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bill-y · 4 years ago

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INURE

Peeta Mellark x Reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part four: Click here, rooroorara shooty shooty vang vang

Part five: You're right here, silly!

Part six: Click here, war criminal of 1878!

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

The moment the anthem finished, we were taken into custody. It's not as if we were cuffed or anything; a group of Peacekeepers simply marched us through the front door of the Justice Building.

Each year, at least one of the tributes tries to escape; I've never seen one successfully do so.

Once inside, they put me in a room. It's the most prosperous place I've been to. With a thick carpet in the ground and a weird couch made of fabric, I've never seen before.

It was a strange texture, almost like the weird fuzzy stuff in deer's antlers. My father called them velvet; was this the same thing? If so, that's a bit gross.

Despite this, I still caressed the couch; it was oddly comforting. Almost like you're patting a nearly hairless kitten. It switched from smooth to rough each time I ran my hands through it.

Then I remembered that we only had an hour to say goodbye to our loved ones before leaving for the Capitol. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in. I didn't want to cry at all; the cameras were trained on me. I'm sure the Capitol would eat my tears up.

The first people who came in were my mother and my brother. Kunal let out a sob as he ran towards me, practically throwing himself onto me. I hugged him, staying silent as he buried his face into my neck, afraid that if he let go, I would disappear.

But I needed to break it one way or another. "Mother," I called, my voice detached. Her green eyes met mine, her lips quivering. I gulped down my spit, taking another deep breath in. "Do you. . . Have any idea on how you'll support yourselves. . ?" I asked.

Her eyes landed on the thick, red carpet. "Not as of now," she answered grimly, "But Katniss' mother offered me some work at the apothecary,"

My arms around my brother tightened. Maybe Gale and Katniss could bring them some of the game as well, though I wouldn't count on it. Why would they help us when they have other things to worry about? It's not as if I could teach Nal how to hunt either. The boy's frightened by his own shadow.

All he's good for right now for picking flowers as much as I love him. A sigh escaped my lips, my chest falling slowly as the reality sunk in.

"Well, you must think of something," I told her, my brows furrowing. "I'm not going to come back; I won't be able to support you and—"

"No!" she barked, "No! You will come back, Y/n." she proclaimed, her eyes shaking. She clenched her, fists, "Swear that you will."

Bitterness rose within me. "Tell that to the Capitol, mother," I said coolly. "If I die, then I—." My words were cut short by the sobbing of my brother.

He sniffled, pulling away from my now wet neck. "You'll win, won't you?" he croaked, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his reaping clothes.

I felt my heart stop; what was I supposed to say to him? "No, Nal. I will surely die, don't count on it," a lump formed in my throat.

My eyes landed on my mother, who gave a stern look. It told me to lie, if not for her sake, then for my brother's. With shaky hands, I held my brother's shoulders. "I'll make it out; then we can— gather some flowers in Victor's village, yes?"

Nal nodded, hugging me once more. I took a deep breath before I started explaining what they should do. With mother possibly getting a job at the apothecary, perhaps they have a chance to survive, after all. Though I'm not sure, that's such a pleasant thought with the fact that I will die.

Soon enough, a Peacekeeper was at the door, telling them their time was up. I gave Nal a hard squeeze before pushing him off. My mother nodded at me; her strawberry blonde hair bounced as she did so. "I love you both,"

The words were stuck in my throat; I couldn't say them. Maybe it was because of my strained relationship with my mother or because I hated the fact that I had just given my brother a false sense of hope. I simply watched as they walked away, hand in hand.

Nal's watery blue eyes looked back at me one last time, a look of sadness. He knew I was lying. I sounded unconvinced when I told him. My posture slumped; I felt horrible. Our maker is siis merely, I suppose.

The next visitor was unexpected; Peeta's father, the baker. My gut churned; I was off to kill his son soon. Why has he come to visit me? Perhaps he has come to beg me not to kill his son? Not that I could either way, Peeta was stronger than me: it was clear as day.

He handed me a small piece of parchment. It was filled with warm cookies. A delicacy. He must've visited his son; after all, why would he just me cookies? I was about to die anyway; why feed a dead man?

I let out a huge breath, "How was the squirrel?" my voice pierced through the thick silence. He shrugged, "Alright," he answered. Then another wave of silence hit us. I sniffed awkwardly, the scent of fresh bread entering my lungs.

I couldn't think of anything to say. What was I supposed to do? ApoloApologisebe, but I never really liked apoloapologisingee no need to. If I'm sorry, then I'll show it. We sat in awkward silence before the Peacekeepers told him his time was up. He stood up, clearing his throat.

"I'll keep an eye on the little boy, make sure he's eating," He stated before leaving. I felt the pressure lift from my chest. They may not like me much, but Nal was practically an angel to them. An angel born in a family of rebels, I'm guessing, is their thoughts.

The next guest then entered. Madge. Her expression wasn't weepy nor evasive, nor did she wear that bright smile she always had when she was around me. It looked urgent. She walked straight to me, the urgency in her tone quite surprising, "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home, will you wear this?" she holds out a circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier.

My brows furrowed, "Your pin?' I said. Does she really to die wearing rich-people-things? That hasn't even crossed my mind. . .

"I'll put it on your tunic, alright?" She said, not waiting for my answer as she leaned in and fixed the bird on my chest. "Promise me you'll wear it to the arena, Y/n. Promise me," She took my hand, her thumbs rubbing the back of my own.

Compared to Peeta's, hers was cold yet soft, almost as if she was nervous, worried. But why would she? I barely talk to her; she's the one who always strikes a conversation. All I do is nod and disagree at certain times.

She leaned closer to my face; I gave her an uncertain smile, pulling away. "Thank you, Madge," I muttered. She nodded, letting go of my hands. "Please, stay safe," her voice trembled as she rushed out of the room. I was left standing there, confused. What was that? Why did she visit me despite my rudeness earlier?

Next was Gale and Katniss. I didn't hesitate to hug both of them before pulling away with a sigh. "Hey, you'll be fine," Gale reassured, patting my shoulder. I stayed silent, only nodding. Katniss gave me a pity smile, "I'm sure it would be fairly easy to get knives, Y/n."

A sigh left my mouth, "I know— I just— Don't want to—" I stammered, making a stabbing motion with my hand. Gale gave me a pitied look, "It's just like hunting, Y/n. You're the best hunter we know," he said.

"They're not animals. They think; they're armed." I reasoned, my voice trembling. Why did I have to feel these emotions now? Maybe reality has finally settled in, the truth that I'll never see any of these faces again. On the off chance that I do, I'm sure they'll view me differently, a cold-blooded murderer.

"What's the difference, reale said grimly. Those words echoed in my head as they went away with the Peacekeepers. What is the difference? We're all just feral dogs forced to fight or cocks pit against each other.

I took a deep breath as I got called to ride a wagon to the train station. It was a relatively short ride. We never really had the luxury of these; we always had to travel by foot.

I silently thanked myself for not crying; there were insect-like cameras trained onto my face. Thankfully, I knew how to act, to bite my tongue. If I hadn't, I'd probably be screaming profanities. My eyes glanced onto the television screen; I look bored. Which, I surprisingly was.

It was as if my spirit left me already.

Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, had obviously been crying. However, he didn't even try to hide it, which was quite odd. Was this his strategy? To appear weak and vulnerable to assure the other tributes that he was no threat? This worked for a girl from district 7. Johanna Mason.

She seemed frightened, a cowardly fool that no one bothered about her until only a handful left. She then killed them all, with no problem whatsoever. I remember watching this game, quite shocked. She sold her act to me, but then again, maybe I'm just oblivious.

This worked for her because she looked frail, weak. Peeta applying this strategy was quite odd. Not only did he not look soft, but he was also jacked. He just looked like a big doofus. All those years having bread to eat and hauling trays made him physically capable.

Annoyance rose through me when we had to stand by the train's entrance while cameras gobbled out images up. I was sure I no longer looked bored but rather pissed. It wasn't like I was about to put on a pretty smile for them. These jester-dressed-worms should know how I feel.

Finally, we boarded, and the train began to move at once. The speed took my breath away. It was going faster than I could ever think of. The scenery around us just blurred—a mix of the neutral colour palette that made up District 12.

We were taught about coal in school. Some basic maths and reading before it circled back to coal again. Our district was used for coal mining, even hundreds of years ago.

Then there are the weekly lectures about the history of Panem, which never fails to annoy me. It's all blather about how we owe the Capitol because of the rebellion and whatnot.

I knew they're hiding something; we couldn't have lost that easily. I always think about this whenever I'm up in the trees, daydreaming, which is why I'm always the last one to arrive at the hill.

The tribute train was much fancier than the room at the Justice building. We were given our own rooms, a dressing area and private bathroom with cold and hot running water. We've never really had hot water readily available at home; we had to boil it.

Though I can't say, I like it, with all that effort I just end up not liking the bath. I much prefer the cold, flowing current of a river.

There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket told me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my father’s tunic and take a cold shower. I’ve never had a shower before. It’s like being in the rain, inky much tamer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants, trying my hair to the usual, small pa

At the last minute, I remember Madge’s little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It’s as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wingtips. I suddenly recognise it—a Mockingjay.

Funny little birds, my favourite creature in the forests, that's for sure. These were a slap to the Capitol's face. They genetically altered animals as weapons. Muttations as we call them, or Mutts for short. One particular kind was a bird they labelled Jabberjay, able to memorise and repeat whole human conversations.

Homing birds, exclusively male that were released into regions where the Capitol’s enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they’d fly back to centres to be recorded. It took people a while to realise what was going on in the districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then, of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centres were shut down, and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.

But they didn't die; instead, they mated with the female mocking birds and produced this weird species that can replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They've lost the ability to enunciated words but could still mimic a range of human vocal cords.

My father used to sing them a lot. I guess he passed that habit down to me. Whenever I'm not doing anything, I find myself singing to the hummingbirds, who surprisingly listen and replicate my Father's song. It was a simple melody, made of 10 notes at least.

It warmed by heart, especially at times where I miss him. I smiled, fastening the pin to my shirt, the dark green as its background.

Effie came to collect me. I followed her through a narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. There waiting for us was Peeta Mellark, the chair beside him empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" Asked Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him he said he was going to take a nap," said Peeta. "Well, it’s been an exhausting day," said Effie Trinket. I think she’s relieved by Haymitch’s absence, and who can blame her?

Food came in courses. Though I barely touched the carrot soup, the chocolate cake, lamb chops nor the mashed potatoes. I wasn't going to eat this, not from the Capitol.

My jaw clenched as Effie told me to eat up, smiling brightly at me. I gave her a pained smile, slowly taking a bite of the lamb on my plate before swallowing it roughly.

A swirl of guilt formed in my stomach, was I eating really this luxurious food whilst Nal and mother struggle? I sighed, digging my nails into my palms.

Peeta looked at me oddly as he stuffed his face, he nudged my side and nodded towards the food. I simply shook my head, pushing the plate away.

Effie put her lips together at my stubbornness. She was muttering something about having no manners.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that since none of them has to attend reapings themselves.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be in our competition. A few stand out in my mind.

A monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. A fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she’s very like Nal in size and demeanour. Only when she mounts the stage and task for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There’s no one willing to take her place.

Last of all, District twelve. It showed Nal getting called and me volunteering. The commentators weren't sure about what to say regarding the silence. I only smirked at this, crossing my legs in amusement. Just in time, Haymitch fell from the stage, earning a comical groan from the commentators.

Peeta silently took his place on the stage; we shook hands and then just cut to the anthem.

Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour."

Unexpectedly, Peeta laughed. "He was drunk." He said. "He's drunk every year."

"Everyday," I added, finally breaking my silence streak with a smirk. Effie makes it sound kike Haymitch just had rough manners that could easily be dealt with.

"Yes," She hissed "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he slurred. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in a mess.

"So laugh away!" said Effie Trinket. And so I did, I barked out mocking laughter as she hopped in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and fled the room.

Word count: 2974

Tags:

@nin3s

#hunger games x reader #hunger games #hunger games x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #peetamellark #x male reader #gale #male x male reader

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

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*wiggles in delight* Okay, okay, you know it’s the POTC AU again. X3

Last part is here -- whole tag is here -- Lavender’s Blue is a folk song that dates back to the 17th century, but I used a more modern version in the link because it’s honestly the prettiest one I could find -- Leave Her Johnny is a traditional sea shanty, pinpointing it as being from the 18th/19th century, even though I haven’t been able to find a concrete date of when the original version was actually written anywhere, but whatever, who cares -- the myth of Orion and Artemis has several variations, but I just used one of the most popular ones because it fits the narrative -- I love my dear @cursebreakerfarrier and her girl Jules’s relationship with my precious boi Bill so much --

And that’s it! Let’s get right to it!! Eeeee~!!! *goes off and fangirls some more*

x~x~x~x

When it comes to dividing loot, one of the central tenants of the Pirate Code set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew -- as well as every other specialized code set by individual pirate captains -- was the idea of everyone getting their fair share of whatever treasure they managed to plunder, with the Captain being awarded ownership of any ships. Thus everyone in the Tower Raven’s fleet as well as the Artemis’s crew was entitled to an equal share of the treasure the Revenge’s crew had stored away on Isle de Muerta the last fifteen years. It took a while to divvy up everyone’s shares, but even with how many people there were, everyone ended up with a respectable share, all the same. Both Jacob and Orion also quickly abdicated their possible claims to the Revenge to Carewyn -- a rather generous offer to some minds, considering it was the fastest galleon on the seven seas, but Carewyn could thoroughly understood why Jacob would want no part of it. If nothing else, he already had a rather impressive fleet, and the Revenge had the same bad memories for her as it did him.

It wasn’t long after the treasure was parsed into equal shares and the Tower Raven’s fleet departed that Bill pulled Jules aside.

“It looks like our little adventure is over,” he said with a faintly wry smile.

“...So it is,” said Jules.

She wasn’t smiling. She tried, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill was worried about something. Her wary expression made Bill turn a bit more serious too.

“You know Charlie and I won’t be able to return to Port Royal,” he said softly. “Your father could likely pull some strings to keep you from being punished, especially if you claimed we forced you, but...”

“I would never claim that and you know it,” Jules cut him off, her tone very reproachful.

Bill’s brown eyes crinkled up with fondness.

“...I know. That’s why I feel a little better telling you this.”

Taking her hand, he then slowly lowered himself onto one knee. Somewhere behind him, Bill could hear a quickly suppressed gasp of delight from Carewyn, and it made him grin around his scarlet cheeks up at Jules, whose face was also alight with surprise and a darkening flush.

“Juliette Farrier -- you are, without question, the most amazing and wonderful woman I have ever met in my life. You’re braver than a lioness and you never let anything stand in your way, no matter what the squalls. In the words of Psalm 143:8, ‘show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life’ -- ”

His entire face was a brilliant ruby red by this point. He bit his lip briefly, only for his mouth to spread into an even broader smile as he tried to hold in a laugh.

“ -- so...if you could accept a pirate as your husband, over a merchant or even a man of the Church...I swear to stand by your side and love you all my days.”

Jules was visibly overwhelmed. Her face flushed and her eyes flooding with tears, she found herself starting to laugh. Then she flung herself down onto Bill, grabbing hold of him around the neck and cradling his head and shoulders.

“Yes -- yes, of course I will!”

The wedding between Juliette Farrier and William Weasley was a very informal, rushed sort of affair. Since there was no church that would’ve married them and Bill couldn’t do it himself, they held it aboard the Artemis with Orion -- being Captain -- officiating the ceremony. Charlie and Carewyn scrounged through the loot remaining in the cave at Isle de Muerta to find a handsome coat made out of brown leather, a navy blue tricorn hat, a well-shined pair of boots, a rather pretty-looking off-white dress, a gold tiara, and a translucent muslin apron. Carewyn was able to cut the apron into a make-shift veil that she then helped Jules secure in her hair with the tiara.

Orion’s version of a wedding ceremony was distinctly not traditional. Rather than quoting scripture, he made a rather bizarre analogy to beavers. To his credit, it did eventually come around to the idea that they mate for life and they build their own home out of nothing together out of whatever’s available to them, which Carewyn thought was actually rather sweet.

Once the vows were read and the bride and groom shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crew threw a makeshift wedding party on board the Artemis, with Carewyn singing a song for Bill and Jules’s first dance.

“Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen: Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so? 'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.”

Once the dance was over, Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around both of them, hugging them both with all of her strength. Soon Charlie had thrown himself into the huddle too, and the four were all clinging to each other, crying and smiling all the while.

“Jules,” Carewyn said seriously, “I want you, Bill, and Charlie to take the Revenge.”

The three all looked taken aback.

“What?” said Charlie.

“It’s the fastest galleon in the entire ocean, and easily the most feared pirate ship as well,” she explained, her eyes trailing from Charlie to Bill to Jules. “It may need some fixing -- I daresay it’d be a good idea to actually patch up those leaks with more than just magic, and I figure you’ll want to christen it with a new name...but...”

Her blue eyes drifted down to Jules’s shoulder.

“...If you must be considered criminals, with no chance of reprieve...then I don’t want the Navy to ever, ever catch you. I want you on a vessel so strong and so fast...that I can never catch up to you again.”

Bill, Charlie and Jules all stared at Carewyn, their eyes filling up with emotion seeing how strong of a face Carewyn was trying to put on, despite the pain she no doubt felt. Then Jules secured her arm more tightly around Carewyn’s shoulders, resting her forehead beside her friend’s affectionately.

“And if you must stay behind...then I want you to know that we’ll always...always come for you, Carey.”

Charlie nodded, resting his own head on Carewyn’s shoulder as he squeezed her shoulder. “Always.”

Bill’s eyes were streaming with tears. He seemed too overcome by his emotions to speak, so instead he brought up a hand and smoothed some hair out of his best friend’s face, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Carewyn trailed a hand through his hair to comfort him.

“Look...after Percy for us?” Bill murmured in her ear, his voice choked with tears.

Carewyn blinked back her tears as best she could. “Of course.”

Not long later, Captain Jules Weasley boarded the newly christened Revolution with her First Mate and husband Bill and her Quartermaster and brother-in-law Charlie, and the three set off for Tortuga. Orion and the crew of the Artemis had arranged to meet them there and help them with ship repairs, since it would likely only take a scooner like the Artemis an extra day to reach Tortuga after dropping Carewyn off on an island frequented by rum runners, rescued, and returned to the Navy.

The next few days aboard the Artemis was rather more relaxed than on the voyage to Isle de Muerta. Everyone was in pretty good spirits thanks to the significant pay-out, so the nights were spent on deck drinking lots of rum and singing old pirate favorites like Spanish Ladies and Yo Ho A Pirate’s Life for Me. (That last one Carewyn was even able to coax Orion onto his feet and dance with her for, and the rather drunk crew was absolutely beside themselves with laughter, seeing the broad smile and dark flush on their tipsy captain’s face.)

On the last night of their voyage, however, as the sun went down, Orion did not join the festivities. The crew wasn’t too perturbed by it, as he apparently often stayed off to the side rather than get as active as he had that previous night. Despite this, though, McNully still lifted himself up into the rigging and paid Orion a visit at the helm while the rest of the crew drank and sang down below.

“Penny for your thoughts, Orion?” he asked amusedly.

Orion glanced up at McNully serenely. “Oh, merely...meditating on what would’ve happened, had the Scorpion not appeared.”

“The Scorpion?” repeated McNully, as he cocked an eyebrow.

Orion nodded up at the sky, to a certain cluster of stars.

“The Scorpion -- Scorpio. I wonder what would have happened if Apollo had not sent him to sting the heel of the hunter Orion -- what might have been his fate, then.”

McNully glanced from the constellation to down at Orion, frowning slightly.

“Well...he would’ve kept hunting with Artemis, I suppose,” he said slowly, “like he did before.”

“Yes...but would he have been able to do that ad infinitum? Would they have been able to hunt together, side by side, for the rest of Orion’s life, until he’d lived to a ripe old age? Or, like it’s said happened to the goddess Calypso...would it be too difficult for a goddess and a mere man to walk the same path for more than a short while...when the paths set before them are destined to diverge?”

Orion’s voice was very detached, but McNully knew him well enough that he could hear the quiet intensity in his voice. This thought exercise of his had been more than simple meditation, this McNully was sure of.

The First Mate considered Orion for a moment, contemplating his answer.

“...Well...I suppose that’s something Artemis and Orion would’ve probably had to plot out themselves, if it’d come to that. Reckon those sorts of things are always a 50-50 thing, no matter who the players are.”

Orion glanced at McNully out the side of his eye. “‘Those sorts of things?’”

“Yeah -- heart-related things. In the story you’re talking about, Orion was the only man Artemis ever loved, right?”

Orion’s dark eyes flickered down to the crew below. “...Aye.”

“Well, love kind of involves communication, so I’ve heard,” said McNully amusedly, “and while I’m no expert in love, I do pride myself on my communication skills. And from where I stand, I’d say that it’s up to those people to decide whether what they’ve got is more important than what ‘path’ they’re meant for or not. And unless there’s action on one or both people’s parts, there’s a 99.5% chance that both them and everyone around them will be left wondering forever what could’ve been.”

Orion didn’t answer. McNully followed his gaze down to the newly redressed Commodore Carewyn on the deck, who was leading the rest of the crew in a sea shanty.

“Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high... Leave her, Johnny, leave her! She shipped it green and none went by, And it's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow, And it's time for us to leave her.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, darkening with an emotion that McNully couldn’t place -- then, rather swiftly, he turned and headed for the stairs that led down to the main deck.

“I’ll take the first watch in the crow’s nest, McNully,” he said levelly. “Please see that the crew finishes up soon, so that we can start our nightly rounds.”

“...Aye, aye, Captain.”

The crew didn’t pay mind to the Captain walking past them on his way to the crow’s nest, but Carewyn couldn’t help but notice that he avoided any of their eyes.

Not long after, the crew all started getting ready to go to sleep down below in their makeshift cots and hammocks. Carewyn, however, was too disconcerted by Orion’s behavior and couldn’t help but approach McNully. When she did, he merely shrugged and told her not to worry -- Orion liked to go up to the crow’s nest alone to meditate, and it didn’t always mean he was in a bad mood. All the same, Carewyn decided to stay on deck and take the watch with Orion.

McNully considered her for a moment, before he finally added an aside to her.

“While he’s meditating, there’s only about a 45% chance he’ll talk to you. But...keep in mind that there’s only about a 25% chance that he’d talk to me. ...I reckon those are odds worth chancing.”

And so Carewyn made her way up into the crow’s nest. She found Orion there, resting his arms on the railing of the crow’s nest with his eyes closed and head bowed.

She settled herself next to him, resting her arms on the railing beside his. At first she was reluctant to speak, considering how clearly focused he was despite his eyes being closed. Then, at last, the Commodore finally brushed her newly retied ponytail over her shoulder and settled on asking him.

“...Would you prefer me to not say anything, while we watch together?”

Orion was quiet for a moment. Then, without opening his eyes, he murmured, “...You could sing something.”

Carewyn smiled slightly. “All right. Any requests?”

“‘A Maid in Bedlam.’”

It hadn’t taken him long to come up with it. Carewyn’s smile spread a bit, before she looked out at the sea and sang it for him.

“Just as she sat there weeping, her love, he came on land. Then, hearing she was in Bedlam, he ran straight out of hand -- He flew into her snow-white arms, and thus replied he: ‘I love my love because I know my love loves me.’

