#Like how is splinter not putting his head through a wall from bashing it into it in frustration given his back story

[bluewithpurplepolkadots]

Honestly the writing surrounding April wasn’t great in 2012 (okay it was at times a goddamn mess and they had too much going on there, streamline things people) but I don’t trust people who really (obsessively even), seem to hate her and yet apparently love and adore that shows versions of Donatello and Casey.

Please.

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen (final chapter, pt. 2, the end.)

part one here

A/N: Thank you guys for all of your wonderful comments and the love sent my way for this fanfic. I've had a great time writing it despite its rocky moments. I really hope this ending does it justice; I've never gotten to write a proper conclusion to anything like this before. It's the first time I've ever completed a multi-chapter work such as this, so I'm happy. 🍾🥂 Here's to finishing what you start, and enjoy. :)

Just shy of a half-hour later, he was finished telling the story. She had sat the both of them down on the couch, one on each end, and he explained in great detail everything leading up to current-day. Tales of the ooze, Mutagen, as he'd told her; the rat named Splinter, a man formerly known as Hamato Yoshi, who had fathered and trained them; and lastly, their mission. Be of service, protect the city; have a good heart. And Donnie most certainly had a good heart. He was not the outlandish figure she'd first saw and recognized him as. He was the guy she had come to know as Bo, Donatello, who was the same person she'd talked to this whole time. At some points of the retelling, he got excited to share some of their adventures. This came after their humble beginnings of struggling in the sewers. Donnie was happy to share after so long of dodging saying anything about his life. 

She nodded along to this talking. "...and that's how we're here," he said finally, putting his hands on his legs. "Since we're here, any questions?" 

She replied with a no, looking over at the TV that had remained on the entire time. Donnie stayed seated as she got up and got the remote, also glancing at the clock on the wall, which read 10:45 PM. She switched the TV off. Looks like it's time to go, he thought. He rose from the couch and fixed the pillow he'd displaced. 

"Donnie, this has been...strange," and for a split second, his face fell, "but not bad! Though, it is getting late." 

 "Oh, no—yeah, no, I understand," he sputtered bashfully, activating the staff which collapsed back into its smaller form. He tucked it away somewhere on him. 

For a moment, he simply stood there as if wanting to say something, but the words never found him. "So it's goodbye?" he asked quietly. The way he said it made it seem like he thought it was forever. But it was on until they figured out how to pick up where they left off after that night. Undoubtedly, things would be different going forward. He didn't know if that would be good or bad. 

"Only until next time," she told him, a small smile present. He visibly relaxed. "You're still my friend, Donatello."

He smiled. "I knew that. Totally."

Showing himself out, he stepped onto the balcony, looking back one last time before he bounded away. He held up his hand and gave a small wave. 

But she hadn't said bye yet, so he stuck around for a moment longer, though it was met with an awkward silence. He was beginning to go over the railing when she ran over to the door, stopping him. "Wait," she said, and he crawled back over the railing with a confused but curious expression. "I actually do have a question. Just one, before you go." 

"Sure," he said, inviting her to go on. She had to look up to see his face being so close. 

Tenderly, she asked, "Why'd you not tell me, after all that time? Would you have ever chosen to do this if it hadn't been for an accident?" 

Donnie couldn't give her an answer on that.

He sighed, slightly shaking his head. "I couldn't, [y/n]. We've been through this." 

"I only wanted you to trust me, Donnie," she responded. And that was, really, how she'd felt. Throughout their entire friendship, it had felt one-sided in that regard. Trusting but not trusted, but she hadn't any idea of what was truly going on, at the time. 

Donnie pondered her question: If there hadn't been some kind of divine intervention, would he have ever had the chance to have something more with her than words on a screen? 

He swallowed as she took a small step closer. 

"I just wanted you to care about me." His volume was barely above a whisper. He clenched his jaw briefly, as if he was concerned over his own words. His golden-brown eyes wandered from your eyes on downward. 

"I did—I do care about you, what makes you say that?" she questioned, puzzled. 

He vaguely gestured at his body, "Wouldn't this be a little hard grasp over text? Isn't it hard to accept even now?"

Though she didn't answer, he had a feeling that he was correct about one of those things—she did have to wrap her head around everything. Tentatively, both watched as her fingers brushed against his own. His hand moved along with hers, seeing and feeling the delicateness. Until they laced together as well as they could, her heart steady while his was beginning to race. His hand even trembled ever so slightly. He would have wanted to stay like that forever, had it not been for the fact that he was uncertain where they now stood. Where he stood in your eyes. What did this mean? 

Putting her other hand on his shoulder, she tried to conjure a smile. But it flickered out as she murmured, leaning into him, "Does this answer your question?" She had to stand on the tips of her toes, while his hand tightened in hers involuntarily, almost too shocked to bend down for what was coming. The one thing he hadn't accounted for in their meeting, not once—and it was happening. 

He seemed like he was going to stammer something, but her lips closed the gap and planted softly on his. 

There is no way.

There is no way this is happening—but I'm seeing it with my own eyes! 

Donnie lost all control the moment her lips pressed against his. His hand squeezed hers, shaking as his heart pounded in his chest. I'm shaking. Why am I shaking? 

His eyes which had been wide were now fluttering closed. For the better half of the kiss, every other thought beside the ones of her was ejected. He couldn't have pulled away, even if he'd wanted. He was hers completely. That was irrevocable.

It was only until she decided it was time to step back did they part, him looking at her entrancing face once more, and her swallowing heavily. That kiss had been something she'd dreamed of before. Never Knowing it would be held on the smooth, moist lips of a humanoid turtle, rather than those or a human man. In fact, she had to convince herself that she wasn't dreaming. Her hand slid down his shoulder and onto his chestplate. It was rough, almost possessing a grain under her fingertips. Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand. He thought he felt a tingle from the trail her fingers left. 

Donnie was on Cloud Nine for a solid minute before coming back to his senses. "That...I…" he struggled to find the words. For a brain that worked so fast, he felt utterly slow, then. 

She cracked a smile, face contorted into one of hope and a hint of embarrassment. "Is it too late to say that I've waited to do that for a while now?" she laughed. 

"N-no," he said, still trying to organize his thoughts. "No, it isn't."

"Okay, good," she replied with a relieved exhale. 

Her hand went from his chest to his arm, feeling the taut muscle as it traveled down. His hand enveloped hers while the other lifted, going to touch her cheek. "Does this mean…?" he trailed off. 

"It means I really, really like you, Donnie. I have since we played that game." 

He gently brushed her cheek with his thumb, "I really like you, too," he mimicked, voice soft. 

Maybe even that was an understatement. 

"I think I…" 

A noise nearby alerted him, and on instinct, he set her behind himself on defense. Don't be an attack now, of all times, he thought, listening closely. He told her to be quiet and to not say anything, using his forearm to gently push her back into the apartment. He pulled out his staff. 

"Sup dude and dudette!" an all too familiar voice beamed, the orange-banded turtle appearing hanging upside down from the balcony above. [Y/N] shrieked, and Donnie nearly bashed his brother in the head, sucking in a sharp breath as he accidentally backpedaled into her. Mikey waved and flashed a grin. "Don't worry, we didn't see anything...except for you two kissing, that was really unexpected!" He flipped down onto the balcony, and Donnie grumbled something, going in for a zap to his brother's plastron. Mikey dodged it, this time. Donnie tried again; unsuccessful. "Oop—saw that one coming," Mikey laughed, jovial. 

Donnie groaned, half-embarrassed and half-annoyed, "Mikey, what are you doing here?" 

Waltzing into her apartment, Mikey crossed his arms with a wink sent the human's way. "Michelangelo, wingman to the big special D right here," he introduced himself brightly, "but you can call me Mikey." 

Donnie slapped his hand to his flushed face, hoping that he was the only one who noticed Mikey's less-than-classy wording. 

"So you're all named after Renaissance painters?" asked [y/n], lifting a brow. 

Exhaling, Donnie stepped between them, "[Y/N], this is Mikey, my brother. The one that—" 

"Got you together!"

"—that got us into this predicament," he'd almost said, but he realized as Mikey said that, he owed their meeting all to him. It had all started with that talk they had had late that day, after patrol, and ended on her balcony, Donnie getting to experience a kiss for the first time. With someone he'd never imagined he would have ever been able to touch, let alone share something like that with. Yes, as much of a hassle everything up until that point had been, it was all thanks to Mikey. 

Donnie grinned, turning to his brother and draping his arm over the back of his shoulders. "Yeah, you did," he agreed. Mikey smiled as he looked down at him with fondness. He wrapped an arm around Donnie's shell in return. 

"You know it, brah. Oh, and I take cash or pi—" 

"Don't push it, younger bro." Donnie rolled his eyes. 

Waiiiiit a minute. 

Mumbling for [y/n] to hold that thought, Donnie, suspicious, crept over toward the balcony. "We"?

Mikey tried to make chatter with her while he did so, mentioning how he liked what she'd done with the place. 

He checked if the coast was clear first before leaning onto the railing on his shell, squinting his eyes. And he was not surprised at all to see Raph and Leo looking down at him from over the edge of the roof. Leo had his recognizable expression of: "You'd better wrap it up." Donnie drooped his shoulders and ducked back inside. Couldn't last forever, he thought. Despite whatever was waiting for him on the roof or at home, he could still smile on the day he'd had. He would be thinking about that kiss for weeks. 

"I guess it's bye for real this time," he told [y/n], sad to go what felt like so soon, but really was content. The night could not have gone better. "I have to, you know, go get flamed by my oldest brother. Probably."

"We'll be in touch, Donnie," she replied. "Um...text me when you get home? Just so I know you got there alright." 

Smiling, Donnie nodded. 

Mikey budded in, "Hey, don't forget about me here." 

Chuckling, Donnie headed for the door, taking Mikey but the upper arm along with him. They stopped one last time to waved to her before making their exit. 

Leo and Raph met the pair at the top. Raph was the first to speak, asking skeptically, "And yer sure this girl is alright?"

"Positive," Donnie answered with confidence. 

After a moment of trying to come up with some kind of remark, Raph let out a huff. "You got the nerve, I'll tell you that." He held out his fist ready for a bump, and when Donnie didn't immediately reciprocate, grumbled "Well? Don't leave me hangin', Don." Realizing what he wanted, Donnie went right in for the fist bump. 

Pulling away, Donnie asked, "So you're not mad?" He gave some space between himself and the incoming Leo. 

Raph scoffed lightly and shrugged. "I may not trust her, but I trust you," he responded, gruff as usual. "Just don't expect me to be all friendly and whatnot—I ain't doin' it." 

"You don't have to do anything, Raph." 

And then Donnie was face-to-face with Leo, who's intensely blue eyes were trained on him for a few seconds too long. Donnie wondered what he was thinking until he sighed, and then spoke. 

"I'm sorry." 

Behind Leo, Mikey was in awe.

"That's a new one," Raph chuffed. He left the circle to watch from the edge of the building. Mikey stuck around, but only far enough to be in ear shot. If something coming from Leo started off with a sincere "I'm sorry", he wouldn't miss it.

"Yes, you heard. I'm sorry," Leo admitted, bringing his eyes up from the ground. "I shouldn't have pressured you, Donnie. I know that you can handle yourself. I was just trying to protect you and our family," he explained, pausing to glance over at the other two brothers, "but…yeah. I'm sorry for pushing you, Don. I was kind of a jerk back there."

Deciding he didn't have any words good enough to say what he wanted to, Donnie simply pulled Leo in for half-hug, rocking him with him. Leo wore his lopsided smile as he gave Donnie's shell a slap. 

"That...was…" 

They stepped away from each other, staring at Mikey quizzically. 

"...beautiful, bros," he finished in a whisper. 

They stayed for a minute just watching the city go by, the clock ticking by later into the night. Donnie finally thought to ask Leo how Splinter was, because he definitely knew what was going down. He was a smart old man—and beside, Donnie had made no effort to pretend that wasn't what he was doing when he'd initially left. If Splinter knew, Splinter knew. He was still mildly afraid of Leo's response. 

"You want the truth?" Leo questioned, his expression briefly changing to one of a cringe. 

"I mean, I'd like to know what I'm in for," Donnie replied in an obvious manner. 

"He was angry, at first. Didn't know you left until he was done with his talk with Mikey. Also surprised that you actually went through with it. But, after that...he seemed like he understood, in a way, I guess. I didn't ask questions. You'll have to confront him about it yourself, because he just sent me and Raph out to get you." 

Donnie kept his eyes on the sidewalk below them, and the occasional person walking it. "And Mikey?" he asked, quizzical. 

"He insisted," Leo groaned. 

"You know I can't pass up an opportunity to see D get his first kiss!" 

"Oh, shut up, you had no idea that was gonna happen. You just wanted to go because me 'n Leo were goin'," Raph argued, flicking his head. "Weren't you supposed to stay in by Splinter's orders?" 

Mikey crossed his arms and turned away, "I don't have to take this abuse." He was, indeed, meant to stay behind. But the boy couldn't help himself. 

Once the banter died down, they were left contemplating whether they wanted to stay out a little longer, or if it was time to turn in. It had already been a long night, but in honesty, Donnie wasn't ready to go quite yet. He still felt as though he had so much to say to [y/n], but he supposed that time had already passed. At least until next time, if or when that was. Raph took a break from his lookout and sat next to Donnie with a grunt. He wasn't good with mush or sensitive things, but he felt compelled to ask "What're you gonna do now?" 

Donnie hummed in question.

"Well, she knows. And by the looks of things—erm—the look of one particular thing, you two are still goin' steady."

Ugh, they saw it. Donnie moaned, a cold flush coming over his face. I can't have anything private in this family.

Raph pushed him on his shoulder. "Ya shouldn't mack on someone by the doorway if ya don't wanna be seen," he jested.

"I don't know what's next, Raph," Donnie confessed. "We didn't exactly...make anything official after that."

Once they were back on the move towards home, they all dropped into the nearest manhole, but Donnie remained where he was, saying he would catch up to them. He was the fastest of the four, after all.

"I hope you're still awake," he mumbled to himself as he reached for his phone. They were close to home, anyway. And it was quiet. He typed:

"I'm almost home, [y/n]. All safe."

A couple of minutes later, she responded.

"Okay, that's good

Your brother is quite the character, by the way"

"He is who he is, lol"

"He seems nice though."

Walking down along the sewers, he took his time. What was a little longer after the night he'd had?

"Donnie, what were you going to say when Michelangelo interrupted us?"

He stopped in his tracks and thought, having nearly forgotten that he was going to actually say it. He didn't just like her—for the first time, he was sure he loved her.

"That I think I love you, [y/n]."

He regretted not saying it when he was with her, but he just couldn't wait.

There was a worrisome pause on her end in which he imagined she was staring at her screen thinking about how strong that came off, that it was uncalled for, that he was going too fast—

"I said I liked you

But that was not quite the truth

I love you, Donnie."

Golden-brown eyes sparkling, he let out a laugh, unable to contain his happiness, and the rest of the brothers smiled to themselves hearing the whoop of joy and excitement echo in the tunnel.

His adventure in love and friendship had started within a screen, but he was bound to it no longer. This was the opening of a new chapter in his life.

Tag list: @kokokatsworld @criminaly-supernatural @dianounais @spaceman-main @sheepdarkhours @raphaelsrightarm

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 21

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT DAY

THRYMR’S TOMB

“They’re here, my lord.” The messenger said from the doorway, awaiting his king’s response.

Kjotve chuckled and lounged in his chair, allowing his feet to rest on the war table before him.

“Of course they are. It was only a matter of time.” He went quiet for a moment, sliding a rock along the blade of his battle-axe. “...Is Gorm with them?”

The messenger’s gaze shifted to the floor. “N-No, my lord.”

The other man didn’t seem surprised. “I expected as much. That boy was dead the minute he allowed himself to fall into their hands. They’ve likely hammered his head on a pike already.” Kjotve sighed and set the rock down, leaning forward in his seat. “No matter. We’ll manage without him. How many people are we dealing with?”

“It’s an army, my lord. Both the Raven and Bear clans are here. They’re attacking the fort from the southern half of the island. Sigurd Styrbjornson is leading the charge. Dag is nowhere to be found though.”

Kjotve nodded to himself, quickly formulating a plan in his head. “He’s probably dead. I knew something was amiss when Dag’s reports came to a sudden halt.”

He rose from the chair and stretched his arms, resting the axe’s hilt on his shoulder. “Tell our men to prepare for war, and make sure everyone is ready. If Sigurd loses this battle, the power of the entire kingdom will shift, and his family will lose their claim to the throne. He won’t accept defeat easily. We’ll have to throw everything we have at him.”

The messenger bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Kjotve began striding towards the door. “In the meantime, I think I should get a look at this ‘army’ for myself. I’ve never known The Raven Clan to be a formidable opponent, but they’re not an enemy to be underestimated. Keep your eyes sharp, and your axe at hand. This isn’t going to end smoothly.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

THRYMR’S TOMB, SOUTHERN HALF

“Heave!” Sigurd bellowed, his voice towering over all the commotion.

The Raven Clan let out a unanimous shout and rushed forward with the battering ram, gripping the mechanism so tightly that their knuckles turned white. The wooden planks of the bridge groaned underneath their weight as they charged towards the fort, trembling from the footsteps of a hundred warriors.

Meanwhile, the Bear Clan marched alongside them and formed a shield wall around their allies, taking the brunt of any arrows that came raining down from the battlements. A series of thunderous war chants echoed from the sea of raiders flooding the gates, and within moments, they were already bashing it down.

“Heave!” Sigurd commanded once again, urging them to charge. The warriors took a few steps back and pulled the ram into position, holding it in place before letting it swing.

The front of the mechanism immediately broke free from their grasp and soared into the braces holding the gate together, causing an array of splinters to fly from the surface.

A few of the supports could be seen bending in the face of the ram’s power, and by now, a unit of Kjotve’s men had gathered on the other side, preparing to welcome the incoming horde of enemies.

Before Sigurd could carry out a final charge however, the shadows of multiple archers blotted the ground beneath his feet like phantoms emerging from the night, drawing his attention to the line of arrows growing above. He gazed upwards into the sun’s blinding light, and yelled another command.

“Shield wall!”

Upon hearing the order, the Bear Clan instantly got into formation and locked their shields together, creating a shimmering shell above their companions. A wave of arrows came bolting down soon after, and rapidly buried the army below under a hurricane of metal.

A number of Sigurd’s warriors were shot dead within seconds despite their attempt to deflect the attack, and much to his dismay, the battering ram suddenly found itself short of some men. The surviving raiders pushed on with any energy they had left and stepped over the handful of scattered corpses now littering the bridge, bringing the ram one step closer to success.

Taking advantage of the opening that followed the archers’ assault, the Raven Clan drew the ram back to its starting point and awaited their prince’s command, keeping the mechanism raised with a Herculean amount of strength.

“Heave!” Sigurd ordered one last time, signaling his men to rush forward. They tightened their grip and practically hurled the ram into the gate, shattering the remains of the barricade into pieces. Shards of wood violently erupted from the site of impact, and shortly after, the Raven Clan was storming the entrance.

“Find Kjotve!” The prince roared. “And send that argr dog into the jaws of Garmr himself!”

Barreling into the fort with a symphony of war cries, the Bear and Raven Clans began tearing through Kjotve’s men like a legion from Hel, cutting down anything in sight as if the spirit of Thor had possessed their very minds.

The sound of axes clashing rang across the battlefield like the shrill voice of a valravn and colored the air with mayhem, drowning out the agonized shrieks echoing from Kjotve’s army.

Meanwhile, Sigurd took hold of his longsword and jumped into the tempest swirling around him, butchering foes left and right in a haze of fury. 

All of his bottled-up rage, grief, and pain came pouring out in every strike, and soon enough, he resembled the man who visited Ingrida in her dreams. His eyes practically glowed with the sparks of a vengeful flame, and it didn’t take long for the god of war to start shining through his actions.

He no longer felt any fear; any doubt. The only thing that guided Sigurd’s axe now was the desire to honor those who had fallen. Thora, Dag, Ulfar, Eirik -- this was for all of them. This was to ensure that their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. This... was for his clan.

“Aarrgh!” A familiar voice shouted, causing Sigurd to glance to his side. 

In the distance, he spotted none other than Eivor himself burying an axe into the chest of an enemy raider, baring his teeth like a feral beast on the hunt. His eyes had been pried open by claws of adrenaline, and it was clear from the blood splatters staining his armor that he had already taken down his fair share of Kjotve’s men.

What the young warrior didn’t notice however, was the raider sneaking up from behind him.

“Eivor!” Sigurd exclaimed, dashing in his direction. “Behind you!”

The prince raised his sword in the air and slammed it downwards with an adamant amount of force, practically knocking the enemy’s head right off their shoulders. They dropped to the ground in an instant, and sank lifelessly into the mounds of snow.

Eivor took a moment to catch his breath, still processing the swift chain of events.

“...Thank you, Sigurd,” he said through labored breathing. The older man offered his hand and helped the blonde viking up to his feet, keeping an eye out for anymore men that may have been skulking in his blind spot.

“Don’t mention it.” He flicked his eyes around a bit. “Have you seen any sign of Kjotve?”

Eivor shook his head. “Not yet, and I doubt he’ll reveal himself anytime soon. He’s probably somewhere in the fort, using his men as a shield.”

“Then let’s make sure he has none to hide behind.” Sigurd stepped away from his lover, gesturing to the rest of the battlefield. “I’ll stay here and fight alongside our warriors. You focus on finding Kjotve. We cannot let him escape a second time.”

“Of course. Oh, and Sigurd?”

The prince paused. “Yes?”

Eivor’s expression softened with affection. “...Please, be careful.”

Sigurd returned the sentiment. “You as well, love. I’m not leaving this fort without you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

Sprinting across the reddened snow like a madman, Eivor charged through the war-weathered fort as he searched for Kjotve, trying to ignore all the chaos surrounding him. Everywhere on the battlefield, the young man saw nothing but men and women from both sides falling to their knees in defeat, quivering in the presence of death.

Their anguished cries blurred together in Eivor’s ears, and their bodies began to topple over like trees being cut down. Not a shred of honor or bravery graced the morbid scene before him, and instead of finding glory, he found no more than a desperate desire to cling onto life.

It reminded him of when he was a child. Everything was identical to that horrid night when his parents died, and the sound of Kjotve’s name only enhanced the vividness of the awful memories he carried. He felt like the exact same boy who had fled from that ruined village -- only this time -- there was no one to save him.

He was alone... and so was Kjotve.

Taking a moment to gather his composure, Eivor strengthened his resolve and firmly held onto Varin’s axe, marching directly into the hellish atmosphere ahead. Foes of all sorts blocked his path with a multitude of threats -- including arrows and fire -- but none were enough to scare him off. 

No matter how vicious their bite, or how large their shadow, Eivor refused to waver. He had spent so long trying to find Kjotve in this realm of ice and blood, that absolutely nothing would stop him anymore.

He came here to put an end to this war, and he would.

“Where are you, Kjotve?!” Eivor roared, prowling through the embers. “Come out and fight me! I know you’re there!”

Stomping through bedlam, the young warrior wildly swung his axe at the raiders standing in his way and struck them down one by one, stopping at nothing to find the man who had hunted him for all these years. His thoughts raced with the struggles he had endured to reach this point, and the voices of those he’d lost continued to sing in his head, urging him to keep going.

A primitive fear of death wracked the very core of his soul, but even then, Eivor couldn’t bring himself to retreat. A newfound defiance had been bred in his heart despite the dangers ahead, and in a strange way, his fear pushed him further.

“I will find you!” The Wolf-Kissed bellowed at the top of his lungs, lodging his axe into an enemy’s neck. “You think you can hide forever? You’ve taken my home, my parents, my sister, my honor! You no longer have any power over me!”

He carved his way through yet another group of foes and let out a ferocious shout, bashing his axe with so much force that sparks danced off the blade upon impact. By now, there was nothing but a trail of corpses lying in Eivor’s wake, and in the distance, he could see an all-too-familiar silhouette gazing down at him from the battlements above.

