, its stale scent gave the impression that it could only be useful for cleaning wounds.

I tried to push it back. How did he roll a square bottle?

“Nah,” he demanded, kicking it back over the short distance I had managed. “We had a deal.”

“Yeah, and I’ll hold up my end with or without yours.” In truth, I was sick of feeling stupid. It sounded fun to face the impossible, but that was before I found out that even trivial things could hold that title.

“Both ends are my end. Now go.”

“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath and raised the bottle again. I tried to ignore all the other details. The shape, the scent, the weight—anything that would be important under any real circumstances was useless now.

Words. I had to figure out the words.

With the old world gone and the city ripped apart, readers weren’t all that common. This place was built by a group of strangers, after all. Each was stripped from their home and dropped here to make a new life alongside the others. Some kept their families in tow; most came alone. This lack of community, alongside the shared goal of survival, led to an illiteracy rate that I didn’t notice until Kane moved in.

As a neighbor once told me, if the old world’s skills were so useful, we wouldn’t be where we are today. It didn’t make that much sense, but everyone else thought so. Who was I to argue?

Kane was one of the lucky ones. He came here knowing how to read. Though we were left wanting for books, he still managed to keep that talent sharp.

Both of my parents could read. My mother all but spoke in code, and it was holy texts that made up my father’s foundation. Both tried to show me their worlds; both kind of succeeded. Reading, however, was never included.

There were a few words scattered throughout the city that had been burned into my mind through recognizance. “Voodoo” and “girls” made the top of that list. Try to make sense of the Bible on that alone.

Three days after Kane figured it out, he came up with his greatest plan yet: he would be the one to teach me the sacred art of literature. His words, not mine. Boredom replaced his brilliant curiosity with a rabid need for purpose a long time ago. So, as any idiot would, I eagerly agreed. He dedicated our first week to the alphabet. I was to say it forward and back fifteen times every few hours to make sure it stuck.

Simple enough.

Then, we moved on to the next logical step: “Sound it out.”

Despite the roll of my eyes, I did as I was told. “J-aysk”

“No, no. Where are you getting the’s’?”

“What do you mean?” And after he hissed the sound back at me, “Right there.”

“That’ s—no, that one makes the same sound as the ‘k’.”

I changed my mind. This sucked. “That makes no sense.”

“The ‘a’ makes the sound like ‘at’, too.’”

“Jac-k?”

“Don’t pronounce them both.”

“Both what? It’s four—”

“Just, ‘Jack’.” He chopped at the air with one hand, but the motion’s meaning was lost on me.

My response was the forced sigh of, “Okay. Jack,” followed by another, meeker attempt. “D… e… nials?”

Kane snorted behind me.

As I shifted back to lean on my elbows, the bottle turned over in my hand, allowing me one last whiff of the foul liquid inside. “So, what. This Jack guy was so ashamed of this stuff, he had to say it on the label?” The bottle sang out an eerie scrape as I returned it to the slab of concrete at Kane’s feet, and its ring somehow made more sense than the next word from his mouth.

“Daniels.”

“What?”

He sputtered again. This time, it sounded like a laugh. “It’s Jack Daniels. It was whiskey. Alcohol, but not the kind you use on cuts.” And because I clearly didn’t get it, he added, “A drink for, uh… entertainment.”

It was exhausting how much he knew about the old world. Some would say too much. Though it was easy to agree, it was almost impossible not to be fascinated by it. At the compound, there were rooms dedicated to artifacts and treasures worth more than any ten men together could afford. It would not surprise me to know all of that, in addition to what was left of the natural wonders, paled in comparison to Kane’s collections.

“You’re stupid good at a lot of things,” I told him after an agonizing moment of self-debate. The added spice of his own slang would hopefully soften the blow. “But you might be the worst teacher I’ve ever had.”

This time, his laugh was flimsy. “Well, I’m not a Minister or a Control Chief, so that’s a weird corner to throw me in.”

Oh, good. No harm done.

Kane was always this easy. I could be a little bit mean, and he’d just be happy to hear himself talk in-between. The banter served as a low-effort veil between us and the void of boredom, sure. When things got deep, though, it was the true void that stared back. His teaching needed work, but Kane filled the silence with more knowledge and life in a single minute than any amount of time with my parents ever did—official, familial, or otherwise.

A second bottle clinked against the stone at my left, this one with some of the original contents still inside. I waited for the same set of instructions. Instead, what he gave back read something like, try it. One sip, and I spit it out instantly. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”

“It is what it is. You’re doing fine.” His shift in tone was so swift that I nearly forgot about the acidic film on my tongue. “It’s just been a couple of weeks. It took me like a month, I bet.”

“You’d also be six.”

“And you’re seventeen—“

“Eighteen.”

“The arguments make themselves.” I looked back, and his smile was as smug as his tone. “Like I said. You’re doing just fine.”

If the right response existed, it was lost beneath an awkward laugh and the gentle sound of the flowing river.

Even without many character references to place around him, Kane was odd in a way that even his sacred art of literature would have trouble capturing. Though he only stood a few inches taller than me, no room could contain his personality. His body was more weapon than temple. From appearance to mind to words—everything but his eyes, he kept sharp.

One of the bottles floated out from the cove and into the river without either of us noticing. The water tugged it one way and another. It was the flickering of the light that caught my attention. The flame rose and fell in the hot air, twisting as the bottle bobbed from side to side, and finally went out altogether when it tipped over and washed out.

The light was now too low to read, but both ends were Kane’s, right?

“Let’s go,” I mostly grunted just before scooting from the pavement’s edge and into the river. Wading beyond reach of the shore to where the cool stream rose high enough to combat the humidity, I turned back to face him.

Kane maintained both still and silence surprisingly well.

“I promise it’ll be less fun if we do this by force.”

Only the still broke. He slid from the jutting knees of a cypress onto the slab below to remove his boots, socks, and the sidearm he kept strapped to his thigh. After sliding those over to join my things, he moved on to rolling his tattered jeans until they threatened his circulation. Stalling was routine, same as the distance in his eyes and the occasional sighing.

In a lazy attempt to match his performance, my hand moved in slow, dramatic circles in a gesture to hurry up. By the time he touched the water, my arm was a quick snap away from falling off my shoulder and drifting out to sea.

It was by no small feat that he was able to reach me. Though the water gathered only at his hips, if even that far, he could only do so with his eyes clenched shut. It was impressive.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he told me once his hands were safely in mine. His stance was so tight that his grip almost hurt. Determined, he may have been, but Kane looked anything but ready.

“I won’t make you do anything yet,” I said. “Just stand there. Get used to the flow. Try to open your eyes, maybe?” They tightened at that. “Hey. If anything happens, I’m right here.”

The sentiment did little to calm him. At the very least, it did encourage the hint of a grin, fleeting though it was. When it was apparent that he couldn’t control his own breathing, mine became slowed and pronounced for him to mirror. After what felt like an hour of coaching, but must have only been a few minutes, his breathing began to fall smoothly in time with the steady sound of waves crashing in the distance.

Sometimes, when the fog cleared enough to see the endless expanse of the southern sea, and the river rose just a little higher than usual, he would mention his home sector. Not much more was given than what he wanted to remember. I knew it must have been somewhere west because he always mentioned how the morning sun blinded him on the move over. The way he marveled at our trees for the first three years said it must have been pretty dry.

When Kane spoke about it, he did so in hushed tones, as though home could be all that scary. Maybe it was. In some ways, I was less surprised by his aquaphobia than his decision to tell me about it.

Kane dropped my hands and took another deep breath through his nose, rereleasing it from his mouth in a tight stream of air. Not that his first thought would be the position of his face in relation to mine. A warning just would have been nice.

“Alright,” he repeated. With just enough bravery sucked in with a second, more generous inhale, he coaxed his eyes open.

Had I not been watching, I would have missed the literal instant regret set in. “What a face. Think you’ll live?”

His mouth pressed into a firm line.

“Dude. You have to breathe.” Maybe he wasn’t feeling talkative, but at least he was present enough to listen. “You’re doing way better than last time.”

Last time was a wrestling match just to get this far. It ended with Kane falling in and scrambling his way back before we could make any more progress. Victoria thanked me that day for forcing her son to bathe. This time, though fear was still evident in the way his eyes darted between the water below and the sky above, Kane was able to restrain himself.

It was a noble effort—one lost the moment he looked to the branches of the looming trees. “They’re gathering late tonight,” he noted, referring to the growing amassment of crows.

“You think it’s dogs?”

“Probably.” The commotion of subsong and wings replaced our voices for a moment before Kane turned his eyes on me again. He tried to grab my hands again and added a desperate, “I’ll walk with you.”

My hands were held up for him to see while I backed away. “Hold on, hold on. We have time.” Already, the soil of the riverbed pulled me down, seeping between my toes with each step. I’d seen panic drown too many in this river to join them. So I allowed the distance between us to expand instead.

We were only a couple of meters from the waters’ edge. Still, when I finally reached the wall of trees and turned to face him, he felt oceans away.

The collection of candles had melted over the bottles’ necks, their labels now impossible to decipher beneath the wax coating. It was as good a time as any to turn in. I raised the last, still burning, high for him to see.

“When it goes out.”

“You know, one pack took out an entire team last week.” His voice was soft, nearly inaudible over the water.

“So I heard.”

“I should really get you home.”

“They got a whole team. Having one extra body won’t keep me any safer. You worry about you.”

A distracted laugh, both forced and cautious, slipped past Kane’s worry just to free-fall into silence. No longer were the cicadas singing, the birds paused in quiet wonder, and for a moment, even the water fell into an uncomfortable still.

The sector grew quieter by the day, it seemed. Together, we survived war, famine, disease. I’m sure you can piece together what happened to the rest. My uncle always liked to say that book of Revelation didn’t prepare us for an after. Nine years old may have been too young for that lesson, but I understood all the same.

Over the past week, more stories from the Cage made it to the dinner table. My mother told us that one of the things inside had a wingspan twice as long as its own body. She said it tried to take to the skies, but its wings were too heavy. Instead of lifting itself from the ground, it destroyed three buildings and killed two people before being captured. Suits spoke in hushed tones throughout the Complex about how the webbed pinions left an ashen residue on their uniforms.

The rest was a matter of who told the story.

Kane tugged me from the thought by prompting from his position in the water, “Hey, Andy. Can we tuck in yet? No rush, but I’m starting to freak out.”

To get back to the road meant scaling the city’s deteriorated retaining wall and the roots that had nearly devoured it. Kane beat me to the top and triumphantly threw both fists in the air as if the effort were for glory rather than escape. It was the pair of boots, hanging together from one clenched hand as I remained at the water’s edge to lace my own, that gave him away.

The trees served as a veil between the southern wilderness and what was deemed before my conception as “civilization”. Once we passed through, our usual banter had to be capped. We stepped lightly, even slowing our breathing to a shallow and cautionary flow. The smallest sound could bounce through the empty streets and lead something much worse than the river’s wrath to us.

From the gaping mouth of an old storefront, the sun-bleached cast of a massive, toothy lizard smiled at us. Could you believe it was a real thing? Not the smiling part, but the creature itself. Kane told me all about it when his family first joined the sector.

They were big, sometimes twice as long as he was tall and three times his weight, he said. I asked if he knew all that because he had to kill one. Kane only gave me a strange look and said everyone knew what an alligator was. But that wasn’t true. I didn’t. For all I knew, they were no more real than his Mothman.

A time did exist where the buildings along our hike were beautiful. Time and the elements faded their colors, shattered their windows, and darkened their doors. Here and there, shop signs still clung to their rusted mounts. Due only to their current state, which was battered too far beyond recognition for even Kane to read, was I brave enough to look at them for more than a glance.

The path was so familiar that I could have walked it backwards with my eyes covered. Every step was as much a part of me as my own two hands. The shape of the street names, I had memorized before Kane joined the sector.

St. Peter.

Bourbon.

Bienville.

And at the end of Bienville was home. Well, it was my home. Kane’s family relocated so often that I stopped keeping track. At first, the frequent moves were quirky. Then, they were frustrating. While the other kids moved on to new friends, I knew there was a different solution. I just had to get good at finding him.

Home was a single cross-section of road, separated from the ruin and wilderness by tireless grooming. Even as we crossed over the threshold between broken asphalt and the intact pavement that bound the structures together, Maintenance took stock of tomorrow’s workload.

As always, they paid us no mind.

The Complex stood three stories high and only an echo of its former glory. Like the rest of the city, it battled weathering of its own. The Northwest corner and an entire block of the cemetery were swallowed by the earth four days after my twelfth birthday. Before was the contagion. And after? That was the Summer of Lights, which burned down more than half the city.

Yeah, it wasn’t that fun.

Kane led me to one of the clone doors and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Tomorrow’s a big one,” he told me.

“You ready for it?”

“Never am. Don’t sleep in.”

And I responded, “Get good sleep.”

He disappeared beyond the dim glow of our stoop light, leaving me to drown at the hands of anxiety. The Course—like I could forget. If I failed, then what? There was always the Ministry, but if I couldn’t read and failed a glorified physical exam, even they would have no use for me.

As my mind swarmed with thoughts of tomorrow, the still dark of the entry felt like a gift. It meant that my feet could make the weary climb to the second floor without the help of a conscious mind. Mine was too busy repeating the phrase, “Do you accept?” To the question, it shouted the oath.

Outside my window, the moon still shone over the city, either oblivious to its state of distress or indifferent. It lit the single-block cemetery there, and I could swear there was more life in those mausoleums than remained throughout the whole sector. I could see Kane perched on one of the roofs, thumbing through the pages he stashed inside an oven crypt.

Past him, past the concrete structures, past the contorted knot of crumbling highway, I could see the six points of the Cage reaching into the night sky.

This was home.

#; there are likely typos in this but again #; first draft of a rewrite #; i'm proud enough of where it stands #ooc.

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d-s-winchester · 5 years

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Salem

(gif credit to the creator)

Part Six

Master List

Pairing: Misha x OFC Word Count: 1,936 Warnings: None? Language probably A/N: Part six is here ladies and gents! Thank you all so much for your support on this! I know it’s been almost a year since I’ve posted any writing but I thought coming back with one of my favorite fics on the first day of my favorite month of the year would be the best way to do it! As always a HUGE thank you to Nicole (aka @iwantthedean) for betaing this for me, without her this story would never see the light of day. Anyway, feedback for this is awesome! :)

Misha didn’t broach the subject of anything personal with Ophelia over the next few days, even though he desperately wanted to. While he stuck to the subject of his research for the novel and avoided the subject of her personal life, he could see her distancing further and further from him as the days passed. He did receive a respite from his concerns when she invited him over for dinner a few days after she had told him about seeing Christopher, and how her boyfriend had died.

He sat at the island counter in Ophelia’s kitchen, thumbing through the books she had given him to aid his research, but not concentrating much on the content. His mind was dwelling on something in particular, but as he feared that thing could scare Ophelia off, Misha kept his thoughts to himself all through dinner.

“You okay?” Ophelia asked as she cleared the dinner table.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just seem...distant. I don’t know.” She shrugged, taking the stack of plates to the sink.

Misha nodded, though he knew that didn’t really answer her original inquiry. He helped her clear away the rest of the plates and dishes from the dinner table, then waited patiently while she packaged away the leftovers before joining him at the sink. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes while she washed, and Misha dried. Finally, when Misha’s thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, he broke the silence.

“How would you feel about having dinner with me?” Misha blurted out, sticking a plate in the drying rack.

“We just had dinner,” Ophelia pointed out, frowning.

“No,” Misha chuckled, “I know we did. I mean, not here. Not tonight. At a restaurant or something, on a different night.”

Ophelia was so shocked she fumbled with the plate she was washing, nearly dropping it to the floor. Placing it safely in the sink, Ophelia turned to face him, leaning her elbow on the counter.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Misha Collins?”

“I am,” he smiled.

Ophelia smiled, picked up the plate again, and continued washing it. Though she knew what she wanted to answer, she figured there was no harm done in letting him sweat it out a little while she pretended to think it over.

“I would love to go on a date with you,” she finally said, handing him the freshly washed plate.

“Perfect,” he grinned. Relief flooded both his voice and his features. “How does tomorrow night sound?”

“I think I can make that work.”

They finalized the details of their date as they finished up the dishes; once the kitchen was cleaned up, Misha was able to concentrate on his research. After they both wrapped up a few hours of reading, Ophelia walked him to the door. Misha promised to pick her up promptly at eight o’clock the next evening, then went on his way. He smiled all the way back to the bed and breakfast.

***

Ophelia closed the shop early the next night so she would have plenty of time to prepare for her date with Misha. As she tore through her closet, looking for something to wear, Christine sat on her bed flipping through a magazine. Their quarrel from the day before seemed to have been forgotten, and Ophelia thought that Christine had even accepted that Misha was interested in Ophelia and not Christine.

“How about this?” Ophelia asked, coming out of her walk-in closet in a skin tight black dress.

“Dude, no,” Christine laughed, “you look like a sausage wrapped in cheap lingerie.”

“I should probably just throw this dress out then?” Ophelia chuckled. “I’ve had this since junior year of high school.”

“Yeah, back when you had a body to accommodate it,” Christine pointed out. “You’re thinner than my pinky but you’ve gained some weight since then. Toss it.”

Ophelia nodded and tossed the dress to the side before going back to her closet. A few minutes later she came back out in an empire waist dress made of white lace. The second Christine looked up from the magazine, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

“Lia, yes. You look amazing,” she said, forgetting the magazine and sitting up to face her friend. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear white before. It works for you. You should wear white all the time!”

“You have too seen me in white,” Ophelia laughed. “Senior prom, remember? But are you sure this looks okay? I mean, is it too far out of my comfort zone?”

“Well, tonight is about throwing caution to the wind, right?” Christine asked; Ophelia nodded. “Then I say go for it. Do some simple makeup instead of your usual smoky look, throw on a splash of color with some cute heels, and you’ll be set.”

Ophelia grinned at Christine and clapped her hands in excitement before sitting down at her vanity. While she worked on a makeup look that was natural but didn’t lose the essence of her personality, Christine worked on curling Ophelia’s hair in perfectly tousled waves. At eight o’clock sharp, Ophelia’s doorbell rang. Christine misted her friend’s curls with hairspray one last time.

“You sure I look okay?” Ophelia asked again as she slipped her feet into a pair of bright turquoise pumps.

“You look stunning,” Christine assured her. “Don’t forget to grab that gray sweater, it’s cold out and you’re gonna be sitting outside. Don’t worry, I’ll lock up when I leave.”

“Thank you,” Ophelia grinned, kissing her friend on the cheek, “you’re the best.”

“I try,” Christine giggled as she pushed Ophelia towards the door. “Now, go, have fun! And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Ophelia laughed and waved goodbye to her friend as she made her way down the stairs to meet Misha at the door.

***

When Christine finally arrived at home she was anxiously awaiting the opportunity to have a glass of wine, watch a movie, and head to bed. That was all derailed, however, when she saw Christopher pacing back and forth in her living room.

“I can’t believe you’re letting her go through with this!”

“Well, hello to you, too,” Christine said, dropping her purse on the table near the door. She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at her brother’s angry greeting.

“You can’t let her get close to him, Chrissy,” Christopher groaned. “How am I ever supposed to get her back if she’s off galavanting with that writer!”

Christopher couldn’t even bring himself to say Misha’s name, and Christine felt bad about the distress Ophelia’s potential new relationship had caused for her brother.