She said, ‘My love, don't frighten me, are you my love or no?’ ‘Oh yes, my dearest Nancy, I am your love, also. I have returned to make amends for all your injury... I love my love because I know my love loves me.’

So now these two are married, and happy may they be, Like turtle doves together, in love and unity.

All pretty maids, with patience wait, that have got loves at sea -- I love my love because I know...my love...loves...me."

A ghost of a smile had settled into the corners of Orion’s lips as he listened. When Carewyn finally finished, he opened his eyes and looked out at the horizon.

“Did you sing that song, while you were on the Revenge?” he murmured.

Carewyn looked at him in surprise.

“...How did you know?”

“A mermaid was singing the song around our ship one night while we were bound for Isle de Muerta. She said she’d learned the song from a maid locked in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened in understanding. She looked back out at the sea too, her expression becoming a little more serious.

“...While I was on the Revenge,” she said softly, “I...well, I wasn’t myself, at points. I was scared, and angry...and that night...”

Her eyes darkened.

“...That night...was the worst of all of them. I don’t even know how I fell asleep. But I did, and...sure enough...there you were.”

Orion looked up, startled. Carewyn’s lips were spread in something of a bittersweet smile even though her gaze was still on the sea.

“I said you appeared in my dreams at random, but I don’t think that’s wholly true,” she admitted. “You wouldn’t appear whenever I felt cheerful or excited. Instead you always seemed to appear...whenever I was drowning. Whenever I was in a dark place...hopeless and useless. Whenever I most felt...like I deserved to be alone.”

It was strange saying any of this aloud. It made Carewyn feel oddly fragile and vulnerable. With a swallow, she put on the bravest smile she could as she forced herself to meet Orion’s eyes.

“...I guess...whenever I end up in that place...remembering when I was able to help you...it helps, somehow. It...orients me, like a compass. It helps me remember how much better I feel about myself, knowing that I can take care of others.”

Orion stared at Carewyn, his mouth slightly open as his eyes searched her expression. They rippled with an intense emotion, but Carewyn couldn’t quite place it -- was it empathy? Pain? Longing? Relief?

His kohl-lined eyes drifted down to his belt. Then, carefully, he detached his little black-lidded compass from his belt and held it up in both hands so she could see it.

“Would you like to hear the tale of how I first acquired this compass?” he asked.

Carewyn looked down at it curiously and nodded.

“It was a gift,” said Orion. “A gift from a king, who was captured by an enemy kingdom and then sold into slavery. He ended up on a ship owned by the East India Trading Company, bound for the Caribbean...a ship I’d joined as a cabin boy. I was fourteen, going under the name ‘Smith,’ as it was the only name I’d been given at the time, besides ‘boy.’

“Not long after the ship set sail, I overheard the king planning a slave revolt against the sailors on board -- and I had to make a choice. 1, I could report what I heard to the captain...or 2, I could say nothing. Instead I picked a third option -- I helped him. I left his manacles a little too loose that night and told him where he could safely maroon the sailors who didn’t want to stay. So when the revolt happened...the king dropped off the entire crew except me. I agreed to stay long enough to help him sail home, since he and his people didn’t have any experience sailing a British ship. The king named me his First Mate and asked me to call him by his given name...Amari.”

Carewyn's eyes widened in amazement. Orion smiled gently at the look on her face and nodded, before his expression grew much more serious again.

“It wasn’t long after, however, that Cutler Beckett -- the man who owned the slave ship -- sent pirate hunters out to retrieve his ‘stolen cargo.’ On our way back to the Ivory Coast, we were locked in a sea battle, and Amari was mortally injured. As he lay on the deck, he made me promise to take his family home...and once I did...he gave me his compass. I used it to safely sail us away from the pirate hunters and drop the crew off close to home, before I took the next ship out of Africa, which plopped me down in the Caribbean.

“When I landed in Port Royal, however, news had already reached the Navy positioned there of my ‘theft of Company property.’ I was immediately locked in irons, branded, and set to be hanged the following morning. I barely remember now how I managed to shake off the soldiers escorting me to the jail, but sure enough, I did...”

Orion’s dark eyes softened slightly -- he reached out to take both of Carewyn’s hand and place the compass gently in her hands, his own hands cupping around hers so that she’d hold it.

“...And, as fate would have it...ran straight into you.”

Carewyn’s wide blue eyes ran over his face in disbelief.

She’d heard so many bizarre tales of the infamous Orion Amari and his exploits, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember having heard anything about how he became a pirate in the first place. And to hear now that it was all because he’d helped a ship full of slaves return home...to keep a promise he’d made to someone he’d clearly respected...

She’d known Orion was a good man -- but she realized that before that moment, she’d had no concept just how good.

Her eyes softened upon the compass in their joined hands.

“...It’s no wonder you’ve kept it even after it broke, then,” she said gently. “It’s truly very special.”

Orion’s dark eyes rippled over her face. “Aye...but it’s never been broken, however much it hasn’t worked for me, recently.”

Carewyn blinked in confusion.

“My compass does not point North -- nor has it ever done so,” he explained. “Instead...it points to whatever you want most in this world. If you wished to find treasure, it would point you to it. If you wished to escape, it would point you to safety. If you wished to sail homeward ...it would point the way.”

Carewyn glanced down at the compass and then back up at Orion’s face, feeling a bit skeptical despite herself. The pirate captain’s mouth spread in an amused smile.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” said Carewyn primly. “It’s just...hard to believe...”

She once again looked down at the compass and then back up at him.

“...Is that really true?”

Orion’s eyes twinkled. “Every word.”

Carewyn considered him for a moment carefully, her eyes scanning his face as she thought this over.

“...So I suppose the reason it’s not working for you...is you don’t know what you want?”

Orion’s face grew a lot more solemn.

“On the contrary,” he said softly. “It’s more...that my heart is so focused on one thing...it’s made it so the compass, in my hands, will point nowhere else. Ever since you escaped the Artemis...it’s been locked in place.”

His hands adjusted on top of hers holding his compass, his thumbs resting on the sides of her wrists.

Carewyn’s gaze fell down to their joined hands -- then, her eyes slowly widening, she looked back up at Orion.

“...When you came to Port Royal...”

Orion inclined his head. “The compass was pointing me there.”

“And...Isle de Muerta...”

“I only found because the compass was pointing me there, too.”

Orion’s voice was still as level as ever, but he suddenly looked quite a bit paler. Something in the back of his calm, serene eyes seemed oddly tentative -- insecure.

Carewyn stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. If she was understanding Orion correctly, then...the thing his compass had been pointing toward...

...was her.

Her heart had swelled to a seemingly impossibly large size in her chest, almost painfully so. It made Carewyn unsure of what even to say or do -- she couldn’t contain her emotions, and was forced to cover her face in both hands, cutting herself off as she struggled to regain her composure.

At long last, she took a breath.

“‘She said...‘my love, don’t frighten me...are you...my love, or no?’”

Orion straightened up visibly as she slid her hands from her face, beaming up at him with perhaps the most emotional, most beautiful smile he’d ever seen on her face.

“‘...Oh yes, my dear Orion...I am your love, also.’”

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #bill weasley #jules farrier #charlie weasley #murphy mcnully #my art #my fanficiton #my writing #GAAAAAHHHHH SO MUCH FLUFF MY HEART #and yeah of course since we'll be doing more plot we won't be stopping on this fluff like I'd planned before I decided to integrate it #and yeah of course that means that we will actually have to address how the hell these two can be a couple #when they know their paths are diametrically opposed #but hey developing relationships can be fun!#just because you reach that coveted 'i love you' stage doesn't mean the ship has to devolve into bickering and suspicion #there's a lot more plot you can do <3 #but yes I had so much fun drawing jules and bill my heart!!#jules's dress is based on elizabeth's wedding dress from the second movie #bill's look is largely based on will's outfit from the second movie but with a tricorn hat and a different color scheme #sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger of sorts but this thing is getting long and next part we'll have to get back to the plot #sorry :<

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i4z-0892-il · 5 years ago

Text

Monster House 6

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4884

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language, smut

A/N: Wow! It’s been a while. This chapter has been sitting in my google docs 90% finished for quite some time. And given the spirit of NaNoWriMo I figured it was time to finish it. So thank you all who have been waiting for this so patiently, and who have been so supportive an lovely in my absence. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I’m still writing! I haven’t forgotten. And now, without further ado...

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

The scream that caught in your throat came out as nothing more than a clipped sob and a whisper of air. Frozen in place and time like a marble statue. What was standing before you was impossible. Everyone had heard the stories, the quick hushed warnings not to speak of the White Thing in the Woods too loud lest its attention be drawn. And despite what you knew about the changing moods of the forest, you didn’t buy into it. It was all bullshit just to keep kids from getting lost in the thicket of trees.

Fables.

Urban legends.

Fairy Tales.

That’s all they were.

The White Thing was no more real than the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus.

It wasn’t that you thought yourself too smart to believe in such things, you’d simply taken for granted just how old those Woods were. The America’s were still young, a few hundred years of Colonised society was enough to make a young girl forget that these lands had been here since the beginning. And something lived deep in the underbelly of the wilderness, where even the most foolish or brave-hearted person dare not venture.

It was a beast, massive and filling the space of your vision to the edges. The Thing was so much taller than you, even as it crouched on legs too long and layered with lean muscle; incredible antlers sprouted from its skeletal head like moss covered tree limbs. Sunken eyes set in their deep black sockets as if it was the void looking back at you. Pallid and worn flesh stretched too tight over the unnaturally thin and long bones of its body, seen through the long mangy white locks that hung from it’s skull. Sharp teeth the length of your palm sprung from it’s elongated skeletal snout, yellowed and rust colored from age and use; able to cleave muscle and fat from bone like slicing through butter. Thick mists of air hung heavy as it breathed, and a curious rumble from deep within rolled out of its mouth as it looked you over. You, this pitiful little creature, helpless and paralyzed by fear and disbelief.

If there were any doubts before they were dashed now. You were going to die.

Two things were going to happen. First, you were going to disappear, the Police would put together a short, and limited search party. They’d search through part of the forest, not venturing very far, superstition running too deep in their DNA. The search for you would be called off within a week, and you would vanish into history as nothing more than the face of yet another Missing Girl. Secondly, knowing full well that you played with fire and were burned, the townsfolk would use your death as a cautionary tale to warn other youth to keep in line. To not be the stupid girl that disappeared in the trees. If only she’d heeded her Daddy when he told her to stay clear of the Woods to the North she might still be alive. You would become a myth.

Seconds turned to decades as The White Thing watched you tremble. Tears spilled down your cheeks freezing to the skin at your jaw in the icy air. It tilted its head, leaning forward on one of it’s four boney arms with taloned hands large enough to crush your skull like a grape if it wanted to. You couldn’t breathe.

It sniffed the air around you, as if it could pick up the scent of your terror. It was close enough that you could smell the stench of death pouring from it’s clammy skin. Heart hammering away in your chest you thought for sure it might explode and kill you before this Thing sunk its teeth into your soft flesh. If you were lucky that’s what would happen.

The White thing extended a hand to you, a misty green stone in it’s palm with a symbol carved in it. An offering. Your horror turned to curiosity and confusion, but you were too frightened to move or do anything about your confliction. Moments ticked by agonizing in their pace, years might have passed already. When it finally moved your whole body jerked away on instinct, but it simply placed the stone on the ground, and backed away. And like that it vanished into the mist and ticket of trees just as it had come, like a dream. Or nightmare.

The icy chill dissipated making way for the warmth of late summer, and the trees parted again letting streams of golden light pour through the canopy. Birds began to chirp and the weight sitting on your chest fell away. Suddenly you could breathe again. The moment your limbs regained their use you took off through the woods, tearing through the trees as fast as your legs could carry you, not bothering to stop until you’d broken through the treeline and into your house slamming your bedroom door behind you.

You hid your torn and dirty clothes far into the back of your closet, as if you could will away an evidence of what had just taken place. If you believed it was a dream, a hallucination, some trick of the mind then you could carry on with your life. Just like everyone else. Like nothing had ever happened

What did just happen?

What happened was impossible. Absurd. Lunacy. Delusion. Absolute nonsense. Monsters simply could not be real.

The tightness in your chest gripped your lungs like a vice threatening to cave you in and destroy you from the inside out. There was no way you could go back to normal. What you’d just witnessed upended everything you ever knew. Everything you had been certain of once before.

What else was out there? What else existed in the shadows? Lurking in the dark waiting for the right moment to pounce. Four hours ago you were certain of many things: There was nothing in the woods. The Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. Poltergiest was just a movie, and above all there was nothing to be afraid of in the woods.

You went to bed that night with your eyes locked on your window, blinds and curtains drawn, waiting. Waiting for the whispers to begin and the knocking. After the adrenaline had finally left your bones chattering, exhaustion kicked in and sleep eventually took you.

When you woke in the morning you couldn’t help but be relieved, maybe it had just been a bad dream after all. You were in one piece, in the safety of your bedroom, all windows, doors, fingers and toes in place. You were going to do all you could to forget it. Although you would never venture through the woods again.

Kicking your legs over the bed and planting your feet on the floor you stretched your arms out over your head, tensing and cracking at the joints. You let out a satisfied groan and huffed a sigh as you pushed disheveled hair from your face. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you walked down the hall and turned to the living room staring for the kitchen. Absolutely starving, the most heavenly thing you could think of was a packet of pop tarts that had your name in it.

You snagged a bag and cast a glance at the clock on the stove reading 8:18 am. Usually everyone was up by now. Your little brothers were under no circumstances ones to miss Saturday morning cartoons. Mom was usually piddling around, or working on a quilt she’d never finish, and Dad no doubt would be outside already and under the hood of that old Mustang. The silence and stillness of the house as you moved through its rooms made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, it was never this quiet on a Saturday morning. What stopped you in your tracks like slamming into a wall was your bookbag. The one you’d dropped in the maze of trees, sitting on the coffee table in the living room, as if it had been there the entire time.

Pulse raced, and blood pumped furiously through your veins as you slowly reached out a hand picking up the bag you thought you’d surely never see again. A little green stone with a marking in the middle dropped from your bag to the coffee table, and your blood turned to ice.

The crushing realization set in along with that black shroud of doom you couldn’t shake. Your legs moved before your brain could process, carrying you down the hall like a doll on a string. You swung the door open to your brothers’ room where carnage painted the walls a sticky dark red. Frozen to the spot, you couldn’t scream, all you could do was let your eyes trail over the mutilated remains of your younger siblings.

Eyes snapped open as you jolted from your sleep. It’d been more than a decade but you’d never really left the woods of that sleepy town. That shadow had followed your every step since, haunting you, lurking in the back of your mind and biding it’s time. It was the Washington State forests that reminded you of the thick wilderness of West Virginia, of home. The same thing happened in Michigan, the Wendigo. Dense woods were more than enough to trigger what you’d done your best to tuck away. Every hunter has an origin story, most aren’t born to it. Most have paid a devastating price for the knowledge of what lives in the dark. You were no different than any of the rest of them, but unlike most of them who found a place in the violence and anonymity, this life gave you no pleasure.

The blood thirsty look in a man's eye is unmistakable, and is a trait shared among a vast majority of hunters. First it’s fueled by vengeance, then it’s something to fill the void until you learn to hate the things you hunt, and killing them brings you a release you couldn’t otherwise find. But for you it was a job, a disgusting one that you’d rather not have been the one to do, but if not you, then who? Some other poor girl who wandered into the wrong place? Truth was you couldn’t have lived with yourself if you left the supernatural for others to deal with who might not be as lucky or well prepared as you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor to see an empty mat and blankets where Sam must have slept overnight. He was an early riser but dawn wasn’t for hours stillt, maybe he couldn’t sleep either. Letting out a sigh you shut your eyes and rolled away from the edge of the bed to the middle on your side as the throb of a headache began to set in and the world tilted around like a weeble wobble. You were still half drunk, and felt like you’d gone four rounds with a brick wall. When you opened your eyes again a shock of breath caught in your throat to find that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.

Sam lay stretched out on his back, an arm tucked under his pillow and propping up his head, looking something like a painting in the darkness before Sunrise. A peaceful person he was not, but in that moment it might have fooled you that he could be. So often his brow was furrowed in thought or concentration, his broad shoulders tense with such worry that he rarely looked comfortable. Seeing him asleep was nothing new, but being able to relish in his image without interruption and so close was. He was right there, you could feel the heat radiating from him, seeping through the sheets. You could touch him, you could reach out and touch him. Trace your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, and down the length of his throat like you’d imagined doing hundreds of times. You could press your lips to his cheek and curl his long silky hair around your fingers. You could. He was right there and you were still tipsy, less inclined to listen to the practical side of your brain.

There was no telling how he ended up in bed with you. Last thing you remembered was being too drunk to stand up on your own, and in times like those you were prone to putting your foot in your mouth. It would have taken a flash in his eyes for the secrets you’d been keeping to spill out of your mouth like a burst dam. It would have taken a grin to his lips and a dimple to let loose the fact that you wanted him. He wouldn’t have taken you up on your offer, not with you being so intoxicated but you must have done something right to bring him to your bed.

You could have watched him breathe forever. The world could have caved in around you and everything fell to ruin, but it wouldn’t have mattered, because he was just so close. Worries melted away just by sheer proximity, and the nightmare you had just roused from fell away with the rest of your problems. If there was one silver lining to the life you lead, it was Sam. Sure the hunting evil, saving people and all that gave the occasional warm fuzzies, but that was expected of you. It was your job. It was thankless and messy and scary and frankly you hated every second of it. There were things you’d planned on doing with your life. Places you’d planned on exploring, people you’d planned on meeting. You had your eye on being a Surgeon, Cardiac, the best the field had ever seen. You had colleges in mind, and the determination to make it happen.

How quickly life changes.

If you had been told at fifteen that this would be your life, you’d have laughed. Never in a million years would you have guessed that you’d live the rest of your life as a Professional Ghost Popper, on the road, in shitty motels and surviving on gas station hot dogs. Though it wasn’t all bad. There was Sam. He waltzed into your life like a breath of fresh air. A kindred spirit. A sliver of hope where there was none. He wanted out too, he only mentioned t it a few times, and usually inebriated, but it was enough. He didn’t like the job any more than you did, but you’d both been doing it so long you couldn’t imagine life outside of it. It was that fear of the unknown that kept you both in your safe spaces. If there was any reason to leave the shelter of the dark, it was Sam.

He shifted in his sleep with a small sigh,his head falling to the side and into the stream of silver moonlight, and there as no fighting the need to reach out and touch his face. Fingertips ghosted over the line of his jaw, resting softly at his chin where your eyes fell to his lips, rosy, soft and parted. You thought of the women lucky enough to know what his lips tasted like. Were they sweet like he was? Intoxicating?

The screen on his phone lit up on the nightstand as the time ticked over to 3:30 and his alarm began to sound. You dropped your hand away, and Sam let out a remorseful groan as he rolled on his side and reached a long arm over you to the nightstand to hit snooze. His head hit the bed and he was out again, arm left to drape over you, heavy and warm. Trying to pull your arm free he stirred again, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you to him as his nose nuzzled into your shoulder.

The swell in your chest was nearly drowning you, it was exactly where you’d always wanted to be, and the one place you’d never allow. Maybe… maybe just for a minute you could allow it. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla and coffee, and the feel of his lips against your shoulder took over your senses. You’d have given anything to stay just like that forever.

Your fingers slipped through silky tresses, and long eyelashes fluttered open at the touch.The sunflowers in his eyes, even in that dim light, took your breath away.

“Good morning,” you whispered. A smile curled his lips and created that perfect dimple in his cheek. Not quite awake he let himself sink around you breathing in the natural perfume of you, and the warmth of your skin, soft like butter and better than he’d dreamed. Only he wasn’t dreaming. The alarm hadn’t woken him like it was supposed to, but you wrapped in his arms certainly did. He told himself that he’d keep his distance, he wasn’t going to encroach on your space. The last thing a drunk girl wants to wake up to is a guy in her bed. But when he turned his eyes up to meet yours, and a lazy smile graced your lips he eased.

“You’re still drunk aren’t you?” He asked.

“No,” you answered nodding your head ‘yes.’ He replied with an amused snicker and pulled his arm away, stopping at your hip when you didn’t move away. You’ve looked at him with those bedroom eyes like that before. A few times. You were drunk each time. When you were sober you were well composed, only allowing yourself to get but so close. When you had a few you let your guard down, just a little, just enough to get a peek over the wall. He’d seen you drunk and on the prowl, and while that was certainly a sight to behold, you were different when you were alone with him.

With him you were vulnerable in a way you couldn’t be sober, when the girl who had a rock collection in her youth came out. The girl who read The Silmarillion annually, and taught herself to speak, read and write in Elvish. The girl who hates raisins, and catches spiders to set them loose outside instead of killing them. The girl he wanted to get to know more than he’d wanted to know anyone. You’d be three doubles and four beers in, and that look would flash across your eyes. Cheeks flush with drink, eyes half lidded and looking only at him. Then your lips would curl into a smile, and it was almost impossible to resist. Each new day with you proved harder than the last to find a reason why it was a bad idea to be with you.

“Right, and I’m the Pope.” He snarked, as he pulled himself away from your touch and sitting up, regretting not staying put longer almost immediately.

And the moment was over, back to business as usual in an instant. The pang in your chest was miserable. Swinging your legs over the bed you stood up stretching your arms over your head and waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“So, uhm, guess the floor wasn’t as comfy as you thought?” You said, kicking the pile of blankets.

“Yeah. Something like that.” He said. You didn’t remember.

Sam heard the thud of your body hitting the floor, finding you in a heap when he yanked the b

athroom door open. Gathering your limp frame in his arms he checked your head for blood, and grateful to find you’d missed the nightstand. Long fingers smoothed hair from your face still flush with drink, and a little paler than usual. Sam had seen you black out drunk before, but he’d never seen you pass out before, the cooking class must have been torture.

The way you settled in his arms as he lifted you was perfect. The last time he’d held you like that you were holding your guts in and bleeding out from a stabbing after a hunt went sideways. The color was draining from your face to pour down your stomach. You were fighting so hard to stay awake, even as your lips turned blue and your eyes lolled to the back of your head. The teeth in your head had begun to chatter so hard he thought they were going to shatter, but you kept talking, the whole time. Raving about how the rampant uncheck misogyny running through the fabric of our culture affects young girls on fundamental levels since birth. The more you talked, the angrier you got, the longer you stayed awake. It was all you could think to do to stay awake. In a less dire situation he’d have paid more attention to your tirade, but all he could do was look on you with amaze. You were the strongest woman he’d ever met in his damn life. You were still ranting when the Medical staff at the hospital took over.

This was how he wanted it to be, soft and warm, safe. The way you settled in his arms was like you were made to be there, like he was made to hold you.You were home. Sam laid you in the bed, and pulled the blankets up around you when you took hold of his hand.

“Stay with me, Sam.” You said in an airy whisper, eyes still closed. Who was he to refuse? He probably should have taken longer to think about it, if he were more noble he might have, but he didn’t argue when you asked him to stay. So he climbed into the bed, careful to give you more than enough space. Countless times had he wished that things were different for his life, this should have been one of them. But truth was if neither of you had become hunters odds were you’d have never met. And even though the life he lead seemed more hellish than anything else, he’d met you.

