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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

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Melody of Revenge

Word Count: 2.4k Description: Everyone knows not to mess with Lucifer Morningstar. Some, however, make the mistake of going after his family instead. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Lucifer was next, and this ended up getting really long, so uh ... yeah. Can be found on AO3 here. content warning: torture, so much torture, blood, body horror/mutilation

Fear and intimidation. Lucifer knew how to use both effectively, striking terror into any and all who looked upon him. The Avatar of Pride rarely had to remind others of just who he was, but every now and then, someone decided to step out of line. It couldn’t be helped -- imbeciles could be found wherever beating hearts or souls resided.

Tonight, however, he was dealing with a very particular kind of imbecile. One that had crossed a line so gravely that he had planned an entire torture routine in his mind as he made his way through the halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Flames of anger licked his insides as he made his way to the dungeons, but he had to keep his rage under control. Lucifer always had to be in control, every action and word deliberate and planned. He didn’t have a choice to be anything less.

“Barbatos.” He greeted the loyal butler and friend, who stood at the entrance of a particular hall of cells.

“Greetings, Lucifer.” The usual polite smile alighted his lips, though a knowing look gleamed in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to handle this one?”

“Absolutely.” He responds firmly, immediately. Barbatos usually had the pleasure of torturing those who crossed the Devildom, and he took great delight in it -- far more than even Lucifer would. After all, Lucifer found torture and punishment as a means to an end, a form of discipline.

Barbatos simply did it for fun.

“Then by all means,” the royal servant bowed slightly, gesturing with one arm towards the dark hall. “She’s all yours.” With that, he left the dungeons, having a great many other tasks to attend to for the day -- though couldn’t help leaving with a melodic, “Have fun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Lucifer’s lips. Oh, he planned to make this a very enjoyable time indeed. Taking a deep breath -- making sure that he was in control -- he dropped his glamour to reveal more of his demon form and walked forward to unlock one of the metal cell doors. It creaked open, allowing for the sounds of muffled screams to leave the dark room.

“Hello, Abyzou.”

The protests suddenly stopped, a chill seeming to settle in the air. Lucifer slowly lit the torches along the dungeon’s walls, bathing the room in a hellish orange light. There, in the middle of the cell, sat the traitor, bound and gagged. Her serpentine eyes looked up at Lucifer with a mix of fear and anger, but she otherwise remained silent and still.

“What’s wrong? Suddenly decided it was a good time to be quiet?” His voice is calm. Too calm. He eases his long coat off of his shoulders, hanging it on a hook by the door. Gloved hands begin to roll up his sleeves as he turns to look at the other demon again, a sigh leaving him. He stepped forward, and with a yank removed the gag from her mouth. “Is that better?”

Abyzou coughed, spitting to the side as she flexed her jaw after it being bound for so long. He allowed her to adjust -- he was a demon of patience, after all.

“Lucifer … “ She begins with his name, spoken with a certain kind of reverence. “I didn’t realize you would be visiting me here.”

“You didn’t?” The surprise in his voice is almost genuine. “Strange, I figured you would have been expecting me any day now, considering the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she directed her gaze elsewhere, not wanting to look upon the greater demon. There was a hint of shame in her expression, but it gave way to a twisted smile as she shook her head. “I see . . .”

“Do you?” He speaks sharply, his hatred for her beginning to show. He grabbed her jaw with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. “Do you see, Abyzou? Or are you still trying to play innocent?”

She hissed as his fingertips pressed into her skin, the red leather of his gloves saving her from the wrath of his claws -- for now. She stared into those magnetic ruby eyes and all the power they held, all of the destruction they could unleash, all of the pain they could bring.

“But was I wrong?” Abyzou knew her end was imminent, especially if the Avatar of Pride himself had requested to punish her personally. So what was the use in being anything but honest? “Was I truly wrong, Lord Lucifer?” The reverence once held in her voice was gone, replaced with mockery. She shifted in her bonds, leaning into the hand that held her jaw. “You know that the Devildom is stronger and better than the other realms, and yet we’re forced to grovel to the likes of angels!” Stretching out her neck, she continued with a jeer. “Or do you and your brothers miss having those white wings and halos for yourselves that much?”

Lucifer roughly pushed her face away from him, hand releasing her jaw. He took a step back, eyes full of cold fury still focused on the other demon. His gaze then swept the cell, taking note of the various torture instruments on display -- but grinned when he saw that Barbatos made sure to include the absolute essential. A vinyl player, the perfect record already in place to set the mood. He set it up to play, allowing the first notes to spill into the air before resuming his interrogation.

“So, you thought yourself better than the others who had agreed to His Royal Highness’ vision?” Lucifer begins to tug at the seam of one of his gloves, steadily peeling it off his hand. “Of course, we knew that plenty of the nobles had their concerns, and many voiced them, yourself included.” He sets the removed glove to the side, now beginning to take off the other. “And yet, you still decided that you would try and work against us behind the scenes,” The second glove joins its pair. “And, what I’m really trying to understand -- truly, I am -- is why you thought it would be a good idea to try and undermine the Seven Lords?”

Abyzou shifted in place, her earlier burst of bravado dwindling, and goosebumps rose along her skin as she listened to the music he decided to play. It was common knowledge to never get on Lucifer’s bad side, but she had taken the risk -- and now she would be answering for it. She lowered her head, staring at the cold stone floor, suddenly finding the way the orange light from the flames bounced and shimmered of great interest. “I . . . “ She started, trying to choose her next words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to undermine you or your brothers. I was doing what I thought would be best … including for you all! Can’t you see that I was trying to protect you, protect us?”

A piercing, incredulous laugh left Lucifer’s lips, his deep voice sending chills down Abyzou’s spine. He picked up the spool of twisted rope and approached her once more, the steady clack clack from his shoes’ heels echoing throughout the cell, mingling with the slowly increasing crescendo.

“Aby, Aby, Aby . . .” Lucifer clicked his tongue before he roughly collected a fistful of her long raven locks, eliciting a sharp cry as her head was wrenched back to look up at him. “That was your first mistake.”

The Avatar of Pride was nothing short of an expert when it came to stringing others up from the ceiling, though in this particular case, he wanted to make sure it hurt. The imprisoned demon thrashed and squirmed, but he was able to lift and tie her up with ease, making sure that the rough jute cut into her scaly skin just short of making her bleed -- for now. He tied the rope up to her waist, then put each wrist in a metal clasp that was chained to the floor, stretching out her arms to either side.

“You thought you needed to protect us? A sweet gesture,” He derided her, a claw coming up to slowly trace from her chin down through her cheek, drawing blood as it broke skin. “And an absolute lie. Your little act had every intention to put my brothers at risk, in harm’s way … “ A second claw followed the first, creating a ribbon of shredded skin. Abyzou hissed at the pain, biting back anything else in an effort to save some sense of dignity. “ … and you had the audacity to think you’d get away with it. Truly incredible.” The faux amazement in his tone felt like thorns in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look into his face.

“What’s the matter, Abyzou? Shouldn’t you be used to being in this kind of position, or at least … something not too far from it?” Lucifer smirked, delighted to see her eyes shoot back open, bright yellow irises staring at him in disbelief. “If I remember correctly … Solomon had you tied up in front of his temple, and by your hair, at that.”

That riled her up. Forked tongue lashed out to flick at his face, a series of curses leaving her lips soon after. Fangs bared, she hissed, “Don’t you dare bring up that bastard! To think that I wasn’t allowed to lay a hand on him the moment he stepped into our realm. He deserves to have his neck twisted, but you … !”

“But I . . ?” Lucifer took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, nonchalantly wiping away at where her tongue and spit landed on his visage. “Please, do go on.”

“You … you, all of you, let him in with open arms! Even after knowing everything he’s done, how he’s treated our own kind! I don’t care if you say he’s changed, HE NEEDS TO BE TORN LIMB FROM LIMB!” She screamed, thrashing about in her binds, chains rattling as she struggled.

“Temper, temper, Aby.” Oh, that sadistic, pointed grin. A wave of euphoria washed over him, seeing her like this. “You have no room to talk, considering what you’ve done.” He watched as the blood from her face dropped and dripped to the floor, a hum leaving his lips.

“Perhaps you need some more reminding of just how badly you fucked up this time.” He raised a hand, chanting a curse that caused a swirl of glowing energy to encircle both of her hands. It weaved through her clenched fists, forcing them open, and wrapped like binding around each finger. She cried out in pain as she felt the magical binding began to gradually crush her fingers, cutting off circulation knuckle by knuckle.

“You tried to have some of my brothers poisoned,” All five claws of one hand pierced the skin of her upper arm, retracted, pierced again a bit lower, and repeated -- gradually making way down her entire arm. More and more blood began to drip, the usual greenish hue of her scaly skin now awash in dark red. “You tried to gather enough support to attack them, because you were too much of a coward to come face any of us yourself. Though, it’s laughable that you thought you could do damage to us in the first place.”

“I … I’m sorry!” She knew any apologies here were useless, but the pain that she now felt at every point in her body was becoming too agonizing to ignore. “I felt like I was left with no choice!” She felt her vision get hazy, the smell of her blood and the sharp strikes of pain -- from the rope, from his claws, from the curse -- overwhelming her senses. And that damned music, it was driving her insane.

“No choice?” Lucifer scoffed, his claws now repeating the treatment on her other arm. “Abyzou, you did have a choice.” His brows furrowed, wings stretching out as he brought his face close to her upside-down one. “You just chose the wrong one.”

Tears stung her eyes, the magic binding on her hands crushing her fingers until there would be nothing left. She could hear her blood drip in puddles on the floor, and yet the bleeding wasn’t enough for her life to end anytime soon.

“Please … please, Lord Lucifer … just finish me already.” She begged, though deep down she knew her cries for mercy would be futile.

Lucifer’s usual stoic expression settled on his features. He watched her for a moment, then turned around and walked to the table by the door where he had laid his gloves. A cloth was folded neatly next to them, which he took to wipe the blood off of his hands, murmuring a spell to help fully rid his skin of any that remained. Then, he pulled his gloves back on, tugging on the seams to make sure that they were on properly, fingers flexing in the red leather.

“I’m sure that’s what you would like, Abyzou.” His voice is eerily low, his back still turned to the demoness. She could hear him setting something up, but was unable to make out what it was.

Then he started humming, a haunting sound added to the sharp strings and bellowing percussion.

He dragged the table closer to her suspended body, stepping aside to show what was left on it.

She nearly choked. There, next to the record player, was another similar device -- but this one wasn’t for playing.

“However, I have no intention of giving you a quick end. You’ll remain here, like this, until every last drop of blood leaves your body, and your hands are thoroughly crushed, and those ropes cut through you. But, you won’t be completely alone.”

He gingerly raises the needle, setting it onto the record at the correct position. Resuming his humming, he hit the Record button, and the disc began to spin, the needle etching everything it heard into the vinyl. “We’ll have a lovely keepsake to remember you by. Ah, and don’t worry … this is all using magic, so it will document everything up until your last breath.”

Abyzou tried to thrash about with what strength she had left, but in the end only caused herself pain, the chains shackled to her wrists ringing and clanging.

“Farewell, Abyzou.”

With that, Lucifer left the cell, the large metal door shutting to a close behind him. He made his way back through the dungeon halls, a smirk on his lips as he heard a loud, wailing shriek in the distance.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me lucifer #om! lucifer #obey me fics #obey me swd #demons being demons #writings #series: a demon's nature #yeah this gets pretty descriptive in parts so!! be warned #also feel free to listen to heart of darkness by succession studios with this -- or also lucifer's waltz or queen of the damned #can you tell who my favorite is lmao #decided to post directly to this blog now #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

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13shapeshifters · 3 years

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(Ok so this is obviously going to contain huge spoilers for the Raven King) @girlbossfarooqlane , this one goes out to you

When I first listened to the chapter at the end of the book of Cabeswater sacrificing itself to save Gansey, my first thought was that Cabeswater was creating Persephone- was making itself Persephone- to be exchanged for Ganseys life.

It might sound a bit strange in the beginning but hear me out! I have some (good, if i might say so) reasons:

The chapter I'm talking about is chapter 67 of the Raven King. In this chapter we learn quite a few things about Cabeswater, that we know to be true because it’s literally written in its perspective:

Cabeswater is made and remade all the time. It is impossibly old and always young at the same time.

Cabeswater is not quite mortal and can’t sacrifice itself for Gansey, who is quite mortal

The sacrifice has to be a life

Adam/it's magician is the one trying to convince him of saving Gansey, giving it ideas and explaining in what limited way of communication they have

The easiest way of saving Gansey would be to make a copy of him, but Cabeswater knows that that isn’t what the Others would want and Cabeswater is all about making wishes (and not-quite-wishes) come true, so that isn’t what happened

[I would, at this point, like to point out that the way the chapter reads it sounds like Cabeswater is making Gansey new: “But it might be able to refashion him into something new” but that sounds like making a copy of Gansey but since They don’t want a copy of Gansey Cabeswater shouldn’t be able to do it (see point 5). Although it might be (probably is as far as i understood that scene?) that Cabeswater remade Gansey entirely. As in from the moment he died the first time, the moment Gansey received “a new heart” from the ley-line to save him from certain death by wasps. That moment is the reason why Gansey is a mirror like Blue, the reason why he died the moment Blue kissed him. They kept reflecting power back at each other, stronger each time, and the weaker one had to break.

But if we ignore those two or three sentences I can just continue with my theory I spent too much time on, yknow?]

Cabeswater can’t just kill itself because a) it’s not really mortal (see point 2) and b) it’s all about creation which is- as you might know- pretty much the opposite of murder

Cabeswater mentions that the life-for-a-life sacrifice would only be possible for itself if it created itself a human shape. Let’s go with this. The rest of the chapter is Cabeswater not understanding humans but trying it’s best at creating authentic life

7.1) Cabeswater has no idea how humans are supposed to be

7.2) Cabeswater is going away to create its new life

7.3) Cabeswater keeps coming back to remember what humans are like, which likely results in life that is not quite what it’s supposed to be like but it’s close enough

7.4) It takes Ganseys wonder and regret, his humanity and puts it inside the new life. I will read this as Cabeswater copy and pasting it and not outright stealing it

Cabeswater has a very calming effect on Adam

This is just a collection of facts (with a few of my comments thrown in) so now let’s get to the things we know about Persephone to start connecting them:

Persephone is described as odd due to her youthfulness being side to side with her old wisdom (taken from the Raven Boys Wiki)

She has a concept of right and wrong but it differs very strongly from the “rulebooks” of the Others

Her physical appearance is almost unnatural, especially her eyes. They are described as black, but they turn out to be every color at once. I’m 80% sure that’s biologically not possible

3.1) It could be that her physical appearance is the result of her being a psychic, but she would be the only psychic in the Raven Cycle to have an altered appearance due to her psychic-ness

Maura and Calla meeting was a coincidence (as long as you believe in coincidences, Persephone meeting them was not

Persephone seems to be a sort of mediator of Foxway, she’s pretty much the only calm presence in the books

She taught Adam despite never taking initiative

She dies while scrying

7.1) She can not only see the past, present, future through scrying, she can participate. See: the scene before the discovery of her body in Foxway. She was with Adam one second and the next one she was gone. The cashier said that she was never there. She was projecting herself

So let’s start connecting dots, shall we?

In the chapters just before Cabeswaters chapter the focus lies on Adam and Noah.

Noah's chapter focuses on his life after death and the “time is a circle” theme that has been in every book of the Raven Cycle. Noah goes “back in time” to save Gansey, it turns out he was the one to rescue Gansey, he is the one who started his search for Glendower (which is something I could maybe write another essay on ). So Noah sacrifices his life for Gansey a second time, the first time when he dies, the second time when he moves on.

Adam meanwhile is scrying, getting back his autonomy from the demon. While scrying he sees Persephone, who is dead, and she tells him to take back control. As far as i know (could research) scrying is believed to do three things:

see the past, present and future

give visions coming from the subconscious and imagination

give visions coming from gods, demons and/or spirits

It seems to me that the scrying in the Raven Cycle is based on point 1 since there are multiple occasions where the characters use scrying as a medium to locate the present location of others.

That would not, however, explain the presence of Persephone while scrying.

What Adam is doing can’t be a vision from his subconscious since he is in Cabeswater, he sees how little is left of it.

It could be argued that she too is a projection of Cabeswater, but at that point it’s too weak to do anything, much less create a whole human being while continuously being destroyed.

There is no reason for Persephone to be there, no way for her to be there. Unless she’s part of Cabeswater.

If we start at the beginning (or the end, really) it goes like this: Cabeswater is dying and Gansey saves it. Gansey died and the Others wish for him to be alive again. Cabeswater, being the wish fulfilling forest it is, does everything to do exactly that:

Cabeswater can’t kill itself and a sacrifice would only work if it created itself a human form to inhabit to be sacrificed.

We know that time is not linear, so Cabeswater goes back a few years, and it creates Persephone. It uses up the last of its power to create itself new (always remade, reborn; see facts about Cabeswater point one) and makes itself Persephone.

Persephone is an odd person with eyes that shouldn’t be and who is young yet old and who knows so much about Cabeswater and knows how to help Adam when he is having problems with communicating with Cabeswater.

She takes Adam as an apprentice despite being often described as almost never taking the initiative and as soon as she starts teaching Adam, he stopped having his anger outbursts (See facts about Cabeswater point 8, “Cabeswater has a calming effect on Adam”).

They want Gansey to live so Cabeswater makes itself a person to help his magician help the Others get to the point where they are now (without Adam they would have never gotten to the point of finding Glendower and stopping the demon). So Cabeswater/Persephone gives Adam back his eyes and hands and Adam gives back the idea to trade Cabeswater for Ganseys life in return and Gansey lives. It's a full circle.

But wait! In Facts about Cabeswater point 2 “can’t trade Cabeswaters immortal life for Ganseys mortal one” this theory would be disproven. That's the second purpose of Persephone (the first one being making sure Adam gets to be present for Ganseys death so he can give the idea):

Persephone is the life that gets taken. Her life is the one that gets sacrificed on the leyline so Gansey can live. And one might argue about her dying before Gansey did but I would like to draw attention to two things.

Persephone died while scrying, she went too far out of her own body and never returned.

Adam saw her mere minutes before Gansey died, also while scrying

So Persephone looked into the future and she stayed there, she fulfilled her role as Adams “mentor” and she fulfilled her role as sacrifice for Gansey, giving her soul (not her body) and she never returned to Foxway, dying in the process (see facts about Persephone point 7.1)

This was her purpose, this is her something more that every significant character in the Raven Cycle has.

Obviously Gansey’s quest and sacrifice, Adam’s connection to Cabeswater, Ronan’s dreams.

Noah’s sacrifice for Ganseys life, Neeve’s role in the demon's uprising and end, being the third one in the Maura-Calla party to make it a good number.

Persephone’s something more was to be a sacrifice and she knew it. In that one scene she’s talking to Adam and he asks if she can see her own death and this is her response: “Everyone sees it. Most people make themselves stop looking, though”. She dies in the chapter following this scene, so he knows exactly what she’s doing, that she is going to die and she does it willingly because the Raven Cycle is all about working toward your something more.

Persephone also knows about her origin. She knows about her “connection” to Cabeswater (her being it, really) and it gets “addressed” in the very same scene.

Here a scene:

But Persephone just said in her tiny voice, “But I see now that it could never be. You’re like me. We’re not really like the others.”

Other what? Humans?

[...]

“We’re really better in our own company,” Persephone said. “It makes it hard, sometimes, for others when they can’t understand us.”

^^^The only really “inhuman” thing about Adam is Cabeswater, which implies that Persephone also has a connection to Cabeswater (again, my point here is trying to prove that she is Cabeswater, so that would be the connection) and the talk about not being able to understand them would only prove that further since Adam and Persephones whole relationship started because of communication problems between Cabeswater and Adam.

Here’s the “short” version:

When Gansey died Cabeswater made itself Persephone (with the help of some time warping and circling and stuff) and Persephone/Cabeswater fulfilled her two purposes (it’s just one, really): To make sure that Adam gets to the point of Gansey’s death to share the idea that will save his life and to be the life that is sacrificed.

Her/It’s whole purpose was to give Gansey life and that’s exactly what happened.

#the raven cycle #the raven king #persephone trc #cabeswater #adam parrish #richard gansey

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that-wizard-oki · 3 years

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if your up to rambling about it more, how would arc 3 have gone with morganthe there?

Alright anon, and all who happen to be interested in my damn theories... after 2 very long days, here are my... general... ideas on how Arc 3 might have gone with Morganthe present.

This is a long one my dudes. Grab a snack, take a seat, and if you make it to the end, thanks for reading.

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Morganthe & The Wizard’s Character Foil would be the cornerstone of this arc.

Y’know how everyone talks about Zuko and Aang being one of the greatest character foils in fiction? Well, in a nutshell, I think that Khrysalis part 1 & 2 (and arguably the entire second arc) built up this wonderful relationship between Morganthe & The Wizard- one that i think could easily be just as memorable and clever as the aforementioned.

If you’re unfamiliar with my thought’s on this idea, here’s a rundown:

All throughout arc 2, Morganthe’s dialogue towards the wizard is usually focused on things they both have in common. We’re both students of Ravenwood, both have studied under Merle Ambrose directly, we were both considered prodigies, respectively. Some other characters also bring up things here and there, most notably Tse Tse Snaketail in Mirror Lake (which, by the way… mirror lake…c’mon) who claimed “she (Morganthe) knows you better than you know yourself!”

Azteca is when we really begin to see the foil between Morganthe and the Wizard start to be set in motion. Azteca itself is the first time I think our wizard is truly and utterly overwhelmed with obstacles- Between the impending doom of Xibalba, the raising of the Undead (once again, mind you), the revival of our last greatest foe, AND the fact that Morganthe, the puppet master behind this all, is always one step ahead of us the entire time.

A huge moment for the Wizard IS that we fail in Azteca. This is where our wizard has to face the sting of failure, and it runs deep. While the wizard has thus far fought against evil within the Spiral for the sake of justice and protection, NOW the wizard's motivation to go after Morganthe has shifted from the general expectation to do so, to something MUCH more personal. Our desire to ensure Morganthe is defeated, is forever tied to our own sense of self worth- if we don’t defeat her, we are a failure.

We can easily see the parallel between this and Morganthe’s motivation, which has thus far been fueled by her desire to show Merle what she’s capable of- and that she will go to the greatest length to prove so.

In Khrysalis, we see the Wizard grow into a similar mindset. They’re much more rash in how they go about pursuing Morganthe, learning ways to try and fight her more evenly when the time comes, and eventually hunting her down. It snowballs to the point where our wizard, despite several warnings, decides to release the god of chaos under the presumption that he will aid them in their goal to defeat the shadow queen. Even more alarmingly, Spider reveals to the Wizard that Morganthe was actually infused with this great power (not stolen, like the arachna had claimed), and that the arachna had groomed her into a weapon of mass destruction by design. Despite knowing that Morganthe was just a puppet on strings this whole time, our wizard still feels that defeating her is the only way to truly avenge themselves. THIS is what Old Cob was hoping for. He WANTED the wizard to be so self absorbed in the idea that Morganthe’s very existence was something that the Spiral, that the Wizard themselves needed to be cleansed of.

And we played right into the palm of his hand, and after we defeated her, Spider released his children and nightmares into the world. However, It is not gratifying relief we are met with. Instead, there is only a long, daunting, shadow, and it’s in our likeness.

This was a little watered down, but these parallels between Morganthe & The Wizard has always been so interesting to me, and when Arc 3 began, I was fully expecting Morganthe to return in SOME way and the wizard would have to go through a self-reflective journey WITH her in order to really come to terms with what they did, or that Cob was hurting them instead of helping.

Of course, that’s not what we got… but to answer your question now anon- what do i think Arc 3 should have been with Morganthe there, with all this in mind?

Obviously, Morganthe and the Wizard need to have their development & closure- but let’s take a deeper look into how that would work for the both of them.

First off, Morganthe needs a reason to return. Character wise, she has a few purposes:

She was the closest one who had been connected to Old Cob. Even if most of it was him manipulating her, they shared a connection through Morganthe’s intrigue of Shadow Magic, and perhaps she had directly communicated to him at one point.

Besides Spider himself, she probably knows more about Shadow Magic than any other being in the Spiral. She WAS the one who re-discovered the existence of Shadow Magic, after all.

To expand on this reason, I think Morganthe might have even figured out ways to connect with her own Shadow in more uh, constructive ways, than perhaps Spider and Raven (I’ll get into this later).

With these factors, I think Morganthe being present in Arc 3 means that she would have been a very valuable asset in helping the Wizard & crew go after Spider/Raven simultaneously.

Now, I think a really fun way to integrate Morganthe into Arc 3 more seamlessly, is to have a plot point that alludes to her still being alive. Otherwise, I don’t think the Wizard/anyone else would bother trying to revive or find her JUST for the sake of “maybe she would be helpful”.

Remember when, after we defeated Morganthe, Old Cob informed us that we had “absorbed too much of her power, and that it would consume us” and so we have to give it back to the land?

Well, what if when we did, that “power” held her memories, her very own Shadows? And when we returned it to the land, those Memories might’ve returned to their place in time?

Take Morganthe’s memory in Wizard City for example- the one rooted in when she accidentally lost control of her powers when attempting astral spells. This specific part of her shadow, not being able to return to a physical vessel, found its way back to its place of origin. Maybe Diego, upon training students in combat, runs into issues with a “specter” of some sort haunting the battle grounds, and reports these disturbances to Ambrose. As the game normally does, Merle would reach out to us about this problem.

I think a good time frame for this to happen is after Mirage/before Empyrea- arguably, this is the Wizard at their lowest point. Mellori has just been captured, we just found out she’s Raven’s Child, and BOTH gods are now not in our favor. That way, when we investigate the Arena in WC, and find out this ‘specter’ resembles a young Morganthe, the wizard would truly feel overwhelmed with the idea of her still being alive/out there WHILE all this is happening.

Whether we tell Merle or the Arcanum scholars first isn’t super important, but the point is that Morganthe potentially being alive is now an additional problem on top of everything else at hand. As the scholars, wizard, and perhaps Ambrose/additional characters problem solve what to do, they begin to bring up the character points I brought up earlier. I think Velma, being the shadow scholar, would mention that Morganthe WAS the shadow queen, and might be useful as a prisoner to help get information on Old Cob’s plans/biddings. I think Ione would agree, and that Morganthe could also be potentially working under him in some way, and that making sure she is a controlled variable is most important right now. The last thing the Spiral, or the wizard, needs is a wild card threat.

I think… knowing that the Wizard had just lost Mellori, and among other things, Velma would request to assist the Wizard in this task, since it is Shadow-magic related and she’s only been able to learn about this school of magic through what little has been available outside of Khrysalis. The wizard, though I think reluctant about the idea, doesn’t argue against her coming along.

If you follow my idea that Velma had gone to Ravenwood with Morganthe, and they’d been good friends there, I think Velma coming along to investigate this matter is also important- perhaps when they both return to the Duel Arena and try to confront this memory of Morganthe’s, the wizard’s first instinct is to fight it into submission, but Velma might take a more gentle approach, as she remembers the likeliness of an old friend.

The memory becomes more in control of itself; Seeing Velma, it was reminded of a pleasant part of itself- friendship, comradery amongst fellow wizards, instead of just abandonment and loss as it had been previously engrossed in.