“You need to fix it,” Christopher pleaded. “Ruin their night. I don’t care what you do, but make it so they never want to see each other again.”

“Chris --”

“No, Chrissy,” Christopher argued, “you have to fix it.”

Christine thought for a minute before letting out a sigh and running her fingers through her hair. “Okay, fine. I don’t like it, but I’m sure there’s something I can do.”

“Thank you!”

Christine assured him that it was no problem and made her way up to her bedroom to search through the grimoire. She knew that Ophelia and Misha would be dining outside, and the best thing she could come up with was making it rain. Though she had an obligation to her brother to try something, Christine genuine didn’t want to ruin Ophelia’s night. The rain wouldn’t force the night to end, but it would move the date inside. Deciding that was a happy medium, Christine cast the spell.

***

As soon as Ophelia and Misha were seated at their table, the clouds poured their contents out onto the town. The rain soaked their hair and clothes as they ran back inside the restaurant; all of Christine’s work on Ophelia’s curls was now in vain. Misha asked for a table inside, but the hostess apologized that all the indoor tables were booked. Determined to make the night work, Misha thanked her. Once safely back in his car, Ophelia pointed him in the direction of another restaurant not too far away.

When they arrived, they were seated quickly and looked over the menus, deciding what they wanted to eat. After placing their order and receiving their drinks, Misha smiled at Ophelia, letting out a relieved breath that they were finally settled on their date.

“You look amazing,” he stated, “white is a good color for you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, blushing slightly, “you don’t look so bad yourself. That shirt really brings out the blue in your eyes.”

“Really?” he chuckled, “I just threw it together. Wasn’t expecting to go on any dates while I’m here.”

“Well, it works.”

It wasn’t long before their food was brought out. Despite their evenings spent together at her house, Ophelia had found herself concerned that their conversation would only revolve around the bookstore and witchcraft lore, but she was pleasantly surprised that the conversation seemed to cover anything but. She was so distracted by the conversation that it wasn’t long after their food was brought to the table when she spilled her red wine on her stark white dress. Misha practically leapt over the table to help her clean it up, but she assured him it would be fine. The dry cleaner could get the stain out.

They made it through dinner without any more mishaps and, deciding not to chance their bad luck, Misha drove Ophelia home. They didn’t have to call it a night, but maybe it was better to be home. Halfway to her house, the car seemed jolted violently; Misha pulled off to the side of the road. Ophelia sat in the passenger seat patiently as he assessed the situation.

“I’ve got a flat,” he explained, opening the driver side door, “give me a minute and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Need help?”

“You know how to change a flat?”

“I’m a woman, I’m not useless,” she laughed.

“Then yes, I would love your help,” he grinned.

It took them almost half an hour to change the tire in the pouring rain, but once it was fixed, they made it safely back to Ophelia’s house. Misha parked his car in front of the modest-sized Cape Cod and got out, opening the car door for her. Rain pounded the ground around them as they made way up to her front steps.

“So, this date turned out to be somewhat of a disaster. I apologize,” Misha laughed.

“Don’t,” Ophelia chuckled, “it was perfect.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Am I … crossing boundaries here?”

“You’re not,” she assured him, wrapping her arms around his neck in return. “Despite the rain, wine spil,l and flat tire, I had a wonderful time tonight, Misha. Really”

“Me too,” he agreed.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers as the rain continued to fall around them. When they finally broke apart, Ophelia smiled up at him.

“We should do this again.”

“Absolutely,” Misha grinned.

“I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow?” she asked, hope edging each syllable.

“Definitely.”

Ophelia took a chance and pushed herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She smiled as she pulled away. “I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow. Thank you again, Misha, for an amazing night.”

“Anytime,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss her again. He couldn’t get enough.

He watched her walk into the house, giving her a small wave as she walked inside, then walked back to his car, hoping for an uneventful drive back to the bed and breakfast.

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naviizeldablog · 5 years

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Hylia’s First - Part 1 out of 3

FINALLY SOMETHING OF ORIGINAL CONTENT! Lo siento to every follower I have that waited for me to post a fic again... But anyways, school’s almost done, just gimme like three weeks and then I’ll start on more wips of mine and Get STUFF DONE. And I really didn’t know how to end this so, if it seems kinda unorganized or confusing at the end then sorry. Yeah, so credit to @linkeduniverse, @jojo56830, and Nintendo. Constructive criticism is accepted. Peace out my dudes.

Warning(s)?: violence, fighting, some blood, the usual

“So you think that by communicating to the spirits here, they might tell you why the timelines are getting mixed up.” the question of how they all got together in the first place has been hanging over the heroes’ heads ever since they meet. Now nearly two months into their unexpected journey, they still had no idea of what was happening, except for the fact that a specific shadow was involved in all of this.

“Possibly, yes. That is the ideal outcome.” the hero of the sky had been answering, or at least attempting to answer the many questions of the group’s youngest for the past hour. He led the way through the giant temple of which they were in, once dedicated to Hylia long before his time, but now abandoned and left to rust away. Earlier in his adventure to save his friend, he had traveled here and faced an ancient automaton revived by a rather stubborn demon. Yet despite the fact that he had cleansed the cistern from evil forces, he couldn’t help but feel as if something bad was going to happen.

“And what if you don’t get the answer we’re looking for?” he could only keep up his patience for so long until the twelfth question.

“Then we’ll try again at another place.” With the help of the unnaturally strong twilight hero, they opened the giant metal doors to the inner cistern, where the other heroes gawked at the ancient murals surrounding the walls and the pillars encrusted with gold. Sky himself was surprised, being that there was no remains of an automaton nor were there demolished pillars and cracked walls. But there was still a matter of business to be dealt with, and the sooner the done the better.

Sky took off his scabbard, Master Sword included, and handed it to Wild. “If anything happens, don’t bother knocking.” the blue-clad knight nodded silently and slung it over his soldier with his other sword. Sky stepped back to address the entire group, “Stay here while I pray to the spirits of the land at the altar on the other side of that door,” he said while gesturing towards a door opposite from where they walked in.

Sky made his way to the room where the eternal flames of Farore resided, but before he knelt down at the altar of the goddess of courage, he casted a small and unnoticeable containment spell he learned from Impa on the door. Not that he didn’t trust his friends, no he would lay down his life for them any day, but the feeling of uneasiness had been plaguing him since they’ve stepped foot in the old temple.

Separated from their friend, the remaining heroes begun to pile their equipment and belongings in a pile off to the side when suddenly a voice echoed throughout the cistern.

“My my my, it has been quite a while since we’ve last met, knight of Hylia.”

The sounds of swords being drawn echoed in the room as the heroes stood back to back looking for the unknown speaker.

The hero adorned with the blue scarf spoke out first, “Who-”

“Ah but something's… different. How irritating, none of you seem to be the person I was looking for.” the warriors casted wary glances at each other, and then at the doors of which their disappeared through.

Annoyed that he had been interrupted, Captain questioned the mysterious speaker again, “Just who do you think you are?”

From the direction of which the heroes entered from, a figure walked out of the shadows and in front of the warriors.

“Oh my, it appears that I have forgotten my manners! My name is Ghirahim, or Lord Ghirahim is you wish to be generous.” Each of the heroes had seen many strange monsters and foes, this one was no exception. Short white cropped hair framed a sullen and ashen colored face. Like most demons, his eyes were black with a slight hint of insanity. He wore a bright red cloak and to the fashionista of the group’s despair, a nearly skin tight bodysuit underneath.

“Hmm, you all painfully remind me of someone I once knew. Perhaps you would know him as well. No that can’t be right, it’s been nearly a millennium-”

“Why are you here?” at this point the hero of time had become fed up with this mysterious intruder and their unknown intentions.

“Impatient are we? And here I was just scolding myself for my poor introduction. Anyhow, I came to this rather dreary place because-” the strange man froze as his gaze set upon a sword handled by the hero with various burns and scars.

“Is there a problem demon?”

“That sword…”

“What about it?”

“That… how….” the demon shook himself out of his shock, and a small chuckle escaped his mouth. “Heh, so you’re his descendants then. That damned mortal… of course his descendants would carry his sword. Question is though, where is he now?”

The youngest of the group raised his sword at the demon with a wary look, “Answer our questions first Lord Ghira-er whatever your name was.”

Sighing audibly enough to get some of the more impatient warriors annoyed with him, the demon absently brushed off dust from his cloak, “As much as I would love to stay and chat I’m afraid that I am on a busy schedule. So if you value your lives, I’d suggest moving out of the way.”

The hero of time stepped forward and glared down the newcomer, “I don’t know why you’re here, but we can’t let you past these doors. Resist all you want, we’re not backing down.” the rest of the heroes started to spread out, their shields up and weapons ready. The demon however, didn’t move from his spot as a bored expression became apparent.

“Persistent eh? Just like him… Very well then!” he snapped his fingers and a slightly curved sword appeared out of a flash of diamonds. His face of boredom turned into an ear-to-ear grin, as his flung his coat aside.

“Fine, if you wish to be so stubborn, then let it be known that it was your undoing!”

If the heroes had known beforehand what facing off with this demon had meant, then they would have considered sheathing a sword or two and instead try to talk of reason or even surrendering.

The hero of time continued to face off against the demon, the two silently glaring each other down while the rest surrounded the mysterious foe.

Then suddenly without any warning, the demon lord dashed at the hero of time, sword tucked in and ready to slash. But years of sparring with the Sheikah trained queen had sharpened his senses more than the average soldier. He waited until the very last second, and then jumped out of harm’s way. Yet when he swung his claymore it sliced through the air, and no trace of the demon was present, except for a couple of floating diamonds.

He turned around just in time to parry what could have been a lethal hit if he had not been fast enough. Time narrowed his eyes and moved into a defense position, realizes the potential dangers of letting his guard down even once.

The observed the battle from afar, raising their shields after seeing the dirty move this foe had just done against their leader. But when Time took another swing at Ghirahim, the demon disappeared into diamonds and reappeared behind the hero of twilight, who just barely managed to avoid a deadly sabre piercing his chest. The two went into a series of back and fourth swipes and thrusts, until another hero joined in to take Twilight’s place. And so this strategy went on, the warriors consistently switching in and out, hoping to tire out the demon.

But their plan wasn’t working. Ghirahim had not broken a sweat, and nearly every hero was on the verge of exhaustion. The demon lord could see this, yet he was starting to get frustrated over how long it was taking him to achieve his mission.

With a quick snap of his fingers, an energy wave threw back the warriors of various times. And while they slowly recovered, still tired from fighting him, Ghirahim leaned against a pillar and inspected his sword. “You know, I don’t think that I’ve ever had a fight for that long without drawing blood. But your efforts at stopping the inevitable bore me.”

Hearing the hint of malice in his voice, the hero of warriors stood ready to fight him, already expecting a change in the demon’s tactics. Thankfully he wasn’t as tired as his younger comrades, he had spent enough time fighting entire hoards at once to know how to conserve his energy.

The demon noticed the hero with the blue scarf stand to face him, a pitiful effort if may say so himself. But this mortal would only cause him problems if he left him unscratched. “Well someone has to teach them a lesson of who they’re dealing with..” he thought bitterly.

Warriors wasted no time bringing his shield at the ready once his foe disappeared into a cloud of diamonds. A glimpse of movement came from his right, but he was a second too slow to block the sword. Pain flared from lower chest, right below his rib cage. He staggered back, hardly processing the advancing demon or the battle cries of his friends. If he had the conscious to do so, he would have seen the dagger floating next to the demon. He would have brought up his shield, or move out of the way. But through the haze of pain and the stench of blood, a new wave of pain coursed through his body. He looked down with half-closed eyes, trying to comprehend the dagger burrowed into his shoulder, blood oozing out of the wound.

Time’s throat was coarse from yelling out to his friend, telling him to get up, to move, to do anything besides his current condition. But he was in no shape to take the demon out from behind, a swift and powerful kick to his legs had rendered one of them completely numb and for now useless. So there he was, kneeling on one knee, using his sword to stay off the ground, and unable to do anything to stop the dagger piercing his comrade’s shoulder. Pathetic.

“Got something to say hero?” Time look up with a seething glare at the demon. Oh how he wanted to send that merciless fiend to a realm of pain and agony.

Ghirahim took no notice of the mortal’s anger, he looked around at the scene before him. Many of the heroes unconscious from exhaustion and his wave of dark energy, some trying to force the fallen to drink a potion. But as much he had enjoying these moments, there was still someone missing that he needed to find. He looked down again to what he presumed to be their leader.

“You know, if you would have just surrendered when I first asked you to, you wouldn’t be short on half of your soldiers.” the warrior’s head bowed in shame and defeat, a sign of an easy victory. He raised his sword high, paying no heed to the cries for mercy from the others. After all, what kind of demon would he be to let his foes live another pitiful day? He was just about to bring his sword down when he heard the voice of the person he had been searching for.

“That’s enough Ghirahim.”

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fallinwitstyle · 5 years

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For All Time ~ A Good Omens Fanfiction

Title: For All Time

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,800

Pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale

Summary: Not long after the Armageddon that wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale grow even closer and cross the line they've been toeing on for centuries.

"You could stay with me, if you like."

The offer was tempting, enormously so, more than it ever had been. More than he ever allowed it to be.

He didn't end up staying with Crowley he did, after all, get his bookshop back.

He did, however, end up spending a lot more time with Crowley at his place and just about everywhere else.

His reservations that held to for so long began to crumble after the Armageddon, after they were cast out, as it were, from their respective "sides".

He was on humanity's side and so was Crowley and that earned a certain change on his viewpoint.

He did not much care that he was an angel and Crowley was a demon. They simply existed as they were, different celestial beings but with a place in each other’s lives.

This often included lunches at the Ritz, it was becoming one of his favorite places, though Crowley, the wiley demon that he was, liked to shake things up and he followed because, well, he never could pass up a good lunch with Crowley.

Not to mention, as much as he adored food, it was infinitely more satisfying when he had someone to share the experience with. He was shocked by how much Crowley had not tried,but also delighted that he was able to share his favorite foods with his favorite being.

Crowley didn't always like everything he made him try but he was always willing to try it and if he didn't feel like eating, he would at least order a glass (or two) of wine and keep him company, which was more than enough to keep them both satisfied.

Crowley also kept showing up at his bookshop more often and join him for tea and he started to visit Crowley at his flat.

He was fascinated by Crowley's plants and for some reason, the plants seemed to bask in his presence as well.

They went for picnics, and to museums, art galleries and concerts and he was even able to convince Crowley to see an Opera and he found an almost relieving delight that none of it had to do with stopping the armageddon.

Oh the War would be coming, the War between the Celestials and Humanity, and he could rely on that in the back of his mind, (yes that was the reason he continued to spend time with a demon) but for once in his six thousand years on Earth, he knew he was spending so much time with Crowley simply because he enjoyed Crowley's presence.

One Friday he had arrived at Crowley's place and had been there all afternoon, taking in lunch and tea in the quiet of Crowley's inhabitance.

At some point the demon had left, going on about something about Scotland and had invited Aziraphale to go with him but Aziraphale had already settled down with a mug of hot cocoa and one of the books he had started keeping at Crowley's flat.

"It's not a bookshop, angel!" Crowley had protested originally once he started to notice the piles of books scattered around.

"I don't intend to make it one." Aziraphale answered simply - the very notion of turning a flat, especially Crowley's, into a bookshop was ridiculous - and Crowley groaned at him but said nothing more about it.

It was one of his favorite books, one he had read and reread dozens of times. Yet he was still so enraptured by it's contents that he failed to notice that Crowley had returned until the demon tossed himself dramatically onto the couch beside him.

Aziraphale looked up, brow raised and sniffed the air. There was a new and pungent smell that was different from Crowley's usual slightly smokey scent. He liked that scent and didn't like that it was covered up by this rather unflattering one. "What have you been up to?"

The corners of Crowley's lips twitched in a smirk. "Did you know farmers don't particularly like to chase after their entire herd?"

Aziraphale pressed his brow together and pursed his lips. Ah, a farm. Yes that explained it. "Minor mischief for you. I do hope you did not cause any harm to the animals."

Crowley shrugged, crossing one leg over the other and spreading his arm across the back of the couch. "Nah, they just ran haphazardly around the very expansive field for a while. Gave them a little taste of freedom, they enjoyed it you know.”

He hid a small smile as he looked back at his book. He noticed a pattern, that Crowley's method of being a demon included causing inconveniences and annoyance to humans but never did any actual physical harm to anyone.

As far as demons went, it was positively good but he dare not call Crowley that anymore to his face. Though dare say, sometimes, sometimes, he was tempted to just to get him all riled up.

"And you haven't moved at all since I left." Crowley observed. "Do you enjoy this, truly?" He waves his hand to his little set up with book and mug.

Aziraphale looked back at him. "Truly, I do and I'll have you know I have indeed moved."

Crowley raised a silent eyebrow and Aziraphale gave him a tiny smile as he reached for his angel mug. "I needed more cocoa."

Crowley shook his head and sighed in exasperation. "I never should have introduced chocolate to you."

Aziraphale's eyes widened slightly. "Perish the thought! It was perhaps the best thing you've ever done."

"Six thousand years of knowing you and giving you chocolate was the best thing I've ever done?"

Aziraphale lifted his brow as he took a quiet sip. He could think immediately of a few other things - saving his books from the church - coming into the church in the first place. Countless other times that Crowley showed up to save him when he found himself in trouble.

"It's quite delicious."

He couldn't be certain because of his glasses but he was almost sure Crowley rolled his eyes.

Crowley then leaned in, his brow rising. "The ultimate temptation then." He spoke slowly, annunciating his every syllable, his voice a low, sultry hiss.

Crowley's mouth curled into a devilish grin, flashing his teeth

Aziraphale felt that familiar tingling sensation whenever Crowley got a little too close. Not a new feeling but one he was only recently beginning to truly acknowledge.

He could certainly understand why Adam and Eve had fallen for his temptation. He was very good at it.

He cleared his throat and lowered his mug back to the table. "Quite."

He couldn't see Crowley's eyes through the glasses but could picture them very clearly, staring at him and he stared back for a long few seconds.

Then he quickly averted his gaze and once again dove into his book.

Crowley let out a noise and he wasn't sure if it was a sigh or a laugh. Either way the demon sat back and he continued to read his book aloud as he liked to sometimes do.

Crowley was used to this tendency of his and didn't seem too perturbed when he did it around him and if he was, he simply got up and left.

Unlike him, Crowley was restless and he shifted and sighed a few times beside him before he eventually did get up, muttering something about his plants.

Sooner, or was it later, he wasn't certain, but at some point Crowley had returned.

Fully focused on his book, he was aware of Crowley's presence but tuned him out for a while.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Crowwley slowly shift closer and closer to him until he suddenly felt his head on his lap.

"Crowley?" His voice lifted in surprise and he paused in his reading. "What are you doing?"

"Well since you have decided to be utterly useless today..."

He frowned at that. Reading was a very good use of his time he always thought.

"...so have I. So I'm sleeping." Answered the demon.

He lifted the book to peer down at Crowley inquisitively. He had removed his glasses and his eyes were indeed closed.

"Demons don't sleep." He pointed out.

"This one does."

He opened his eyes a crack and he was met with the very rare sight of Crowley's golden eyes.

He shouldn't have been startled by it. In fact he wasn't startled by them, he never had been. It was simply a part of Crowley and one he had known since the Garden. No, what he was startled by was how those golden eyes looked at him and how they continued to make him feel.