They didn’t move a muscle, nor did they say a word. They simply stood there in silence, watching as the tension in their kingdom finally reached a breaking point. The battle-axe on their shoulder was enough to tell Eivor who it was, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop when they made eye contact with each other. 

They both knew why the Wolf-Kissed was there. They both knew what he wanted. Even though they had spent decades straying from the fire Kjotve sparked all those years ago, they had finally found their way back to one another, ready to guide this saga to a close.

Strolling away from the battlements, Kjotve turned on his heel and began heading down the stairs, beckoning Eivor to follow him outside the fort. It didn’t look like he had any additional men in his company, and for the first time since their initial encounter, the younger man didn’t get the impression that this was a trap.

They were both eager to bid farewell to this lifelong rivalry. The Nornir had planned for this day all along, and soon enough, the ending to their story would be scrawled in blood. The only question that remained -- was who would provide the ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE THE FORT

THRYMR’S TOMB, NORTHERN HALF

Treading carefully through the gathering storm, Eivor approached Kjotve from behind as the older man awaited his arrival, quietly taking in the view of the crumbling fort. Despite being outside its walls, the two of them could still hear the sounds of battle seeping through the cracks of its weathered stone, howling from beyond the veil of snow.

It was like a different world out here. Not a single soul disturbed the barren landscape, and the merciless weather had almost wiped out the scene of the war entirely. Only Eivor and Kjotve stood on the icy plates of Thrymr’s Tomb, and if they listened hard enough, they could practically hear the gods calling out to them, whispering in a tongue that evaded their comprehension. They were alone in this place, and somehow, the idea of that brought comfort to Eivor’s nerves.

They had an arena all to themselves, and that was just the way Eivor liked it.

“Here I am.” He announced, stopping in his tracks. The island’s river lay not too far away from him, filling his ears with the sound of rushing water.

Kjotve turned around at the greeting, giving his opponent no more than a glance. “...Here you are.”

The Wolf-Kissed took a few steps closer, careful not to provoke him just yet. “You waited for the enemy with your back turned to them? I can’t tell if it’s courage or hubris that drives you.”

A chuckle fluttered from Kjotve’s lips. “For all your flaws, Eivor, I know how much you value honor. You wouldn’t attack a man from his back.”

Eivor’s brow furrowed in anger. “...But you would.”

“A trait of mine that many look down on, no doubt. And yet, here I am, one step away from conquering the entire kingdom. There is no honor to be found in war, so I don’t bother with it.”

Kjotve took hold of his weapon. “But enough. We didn’t come here for idle chatter. You’re here for one thing and one thing only. Aren’t you, Varinsson?”

Eivor felt something spur inside him at the sound of his father’s name. “...Let’s bring an end to this, Kjotve. Enough running. Enough fighting. Just you... and me.”

“Eager as always. So be it. You’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough. I’ll gladly send you to the Corpse Hall. It’s just a shame that you won’t be able to see your father again, isn’t it?” He displayed a small smirk. “The price of honor, I suppose.”

Gripping the hilt of his axe with both hands, Kjotve slowly readied his stance and locked eyes with Eivor, watching him like a beast studying its prey. Meanwhile, the younger man began circling his opponent and held his weapon out in front of him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The world around them was still with a deathly silence. 

It seemed as if the very heavens had come to a halt to witness the grand spectacle, and even the ocean itself had fallen into a trance-like serenity. There was nothing to distract them, or divert their senses, and the battle at the fort had long since departed from their minds.

The gods had finally granted Eivor his chance to reclaim Varin’s honor, and he didn’t intend to waste it.

Lunging forward with a sudden surge of vigor, the young warrior landed a number of blows on Kjotve’s armor before springing back and evading the counter-attack that followed, forcing him to roll across the ground.

He pushed himself off the ice and quickly returned to his feet, whirling around to face the giant striding towards him.

In the blink of an eye, Kjotve heaved his axe above his shoulders and slammed the bearded weapon down onto the snow, missing Eivor’s head by no more than a few centimeters.

The blonde viking jumped to the side and used the opening to swing his axe at Kjotve’s face, causing the blade to slice straight through the lobe of his ear. Blood instantly came pouring down from the wound and onto the fur of the king’s cape, painting the hairs with a vibrant layer of red. A handful of droplets also plummeted to the ground beneath, marking Kjotve’s every move with a fresh trail of blood.

As for Eivor, he carried on with his assault and relentlessly threw one attack after another, refusing to give his enemy the chance to breathe. Unfortunately for him, a man of Kjotve’s stature was not so easily bested, and the Wolf-Kissed soon found himself on the receiving end of a direct hit from the other man’s weapon.

The gargantuan axe bludgeoned Eivor in the stomach and sent him soaring backwards, causing the wind to be knocked out of his lungs. Thanks to his armor, the blade didn’t make contact with his flesh, but he had still been struck with enough force that his abdomen now writhed in pain.

He stumbled for a moment due to the sensation and attempted to regain his footing, only to be kicked back down when Kjotve jabbed the tip of his boot into his gut. The king then proceeded to bash Eivor’s axe out of his hand by punting it from his grasp, allowing it to slide across the frozen terrain.

“Heh,” Kjotve said with a laugh. “Is that the best Varin’s son has to offer? All these years of tracking me down, and you’ve already been rendered defenseless.” He tilted his head in a patronizing manner. “I almost pity you.”

In spite of the soreness now spreading throughout his body, Eivor simply responded to the taunt with a feral war cry and yanked a dagger from one of the sheathes on his back, plunging the blade into Kjotve’s foot.

The king instantly roared in agony and toppled to his knees, unable to ignore the newfound pain now clutching his leg. Eivor tackled him to the ground as soon as he was staggered and climbed on top of him, desperately trying to press the dagger into his throat.

Due to his lighter physique however, Kjotve easily shoved the weapon away from his neck and pushed Eivor off of him with a punch to the cheek, creating a small distance between them. Eivor took this opportunity to retrieve his axe and returned to his feet, assuming his original stance. Not too far away from him, Kjotve did the same -- only now -- he had been cursed with a limp.

“...You won’t kill me that easily.” Eivor panted out, his breath turning into mist. “I’ve fought for too long to let you walk away now. Even if I die for it, this war will end today. You won’t leave this island alive.”

Kjotve sighed and approached the wounded viking, using his axe as a support.

“Ah... just like your mother. Fighting til the very end. An admirable mindset to have, but one doomed to end in futility nonetheless.” He straightened his posture, clenching his jaw in pain. “You’ll fall, Eivor. You, your clan, your king... you’ll all join Varin and Rosta soon enough. And then, Norway will be united under one crown -- mine.”

Trudging in Eivor’s direction, Kjotve carried on with his pursuit despite the injury he had just sustained and prepared to finish the other man off, prowling towards him with bloodlust in his gaze.

Just as the two of them resumed the fight however, a sudden growl reached their ears, leading them to come to a pause. They diverted their attention to the blizzard surrounding them and fell silent, trying to peer through the wintry fog.

For a while, there was nothing. No footsteps, no figures, no movement. Not even a shadow. 

The environment appeared just the same as before, and after a few moments of waiting, Eivor began to wonder if the disruptive sound had just been a trick of the mind.

Before his doubts could fully settle in though, the sound of a raven’s caw abruptly pierced through the air, echoing across the land like a summon from the gods. Synin herself emerged from the sky and started gliding down towards her companion, rescuing him just like she did when he was a child.

Perplexed by her arrival, Eivor stared at Synin in shock and watched as she soared over his head, vanishing into the storm beyond. At first, he didn’t understand the meaning behind her intervention or what she hoped to accomplish, but once she departed from the island, it all made sense.

Out of nowhere, a pack of white wolves leapt out from behind the fog and charged towards the barbarian king, allured by the scent of his blood. Their fangs glimmered viciously with ropes of saliva, and their eyes swelled at the sight of their next meal.

“What the--?!” Kjotve exclaimed in surprise, brandishing his axe at them. “Where’d you come from? Stay back!”

Pouncing on Kjotve, the wolves overwhelmed the colossal king in spite of his attempts to fend them off and immediately started tearing at his flesh, thrashing him around like a rag doll. The growing discomfort in his foot caused him to collapse to the ground, and before he knew it, the feral beasts were feasting on him without mercy.

Initially, Eivor felt a sense of relief upon seeing the wolves finish his job for him, but after a while, there was a certain emotion building up in his chest that he just couldn’t suppress. The sheer amount of agony behind Kjotve’s screams was enough to shake him to the core, and surprisingly, he found himself beginning to pity the man.

Eivor hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be attacked by a wolf. Despite the fact that he had carried his scar for over a decade, the terror of that night still remained vivid in his head. 

He may have hated Kjotve with every fiber of his being, but even then, it was difficult for him to condemn someone to such a torturous death. Humanity was a trait often lost during war, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to lose his own.

He had come here to reclaim his father’s honor. To restore peace. 

The suffering of others was something he wished to end -- and it all started now.

Rushing towards the wolves, Eivor waved his axe at the beasts and threatened them with a series of shouts, hoping to distract them from Kjotve. At first, they merely challenged his actions and growled in response, but were easily scared off once it became clear he wasn’t backing down.

Waiting for them to clear the area, Eivor guarded Kjotve until the wolves disappeared from his sight completely, and kept his eyes sharp for any other animals that may have been roaming around. The wolves didn’t show any signs of coming back to finish their meal, and for the time being, it was just the two of them again.

As for the fallen king, he had been transformed into nothing but the mauled scraps of an abandoned feast, and left in a pool of his own blood. Bits of bone could be seen peeking through his skin, and his hands trembled both out of shock and pain.

Eivor gazed down at the ghastly sight, unable to hide his disgust.

“Your breath hasn’t faltered yet.” He said, admittedly impressed by Kjotve’s survival.

The other man whimpered, croaking out a short reply. “...You... you saved me. Why? D-Didn’t want the wolves... to claim your prize...?”

The young warrior shook his head. “You mistake my mercy for malice. I may despise you for everything you’ve taken from me... but it is not my place to carry out your judgement.”

Kjotve scoffed. “...Then... whose is it?”

Eivor knelt beside his enemy, looking directly into his eyes. “Wherever you go from here, it is the gods who will determine your fate. The only thing I can do... is send you to them. You’ll die as you lived. Without honor.”

He positioned his axe under Kjotve’s chin, eager to finish this once and for all.

“Goodbye, Kjotve. This world will be better off without you.”

Yanking the blade across his throat, Eivor executed the king in one swift move and freed him from his suffering, watching as the life drained from his soul. His body fell limp soon after the killing blow, and a final breath escaped from his lips.

...Eivor could scarcely believe it.

Kjotve was dead.

Kjotve was actually dead.

After countless years of grief, loss, and sacrifice... the war had finally come to an end. Just like that.

There were no cheers of excitement, or horns of fanfare. There was only the deafening silence that had been left behind by the dead.

Was this truly what victory felt like, Eivor wondered? Was this that glorious moment that had been spun in so many tales, and sung by every bard?

He didn’t feel like a hero, nor did he feel any pride. All he felt was a blossom of relief like none other, and the crushing weight of endless regrets. 

A beam of contentment was starting to shine in his heart now that Kjotve had officially been slain, and Eivor didn’t wish to spend anymore time on this forsaken island. The only thing he longed for was the warmth of Sigurd’s embrace... but he didn’t even know if the man still lived.

Wandering away from Kjotve’s corpse, Eivor left the king buried in the ice and allowed the gods to take him from Midgard, not even sparing a second glance. A wave of memories flooded his head as he drifted back to the fort, and for just a second, he could’ve sworn he saw his parents watching him from across the river.

Eivor had no doubt that their appearance was merely a result of the battle’s ordeals, but even in his dazed state, he was able to make out the faint figures of both his parents.

They were standing side-by-side, wrapped in each other’s arms and observing Eivor as he made his way back to the clan. They didn’t move, they didn’t speak -- all they did was gaze at him from behind the curtains of snow. 

It was almost as if they wished to tell him that their spirits were finally at peace. They had endured a lifetime of torment trapped in Helheim’s depths thanks to Kjotve’s betrayal, and now, they could sleep, forever in each other’s company just as they were in life.

Eivor’s job was done at last, and he could move on from the grief that had burdened him for so long.

“...I did it, father.” He whispered, watching as the mysterious figures faded from his vision. 

“You’re free.”

[javisjeanjacket]

Circles : A Mamma Mia! AU - (javi gutierrez x reader)

PART ONE

A/N: this is based solely off of the press photos from the uwomt behind the scenes, so I'm sure the characterization won't be canon once the movie comes out but hey, thats fiction baby😌✌🏻

If we like this, I have more parts that I could write, I just wanted to get a feel for how many of you wanted Javi G content! 

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: non-descript smut, light choking, kissing, weird campy writing?, cursing

The sun burned hot on your skin underneath the cover of the ocean side trees. The sand below your bodies was scorching, but the stinging heat of the minute granules didn't compare to the white hot passion crackling and thumping in your veins. You could taste the salt in the air from the waves lapping at the shoreline. Your emotive cries mixed with the seagulls cawing to keep the two of you hidden from everyone but yourselves.

Javi's wide palm wrapped around your neck, his fingers intertwining with the gold necklaces he had bought for you earlier in the week and putting firm pressure on your throat.

The jewelry pulled against your quivering skin as his hand flexed around the column of your neck, sending a delicious ripple of pain and pleasure down your spine.

His face was tucked into the curve of your neck, his breath awakening each pore as it fanned upon it and his mustache sending off tiny explosions on your skin. "One sip from Aphrodite's fountain." He whispered, tugging the end of your earlobe in between his teeth as he chuckled.

You moaned as your back arched up from the hot sand, your arm reaching up to claw at his back and-

Your alarm blared in your small bedroom and you awoke with a start. The heat of the sun and of dream Javier, faded from your skin. 

With a deep sigh, you allowed the dream to float out of your mind and up to the blue-painted dome ceiling. You ran a defeated hand over your face and stretched your groggy limbs.

~~~~~~

Your day trekked on-wards, but your mind was stuck trying to water down and digest the feelings your dream had brought back to you. It had been years since you had seen Javier Gutierrez, five to be exact, and there was no reason that he should have been something other than a quick 'What a wild two weeks it's been! Javi and I danced on the beach, and we kissed on the beach, and we...all over the beach' in your journal.

But he hadn't been.

With his perfectly tanned skin and the shimmer of his golden rings, he had become stuck in your memory for the better part of five years. The want of him served as the only string that pulled you to think farther than the island. The fantasy of the life you could have had with him, or he with you, carried you through your days, a welcome distraction to the mundane toil and grind of running a tourist hotel.

You fiddled with your breakfast at the makeshift break room table; a lousy portion of eggs, bread, and sauteed vegetables taking up your plate. Sighing heavily and looking down at the cold coffee at the bottom of your mug, your mind began to replay your memories of Javi and the summer you shared. You remembered the weight of his hand in yours and how safe you had felt in his arms. 

Just then, an employee called your name from the lobby, and with a quick swig of the coffee at the bottom of your mug, you stood from the break room table and replied, "Be right there!"

~~~~~~~

Javier Gutierrez did not get nervous. His business demanded that he remain forever stoic, calculating before emotive, strategic before impulsive. Nevertheless, as his Tom Ford's crossed the threshold into the brightly colored tourist hotel, a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and tickled his golden skin. His dark eyes searched the bustling hotel for the face he knew so well, the one he had taken apart and put back together over and over again in his mind for years since he had last seen it. But, to his dismay, you were nowhere to be found.

Letting out a deep sigh, he moved through the lobby and to the front desk. "Javier Gutierrez." He said with a tight lipped smile.

"You're checking in?" The frizzy-haired woman behind the counter asked, flashing him a doe-eyed smile.

He nodded and shook his golden watch in agitation. He looked quickly behind him, a motion he most often used to keep himself from danger, but now instead, to keep himself from missing the sight of you.

The receptionist’s cheeks rouged and she turned her face from him, bashfulness overwhelming her small form. She bent down to the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper before tearing it away from the whole and tucking it in her hand.

Javi leaned against the desk and looked over her as she searched for his name in the computer. He pulled his lips into his mouth before asking for you by name.

"Oh, yeah." The receptionist answered, turning from him to retrieve his room key from it's spot in the lock box fastened to the wall. "She's the manager here. I just saw her a second ago..." The young woman trailed off, looking past the counter and into the rancorous lobby for you. "I'm not sure where she is," The receptionist said, turning back to him. "But, if you're looking for some company while you're here, here's my number." She slipped his room key and a scrap of paper into Javi's large hand.

The kingpin took the key and the paper from her and quirked the side of his lips upwards. "I appreciate it." He looked into her ocean-colored eyes and nodded, leaving her to sulk for the rest of her day behind the front desk.

Javi maneuvered his way through the busy lobby, clutching the strap of his bag and hopping up the brightly tiled stairway to the rooms and hopefully, to an elevator. His shoes struggled to gain traction on the unevenly sanded floor, its glossy finish not helping in the slightest.

A crowd of women passed him, each set of eyes flicking to his, roaming over the scandalous bare chest his shirt left exposed, and the way the expensive fabric tightened around the bulge of his biceps. Lingering on the wave of his chestnut-colored hair and the blonde streaks hidden between the folds of brown.