Once calmed, the Memory can “think” more clearly, and does its best to answer the inevitable questions; what are you? How did you get to wizard city? Is the “real” Morganthe still alive? And so on... Obviously the memory has a limited understanding of what they’re asking. Eventually, they piece together that there are OTHER memories out there, and they need to be found and returned back to their physical owner- Morganthe.

I won’t go into the big details here, but they then travel to Avalon and Khrysalis, maybe even places she had been as a pirate, to find the other two missing Memories. Velma probably learns a bit more than she was expecting to, and the Wizard’s consciousness, especially when they get to the memory related to Khrysalis, starts to weigh heavy.

Any who, these three memories are collected, and being extensions of Morganthe herself, are able to help navigate the wizard, Velma, and perhaps other Arcanum members (for safety reasons because that's the literal queen of shadow right there lads) to where her physical body resides.

Using one of the ships in the Arcanum, they are led by the memories into the dark sea of space, not too far off from Khrysalis. Soon, they come across a swirl of rubble and shattered remnants. Weaving their way through, a cluster of fragmented glass paves the way to an abandoned vessel, sleeping gently, frozen in time and protected by her own demise. They’ve found Morganthe’s body.

Simply put, the memories return to her, and the wizard/Velma contains her comatose body to be brought back to the Arcanum.

Once they’ve returned with Morganthe, a lot of things could happen, and since this is all just theory of something that’s already passed, I’m just gonna list off some of those things that I think would have been interesting to see, so, here goes lol (warning, this turned out to be a lot longer than anticipated I'm SORRY lol)

Morganthe would have maintained in a comatose state for at least a bit once at the Arcanum. The main issue now is figuring out what to exactly do with her now that she is alive.

I’ve kind of enjoyed the idea that Ione/other scholars would be pushing for some sort of trial- she did technically commit genocide against the Aztecasouars, and no one but the wizard, except for MAYBE Velma since she was also retrieving her memories, knows that she was being controlled when she had done so.

I also think the idea of a trial, something rooted in judgement, would provide an interesting setting for just allllll the damn shit to be let loose. Like Morganthe would wake, finally free of the shadow that the arachna had pumped into her body, free of Cob’s very voice in her head, only to wake to find she'd murdered an entire civilization, among defiling the dead, and is being held accountable for doing so. Everyone’s obviously against her, for good reason as they think, but the Wizard’s just here like “I know this bitch was literally forced to do these things but I never told anyone about any of that because I wanted to just believe I was right, and I still have this grudge against her for making me feel like a failure, so I kind of just want to see her imprisoned or worse” and of course you have Velma, who just got her long lost friend/childhood love back, is now faced with the possibility of losing her again, and FINALLY you’ve got MERLE who’s probably just silently taking all this in as it unfolds, since he has had a very fixed perspective on the whole ordeal and doesn’t even know what to believe.

I don’t wanna spend too much time on the ins/outs of this idea, but generally, even if this wouldn’t have happened, the group learns (perhaps through Velma’s advocation, since I doubt the wizard would be doing it) more about Morganthe’s situation, maybe even that the wizard knew this whole time and never said anything- but the general consensus becomes that, since Morganthe isn’t working for Cob (she might even speak of how much she probably despises him for what he did to her), and because she’s so knowledgeable on Shadow Magic, it might actually be best for the Wizard and her to work together to try and rescue Mellori.

Obviously, both of them are reluctant about this, though I think the wizard is more so. Morganthe might actually have a soft spot for the Wizard, seeing a lot of herself in them, and also having tread on similar paths. I think it would be so, so fun to see Morganthe try to connect with the wizard, but the wizard constantly shuts her down or ignores her because they don't want to admit they’re so similar. But then you have the moments where they have to help each other. Maybe it’s when both have to go into the Nexus to get Mellori back, and Morganthe has an easier time weaving through this Shadow Plane because of her experiences with it, and the Wizard really has to trust her to help lead them through it. In turn, maybe Morganthe actually struggles when they reach Ravenwood in the Nexus because it triggers those memories of being expelled and cast out, and the wizard has to help ground her so she doesn’t slip into this un-reality. Like! That feels so powerful and moving to me- that despite being used and pitted against one another by Spider, they learn to work past those false feelings and really begin to see each other eye to eye.

Though I think it is important to bring up they are dealing with slightly different parts of their Shadows- Morganthe is a step or so ahead, having already connected with them. Now, her goal is to accept them, and while I think she has more or less accepted her three memories from earlier, the fourth one, the one of her as shadow queen, the one where she isn’t just her, but also Spider controlling her… the part she doesn’t want, but remains true. To accept her rage, her anger towards Merle that mirrored Cob’s anger about Raven- this is her true challenge for this Arc.

Remember how I said Morganthe’s motivation in Arc 2 was to prove Merle wrong and show him that she was powerful? Well, now it’s to extract revenge on Old Cob in a similar way. Logically, she knows killing him would mean the end of the Spiral, so the struggle for her is to FIGHT against that desire, the rage, accept it, acknowledge it, and convert that energy into something that can help her and others heal from the scars of the past.

Alongside Morganthe interacting and coming to terms with herself, her shadows, everything, I think the Wizard must learn to let Shadow into their own life. Shadow is not this evil thing that they think it is- it, as Spiders is as well, a necessary part of all life in the Spiral. Instead of casting it away, we have to know that the parts of ourselves we don't like aren’t what define us, but we should see and acknowledge them so they don't consume us; which i think the wizard is at risk of.

Any who… that’s a lot, but ultimately, I think when we come to the end of Arc 3, to the Husk, The Wizard & Morganthe have to make the decision to completely trust in themselves and each other. As Spider said worlds ago, we are both the Children of Light & Shadow. I know Arc 3 presents the wizards at the Scion, a balancing force between Mellori and Bat, but I’m gonna be honest, I think it would be much more compelling for BOTH the wizard & Morganthe to act as this “middle ground”- Literally thus far everything about them screams yin and yang; the wizard primarily hailed as the harbinger of light, Morganthe as the umbra queen- yet they are not completely The Light or The Dark- they both have a piece in each other, they both work together, they balance each other out.

Perhaps a stronger set up to still include Bat and Mellori is them simply realizing that they are not their parents- they do not have to do what is expected of them just because of who or what they are, they can choose to support each other as siblings, instead of taking one of their parents sides and hurting each other. They, like the wizard and Morganthe, can work together as one.

This way too, the weight of having to be the Sole Person balancing everything all the time, ISN'T put on the wizard- it can be shared by another.

ANYWHO… I know I'm rambling a bit at this point, but similarly to Arc 3’s end, they’d work past their own desire for revenge or pride, and combine their strengths to become what we originally see the wizard transform into during the fight with the Storm Titan; a Child of Light and Shadow.

Also, here’s a few side things I’d like to see happen in this Arc, as well as the final conclusion for Morganthe’s character.

Morganthe being protective of the Wizard, and the Wizard being protective of Mellori I stated earlier that Morganthe see’s a lot of herself in the wizard, and can feel responsible for them in some way. The same goes for the Wizard and Mellori- there’s this interesting domino effect they've got going on in terms of that, so i just think some dialogue reflecting this dynamic between the three would be fun.

Though once Mellori and the Bat are united, Morganthe would definitely have Some Feelings come up regarding her and her own brother. I think it would be fun for Morganthe to be extremely wary of Bat for this reason, and also because he’s the son of the God who used her power and body for his own gain. Maybe Morganthe has a sly line towards Bat, or something about her being like “I’m watching you” because she doesn’t want to see another person go through what she did with Malory.

Also…. Morganthe helplessly being unable to call Mellori “Mellori”, and instead says “Mallory” every time because That’s Baggage! Morganthe’s like, “Wizard, we gotta get Mallory from the Nexus!” or something and everyone’s like “... you mean Mellori?” and she’s like “... that’s what i said, right?” like this shit is so, so funny to me.

Also Morganthe eventually warms up to Bat, seeing him be a Good Older Brother in part 2. Ideally, it would also be nice to see her open up to him about Mallory, and they just have a Moment about shitty families, trust issues, having done bad things because What Else Can You Do?… god, that stuff hurts my soul. Let your Siblings Heal Kingsisle, i will not rest until they do lmao.

Oh yea! How could i forget the biggest thing outside of the wizard/Morganthe- Merle and Morganthe! Wow do those two need some damn closure together. I’m not stuck in a definitive way that this could happen- Generally though, I think Morganthe would be avoidant of Merle at first, as she feels that she ultimately failed to do what he cast her out to do when he banished her, which was to “find her true self” and learn to control astral magic. Not only was she unable to do that, but she was unfortunately roped into the arachna, and we know the jist of what happens from there. On the other hand, Morganthe is also angry towards Merle- if he wouldn’t have banished her, and instead been patient with her powers and helped her learn, NONE of what she had to endure in Khrysalis would have happened.

For Merle, his perception for so long was that Morganthe's endless curiosity drove her into Shadow Magic, and thus became the Shadow Queen- with this thought, his act of banishing her was justified because she was just a lost cause either way. Now, however, he’s realizing that that wasn’t the case at all- instead, she was truly trying to learn how to master astral magic and control her powers, and unfortunately others decided to take advantage of her curiosity and ability- so he’s trying to grapple with the guilt of inevitably putting her through that.

They both are understandably scared to confront each other, and I think their avoidance would carry out through to Empyrea part 1, maybe even a bit into part 2. Again, i don’t have a definitive thing in mind (since Merle isn’t super active in arc 3 anyhow), but perhaps they’ve been put into a situation where they just simply cannot avoid one another- or maybe Morganthe’s having a hard time convincing the wizard or Ione or someone on what they should do next, Merle tries to interject, “Morganthe, perhaps-”, but Morganthe snaps at him, “ and I certainly don’t want to hear what the man that caused all of this has to say about it!” … silence fills the room, Merle taken aback, Morganthe looking him dead in the eyes, meaning what she said but regretting it as the first thing she said to him. She huffs, storms out of the room...

With just a nod to the others and the wizard, Merle leaves and follows her out, maybe she’s pacing around the end of the halls, and when she sees Merle she just starts pouring her heart out in anger. “Don’t you follow me out like that, don’t you pretend to care for me now! You couldn’t possibly understand what’s at stake here, not that you would take the time to understand anything you don’t know!” she huffs, angry with him and herself, “I know I was curious and naïve and stubborn, but where were you!? Why couldn’t you help me, why, why was the only option for you to to take the only thing I had left and send me away?” this is where her anger starts to fade and she’s becomes quieter, yet still stern, “The worst of it is that I told myself I'd do what you never could, and when I did, I’d return to prove you and everyone else who looked at me and saw a failure, a monster, wrong... but I never got that far. I only got to the point where some forgotten God of chaos decided what my ‘true self’ was for me… and like the curious, stupid little girl I was, i played right into his hand-” and here she’d become overwhelmed and start talking more specifically about her anger towards what was done in Khrysalis, ending with “and through all of it, and even now, even though I’m so, so angry at you, I still wanted you to be there for me. Why weren’t you there for me?”

I like the imagery that, the whole time Morganthe has been unraveling her thoughts and emotions at him, Merle has been slowly moving closer and closer to her, and when she says this, she melts into his arms, sobbing- finally getting that comfort from him that she’s wanted all this time.

Merle, now holding her, begins to speak softly, “You don’t have to forgive me, but I am truly sorry for all that has transpired from my own failings. In all my years, turning you away has remained one of my deepest regrets.” This is getting a bit long, but the main points I think Merle would make in his apology towards Morganthe, is that ‘her true self’ is not something anyone, not even he, should define for herself, and that Merle thinks she has already found her true self, and that it’s not being Shadow Queen, it’s not being a puppet, it’s not being a failure or his apprentice or a monster, but being in tune with yourself- something she had started doing with her own Shadows/Memories.

Anywho. Sorry for the heavy dialogue but i think about these two everyday and just want them to HUG IT OUT MAN… AAAAA

Furthermore; I think a very fitting End for Morganthe’s character is that she, upon Merle’s request, would become a professor of Shadow Magic at Ravenwood, with the idea that she could properly introduce Shadow to wizards in a controlled environment, and help erase the stigma surrounding it. Not only do i think she’d make a great professor or teacher because of her enthusiasm towards magic, but i think it would be satisfying for her to help others who might have difficulties with magic/their powers since that was a core reason for her own suffering. Also, her and Velma are DATING and are cute shadow scholar lesbians together, it’s cute af, thank you, moving on.

Lastly, the Wizard would have some closure, or at least tools to eventually reach closure about the things I've talked about in this post. Hypothetically, arc 4 could have then been focused on the wizard’s self-journey to become in-tune with their shadows and memories.

SO uh… yea i think that’s the overall ideas i had about how Arc 3 might have gone if Morganthe was a factor. I haven’t actually spent a lot of time thinking about Morganthe in arc 3 though, since the arc is now finished and we’re onto arc 4, and i always enjoy trying to implement new lore, like the sewers, into these theories, and even who or what Morganthe is- bt this was fun to revisit! I do think her being in Arc 3 would have been most fitting thus far though, so i always like coming back to the what-could-have-been ideas :’D

But yea! If you’ve made it this far… Thanks for reading lol. And if you want me to go more in depth with anything i had mentioned in this post, because some things i decided to gloss over for simplicity's sake, feel free to ask :D

Anywho…. Bye oTL

#wizard101 #oki's theories #oki answers a thing #anon

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ladydaedra · 3 years

Text

The Dossier

Part: 9/?

Pairings: Ulfric x Dragonborn; Brynjolf x OC; Cicero x OC; Ondolemar x OC

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and gore; Skyrim takes on a bit of 'Game of Thrones' feeling; may contain controversial themes.