He almost craved the moments Crowley allowed himself to go without his glasses, almost as much as he craved the indulgence of food.

"Do you?" he murmured quietly. "Since when?"

"Since always, angel. I slept through nearly an entire century once. It was...a pleasant experience. One I wish I could do more often."

"Sleep through an entire century?" Aziraphale couldn't even think of that. No food? No books? No tea? No Crowley…

He shook off that thought immediately. He had spent centuries without Crowley before but that was before. He almost couldn't imagine so many years without Crowley around nowadays.

To not watch him drive around like a lunatic, his small smirk of satisfaction whenever he did something he liked, the way he sipped on his wine and how he sputtered utter nonsense when he was drunk.

The way he brushed off his small acts of kindness as if they were nothing, as if he didn't care, as if he weren't good.

By God Almighty, he could not so much of think of going to sleep and leaving Crowley out of it.

"Why don't you then?" Asked Aziraphale nonchalantly as if he hadn't just made the monumental discovery that his life going forward would be enormously empty without Crowley.

The demon was quiet for a moment. "I've found perhaps life on Earth is not as bad as it once was."

Their eyes met and they held one another's gaze.

"I do suppose…" Aziraphale started, his voice quiet and uneasy, "with the ease of modern conveniences...and humanity has grown slightly less horrible to each other…"

Crowley pressed his lips together and sighed. "Yes, angel, that's the reason." He muttered and closed his eyes again.

He couldn't help but notice the slight bitter sarcasm in his voice.

Crowley was annoyed with him and he was annoyed with himself.

He wondered, with a small sigh of his own, why he kept pushing him away. They only had each other now. No rules to abide by, except their own.

"Your company is also very enjoyable, Crowley." He said finally and his silly reservations about what they were and what they meant to one another were eased even more at the satisfied smirk that suddenly appeared on Crowley's mouth.

"Read your book." Said the demon and Aziraphale obeyed, smiling as he lowered the book back down, enjoying the new weight of Crowley's head on his lap.

"Why did you stop reading?" Crowley asked after a minute or so of silence.

"You do want to sleep, yes? As I understand most people like to sleep in quiet. I did not want to disturb you."

"I am not most people, if you haven’t noticed, and there are far worse sounds to listen to than your voice, angel."

He wasn't certain whether that should classify as a compliment but given that it was Crowley, he decided it was.

He smiled to himself and cleared his throat. "Very well."

He began to read again and felt Crowley shift against him until he found a comfortable spot on his lap.

He read until he reached the end of the chapter and then quietly, slowly, lifted the book to once again peer down at Crowley.

He was struck by how peaceful he looked, if you could use peaceful to describe a demon, to describe Crowley.

But he was, with his eyes closed, his face relaxed, his hands rested lazily on his chest.

He had never seen Crowley like this before. He couldn't help but stare at him. Gaze in silent awe at a very rare, and beautiful sight.

Crowley's mussed up ginger hair fell over his forehead, no doubt a result of his escapades at the farm.

Without realizing what exactly he was doing he reached down with his free hand and gently brushed the strands away from his forehead.

It was something he realized in that moment he had always wanted to do. Run his fingers through that fiery hair, but he never could muster up the courage to so much as touch Crowley for more than necessary, none the less such an intimate show of affection.

He couldn't resist the temptation any longer and slowly ran his fingers through his hair. It was much softer than he imagined a demon's hair to be, but Crowley always did keep himself better groomed than the other demons.

"Aziraphale..."

He froze, his eyes widening. Crowley's voice was low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

He immediately removed his hand and Crowley's hair flopped back onto his forehead. He shifted and blushed.. He was usually the one to set boundaries, he should be aware of them as well.

"My apologies."

Crowley's lips pulled into a frown and for a moment, Aziraphale felt his heart drop and he feared that he ruined such a tender moment between them.

"I didn't say you should stop." Crowley continued and Aziraphale realized, his heart lifting and with it a smile, that Crowley's deepened voice was only due to his sleep and not from any annoyance.

It was a human trait but he was inhabiting a human host and had such limitations.

He slowly lowered his hand back down to the top of Crowley's head. The corners of Crowley's mouth twitched and he turned his head, until his forehead was pressed against his abdomen.

"Your hair is lovely." Aziraphale murmured quietly as he one again started to run his fingers through it.

"Your hands are magic."

He felt flushed all of a sudden and a smile grew on his lips.

"Well, I do know a trick or two."

"Not your silly little human tricks, Aziraphale. Real magic."

"Real magic?"

"Angel magic."

"It's not magic, it's simply angelic and I assure you I am using no such magic on you."

Crowley scoffed quietly. "I could argue against that."

He frowned and his hand paused. "If you are suggesting that I would ever use my influence upon you…"

He gasped quietly, only merely startled as suddenly Crowley shot up.

Crowley got into his face very often, but usually he was at least somewhat prepared for it. He was well aware of what pushing some of Crowley's buttons would do.

He wasn't aware this was one of them.

"I am saying, angel," Crowley hissed and he could feel his hot breath against his mouth and there was a flash of something in his golden eyes. "That from day one you have had some kind of ridiculous hold on me."

His brow pressed together. "Day one? The garden? I have never done anything to you. Certainly not intentionally." He couldn't deny the little stab he felt in his heart at Crowley’s use of the word ridiculous.

Crowley groaned in the back of his throat. "I know with you it's never intentional."

His frown deepened and he closed his book, setting it down on the arm of the couch. "What do you mean?"

Crowley's nostrils flared, now he was annoyed.

"Do we really need to keep playing these games, Aziraphale?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He insisted, knowing full well he knew exactly what he was talking about.

Crowley's lips curled up in a frustrated snarl. "Oh you do! You're an Angel for Christsake! Your very reason for existing is to feel love."

"It is, and I do, so what are you getting at?"

"My point," Crowley hissed and his mouth got impossibly closer. His lips subconsciously parted as Crowley drew nearer and his eyes darted downwards.

"You silly, stubborn, mischievous little angel…"

"Mischievous?" His eyes darted back up. "I would hardly call myself-"

Crowley quickly cut him off. "You gave away the flaming sword to the first humans who ever existed!"

"They needed it, after what you did, I couldn't quite help myself-"

"And all the centuries of you getting yourself into situations where I had to rescue you, mostly to do with food or your books mind you, both very human and un-angel like obsessions."

"Obsessions? I wouldn't call them obsessions. Fascinations, indulgences, perhaps…"

"And what am I, angel? To you?"

"You're...Crowley." He didn't know how better to describe it than that. A friend, yes. But also so much more. He had never known another like he knew Crowley and never wanted to. Crowley was unique, Crowley was special.

The corners of his lips twitched up. "I'm a demon, a being you weren't supposed to interact with, none the less befriend. Yet here we are, with six thousand years of history behind us. You want to know what hold you have on me, angel?"

He was fairly certain but nodded all the same.

"Love."

He swallowed hard as the word came out of his mouth, more tender than he ever thought Crowley could be, and Crowley did have his sparse moments of tenderness.

"I love you, you daft, stubborn angel."

A warmth blossomed in his chest and with it a small smile.

He cleared his throat lightly. "Six thousand years, my dear. You might have said something sooner-"

He was suddenly cut off as Crowley growled and then closed the small remaining distance between them with a harsh kiss to his mouth.

That time he knew precisely what he was doing to push all of Crowley's right buttons to get exactly what he wanted.

His eyes closed and his hand returned to Crowley's head, his fingers curling in his hair.

Crowley's mouth moved against his own, his body pressing against his and he knew he had most definitely found his new favorite indulgence.

"If it wasn't entirely obvious…" Aziraphale started once Crowley pulled away, his voice a little strained. He brought his hand to the side of his face, the tips of his fingers running over the tattoo at his sideburns and he smiled. "I also happen to love you."

"Obvious?" Crowley groaned with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "You couldn't have made it any less obvious! Sweet Moses, Aziraphale!"

Crowley fell to the seat beside him but sat closer than he ever had before, their thighs pressed together and his arm strung behind him.

A delightful tingling shot through his body as Crowley returned the favor and began to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He turned a sheepish and apologetic smile to him and Crowley gazed at him in exasperation.

"How many times have I asked you to run away with me? And how many times have you claimed to not even like me?"

His brow twitched downward and he winced. "Ah, yes...many times I’m afraid but you always saw through that, didn’t you?”

“That is besides the point and that point being you were anything but obvious and made it a point to be just the opposite!”

“I do apologize.” Aziraphale said gently, turning his head into Crowley’s hand and hoped his affection would be able to make up for it now.

Crowley let out a deep sigh and shook his head. He pursed his lips, hiding a smirk.

“You are forgiven.” He said, echoing Aziraphale’s words from not so long ago and Aziraphale answered with a beaming smile.

"Do you remember Moses?" Aziraphale asked suddenly after they had settled back down.

"Yes," Crowley nodded with a small smirk, "and I recall he wasn't so sweet when he brought down those tablets."

Aziraphale shot him a look. "That's because while I followed him up the mountain you tempted everyone with their false gods and idols."

Crowley shrugged unapologetically. "Deserved it as far as I'm concerned after the whole Noah business."

Aziraphale frowned and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hm, yes that was awfully dreadful."

"I still cannot believe it came from your side."

Aziraphale thought about the Angels and how they had treated him over the millennia. How Crowley said they had treated him at his "execution". And how they were actually prepared for and wanted war.

He may still be an Angel in all physical sense of the word but he did not belong to their side and perhaps he never had.

Aziraphale shook his head and gazed at Crowley with a tender smile. "You're my side now."

Crowley raised his brow in pleasant surprise and a smug grin slowly crossed his lips. "Well, I'm glad to see you've finally come to your senses."

"Only took six thousand years and the threat of the end of the world."

"Six thousand years," Crowley echoed, "and you hadn't a bloody clue."

Aziraphale turned a look on him. "That's not exactly true." He admitted.

"Oh no?" Crowley turned his head and narrowed his eyes.

"I was aware of what you wanted, to some extent at least but I couldn't…

"Hold on, hold on…" Crowley leaned in towards him, his eyes were just a little fiery, "...are you telling me you have been teasing me all of this time on purpose?"

"No!" He felt the lie as soon as he said it and the expression on Crowley's face indicated he didn't buy it either. "Not completely on purpose." He articulated slowly and offered a small sheepish smile. "Accidentally on purpose."

"Accidentally on purpose?" Crowley exclaimed, his brow shooting up. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds."

Aziraphale let out a small huff. "I simply mean that of course I loved you and I wanted to but I couldn't."

Crowley's scowl deepened. "Angel, please…"

"I couldn't let myself." He corrected himself quickly, his voice soft and apologetic. "I couldn't untie myself completely from.." he turned his gaze upwards.

"And now?" Crowley prompted.

Aziraphale looked back at him and smiled with a small shrug. "Now I simply don't care anymore. Not about that, or them. Just you and this flawed but glorious little planet."

The scowl on Crowley's face faded into a smirk and Aziraphale couldn't resist leaning in to give him another short little kiss.

"It's only us now, my dear." He murmured, once again reaching out to touch his face.

Crowley rested his head back onto his lap after a minute, settling back into comfort and Aziraphale immediately took to his hair again.

"Angel?" Crowley lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers gently around Aziraphale’s wrist.

"Yes?"

"Stay with me."

It wasn't a question this time and for Aziraphale there was no question in his mind anymore of what his answer was.

"For all time, Crowley. For all time."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #fanfiction #mine

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kallypsowrites · 5 years

Text

The Angel’s Shadow Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, so I’m going out on a limb and posting the first chapter of an original novel of mine called the Angel’s Shadow. It takes place over 1,000 years after the Revelation began and demons and angels have both become common place to humans. The first chapter focuses on Trisha, a girl with strange arms who has never left her house on the hill.

Read if you like my writing. The full first chapter is under the cut. And Imma go hide now.

Chapter 1

Words whispered behind closed doors felt heavier than others. Trisha Blackwood decided as much as she stood outside her father’s office, listening to the nervous voices within. Each word fell into the pit of her stomach like stones down a well, and her heart beat marked their fall.

Plunk.

Her parents’ conversation was not meant for her, and she knew it with every inch of her body. She hovered in the hallway, one foot on the stairs, one hand gripping tight to the bannister. She wanted retreat to the safety of her room, but her curious ears tied her to their secret words and the door that muffled them.

“I don’t know what else to do,” her mother said. “The villagers hate us. Mr. Weiss will look for any excuse to run us out of town. And Trisha--“

“Trisha will be fine. They won’t hurt her.”

“They might try. If they saw her arms, they might try.”

Trisha studied her hand where it rested on the bannister. She could almost see her reflection in her strange, hard skin. Were her arms to blame for the family’s troubles? Or was it her whole self?

“We can’t send her away, Rachel,” her father said.

Trisha’s head jerked up. Away. What did he mean, away?

“She would be well cared for and safer,” her mother replied. “They aren’t so suspicious on the mainland. Estella is a dear friend of mine. She would take care of Trisha like her own daughter.”

“You haven’t heard from her in three years.”

“She is still my friend. She’ll answer me.”

Trisha did not quite know how to absorb the words. They confused her more than they scared her. For the past ten years of her life, Trisha’s world began and ended with the house on the hill. It began in her room, tucked away in the Northwest corner of the manor where she woke every morning tangled in her plush blue quilt. It ended with the stream that ran between the woods and the rest of the village.

Never go past the stream, her parents told her often. Yet now they were talking about sending her away?

What would it be like to finally leave?

“I sent the letter weeks ago. It’s too late to talk me out of it,” her mother said. “There’s nothing left for Trisha here. For any of us. We can barely keep the house anymore or pay Agatha what she’s worth. Maybe we’re doomed, but Trisha is young. She has a chance.”

Her father did not reply, and somehow his tense silence was heavier than all the words combined. Then:

“Fine. If she responds... I’ll think about it.”

Trisha’s parents shifted behind the door and the creak of wood sent Trisha skittering up the steps, toward the safety of her room.

When her mother came up later to bid her goodnight, her eyes had gone red from crying. Trisha had one million questions, but she bit her tongue against them.

Words from behind closed doors were heaviest because the eavesdropper had to keep them to themselves.

That night, Trisha dreamed of the sea and of a ship carrying her away from her little village and off to far-off places she had only read about in stories. The great water stretched out endlessly before her, glittering beneath the sun, like millions of sapphires swirling together. And when she dipped her hand in the waves, her fingers were normal and smooth.

But when she woke, the sea was out of reach, and it was her arms that glittered in the sunlight streaming through her window.

The trouble for the Blackwood family started with Trisha’s arms. While Trisha had always been pale, her flesh shifted from milk to diamond at her elbows. The surface of her skin became hard and bumpy, like a precious gem, though she still had perfect movement in her wrists and fingers. Sometimes, when she got angry, her fingers sharpened into points like the claws of a stray cat.

Her arms had looked like that for as long as Trisha could remember, though her parents insisted she was not born that way. She did not mind their look. She liked the way they sparkled in the sunlight in the early morning. But their nature meant that she could not venture into the village or let the townsfolk see her. And she certainly could not touch the sea just beyond. Only gaze out at it from a distance.

Her parents described the townsfolk in their corner of England as “superstitious of all things beyond this world”. Trisha did not know where her arms came from, but she had an idea from the scattered words she heard behind closed doors.

Abnormal.

Cursed.

Touched by demons.

With such a small world, Trisha had never seen a demon, nor did she wish to do so. She had read enough books and seen enough pictures to know the destruction they could cause. In the ancient days, the onset of the Revelation laid whole cities in England to waste and the sea carved away great chunks of coastline. And behind every great disaster since the Revelation, a demon stood with a grin full of crooked, sharp teeth.

If a demon touched Trisha, she would surely remember.

Trisha flexed her fingers a few times, watching the sunlight dance across her knuckles. Then rolled from beneath the covers and hurried to dress. It was Friday, the busiest time at port, and she wanted to watch the ships come in. She tied a cloak over her gown to keep out the autumn breeze and slipped out into the hall.

The manor was quiet, but then again, it always was. They had far more rooms than they needed with their small family—remnants of a time when the Blackwoods had more family and guests. Most of the rooms felt like that. Remnants. The empty bedrooms. The great ballroom where her grandparents apparently once hosted gatherings of nobles. The maid’s quarters which they could not afford to fill. They were shells that longed to be filled, but they had to settle for Trisha.

At least, not every room was that way. Agatha, the only maid remaining, spent most of her mornings in the kitchen. Trisha found her there on her way out, pulling a batch of sweet biscuits out of the oven. Trisha tried to snatch one as she passed and Agatha rapped her spoon on the back of her knuckles.

“No. They’re too hot, child.”

“Not for me,” Trisha protested. “You know my hands won’t burn.”

“Aye, but your tongue will. Unless your tongue started glittering overnight,” Agatha said.

“It did,” Trisha said, lifting her chin.

“Uh huh.” Agatha arched her brow and tapped Trisha’s lips with her spoon. “Open up then and show me.”

Trisha pressed her lips together in defiance and Agatha laughed, shaking her head.

“All right then. Take a biscuit. But wait for it to cool.”

Trisha beamed, snatching a biscuit from the tray and rushing out the door into the cool autumn morning.

The Blackwood manor sat on a rather high hill, overlooking the village and the sea which lay beyond. It stood three stories tall, mostly dark grey stone that jutted out in places making it perfect for climbing. To reach their house, any visitors had to cross the shallow stream and hike up a winding path through the woods. And visitors rarely deigned to make the trip, so Trisha was free to play on the hill. In the summer, wildflowers sprouted in colorful patches, and Trisha picked them often on her morning walk. Even more grew on the hillside beyond the creek—yellow, pink, and blue. But those flowers were forbidden.

Never go past the stream.

Off to the right stood an old watchtower, made of old stone and covered with moss on the east side where the early morning cast its light. Hail fall damaged the wooden roof three years previously, leaving holes big enough for skinny cats and fat rats. It was useless to Trisha’s parents. But to her, it was everything: her sanctuary, her stash of important things, and her view into the world she could never touch.

In the tower sanctuary, she kept a typical child’s stash: a doll with fine silk clothing that her father brought her from the mainland (she did not remember which country). A rubber ball which she could bounce off the walls and chase when it accidentally tumbled out the window. Bundles of wild flowers, half dead, half dying, which she had plucked from the forests. Five of her favorite books with torn bindings from so much use.

But most important of all: a tiny music box that she found by the creek. Some children must have dropped it while playing. She planned on handing it over to her mother until she heard it’s pretty tune. She did not know the name of the song. Only that it made her feel peaceful when she sat in her tower, turning the crank round and round. It was a small, soft melody. It fit her world nicely. A small world for a small girl.

When she reached the top of the tower, she snatched up the music box and gave the crank a few twists. Then, as the song played, she settled herself on a crate in front of the window and peered out at the horizon. Past the tree line, she could make out the roofs of the village at the base of the hill and the steeple of the old church. And beyond that? A sliver of sparkling blue sea, dotted with the sails of ships coming into port. She smiled, tearing off a chunk of her biscuit. It was cool enough to eat without burning her tongue but warm enough to chase away the chill of the early morning.

She sometimes spent hours in the tower, watching ships drift from the horizon to the port until their sails disappear below the tree line. That tantalizing strip of sea made her long for the open waters of her dreams and a ship of her own. But she had never even seen a ship up close. Instead, she was left with her imagination and the stories of adventurers in her books.