Javi nodded as he passed them and smiled to himself, his eyes still searching for an elevator or at least a sign to point him towards the penthouse.

~~~~~~~~

Your tongue stuck out from the side of your mouth and you grunted as you pulled the wrench as hard as you could to one side. With a heavy sigh, you threw your head back in frustration and moved both of your hands to your hips, cursing under your breath.

"Stupid fucking light fixture."  You whispered to yourself.

Most tourists didn't want to shell out the money to stay in a penthouse for a week-long vacation to Greece, and for a moment you considered leaving the upsetting broken fixture and your frustration behind, but a family was flying in to have a big wedding, and you reasoned that they would want to let the bride stay in the penthouse for at least one night, surely.

You clicked your tongue and huffed in frustration before bracing yourself on the rickety ladder and reaching out try and loosen it once more.

"Hello?" A voice said from behind you.

You stopped mid-motion and furrowed your eyebrows. Your lips parted and the demanding light fixture no longer held your focus.

The sound of the voice was just as you remembered it to be. Deep and luxurious with a twinge of gravel. Like a velvet blanket wrapped around pebbles from the shoreline near the hotel. Your heart leapt with possibility.

'Could he?'  You thought to yourself, but then stopped. It had been five years, surely it's wouldn't be him. Surely. 'Could he have come back for me?'  The thought finished itself all the same and you had to stop your hands from shaking as you turned on the ladder to face the man in the doorway.

The shape of his face hit you like a punch to the gut. His stubble and the mustache he kept so perfectly trimmed, the curve of his nose and the shocking intensity of his eyes. His hair was longer now, wavy and curly at the base of his neck. 

Just looking at him pulled a whimper from your throat. 

He had grown broader and stronger with age, but it was still Javier Gutierrez who stood before you.

The two of you grew still there, falling deeper and deeper into the other, completely undisturbed by the need to return his hello, to climb down from your ladder, or for him to set his bag on the ground. Not with the two so close to becoming one again. Like the crash of the waves on the shore, you felt the memory of him come rushing back into you, overwhelming your beating chest and thundering across your whirring mind. You felt his arms, secure and so long awaited, you remembered the wind whipping across your skin and Javi's mouth on your shoulder. The feeling of his heavy hand as it pushed into yours, the sand around the two palms shifting to accommodate the passion surging through the granules. The taste of his mouth revived itself in yours, subtle like honey, but raw and alive like the berries he was so fond of.

With a sudden crash, the troublesome light fixture fell to the floor below your ladder, cracking and splintering into hundreds of pieces.

You both jumped at the sound, the gaze of the other having fully enraptured each of you. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and began to step down the ladder.

Javi was quick to move towards you, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag to the floor on his way. "Careful." He said, extending his hand as he stepped carefully in between the shards of wood and broken bulbs.

Your heartbeat thumped behind your eyes as you descended the ladder and you worked to squelch the shudder in your chest when you allowed your hand to touch his once more, the tanned palm warm and wide and strong. The power and passion raging through the veins beneath yours snapped and beckoned to you, as if his very skin was aching for your touch.

You let out a soft hum at the contact and Javi's eyelashes fluttered slightly. He allowed his face to twinge upwards slightly; a smile playing bashful. He kicked the broken fixture's pieces out of your way, keeping your hand tight in his own as you stepped off the ladder and walked to ground that was unperturbed by the scattered chunks of wood. His golden and jeweled rings pained your hand, but the pain in your palm meant that it was in fact, Javier's hand that you were holding. And Javier's hand was worth a bit of pain.

Standing now with him in front of you, the years past suddenly were brought to the present.  

He kept your hand in his as it dropped to his side. "You work here now?" He asked, his voice slick with emotion and his gaze devastating.

You dropped your eyes from his dark ones and smirked, "No, I just fix every light fixture I can find."

The kingpin chuckled, a inviting and seductive sound, one that filled his entire chest and compelled the listener to ascend upwards with him.  

"I wanted to call you," You began, your voice warbling under his presence. "but I thought it was a long shot that you'd even reply." You took in a deep breath as you ended, "But I knew something would bring you back to me, a siren's song maybe."

"A siren's song?" Javi smiled, his cheeks filling. He dropped your hand from his and moved a palm to your cheek, the golden rings still warm from the touch of you.

You gasped softly as his thumb drug down your lips and chin.

He shook his head, a caramel-colored curl falling to frame his ravishing features. "No. No one else brought me back here but you. You're someone worth coming back for."

Heat began to pool in your stomach and you licked your lips as his hand moved down towards your neck, intertwining slowly with the golden necklaces glittering there.

"Javi..." You whispered, your dream suddenly replaying in your mind.

He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows, taking in a deep breath as he looked over you. His mind could not process your return to him, how could he have been so lucky? The most precious thing he had ever found, he had somehow loved and lost and now, in some wondrous twist of fate, he had been given a second chance. "Can I kiss you?" He whispered, his eyes shackling yours in an iron grip.

You swallowed and felt your heart leap at his request. You nodded meekly and moaned just before his lips found yours, the pressure and heat of them instantly knocking your knees out from under you and the wind out of your chest. You placed your palms on his chest, your thumbs running softly back and forth over his exposed skin.

His hands moved up from your neck to cradle your jaw. His mustache tickled your sensitive skin and the taste of him was quick to overwhelm your senses- sweet, warm, and wet.

You let one of your hands wander up from his chest to clutch the curls at the base of his neck, the feeling of his hair in between your fingers starting up a kaleidoscope of memories in your mind.

Javi moved one hand to your hip and he pulled you to meet his body. He hummed into your kiss and the vibration sent a tingle down you and the feeling bubbled and popped in your abdomen. With his broad frame, he stepped towards you, pushing the pair of you back towards the wall behind you. The kingpin reached out and slammed the penthouse door closed as the pair of you passed by it, his hands quickly moving back to cup your face.

“Of course you’re staying in the penthouse.” You sneared in between gasping  kisses. 

“I was,” He replied, then moved his lips from yours to suck a bruise onto your neck. “Until the manager dropped a light fixture in my room.” 

You let out a laugh filled with lust and wrapped your arms around the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

“Guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay now.” The man teased, his dark eyes flicking up to look into yours.

“There’s room in my bed if you want it.” You answered, your back arching against the wall and your eyes fluttering closed.

Javi hummed on your skin and nipped at your chin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

JAVI G TAGLIST: @oloreaa @filthybookworm (I just assumed y'all wanted a tag, lemme know if not lol!)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @softly-sad @over300books @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell

[fanficteen]

stale blood (4)

chris argent x reader

Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly where you’d expect to find a bog cat. There definitely wasn’t a bog, and it wasn’t even coastal, no major water sources… There was the lake an hour or so out of town, but the bodies were near the school. Your light flickered and you glanced up. 3am. Your tea was cold beside you and the rabbit hole had so far proved worthless, so you flipped your laptop closed and poured the stewed drink down the sink. A muffled click brought your attention and you frowned, letting your senses roam a little wider. Something was breathing – something big, rasping, and close. You fumbled for your phone. The breathing drew closer. You unsheathed your claws, hurrying towards your bedroom in search of the painted nettle plant you’d bought. This was as good a time to test that hypothesis as any. One hand out behind you held the front door shut as you passed it, heading for the stairs, your magic holding strong though you could feel something bashing at it. Then the door splintered under the weight of clawed hands, and a man stepped through. He was unnervingly tall, with eyes the colour of torchlit fog and black fur beginning to sprout up his arms. You growled, lowly, urgently tapping through your phone. He leapt forward and suddenly you were jumping out of reach of a full-blown paw, claw marks scraping down your chest. The man was gone, and you were faced with something entirely feline, and entirely feral. His hackles rose, fur bristling up so you couldn’t get a clear view of his true size. He hissed and you bolted before he could pounce, sprinting up the stairs.

“Hello?” Allison’s voice was quiet, confused, when she answered the phone. “Allison,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice steady as the cat’s quiet footsteps approached. “It’s (Y/N). Your, uh, your Dad isn’t home is he?” “Yeah, he is. Are you okay? You sound a little out of breath.” You heard her muffled voice call for Chris on the other end of the line. “Well, on one hand, I’m great, because we were right.” The door to your room slammed open, and a huge paw sent you hurtling across the room, crashing into your closet with a thud. “On the other hand, there is a giant cat in my house.” “There’s what?!” Allison exclaimed, and you heard shuffling in the background. You ducked under the cat’s next swipe, but he caught your arm and your phone tumbled from your hand. Growling, you sent it crashing back into the hallway with a wave of your hand. He yowled, but was back on his feet in a moment, hurtling towards you as you lurched towards the windowsill. You snatched up a handful of painted nettle and tossed it, desperately. The cat hissed, darting backwards, a few burns patterning into his fur where the leaves settled. You could hear Allison trying to talk to you, something about calling Scott, then the telltale beep of the line cutting off. Wary now, the cat circled you as you held the painted nettle plant between you and him, distinctly aware that the only way out was under the cat or out the window. He darted forward and you shot out a hand, throwing him back. But he landed on his feet and ran for you again, slamming into an unseen wall between you. You could feel the wound in your chest still oozing blood, though it should have healed by now, and your head was beginning to spin. Headlights flashed across your window as the Argents’ car hurtled down your quiet street. Your shield flickered with your focus, just long enough for a stray claw to slash across your face, and then you flipped, one clawed foot smashing into the cat’s jaw as you shattered through your bedroom window, plant still clutched to your chest. A few shards of glass embedded themselves in you, but you were more worried about the snarling of the cat behind you. There was a crash as he followed you from the window, then you were both blinded by torchlight. A ragged hiss, and it bounded away, disappearing into the woods behind your neighbour’s house. “(Y/N)?” Allison questioned, as you blinked against the light of her torch, staggering towards their car. You hummed what you hoped was an agreement, holding the plant out to her. She took it, raising an eyebrow. “It works,” you managed, after a beat. Chris rounded the other side of the house, gun still raised.

“Where’s Deaton?” Chris demanded, as Scott let you all into the vets. “He’s on his way.” “Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles frowned. “I think he laced his claws with wolfsbane,” you admitted, looking down at the already-festering cuts on your chest. “He what?!” “He knows what he’s dealing with. That means he didn’t come to Beacon Hills accidentally,” you realised, aloud, as Scott and Chris helped you up onto the operating table. “If he’s laced his claws with wolfsbane, how are we meant to fight him?” Scott fretted, as Chris already began setting to work cleaning around your wounds. “With that.” Allison was still holding the plant you had handed to her, as though she wasn’t sure what the hell else to do with it. “It smells like weed,” Stiles commented, sniffing it suspiciously. “Are you going to feed the killer cat weed? Get it stoned?” “It’s scaredy cat plant,” Deaton corrected, making Stiles jump as he entered. “Plectranthus caninus.” “I was looking into it,” you explained, “As possibly useful, but I wasn’t sure.” “So you went up against this thing with no idea how to hurt it except maybe a plant?” Stiles clarified. “I didn’t invite it over,” you snapped, muffling a shout as Deaton poured antiseptic into one of the scratches. “Can we talk about this after the wolfsbane is out of her system?” Chris prompted, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. Deaton held up a needle, and you groaned, but let him push you down onto the table anyway. “Don’t look at me like that. This will be out of your system in thirty minutes,” he scolded, lightly, jabbing the needle into your neck. “Just lie there and be glad you’re not a real dog.”

When you blinked awake again, the room wasn’t any quieter. Stiles was complaining loudly about supernatural creatures targeting them, while Deaton very patiently pointed out that the town was literally a supernatural beacon, Stiles, and your best friend is a once-in-several-lifetimes rarity, you can move away to college if you want. “He enjoys this too much,” Scott snickered, making Stiles glare at him. “What, it’s true! You’re the one who dragged me out to murder investigations before I was even a werewolf.” Stiles grumbled a response, but you were too busy with the sudden pounding of your head to bother absorbing it. “It’d be really nice if being bitten cured migraines.” The room fell silent, then Chris was at your shoulder, helping you as you struggled to sit up. “How are you feeling?” “I no longer feel like I’ve been attacked by a large cat,” you started, wincing against the lights as Deaton quickly dimmed them. “But I could do without the jackhammer in my head.” Deaton passed you some painkillers, and you smiled gratefully. “You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” Scott asked, peering at you worriedly. “No, this is distinctly a migraine. Give me a few hours of sleep and a handful of painkillers and I’ll be fine,” you assured him, finally settling on just closing your eyes. A shiver ran through you, and you instinctively leaned into the warmth at your side, before it shifted, and you remembered, as Chris’ arm wrapped around your shoulder, engulfing you in his warmth. You didn’t see the three teenagers exchange glances. “We should all get some rest,” Deaton spoke, eventually. “You three – four, I suppose – still have school on Monday. You’ll keep an eye on (Y/N)?” You shot your eyes open, feeling Chris nod above you. “Hold on, I don’t need babysitting!” you protested, though your voice was barely above a whisper. Stiles snickered and you glared at him. “Well you’re not going home alone,” Scott insisted, folding his arms. “Your house was trashed anyway,” Allison pointed out, making you grimace. “There goes my deposit.” “You almost died and you’re worried about your deposit?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “We aren’t all renowned arms-dealers, Argent,” Stiles put in, before you could answer. “In this economy, I’m with her.” You felt the heave of Chris’ sigh, but he didn’t respond.

You climbed out when Chris stopped the car, and barely even bothered protesting as he took your bag. You’d almost given up on arguing with him, he won every time, and your head was already pounding. “I’m going to bed. You know where to find me if you need anything.” Allison kissed her father goodnight and padded up the stairs. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, I’ll make up the spare bed in the morning,” Chris offered, leading the way upstairs as Allison disappeared into her room. “I’ll come by and check on you every couple of hours – I know you’re a shifter, but you still jumped out a window and took a solid hit of wolfsbane.” “I won’t kick you out of your bed, Chris. I can take the couch,” you answered, tiredly. He plopped your bag down at the foot of the bed and turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “You’re already housing me, you don’t need to give up your bed. Or your sleep, for that matter.” You reached for the bag. Chris blocked you. “Just take the bed.” “No!” “(Y/N) –“ “Either we share, or I’m sleeping on the couch.” Chris blinked. “It’s plenty big enough, and then I won’t have to talk you out of checking on me when you need to sleep.” “We’re not teenagers at a sleepover! You were seriously injured!” “Will you two make up your minds so we can all sleep?” Allison called across the hall. “Fine. We can share.” You smiled, triumphantly, as Chris ceded.

[subject-v]

Blood Letting (whumptober 9)

Presumed dead, blind rage, tears

Five is kidnapped, drugged, and drained of some 30% of her blood. Not a great day, all told.

TW: drowning, drugged, needles, restraint, medical malpractice (idk how to tag this  better, sorry), blood, death, dehumanization

“Aw, look at the little thing wriggle.”

I am going to kill this man, and if not him, all his descendants. I try to communicate this through eye contact alone, but slung over his shoulder, bound hand and foot, someone’s sock shoved in my mouth, I have limited options in this realm. I settle for kneeing him in the nose, or where his nose would’ve been, if he hadn’t dodged. Tacky asshole.

He just laughs. “Careful, I might drop you.” Like he thinks he’s the height of comedy, he suddenly loosens his grip, lets me half slide to the ground before catching me again, to uproarious laughter from the two other men in this motley crew.

The single woman looks less amused. “Stop drawing attention, Nam.”

“Oh come on, I don’t think anyone’s out this late.”

She whirls on him. “Who’s paying you?”

“You,” Nam mutters.

“And did I include a line item for your thinking?”

“No.” He scuffs a foot.

“Then shut up.”

I chuckle, loud enough to be heard through the gag, and though Nam tightens his grip, he makes no further unwanted comments. If the woman weren’t kidnapping me, I might even like her, but as always, the devil is in those pesky details.

He drops me in a cart, the hard wood softened only slightly by some sort of empty bag and a few loose grains of rice. I go right for my gag before I even try kneeling and he bats my hands away, then ties them to the ropes around my feet. “Sorry, little worm. No more wriggling for you.”

He better not touch my hair, he better not-

He tousles my hair.

Just for that, I’m waiting for you to have grandchildren so I can murder them too. Self-absorbed prick.

He throws a blanket over the back half of the cart so no one awake this late sees me struggling and, grunting, lifts one of the arms up front. Another man takes the other and we begin to trundle through the streets, but not before the woman hops up top. Wouldn’t want to have to walk on her kidnapping venture, would she? I work on getting the gag out by scraping the side of my face against the rough wood of the cart, earning a few splinters for my efforts.

“Boss, did we promise the flat mate before and after rates or a flat fee?”

I tense. Flat mate. It has to be Thian, he’s been living with me since we started this hare-brained scheme, and if they’re paying him… well, how did this lot know I was still recovering from pneumonia if not because someone told them?

Screw you, Thian.

“Before and after.” The boss laughs. “They might not like the after payment, though.”

It takes a minute for the innuendo to get through Nam’s brain, then he joins in. “Knife in the back, eh?”

“If it’s any consolation, it’ll be a very expensive knife. Speaking of, Nam Two, why don’t you go take care of that? We’re almost back.”

He was going to regret pissing off the immortal math-wielding demon, I would make him regret this for the rest of his oh-so-long life.

They drag the cart into an enclosed area of some sort and then the boss directs Nam and the other man to sling me against the far wall like a sack of potatoes. Their mistake, though, because if I can reach concrete, I can bash my brains open on it, and when I respawn, the ropes won’t come with me.

Boss catches my collar before I can begin. “What did I tell you bellends? If she dies, she flees. Put her in the chair.”

I get a nice kick in against Nam’s shin before he sits on top of me, heavy enough I can’t breathe while the other muscle ties my arms and legs to the chair. Boss adjusts my wrists to face up, ominous, as far as these things go. I try swinging my head back, seeing if I can’t topple the chair or stab my neck on something, but it’s bolted to the ground. Damn them, and damn Thian. This is why you shouldn’t trust people.

“Don’t worry, dumpling, I’ve got just the thing for you.” When she turns back around, she’s holding two needles. Like no one’s ever stuck a needle in me. Color me bored by this torture—I feign a yawn around my gag, which only makes her smirk. “Not quite so exciting as what you’re used to, I know.” She pinches the skin of my elbow and slides a needle in, then leaves it there. I don’t even feel it. The other is a more typical injection, into my shoulder, where it actually stings a bit. “To keep you quiet and still,” she explains.

For the first time, an inkling of doubt crosses my mind. They know I can kill myself to escape. Thian must’ve told them everything, maybe even the nightmare about being unable to move, unable to see, while voices move about above me. I’ve never told anyone about that, and he-he told them, for money.

Heat begins to spread from my shoulder towards my chest, heavy and sluggish and brown. I swear my heartbeat slows as she attaches a tube to the needle still in my elbow. My head lolls until I can see my blood, gliding out of my arm in a smooth line and filling the translucent bag she’s placed on the floor.

Hey, I want to say. That’s mine, but my lips don’t move and my tongue is fat, furry. I can’t figure out how to close my eyes, so I just watch as my tired heart pumps blood through the needle in my elbow.

“I can’t drug you forever or you’ll build up an immunity,” she explains. Her words take so long to come out, and they circle my head before I understand them. Immunity. Yes, I know that word. That’s what I do with pain. I immunize myself. “But if you’re missing some 30% of your blood supply, I don’t think you’ll be able to put up much of a fight. Hard to kill yourself when you can barely think, isn’t it?” She wraps a bandage around my elbow, holding the needle in place, not that I could dislodge it.

I want… what do I want? Nothing, right? I have no wants. If I don’t want anything, she can’t hurt me.

“As an added bonus, pimancers will pay a pretty sum for a few liters of blood. The buyer I have lined up for you has more exciting plans, but it’s a three decan journey away. I reckon I can make 20, 30 thousand mun off your blood in that time. Won’t that be fun?”

My eyes flutter, half open, half shut. Wasn’t I… angry at someone? Something… happened. I needed to…

Nam Two returns. “Dead as they come, Boss.”

“Good. Pack our things. She’ll be ready for transport in thirty minutes.”

Blood, that’s it. It’s my blood and it should… it should go in my body. That’s where it belongs. Halfhearted, I try to raise my arm, but besides a weak twitch from the fingers, nothing happens. Someone puts a trunk next to me, a small one, and at that angle, I can see they’ve screwed two loops into the walls, one on the top, one on the bottom, perfect for… what?

“It won’t kill her?” asks someone.

“No, the human body can survive with shockingly little blood.”

Chaining someone up! That’s it, they’re going to fold someone in half in that box and tie their arms to the one loop, the feet to the other, then lock them in all nice and snuggly. Mmm, it’s probably warm in there. Why am I so hungry all of a sudden? And why does my face feel so fat?

“Okay,” the boss decides, sliding the needle out of my arm. “Give the wound a minute to close.” Pressure against my elbow, dull, like part of my arm is numb. “Set up the manacles, while we wait.”

Metal clanks against itself, chains being dragged across a cement floor. So noisy. I try to press my head against my shoulder to shut off one of my ears but I can’t move, not even a toe, not even my tongue. My heart flutters in my chest, weak, but fast. Is it night out? But I’m looking down; where are all these dancing stars coming from?

Someone coughs, almost polite. Boss swings around. “Private property, sir. Leave, now.”

“You took something of mine.”

I recognize that voice, don’t I? Is it mine?

“You’re mistaken.” She shifts slightly, letting me see the newcomer, framed in the doorway. With the light of a Prakasa outside, I can only see his silhouette: short, fat, with long hair tied up in a tight tail.

Wait a minute… didn’t Thian sell me to this lot? What’s he-

“What have you done to her?” He sweeps into the room, the light catching his ruddy brown skin and almost making it glow. A cloak billows out behind him, and when Nam draws and throws a triple-edged knife, Thian raises a hand without stopping. The knife stops instead, mid-air, frozen as if in ice. The metal begins to melt, bend in on itself, and a molten mess falls to the floor. “I said,” he repeats, voice very low. “What have you done to her?”

Two frigid fingers find their place in my neck, searching for a pulse.

He blinks, his mouth twisting in horror. “You killed her?” When no one answers, he whirls around, the cloak tails flying. “You killed her?” he roars, voice booming off high rafters.

Nam Two snatches a trident off the wall and levels it at Thian. Nam One and the other hired muscle draw short swords, separating across the floor to try to flank him. Boss pulls another needle out of her kit.

“You four humans think you could take someone as beautiful as Five from this world?” Thian sheds his human form quickly, like water running off a mirror. He lifts a few inches off the ground, not like he’s flying, but like he’s floating, and his hair rises and drifts about him, caught in invisible currents. Skin stretches taut over protruding bones, revealing blue-purple veins beneath.  “What gave you the right?”

The three men attack in unison. Thian reaches up, then sweeps down with his hands, rising higher still so he can kick Nam in the nose. Where his bare foot, now blueish as if asphyxiated, makes contact, the skin droops, turns to liquid, and falls away. Choking, clutching at his face, Nam collapses to the floor, then in on himself until only clothes remain.

Thian whirls on the other two. One gags, water spilling out of his mouth, followed by a wriggling fish and then a small octopus that clings to his face until he spins away, diaphragm straining to draw in air. The third throws a dagger at Thian, who is now far out of reach, swimming ever higher, and where it makes contact, his skin turns red and breaks into boils. Snarling, he throws it aside. “Iron. Rude.”

“I know what you are,” whispers Boss. “A moirai, a water moirai.”

Thian ignores her, pouncing on the surviving man. He jabs fingers into his mouth, fingers that become sucker-covered tentacles and press their way down his throat and up his nose until his face is blue and Thian is the only thing keeping him upright.

“A moirai must answer a question asked thrice truthfully or be forced to pay the price,” she recites. Her head snaps up. “What is your name?”

He jerks the man’s body off of him and faces her. “You don’t want to do that.”

“What’s your name?”

The trident finds its home in Thian’s hand.

“What-”

He runs her through with it. Blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth like a fang.

Thian is at my side before she’s even hit the ground. “Oh, Five, I’m sorry. When I found Dinye’s body, I knew they must’ve taken you, but my magic isn’t like yours, tracking is hard.” He cups my face with his hands. “I’m sorry, Five. I’m sorry.”

With all the strength in my limp body, I flutter my eyelashes against his palm and he leaps back as if stung.

“You’re alive?” His face fills out slowly, reverting to its rounder human form just in time to show a blush. “Did I ruin some sort of plan by killing them all?” He slits my throat with one of the discarded swords. When I reform, no longer bound to the chair, the drugs have lost their effect and I jerk to my feet. “Five!”

“You…” I tug at a strand of hair. “I thought you betrayed me.”

“To this lot? Please.”

“You saved me. You killed them, to save me.”

He turns sheepish. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

This is an understatement: the octopus has eaten most of Nam Two’s face, and the one he strangled is a little bit turned inside out. “Thank you. No one’s done that for me since…”