Wordcount: 2166

~~~~

"I am not the only one who runs this operation," Ayla explains as she places her palms on the doors leading to the war room. She gives a shove and both doors swing open, revealing four people on the other side of the room, "I have many sources who help me in my endeavors," she adds, giving Ulfric and Ralof a quick glance before walking into the room.

The two Nords look at the others in the room as Kharjo walks past them and takes his spot next to Vilkas, "Don't be shy, they won't bite," Ayla says, glancing over her shoulder at the two, giving them a smile, before looking back at the others, "This is Athena and Vilkas from the Companions. Athena is the Harbinger," Ayla introduces, pointing out the two before moving on to the other two in the room, "this is Brynjolf, he is a thief from the Guild. And over there reading a book is Asteria, Headmistress of the College. The leaders of the Dark Brotherhood and Thieves Guild would be here, but they are on an important mission at the moment,"

"Wait, you allied with the two most dangerous organizations in Skyrim?" Ulfric asks, staring at the Dragonborn with furrowed brows. He would never have thought that the legendary Dragonborn, the hero of Skyrim, would align herself with such people.

"How did you think the Emperor mysteriously died?" Ayla questions, turning her head to meet Ulfric's gaze, her light blue eyes, something rare amongst Nords, piercing his, "I am sure the Emperor would never have killed himself, seeing as he lived a life of luxury,"

Ulfric couldn't believe what he was hearing. There have been rumors circulating that the Dark Brotherhood were the ones to murder the Empire's beloved ruler, but, like most assassinations, there was no incriminating evidence at the scene. A knife across the throat was how the old man had died.

"You organized the Emporer's death?" Ralof asks the question that was swarming in Ulfric's head. They both watch as Ayla lets out a bark of laughter before walking around the table and examining some of the bookshelves lining the room.

"At the time of his death, I was in Whiterun, planning to trap Odahviing in Dragonsreach," she explains, running her finger along the books of the shelf, "I had no interest in the Civil War at the time, so why would I intervene to kill the Emporer when I had nothing to prove?" she looks back at the two blondes, a small smile on her lips, "someone else contacted the Brotherhood and asked for his assassination in reward for a large sum of money. Money I didn't have at the time,"

"Why are you telling us this?"

"Because we need to trust each other if we are going to be successful in this war. You know that just as well as I do," Ayla replies as she pulls a red book from the shelf and turns to face the table. She sets the book down but rests her hand over the title, "you may not like this, but the Empire isn't our true enemy. The Thalmor is," she then slides the book across the table and it slows to a stop in front of Ulfric.

"On my journey to defeat Alduin, I worked alongside the two remaining members of the Blades," Ayla explains as Ulfric slowly picks up the book. 'Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak' it read on the leather cover, "the Thalmor were hunting them down, so naturally, they thought the Thalmor were somehow behind the return of the Dragons. So they sent me to infiltrate the Embassy and I did so with success, saving two lives as well.

While I was there, I collected that dossier as well as two others based off of the Blade members," Ayla continues while Ulfric flips through the pages, reading a few paragraphs here and there. This was accurate, too accurate for his liking, "the Thalmor want this war to go on for as long as possible, not caring at all about the millions of deaths wasted during it,"

"I assume you read the whole thing?" he questions, not looking up at her. Ayla blinks as she stares at him, noting the way his fingers tightly holds the book. She looks to her right to see Asteria giving her a pointed look as if saying 'I told you so'.

Ayla takes a deep breath, raising her hands and folding them in front of her, standing straighter as she replies, "I read it as well as the other two," she replies, her voice calm yet the tone of it warns the male of doing anything rash. He wasn't planning to. Him against the Dragonborn, who has a stronger Thu'um than he does? It was obvious who would win.

"Do you really wish for this alliance to end so soon?" he asks yet another question, carefully setting the book down and meeting her gaze. Her impenetrable gaze was locked on him and she was not backing down. From where she stood, she looked regal and elegant. She is the epitome of confidence at that moment.

But she has no reason to read that dossier, no matter how she explains her reasoning, "it wasn't yours to read," he declares and receives only a single raised eyebrow and a slight tilt of her head as a response. To both of them, no one else was in the room. But there were and everyone was listening to the conversation while trying to look like they were focused on their own work.

"It's like some competition," Asteria mumbles to Brynjolf, who stands in front of her, "to see who holds the most control while in the same room. It's stupid, really. A war to fight and the two leaders are scrambling for power over the other,"

If the two heard her, they didn't show it. Instead, Ayla smiles before shrugging, "you may not agree with it, but that dossier plus the other two and everything else I have heard and seen of the Thalmor is what made me start this rebellion," she explains, her tone neither icy nor warm. It was emotionless, something much scarier coming from the mouth of the Dragonborn, "they seek to use the Empire as a way to control Tamriel, to make it a point that Mer are more superior than man,"

"Don't you think I know that?" Ulfric scoffs in response to her explanation. Ayla merely shrugs, a nonchalant look on her face telling him that she cared not about whether or not he knew that bit of information.

"I think you need to be reminded of that fact," she replies bluntly, raised eyebrow as if challenging him to continue this little game they are playing.

"I think we need to focus more on the matter at hand," a voice interrupts and Asteria walks over to Ayla's side, setting a few books down on the table. Ayla doesn't break her gaze from Ulfric until Asteria practically shoves a book in the Dragonborn's face, "like this," Asteria adds as Ayla takes the book from her.

"What's this?"

"You asked for artifacts that could help in the war," Asteria explains, smiling a bit and revealing that she is proud of her work, "well I found-" she breaks off suddenly, giving the two Stormcloaks a glance before looking back at Ayla, "I found a few interesting things that could do exactly that, not that we need any help at all, just a precaution really,"

Ayla nods, smiling at the elven woman, "great job," she praises the white-haired elf, "we will discuss this in another setting," she adds and Asteria takes the book back from Ayla and wanders back to another bookshelf. Ayla then turns to Ulfric, "we need to discuss Whiterun and how things will go down,"

"We discuss everything back at Windhelm," the blonde reminds the raven-haired female, "what else is there to talk about?"

"What is going to happen to Jarl Balgruuf?" Ayla asks simply, causing a few of the others to glance at her.

"What about Jarl Balgruuf?" Athena asks, looking away from the few notes her husband holds in his hand to look at Ayla, concern evident on her face, "did he do something wrong?"

"In a way," Ayla says slowly, turning her head to look at the Harbinger, "he chose the wrong side in the war," she adds and Athena doesn't reply, only glancing up at Vilkas, who wraps an arm around her, "I don't intend to have him harmed when we take the city,"

"So you won't have him and his family killed?" Athena questions, taking a few steps forward, gaze on Ayla, who shakes her head in response, "good. He's a good man who's only doing what he thinks is best for his city,"

"What we need to decide is how we handle the situation," Ulfric points out, "Balgruuf proved to us that he is loyal to the Empire, we can't have him on the throne of Whiterun," Ayla quickly catches on to what he means. To allow Balgruuf to remain as the Jarl, he could cripple Ayla and Ulfric's rebellions by becoming a double agent; saying he is loyal to Ulfric while he is feeding the Empire information from the inside.

"Exile seems kind," Ayla mutters, eyes on the small horse statue that rests over Whiterun, "give him and his family safe passage to Cyrodiil where he can serve the Empire there?" she adds, looking up to see what Ulfric thinks.

Athena speaks before Ulfric has a chance to, "kick Balgruuf out of his homeland? A prominent man getting exiled by two people who say they're fighting for Skyrim? That won't bode well for the public,"

"So exile is off the table," Ayla mutters, returning her gaze to the table. A large map of Skyrim sits there as well as several statues litter it. The three types of statues is a wolf that rests on Solitude, Morthal, Falkreath, and Riften. A bear sits next to Windhelm, Winterhold, Markarth, and Dawnstar. A lone dragon rests on the mountains bordering the Pale, Hjaalmarch, and Whiterun.

"The base has a dungeon below," Asteria pipes up as Brynjolf excuses himself to deal with Guild business, "we could keep him as a prisoner of war," Ayla glances across the table at Ulfric, the suggestion interesting her. From the look on the blonde's face, they all could tell he too was preferring that option.

"But his kids," Ayla breathes out, dropping her gaze to the table once more, a few strands of her raven-colored hair falling to frame her face, "what about them? Their father is locked up in a cell and they have no other family members.."

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Asteria replies, no idea coming to mind.

"The Riften Orphanage," Athena pipes up and everyone turns to stare at her at that suggestion, "they're spoiled rotten kids that think they have it all at the fingertips. Send them to the orphanage and they'll get a face full of reality,"

Ayla blinks, biting her lower lip in thought. It wasn't a bad idea and she had to agree with Athena. She only met Balgruuf's children a few times on her visits to Dragonsreach and they always threatened to have their father throw her in jail, "too bad Tal killed old Grelod," Ayla says and Athena laughs a bit.

"Yes, the old lady would have given those two a run for their money," Athena agrees with a chuckle, "though I don't think Constantine would be as harsh with her punishments, the Orphanage is still an option,"

"They could always live in the base," Kharjo says, walking over to stand beside Ayla, "we can keep a close eye on them and put them to work in the farm section," Ayla takes a deep breath. Kharjo was right. These are the children of a Jarl who pledged loyalty to the Empire. They would be beyond angry that their father is imprisoned and they were taken from the only home they've ever known. It would be riskier if they sent them to the Imperial held Riften than if they were kept in the base.

"Kharjo is right," Ayla says slowly, glancing around the room at the others, "if we send the Jarl's kids to Riften, they would most likely help the Imperials there. How I do not know, but they will hate us and wish us dead. If they stay here, we can keep a close eye on them without having to risk them spilling secrets to the Empire,"

Everyone nods in response, "the Empire should be at Whiterun in three days time, we attack the night after they arrive," Ayla explains and the others take that as a cue to leave. Only Ayla, Ulfric, Ralof, and Asteria remain, "Asteria, can you please show the Stormcloaks to their rooms?"

The Altmer nods and smiles at the two, "Follow me please,"

#Skyrim #Skyrim fanfiction #Dragonborn #Dovahkiin #Ulfric Stormcloak #Brynjolf #Cicero #Ulfric x Dragonborn #Brynjolf x OC #cicero x listener #Fanfic

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

Text

The Words upon the Window Pane | Chanyeol

Genre: Smut, Angst (only a wee bit), PwP

Pairing: Auhor!Chanyeol x Reader

Warnings: Top!/Dom!Chanyeol, fingering, unprotected wall sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses!), subtle dom/sub themes, swearing/cussing, dirty talk, love bites

Summary: The relation between Logic and Passion is often difficult for artists and certainly so when the involved parties dabble in words. Because language has the power to conceal the truth, to say what otherwise might not be said.

The words upon the window pane.

However, one night, a mouth is brave enough to at last utter them.

And to bring about unexpected consequences.

Author’s Note: The title is derived from the play of the same name by W.B. Yeats, who is, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite poets and greatest inspirations as of late. Furthermore, this is the first EXO smut piece to be written by this wee birdy, which hopefully shall not disappoint more experienced EXO-Ls.

All in all, I hope you enjoy the work of a feather.

Making a living as an author is not easy, especially when starting out and having only a single book to one’s name. However, Voice is not merely a literary tool to use in order to be heard, since it can also realistically become audible when speaking. All in all, it remains a fluent phenomenon and so it is of great benefit to storytellers to have mastery over it. To provide experiences that ignite vivid imagery thanks to simply creating an ambience with sound when not craftily doing the same on the page. Such is the talent of the author rapidly grown popular online due to a deep voice and funny personality, thousands of women drooling over the tailored experiences provided to them on multiple platforms.

But none of them has ever gotten the real deal, their sensual emotions remaining one-sided whereas those of a newbie novelist are answered.

Sometimes.

The relationship started after the romance department of the same publishing house contracting the famous erotic writer took a bold chance by offering a contract to an unknown name having just completed a manuscript about an innocent coffee shop romance. During the meeting with the assigned editor, icy pale locks wandered into the modern cafeteria and toward the table where a conversation about the next steps towards actual publishing took place, sitting down wordlessly and merely observing. Withal, basalt irises blatantly ignored rapidly flushing rosy cheeks on the adjacent seat, focused intently on the ones across the table that tried to maintain a steady composure.

Yet it crumbled bit by bit as genuine interest was shown during a spontaneous proposal to drink coffee together sometime after the editor held a brief round of introductions at the end of the important chat, which had gained an unintentional third participant. Piece by stiff piece got chipped away over warm beverages thereafter, talking about upcoming manuscripts and the professional giving a newbie a couple of tips to not stumble and, perhaps, fall without hopes of getting up.

And were entirely smoothed out among the sheets after the daring kiss when goodbye came on the first proper dinner date, Chanyeol leaning in without hesitance to rapidly turn a chaste caress of the cheek into sin once having been escorted safely to the front door of one’s own roof.

To make a heart fall for one which is unbound, according to the rumours spoken by the female tongues which all supposedly possess a sensual experience of sorts concerning the novelist. Notwithstanding, one can talk but not say anything, let alone the truth. Withal, the gossip has expanded while being in a strange type of relationship, always being the first to propose something to do and bleached smooth strands simply agreeing if the busy schedule allows it, of course. Spontaneous proposals for a movie night or trying out a new café are one-sided, the first time drinking coffee together being the sole occasion on which it came from the distant beloved. However, during the opportunities to be together, it never fails to feel genuine.

Sincere in spite of the mouths believing it is merely about sex, warning to get out now before it is too late.

The logical ship has left the safe haven.

It is too late.

Regardless of bravely sailing in an individual sea, the doubt can never be kept at bay since it lurks as a kraken in the darker waters coming up on the journey every now and again. After all, the fans of the deep voice catering supposedly “exclusive” experiences for them would loathe the fact their imaginary lover actually has a girlfriend. Moreover, the serpents roaming the office keep telling tales that steadily grow arms and legs, each limb stemming from the period in which minds were apart.

Those spans of time increase in frequency.

Lunch grows lonelier.

Days are spent in isolation.

Reassuring words do not hold significance on the floor of the publishing house nor on those of one of our apartments on a lucky night.

No acknowledgement.

All there is, is vagueness.

Just something.

Something.

Undefinable.

Certainly not pretty or comforting.

Empty. Yes, that is the best way to describe it.

Hollow, lonely, one-sided.

Unrequited.

And it takes away the hunger at the dinner table beneath the luxurious roof, the expensive wine and home-cooked meal using high-quality ingredients holding as much inherent value as a shilling in the gutter. So the fork is put down, the bite laboriously swallowed and focus averted from the porcelain plate presenting little yet seeming too stacked.

‘Baby, are you alright?’ Head cocked to the side in wonder, Chanyeol stops mid-bite, sensing something is off.

Something.

Always something is off.

Right now, it finds a voice in a lowly muttered remark as disappointed fingers shove the still full plate and cutlery away as far as possible. The stomach can live with the stone in it, like the heart slowly freezing itself thanks to the vicious tales of betrayal can continue to exist in ice. After all, even this week’s audio consisting of ‘’sexy’’ unboxing ramblings and testing out toys sent by mistresses somewhere else is but a mere drop in the overflowing bucket. ‘I’m not hungry.’

The limit has been reached.

End of the line.

Of this.

Us.

If there even ever has been a happy chronicling couple.

‘You’ve barely eaten.’ The unsuspecting fork picks up a perfectly grilled asparagus, endeavouring the feed a soul starved of happiness. A perfectly useless attempt at making things right for the culprit knows very well what goes on behind the scenes that are enacted every time at the workplace, the little faked though credible moments of two youngsters being solely friends but perhaps a bit more. No one knows for sure, but they do assume. Gossip has a way of being heard, even when feigning to ignore it in favour of personal fantasies. ‘At least have a few more vegetables.’

‘Did it...’ A wry smile carves itself on a face which is on the edge of tears, remembering every word said at the collective coffee machine in the cafeteria alongside the lovesick comments on every digital upload and equally sensual reaction to a novel novel. How can the detailed storyteller not notice the burning water droplets searing their way to the lash line?

Begging.

Begging to fall.

To be noticed.

Because they have had to hide so bloody long in loneliness.

Denied.

A significant detail.

‘Did it mean anything?’ God forbid that the words spilt between the sheets, on dates and in secrecy in the coffee corner did not hold any meaning. Withal, knowing how writers are for the craft is part of one’s own personality, there are no better tricksters. Words can be made pretty, cunningly serving to conceal the ugly truth.

‘What? Did what mean anything? Babe, what are you on about?’ The uncomprehending gravely worried furrowed brows relax, raven irises softening as they discover the tale of the Ice Queen’s heart and damnably igniting the thawing process. Looks can kill, as is the word on the street, and the big pale wolf knows it judging by the gentle smile only reserved for his foolish mistress. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip again. Look, I’ll say it again and I still mean it. I love you, Y/N. Only you. You ought to know that by now.’

The supposedly well-meaning palm resting between the abandoned dishes is not lovingly covered, digits remaining apart instead of entwining in blissful union. Instead, the chair is pushed back as the napkin that formerly rested on the lap is viciously thrown onto the table surface. Voice is barely controlled, dangerously close to cracking yet forced to maintain steady fury. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me! I know this means nothing.’

‘Means nothing? This means nothing?’ The actions are fiercely mimicked, the pleading tone in speech overruling the fabricated calm demeanour. ‘It does, babe. It really does.’

‘Yeah, right. As if you haven’t said that to one of those horny dolls who gladly listen to their fantasy boyfriend or read about all the wonderful things you’d do to them. What did you call them again? Your honeys?’ There is no stopping the jeering guided by the incomparable ache rendering every nerve paralyzed, an alternative ego who feels betrayed rising with every second of the outburst.

In the end, she, too, is one of many.

I am nothing.

‘Babe, please-’ Agonizingly following footsteps attempt to reason, begging to stay for a proper vis-á-vis to resolve this “problem” while making their way to the hallway.

Evidently without success. ‘Oh, piss off. I’m sure you had others in the time I was gone.’ The searing tears on lashes in the wee hall finally stream down the cheeks, lost in bittersweet memories of a time ruled by naivety. When every touch was so certain of love, felt protective and was believed to be sincere.

Notwithstanding, that was then.

This is now.

‘It really meant something to me, you know? I fucking gave myself to you because I stupidly trusted you, Chan! You were my first.’ A shake of the head brings about enough steadiness to remain coherent in speech, to at least keep a total breakdown at bay a little longer. The battle is almost won, a little bit more perseverance needs to be put in before all might become actually well. ‘But I could’ve, no, should’ve known better. So fuck off and leave me alone.’

Just as a hand reaches towards the knob of the front door, a firm palm wraps painfully around the left wrist. Once that power was loved, but now it is just that: hurt.

And it wants… needs to be left behind.

To make it pay for the solitude.

The agony needs to face the consequences.

‘No.’

The pain in the shape of the man who was believed to make up the world.

Stupid.

We both only have our stories to speak honestly in because they are the sole place where it is possible to be true.

Funny how a broken heart ignites a sense of creativity to exploit and there is a sudden haste to make use of it. Or so the mind wants this to be the reason behind the futile struggle for freedom for the real reason is the simple need to get away before breaking the character of the hard-headed sneering Ice Queen and leave oneself in fragments on the battlefield. ‘Let. Me. Go.’

A vicious tug makes feet stumble away from the entryway and slam into the wall opposite the stairs, Chanyeol’s face mere inches away and obsidian irises burning with sorrowful rage that has grown from incomprehension. All acting halts at once, alarmed breath coming out ragged as the powerful gentleman is sought frantically on a quietly raging beautiful expression. ‘I won’t. Not until you finally listen to me and know who you belong to, young lady.’

Slender digits clad in a chic ink-black jacket roughly push aside underwear, unapologetically disappearing beneath the skirt to exert sexual dominance as lips powerfully nullify all chances at protest. ‘This is mine. Only mine. All I can think about these days, so much so I can’t even write without giving you a role in my novel.’

The possessive growling fuels the heat below, slowly reducing the hurtful stretch, as all vocabulary is lost in the marks left behind on the throat by stark white teeth. Miraculously, the ability to resist the temptation remains although it falters and starts to stutter in the strong secure warmth of a familiar palm at the end of the spine. ‘I- I don’t be- believe you.’

‘Who do you think is more credible?’ A rough mind-boggling thrust goes paired with the branding being interrupted to snarl against a slightly open mouth, dominant despite oddly affectionately resting foreheads against one another and chuckling as haphazard fluttery palms rest on broad shoulders. ‘The man who loves you or some women you don’t even know?’

In spite of being barely able to respond, a piece of hateful Logic remains and is capable of jeering and mocking the question that should have served to set things right. ‘But y- you could’ve fucked.’

‘I didn’t. Listen to me, young lady.’ The hand that formerly rested on the small of the lower back rises to envelop the throat, forcing a lock of gazes while enchantingly cutting off access to air. ‘Ever since we met, I’ve been yours. I’d never give anyone else a role in my novels because nobody inspires me like you do.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ There is too much deliria to persist in protesting, each movement beneath fabric erasing the thought of resisting the platinum wolf as soon as it arises. Instead, it gives rise to memories of beautiful naive nights that make up the horror and delight of an insane mistress of letters, both inside the pages and outside.

Throwing the heart back into bittersweet love.

‘Ah, there she is. There’s the helpless little slut I know.’ With an ashamedly wet noise, slim fingers undo the bodily connection that had been greedily gone along with, leading to an inevitable displeased whine that evokes a lovely dark chuckle.

A nudge of the nose asks to follow the focus of the seemingly only sane mind, see what the writer wants to be noticed without resorting to loathsome spoon-feeding. It is all in the details, that is where the heart of the tale lies. ‘See that?’

Lashes flutter innocently as gaze wanders lower and lower to restricting dusk-shaded denim, wordlessly remarking on the considerable outlined shape that the idiotic heart and persona meant to have walked out the door greatly want to exploit. ‘Only you do that to me, Y/N.’ An almost sweet peck on the forehead turns attention upward briefly before receiving another on the lips, after which a command makes hands act in too enthusiastic desirable greed. ‘Undo the zipper.’

It takes little time nor effort to force down sturdy and elastic fabric to bare burning desire to the chill air in the hallway. And it takes even less than that very same moment to be pinned against the wall once again, thighs supported by iron hands promising to never let go, and directly connect in body and soul.

Willingly.

Beautifully.

‘Fuck, every time is like the first. I remember our, grm, hrm, first night. How you begged me to go harder-’ the speed accelerates, snarls growing more and more savage with every advance as behaviour, too, becomes wonderfully harsher, ‘rough you up. All the while acting like an innocent doe, turning me on. Mewling, pinned to the bed, forced to take me. God, I love it when you’re like that. Helpless. Powerless. Submissive.’

Every word is accentuated by an animalistic thrust, a sweet kiss on the side of the neck contrasting with the teeth leaving behind plum marks of possession at equal intervals. A low rumble of delight at platinum locks being pulled on vibrates in the buff chest lovingly keeping the spine against the wall, rejoicing in the flowing waterfall of mere meek noises.

Exactly as we were during the first night.

Loving now as we had before.

Honestly.

Snarling sweet nothings against skin while erasing every thought in the chase for the satisfaction of primal desire. When tears of analyzed sadness turned into those of unadulterated pleasure. ‘Crying as you take my cock deep inside that dripping little pussy.’

‘Cha- Chanyeol-’ There are no words to break through the haze of bittersweet nostalgia, leaving the sentence unfinished. It does not matter for all focus is turned towards reaching temporary enlightenment as fast as possible in the most savage manner.

‘Cum on that cock, baby. Cream that fucking cock.’

Any sense of resistance that somehow managed to linger, loathing Logic deeming the act wrong in every aspect and begging for liberation, is erased in an instant as the command is pressed onto firm lips.

It is wonderful.

Incredibly gorgeous.

Having Chanyeol wrap his storytelling palm around the throat once more as the other presses bodies together until there cannot possibly be any distance left. Wolfish grunts fall from cushiony lips, chanting maddening “mine, mine, mine”s, while sprinting during the final bit of the primitive race, soon reaching the white light found between shivering thighs.

Who are crying silently in a paradoxical mixture that cannot be kept alive consisting of sensual delight, heartbroken self-hatred and rage directed towards loved pale locks.

Tears to, fortunately, be noticed once reason returns enough to no longer be under the influence of the desirable beast beneath the skin. Henceforth, it is the incredible author who affectionately wipes away the droplets running over the cheeks as onyx irises soften in comprehension of pain. ‘Hey, don’t cry, Y/N. Remember what I promised you?’

A head shake shows ignorance because there have been a great number of promises until now, which is acknowledged by the low chuckle that never fails to allow the usual guard to be let down and now disrupts the quiet panting betraying a sliver of glad exhaustion. The simple sound never fails to make the chest puff a little in pride and veins to bask in a loving warmth, even after being frozen in place without hopes of crumbling thanks to the vivid rumours floating around the office. ‘I know I have promised you a lot, but one thing is that I’d never make you cry because I’d never dare to break your heart. I genuinely love you, seriously am head over heels for you. Can you believe me when I say that?’

It is hard to respond negatively when bodies are still one and foolishly trusted palms envelop the cheeks, resulting in wavering speech on the verge of cracking. Withal, a little bit of strength is gathered from the tight grip on defined biceps engraved with ink. ‘I wa- want to, but... the gossip...’

‘Listen.’ A long tender kiss muffles the sobs aching to be released alongside the gasp at the sudden hollow feeling when the physical spell is lifted. Another one asks for focus on talking things over instead of paying attention on the faint sound of liquid dripping onto the hallway tiles. ‘You crying makes me want to cry because it hurts me to see you like this. It really does, babe. And people will always talk, but, perhaps, it might help if we go public? I have an interview soon.’

‘People will think I’m only dating you for your money.’ No matter if a statement will be made, the way of thought lies outside the influence of words. Authors know this first and foremost for each sentence that is penned down fails to fully convey what might be going on in vivid imagination and thus fails to be entirely understood.

A bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of the mouth as messy snow white locks fall obscure the sight of lips drawn into a stern line speaking melancholically, mocking oneself. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you’d do.’

With more fierceness than expected, an answer to the rhetorical assumption bursts from a panicked mouth uncensored, clutching the soft fabric of clothes as if not doing so will induce an unbridgeable abyss. ‘But I don’t!’

‘I know that, Y/N. I know.’ Thumbs start to caress the sides of the face, somberly smoothing the anxious sorrow in self-reflection. ‘You know I hate losing, be it games or bets, but- but I- I-‘ Breaths grow short as tears start to brim in the corner of beautiful almond-shaped eyes. Hands fall away from the cheeks to wrap around the middle, the waist caught in a sturdy grip. Foreheads rest against each other and the arms of a claimed mistress wrap around the neck, fingertips playing with the pale strands at the back. ‘I would scorn myself if I’d lose you.’

‘You’ll lose readers if we go public.’ After all, not everyone enjoys a real life romance and certainly not those imagining one individual as their partner while he is, in truth, already faithfully bonded to another woman.

‘Doesn’t matter, I don’t care. If they’re true fans, they’ll be happy for us.’ Chanyeol’s voice has renovated its ocean deep steadiness, tiny lights appearing out of nowhere to illuminate a sudden bright cheery idea in a nightly gaze creating a bit of distance. ‘You know what? I’ll buy you a ring and a matching one for myself so everyone can see you’re mine.’ A palm shows itself from behind the small of the back to grab the left wrist and trace over the second-to-last digit. ‘To wear on this finger.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Yes.’ The breathless chuckle is strangely melancholic yet delighted, the curious combination taking over demeanour entirely. ‘Yes, of course. Anything to keep you with me.’ The mere embrace suddenly turns into an inescapable hug, broad shoulders blocking out the world that wants to be temporarily forgotten. ‘I want you with me, only you. Please, stay with me. Here.’ The nose often kissed in the morning or cheekily out of sight of the publishing house staff nuzzles the side of the neck, whispering against the warm skin. ‘I want you to move in.’

‘Is that a wish or a command? I’m my own person, you know?’ The weak attempt at humour is seemingly appreciated, Chan tangibly chuckling before sighing in relief when being kissed on the top of the head.

‘There she is, there’s my good clever girl.’ Foreheads come to rest against each other once more in the air scented by whatever remains of dinner, perspiration and our perfumes combined, creating a weird musky howbeit fruity undertone. The chin is lifted by a curled finger after calmly being put to rest against the wall instead of being fully at the mercy of the writer’s engraved arms. ‘But you know very well what I mean, young lady.’

‘I do,’ fingertips bashfully run over the side of the storyteller’s neck, leaving behind a growling trail of anticipating goosebumps before rising to comb through pale strands, ‘sir.’

‘Don’t.’

A peck.

‘Tease.’

A kiss.

‘Me like that.’

Lip caught between teeth.

And freed once having clearly asserted dominance. ‘I’m yours.’ Although the inquiring peck on the cheek does not partake in the sensual teasing but is severe in character. ‘And you’re mine?’

Catching on to the need for credibility, the erotic novelist acknowledges it while sweetly yet sincerely murmuring. ‘Entirely yours. Not just in stories or audios, in real life as well. As long as possible, until we no longer breathe. This I promise.’

And thus this part of our tale ends, the fragment of the middle part leading to the end.

Of that which ink cannot fully capture on paper, in sounds or on skin.

Withal, it is not necessary because we have each other for inspiration and retellings.

Musing.

In love.

In medias res.

#ksmutclub #EXO #EXO smut #EXO x Reader #Chanyeol #Park Chanyeol #LOEY

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janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

KYFC..: Chapter 14

Hello, my friends! It’s been a whirlwind of a week. My days were all screwed up and everything went so quickly - meetings, cataloging and the lot. Even my daughter (7) has noticed how quickly time goes now. Friday was the last day of school and we are now in talks here because parental units want to see schoolwork and schedule continue while the childrens want them to end. They actually sat down together in a secret conference and wrote out their ”demands”. You say cute, I say eek!

But enough about that, the bout with the Ravens is finally upon us! Instead of my usual snarky teasing, I know how disappointed you are (Ha!), I wanted to define a few terms again and explain one or two things.