She tried to be content with that. She tried not to dream of stepping beyond the stream because she knew her parents were right. Most would fear her arms. Cut them off or throw her out of the village to let a real demon prey upon her.

“Big worlds are not always good,” Agatha told her once. “Big worlds mean big people who use their size against you.”

Agatha’s words sounded wise. A girl with cursed arms was lucky enough to have any place in the world at all.

Yet she could not help wish that one day she would grow big enough to not fear the monsters on the other side.

An hour passed and Trisha stayed at her perch, alternating between flipping through a book of French fairytales and peering out at the sea. But once when she looked up, she caught a flash of movement on the path. Two young men were approaching the house.

They dressed like noblemen from across the sea with all of their clothes stitched with the finest materials, and they shared the same warm brown skin and dark hair. The eldest carried himself much older than suited his young face, his chin held high and proud, and his gaze hard as the cane in his hand. He kept his hair slicked and pulled neatly back with a violet tie.

The younger could not be more than a few years Trisha’s senior, and his shoulders did not quite fill his fine suit. He had shorter hair than his brother but he kept it wild, letting the curls fall in his eyes. He walked with his shoulders slumped forward, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes fixed to the ground, as if he were looking for something he had lost. But when he raised his head and caught sight of Trisha in the window, he smiled, giving her a little wave.

Trisha should have stayed in her tower. She should have stayed hidden and kept her arms out of sight. Yet they hadn’t had visitors in so long. Certainly not visitors like these. So she found herself hurrying down the steps, her book of fairy tales still tucked under her arm. The young men had nearly reached the porch when she rushed out to meet them, tucking her arms instinctively behind her back as she skidded to a stop just off the path.

“Are you from across the sea?”

The elder boy paused at the foot of the porch. Trisha shivered as his gaze fixed on her. She was not used to being studied so intently nor was she used to strangers. Maybe coming downstairs hadn’t been a smart idea. “We’re from Lisbon.”

“Portugal?” Trisha shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve always wanted to go. The books say that it’s beautiful in the summer. Especially the ocean.”

“The books don’t lie.” The eldest stepped toward her. He turned his cane in his hand. “Your name is Trisha Blackwood, yes?”

Trisha nodded once. She pressed her arms more firmly against the small of her back. They seemed to tingle when he drew near. She had never felt such a sensation before, and she did not know what to make of it.

“I’m Stefano De Galantes.” He glanced down at the younger boy. “This is Leon. My brother.”

Leon offered her a small smile. He had kinder eyes than his brother. Warm brown, just like his skin and hair. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Blackwood.”

Trisha giggled. “Lady? No one has ever called me a lady.”

“Because your parents hide you from anyone who would, I expect,” Stefano said. “You don’t have to hide from us. We know about your arms.”

“You... what?” Trisha felt a lump in her throat.

“Your arms. Your parents told us.” Stefano stepped toward her, holding out his hand. “May I see them?” When Trisha did not move, his hard expression softened. “It’s all right. I’m not a danger to you today.”

“What about tomorrow?” Trisha asked.

Stefano’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. She was sure she saw purple flecked through the brown of his irises. What a strange mix of colors. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

“My mother says so,” Trisha said. Then, slowly, she unwound her arms behind her back.

The cracked diamond surface of her skin glittered in the light as she held them up for Stefano’s inspection. The younger brother, Leon, craned his neck to get a look at her arms, his eyes wide. Stefano touched her palm for only a moment before he jerked his hand back.

“What is it?” she asked. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Stefano said. His voice was even. He was a good liar, unlike her parents.

“I can hurt people if I’m not careful.” Trisha passed one hand over the back of the other. Her knuckles cracked sharpened into points over her fingers. “Sometimes this happens on its own.”

Stefano’s jaw went taut. Perhaps the claws had frightened him. She should have known better than to show them to strangers. The younger brother had taken a step back at the sight.

“I’m not surprised,” Stefano said at last.

“You’ve seen arms like mine before then?” Trisha looked up at him, wide eyed. She had never imagined there was anyone else like her.

“In a sense, yes,” Stefano said. His eyes fixated on her hands. Now, Trisha was sure she saw violet in his irises, overwhelming the brown. His hand twitched like he meant to reach out again. The nerves of Trisha’s arms buzzed.

“Trisha?”

Trisha looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, clutching the frame with one hand and a fire poker in the other.

Stefano dropped his hand, straightening and turning to face Trisha’s mother. “Lady Blackwood. My name is Stefano De Galantes.”

“And I’m Leon De Galantes.” Leon gave a bow.

Her mother’s grip relaxed on the fire poker and the door handle all at once. “You both have Estella’s look.” She glanced at Leon. “You especially. I should have known at once. Thank you for coming.” She stepped out onto the porch. “Where is Estella? Could she not come?”

“I’m afraid not,” Stefano said. “She passed a few years ago. Our father followed shortly after.”

Lady Blackwood’s shoulders deflated. “She’s dead.”

Leon looked down at the ground, scuffing his boot against the gravel. Stefano tapped his younger brother’s ankle with his cane as he passed and he straightened quickly into a more dignified position.

“Yes,” Stefano said. “I’m head of the family now.”

“You’re awfully young for that, aren’t you?” Lady Blackwood murmured.

“I’m old enough,” Stefano said. “I received your letter about your daughter. I know you and our mother were once close. I thought I’d better come in her place.”

Trisha’s mother bit her lip and nodded. “I appreciate the courtesy, my lord. Please come in. We should talk away from younger ears.”

Stefano nodded and followed her into the house. Leon lingered outside with Trisha. His shoulders seemed to relax when Stefano disappeared, an almost visible weight lifted off his shoulders. The lightness in his eyes surprised Trisha when he smiled at her. “What were you reading?”

“Oh.” Trisha remembered the book tucked under her arm and showed it to him. “A book of French fairytales.”

“I love fairytales.” Leon crossed to her, carefully taking the book from her. “Yes, I think I’ve read this one. We have many books in our library.” He flipped through. “You read French?”

“Yes. I can’t go very far from this house, you see. So I have lots of time to learn things. Like French and history and literature.” She pulled at one of her odd fingers. “Do you read a lot too?”

“Yes.” Leon smiled fondly. “I’d spend all my time with books if I could.” He rubbed a hand behind his neck. “But Stefano insists I learn the family business.”

“What is the family business?”

Leon studied his shoes. “Shipping.”

“Shipping what?”

“Lots of things. We own ports and trains that go all over Europe.”

“So you own ships?” Trisha’s eyes lit up.

“Oh yes, many,” Leon said. “One of our ships brought us here to your little harbor.”

“I’ve always wanted a ship of my own,” Trisha said. “I wanted to sail every corner of the seas like a great adventurer in the stories.” She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Tell me, is the open sea as beautiful as the pictures?”

“You’ve never been out to sea?” Leon asked. “It’s just down the hill.”

“I’m not allowed to go past the stream. Because of these.” Trisha held her arms up to the sunlight. Leon flinched slightly when her hand passed too close to him and she frowned. “See... you’re afraid of them too.”

“It’s... not that,” Leon murmured. “They’re beautiful. It’s just... it’s too bad they keep you from sailing.”

Trisha nodded once, pretending that she did not notice his lie. “But... that might change soon. I heard my parents talking of sending me away to keep me safe. If they do... I’ll cross the sea then.”

“I suppose you will,” Leon said. “You’d like our ship. It’s beautiful. Much better than a picture.”

Trisha was sure she would like any ship, even a broken down one. She wanted to ask more questions, but the door creaked open and Stefano stepped out. Leon’s shoulders seemed to hunch again as Stefano jerked his head toward the doorway.

“Leon. Come here. Now.”

Leon nodded once. He gave Trisha one more soft smile, handing back her book. “Maybe you can show me more of your collection sometime.”

Trisha returned his smile. “And I can see your ship.”

Leon nodded once, then turned and scurried up the porch steps, sliding past his elder brother. Stefano cast Trisha one heavy look before shutting the door.

More closed doors, Trisha thought. They must be discussing many weighted secrets in there. Secrets not meant for her. And Trisha did not wish to bear the burden of their whispered words today. So she picked up her book again and sat at the foot of her tower.

Words in books were meant to be shared. She far preferred to lose herself in printed pages than in the voices just beyond her reach.

A short time later, the De Galantes brothers left. They had some business in the town and needed time to consider her mother’s proposal. Would they take her across the sea or would she stay here in her little world?

It was an exciting and terrifying thought. If Trisha was honest, she was more terrified about what would happen if they said no. She had the promise of a ship and the open sea in front of her, closer than they had ever been. But what if they left without returning and she lost her chance?

She could not stand to go back indoors yet. With a few more hours of daylight before her, she wandered down the path toward the creek. She always wandered the woods in the late afternoon because she liked the way the fading light caught the trees. Trees at dusk made the most beautiful silhouettes, and the evening sunlight made the surface of the water glitter and shine to match Trisha’s arms.

She let her worries about the secret “proposition” between her mother and the noble brothers drift away as she walked along the stream, dipping her toes into the cool water every so often. Occasionally, she allowed herself glances across the stream into the forbidden territory of the village. The grass on the other side looked much the same as the grass beneath her feet. No greener, really. But it wasn’t the grass she wanted. It was the sea. It was the ship.

She found herself in a staring contest with the barrier, though it had no eyes to look back. One couldn’t win a staring contest with the ground. A little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

“The heroes in the stories are bold. If they weren’t... they would never leave home.”

That little whisper pushed her forward.

And she stepped. She stepped across the stream. Then she stepped again. And again. Her feet carried her down the hill toward the village.

It will be fine, she told herself. My sleeves are long. If I hide my hands in the pockets of my cloak, no one will see.

I’ll be fine. I must be bold.

I want to see the ship.

***

Trisha wondered if this was how heroes felt the first time they struck out on an adventure. It always seemed the first few steps to freedom would be exciting. For her, they were filled with nausea and paranoia. She kept her hands tucked in her pockets and hidden beneath her cloak as she hurried down the hill toward the village she had only ever seen from a distance. The very sight of people on the main road made her panic, and she was quick to duck behind the nearest house, letting out a shuddering breath.

This is bad. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have done this.

She swallowed down a wave of panic, looking down to make sure her arms were not visible. They weren’t. No one would know if she just kept them like this.

She swished her cloak around a bit, checking to make sure there were no gaps. Then she took a deep breath and continued on her way, taking quick, nervous steps down the alley.

She kept to the back ways, trying to avoid people as much as possible. But even when she passed others, they did not seem to notice her. They were too busy with their own affairs for that. Slowly but surely, she grew more confident in her pace, and her shoulders relaxed. She really was here. Past the stream. Out in the village.

And the sea was close at hand.

She hurried on until she last she broke out of an alley and stumbled into a fence. It was that fence that kept her from tumbling right over into the water. Suddenly, she was looking out at the sea. She could smell the salt, hear the waves rolling in the wind. How blue it was. How... beautiful.

And when she looked to her right, she spied the port and the ship which she had come to visit.

The vessel was much bigger than she had expected, and it dwarfed the other ships in the harbor. The wood was a dark reddish-brown, and it shone so brightly that Trisha thought it must be a new coat of paint. The mast stretched high into the sky and Trisha imagined that when the white sails would look magnificent when unfurled. The ship was called ‘The Lion’s Breath’, and its name was written in gold letters along the side. Trisha leaned against the ropes, wanting to reach out and touch it. But she could not risk anyone seeing her arms.

“What are you doing here?”

The cool voice made Trisha jumped, and she looked up to see Stefano De Galantes standing by the gangplank of the ship, his gloved hand gripping the railing. She could not tell if he was angry to see her or if that was just his normal expression.

“I... wanted to see the ship,” she mumbled.

“Someone could have seen you,” Stefano pointed out. “That’s a lot to risk just to see a ship.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “But I’ve... never seen one before. I thought if I didn’t come now... I would lose my chance.”

He studied her for a long time before he replied. “And? Does it meet your expectations?”

She risked a nervous smile. “Yes, my lord. It’s a magnificent ship. Better than any picture in a book.”

He did not smile back at her, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Was it worth the risky trip?”

“I think so. No one has noticed me yet.” Trisha took a small step toward him. “Will you take me with you, Lord De Galantes? Have you decided?”

“I haven’t,” Stefano said. “But...it might be better for you to remain here.”

Trisha’s heart clenched. “You’re wrong. If I stay, I’ll only make more trouble for my parents. And... and I’ll be stuck at the top of the hill forever.”

“Well, you’re not at the top of the hill now,” Stefano pointed out.

Trisha bit the inside of her cheek. That was true. It was an invigorating feeling, finally crossing the stream. But she did not want to stop at this short journey.

“I told you. I haven’t decided,” Stefano said. “For now, return home. You’ve seen your ship. Let that be enough for today.”

Trisha did not move for a moment. Then his gaze hardened, and a tingling went through her arms again, like a warning.

“Go.”

Trisha took a step back. Then she turned and hurried away from the docks, urged forward by his single word. His face was young, but there was a weight to his voice that made him seem older, and that single word had felt like an order.

I don’t think he likes me, she thought, and that was enough to crush what little hope she had of going out to sea. She had been foolish to hope for that.

But she had seen the ship. She tried to be content with that as she picked her way carefully through the back roads of the town, using the hill in the distance as her guide. She passed a few people but most did not pay her any mind. Until she ducked onto the road behind the blacksmith and almost ran headlong into a boy with red hair.

She stumbled back, muttering a quick apology as she checked to make sure her arms were not visible. They weren’t, but still he looked at her with wide green eyes.

“It’s you,” he said, which was not what she expected him to say.

“It’s... me?”

“You’re the girl who lives up the hill,” the red-headed boy said. “The one with the pretty arms.”

Pretty. That wasn’t the word she expected to hear from him. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, shaking her head. “No...I’m sorry. You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not. I saw you once before, just past the stream. You were picking flowers.” He glanced around as if worried someone would hear. “You should go home, quickly. They’re looking for you.”

“Who?” Trisha asked.

“Ralph Weiss and his friends. One of them saw you in town and they went on a... hunt.”

A hunt? How could they hunt Trisha when she wasn’t an animal?

“Why?” she asked.

“Because of your arms,” Reid said. “They think you’re a demon. Listen, one of them has a knife. I’m not messing around. Go up the hill. Quickly. I’ll try to lead them away.”

Trisha’s heart beat against her rib cage like a frightened bird. A knife. One of them had a knife. She turned to go but stopped in her tracks when she heard the voices.

“No really, I saw her,” a boy claimed. “Saw her running on all fours through the trees like some kind of animal. She had claws. Bright purple eyes too.”

“Yeah right.”

“I know what I saw! The Blackwood’s have a demon for a daughter.”

Trisha took a step back, looking around frantically for a retreat. But it was too late. The group had rounded the corner. One of them, a boy with pale blonde hair, had already spied her. He cackled, pointing her direction.

“Is that your demon girl? Cause she’s standing on two feet.”

“Yeah, and her eyes are blue, not purple,” another said.

A boy with too many freckles, the one who claimed to have seen her, stamped her foot against the ground. “That’s her; she’s just not in her true form. Demons never start out looking like demons you know.”

“Leave her alone, Ralph,” the red-headed boy said. “She’s not a demon at all.”

“Oh. O’Banner. Didn’t see you there,” Ralph said. “Well, good work finding her. I knew that big brain might come in handy.” He looked Trisha up and down. “Well? Show us those arms.”

Trisha shook her head, taking a step back. Her hands clenched into fists in her pockets, but she could not bring herself to speak. She saw the knife at his hip. The same knife the red-headed boy warned her about.

The boy with too many freckles stomped over to her, grabbing for her arm. “I’ll show you. Her arms are strange. Just look.”

“Don’t touch me.” Trisha smacked his hand a way, stepping back. The sunlight rippled over her skin and the boys gasped.

“Hellfire. She does have weird arms.”

“I told you.” The boy with too many freckles seized her wrist, jerking her arm up into the air. They were all older than her by a few years and thus much taller. “Didn’t I tell you? Demon hands.”

“I’m not a demon.” Trisha struggled in his grip, a worm on a hook. But the other boys were already swarming her with wide eyes and greedy smiles. “I’m not.”

“Let her go,” the red-headed boy, O’Banner, tried to come to her aid, but two of the other boys seized his skinny arms, pulling him back. Trisha turned, wanting to help him, but the boy with the pale blonde hair and the knife grabbed her other wrist, holding it up to the light.

“Well, you’re not human, that’s for sure. What are these made of?”

“Demon crystal?” the freckled boy suggested.

“No such thing as demon crystal.”

“How do you know?”

Trisha gritted her teeth, jerking in their grip again. “I said let go.”

“Shut up, Demon Girl,” the boy with too many freckles said. “I bet if we take her to Old Mick, he’ll tell us what kind of demon she is.” He yanked her hard toward the main road, and Trisha dug her heels into the ground. No. No one else could see her.

“Old Mick will take all the credit for catching a demon then,” said one boy holding O’Banner. “We caught her. We should take her to the town square. Mr. Weiss will give us fat stacks of money for catching a demon.” He looked to the blonde boy. “Right, Ralph? Your father will pay us good?”

“If I ask him,” the boy replied. His blue eyes glittered with malice.

“Please stop. I’m a girl. I’m a normal girl,” Trisha insisted.

A metallic scraping sound echoed through the alley and Trisha’s stomach twisted. Ralph had drawn his knife.

“We’ll take her to my father in a minute. I want to see what her arms are made of.”

Trisha hissed and threw herself backward. Her arms finally wrenched free of their grasps but she knocked hard against the ground. She hadn’t even caught her breath when Ralph fell on top of her, pinning one of her wrists to the ground. He tapped one of her fingers with his blade.

“What are you doing?” the freckled boy asked.

“Her hands look hard. I wonder if I can cut off a finger,” Ralph said.

“You’re insane!” O’Banner protested. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s a demon, O’Banner. I’m trying to protect us.”

Trisha realized then, with startling clarity, that appealing to them with words was pointless. They didn’t look at her as a girl. They looked at her the same way they might a rat or a bug. They could carve off all of her fingers and her toes too, and they wouldn’t see it as wrong.

She couldn’t reason with them.

She drove her fist forward without thinking, meaning to punch him. As if on instinct, her knuckles sharpened. The flesh of his neck gave easily, followed by the spray of warm blood across her face. Pain jolted through her hand, white hot like lightning, and she cried out.

The boys screamed too and stumbled back, but Ralph couldn’t make a sound with a sliced throat.

He toppled off of her, collapsing to the ground. The others scrambled off, abandoning him before Trisha had even fully sat up. She looked down at the pale boy, straight into his wide blue eyes. His mouth trembled as he tried to draw in gasping breaths. Instead, he could only choke as the air slipped out the hole in his neck.

Trisha could not tear her eyes away from him. She watched every painful gurgle until the light faded from his blue eyes. Then he went utterly still.

Another pulse of agony raced up Trisha’s arm, and she gritted her teeth against a cry. She looked down at her left hand, expecting to see a wound. Instead, she saw a black spot spread across her knuckles beneath the blood. Black like charcoal.

“You killed him.”

Trisha looked over her shoulder to see that only O’Banner remained, wide eyed and pale.

“I was just trying to...” Trisha trailed off. It didn’t matter what she was trying to do.

The boy blinked hard, looking from the body back to her. “You need to go. Now.”

This time she did not protest or hesitate. She tucked her hands beneath her cloak and ran as fast as she could back toward the hill. And all the way there, the black mark on her hand throbbed.