He hugs me and despite myself, I go limp in his arms. He risked himself to track me down and save me, he killed these men for me. Why am I crying, I’m safe now. Without being asked, Thian scoops me into his arms, summoning from nowhere a thin, watery blanket to cover me. When he clicks his tongue, the octopus leaves Nam Two and swims through the air to perch on his shoulder, reaching out a tentative arm to my forehead before he tells it off. “I will take you home and take her to the Forest. Will you be okay without me?”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Can you take me to the Forest with you?”

“Of course, Five. We can go together.”

[reddeadredeputy]

Ghosts (JavierxReader)

A short thing I wrote after listening to the song Stars by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals 

You kept Javier’s guitar with you. For two years, you brought it with you to Beaver Hollow, the last place you’d seen him, and waited for hours a day. You were certainly a sight to behold, dressed raggedly, armed to the teeth.

You were no stranger to hiding, though in your heart, it had been different before. Different because you’d had the others. You’d had Arthur. You’d had Abigail and John. Little Jack Marston to look after, and Hosea to look after you. You’d had Karen’s wise-cracks and Mary-Beth’s daydreaming. Miss Grimshaw’s stern directions, Tilly’s back-talk, Sean’s irritating yet lovable loudness, Kieran’s bashful apologies. And Javier-- You’d had his promise of a future together. Now all of that was gone.

There was a time when you’d visit the old campsite every day, waiting for him to come back to you. Every day turned into once every week. Once every week had turned into once a month as the Murfree Brood made their way back onto the land. Slowly but surely, your visits dwindled as Javier never appeared to you. Never came back for you. By the second year, you’d abandoned Beaver Hollow and any and all hope that you would ever see Javier again. But there was no use in wallowing in sadness anymore, not by then. You would get your act together. Clean up and find yourself work. And that you did.

It was as if you had lost track of the years. Yet, sitting outside of your small home with a newspaper in hand, the year 1907 stood out in large, bold lettering. Eight years.

Eight years on your own. You’d never married, you were always too busy for that, travelling, finding work. “Settling down” was hardly the term for you. You didn’t think staying in one place for less than a couple of years qualified as such. After all those years with the gang, staying put hardly felt right. And yet? Here you were, in a nice little home of your own with neighbors and a nice view of the city. With a lengthy sigh, you folded the newspaper, carrying it inside with the letters you’d retrieved from the post office. Mary-Beth had written to you, Tilly, too. Over the years you’d even managed to track down Trelawney and Pearson, briefly, though their letters were much less frequent. Maybe someday, you hoped, you would find the others. The rest of the survivors. Sadie, Charles, Uncle… Javier.

You felt startled, you hadn’t thought of him in a long while. Almost angrily, you set the letters aside to read later. After all, you still had belongings to unpack in your new home.

You sifted through boxes of your more fragile belongings. Framed photographs you’d salvaged from camp, a vase that had been a gift from a friend you’d made during your travels. You worked quickly and carefully, arranging them on the mantle above the fireplace. Things would have gone smoothly if you hadn’t knocked over the black case among those boxes.

As it hit the ground, the out-of-tune ringing of guitar strings struck your ears. You stood, frozen, one hand on the mantle, your eyes wide, staring at the wall. The ringing continued, slowly fading as you tried your best to ignore it. Instead, you turned towards it, moving towards the untouched guitar case as the strings hummed through it. Undoing each of the latches carefully, you opened it, gazing down at the guitar you hadn’t even looked at in years. Despite the fine appearance of the outer case, the guitar itself had gathered dust. Its strings were worn and untouched, slightly discolored. There were so many memories attached to this carved piece of wood. Memories that you no longer needed. Memories that still hurt, even after all this time. You ran a finger over the wood, leaving a trail in the dust gathered on its surface. You knew what you had to do.

You brought the guitar with you, travelling by train back to the last place you remembered the gang being intact… well, as intact as possible after the tragedy in Blackwater. Clemens Point. Taking the last stretch on horseback, you rode up to the campsite slowly, dismounting your horse and walking to the center of the old site.

It was odd. The same as it had been when you’d first found it. There was no trace left of Dutch Van Der Linde and his band of criminals. After so many years, how could there be?

You built yourself a campfire, right in the spot where the camp had once gathered, singing loud songs as Javier strummed away at that guitar, laughing joyfully at any pleasant occasion. For a moment, you thought you could see them in the ashes that drifted up from the burning wood. You closed your eyes and there they were once more. There was Karen, leading a raunchy song, swaying with a bottle of whiskey in her hand on Sean’s lap as he shouted incoherently along to the music. There was Molly, giggling through a slow dance with her beloved Dutch, and for a moment he seemed to care about her-- to love her. There was Javier, looking right at you, singing just loud enough for you to hear. He smiled around the words, nodding his head, beckoning you towards him with a wink. Your heart beat loudly in your own ears at the sight of him, and you almost moved to sit beside him… But you opened your eyes and he was gone. They were all gone. And just like that, they were only ghosts again. Oh, how quickly it had all gone wrong.

Glancing down at the guitar in your hands, you felt yourself tremble. It was all he’d left, after all. The only thing worth saving. You clenched your fist around the neck of the guitar. A final reminder. You tossed it into fire, watching a cloud of burning ashes explode into the night sky. With it, burned the memories of Javier.

You shouted hoarsely, feeling the tears stream down your face.

Voices. They echoed in your head with the splintering of the wood.

“Mi amor. Te quiero…” The words were Javier’s, and yet… at the same time, they weren’t anymore. He had abandoned you the day your family had fallen apart, the day everyone either left or died. The guitar shriveled in the fire, engulfed in flames, and Javier’s voice vanished once again to make way for the sound of the strings breaking in the heat.

You were there, kneeling in front of the fire, your eyes closed, facing the ground. The familiar sound of hooves on the grass caught your attention, but just barely. You heard another voice, and for a moment, you wondered if it was all in your head again-

No, it was John Marston, sitting on horseback several feet behind you.

“Hello, (Y/N). It’s been a long time, huh?”

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 75 - Home and Away

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 5,794

Summary: The trio seeks sanctuary after the wedding attack

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The world reappeared in a cacophony of noise and light that for a moment made it seem as if it were daytime. Bright lights strung across the lampposts stretched back as far as the eye could see. A double-decker bus passed beside them on the pavement where they had emerged, and Yato noticed that his and Yukine’s hands were still caught tight in Hiyori’s.

Hiyori broke out of her stunned silence as she took in the road, the streets, and the shops. She dropped their hands.

“Where are we?” Yukine asked.

“Central London,” Hiyori replied. “My parents’ hospital is just down there…”

She looked to the right down the main street, which was swarming with revellers and shoppers, but quickly turned in the opposite direction.

“Just walk quickly, we need to find somewhere to change,” Hiyori said over her shoulder.

Her head swung back and forth as she led them through the crowd, ignoring the glances they received from drunks spilling from the pubs and women bashing their way through with designer bags. Yato took in the sights around him, trying to find any landmarks but none stuck out to him as they meandered into side streets and pulled into a shadowed alley.

“Hiyori, we don’t have anything to change in to,” Yukine pointed out the flaw in her plan. In their wedding attire, they looked out of place for the grimy underground of London’s alleys, but there was not much they could do about it.

Hiyori’s gaze dropped to her clutch bag which was secured to her wrist. Yato wouldn’t have noticed it as it was partially hidden in the folds of her skirt. She pulled open the zipper and rummaged in the bag far deeper than physically possible. Yato and Yukine exchanged looks as Hiyori began to pull out jeans, shoes, tops, and jumpers until they had outfits bundled in their arms.

“How…” Yato started.

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” Hiyori answered before he could ask. Hiyori shifted the bag and clattering could be heard inside, like boxes falling over. She pulled out a long black coat a pulled it on and buttoned it over her dress.

“When did you do this?” Yukine asked. He was already ripping off his tie and dinner jacket, throwing them back to Hiyori who stashed them away.

“This morning when you two went to help set up the wedding,” Hiyori admitted. “I remembered something Yato said when we first got the invitations and… I just got a bad feeling.”

Yato frowned but the words came back quickly – his comment about why Kofuku and Daikoku had kept the wedding secret until the last minute: ‘Don’t want to advertise when and where to kill the Order, do they?’

“I have everything we need,” Hiyori continued. “Clothes, the stuff Tenjin’s left us in his will, the Dark Arts book, your mirror, and Sakura’s wand.”

Hearing the last words, Yato could’ve kissed her. She covered their tracks perfectly. If Deatheaters had raided the Burrow, they wouldn’t have discovered they had been there, nor their mission, and she had remembered the two most important items he had left. If it wasn’t for Hiyori, they would have been sat in London with nothing.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” Yato said.

Hiyori smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

“There’s a café there,” Yukine interrupted. He was pointing at the opposite end of the alley which opened up into a small street. A red neon sign reading ‘OPEN’ was tucked in the window. “We can change in there and work out what to do.”

They trotted up the alley and Yato drew his wand in case something lurked in the darkness, drunk Muggle or worse. They got a curious look from the waitress behind the counter when the three of them piled into the empty café, holding balls of clothes in their arms and what appeared to be a stick in Yato’s hand.

Hiyori politely asked where the bathroom was, and the waitress jutted her head towards two doors on the right-hand side.

Once they had changed and discreetly hidden their clothes inside Hiyori’s purse, they took a booth against the wall, its table sticky with spilled drinks over the years. An old ashtray that seemed cemented to the table along with a basket of condiments gave a nasty smell to the area.

The reality of the attack was sinking in, along with a pit of dread that settled in their stomachs. Yukine was the first to bring it up.

“The others at the wedding – the Order – should we go back?”

“We can’t go back,” Hiyori shook her head. “We don’t know if they’re still there, and even if they aren’t, Kofuku wouldn’t want us to; they came for Yato.”

Silence rippled between them as they thought about what remained of the wedding, who was safe, and brainstormed their next move. The waitress came over to their table, and Hiyori ordered a tea and two coffees. The waitress disappeared behind the counter and back into the kitchen. A second later the coffee machine whirred into life, nearly drowning out their conversation.

“The Leaky Cauldron is close by. We could find out what happened to the Ministry?” Yukine suggested, folding his arms across his chest.

Yato shook his head and dropped his chin in his hands. “I think the glowy ball of light was clear enough. The Sorcerer has taken over the Ministry, just like he wanted.”

The waitress returned with a tray of drinks. The coffee was bitter and gritty, and the teabag had left leaves in the cup, but they couldn’t complain about the price.

The bell above the door chimed and two men – businessmen, by the look of their uniforms – entered the café. They passed by and sat in a booth behind Yukine and Hiyori. Yato watched as they picked up menus and began ordering from the waitress, but his attention was brought back to Hiyori’s and Yukine’s dropped voices.

“We could disapparate and go to the countryside. Let the Order know where we are for a pickup?” Hiyori offered.

“That sounds like the best idea,” Yato agreed. He looked down at the half-drunk drinks, the waitress who had disappeared back into the kitchen and then at Hiyori. “Do you have muggle money to pay for this?”

Hiyori hummed as she swallowed her tepid tea. She put the cup on the saucer with a clatter and reached for her clutch bag. “Sure, I think I have some Muggle money left over.”

The two workmen made identical movements, and without conscious thought, Yato matched their movements. All three of them had their wands drawn and spells leaving their lips.

Yukine lunged across the table, pushing Hiyori down onto the bench. The force of the Deatheater’s spells shattered the tiled wall where her head had just been.

“Stupefy!” Yato cursed.

The first Deatheater, a dark-haired man, was hit directly in the jaw by a bolt of red and collapsed to the floor. The other Deatheater, who Yato recognised from the ambush, aimed at Yukine and Hiyori. He bellowed ‘Expulso!’, but Yukine was quicker on the draw.

“Expelliarmus!” Yukine roared. The Deatheaters wand flicked from his hand but not before the spell darted upwards. The lights above the table exploded in a shower of sparks and cracked plastic and he shielded Hiyori from it with his body.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Hiyori cursed.

A bolt of light shot from her wand and struck the Deatheater in the leg. He became rigid and fell face first in the cracked tiles coffee and plastic shards that littered the near-obliterated café.

Panting, Yato looked to Yukine as he hauled himself up from the bench. Hiyori seemed to have been pushed to the floor as she emerged, hair dishevelled and covered in ashtray dust, from under the table. They surveyed the ruins of the café just as a waitress re-emerged with two saucers and cups. She took one look at the café, the two bodies and the three teenagers, dropped the cups and bolted back into the kitchen.

Yato moved over to the petrified Deatheater and kicked him over with his foot. His eyes darted from Yato to Yukine as they stood above him. With a click, the lights went out, and Hiyori could see the light vanish inside the Deluminator Yukine had pulled from his pocket.

“How do you think they found us?” Yukine asked, far too calmly for what had just happened.

“Don’t know, and I don’t think they’d tell us even when the spells have worn off,” Yato replied. He stared into the man’s eyes but saw no fear – only hatred.

Yukine dropped his voice. “What should we do with them?”

Kill them? Yato thought briefly, but he pushed the idea away quickly. No, they weren’t killers. Yato heard Hiyori take a step in the splintered shards of ceramic, arms wrapped around herself and her wand tight in hand. She looked towards the window, but it seemed no one had heard the commotion.

Yato glared hard at the man before he came to a decision. “Just a memory wipe. If we kill them then they would know that we were here.”

“And the girl?”

Yato shrugged. “She might have left through a back door. The police wouldn’t believe her story either way.”

There was a beat of silence before anyone moved. Yato looked at Hiyori apologetically. It was cruel, but she had the most recent experience with memory charms. “Could you…?”

Hiyori’s mind stuttered for a moment, comprehending what he was asking, before she nodded. She stepped over the broken cups and the Deatheaters arm so that she stood at the top near his head. She aimed her wand downwards and chanted the spell.

“Obliviate.”

Hiyori stepped around to the other Deatheater and repeated the spell as Yato and Yukine set about repairing the café. They heaved the men back into the booth with grunts and swears, but the job was done. When they woke, they would have no recollection of the battle nor seeing them.

“But how could they find us?” Hiyori asked, returning from the kitchen where she had wiped the waitress’s memory. She looked between the two men’s blank expressions. “They couldn’t have used the Trace.”

They had been only apparated less than an hour ago. There were no traces or charms on them, but they had been found instantly. How?

“I don’t know, but we need to get somewhere safe before they can find us again,” Yato replied bitterly.

One safe place came to their minds. One that was invisible to those who didn’t know of its existence. One Yato had been afraid to go back to.

“Grimmauld Place?” Hiyori said tentatively.

Yato nodded. “Time to go home.”

~

Twelve Grimmauld Place grated back into existence. The black door popped and dark windows shivered into place, and then there was silence. 

Hiyori and Yukine stood behind Yato, silent and waiting for him to open the door. They knew how important this moment was. He hadn’t been back to Grimmauld Place, not since Sakura died. The last memory he had in this house was a warm fireplace and sherry and Christmas presents. Now it was an echo of a life he may have known.

Yato took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. The door swung open silently. All the lights were off, as abandoned as it had been for the last decade. Yato’s ears pricked as he tried to listen for Ebisu, or Buckbeak, or Coo Phone, but silence greeted him.

He heard Hiyori’s and Yukine’s soft footsteps behind him as they entered the house and softly closed the door. They stood on the doormat, waiting.

“Where is…” Yato trailed off. Where is everyone? Why is no one here?

The questions never came.

Something shifted at the end of the hall, at the library door. Before any of them could speak, Sakura emerged from the library. She looked just as she did when they reunited, dressed in light clothes that billowed around her, but her hair was loose this time and there was an unnatural shade of grey to her.

“Sakura?” Yato croaked. He felt a hand on his arm and a few words, but it didn’t register. Sakura was here. She was alive. “Sakura-.”

She stepped closer. Yato could see the hollowness of her cheeks, the sunken bones and waxy skin that grew thinner and more translucent as she stepped forward. Yato’s heart stuttered, his mouth hanging open slightly, her name was stolen from his breath.

Sakura threw her arms open and screamed, her face contorted in a battle cry and her eye sockets hollow and black. Her hair streamed out behind her as she glided at the three of them, hands outstretched.

Yato raised his wand but no spell came to him, only the memory that he raised his wand against her before, that he had killed her, and that she would never forgive him no matter what he believed.

The apparition exploded in a cloud of dust as her fingers brushed Yato’s throat. He spluttered and gasped, choking on something he didn’t want to know the origin of, and wiped at his watering eyes. Hiyori had pressed herself in the corner by the door, hands covering her head. Yukine stood beside her, equally shaken as Yato with his wand in hand.

“She’s gone, it was just a trap,” Yukine said.

Hiyori peeled her arms away from her face and looked at Yato. He looked away and up at the staircase.

“She must’ve put some booby traps up for anyone who entered when she wasn’t home,” Yato muttered. He took a decisive step forward, and at the sound of a carpeted floorboard creaking, a shriek erupted from upstairs with a cacophony of thumps and stamping.

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine jumped and closed ranks, wands drawn, as quick footsteps came from the first floor along with some muffled speaking. The squawking stopped, and the house stood silent. They waited, and after a moment a short figure dressed in somewhat nicer rags appeared on the landing.

“Ebisu?”

Yato watched, wide-eyed, as the house-elf came down the last few steps, a hand on the bannister to steady himself. His feet were bare, but his eyes sparkled with what could’ve been mistaken as warmth as he took in the three humans before him.

“Master Yato, you’re home,” Ebisu said. His voice was cracked in places like he had become used to not talking – perhaps he had when his only company was a Hippogriff and a pigeon. His eyes skittered behind Yato, and he inclined slightly at the waist in a bow. “Master Yukine, Miss Hiyori.”

Yato flinched at the formalities; house-elf training that had been engraved in Ebisu and hard to forget even among friends. “Has anyone else been here? Kofuku, the Order?”

Ebisu shook his head, his skin wrinkling in his brow at the question. “No Master. No one has come to this house in over a year.”

Yato winced inwardly. No one had come back to Grimmuald Place since Sakura died, including him. The Order’s headquarters sat abandoned in her death and his desertion, and now in the wake of a direct attack on them.

Yukine opened his mouth to speak, but a loud pop from the living room caught their attention.

“Yato!”

Wands flinched in their hands as Yato cautiously put his head around the door frame. The fireplace had burst into life, flames licking and jumping on the few burnt logs and sending shadows over the darkened room and heavy curtains.

“Yato!”

The voice came again, familiar but relieved as they came into the front room and stood in front of the fire. Ebisu stood a respectful distance out of the way, watching silently. In the flames, they could see Kofuku’s face, shadowed and highlighted by the changing hues of amber and gold. Yato dropped to his knees in front of the fire, his wand on the floor as he leaned in too close to the hearth.

“Kofuku, are you ok?!” Yato asked.

Kofuku’s face showed relief as she nodded. “Yes, we’re fine. The Order fought the Deatheaters off. No losses on our side. Are you three ok?”

“We’re ok, but some Deatheaters tracked us down. We wiped their memories and came straight here.”

“Thank Merlin you’re safe,” Kofuku sighed, but her brow was pinched as she rubbed it. “Did they follow you when you apparated?”

“No,” Hiyori chipped in. She had dropped down beside Yato along with Yukine, leaning into the invisible frame to speak. “Only Yato and Yukine were touching me when we apparated, and they found us about half an hour after we left.”

Kofuku looked over her shoulder, and they could distantly hear Daikoku’s voice saying something. She nodded and turned back.

“I can’t understand how they found you, especially that quickly,” Kofuku said. “You’re sure you weren’t followed?”

“Positive,” Hiyori affirmed.

“Kofuku, what’s happening with the Ministry? Is the Minister actually dead?” Yato said, a note of desperation in his voice.

“It seems that way,” Kofuku said regretfully. “Reports say the Sorcerer has taken the Ministry; Amaterasu’s advisors were traitors from day one.”

The names were distantly familiar, mentioned in the Daily Prophet about a year ago when Amaterasu became Minister of Magic: Mikagami, Mitama, and Mitsuguri. Yato hesitated. The tall man in dark clothes, the one who made them uneasy, who had come to read Tenjin’s will. The one who conveniently kept the Sword of Gryffindor from him.

“Mitsuguri, he’s the one who came to the Burrow,” Yato said slowly.

Madame Kofuku flickered in the flames with a nod. “He must have been sent to case the house; the wedding was the perfect opportunity to attack.”

Yato shuddered inwardly; his comment about Kofuku not wanting to advertise where to kill the Order came true.

“What about the Order? I saw Okuninushi and Kinuha at the wedding-,” Yato started but Kofuku cut him off.

“They’re part of the Order now. We need to unite to fight against the Sorcerer, so we will still be looking for people to join the cause.”

Yato nodded duly, taking it in. That’s why the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students and teachers were at the wedding: for the alliance.

“What’s happening at the Ministry?” Yukine interrupted.

Kofuku juddered in the flames that lapped at her face.

“It's in complete disarray. If the most powerful people were traitors I wouldn’t be surprised if many others were corrupt. If not, they may be Imperioed or coerced into working for the Sorcerer,” Kofuku said.

There was a moment of silence between them, punctuated with cracks and creaks of the firewood.

“For now, stay at Grimmauld Place,” Kofuku broke the silence. “Don’t go outside, I’ll contact you in the morning when I know what's going on.”

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine nodded in response, and Kofuku vanished into the glowing embers.

~

Yato woke up in a mess of blankets that he had taken from his bedroom upstairs. Watery sunlight filtered in between a crack in the curtains they had made to look onto the street for activity, but no one passed the house all night.

They had decided to sleep downstairs so that they would be together and could either protect themselves or make a quick escape through the garden. They’d even slept in their clothes in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

His wand was still in hand across his chest and his other hand lay open on the floor. Above him on the sofa he could just about see Hiyori’s silhouette in the breaking dawn, the steady rise and fall of the blanket around her chest, and the curve of her arm and fingers that were inches from his.

Yato squinted and turned his head on the pillow, seeing Yukine already awake and palming through the Dark Arts book, holding the Deluminator in his hand. The table lamp beside him glowed with a dim yellow light.

“Morning,” Yato said softly.

Yukine looked his way and murmured the greeting in return. He clicked the Delumniator and the lamp turned off.

Yato sat up on his elbows, realising his legs were hopelessly tangled in the sheets. He looked at Hiyori, who was still sleeping and quietly began peeling himself free. “Found anything?”

“Not much,” Yukine shut the book. “There’s not a lot of things that can kill a horcrux besides extremely powerful magic and basilisk venom.”

Yato sighed. They could try magic, but it seemed the best guarantee was the sword. He didn’t have the chance to ask Kofuku if she was returning to Hogwarts, but he could imagine she would be – Sorcerer’s orders, after all. They could only hope that the Sorcerer believed that the Order of the Phoenix had died with Tenjin.

“We should hear from Kofuku soon,” Yukine commented.

Yato mumbled an agreement and looked at Hiyori again. They hadn’t been attacked in the night, which was something at least, but Kofuku’s worry about them being traced back to Grimmauld Place still rang in his head. They could show up at any time.

Yato padded through to the library, his feet tickled by the plush carpets. The bookcase, so very familiar with its books and trinkets, looked down on him. He took a moment to appreciate that he was there in real life, not in a taunting vision as he looked for horcruxes. He knew that two of them were here, and one was still alive.

Yato picked up the goblet and felt the smooth stone of the locket fall into his hand, slightly cold and the chain spilling through his fingers. The familiar call came to him again, begging him to open the stuck clasp, but now Yato knew better than to do what it wanted. He eyed the sapphire goblet but decided to leave the ring; it was dead after all, and no use would come of it.

He slipped it into his pocket and looked at the framed pictures for the last time. His eyes lingered on the original Order of the Phoenix looking back at him hopefully. Tenjin, Kofuku, Daikoku… Sakura.

Yato made a silent promise that he would continue their legacy. That he would defeat the Sorcerer piece by piece until it was just him to kill.

A soft coo came from somewhere downstairs, and Yato stepped out into the hallway. He peaked his head into the dining room where tucked away next to the heavy curtains, was Coo Phone in his battered cage.

The faithful pigeon looked at him curiously as Yato crossed the threshold, stepping lightly and noticing that the families of spiders had moved back into the cabinets and corners. He placed a finger through the wide bars of the cage and smoothed the grey feathers on Coo Phone’s head, murmuring small greetings. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him caged for Merlin-knew how long, but he couldn’t risk using him to deliver messages. Maybe he should set him free, or at least give him a new owner.

Hiyori was awake by the time Yato stepped back into the living room. She was unpacking the clutch bag, comically pulling objects that were far too big from it and placing them on the sofa.

“Tea, Master?”

Yato jumped and spun around. Ebisu stood behind him, quiet and deft on his feet and waiting to serve.

“Yes, thank you,” Yato said slowly.

He watched as Ebisu bowed at the waist again and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He’d never really talked to Ebisu, but he seemed happy to see Yato again, even though he’d practically abandoned him. He couldn’t imagine how lonely he must’ve been in this big empty house when Sakura died.

Yato felt a stab of guilt. He wasn’t family, but he was Sakura’s friend for a long time.

“Yato!” A voice called from behind. Yato jumped and turned, seeing the fireplace had flickered back to life in the form of glowing embers from last night's meeting.

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine knelt in front of the fire once again, hands on knees, as Kofuku came into focus.

“Any news?” Yato asked.