Silencing the alarm on his phone he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over you as you stretched, the way your hair fell, bedhead messy and lovely against your neck begging for his hands to touch

“Oh, I found out where Mr. Lonely is buried. I figure we can go salt and burn the body before the Sun is up, come back, take a nap then hit the road.” You suggested.

“You don’t want to stay for Wine tasting?” He snarked.

“Preferably not, but if we have to then I’m just going to stay drunk today.” You answered, and he grinned.

“We should probably still do an EMF sweep.”

“Really? Can’t we just torch the corpse and call it a night?” You pouted as you watched him move around the room to gather clothing to change into. He stopped to ponder at the bathroom door before giving a nod. It was late, or incredibly early, you were still trashed and both of you only got a couple hours of shut eye. There was no reason not to just get the bottom line done.

“Fine, we can skip it, but we have to stay tonight to make sure it’s done.” He compromised. Sitting in a chair to tie your boots you paused to consider if skipping part of an investigation was worth sticking around for another single night. You turned your eyes up to Sam who stood so tall and broad, and firm, you had your answer.

Yes. Definitely yes. The case would be closed, you’d get to drink, and actually enjoy a little bit of relaxation- though this would not have been your first choice. And it would just be you and Sam, nothing to worry about other than simply being.

“I agree to your terms.” You said pulling a flask of whiskey from one of your bags. Hair of the dog, you were going to power through the oncoming hangover. You had an empty day ahead of you that you were going to fill with Sam, your enthusiasm was genuine. “Get dressed and lets go defile a grave!”

Hiking at night wasn’t something you wanted to make a habit of doing. The sky was clear, and the Moon was particularly bright which was great until you hit the treeline where the path to the Graveyard was. The black chasm of the trees swallowed up the silvery Moonlight till there was nothing left but pitch. Then your fear of dense woods sprung up again like a steadily increasing anxiety riddled game of whack-a-mole. There was nothing to be afraid of, you had flashlights, Sam, and you were strapped. Your brain wasn’t giving you a reprieve however, you kept expecting to turn your head and see the skeletal bloody face of the White Thing to appear in the darkness between the trees, ready to spring out and finish the job it started more than a decade ago. A cold chill slid up your spine sending a dread filled shudder down your body. With each step you had to remind yourself that you weren’t back home in West Virginia, you were on the other side of the country, in Washington, it wasn’t going to find you after more than a decade. You hoped at least. If the White Thing wasn’t in the woods there was something else in there with eyes that stalked your movements, putting you on edge, and making you paranoid. Trepidation rattled you, and you found yourself stepping closer to Sam as you walked, finding relief and comfort with each brush of his arm against yours.

It was a 20 minute hike, in the pitch black wild wilderness, at 3 o’clock at night, but once you hit the gravesite it was worth it. The site sat on a cliffside at the top of the mountain, just a small clearing in the trees, what could have knocked the wind out of you was the most magnificent view of the peaks and valleys of the mountain range, stretching as far as the eye could see. More stars hung in the sky than you had seen in a very long time, no light pollution, no noise, just the calm quiet. No wonder Wellington wanted his family buried there. You allowed yourself a few moments to soak it all in before setting to work.

Stabbing the spade end of your shovel into the pile of loose dirt, you dropped your butt down to sit, legs dangling into the large hole before you. With a sigh you wiped sweat from your brow as you rifled through the pockets of your jacket for a short, partially smoked joint.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Sam asked from inside the hole, a teasing grin on his face as he looked up at you. Answering him with a shrug you lit up and took a long drag. While he didn’t care much for smoking in general, it was difficult to tear his eyes away from the smoke wafting and curling in transparent tendrils spouting from your lips.

“It’s never too early or late for this.” You answered offering it to him, he declined with a shake of his head, quickly setting back to the task at hand- digging up a corpse. An old, rotten, decayed, mouldering corpse. If you could rate aspects of your job in order, digging up bodies was at the bottom of the list. Though to be honest, there weren’t many things that you did like about the job. There was the bonus of a flexible schedule, and the option to travel, and there was, of course, the fact that your co-workers were a little more than easy on the eyes. But there were no tax exemptions, or paid expenses, no benefits, fuck not even a reliable salary. It wasn’t a job you did because you wanted to, you detested almost everything about it. But someone had to do it.

No one wants to tell you how much effort is involved in digging up a six foot deep grave armed with nothing but a couple of old rusty shovels and sheer willpower. No one wants to tell you how long it takes either. The Sun was going to be up in the next hour or so, and the cover of darkness was a necessary precaution when it came to gravedigging. When Sam’s shovel struck something hard and hollow you could not have been more thrilled. Your eyes met his, as he moved to get a better angle.

Sam jammed the spade of his shovel between the lid of the coffin and the side prying it open with creaking wood and a crack of relief as the lid came loose.

“...The hell?” Sam’s face twisted in confusion as he lifted the top, hazel eyes moved back to you as he shoved the lid to the side of the hole revealing an empty coffin.

“Well that can’t be a good sign.” You announced, just as puzzled as Sam.

“You’re sure he said he was buried here?”

“No Sam, I just made it up so we could pointlessly dig a hole in the middle of the night for fun.” You sarcastic eyes at him.

“Hey, I know how much you love digging holes. So if he’s not here-”

Then just where the fuck is he?”

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#Sam Winchester #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #sam smut #sam winchester smut #monster house

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lonely-bored-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Casper High Ch. 4

Danny Fenton spends a lot of time in his room, according to his parents- yet in all honesty he often flies out the window to attend to other ghostly matters. If he wasn't busy fighting ghosts, he was busy catching up with school work, or talking to his best friends over the phone or computer. Nonetheless, this past week consisted of Danny spending smaller amounts of time doing his normal everyday routine, and instead spending time with a certain Winchester.

It reminded Danny of all things he missed about having his friends around to physically interact with. He had gotten so used to eating lunch alone, and spending all of his time consumed with other things, it was nice to have new things to do. To have someone spend hours doing absolutely nothing with but enjoying each others company nonetheless was a refreshing break from his usually chaotic life.

"Wait, so Sam believes in Phantom even if he hasn't seen him?"

'Maybe Sam has added a bit of complication to his life,' Danny thought, it was odd but not totally unwelcomed.'

"I don't know, maybe, Tuck. Something Mikey said to him a few days ago brought this interest out." Danny sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. "He's spent some time doing research in the library."

"But every piece of evidence is gone right?" Manson asked, her attention being pulled from the black makeup she was applying, her back facing her computer screen so that the boys could see her face in the reflection of the large mirror in front of her. "I mean, everything with backing, damning evidence that could prove that Phantom isn't much more than a fable now."

"Well yeah, but we already know that some people believe the fairy tale stories still in the library." Tucker cut in before his raven-haired friend could respond. "We've got nothing to worry about Danny, it's like bigfoot, no one has hard proof- and any 'proof' is easily debunked."

"I guess you guys are right." Danny nodded, not able to shake the looming feeling that things wouldn't be that easy- nothing in his life ever truly was. "Anyways, how about we focus on the fact our Sammy has gotten a date."

"Ooooooh, that's what the make up is about? Must be a lucky girl." Tucker grinned, placing his chin on one palm, "Spill the beans, who is this chick."

"You're so lucky I'm hours away and you're safe from my boots right now." Sam glared, before continuing. "Her names Aino, and she transferred here a few months back. She's the one from the super glue incident in art class."

"I like her." Tucker stated, matter-of-fact. "You have my blessing."

"Well thank you dad, not that I asked." Sam rolled her amethyst eyes, leaning out of frame to fix her eyeliner, using a smaller mirror to help with precision.

"I like her name." Danny added, smiling at the groan it got from Sam, "Besides, anyone who can somehow sneak thirty pounds of super glue into a school is perfect for you in my book."

"She's actually planning to do something similar with pudding in a few weeks actually."

"Nooooooo!" Tucker dragged, pressing a hand to his chest. "Sam you have got to marry this girl, or I will."

"I'm sorry Tuck, but she's not into guys who have already been married to their PDAs." Sam shot back in a heartbeat, pulling a laugh from her friends. Moving back, she turned to the computer. "How'd I look?" Sam had changed some since she left Amity, if only to become more… Sam- that was the best way to explain it. Her short black hair only got shorter, before the left sided became shaved down to spite her parents, a few new piercing decorated her left ear lobe, and a brow piercing rested on her right brow. Her outfit was a simple black tank top, grey shorts, fishnets and an oversize army green jacket over it all, finished off with none other than her favorite pair of chained combat boots.

"Perfect."

"Goth, and intimidating."

"Just what I wanted." Sam grinned, running a hand through her hair.

"So, when do we meet this lucky lady?" Danny laughed at the glare Sam flashed the camera.

"This is our first date." Sam deadpanned, unblinking, already done with her friends shenanigans.

"Dude, that's not the right question." Tucker chastised, tapping the camera. "What you meant was when is the wedding."

"I'm gonna go now." Sam hissed, her camera going black before signing off.

"How much do you want to bet we meet Aino in a week." Tucker laughed along with Danny.

"I bet in three days." Danny grinned, glancing over at the time before sighing. "I have to go on patrol soon."

"Don't fret dude." Tucker sighed. "I've got to finish a last minute robotics paper. It's a pain."

"Good Luck." Danny smiled, before the two bid their goodbyes. With a sigh, the halfa pulled himself out of his computer chair and made his way to his window. Time for another night filled with flying around the town for hours.

It was two in the morning when Danny found himself wandering around the park as Fenton. He did this occasionally when he couldn't sleep even if it served best to try to sleep anyways. By this time the park was often completely deserted so it was interesting to find someone swinging nonchalantly on the swings bathed only in the moonlight... and their own glow.

The shiver that raked down his spine, and puff of soft blue air was enough to confirm this was a spirit. Based on the softness of the glow and the much more human-like skin was also a large indicator that this spirit had yet to fully manifest.

"Hey?" Danny called out softly, making his way over to the swings. His only response was a glance. Danny was able to make out the light pink eyes, and scarred cheek. "Wanna tell me why your here at this time of night in a park?" Danny asked, settling himself next to the spirit.

"Where else will I go?" The ghost asked, kicking his legs softly.

"Maybe to the Zone." Danny offered softly, swinging slightly as well. The confused look he got confirmed his suspicions. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"Is it like Heaven?" The voice wavered and echoed softly, like it wasn't all there, which matched the ghost's appearance perfectly in an eerie way.

"Not quite. You can make your own little paradise though in the Zone." Danny smiled, looking up to the moon. "A hunter has his own hunting grounds, a scientist his own lab, a singer her own studio, whatever you want. Your imagination is your limit."

"What's your name?" The ghost whispered, staring at their feet.

"Danny, though most ghosts know me as Phantom or the 'Ghost Child'."

"Wait, you're Phantom?!" The spirit looked over shocked. "You aren't as mean as I heard you would be."

"Depends who you talk to." Danny chuckled. "But for the most part, I just try to keep the peace."

"What's your name?" Danny asked after a lull in the conversation.

"Ekon." The ghost, now identified, responded. "I'm not sure how long I've been a ghost if I'm being honest."

"It happens." Danny explained calmly. This ghost used to be a human and it was obviously nervous and unsure- being harsh would do nothing except possibly permanently scar the ghost for the rest of their eternity in the afterlife. "Some ghosts could be dead for years before their consciousness manifests."

"How can I go to the Zone?" Ekon asked suddenly, turning coral pink eyes to Danny.

"Just have to go through a portal." Danny offered a smile. "Lucky for you, I happen to have one in my basement."

"You're a lot nicer then I expected." Ekon spoke, a twinkle in his eyes. "When can you take me?"

Danny paused, running a quick mental check over how he was feeling. He was all caught up on his homework, and he doesn't feel tired…

"I can take you now." The spark of hope that filled the spirits face was worth missing sleep tonight.

Danny needs to stop missing sleep. After so many all-nighters, and the caffeine filled drinks that he often times consumed allowed his body to grow a tolerance against the heavenly beverages, not allowing him to take advantage of their effects anymore. The plus side was he forgot it was a weekend, and was able to sleep an extra two hours before his internal clock woke him. That and the smell of bacon.

"Morning honey, how did you sleep?" Maddie greeted her son with a kiss to the top of his hair, setting down a plate of waffles and bacon in front of him.

"Thanks mom." Danny smiled, just now realizing how hungry he was. That most likely had to do with the hours he spent in ghost form inside the Zone, settling Ekon in and creating an amiable friendship between the new ghost and Klemper. "I slept alright, you?"

"Not very much." Maddie admitted, sipping on a cup of coffee. "Your father's catching up on sleep, but we're one step away from a giant break through."

"Really? What about?" Danny stifled a yawn, popping a piece of bacon into his mouth and dousing a heaping serving of syrup on top of his waffles.

"Your father and I think we narrowed down to the exact component in ectoplasm that give ghosts their abilities." Maddie explained. "If we can separate that component, we could very well apply those abilities to absolutely anything."

"That would explain the ecto-dogs in the fridge." Danny supplied around a mouthful of waffle, pulling a laugh from his mother.

"Swallow first, then speak." Maddie reminded, getting a sheepish smile in response. "And yes, it even opens the possibility of humans being able to use such abilities."

"What-" Danny choked, coughing slightly before continuing. "Wouldn't that turn them into a ghost?"

"Not quite." Maddie shook her head, pausing slightly to put her thoughts in order. "The healing factors found in these specters can do wonders in medical advancement if we can place the exact component."

"Ah..." Danny trailed, eyes trained on his half eaten waffles. His mind mulling over the information he learned and wondering if it was a threat or not.

"Well, I'm off to join your dad in his nap." Maddie stood, dropping her mug in the sink. She continued after dropping another peck on her son. "I left a bit of cash on the coffee table in case you plan on going out."

"Sleep well mom, love you." Danny waited until he heard the faint 'I love you' before standing to leave. He did plan to meet with Sam Winchester at the nasty burger in a few hours. It didn't mean he had to stay in his house until then- he could walk around Amity for a bit before making his way over.

"Hey Sam." Danny greeted with a smile, sliding into the booth across from the taller teen. "Sorry I'm late, my dad dragged me into one of his experiments." Danny offered an apologetic smile. In reality Danny felt bad for lying to Sam, on his way there he was stopped by Cujo who was dragging around a scared Ghostwriter. That had been quite a chase.

"You're good, I actually hadn't noticed." Sam returned with a sheepish smile, closing his laptop.

"What's the distraction this time?" Danny asked, settling in his seat and stealing a fry from Sam's tray.

"Creative writing." Sam sighed, laying a hand on top of his computer. "Mr. Leedee comes back from leave tomorrow, and I complete forgot about his project. Given we are just coming up with an idea list, we get partners tomorrow."

"Ouch, projects are never fun. Throwing in partners? That just makes it worse." Danny responded. "What's the topic?"

"We're supposed to write a story based on a fable, or fairy-tale, or urban legend we know about."

"That shouldn't be too hard. There's tons to choose from." Danny offered, receiving a sheepish smile back.

"That's the point, there are so many." Danny couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"What are your choices?" Danny asked, accepting the laptop as it was slid over to him. The raven haired teen's eyebrows furrowed at the list; the Winchester had only listened one fairy-tale while the rest seemed to be urban legends. "I'd say Hansel and Gretel. Less morbid then the rest." Danny deduced, sliding the laptop close.

"Well, let's hope my partner is fine with that." Sam offered back, before relaxing. A small silence passed between the two, the two teens taking in the food before them before conversation rose again. "Anything new?"

"Not really, I'm still waiting to hear about Sam's date with Aino."

"Sam had a date?" The youngest Winchester looked shocked.

"I didn't tell you?!"

"I never thought Sam would find someone to date in high school, especially with how you described her- nothing against her though anyways."

"Honestly, neither did Tuck and I." Danny laughed along with Sam, happy to see his new friend take an interest in his best friends. "So get this, Aino was the girl from this incident..."

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural writing prompts #superphantom #superphantom au #fanfiction #fandom #fanfiction.net #fanfic #Fandoms #danny #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #Casper High

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ladyofpurple · 5 years ago

Note

answer all of the questions!!

holy SHIT ok bless you omg

(sorry it's a full day late i took this shit SERIOUSLY. don't ask me how many hours this took, i was in A Mood™️ last night. removed the ones already answered xoxo)

angel; have you ever been in love?

yeah. didn't end too well, but i loved him.

petal; favorite novel and author?

this is like asking me to pick a favorite child. i guess favorite author would be stephen king, if only based entirely on the sheer quantity of his books i own alone. favorite book would probably be special topics in calamity physics by marisha pessl, and i'm only saying that because it's been my go-to response for years. i have lots of favorite books. ask me again in five minutes and i'll give you another one.

honey perfume; favorite perfume/scent?

freshly made coffee. lilacs. jasmine. cut grass. the ground after it rains. chocolate chip cookies in the oven. cigarette smoke on skin. my mom's shampoo. my grandma. my dog when he's just had a bath. thanksgiving dinner. acrylic paint on canvas. sawdust. that one cologne i can't name but can smell on a guy from a mile away. mulled cranberry and apple juice. vanilla. coconut. fresh laundry. peppermint.

sweet pea; what’s your zodiac?

virgo sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising ✨

softie; talk about your sexuality.

i'm biromantic asexual, primarily attracted to men more than women (but have had too many crushes on girls to consider myself het), generally sex repulsed when it comes to the thought of having it myself. i prefer to call myself queer in passing conversation, it's easier than explaining asexuality and the differences between sexual and romantic attraction. if someone asks more specifically, i'll usually just call myself bi for simplicity's sake, even though the ace part is a much more important (to me) part of my identity. monogamous as fuck.

i'm still struggling with internalized homophobia and a lot of "am i even queer enough" thoughts, which is super fun. took me a long time to even consider the fact that i might like girls at all. i'll probably never come out to my parents. not that they'd, like, disown me or whatever, but they're juuuuust homophobic/transphobic enough that my few attempts to educate them when they say something A Little Yikes have shown me that i should probably just stay in the closet unless i absolutely have to come out. like i'm getting married to a woman or something.

sugarplum; what’s the color of your eyes and hair?

i usually say my eyes are green because it's easier, and they mostly are, but i have rings of greyish blue around the irises and sometimes they're more hazel in the middle. they always have a green tint to them though, even if the intensity of the green varies.

my natural hair is brown, a little on the darker and slightly ashy side of completely generic. currently a former blonde, although i'm hoping to bleach my fucking YEAR of growout soon, and then go some crazy color as a last hurrah before i have to go dark again. being broke fucking sucks.

wings; coffee or tea?

tea!! black tea. chai, to be specific, with an irresponsible amount of milk and sugar. chai lattes are a fucking drug okay? coffee makes me sick (not a judgement, a literal fact. last time i tried some i threw up).

fairytale; are you a cat or dog person?

cat!! but my family has a chihuahua named sonny and you can pry that little monster from my cold dead hands ok i will fight you.

snowflake; favorite time period?

okay, i wrote and rewrote my answer to this about 10 times. then i tried to divide it up into categories (aesthetics, history, fashion, vibes, geographical location, etc), but that didn't help. so basically: i don't have one, because i have too many.

i like the american 20s-60s for the aesthetic, music/movies, and the fashion. i also like the european 1600s-1800s for the interesting history and also vibe. i love the french and russian revolutions — the fashion! the art! the wars and political upheaval! I FUCKING LOVE HISTORY. then, of course, we can't forget the rennaisance. or the witch trials (pick your continent). and ancient greece? the roman empire? hello?? did i mention empires? how bout we mosy on over to south america — can i interest you in the mayans? incans? aztecs? what about china and japan? korea? vietnam? and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the black plague.

ancient egypt? sign me the FUCK UP. vikings? yes please. the celts? oh boy. the MYTHOLOGY. the ARCHITECTURE. the LANGUAGES and POLITICS and LITERATURE and REVOLUTIONS and GOD HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ANY OF THESE

i uh. might have gotten a little excited. basically i like history a lot. and mythology. and linguistics. and cultural practices. and the politics and prejudices behind wars and stuff. and learning in general. moving on.

vanilla; do you believe in ghosts?

let's put it this way: i don't not believe in ghosts??

listen. we don't know jack shit. we don't know what happens after we die, there are constant scientific revelations that turn our understanding of the universe completely upside-down, and there is literally no way to know which religions or myths or urban legends could have some grain of truth to them. like, dude, i've literally thought i was haunted before. psychology is bananas and the universe is infinite.

demons could be real. ghosts could be real. what if we just haven't invented the necessary technology to prove it yet? what if we never do, and they just fuck around alongside us, moving furniture and making shadow puppets on the walls just for kicks until the earth explodes? what if that one tumblr post was right and ghosts are actually real people from alternate universes or timelines that we see accidentally bc some cosmic wires got crossed? who fucking knows.

i love horror movies and scary stories and ghost hunter shows just as much as the next gal. but listen. psychics? mediums? people who accept every single creepypasta retold third-hand from their neighbor's kid's classmate's second cousin who "totally knows a guy"? doubt.jpeg

i don't understand the sheer amount of assumptions made willy-nilly about the nature of ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. the assumption that "oh this machine that totally doesn't look like a coathanger taped to a walkman will work because ghosts have this temperature and can always communicate like this and are electromagnetic" or whatever just baffles me. to a certain degree, following a general consensus is one thing — some basic things everyone can agree on? that's cool. ghosts can walk through walls and are probably dead people or whatever. but oh my god, taking every single story as absolute, undeniable proof?? taking these stories and expanding on them to infer intentions and scientific facts to something that by it's very nature is unknowable and assuming, like, every spirit is created equal?? and yeah, ghost hunting shows are fun and campy and kinda creepy but like. you really, genuinely don't think any of them have ever faked anything at all??? even if ghosts are real, it's fucking reality tv, my dude. it's the entertainment industry. at least maintain the slightest ounce of critical thought before taking zak bagans' word as the goddamn gospel.

and sidenote, maybe it's just my limited exposure as a white woman in the western world, but of all the shows and podcasts and movies and documentaries and whatnot i've been able to find and consume, there's the constant use of christian ideology applied to every situation that just really burns my bacon. what, there's never been an atheist ghost? if you see a shadow person and you don't know the lord's prayer by heart, are you automatically fucked? why are there never stories about, i don't know, viking ghosts? does your religion in life preclude you from becoming a ghost in the first place? is that why people never mention buddhist ghosts? i don't get it, and that's why even though i'm self-admittedly the most superstitious person i've ever met, true believers make me roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out. makes me come across as more skeptical than i theoretically am. I HAVE VERY STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT THIS OK

but like, you couldn't pay me to fuck with a ouija board. i'm not stupid.

delicate; diamonds or pearls?

both have their appeal and their place, but diamonds, i guess. i like the sparkle. but fake ones!! or synthetic. diamonds are overpriced and artificial scarcity is a scam and i don't need a dumb rock that some poor person in a mine somewhere was exploited and possibly died for. no blood diamonds in this house, thank you very much.

if i ever get engaged, i don't want a diamond ring. i'd want something cool, a little unusual, like a ruby or a sapphire or some other sparkly gem that isn't literally shoved in your face every waking moment as the expected standard symbol of True Love. they're cheaper, they're cool-looking, as a ring they still hold the cultural symbolism of an engagement/wedding ring. and honestly, as long as it's well-made and durable, whatever hypothetical gem it is doesn't have to be real either. i'm a woman of simple needs and demonstrably low standards. no point in going into debt for a fucking piece of jewelry, regardless of ~tradition~.