Pack - the largest group of blockers from both teams skating within ten feet of each other.

Blocker - a skater who tries to prevent the jammer from skating around the track and scoring points.

Jammer - the skater who skates around the track and aims to pass all of the blockers on the opposite team. A point is scored for each opposing team blocker the jammer passes.

Lead jammer - the jammer who breaks through the pack first (no points are scored on the initial break through. The lead jammer controls the jam and can call it off at any time, unless in the penalty box.

Not a term here, but when I refer to a triangle formation it is made of of three blockers. One faces the jammer and is the head, or top, of the triangle. The two remaining blockers stand side by side, facing the head of the triangle and facing away from the jammer. The head has a hand one of of each of their shoulders and they each have a hand on her shoulders. This keep the triangle tight and steady. The head shouts commands to the other two blockers because she can best see the jammer.

I hope that all makes sense. Off we go!

---

To tell the truth, I am getting away with murder. It is impossible to never tell the truth, but the reality is I’m getting away with murder. --Papa Roach, Getting Away with Murder

“Watch out for 32. She hits hard and she has your number,” Sherlock’s eyes are narrow slits when he looks to Harry in the tight huddle they form with Hella, Groot, Smacks and The Woman just outside the track.

“No shit. She’s been hittin’ my ass every jam. I’m working on a bruise bigger than the fucking space needle,” Harry hisses angrily, annoyance and adrenaline rolling off her in waves.

Sherlock stares at her coolly. He runs a few scenarios in his mind palace as she continues to curse in a steady stream, becoming more and more creative as she goes. A second later and his eyes are focused again.

“What can I do about this fuckstick? It’s like I have target on my back,” Harry complains. “How the fuck do I stop her riding my ass?”

“Can’t really blame her, love,” Clara Hell on Wheels teases with a flirtatious grin and a glance at HardOn’s posterior.

“She always takes turns tightly and comes in on the left,” Sherlock tells her. “Visibly brace yourself for the hit she wants you to expect and then make her miss. Hella and Smacks will pick her up. Groot, work on their blockers so The Woman can get through.” He looks around the circle at the face of each skater, the calm that only a plan can bring in his eyes. Each of their expressions changes in turn to reflect steady certainty where there had been chaos.

“Right. The left,” HardOn furrows her brow as she pictures what her coach has described. “That’ll work.”

“Ready then, ladies?” The Woman asks with a broad grin on her blood red lips.

“You bet your ass,” Hella replies, holding out her hand in the center of their circle. Everyone, including Sherlock, covers her hand and each of theirs in turn.

“For Rock City,” Groot says solemnly.

“And glory,” Smacks adds.

They all raise their hands collectively in a gesture of power, their faces already in triumph as if by the power of Greyskull, they have the power! Their hands drop with the kind of assertiveness held only by a true badass who knows no one can fuck with her turf. The Woman twirls her head toward the track dramatically in invitation to the others to join her. They each nod, steel in their eyes and tenacity on their faces as all five women skate onto the track and get into position while Sherlock remains on the sideline. He cannot resist a quick look to John, who is across the track standing in the aisle with spectators all around. He looks inconspicuous enough, but can hear most of what the other team is saying. It is perfectly legal as far as the official rules go, but the two men have to watch carefully that they do not do anything that looks even remotely like signaling. Any cheating results in disqualification and Rock City is still undefeated at this point, which is difficult, but not unheard of.

“Ten seconds!” the timer shouts and all ten women on the track bend their knees and straighten their spines. The whole stadium vibrates with energy, fans for both teams stomping and shouting. The whistle blows as the timer drops her arm from where it was held aloft and the track springs to life.

The Woman plunges her lanky body into the triangle of Ravens blockers nearly slipping between them right off the line, but the skater acting as the head of the trio closes the gap and prevents her escape from the pack. Face to face, they snarl at each other as The Woman gives a good push and then hops to the right on her toe stops, lunging forward and pumping her legs. Not to be undone, the trio moves with her, still in triangle formation. They tighten the iron grip on one another’s shoulders to stay together as they move. The skater closest to the outer side of the track shoves The Woman with her ass in an attempt to knock her out of bounds. The Woman sees it instantly and twirls to keep her skates inside the line, circumnavigating around that ass and cutting to the left, only to meet the fourth blocker in the pack. Hungry to break through, she continues to hop and push at the blockers.

Meanwhile, HardOn and company have formed an unbreakable wall for #32. She shifts this way and that, snapping her teeth as she bites at the air in an intimidating effort. Hella barks orders at HardOn, Smacks and Groot so they stay in her way.

“In! In! Out, out, out!”

“I’m going around!” Groot shouts.

“Go, go, go!” Hella answers and the three maintain the wall while Groot skates away from the pack and all the way around the track. When she rejoins, it is with the other group of women where she slams into one. With a satisfied gleam in her eye, Groot knocks her on her ass and shoves toward a second skater. The Woman takes the opportunity to follow behind Groot and dart around the whole group. The fourth blocker lunges to pick her up and misses, leaving The Woman to glide away free and clear, blowing a kiss as she goes and earning lead jammer. One of the trio lashes out at Groot in frustration, dropping her to her knees and drawing a penalty. She heads for the box as The Woman weaves her way around her own teammates and the opposing team with such grace and skill, earning four more points for Rock City.

Finally, #32 breaks free from her own wall of blockers and skates away furiously. Suddenly unoccupied, Smacks throws a skillful shot at the trio of Ravens readying to block out The Woman and creating enough of a scuffle that The Woman weaves between them all a second time. Groot forms up with Hella and HardOn readying for another attack by 32, who started building speed as soon as she broke away from the pack.

“HardOn, look out!” Smacks shouts just before 32 slams into her as hard as she can.

The warning was meant to help, but only succeeds in startling HardOn and increasing the effect of the hit. Her eyes wide in terror, HardOn flies right off her skates. It happens in a split-second, but the scene plays out in slow-motion for everyone in the stadium. HardOn hovers in mid-air with a curse on her lips before slamming right into Smacks, normal speed returning as 32 spirals into the mix. They skid out of bounds in a tangle of limbs and loud grunts, Smacks on the bottom and taking the full force of the other two skaters. Her scream echoes through the stadium at impact and she clutches at her calf as soon as they come to a stop.

Whistles blow loudly, three in rapid succession, as Sherlock rushes onto the track. In spite of being closer, somehow John gets there first. He calls for his bag and begins assessing the damage. Sherlock squats next to him.

“Fracture?” he asks in a serious tone.

“Yes,” John nods. His lips press into a thin line, his brows drawing together in concentration.

“How bad?” Sherlock can’t keep his voice from trembling, his genuine fear for Smacks threatening to surface.

“Not good. It’s near the knee,” John glances up when Trixie sets the medical bag next to them. “Ta.”

Sherlock releases a harsh breath through his nose as he turns to the side and motions for a stretcher. Every skater in the stadium, on and off the track, is down on one knee in solidarity. Smacks is biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. She holds her breath and then inhales sharply as John continues examining her leg while he asks questions. She bites back a cry and squirms, which only seems to increase her pain.

“It hurts here?” John asks with raised brows and she nods.

“John?” Sherlock fixes him with a steel gaze.

“Her ankle may be broken too,” he replies after gently squeezing one last time. “I need an x-ray. Could be sprained, but I’d say broken.”

Two men place a stretcher next to the fallen skater and unbuckle its straps.

“You have an ambulance on standby, yeah?” he asks them.

“Yes, sir,” the one with plugs in his stretched earlobes answers.

“Good. I want to take her straight to the closest ER. If her tibia is broken the way I think it is, she’ll need surgery,” John’s voice is crisp. He is in full-on doctor mode, his orders for the two men clear and concise.

“Surgery?!” Smacks queries in a hushed voice that sounds like a gasp.

“Don’t worry, Janine,” John’s eyes soften as he turns them toward her. His face relaxes and his body language is open, honest and comforting. “I’ll see you through it every step. You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

She can only nod a pained grimace and then let her mouth fall open in a silent scream as pain racks her body. At John’s advice, she tries to keep her body limp as he and the two men lift her onto the stretcher and strap her in. She still bites off moans with every movement and looks more than a little grateful once secure. John turns to Sherlock while she is being wheeled away.

“I’ll phone you as soon as I know anything concrete,” he promises.

Sherlock nods, giving John’s arm a tight squeeze as he pushes him off the track and towards the exit. John understands, gives Sherlock a tight smile and jogs after Smacks.

***

The rest of the bout goes without a hitch. Rock City wins by fifteen points. Sherlock receives a call from John just after his celebratory remarks in the locker room. He confirms an oblique fracture of the tibia, just under the knee and a stable fracture of the fibula where it meets the talus. Both require surgery and John will stay at the hospital until Smacks is resting comfortably. Sherlock gives the news to the team once everyone is on the bus for the hotel.

“Fuck me,” HardOn breathes an astonished whisper. “That shoulda been me.”

Hella finds her hand and holds it tightly, a misty look in her eyes as she lays her head on HardOn’s shoulder. The bus is quiet, every skater exhausted, and in a haze of worry and regret. Watching them from his seat at the front, Sherlock straightens his spine and calls out so all can hear.

“Janine is in the best care with John. Concern for her is admirable. It’s what a team is, but we have nothing to fear,” his words float over every skater and he can already see them perking up.

“You best your ass, Coach,” HardOn answers boisterously, Hella raising her head again with a grin. “Ph.D.’s the best of the best. We don’t keep him on just for his body, after all.”

“Not that it isn’t reason enough,” The Woman leers and the bus erupts into laughter.

Sherlock eases back into his seat, listening as the ladies crack jokes and bolster one another. A small smile of pride tugs at his lips. Despite the accidents and obstacles, the ladies are a team above all else. They band together on and off the track like a family. The smile grows as Sherlock’s words from their first bout emerge from a corner of his mind palace; the ladies never cease to amaze him.

Upon their arrival at the hotel, the ladies head up to their rooms to stow their gear and meet back in the bar for a drink or two.

“To Smacks,” Trixie raises a glass. “To the surgeons and steady hands. To a speedy recovery.”

“Hear, hear,” The Woman declares. Every skater echoes her words and they all down a shot. Sherlock taps his empty glass on the table thoughtfully.

“Coach?” Trixie asks in a quiet voice. He turns his gaze on the acting captain and straightens his spine.

“Make sure they’re all in their rooms by midnight. We have to be at the airport at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Will do,” she promises and adds with a wink. “I’ll see to Harry personally.”

Sherlock cannot stop a quiet huff of mirth and he pats her shoulder in thanks as he rises.

“I’m going to the hospital,” he informs the cheerful team in a loud voice.

“Tell Smacks we’re thinking of her,” Trixie gives him a nudge and meets his eyes.

“I will,” he assures. He nods at each of them in turn and hastens out of the bar.

Sherlock spends the cab ride telling Greg about the bout and Smacks’ injury. He scrubs a hand through his curls as they discuss it at length, as well as #32’s apparent personal vendetta against HardOn.

“It was no accident, Greg. That woman was on Harry’s case from the moment it started,” he says with certainty. “She was the target. If she had impacted the track with that force, she would have broken more than two bones. Janine was in both the right and wrong place.”

His leg bounces restlessly on the seat, the only outlet for his agitation.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” Greg’s voice is full of shocked disbelief. “Do you think Harry will be targeted again?”

“Yes, definitely,” he replies. “They will not stop until they succeed.”

“But why would someone on the Ravens help James Moriarty?” Greg asks. “Assuming you still think he’s responsible after this.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock ignores the comment, “but I intend to find out.”

“Sherlock, don’t do anything foolish,” Greg cautions. “Where are you?”

“On my way to the hospital,” his response is quiet, but books no argument.

“Good. Yes. Stay with John and stay out of trouble. We’ll figure this out when you get home,” Greg says with a hint of that GM instruction in his tone.

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes at Greg’s big-brother overtones. The call ends just as the cab pulls up to the hospital. Sherlock pays the driver and walks swiftly into the building. He makes a few polite inquiries into John and Janine’s whereabouts, resisting the urge to snap at every person in his way. Taking a quick detour to stop at the hospital coffee shop, he ultimately pushes into the day of surgery waiting room. John is alone, save a couple mumbling in low tones to one another in the corner.

“John,” he says quietly as he approaches the doctor. John looks up and Sherlock offers one of the two coffee cups in his hands. “Just the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” a smile plays at the side of his mouth and he takes the cup.

Sherlock sits next to him and they both sip their coffees. He tries to read John in sideways glances. He looks tired, but not worried or frazzled. Assured of Janine’s condition, Sherlock allows himself to relax further and take a moment to observe John. It is quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes; watching John. John’s face is all soft lines and dimples. His eyes are the color of the ocean, clear blue like a sunny day with expressive specks of midnight. His cheeks grow a most delightful shade of pink while Sherlock watches him. He finally stops his observations when John clears his throat and sits up straight in his chair. A bit not good, he supposes.

“Janine is in surgery?” he asks in spite of its obvious answer.

“Yep. They’re setting the tibia and repairing the ankle. Should be finished in an hour or so,” John turns his head to face him. “Did we win the match-up?”

“We did,” Sherlock nods, admiring the brilliant smile his answer receives. His stomach does a flip.

“That’s good. The record stands,” John replies. “Janine was fretting on the way here.”

“Harry delivered an ass-kicker of a hit to 32,” Sherlock adds, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “and wasn’t called for it.”

“Janine will like hearing that,” John grins. They both chuckle quietly, an edge of tiredness to the sound. John sighs and looks at Sherlock, leaning his temple against the wall. “It’s going to be at least two or three hours before I’ll be able to see her, depending on how quickly she wakes from anesthesia. You don’t have to stay.”

“You don’t have to stay alone,” Sherlock replies in a quiet tone, not to disturb the couple. John lifts his head to look at him fully. They can both feel exhaustion ebbing and flowing from the other like the tide.

“You and the ladies are leaving tomorrow morning,” John reminds him.

“Irrelevant,” Sherlock waves him off.

“Sherlock, you have to be there by nine,” John argues, trying to make him see reason.

“I want to stay, John,” Sherlock snaps in an angry and too loud voice. He glances toward the room’s other two occupants and they avert their eyes when he catches them staring. Sherlock shifts his body to look at John and effectively turns his back on them. When he faces him, John appears very unamused to say the least.

“I want to stay with you,” Sherlock continues in a calmer voice.

John’s face goes all soft and he tilts his head. Though he says nothing at first, he places a gentle hand on Sherlock’s. It is warm and feels like home.

“There’s nothing I’d love more, but it’s already so late and getting the ladies through an airport is like herding cats,” John laughs when Sherlock cracks a smile. “That’s what you Americans call it, yeah?”

“It’ll be fine,” Sherlock protests while nodding in answer to the question. “They aren’t juvenile delinquents.”

“I don’t know,” John responds in mock skepticism. “I’m not so sure about Harry.”

Sherlock bursts out laughing, much to his own surprise. Not missing that fact, John starts in too and they both descend into quiet giggles when the receptionist gives them a stern look.

“It’ll be fine,” Sherlock repeats in a whisper. “Clara will help keep her on track. She’ll follow her anywhere.”

“True enough. They’re rather adorable that way,” John’s eyes twinkle.

“Don’t tell them you said that,” Sherlock chuckles darkly.

“Well, I don’t have a death wish now, do I?” John raises a knowing brow.

The giggles begin anew and only slow when Sherlock realizes John’s hand is still on his. He looks down at it solemnly and then meets John’s eyes again. He sees all the blues of the sea and his mind begins to catalog them all. He sees pure and utter fondness and friendship. He sees his future.

Sherlock turns his hands under John’s and twines their fingers together as he lifts them to his lips, pressing a kiss to John’s knuckles. The doctor lets out a breath and bites his lower lip. Sherlock’s eyes track every movement. He mirrors the action and then slowly, deliberately glides his tongue across his own upper lip, knowing his teasing has John’s full attention. He raises his eyes only after John’s breathless gasp reaches his ears. They stare at one another for a full minute before John clears his throat and breaks the spell. Sherlock lowers their hands, but does not let go.

“I wish you could come back with us,” he mutters.

“If all goes well, we’ll be able to follow in 24 hours. It won’t be long,” John reassures him.

Sherlock gives him a small smile and squeezes his hand. The corners of John’s mouth turn up. Sherlock feels… He feels happy and contented. His only source of disquiet is that John will not be with them on the plane. Janine may need him, but it still feels wrong. He does not want to leave John here.

“It’ll be fine, Sherlock. We’ll be fine,” John tells him and Sherlock looks at him thoughtfully.

“I would like to,” Sherlock murmurs into the space between them.

“What?” John’s brow knits in confusion.

“What we talked about before,” he clarifies. “To date. If you are amenable, that is.”

John’s brows rise to his hairline and his lips stretch into a beautiful grin. God, those lips. Sherlock wants to nibble and lick them until John is boneless, completely undone, taken apart piece by gorgeous piece. He wants to feel them move against his own mouth and his neck and his shoulder. He wants to see them wrapped around his rock hard cock.

Sherlock visibly jumps at the thought, startled by his raw desire for John. He jerks his hand away without meaning to and the doctor’s smile is gone when he looks at him.

“Hey, no, I want that. I want to date,” John says, his brows knitted in concern now. He nearly misses the tiny nod Sherlock gives him. John hesitates for a second before covering Sherlock’s hand with his again. An electric shock shoots up Sherlock’s arm at the touch, though he keeps himself from jumping this time. John is smiling now. A glorious, brilliant smile. “I’d absolutely love it.”

A wide grin instantly spreads across the coach’s face. Given the fact that John said he had never loved anyone he dated in the past, using the word so freely now and in this context makes Sherlock’s heart swell. He should not dare to hope; John truly cannot promise their relationship will be any different. Even so, Sherlock cannot help himself because maybe, just maybe it means John will realize his true feelings for him.

“I’d love that too,” Sherlock whispers as he rests his forehead against John’s.

---

Oh my god. Action-packed (I hope all the derby action was understandable), another injury (the plot thickens), and then a tender moment for our leading men. Awwwww. I know what you’re saying: Jane, this fucking chapter has it all! What is in store for Rock City? (Defeat? Glory?) What is in store for our intrepid duo? (Danger? Romance?) Only time will tell, my friends. Oh, to know the inner workings of The Mind of Jane. ‘Tis a scary place.

As always, I hope this has brought you all some distraction and solace. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading with me, loving these two idiots with me, and sharing this with me in these uncertain times. I love you all. Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @one-thousand-splendid-stars @irina12maria

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the list. My apologies to anyone I have neglected to this point. I pledge to do better.

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #sherlock roller derby #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #johnlock au

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southboundhq · 5 years

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MEET RAMIRA,

FULL NAME › Beatriz Ramira Reyes Bustamonte AGE › twenty eight GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers) FROM › El Paso, Texas; Artemisa, Cuba LODGING › Holly Boarding House PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Writer NOW PLAYING › Como La Flor by Selena

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: divorce mention, horror

ramira reyes was almost a household name by the time she’d finished her third book, but only her family called her beatriz. the sound of her birth name on their lips producing goose flesh as easy as the creak of a door in a house void of people. it had been a wise, yet impulsive, decision she’d made prior to her first publication that, were she to gain any small fame at all, she might like to keep some part of herself to herself. that she might want to some day found her own world absent of perfection without them. if nothing else, she could at least have her name and that small piece of autonomy and power that came with keeping it safe someday on the lips and hearts of her siblings, even if many of them did not appreciate or understand her chosen subject matter.

diego and gabriela met in artemisa, cuba in diego’s dental practice. gabriela was a dental hygienist with dreams of modelling and diego thought she had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. the pair were perfection, because they were both obsessed with perfection. despite the infidelity, no one could find a single flaw between them. beatriz was born eight months later and diego thought she and gabriela could offer him a more beautiful life than the one he already had. no hairs out of place, no stains on white couches. beautiful enough that he left his wife, and the children he’d already had with her, bringing his new bride and daughter to el paso, texas where they could start anew.

since the very first book, beatriz devoured the written word. she read every book she could get her hands on. she read in spanish and english. she read poetry and prose. she read history and the classics and all of shakespeare’s collected works by the time she was ten. it was stories like macbeth and the raven she loved most and she searched for their peers. disturbed by their daughter’s love of the macabre, gabriela threw out her stephen king paperbacks as easily as she found them and diego insisted she read more sophisticated authors. her parents’ efforts did little to sway her and, as her siblings were born after her, she was able to fly under their radar a little more with each birth.

a nervous child since birth, her parents control and idiosyncrasies only served to worsen her anxieties. allowance was not freely given to be spent; purchases had to be reviewed with both parents for approval. she became afraid to step out of line and yet she stepped on every crack in the sidewalk on her daily walk home from school. not because she believed some playground rhyme, but just to spite them. just to feel the imperfection underfoot as she plastered on her wooden smile. reading was her greatest escape and the school library her only refuge. it was there she discovered terrifying covers and flawed heroes. there was comfort in the frightening fantasies spun by horror greats. whatever her worries were, they were never as intimidating as the battle of good versus evil in the stand or the serial terror of books of blood. soon she was writing her own stories–sending shivers up the spines of girls at slumber parties and earning concerned, but approving glances from her creative writing teachers.

despite their dislike of her interests, both diego and gabriela were loving and supportive, they told her so. there was a long list of careers they had planned for her. she could follow in her father’s footsteps, she could be a model and fulfill her mother’s dreams, she could become a doctor, a lawyer, or go to business school like her uncle. and none among the prestigious careers laid out for her included horror writer. they stroked her hair and assured her it was not her fault when they finally split during her sophomore year in high school. in some ways, it only served to make things worse, but their divorce made it even easier to pursue her passion for writing. they were so focused on sabotaging each other’s happiness, she could easily slither through the cracks. finding herself with a hefty acceptance letter to sarah lawrence, where she’d always dreamed she’d go to escape the monotony and control of life in a dentist’s household in order to become who she’d always dreamed she could be.

college never felt pointless, despite meeting some of the same attitudes shared by her parents–one of the only things they could still agree upon. the nervousness that had driven her to the macabre seemed to dissipate the more she wrote about it. the more she wrote, the more she had to keep going and her first collection of short stories–her thesis project–was published the year she graduated. touted in the horror circles as a debut success, beatriz found herself in a whirlwind and, while her parents refused to read her work they did their best to support her; they told all their friends that they’d always pushed her to write. it burned that she couldn’t share everything she loved with them. that her place in the family was largely tied to her success. even her siblings seemed more afraid of stepping out of line than they did a desire to step out from underneath the reyes patriarch’s heavy thumb. and, as her success grew with each book, she felt further and further away from them. ramira reyes was a household name, but beatriz was the name she left behind with her family.

the distance only grew with her busy schedule and, as christmas neared, she found herself unable to travel back home under the threat of a new deadline for her latest tale of terror. procrastination became seductive with every daily distraction, and she found herself caught up in movie deal negotiations and parties. parties with people who were rarely critical of her, bathing her in the afterglow of sycophantic, unconditional love. after one such night out in a string of forgettable nights, she found herself drunk and lost in a subway car that felt eerily like midnight meat train with a broken phone and lost wallet. it was that morning, when she sat in a diner with last night’s party dress and smudged eyeliner, that she decided it was time to unplug. it was time to be scared again and it was time to write.

the loft apartment didn’t take long to sublet, nor did it take much time for her to pack. ramira had no idea where she was going, but she’d seen some rumors online about the mysterious town of boot hill, arizona and it seemed like the perfect place to unplug and be inspired. she sent her mother and father an email, apologizing to them that she’d likely miss christmas this year, but would make sure to come and see them all in el paso when she’d finished her book. the words were as wooden as her childhood smiles; nothing sounded worse than another christmas back home in el paso.

the flight wasn’t too long, but she was exhausted by the time she got into the rental car. assured by several people along the way that boot hill was simply an urban legend, ramira shrugged them off. it didn’t matter really. boot hill was more of an idea to her than a real place. as long as she found some small town where nobody knew her name and she wouldn’t be tempted by new york city nightlife, she was pretty sure she’d manage. maybe it wasn’t a real place, she thought dreamily, turning the dial on the rental car’s radio as she lost service, after following the directions she’d read on reddit and finding nothing. she could swear to god there’s no southbound highway and she’s barely able to keep awake any longer without any music, even with both windows rolled down.

it seems like it’s time to pull over at the next rest stop and catch some shut eye when she sees the sign. BOOT HILL, ARIZONA. IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOU’D BE HOME NOW! the quaint kitschiness makes her exhale sharply in amusement. fuck you, creepy gas station clerk, she thinks, tightening her knuckles at ten and two on the wheel with renewed resolve. i’m going to write a new bestseller in this town. white knuckled and red eyed, she drives on with the renewed energy of a second wind.

as a small smattering of lights appear in front of her, she can hardly hear the call of something sinister in the outskirts as she drives on. her phone still doesn’t have service, as she looks for an airbnb, but it doesn’t even bother her that she can’t call anyone to let them know she’s made it safely. hell, her publisher will probably lose his marbles until she sends him a draft, but all of that can wait. there’s something so calming about the sleepy town waking up in the wee hours of the morning. there’s something so magical about the pace of this place and ramira thinks, maybe she could write all her books in this town. maybe this is somewhere she belongs.

❝ strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Jeanine Mason AUTHOR › Lucia

#jeanine mason #rp #rpg #town rp #oc rp #bio rp #{ all. }#{ newcomer. }#{ f. }#{ over twenty. }#{ lucia. }

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mizumi-kahago-writing · 5 years

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Arc 5 Part 3: «Chronos» (MYSMESS FANFIC; Demon AU)

Arc 5

Part 3

The courtroom was truly something else. Despite the fancy attire and the red satin curtains everywhere, it was cold, harsh and cruel. Never before had she seen such an ambivalent room. The cage in which she was still sitting in dangled above it all, and she could take in the entire view of the chamber beneath her.

She hoped for the best, as the real challenge began now:

“The culprit is guilty until proven otherwise. Demon K006 is accused of interfering with the human world in a way which disrupts the space-time, as well as abducting a human child against their will, despite our laws and contracts prohibiting such behavior.” Perfectly summing up why any of them were here.

Now was the time to prove himself, as he was already called to the witness stand to defend himself. “Your honor, I plead not guilty.” Starting off with his demand immediately. That was way too early without any explanation and another dosage of electricity was released into his body.

Shaking as he tried to collect himself to withstand the doubled amount of volt, becoming even more difficult than the first time.

Meanwhile, Satan was just twirling her hair between her fingers. “Why?” was the monotone question back.

The man down in the room was slowly calming down and recovering from his punishment. “Let me explain, your honor.” Taking a deep breath as he was collecting himself. “You see, I just happened to be in the human world as I saw her passing by.”

Slowly looking up to explain his story, while the great leader also focused on him. On the other hand, the blonde woman seemed uneasy and was jolting forwards, held back by her girlfriend who was indeed curious about what the man had to say.

“So, I followed her that afternoon to the forest. I knew it was a dangerous place and my only reason was to protect her from any approaching wildlife or–” Before he could even finish his sentence, the next shock followed, and he was fried again.

Painful screams and groans filled the room, making it clear that he was lying. His father just shook his head in disappointment while crossing his arms. After a few more heavy pants, he started anew:

“Fine, fine. I have watched her for around about two weeks, since I felt a strange connection to her after seeing her silver hair sparkling in the moonlight that first night.” Envy was already on to push down the lever, but this time he was speaking the truth.

Lust finally spoke up again: “So, you admit that you stalked her and purposely followed her?” That in itself was no crime, but it seemed like that woman up there wanted to make it one. Why did she want him to be guilty so much?

Once more, the angelic demon was held back by her partner, hissing over to her: “Let him finish.” Visibly displeased about that, but she could not speak against the highest power of all devils and demons. She knew her place and stepped back. “Continue.”

Everyone was focused on him now. “That feeling, it never vanished. So, after a while, I kept on following her every step. Watching her sleep, watching her walk, watching her work. And so on.” Honestly, she was a bit shocked that he was so obsessed with her, but more so that she never noticed him doing so.

Surprised, she clapped her hands in front of her mouth to suppress a gasp, but he was already confessing more. “She eventually went into the forest, so, of course, I followed her. As I already said, it was to protect her from any harm.”

Now the voltage was almost unbearable for him. How many times had he been electrocuted now? And each time the voltage doubled. Slowly but surely, it was becoming harder for him to recover properly in such a short amount of time.

Shaking where he stood, the tips of his hair were already crispy. A let out a few coughs as he leaned over the railing, holding himself up. “Alright, I get it. I was curious, so I followed her. I thought that the feeling I had was because she’d be my next soul to devour.”

Her eyes sprung open in surprise. Had he changed his ways by now? Probably. But, when did it happen? Maybe throughout the entire first few weeks they had known each other he had seen her as nothing else but his dinner?

That thought made her shiver and she tried to shake off the unsettling feeling. No, that can’t be.

“As I saw her there naked, I felt that wolves were nearby. So, I might have mistaken that she was not my food, but theirs.” He was already continuing. Once more, the high ruler herself spoke up. “Did you know those creatures were approaching? Judging by your power to attract canines?”