“Unfortunately so,” Kofuku said bitterly. “The Sorcerer has indeed taken full control of the Ministry of Magic, and anyone who defies him faces the Killing Curse.”

There was a hint of sarcastic venom in Kofuku’s voice Kofuku continued. “The Sorcerer has declared that Muggles stole magic from real witches, as found in a ‘new study by the Department of Mysteries’. Henceforth, ‘all Muggleborns are required to register with the Muggleborn Registration Commission, and provide wizarding heritage to prove where their magic came from’.”

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine exchanged looks.

“Why would he do that?” Yukine asked. “There’s no such thing as pureblood wizards anymore.”

Kofuku shook her head. “The Sorcerer believes there is, as long as the ‘blood-traitors’ of the families are ignored. From the new propaganda the Ministry is spewing out, it looks like he wants to eradicate all Muggleborns from the wizarding world and close us off entirely.”

Kofuku paused before continuing, the silence crackling with tension along with the fire.

“Muggleborns who can’t provide wizarding heritage will be sent to Azkaban, and those who hide them will face the same fate.”

Hiyori froze. She could feel that Yato’s and Yukine’s gaze wanted to look at her, but they didn’t. They looked down at the carpet, fingers itching in the plush threads in uncomfortable silence. They knew just as well as she did what it meant: Hiyori was the first and only witch in her family. There was no magical heritage – not for her.

“What happens if they don’t register?” Yato asked quietly, looking up to meet Kofuku’s sympathetic look.

“They go on the run, or they get snatched,” Kofuku replied.

A dead silence hung in the air, punctuated by the thumping of their hearts and the crackle of splintering logs. Yato felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They could only assume that snatched wizards didn’t end up in Azkaban.

“And what about Hogwarts?” Yukine asked.

Kofuku’s face flickered in the flames in what was a shake of her head. “Oshi will return as headmistress, as decreed by the Ministry of Magic.”

Yato gritted his teeth. Oshi, the witch who had urged Nora to kill Tenjin, would now sit in his office thinking that she had won. There was no way to get the sword back now, not with Deatheaters swarming the place.

“Mandatory attendance from all teachers and students is required, but Hiyori and Yukine have no choice but to stay away,” Kofuku continued. She looked between Hiyori and Yukine, and then at Yato. “If they can get it, they will use anything you care about against you.”

There was another long, dead silence between them. This was no longer a matter of fighting from the safety of Hogwarts, this was them, on their own.

“What’s our next move?” Hiyori asked. “Are you coming here, or should we come back?”

Kofuku shook her head. “If Deatheaters found you that quickly, then you need to stay on the move. We don’t know how they found you, so Grimmauld Place might be compromised.”

“But all the charms and spells-,” Yato argued, but Kofuku cut him off again quickly.

“I’m sorry, Yato, but we can’t risk using Grimmauld Place. This is dark magic, potential that we will never see or use. They could just as well have the house blown to the sky as easily as you can blink.”

Yato shut his mouth. His jaw tightened. He wanted to argue that Grimmauld Place was his home, that it was impenetrable and the best place to hide, just as Sakura did from the Ministry for all those years, but he knew Kofuku was right. They didn’t know the limitations of dark magic, and he wouldn’t let his stubbornness put Hiyori, Yukine and Ebisu in harm's way to find them out.

“Where do we go?” Yukine broke the silence. It was a question that needed answers, but one that couldn’t be given.

“Get the horcrux and leave as soon as you can,” Kofuku said. The flames began to die out, the logs black and shrivelled and smouldering as Kofuku’s face faded from view. “Go anywhere, everywhere, except home.”

The final flames flickered and Kofuku’s voice faded with a wisp of smoke.

“And stay hidden.”

~

“We’ll need enough food for a few weeks. We don’t want to be appearing in every town we stop in,” Hiyori was saying. She had laid out the entire contents of her bag now, and Yato caught sight of Sakura’s wand case on the arm of the sofa.

They couldn’t stay Grimmauld Place. They couldn’t stay in London. They couldn’t go back to Yukine’s, or Hiyori’s. They certainly couldn’t hole up in any of the wizarding inns with Deatheaters and Snatchers on the loose. They had to go off-grid, vanish into thin air where no one could find them.

Hiyori looked at Yato and his attention snapped up to her, thinking he’d missed something she’d said.

“You wouldn’t have a tent and sleeping bags here, would you?” Hiyori repeated.

“I think I saw some in the cupboard under the stairs when we cleaned up…” Yato scratched the back of his head and looked behind at the small wooden door, but Hiyori was already at it and pulling out the contents before he could move.

“Your invisibility cloak is here, isn’t it?” Yukine asked from behind.

Yato turned back to Yukine and dropped his hand. “Yeah.”

“Better bring it.”

Yato and Yukine bundled up the bedding and carried it upstairs. Yukine dumped his and Hiyori’s blankets on a bed on the first floor and came back downstairs, but Yato continued up past Buckbeak’s quiet room and to his own. He pushed the door open and paused.

He hadn’t thought much about it last night, but now it hit him of what could’ve been – hard. He could’ve come back here and lived happily ever after with Sakura, for a time. He could’ve had a proper home and a sister who loved him as much as his friends did.

Yato felt a lump rise in his throat that he swallowed down hard. He dropped the duvet on the bed and crossed to where he had hidden the invisibility cloak. The material sifted through his hands like water, and he thought how easy it would be to just disappear and never be found.

Yato pulled out an old backpack from the bottom of the wardrobe and stuffed the cloak inside along with some of the clothes he’d left behind. He shouldered the bag, took one last look around, and shut the door.

Yato padded down the staircase and heard Buckbeak caw to him. He paused and turned down the hallway.

He gently opened the bedroom door to Buckbeak nuzzling into the crack, forcing the door handle out of Yato’s hand. The room was in disarray: the bed and pillows were torn with feathers littering the floor and the furniture had been knocked over from his frenzy last night. Buckbeak had the good grace not to defecate in the bedroom, which would have only added to the smell.

Yato patted Buckbeak’s feathered head softly, speaking gentle nothings to him. Perhaps he should release him too – a bedroom was no place for a Hippogriff. He thought of the Burrow and its discreet location, the fields that surrounded it and the clear open sky where he could spread his wings. Yato nodded to himself and pushed his forehead to Buckbeak’s.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to stay here anymore,” Yato whispered. He gently stepped back in a bow and closed the door behind him, Buckbeak’s quizzical eyes disappearing.

Yato jogged down another flight of steps and paused again. He looked at the door at end of the hall: Sakura’s room.

He walked to the door, hesitated, and tentatively put a hand on the doorknob. The latch opened with a click and the door swung open. Yato stood looked inside, partially afraid to enter the space where it seemed time had stood still.

The bed, slightly rumpled, was made up in the same sheets Sakura always slept in. Light shone through the open curtains and the waif netting that obscured the neighbour’s dreary back gardens and dilapidated sheds. On the wall opposite was the fireplace, swept free of ash and lacking firewood.

Yato felt a hot lump rise quickly in his throat and tears were already stinging his eyes faster than he could push them down. He sniffed and let out a shuddered breath, wiping at his eyes.

Nothing had changed, nothing was out of place. It didn’t look like Ebisu had cleared the room of any of her belongings – not that there was much to begin with. It would be Yato’s job to go through her possessions if he could bring himself to disturb her room.

His eyes fell on the bedside table and, guiltily, he crossed over to it. He gently slid open the top drawer. Empty. He opened the second drawer, then the third drawer, but there was nothing.

Yato felt a twinge in his heart. Where is the mirror?

The surfaces were clear, and they hadn’t come across it in the house yet. He couldn’t help but feel that wherever she went in the Veil, the mirror went too.

Yato closed the bedroom door with a gentle click and went back downstairs.

Hiyori and Yukine had raided the kitchen for all the camping equipment and non-perishable goods they could carry – which was a lot, thanks to Hiyori’s bag. Yato caught sight of Sakura’s wand case and the Snitch on the sofa. He slid the wand into his backpack alongside his clothes and the cloak and rolled the Snitch in his hand before dropping it into the bag.

He noticed the tea was untouched on its tray, the teapot steaming and the sugar cubes crystalised in their little dish, but they couldn’t afford to hang around.

“Ready?” Yukine asked.

Yato nodded once and led the way out of the living room and to the back door which was hidden beneath the staircase. They stood in the patioed garden and looked at the neighbouring windows, but no one seemed to be watching the strange little group huddled in the morning sunlight.

Yato looked back at the door and saw Ebisu watching them with big green eyes. Yato felt another twinge of guilt to be leaving again so soon, without being able to talk to Ebisu or thank him properly for everything he had done for them.

“Release Coo Phone and Buckbeak, tell them to go to Kofuku’s. And…” Yato shouldered his bag awkwardly. “Stay safe.”

With a touch of a hand, the world faded away.

[thenonbinarydetective]

Catch of the Day-HB Fanfic

A request from one of my new favorite anons. I love all of them, but this request was so crazy I had to do it as soon as possible.

Warning: Angst and bad comedy. Also bad comedic angst. Character death

Additional warning: I can’t take things seriously and I haven’t written in awhile so it may be a bit rusty.

Word count: 1,647

Summary: The boys are chased by a harpooner who does not want to be caught.

Note to the anon: I don’t know what happened in the specific harpooning scene you referred to for inspiration. I didn’t want to spoil myself cause I hadn’t gotten around to playing it yet so, I worked with what I could.

Enjoy or don’t it’s kinda sad!

THWACK!

Frank’s breath hitched as a harpoon burst through the wall of the wooden shed. He looked to his brother next to him over the glistening metal that narrowly missed his head. Joe wore a waning smile. Frank knew what was coming.

“We knew something fishy was going down, I just didn’t think it’d be us.” He laughed weakly. He pealed himself off the wall and shuffled to the other side. Missing the annoyed look that the older Hardy shot at him.

The two brothers had arrived at the tiny fishing village earlier that week after a string of thefts had caught their attention. They discovered it was Gary Keates, an old sailor who currently was attempting to add a murder charge to burglary.

“Why do they always have to try to kill us?” Frank asked brother. He shrugged, then tested the back window. It opened, but neither of them would fit through it.

Keates yelled in the distance, Frank couldn’t understand what he said. It didn’t matter. They either had to break the window or try to duck out the harpooned door. His glance shifted from the window to the door, then from the door to window. He patted Joe’s shoulder, who took it as a sign to step back. Frank took up a rotted piece of floor and swung at the window.

The shattering glass was loud and obvious. Frank was going for quick, he didn’t care about the noise. He ushered his brother out the window and then followed. Joe lead the way in a stealthy, but speedy crouch back towards the main road. The police were to meet them there, along with their father. The village was so far out in the middle of nowhere. They promised to meet the boys in about an hour. Based on a radio message they received an hour and a half ago. With any luck, rescue would find the boys before Keates did.

Joe looked over his shoulder. Beyond his brother, he could still see Keates circling the shack. His harpoon gun bouncing off his leg. He had ammunition ready on his back. “I know the old dude is out of his shell, but I can’t believe he’s treating his harpoon gun like a bow and arrow.” Joe whispered.

“And I can’t believe you’re still making fish puns while were being hunted like animals.” Frank hissed back.

“You mean like whales? Or seals?”

Frank pointed ahead, silently commanding his brother to keep marching on. Also probably to shut up. They had a little way to go before they would reach the main road, and Keates was going to find them soon. Even with all the trees, the older Hardy boy felt too exposed. His only solace was that Joe remained in front of in and Gary Keates was behind him.

“You went to the woods, didn’t ya?” The Hardy Boys heard Gary rationalize as he left the area surrounding the rotten shack. A splintering CRACK rung out through the forest. At first the Hardy Boys feared they stepped on a twig, but it was their hunter retrieving his old harpoon. “I’ll find ya.”

They concealed themselves in some bushes, but they could still feel Keates’ searching gaze as he roved the forest. He was still far behind them. The hairs standing up on the back of Frank’s neck made it seem like he was right behind them.

He ushered Joe back in front of him again and motioned that they should go forward. He saw the worried look in his brother’s eyes, there was nothing he could do to comfort him besides giving him the same look. The situation already seemed bleak, but as long as he could keep Joe safe. Frank’s own safety didn’t matter.

Keep moving forward

Keep staying silent

Keep protecting your brother

In this moment, both brothers were repeating this in their minds. The slow pace was agonizing, and Gary’s shouting did not put them at ease. Slow and steady keeps you alive, right? That’s what their father taught them. In a way. He also taught them to not accuse someone who might kill them when they are alone in a small village where no one would find them. A very specific lesson, but one that would have been useful to remember about an hour ago.

They kept going on, keeping their breath as silent as possible. Trying to avoid every stick and crunchy leaf on the ground. It was Fall, which only made this more difficult. The two were making good progress until,

CRACK!

Frank stepped on a twig. It was a small twig, but the sound of it snapping traveled for miles. The brothers froze. This is not good.

“There ya are!”

This really is not good. Keates was already running in their direction. They didn’t have much time. “You keep going that way. “Frank pointed towards the main road. “I’ll split off and keep his focus on me.”

“But Frank?”

“I’ll meet you there. Now go!” He shoved Joe away from him, and the younger Hardy boy had no choice but to take off. He shot one last look to his brother. Frank didn’t look back. He faced the direction in which the harpooner was coming from. His whole body was trembling, he couldn’t disguise his fear with the brave face he put on.

When Keates came close enough, he slowed down. For the first time, he wasn’t yelling. He readied a shot. Unfortunately, too slow to take it. Frank spun around and sprinted off. His path was wild. He made it up as he went. He heard Keates running behind him.

“If I keep him distracted long enough,” Frank thought as he made a jagged turn, “Hopefully, Joe will send the police in time.” He tried to push morbidity out of his mind, it was hard. He’s completely lost in this dark forest. He couldn’t tell the difference between the sound of his own feet and Keates’s.

Frank had to take a chance to find out. He dove into a bush. It was quiet. Had he lost him? He waited for a few seconds and he could only hear his breathing. He waited before standing up. Looking around his surroundings, he realized he wasn’t too far from the main road. He continued on. There was an outpost nearby that would protect them better than some decaying shack ever would.

“Joe’s probably already there. The police better be there to kelp.” He whispered to himself. “Help. He’s not even here. How did he make me do that?” He laughed for his younger brother, who would’ve appreciated his pun. Frank slowed his pace down to a walk. Safety was in sight.

He caught sight of the shack, but that wasn’t the only thing he saw. Keates had beaten him there. Joe was backing away from him with his hands raised. Frank heard him plead, “No no no no please-AHCK!”

The first harpoon dug into his shoulder and pinned him to the wall.

Frank ran, but he was too slow and too far to stop Keates from loading another.

The second sliced through Joe’s leg. He cried out again.

Frank tripped over a root.

The third struck his hand. Joe didn’t make a sound at this point.

Frank jumped back to his feet and made another desperate attempt to stop the assault.

A fourth buried deep into his side.

Finally, Frank tackled Keates. He tried to pin him down, but the old man fought back viciously. So did Frank. They were rolling in the dirt, no matter how much Frank kicked and punched the old man was still fighting back. He couldn’t believe the energy his assailant possessed. Especially since he was running out of his own. Adrenaline surged through him, but it wasn’t enough. Keates stretched out to grab a harpoon.

The older Hardy took a risk. He shot up. As quick as he could he stepped on the harpooner’s hand, causing him to recoil. He then picked up a rock and bashed his opponent’s head without a second thought. He was out.

Joe’s head slumped, the rest of his body remained pinned to the outpost wall. His vision blurred, his breathing heavy, he was trying to fight it. He was trying to stay alive. He heard the sirens. The police wouldn’t make it. Their dad wasn’t there to save him. He was always supposed to keep them safe in this job. He failed. Joe knew he had to fight for himself now, but it was getting so hard.

Frank’s voice sounded miles away, even though he was inches from his face. Frank always had a solution. He could see the panic in his brother’s face. He was trying to find one. “You can’t fix it for me this time.” Joe mused. He tried to make light of this dark situation he got caught in. There was too much blood, too much pain, it was too hard to stay awake.

“Shut up.” Frank choked out. He couldn’t take out the harpoons, that would only make the bleeding worse. He couldn’t treat his wounds. He couldn’t leave him to get help. He couldn’t help him. He couldn’t protect his brother. “Stop talking.”

Joe weakly lifted his head and looked in his brother’s eyes. He hoped the look he was giving him was enough to tell him everything he needed to. This was the end. Joe wished he could tell his brother how much he loved him and how this wasn’t his fault. He wished he could ask him to say the same to their parents. He was out of time to say all those serious things now. Joe did the only thing he could, “Guess I’m the catch of the day… Sea you on the other side, Frank.”

“Those better not be your last words.” Frank scolded as tears fell.

But they were.

[junejalow]

Bandit/Blitz "You're my charming idiot."

This is for RandomPersonDasHere, their prompt is for Bandit and Blitz under the prompt "How can you still be so idiotically charming?", changed it a tiny bit to fit with the idea I thought of . 

A simple training simulation, that's all they had to do. At least that's what Blitz though. He could hear Ace curse further down the hallway of the building they were slowly advancing in, sparks of electricity crackling from somewhere followed by a muffled chuckle of victory.

Bandit.

Blitz thought to himself. The attackers weren't told who they would be going against and vice versa, but he knew that sound all to well. His significant other was being his usual little asshole self by waiting last second to place his CED-1 down just to fuck with people. His attention was drawn to the sound of chalk grenades going off two rooms from him along with rounds fired and peppering the hallway a bit.

"Four attackers and four Defenders left!"

Sounded the announcer over head.

Shifting a bit into the doorway to get a good peek inside, Blitz immediately noticed Mozzie down against the wall and Finka close by, also down. He cursed under his breath, Finka had gone head with Ace earlier to check out an extra route before she had traced her steps back but clearly rain into trouble. Unfortunately that meant pests were around and drones would be out of the question to see who all was on the defending side. He met up with Ace further down the hallway who had held up in a room across from the guarded corner he tried to access moments before. Elias gave a silent motion to the Norwegian to get behind him so his shield could take any bullets and blasts for them.

"Your sneaky boyfriend got away from me, can't believe he got me with his battery." Ace grumbled behind him, keeping his free hand on his shoulder with his pistol aimed over Blitz's shoulder. He clearly wasn't happy with the trick but knew Bandit could outsmart and out play them easily. The German was a crafty guy.

"It's just a training exercise Ace." Yet... Blitz found a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He fell hard for Bandit's personality and gruff nature years ago, they were a couple before they even came to Rainbow and thankfully Six allowed them to keep their relationship as long as it never interfered with their mission at hand. Even during training, they put that aside and focused. Then again. Trust Bandit to never keep a promise if he couldn't cause chaos. The man basically LIVED to cause mayhem. A man of opportunity that wasn't scared to take a leap. Fine. Blitz would play along.

Bandit was still snickering to himself as he backed into the safety of the reinforced room and boarded up the doorway, He glanced over towards Rook who had long since placed down his armor pack for them. He almost looked bored with how long they had been waiting but it also told them whoever was on the other team where the more careful and calculated operators of the attacking team. Or they weren't taking this serious, hell he wasn't. "I just bagged Ace's last Aqua Breacher."

Rook gave him an amused smile, "You know he'll come after you now mon ami (my friend), he takes pride in those breaches and you just stripped every bit of it away."

"Stripping someone's ego is a good thing, it get's in the way." He retorted. "Besides, this is f-"

Bandit was cut off by the announcer above along side a muffled flash noise, bullets and thud of a body dropping.

"Three defenders remaining!"

"Scheiße(shit)" He swore.

Finka, Ace and now Blitz?

Of course his goofball of a boyfriend would be pitted against him despite this being a surprise training session with no info given. He started to think a bit more seriously now, Blitz wouldn't go easy on him and Ace was already upset for the stunt he just pulled with taking out his gadget. Of course that left him without any batteries left. Rook held one door while he had the other. He knew Mozzie was down, he hadn't heard from the aussie in awhile now. He wasn't sure who exactly was down now, Kapkan had left earlier to place his EDD's around the place for anyone who didn't watch their footing and Echo was off somewhere flying his Yokai drone. Bandit had hoped to hold out longer but now this was survival. They had to run the timer down.

Blitz made a mental note of who all was left for their side vs who they had found so far. Ace was still with him, they wanted to clear rooms before heading for the main room since they had already pinpointed it earlier.

Finka is down, Ace is with me, Buck is searching the bottom floor and Glaz is circling around outside.

He glanced back for a moment, mentally marking the operator downed in the room to the right who had tried to sneak up on them only to get Blitz's shield flash to the face and Ace landing a well placed shot to the head on Echo. Bandit's hiding in the target room, Mozzie and Echo are down.

That's three out of four.

Who else do they have?

He thought to himself as him and Ace advanced upstairs as quietly as possible. They could access the main target room from a hatch in the far bedroom.

"I do not like how quiet it is min venn (my friend)" Ace mumbled to him quietly, worried they were going against one of the more skilled operators of Rainbow. Just as the thought left his mind, he was snatched into a room by a muscled arm around his neck and was shot in the back four times before being dropped. The figure darting into an adjoining before Blitz could catch full view of the person. They weren't making this easy at all.

"Three attackers remaining!"

"Playing games now?" He called out, "It's not like anyone to strike and flee!" Elias wanted to provoke the defender, he wanted to take more of them out. His main target was Bandit after all. "Glaz, light up the target room but leave Bandit if you see him."

"As you wish." The Russian replied with a knowing grin to his voice. Well aimed shots echoed on the far end of the building, within minutes the announcer went off again.

"Two defenders remaining!"

"Come out little rabbit, I know you're up here." Blitz called again, taking his corner's carefully and checking the doorways incase he was dealing with any type of explosives. His answer was a flash bang rolling towards him out of a side room, he quickly brought up his shield as it went off. The ringing got to him but a flash of movement from the corner of his eye had him shifting his weight and shield, vibrations against it told him he had reacted just in time to avoid any major damage but a sting to his lower right calf alerted him to just how close that encounter had been. He glanced through the window on his shield and saw Kapkan holding up a C4, ready to toss it with a glint of amusement in his honey brown eyes locked onto the German's own brown eyes. His heart sank for a moment before a shot whizzed by and tagged Kapkan just above his protective covering, staggering the large man back a few steps. Elias took the change and shot the C4 in his hand, causing powered chalk to coat the area and took the man down with it. He silently thanked Glaz for the shot taken and remained quiet as he moved back down the stairs, all surprise lost upstairs with the battle.

"One defender remaining, One minute remaining in the scenario!"

Now or never Elias! Move!

He did just that, rushing the last stretch and bashing through the boarded up door closest to him. Without hesitation he pressed the button in his grip and flashed the room, hearing a grunt of surprise and a angry curse to his left he immediately turned and shot only to find the spot empty. What happened? He heard the noise but no one was there. He took a careful glance around the room, no where to hide. Rook laid across the room with a chalk mark center of his face plate near an opened door with splintered wood laying around. "Dom ran?" Blitz mumbled to himself in disbelief. The defender would never run off site if this was a real mission, but Bandit had completely left the training area more than once out of annoyance or pure boredom. "Bandit! I'm not playing hide and seek with you mein liebling! (my darling)" He half joked with a serious tone.

When no answer came he figured the man had gotten bored with the training simulation, wouldn't be the first time he let the clock run. He worked on setting the diffuser down but didn't notice the C4 charge set near by until the ringing officially left his ears. He didn't run, it was a distraction. White filled his vision as it exploded. He landed flat on his back, coughing from the dust.

"Defenders win!"

The announcement above rang out, the defenders had won and attackers lost. He sat up and glanced at Bandit who came back into the room, he could see the smirk the man wore behind his balaclava. Oh what Blitz wouldn't give to wipe it off his face right now, but he had to admit that was a nice play on tactic's. The German had used the effects of Kapkan's flash bang against him to hide the beeping of the C4.

I got cocky and he used that to his advantage.

All of the inside operators filtered out of the training building so the next group could start their run. Elias gave praise where it was due, but ignored Bandit as pay back. Of course he didn't like that at all and of course Blitz didn't care, at least he didn't show that he secretly did on the outside. He headed for the locker room to change out of his gear, taking his time so only him and Bandit was left. "You really fucked up out there, out played by yours truly. I'm surprised really, you aren't usually that sloppy. Or maybe you went soft on me? I'm pretty sure that was it, am I right mein liebling?(my dear)" Dominic mused as he came up behind Elias who was sitting on a bench, placing his rough hands on his shoulders. "My poor little Eli', not wanting to hurt me even for training. I truly am touched."Elias couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips, releasing a chuckle from his chest. "After all of that... How can you still be so idiotically charming.""I'm just good at what I do." "You really are Dom, you really are." He replied, glancing up at his boyfriend who placed a soft kiss to his forehead. Earning a soft smile from Elias. "But, you're my charming idiot."

[ofscxrlet]

The Test

In a small pod meant for one, Faye navigates through the stars, in search of her mother. The SOS signal was not new, it’s been at least a few weeks since it was sent out, but still, she would float through space, completely alone for the first time in her life, just to find that planet. 

The SOS signal has been repeating for days, but Faye refuses to turn the terminal off. She sits in the single chair in that pod, knees pressed to her chest as she listens to the ringing. 