lavender dream; favorite album?

oh lord. welcome to the black parade, i guess. or anything by panic! at the disco. there are dozens of possible options — my interests are mercurial and my memory is garbage. but i'll always be an emo little shit. black parade and vices and virtues were also the first two albums i ever listened to where i loved every single song on them, and i happened to listen to them for the first time at around the same point in my life (i got into mcr super late. like, 2012 late. rip).

silky; what’s your biggest dream?

it's cheesy but i guess i just want stability and, by extension, happiness. emotional stability, mental stability, financial stability, stable living situation, stable routines, stable relationships... you get the idea. i have ambitions and passions, of course, but my ultimate goal is happiness at this point in my life, and i'm pretty sure stabilizing all those things would go a pretty long way in achieving that goal.

a little apartment with walls i can paint because white walls make me angry. bookshelves and posters and fandom merch on every wall. a computer i can actually play games on again, and somewhere i can paint and draw and record my podcasts. someone who loves me, maybe. a cat, if i'm stable enough. space for people to come visit me, and a place for them to sleep if they need. a tiny balcony, if i really want to shoot for the stars. a job i don't hate. the spoons to hang out with my friends, and the money to not worry about buying little presents for the people i care about sometimes. i don't need much.

strawberry kiss; do you have a crush right now?

nope.

glitter; favorite fictional character?

another loaded question. like books, if you ask me again in five minutes i'll probably give you a different answer. but in this particular moment, caleb and jester from critical role (please don't make me choose between them). i won't go full shipping mode rn, but jester is so funny and silly and sweet, so much more complex than she seems, and she tries so hard to make everyone happy even when she's so sad inside. the healer who treats healing as an inconvenience in battle (she's so fucking valid and also mood), the glue that keeps the party together. and caleb learning to trust again, facing his trauma and coming out of his shell. he loves his friends so much he plays wizard as a support class and i love him so much.

i love the mighty nein in general, of course, and all the guests/honorary members they've had. pumat!! pls don't be evil reani!! keg!! shakäste and grand duchess anastasia!! cali!! kiri!!!! the brotps! empire siblings! chaos crew! nott the best detective agency! i still love molly and all his assholery to bits (fight me), and mourn his lost potential. i adore yasha, even when she's gone; fjord has grown so much; beau and nott and caduceus — i love all their flaws and disagreements and their character arcs and the excitement of watching them grow and learn. but if i had to choose, caleb, jester and molly have always been my top 3 since day 1 and, well, molly isn't really an option anymore.

but like i said, ask me again in a minute. i have a fucking list.

swan; share a quote or passage that means something to you.

a collection of things off the top of my head:

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition. — Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

a tired feminist Mood™️

"What I say is, a town isn't a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it's got a bookstore, it knows it's not foolin' a soul." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

i got my love of books from my grandma — some of my favorites i got from her. sometimes, as a treat, she used to take my sister and i to bookstores and we'd stay there for ages, getting to pick one out, roaming the shelves, the mental torture of having to choose. the peace of being surrounded by thousands of potential worlds, so much information, so many stories just waiting to be told; being surrounded by strangers who share that same wonder. the anxious drive home so we could read them, being unable to wait that long so i inevitably start reading in the car and make myself sick. telling her in excited detail all my favorite parts. if we were lucky, maybe we got to split a bear claw, or she'd drive past starbucks and get us something there too (tall vanilla soy steamer with one pump of vanilla syrup, whipped cream on top that always melted too quickly and squirted out the hole in the lid, so hot it burned my tongue but so good i didn't care). i have never felt more at home than i do when i'm surrounded by books.

"There are a lot of different types of freedom. We talk about freedom the same way we talk about art, like it was a statement of quality rather than a description. “Art” doesn’t mean good or bad. Art just means art. It can be terrible and still be art. Freedom can be good or bad, too. There can be terrible freedom. You freed me, and I didn’t ask you to." — Alice Isn't Dead, season 1, chapter 2: Alice

as cringey as it is to admit it, this line made me cry a lot after my breakup.

"So you aren't American?" asked Shadow.

"Nobody's American," said Wednesday. "Not originally. That's my point." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

[side-eyes white america real hard]

there's more, of course. there's always more. don't even get me started on song lyrics, we'll be here all day.

lace; what’s your favorite plant/flower?

lilacs and roses.

mermaid; do you prefer the forest or the ocean? why?

both, i guess. but in different ways, and in different circumstances.

the sea is wild. it is endless and deep and unknowable. it is beautiful and dangerous. i am terrified of the ocean, and yet my favorite place in the world is an empty beach on the oregon coast. i have picked sand from between my toes for days with hair crusted in salt, danced around bonfires and watched the stars while marshmallows burn, gotten pulled under the waves as a child and nearly swept out to sea. picked starfish and crabs from small pools in the rocks, and swum (accidentally) with wild sea lions. in a long skirt, too early in the year to be swimming, i once took off my shoes and waded fully clothed into the water to my waist and just... danced. splashed and kicked and laughed with a boy i barely knew until our throats were sore and our toes were numb, walking home hours later with our soaked clothes clinging to our legs, shoes squelching, dripping algae as we went. the ocean is freeing and overwhelming all at once. i love it and am petrified by it in equal measure.

the forest is beautiful in a different way. it is silent and dense and serene. you are surrounded by life and yet, somehow, completely alone. there is magic in the forest, and history, and even when all else dies, that will remain. the trees grow from the corpses of their ancestors, and some have lived dozens of our lifetimes — with luck, a few dozen more. it is quiet there, peaceful, even the tiniest wood in the middle of a city muffling the outside world through the trees. you can feel the ancient ways deep in your soul as you follow winding paths strewn with fallen leaves, the mystery and wonder and superstitions of your forefathers. you wonder what it would be like, to run your fingers over the moss, to take off your shoes and socks and just run, leaping and dancing over rocks and roots, hair wild and air filling your lungs in deep, pure gulps as you shed the responsibilities and struggles of modern life, for just a moment remembering what freedom tastes like. it is primal, this connection to nature, one we have nearly forgotten over time. and as the sky grows dark and the silence of night presses against you, shadows looming, every footfall deafening, perhaps you begin to understand why some believed in monsters.

honeymoon; do you keep a journal?

i used to. honestly, that's a good idea, i should start doing that again. lord knows i have enough empty journal-type books.

starlight; do you believe in love at first sight and soulmates? why/why not?

i want to. i want to believe there's someone out there for me, the love of my life, someone to whom i'll be the love of their life, and that when i meet them i'll just... know.

but when i met my ex, i didn't really look twice at him for a while — no love at first sight. and when we were together, when i loved him and he swore he loved me back, i thought he hung the stars in the sky and knew i would marry him someday. couldn't even consider the idea that that wouldn't happen. and then when he broke up with me, he ghosted me so suddenly and thoroughly that he even preemptively cut contact with every single one of our mutual friends he thought might side with me in the breakup, before anybody even knew we'd had a fight. so, not soulmates either.

i really want to believe that someday the perfect romance will just fall into place and i can have the happily ever after i've always dreamed of. but the reality is i might never even have another s.o. for the rest of my life. maybe i'll get hit by a car tomorrow, or my hypothetical soulmate moves to argentina to become an alpaca farmer on a mountain somewhere and we never even meet. maybe i'm so traumatized by the betrayal and lies that i'll never have the courage to even try again.

and even so, happily ever after doesn't have to include a fairytale romance, regardless of whether i want it or not. i still like to cling to that hope though, deep down.

princess; what do you value most in people?

i'm going to assume you mean "real people" as in people i have positive relationships with, and not random strangers on the street.

loyalty. kindness. support. humor. similar values. patience. being able to grow together and teach each other things, so we can make each other better. honesty. trust. compassion. confidence. emotional vulnerability. communication. intelligence, or at least a willingness to learn. strength.

#nobody asked me to go this hard and yet here we are #my favorite pasttimes: talking about myself and being pretentious on main #Lady answers stuff #anon good nurse #Lady of Purple's slice of life #ask meme

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hannigramfanfic · 6 years ago

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Hannibal Fanstory: “The Hunter and Child of the Lupin” Or “Kiss of a Lupin” or “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis

PROLOGUE

There is a Tale told by old Storytellers when fires are lit, and everyone is settled for the night about a Hunter from a distant land and a feral child of the Lupin he met one heavy winter in the lands of the North – where the Spirit of the that Forest, the Ravenstag dwells – when given a task by the vile King Mason Verger to find the child and kill it, while bringing him the head of the creature from Ancient times.

It is said Mason came into power by overthrowing the previous King – Jack Crawford – and his Queen – Bella or Phyliss – and it is unknown what happened to those kind people, because you dear Travellers who come to sit by my fire to hear this Tale have yet to hear how it all began.

Our Tale first begins in the land of Wolf-trap, Virginia where due to unforeseen consequences a pregnant woman bearing a child within her womb leaves behind a place where she was born and raised as behind her in the far distance a great fire burns the woodland causing animals living in it to run alongside her horse as the flames black out the skies.

Choking out a multitude of stars that shine like path and leaving yet only one shining in the sky – a bright single star that would change the child’s life within her womb as the legacy of Wolftrap dissolved in ash and wind.

—————————

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

Depressed souls who head’s hang with the weight of oppression as Hannibal Lecter – Hunter, member of the Hunter’s Guild – and unknown to many in who he was in this country keeps the hood of his long cloak up as he walks through the muddy streets with his horse – Cersai – of Baltimore, Maryland remembering when it had been under King Crawford’s gentle rule.

The street had been a vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the color and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbor becomes pitted against neighbor, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Watching him walking up to King Verger’s castle, a grotesque building hewn from blood-red rock and spiked turrets where the remnants of people who displeased Mason Verger hang from indicating to all below if they disobeyed this was what would happen. Guards in armour patrolled the battlements.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing, in fact, it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

What makes his Inner Predator within Hannibal want to get rid of Mason if he weren’t controlled by the Hunter’s Code and Contract is the fact the prisoners that been in the Slave Carriage as it heads within the castle – were children. Some of them younger like his darling sister Mischa who been murdered in his homeland when he been only a child of 17 years of age by a rogue general who had overthrown his father – Lord Dvaras – had heard rumours about Mason having certain particular tastes and that was he liked young children – female or male even.

The three Plague Doctors, who have followed him he can sense are still watching him wondering why a foreign stranger has come to such a desolate bleak place where even the strange Plague, Hannibal had seen affecting people in other places he had travelled through and the grief it had brought countless families.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

A small voice says, drawing him out of the haze he in and looking down sees it a group of orphaned urchins – their cheeks hollowed in by hunger; eyes bloodshot and bags under them; hair unkempt and unwashed as patchwork rags cover their modesty – and shakes his head at them, having his money pouch already stolen in another town he had passed through. Slapping down greedy hands when they reach for his crossbow on his back, plus dagger and sword hidden by his long cloak.

“Cease that. There not for children to play with. Understand me?” He chides them, making them resist what they are doing, and nod meekly followed by still staying close to him when suddenly a snide leering almost voice shouts at them “BEGONE YOU LITTLE VARMINTS!!! GET!! GO ON!!!” revealing to Hannibal’s displeasure another lacky of Mason’s – Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Captain of the Guards and downright leech-of-a-man – who kicks one the urchins out the way.

They met before, when the man had tried to join the Hunter’s Guild and now sneers at him even when Hannibal reaches into his saddle bag to pull out the Hunter’s Code and Contract – which all Hunter’s sweared to with a Blood oath – then spits heavily, managing to aim it close to Hannibal who just keeps a calm composure.

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

————————————–

Now in the Household of the Verger Royal Family: there is Mason Verger, a vile man with no good soul in him causing more torment and ruining people lives than in actually helping them; there is his sister Lady Margot – a young woman of 35 years of age, who is also sadly one of those people that is tormented by her brother behind locked doors and wishes she could be free of him; while there is her Lady-in-waiting Alana Bloom – a simple country girl with strong heart and fierce loyalty to her mistress.

The servants are: Peter Bernadone – a stable-lad who a cares for the horses for King Mason, though is strongly controlled by a sadistic Lord Clark Ingram; Francis Dolerhyde, the Blacksmith who fashions all the weapons and armour and stays with his adopted little blind girl of seven years of age Reba McClane – who’s father and mother are unknown as she was abandoned at early age and find by Francis as a baby among some bed of heather in the once fertile forests around Baltimore, Maryland; the scholar/ jesters of the Court are Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price who Mason uses when he puts on big parties to celebrate certain events and finally Lady Bedelia Du Maurier – rumoured to run the Brothel houses in the seediest parts of Baltimore, Maryland and is known as the Verger’s Tax Collector.

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

Tall mountain-scapes of tall-peaked mountains dusted with coatings of fine, crisp snow and swathes of large coniferous and deciduous trees that spread outwards to reach to them and waterfalls made from glaciers tumble downwards to form meandering rivers that spread across the strange land like arteries of a giant’s arm and gentle, bubbling streams or of becoming just deep pools of gleaming water that waterfalls just endlessly pour into them.

Autumn there brings a multi-hue of soft oranges, yellows, reds and lilacs and wildlife is ever abundant from all creatures great and small, while Ancient Text tells of how large Beast Gods roamed the forest and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – watched over all.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

Now that I have started off this Tale, let’s us travel to another place – the Northern Land where we will shall find out what happened to the young man from the Wolftrap Legacy that many had believed had faded into the histories of time to be forgotten for eternity.

PART 1

A multitude of stars shines brightly in the night-sky, while under the canopy of tall coniferous trees bearing on their fir branches white, undisturbed snow and on a perch of a half-destroyed old tree – that had been hit by lightning – sweeps off into the night on silent wings.

A ghostly white shadow among the inky blackness, while slowly golden eyes appear from the gloom as they step slowly into the moonlight now streaming through the canopy above – a pack of wolves, a family.

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

While in front, keeping an eye out for dangers are his wolf-brother’s – three of them – and his Wolf-sister, who walks close by. Their names in Ancient are stated thus: Murasaki Kushina – the Alpha Mother, remaining Ancient Beast of the Wolf Clan; daughter Murasaki Chiyoh; and the three sons Murasaki Ashisaki, Keito and Hiharo.

They are Will’s family, after his mother Lady Cassia - Othelia who had given birth to him in this forest one heavy winter night soon afterwards weakened by hunger and trying to survive while grieving the loss of her husband – Lord Orilivano – who unknown to her at the time of when he been a small child had been bitten by rogue Wolf – so passing on the curse onto his only son – Will.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

His real mother unbeknownst to him is buried in wooden glade, where only the Spirit of the Forest – The Ravenstag – knows where. He remembers one autumn with the leaves spiralling and dancing down onto the forest floor he seen the beautiful creature with a lustrous coat of raven’s feathers ruffling gently in the breeze as it grazed with some deer then it was gone.

Chiyoh, who had gone off soon comes up beside and hands him a branch bearing some succulent edible berries from a winter food storage hole that been made last winter and taking it with one hand, scratches her behind her ear to thank her for it.

Keito – the second youngest of Murasaki Kushina’s Wolf cubs about the same age as Will – comes up, nipping her ear playfully soon making them both bound forwards in front of the others, making Will laugh happily at the sight in front of him.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

The mountain-passes that separate the Kingdom of Mason Verger from the Northern Forest, where the Ravenstag is to dwell is a Border pass patrolled by four guards – Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and the reluctant Frederick Chilton – who control who goes through to the other side.

Coming up the carved path in the mountainside, while heavy rain falls down causing some parts of the cliff-face to become waterfalls of murky water that tumble down into the misty abyss below, he sees a Raven flying overhead – it’s beady gaze looking down at him – and continuing head up the path, soon sees a groove hollowed by years of intense weathering going over it until it finally hollowed out a pass.

During King Crawford’s reign with his kind permission people could come and go often escorted by himself and the Queen to show the beautiful land beyond the pass then it all changed when King Mason Verger took control and changed the rule so that only a handle of people he chose could enter the pass if they were acceptable and reliable in the tasks he gave them.

Slipping off the horse, he heads to stone-carved hut shaped like large dome to within, where Frederick Chilton – one of the four Border Pass Guards who rather be somewhere else – lifts his head up from making notes to see who has come in then takes the Sealed Pass signed by King Mason from Hannibal.

Hannibal lowering his hood of his long cloak, heads back over to his horse to check she is alright at the sametime the other three Border Pass guards appear, coming into the large stone-carved dome wearing hides of animals to disguise their scent from when they go through the pass and hunt in the land beyond it.

“Chilton, who is this Silver-fox of a foreigner?” One of them – Abel Gideon – a rude, boorish brute of man wishing like Chilton to be somewhere else – like for example the whorehouses of sin, greed and lust rumoured to be run by Lady Bedelia Du Maurier.

“A Hunter, dear Gideon. He has been given a Border Pass by King Verger to enter that accursed land.” Another man speaks – Tobias Budge, once a former member of the Hunter’s Guild until leaving for unknown reasons – who know considered Hunters like Hannibal to be just worthless scum in it for the money they would get from the job.

Hannibal notices the third Border Pass guard is a young man, with his hands crossed over his chest while leaning nonchantly against the stone-carved dome wall with one leg up on it watching him with certain look. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Something about the gaze indicated a hidden personality the other three men didn’t know about and was something Hannibal had experience with

Having a hidden personality of his own.

It is in the middle of the night, the rain has ceased outside until leaving only pools of water on the ground in some places as Hannibal silently leaves behind the four sleeping Border Pass Guards and heads quietly to the Pass, where for the moment he soon swears he sees ghostly figure of a child – looking almost like his darling sister Mischa – then getting up into the saddle of his horse, indicates with soft click of his tongue for it to start going through the pass.

It is eerily quiet, with the wind-weathered pass looking like it is leaning in towards any travellers who come into the Pass then finally he reaches the other side to come upon a sight that has been untouched ever since Mason’s reign: large swathes of coniferous and deciduous trees spreading outwards towards towering mountains that jut out like sharp ragged teeth in the clouds of mist that surround them.

A strange sense of calm descends on Hannibal. Never has he seen such a pristine, beautiful place where Humans who once remember King Crawford’s gentle rule now fear to tread in case they incur the wrath of the now King Mason.

Slowly he begins to descend the carved path leading to the very bottom of the valley where the Ancient Beasts were still rumoured to roam and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – was said to dwell.

“O’kaasan, what’s wrong?” Will asks, when Murasaki Kushina comes to halt at the large river – Kahaku – where glacial boulders covered in moss, lichen and tiny moths lay within the refreshing water that comes from the mountains in the far distance.

“Man!!!? We must leave!!!?” Come my children.” She replies to him, while Will finds himself gripping her fur more tightly and looks around at the trees that cover both sides of the large flowing river that goes through the forest and out towards the ocean.

Listening attentively, Will uses his special skill he had to block out all other noises and slips his eyes close to immerse himself fully. He soon hears a steady heartbeat coming from the “Man” as the strange creature his O’kaasan had called the strange creature.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

Warning growls - bring him out of those internal questions - coming from his other siblings, making him shoot his eyes open seeing watching through some gaps of broken trees that have fallen into the large river at some point.

Until it managed to build a dam of sorts. The “Man” who soon moves from his watching point, gets up onto the broken branches and clambering over them begins to wade through the water towards them until stopping in the middle of the large river.

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

Noticing how the strange “Man’s” maroon eyes stare at him – like they could stare deeply into his soul – and before he even is thinking he is front of them, while they stay still as he starts to pad around them.

Inhaling every mixture of scent coming from the strange “Man” - all unrecognisable and unidentifiable – then bringing his hands up to their shoulders, pushes the strange creature to kneel on both knees so their eye-level.

Hannibal now kneeling on both his knees in the water of the large river, stays still when the young man – no doubt in his mind the remaining heir of the Wolftrap Legacy – leans close to his cheek inhaling deeply with curiosity at what is he to them.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Keeping his hands still by resting them on his lap, Hannibal doesn’t even flinch when a moist, warm tongue licks his ear to test his reaction and moves to the other – almost like the young man is starting to scent-mark him – then pulls back slightly giving him a look that means he must reciprocate.

Leaning close to the young man’s ear, he brings out his tongue to lick softly – wishing deep also he could take hold of the young man, but he doesn’t – and when finishes scent-marking the other in the way he been indicated then goes back to staying still to feel his cheeks grabbed hold of.

This forces him to tilt his head backwards, where soon sharp teeth or fangs – he can’t tell just yet – bite into his skin – not tearing but marking – drawing some blood as the action of it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Feeling his eyes flutter close, his hands come nearly up to take hold of the young man when a twig snapping underfoot breaks the gentle peace and calm and lowering his head after feeling he is suddenly his now alone sees the young man and the Wolves have left.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

A lustrous coat made of Raven’s feathers, gleaming in the soft moonlight from above and antlers that seem to Hannibal’s mind extend to the very heavens then it tilts it’s head backwards bellowing heavily. It’s breath rising like fine mist into the cold, night air.

PART 2

After finding a large hollow of a giant tree that has managed over years of growing in cliff-face until it’s large roots within have hollowed out some form of cave, Hannibal now sits up against one of large roots, twisted slightly as the tree which had been growing searched for water and nutrients.

On the cave wall are Ancient Markings of Forebearers who once in Ancient Times had lived in the forest with harmony with the Ancient Beasts illuminated by the makeshift fire he has made, while on makeshift some meat – rabbit – is being slowly roasted on a makeshift spit made from twigs.

He is calmly sketching with some charcoal a drawing of the young man with the wolves he had met – paying attention to the soft details of the youthful face and soft kissable lips – into an old drawing paper sketchpad and smiles softly when he senses a presence entering the cave.

Hannibal knows who it is and finishing off the final touches, gently closes the sketchpad to place it to one side then reaching forwards turns the makeshift spit so the meat is thoroughly cooked hearing the young man pad up to him.

Lowering his hands to his lap, after doing that task he turns slightly to face the young man with sea bluish-green eyes – deep pools of that colour that remind him of clear pools of water with sunlight filtering down from canopy of trees to shine down on them – curious and intrigued in what will happen next.

The young man still on his hands and knees, while wearing a lace white tunic of sorts and black breeches – which must have been stolen to make what he wears now – reaches for one of Hannibal’s hands. Taking hold of it, while he forgets how to breathe at the feel of tempting kissable lips brush against his wrist’s pulse followed by hint of fangs.

“Something wrong, my Love?” He asks, before he can correct himself because they’re not Lovers and yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he was starting to develop for this feral Wolf-Child with curly-brown locks and something else within him he just couldn’t explain what.

“No, just the way you look at me.” The young man replies to him, lifting his head with his eyes closed at first, while stilling holding Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal finds himself stroking the young man’s delicate cheekbone with feather light touches.

This makes the young man flutter his eyes open, revealing those beautiful eyes when he goes to move his hand away to sort the makeshift spit, so the meat doesn’t burn scorching him with such heat from that look, Hannibal can feel himself slowly becoming aroused then composes himself only just, asks the question.

“How do I look to you?” making the young man smile at him, replying with “As if you were deciding whether or not to eat me. Not that I’m adverse to the idea.” then goes back to nuzzling Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal starts to feel conflicted by what has been said to him.