Again, so monotone and with no interest in the entire thing. “No.” His quick answer was followed by another electric shock. This time, he was sinking down to his knees, only the shackles on his wrists were holding him up. “I mean, yes. Yes!”

He gasped between gritted teeth. Another electrocution he probably wouldn’t be able to stand. “My powers attracted them to her, and they attacked her. But I jumped in and saved her.”

That wasn’t a lie, so he was spared the pain for now. He rose up slowly, trying to balance himself. “And then? Did the human girl comply without any restrains?” the devil next to Satan asked, protesting again.

For a few brief moments, the entire courtroom went silent, everyone looking at the male standing there in shackles, barely holding up by now. “She came with me, as a volunteer.” Lying one last time, and that was his death sentence.

Now the dosage reached its maximum as probably millions of volts rushed through his body, grilling him entirely. A loud ‘Fuck’ was yelled through the room, and the girl in the cage couldn’t take it any longer.

Breaking into tears, she yelled into the room. “Yes, I came with him because I wanted it! Please, spare him!” Everyone’s gaze shifted upwards to the girl, interrupting the session as the older demon was still being tortured with electricity through his veins.

“Silence her,” was the order from the highest-ranked creature in the room. None other than the Raven followed that order and put a magical anti-sound barrier around the cage. Of course, the girl was so displeased with that.

She began banging her fists against the barrier, trying to shatter it. Yelling, crying, raging in her cage, and all she could do was watch her partner probably being killed down there. Why did he have to lie so much? He knew what was coming to him.

Only the dog which was with her could calm her down now, poking his snout against her tummy and shoving her away from the edge of the barrier as much as it could. It was simply no use. Eventually, the girl just broke down, hugged the dog close and buried her teary face in its fur.

Satan rolled her eyes and commented: “I seriously have no time for such nonsense.” Clearly, she was pissed off about all of this. Her girlfriend started to comfort her, while further down the stairs the father confronted his son.

By now, they had stopped the torture, but the smaller demon reached his own limits. Sitting on the floor, totally out of breath, as his father grabbed his chin, making him look up with his last energy resources.

“Why are you doing this son?” No answer. “Why are you making this situation so difficult for yourself? You should know better. Not only you suffer.” He pointed at the girl who hung up there in the birdcage. “You also make her suffer.”

Well, that was a statement, but it was true. “I expected more from you. Better from you. You are part of our family, and all you bring is embarrassment.” Scolding him, he then shoved him away forcefully.

However, the younger demon could not protest; he simply did not have the energy for it. “You and I both know how this trial will end. Don’t you?” Snappy as ever. The small demon scoffed and gave his father a death glare.

“I know. Both, you and I have used our future sight ability to foresee the end of this.”

“Splendid. Now, finally, tell the truth and don’t keep us waiting any longer.”

“Fine.”

Gathering his last pieces of strength, the male rose himself up, holding tightly on the railing and speaking up loud and clearly. “Your honor. I promise to tell nothing but the truth.” He started again.

That, however, only rose suspicion in the higher-ups as all of them rose their eyebrows and looked at him with curious, wide eyes. “She came with me because I caused her a life-threatening situation. At that time, I was unaware that she was going to become my Astéri.”

“I invited her to my lair, and she accepted. Afterwards, I wanted to devour her soul for a quick lunch, then I felt that there was something more and I offered her a Desmós.” Shifting his face to make eye contact with every single person present in this room. Lastly, his bonded one.

Further explaining how they fucked and ending his speech on a high note: “… I asked her if she wanted to bond with me. She said ‘yes’ again. However, I am aware she only said so because she feared me.” Swallowing thickly and lowering his gaze.

“I am now aware of all the mistakes I’ve made and how much I have changed since then. So, I plead: Not guilty.” A whistle accompanied by a slow clap from above, quickly silenced by Satan herself.

“So, is that so?” Exchanging another long gaze with the accused one down there, she swung herself up and stepped forwards. “The judge decides...” Silence and tension all across the room, waiting for the final judgment: “… Not Guilty!”

Raising her arms as a round of relieved sighs came from everyone. The two powerful women, stepping down from their pedestal, while the taller one flipped her long silvery hair back. “What a waste of time.” The other one followed her like a lap dog.

“But, your majesty.” Protesting about her judgment, as she was already looking forward to the spectacle of the male demon’s execution. “Enough. Let the girl down and let’s get going. I hate this place.” That order was loud and clear.

Lowering the cage and opening the door, as well as the barrier, the little girl was set free, as was her partner from the shackles. Still a bit wonky on his feet, he was trying to regenerate himself.

A heartfelt reunion had to wait a few more moments. While the girl was scooting out, she caught another glimpse of the dark-skinned woman with the tall horns. Seeing Satan so close made her shiver and gasp for a moment.

That was a true beauty of a woman. But that face—it was so familiar to her. Where had she seen it before? Blinking a few times, the moments of admiration were over, and the girl fell into the arms of her mentor.

________________________________________________________________

«« Summary | « Arc 5 Part 2 | Arc 5 Part 3 (Second Half) »

________________________________________________________________

Author Notes:

I have a confession to make: I am falling out of the fandom.

Which results in the lack of motivation to continue this fanfiction.

However, I will not leave my readers hanging completely.

Though out the upcoming weeks I’ll upload summaries of the rest of the Arc’s, that you guys know how the story concludes.

It’s the least I can do tbh.

No hard feelings, I hope everyone understands.

Thank you for your attention and support of my writing.

Fanart can still be drawn of course and is highly appreciated.

Maybe we’ll read each other again in a future work of mine.

#mystic #messenger #saeran #choi #mc #saeran x oc #saeran x custom mc #fanfic #mystic messenger #saeran choi #demon AU #demon #fantasy #AU #fantasy AU

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devientdeco · 5 years

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The Death of A Skeptic

Spencer Winters sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette and enjoying a coffee and the sounds of “Nobody Knows You When Your Down And Out” cascading from the radio near his desk. He saw a dark shape against the frosted glass of his office door which read ‘Spencer Winters: Private Detective and Investigator’. Other detectives would have a secretary outside, but he had had to let his go. The young detective reached into his desk and undid the safety on one of his .45 pistols, cocked it, and placed it in his pocket, easily drawn if he needed it. It never hurt to be prepared, after all.

Spencer opened the door and admitted a young man, the two taking their seats on opposite sides of the desk as Spencer killed the radio with the turn of a dial. The young man was armed, Spencer saw the bulge of a holster in his expensive suit. He was tall and lanky, not unlike Spencer, and he had neatly arranged red hair, green eyes flicking over Spencer like a snake looking at prey. He smiled and extended a hand to shake before he began speaking, his voice indicating he was clearly another Nocturne City native, the Southern accent spilling from his lips like tar onto a road under construction. “Mr. Winters,” He paused to flash another million-dollar smile at Spencer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Nicholas Burnette. I represent a powerful player who has expressed an interest in hiring you. You’ve proven yourself to be quite a capable detective and an able combatant, an excellent marksman and possessing a remarkably sturdy constitution. I’ve heard of your little war with Benny Vinnoci and his bootleggers after that unfortunate business with your wife and her sticky fingers. He ended up with two to the head, and you get off scot-free thanks to your police friends. You are, thus, an able candidate for the job we have in mind.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, is this job, Mr. Burnette? How do you know so much about me?”

“I have friends in the police department, just like you do, detective, and I also hired someone else to look into your background. Please, don’t be upset. I was asked to find the best man for the job, and you're it. As for what the job entails, it is deceptively simple. My employer seeks a raven statuette from the swamp outside of town. I am sure you are aware of the perils within, so we chose you for your martial prowess.”

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was a skeptic, through and through, not believing the tales of monsters in the swamps. Like any gumshoe, he knew if you were inclined to believe in such things, you probably weren’t cut out for detective work anyway, or if you were, you’d waste your time and your clients trying to find things everyone else knew weren’t real. He had been in the swamp on a case before though, just last year, looking for a lost boy. The boy was never found, but there was never any sort of danger there, just big trees and weirdly black water. One of the policemen had gone missing, but he was later found in the loving embrace of a mistress in a seedy motel near the swamp. Nothing supernatural there, Spencer thought, just human nature. He pushed the case from his mind and focused on his client. “The only threats I face there are the threats of tripping and getting my boots wet Mr. Burnette.”

“That is where you are wrong, detective. But if you do not believe me, you will find out for yourself. Will you take the job?”

“More details?”

“We have a rough idea of where the object is, but our previous efforts to retrieve it have been stymied by illness and madness, and in one case, cowardice. We can provide you with a rough map, and little else, I’m afraid. You will be exceedingly well compensated, detective. My employer is prepared to offer you up to ten thousand dollars if you retrieve this object for his collection, five hundred upon accepting the job, and the other nine thousand, five hundred, upon delivery of the statuette. If you succeed in this endeavor, you may be hired for more asset recovery operations in the future.”

Spencer’s mind raced at what he could do with the money. He might be able to pay off the medical bills he always incurred on his more dangerous cases, and maybe even hire another secretary. But he knew he had to keep from acting too excited, avoid seeming too eager. “Ten thousand dollars for getting my boots a little wet and finding some statuette? Your boss must really like statues. Sure, I’ll take your money. Who’s this mysterious employer, Mr. Burnette?”

Nicholas smiled warmly. “I’m so glad you agreed to the job. I doubt it will be as easy as you think, but I’m sure you can handle it, given your background. My employer is none other than Mr. Henry Sinclair, founder, and CEO of Southern Industries.”

Spencer was impressed. Henry Sinclair owned Southern Motors, among the other enterprises in the Southern Industries umbrella and was the richest man in Nocturne City. His factories had brought the city and the south as a whole an economic boom, and he was fast becoming one of the richest men in the country. Now he wanted him to find something in the swamp for him. He was distracted from his thoughts as Nicholas reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. “The first installment of your payment, detective. Thank you very much for agreeing to this. You are the fourth person we’ve hired or tried to hire. The second person to accept. We sent a team into the swamp ourselves, but they came down with some nasty illnesses and the expedition leader is currently in a mental asylum. The one detective who agreed skipped town after being given the first installment and had to be tracked down and made an example of. I’m sure you won’t make the same mistake. I hope you succeed and don’t end up dead. Good luck sir and thank you again.” He shook hands again and left after a final smile.

That night, Spencer returned home to see his wife, Scarlett, lounging on the couch. “Hello dear. You look glum. What’s wrong, tough day at the office?” She rose and embraced him. “I was hired by Henry Sinclair to go into the swamp and find something for him.” Scarlett looked alarmed. “Please tell me you turned him down. There’s all sorts of awful things in the swamp.” Spencer cracked a grin, amused by his wife’s belief in the supernatural.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Well, there is, of course, Black Mask Armitage. Victims of The Walking Plague that survived being killed way back when, cultists, freaks, all sort of things! You shouldn’t have taken the job.”

“Oh, calm down. The worst that can happen is maybe I’ll trip over a tree root. He offered me ten thousand dollars! Why would I turn that down? Besides, I never saw anythin’ weird last year.”

“Even the luckiest man alive has to run out of luck sometime. Just cause you didn’t see anything, doesn’t mean its not there. I love you Spence, and I don’t wanna see a news article about your body being found floating on the edge of the swamp.”

He smiled at her worries. He silenced her protests with a kiss on her ruby-red lips, while running his fingers through her long red hair.

“Baby, I’ve taken on gangsters, for you no less. I killed a mob boss. I’ve tangled with the toughest thugs this city can offer and I’ve always come out on top. I can survive getting a little wet. I’m sorry, but I need the money.”

He pulled his wife off of him and started walking to his room. He opened the envelope and found it had five one-hundred-dollar bills and a map, or, rather, an attempt at a map. It had several ‘landmarks’, one of which was circled. ‘The tall black trees. It should be in the center of the clearing surrounded by the tall black trees.’, was scrawled in spidery handwriting. Spencer thought about the weird legends of the black-water swamp on the edge of town. The earliest legends were from the colonization of the city back in the 1600s, stories of weird lights. Spencer dismissed them as swamp gas. There were many stories of the horrors and cults and forbidden sects which lived in the swamp, but he dismissed them simply as folk stories. Tomorrow he would go out into the swamps and try to find the statuette.

In the morning, Spencer went to have breakfast at The Café V8 in his sleek Southern Motors Raven before heading off to the outskirts of town, wearing not a suit, but instead donning some well-worn boots, jeans, and a shirt and coat he wasn’t afraid to get dirty. He peered into the dark swamps and turned on a flashlight. The high cypress and oak trees blocked out what little light shone through the overcast sky, Spanish moss dangling down and blotting out the light even further. He trudged into the swamp, into the cool black water. His boots sank into the mud and snapped twigs as he walked on. Spencer frowned. This brought back bad memories. He had searched for the boy for days, and found no trace of him, save a tattered bit of cloth that might have come from his shirt, but could have been from any number of other shirts. He nearly tripped over a sprawling root somehow drawing nutrition from the water-soaked soil. Spencer found a slight smirk crossing his face, despite the memories of last year. He had been right. There was nothing here but trees and water. He was surprised to see a number of lights in the distance. He cautiously approached, flicking off the flashlight and seeing a handful of figures standing over something. He inched closer, crouching down now and pulling out one of the two .45s he always carried with him.

He looked closer and saw that the individuals stood atop a bit of ground that rose from the black waters, amidst the huge trees. They were six of them, all naked, their bodies painted in strange, organic patterns, spirals, leaves, ivy-like tattoos crawling up their skin. They stood inside a pair of overlapping hexagons made of black wood. The figures stood around a colossal black tree stump, and, to Spencer’s shock, a mutilated body. The body was that of a young man, apparently vivisected, with intricate leaf-like patterns branching off of the opened chest cavity, as though it were a tree trunk with the leaf-like patterns growing from it onto the rest of thr body. The figures bore bloody knives. Spencer cocked and undid the safety on his .45 as he backed away, prepared to defend himself as he fled. He cursed to himself as he slipped on a root and fell into the water. He arose, seeing six figures approaching him, bearing knives, chanting aloud words that made Spencer’s head hurt and his ears to ring. He raised his .45 and fired at the nearest cultist, aiming for the leg, wanting to incapacitate for now unless they made things difficult. The cultist fell to the ground, his knee shattered by the bullet. He continued to fire, wounding each cultist, though they continued to crawl toward, chanting even through the pain, some unknown and incomprehensible language. Spencer sighed and decided he’d have to kill them. He was good at killing, and while he did not enjoy it, recognized it as a necessary evil. He shot them each in the head, even as they continued to crawl forward, one of them even hurling his knife at him in desperation, though it only tore a hole in his coat as it went wide. He moved on, trying to block the memory from his mind.

As he pressed on through the water, he flicked on the flashlight again and continued onward. He was not particularly worried about killing those people; the corpses would be subsumed by the black waters of the swamp and they would not be an issue. Even if they were, his friends in the police force would understand that he was cleansing their fair city of criminal cultists. He felt his boot kick against something. He looked down and saw something that was not a tree root. He saw many corpses floating in the waters. Not one, not two, but dozens of them. They were rotten with age, yet still somehow, impossibly, had flesh and muscle, albeit tattered and decayed. Then, Spencer thought he saw one of them twitch. Impossible. Corpses cannot twitch. It continued to twitch, standing up. It and the other corpses began to stand, shambling toward him, arms outstretched, a low moan escaping from its damaged and rotten mouth. Spencer blinked, recoiling on reflex rather than reason, dismissing this as a hallucination. One of the corpses tried to bite him, and he recoiled. He leaped back. This was no hallucination. He backed up, and drew his pistol, firing perfectly aimed headshots, but panicked as he heard the click of an empty clip. He backed up, tripping over a tree root and falling backwards into the water. The things he had shot had fallen into the water, finally destroyed after centuries of unlife. But more of them arose from the black waters. Spencer arose from the water, narrowly avoiding a grasping hand, and fled, running blindly away from the reanimated corpses into the swamp, tripping a few times and soaking himself further.

He finally got far enough away that moans were no longer audible on the wind. He slumped against a tree. What had he just seen? It must have been supernatural, for he was unable to explain this rationally. He was a man of rational thinking, and dare not think of anything irrational or strange, even religion, for many religions would not approve of his actions. He pondered on these things he had shot. According to local history/legend, in 1745, there was an outbreak of The Walking Plague, a strange form of bubonic plague. The town apothecaries and barber-surgeons donned the signature mask of the plague doctors and took up blades and eradicated the undead who had lurched into the swamp. One of them, local legend proclaimed, was infected by a bite from the undead and then began to transform. The doctor, Noah Armitage, vanished into the swamp. A few weeks later, reports of a horrible flying creature began a strange amalgamation of flesh and bone, and ravens wings, and a leathery plague mask and beak. This monstrous creature was called Black Mask Armitage, supposedly the transformed doctor Noah Armitage. Perhaps, perhaps the legends were true. He had shot undead creatures to protect himself. Undead beings reanimated by an ancient disease. But when he had gone looking for the boy last year he hadn’t encountered anyone or anything out of ordinary, and he had gone deeper into the swamp than this, or so he thought. Thinking about the case brought a strange feeling of melancholy. He remembered the mother sobbing, asking him to take another look, because the police had largely given up after three weeks of searching. He shook his head fiercely and forced himself to stop thinking until after he found what he was hired to find.

He pressed onward, looking at the map, trying to get his bearings. He was surprised to see the stump that had been on the map. He pressed onward, the trees becoming even taller, monolithic black trees, Spanish moss hanging like tendrils reaching toward him. There was a sudden clearing, and Spencer saw a tall black monolith, a statuette of a raven sitting atop it. He approached, grabbing the statuette and tucking it into a bag. As he turned, an earsplitting screech filled the air. He stared in disbelief and horror as a figure flew towards him. It was some sort of monstrous entity, a creature with a long black beak, it’s beak long and leathery, like a plague doctors mask, arms that looked like eldritch fusions of bone, rippling black flesh, and raven feathers. Its body was a mix of black feathers and bone, black flesh showing here and there. It let out a terrifying screech and flapped towards Spencer. Spencer could hardly believe his eyes, sure he was now hallucinating. He was snapped out of this assurance that he was hallucinating by sharp pains on his arms and chest. He saw blood on his shirt. He removed his pair of .45s and fired, Black Mask Armitage hissing and screeching as the bullets hit its chest and wings. Spencer kept firing, as he ran, his coat being ripped off as claws snagged in it. He sprinted into the thick trees, Black Mask Armitage following him, flying above the trees, the shrieks echoing into the overcast sky. He continued to fire, many of the bullets flying wild now, shooting until he heard the click of empty magazines. He was out of bullets now, and no more magazines, the extras had been in his coat. His arms and chest were bleeding more freely now, the cuts deeper than he thought. Something he did not believe in had clawed him, and he was bleeding. Perhaps he needed to be more open to the existence of the supernatural in Nocturne City. After all, not believing in it did not prevent it from attempting to kill him, of course. He continued to press on through the swamp, seeing the lights of town in the distance. He smiled weakly to himself, thinking of Scarlett when the screeching of Black Mask Armitage drew closer. He saw his car nearby, it’s sleek black form a sign of hope. If he could get to it, he could drive off and leave this forsaken swamp.

Making a break for it, he ran to the car, tossing the bag containing the statuette in the passenger seat and quickly grabbing the two extra magazines he kept in his glove box and frantically reloading. To his horror, the car rocked, and the narrow windshield broke open as the talons of the flying monster smashed it apart, leaving claw marks in the hood. He scrambled for one of the .45s, firing at the long black beak. It screeched, trying to get closer. He turned the key in the ignition and started driving, speeding off, the creature struggling to stay on the car which was quickly accelerating. He smiled with satisfaction as the creature was forced under his tires, loud bumps sounding as the creature was run over. He heard loud screeching but knew the creature would soon return to the swamp, if the legends were true, at least.

He staggered into the hospital, being cured by the doctors and nurses. When they asked what had caused the wounds, he simply said “Black Mask Armitage”. They were highly confused, sharing his now-dead skepticism, but treated his jagged cuts. He drove home, warmly embracing Scarlett. “Oh, Scarlett. I’m sorry. I should have believed you. There were…. things….out there in the swamp. I killed cultists. And then there were victims of The Walking Plague. God, so many of them. I ran. And ran and ran, until I came to a clearing. I found what Sinclair hired me to find, but then Black Mask Armitage attacked me. Ripped my coat off, clawed me. But I think I’m better now, just need to lay down.” She kissed him. “I’m so glad your ok Spence! I mean, you come home wounded a lot, but I was honestly worried for the first time. But maybe your luck isn’t ready to give out just yet.” She embraced him again, and stood, heading off to prepare some supper. Spencer sat and gazed into the flames of the fireplace, thinking about all the horrors he had seen. His lack of belief in the supernatural had been shattered beyond repair, like the shattering of a window as someone is defenestrated. He understood now that there existed things that he could not understand, and that a bullet could not solve every problem anymore. He had shot the bird creature many times, in the wings, chest, and its awful beak mask thing but it continued to attack. He hoped never to have to go back into the swamp. He would demand more money for the job from Sinclair, of course, to pay for his medical bills. He would believe now, or at least be accepting of that fact that strange horrors lurked in and around his beloved city.

Spencer drove his sleek but damaged car toward the Sinclair mansion. The Sinclair estate was a large, modern, white, Art Deco mansion situated on a jagged-edged cliff overlooking the city and the Atlantic. The well-manicured grounds were enclosed by a tall wall, preventing anyone from peering into the tycoon’s affairs. Spencer pulled into the driveway, and an armed guard came out to greet him, looking confused at the state of his car. Presenting his private detective's license as ID, he was allowed in. He was ushered into a luxurious Art Deco office. A tall, lanky man in the finest suit Spencer had ever seen stood before him, a pencil mustache, slicked-back hair. He smiled and extended a hand. “Good evening detective Winters!! I am ever so glad you are not dead! Do you have it?” Spencer handed him the bag containing the obsidian statuette, the ruby red raven eyes gleaming in the electric lights. Sinclair beamed happily. “Excellent job detective Winters! Thank you!” Spencer nodded.

“Your welcome sir, but I would like to know if you would mind covering my medical bills? I had a run-in with Black Mask Armitage. And, if you don’t mind me asking, why the hell did you want this thing so bad?”

“You did? I will, of course, pay you extra. Is that why your car is a disgraceful heap of shattered glass and scratches? No matter, I will replace the car with the newest model of Raven. Let’s see…. nine thousand, five hundred dollars? I already paid you five hundred, but let’s ignore that and give you another five hundred. And, to answer your question, I am a collector of the eldritch, the macabre and the supernatural. It….intrigues me.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. ‘Just how rich and possibly crazy was this man?, he thought.

Sinclair reached into his pocket for his wallet, and pulled out a few dozen hundred-dollar bills. He handed it to Spencer and smiled.

“Your payment, detective. My agents may seek your assistance in the future, Mr. Winters. Please consider accepting. You did a fine job, and you have proven yourself capable of doing things others will not. I am happy to have met you! Now, I must find a place in my collection worthy of displaying such a beautiful piece of artwork. Good evening!” He abruptly turned on his heels, carrying the statuette and walking off. An aide was sent to get Spencer a new Raven. A short while later, it arrived, pulling up by the door, aides, moving any personal effects from his old car to his new one. Spencer looked at the sleek black car, pleased by this unexpected bonus. He got in, and drove off into the night, NCR serenading him.

#spencer winters #Henry Sinclair #black mask armitage

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tywriteskpop · 6 years

Text

Awakening (SB Sequel Mark Tuan)-Chapter 2

Genre: Fluff, Angst Warnings: Hold onto your heartstrings

“Jinyoung, try focusing on your hands,” Mark told his brother. “Concentrate your magic there.”

Jinyoung shut his eyes tightly and held his hands in front of him. Small grunts of effort were the only sound as Mark waited patiently. He watched his brother closely, anticipating the small burst of light that he hoped Jinyoung would produce.

It wasn’t until Mark felt a small burst of power that a wide smile appeared on his face. “You’re doing it, Jinyoung!” he cheered. “Keep going!”

Jinyoung’s hands started trembling as he tried to keep control of the power he was emitting. The boy felt a warm sensation pass through his body. “Is it working?”

Mark stared in awe at the haze of light that seemed to settle soundly in his brother’s aura. “Jinyoung, your magic…”

Mark opened his eyes slowly, finding himself back in the waking world. He felt a moment of guilt as his dream replayed freshly in his mind. He closed his eyes again as the feeling washed over him.

You ran your hand through his hair gently, hearing him sigh in relief. “You fell asleep, my love.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbled. He reveled in the soft touch of your fingers threading through his hair. He felt himself relax, and he faintly became aware that his head was resting on your lap instead of the pillow he remembered.

You leaned back against the couch cushion and gazed at him solemnly. “Was it another dream? Do you wish to tell me about it?”

Mark shook his head slightly, nuzzling further into your touch as his head rubbed against your thigh. “Just a memory, I think. I don’t even know if it was real.”

“You’re starting to remember your first life,” you hummed. “Are you angered by it? Or pleased?”

Mark thought carefully about his answer before opening his eyes, staring straight at the wall across from the two of you. “Guilty,” he replied. “I don’t know what’s real or isn’t. And if it’s real, I could have done something to change what happened.” He sighed and pushed himself up to sit next to you properly. Then he looked at you and took your hand in his. “In hopes of avoiding a depressing nonexistent life story, how about I take you to the park?”

You hesitated. You wanted to ask if he was okay, that he was sure he didn’t want to talk about it. But you knew he wouldn’t even if you asked. He was too stubborn for that. So you agreed.

“Let us indulge in a relaxing afternoon,” you said with a small smile.

With your arm looped around his, you walked side by side with Mark along the pathway to the park lawn. The warmth from the sun heated your skin, but a chilled breeze passed by you that made you shiver slightly.

Mark pulled you closer to him and looked down at you lovingly. “Wait here,” he said, sitting you down on an empty bench. “I’ll go get something to drink, okay?”

You nodded and gave him a wide smile. You wanted to be happy for him, to help ease his anxiety. You knew despite the façade he showed you that he was struggling with himself. He needed to come to terms about everything that had happened, but something was standing in his way.

Nonetheless, Mark kissed your hand gently before patting it on your knee. You sat on the bench patiently as Mark ran across the lawn to the park vendor. You rested your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. People watching, that’s what Mark called it. You observed the strangers around you with unhindered curiosity.

You saw mothers and fathers alike playing with their children. The youthful laughter and playful screaming made you smile. It made you think about your childhood, the days you spent fighting with your brothers and playing with the other children in the kingdom. Eventually your thoughts began to wander, an acute flash of the possibility of having children of your own passing through your mind.

But the thought began fading almost as soon as it came. The noise around you dimmed to a soft hum until you could only hear white noise. Your expression became solemn, your eyes becoming unfocused. Sitting up straight, you hesitantly looked to your right.

Across the street, a shadow stood among the crowd. You couldn’t make out the face of the shadow, even as you took slow steps towards the road. The citizens around the shadow seemed to not even notice it, like it was invisible to their eye.

Mark waited impatiently in the line for the vendor. He quickly took a glance back at the bench, but he paused when he saw you were no longer there. The boy silently began to panic, looking left and right for you. He impulsively stepped out of the line when he saw you walking towards the busy road.

“Y/N!” he called, but you didn’t respond. His gut feeling told him something was wrong. He started at a jog, and the closer you got to the street, the faster he ran. “Y/N!”

You were merely a step away from the noisy road. An oncoming car was headed straight towards you, and Mark cursed when he realized he wouldn’t get to you in time. The driver of the car pressed on his car horn, trying to warn you to move out of the way.

But just as you took that final step onto the black pavement, you were jolted out of your hypnotic state after being tackled to the ground. You were safely back on the grass, away from the street, but you were disoriented and had yet to comprehend who your savior was.

Jaebum knelt beside you, panting heavily as he looked across the street. “Where is he?”

Yugyeom stood close, searching for the shadow. But even as his eyes expertly scanned the busy crowd, he couldn’t see anyone of suspicion. “Long gone.”

“Damn it.”

“Y/N!” Mark skidded to a halt beside you and pulled you into his arms. He quickly checked over you, looking for any indication that you were hurt. He gasped a sigh of relief and tugged you close to his chest. You were in shock from what just happened, and he needed to calm you down.

He looked up and shifted, practically covering you with his entire body. “What the hell do you two want?”

“How about a thank you for saving your princess?” Yugyeom snapped.

Jaebum shot his younger friend a sharp glance. “Relax. He has every right to act this way. Here is not the best place to cause a scene.”

Yugyeom looked around at the few faces who watched them curiously and worryingly. “Too late.”

Jaebum and Mark took the moment to look around as well. The raven sighed and turned his attention to the prince. “We need your help.”

“Mother!” Jinyoung knelt beside his mother, his small hands cradling her shoulders desperately. “Brother, something is wrong with Mother!”

Mark turned away from his practice dummy and saw his mother hunched over on her knees. She was retching into her hand, and when she pulled her hand away, he could see the red tint of blood on her pale skin.

He hurried towards the walkway where he spotted his tutor and the queen’s advisor. “We need help! Call for the physician!”

The tutor rushed to summon for the doctor and nurses. The advisor followed Mark into the gardens and found the queen lying on the grass beside her youngest son. Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he looked up helplessly at his brother.