Three short. Three long. Three short. Over and over and over. 

She’s sent a few coded messages out, to keep her mother from thinking she’s been abandoned-

“Hi, Mom. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Hey, you’re doing alright, right? Right?” 

“I’m almost there, just hold on!”

“Please don’t die, mom. Weird request, because I know how strong you are, but... Please don’t go.”

No answers, yet. But she must be in a pretty tight spot, so Faye forgives her. 

She’s never learned how to operate a ship, of course not, she’s lived on Vautox for all of her life- so thank goodness for autopilot. 

The only thing that worried her now was that autopilot was taking her straight towards what looked like a nigh inhabitable, desert planet. 

Faye leant forward, messing with the controls a bit, fumbling with the high-tech software.

Population, population, population- There. 

There... was scarcely any life?

That couldn’t be right. The signal was coming from this planet. 

The small amounts of life could be her mother and whatever crew she collected during her time out in the depths of space, but it made no sense for them to be scattered across the planet itself... 

No, this pod’s radar must be defective. Of course a product of Vautox, a planet where no one leaves, would have garbage tech.

She flicks autopilot off and listens to the SOS signal again, shakily grabbing hold of the lever with one hand and a wheel with the other. She cursed herself for worrying, her mother was fine, after all- she probably didn’t even need her to come rescue her. Her signaling system could be broken- Vautox ships were hot garbage. 

With a bit of struggle, Faye piloted the pod down into the atmosphere, bracing herself for a fit of the queasies- if there was anything that made Faye sick, it was space travel, her brother’s crappy politics, and Garbog milk. Eugh. 

It was dark here, she quickly realized, barely being able to see through the fog and the darkness of night. She near crashed onto a rock nearby, but thankfully, only minorly scratched the gaudy, yellow paint job. 

Gazing outside would confirm that it was a desert planet, sands stretching out for miles on end, rock formations every few steps, no water as far as the eye could see... And a ship. 

The same gaudy yellow as her pod, but much bigger, fit for a crew. It’s lights were dimmed, flickering every so often- but this was definitely where the signal was coming from.

Faye quickly got out of her seat, grabbed the small blaster pistol she found in the little compartment under the control panel and rushing out. She could have broken the entrance’s door panel controls with how much force she put behind clicking ‘Open’. Taking the first step, she was greeted with strong winds, sand whipping through, making everything into a blur. 

The air was breathable, thank goodness, maybe she should have checked before impulsively throwing herself out of the pod, but what’s done is done. 

She was hardly dressed for a sandstorm- neither for a desert, or even just space travel at all, little skirt, puffed sleeves, heeled boots and a little tiara on her head- but. Well, at least she was wearing pants with it. 

Faye braced herself against the winds, stench of gas leaking resonating from the battered ship, bits of sand getting in her eyes. 

Although she could hardly see it, the ship was missing a very special component: It’s door. 

On closer inspection, it was blown in from the outside, sliced clean in half by... something. Maybe one of those sabers she’s heard so much about.

…Not good. 

“Mom!” Faye hollered, cupping her hands by her mouth. She coughed up the dust she’d inadvertently inhaled from outside, advancing slowly, one step at a time. “Mom! I’m here! Mom, I’m here to get you!” 

Nothing. 

“Mom...” 

The ship was big, but not that big. She heard the signal echo throughout, hollow sound bouncing off of the metal walls. 

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Faye’s grip tightened around her little pistol. She held it out in front of her, knuckles turning white as she rapidly flicked her head around, suddenly feeling... wrong. 

There was nothing here, maybe, but it felt wrong. It was all wrong. 

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

She took baby steps down the hallway to what would hopefully lead to the steering terminal, where her mother could be hiding. Every step was slow and measured, she even took great care not to make clicking noises with her heels. Her fingers shook around the trigger, and she was starting to worry, in the back of her clouded mind, that she would accidentally fire from how much she tremored. 

The lights flickered on and off. Brief light, brief darkness. But still, that ringing-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Faye began to walk a bit faster, letting her heels click against the metal flooring. 

“Mom. Mom! Mom!” She cried out, like when her mother would play little pranks on her as a kid, and she’d fear that her mother had been hiding away for good, and then she’d jump out and startle her, saying she’ll never leave, never ever ever- 

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Faye made it to the terminal. It was mostly empty. All the panels were darkened, no longer glowing like it should, with the mapping and the population and the messaging system- no. Everything had been shut off. 

No, no, on closer inspection, everything had been broken. 

Another one of those slashes down the middle of the paneling. Clean in half.

Yet it could still repeat those same incessant little beeps.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Over and over and over.

Faye glanced around the room.

Nothing. No crewmates. No supplies. It’s like everything had been- had been-

Her fingers loosened, and the pistol fell from her hands with an obnoxious clatter. Her arms went limp at her sides. Knees near gave out beneath her, but she stayed upright, legs wobbling. 

At the side of the ship was a few shelves. Some trinkets, heirlooms from Vautox, things to keep someone from getting homesick, all slashed to pieces-

And her mother’s lifeless corpse. 

Like a robot on autopilot, Faye trekked across the control terminal and fell to her knees at her mother’s side. 

“Mother.” Faye mumbled, a nothing expression on her face. She reached out and shook her shoulders a bit. “Mother. I’m here. It’s ok now.” 

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“Mom.” 

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“...Mom.”

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“MOM!”

Her eyes stung as tears welled up, arms lip at her sides once again. They streaked down her face with no abandon, no decency-

“Mom, this isn’t funny. Come on. Phoebe and Cadmus miss you,” Faye choked out, throat drying up, voice hoarse from congestion. 

Her mother said nothing. The blood surrounding her was dried up, darkened from age, the blood from her mouth, dried up, darkened from age- the gash across her stomach, a gash with so much depth Faye thought it had cut her in half- it’s blood had dried and darkened from age, too.

This signal-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

This signal-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“I miss you!” Faye barked out, hunching over her mother at this, hands clenching into fists, so tightly it ached.

But it didn’t matter how much her body ached, it was her heart that hurt the most. 

That damn signal. That damned signal.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“Shut. Up. Shut up. Shut up!” With speed she’s never reached before, Faye sprung up and slammed her fist into the screen where the sound came from, shattering the glass with the force.

Shards splintered into her delicate skin, blood erupting from the many little cuts, and it stung, it stung so much, like fire, like fire- She slammed her fist into it again, still hearing the glitched audio play- she kept bashing her fist into it until it stopped. 

Blood covered the now completely shattered audio processor, it going silent- and finally, she could breathe again. 

She collapsed to the ground, hand full of bits of broken glass, blood streaming onto the ground below. 

If she died here, so be it. She would die with her mother. 

Even on this nameless, nothing planet, she would die with her mother. 

She hunched over and began to weep. 

.....

........

..........

“Do not weep, child.”

Faye jumped, slamming her head back into the terminal behind her, thankfully, not into the broken glass. 

“What? ..What? ....Mom?” 

“...I am not your mother... But I knew her. I was with her when she met her end. But she decided to hide me away, despite the power I gave her- knowing you would come find me. And so, you have.”

Faye sniffled, face red, hand still bleeding and probably broken. 

“This doesn’t make any sense. Who.. Where...?” 

“Come to the wall, where your mother lies. Come to me.”

Faye shook her head.

“C- Can’t. Can’t. I can’t,” 

“You can. Come to me.” 

It was then, despite her aversion to the idea, that Faye felt herself lifted off of her feet, compelled to go to where she was told- even stepping over her mother and lifting her functioning hand to the wall. 

“Good. Press down.” 

She did.

In an instant, the wall began to break into smaller metal chunks, sliding away to reveal another, secret hallway- dark, but lit up by small yellow lights on the ground. 

It felt... alien, to be compelled this way, as if by magic- but it felt comforting, all the same. 

The feminine voice said nothing more, and Faye stepped in, continuing down the lengthy corridor. 

At the end of it was a transparent pod, and inside of it was a rather... complicated looking mix between a halberd and a staff, floating above.

 It was... iridescent, shining with the glow of many different colors- silvers, reds, greens, purples- every pretty color she could name.

“You... Mom carried you. I remember. She... She always had you. Everywhere.” 

Faye continued to come closer, placing her palm flat on the pod, nearly falling in when the walls fell away, leaving her with no obstacles-

Faye gingerly reached out her hand, brushing her fingers against the smooth metal. It sent a shiver down her spine, through her entire being. It wasn’t cold- it was warm, like there was a heart beating inside- like there was a person to behold. 

She closed her hand around her, and near instantly, a jolt of crackling, pulsating energy filled her body. She winced, letting out a grunt- seeing the iridescent crackles form onto her arm, spread through her skin, burning all the way- Without thinking, Faye brought her other hand to grab hold of it, despite the glass making it difficult, the pulsing energy slowly making it’s way throughout her veins, her arteries, everywhere it could touch. 

The burning continued, crackles forming on her face, the power coursing through every part of her. 

As she lifted the halberd, eyes flashing with energy, every little piece of glass in her hand began to shiver- until all of it ejected itself from her skin, pattering to the floor. 

Every cut on her hand sealed itself before her eyes.

She lifted the axe from the pod and took it into her arms, and the pain ebbed away, the marks fading from her skin. 

Faye nearly collapsed, letting out a breath she thinks she’s been holding for that entire ordeal, using the staff as a cane. 

“Forgive me for that pain, starling. I had to ensure you were worthy. You passed the test.”

“I... Passed? What test?... You must be... An ancient being. You’re not going to hurt me?” Faye tremored, looking to the halberd in consternation.

“To wield me, you must be able to withstand my power. You withstood. You are worthy... And so, you may call me ‘Laatora’. I am your guiding star, child.” The voice was soothing, like a mother’s- with no malice nor underlying meaning. 

“Laatora... What do I do now...? Without mother, I’m...” She wouldn’t complete that sentence. It hurt her too much. 

“We will find the wielder of the scythe who fell your mother. The foolish human thinks he is the holder of the star that will guide him to ora, hence his rampage throughout space, claiming it to be in the name of Demaxia and his emperor... The scythe is a deceiver. I am not. i am the voice of Ora.” 

As Laatora spoke, Faye’s expression darkened, hands tightening around the handle as she silently seethed. 

“So it was a Demaxian who killed her. I’ll never... I’ll never forgive him! I’ll- I’ll go to Demaxia and destroy those who have wronged me- wronged her- lay waste to their army- I won’t stop until I find him, whoever he is! I don’t care if she was a deserter, she was my mother! She- She didn’t have to die on this nothing planet!” Faye began to stomp her way back to the main area of the ship, Laatora listening to her rant on, until-

She stopped in her tracks, looking over her mother, eyes beginning to water.

Faye waltzed over to open the compartment under the terminal, and pulled out one of the blankets that was brought for warmth in the cold nights. She went back to her mother, sniffling and wiping tears away, before laying the blanket over her.

Now it looked like she was sleeping. So... peacefully. It was perfect.

“Laatora...?”

“Mm?”

“I’ll find the one who did this. I promise.” 

“Your resolve is noble, girl. It was the same as your mother’s.  ....Now, go. You must return home to collect supplies. It will not be an easy journey. Are you prepared for this?”

Faye gave a somber smile, glancing back to the ‘sleeping’ woman behind her.

“Anything in the name of mother.”

[dershloopmain]

How Each Of The Boys Would React To Splinter’s Death (Donnie)

Donnie tapped his fingers idly, unable to concentrate on anything. No project nor book could hold his attention, hell not even video games could at this point. The strange thing was, he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sad, per se. More… demoralized. Sadness had a distinct grip on him, it had done the first few days after but now? He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Was he supposed to feel sad still? Or was he supposed to be ‘’over it’’ by now? Emotions really weren’t his forte- they never had been. He’d read a paper about grieving to try and understand how he was supposed to feel, maybe even help him verbalise how he was feeling but it hadn’t worked. Nothing had. No website or paper or book had. All it had done was open a pit in his stomach he couldn’t close. He feared if it stayed open for much longer it would eat him alive.

He let out a long, over-exaggerated groan, hoping to rouse some kind of feeling. Nothing. At this point, he was willing to bash his head against a wall if it meant he’d feel something. The lack of productivity was beginning to take its own toll on Donnie’s soul, all the projects he could have finished and books he could have read… but it couldn’t be healthy stewing on that. Probably less healthy that slamming his head or any body part into a brick wall. He was pretty sure he’d heard Raph do that earlier. However, he couldn’t be sure. Normally, it would only be 10 minutes and his red-bandana-bearing brother would be standing at the door to his lab nursing a bloody knuckle and little explanation to how he’d gotten it. To be honest, though, the plaster and grime embedded in the wound told the story on its own.

Donnie had almost wished he had come to his lab to get his knuckles bandaged up. Not only because if he didn’t an infection would be imminent, but also because he was lonely. You’d think being ina polyamorous relationship would fulfil any kind of looming loneliness but you’d be surprised. To be fair, it probably would have done if he’d actually replied to the dozens of messages sat on his phone from April and Casey alike. He didn’t want them to see him like this- it’d just worry them more. It wasn’t like he was really eating, or sleeping for that matter. His eyes sported even bigger, blue-er eyebags and his cheeks and jaw bone had become even more prominent. It wasn’t like he was particularly muscly or even big to start but now it was just embarrassing. They’d lose their minds if they saw or thin he was now, and not in a good way. Though, he’d be lying to himself if he said any part of him looked good, even before this entire debacle. 

It had been a while- a long long while- since they’d all spoken properly. Not just April, Casey and him. All of them. His brothers. The most he’d heard was the occasional stary sob from a room or the sound of Raph slamming his drums loud enough that he was sure the entirety of new york could hear it clearly. He needed to get out but… he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave this place. He couldn’t leave the city either. Where would he even go? Casey still had family and it wasn’t as if April’s dad would be particularly happy about an impromptu visit-turned-stay. 

He put his head in his hands and just gave up. Like he’d never given up before. Donnie didn’t give up. He was a scientist, an inventor. It wasn’t in his nature to give up, but yet here he was. Giving up. Don wasn’t even sure what giving up entailed. Did it mean he would have to find a new passion? A new role in the group? But if he wasn’t smart he didn’t have anything. He was just the skinny weak one who had nothing but his brains. He wasn’t as altruistic and charismatic as Leo, he couldn’t light up a room as Mikey could and he was nowhere near as fiery and strong and just so… brave like Raph was. Or did giving up entail just accepting that life was different now their father was gone? Would that even classify as giving up? Or was that just moving on, getting over it. Was that just the smart thing to do? He was the smart one after all. Was that a smart idea? It couldn’t be. It seemed so plainly obvious yet so forbidden and selfish.

Donnie wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Had Splinter even loved him? Leo was always the golden child, he was the leader, the chosen son and now the sensei AND leader of the Hamato clan? Why was no one else legible for that position? Sure he was the one with the most experienced but it wasn’t as if he or Mikey had even been given the chance to try and lead so how did everyone know they weren’t better fit for the job? He knew he shouldn’t complain, Leo was a great leader and all, way better than Raph was, but he couldn’t help but feel like all of splinters energy went into him and not the other 3. What a shit dad.

He scolded himself. Disrespectful much? If anyone knew you though that… they’d kill me. Leo would be so mad, Raph would definitely kick me to the moon and Mikey… I couldn’t do that to him out of everyone. The truth was, he loved Mikey. He wasn’t the smartest but he was so genuine and sweet it was unreal, he hadn’t thought anyone on earth could be that… bright and kind. Sure, he could be annoying but that added to his charm. Just a silly little kid yet so supportive and loving. When you have an impulsive and over-emotional asshat of a brother and another brother so stiff he may as well be a 4x4, the 3rd being kind and caring really made a difference. Mikey recognised his mistakes even if he didn’t always immediately own up to them. He was bright in his own way and way better with emotions than he was. 

He let out a shaky breath. He was so tired. So, so tired. All he wanted was to sleep and sleep and sleep and just never wake up but he knew he couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep, what if something happened? What if someone attacked the lair? It wasn’t exactly likely, but knowing his luck he’d be utterly out cold if something did happen.

A sharp buzz startled him out of his thoughts. He’d muted his chat with April and Casey so who the hell was texting him? Donnie lifted his head, looking over at the bright screen. It was… a text from Leo? In their group chat no less. That thing hadn’t been used in 2 weeks, why now did he suddenly care about everyone. He scanned his eyes over the message, eyes wide with shock. Was… was he being serious? They were really done with being ninjas? Like, done done, or done as in he’d be waking everyone up at 5-30 the next morning for training? A flood of relief washed through him. Finally. He knew what they did was rewarding enough but to protect a city that would run screaming if they saw who’d stopped multiple alien invasions? A city who could never utter even a word of thanks to them for all they’d done? It wasn’t about the praise, Donnie knew that. They’d all been forced into this by Splinter, and he was gone now. It was up to them to decide their own fates and he was so glad Leo was taking charge of that. No one would have said anything otherwise. It can’t have been healthy to be put through so much pain and suffering and trauma at such a young age. 15 years old. That’s how old they were when they first fought the kraang. That’s how old they were when they realised the true gravity of their existence. That’s how old they were when they’d first realised how the world viewed them. Monsters. Something to be afraid of. But they weren’t. Right?

That was an existential crisis for another day, however. Donnie thought as he straightened his back, listening to the satisfying pops as he did so. Now, it was time to get some rest. Nothing was going to happen to the lair, because they weren’t ninja anymore. Shredder was dead, Splinter was dead and anybody who could have hurt them was either dead or deterred over the death of Shredder. They’d be fine.

That was the last thought in his head as he curled up in his sheets, pulling the blankets so far up his body he was merely a head in a cocoon of warmth. They’d be fine. Even if they weren’t all fine right now, they’d be fine eventually. They’d all feel better eventually.

[out-of-jams]

Airplane Mode | Track 06: Base Line | jhs

Summary: Inspired by Love at First Touch by bagelswrites

In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death.

So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?

And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok/ FemOC

Word Count: 5.1k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: Explicit language.

Words written in bold are spoken in Korean.

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Eunjae woke up very confused.

To the sound of loud, constant ringing.

It startled her sleeping body so much that it yanked her out of the land of dreams and back to reality. Slowly peeling her heavy eyes open, Eunjae stared blankly at the unfamiliar white wall across from her. Her brain was not yet awake and was could barely process where she was and how she got there. So it took her a moment to realize that the obnoxious sound echoing through her ears was a doorbell.

“Miles, I swear to God.” Eunjae mumbled incoherently. Reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes, she sat up in bed, causing the thick comforter to pool around her waist. She was still dressed in the same outfit from last night since she had nothing else to change into. Though she’d shed her bra and joggers right before collapsing into bed.

A sigh left her lips as another round of doorbell ringing started up and she tore her eyes back open in irritation. It wasn’t until her vision landed on the brown wood of the long dresser across from her bed that the memories came rushing back to her. She most definitely was not in New York.

“So then who—” Eunjae’s eyes widened as the sound of light knocking accompanied the ringing of the doorbell. Whoever was on the other side had given up on just ringing, and started to match the tempo of both sounds to tap out some kind of nonsensical song. Blinking in the dim light shining through the black curtained window, her mouth parted in realization. “Oh, shit.”

Eunjae sprang out of bed and almost face planted into the rug underneath when her foot got caught in the comforter. Curses flying from her mouth, she stumbled across the room, ripping her joggers and bra from where they’d landed on the vanity mirror after she blindly threw them. Eunjae scrambled into her clothes and swung the door to her room open so fast that she almost smacked herself in the face.

No one ever said she was the most graceful person first thing in the morning.

“I’m coming!” Whoever was on the other side of the door was either deaf or too caught up in the track they were remixing on her door to hear her.

Eunjae’s bare feet padded down the short narrow hallway outside her room. She’d been so tired last night that she’d barely even given her new living space a quick, cursory glance before crawling into bed. So now as she grandma-shuffled towards the door like some half-assed zombie, she let her eyes wander.

To the right side of the hallway was a door that led to a bathroom that she was sure she would explore later to shower. As she emerged from the passageway, it opened out into a kitchen/living room. To the left was a small, but nice kitchen. And instead of a table, there was a long bar/island with stools pushed underneath. All of the equipment looked brand new and it was too bad that she wouldn't have a need for it.

The living room was straight ahead. A leather couch took up one whole wall and the cream colored shag rug underneath looked soft enough to sleep on. Separating the couch from a dark wood tv stand was a rounded glass coffee table. The walls throughout the whole apartment were painted a boring eggshell white that was almost blinding in the sun.

“I’ll have to fix that.” Eunjae muttered to herself. The place wasn’t huge, but she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t want to be put up in some lavish penthouse like some weird, trophy soulmate. Eunjae already felt awkward enough for how much Big Hit was already doing for her; best not to add more to the list.

As Eunjae reached the door, she stopped from grabbing the doorknob when she caught her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. With a grimace, she quickly ran her fingers through her wild bedhead in an attempt to tame it. Seemingly satisfied, Eunjae quickly yanked open the door before the neighbors decided to file a noise complaint.

Jung Hoseok stood on the other side of the door, one finger hovering over the doorbell as if he were about to ring it again. His expression converted from amused to surprised, and then back to amused, before finally settling on friendly. Eunjae decided right then and there that he was way too awake, way too early in the morning. Hoseok’s dimples came out to play as he flashed her a grin and an energetic wave.

Not only was he completely awake, but he was fully dressed for the day too. With his white and red long-sleeve pullover, french tucked into a pair of jeans, he looked very casual. He’d parted his dark hair in the middle so that it exposed the lightly tanned skin of his forehead. And a black belt was threaded through the hoops of his jeans to keep them from falling down his slim waist.

All-in-all, his very put together appearance made Eunjae look like some half-dead monster that just crawled out of the sewer.

Just call me Master Splinter . She thought, staring up at him with tired eyes and messy hair.

Hoseok dropped his hand and leaned casually against the doorway. His fresh scent filled Eunjae’s nose and she vaguely wondered if all of the members smelled that good, or if it was just a Hoseok thing. Tucking a hand into the pocket of his jacket, He gave her a greeting that was way too cheerful for her exhausted brain to mimic.

“Good morning!”

Eunjae hummed in acknowledgment and reached up to rub at her cheeks. “Morning, Hobi.”

He seemed completely unoffended by her lack of enthusiasm which she was grateful for. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah. You?” Blinking up at him through dead eyes, Eunjae tried her hardest to match his energy. It was infectious; beginning to filter through her haze filled mind like a stream of fresh water.

“Yes. Good!”

“That’s good.” Eunjae mumbled around a yawn, “‘hat time is it?”

Hoseok tilted his head to the side cutely in confusion. When he hesitated in replying, Eunjae sent him a sleepy smile and lightly tapped on her wrist; the universal gesture to ask for the time. Hoseok made a noise of understanding in the back of his throat and fished around in the pocket of his jeans to pull out his phone. As he flashed the screen her way, Eunjae gave a slow blink at how early it was.

The both of them had gotten back from the airport a little after four am, and the numbers flashing across Hoseok’s phone read that it was now ten am. If Eunjae was doing the math right (which she probably wasn’t), that only equated to around less than six hours of sleep total. Which was definitely pointing to the danger side of her sleep-o-meter.

“Oh.” Was the only sound that could leave her mouth and a pout formed unconsciously on her lips as she squinted up at Hoseok.

How was he already awake and ready to begin his day now ? She really envied his ability to pull energy out of thin air. Though she couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Eunjae thought someone from the company was supposed to pick her up and take her shopping for the early half of the day. Surely Bit Hit wouldn’t send her out with Hoseok. Because that would undoubtedly cause a huge scandal if they were caught. Not that she would have minded spending time with him, but she wasn’t quite prepared to be bashed into the next century in the next issue of Dispatch.

Eunjae shifted a little closer to the door and tried to peer around Hoseok’s tall frame to see if any of the other members were in the hallway. Or anyone at all. When she found no one, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her, who was slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Where, um,” Eunjae paused, brows knitting as she tried to search for the words in Korean. At coming up blank, her nose scrunched. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Everyone?” Hoseok parroted back with a blink. Shrugging, he offered her a smile. “Only me.”

“Only you?” Her lips twitched up in response at their weird back-and-forth game of repeating words. As if saying them out loud would help them to translate somehow.