Trisha stumbled up the hill, racing to get home before dark. She held her left arm tight to her chest, trying not to move her blemished hand. Panic clawed at the inside of her chest, but her expression did not move. She floated within her own body as it moved on instinct, trying to get to safety.

Agatha stood on the porch, beating out the front hall rug when Trisha fell to her knees in front of the house. Her legs trembled too much to hold her weight.

“Miss?” Agatha dropped to her side. “Merciful heavens, you’re bleeding!”

Trisha shook her head, staring straight ahead at the pearly white buttons of Agatha’s dress. “It’s not mine, Miss Agatha. Don’t worry.” Trisha almost didn’t recognize the flatness of her own voice.

Agatha let out a foul stream of curses and leapt to her feet. The door creaked and her footsteps tapped rapidly away, leaving Trisha alone again on the porch. She did not dare to move, or look at her blood stained left hand. She wanted to become stone and never move again, not even for the wind. They could not hurt her if she was stone. Stone did not feel pain.

The footsteps returned, this time with company. Suddenly, Trisha’s mother and father knelt beside her, shaking her, checking for injury. They asked so many questions and Trisha couldn’t process any of them.

“Trisha, look at me.” Her mother cupped her face in her hands and forced her head up. “Tell me what happened.”

“I crossed the stream. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have,” Trisha muttered. The numbness of her expression cracked, and she felt tears slipping down her cheeks. “I wanted to see a ship. And... one boy wanted to cut my arms open. So I...”

“Goddamn it,” her father hissed and Trisha flinched. Her father rarely raised his voice.

Her mother pulled her tight to her chest, stroking Trisha’s dark hair. “Don’t say anymore, dear.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think there would be so much blood. I don’t think you’ll be able to wash this dress, Agatha.” Trisha’s chest shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a dress, child,” Agatha murmured from somewhere to Trisha’s left. She couldn’t see her through the film of gathering tears.

“They’ll be coming soon,” her father said. “In less than an hour, there will be a mob at our doorstep, looking for her. Damn it all. We were so close to getting her out of this wretched place.”

“They won’t get anywhere near her,” her mother vowed. She pulled back from Trisha, looking her in the eye again. “Trisha dear, I want you to go to the tower.”

“The tower?” Trisha asked.

“Yes. You love to hide up there, don’t you? I want you to hide again. Think of it like a game.” Her mother pushed back her hair with a soft smile. Why did her parents’ smiles always seem like lies? “You mustn’t let anyone find you. You must stay quiet and still until everyone else leaves. Do you understand?”

Trisha nodded once. “I think so.”

“Be sure.” Her mother squeezed her shoulders. “Promise me you won’t be found.”

“You should hide with me,” Trisha croaked out.

Her mother shook her head. “You know I don’t like the tower. It’s so dirty up there.” Tears gathered in her mother’s eyes. “I’ll hide somewhere else. Don’t worry. Just promise me.”

Trisha swallowed a lump in her throat. “I promise.”

“Good girl.” Her mother stood, drawing Trisha up with her. “Go. The game starts now.”

Trisha nodded, blinking away tears. She fled to the tower as fast as her feet would carry her. The sun was nearly down and she could barely see her feet as she ran up the crumbling steps. When she reached the top room, she tucked herself between her box of treasures and a fallen wooden plank from the damaged ceiling.

Quiet and still, she waited.

The village came less than an hour later. Or at least a large portion of the village. It had to be a great number of people, because there were so many voices outside, chanting in one livid chorus. The light of their torches flashed through the narrow window of the tower and painted deep shadows on the walls. Trisha shrunk from the light, not wanting it to touch her. She must stay hidden.

“Give us the monster!” one man called. “The demon killed a child. Bring her out.”

“She is not here,” her father called back. “She fled an hour ago.”

“Lies. Bring her out. She does not deserve your protection.”

Trisha swallowed hard. Her parents had never been good liars. Even the townspeople knew as much.

The villagers’ cries for justice rose around the tower, mixing until they became incoherent. Trisha could not make any individual words. Just the emotions. Rage. Fear. Hate. She felt them pressing in around her like the shadows from their torches. She clapped her hands over her ears to smother them.

She couldn’t smother her sense of smell though. Smoke stung her nose, and the firelight seemed to spread. Fire. Had they set fire to the house? A sudden terror gripped Trisha for her parents. She forgot, for a moment, her mother’s command to be silent and still. She crawled across the ground on all fours and chanced a look through the narrow window.

She had never seen so many people before, clustered all in a mass, each with their own torch in their hands. One torch had lit the west side of the house on fire. But her parents had not moved. They stood strong before the door. Agatha stood behind them, clutching a huge steak knife that she usually used to prepare dinner. It wouldn’t be enough. The villagers had weapons too.

The firelight passed over her face and Trisha ducked down beneath the window again. Too late. A clear woman’s voice rose over the crowd.

“I saw something move in the tower. She’s there.”

“NO,” her mother screamed.

The tower seemed to shudder. The villagers pressed around its base. Her parents must have barricaded the door, because Trisha heard it shudder but not give. Still, she was sure their pounding alone would knock over the tower.

Her parent’s screams mixed with the horrible din and she tried to focus on them. On the familiar sound of their voices. But soon, the cries of the mob swallowed them up. She couldn’t hear them anymore. The door shuddered. Splintered.

Then the screams changed.

It was a subtle difference at first. From blood-thirst to fear. Then panic. Then utter terror. A woman shrieked in agony.

“Oh God. Oh God, Demon.”

Now, the shift in the mob was clear. The door had stopped shuddering, and the screams seemed to scatter. And amidst the cries and the crackling of fire, Trisha heard the most awful sounds.

Crunch

Snap

Pop

Like tree branches cracking in a great storm, but softer.

Crunch

Snap

Pop

Trisha did not dare rise again to see what was happening. She stayed at her place below the window, watching firelight dance across the wall. Then, suddenly, a face appeared before her.

The face melted out of the stone first, as if breaking through a waterfall, and a body followed shortly after. In the shadows cast by the fire, Trisha thought it must be an awful ghoul come to kill her. Then he spoke.

“Shh, it’s all right.”

Trisha focused on his face now. Leon De Galantes. Had he... walked straight through the wall?

“I won’t hurt you.” The boy moved forward carefully, kneeling in front of her. He had a soft smile. A real smile. “I’m here to help.”

“The mob,” Trisha choked out.

“Not a problem,” Leon said. “We just have to wait a few minutes. Then they’ll all be gone.” He looked around her tower, noticing her box of treasures. “This is your hideaway isn’t it?” He slid over to her box, looking through her little treasures. He pulled out her music box and turned the crank. A familiar, pretty tune filled the tower. It surprised Trisha she could hear it at all. The mob had gotten strangely quieter. “I’ve heard this before. It’s a waltz they often play at balls.” He looked up at her. “You’ll get to hear a whole orchestra play it someday.”

He had a kind expression, and yet...

“You came through the wall,” Trisha murmured. “Are you a demon?”

“Yes,” Leon said. He answered so simply. Yes. No lies. No shame either. Just a yes. “Well, I’m possessed by a demon. I’m still human but...I’m sort of both. So are you.”

Trisha blinked hard. “I’m not. I’m just...”

“You are.” Leon sat down in front of her. “It’s all right. We’ll look after you now. In Lisbon, you’ll be safe. No one will think to hurt you under our roof.”

“What about my parents?” Trisha asked.

“They won’t be able to look after you anymore, Trish.” He rested a hand on her arm, just above where abnormal flesh met smooth skin. “But we will. We’ll take you across the sea. You’ll get to see many things now. You won’t have to stay hidden away.”

“I’ve never left this hill.” Trisha swallowed hard. “And when I did... everything went wrong.”

“Now is a good time to try again.” Leon grasped her shoulders and eased her to her feet. Then he pressed her music box into her hand. “Come on. It’s over now. Don’t be afraid.”

Trisha was afraid and her thoughts spun out of control. She was a demon. Possessed. The villagers had been right to want to kill her. Yet this boy, a demon like her, was kind.

Demons weren’t supposed to be kind.

Leon guided her down the stairs until they reached the splintered remains of the door. The mob had left a gap big enough for Trisha to step through.

She stepped into a sea of bodies.

The villagers lay strewn about the grass, all around the field where Trisha used to play. Their bodies twisted at odd angles, their necks lolling to the side and their eyes and mouths wide, frozen with their last screams. She didn’t see any blood, except from three of the bodies. Agatha, lying near the door, speared through the chest by a pitchfork.

And her parents, on the porch, in a pool of red.

The mob had killed them, but someone else had killed the mob. Someone...

Trisha’s arms buzzed, and she looked up.

A single man remained standing in the sea of the dead, barely visible in the light of the fading flames. No blood stained his clothes or face, and he held no weapon. Yet Trisha knew, with absolute certainty, that he had caused the shift in the mob’s screams.

He had killed them—every one of them—in minutes.

A gentle breeze rustled the man’s long hair, filling the dead quiet for a moment. He let out a long breath, like her father used to after a hard day at work. Then Stefano De Galantes adjusted the cuffs of his jacket and turned to face them with eyes glowing violet in the dark.

“Ready to go?”

Trisha crossed the stream for the first time that day, and it had been a terrible mistake. Now she crossed the stream a second time, following the brothers back toward the port.

But the village had twisted into something out of a nightmare. The villagers who had not come with the mob were screaming, and the smell of smoke filled the air. Trisha heard an earth-shattering shriek from nearby.

“Rogue demons,” Leon said. “They must’ve come when they felt your signature.”

“Undoubtedly,” Stefano agreed.

“Should we do something?”

“No.” Stefano did not slow his pace. “Let them have their rampage.”

Trisha stumbled to keep up with Leon. The cold wind bit at her skin even through her cloak. At least, her hand did not burn so much anymore, but the black spot remained.

The docks came into sight, and Trisha did not have time to admire the beauty of the ships before that horrible shriek pierced the night again, this time much closer. She turned, wide eyed, to see the thing Leon had called a “rogue demon”.

Unlike the De Galantes brothers, it looked nothing close to human. Its mortal body had long ago fallen away, leaving behind a true monster. It stood as tall as a house with bubbling, blackened skin and a bulbous body too large for its skinny legs. It had six of them, bony, with the elbows popping out at odd angles. A wonder that it could even hold itself up, but it could easily crush a building with its weight. Or a ship.

It crashed its way toward the docks but Stefano held up two fingers, his violet eyes flashing. The creature stopped with a pained roar.

“We need that ship,” Stefano said in a cool voice. “Do your work elsewhere.”

The demon shuddered at the wake of his words and turned, sliding off in the other direction, crushing shops as it went.

“See,” Leon whispered to her. “You have nothing to worry about, Trisha.”

Trisha wasn’t sure of that, but she did not have the voice to argue. They stepped onto the docks when she heard another cry, this one much more human.

“Demons!”

She whipped around and saw him. The redheaded boy. The one who told her to run. He was sprinting toward them, an axe in his hand. She thought he meant to kill her, but instead he let out a cry.

“Demons. Let her go.”

Trisha blinked. Did this boy mean to save her? Did he not realize what she was even after he saw her kill someone?

Stefano stepped forward, flicking his wrist. The boy flew back, smacking into the wall of the nearest building. Trisha let out a cry before she could stop herself. Her scream seemed to stop Stefano.

“Leave him,” Leon said. “We need to go.”

Stefano glared after the boy for a moment, his jaw tense. Then he nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”

Trisha looked over her shoulder as Leon guided her onto the ship. The redheaded boy slumped on the ground, unconscious from Stefano’s blow. Her would-be “savior”.

He must have thought her a princess from the stories, kidnapped by demons. He did not realize she was one herself.

#my writing #amwriting #originals #wingless #the angel's shadow

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tenspontaneite · 5 years

Text

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 6/?)

In which Rayla’s life begins to get a whole lot more painful.

(Chapter length: 13k. Link to Ao3 version)

“How are we going to do this, Claudia? It’s been days! They could be anywhere!”

Claudia stood well back from the clanking commotion her brother’s pacing made in the hall, brows furrowed and fingers tapping a little nervously at her bag, hyper-aware of what she knew was in there. “Relax, Soren. It’s not that bad.”

“How is it ‘not that bad’?” he demanded, stopping to whirl and face her, crossing his arms with a metallic shhnk. “Dad says they took a boat! We can’t use tracking dogs on a boat!”

She rolled her eyes, and then waved her hand dismissively for good measure. “Psh. That’s not a problem. We just have to follow the river until we find where they left the boat, and then the dogs can do their jobs. Finding the trail won’t be a problem. What I’m worried about is catching up to them.” Her fingers stilled on the bag and its precious contents. “The scent trail won’t last if it rains, you know.”

He squinted at her, thinking it out. “So you’re saying…finding them is going to be easy…until it rains.”

She shot him a thumbs-up, grinning encouragingly, and after a moment, hesitantly opened her bag. In one corner were the new ingredients. The…emergency ingredients. One of which, even carefully wrapped, was nearly big enough to poke out of the bag. She ignored those, very carefully. She rooted through the rest of it, frowning thoughtfully, while Soren started pacing again. She eventually remembered to actually say something, rather than get entirely side-tracked by thoughts of spells, and affirmed “yes, Soren, that’s what I’m saying.”

He did not find this encouraging.

“It’s spring! It rains every week! Sometimes lots of times a week! And sometimes there’s even storms!” As a man who regularly went about wearing a full suit of metal armour, Soren had been suitably intimidated about the dangers of being out in the open during a thunderstorm, and as such had acquired in training a fear of lightning that he’d never had as a child.

“That’s true!” She agreed brightly, still rummaging. She…just…really didn’t have many of the necessary components, did she? And even if she did…

“Claudia, why aren’t you more worried?” He stopped in front of her again, foot tapping, face kind of hilariously screwed-up. He looked like one of those puppies with the really wrinkly faces. She kind of wanted to smoosh his cheeks up to increase the resemblance. Her fingers twitched towards him and he, well-accustomed to having her as a sister, gave her a dirty look and ducked away. “Claudia,” he complained, crossly. “This is serious!”

She eyed him, humour dimming for a second, and sighed.

Yes. Yes, it was serious. An elf assassin had somehow convinced Callum and Ez to go with her, and they had the egg of the most powerful creature in the world with them. Dad was scared about the loss of that egg. Genuinely, truly scared, enough that he’d told her outright that the egg was a higher priority than her brother’s life. That…was worrying.

But magic could ease a lot of ills. It was helpful like that. Claudia smiled mysteriously, and tapped the side of her nose. “If we lose the trail, there’s a tracking spell we can use, I think.” She conceded, eventually, and put a hand on his shoulder to shove him in the direction of the princes’ quarters. “We’ll need to pick up some ingredients, though. I don’t have most of what I need.”

He looked vaguely mollified, and started walking of his own accord beside her. “Okay. You’ve got a magic-tracking-thing to do. That’s…good. I think.” He allowed her to lead him along the halls, brow furrowed in thought. “So…can we just skip the ‘following them with dogs and horses for days’ thing? Just use the spell right away? That would be faster, wouldn’t it?”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Not…exactly. It’s a little complicated!”

Soren gave her his best unimpressed stare. It mostly just looked petulant, though, so she was unmoved. “Complicated, how?”

“Well…” Claudia smiled cheerfully. “Normally, this spell needs to be done at the top of Mount Kalik to work! Which, as you can imagine, complicates things a little.”

He stared, for a second, and then spluttered. “Mount Ka – complicates things? By the time we get up the mountain, they’ll be half-way to Xadia!” Not even really an exaggeration, she thought. Ascending Mount Kalik couldn’t be done in less than a week, even if you were desperate. If you wanted to avoid dying from exposure, or mountain-sickness, or both – well, it could take you much longer than just a week. And that wasn’t even counting the time needed to descend it afterwards.

“Yes, Soren, that is what I meant by ‘complicates things’.” She agreed. “And that’s why I need to adapt it. I think if I work at it, I can adapt the spell to just need a…really tall mountain, instead of the tallest mountain.” Well. Tallest mountain in the Pentarchy, anyway. She had no idea if the Xadians had taller mountains or not. At any rate, the original spell wanted to be cast on the tallest mountain within a certain distance. A certain very large distance. She could probably meddle with the boundaries of that, and make it accept the tallest mountain within, say, ten metres.

Soren made a suspicious noise at her. “But doesn’t that mean we still need to climb a mountain?”

Claudia waved dismissively at him, pulling him around the corner, just a short distance from their destination. “You like climbing, Soren. You love going up on the battlements, you know you do.”

“…I do like climbing.” He admitted, side-eying her with a little more interest. “But wouldn’t climbing a mountain still, like, mean the princes get more time to – walk places, and stuff?”

Claudia thought of the new things in the corner of her bag, and suppressed a shiver. She wasn’t sure whether she was excited or terrified at the prospect of it, but…it would certainly be something, wouldn’t it, to channel that sort of power? “Yes. Yes, it does. But you leave that to me, Soren.”

She stopped them before the door, back straightening and shoulders squaring. Soren finally seemed to realise where they were. “Hey, isn’t this the-“

She pushed open the door to Callum and Ezran’s rooms, and peered around, taking in the drawings, the books, the disarray the boys’ swift exit had left the place in. Though, that could well just be boys being messy. It’s not like she saw these rooms very often, after all.

“Why are we here?” Her brother asked, exasperated, as he followed her about the room, watching her go through the drawers with absolutely no idea of what she was doing. But that was okay. Claudia knew very well what she was looking for, and soon enough, she found it.

She held up the hairbrush she’d found near the bed, its bristles half-covered in useful spell material, and smiled. “That’s the first ingredient we need.” She said, satisfied, and plucked the hair from the brush. “The others…well, they’ll take a bit more work.” A smile stretched across her face, slowly.

Soren eyed her uncertainly. “You’re doing that voice again. The creepy-voice. The ‘I’m thinking about wasp butts’ voice.”

Psh. As if she’d ever be thinking about anything as useless as wasp butts. Claudia snorted, and tucked the clump of what looked like both princes’ hair into a secure pocket in her bag. “Come on, Sor-bear. Let’s go find your dogs.”

She led him, still-complaining, out of the room.

The afternoon that Rayla finally admitted the truth about her wrist binding, the boys closed ranks around her in a way that was both bemusing and a little touching – at least at first. They stuck to her side like glue, hovering at her heels, anxiously taking every task out of her hands that they could…and while Rayla appreciated them doing their bit for the camp-stuff, the coddling got old pretty fast.

Eventually, when Calum tried to insist on carrying their bags all over to the tent himself, interposing himself between her and their stuff, she rolled her eyes and abruptly lost patience with it all. She stepped up to him, unceremoniously hauled him over her shoulder, and relished in his astonished squawk as she carried him like a very large sack of potatoes over to the tent and dumped him there. Carefully, mind, since she had no interest in hurting him, but the action was definitely best described as dumping.

Rayla straightened up, her lips twitching into a self-satisfied smile, and inspected his reaction. He was wide-eyed and open mouthed, staring at her with the most comically astonished expression she’d seen on him yet. It was great. “Buh – wha-“ He stammered, ineffectually, and she smirked wider.

“Let’s get this straight, sunshine.” She told him, feeling very pleased with herself as she squared her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. “My hand being messed up doesn’t make me fragile, and you and Ez don’t need to keep bending over backwards to try to do everything for me. Alright?”

Eyes still hilariously wide, he nodded dumbly as he stared up at her. “…Alright.” He agreed, in something of a squeak.