Mark went to him and stayed close as the advisor checked the queen’s pulse. With bated breath the boys waited for the nurses to come collect the queen. They gently lifted her and placed her of a fabric carrier, trudging away with her majesty as she lay unconscious.

“She will be fine,” the advisor told them. “Have faith in the doctors. Come, let us return indoors. It will rain soon.”

The advisor beckoned the two boys to follow him as he walked back to the castle. Mark looked up at the darkening sky, seeing the gray clouds looming their way over the kingdom. They hovered over them, and a soft cool breeze flowed past them.

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Jinyoung asked, holding the roses his mother dropped.

Mark gazed at his mother’s chair under the roof of her gazebo and silently hoped she would be okay.

Mark slammed open the door to the apartment and led you inside, keeping his arm around you protectively. BamBam was laying across the couch when you stepped in, and he immediately sat up when he saw the tired look on your face.

“What happened?” he asked, sensing something was wrong. He stood up and made room for Mark to set you down on the couch.

“Someone tried to kill her,” Mark muttered.

“What?!” BamBam shouted.

BamBam’s voice carried into the kitchen, alerting Youngjae. The boy hurried into the living room but froze when he looked towards the door.

“What are they doing here?” he asked, his anger rising.

BamBam looked up at his brother’s voice and turned toward the door. His clenched fist started to heat up, and he moved to stand in front of you.

“We were invited,” Yugyeom scoffed.

“Like hell-”

“Guys, chill,” Mark said, cutting BamBam off. “They saved Y/N’s life.”

“But what for?” Youngjae asked. He walked further into the living room and stood behind you. “Are you alright?” he said softly.

You nodded. “I’m fine, truly. Just…shaken. But he’s right.” You looked at the ravens. “They saved my life.”

“What exactly happened?”

Jaebum cleared his throat. “She was being entranced to walk into traffic. Luckily we caught it in time to stop that from happening.”

“You’ve been following us,” Mark said. “We saw you before. Why?”

“Like I said,” Jaebum told him, “we need your help. I know we’ve had our…differences-”

BamBam huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Sure, whatever you’d like to call it. You tried to kill us!”

“We were following orders,” Yugyeom snapped. “We did whatever Jinyoung asked us to do.”

“But it was never Jinyoung,” Jaebum added.

The brothers faltered where they stood, not understanding what he was saying. You and Mark shared a wary glance.

“You have about two seconds to explain before I kill you both.” Jackson walked into the apartment from the front door. He walked past the ravens and stood in front of them, a sharp look in his eyes as he evaluated the threat level.

“What a warm welcome,” Yugyeom muttered. In a louder tone, he said, “Sorry to break it to you, but you never killed Jinyoung. He’s still alive.”

“How is that possible?” Jackson asked quickly. “Mark killed him. I saw it with my own eyes. His body was cold.”

Jaebum looked at the prince. “You’re having dreams again, right? He’s been sending them to us too. From what we could decipher, you never fully killed him. You purified him.”

You quickly realized what he meant and looked up at your beloved. “The blade. It was laced with your pure magic.”

Jackson sent you a look as his thoughts started piecing together. “You stabbed him first. Your pure magic pained him, and Mark finished the job with the dagger.”

“He’s not dead,” Mark said quietly. “We never killed him.”

“What good is that to us?” BamBam inquired. “If Jinyoung is alive, why do you need our help? Especially if he’s still after Y/N.”

Yugyeom shook his head. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“It was never Jinyoung,” Jaebum repeated. “It was his body and mind, but not his will. From day one he was being controlled by an outside evil.”

“Controlled?” Youngjae said. “By who?”

“The same shadow that just tried to kill your princess here.” Yugyeom nodded a gesture your way. He seemed disgusted, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of you or the shadow.

“We need your help finding Jinyoung,” Jaebum finished. “He’s the only one who knows the shadow’s true face.”

“And we have to find him soon,” Yugyeom added. “We have to find him before whoever’s after him kills him!”

“What?” Mark looked horrified.

“Why does this shadow wish to kill him?” You asked.

Jaebum sighed. “Because Jinyoung still has the dagger. That dagger, laced with Jinyoung’s magic, is the only way to defeat this shadow.”

“Wouldn’t Jinyoung’s magic only make this guy stronger?” Jackson asked.

“No, not his shadow magic,” Mark said. All eyes went on him, and he looked up at his friends with a guilty expression. “His pure magic.”

“Remind me why you needed us here again,” BamBam huffed.

Yugyeom shot him a tired look. “We don’t know the layout of your castle. We’d get lost.”

“And you think Jinyoung might be here?” Youngjae asked, looking at Jaebum.

The raven shrugged. “It’s a possibility. It’s one of the few places we haven’t checked yet. Jinyoung stopped contacting us days ago, and he never showed us how to find him. We need to check everywhere we can think of.”

Youngjae coughed and rolled his shoulders. “Alright. But if either of you try anything, I’m almost positive some of the castle’s traps still work.”

“Yeah, Jackson made that clear last time we met.” Jaebum rubbed the back of his head where he could almost still feel the pain from his fight with Jackson. “I don’t plan on experiencing that again.”

Youngjae almost smirked hearing that, feeling a sense of pride for his brother. But his expression grew solemn when the broken castle came into view. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by invisible hands as he thought about the memories the boding structure held, both good and bad. He glanced behind him at his younger brother, who seemed to be having a petty argument with Yugyeom.

“You two weren’t with Jinyoung when he destroyed our kingdom,” he said to the older raven. “One day you two just appeared at his side. How did you get involved?”

Jaebum swallowed, watching the ground as they continued on their way. “You may not believe it, but Jinyoung saved us. Merging with the shadows and becoming a raven, that was the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. It felt like my very being was ripping in half. But still it saved us from death. He gave us the choice, and we let him.”

“We never asked Jackson about it,” Youngjae murmured. “We were afraid of asking him. He’s been hard on himself about it since he became a raven.”

“When you merge with the shadows, you have no choice but to follow the will of the one who provided you with new life,” Jaebum explained. “Jinyoung’s will was corrupt by the shadow controlling him, but we had no choice but to follow him. Still, even if we had the choice, we’d follow Jinyoung regardless.”

“Why? Because he saved you?”

“We never understood until recently. But he fought against his controller. There were moments where he treated us like friends. Moments where he went into a fit of rage after he killed his brother.” Jaebum paused in his step and looked Youngjae in the eyes. “You saw what the shadow wanted you to see. Keep that in mind.”

Without another word, the small group continued towards the castle in silence. When they arrived, BamBam and Youngjae led the way inside. The walls were crumbling, moreso than the last time they were there. Weeds and other overgrowth took over the paths and hallways.

“How are we supposed to find him if he’s here?” BamBam asked.

They entered the back hall towards the old courtyard. The hall was large in width, allowing all four boys to stand side by side with room left over. Silently they moved, peeking into rooms and searching through other hallways. None of them spoke a word until…

“Do you hear that?” Youngjae turned towards a new hallway. He held his breath, nervously scanning the area for any sign of a threat. The hall was long, so he squinted his eyes to focus better at the far end of it. His brother and the ravens stood behind him, waiting with bated breath.

“Shit! Move!” Youngjae turned and pushed BamBam back in the direction they came from.

Without question, they all bolted down the hall, taking sharp turns and weaving through debris as fast as they could.

“What the hell is that?!” BamBam shouted over the horrifying shrieks behind them.

Jaebum spared a glance behind them to see the huge cloud of shadows and morphed faces gaining on them. It was a terrifying sight, and he had only one guess as to what it was.

“The shadow that controlled Jinyoung!” he said. “He’s been here.”

“He must have set that trap and waited for us to spring it!” Yugyeom guessed, hopping over a fallen column.

“We need to make it back to the entrance,” Youngjae said. “We’re too closed in here.”

He slowed down and allowed the others to race ahead. He turned around and waved his hand in front of him. In a flurry of blue, water magically appeared in front of him and froze with a clench of his fist. The ice wall reached from the floor to the ceiling, not allowing the cloud of shadow faces to pass through it.

Youngjae backed up a few steps, watching as the cloud continued to push against his barrier. The ice cracked, and he cursed under his breath. He turned and hastened his pace towards the entrance hall. He heard the wall shatter, and the screeching reached his ears once more.

The boy turned the corner into the entrance hall, finding BamBam there waiting for him.

“Come on!” his brother called.

Youngjae felt his legs ready to give out on him. But he spurred on, knowing if he stopped now it wouldn’t end well. He willed himself to continue.

The young prince was suddenly yanked off his feet, a shadow wrapping around his neck. He choked out a cry of surprise, reaching up to pry the shadow off. It tightened its hold on him, and he began to feel lightheaded. He could faintly hear his brother calling out for him.

BamBam was ready to charge at the cloud, ready to burn it away until there was nothing left. But before he could move, Jaebum ran past him. The raven used his magic to give himself his wings. He flew up, pulling Youngjae away from the cloud.

Youngjae landed on the floor with a thud, coughing and sputtering as he tried to take in as much air as possible. BamBam ran over to him and helped pull him to his feet. The brothers looked back and saw Jaebum being overtaken by the shadow.

“What are you doing?!” Yugyeom yelled. “JB!”

Jaebum didn’t answer. As half of his body was consumed by the growing shadows, he sent a guilty look of sorrow at his friend before flapping his wing down. The force of it caused a small whirlwind inside the hall, blowing the other three boys out the door. The doors shut behind them, and after getting over their disorientation of what just occurred, they realized they had lost Jaebum.

Mark stood in the unfamiliar garden. It was heavily filled with roses of every color, with a large white gazebo in the center. A woman sat inside of it on a beautifully carved wooden chair. She held a book in her hands, her fingers running down the page as she read.

“Mom…” A small tear fell from Mark’s eyes as he recognized the woman in front of him.

She didn’t seem to hear him, and he was acutely aware that he was dreaming. Another memory?

“Queen Briar.” He turned around and saw the queen’s advisor. “It is time for us to take our leave. We have a long travel ahead of us.”

The queen nodded and stood up, closing her book. It was then Mark noticed her protruding abdomen. She rubbed her stomach gently as she took one last look around the garden.

“I wish to have a garden just like this one in our new home,” the woman said softly. “A place for my children to feel safe. That’s all I ask for.”

“Certainly, your majesty.”

The advisor escorted the queen back to the castle from the garden. Mark noticed something was left on her chair, and his curiosity got the better of him. He walked up, and picked up the red rose that was left behind.

Mark jolted awake from his sleep, startling you where you sat beside him.

“Is everything okay, my love?” you asked worriedly.

Instead of answering you, he reached for his laptop on the coffee table. You leaned in beside him to nosily peek at what he was searching for. He typed in ‘Briar Rose’ into the search engine, and your brows furrowed in confusion. Who was Briar Rose?

Mark scanned over the results, all of them relating to a place called Briar Acres. He clicked on the main website and brought up the homepage.

“I think he’s here,” he said quietly. “Jinyoung’s here.”

You looked at him in shock. “You dreamed of this?”

Mark moved his cursor over the pictures posted on the website. With a sharp intake of air, he stopped on one picture in particular. A garden with a white gazebo.

“He’s in a mental hospital.”

You forced Mark to take you with him, spouting reasons left and right about why it was better to go together. You entered the lobby of the institute, and you curiously looked around. You saw nurses tending to patients, and you couldn’t help wonder if these people were truly ill.

“I’m looking for someone who might be a patient here,” Mark told the receptionist.

“Do you have a name?”

Mark hesitated before providing, “Jinyoung. I’m his older brother.”

“No surname?”

When Mark took a moment to reply, you quickly stepped in. “We believe he changed his name,” you said. “We lost contact with him a year ago.”

The woman nodded in understanding and starting typing away at her keyboard. She hummed with a small frown, and Mark felt his nervousness return. “I’m sorry, I’m not pulling up anyone with that name. Let me talk to my supervisor.” The receptionist stood up and walked to the back room behind the desk.

You pursed your lips and gently placed your hands on his arm. “It’s okay,” you told him. “We just have to keep looking.”

Mark turned away from the desk with a sigh. He scolded himself for coming here. He knew he shouldn’t have, that it was a stupid idea.

But when he looked up, he stopped. A porch could be seen outside the window of the lobby. There were several people there, mingling. But one stood out.

Jinyoung stared back at Mark, void of anger or excitement. Mark wasn’t sure if it was really him. He could be hallucinating like before. But when Jinyoung turned and walked away, Mark felt compelled to follow him.

“Sir?”

Mark snapped out of his thoughts and turned back to the receptionist.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“The boy out there, who just walked away,” Mark said.

The receptionist leaned over to look past Mark and saw Jinyoung walking towards the gardens. “Ah, him. He’s one of our amnesia patients. Poor thing doesn’t remember who he is.” She paused and looked at Mark in shock. “Is he your brother?”

Mark nodded numbly, taking in the information of Jinyoung having forgotten everything. The receptionist called over a nurse who happily skipped over to them.

“This is your brother’s nurse,” she said, introducing the new woman. “She’s been taking care of him for about a year now.”

“Oh! The amnesia boy?” The nurse examined you both and nodded excitedly. “Such a sweet boy, he is. He’ll be happy to know you’ve found him. Maybe you can help us with his recovery process.”

The nurse gestured for you two to follow her. She led you outside and into the gardens. Mark felt a sense of recognition and nostalgia as he looked around at all of the rose bushes. It didn’t take long for the gazebo to come into view.

“Sir?” the nurse called. Jinyoung perked up and turned to face you all. “You have some visitors.”

You took a moment to take in Jinyoung’s appearance. He looked exactly the same as you remember. But he looked pure, innocent…a stark contrast to the shadowy evil that surrounded him before. He looked humble and kind.

“Do you recognize them?” the nurse asked.

Jinyoung spared you both a glance. Then he smiled guiltily to the nurse. “I’m afraid not.”

You felt Mark deflate next to you. His shoulders slumped, and his breath hitched. You looped your arm around his comfortingly and held his hand.

“I see,” the nurse sighed. “I’ll let you visit then. Maybe something will come back to you, dear.”

“Thank you,” Jinyoung said.

The three of you waited until the nurse was gone and out of earshot. Mark swallowed and opened his mouth to speak.

“Hello, Mark.” Your eyes widened in surprise as Jinyoung spoke. You only assumed Mark shared your bewildered expression. “You finally found me.”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 mark #mark tuan #park jinyoung #got7 jinyoung #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop fanfiction #fanfic #sleeping beauty #awakening #kpop angst

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wherelegendscamefrom · 7 years

Text

You, Me, and Mead Makes 3

a/n = A special thanks to ScaraMedn and kt_valmiri for their input and support, as well as providing supporting characters (Lucian, Alestair, and Luna). This one is for you two.

.....................

The walk back had been monumentally uneventful for the little hare. He passed through the tall gates leading to the mountain’s entrance, it’s front grounds now deserted. A quick look up at the sky and Jack knew why.

Suppertime, he thought.

Trudging to the doors, he passed through towards the mess hall. Even if one had been a stranger on the mountain, one could find it. The many voices carrying throughout the corridors worked better than a compass or map. The hares of Salamandastron ate ravenously, many of the more improper ones laughing and joking with full mouths.

Jack paused just outside the entrance and peered in. His eyes first went to the head table where his parents sat and conversed with the higher officers. The surrounding tables held the lower cadets, the Leverets in direct eyeline of their elders.

Their behavior was exceedingly more restrained than that of Jack’s elder brothers and sisters. They and their friends laughed and joked, being the loudest of all in the mess hall. He felt a knot of uneasiness grow in his belly and decided supper was not for him tonight. Besides, he still had a full basket of blackberries.

He continued on his way, heading towards the library. Though his absence was noted by Daniel. The older hare glanced up as his little brother decided to move on. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, he excused himself from the table, calculating eyes watching him in suspicion as he did.

Positioned on the ground floor, the library was sprawling and cavernous. Rows of parchments, maps, thick volumes of texts, and a large, beautifully adorned tapestry made the room a favorite of Jack. After a quick pause in front of the magnificent drapery, eyes going to the mouse in the center resting upon his sword, the hare wandered over to the texts, debating on what he should open first. A few of the berries were eaten before he set the basket down at a reading table, intent on studying the atlas upon it.

“Well, well, well,” came a low sardonic voice from the entrance. “Should’ve know you would be a coward and skip dinner.”

Daniel leaned against the wall, his own blue eyes bored as he glanced over Jack.

“I wasn’t hungry,” came the younger hare’s reply. He tensed as his brother pushed up from his spot and strode towards him.

“I don’t care for the way you talk to me, Stripes,” Daniel cracked his knuckles and kept a leveled gaze on him. “I hate to do this, little brother, but you need to be knocked down a peg.”

Jack had backed away as Daniel grew closer, though his big brother’s words caused him to lunge as the same moment. The two clashed together, fists flying, teeth biting, each fighting for dominance. The elder grabbed him viciously by his ears, causing a loud cry of pain to echo through the room. The younger didn’t let it distract him for long, as powerful feet shot out and caught his attacker in the stomach.

Quiet suddenly, they were pulled apart. Jack was squirming and fighting his way free, eyes focused on his brother. General Baylor McLeaps held Daniel in a vice grip by the scruff of his neck. And one look at his father made the hare regret his choice of action.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked looking from one kit to the other. Jack became aware of Deodra’s arms restraining him. Their mother was in a fury standing between the two who had been fighting.

“A very good question!” With a wave of her paw, Baylor release Daniel, who cowered before his mother. Another wave had her daughter releasing Jack, who immediately lunged for him again. “Jack! You will calm yourself, lad!”

Merida caught him in her arms and forced his angry gaze to her. Her own ambers gradually calmed him down, until his head dropped and tears filled his eyes. With a scoff, she pulled his face up and wiped his tears away.

“There will be none of that, ya hear me, lad?” Her son nodded and composed himself as she stood and turned to Daniel. “And as for you. I am fed up with this rivalry.”

The older brother let his gaze drop as his mother continued.

“In the history of this mountain, there has been only one banishment. And the winds have long since blown over their bones!” Merida strode to her son, her eyes ablaze. “I would not hesitate to banish you should this continue, Daniel. You are a Salamandastron hare! A title that garnered respect, in all corners of the world. You are the example, an influence, amongst the Leverets. They follow you and your judgement.

“Their treatment of your little brother is a reflection of YOUR actions within the classroom. Consider yourself pulled as a teacher,” the younger hare gasped and turned his eyes to his father. “From now until I deem sufficient, you are on scullery duty.”

“Father! You can’t just-“ Baylor cut his son off with a raised paw and soft laugh.

“Daniel, I may be the general, but your mother is ruler of this mountain,” he glanced at his youngest, whose eyes were still narrowed at his brother. “It would pain me, but if I must banish you, I will. And Jackson.”

Jack looked up as his father stepped towards him. Merida’s paws dropped away as she stepped back to allow her husband to get close.

“This is a proper fist,” he said, demonstrating with his own, “Throwing a punch with your fist like that-“ he picked up his son’s paw and folded it- “will hurt you more than it hurts your opponent. Understood?”

Jack looked at his fist then back up to the general. “Yes, Father.”

He chuckled and ruffled the fur on his head. “Good lad. Get back to your dinner, Daniel. Best foot forward!”

With a scoff, the older buck left without a backwards glance. Merida pulled her son into her arms and glared at her husband.

“Please refrain from teaching our child how to hurt others,” she said to her husband’s amusement.

Deodra stepped forward and saluted smartly.

“Permission to be bold, sir?” She asked. Baylor laughed louder and nodded.

“I have not known you to be anything other than bold, my dear!” He smiled and nodded. “Go on then.”

“Perhaps….. well……. might I take Jack for a campout tonight?” She reached over to pull the young hare from their mother. Adjusting so he was in front of her, she smiled sweetly down at him before continuing. “A night under the stars might do him some good. Just for the night?”

“Oh, no, Deodra, he’s much to young-“ Merida was cut off by her husband.

“I think that would be a great idea,” he said grinning. “Some fresh air, a nice fire, change of scenery. My, my, yes! Spot on, my dear! Off with you two! Go get your packs ready.”

Smiling, Deodra pulled her brother out of the library to gather their things, leaving a bewildered Merida with her husband.

“Baylor! He is but a kit! What if he gets hurt?” She demanded. Her husband laughed lowly again and went to embrace his wife.

“I was camping when I was half his age, my love,” he murmured in her ear. “And between you and I, I’m more worried about him being in the barracks tonight, on his own. I would rather have a chance to talk with our older cadets before another incident.”

Merida sighed. “Very well.”

“Besides,” continued the general, “what’s the worst that can happen?” ………………….

The sun had set fully during this time. The moonlight gave way to the path the two young hares followed, each silent with their own thoughts. Jack felt as though they had been traveling forever, his feet were heavy and eyes tired, when his older sister stopped. She made motions for him to be still, her silhouette showing the swift movement of her ears as they scanned the area.

Satisfied, she dropped her pack and began to dig a shallow fire pit. Jack set his things next hers, before scrounging up kindling. Soon they had a fire going, with two scones pulled and resting next to it. A pan of mint tea was placed on the fire to warm up before Deodra went to climb the dune next to their camp site.

Her little brother dutifully following, she paused at the top and waited for him.

“Come here, Jack,” she whispered. He was pulled in front of her again, his eyes turned to the small collection of lights below. His sister pointed a paw in their direction. “Thats Portsworth. Ships and traders from all over the world have been passing through. They say it shall grow over triple it’s size by the turn of the century.”

“Wow,” he responded, eyes large at the prospect. A certain vixen popped into his mind as she continued.

“And see that, right there,” she gently angled his chin towards another collection of lights, though these seemed to be moving away from them, “those are the trading caravans. They were behind schedule and are leaving tonight. I heard they will arrive in Zootopia by weeks end, after stopping through some of the surrounding towns.”

Jack’s breath caught as he watched the lights make slow headway into the night.

Skye, he thought. He hardly noticed that his sister had pulled away from him.

“I’m sure,” she pondered out loud, “if one were fast enough, one might make it to them before they got too far.”

Deodra turned away and slid down the dune back to their camp. She reached the packs and hurriedly emptied both, Jack rushing up beside her with an alarmed expression on his face. Tears falling but her face set, she repacked her little brother’s bag before facing him again.

He was roughly turned, his new provisions placed upon his shoulders, before Deodra pulled him into a hug.

“You have a choice, Jackie,” she whispered, her voice thick, “and I will support whatever you choose. Follow that star, it lays over the village. Don’t ever think you’re not strong enough, because you are. And most importantly-“ her voice broke briefly- “I love you. To the moon and back.”

She released him abruptly, turning to tend to the fire. Her ears stayed high, her eyes clouded with tears, her breathing uneven. She picked up no sounds, no paw steps, nor rustling of ears, though when she turned back, her brother was gone. Only a slight tumble of sand gave clue as to where he had vanished and Deodra fought the urge to follow him.

An odd calmness coming over her, she sat back in front of the fire and pulled the scones gently away.

“I just sent my eight year old, baby brother to a traveling fox cart, headed to gods know where, to return gods know when,” she said out loud. “My parents are going to kill me.” …………………..

Four carts in total made up the trader’s convoy. Matthew and Vivian Frost sat in the lead, with their newly acquired plants. With his wife resting in a bundle of coats and blankets, Matthew sorted his correspondence. Instruction were given to the surly ox pulling their cart, his thoughts partly consumed by worry of his wife’s illness and his daughter’s sudden despondence.

The two traders following directly behind them would break off towards a different route, though not before they came to their first stop.

Skye sat in her spot on the very back of the last cart, legs dangling over the side. She watched mountain slowly get smaller and heaved a great sigh. Even though the sun had fully set, her eyes were well enough to see her surroundings. The uneven pathway was lined with scraggly vegetation, the cart’s wheels hitting the occasional stone.

A lantern was placed next to her, it’s friendly light taking away some of the chill from dark that surrounded the travelers. In the driver’s seat was Ben, the large cheetah that had joined their convoy several week ago. The small vixen smiled as the friendly cat chatted the ear off the ox hired to pull the cart.

She leaned against one of the many barrels separating her from the cheetah, pulling a thick wool blanket over herself as she did. Journal clutched to her chest, Skye let her eyes fall close and thought of her new friend. She wondered what he was doing, what his family was like, what life on the mountain would bring him.

Jack’s laughter and voice echoed in her memory and for a fleeting moment she heard him say her name. And the thought of it made her smile…..

“Skye!” The vixen sat up in alarm and kneeled over the edge of the moving cart. Her eyes immediately landed on the small hare running after it. He carried a pack on his shoulders and a determined gleam in his eye. But it was the grin that got her.

As soon as her eyes found his, his face lit up and an extra boost of speed was found. On instinct, Skye’s paws reached out, Jack running to grasp them. In a moment of grit, he tensed his legs and sprung towards her, grasping her paws in determination. All her strength was summoned to pull him up next to her, the pair collapsing side by side with a soft ‘oof’.

“Jack!” She whispered. “What are you doing? How did you find us?”

She was confused but couldn’t stop the happy flutter in her belly, nor could she keep the smile from her face. Jack panted to catch his breath, his eyes on the silhouette of the mountain as he pulled himself together.

“I’m going with you,” he said at last. Skye’s ears perked and her tail wagged at that. The hare turned his gaze to her and smiled back. “I can’t let you have all the adventures.”

The two grinned at each other before pulling themselves up to lean against the barrels. Skye pulled the blanket over the two of them as Jack shrugged his pack off and set it aside. Still in shock over what was happening, the vixen and hare curled up together, her tail wrapping itself tightly around her friend.

“Will your parents come after you?” she asked in a whisper. Both turned their gaze towards the retreating mountain.

“……..yes…….” he replied softly. His head dropped to her shoulder and his eyes fell shut. “But it shall be worth it.”

Skye rested her head on top of his and closed her eyes as well.

Crazy hare, she thought.

Still smiling, the pair fell asleep as the wagon swayed and lurched through the night. ………………..

Dawn broke at a soft and steady pace, the early morning sun creeping up on to the small duo as they slumbered. The cart still swayed gently, the oxen having kept a steady gait to fully utilize their energies. Ben slept in a thick bundle of blankets, snoring loudly and surrounded by empty sweets packages.

Jack was normally up before dawn, his fellow hares insisting their days start early and end late. A rule he normally agreed with. But he was oh so warm and comfortable, not to mention pleased that his bed had finally lost the firmness he disliked. The contentment he felt made one long, folded ear twitch, unknowingly tickling the source of his peace.

Skye’s nose gave it’s own little twitch, before it turned to release a delicate sneeze. The hare’s eyes flew open! His ears started to unfurl themselves, stopping just before rapping the still slumbering fox kit on her muzzle. Jack peeked his head out of the cocoon of blankets and vixen he was wrapped in to survey their surroundings.

The oxen pulled carts had traveled the brief length of the desert that the dunes gave way to, the land now still scraggly yet fresher than what they had left. Blue eyes blinked at the passing collection of fuller vegetation and colorful birds he had never seen before. A scattering of homes and small farms were tended to by mammals who gave the carts a brief look before continuing on with their day. Smiling, the little hare was about to settle back into another light slumber, swayed by the movements of their resting spot, when they came to a halt.

A larger collection of buildings lay not far off from their stopping point, a sign stating their location to be Fire Fields Brewery and Inn, Podunk. Jerked fully awake by the sudden lack of motion, Jack’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of heavier pawsteps and voices heading towards them. His eyes widened in panic as he casted a glance at the barrels they were resting against.

By how they had shifted when he and Skye leaned against them, he judged the barrels to be empty, a stroke of much needed luck as the steps grew closer. But efforts to hide were futile as he made to move, only to be scooped up and held tightly by Skye. She smiled and murmured in her sleep, pulling the struggling hare effortlessly under her chin.

“Skye!” Jack gasped as quietly as he could. “Wake up! They’re coming! I must hide myself!”

She was undisturbed by his squirming and urgent whispers.

“Up and at ‘em, Ben!” Came a jovial voice from the front of the cart. “Wouldn’t want you to sleep through a visit to the finest brewery and inn this side of Zootopia! Cami, Alestair, and Lucian would be most disappointed, my spotted friend.”

The voice was too close for comfort. In a panic, Jack’s ears again lightly brushed Skye’s nose. In her sleep, she flinched and pulled her muzzle back as if to sneeze. Struck by sudden inspiration, Jack let his ears tickle her nose again. Her paws suddenly released him as she shot up.

“Ah-CHOO!”

Not a moment too soon, the hare sprang from her grip, landing easily into the closest barrel. Paws bracing themselves on either side and trying to get his breath under control, Jack listened closely to the mammal on the outside approach his former sleeping spot.

For her part, Skye snorted her discomfort at the tickling sensation in her nose. Giving it a wiggle, she sighed in relief as she turned to the now empty spot beside her. There was no longer a hare there. Instead, there was a pack, stuffed with who knew what and obviously not hers.

Her ears perked to the sound of her father approaching, she tossed the blanket over it hurriedly, before draping herself on top.

“MMM-ahh!” She yawned loudly as her father came round the side of the cart. His green eyes landed on her with a surprised smile. “What a wonderful rest! How happy I feel to have slept so soundly.”

She tried not to let her nose twitch as it picked up Jack’s scent coming from his barrel. Matthew cocked his head as regarded his daughter.

“And here I thought I would have to work to wake you,” he smiled as he scooped her up, pressing his nose into her neck affectionately. She tried not to tense as her father breathed deep, a blush fighting to spread across her skin under her fur.

“My dear,” he started as he pressed his nose into her fur again, “why do you sm-“

“AYE!”

Both jumped and turned their heads to the doorway of the inn they had stopped at. A kit fox stood at the entrance, her bluish green eyes flashing dangerously behind her.

“¡Idiota!” She shrieked at some unknown mammal still inside the building. “Lucian, I told you no! Don’t mess with my cocina, pero no! You go and you ruin my tamales! ¡Dios mio! ¡Imbecil!”

Skye’s arms tightened around her father’s neck as the vixen turned to the carts in front of her shop. Her gaze softened as it traveled from Vivian sitting up from her resting spot, down the row until it rested on the todd holding his daughter with wide eyes.

“Aye, Matty!” She clasped her paws together and hurried over. “¡Tu hija es hermosa! Mi amigo, it has been too long!”

“¡Hola, Cami!” Matthew smiled at the vixen as she approached. Her eyes alighted upon the kit in his arms. “I would ask if we find you well, but that seems a bit redundant!”

“¡Aye, si! I am always well, Matthew. Even when dealing with foolish ardillas trying to ruin my lively hood,” she exclaimed, extending a paw up to Skye. “And who are you, mi bonita zorra?”