It was true, he had a darker side to after tortured in his own homeland by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – who overthrown his father and in front of his very young eyes at 17 years of age had taken his little baby sister away, while Gruta’s men took great relish and pleasure in violating his body again and again until he been forced to accept he would starve if he did not eat the food they gave him.

Then to his ultimate horror happened to him, they brought him food and due to his weakened state Hannibal had eaten it then afterwards had discovered the food had been his own sister – slaughtered for meat.

Anger had risen in him, while he soon killed the men who had murdered his sister and as the years went by when he travelled to the land King Mason owned after overthrowing King Crawford in the shadows of alleyways and underground caverns he was given another name “The Chesapeake Ripper” - based on the mythological monster the Wendigo from Ancient Texts who ate the flesh of man.

Coming out of the harsh, cold memory he locks it away in the oubliettes of his Mind Palace and slips his hand away to check the meat on the makeshift spit – finding it is ready to eat – then taking it off the holder, rips some of the meat off and holds it out to the young man.

Sea bluish-green eyes flick to the meat and to him than back to the meat, while Hannibal sighs softly and states. “It’s not poisoned. See.” tearing the meat piece in two then eating it to show to the young man it is only rabbit meat with some wild rosemary he found growing near the cave sprinkled on top.

The young man leans upwards though taking the other half of the meat from his fingers and placing it in his mouth soon presses his lips against Hannibal’s causing him to stiffen slightly then fully relaxing, opens his mouth as the meat is soon shared between them through their mouth’s.

He finds himself starting to breathe heavily through both his nostrils, changing position each time when a warm, moist tongue laps against his and starts to entwine as they keep on eating the rabbit meat between themselves then before he is even thinking of what he is doing, Hannibal has soon pinned the feral Wolf-child to the cave floor on his blanket – he had laid out from his traveling kit - and yet, keeps his hands either side of the young man’s head.

Both are breathing heavily, while he can feel soft hands start to unlace his clothes and pulls back heavily only to soon arch slightly with a breathless hitched gasp when feels the young man leans up to bite one of his nipples through the fabric of his crème-white tunic at the sametime twisting the other nipple, so it rises and peaks under those ministrations.

His hands begin to scar into the cave floor slightly as he un-arches his back and leans over the young man still gasping breathlessly as between his thighs in the confines of breeches, Hannibal can feel the tightening pressure indicating he is slowly becoming aroused and needs to release it one way or another then moves his head back down to kiss the young man again, needing to distract himself from it.

A hand clawing down his shoulder – sharp and lethal feeling to his skin – causes him to groan heavily in machoistic pleasure as it draws some blood in the process, while a sly soft hand soon slips between his thighs to cup him through his breeches heavily and starts to unlace him teasingly slow it makes move his lips away to pant heavily in the young man’s ear.

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?….not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!…Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

Hannibal wonders how long he can last, while Will now slips downwards, and he find himself flinging his head backwards crying out heavily when he finds himself swallowed down into moist, hot mouth then slipping his hands downwards grips the young man’s head to hold it closer to his groin, watching the sleek curly brown head start to bob back and forth between his thighs.

His mouth agape, he finds himself fisting his hands into the blanket for support as slick, slurp noises and breathless moans, gasps, pants and whimpers fill the cave then he tenses heavily, heart pounding heavily against ribcage feeling himself cup the young man’s cheek to stroke it as the sinful moist, hot mouth swallows down his release.

Soon Hannibal falls backwards to land slightly on the tree root and his travelling pack then whimpers from overstimulation when he is forced to experience another orgasm, while the young man has managed to slip his clothes off fully leaving him only in his crème-white tunic and lace breeches wide open to fully expose him.

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!……I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

TO BE CONTINUED

For @vintagefloof, @amatesura, @avidreadr2004, @crazystaglady, @hannigramfanfics and all the rest of the Fannibals out there. Here is the fic I have been working on… finally arrived. Enjoy.

#hannigram fanfic #submission #fanfic #hannigram

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just-random-imagines · 6 years ago

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Voodoo Doll

Imagine: Dean Winchester doesn’t believe that he can truly fall in love with someone. Even after catching up with you, an ex-hunter, he can’t help but deny his growing feelings as some magical sham. He can’t care for someone as he does you, right? Word Count: 5k

I don't even like you, why d'you want to go and make me feel this way? And I don't understand what's happened, I keep saying things I never say.

"What is she doing here?" Dean asked Sam. He sent his brother a quick glare as you waved in their direction before returning to the bookshelves.

"Y/N offered to help us with this case," Sam told his brother. "Be grateful; she flew in yesterday. Give her a break."

The two silenced themselves as you approached them. You grinned stupidly as you proudly held up a pile of books. "I got those books you asked for Sammy," you declared, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your (Eye Color) eyes.

Why are you still here talking to us? Dean thought. Sammy and I need to get going on this case. You're distracting m- us. You're distracting us.

"His name is Sam," Dean told you sternly. "Ever thought of using it?"

Rolling your eyes, you shot the hunter a grin. "Like you're one to follow rules, Winchester," you joked. Adjusting your coat, you glance out the shop's large windows. The snow was falling at a faster pace than it was before.

"I better head back to the airport," you informed the younger brother. "If I don't leave now, I'll be stuck in town with you morons until the planes are ready to go. Good luck with that 'test' loser."

You struggled to give Sam a hug. He laughed as you tried to wrap your arms around his midsection.

"You aren't even trying," he teased, watching as you groaned in frustration. Your grunts turned into squeals as Sam picked you up.

Rolling his eyes, Dean watched the two of you giggle with glee as you both messed around in the shop. People passing by ‘awwed' at your cuteness as you continued to act like fools.

"Are you guys done?" Asked the older Winchester as he looked away from the scene. Something about it left a foul taste in his mouth.

"Aww, someone mad I'm not giving him any love?" You teased cheekily. Sam let go of you, allowing you to approach Dean. You opened your arms wide and gestured to him. "Want a hug?"

"Pft, no!" Dean stated, crossing his arms. Unfazed by his rejection, you got your arms around Dean. The hunter could feel himself growing warm as you smiled up at him.

"Don't deny it, you love it when I hug you."

No, I absolutely despise it, I- Does your hair always smell this good? Dean thought.

Rolling his eyes, the eldest Winchester brother tried pushing you away. "Don't you have to be someplace?" He asked you.

With wide eyes, you pulled away. "Right! I have to get home!" Sam cleared his throat, catching your attention.

"I think you're a little late for that Y/N," he told you as he watched the heavy snowfall. "Snow's getting bad out there. I'm sure the airport's shut down by now."

The hunter glanced at the almost hidden Impala and grimaced. "Even the car's going to be a hassle today."

Dean scoffed at the thought of his baby being left out in the cold. But even he had to admit getting the vehicle out of the snow would be a pain in the ass.

The car quickly left his mind when he focused on you.

You had started to pout once you realized you couldn't leave town. It made Dean's chest hurt as he watched you try to come up with a backup plan.

"I think we got room for one more in the motel, Sammy. What do you think?" Dean asked his brother.

Your eyes quickly lit up as you looked between the two brothers. "You're serious?" You ask, crossing your fingers hopefully.

As Dean looks to Sam, he pretends to sigh as if he already regretted the suggestion. "If you don't like it, I can always change my-" The hunter struggled to catch you as you launched yourself at him.

"You guys are lifesavers!" You exclaimed as you did the same to Sam. The tallest of the brothers was more prepared as he caught you with ease. Dean tried to not pay attention to this.

Instead, he shrugged as if it was nothing before heading towards the shop's exit.

"Don't thank us yet. You still have to choose who you want to bunk with. We only got two beds."

I can feel you watching even when you're nowhere to be seen. I can feel you touching even when you're far away from me.

"How much longer do we have to stay in this crap town?" Groaned Dean. "It's been like a week and a half dude. I don't like it!"

The brothers had headed out to the local bar. The roads that led out of town were covered with ice. The locals told them it would be a death sentence if they even attempted to leave. Seeing as they already wrapped up the hunt a day prior (Vampire was imitating both a demon and a spirit) the Winchesters hit the town.

You had stayed back at the motel as you weren't feeling too well. Dean was reluctant to leave you by yourself, but you insisted. Now and then, he caught himself looking at the empty chair beside him.

"I'm an ex-hunter," you had told him. "I think I know how to take care of myself Dean-o."

"It's been four days, Dean," Sam chastised. "Besides, the weather forecast says it should be over by Friday. We just got to wait a day." The long-haired man chuckled as he took a swig of beer.

"Besides," he quickly added. "I don't think you'd mind much. You seem to be having fun sharing a bed with Y/N."

"What... What did you just say?" Dean struggled to ask.

Usually, if his brother said something that was in some manner of insulting, the hunter would verbally assault his ass until Sam didn't know what hit him. This time, however, the man was caught off guard.

"You heard me," Sam replied. "You like sharing a bed with Y/N."

"Do not!" Dean shot back.

Even as the words left his mouth, the hunter glanced around the small bar. He didn't want you to hear.

Wait, what the hell am I doing? Dean asked himself. You're not even here and you're still causing me trouble Y/N!

The bartender heard the Winchester's outburst and silently approached the two like a shark in bloody waters. She offered a flirty smile as her ruby red lips parted to reveal pearl-like teeth.

"Can I get you boys anything else?" She asked, looking towards Dean. The sibling smiled at her, nodding.

"Just a beer, please," he asked politely.

"Nothing else, hot stuff?" She asked, quickly batting her eyelashes at the hunter. Raising his finger, Dean fingered through the menu he still had.

It took him an extra second before he quietly set the laminated sheet down. "I'll have the seasoned fries," Dean told the girl. "With extra ketchup." Turning to his brother, he asked if he wanted anything. Sam shook his head slowly as he eyed Dean curiously.

"That'll be it, sweetheart," the hunter told the girl, giving her a small smile.

The bartender scoffed as she wrote everything down. Sending him a glare, she stalked into the kitchen and yelled at the cook to start up the fryer.

"Wow," Sam uttered as he watched his brother casually finish his beer. When Dean didn't respond, he went on. "I can't believe you just dissed that girl!"

"So what, Sammy?" Demanded Dean. "I'm not in the mood for shit like this. And besides, where am I going to take her? Not at the motel!"

"The car," Sam answered. "Her place. Some empty park. The alleyway. The-"

"I get it," his brother snapped. "I just- I'm not interested."

Chills suddenly went up the man's spine as he refused to look at his hand. It tingled painfully as he clenched his fist.

Dean could still feel you, his skin under your hand. It made him crazy not to touch you.

You woke up with a groan. The light of morning shot through the windows as it gently rested across the bed. Feeling a yawn rise, you try to stretch out your arms.

I say try because a certain green-eyed hunter refused to let you.

Glancing down at your waist, you see Dean's arm wrapped around you. Looking over your shoulder, you see said man resting against you peacefully. He looked so relaxed, it would have been a crime to wake him.

That still didn't change the fact that you had to go pee.

"Dean," you whisper. "Dean!" When he didn't budge, you poked his light scruff.

"Dean..." You whined pitifully. "I'm going to piss the bed if you don't get off of me!"

Sam, having just awoken because of your not-so-quiet yelling, had noticed your struggle and woke up his brother for you.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted.

Automatically, the hunter woke up. Using his reflexes, he threw himself over your body and held you close to his chest. His breathing grew erratic as he looked for signs of danger.

Sam couldn't help but laugh as he took in your flushed face. With slow movements, you gently tap Dean's bare bicep.

"Dean, I need you to get up," you tell him gently. He sent you a questioning look, but it quickly dawned on him what position the two of you were in.

Sending you a sheepish smile, Dean released you from his grip. Getting off of the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"So..." He started nervously. "Anyone want burgers for breakfast?"

He touched you. Dean touched you and he loved it. The hunter wasn't exactly sure what to feel about it.

Love seemed like the right term. He didn't hate you. He wasn't disgusted by you. Definitely not.

Ugh, this was high school all over again. Just a big, giant pain in the ass.

"Shut up bitch," Dean sneered.

As much as he wanted to scream and cry, and just have a good old-fashioned fit, he couldn't. It was impossible.

Dean Winchester was inexplicably but deeply in love with you.

Tell me where you're hiding your voodoo doll 'cause I can't control myself. I don't wanna stay; I wanna run away, but I'm trapped under your spell.

"Think she has a hex bag or something?" Dean asked Sam.

The snow cleared up in town, allowing you and the brothers to leave. You were going to continue with your original plans of going back home, but Dean offered you to stay with them.

You ended up quickly agreeing, but only after when they promised to drive you back home to get more of your stuff.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked. "You really think Y/N planted a hex bag? Just to make you love her?"

"Would you stop saying that!" Dean barked angrily.

In his burst of anger, he threw the clothes he had into the air. A stray pair of boxers landed on his head as he glared at Sam.

The youngest hunter backed down once he noticed how riled up his brother had gotten. "All right," he quickly stated. "I'll shut up."

Sending him a final scowl, Dean went back to searching his stuff. Clothes were scattered across the room as he went through his stuff.

After a while of finding nothing, Sam piped up once more. "I don't know why you think she planted anything. Y/N's a hunter. She knows better than to-"

He was suddenly cut off by a small object smacking him in the face. Using his reflexes, he caught the item before it fell to the ground.

"What did I tell you?" Dean demanded. With quick movements, he slipped on a fresh shirt before shouldering his way past Sam. Plucking the hex bag out of his hands, the older brother left the room and made his way to the one right next to it.

"Open up Y/N!" The hunter spat as he pounded on the door. It took him several times before it opened. Just as he was about to let all hell loose, Dean noticed what you were wearing.

"What was so important that you couldn't wait until after I finished showering?" You asked him, trying but failing miserably to keep your obvious anger out of your tone. Keeping a tight grip on your towel, you lean against the doorway, ignoring the droplets of water running down your back.

"I um..." Dean trailed off. He glued his eyes to yours as he avoided looking down. "You, uh... Left something in my... You gave me a, um..."

"Oh!" Your eyes lit up as he held up the cloth bag. "You found it! I was going to give it to you in person, but-"

"Wait," Dean cut you off, snapping out of his dazed trance. "You wanted me to know about your little hex bag?"

"Hex bag?" You question. Before he could explain, you laughed. The hunter stood there confused as you held your sides, careful to keep the thin cloth secured around your chest.

"It's... It's not a hex bag!" You told Dean after finishing your laugh. "It's just a poorly wrapped gift." Taking the bag from him, you slowly unwound the leather strap and show him the contents.

A silver bracelet shined under the high-noon sun. It glimmered as you brought it closer to Dean's face as you showed him.

"I got this for you a while back. Sam has one too, but I don't think he found his yet. An old priest had given these to me and I wanted you guys to have them."

"Oh," Dean said sheepishly. "That... That was nice of you." You couldn't help but laugh as you watched the hunter accept the gift.

"Why didn't you check it?" Before he could explain, you shot another question. "Did you really think I planted a curse on you?"

"Well- No! Of course not! It's just- Well, things have been- I don't want to talk about it!" Dean stumbled over his words. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but walked away, back to his room instead.

You watched as he disappeared inside and shut the door. It hurt to see him go, but you shook your head.

He probably had a good reason, right? You ask yourself. Something must've happened and- He's mad. No doubt about it.

With a groan, you shut your own door and return to the bathroom to continue your shower.

It hurts in my head and my heart and my chest, and I'm having trouble catching my breath. Won't you please stop loving me to death?

"How did you dumbasses convince me to come back to this bullshit?" You ask the brothers as you adjust your gear.

Over the years, you learned to wear certain things when going on hunts. The most important thing was to wear thick leather boots with an equally thick jacket. Your weapons rested snugly in their harnesses as you adjusted the knife in your boots.

"It's a mystery to me," said Sam as he chuckled in the passenger's seat. He looked over to his brother. "Got any ideas?"

"No," Dean replied quickly, suddenly focusing on the road. His hands moved soundlessly against the wheel as he pulled into an empty dirt lot.

As he parked the car, you glimpsed silver on his wrist. The sight of it brought a smile to your face.

Sam had shown you his golden one earlier. He loved it. And although Dean hadn't said it, you were sure he did.

"Besides, it's a ghost," Dean told you, adding on to the previous conversation. "It'll be as easy as pie. Nothing special."

With a scoff, you exit the car and head to the trunk. The boys follow you as you pop it open and grab things. "What are you doing?" Sam suddenly questioned you as you slipped rings on your fingers.

"Yeah, we ain't dressing up for anything fancy now," his brother commented. Ignoring their words, you adjust the jewelry.

"Salt filled cartridges are fun and all, so are crowbars. But wouldn't it be nice to physically hit one of these bastards?"

The boys look at each other curiously before staring at your fingers. They both recognize the dark gray metal resting upon your hands. Dean took one of your hands and inspected them. It was hard to hide your red cheeks, but the darkness of the night provided help.

"I will never understand why you would ever stop hunting with ideas like this," he told you quietly.

The blush disappears as you pull your hand out of the hunter's grip. "Is hunting worth losing those close to you?"

You say nothing more after you gather your things. The boys quickly suit up as you make sure everything was ready. They signal you with a quick pump of their shotguns. Sam quickly took the lead as he wandered into the woods.

"So this guy just lured people into his tiny little shack in the middle of nowhere and just killed them?" You asked Dean. You were trying to learn all you could about this last-minute case.

"Yep," the Winchester confirmed. "Sick freak. Rumor has it, he even ate some of his victims."

Shuddering, you glance over your shoulder to look at Sam. He sat in the back of the Impala to catch up on his sleep. Dean quickly asked that you sit next to him in the front.

"Cool, we have a cannibalistic ghost on our hands now. Great," you tell him sarcastically.

"You'll be fine," Dean told you as he pulled into the motel parking lot. Shutting off the car, he looked over to see you were still nervous. With smooth movements, he gently grasped your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Sammy and I, we're here for you. Don't you forget that."

You kept repeating that in your head as the three of you encountered Franklin in his bedroom.

He had just captured his latest prey from a nearby campsite. You found him hovering over the girl's limp form with a knife in his hand.

Chunks of the poor soul were already gone. Franklin raised his weapon to grab another handful until Sam opened fire. The ghost disappeared, but you all knew it would be back.

You rushed to the girl's side as the brothers started searching the tiny house for something Franklin would be attached to. Your hands fumbled over her throat as you checked for certain marks around her neck.

Bruises in the shape of a chain rested on the skin all around her neck.

"He's got the chain!" You shout to the brothers.

In the report, Franklin used a welded chain to choke out his victims. Police never found said chain, but they suspected it was somewhere near the house. Guess the ghost got it back.

As a hunter, all three of you concluded that Franklin was connected to the linked metal, and that's what was keeping him here.

You could hear noises come from the other rooms, alerting you that the men were trying to draw out Franklin. You knew it wouldn't work.

Just saying considering he was standing right in front of you.

With a roar, Franklin outstretched his arms, his face red as a tomato. Using your reflexes, you ducked under his flailing limbs and aimed for his ribs. The dead farmer howled in pain as the iron contacted his... Well, disembodied spirit.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" He screamed, spinning around to make eye contact with you.

"Y/N?" Both Dean and Sam cried out at the same time. Footsteps rang through the tiny shack as they ran towards the room you were in. Franklin expected this immediately.

Just as the boys were going to come to your rescue, the bedroom door slam shut. A series of items flew in front of it, preventing any entrance. Cries of anguish could be heard from the other side as the Winchester brothers fought to break down the wooden slab.

Franklin turned around with a devilish grin on his face.

"Just you and me now, darling," he croaked out, quickly flashing forward.

"Hang on in there!" Dean shouted at the door. With another heave, he slammed himself against the thick object.

Pain shot through his nerves as he bounced off the slab. A hiss unconsciously left him as he tried again and again.

"We need to find the chain," Sam told his brother, grabbing him by the wrist. His fingers brushed against a warm metal, surprising him greatly. Instead of commenting on it, the youngest Winchester dragged him away.

The two rummaged through the shack, searching for anything that resembled the supposed murder weapon.

"It's not even here, goddammit!" Dean soon screamed, tossing a table across the room. The wood smashed against the wall, just another noise compared to the screeching in the other room. Without another word, he grabbed his .45 and shot at the door.

The bullets embedded themselves in the wood as he fired repeatedly. It wasn't until the soft clicking of the gun told him he ran out of bullets.

"Dean," Sam suddenly caught his attention. "Can you hear that?" Dean sent him a nasty look but listened quietly.

Over the sounds of angry bellowing and broken items, the boys heard you shouting. At first, it made Dean's heart clench until he connected the cries.

"Guys!" A loud crash. "Get the-" There was the sound of glass breaking. It made a horrible noise as it landed on the floor. "Necklace! Find it!"

A loud thump resonated against the door. The brothers knew what Franklin was doing to you. It only made them react faster.

"I think I saw a necklace in the other room!" Sam told his brother.

Not sparing a second, Dean pushed him out of the way and ran down the hallway. The room was a mess from its previous search. A glint of gray caught his eye as he looked over the floor.

"Start a fire, Sam," the hunter demanded as he grabbed the dainty chain. He heard the floorboards being ripped up as he too fumbled for his salt stash. They couldn't stop now. They were so close.

The smell of smoke caught Dean's attention. He looked at the growing bonfire with fury as he fisted the necklace.

"Die you son of a bitch!" He grunted before tossing the jewelry.

You couldn't find the will to scream anymore. It seemed impossible.

Franklin had just finished tossing you around like a rag doll and went in for the kill.

Moonlight flooded the room from the broken window as he hunched over you. His necklace glinted in the light as he leaned in close.

"Guess you're all alone now," he taunted, raising his blade dramatically. Just as he was about to bring it down, it fell out of his grip.

The ghost screamed in pain as he went up in flames. The knife fell beside your head as you looked towards the door.

"Y/N?" One of the boys called out. "You safe?"

Unable to respond, you watch as the door suddenly slammed open, knocking over things that were previously blocking it.

Dean ran in first with Sam right on his heels, his shotgun at the ready for the first sight of danger. He threw it to the side once he saw you were alone and rushed to your side.

"We should have never let you come with us," he told you quietly as he pulled you into his lap. "It wasn't worth it. Almost losing you."

With a cheeky smile, you half-heartedly smacked him in the chest. "I'm glad," you whispered, finding it hard to talk. Screaming took a lot out of you.

"If it wasn't for me, it would've taken you forever to find the necklace. Then you boys would look worse than me." The pain was slowly lulling you to sleep. It was so strong, you closed your eyes.

Dean smiled weakly. He can't help but press a kiss to your forehead. His eyes widened at his action but didn't pull away.

"You missed," you whispered quietly. The hunter barely caught the words, but they were too quiet to fully comprehend.

"What was that?" He asked. But you had already fallen asleep.

"It hurts Sammy," was the first thing you heard.

You tried turning towards the sound of the voice, but it was hard. Your bones felt stiff and your muscles ached with every movement. For now, you settled to listening to the voices.

"What does Dean?" Asked Sammy. The floors creaked as a heavyweight sunk into the bed you rested on.

"Every time I look at her, I can feel this... This indescribable pain in my chest. My head feels heavy and so does my heart. I can't breathe knowing she's like this."

A rough hand took yours and squeezed it gently. The course fingers and smooth palm let you know exactly which Winchester was holding you.

"Dean, it's only been a day. She'll wake up before you know it," Sam tried to console his brother.