She nodded back, exceptionally satisfied with his reaction, and turned to see what Ez had thought of the whole thing. His eyes were wide too, but he looked more delighted than astounded.

“Rayla, that was so cool.” He declared, scampering up to her to beam at her from close range. “You picked up my entire brother.”

She snorted, and grinned at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Yep, that’s what happened. And it wasn’t even hard. He’s a skinny bugger, that one.” Ez giggled as his brother spluttered, though whether it was at her choice of words or the sentiment conveyed, she wasn’t sure. She observed the little prince for a second and then, on impulse, said “you want a go at being carried about, Ez?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes!” he blurted, almost incredulously, as if he were shocked she’d need to ask. She huffed at him, grinned, then bent down to scoop him up, throwing him over her shoulder like she had his brother. Naturally, he was considerably lighter than even Callum, so she felt perfectly able to haul him back and forth across the camp several times to convey each of their bags, one-by-one, to the front of the tent. Just to prove she could. Callum watched with eyes wide as saucers the whole time, wordlessly taking the bags from her to stow in the space between the outer and inner tent layers. Ezran laughed madly with delight throughout the whole thing, clearly having the time of his life.

She noticed, idly, that neither of them seemed to particularly react to her picking up Ez’s bag, even with the dragon egg in it. Just the other day they’d been side-eyeing her a little watchfully whenever she was especially close to it, but now there was no trace of that, which was interesting. Maybe they were just distracted?

Ignoring that track of thought for the most part, Rayla carried Ez around the camp one last time for good measure, then set him down next to Callum, laughing a little helplessly at the looks they both gave her once they were both sat there. Callum was looking very conspicuously impressed, and Ez looking like he thought she’d hung the moon, and both of them were very clearly absolved of any misconceptions about her fragility.

“The looks on your faces.” She said, shaking her head at them, and laughed again.

Callum chuckled, a little sheepish, and rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf. “Ahaha. Yeah, um, that was pretty impressive?” he offered, having apparently finally found his words. “I mean, I knew you were strong, but – wow. I don’t know if I could even pick up Ezran.”

“Want to try?” The prince in question suggested, nudging him in the side, eyes bright.

He huffed. “Nah, I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Rayla smiled with a little more warmth than she’d intended, genuinely gratified by their response. She knew, intellectually, that she was unusually strong and fast even for an assassin with her level of training…but, well, it had been a long time since that was something surprising or impressive to anyone, rather than just something that was expected of her. It was nice.

But that was enough ego-boosting for her for now, anyway. Time to get on with camp chores. She shook her head, as if to dispel some of the levity. “All that aside, we should make a start on dinner. Get that out of the way so we can relax a bit. Get the cooking things out of the bags for me, will you?” She said, and then turned on her foot to go arrange the already-collected campfire materials. The rocks had been lined up; she set to work putting in the wood and leaves and grasses they’d collected.

Ez arrived not long afterwards with the metal pot under one arm and the jar of leftover fish under the other. Callum followed with the other jar, laden with some remaining greenery she’d grabbed during the day, as well as, unsurprisingly, more fish. They had a fair bit of it to get through. “What are we eating tonight?”

“Thought we could warm up the fish and eat it with some greens.” She said, and inspected the jars. “Actually, have you got that little pot of jam I got from your lodge? We’ve not used that yet. Might make the fish a bit less boring.” As they would soon learn, cooking during travel was mainly a game of throwing weird flavours together and trying to create something vaguely not-bland. Even weird flavour combinations tended to be appealing after weeks of eating homogenised clumps of the same thing over and over again.

“The…jelly?” Ezran guessed, exchanging a glance with his brother.

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Huh. Fruit with fish.” He considered it. “That sounds weird. I’ll go get it!” He said, seemingly delighted, and ran back to the tent, little legs apparently not that tired from the day of walking.

Rayla smiled faintly after him as he went, then turned to Callum, reaching to the side to fish the sparkrocks out of the pot. “Want to try starting the fire yourself today?” She offered, holding them out with her bad hand. He eyed them for a second – or maybe he was eyeing the hand – and took them with a lopsided smile.

“I’ll give it a go, sure.” He said, and leaned forwards over the to-be fire. “So, what do I do?”

It took him a fair few tries and quite a lot of ineffectual sparking before he managed it, but he got it eventually, and that was another critical travel skill learned. Which was…good. Using sparkrocks like these required the use of two hands, after all. And no matter what the boys had said on the matter, Rayla was not in the least optimistic about her chances of keeping her left hand for long.

They cooked, ate, and cleaned up after themselves with increasingly-efficient coordination, and in the end were left with still a couple of hours to kill before they should be getting to sleep.

“Hah, wow. Maybe I have time to draw while sitting down today.” Callum remarked when she told them that, brightening at the idea. “I mean, I do okay while I’m walking, but it’s not the same, you know?”

“You’re less likely to trip over things this way, too.” Rayla told him dryly, looking up as Ezran returned to join them near the campfire, egg held firmly in his arms. He sat down with it and shuffled up to his brother, who had already withdrawn his sketchbook.

“What are you going to draw?” he asked, watching as Callum turned the pages, settling cross-legged with the luminescent dragon egg resting comfortably in his lap.

“Not sure yet – oh, huh.” He made an interested noise as a piece of paper fell out. “Oh, I forgot about this. You were writing draconic words on here, right, Rayla?”

She blinked and looked over at her name. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” She said, and peered at the paper. “Don’t expect it’ll be anything useful though. I couldn’t think of any obvious sky magic words.”

His lips turned upwards. “Except for fulminis. And inpulsis.” He pointed out, with a smile, and opened the paper, eyes running over her handwriting with interest. “…Huh. Ancient Draconic has different names for months and days?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ancient Draconic is where the modern month and day names come from.” She corrected. “Well. Mostly.”

Ez poked his head over to look, clearly interested. “They do look kind of the same.” He commented. “So, in Draconic, my birthday would be in….” he squinted. “Martias? That one doesn’t sound that much like ‘March’.”

“Mine sounds similar, but also kind of like someone’s name.” Callum commented, with an interested stare at the page. “’Julius’. Huh.”

Rayla blinked at him, mildly surprised. “Huh.” She echoed, drawing his attention.

“What is it?”

She shrugged and offered a smile. “Looks like we’re both July birthdays.” She answered, and his eyes lit up a bit, pleased at this little coincidence. His mouth opened, and anticipating the question, she told him “thirty-first” before he could ask.

His mouth closed for a moment. “Fifteenth for me.” He added, after a second, observing her with an odd look on his face, as if he’d had a weird thought and didn’t know what to do with it. She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind, but he didn’t. Just sort of scrutinised her, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“By the way,” She said, when she’d grown tired of seeing whether or not he’d say anything. “Julius was someone’s name. He was an ancient Dragon King. Named a month after himself.” She pointed at the next month on the list. “Agustus, too.” She wasn’t exactly interested in history, but even she knew that much. It was kind of interesting that these humans didn’t. They were princes, right? Which should mean they were, well, educated? She wondered what other things might be common knowledge to elves but completely unknown to humans.

There was a conspicuous, surprised pause as the two of them digested that. “Two of our months are named after dragons?” Ezran reacted first, looking down at the egg in his lap. “Cool,” he concluded, a second later.

Her lips quirked at his enthusiasm. “I guess it is.” She agreed, and was about to point out the weekdays named for the sun and moon when Callum apparently got whatever thought he’d been having into words.

“Uh, Rayla? Can I ask something?” He rested his hands at the edges of his sketchbook, as if to give them something to do. When she glanced across at him, he seemed a little hesitant. She eyed him, and nodded, gesturing for him to speak. He mulled his words over for a few seconds before saying “I heard that elves live a long time. Is that true?”

One of her eyebrows went up. Her first thought was to say depends on the type of elf. Instead, she answered “well, we don’t have the typical human sub-century life expectancy, if that’s what you’re asking.” She watched him, trying to discern what exactly had put that weird look on his face. Was he actually curious about elf lifespans, or-

“Does that mean you’re like, eighty years old or something?” he asked finally. “Like, do elves grow a lot slower than – hey!” He crossed his arms, an almost pouty frown settling over his face as she bent forwards and laughed, loudly, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she chortled into it. “It’s a reasonable question! How am I meant to know how fast elves grow?”

She held up a finger as if to shush him, shoulders shaking helplessly with now-silent laughter, hilarity bubbling in her chest at the question. Moon and stars, humans really didn’t know anything about elves, did they?

“I’m getting the idea that Rayla is not eighty years old.” Ezran announced, watching her with a little smile of his own as she managed to abate the laughs into a more restrained snickering.

“Yes, Ez, thanks for clearing that up.” Callum said grumpily, and she peered at him and his disgruntled expression and nearly started laughing all over again.

Well, it was at least still a much funnier cultural misunderstanding than the ‘blood-drinkers’ thing. “I’m only fifteen, you daft humans.” She informed them, finally, still chuckling under her breath. “We grow just as fast as you lot.” She paused, and frowned a little. “I mean, I think.” She eyed Callum, who seemed more or less of an age with her, by her standards. A bit shorter than an elf her age would usually be, but who knew if that was human-normal. Maybe he was younger than her?

Ezran hummed thoughtfully while Callum was, apparently, still processing. “So you’re a year older than Callum, I think.” He concluded, looking up at his brother for confirmation.

“Yeah, seems that way.” He agreed, after a moment, and inspected her. “…Do fifteen-year-olds usually get sent out as assassins, in Xadia?” His tone was dubious. “I mean, I know someone who was training as a Crownguard when he was our age, but that’s not exactly normal.”

Rayla processed the words, previous good humour dimming abruptly at the things they called to mind. She looked away. “…Not normal, no. I guess I’m a bit of prodigy…and, well, because of my parents – some people thought I deserved the chance to make up for what they did.” Some people, such as Runaan, the lead assassin. Quite possibly the one who’d killed these boys’ father. Coincidentally, the elf who was essentially a second father to her himself.

An elf who, very easily, might not even be alive now. You’ve killed us all, she remembered once again, and felt her shoulders stiffening.

She pushed the thoughts out her mind almost violently, refusing to think of it. It wasn’t relevant. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But it wasn’t relevant. It didn’t change her mission. It didn’t change anything. She wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t. Her jaw clenched, and she fixed her eyes determinedly on the fire as if to distract herself.

The hand that settled on her shoulder a few moments later startled her, and she jumped a little, looking round to see Callum reaching out and Ezran looking, both of them concerned. “I’m sorry if I brought up something…difficult.” Callum said, expression vaguely guilty, and drew his hand back. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Rayla looked at him, and at the honest concern on his face, felt an awfully multi-faceted guilt clench at her gut. It was guilt for what she’d still not told them about their father, all tied up with her own sickening fear at the thought of what might have happened to Runaan. Her right hand tingled, as if somehow aware of the binding that had fallen from it days ago.

She had to tell them. They’d find out eventually. She had to tell them. But how could she? How could she possibly bring them with her into the reality where her family had killed theirs, and that was something they all had to live with?

She exhaled, shook her head a little, and forced a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.” She suggested, firmly, and pretended not to notice the glance that the brothers shared with each other.

Still, they humoured her, good-natured and clearly wanting to cheer her up again. “I was looking at this here.” Callum said, encouragingly, and shuffled over closer to her to point out two words on the page, near the start of where she’d written down most every idiom or phrase she could think of. Which, all told, was not many. “Is it a spell, or something?”

She inspected it, and despite her very recent dark thoughts, did huff a laugh at the example he’d chosen. “No, it’s a saying.” She informed him, lips twitching. “A popular one for Moonshadow elves, as a matter of fact.” Which was, incidentally, how she knew it.

“’Carpe noctem’?” He attempted, Ezran echoing him a second later, both becoming genuinely interested as they sank into their attempt to distract her. “What does it mean?”

“’Seize the night’.” Rayla said, with an ironic twist to her smile. “Sort of a way to say ‘make the best of your time’ or ‘live in the moment’.” Most other elves, being generally diurnal by nature, tended to use carpe diem instead, but, well. It was really not surprising that Moonshadow elves preferred the nocturnal equivalent.

“That sounds like a great saying for Moon elves.” Ezran decided, staring over at her with the innocent curiosity of a child. “I’m guessing you guys like the night, huh.”

She snorted. “Moonshadow elves feel most awake at night.” She informed him, and smiled at the way his eyes widened at that tidbit of knowledge. “Most elves prefer day-time, but not us.” In theory, Startouch elves also preferred the night – but, really, it wasn’t as if anyone actually really met a lot of Startouch elves these days, was it?

“Does that mean you’re sleepy in the day?” Ez prodded, an endless well of questions and childish fascination. Though, in fairness, his older brother was looking quite intrigued at the information, too.

Rayla eyed the brother in question a little as she answered, dryly, “It’s fine if I’ve had enough sleep.” He ducked his head and squirmed a bit, apparently recognising the gentle poke the words were at him. She wondered how much of a pain he’d be to share a tent with this night, and shook her head at him.

Ez, not blind to this exchange, giggled at his brother. “Callum, have you been talking in your sleep again?”

“I have not been-“ He broke off in the middle of a vaguely indignant denial, expression going decidedly nonplussed as he realised he didn’t know if he was speaking truth or not. He glanced warily at Rayla. “Er.”

“Not yet, he hasn’t.” Rayla confirmed honestly, with just the hint of a smirk. “He’s like you, though, Ez. Doesn’t know how to stay put when he sleeps.” She nudged Callum where he sat beside her, a little teasingly, to try to take any bite out of the teasing.

“I see.” The little prince said thoughtfully, ignoring the increasingly flustered look of his brother. “I am very sorry for your shins.”

“Eh, they’ll be alright.” Honestly, his arms were more prone to annoying space-invasion than his legs, anyway. “I’m tough.”

“Enough about Rayla’s shins.” Callum said, firmly, cheeks a little pink from all the discussion of his unconscious-self’s behaviour. “Can we please get back to the fascinating paper full of dragon-words, maybe?”

Rayla patted him on the arm and looked over. “Go on, then.” She agreed, obligingly, and allowed herself to be drawn into a demonstration of how exactly to pronounce all the months and days, and then-

“What’s all this? You’ve not written translations for any of it.”

She peered at it, and snorted. “Moonshadow elf curses.” She answered, dryly, and smirked at how quickly that elicited Ezran’s interest.

“Ooh,” he said, staring, only for Callum to determinedly fold that corner of the page so it couldn’t be read. “Hey.” He complained.

“The king will kill me if I bring you home cursing in Draconic.” He said, firmly, unwittingly making Rayla’s gut twist yet again. “Definitely not letting you learn those if I can help it.”

“Hmph. Well, I saw some of it already, so there.” Ezran declared proudly. After a moment, Rayla reached out to ruffle his hair.

“So? What did you see?” She asked, amused, determinedly ignoring her king-related troubles.

“Er.” He deflated. “Mostly I just saw the word ‘noviluna’ a lot.” Callum folded his arms, looking distinctly put out.

She huffed. “Well, on its own that one isn’t that rude. Just means ‘new moon’.” She patted him consolingly. “So you’re out of luck.”

He pouted. “Aww.”

“’New moon’ is rude for Moonshadow elves?” Callum asked, after a moment. “Why?”

Rayla looked up at the sky, where the sun was nearly set, and she could feel the moon preparing to rise. Waning gibbous; still a fair while from its most unpleasant state. “…Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll find out.” She said, a little dryly, and directed their attention to the next things on the list. There wasn’t a great deal left, maybe, but it was a way to pass time.

When they were done, Callum set the paper aside, and started a new drawing. For lack of anything better to do, Rayla sat by and watched, listening as idle conversation passed between the two princes.

It didn’t take long for the shapes on the page to become distinctly recognisable. “You’re drawing my blades?” She said, intrigued, and leaned in.

He smiled at her, a little bashful, and nodded. “They’re pretty cool. I’ve been wanting to draw them since I used one for the fish the other day.”

“Huh.” She pronounced, after a second, newly fascinated by the process of watching him draw. It was oddly satisfying to watch the lines resolving into something recognisable, and she found herself quite interested to see how it turned out. “…Want me to get one out as a reference?”

“Thanks, but I got a pretty good look before. I’m probably fine.” He demurred, charcoal moving in quick lines over the page. It was a little baffling how he managed to draw clean lines like that with a blunt-looking stick of charcoal. When she’d written her list, the lines of her handwriting had been considerably more smudged and indistinct.

She recalled his apparent extremely good memory, and nodded, tilting her head. “Yeah, but have you seen the hook-form yet?” She inquired, unable to remember whether or not she’d used them as hooks within his eyesight or not.

He looked up from his sketchbook, flummoxed. “The what-now?”

Rayla grinned, and withdrew one of the sheathed blades. Flicked it out, then shifted it.

The reactions were exactly as appreciative as she could have hoped for. It was, she was discovering, pretty fun to travel with humans who found everything Xadian a novelty.

That night, Rayla made the unpleasant discovery that her bound hand had grown sore enough that she could no longer sleep on her left side at all. She transitioned, uncomfortably, to sleeping flat on her back, and thereafter actually had a surprisingly uninterrupted night of sleep. Her hand and wrist ached ever more badly and woke her several times in the night, so it wasn’t perfect, but for once her tent-mates weren’t being an annoyance. Not a single time was she disturbed by an errant arm or leg. When she woke at dawn and looked over, she concluded that this was probably due to the way Callum seemed to have latched onto Ez in the night and lodged there, clinging to his brother as if he were a cuddly-toy.

It was pretty cute, actually. Especially as Ez himself was hugging the egg again, the two human princes illuminated in a soft blue by its glow between them. They made endearing enough a picture that Rayla almost felt bad that she had to wake them up.

She did it anyway.

Callum dragged himself out of the tent ten minutes later, when Rayla had sat cross-legged by the burnt-out campfire to inspect her hand, slowly flexing it back and forth and grimacing at the pain. She looked up at his approach, finding him as-expected looking pretty much dead on his feet, though a flicker of alertness came into his eyes at the sight of her hand.

“How’s it doing?” He asked, groggy, voice still rough from sleep, and settled heavily next to her, eyes still resting on her hand.

“…Not great.” She admitted, after a moment, still flexing it. “It’s pretty messed up. I can still move it if I have to, but…” It was stiff. Stiff, harder to move than it ought to be, and painful to move. She remembered her thought from the other day, and tried to massage along the digits a little, tried to get some semblance of circulation into the tissues. She left white trails across the dark skin where her fingers moved, every touch painful, like pressing on a bruise.

He watched her for a few long moments, very evidently fighting his way to proper alertness, and shuffled a little closer. “Can I…?” He raised his hands slightly, nodding towards the one she was nursing, and she blinked.

A little perplexed, she turned to hold it out to him, the motion somewhat hesitant. “Sure?” She offered, and looked down to watch her hand slip into his. His skin was warm. Warmer than she expected. But then, her bound hand was colder than it should be. It was oddly nice, even so.

He inspected it, almost analytically, pressing gently against the bruise-dark skin to see it blanche and then go dark again. He looked up watchfully, every other second, as if to check in with her. “It reminds me of tourniquets. You know, for when you’ve a really badly bleeding injury.” He said, abruptly, turning her hand over to better see her wrist where the binding held. “Field-healers get warned not to leave them on long, otherwise the limb doesn’t get enough blood, and then…well.”

“Then you end up losing it.” She said, dryly, and watched him flinch at the bluntness.