Skye shyly hid her face in the ruff of her father’s neck, much to the amusement of the adults. Vivian had climbed from her spot to join them, chuckling at her daughter’s behavior.

“That would be Skye,” she said beaming down at the smaller vixen. “She normally isn’t this shy.”

“It is ok, mi amiga!” The kit fox grinned at Skye and winked. “You may call me Cami!” She turned to the barrels on the cart and her grin grew. “And Alestair will be giddy knowing you have his barrels, Benji. Almost as giddy as myself if you have what I asked for……”

Matthew grinned back at his old friend, allowing his wife to accept their daughter from him.

“I do indeed!”

They hurriedly walked to the lead cart, Skye being carried by her mother as she looked back worriedly at barrel Jack was in. Cami was in a tizzy about some chili pepper plants the Frosts had delivered, the vixen letting out a delighted laugh as she rushed back to the inn.

“Ven conmigo,” she called back to them, “you look famished! Lucian! Lucian call Alestair and his helpers and let his wife know their barrels are here! They must be filled! Tell him the Frosts are here and they have his blackberry honey, stonecrop, Susans, and cornflowers! And a list of the amount of mead and wines Ben needs. Now, lad, andele!”

The door to the inn was flung open, an irate grey squirrel stalking out, his brown eyes meeting the hard glare of Cami.

“Lucian, do this! Lucian do that!” He mimicked. “I’ll have you know I am one third of the owners of this establishment, Señorita Palo! You can not order me around like one of your kitchen workers!”

He stomped one hind paw to drive his point home, scowling up at the shorter fox. Even Skye gulped as the air around Cami grew fridge. Drawing herself up, her tail whipped dangerously behind her, her light green work dress sweeping her feet. The apron she wore was untied and slowly wrapped around her paws as she glared at the squirrel.

And after moment, Lucian’s ears and tail dropped as he bolted off to another building.

“Yes, miss,” he called over his shoulder, “right away.”

“Oh, now that’s a trick you must teach me, Cam,” said Vivian breathlessly. Skye was set down and her paw firmly grasped by her mother. The kit fox merely smirked over her shoulder.

“Mi amor,” she smiled as she held the door open, “my spice is not limited to my cooking. How else could I keep that squirrel under control?”

Skye glanced back at the barrels again, her keen eyes noticing the black ear tips of her friend still hiding. The sound of a door being slammed open and the many pawsteps made them drop back down. To her horror, several large mammals, mostly pigs and wolves, dragged another large cart behind them. One by one, the barrels were transferred away from their spots before the collection of workers hauled them away.

Including the one that hid Jack. ……………….

General McLeaps sat in his chair facing the window. One elbow propped on the arm rest with his paw at his chin, unseeing blue eyes watched the morning sun break over the horizon. The other paw absently thumbed the old spyglass he held.

In his mind’s eye, his youngest son’s ears nearly blocked his view of the sea. And it made him laugh. He held the spyglass to the young buck’s eye, pointing it towards the horizon, scanning it for activity. All they had seen were seagulls, but it didn’t stop his Jack from tracking their every move. Pride filled him as his kit took a rapid interest in his father’s work. Jack couldn’t wait to be a Leveret.

He’s to be a great general one day, had been Baylor’s thought.

But now, the general sat in the same chair, with no Jack in his lap, ready and eager to learn. His daughter was still standing behind him, her body straight and at attention. Her ears trembled with effort to stay up and her eyes were glassy with tears as she awaited a response from her father.

Baylor did not shift position. He neither blinked nor raised his voice an octave.

“You are herby stripped of your rank,” he said in flat voice. Deodra allowed a few tears to course down her cheek as her ears fell. “You will gather your belongings and be escorted from the mountain of Salamandastron by noon today.”

Taking in a breath, he pulled himself up from his seat and blinked his eyes into focus. Now carefully studying the horizon, he tried to keep the growing anger and anxiety he felt contained.

“When I gave permission for the campout, I did it under the assumption that you would comfort your brother,” Baylor kept his voice even but was unable to stop the venom from leaking into it, “perhaps tell him stories of Martin and Matthias, how they overcame the odds and became great warriors. Even though they were mice.”

“You were expecting me to do your job as a parent,” came the cold voice of his daughter, “and, instead, are furious I did my job as his sister.”

Baylor turned to her, blue eyes ablaze, reminding himself of his promise to never strike his children.

“You dare-“ he began, only to have Deodra cut him off. She cried openly now, her face contorted in anger.

“Yes, I dared!” She sobbed as her back straightened with new resolve. “I dared because he needed his father. I dared because someone had to step in. You were obviously not going to, otherwise he would still be here. You gave him no chance, so I found one for him.”

“It was not your call, Deodra!” Baylor took a breath and composed himself. His posture straightened before he allowed himself to continue. “I had every intention of fixing the situation. To make sure no one else would feel tempted to act on any impulses. If he is to be a Salamandastron hare-“

Deodra’s scoff cut him off.

“What war are you preparing for, Father?” She asked. “The time for the warrior has ended, our service is not needed, has not been needed in centuries. Perhaps it’s time to join the present instead of living in the past.”

“Leave,” whispered the general. A steady paw pointed to the doorway. “Leave now and pray I find your brother unharmed and in one piece.”

With a look of resolved despair, his daughter swallowed thickly before drying her eyes. A final salute was given before she turned on her heel and left. It was only after she was gone and her pawsteps faded that Baylor let his face crumple. Tears of hot anger and worry fell only briefly before he collected himself.

“Edgar.” A privet who had been waiting just outside the doors promptly entered and saluted his general. “I want a search party organized. Send runners to the village and inform Mayor Fischer and Admiral Shellton I wish an audience with them. I want a complete sweep of the area and completed logs of every trading ship and cart that has passed through.”

General McLeaps turned back to the window, his paws clasped behind his back.

“I want my son in front of me by the end of the day,” he said, his voice cold enough to send a shiver down the young privet’s spine. “If he is not, inform the search parties they will be un-welcomed at Salamandastron until Jack is found. The one who returns him to me will be greatly rewarded.”

Edgar’s ears shot up at that, a greedy gleam in his brown eyes sparking as he saluted the general’s back before taking his leave. Baylor considered the view outside of the window, spyglass warm in his paw as he raised it to his eye.

Wherever you are, Jack, he thought as he scanned the brightening horizon, I shall find you. ………………………..

Jack was bounced and jostled inside his barrel most ungraciously. The workers, with smooth expertise, had tossed the heavy things as if they were naught more than feathered pillows. The hare’s own hiding spot was none the exception, the jolt of his barrel landing was hard enough to make him withhold a gasp of pain. Paws still extended in effort to keep it from falling over, blue eyes peered fearful up at the barrels’s entrance as he felt himself be carted away.

The sky above gave way to the darkness of the brew floor, small glimpses of tall vats and walkways breaking up the uninteresting ceiling. Until a lid was hastily fitted to the top, a mallet hammering it into place drowning out the ‘meep’ Jack gave. The bung hole at the top allowed air and light to still pour in, a small comfort until the mammals began talking.

“Two of elderberry wine, take these two here!”

Sounds of still empty barrels being tossed around hit the frightened hare’s ears.

“One each, blueberry and plum wine,” Jack’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest as a paw slapped the top of his hiding spot, “and fill this one with blackberry mead! Two for strawberry fizz cordial and the rest will be October Ale.”

Baylor and Merida McLeaps enjoyed a sup or two of wine, usually in the evenings with supper. Jack, his siblings, and peers were not strangers to the drunken antics of their elders, far between as they may be. Some even more bold youths, Daniel for instance, had ‘stolen’ many a mouthful from their parent’s glasses. Not knowing they had purposely turned a blind eye to it. Rite of passage, as they say.

Never did the little hare think there would be a day he would be trapped in a barrel that had been shoved under a spout, with dark, sickly sweet wine pouring in. His eye widened in panic as he watched it splash over his feet. Paws immediately went to pound the side of his cage, trying to gain the attention the nearest worker.

The workers, however, were a buzz with activity. Barrels being filled, ingredients being mixed, and the constant shouts of laughter and singing echoed within the large brewery floor. Jack’s shouts for help were effectively drowned out. None spared the barrel a glance.

A paw shot up to the spout to stem it’s flow. The result of the attempt had him gasping in surprise as it shot into his face. An accidental mouthful was swallowed, the sweetness of the mead causing him to clasp his paws over his muzzle in alarm. The liquid still sloshed in at an alarming rate, his feet now fully submerged.

In desperation, another mouthful was taken, this one a bit more pleasant than the last. A small smile formed on Jack’s muzzle by his fourth gulp of mead, the taste becoming quite enjoyable and warming his belly. No longer worried about the barrel, now fill1ed to his knees, another drink was taken, followed by a small giggle from the hare kit.

Jack hiccuped and leaned against the wooden side, wondering why anyone would ever wish to drink anything other than mead. …………….

To the adults around her, Skye was just a shy, quiet, little vixen in a room full of strangers.

Cami was quite charming, jesting with Vivian and laughing with Matthew, as she encouraged Ben to enjoy as many tamales as he could handle. The squirrel, Lucian, sullenly nibbled at his as he glared at the hospitable kit fox. On occasion she would send a smirk his way, which made his gaze drop and teeth grind, but otherwise kept silent.

Skye slipped away from the table they were all seated at in the kitchen, while the adults were distracted with food, to rush back towards the carts. The lobby of the inn was mercifully deserted, though there was no one to assist her in opening the front door. It took a clever and well timed jump to release the latch, the small vixen wincing as the bells on top jangled.

A quick glance to the kitchen door was given before nimble little legs darted outside. Skidding to a halt at the now vacant cart, she inhaled deeply to pick up any familiar scent.

“Come on, Jack,” she muttered, “where are you?”

Nose almost touching the ground, she sniffed at the paw and hoof prints still imprinted in the dirt, her eyes following them towards the large warehouse Lucian had dashed to. For once thankful her clothing was light and simple, Skye ran full might towards the open doors.

Singing echoed out of it, mixed with calls for more barrels, less hops, and other words that meant nothing to her. There was neither trace nor sight of her little hare friend, Skye’s heart plummeting as she realized he may still be trapped. Cautiously peeking into the brew floor, her eyes scanned the closest corners.

Workers moved about the floor, some building more casks, others hammering corks into filled containers. There were even some sampling their hard work, lips smacking in appreciation of the flavor while eyes admired the color of the brews in the cups.

Seeing her chance, Skye darted inside, making her way quickly towards the stack of empty barrels. Her nose was never still, nor were her eyes as they scanned every possible hiding spot for her hare. Still no sign of him!

Coming upon a large vat labeled Blackberry Mead, she darted behind the barrel poised under it’s spout. Jack’s scent was slightly stronger but still very muddled. Skye gave out frustrated sigh as she rapped her forehead against her wooden hiding spot.

And jumped when something rapped back.

“…..la la, la la, la la…….” came a slurred voice from within it. Skye pressed her ear to the planks and listened closely. “Splishy splashy! Wooshy, washy! *hic* this stuff grows on ya, it does…….”

The sound of liquid being treaded and splashed about drowned out the light trickle that came from the larger vat spilling into it. Her eyes widened and paws shot to the top of the barrel. Pulling herself up, the vixen looked over the large vat, trying not to let panic overrule her logic. Without a thought as to who could see her, she fumbled with the spout, successfully halting it’s stream. Her claws scratched at the mouth of it, withdrawing a sodden piece of cloth.

“……hey…….” came a weak cry of protest.

Shaking her head, Skye tossed the cloth aside with a huff. Hopping down, she rapped her paw against the wood. Jack gave an audible gasp, the splashing of liquid followed by a thunk from the other end of the barrel.

“…it’s fighting back……” he muttered to himself.

“Jack?”

“….and it sounds like Skye…..” he gave another little giggle followed by a hiccup. “Skye, Skye, Skye, Miss Pretty Blue Skye! *hic*”

“Jack, it’s me!” Another audible gasp was heard at that. She gave the barrel an experimental push, finding it much too heavy for her to budge. “I’m going to get you out of there!”

“Skye, this…..is…t-the BEST……..juicy juice….I have……EVER……had…….*hic*….” another round of weak giggling was followed by the sound of slurping. “Sip sup for me-“ *slurp* “-sup sip for you!” *slurp*

The vixen groaned as she rapped on the wood again as quietly as she could.

“Oh, no Jack! Don’t drink anymore! It’s not-“ A paw landed on her head, causing her to yip loudly and spin around. A large black wolf with amused blue eyes smirked down at her. Flicking his gaze to the barrel, where Jack had decided to start singing again, he quirked his brow back at Skye. She gulped and looked up at the wolf, whose grin simply grew larger at her discomfort.

“Well, well,well. And what, may I ask, is going on here?”

“Uuuhhhhh……..”

“ *hic* Lots…..*hic*” said the barrel.

Skye suddenly drew herself up, adopting a confident, haughty expression as she glared back at the wolf.

“Your workers simply MUST be more careful!” She gestured to the barrel, trying to ignore the growing grin on the wolf’s muzzle. “Here I am trying to load up my family’s purchase and what do I find?”

“What did ya *hic* find?” Came Jack’s slurred voice from within. Skye’s composure didn’t even falter as the wolf looked at the barrel in alarm.

“What, indeed?” She asked, looking every bit as indignant and haughty as she could. Given her small size and worn clothing, it was quite impressive.

The wolf crossed his arms and considered the little vixen. He knew the Frosts were expected today, aware that Ben would be with them as well as a couple other traders. They were all predators and, if his nose wasn’t mistaken (which it was not), there was a lapin inside the barrel of mead meant for Ben. A young one, too.

“Alright, lads!” He called over his shoulder. The activity halted almost at once as eyes and ears tuned in on their boss. With a grin, the black wolf turned, and clapped his paws together. “I’m not the only one who smells Señorita Cami’s tamales. And I’m sure for all your hard work, the lady would be happy to indulge your appetites! So finish what your doing and run off, lads! Go fetch your refreshments!”

There were appreciative shouts and calls of gratitude as the workers left off their tasks and filed out of the warehouse. They gave a respectful nod to the elegant lioness entering, bushels of dried hops carried in her paws as they passed. With a confused look sent their way, she continued on towards the wolf.

The wolf smiled back at her before turning his attention to the fox kit focused on the barrel. Which was singing again.

“Yo ho, ho, ho……ho…..oooo….*hic*”

“What is this?” Asked the lioness, smiling politely down at the young vixen. “You must the little lass we are looking for. It is dangerous to be sneaking in here, my dear. You could get trapped in cask or crushed!”

A bout of laughter came from inside the barrel at her words, all three mammals fixing their gaze upon it.

“Trapped in a *hic* cask! Hee hee *hic* can you imagine *hic*, Skye?”

The wolf smiled and held out a paw to Skye. “Alestair Mclver, at your service, miss. Keeper of the hops, they call me! Master Brewer Mclrate to my workers. And this fine lady to me right is my mate, Luna.”

“Skye Frost,” came the sweet response. Her blue eyes turned to the barrel again, where the hare was splashing about in the mead. “And that in there is Jack.” One small paw beaconed the older mammals to come closer. “I would appreciate if this was kept between us, away from my parents,” her other paw darted into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a taffy she had been given but had yet to eat. “For your troubles.”

Alistair accepted the treat with raised eyebrows and a small smile. He and Luna exchanged glances and shrugged, the taffy stashed away before a crowbar was fetched. The hops lay forgotten at their feet as the top of the barrel was pried off. Skye grasped the edge to pull herself up for a look at her friend inside. And sighed again as both adults exploded with laughter.

Jack stood in the center of his former hiding spot, pale fur now deep purple, his stripes near invisible against the stain, and his eyes heavy lidded and bloodshot. He still sang under his breath, paws making waves in the strong drink, his muttered words being broken up by the occasional hiccup. Realizing he was now fully exposed, he turned his unsteady gaze up at the three looking down at him.

“Skye,” he started, swaying slightly in place, “I’m sticky…..*hic*”

Luna covered her face to try contain her merriment at the situation, but failed whenever she lowered her paws to look once more at the little hare. Alestair didn’t bother hiding his own mirth. Gripping the edge of the barrel for support, his laughter echoed off the walls of the brew floor. Jack tugged his ears down to lessen the strain on his sensitive hearing.

“Poor, little lad,” said Luna finally, wiping her eyes and pulling the soaked, drunken kit out. “Serves you right for being a stowaway.”

Watching him being placed onto dry ground and unsteady feet, the wolf regained his control as the hare started to stagger towards Skye.

“Go easy on ‘im, love,” he looked up into his wife’s amused amber eyes. “I remember a young, over confident lioness who thought she could put away a whole bottle of the stuff by herself. I’d say the lad is steadier on his feet than you were after two glasses.”

“…..sticky….sticky….sticky….*hic*” Jack stood in front of Skye, his little head rolling from side to side as he tried to focus, ears folded forwards, dropping in front of his eyes on occasion. “I must say *hic*……. I’m having…… a grand……. time *hic*.”

The little vixen smiled and reached out to steady him. It was then that Jack’s legs gave out. With a weak laugh, he fell into her arms, hiccuping and trying to pull himself upright, ears akimbo as they tried and failed to stay straight.

“Oh, Jackie,” she murmured, her eyes filled with concern. She turned her gaze to Alestair and gave him a beseeching look. “Can you put him to rights? We leave soon and I don’t wish to abandon him! He MUST come with us!”

Luna laughed again and helped set him back on his feet.

“Ay, love,” she gave her a comforting pat as the small hare started to wander off, his gait unsteady and zigzagging, before sitting heavily onto the ground. “A good scrub, hearty meal, and sleep, the tyke will be good as new.”

Skye smiled back up to her as Alestair gingerly went to collect the drunk kit. He was lifted easily, his back against his chest, tiny bottom being supported by a large arm with the other pressed to his front to keep him from falling. She couldn’t get over how small he looked in the large wolf’s arms. Unfortunately, her mother’s persistently upset stomach made the look on his face one she knew all to well.

“I….*hic*…don’t feel… so…..*hic*…..well,” was all he could managed, before Luna grabbed a nearby pail for the hare to cast his guts into.

Paws pressed together and brow furrowed in worry, Skye could only watch as her friend let the mead out the way it came. Each heave sounded more painful than the last, until he finally hiccuped the last of it away. Luna rubbed his head soothingly as her husband turned his more sensitive nose away from the pail.

Grimacing at the sight of it contents, the lioness turned to the vixen and smiled kindly down at her.

“Go off with you and let your parents know you’re safe,” she sighed and looked over at the now dozing hare in her husband’s arms. “We shall set him to rights and have him in your carts within the hour. Off with you, lass.”

Full of hesitance, another concerned look was sent to her friend. Alestair sent her a smile and a wink before jerking his lead towards the doors of the brew floor. Finally, she nodded and left to find her family, one backwards glance given towards the couple doting on Jack.

She raced out of the doors, back towards the inn entrance. Two otters, both laughing uproariously with each other, spared her a quick glance as they unlatched the door and allowed her through. Smiling her thanks at the pair, she hurried towards the kitchen just as Vivian came running out.

“There you are, my darling!” She cried, before scooping Skye into her arms. Her mother’s lip trembled and eyes filled with tears as she met her gaze. “You mustn’t run off like that again, all right? I near fainted from worry!”

The kit was greatly alarmed by this announcement. Confused blue eyes met her mother’s hazel ones.

“I always wander away, Mummy!” She reasoned. “You and Daddy have always bid me to go where I please as long as I return and stay safe.”

Vivian nodded as she pulled her into a tight hug. “I know, my love, but now I changed my mind and insist you stay within hearing range of me!”

Her mother drew a deep breath and froze, her head pulling away to glance at her daughter. Skye followed her eyes down to her clothing, now stained from where Jack had leaned upon her. The scent of mead overpowered the hare’s, but it was no less alarming to the already high strung Vivian that her daughter might be sampling the strong wine.

“Darling, why on Earth are yo-“ Her mother’s skin under white fur went green. The strong scent of alcohol upsetting her still sensitive stomach, Skye was abruptly deposited onto the floor before Vivian dashed to the door.

Her face screwed up in a mix of sympathy, worry, and vague disgust, Skye shook her head and stared after her mother.

“I think I’ve had enough vomit to last a lifetime,” she muttered, turning to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for her heaving mother. “I pray I never experience tummy problems like that.”

“Ahh,” came the smooth voice of Cami. The kit fox grinned down at her and held out a paw, “I am thinking, mi amor, that you may not be alone in your adventures for long.”

“Huh,” came her startled response.

Cami laughed as she led her back to the kitchen. “Never you mind.”

Skye looked over her shoulder as her mother followed after them, her handkerchief clutched to her muzzle and paw on her stomach. Matthew passed a glass of water to his wife as they entered the room. A kiss was pressed to her temple, before words were whispered into her ear. Whatever was said caused both to look over at Skye in alarm before exchanging looks between them.

What is going on? Asked Skye to herself as accepted a drink for herself. ………………

Luna had followed Alestair up the back stairwell to their apartments after disposing of the pail. Jack lay in his arms, dozing and muttering, his clothing still drenched and fur purple from mead. Upon retreating to the privacy of their own space, the tiny hare was placed into the wash tub, his tunic being striped from his form.

“……hey……*hic*” the slurred, tired voice protested before the wolf took his small paws in his own and stood him up. His trouser were removed and bucket of water poured over his head. “OH!”

The cool water shocked Jack enough to stand straighter, eyes clenched shut as Alestair scrubbed his fur clean. Luna laughed as he weakly tried to pull away, taking the soiled clothing to be washed. But the time she had returned, the hare was wrapped in a large sheet and vigorously being rubbed dry.

Still slightly tinged purple, he looked warily at a small pastie placed in front of him. His eyes on the verge of closing, pieces were broken off and sloppily consumed, to the amusement of the two tending to him. Vegetable gravy and bits of mushroom dotted his muzzle. Luna felt a slight sting in her chest as Alestair smiled down at the youngster.

“Can we not keep him?” She asked as the small hare finally succumbed to sleep, a bit of crust clutched in his paw. Her husband shook his head and looked up at his wife.

“Though I’m tempted to,” he admitted with a frown. “Something tells me we should expect visitors later today or on the morrow. If he is from where I think he is, then it would be safer to have him in our possession.”

“So are we not going to put him back on the cart?” Asked Luna, her eyes filling with worry. Jack’s tunic and trousers, damp from their cleaning were folded neatly before a worn shirt was found. The hare was freed from the sheet, his face scrunching up as his muzzle was cleaned off, and dressed in the fresh garment.

“We shall,” Alestair finished dressing him before taking the tunic and trousers and starting for the door again. “To put it bluntly, I fear what would happen if he were found here. Cami and Lucian are a force to be reckond with, but they might end up insulting his pursers. And then Podunk would have a war on it’s paws.”

Luna followed her mate back to the carts out front, keeping a weary eye out for wandering gazes and over active noses. Alestair gave a deep sniff, at the back cart, pulling the blanket Jack and Skye had used aside to reveal his pack. The passed out hare was placed gently onto the cart before being covered again.

“I’ll let the crew know I shall handle the loading,” said Luna as she gave the kit a final pet on the head. “Come. I fear we have left Cami and Lucian unsupervised for far too long.”

“Indeed!” Laughed her husband. “It is quite astonishing the inn hasn’t burned down yet.” …………………….

The barrels had been loaded back into Ben’s cart, Luna careful to keep the still slumbering Jack hidden. Skye looked on, trying to not give way her anxiety at her friend’s precarious hiding spot. She looked away towards her parents, her father giving Alestair instructions on keeping his new plants healthy. The wolf held the kit fox and the squirrel by the scruffs of their necks, while the two bickered over some nuance or another.

Such a sight caused a giggle to escape her. Watching the two adults trade insults and swing paws at the other while being effortlessly restrained was indeed great fun. Ben was preoccupied with the crate of tamales Cami had bestowed upon him, while her mother also chuckled at the display.

All too soon they were loaded up, a group of horses hired to pull the carts to their next stop, Bunnyburrow. It would be several days before they reached the small town, stopping at the various trading posts to rest and receive their correspondence. The small vixen sat in her usual spot, at the back of Ben’s cart, next to the hidden lump that was Jack.

One small paw waved farewell to the Fire Field Brewery and it’s caretakers. Looking back towards the now full barrels, she sighed and shook her head. Another look was given to her friend, this one softer and laced with a smile, as he lay in his mead induced slumber.

Crazy hare. …………………….

Deodra McLeaps sat in one of the taverns within Portsworth.

She had not dawdled on the mountain after her father’s blunt dismissal, her meager possessions and clothing shoved into a pack with little rhyme or reason. Though she was drawn to the kitchens before leaving. Nothing had ever felt more intimidating than the door that had her mother on the opposite side.

She willed herself to find the courage to push it open and bid her farewell. One last embrace before her banishment commenced. Her mother would not have it, though.

Merida had a tradition whenever her children were not within their own beds for the night. She would wake extra early, and prepare a basket of fresh bread and jam, along with whatever fruit they had available, and some tea. On the high walls surrounding the front grounds, she would wait, watching the sun as it rose, bringing with it her adventurous children.

Her mother had known what had happened instantly. From the moment she had seen her daughter’s lone figure returning from the dunes, Merida McLeaps knew exactly why her son was not with her. The guard next to her on the wall had nervously fidgeted with his sword as he looked from the approaching Deodra to his general’s wife.

No time was wasted sending him to her husband to inform him of this new development. The early breakfast forgotten on the wall, Merida strode down the stairs as her daughter approached. Deodra had paused at the sight of her mother’s cold, hard glare. But her words were stopped before they left her muzzle.

“I will speak to you,” said Merida, one paw held up to halt any attempt at communication, “after I have spoken to Jack.”

The two does held each other’s gazes, one full of barely restrained fury, the other anxious and remorseful.

With a nod of understanding, her mother abruptly turned from her and strode back to the mountain. The guard that had been sent to the general gave Deodra an apologetic salute, having just arrived as Merida turned to leave.

“General Baylor wants word with you, ma’am,” he said, waiting for a salute in return.

And now she sat, banished from her home, staring into a small glass of some spirits she knew naught the name of. The mayor and admiral sat at a table not far from her, their laughter subdued as they talked town business. Though most chatter fell to the wayside as the door was pushed open.

Two tall hares stepped through, sharp eyes scanning the room before resting upon the two otters. Both gave the newcomers incredulous glances as they walked briskly to the their table. Deodra’s ears bolted upright to catch their conversation.

“The general wishes an audience with you, sir, ma’am,” the voice of Ben floated into her ears as they strained to hear his next words. “It is urgent and he asks for the ship and cart trading logs.”

Mayor Fischer raised her brows in surprise before looking over at the admiral.

“Very well,” she responded hesitantly, “though, what seems to be the problem?”

“His son has gone missing, it seems,” came the voice of Kenta. “Perchance, have ya caught sight of him? He’s a wee lad, large ears, with stripes upon them and his face?”

Both shook their heads. “But we can be there with the paperwork within the hour. Has a search party been formed yet?”

“Aye,” confirmed Ben, “three of them. A reward has been promised to the one that returns Jackson.”

The admiral smiled and stood. “Very good! I saw to the departure of three ships this morning. I shall send a boat to have them turn hull and come back to Portsworth.”

“And I shall send my mammals out to the surrounding areas,” said the mayor, “let them know to be on the look out for him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” was the terse reply from Ben, “our parties have already made tracks towards there. Now, my father awaits and the guards will grant you entrance upon your arrival.”

Deodra pushed her coin towards the barkeep, along with her still full glass. She discreetly slipped from her seat and headed for the door, thankful that the others within the tavern were larger than she.

“And traitor,” called Ben. Deodra paused at her brother’s words, one paw stretched towards the door. “If you see our brother, do send him our way, will you?”

Familiar blue eyes met hers when she turned to scowl at her litter mate. The patrons of the tavern paused once more in their activities to regard the scene curiously. The otters stood from their chairs to break up a fight if need be, though it was unnecessary, as Kenta’s paw came to rest upon Ben’s arm. His eyes flicked down at it before rising to his sister again.

Not bothering to respond, Deodra took her leave.

Like hell, I will, she thought as she raced through the village.

#Zootopia #jack savage #skye frost #salamandastron #adventure #blackberry mead #au-alternate meeting

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greenishbucket · 7 years

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If the World’s So Small

A humble offering to the Cialina/Blue tag. Pre-The Raven Boys.

4.6k. ao3

The first time Cialina asks if Blue wants to come to the cinema with her, Blue doesn’t think anything of it.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says, focusing on making sure she’s got all the little salts in order before the new kid arrives in fifteen minutes and probably messes them all up, silently thanking whatever power that be that she doesn’t have to train them.

Blue doesn’t have time, inclination, or money to randomly go to the cinema with a co-worker who’s not bad to work with but isn’t really anyone apart from that. She has dog walking to do and at least two to three weeks of ignored homework to complete before the end of the year lest her grades slip beyond all repair – who has time for something like the cinema? Cialina certainly didn’t seem like someone with time to go to the cinema. Blue isn’t even sure Henrietta has a cinema. She's pretty sure it's the next town over. What are they going to do, drive to the cinema too? In whose car?

Cialana wipes down the counter quickly one last time, folds her apron into her backpack and slings it on her back, then checks her hair in her reflection in the wall menu – all without looking at Blue. “No problem,” she says finally. “See ya.”

Blue responds in kind but doesn’t watch Cialana as she leaves. She takes a moment to think about how she doesn’t even know what’s on at the cinema right now before she’s distracted again, this time by a child crying when they knock over their entire milkshake with a splat. Blue goes to get the mop.

The second time, Blue sees Cialina outside of Nino’s which is disturbing enough in and of itself.

She’s letting herself speed freely downhill because she’s dawdled with the groceries Jimi had requested at a shout, Blue half-out the door, and with collecting the packages Calla had asked of her that had been her initial reason for leaving. That and the fact that Fox Way has become only more oppressive as summer passes, the muddling noise and too many people grating and catching on Blue in all the wrong ways in the last surge of heat. Work is hardly a reprieve, nor the thought of school looming on the horizon, and there’s only so many times someone can take a walk before the same streets become unbearable. She wishes so hard she could spend her summers travelling that it hurts, the sting from listening to already returning Aglionby boys gloating bursting anew every time she revisits it.

Luckily, Blue has factored the dawdling and moping into her time management. She came to the conclusion they were fair game so long as she accepted the possible injury of reckless cycling and Maura being concerned in light of said possible injury. It feels good to take her feet off the pedals, let the wind blow through her hair and accept what happens happens.