"It might have been just a day, but a day is all you need to lose someone," Dean replied softly.

The brothers sigh. By now, you know that the two of them are shaking their heads hoping you won't succumb to their darkest thoughts. You would be okay.

Silence filled the room like a thick fog.

Neither Dean nor Sam made a noise. The only thing that alerted you of their continuous presence was the older Winchester's soothing grip.

Sam found the stillness to be rather deafening. Slowly clearing his throat, the hunter excused himself from his brother, quickly stating that he needed to pick up groceries before leaving. Soon it was just you and Dean.

You found your muscles slowly unclenching as you focused on Dean's touch.

"You don't know how badly I want to call you stupid Y/N," the hunter mumbled. "But I can't. Because I know your reasons were honest, and I appreciate that."

His breaths came out sharply as he tried gasping for air.

"I don't know what you've been doing to me but it's killing me to see you this way. I've..." The Winchester wheezed as the grip on your hand tightened. It quickly released once it grew too painful.

"It's hard to pretend I'm strong and all that when you're here, reminding me I could've done something. Something that would have prevented this. And I didn't."

Dean goes into a rant, complaining that it was his fault he let you join him and his brother and how he was an idiot to let himself get so close to you. It broke your heart to hear him put himself down, but it also brought you small hope.

He cared much more than he let on.

Ending his tirade, Dean sighed as he gave your hand a last squeeze before letting go. "I got to grab some things from Baby. Be right back."

Warm breath gently fanned your face, throwing you off for a second. Then it hit you.

Dean's lips pressed themselves against your forehead. They lingered a second longer than he liked, but you didn't mind. Pulling away, you repeated the words you told him a night ago.

"You missed," you mumbled cheekily, opening your eyes to little slits. You watch as Dean looked at you with a frozen expression, unsure what to do now.

"Y-you're... You're awake!" He stuttered. "You didn't- You were sleeping the entire time, right?"

"You missed Winchester," you repeat, ignoring his question. "How many times are you going to miss?"

"W-what?" Dean asked, still taken aback of your sudden awakening.

Rolling your eyes, you struggle to sit up. Seeing this, the hunter made a move to help you, but you pause. With a small grunt, you prop yourself against the headboard before looking up at Dean.

"These," you gesture, tapping your mouth, "are my lips. Do I need to put a sign so you don't miss them?"

Dean still looks confused, making you roll your eyes and grabbing the collar of his coat. Pulling him down, you slam your mouth against his.

At first, the hunter's unsure at the sudden contact. Seeing that he hadn't yet responded, you go to pull away until he had gently cupped your face and returned the favor.

The strong taste of whiskey filled your mouth as Dean softly kissed you back. Things grew heated as you tugged at him to pull off his jacket. He slowly pulled back with a chuckle.

"Calm down, you feisty thing," Dean teased. "You're still healing. Can't risk you hurting yourself again."

He presses another kiss to your forehead as he smirked cheekily. "You'll be the death of me, Winchester," you told him, leaning back into the motel bedsheets.

"I could say the same about you, babe," he replied.

#Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester Imagine #Supernatural Imagine #5SOS Song Imagine #Voodoo Doll #Supernatural #Jensen Ackles Imagine #Jensen Ackles x Reader #Jensen Ackles #Dean Winchester

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flightfoot · 6 years ago

Text

Convalescence Ch. 2

Thanks to @garecc for betaing!

Week 0, Day 6, Evening

Apollo’s POV

I woke up in a dark room. I didn’t know where I was, but for some reason, I wasn’t afraid. I felt safe and comfy and warm.

I flopped around a little, and hit someone’s nose. “Ow!”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“Apollo?” the voice said. I made a small babbling noise in answer. “Guess you’re awake. Come on guys, get up! Apollo’s awake!” I heard rustling as people moved around. The boy who’d been talking picked me up as whoever was on the floor groaned and got up. Finally the boy who was holding me turned on a light, illuminating the room.

I was inside a cabin. Mattresses and blankets had been pulled from the beds onto the floor to form a cuddle-pile nest. In the nest blinking blearily up at me was a boy with sunshine-blond hair and blue eyes - Will - and a younger girl with ginger hair tinged with green. Her name came to mind quickly. “Kay’a!” I cried. But that means… I looked up. The boy who was holding me, the one who had woken up first, had black woven cornrows in his hair. “Au’tin!” I cried out, delighted.

I looked Austin and Kayla over, trying to find any injuries they might have had. But I couldn’t see any. Why had they been in the infirmary? I tried to ask. “Why in-for… in-for… Why in hurt place?”

“Hurt place… you mean the infirmary?” Will asked. I nodded. “They were helping the injured campers from the last battle.” Seeing the look of fear on my face, he hurried on, “Don’t worry, everyone survived and no one’s permanently injured, some people just need some extra rest. Like a certain son of Hades, who OVERUSED HIS POWERS AGAIN, and needs to stay and rest.” Will looked quite annoyed at this point. I was glad his ire wasn’t directed at me.

A long period of silence followed. I could feel that there was something they wanted to ask, but were holding back for some reason. I began fidgeting. What was it? What was wrong?

Kayla broke the awkward silence. “I’m gonna take Apollo to Chiron. I know Chiron would love to see him, and it might bring back some memories.”

Chiron?

A memory - more of an impression, really - flashed past. Riding on a centaur’s back. Tutoring an inquisitive student. A calm, reassuring smile.

“Chi-on!” I cried out. Maybe he’d give me centaur-back rides!

Kayla stood up and started to reach for me, then hesitated. “Apollo? Do you think you can walk?”

I thought for a moment, torn. On the one hand, I didn’t want my family to think I was so vulnerable that I couldn’t even walk correctly. On the other hand, being carried sounded really appealing right about now…

“Wa’k,” I said. Something was bothering Kayla - was bothering ALL of them. Maybe if I showed her that I was mature, she’d tell me what it was.

We walked out of the cabin. The sky was filled with a myriad of pinks and oranges and yellows, with a tinge of dark blue-black on the horizon. Nighttime would arrive soon.

We walked slowly, Kayla matching her pace to mine. A few times she opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Fine. If she wasn’t gonna tell me, then I’d ask.

“Why sca’ed?”

Kayla stopped, looking confused. “I’m not scared.”

I knew “scared” was the wrong word, but I couldn’t think of the right one. I did the best I could with the words I had. “You quiet. Sca’ed. Want talk.”

“You noticed, huh?”

She bit her lip. “Will wanted to hold off on asking you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you. But I just… need to know. Dad, how much do you remember?”

I looked at her, lost. Dad? She seemed to be addressing me. But that made no sense. I couldn’t be her dad. I’m not good enough, not strong enough. She deserved a better father than me.

“N-never mind,” she said, looking disappointed and a little ashamed. “Let’s just go to Chiron. Then we can go to the campfire! Austin’s leading the song circle today, and I KNOW you’ll like that.”

Ooh, songs! Marshmallows! Wait, wait, can’t get off-track. Kayla needs me. Her question: what do I remember? Hmm. Not as much as I want to, but…

“You family,” I said resolutely. “Home. Family is home.” I teared up again. Home. It was true. Leto, Artemis, Meg, Kayla, Austin, Will… they all cared for me.

“Home… I’m home.” I collapsed against Kayla’s leg, smiling and crying. She sat down on the grass and pulled me into her lap. I cuddled up against her. Her smile was soft and a little sad.

“Yeah… you’re home.” she murmured. I felt something wet fall onto my head. I looked up. Kayla was crying too, just a little. I pretended not to notice.

After a few minutes of sitting there, enjoying each other’s company, Kayla finally got up. I was reluctant, but I guess we needed to move on eventually. Why did eventually have to be NOW?

“Come on, Chiron’s expecting us. We don’t want people to think that something bad happened.”

A flash of fire filled my vision, and terror seized my heart. I grabbed Kayla’s hand. She’s here, she’s alive, she’s safe, she’s not burning.

Kayla seemed to read my mind. “I’m not going anywhere, I won’t disappear again. Austin and I are safe, thanks to you.”

Safe. They were safe. My family was safe. I breathed deeply, collecting myself, and nodded. Together, we crossed the river and entered the Big House.

Chiron was waiting for us inside, reading a book. He looked up as the door opened, his facing erupting into a grin. “Apollo! Kayla!” he called as he trotted over to us. “Glad to see you up! I was worried after what happened on Olympus. How are you holding up?”

I didn’t quite remember what happened on Olympus - not very well at any rate. but I knew how to answer Chiron’s question. “O-kay” I said carefully.

“I’ll let you two chat privately,” Kayla said, and walked out the door.

Chiron swished his tail, waiting for me to speak. I didn’t. He carried on.

“Leto and Artemis are staying in Artemis’s cabin, though I’m not sure whether Leto will stay there once Artemis’s Hunters arrive at camp. Meg’s also staying with them for now. I tried to get her to go to the Demeter Cabin, but… well, she just said that she didn’t feel like it right then and walked off.”

I giggled. That sounded like Meg.

“Artemis said you came here for a reason though, beyond just wanting to see your children again. Something about Jason?”

“Remember,” I mumbled. “Gotta remember. Remember Jason. Need reminder.”

Chiron glanced at the pictures at his walls - of the greatest heroes he’d trained - and sighed. “Jason… he was a good kid. I’d hoped that after everything he’d been through, that he’d get to just… live out his life. But I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Heroes so rarely live long…”

It struck me then. Chiron was immortal. He trained young demigods, who so infrequently lived to adulthood. He saw them die again and again and again. Yet he didn’t shy away. He embraced the mortals, tutored them, cared for them, treated them like his own children. How? How could he stand it?

I started crying again and hugged Chiron’s leg. “Hurts,” I mumbled. “Hurts so much.”

Chiron stroked my hair. “Yes,” he said tenderly, “I know. It always does. If it didn’t, I’d be worried. But it’s worth it, knowing them, caring for them. Even if it hurts in the end. I won’t say the pain goes away. You already know that’s not true. But… the pain can be precious as well. It’s proof that they lived, and that you cared. Proof that they MEANT something.” Chiron gazed around the room for a moment. “These walls are filled with some of the greatest heroes I’ve taught, the ones whose stories have been passed down through the ages, who history remember. But these aren’t the only reminders I keep. Come on. I have something to show you.”

Seeing my hopeful look, Chiron sighed and put me on his back as he trotted through the Big House, into his private quarters.

He took me into a large room, filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of items, covering every surface. Small machines that I’m certain Hephaestus’s children made, arrowheads, jewelry, and most of all, books. Rows upon rows of books, covering entire bookshelves. He went to one of the shelves and took one out, splaying it on a nearby table. I leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a good look.

It was a photo album, filled with hundreds of photos of young campers. some group photos of cabins, some individual shots.

Chiron smiled sadly as he went through the album. “I collect reminders too. Tangible proof that these children existed. That they mattered.”

He flipped through the book, stopping on the photo of a teenage girl with black hair and blue eyes. “This is Silena Beauregard. She stayed with us for many summers, and was head counselor of the Aphrodite fountain. She was always kind and hated killing and inflicting pain, though she recognized it was sometimes necessary. Do you know she’s the reason Festus wasn’t destroyed? He was broken and a bit crazy after first being booted back up, and tried to kill her, Beckendorf, Percy, and Annabeth. But she insisted on disabling him temporarily instead of destroying him.”

He flipped to another page. My breath caught in my throat, and tears pricked at my eyes. Two teenage boys were standing together, quivers flung over their backs. Chiron noticed my gaze. “Michael Yew and Lee Fletcher. Your children. They were always keeping everyone’s spirits up, leading song circles and organizing games. Though they did tend to suggest archery be included in contests more often than it was warranted,” he chuckled.

I stared. I couldn’t remember them. They were my family, I knew that, but not a single memory floated into my mind. It’s because you hardly knew them, something whispered in my mind. You claimed them and sometimes helped them, but you barely knew them.

I wasn’t entirely sure what that voice meant, but I felt like I should. My gut twisted. I hadn’t done enough. I didn’t know what I hadn’t done enough of, but whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.

I held out a hand towards the picture. “Please,” I murmured in Chiron’s ear, almost choking on repressed sobs, “Please.”

Chiron removed the picture and handed it to me. I took it carefully, not wanting to damage this small, fragile reminder of the two lost souls. I studied it, staring at the faces of the boys as if by looking at them enough, I could bring them back to life and get to know them as I didn’t before.

“They will die,” Chiron said as he walked us back to the entranceway of the Big House. I still stared at the photo. “But at least we know they lived.”

Chiron dropped me off back at the Me Cabin. I still clutched the photo, though carefully. I would not damage this keepsake, this reminder. Kayla, Austin, and Will waited inside, cuddle nest still on the floor.

“So what did you guys talk about?” Austin asked. I showed him the photo. “Tell me,” I asked. “Who were they?”

And they did. I spent the rest of the evening listening to their stories about their brothers Michael and Lee, the times they messed up and the times they triumphed, the times they got angry, the times they were sad, and the times they glowed with joy. I smiled. They were not forgotten. And for a moment, it felt like they were still with us.

#trials of apollo #the trials of apollo #apollo #kayla knowles #austin lake #will solace #chiron #fanfiction #convalescence #toa

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i-am-church-the-cat · 6 years ago

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Chapter 2: The Prince, The Prophecy, And A Few Sparks, Too

“Cyrus!”

The young god’s name echoed throughout the palace. Cyrus sighed and flew to the throne room. Air travel had taken some work, but eventually, he had gotten the hang of it. It was one of his favorite things about working for Apollo. Buffy, being a Hunter, only flew by pegasus or one of her birds of prey, and Andi only used air travel when she was going between the Underworld and Olympus with Persephone.

The minor god arrived in the throne room. There were puncture marks everywhere due to the major god’s hobby of shooting several bows simultaneously when he was bored. Cyrus was used to seeing Apollo draped over his throne in a very dramatic fashion, complaining about having nothing to do in song, but today, the son of Zeus was nearly as bright as the star that he drove across the sky every day.

That’s unusual, Cyrus thought. He’s only this happy when…

Oh no.

“There you are!”, Apollo cried when he saw Cyrus. “We”

Don’t say it.

“have”

Please, don’t say it.

“a prophecy!”, the sun god said gleefully.

Cyrus stifled a groan. Prophecies were the absolute worst. They were always confusing and cryptic. And they were always, always dangerous. They were even more dangerous when humans tried to figure them out. And they always tried to figure it out.

“Come, come!”, Apollo said, choosing to ignore his assistant’s obvious deflation at his news. “There.”

Apollo pointed down through the clouds that shielded the home of the gods from earth. Where the god pointed, the clouds rolled away to show a castle in another of Greece’s many countries. Wind swept around Cyrus and Apollo, carrying them down to the earth.

They stood in a courtyard filled with merchant stalls and vendors. Peasants and nobility alike walked around, observing the wares. On the far side of the courtyard, two wooden thrones stood on a stage. They were obviously temporary because they had nearly no ornamentation. On them sat a middle-aged man with smile lines around his eyes. He looked kind, for a king. On his right sat a beautiful lady with flowing blonde hair. She looked strict, but not cruel. Someone who liked order. Cyrus could respect that.

Standing slightly behind the throne was a girl who greatly resembled the lady. Her daughter, the princess. But not only that, Cyrus realized. He could feel the power of Delphi within her. She was an oracle.

In front of the stage, men in armor dueled with a variety of weapons: swords, lances, maces, whips. It looked like a melee tournament. One fighter was quickly outperforming most of the other men. Soon it was just him and another fighter, one who seemed just as skilled.

Almost, at least.

It took only a few well-placed strikes before the other fighter quickly yielded. The champion pulled off his helmet, revealing a grinning face, similar to that of the king’s. The prince, Cyrus understood quickly.

As the prince turned to face his father, Apollo glided over to the stage. Cyrus followed behind, confident that no mortal could see him. Apollo walked up to the girl on the stage and stood beside her. As the prince was accepting his prize, the princess turned to glance at the god.

The king, having awarded his son the win, had stood up to address his people, but he was interrupted by the collapse of his daughter. Guards rushed to catch her, but Cyrus reached her first, effectively losing his glamour. He cringed, knowing hundreds of eyes were on him.

He pulled a stool from...somewhere and then sat the princess down. As soon as Cyrus released her, the girl sat up and green smoke began to flow from around her. A voice older than time poured from her lips. It said:

The God of Death has been taken by ice So spirits get to roll the dice Find him and return him safe Or the ghosts of enemies may take his place

Two of royal blood, one sent to guard them One god of light, one of bow, one of garden May this mission plant the seed Or three be lost to eternity

With the last word, the oracle once again collapsed and was rushed into the castle by the guards, Apollo close behind them. The king dismissed the people for the day and he, his wife, and the prince rushed inside. Somehow, Cyrus was allowed in unhindered, even without his glamour. Cyrus was already tired. According to the prophecy, he had to travel with a bunch of people to get Thanatos, the god of death, back from ice. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure that ice was referring to Boreas, god of north wind. He didn’t have a clue about what the seed was, and that was to be expected. But the most confusing part was that the prophecy had not one, not two, but three different gods. Quests are supposed to be for mortals, not beings like himself.

Cyrus was pulled out of his thoughts when he realized he wasn’t alone. The blonde prince stood before him, his green eyes questioning Cyrus’s presence in his castle. Cyrus knew he didn’t exactly look like a god, but he hadn’t learned how to change his appearance yet. Besides, he had just popped out of thin air!

“Who are you?”, the prince asked. He looked about twenty, a little older than Cyrus was when he was turned into a god. His voice wasn’t mean, just curious.

“Um..hi. I’m Cyrus, I work for Apollo. Apollo told me that the oracle was about to announce a prophecy and told me to oversee it”, Cyrus answered, hurriedly, trying to come up with an explanation.

The prince looked doubtful. “You work for Apollo?”

Cyrus didn’t try to hide his eye-roll. He knew this would happen. He looked around the room. Thankfully, it didn’t have any windows, so it was entirely lit with torches. That would make the trick more believable.

Finally, he turned to the prince. Cyrus held his hand palm up and focused on drawing the fire - and the light that came with it - to his hand. One-by-one, the flames flew to Cyrus’s hand. The grinned proudly and looked up to see what the prince thought.

The man was looking at the fire in Cyrus’s hand, astonished. Cyrus was about to say something smug and cool when the prince looked up.

If Cyrus wasn’t immortal, he would’ve sworn his heart had stopped.

The light shrouded the prince’s face, turning his eyes to green flame and his hair into a burning halo. The prince was glowing. He looked like Apollo when he rode his sun chariot, almost god-like.

Cyrus looked down quickly, hoping to hide his growing blush. He shook his hand slightly and the flames returned to their homes. When he looked up again, the prince was smiling.

“I guess you're our god of light then, huh?”, he said with a laugh. “TJ.”

Cyrus smiled and shook the hand the prince-TJ-had offered him. This prophecy might not be so bad.

#tyrus #andi mack #fanfic

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innermuse24 · 6 years ago

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Hannibal Fanstory: “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis”

PROLOGUE

---------------------------

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

The street had been vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the colour and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbour becomes pitted against neighbour, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing in fact it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

--------------------------------------

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

PART 1

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

Having a hidden personality of his own.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

PART 2

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?....not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!...Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!......I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

“No…...I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…...as my….Mate.”

Those words echo and re-echo in Hannibal’s mind, while hands begin to peel of clothes until both are free of them as maroon eyes soon look downwards at a beautiful unblemished and un-marked body then the young man rolls into his back, getting up onto his hands and knees.

Dipping his spine in such a way, it shows the perfect curve of it and willing his heart to stop thudding against his ribcage gets over Will to fully mount him at the sametime slipping his hands down the young man’s sides to grip his hips then bends his head down to gently kiss the nape of his soon-to-be-lover.

Inhaling the natural scent of him, making Will turn to nuzzle his nose against his affectionally and stroking his cheek with one hand whispering to him. “Did you just smell me?” as Hannibal, finds himself reaching into his traveling pack to get out the glass bottle of oil – which will just have to do for what was going to happen next.

“Difficult to avoid, Myilamis, when you tempt me so much with your beautiful eyes, lips and body.” He replies in husky whisper, uncorking the bottle of healing oil with one hand and thoroughly coating his fingers in it.

“Hurry…...I want you, Hannibal.” Will whimpers, making Hannibal snarl slightly, biting down on the young man’s nape for his impatience hearing it cause a breathless moan as those fine hips push back into his groin and slipping hand down with fingers coated in the oil, cups between those fine cheeks.

He rubs his oil-coated fingers over the puckered entrance, hearing the soft breathless moans coming from the young man as he starts to spread the oil on it then slips a finger within into tight, warm insides.

Hearing Will soon give a pleasured cry and arch against him slightly, followed by the young man turning his flushed face to look at Hannibal with mouth agape in breathless pants and gasps over his shoulder.

“Please…...Hannibal?”

Kissing Will’s nape, he coats himself enough with the oil and leaning over his soon-to-be-lover or Mate has he been called pushes his hips forwards until finally become fully sheathed within tight, warm insides as he trembles heavily over Will, feeling himself arching slightly when inner muscles choose to clench around his cock in such a way it is exquisite.

“Will…. if you squeeze me like that, I’ll……cum before we even mated properly.” Hannibal pants out, feeling Will relax his inner muscles around him and yet, only start to undulate his hips back and forth into his – the urge to Mate becoming strong.

Breathless moans, harsh pants and gasps followed by skin slapping against skin fills the cave, while the scent of Mating rises into the air then a guttural cry, followed by gasping of “Oh…god!!!…. Will!!!.” and finally silence as both succumb to what they just experienced together.

PART 3

The dawn chorus of birds singing makes Will gently curled up against his now Mate’s or Hannibal’s warm, muscular with the blanket over both their bodies, flutter his eyes open only to shoot them open as he suddenly realises what he has done and panicking heavily, wriggles free out of the older man’s grip.

“Myilamis, what’s wrong?” Hannibal asks him, reaching out for him as he flinches away from it, moving back on his and knees at the sametime a shadow covers the cave entrance to reveal the sight of his Wolf-mother – Murasaki Kushina – who flicks her gaze over to Hannibal, who he can see is now kneeling with his head bowed low.

Blondish hair falling in front of his bowed head, which nearly touches the cave floor, and something is said to his Mate. But he doesn’t understand what is said, so just watches as Hannibal reaches for his strange clothes to slip back on.

“SILENCE, HUMAN!!!”

Hannibal standing in front of Murasaki Kushina – the Wolf Goddess, last of the Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – as she rests on top of a large boulder that juts out from large precipe carved strangely in the shape of a wolf, with it’s mouth bared open, while waterfall falls out of the mouth to tumble down into the abyss below knows he shouldn’t have angered her.

But he had to tell her at some point that Will is going to figure out he is Human of sorts and he came from the land on the other side of Border Pass, while she was not his actual Mother.

“I apologise, Murasaki Kushina-san. But you must understand King Mason wishes me to rid you of the son you have raised as though he was your own and give him the head of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – because he believes it can cure whatever is affecting the people of his what are not his lands.” Hannibal apologises to her, remembering when he had seen the beautiful creature at night looking straight at him.

Like it could see deep into his soul. And maybe it could see deep into his soul – see the deep secret he was keeping hidden from other humans around him, about the mark on his arm shaped as golden ferns with black flowers growing on them that if people saw it they would think he had the strange Plague that was spreading through the land of King Mason.