“Well, yeah.” He admitted, and inspected the binding itself. “This isn’t as tight as a tourniquet, so you’re doing better, but…it’s getting tighter, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead grimacing at how high the discolouration went up her arm. Almost to her elbow, really. “Shouldn’t you take this – arm guard thing – off? It’s got to be restricting your blood flow a bit, right? Maybe not much, but…” He shrugged, a little helplessly.

She stared at him as if with new eyes for a moment, a little surprised, and looked at her gauntlet with a frown. “I didn’t think of that.” She admitted. She hadn’t thought about intentionally trying to promote blood flow, though she should have. Stars, before last night, she’d even been mostly sleeping on her left. That probably hadn’t helped matters at all.

“You could put it back on over the binding, maybe, a bit looser?” He suggested, inspecting where the binding was tied over the guards. “I just feel like – this thing is putting pressure on way more of your arm than it should be, because it’s squeezing your whole arm-guard down, you know?”

Rayla considered it, flexing her hand again, and tried to decide whether she thought he was right. He…might have a point. It was constricting her gauntlet, which was constricting her arm… “If I take the guard off, won’t it just squeeze my wrist tighter in that one spot?” She said, honestly curious, and joined his hands with her right to press around the binding, testing for where the pressure was.

He grimaced. “Maybe.” He admitted. “I think…it’s kind of spread out now, so it’s affecting your arm as well as your hand, and maybe it’ll be worse for your hand if it’s less spread out, but…” He shifted uneasily. “If it gets tighter, though…” He trailed off.

“If it gets tighter I might not actually be able to get my gauntlet off?” She guessed, and he nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He hesitated, and then let her hand go, admitting “I’m not sure what would be better to do.” His hands settled into his lap as he slumped, watching her for her response.

She hummed, thoughtfully, and kept her hand there, suspended between them, her fingers against the binding. In the worst-case that she thought most likely, having her gauntlet under the binding would be a huge complication. If she needed to amputate the hand herself – well. Having to cut through the guard as well as the flesh and bone wouldn’t only make it astronomically harder, but it would be a horrible infection risk too.

“…I think I should take it off.” She said, and hesitated with her fingers over the fabric edge of the guard, extending to the start of her hand. “…But it might be tricky to do.” She tried, gingerly, to pull at the guard from the other side of the binding, but it didn’t budge. She pulled a little harder and then hissed at the pain, fingers flinching back reflexively.

Callum twitched beside her, and she raised her eyes to see him watching with a frown, hands ever-so-slightly raised from his lap, as if drawn out by her pain. “Is it stuck?” He asked, worriedly, and she considered it.

The gauntlet itself was semi-flexible light armour, a type of magically-woven fabric that was intensely resistant to cutting or piercing, and distributed blunt force across a fairly wide area. It could stretch, a little, to fit the wearer – but it was generally pretty stiff. It would be hard to pull out from under the binding…but maybe not impossible.

It would be painful, though. That was certain. “Yeah, kinda.” She hedged, eyeing the binding apprehensively as she positioned her fingers for another attempt. She exhaled, steeled herself, and pulled.

The next few seconds passed strangely and not entirely coherently. She was aware of gasping with the pain – aware of dropping her fingers from the gauntlet and pulling her hand reflexively to her chest – aware of Callum’s alarmed response, the call of her name, the anxious hand resting on her arm.

“That,” She said, tightly, once her perception of time had returned to normal, “was not nice.”

“Yeah, I guessed.” He said, a little wide-eyed, and stared worriedly at her hand. “Can you get it off? Or-“ he hesitated, and left the question hanging.

“I have to. Or it’ll just get worse.” She closed her eyes to exhale through the aftershocks of pain, lingering in tender flesh and aching in her arm. “I should have thought of this earlier.” She made a disgusted noise at herself, shuffling restlessly on the damp morning-grass.

“…I realise this suggestion might be sort of in poor taste, but…do you think it would be easier in water?”

She eyed him, unimpressed. The suggestion made sense. That almost made it more annoying. “…Ugh.” She said, instead of actually answering the question. “We’ll have to try to stop near a proper water source today.”

He looked back at her, concerned and just a little wary. “Does that mean ‘yes’?”

“It means ‘you have a point, but I wish you didn’t’.” She answered, dryly, and rose to her feet. “Help me pack up the camp?”

“Sure.” Callum answered automatically, but then jerked his head towards the tent. “I think I need to go wake Ez up again, though. He should have been out by now.”

She listened for a few seconds, focusing, and snorted. “Yeah, he fell back asleep.”

He tilted his head and considered her. “…You have really good hearing, huh?”

Rayla reached out and lightly flicked one of his ears, grinning as he yelped. “Better than yours.” She said, a little impishly, and helped him to his feet. “Go on, then. Go wake your brother. We’ve got a long way to go today.”

“Seems we’ve got a long way to go every day.” He sighed. She patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

“Pretty much, yeah. Get going, you.”

He saluted solemnly, hand over his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” He said, amused, and turned to go crawl back into the tent.

It had been a week since she bound herself to Ezran’s death. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that her hand was getting so much worse – she should have expected it. But she hadn’t, and that day, the pain was so much harder to ignore. It hurt when she moved it and hurt worse when she didn’t; if she let it lay idle for long enough, a numb ache built in it that grew more insistent and distracting with every minute.

In the end, she flexed the stiff fingers and massaged the painful limb as much as she could tolerate. It hurt too, but less than leaving it alone did. Or, at least, it hurt in a slightly more bearable way.

The boys didn’t miss the signs of it, either. Even with her demonstration of strength yesterday, they hovered a little, anxious and concerned for her. It was sweet, but it was also tiring, and made it even harder to stop thinking about the pain than it should have been. She was on the verge of growing ill-tempered with it all, and wishing fervently for something to distract herself as well as the boys, when an opportunity presented itself to her.

It was a few hours in, coming up to lunch-time, when she spotted the first cluster of a familiar plant in the undergrowth. It was cheerfully prolific in its spring growth, and a quick glance revealed more patches of it everywhere, calling to mind a few old memories that chased a smile onto her face. She recalled the practical use of the plant, and considered halting the boys to gather some. She recalled the entertaining use of the plant, and kept quiet. She eyed it, speculatively, and felt a spark of mischief settle in her gut.

Well. She had wanted a distraction.

Nonchalantly, she allowed herself to slowly fall behind the other two, who were in the middle of discussing the various secret passages Ezran had found in Katolis over the years. She snatched up a large handful of plant, familiarly-textured, and snuck up behind Callum with her lightest, stealthiest stride to affix it carefully to his back. As expected, the minutely-hooked texture of the plant’s surface stuck immediately to the fabric of his jacket, clinging there easily. She managed to stick three more stalks of leafy greenery to his back before Ezran noticed her, catching her eye over his shoulder, step faltering as he looked between her and the plants in her hand and Callum’s back.

Then he giggled. Callum stopped to glance at him, and Rayla neatly side-stepped out of the way to avoid running into his back, grinning a little as she held a finger up to her lips to shush Ezran…and reached out to attach another cluster of sticky leaves to Callum’s jacket, this time more on his right-hand side than his back.

“What?” Callum asked, perplexed, and then – perhaps clued in by where Ezran was looking – twisted to look over his shoulder and see her on his opposite side. He jumped a little, startled to find her there, in yet more evidence that his situational awareness needed work. “Er. Rayla? What are you-“ Finally, he noticed the plant in her hands and the smirk on her lips, and slowly raised his hand to his back. He found the cluster on his side, first, and peeled a leaf away. He turned to stare at her, utterly bemused. “Stickyweed? Really?”

With that tiny bit of subterfuge revealed, Ezran collapsed into giggles. Rayla watched as Callum’s lips twitched upwards, automatically responding to the humour, before he schooled his features into an unconvincing facsimile of seriousness.

“Why not?” She quipped, feeling impish, and reached out to affix another piece to his collar. “It’s traditional.”

“It’s traditional to stick plants to your travelling companions?” He asked, clearly trying very hard to appear unamused, and not really succeeding. His lips kept twitching.

“It’s traditional to stick stickyweed to people’s backs without them noticing.” She corrected…and backed away, brandishing her last handful. “…And also, to throw it at each other.” Realisation dawned on his face a second too late; she lobbed the plant at him and absconded just as he started ducking out of the way, finally abandoning his pretences and laughing helplessly. The sound of it prompted a little thrill of delight in her gut as she fled for the underbrush, a grin stretching on her face.

Ezran got the idea, and dove for the nearest cluster of the prolific weed, snatching it up in chunks to arm himself. Rayla had already re-supplied, and jumped into the nearest tree to assail both of her travelling companions from higher ground, pelting them with handfuls of her ammunition.

“That’s no fair!” Ez shrieked, plainly delighted, as greenery landed in his hair. With a slightly alarmed grumbling, Bait hopped for cover under a nearby bush. “We can’t reach you up there!” He gathered up a larger armful of stickyweed and stared up at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yes, we can.” It took her a moment to process the voice as Callum’s – she wasn’t sure she’d heard that sort of voice from him before. Confident, a little secretive, a little excited. She looked over at him. She saw the mischievous spark in the green of his eyes…and what he had in his hand.

He was holding the primal stone.

She understood his intent at the exact second Ez did. “Oh no you don’t-“ She started, just before Callum drew a familiar rune in the air. “Ah.” She said, eloquently, and jumped for the next tree, laughing as she went.

“Get ready, Ez!” Callum’s voice followed, full of anticipation-

“Ready!” The littlest prince reported, just as eager-

“Aspiro!”

Rayla landed on the next tree’s branches, anchored herself to it with a hook-blade to weather the coming wind-storm, and resigned herself to her fate.

“Well, that was fun.” Callum said, ten minutes later, when Rayla still hadn’t finished peeling the stickyweed from her armour and hair. “If unexpected. And kinda silly.”

“Eh, we were due for a lunch break anyway. And besides, it served a purpose. Sort of.” She flashed a grin at the two princes, brandishing the large bundle of somewhat bruised stickyweed at them. “This stuff? Is edible.”

Ezran did a double-take at the plant pile she’d amassed at her side. “What, really?” Bait made a dubious noise, and shot out his tongue to imbibe one of the plant stalks. He turned a mild shade of green thereafter, croaking discontentedly.

“It’s kind of nasty to eat raw, but yeah.” She agreed, planting herself by a nearby cluster of the stuff to pick some more. “We’ll cook it to make it a bit nicer. Since we’ve run out of fish, we’ve got to stock up on something for tonight.”

Callum caught her eye, then; a meaningful sort of look that she assumed was related to their previous discussion about hunting. She nodded slightly – they’d have to talk about it soon. Maybe not now, though.

“…Do we have anything for lunch?” Ez asked, oblivious to this exchange as he looked at the stickyweed. “I didn’t even realise we finished the fish this morning.”

Rayla looked at him for a second, reminded anew of how vastly different his upbringing had been from hers. Of course he hadn’t noticed them running out. He was so used to having food provided for him, he probably didn’t even realise that keeping yourselves fed was actually a bit of a task out in the wilderness. He probably hadn’t even considered the idea that they might need to hunt to give their diet some substance.

Well. She’d leave Callum to figure out how to bring that up, she supposed. “I can go look for some fruit, if you like.” She offered, setting the bundle of weeds aside. “Might take me a while, though. You don’t get as many fruiting plants in this sort of forest.” Soon, there would be almost no fruiting plants at all, and probably no useful fruiting trees. Already, pretty much every tree around them was a conifer or a pine or a fir.

The two boys blinked and looked about them, bemused. Callum spoke, this time. “…There’s different sorts of forest?”

She groaned, and let her head fall back, perhaps a little over-dramatically. “Yes, Callum, there’s different sorts of forest.” She said, exasperated. Then, since she was already leaning over backwards, she engaged in a slightly unnecessary backflip to get to her feet, stretching out. “And in this one, there’s not as much fruit.” She pointed at the primal stone, still out of its bag from recent use. “Keep that handy, alright? I might be a while.” She pulled her bag up to extract one of the large jars from it.

“…Alright.” Callum said, and apparently anticipating her next action, opened his bag to pull out a jar. He offered it out to her and watched as she stacked it under her arm with the other one.

Without further ado, she set off at a run amongst the trunks of the trees – because these trees almost exclusively had needles, not leaves, and those were kind of prickly to climb in. Especially with one hand increasingly out-of-commission.

As she’d expected, it took her a while to find anything that was not only the sort of plant that had useful fruit, but that actually had ripe fruit on it. She raided a small moonberry bush with very little on it, found a weedy young apple tree with a few ripe-looking fruits, and in general had to make a pretty wide and extensive circuit of the area to find enough to fill the jars.

She also found clusters of two useful medicinal plants, and made certain to pocket those, too.

In the end, it took her an uncomfortably long time – the better part of an hour, in fact – to find enough fruit, but she headed back with plenty to share. She found the princes looking over Callum’s sketchbook, talking over it while Callum’s charcoal hovered over the page. When she drew a little closer, she saw that they were looking at the map.

As was admittedly becoming habit for her, she approached smoothly and quietly to see if they’d notice her. She wasn’t exactly hiding herself – she was walking up to them from their left – but somewhat predictably, they didn’t notice her until she was practically on top of them.

“Oh, hi Rayla!” Ez chirped, as he saw her, and Callum looked up as well. “You’re back!”

“However did you notice?” She said, tone dry, and sat down beside them, planting the jars there. “What are you up to, anyway?”

Callum’s eyes brightened at the question, and he tilted the map towards her. “Ez and I were talking – you know, about how we’re going to help your hand.”

Her lips turned down. “Oh.” She said, uneasily.

As if hastened by this mild expression of disapproval, he practically hurried to point out a spot on the map to her. “We’re heading into the mountains this way, right? Well, along the way is this town called Verdorn? It’s big enough that it should have a healer. We don’t have to detour or anything to go there, and we’ll probably get there sometime tomorrow, so…” he trailed off, shuffling with what looked like an awkward mix of nervousness and excitement. “Well, what do you think?” He asked, after a few seconds.

She stared at the map a little inscrutably, keeping the best grip on her reactions she could. “…I don’t know, Callum.” She said, eventually, and her gut churned as his face fell. She sighed, settling her good hand over the painful one to massage the sore, prickling flesh. She attempted a smile, but it came out feeling more like a grimace. “I…appreciate what you’re doing. But how do you think you’ll get a healer to look at me, even if there is one?”

He perked up a little at that, Ezran mirroring the response beside him. “Well, actually, we were thinking – what if we don’t get a healer to look at you?”

Her brow furrowed at him. “Well yeah, that makes sense.” She said, with plain sarcasm, and waited for an explanation to be forthcoming.

“No, I mean – what if me and Ez go to talk to a healer without you?” He pressed, increasingly earnest, Ez nodding hopefully by his side. “We can just say you’re a friend of ours and that you think there’s no point in seeing a healer – which, can I say, is actually true! – but that we wanted to get some advice anyway. That way we can find out if there’s anything a normal human non-magic healer could do for your hand.”

She folded her arms, eyeing the two of them with a sort of reluctant interest as Callum spoke. “…And if there is? What do we do then?” She ruthlessly clamped down on any part of her that felt inclined to start appreciating that ‘if’, to actually consider that fleeting avenue of hope.

“Well, maybe there’s some sort of medicine we can bring back without a healer having to see you at all.” He pointed out, reasonably. “If there isn’t…I guess we figure that out when we get there. But it’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

“You said you’d let us try.” Ezran reminded her, a little anxiously, as if worried she was going to back out of the agreement.

She stared at them, maintaining her rigid control over the churning of emotions in her gut, eyes flickering between two sets of expressions. Both worried, a little nervous, a little determined. Hopeful, even. How could they be so hopeful about something like this? There was no way, none whatsoever, that her hand would last long enough for them to get to Xadia. She’d be lucky to have another week, at the rate it was going, and every day of it would be painful.

Part of her wanted to put her foot down. Put a stop to this, get them past this fruitless, pointless hope of theirs before it hurt them too much.

“You said.” Ez repeated, as her silence persisted, eyes wide and worried.

She exhaled, quietly.

She had agreed to let them try.

And this town was on the way.

“Fine.” She said, voice carefully neutral, and watched as the tension in the two boys practically fled them with their breath as they exhaled. “We’ll stop by this human town. But we’re not stayin’ there any longer than we have to, alright? We can’t waste time.”

“Of course. Thanks, Rayla.” Callum said, sounding absurdly grateful for what was an acquiescence to let them try to find some help for her hand. It was a little ridiculous, in all honesty. They’d only known her for what, five days? Why in Xadia’s name did they care so much?

She sighed, and shook her head a little. “Get some lunch in you. If we’re going to a town tomorrow, I’d prefer not to get there too late.” She told them, and went to extract some fruit from one of the jars. The apples turned out to be too sour to eat raw, so she put those aside to use in cooking.

Rayla ate, then bundled up the stickyweed into their bags and waited impatiently for the boys to finish their share. As soon as she could, she urged them on again.

She could just tell that the human-town-thing was going to waste time. Best get as much ground covered today as possible, to make up for it.

About an hour after resuming travel, Rayla heard the tell-tale sounds of some sort of running water nearby, and begrudgingly altered their course in its direction. It turned out to be a reasonably-sized brook – too wide and deep to qualify as a stream, but not big enough for her to really call it a river. The sound and sight of the running water put her on edge regardless, but given she needed access to a decent water source at camp today, she gritted her teeth and resolved to put up with it.

She directed the boys up-stream for a while, following their correct course of travel, and eventually selected a serviceable campsite a couple of hours after lunch. Here, in the coniferous forest, the ground was loose and loamy, mainly composed of many years’ worth of fallen needle-leaves, as was typical in this sort of forest. There was a lot less ground-level plant cover even than there had been a few hours ago, testament to the increasingly boreal nature of the landscape. There were clusters of rich green ferns here and there, and some patches of nettles, and a good few mosses here and there, but…

“We’re starting to gain altitude, I think.” She estimated, after a careful glance over the surroundings. “It’s already a little colder.”

“Well, there were an uncomfortable number of uphill parts today, so makes sense.” Said Callum, who was lingering awkwardly at her back. After a moment she realised she hadn’t actually announced they were stopping, and set the tent pack down as a more overt sign that they were done for the day. “I hope tomorrow will be a little flatter.”

Rayla, who had found the day’s walk mostly very easy aside from the part where her hand was increasingly painful, said nothing for several conspicuous moments. Given the next leg of their journey was pretty much entirely uphill, she was increasingly certain that the boys were going to have a very unpleasant time of things soon. But, she supposed, she’d be having a very unpleasant time of things with her binding, so at least their misery would have company. “…Sure.” She agreed, unconvincingly, and did not mention that the day would probably come soon where they’d need to ascend most of a kilometre in a single day’s walking.

“We’re camping here, right?” Ezran checked, after glancing at where she’d put the tent-pack. He waited for her nod before sighing with relief. “Oh good.” He said, setting his own bag down. Callum quickly followed suit, glancing around. The forest was relatively sparse here, consisting mainly of tall conifers that towered far, far over their heads. A little way to their left was a secluded hollow where the brook ran to and pooled, a pretty ideal location for washing things or collecting water. All the tall trees would make for a terrible campsite in a storm, but luckily, the weather was perfectly clement today.

Rayla’s hand ached at her, as if to remind her what she had to get done soon. She flexed it, casting a glance about the camp, and sighed. “We’d best get set up quickly.” She said, a little grimly.

Ez perked up. “Tent first?”