What happens turns out to be she nearly crashes into Cialina who steps out into the previously empty street without looking. Blue yells something rude very loudly and nearly goes over the handlebars trying to stop in time while Cialina shrieks and nearly gets stuck in the wheel trying to stop Blue’s bike from toppling over. There are a few seconds of embarrassing and uncoordinated scrambling before they’re both safely upright again.

“Why did you do that?” Blue asks her, her heart pounding in sickening jerks and nothing like the cool exhilaration of moments before. She’s unfairly irritated with Cialina for ruining it, the first calm she’s felt in days.

“It was an accident,” Cialina says like Blue’s being stupid, though still checking Blue’s got a foot down before letting go of the bike. “You were the one that came out of nowhere.”

Which is fair but that doesn’t mean Blue has to admit it. She tries to shake her hair away from her face instead where it’s sticking to her temples but it doesn’t work and she just feels ridiculous as Cialina watches. Cialina probably never has to do that, her hair always off her face because it goes upward-ish usually and especially so in high stress situations like Nino’s, because she's a little stretched thin but ultimately practical and predictable like that.

“Thanks for saving the bike,” she says after a pause because that doesn’t place the blame anywhere but the saving of the bike – which isn’t even hers, she just picked it up off Fox Way’s lawn, who knows whose wrath she might have faced – is something that deserves thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Cialina says. Then: “I’m just headed to the cinema. Want to come with?”

It’s here that Blue realises they’re interacting outside the usual framework of Nino’s. There are no customers to make demands, no tables to serve or counters to clean, no end of shift acting as a time limit on their interactions. It’s weird to think Cialina exists outside of the walls of shiny diner plastic and sticky floors. She’s not even in the very loosely enforced Nino’s uniform – her shorts look worn and comfortable, her shirt a light blue that would show up every stain a shift could acquire, the jewellery around her wrists against all health and safety regulations. Cialina never seems to not have an aura of stress but her posture seems looser. Blue finds her eyes catching awkwardly on Cialina’s waist and looks away quickly.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says without thinking.

Cialina maybe deflates a little, Blue thinks, but then she shrugs. “All right. See you at work.”

This time Blue watches her as she crosses the street and carries on her way to the cinema. Not that Blue has found out if this cinema actually exists, or where it might be if it does, since she feels like she’s explored every inch of Henrietta that deserves exploring a dozen times over and she’s never found a cinema. Maybe Cialina has a car or a very vivid imagination. Maybe Blue should have said yes, the thought of the long evening ahead stretching out in front of her with little appeal.

But then she remembers Jimi’s groceries and Calla’s packages and the promise she made to Persephone to lend her magnifying powers to something or other and the fact she has dog walking early tomorrow and bedding new flowers in the hot afternoon. And Cialina probably already has people to go with, other Mountain View kids that Blue certainly can’t remember seeing her with but that doesn’t mean much. Blue doesn’t pay a lot of attention and the summer has been long. She sets off home again, time management ruined.

The third time Cialina asks, Blue doesn’t remember what is said to her or what she says in return.

She’s so swamped with readjusting her schedule to school and her upped responsibilities as a not-psychic and the exhaustion that seems to just seep into her from the stillness of Henrietta all around her, the stagnation sinking into her skin, that it feels like time is warping. Hours pass by in a blink, like at school where she doesn’t even remember taking her sparse notes, and this carries on all the way until partway through a shift or partway through the walk home or partway through dinner when suddenly time slows and drags and fatigue hits strong enough that Blue could curl up forever.

That night she eats dinner late alone in the kitchen straight from the box she found it in in the fridge after taking a nap that lasted longer than planned, the house still and quiet around her for once. The quiet, for all that it’s a luxury, allows space for what feels uncomfortably like loneliness to grow from where Blue keeps it carefully squashed down in the tiniest corner of her heart and she pushes it away harder. She looks around for the day’s paper to see what would have been in the cinema if she had said yes but she can’t find one anywhere.

Blue isn’t one for films, or for spending money, or for spending time with people she knows little of other than as an association with places she’d rather not be – like school, or work, or her trapped-in-a-small-town future – but she thinks it would have been nice.

Of course, following that realisation Cialina shows no inclination to ask Blue again.

Blue finds herself trying to start conversation when they share shifts but Nino’s is far from the best place for it and Blue feels prickly and weird about it, starting conversations with people her age minus any provocation being far from her strong point for all that she knows how to charm anyone over 25. She sees Cialina approximately once outside work, in passing at the school entrance when they both arrive late and Blue nods and Cialina smiles but it means little.

It doesn’t help that Cialina can retain at least a passable farce of politely chatty, occasionally laying on the accent a little too heavy if Blue was to critique, with just about anyone even when her stress aura is at maximum. Blue can’t tell if she’s being humoured in her awkward attempts to make friends or receiving genuine engagement.

She has no practice in making friends and it’s hard to ignore the instinct to retreat when there’s no immediate, golden-light-and-angels click of a moment between them, no all-encompassing meeting of kindred souls that Blue has filled her expectations and dreams with since otherwise what is she? Mean, cold hearted, a bitch, stuck up? She’s heard all of it before and she doesn’t believe it, not really, but sometimes she’s not sure. She’s 16. Why else can’t she make fucking friends? Who started holding the other at arm’s length first, everyone else or her?

Instead, Blue and Cialina share snippets:

“I’m okay, though I completely bombed the chemistry test today. My notes didn’t even make sense last night.”

“Richardson’s the teacher, right?”

“Ugh. Yes.”

“Sucks. Bet it went better than you thought.”

and

“Did you see the cat next to the bins just now? Quick, I’ll cover your tables for a minute – it has a monocle marking.”

and

“God, could some of these boys been any less subtle about staring at my boobs? Like are you kidding me?”

“They probably think they’re seducing you with it. Maybe they should spend some of that money getting some common sense and decency knocked into them. Or at least on buying a mirror so they can see how ridiculous they look.”

“Don’t, you’ll make me laugh. I’m trying to look intimidating.”

and

“So I was watching Teen Wolf–”

“You were watching what?”

“Don’t pretend not to know it.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“So you never watched even an episode?”

“Why would I be interested in a show with the worst effects I’ve ever seen–”

“So you have seen it!”

“… One episode. Not even one. Half of one. A quarter. A reflection in a window.”

and

“So you help out with the family business and walk dogs and work here?”

“And odd jobs here and there.”

A laugh, passing busily behind the counter. “Wow, and I thought I was stressed. You're unstoppable.”

It’s nice.

Blue feels like it’s a solid foundation for something, a foundation they’re slowly adding to bit by bit together but still as steady as the kind of friendship-forged-in-fire she’d always set her sights on. It settles something in her to see evidence that such a thing can exist forming in front of her own eyes, feel it forming in herself with the worry when Cialina looks too tired and warmth in her stomach when they’re back on shift together after a few days separate.

Despite the conscious effort she’s made to reach out to her, it still comes as a surprise to Blue that she actually likes Cialina. It’s not pleasant to confront the reality that even when Blue thought she’d moved past seeing her just as a fill-in companion at work something must have still lingered, or that the reaching out had been more self-centred than she thought, a semi-desperate lunge away from the yawning loneliness and claustrophobia of Henrietta. It’s not something she’s proud of.

But Cialina is hard not to like. She frequently mixes up her whole family’s whites with their reds even though she’s been on laundry duty since she could be trusted with the detergent and she has hands down the worst taste in media consumption Blue has ever encountered (not that it stops her Googling it all via stuttering internet connection because she’s never been trusted with this kind of intimacy, people’s real and honest interests. It fascinates her even as it infuriates her when Cialina laughs and calls yet another one of Blue’s better-media-suggestions pretentious, voice warm.)

Cialina subscribes to ‘the customer is always right’ like it’s the word of God until the second she’s behind the kitchen doors, at which point her reactions range from a restrained sigh at best to a 30 second, cuss-filled rant at worse, which has only happened once. She tells Blue both when she thinks her clothes are innovative and when she thinks they’re too far. She knows how to play basketball and is happy to teach anyone that wants to know, even though she gets shy about it.

Blue settles into it, feels pleased with it. She likes Cialina.

Sometimes, she thinks maybe she likes Cialina. It’s something her mind skirts around and she’s nervous to look closer at it. Sure, Cialina is attractive in a way that has made Blue unsure before if she wants to be her or be with her but what does Blue know? Cialina certainly isn’t the first girl Blue’s looked at and felt something over but it’s hard to pull apart – is she enamoured and stupid with the rush of friendship or is it really something else? Sure, she’s attractive but what does Blue want to actually do with that?

Blue turns it over in her mind during menial tasks like school and serving tables and walking and helping in the garden and looking up what career paths are open to her for a moment before it makes her feel ill and gets pushed aside until next time. The prophecy of true love’s kiss lingers; presumptive though a label like love might be, it’s a risk Blue knows she’ll always be taking if she kisses someone until one day it’s too late.

Ultimately, she decides it doesn’t matter whether she likes Cialina or not because she can’t push their whatever-it-is outside the realm of Nino’s. Cialina doesn’t offer the cinema again, is as elusive to find outside work as ever, and Blue feels flushed and embarrassed all over whenever she tries to buck up and suggest something even as simple as walking part of their journeys home together.

She’s irritated with herself and irritated with Cialina for stopping showing an interest as soon as Blue showed some back and it all twists up until Blue’s spending half her time ignoring half her emotions because they’re largely messy and unsolvable. The women of Fox Way take to giving her annoying and superior looks that only make her feel worse. If Cialina notices she doesn’t say anything, just as Blue doesn’t question the sources of Cialina’s constant stress, and for a while it’s a status quo neither of them push the boundaries of.

It comes to a head as spring break is coming to a close.

Blue feels like she’s been working every waking moment of her life for the entire break and she’s pretty sure she’s currently on her twelfth consecutive day of Nino’s shifts. Her feet and back ache and she got all mediocre to poor grades back on her tests just before break started (as if the ongoing downward spiral of her academic career wasn't apparent enough) and one of the cousins has had some kind of flu that’s made her a tiny storm cloud over Fox Way for days. Yesterday it spread to the third graders she helps out with work so they were terrible too.

Cialina calls in to say she’s coming in late so Blue has to cover all of her tables because no one bothers to call in anyone else so by the time Cialina arrives Blue is worked off her feet and kind of pissed off. She doesn’t even nod back when Cialina, slipping her apron over her head, gives a muffled greeting, just stalks off to serve the endless sea of fucking raven boys she’s been left with. It’s an empty kind of satisfaction that isn’t actually satisfying at all to see Cialina look a little hurt.

They’re both on shift until closing and it’s quiet and thorny between them, no respite of normal conversation that has become the norm between them to keep the frustrations at bay. Blue deals with six returned meals, three spilt drinks, roughly fifty cases of napkins shoved in wet glasses to congeal and straw wrappers shredded everywhere, three smirking Aglionby boys telling her to smile and two more trying to hit on her, the last of whom dares to lift a hand as if to touch her arm. She jerks back and away from the table, marching to the kitchen and barking the table’s order even as she feels the last threads of her control slipping from her grasp.

By the time it’s just her and Cialina mopping the floors and stacking chairs, Blue can feel her chin wobbling with angry, exhausted tears. She isn’t going to let Cialina see because it’s not like Cialina even cares, she left Blue to deal with it all on her own and it’s not even like she actually likes Blue – or maybe she does, but she doesn’t like Blue and Blue didn’t think that it mattered that much but suddenly it really, really does and it’s awful. Blue isn’t fond of crying in front of people anyway, regardless of whether she’s developed a terrible, no good, useless crush on them.

She thinks she might have just gotten away with it, taking her jacket and heading towards the door with a vague wave back to Cialina, when the dreaded words:

“Hey, Blue, are you all right?”

How anyone is supposed to stay strong in light of those words when they’re upset, Blue doesn’t know.

The crying comes out snotty and loud and jagged and Blue thinks it might have been a long time coming, the way she feels a release like some kind of pressure valve that’s been at absolute maximum whatever the fuck for much too long. She’s aware of Cialina’s arm around her shoulder leading her out of Nino’s into what amounts to the parking lot, aware of Cialina locking up and guiding her down onto the wall that everyone leaves their bikes against where Blue is aware she cries for quite a bit longer.

After a while, the tears dry up and her face just feels raw and her nose clogged. She’s sure the embarrassment will set in hard soon enough. Cialina’s arm is still around her shoulders and she’s offering a tissue with her spare hand. Blue takes it and does the best she can to wipe up the snot.

“Sorry,” she says, surprised by how hoarse she is.

Cialina sounds quite calm when she says, “Don’t worry about it. Crying can be like that sometimes.”

“Still. Sorry to make you sit there with me like that. Sorry I was mean earlier.”

A shrug. “Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Not really.”

There’s a pause. Blue is aware that Cialina’s arm is still around her shoulders and she doesn’t know what to do with it, whether to take the comfort as is or move in closer – even have a hug, a real hug that isn’t from her mother – or move away entirely. Blue Sargent; sensible, strong, self-sufficient.

“I guess I figured– well,” Cialina says, voice determinedly casual. “I thought maybe it might be some crushing uncertainty about the future because you’re stuck in a small town with few prospects and few real friends and you want to make something of your life but you don’t know how, or if you’re good enough, and maybe all you’re good for is waiting tables and being disrespected by customers and doing endless mundane things you don’t really enjoy so why bother.”

Blue blinks. “Oh.”

It’s a strange experience, sitting with a girl she barely cared to know only a few months ago outside their shitty workplace in the dark covered in dried tears and snot. Blue looks at her and can barely see her in the faint efforts of the streetlight a little down the way now Nino's doesn't have a lit-up sign anymore. Perhaps it’s for the best. She can’t imagine how heady the she’d feel if she could really see Cialina, mix these new emotions with the ones she already feels when she looks at her. Maura will be worried if Blue doesn’t come home soon but Blue can’t leave yet, not after that. She feels wordless, unsure of how to express herself. Like her chest is lighter than it’s been in years but she’s more grounded than ever. It’s a strange feeling, being known.

“Not to rain on your pity parade for one, but you’re not the only one,” Cialina says, squeezing Blue’s shoulders once quickly before letting go. She shifts over a bit and Blue wishes she’d come back.

“I didn’t know,” Blue says honestly. Is that superiority rearing its head again or is that natural, to assume you’re alone in all your worries and troubles only to be proven wrong?

“Just because I watch Teen Wolf, doesn’t mean I’m not a complex being.”

Blue laughs, croaky. “Shut up. I know that. You just always have things under control, even when I can see you’re stressed.”

“It’s called having a managed anxiety disorder.” Cialina says, quickly, hesitantly, firmly. “There are useful strategies.”

“Oh,” Blue says again. “I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad it’s managed. For your sake.”

“Well, you know. It’s a work in progress. I want to act, so. We'll see.”

Blue twists to look at her fully even in the darkness. “Act? I didn’t know you could act. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cialina sounds embarrassed. “I don’t know, it’s just a bit of a dream at the moment. We’re still young, you know? Who knows what will happen.”

“You should do something with the drama club.”

Even more embarrassed: “I already am. Just a small part for now but I’ve been going to rehearsals. It’s why I came in late today, they rescheduled without a lot of warning. Sorry.”

Blue fights the urge to push Cialina off the wall. “Why didn’t you say? I’m going to come and watch.”

“You hate school,” Cialina says like the case is closed.

“But I like you,” Blue says because it really is that simple and sometimes she doesn’t think before she speaks even when she should. She knows it came out way too fervently. Her stomach rolls horribly.

Cialina has gone quiet beside her.

“Oh,” she says eventually. Then, almost laughing: “I didn’t know.”

Blue can feel her face glowing with heat but the laugh didn’t sound like a bad one. It sounded like a good laugh, fanning the flames of hope in her stomach. She doesn’t know what to say. She feels abruptly twelve. Feeling clumsy but bolstered by the way the light catches on Cialina’s smile, so wide her face must already ache, Blue grabs for her hand.

“So?” she asks nonsensically because who knows what she’s asking. Will you keep working on this foundation with me? Will you date me? Will you ask me to the cinema that I still haven’t found again? Will you share this existential dread and trapped small-town fatigue with me even though I wish you didn’t feel it, I’m so glad you do and we can get out of this together?

Maybe Cialina gets all of that or maybe she doesn’t but she gets something, she gets some part of Blue, and she squeezes Blue’s hand hard. “Yes,” she says. Then she laughs again, loud and happy this time. “God, I asked you out so many times. I thought you must hate me for being so pushy”

“Just because I turned you down all those times you asked me to the cinema, doesn’t mean I didn’t want to date you,” Blue says, smiling and revelling in the feeling of Cialina’s hand in her own, both of their hands chapped from Nino’s cheap cleaning products.

“You didn’t at the time,” Cialina says. “You don’t have to pretend you did.”

“I know,” Blue concedes even though it seems weird and wrong that she looked at Cialina and thought her uninspired or boring or whatever else. It feels like limiting herself which Blue has never liked to do. “But I didn’t hate you either. It just went all over my head, I can be like that sometimes. Now you can ask me again, we can share popcorn and share an armrest.”

Cialina laughs at her again, this time like all the times before where she’s laughed at Blue’s interests being ‘pretentious’, at her disconnect from other Henrietta residents her age. It should sting but the fondness softens it out, makes Blue feel something like the flip side of being known, like being accepted and appreciated.

“Blue,” Cialina says, “there isn't actually a cinema. Not a real one. I mean, not in Henrietta so unless you want my brother to chaperone us it’s just a projector set up in our dad’s old garage and other people come along if they want. We take turns choosing the film. Mostly I pick horror movies, I think they're funny.”

“Huh,” Blue says. Figures why she couldn't find the cinema.

“Let me guess, you didn’t know.”

Blue rolls her eyes at that but there’s no real heat. “I don’t like horror but I guess I’ll bring popcorn next time anyway.”

“Sounds like a date,” Cialina says, pleased.

Cialina’s hand is so warm in Blue’s and it would be a really good moment and Blue wants so desperately to kiss her. She can’t imagine how it would feel, is so eager to find out she almost forgoes being sensible about it. Is it a risk she could take? How does she know true love from not? Do you have to love them yet or just have the potential? How much does a pronoun matter to fate?

“I can’t kiss you,” Blue blurts out before either of them can act. She really hopes it isn’t a deal breaker to Cialina. “My mom said if I ever kiss someone they might die.”

Cialina takes a moment to consider this. “Said it in like a psychic way?”

“Yeah.”

Cialina takes another moment to consider this. She doesn’t take her hand out of Blue’s.

“What if I kissed you?” she asks. “Not for real, just–” she leans in and Blue’s breath catches in her throat but she doesn’t want her to stop. She can feel Cialina’s breath on her cheek and it has her heart rate sky rocketing; by contrast, the kiss on her cheek is gentle and brief, a quick press of lips as close to Blue’s mouth as she guesses Cialina dares and as close as either of them can bear.

It feels like a lot, for a kiss on the cheek. Blue shivers and she can hear Cialina’s breath shake a little as she moves away again. Blue stares into the dark and tries to take stock. She doesn’t want to forget what she’s feeling now.

Cialina says after a pause, tone light but her hand still clasped tightly in Blue’s giving her away, “Alternatively, we could try that one saran wrap idea from Pushing Daisies, did I ever show you that one?”

She hadn’t; Blue had discovered it herself when she’d looked the damned show up since Cialina had mentioned it so many times and had had a slightly hysterical giggling fit about being able to relate. Cialina doesn’t need to know that.

Instead, she really does try to push Cialina off the wall who grabs Blue tight and shushes her even though she isn’t speaking. Cialina keeps getting interrupted by her own laughter as she tries to defend the idea and the possibilities of Henrietta open up to Blue in ways she’d never imagined all around her.

#cialina #blue sargent #cialina/blue #idk what you kids call it #trc fic #my writing

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centeris2 · 7 years

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When she could make out shadows and light, Raven left the medical bed for her own room. Colors followed soon after, and she was able to see properly in a short amount of time. Although things were still fuzzy, which made reading difficult.

Her team was happy to see Raven’s swift recovery, and were counting on her to be at 100% in just a few days. Which, given her progress, seemed likely. Raven was also happy about the idea of life returning to normal.

Well, almost normal.

Mediation was still difficult, and with her eyes still healing it was also hard to do research and try to figure out why this was happening and what could be done. She knew what the problem was: her emotions were becoming uncontrollable. What she didn’t understand was why now? Even her first years in puberty weren’t this bad with all the hormonal fluctuations. Her attempts at controlling her emotions seemed to have the opposite effect, even the methods that had always worked in the past were failing her. It was like every time she got a hold of her emotions something would wrench her emotions out of her grip, or perhaps it was her own emotions becoming their own entity.

But that made no sense at all, when she mediated and visited her emotions they didn’t seem to be splitting off into a different personality separate from herself. They might have their own personifications, and Rage could be particularly vocal and domineering, but they were still Raven. At least, they still seemed to be parts of her.

Whatever was happening she didn’t know how to stop it from past experiences, and her collection of ancient tomes didn’t exactly contain a lot of self-help guides to controlling her emotions. Perhaps a drug store’s self-help guides to making yourself a better person would be better for this than her personal library.

She could imagine the headlines now “Teen Titan Seen Reading Anger Management Book – Can We Trust Teenagers With Anger Issues To Protect Us?”

And the idea of going to a therapist? Not only would the headlines be ridiculous, it also wouldn’t do much good. She didn’t think any human psychologist would be equipped to handle her mental issues. The only people she could go to was other empaths and telepaths, or people with experience in those matters. Azarath was no longer an option, which left The Shepardess as the only option still alive. She could try to search the Earth for others who might be able to help, but The Shepardess was here, available, and already trying to help. In addition to that, The Shepardess made Raven feel safe and comfortable.

She had already come by during Raven’s recovery, Raven didn’t bother asking how The Shepardess managed to get inside, she didn’t expect The Shepardess to tell her anyway. She had said things that Raven already knew, whether Raven wanted to face them or not.

Raven was becoming a danger, both to herself and to her friends. The Shepardess had likened Raven’s powers to a bomb, and Raven had winced at the memory of the destroyed ground and metal at the storage yard. And when Raven wasn’t a threat, she was endangering herself and others by not being able to support them with her powers. The words stung but forced Raven to accept that as she was now she was no use to her team.

In the moments of calm, when Raven felt comfortable enough to use her powers, she took The Shepardess’ advice. She felt guilty doing it, like she was violating the trust and privacy of her friends. Which, she admitted to herself, she was as she looked into the minds and read the thoughts of her friends.

The surface thoughts brought nothing unexpected, and Raven didn’t feel so bad about spying on them like that. Their thoughts had all been on whatever their current tasks were. Beast Boy was trying to beat a high score, and his mind was switching between strategies at how to beat a level better than Cyborg and what he should eat when he was done. Robin had been training, and his thoughts had consisted mostly of numbers, counting his sets, deciding how many more to do, what drill to do next, if he should talk to Raven or not, if he should start working the team harder, all things she expected from him. Cyborg was totally focused on his car, only to be broken by realizing the song that was playing while he worked and he burst into song, at least until parts and oil consumed him once more. Starfire was idling, passing time on her computer where she had started up a blog recently. The alien thought it was doing rather well, and thought fondly and proudly of the blog, which had amassed quite a following of fans of both Starfire personally and the Teen Titans in general.

Aside from learning about Starfire starting a blog, there was nothing that Raven considered to be bad. The Shepardess had warned her that looking into the minds of those around her would make her realize why she needed to leave.

But the idea and suspicion had been planted, and it overcame Raven’s guilt and reservations of digging through her friends’ minds.

From the familiarity of her room she had extended her mind to Starfire first, being the closest in proximity. Raven had felt warmed by Starfire’s mind, so positive and happy and friendly. Starfire’s thoughts about Raven were that of a close friend, and Raven felt a pang of guilt when she realized just how much Starfire wanted to be best friend with Raven, but she always felt rejected by Raven’s walls and resistance.

But underneath the friendship, wrapped and buried in the longing to be closer, Raven discovered a seed of suspicion and jealousy. It shocked Raven, she didn’t understand why Starfire would be jealous of her. If anything, Raven should be jealous of Starfire. But, curious, Raven dug, untangling the twisted knot of jealousy and rivalry until she found the source: Robin.

Starfire believed, or at least had enough of a suspicion to need to bury it, that Robin had feelings for Raven, and it hurt Starfire deeply. The idea made Raven feel sick and worried. She knew she could settle things with Starfire if she talked to her, urged Starfire to make her feelings for Robin known. Surely that would fix things… unless Robin actually did have feelings for her and not Starfire.

Desperate to know the truth, desperate to know that Robin did not have feelings for her, she slipped into his mind next. She had been here before, it was easy to move inside into his thoughts, he had let her in before and their bond had been established. But now she wasn’t seeing through his eyes to see Slade haunting Robin, she wasn’t trying to help him.

She was searching through his thoughts to find answers.

To her relief, and embarrassment, Robin thought of her in a very strategic manner. He seemed to think of everyone and everything in terms of strategy, assessing and categorizing a person based on usefulness and roles in a battle. Raven, though he didn’t want to, she could sense his regret on the matter, had been pushed into the category of “useless” in his mind of battle strategy. It was the logical conclusion, not only was she still recovering and unable to go into battle but she was also a liability with her powers. He would revise his categorization of her when she had recovered, and he even had some half formed plans for helping her which she appreciated.

As she lingered over his desire to help her she noted the possessive and protective undertones, and followed them through his mind to their root. She expected him to be protective of her because of Slade, this wasn’t the first time Slade had targeted her specifically, it was only natural that Robin would want to protect a teammate from a threat. But it wasn’t just that. True, Robin was worried about Slade in regards to Raven specifically, he had a number of scenarios in the back of his mind where Raven was abducted, and Robin had already cooked up some plans in response to those hypothetical scenarios. There was also a few theories and strategies if Raven did become Slade’s apprentice. But picking over the strands of his thoughts, feeling the tones of the emotions laced within, she continued down the strings and discovered Starfire was correct.

Robin had feelings for her.

His possessiveness, his protectiveness, his fear that she might leave the Teen Titans, leave him, for Slade, they all stemmed from an attraction to her. It was deep and it was coated in a web of fear and anxiety. He was so terrified of losing her, a fear that was drowning in past losses, making him anxious to be close to anyone again. But he wanted it. He wanted to be with her, to be honest and tell her that he was attracted to her. He wanted it so strongly that it seeped out of the web of fears, reaching beyond his unconscious and into his conscious.

She knew she shouldn’t, she had already dug too deep, found things she shouldn’t. But this wasn’t a subconscious desire that Robin had, he was aware of it, he thought about it consciously, and she was fascinated and curious. He repressed it well, but as she explored she realized how much thoughts of her dominated his mind when he was not focused on a task. It may have been endearing to learn how much he thought of her, played little scenarios in his mind, thought about how her hair caught the sunlight or how she looked in a fight. But it just made her feel guilty. She had unintentionally hurt Starfire, and she knew she did not reciprocate Robin’s feelings for her. And if she did leave, if she did go to Slade for training, then that would hurt Robin all the more. It would be a grave and unforgivable betrayal to him. She may not love him, but he was a close friend to her all the same.

Raven withdrew from his mind, feeling numb and cold and guilty. She wasn’t sure she wanted to keep exploring and digging in the minds of her other two friends. Raven wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle another mind and revelation like that.

After several minutes of silently wrestling with her thoughts she decided she would finish what she started. She decided Beast Boy was next and went into his mind before she could talk herself out of it.

Beast Boy was much more like Starfire’s mind: friendly and warm and wanting to be closer to Raven. Did she really put up so many barriers that even her closest friends felt distant? What Raven did not expect was a snare of thoughts connected to Terra among Beast Boy’s thoughts of Raven.

Terra. A net of love and betrayal and yearning that Beast Boy tried to bury and avoid thinking about. But now, with Raven being targeted by Slade, with Cyborg’s admission that Slade wanted to take Raven on as an apprentice, Beast Boy felt like it was happening all over again. He was angry at himself for thinking Raven might do that, he was bitter and unhappy that the thoughts had crossed his mind. But with each admonishment on himself he also countered with the fear and suspicion that he didn’t think Terra would do such a thing either. Robin and Terra had both gone to Slade and betrayed them, and he feared Raven would be next.

Raven returned to herself and groaned, her face in her hands. Now she was even more guilty, because she wasn’t just considering going to Slade for training, she had openly discussed it with him and had decided to do it. The betrayal had already been made, even if she changed her mind and took it back she had decided to betray them, and nothing was ever going to make that right.

She prayed Cyborg would not be suspicious of her, she begged for one friend that wouldn’t make her feel like she had betrayed them.

Her prayers went unanswered.

Cyborg wanted nothing more than for Raven to stay with them, but they had been betrayed before, and raven had kept secrets. He wanted to trust her, he wanted to trust his garage mate and friend and little sister. He tried to bury the fears and worries and suspicions but it was there. Raven found it easily, and she found herself rushing back to her own mind as she fought back tears for guilt.

What had she done?

Invading her friends’ minds was already a terrible crime. There was no excuse for what she had done.

But now the full weight of her decision, of her weird secret talks with Slade, came crashing down. She had tried to reason that it was for the best, that it was somehow okay. But it wasn’t, it hadn’t been, and it never would be.

And the thing she hated the most was that it didn’t change her mind about leaving.

#teen titans #raven #slade #fanfiction #my writing #my work #T&T #T and T #Traitors and teachers

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