“You must leave, Human. If you came back here to this land, I will rip of your head. Do you understand?” She snarls at him, causing him to lift his head up to stare into those eyes of her’s and finds himself replying. “And leave Will behind. He is Human and Heir of the Wolf-trap Legacy.” Then shouts the rest of the words at her, feeling the anger rising in him.

“HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU KEEP HIM LIKE THIS!!! EYES UNCLOUDED FROM WHAT IS STARTING TO HAPPEN!!!”

“ENOUGH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I HAVE DONE TO PROTECT HIM!!! HIS MOTHER DIED GIVING BIRTH TO HIM AND IF I LEFT HIM HE WOULD HAVE DIED HIMSELF AS A BABE!!!!”

A snarl escapes from Murasaki Kushina, bearing her fangs with dripping saliva and getting up from her perch, jumps down to lunge towards him biting straight down into his shoulder with them – going through muscle and bone.

Blood soon spurts upwards into the air, covering the ground with crimson petals as Hannibal feels himself being pushed backwards to the edge of carved precipe. This forces him to brace his feet apart and place his hands on her muzzle trying to make her see some sense of reason when he suddenly feels he is right at the edge of the precipe of the carved stone wolf’s snout.

“O’KAASAN!!!? NO!!!!?

A shout – Will shouting – makes Murasaki Kushina immediately still in nearly pushing Hannibal off the edge, while he feels himself soon being turned and flung heavily down the jutted precipe causing the blood from his shoulder to smear down the stone.

Covering it slightly in gleaming path of crimson, while he rolls down the arched stone-carved neck of the stone Wolf coming to the bottom where he finds himself hitting a tree branch that had fallen over at some point – a long time ago – with a sickening thud.

He goes to get up, seeing Will has gotten in front of him on his hands and knees looking different from before – his hands have become sharp claws and fangs have unsheathed – and hearing snarling coming from his Lover.

Murasaki Kushina, her muzzle still covered in his own blood looks between them both – to her own adopted son and to Hannibal – making him lower his head slightly, wishing it hadn’t been in this kind of way as she says to him. “What have you done!!!!?”

She pads close, only for Will to get in front of him as the young man’s voice starts to come out in warning snarls for her to back off and hackles raised, while sea bluish-green eyes have become like swirling tempest then something glinting out of the corner of his eye, makes Hannibal try and get up - even though he is deeply wounded.

He watches the iron bullet - that come from a rifle – in slow motion impact into her shoulder, shattering it to an explosion of bone, muscle and blood making Murasaki Kushina stumble backwards only slightly as he manages to hold Will back for his own safety then a loud bang echoes in the air around them, one Hannibal recognises as a fire-cannon – lit by a piece of charcoal causing a reaction to allow the iron ball to explode out towards whoever the weapon had been pointed at.

It slams into the Wolf-Goddess with such force, her large body falls off the precipe of the stone-carved wolf into the raging white-frothed waters of the waterfall that tumbles out of the open mouth down into the rising mist that comes up from the abyss.

Will manages to wriggle out of his grasp, rushing over to edge to look down at the sametime Hannibal – who had taken his crossbow with him, when Murasaki Kushina had asked to talk to him – sensing the person hiding in the foliage of the bushes and trees, kneels up bringing it up then quickly fires an iron arrow to where he can see the hidden Hunter hiding.

It causes a cry to become half-choked one, when it hits and blood spurts up slightly to land on the ground illuminated slightly to indicate he got whoever they had been then immediately drops it when the pain in his shredded wound reminds him he must get to his traveling pack – where healing herbs where in it.

At the sametime, he suddenly hears Will emit a blood-curdling howl – head tilted backwards to expose his throat – of such pure grief, pain and anguish it penetrates deeply into Hannibal’s soul.

Emotions he had locked away after Mischa’s death to become released from the confines of the oubliettes he put them in and allows for single solitary tear to run down his cheek then because of the blood-loss he is experiencing, he feels himself falling to one side with a muffled thump.

His breathing starts to come in laboured gasps, while Will who is still in his Wolf-like state comes over to him starting to nudge him to try make him keep his eyes open as he hears his Lover whining heavily – not able to speak – at him.

“It’s alright, Will. I want…leave…. you…...It’s alright….”

Hannibal manages to say, before darkness sweeps in like raven’s wings and covers his vision as he sinks into unconscious state.

In the centre of the forest, where the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – dwells, is a large island with giant sequoia growing on it as the roots of the large tree reach beneath the earth and into the lake, while it is the island that Will now leads Hannibal’s horse – Cersai – with Hannibal on her bare back, until they finally both reach it.

Reaching up with his hands, Will pulls Hannibal off her bare back into the water pulling his Mate over to soft bed of moss, where wildflowers – rare and unknown to any Human eye – grow then sunlight soon filters down from through the large gap of the ring of trees to shine down on the three figures – a horse, a young man with Wolf-blood running through his veins and Hunter who was now his Mate and had captured his heart.

Blackness like ink from inkwell surrounds Hannibal Lecter as the man lays calmly on the bed of moss, surrounded by wildflowers as little Kodoma start to appear curious and intrigued by him then sit around him – some on the moss-covered rocks and others on the roots of the Great Sequoia.

A tinkling noise echoes in the air, followed by leaf from way above starting to float gently downwards swaying and dancing in the soft breeze until finally it lands in the clear lake water to be blown gently across as the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

The Kodoma seeing their Lord, head away and up the tree in trail of white until finally disappearing leaving the area empty of them.

It begins to walk, bringing down it’s cloven each-time onto the lake water causing golden ripples to spread outwards on the water until it finally comes up to Hannibal, looking down at him.

Black eyes seeming to show a multitude of a field of stars in them, while it soon bends its fine head down to touch it’s snout to the ragged shoulder wound allowing for golden ripple to spread outwards over it then pulls back, seeing the Curse mark from an Ancient Beast turned into a Daemon on the Hunter’s wrist whispering into the man’s mind:

You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.

Then finished with the task it has done of healing the ragged shoulder wound made by the fangs of Murasaki Kushina – Ancient Beast and Last of the Wolf Clan – tilts it’s head upwards to the canopy of ringed trees as it body starts to change.

In the canopy of the ringed trees, little white Kodama begin to appear watching their Lord, who has now become the Spirit-Walker of Moon – who is also known as the Ravenstag when it is day – and slowly one by one their heads begin to click back and forth, while Spirit-Walker of the Moon starts to walk making the gentle breeze become a strong wind.

This moves the tops of the large swathes of the trees all around in the forest back and forth like waves going back and forth on the sea-shore, while the little white Kodoma move with the wind as Spirit-Walker begins its nightly vigil.

You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.”

Weakly fluttering his eyes open, Hannibal hears that phrase that been whispered to him in the dream or had it been a dream echo until dissipating like it never existed as laughter – child-like – fills his ears, followed by a voice saying his name. “Hannebae.” then finds himself hoarsely whispering the spirit's name "Mischa"

She giggles softly, her laughter soft and light. Just like it had been when she been alive, while he goes to get up only to wince heavily when his wounded shoulder protests making him place a hand to it. Only to feel where there had been a ragged wound is now healed flesh - like Murasaki Kushina had never sunk her fangs - then lays back down, while Mischa comes up to sit in front of him.

He tries to understand:

Why had the Spirit of the Forest - the Ravenstag - healed him in this way?

But why?

And for what purpose?

Soft, little hands cupping his cheeks makes him look at the spirit of his sister Mischa and smiling softly, rests his forehead against her's - like he used do when they were children then understand he was been given a chance to say goodbye to her.

As he hadn’t had when she had been murdered by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – and pulling back, strokes her cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles as her beautiful eyes inherited from their mother seem to sparkle with happiness at being allowed before she moves onto the Spirit World that she can say goodbye to him and Hannibal to her.

“Goodbye, sweet little Mischa.”

He whispers hearing her whispered reply of “Hannebae.” allowing for the tear that has formed to run down his cheek to plip onto the grass where her Spirit had been then lowering his hands down to his lap, senses his mare – Cersai – come up to from where she had been grazing.

Nudging his head lightly with her snout, making him bring his hand up to go and cup her cheek, when he stiffens at the sight of the mark on his wrist making him lower it to unlace his tunic sleeve seeing as he un-wraps the bandage that covers it – seeing the gold ferns with black flowers on them has spread more.

The Curse Mark came from an Ancient Boar God who due to iron bullet made by Mason’s Blacksmith Francis Dolerhyde – the man not knowing the weapons he made would be used to get rid of the Ancient Beasts in the Northern Lands – become a Plague Monster – a seething mass of hatred, rage and anger.

It had nearly destroyed the village he been staying in, before traveling to Baltimore, Maryland and knowing the cost of becoming permanently cursed if he allowed it to gore him in any way Hannibal had killed it – severing its life.

But it had managed to wound and curse by stabbing one of it’s tusks into his lower abdomen before he had done so, spreading the Curse it carried into his bloodstream and so creating within him The Chesapeake Ripper.

The Wise Woman of the village in the Western Land, who had experienced a vision of this event happening had told him he must leave before he affects the whole village by mindlessly slaughtering them in a bloodlust fury.

Leaving the village behind he had also left his betrothed-to-be Miriam Lass – the Village Chief’s daughter – and remembers how she was always curious and investigating into things she really shouldn’t have.

She had given him just before he left, both of her curved crystal daggers forcing him to not break his promise that if he found a cure he would return to her because she was his Betrothed.

The daggers were made from crystal mined from the caves near the Village in the Western Land – sharp and deadly, while glinting with many hues of dark purple, emerald and purple.

Deciding not to dwell on those memories, he lays back down feeling still drained of energy and sorting the bandage rolls his sleeve back down then just stares up at the canopy of the ringed trees, seeing the wispy white clouds spreading outwards in the light blue sky.

Sunlight streams down through the canopies of the mixed trees, illuminating certain patches of ground as Will comes to the edge of large lake occupied by a large island with a Giant Sequoia.

He heads over to some moss-covered stones jutting out of the water gently bounding across them leaving only a light footprint in his wake. It soon disappears as the moss springs back.

His Mate Hannibal is awake, resting on a moss-bed surrounded by wildflowers as Cersai – his dappled grey white mare is lying beside him on his left-hand side. Hannibal must have sensed him or heard him in some way, because the man rises slightly up on his elbows giving a smile – a weak one, but still a smile – then getting on his hands and knees, pads up to the man.

Rising slightly up onto his elbows, Hannibal sits up instead when Will indicates the Scent-marking Ritual so tilting his head backwards exposes his neck to allow himself to be scent-mark it then when that is done, does the same to his young lover.

“Are you hungry?” I brought some food.” Will asks him – after they have affectionally nuzzled against each-other – reaching into a makeshift pouch-bag made from rabbit skins – dried and tanned in the sun – to bring out some dry-cured meat.

He watches place it in his own mouth, chewing it and placing his hands-on Hannibal’s shoulders leans towards him to feed him this way - the meat transferred by mouth to mouth, until he feels his strength slowly starting to return then notices Will has slid one hand down to place it on his abdomen.

"Will, what's wrong? Is your stomach hurting?" Hannibal asks, going to reach when a warning growl coming from Will's Wolf-sister makes him lower his hand and look over to her.

"Do not touch. Unless you are willing to submit by exposing your belly." She says, making him look to his young lover for confirmation if he should and Will silently nods to him.

Managing to move, he lays on his side to expose his belly like he has been asked and waits for Will to indicate to him he has passed the… test… tasked him with then his hand is taken hold of and placed on his young lover’s abdomen.

“Hannibal, I’m pregnant. I’ve conceived your child as it seems when we mated the Crescent moon was in the sky. It means for Wolves that it is Mating Season.” Will tells him, with tear-filled eyes filled with tears of happiness, joy and gladness they were having a family.

Will was bearing. His young lover with Wolf-blood in his veins was pregnant with his child or children and find himself trembling heavily because he knows he must tell Will also about the Curse-mark he bears.

“Will….” He begins to say, when Will’s three Wolf-brothers suddenly appear from the other side of the shoreline and after bounding across the stones, surround them as Hannibal sees they are looking over to the densest part of the shoreline.

Great hulking shadows move into the sunlight streaming down to reveal thousands of boars being led by one who could be a leader of some kind.

“Boars from the Western Lands.” One of Will’s Wolf-brother’s – Hiharo – says and asks a question, which even Hannibal can’t answer now. “Why have they come here?”

Had the Strange Plague reached the Western lands without his knowledge?

Hannibal feels concerned now at seeing the sight of Boars that knew roamed the forests of the Western lands and notices one is looking at him.

“I am Will of the Murasaki Kushina Clan. Why have you come to here?”

Hannibal standing close to his young lover, who has introduced himself to the Boar Leader, who stands with a large herd of thousand strong Warrior Boars – whispering among themselves as why a Human was in the Northern Lands, home of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

“I am Ouras, second-in-command of Lord Jakkoto’s Boar Clan.” The Boar – Ouras - replies, followed looking over to Hannibal and back to Will, asking the young man a question. “Why is a Human here than…in this forest?”

“Hannibal is my….Mate. He was badly wounded, so the Spirit of the Forest healed him” Will replies, causing Ouras to stare at him with widened eyes and turns his gaze back to Hannibal saying the next words in sneering tone, so his young lover can hear them.

“Then why didn’t the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – save the Queen of our Clan. Because your…..Mate….murdered her in cold blood without mercy.”

“HOW DARE YOU, PIG!!!!”

Hannibal hears his young lover’s Wolf-sister – Chiyoh – snarling with fangs bared, making him step in front of her and rolling his tunic sleeve down then unwraps the bandage to reveal to Ouras and everyone else – including Will – the Curse-mark.

“YOUR LYING!!!! THAT DID NOT HAPPEN TO OUR QUEEN!!!”

“OURAS, ENOUGH. SILENCE YOUR TONGUE THIS INSTANT!!!”

Everything goes still. All the Boars bowing their heads low as Ouras – now ashamed of his actions – does the same and pads back so not incur the wrath of the Great Boar God, last of his kind and one of the Ancient Beasts mentioned in Ancient times – the Lord Jakkoto.

The large Boar towers above all other Boars and a normal-sized Human, while coming up to Hannibal who soon notices Lord Jakkoto is blind in both eyes.

Placing his hand on the Boar’s snout, he stays still as Lord Jakkoto deeply inhales to read everything from the Curse-mark then satisfied the large Boar steps back from him, while Hannibal now waits.

“The…Human did not kill her Queen.” Lord Jakkoto says to his Clan-members, while Will comes over to Hannibal and wraps his arms around his waist then taking a deep breath, Hannibal begins to tell the story.

He tells of the Tribal Village in the Western Lands where he stayed during his travels, which had suddenly become attacked one by an Ancient Beasts who had become a Plague Beast – a seething mass of anger, rage and hate – and would have destroyed everything in it’s path of Hannibal hadn’t killed it.

It was only afterwards, he found out that it had been a female Boar Goddess affected by an Iron bullet used by King Mason’s men. The weapons he found out were used to kill Ancient Beasts.

“Lord Jakkoto, I am sorry for taking the life of your Mate and Queen of your Clan.” He apologises, hearing many of the Boars of the Clan start to cry heavily at the fact their Queen had succumbed to something they had heard only rumours about.

#Hannigram fan-fic #Studio Ghibli AU

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dionysiancell · 7 years ago

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Devi: The Kahn’s Mother

My friends have always found it odd that my favorite part of The Lightning and the Sun is the portion about Genghis Kahn’s mother. I have always been drawn to stories of redemption, especially considering I came to Fascism only when I was a grown man. His mother’s story speaks to the truth that pain can only be contextualized properly at the end of a life. Taking a snapshot at several points in her life, you could be forgiven for thinking her story was some sort of tragedy. A series of unfortunate and pointless twists of fate. It was not destined to be so. I find it the most currently relevant message in the whole book. For this moment in time.

The Child of Violence CH IV

“Just as the physical universe is the masterpiece of divine creativeness in space, so is the history of any “Cycle” the masterpiece of the same impersonal Artistry, in time. No man knows the importance of certain events until they have taken their place as unavoidable details of a historical pattern. But once one can see them in their proper perspective, — however insignificant they may appear, outwardly, when isolated, — one cannot but admire the consistency of the implacable Force which binds cause and effect and compels decaying humanity to hasten to its doom in perfect order.

Some eight hundred years ago, in the country east of Lake Baikal, along the border of the River Onon, a man of the Merkit tribe was taking home his pretty, newly wedded bride, a girl of the Olhonod clan, round-faced, slit-eyed and dark-haired, adorned with heavy silver jewelry and beads of bright blue turquoise. The girl was called Hoelun. She did not know herself what an exceptionally strong, masterful woman she was, nor what a staggering destiny awaited her. She did not know that the “dwellers in felt tents” — the men of the steppes — were to praise her name for all times as the mother and grand-mother of conquerors; the ancestress of dynasties. She merely knew that she was following her husband, for whom she was to work and bear sons, like any other wife. And she was happy. In her complete ignorance of immediate distress and ultimate glories, she smiled to the sweet present. She watched the reflexion of the Sun in the rapid waters of the river, or played with the blue beads of her necklace.

But suddenly her blood went cold. She saw three men on horse-back ride towards her, and she at once understood their purpose. She knew that her one man could not overcome three, and she herself urged him to flee and save at least his own life. She would be lost to him anyhow. So the Merkit fled. The three men galloped nearer and nearer until they reached the girl, seized her and dragged her off. As they carried her away, she wept and lamented. But along the borders of the Orion and from the endless grasslands over which her ravishers rode with her, no answer came to her cries. The bright sky shone above, and the wind swept the green immensity all round her. One of the three men roughly told Hoelun to stop lamenting. “Though thou shouldst weep, thy husband will not turn his head. Seek his traces, thou shalt not find them. Stop thy cries, then, and cease to weep!

And on they went — the three brothers, on horseback, and the sullen girl in her kibitka, drawn by one of the horses — until the day faded over the grasslands without end and the ragged rocks here and there and the burning dust of the barrens; until the hills in the West grew dark against the fiery background of the sky, and the dry air became suddenly cold. The men talked little. A flight of wild birds crossed the sky, far above their heads, and they watched it pass, with sharp, hunters’ eyes. The wheels of the kibitka creaked at regular intervals. Hoelun had ceased weeping. And she did not speak. Resigned — for there was nothing she could do, — she was already beginning to adjust herself to the circumstances that were to mould her life. Unknowingly, she was preparing to make the best of them, as a wise girl she was. The creaking wheels were carrying her nearer and nearer to the tents of the Yakka Mongols, amidst whom she was to fulfill her glorious destiny. The silent and robust young man riding the horse that drew her kibitka was the chieftain of his tribe. His name was Yesugei.

She watched his darkening silhouette that moved before her above that of the horse.”

* * *

“The Sun had set when, at last, they reached the young man’s ordu. Above the western horizon, still glowing crimson, layers of unbelievable hues — limpid gold, and pale, transparent green, and pink, and violet, — succeeded one another, abruptly. The mountains in the east were the colour of lilac. But Hoelun, to whom the splendour of the moistless Mongolian sky was an everyday sight, paid little attention. She only saw the camp into which the men were driving her: the round felt yurts; the evening fires; the forms of herdsmen and warriors, before the fires. She heard voices of men and women; children’s laughter; the neighing of horses, the barking of dogs — the voices of life. There were not as many yurts as she had expected. This was a poor ordu. Yet, it was her new home, now. Not the one her father had planned to give her, but the one the Kings of the invisible world — the spirits of the Eternal Blue Sky, who rule all things visible, — were giving her, because such was their pleasure, and the world’s destiny.

She looked at the strange faces of the new, strange place, with childish curiosity mingled with apprehension and the vague feeling of something momentous. She was being driven. Towards what? For a second, she recalled the familiar countenance of the young Merkit warrior to whom she had been wedded, and she was sad. But she was given no time to ponder over the past. Joyful shouts were already greeting the return of the chieftain Yesugei and of his two brothers, who had dismounted. Women were gathering round her kibitka to have a look at her. And, as many were commenting upon her fair appearance, she felt pleased.

She was given to Yesugei, and there was a feast at the camp, that night. The warriors ate and drank a lot, and minstrels sang. Hoelun’s new life had begun. She was assigned a yurt of her own, and serving women. And Yesugei now spent his nights in that yurt.

She neither lusted after him nor loved him as she had the young husband for the loss of whom she had wept. But she knew that it was her fate to be his wife — to bear sons to the strong man who had stolen her away from the one who had fled. And she submitted to her fate. She worked for Yesugei by day — cooking his food; making felt; dressing skins, and splitting cords from sinews. And at night, when he came to her, she hid her fear of him and her reluctance. She submitted to his passion as the cool, passive, ageless earth submits to the fury of the devastating and fertilising thunder-storm, and she kept her feelings to herself. He was drawn to her by a direct and elemental force like that which gathers together the heavy restless clouds, and loosens rain upon the earth, a force that was beyond him and beyond her, and beyond all men, and that merely used their bodies in order to fulfill the inexorable, hidden logic of evolving history: the superhuman command of Destiny.

During one of those nights, the spark of life was kindled in her womb. And she conceived the son who was to render her name and that of Yesugei immortal; the Child of lust and violence and of divine, irresistible purpose; the future Genghis Khan. But Hoelun did not know it. Nor did Yesugei. No man knows what he is doing when he soothes the fire of his loins in a woman’s belly.

In the camp of the Yakka Mongols and in the wide world outside the camp, everything was — or seemed — the same as on any other night. The bitter wind howled over the barrens, and the River Orion rushed on to mingle its waters with those of the Ingoda and, finally, those of the mighty River Amur. Now and then, the howling of a jackal or of a wolf could be heard within the howling of the wind. But, although no one noticed it, the position of the stars in the resplendent heavens was an unusual one, full of meaning.

And while Hoelun busied herself with the monotonous everyday tasks of life — while she tended her new husband’s yurt and cooked his food, or slept at his side — the child of Destiny took shape within her body. He was born in the year of the Hare according to the Calendar of the Twelve Beasts — the year 1157 of the Christian era, — clutching a clot of blood within his right hand.”

#savitri devi #mongolia #genghis khan

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5hfanfiction · 8 years ago

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Through The Mist (Ch.17)

Chapter XVII: We’re Fifth Harmony Now

–––

A/N: I’M SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. it’s been a long three months - blame school and life.

can you believe it’s been over an entire year since i first posted this fic - in March 2016? i’ve gotten so much love for this story and i can’t thank all of you enough. thank you for being so good to me. :)

oh and don’t question the chapter title lmao. it’s ironic now, i know, but just keep reading. it’ll make sense later. i tried to include more ot5, camren, and humor.

go ahead and read on, and don’t forget to comment ;) i love your reactions. i hope ya’ll enjoy!

—

Previously on TTM,

Artemis summons the girls to inform them that she has a friend who may be of service to them on their quest and orders Thalia and Phoebe to escort them. The girls then prepare to leave the Hunters’ base and ride in Artemis’s silver chariot disguised as a common white van.

During the trip, a distraught Camila has dreams full of memories between her and Dinah in their former romantic relationship, as she finally pushes to move on in sake for a potential future with Lauren. At the same time, Dinah is telling Lauren of their “troublesome adventure” as she accidentally tells Lauren of their past.