Pulling a hand from the pocket of his fuzzy pullover, he gestured back down the hall to where he’d informed her last night was where Bangtan resided. Their apartment was all the way on the opposite end of the corridor, and Eunjae could just barely make out the outline of the door.

“Left.” A string of non-english words then left Hoseok’s mouth and all Eunjae could do was stare up at him blankly. At noticing her confusion, his mouth pursed and he tilted his head, leaning further against the doorframe. If he felt at all frustrated by their lack of ability to communicate, he didn’t show it. “Earlier. But not me.”

“Oh. Why?”

Hoseok clasped his hands together and held them up to his cheek dramatically, swishing from side to side with his eyes closed. “Tired.”

“So you slept in, then.”

Eunjae said it out loud mostly to herself, but he answered her with a cute, “ding, ding, ding! ”

Which made her wonder how much English he could or could not understand. But that was a question to answer at some other point in time, when she wasn’t falling asleep standing up. Running her hands down her face to try and wake herself up, Eunjae’s tongue flickered across her dry lips.

“Are you here to take me with you to the company, then?” She couldn’t help but continuously feel guilty over the fact that she couldn’t communicate very well in his language. Him being the one to be forced to speak in hers didn’t sit well with her.

Eunjae could definitely tell when Hoseok was confused. In the few short hours that she’d known him in person, she received that look from him a lot. He’d tilt his head to the side and furrow his brow a bit. Then his eyelashes would flutter faster than normal as if the answer to his confusion was right in front of him, but he just couldn’t see it. And his pale pink lips would part just enough to stop from looking like a full on pout. Not only that, but a small little hum would resonate in the back of his throat, sounding more like a sigh than not.

And Eunjae was on the receiving end of a very confused Hoseok.

Pursing her lips, she tried to think of a way to communicate what she was trying to say. Her mind went blank and she cringed internally at the now awkward air encasing them like a bubble. Eunjae wasn’t really sure if a game of charades full of wild gestures and confused faces would somehow disperse the cringeworthy tension.

Too caught up in trying to find a way to bridge the invisible, gaping chasm between them, Eunjae failed to see the imaginary light bulb go off above Hoseok’s head. His sudden movement, however, caught her attention as he fished back into his pocket and whipped out his phone. He quickly held up a finger telling her to wait as his other hand swiped across the screen. Eunjae couldn’t see exactly what he was doing due to the fact that he had what looked like a privacy screen attached to the glass.

Hoseok whipped his phone around to show her and Eunjae almost smacked her forehead at her stupidity. On display was a translator app and as he passed her the phone, she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t thought of the idea. It was so obvious.

“Talk for English to Korean.” He waved a hand at the phone, but before she could speak, the app picked up his voice and a translated version of what he’d just said came out of the speakers in a robotic voice.

Snorting in amusement, Eunjae repeated what she’d said previous and Hoseok let out a tiny hum and gestured for his phone back. The words that left his mouth went in one ear and out the other, and Eunjae shifted on her feet as she waited for the app to translate. Hopefully she’d be able to get a burner phone sometime during the day so that she could download the app for herself. Getting lost in a foreign country with no means of communication was something that was not on her bucket list. After mentally calculating the funds in her bank account, she was sure she could swing it.

“Sejin texted that someone would be here to pick you up at eleven.” The female monotonous, robotic tone snapped Eunjae out of her thoughts and she eyed the phone Hoseok held out between them. “But you have no clothes, right?”

It took Eunjae a second too long to figure out how he knew that bit of information. The night before (or that morning) had been kind of a blur to her. The memories came back to her slowly: him questioning her about her missing luggage, and the add on the fact that she was still in the same outfit.

Hopefully I don’t smell bad . She unconsciously wrinkled her nose at the thought.

“Right.”

Instead of answering her, Hoseok pushed off the doorframe and gifted Eunjae with one of his eye smiles. He gestured for her to follow him and her face contorted in confusion, but she slipped on her shoes still by the door and stepped out into the hall anyway. As the door closed behind her, Eunjae couldn’t help but ask, “where are we going?”

She asked more out of curiosity than anything else. Miles would always berate her about the fact that she was too spontaneous, too willing to bounce from one plan to the next. Eunjae was the type of person to just go along with whatever was thrown her way. And she liked to live life that way; there was something freeing about not holding yourself to a plan sometimes. Most of her more cherished memories were created by taking a leap of faith.

“Clothes!” Hoseok threw over his shoulder, waving his hand in the air to usher her along. Eunjae’s short legs had a hard time keeping up with his long ones and she internally cursed her genetics. At least being a 5’1” woman in South Korea was kind of average. Well, that’s what Eunjae liked to tell herself anyway.

The hallway they were walking down was empty and she took a moment to wonder if any of the other apartments in the building housed celebrities. Surely they had to, what with how expensive they were and the amount of security to even get into the building. Hopefully that meant that there would be little risk of someone exposing the nature of her and Hoseok’s soulbond.

That was just a hassle she didn’t want to deal with.

Eunjae almost ran into the back of the rapper, shoes scruffing against the carpet as she slid to an abrupt stop. Hoseok didn’t seem to notice, instead quickly keying in the code to the apartment and swinging it open. He turned to the side, back pressed against the door to hold it open, and motioned for her to enter first.

The situation was slowly starting to dawn on her. As an ARMY for a little over a year, the prospect of being granted access to Bangtan’s apartment threatened to bring out the fangirl in her. The shock of Hoseok being her soulmate had still not settled in, but as Eunjae was brought more and more into his world, the reality she once knew began to shatter. For now, the walls were merely cracked, but she didn’t doubt that once she met the rest of the members, it would implode into tiny pieces.

After taking a moment to compose herself and not let her inner ARMY show, Eunjae crossed over the threshold. As she passed through the doorway, her shoulder brushed against Hoseok and the electric heat that jolted under her skin almost made her trip over her feet. That feeling was something that Eunjae doubted she would ever get used to. The sound of the door closing drew her attention away from the wide hallway of the entryway and back to Hoseok.

“Need to hurry.” He waved her to follow him as he walked quickly through the wide hallway of the entryway.

Eunjae nodded in response, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it from where he walked in front of her. Hoseok turned left at the end of the short hallway wand the apartment opened up into the big living room. The far wall was made up of all windows, though the blinds were drawn halfway down so she could barely see the view of the city.

The building was located in Hanam Hill, which housed some of the most expensive apartments in Seoul. It was just far enough out of the heart of the city to provide privacy, but not so far that the boys had to travel a long distance to the company. Eunjae had yet to get the chance to see the view from her own apartment since she’d gotten in so late.

The boy’s living room was nice and spacious, but it wasn’t at all flashy. The two of them passed by a large cream colored L-shaped couch and with a wide screen tv mounted to the wall. It was decorated with various knick-knacks that must have been collected from various members.

The marble floor reflected the lights overhead and Eunjae had to stop her jaw from dropping at the sight of the luxury kitchen. It was big, way bigger than hers, and all of the equipment looked state of the art. Which made her wonder if the boys had some kind of personal chef, or if they all just ordered in whenever Seokjin didn’t want to cook.

Hoseok must have caught her rapidly wandering eyes because he threw a grin over his shoulder and offhandedly waved around the space. “See later.”

“You have to go?” Eunjae assumed that’s why he was speed walking through the apartment like a bat out of hell. She had to speed up to a trot in order to keep up as they passed various closed doors down the hallway next to the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Hoseok finally stopped at a door on the left that was already cracked open. He pushed it the rest way and spun around to usher her in. “Practice.”

Hoseok’s room wasn’t super huge, and Eunjae already knew through Miles that he shared it with Jimin. There were two beds against the far wall, separated by a bedside table. There were a few shelves hanging on the walls with various trinkets that Eunjae couldn’t tell who they belonged to. Hoseok crossed the carpet and stopped at a closet door. There was another one a little to the left, which must have been Jimin’s.

Without pause, the door swung open to reveal a smaller version of a walk-in closet. It was big enough to fit both of them if they squeezed, but not so large that she could fully stretch out if she laid down. There were clothes hung up in a random order that Eunjae couldn’t discern, bright colors popping out in between darker ones. Lines of drawers covered the bottom half of the opposite wall, but all of them were closed.

Back pressed up against the door frame, Hoseok gently laid a hand on her shoulder to guide her closer to the closet. “Pick any.”

“For me?” Eunjae pointed a finger at herself. She felt a little slow on the uptake.

Sure, he’d said that he was taking her to get clothes, but she didn’t imagine that he’d give her some of his. Her inner fangirl was starting to crawl its way out and Eunjae had to bite down to keep it from escaping. Was he really about to give her full access to his closet? Not only was her inner ARMY screaming, but the wannabe fashion designer inside of her couldn’t wait to pick through his designer clothes.

Her excitement at the situation must have been showing because Hoseok’s contagious giggle left his throat. He moved away from the door to stand behind her, both of his hands on her shoulders as he ushered her closer. “For you!”

As he let his hands drop, Eunjae turned to shoot him a beaming, grateful smile. The one that made her nose crinkle. “Thanks, Hobi.”

Hoseok grinned and mumbled something in Korean too fast for her to catch. Before she could ask what he’d said, the phone in his pocket dinged . He slipped it out and glanced at the screen before giving her an apologetic smile. “Got to go.”

“Go!” Eunjae waved him off with both hands, not wanting to be the reason he got in trouble. “Don’t be late.”

Hobi hummed and put his phone and opened his arms wide to gesture at his closet. “Stay. Pick any. I will see you...soon!”

For whatever reason, he’d decided not to use the translator on his phone. Either he forgot about it in his haste or he wanted to go without, Eunjae wasn’t sure. But she appreciated the gesture either way. If anything, him trying his best to speak English gave her more incentive to learn more Korean for him.

Eunjae was a little shocked that he trusted her, a near stranger, enough to leave her alone in Bangtan’s apartment. Sure, they were soulmates, but she could have been some kind of crazy sasaeng. So him gifting her that trust was something that she didn’t want to betray.

“See you soon.”

Hoseok gave her a cute little wave before disappearing out the room. As she turned back to the numerous amount of clothes hanging in the closet she could hear the front door open and close. With hands on her hips, Eunjae spun in a small circle, analyzing the different choices. She already knew that she didn’t have a chance in hell of fitting into any of the taller man’s pants. At least not if she wanted to be able to walk without tripping over herself every five seconds. Her fingertips brushed through the fabric with pursed lips.

She was going to have to get creative.

As he walked down the hall, Hoseok could hear the boisterous sounds of the rest of his members spilling out of the practice room. Jimin’s laugh greeted his ears as Hoseok pushed open the door and slipped inside the room. All six of the boys were sitting in a messy circle in the center of the room and the smell of fried chicken and sweat invaded his nostrils.

Jungkook turned at the sound of the door closing with half a piece of chicken sticking out of his mouth. A mumbled, “hey, hyung,” sent bits of chewed up food spraying from his mouth and onto the floor.

“Kook-ah!” Jimin scrunched his nose down at the mess next to his leg. “That’s disgusting.”

Jungkook just shrugged and shoved the rest of the chicken into his mouth. His greeting brought everyone else’s attention to Hoseok as he crossed the room to squeeze in between Yoongi and Taehyung. Neither of them moved to make room, so Hoseok just stretched his legs out between them, half leaning on Yoongi as he did so.

“‘Bout time you got here.” Yoongi raised a brow at the other rapper as he brought his chopsticks to his mouth.

Namjoon, who sat on the opposite side of the circle, quickly swallowed the food in his mouth before addressing Hoseok. “So, how is she adjusting?”

Leaning back on his hands, Hoseok gave a small half-shrug. All eyes were back on him again as they waited for his answer. The members had been just about as excited for his soulmate to arrive as he’d been. Though the language barrier was definitely a large obstacle, Hoseok still had faith that they could figure out an effective way to communicate.

Prior to his soulmate’s arrival, he’d been following Namjoon around in his free time to bug him for English lessons. Hoseok may have known enough English to somewhat follow along during American interviews, but he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to have full blown conversations. That was where the regret had settled in. He definitely should have been more adamant in the past about learning it, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Hoseok had gone out on a limb when he first met Eunjae by giving her his contact information. Sure, she was his soulmate, but he wasn’t reckless enough not to take the fact that she was a fan into consideration.

The rest of his members had been a little worried and somewhat skeptical, but at the end of the day, they trusted Hoseok’s judgement. They knew that he wouldn’t do anything to put them in harm’s way. He’d had faith that the universe wouldn’t pair him with someone who wasn’t a good person, so he’d taken the risk. And it had paid off.

Though he didn’t really know that much about her and they hadn’t been able to communicate a whole lot with his intense schedule. But Hoseok held out hope that they could form a strong bond. He’d been taken by surprise by just how strong the magnetizing pull between them was. Even after all of the research that he did as he laid in bed late at night hours after practice and interviews and studio sessions.

Jung Hoseok would be the first to admit that he didn’t know a whole lot about soulmates. He’d never paid much attention to it during primary school. The only time it even crossed his mind was whenever a news article would come out, but even then he’d forget about it soon after. Which was yet another thing he regretted.

Maybe if he’d paid more attention, he would have been prepared for how addicting the touch of a soulmate was. It was like a drug that he couldn’t help but want to get his hands on all the time. Not that he would, since he barely knew her and didn’t want to scare her off somehow.

Hell, he was barely even conscious of his body’s own movements before he touched her. Hoseok wasn’t even big on copious amounts of skinship with the exception of the other members. Even then, he wasn’t as touchy as Jimin or Taehyung. So wanting to constantly initiate skinship with a near stranger was overwhelming.

“Earth to Hobi-ya!”

A kick to the bottom of Hoseok’s show brought him out of his thoughts. Seokjin raised an eyebrow from across the circle, waving his chopsticks like he could magically pull the thoughts from his head.

Hoseok shot him an innocent look. “Did you say something, hyung?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Jin gave another kick to his shoe. “What’s got you all spaced out? Namjoonie asked how your soulmate is adjusting.”

“Ah.” The rapper gave Namjoon a sheepish smile, who just waved him off in response. “I’m not sure. It hasn’t even been a day.”

“But we’re gonna meet her today, right?” Taehyung turned to him with hopeful brown eyes.

He’d been one of the most excited ones to meet her beside Jimin. And Hoseok couldn’t help the grateful blanket that settled in his chest. The fact that his members were so accepting of the situation was something that he was thankful for. If they wound up not getting along with his soulmate, Hoseok wasn’t sure what he’d do. So he didn’t think about it.

Hoseok patted Tae’s shoulder with a smile. “Yup! She should be here some time later. Try not to embarrass me.”

He’d said the last part playfully, but a small part of him meant it.

“You said to make sure that we embarrass you, hyung?” Jungkook’s doe eyes peered over another piece of chicken that he was about to shove into his mouth. Though his overly innocent expression gave away his mischief.

“That’s what I heard.” Yoongi’s monotone voice did well to hide his playful sarcasm. He ignored the deadpan look from Hoseok and busied himself with downing the rest of his coffee.

“Let’s at least try not to scare her.” Namjoon, ever the responsible leader piped up with a shrug and a snort of amusement. “At least let her settle in first.”

“So don’t let her meet anyone then. Got it.”

The kick to the bottom of Hoseok’s shoe came from Jimin this time and he ignored it in favor of pushing Taehyung’s chopsticks away from his face. The smell of chicken must have broken through whatever tied over exhaustion gracing Hoseok’s system, because his stomach growled loudly enough for the whole room to hear.

Seokjin eyed him from across the circle, eyes narrowed and pouty lips pursed. His expressions morphed into one of concern as he nodded his head towards the food containers in the center of the circle of boys. “You should eat something.”

Hoseok’s nose wrinkled at the thought of putting any type of food in his mouth. The last time he’d eaten something, the taste of garbage had coated his tongue for the rest of the day. It wasn’t something that he really desired to repeat, so he wanted to forgo that option for as long as he could. “I’m okay.”

“Jin-hyung’s right.” Taehyung pushed the piece of chicken dangling from his chopsticks against Hoseok’s lips. “You should eat.”

With a grimace, Hoseok opened his mouth to reiterate that he wasn’t in the mood to scrape the taste of decay from his taste buds. But before he could, Taehyung shoved the food into his open mouth. Cringing in absolute disgust, Jin sent him a glare before he could spit it out.

“Chew and swallow.”

Not wanting to be on the other side of Seokjin’s wrath, Hoseok did his best to chew without letting the food touch his tongue. After he swallowed, Taehyung ducked his head to hide his smile of victory.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

Hoseok would have answered Jin if it wasn’t for the fact that his stomach twisted in sudden nausea. The small bit of food that he’d just eaten was about to make a reappearance. Ignoring the looks of concern from the other boys, Hoseok shot off the floor and stumbled his way to the door. He’d almost made it too, but his system was fast working and he hadn’t been quick enough.

His fear of throwing up came to fruition--all over the floor of the practice room.

“Fuck.”

[tran5rightsos]

My Hourglass Is In Your Hands

Summary: A day of fishing in the lagoon with Luke is cancelled when his and Ashton's skiff springs a leak. What will they do with their surprise day off?

Genre: Steampunk

Relationships: Lashton

Word count: 1881

Warnings: blood and injury

Leave Kudos?

Ashton leaned out the window to reach the small pail hanging from the awning, gritting his cigarette holder tight between his teeth to leave both hands free so that he could pour the water collected last night into his window box. The little white flowers were just opening up in the morning sunlight, like snowflakes peppering the green shrubs.

Leaning on the windowsill, he took a puff of his cigarette and gazed out at the city clinging to the cliffs around the lagoon. Generally, all was quiet since most people were still in bed, but as he listened to the approaching whir of propellers, a dinghy descended in front of him. He gave the pilot a wave, watching them sink towards the Great Eye, where other airboats buzzed to and from its surface like dragonflies. Early morning was always a busy time down there.

The timer on Ashton’s oven dinged and he put out the stub of his cigarette before heading back in. The blueberry muffins were golden on top and when he cut one open, a puff of steam rising into the cool morning air, he found that it was soft and springy inside.

The rhythmic squeak of the pulley outside the window alerted him to the bucket coming down from Luke’s house. He hurried out to grab the rope and help pull it down to his sill. The bucket felt heavier than usual and when he opened the lid he found a jar of jam with the note.

skiff sprung a leak. wont make it to the eye today, was the message Luke had sent, with a sad face and the morning weather report written out underneath. The jam had a tag labelled strawberry with a smiley face underneath tied beneath the lid.

Ashton watched another airboat rise past the window, contemplating his suddenly empty schedule. He had plenty of weed and knew a good spot for watching the clouds and losing track of time. He took down the notebook and pencil hanging next to the window.

rolling cigarettes, meet me at the market in an hour? he wrote.  

He wrapped a muffin for Luke in cloth and sent it up with the note, smiling when he felt Luke start pulling the rope with him.  

He went back to the stove, nibbling on his muffin as he wrapped the other two. They wouldn’t be seeing Michael and Calum today, but the snacks would be welcome after a few shared cigarettes. He made the usual sandwiches for him and Luke, then got the weed jar down and started rolling cigarettes, wondering if it would be worth restocking the jar while he was out.  

Luke’s reply to his suggestion was an ok with another smiley face.  

Once his lunchbox was packed, Ashton deliberated in the bathroom mirror. He’d better change into something more presentable than his fishing jumpsuit and singlet. A waistcoat and button-up, to start with. Was his nice jacket too nice for a day out in the cliffs with a friend? Even if that friend was Luke?  

He settled on his trenchcoat, to play it safe. He wouldn’t mind it getting covered in ash, he reasoned, and he wouldn’t feel overdressed if they dropped into a pub at some point. It looked good with his semi-nice trousers and boots anyway.  

As Ashton gave himself a final once-over, he heard a roll of thunder outside and frowned. Luke’s weather report hadn’t predicted anything but sun all day. He turned and spotted the underside of a massive airship outside the window in time to feel the room shudder so violently he had to grip a bedpost to stay standing. Outside, tiny pieces of debris rained down and his and Luke’s bucket fell past, followed by the wooden beam Luke’s end of the pulley was attached to and a huge hunk of burned metal. Ashton’s end ripped out with a splintering snap and above him someone screamed.  

Ashton stared at the ceiling. Luke.  

Abandoning the lunchbox, Ashton ran to the door, hands shaking as he pulled the handle and wrenched it open. A few neighbours were out in the hallway, but he ignored their questioning looks as he raced to the ladder at the end, climbing the rungs two at a time to reach Luke’s floor.  

Ashton didn’t think about how he’d get in until he reached the door, feeling both relieved that it was ajar and anxious that Luke wasn’t out in the hallway. He pushed it open and froze.  

The lagoon-facing wall was gone aside from what had been blown into the room, the view of the sinking airship outside and the smoking hole in its hull only slightly obscured by metal beams twisting downwards from the roof. The room itself was a wreck of plaster, shattered glass and splintered floorboards bashed in by burned metal chunks.    

Shaken out of his trance by a cry, Ashton searched the room for the source to find Luke on the floor next to his radio, a warped piece of thin pipe running through his thigh and blood streaming through his hair. Ashton rushed to his side, eyes fixing first on the side of his head. The tip of his ear was hanging by a sliver of skin, a long but thankfully shallow wound marking where a piece of metal had nearly taken out his eye as well.

Ashton took out his handkerchief and pressed it to the head wound.  

“Ash,” Luke gasped.  

“I’m here,” Ashton assured him, glancing around the room again. Outside, a sheet of corrugated roofing fell past. “We gotta go. Hold the handkerchief there.” They weren’t in immediate danger, but he didn’t want to take risks with whatever damage the structures above them had taken.  

He went to Luke’s bathroom, half of the bath itself probably at the bottom of the Eye by now and a piece of sky now visible above the airship, and searched the cupboard for medical supplies. There was gauze and a length of bandage, but nothing like the emergency kit they kept on the skiff. He grabbed the bandage and hurried back out to Luke.  

“Keep holding that,” he reminded him, pressing the now soaked handkerchief back to the wound, “Can you lift your leg? I need to bandage it.”  

Luke groaned, his foot shifting a little. Ashton helped him pull his knee up just enough to reach underneath. He could feel the tip of the pipe through his blood-wettened trousers, twisted and sharp.  

“I gotta cut your trousers open. Knife?”

“Knife?” Luke questioned breathlessly.

“Where are your knives?”

“Oh.” Luke took a shuddering breath and pointed to his bed. “Toolbelt.”

Ashton spotted the toolbelt hanging from a bedpost and grabbed it, first finding Luke’s large fishing knife, then a multitool with a relatively sturdy pair of scissors. He picked the multitool, not wanting to risk further injury to Luke’s leg with his shaky hands. After cutting a wide hole around the end of the pipe, Ashton carefully set loops of bandage around both ends and started winding it around his leg.

“I was about to go,” Luke told him, voice straining, “I was about to turn off the radio when I heard their distress call. The window shattered.”

“They aren’t falling too fast,” Ashton noted with a glance at the top of the airship outside, “Must’ve just been a couple of cells.”

Now that Luke had drawn his attention to it, Ashton could hear the announcer on the radio requesting aid for the airship and the areas hit by debris. He tuned it out again to focus on Luke.

“Sit up for me?”

Luke clutched Ashton’s arm tightly as he helped him up, groaning.

“Can you walk?”

Breathing deeply, Luke nodded. He tensed as Ashton secured his grip on him, breaths coming out shorter and faster as if to ready himself. Ashton lifted him slowly, but Luke still cried out as his leg shifted.

“I don’t think I can move it,” he whimpered.

“That’s okay, just lean on me.” Ashton took a small step to the door, Luke lurching with him. “That’s it, come on.”

The hardest part was getting over the doorstep. Ashton went first and Luke dragged his foot over it sideways, going pale as he bit his lip hard. Luke’s neighbours seemed to have fared better, though Ashton supposed that any injured worse than Luke would likely still be trapped in their homes.

“Medic?” Ashton asked someone hurrying between the people in the hallway, a red medical kit in hand.

They looked at the pipe. “Shit. Uh… Take him to the atrium, someone’ll be there soon, I gotta...”

Ashton nodded understandingly.

Luke’s floor opened onto a balcony stretching along the cliff wall, the bottom of the atrium a couple of floors below them. The whole area was shielded from the weather by a wall with a large, domed window, now cracked by a piece of wreckage, though that didn’t stop onlookers from staring at the airship outside.

Ashton laid Luke down on a nearby bench, feet on the floor and the pipe clear of the edge to keep it from getting jostled, and went to the railing, searching for a medic in the crowd below them but finding his gaze drawn to the airship. A few tugboats had attached lines to it, slowing its descent. The airship clearly wasn’t designed for water landings and Ashton wondered how many tugboats it would take to lift it over the cliffs to safety. Maybe they’d just rescue the people aboard and let the deep blue of the Eye take it.

“Ash.”

Ashton hurried back to Luke’s side, pressing the handkerchief to his head. “What’s wrong?”

Luke gripped his hand. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

Luke nodded weakly, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “Stay.”

There probably wasn’t much point to running in circles and screaming anyway. Ashton settled on the floor next to Luke, gently rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb as he kept pressure on the head wound with his other hand.