“Tent first,” She agreed, and set them about the tasks with increasing familiarity and ease. Callum had to handle the difficult part of getting the tent up, since she was increasingly hampered by the lack of a properly-usable hand. When that was done, she and Ezran went to get firewood while Callum sorted out the inner-tent, and their camp was pretty much complete.

“We’re getting pretty quick at this.” Ezran declared, not long after, when she’d set all the cooking things and food jars next to the area marked out for the fire. “It’s only been a few times but we’re already way better.”

Rayla’s lips twitched upwards, and she reached over to ruffle his hair. “You are picking things up nicely.” She agreed, amused. “Now I just need to teach you how to cook, I suppose.”

“Can I try starting the fire this time?” He asked eagerly, and Callum shot him a slightly wide-eyed look.

“….We’ll see.” Rayla said, after seeing that expression on the older prince’s face, and resolved to ask later. “For now, I’ve got something I need to take care of.” She eyed her hand, exhaled slowly, and had a look through her bag. She made a disapproving noise. “Callum, I think you’re carrying the soap. Find that for me, would you?”

He blinked. “Uh, sure?” He agreed automatically, and then pulled his bag over to look. He passed over the soap and then the towel for good measure, eyes flickering between her face and her hand. “Are you going to – I mean-“

“I need to try to get this gauntlet off.” She said, grim, and took both proffered items with her better hand. “I’ll be back in a while.” She stood, and stalked off towards the small, steep slope overlooking the watery hollow. She heard the scuffling of the others following after her and sighed, skidding down the modest slope and crouching beside the brook as she waited for them to catch up.

She fixed them both with a grimace when they arrived, worried faces staring at her. “Er.” Said Callum, uncertainly. “Can we help, or…?”

“Probably not.” She said, shortly, and eyed them. The binding had been painful and tender enough to test this morning, and she had absolutely no reason to believe it would be any gentler on her this afternoon. She wasn’t entirely pleased at the prospect of having them both here for this, when she knew it was going to hurt. She particularly was not happy about having Ezran there – he was a kid, and a highly empathetic kid at that. There was no way this wouldn’t upset him. “Look. There’s really no reason for you two to stick around watching me hurt myself, alright? Just…go back to the camp and get the fire going.”

Ezran actually glared at her for that, putting his little hands on his hips as if she’d offended him with the very suggestion. “No way.” He said, indignantly. “Even if I can’t help, I’m not gonna just leave you here alone if you’ll be in pain.” Stubbornly, he planted himself beside her, on the side of her good arm. He folded his arms, as if to cement his immovability.

Rayla huffed at him, not sure whether to be touched or annoyed, only to have Callum kneel down at her left, looking less bull-headed about things than his brother, but fairly resolute in and of himself. He wasn’t going to be any more sensible about this than Ezran, it seemed.

He presented her with a somewhat strained smile, the lines of his face creasing with worry. “We can be moral support, if nothing else.” He offered, and looked down at her hands. “…What are you going to do?”

She exhaled, slowly, and looked out into the burbling water of the brook. For once, the dread of the coming pain was almost more insistent than her dread of the water. “Soap and water should make the binding and guard more slippery.” She said, after a moment, and leaned over to douse her left hand and wrist in the chilly water.

It almost felt pleasant – cool and soothing. The cold ached at the already-aching limb, intensified the burning sensation in some of the skin and intensified the numbness in other places, but…the chill of it was still something of a relief. She closed her eyes, briefly, and then withdrew her hand to start slathering it with the soap. It would be murder on the soap itself – she’d likely run through a lot of the bar with this, but it was sort of unavoidable, really. A waste, she couldn’t help but think, even if she really did need to use it.

Why couldn’t she have thought about her stupid arm-guard days ago? It would have saved her so much trouble. And so much soap.

Eventually, her hand and that which bound it were about as soap-slippery as they would ever get, and she put the bar aside to hesitate. The boys watched her all the while, quietly anxious in a way that couldn’t help but grate at her a little. She’d have really preferred to handle this alone, without anyone else there to watch her in pain. The vulnerability of it nagged at her, persistent, as she stared at her hand and tried to muster the will to do something about it. Moon help her, if she found it this hard to get herself to pull a bloody gauntlet off, how would she ever make herself cut her hand off when she needed to?

She breathed in, then out, reaching out to pinch the edge of the guard, where it sat not too far from the darkened skin of her knuckles. She braced herself, then pulled.

The pain was immediate, and viciously intense. She clamped her teeth shut along with her eyes and strangled the shriek that wanted to escape from her throat. The pitiful edges of it emerged regardless, in an agonised wheeze that hissed between her teeth and set Callum and Ezran to fluttering with concern. She was aware of their clamouring more by the sounds of them moving than from anything else; she inhaled and exhaled in short bursts for the next few seconds, then opened her eyes.

The bloody gauntlet had barely budged. She quashed the pang of hopelessness it provoked, and tried to regain her focus. She exhaled, steeled herself, and then pulled again.

This time she was a little more ready for the pain – she kept her eyes open, and kept at it, tugging and yanking at the cursed thing with all the bloody-minded determination she could muster, the pain of every movement seething up her arm like sun-fire and building into a sickening agony intense enough she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d last. She pulled her gauntlet something like a centimetre past the binding and then couldn’t manage anymore – she collapsed in on herself, clutching her hand to her chest and panting heavily, a cold sweat building on her brow. She’d ground her teeth together so hard it was beginning to hurt.

“…You got it to move a bit that time.” Ezran offered, in a very small voice, from beside her. She cracked open an eye to peer at him, her body trembling from the after-shocks of the pain. Her gut clenched at the expression on his face; he’d paled a bit, and his eyes were wide and near-frightened, his whole bearing painted with pain – almost as if he were acting as a mirror to some vestige of her own suffering. His distress was awfully obvious – and didn’t he see this was why she hadn’t wanted him to watch?

“…A little.” She agreed, quiet, unclenching her jaw just enough to let words escape past her teeth. Her jaw ached, a small and meaningless pain compared with the one that pulsed hotly in her arm with every passing heartbeat. She almost wanted to avoid looking at Callum, not quite wanting to see how he was reacting to this, but she looked anyway. That was hard to endure, too. His expression was tight with concern, fists clenched white-knuckled in his lap, eyes glued to her hand as if unable to look away.

She lowered her gaze again, breath shuddering, and closed her eyes. Held her fingers tight in the armour-weave, and started her ordeal once more.

Every millimetre of progress cost her dearly. The binding clung fiercely to the gauntlet and did not want to let it go – she pulled, and hurt, and felt sweat bead on her brow and drip down her face from the sheer agony of it, again and again. She forced herself back every time, gritting her teeth to try to keep quiet, but it got so much harder to keep doing it.

The boys sat in near-silence, their own faces pale and getting paler every time they saw her have to stop to catch her breath, every time she strangled the shrieks in her throat, every time she couldn’t quite stop the hisses and gasps of pain at the barrier of her teeth. Callum started fidgeting, in sharp and jittery movements, agitated into restlessness by her pain.

She forced three pitiful centimetres of the gauntlet past the binding before her will eroded completely. Her hands wavered, trembling horribly in front of her, healthy fingers shaking around their grip of the fabric. She hunched forwards and panted, every inch of her feeling cold and clammy and damp, the pain in her hand burning long after she stopped actively agitating it. She tried to muster the will to pull the thing again, but couldn’t quite seem to do it. Her fingers twitched on the fabric, but that was all.

Frustrated, and still in the grips of likely the worst pain of her life, Rayla’s breath shuddered, and she closed her eyes.

She couldn’t do it. She’d overestimated her tolerance for pain. She was too weak to see it through.

Maybe…maybe she’d be able to do more after a break? And then she could try again? But…no. That would just draw it out longer. And she didn’t want to waste the soap that had gone into this pursuit, or this whole thing would be wasteful as well as agonising, and she’d come this far – why couldn’t she just – just do a little more. Just a bit. She stared at her fingers, weak and shaking on the fabric, and tried to will herself to pull. Tried to be as strong as she was meant to be. As she had to be.

But she couldn’t.

She exhaled, heavy, and let her head fall forwards as she let her fingers fall from the gauntlet. Bitter, helpless frustration burned in her throat like acid, like gall.

A voice. “…Rayla?” It was Callum. Worried, uncertain. She couldn’t quite muster the strength to straighten enough to look at him.

“…Are you okay?” Ez’s voice was very small. “You’re in a lot of pain.”

“I’m just peachy.” She managed, after a few seconds. The fact that she couldn’t quite muster the vehemence to make the words sound sarcastic, rather than just exhausted, was testament enough to how off-balance she was. She breathed in, breathed out. Tried to use Runaan’s meditation tricks to find some part of herself that didn’t exist adrift in pain, that could be calm and steady and stable in the midst of it. “…I’ll keep going in a second. Just need…” She exhaled, shaky. “Just need to catch my breath a little.”

She could practically feel the glance the princes exchanged over her head. She heard Callum shuffle at her left. “Rayla,” he said again, this time quietly insistent. Gentle, but determined. She mustered the forbearance to look up at him…and found the same calm, concerned resolve on his face as she’d heard in his voice. He lifted his hands, just a little, in her direction. “Let me help. Please.”

Rayla stared at him, a little blearily, as she tried to comprehend what exactly he intended to help. The pain left so little room in her mind for thought. “…How?” She asked, and couldn’t quite keep all of the helplessness from her voice. “It’s just…stuck.”

“Maybe. But it’ll be easier for me to do it than for you to try pulling something off your own hand, considering it hurts this much.” He hesitated a little, then moved his hands towards hers, gently moving her fingers aside to put his own in her place. She didn’t try to resist, or pull away, only watched with a strange exhausted passivity as he lodged the nails of one hand carefully around the edges of the binding. It made sense, maybe. If he could stop the gauntlet from tugging on the binding itself by holding the binding back, it might be easier.

She exhaled, and let her arm go limp, renouncing her bound hand into Callum’s care. He adjusted automatically to support it over his knee as he shifted closer, glancing between her face and her hand with obvious reluctance. He didn’t want to hurt her. “…Do it.” She ordered him, before she could say ‘no, leave it’; before she could let her impulses make a coward of her.

His eyes met hers, for a second. He nodded, almost more to himself than to her, and set the fingers of his other hand at the arm-guard. He took a deep breath, easily audible at this close range, and pulled.

She hissed, clacking her teeth together to stifle any greater sound. Callum’s effort wavered and hesitated for a second, like he might call it off on account of causing her pain, so she turned her eyes to glare at him until he kept going. And he did.

It hurt. It hurt horribly. The area where the binding sat was now so tender that the slightest pressure was painful, and this was well beyond a light pressure. It felt like – like digging fingers into a raw bruise, like poking at an open wound, like squeezing around the site of a broken bone; it sent shocks of agony shooting up her arm and overflowed quickly to the rest of her body. She clamped her eyes shut and curled forwards, suddenly grateful beyond words that she didn’t have to endure the pain and perpetuate it at the same time. She clenched the fingers of her other hand into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palms.

She lost track of time for a while, then. Intermittently, she was aware of things. Once, she gasped with the pain, unable to entirely stifle it. At some point, Ezran’s little hand curled around the one she had at her side, and held it faithfully while she huffed and panted like a wounded animal. She heard Callum speaking, from time to time, soothing innocuous things, like “easy,” and “hang in there, it’s almost done.” If she’d had the presence of mind to actually process speech properly, that last one might have brought her considerable relief.

As it was, she was half out of her mind with pain and entirely uncomprehending when it suddenly stopped. Of course, it wasn’t like the pain actually went away; the shocks of it kept travelling up along her body, the site of the binding seethed with heat and agony, and she doubted any of that would pass away soon. But the pulling stopped, and so did the new waves of pain.

She cracked her eyes open, almost bewildered, and didn’t quite comprehend what she saw.

“There. It’s done. It’s finished.” Callum was saying, voice low and soothing and oddly comforting. She heard the words, but like the sight in front of her, it took much longer than it ought for her to understand.

Her hand was dark and awful, sat in Callum’s hands. The skin around the binding looked angry and swollen, as horribly tender as it felt. But…it was the skin. Just the skin. The accursed gauntlet was on the ground by her knee.

She stared, and breathed out, shaky. “…Oh.” She said, lamely, and kept staring.

“How are you doing?” He asked her, still in that quiet, reassuring tone.

Rayla breathed in, and out, and in again. Her final exhalation was gusty and trembled along every second. Her heartbeat felt thin and thready against the skin of her neck. She swore she could feel it in her horns, even. “…I’m not sure?” She managed, voice oddly crackly, and tried to clear her throat. Her mind was oddly blank and sluggish. Her skin was cold. She shook her head, in some unsuccessful attempt to dislodge its haze, and exhaled again. “Fuck, that was horrible,” She added finally, finding the capacity to be emphatic about it, and didn’t even notice she’d sworn aloud for several seconds.

She thought even Runaan would forgive her it in this situation, though. The boys certainly didn’t flinch at it.

“You had a hard time.” Ezran said to her, voice just a little distressed, and she realised he was still holding her hand. “You did really good.”

Rayla might have felt patronised by words like that, under ordinary circumstances. She couldn’t quite object to it now. It had really been an ordeal to get that thing off. In the end, she said nothing, and kept staring down at her discoloured skin, so starkly contrasted against Callum’s own hands.

“…I think it might help the pain a little if you run it in the water for a while.” Callum said to her, a moment later. “Bring the inflammation down a bit, maybe.”

“…A’ight.” She acquiesced, a little numbly, too off-balance to even have much objection to the water. She let him lower her hand forwards into the brook like a marionette, and felt the cold of the water as a shocking relief against the heated pain around the binding. It was cold enough that it hurt, too, aching in her skin and the joints of her fingers in a chill so pronounced it was almost a burn, but it was still an unbelievable relief. She shuddered, and kept her hand in the water as Callum’s hands drew back.

“Stay there for a while, alright?” He murmured to her, gentle, and leaned back. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder for a few seconds, solid and warm against the cold sweat that had built on every inch of her skin. “Let the cold water help, and rest for a bit. I’ll go get the fire started so you can just sit here.” He waited a few moments, perhaps to see if she’d say anything, but words were hard to summon right now. He nodded, withdrew his hand, and stood. “Stay with her, Ez?”

“Duh.” Said Ezran, little hand resting persistently over hers.

Callum hesitated, just for a second, and then walked away. She felt his absence more keenly than she ought, and shivered with her hand in the cold water. “…I should really be doing something.” She mumbled, almost more to herself than to Ezran. It felt strange to sit here, still and useless, while others were off being productive.

“No you really shouldn’t.” Ez refuted, firmly, and shuffled against her side. “You’re still hurting. You need to rest for a while.”

Her limbs still felt shaky. Her whole body felt wrung-out and exhausted, and probably not fit for anything especially strenuous. The stink of the stress-sweat was starting to set in, acrid and harsh, as if to remind her what she’d endured, and her skin was still clammy with it.

She shivered, increasingly cold, and sighed. “….Alright.” She agreed, quietly. “But once he gets that fire going, I’m going to want to go sit next to it for a while. ‘s a bit chilly.”

With each passing second, the chilly brook exorcised more and more sensation from her hand, leaving nothing except a cold ache. It was comfortingly uniform. None of the prickling, or burning, or other flavours of pain she’d been growing familiar with. It would almost be pleasant, if not for the fact that it was water, and that it was making her so cold.

Ezran’s hand on hers remained, a spot of warmth in the afternoon. “Sounds good to me.” He said, and didn’t budge an inch.

Rayla stared out at the flow of the water, as numb to its fear as she was to the ache of her hand, and found herself feeling begrudgingly grateful for water for perhaps the first time in her life. Who knew – maybe this experience would make her hate water a little less? She snorted, softly, at the notion. As if, she thought, a little derisively, and watched the brook as it burbled gently over the rocks and debris in its path.

Soon. Soon she’d have to get up and make herself useful, or get dinner going, or in general stop wallowing uselessly beside the littlest Prince of Katolis. Soon…but not now.

Rayla exhaled, slow, and settled into a tired slump at the water’s edge, allowing it to chase away the ills the day had wrought.

End chapter.

Timeline: Occurs on 16.05 (day 6) and 17.05 (day 7). Subtract two days to determine time since leaving Katolis. Please note that 17th of May is canonically Runaan’s birthday and he’s spending it in a dark magic dungeon, poor guy. Who knows, we might even get a look at him, soon! (soon means chapter 8, according to current arrangement).

Canon Divergences: Mount Kalik is absolutely immense, and Claudia and Soren absolutely cannot scale that in enough time for it to be worth it. If they want to – very, very eventually – catch the kids, they’ll need a…creative solution. Possibly several creative solutions.

On Worldbuilding: Carpe Noctem and Carpe Diem taken directly from Latin.

And, for anyone interested, the calendar months: Januaris, Februaris, Martias, Avrilas, Maius, Iunias, Julius, Agustus, Septevis, Octovis, Novevis, Decevis. These are derived from the Roman month names or the old/middle English names as I preferred, but still modified. Note: I’m pronouncing ‘Decevis’ like de-che-vis.

The weekdays, derived from Latin and modified: Lunadis, Martedis, Mercuridis, Jovidis, Veneridis, Saturnidis, Soladis.

Some Moonshadow elf curses (and other elf curses) still use Draconic, and generally they centre around the New Moon or general absences of the Moon or moonlight. The New Moon is a bit of a bitch for Moonshadow elves, for multiple reasons. (The first New Moon of piaj is scheduled for Day 17, and will elaborate on this.) The most commonly used elf-specific curses are not in Draconic, and the use of Draconic curses makes one seem vaguely old-fashioned and/or dramatic – except on the New Moon, where everyone does it.

Of the Draconic curses, the most commonly used one is futtanovil, an adaptation of a longer curse that originally meant ‘fuck the new moon and everything even vaguely related to it’. In its colloquial abbreviated state it still evokes the same meaning. Of non-Draconic curses, ‘Moonless’ is most used, a common modifier to any number of curses or insults. Example: that ruddy moonless bastard. Example 2: it was a cursed, moonless bitch of a day.

All completely made up by me, because as previously discussed, I can’t not worldbuild.

Other notes: Rayla uses pretty much a one-armed fireman’s carry on Callum and Ez this chapter. Do I believe her capable of carrying someone her own body weight or heavier? I absolutely do. And I wanted Callum and Ez to know it, too.

Stickyweed: more properly known as gooseweed, or about ten other names, this plant is found basically everywhere, and is covered in tiny hooks that make it stick very readily to things. Its seeds are spherical, also sticky, and are commonly found in the fur of animals. I walk past about ten patches of this stuff every time I walk into town. It is, in fact, edible by humans. However, the use of it I remember most fondly as a child is the one enacted in this chapter. And, might I add, I feel that Moonshadow elf children probably have a great time playing games that involve sneaking up on people to hang plants on their backs. Who knows, maybe it’s even encouraged as fun training for the assassin kids.

This chapter, specifically the gauntlet scene, contains a reference to a relatively famous episode of a classic sci-fi! We’re talking 60s sci-fi. I’m interested to see if any of you get it.

Total written content for piaj now exceeds 130k. Chapter 7 is complete, and around 10k long. Chapter 8 is currently about 6k long, and is probably going to exceed 10k

If you enjoyed this chapter, please take the time to enrich my story stats in some way. It is no exaggeration to say that I check them several times a day.

#tdp #rayllum #tdp fanfic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #piaj #piaj chapters

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