From here, Ashton couldn’t see the Eye, but he saw a fire boat whizz past, firefighters manning the water cannons on the side.

“Are you hurt?” Luke asked weakly.

Ashton looked at him and shook his head. “My house didn’t get hit.”

At least, not while Ashton had been there. He considered the debris he’d seen falling outside Luke’s and wondered what state his own home would be in when he returned.

Ashton frowned. When would he return? Emergency services might block off the hallways to the areas that had been hit with debris while they got the situation under control, which could take all night. The areas below would probably be blocked off while debris was cleared away and that could take days. The hit buildings would have to be repaired. In Luke’s case, probably completely rebuilt. Ashton hoped they’d give him a chance to grab his personal belongings first.

“We might have to stay with Cal and Mike,” Ashton suggested to Luke.

“Sleepover,” Luke mumbled in reply.

Ashton chuckled. “Yeah. A sleepover.”

“We can all sleep in the bed together.”

“All of us?” Ashton laughed, “Might be a bit of a squeeze.”

“Cozy.”

“Cozy,” Ashton repeated, giving Luke’s hand a squeeze.

[thegodshavehorns]

Capture the Wind (4/5)

Chapter 4: Zugzwang

You are on the road all night.

You watch the lit signs along the road pass by, the lights of the cars flashing red and white. It’s mid Leo and the night is warm and clear. You wonder where you’re going, but don’t want to ask your dad. You’re kind of angry at him. He’s trying to run away from the Seer, and he thinks you’re in danger. But you prayed a lot when you were still going to church and nothing bad ever happened. Your dad is full of shit, and you sit sullenly in the passenger seat, marinating in your resentment.

Your dad doesn’t talk much, and you fall asleep around 2am slumped over a duffel bag. Your sleep is troubled, but you don’t remember your dreams.

In the morning, you are in Canada.

Your dad pulls into the lot of an economy-size motel in a small town, and buys a room. You are exhausted and unhappy and have no trace of empathy for your dad. So what if he drove all night? He chose to do that. Today is Vantaday; you were supposed to go to karate lessons! You don’t even have a permission slip or anything.

You pick up a set of keycards with the receptionist, and drag your duffel and your dad’s suitcases to the second floor. As your dad fiddles with the key card, you pretend to be interested in the floral patterns on the walls. You are pretty sure the receptionist said the room only had one bed. This is going to suck.

When the door opens, the Seer is inside the room.

She has obviously dressed to impress. Her robe is billowing (did she set up a fan?), and she has sigils of Mind blazoned not just on her chest but down the sides of her leggings and on bracelets that attach to rings on her fingers. The blue-green outfit is accentuated by splashes of red, on the belt, the shoes, and the cuffs of her sleeves. Her wings, which you’ve only seen her spread a few times, practically fill the tiny motel room.

She tilts her head, and the red glasses flash. “Took you a long enough. Was the traffic that bad?”

Your dad is standing utterly still, one arm held to the out as though to shield you from the goddess. But this is stupid, you’ve talked with her plenty of times before. You don’t really like her, but you’re not scared of her, not anymore.

The Seer sighs. “You told yourself that this would work, didn't you? My friend Eridan would be livid. Mr. Egbert, I think you are underestimating how valuable your son is to us.”

Your dad does not respond, and she steps to the side, revealing a small table and some chairs. “Unless you want to talk still half-standing in the hallway, I would recommend coming inside.”

You look up at your dad. Slowly, he nods, and steps forward, but only just enough to let the door close behind him. “John,” he says. “You should stay out-”

“No, he shouldn’t,” interrupts the Seer. “It is important for him to be involved.”

A brief look of pain passes over your dad's face. “Please, Seer, he is only a-”

“God,” interrupts the Seer. “He is only a God.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your dad pales.

The Seer smiles like a shark, and folds her hands on the carved head of her cane. “Oh, good, I have your attention. Now come in before I start to get irritated.”

----------------------

You sit at the table, looking at your dad and the Seer, who are standing. Your dad refuses to sit.

She is explaining your destiny.

“There is a method,” she says, “by which mortals become gods. A trial, of sorts. This trial is only viable for certain individuals, and your son is one of those. Some of my... cohort don’t feel that this method of ascension should be used, but its occurrence is both necessary and inevitable. And, this is the most important part, even though the trial is going to inevitably happen, it is not inevitable that it succeed. Your son may die in the attempt. And so I have, out of the desire to see this trial succeed, taken it upon myself to tutor your son in the necessary skills for ascending to godhood.”

“I will not let you put my son into danger.” Your dad is talking back to the Seer. He’s defying her. You know he’s an atheist but this is insane.

“Your son has already accepted his destiny." The Seer materializes a coin from nowhere and flips it. “It was his choice.”

Your dad looks at you, and you try to stare back as defiantly as you can. “My son is a minor. He can’t be held to this.”

“Well, if you’re going to talk legality, Mr. Egbert, I think you might find yourself out of your depth.” The Seer flips her coin. “You will find that there are loopholes regarding divine pacts and agreements in the laws and statutes of every country on this planet, and in those of most other planets within reach.

“In addition,” she continues. “I think you may have missed the part where I said that the occurrence of the trial is inevitable. In a sense, it has already happened. Surely you know that we gods created ourselves? So it is with John. He has already created himself, and so it is certain that he will face this trial. And neither you nor I nor any other force in this universe could prevent it.” The Seer leans on her cane. “With that in mind, know that I am here to help your son. If it’s his safety you are worried about, rest assured that I am here to make him immortal. With my help, your son will live to see stars birth and die, watch civilizations rise and fall. He will be praised and worshipped. His potential will be limitless. Isn’t that what any father would want?”

Your dad is very still. “How confident are you?”

“I know the trial will happen. I cannot guarantee its success, but training John under my wings is a decent way to hedge his bets.”

“Has it happened before?”

The Seer is impassive. “Not on this planet.”

“And when is this trial to occur?”

“When John is ready.” The Seer pauses. “You are already thinking that you can sabotage my efforts and delay the trial. You think that if you delay it long enough, the inevitable will not occur.” She shakes her head. “You would not be doing your son any favors, by interfering with his training.”

Your dad looks like he’s about to speak, but the Seer interrupts again. “You cannot outrun me, outwait me, or outwit me. Please don’t hurt yourself or John by trying.”

Your dad straightens. “I have conditions.”

The Seer smiles. “You are in no position to make demands, Mr. Egbert. All the same, I am willing to let John stay with you, and allow you to remain a family unit. I am willing to provide education and funds for the remainder of the time before the trial, as you and John may need them. But your final condition is misguided.”

“I will not allow you to keep hurting my son!”

The Seer flips her coin. “Mr. Egbert, I am not doing this because I enjoy hurting your son, much as he might think so. I am doing this because it will help him in his coming trials. Changing the methods of my training would be utterly beside the point. Now, if we’re done with that, you will find that SkaiaCorp has purchased a nice home for you in Calgary. You will be provided with furnishings.”

“Wait,” you interject. “We’re not going home?”

“Your home burned down last night,” the Seer says. “It is good you moved when you did. Not all the gods are as good at tracking as I am.”

Your dad slowly sinks into a chair. His expression is taut, lips pulled tight.

“I am glad we reached this understanding,” says the Seer. “Feel free to stay in this motel as long as you wish, but your new home will be waiting for you when you come out. And John,” she turns to you. “I hope you brought your hammer with you. We will be resuming our lessons tomorrow.”

She leaves, folding her wings to fit through the doorway. Your dad opens his bag and takes out his pipe. He lights it, and smokes silently for several long minutes.

Then he reaches over and hugs you, hard enough to compress your ribs. He smells of tobacco and very faintly of cake.

And all you can think about is that your computer was in your house, and all your movies.

This is going to suck.

----------------------

You stay in the motel for much longer than your dad originally paid for. You strife with the Seer in the parking lot, and attempt to play psion chess in your tiny room. Your dad applies ice packs to your bruises, and gives you clandestine but unhelpful hints about the chess until the Seer shoos him away.

When you are not with the Seer, you are bored out of your mind. You didn’t bring any books with you,  or video games, or magazines, or anything. The TV in the room is lame, but you watch it for hours with nothing better to do. Your dad won’t take you into town, won’t let you leave the motel. The Seer must have put the fear of Gods in him.

One day, your dad comes back from shopping. You watch as he takes out a small framed print of a clown and props it up on top of the TV, right next to grandma’s cookie jar of ashes. He smiles at you, his eyes sad, and you look away.

You are slowly going insane.

----------------------

The cane swipes overhead, and you duck and strike at the Seer’s knees. She jumps back and strikes low, before whipping the cane up and bashing your chin. Your teeth clack together and you reel back. You hope your teeth didn’t crack. She doesn’t usually aim for the face.

But you’re still standing, so the strife is still on. She strikes for your belly, and you answer without thinking, directing your blow not at her, but at her cane.

The cane is only light wood, and it splinters.

The Seer holds the broken cane for a moment, then grins wryly. “Not a bad idea, shortening my reach. But now the end is sharp.”

That’s not good. “What? You’re not going to…”

“Are you certain?” Her voice is low. “How can you be sure of what your enemy will or won’t do?” She takes a step forward. “How can you be sure you haven’t bitten off more than can fit down your throat?”

“We’re not enemies! That’s not why you’re even here!”

“Are you certain?”

“I don’t know!” Your teeth hurt and your chin is bleeding a little and you’re losing your temper. “How am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to do? I can’t beat you!”

“That’s a defeatist attitude, John. What’s wrong?” She takes out a coin and flips it. Are you done strifing, for now?

“Are you really asking what is wrong?” You gesture angrily with the hammer. “You should know; you know everything!”

She flips the coin. “John, whether or not you are frustrated, bored, or lonely must have no bearing on your martial ability. An enemy will take advantage of you, when you are weak.” She lifts the broken, sharp-pointed cane. “Defend yourself, John.”

But you’re not looking at her. You’re looking at the coin. She’s still flipping it, even as she steps forward to strife. Is this some kind of handicap on herself, to make up for the sharp cane?

You decide to strike first, and she blocks your hammer, unerring as usual. She strikes, and you move to block, but of course it’s a feint, and then the sharp end of the cane rips your sleeve. She’s playing with you, not even breaking skin.

She flips the coin, you strike, she blocks, one-handed. Even with the handicap, she outclasses you in every way.

The coin lands, face-up, and an odd impulse occurs to you. You strike left, and she blocks.

She flips. The coin lands, face-down, and you strike right. She blocks.

You watch the coin as you strife, giving the Seer a lesser degree of attention. She rips your pant leg, your shirt collar, then scratches a shallow cut on your forearm. You ignore it. Face-up. Left. Face-down. Right. Face-down. Right.

Face-up. Left, and she is a moment slower in blocking.

Face-down. Right, and you-

The sound is a dull thud traveling up your arm. And the Seer drops her cane, cradling her hand where you hit her.

“Shit.” You say. “Shit, gods, Seer, I’m sorry-”

She lifts her head, then bares her teeth in something that can’t possibly be a smile, can it?

“Don’t apologize.” She reaches for the cane with her other arm. “Let’s see if you can do that again.”

Your arms are shaking from exhaustion. This is probably the longest strife you’ve had yet. And now she’s not flipping the coin, how can you-

You continue your strife, she draws more blood, shallow cuts and scrapes, and you’re faltering, hoping she just ends this without poking your eye out. You wonder whether she would consider that a just punishment, for landing a hit on her.

There is a strong breeze going, and the Canadian flag is flapping in the wind. You decide to use it as an ersatz coin. If it’s flapping toward you, left, if it’s flapping away, right.

You strike left, left, left, right, right- and strike the goddess in the breastbone with a dull smack.

She staggers back, coughs, gasps. Then, she laughs.

“Oh! Gosh, oh fuck, are you okay?” You are freaking out. This is not okay.

Her laughter turns into coughing. “Go back inside, John,” she croaks. “Good work today.”

You do not feel good about this. You can’t just leave her sitting in the parking lot with possibly broken ribs! “Will you be-”

“GO 1NS1D3.”

You haven't heard her use the Tinge since you first met. You go inside.

----------------------

It’s only that night, after your dad has put unnecessary bandages on all your scrapes (which really aren’t that bad), while you’re lying awake in bed, that you realize she’s never said ‘good work’ to you before.

Does that mean you're getting closer to becoming a god, like her? You've been trying not to think about that part, about what that might mean, or what the 'trial' might be like. You imagine being forced to fight duels against powerful opponents, or to play chess against some kind of crazy-advanced 5th-dimensional computer. You toss and turn on the hide-a-bed, and as you fall into a troubled sleep, your theoretical opponents become shadowy, cackling, horned figures wielding rolled-up posters as swords, and in your half-dreaming state, behind the blackness of sleep, you see for once the faintest hints of gold...

----------------------

Two days pass, and the Seer does not return. Your dad buys another clown picture, and hangs it over the hide-a-bed. This motel room is starting to make you sick.

You are planning your escape.

By which you mean, you are not planning it. You know her weakness, now. She knows what you think, and what you choose. But she doesn’t know what you don’t think and what you don’t choose.

So you’re not going to think. You are not going to plan, you are not going to prepare, and you are going to leave your route up to chance. You are going to flip two coins, whenever you need to decide where to go. Head-Head, you go right. Tail Tail, you go left. Head-Tail, you keep straight.

You can’t tell your dad. He’d probably try to stop you. But he’s recently bought an EZ Bake oven and keeps trying to make muffins, so you can probably sneak out without him noticing.

You are leaving the room. Your dad should be busy with late-night baking, so you’re fine, you’ll be-

“Son.”

Shit. What is he doing out in the hall?

“Dad?” you ask. “What are you doing out here?”

Your dad smiles, and lifts a plastic bag. “I didn’t get quite enough chocolate at the store. I could have gone back, but I thought, ‘The vending machine has chocolate bars. I'll just get those.’ And that's what I did.”

“Oh.” You shove your hands in your pockets and fiddle with your two coins.

Your dad holds his hand out, proffering a chocolate bar. “I got an extra one for you.”

“That’s okay, Dad. I am not hungry.” You’re really not. Your stomach is fluttering and you don’t feel at all like eating.

Your dad wiggles the bar. “Chocolate is good for your heart, you know.”

You snort. “Pff. Yeah right.”

“It’s scientifically proven. Are you going to argue with science?”

“Dad, I’m fine.” How are you going to get out of this?

“It’s also scientifically proven that kids your age argue with their parents whenever possible.” Your dad is still smiling, but the expression is slightly more melancholic than before. “John, take the chocolate.”

You give your dad your most skeptical look, and he sighs.

“You can talk to me, you know. That’s what I’m here for.”

Oh crap. Not another Talk. This is not what you need right now. Time to parry the conversation. “What is there to talk about?”

Your dad reaches forward to touch the scab on your chin from the recent strife.

“Maybe stuff like that,” he says. “Or maybe the bruises that don’t show on your skin.”

You step back, avoiding his hand and taking your hands out of your pockets to shield yourself. “There is nothing to talk about. You know what’s going on now.”

Your dad nods. “I know this must be hard for you, Son. Kids aren’t meant to deal with things like this. She's trying to control our family and your future, and it's wrong.”

You mumble; “I can handle it,” and your dad affixes you with a Look.

“Dad, what do you expect me to say?” You are getting irritated now,and you groan in exasperation. “Augh, it’s, look, talking to her is no big deal. That is not a problem.”

“And the fighting?” Your dad's voice is quiet.

“That isn't a problem either. It’s nothing.” You are lying, and from the way your dad is looking at you, you’re beginning to wonder if the Seer isn’t the only mind reader around.

“Son.” Your dad leans down, looks you in the eye. “She drew blood on you. That’s not nothing.”

He’s right. You look to the side, away from him, at the cheap floral print wallpaper of the motel. “I… think I might have hurt her.”

Your dad puts down the plastic bag, then reaches into it and takes out another chocolate bar, adding it to the first. “Well done.” Then, he puts a hand on your shoulder, gently, to not aggravate the bruising. “But if this is bothering you, then we should talk about it.”

Argh. You knew you shouldn’t have said anything. You are STUPID stupid.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, chewing on your lower lip.

“You are bothered."

“Dad, I'm not, it's just... I dunno, it is weird and strange and I don't know how I'm supposed to act or feel. At all. I do not know what I am supposed to do. Argh. It's like, I don't know. It's dumb. I just can't figure out what she wants from me.” You lower your voice, not even sure if you should be saying this next part, hoping that she can’t hear you thinking it. "I don’t really like her. And I do not think she wants me to like her. But I didn't like hurting her, either."

Your dad gestures vaguely near his face, and you get the feeling that he’d like to have a pipe there. “Well. At least I don’t have to worry about my son getting a crush on a goddess.”

“Dad, please. I am serious.”

“I’m serious too. You don't understand, being a kid, but that would be a real headache. Who would you ask for a blessing, for one? She made herself, so is she her own mother and father?”

You roll your eyes so far back that your eyeballs hurt. “Okaaaaay, Dad!”

Your dad is grinning like a cat. “At least fall in love with a regular alien, if you decide to go that route. They might have funny numbers of eyes and arms, but at least I would know what to do when the in-laws are over.”

“DAD.”

“SON.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me?”

He abruptly stops smiling. “I want you to be happy. And I will defy any god who stands in the way of that.”

“Well, that sure didn't make a difference with the Seer!” you snap. It comes out a lot harsher than you meant it to, and you can see immediately that your dad is hurt.

“You’re right,” he says, softly. “I’m sorry, John. I failed you.”

That makes you really uncomfortable to hear, and you put your hands back in your pockets. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just saying, it probably doesn’t matter what you do to try and stop her, she’ll do it anyway.”

“Maybe she lied,” says your dad. “It’s been known to happen. Maybe it’s not inevitable, this thing she is training you for.”

“Maybe.” That’s what you’re banking on. You broke her prophecy about your dad, after all. “She doesn’t know everything.”

Your dad arches a brow. “Oh?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s how I hurt her. I found something she couldn't predict.”

“A blind spot, you could say?” your Dad proffers, and you groan. “And what is this ‘something?’”

You pause. You can’t afford to let your ace slip from your sleeve. “I don’t want to say it out loud. Or even think about it a lot.  It is all I have right now.”

Your dad makes that gesture again, like he’s reaching for his pipe. “I see. So what are you planning to do, if you can’t think about it?”

You clutch the coins tightly in your pockets. You could lie to your dad, but at this point you just… really want someone on your side. You are so lonely.

“I’m going to run.” And, at the shocked look on your dad’s face, you continue hurriedly, wanting to explain, not giving him the chance to scold you for being stupid. “I feel like I have to. She hasn't been back in a few days, so now's my chance. And anyway, like you said, since she doesn't know everything, maybe she's wrong about the trial, too.”

Your dad looks solemn. “John, is that what you were going to do, when you bumped into me?”

You look away, “No. I mean, yes.”

“Weren’t you going to bring anything with you?”

“I… didn’t want to think too much about it.”

You glance back at your dad. His lips are sealed tight, but his eyes look soft, almost sad. Is he going to punish you? Send you back into the motel room?

Then, he whips out his wallet, and hands it to you.

“Dad?

“Use the credit cards only if you absolutely have to. They could use them to track you, so use the paper money for what you need. You have five thousand dollars in cash. Budget it."

You take the wallet, eyes wide. You didn’t know what you expected, but it sure wasn’t this. “Dad???”

Your dad is grabbing you by the shoulders, marching you forward. You don’t push back or resist, absolutely flummoxed. He’s still talking. “Don’t withdraw more than a thousand dollars at one location. Don’t go into any churches. Don’t talk to anyone wearing a sigil.”

You are outside the motel, in the parking lot. Your dad turns you around and hugs you, squeezing your shoulders so hard it would hurt even without the bruises.

He lets go of you, not waiting for you to hug him back. “Now go.”

You don’t have time to say anything, no thank yous or goodbyes. He’s already gone into the motel. You’re holding his wallet in one hand, your coins in the other.

You nod, even though he can’t see it. You breathe. Then you turn, and run.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Advil and Water (Cause Goodwin Ain’t No Scmuck) - You’re An Idiot - Part 2

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: swearing, asshole FBI agents, abduction, canon compliant violence, Irish Gaelic that I used an online translator for cause my Granna was forced to stop speaking it by the Catholic church so I never learned it.

After their little... ‘meet and greet’ Ingrid called her partner, who called their boss, and they hurried their asses up. They got warrants to plant bugs in all of the Burke residences. Every friend, acquaintance, and family member, including and a cousin twice removed who called Tim Burke too much to leave him out of it. And since they’d used Will’s information to get a warrant to get more information, they decided that he wasn’t particularly useful. Put him on even more of an information diet than he was already on. 

Ingrid and two grumpy men, one young and annoyed, the other old and surly, sat across from the couple. Glaring at both of them as they had Nat and Will signed NDA’s. 

“You two might get subpoenaed if this case ever goes to court. You know, given that you didn’t follow my express orders.”

“You know what Ingrid? I don’t really care. I did not want to be doing this in the first place. It put myself and my family at risk. You forced me to do it. And another thing, because of the info I gave you, you got access to all their houses, electronics, and bank accounts. And isn’t that worth much more in court than witness testimony?”

Silence.

“Is that all you need us to sign?”

“Yes, you two can go now.”

“Uh, this conference room is in our hospital. Our place of work. You don’t get to dismiss us.”

“Wow, Halstead, you have some nerve-”

“Enough. I said ‘no’, I said that I didn’t want to do it. You forced me to put my fiance and my son in danger. My family. You have no idea of the damage you’ve caused in the three of us. You don’t get to talk to us about ‘nerve’.” Will stared all three agents down. 

They were met with curious gazes and obvious whispers from the hospital staff as the feds slunk out the ED doors. “Hey, guys, are you okay?”

“We are now, Maggie. We are now.” Natalie held his hand and kissed his cheek. Things were still fractured between them, things still needed fixing, but Will could feel their bond strengthening as he revelled in the loving gaze Natalie was blessing him with. “I love you Nat. You and Owen. So, so much.”

“We love you too.”

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For the first time in four months Will and Natalie heard from Agent Ingrid. They were rounding up the Burke’s, but they lost Tim. He was on the loose and he knew that Will was involved. They didn’t know who did it, but info had been leaked to the Burke’s just before the arrests were made and Tim was the only one to move fast enough and get away.

“Helen just galled from the interstate, there were no troubles getting Owen out of preschool and she doesn’t think they’re being followed. She says that she’ll be at the safe house Jay got us in an hour and a half.”

“Good, now we really need to get going.” But their car didn’t make it out of the parking lot, just their parking spot before they were T-boned by a black Mercedes. Will was too distraught and preoccupied with an unconscious and bleeding Natalie to watch the hulking figure stomp over to his side of the vehicle. “Natalie, can you hear me? Wake up! Nat, please I-”

“Hey Halstead.”

Crack.

Nothingness.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Will woke up his head was throbbing and he could hear the blood pulsing through his body. His esophagus had been replaced with sandpaper, and his lips were painfully chapped. “Well look who’s finally awake.”

“Eurgh...”

A fistful of Hair was painfully grabbed from the back of his head. “Hey! I am talking to you. You snitch. You piece of shit! My family, my friends are all rotting in cells because you sold us out to the feds! Our bank accounts are frozen, my picture is on the FBI’s most-wanted list, I have been put on the no-fly list, and my family’s legacy is down the drain. All thanks to you. Y’know I have lost everything because of you, maybe it’s time you lose something because of me.” The words rattled Will’s muddled and confused brain, but he absorbed them. He understood them. Just like he understood Tim moving towards Natalie’s crumpled, unconscious form in the corner of the room and moving to lie over top of her.

Will’s vision went red, his chest constricted, and every molecule in his body was infused with unhinged, violent, fury. With adrenaline pulsing throughout his body Will backed the wooden chair he was tied to into the wall so hard it splintered into tiny pieces and was looming over Tim Burke before he could look away from where he had his fat, sweaty, grimy hands squeezing Natalie’s neck. Will grabbed Tim by a chunky arm and a roll of fat and slammed him on the ground away from Natalie. He wasted no time in bashing his fists into Burke’s face, arms when he tried to defend himself from the onslaught, and his chest. Will didn’t stop when he heard cracks and snaps coming from the other man’s body, nor did he stop when blood that wasn’t his sprayed onto his face and body. Will only stopped when he heard his name called by a soft voice he recognized in a millisecond. “Nat?”

“Will- Wh-ere- hugh-”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk. Your head- I should’ve checked you first- oh God- but the bleeding stopped. It stopped, how do you feel?”

“Like I was thrown off a horse.”

“As long as you don’t feel like you’re on death’s door.”

“And you’re okay, oh my- what happened Will?!”

“Don’t worry, none of it’s my blood. Here, I’ll look around for a phone.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will was okay for the most part, Natalie was the one who needed to be hospitalized. A brain bleed from the car accident and infection from the infested basement they were taken to kept her in the OR and out of his arms for several hours. Helen and Owen were still at the safe house, just to make sure the coast was clear, but Jay promised him they were fine as he waited silently by his brother’s side. “She’s gonna be fine, Will. She’s strong, able to handle more than most people could even think of bearing.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Well she’s engaged to you isn’t she?” And for the first time in 24 hours Will cracked, an albeit teary, smile.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Will, did you really pummel Tim Burke into a pulp for me?”

“Nat, for you and Owen, I’d do anything. Is tusa beirt mo theaghlach, mo shaol.” (You two are my family, my world)