When Camila wakes, she confronts an informed Lauren and confirms what Dinah told her. She assures Lauren that she is officially over the past and Lauren confesses that she is bisexual. The two girls exchange personal experiences and learn that their fears are linked with the other’s elemental power. After promising to help each other overcome their fears, Lauren falls asleep in Camila’s arms as they are driven to an unknown destination where Artemis’s helpful friend supposedly awaits their arrival.

–––

Camila sighed in satisfaction, her fingers languidly weaving through Lauren’s dark locks, her fingertips gently rubbing the girl’s scalp. Her eyes were shut as she basked in the serene moment, a small smile twitching on her lips at the sound of Lauren’s soft breathing.

The raven-haired girl was pressed into her side, her hand clutching onto Camila’s shirt as if her life depended on it. The small action made Camila’s heart flutter.

She had remained still in this position for about an hour, her hand continuing its ministrations in Lauren’s hair, content with the neutral expression on the girl’s face. Camila was rewarded with low, subconscious hums of approval and a tighter grip on her shirt.

The fire-wielder wished it could always be this calm and peaceful but she knew better, they all did. Demigods didn’t have the luxury of a normal life when they were occasionally shipped on quests and hunted down by monsters.

Camila found it ironic that most half-bloods longed for a piece of normalcy when that’s all mundanes complained about, claiming it was too boring or tiring.

What humans took for granted, demigods craved.

Funny how the world works; people always seem to get what they don’t actually need.

Pushing her thoughts aside, Camila tilted her head to observe the sleeping daughter of Poseidon. A small smile tugged on her lips at the alluring sight. Her russet eyes raked down from the girl’s thick brows to the slope of her nose and its silver ring piercing to her full, partially chapped lips and strong jaw.

Camila had to admit that Lauren was a work of art, and could honestly spend hours admiring her.

Right as the brunette was about to lean back and relax, the white van came to a halt, awakening the rest of the half-bloods. Groans of confusion filled the heated vehicle and Camila bit back a laugh at her friends’ disheveled appearances.

“Mhm, Camz?” Lauren mumbled sleepily, her eyes opening steadily, revealing brilliant green eyes that left Camila speechless.

Due to their close proximity, Camila could easily see a small ring of a dark amber circling around the black iris before fading into faint specks of gold and light blue within a sea of vibrant green. Camila had never seen another pair of eyes more entrancing than Lauren’s.

Gods, I could literally drown in her eyes and I wouldn’t be happier.

The pyrokinetic swallowed hard, a small blush evident on her cheeks. She managed to hum a response as she could not formulate words.

Lauren rubbed her eye with her free hand, still not noticing how she clung onto Camila. “Where are we?” she asked mindlessly, attempting to work past her slow, foggy brain.

As if expecting her question, Thalia unbuckled her seatbelt and craned her neck to face the quintet. She smirked at their drowsy expressions. “Olympus to half-bloods,” she teased playfully. “I hope you’re all awake and ready to go because we’re here.”

“And where’s here exactly?” Normani questioned tiredly, stifling a yawn. She attempted to blink the sleep out of her eyes, leaning heavily against the side of the van.

Next to her, Ally was quietly conversing with Phoebe, the healer handing her a silver thermos and a small gray bag full of emergency supplies.

A Cheshire-grin curved the lead Hunter’s mouth, her blue eyes electric. “Denver, Colorado. Or as I like to call it, Mile High City. This is your stop.”

“This is where the goddess lives?” Dinah inquired in a loud mumble, knowing that the city gained much snowfall during the winter. “Why couldn’t she choose a warmer place?”

The daughter of Zeus shrugged helplessly. “Beats me. The gods do as they please.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. “Now, bundle up. You’re no use to Apollo with hypothermia.”

The five demigods began to prepare for their meeting with Artemis’s friend and the cold outside world.

Lauren flashed Camila a small smile and sat up, about to gather her belongings, when she finally acknowledged her strong grip on Camila’s shirt. Her fingers twitched and she could feel the firm abdominal muscles lying underneath. A sudden spike of warmth washed over her.

Her green eyes widened in surprise, a steady blush settling over her cheeks. She instantly released Camila with a rushed apology.

Mimicking her actions, Camila smiled fondly at the older girl and shook her head, amazed at how flustered Lauren appeared. “Laur, it’s fine. You were only doing it in your sleep. Besides,” her smile broadened, “it was kinda cute.”

The daughter of Poseidon ducked her head, holding her cheek in embarrassment. “Gods… It’s just, after our talk about our powers, I kinda assumed…”

The silence completed the thought: …that you were afraid of my touch…my abilities…

A small frown tugged at Camila’s lips and she leaned over and took Lauren’s free hand in her own. “We’re supposed to help each other get better through contact and familiarity. How can we get over our fears if we avoid each other?”

Lauren met her gaze and Camila bravely placed their joined hands over her heart. “I’m not afraid of your powers because I trust you. With you, I feel like I can go into the deepest abyss and never drown. You’re my strength, not my weakness. I hope I can be the same for you.”

With a soft smile, Lauren nodded in agreement, swallowing thickly at the strong, continuous heartbeat beneath her hand. “You can’t burn me because you ignite me, Camila. You have a sense of spirit and passion that I can’t help but be drawn to. You’ve taught me to not fear your warm, vibrant flames, and I can’t thank you enough. You’re my hero.”

Camila felt her pulse quicken at the term of endearment and she grinned at the sea spawn. Neither girl minded their joined hands at Camila’s chest. “Don’t forget, you still owe your hero a tour of New York City.”

The ends of Lauren’s eyes crinkled playfully, her front teeth on display in a small grin. “Now how could I forget that? I already know the perfect place to go first.”

Any place is perfect with you.

Both Cubans smiled at each other before they realized that they were in the middle of a van, surrounded by their friends, and they had to compose themselves for the meeting with their mysterious helper. Each girl grabbed their backpack and threw on their jacket, preparing themselves for the cold.

Camila made sure she had her trusty tool belt around her waist and that her custom torch-lighter sword was in the main pocket. Who knew the next time when the demigods would need some hot pockets or her handcrafted “no” button? It was better to be safe than sorry.

She plopped her black snapback on her head, wanting to guard her head from the wind and snow. Even a pyrokinetic was not completely immune to winter’s wrath.

The back doors of the van swung open, revealing a lively Thalia and a nonchalant Phoebe, both donning their silver winter coats. The wide entrance allowed the cool air to sneak in, making the demigods shiver.

The Lieutenant assisted the girls in hopping off the van but Camila was the one who helped Lauren, still wanting to make up for her past behavior with Thalia. She was determined to treat the girl like a princess because Lauren was deserving of such respect.

Snow flurries were gently falling from the clouded sky, melting once it touched their jackets as the temperature wasn’t as cold as the girls initially predicted. The air was thin and the occasional wind was biting to the skin but it was expected since it was winter. All the trees and grass were covered in a thin layer of white, making it difficult to distinguish between certain areas.

Camila tugged at her black sweatshirt and clung onto Lauren’s hand. The raven-haired girl smiled at the presence of the familiar warmth and squeezed the assuring hand.

The pyrokinetic observed her surroundings, noting how the traffic was light. She soon learned that the van was parked on the shoulder lane of East 11th Avenue with North High Street set a block ahead of them. A large sign was grounded a few feet ahead of them with the words ‘WELCOME TO CHEESMAN PARK’ engraved into it.

In the distance, Camila spotted a small parking lot that occupied a few cars. Any people she saw were bundled up and carrying playing equipment suitable for snow. Behind them lay a large fenced area, most likely being paid property.

This is where the goddess chose to be? In the middle of nowhere, in the cold?

Thalia stepped before the quintet, a bittersweet smile on her face. “Well, this is it. My final instructions were to give you tickets just in case Lady Artemis’s friend was feeling playful and ventured into the garden.” She held out five green, medium-sized tickets, each demigod taking one.

The sturdy ticket had the title 'DENVER BOTANIC GARDENS’ imprinted in the center with the date of December eighteenth. It was a one-day adult admission pass.

“Courtesy of Artemis, you can only use these tickets once,” Thalia explained. “It’s unlikely that you’re going to use them but it’s better that you have them on you in case anything happens. My Lady’s friend may be somewhat…unreliable, so we just wanted to cover any worse-case scenarios.”

She pointed behind them toward the bordered area Camila noticed earlier. “That’s the garden, conveniently placed next to the park. The hours are from nine to five and they have overpriced food inside, along with clean bathrooms.”

Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes scrutinizing the girls. “Your guest will be located somewhere in Cheesman Park. I suggest one of the main pavilions, perhaps one made of marble since it is a goddess. If not, use the tickets and go to Botanic Gardens. Check the primary areas, like any pavilions. She should be in either of those places.”

The five friends nodded and tucked their tickets somewhere safe. Camila slipped her own into her tool belt.

The Lieutenant cleared her throat, running a hand through her short, uneven hair. “And that’s it. Phoebe and I have to return to the rest of the Hunters. Lady Artemis wants confirmation that we delivered you safely to your destination. May the gods be with you.”

Thalia and Phoebe exchanged hugs and farewells with the group. Neither party wanted to split up but this wasn’t the Hunters’ quest to complete. The five demigods had to do this on their own—with a little help along on the way.

Electric blue eyes lingered on Camila and the two half-bloods shared an understanding look. “Keep your eyes on the prize, Sparky,” Thalia heeded knowingly as she and Phoebe headed back to the van, ready to make the drive back to Salina, Kansas.

Camila chest expanded at the archer’s reference. “Will do,” she whispered to herself.

The van roared to life and with one last wave of goodbye, the Hunters left as quickly as they arrived in Denver. The only thing left behind were the tire marks in the soft layer of snow.

The group stood there in silence, attempting to wrap their heads around the objective and everything that happened a few hours prior. Everything was a rushed blur and it only made them more aware of the time left before the Solstice.

Flurries fell from the sky, landing on their coats before melting. Their breaths escaped in white smoke, filling the crisp air. The cold nipped their fingers and toes and cupped their faces when a sudden wind passed by. Compared to Artemis’s magically warm sanction, it was unexpectedly chilly in Denver.

Camila turned her head toward Dinah and felt the need to confirm their situation to Lauren. All of them deserved the closure. “China,” she called out, confusing the sea spawn. “Can you come here for a sec?”

The spoken request raised interest in Ally and Normani but they stood off close to the side, quietly observing them as outsiders. They couldn’t help but be nosey on a topic that surrounded half of their team.

The blonde complied and neared the duo, raising a questioning brow. Camila caught the pointed look Dinah sent the other Cuban. “Hey ya’ll, what’s up?”

Clearing her throat, Camila tightened her hold on Lauren’s hand. “I thought that it’d be a good idea to address the elephant in the room before we head off.”

Dinah blinked at her request and searched in Camila’s russet eyes, seeking confirmation. “The elephant in the room,” she repeated lowly, understanding its true meaning. She pursed her lips. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Camila affirmed boldly. “It’s time. It’s been over three months and we’re both over it. Let’s not have it complicate things in the upcoming future.”

A long sigh escaped the daughter of Ares and she nodded in agreement. She faced Lauren, highly aware that Ally and Normani were in earshot. She wanted everyone to hear her next words.

“So it’s true,” Dinah started, “Camila and I used to date but we broke up and we’re over it. We just wanted to let you all know.”

A tense silence settled over the group, each girl processing the confession. Lauren squeezed Camila’s hand in support, a small smile in place. Ally’s eyes were wide in surprise and Normani’s intent gaze darted between the former couple.

Oh gods, what if we messed up the timing?

Camila and Dinah shifted uneasily in the smothering atmosphere, worried over the half-bloods’ reactions. They hadn’t factored in any negative backlash and they suddenly feared it.

“That…explains a lot actually,” Ally voiced after what seemed like hours. Her warm brown eyes were crinkled with a smile. “I could just feel a deeper connection between ya’ll. There was always something off.��

Normani nodded. “Being a child of the goddess of love, I can’t believe I missed all the signs. I’m kinda mad that I didn’t put it together already.”

The shorter girl snorted and nudged Normani. “Come on, Mani. How are you even a child of Aphrodite?”

Slightly offended, Normani crossed her arms. “Girl, I can still Charmspeak your little sunshine butt to—”

“Wait,” Camila interrupted, her brows furrowing. The sudden change in conversation stumped her. “Are you guys okay with former us?” she questioned, pointing between herself and Dinah.

“Yeah,” Normani answered, turning away from Ally. “Why wouldn’t we be? What happened, happened, right? What’s in the past stays in the past.”

“We’re always going to support ya’ll,” Ally added. She smiled brightly at Camila and Dinah. “This doesn’t change anything, okay? Thank you for telling us.”

“As long as you two are cool, we’re cool,” Normani concluded with a casual grin.

Camila and Dinah exhaled in relief, comforted by the fact that their friends were supportive of their old secret. The last thing the best friends wanted was to damage the established group dynamic and make everything awkward as they finally moved on and commenced dating again, quite possibly within their own circle.

Lauren pressed her shoulder into Camila’s, her hand grip firm and assuring. From their proximity, she could smell the familiar detergent scent from Camila’s clean sweatshirt. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go find our mystery helper.”

A mutual understanding passed within the group as they commenced on their trek through the park. Without any objections, the quintet advanced passed the 'CHEESMAN PARK’ sign and a single green, metal trash barrel.

The soles of their sneakers left snowy footprints in the light veil of white coating the wide sidewalk. Tall, bare trees bordered the pathway, its branches thin and covered with snow, its appearance both beautiful and intimidating. The small park streetlamps glowed dimly in the dull sky, accompanying any visitors with its hopeful light, livening the colorless atmosphere.

The girls encountered a handful of mortals on the barren walkway, who were either mindlessly strolling or walking their dog. Most of the people were in the vast field, building snowmen, sledding, or attempting to create a game similar to snow tubing.

Children shouted and cheered with glee while their parents joined them or watched closely from polished wooden benches. Teens and other adults stayed to the side, taking pictures and talking or simply basking in the wintry landscape. It was the perfect weather to enjoy the gentle snowfall.

Camila lingered by the edge of the pathway, abruptly stopping to take in her surroundings. She was never one to rush things, always wanting to savor every little moment life had to offer her before the end of their quest.

Looking at the extensive plane of white, Camila was reminded of Lauren’s adventure in New York with her half-brother, and an idea flashed in her head, making her giddy.

Breathing deeply, she released Lauren’s hand to bend down and scoop up a large quantity of snow in both hands. For a moment, the cold mush burned her hands from the cold but her natural warm shield kicked in, neutralizing the sudden pain. She offered Lauren a crooked grin, letting the white substance melt in her heated palms, water slowly trickling off her fingertips.

“What do you think?” Camila subtly questioned with mischief sparkling in her eyes.

Lauren raised a brow in concentration and the water suddenly floated into the air, swirling in tight, manageable loops. “An interesting twist on a snowball fight,” Lauren commented quietly, catching onto Camila’s hinted message. She couldn’t help but grin slyly at the girl’s idea.

“Hey,” Dinah started, her voice low, “be careful with—”

The tall Polynesian was cut off by the splash of lukewarm water in her face. She spluttered in shock, blinking away the melted snowball as the rest ran down her neck. Her brown eyes hardened at the snickering daughter of Poseidon. “Oh, so you think that’s funny, huh? Bring it on, Jauregui.”

Lauren turned to Camila for help but the brunette shrugged indifferently. “You got yourself into that one, Lo. I didn’t tell you to spray Dinah. You deal with her.”

“Traitor,” Lauren muttered before she retreated into the field of snow with an angry Dinah hot on her heels.

“Come back here, Lauser!” the blonde shouted, startling some of the younger children. As the oldest child in her family, Dinah was ready to seize her revenge on the raven-haired girl.

The two demigods then began throwing snowballs at each other, using the mortals and the trees as shields. They were equally matched as Lauren had no primary source of water to use against Dinah, and no swordplay was involved. It was all a matter of luck.

Ally and Normani were cackling at the scene, each girl placing their bet on who might win—Ally betting five drachma on Lauren, Normani betting five on Dinah.

Present bystanders paused to watch the snow brawl in curiousity. Anyone who protested the fact that their body was being used as a barrier was silenced by a soft snowball to the chest or back, causing them to move away.

Camila just stood there, shaking her head at the playful fight. Running a hand through her hair, she noted how neither girl could get the upperhand. The fire in her chest flickered, aching to put a stop to the derailing dispute.

She started advancing toward the two half-bloods to assist Lauren when a random girl appeared in front of her. Camila halted, her brows furrowing in confusion. Her hands balled into loose fists due to her heightening agitation.

Gods, what now?

The girl was around her age, maybe older, and a few inches taller. She had chestnut blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Her skin was fair with a light tan, concealed by a navy coat. The girl stepped closer, flashing her a pearly white smile, accompanied by rosy cheeks from the cold.

With little interest, Camila acknowledged that the girl was attractive but her type of girl included one with raven locks and thick, dark brows with faint freckles scattered across her nose and the most beautiful pair of green eyes she had ever seen.

“Hi,” the girl greeted chirpily, her eyes roaming Camila’s lean body with piqued interest. “I couldn’t help but notice that you looked a little lost.”

Camila forced a smile, wanting nothing more than to leave. She had already learned her lesson about pointlessly flirting with other girls, even if it came natural to her. It was useless and a clear waste of time when she had the perfect girl just a few feet away, engaged in a snowball fight with her best friend—a fight she was about to end before this girl showed up out of nowhere.

“Uh, well, my friends and I are new to Denver,” Camila explained.

An obviously fake giggle escaped the lighter brunette. “Oh, that explains it. You didn’t look like you were around here, seeing that you’re just in a fitted sweatshirt.” She blatantly checked the Latina out, the action not impressing the pyrokinetic.

“I don’t really feel the cold,” Camila commented lamely, absentmindedly rubbing her forearm.

“All that muscle must keep you warm.” The girl tried to feel Camila’s bicep but was denied with a simple sidestep. She played it off with a cough. “You work out?”

“Yes, I work out,” Camila answered impassively. “And yeah, we’re just visiting the area.”

The girl’s eyes lit up in a way that unsettled Camila. “Ooh, I love visitors! Do you need help finding a specific location?”

Camila refrained from raising a brow at the girl’s vague intentions but decided to seek her offered help instead. “Um, is there like a big marble pavilion around here? Someone told us to meet up there but we don’t know where to go.”

The girl nodded and bit her lip, which had no effect on Camila. “Keep going up this pathway until you reach an intersection. Take a left when you’re there and it should be straight ahead. There should be some fountains in front of it.”

The pyrokinetic mentally jotted the information down and smiled gratefully at the stranger. She was glad to now have a sense of direction in the spacious park. “Wow, thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” the girl admitted, brushing it off. Her eyes darted from Camila’s eyes to her lips, taking her own between her teeth. “But,” she continued, her tone dropping, “You could thank me in another way.”

Camila’s throat bobbed in worry, her body becoming jittery with the need to leave. Her hands heated up in uncertainty.

Oh gods, did I accidentally lead her on? Was the “so much"excessive?

The blue-eyed girl stalked closer, invading Camila’s personal space. Her eyes had gotten noticeably darker and her mouth was curved into a smug smirk. She honestly thought she had Camila under her trance. "How about you give me your number and you can properly thank me later tonight?” she husked.

Camila’s eyes widened at the implied request. She knew the girl was going to make a move on her but she didn’t expect it to be so blunt and vulgar. The question had left her speechless, completely throwing her off guard.

Before she could utter a word, someone suddenly joined them, linking their hand with Camila’s. The familiar presence snapped Camila’s frozen body to life and she smiled at the person beside her.

Lauren stood by her side, her green eyes narrowed suspiciously at the random girl. “Camz, who is this?” she inquired in a sharp tone.

The two taller girls sized each other up and the Denverite crossed her arms over her chest with a slight frown. Lauren nearly laughed at how the girl pathetically attempted to look more intimidating when she was the daughter of Poseidon and an excellent swordsman, who would have no struggle with the lighter brunette if things came down to a physical confrontation.

But Lauren knew that Camila would inevitably interfere, unwilling to let her to get harmed in any situation, even if the odds were in her favor. Though donning the necessary muscle, the younger brunette was more likely to use her head over brute strength. That mindset only faltered when it came down to protecting Lauren. Camila’s underlying feelings got the better of her sometimes.

Camila rubbed the back of her neck tiredly. “She was just giving me directions to the pavilion. I was just about to leave and find you.”

The other girl’s frown deepened in protest. “But I asked you for your—”

Lauren’s eyes flashed dangerously, her grip on Camila’s hand tightening. “For her what?”

The lighter brunette scoffed at how she was rudely interrupted. “It’s none of your business. This is between me and her.”

Oh honey, you couldn’t be more wrong.

Just as Lauren was about to spit out a multitude of insults, Camila pulled on their joined hands, leaning into the older Latina’s ear. “Lauren, please, she’s not worth it,” she mumbled, keeping her calm facade. “C'mon, let’s go get the girls and go to the pavilion.”

Lauren let out a shaky exhale and nodded, comforted by Camila’s steady voice and firm grip. Her eyes were still violent storms as she glared at the other girl. “Oh, and it’s too bad because I just made it my business,” Lauren retorted. “No one messes with my Camz.”

Camila ignored the way her stomach flopped at Lauren’s bold claim but couldn’t fight back the large smile that spilled onto her face. “Alright, come on, you,” she teased, dragging Lauren back to the other girls.

She was not at all bothered by the abrupt jealous side Lauren displayed because of the random girl. A little possessiveness was usually healthy and only meant that the taller girl cared.

“Wait!” the lighter brunette argued, her feet planted to the ground. “I didn’t get your number!”

“Don’t have one!” Camila replied loudly, sending Lauren a fond grin, who in turn, rolled her eyes. Ironically, it was the truth because they were half-bloods with restricted access to modern technology. “Thanks for the help though!”

The duo cackled at the lighter brunette’s annoyed “hmph” and dramatic storming off, joining her distanced pack of friends who looked as snobby as she was.

Camila had never been so relieved to ditch a random pretty girl. “Gods, she was getting on my last nerve.”

Lauren snorted, bumping her shoulder with Camila’s. “Well, at least you seemed to have it under control. I, on the other hand…”

“Lo, you looked like you wanted to murder her on the spot,” she jested, secretly finding a jealous Lauren cute and hot.

“Hey, you said it yourself, she was annoying.” Lauren paused, catching a glimpse of their fellow demigods up ahead. “What’d she say anyway?”

Camila pinched the bridge of her nose once she recalled the moment. She wanted to burn the memories from her mind. “As a plus for helping me, she wanted my number so we could hook-up later. Gods, I made it so obvious that I wasn’t interested but some people just can’t take a hint.”

Lauren’s face hardened at the thought of another girl provocatively hitting on Camila. The mere notion of it didn’t sit well with her. She had come so close to lashing out, the only thing keeping her at bay being Camila’s warm touch and wise words. “Well, I’m just glad we told her to fuck off.”

“Lauren, I’m a gentlewoman. I’d never tell a girl to fuck off.”

Unless she was really messing with you, then it’s a whole other story.

“Well, maybe you’re too good for your own good, and she clearly deserved it.”

Lauren occasionally worried that Camila cared too much for others and not enough for herself, as heroic and selfless as it was. Being a demigod, that quality only increased one’s risk of premature mortality. In the end, the flames would become too intense, even for the daughter of Poseidon to extinguish, and it would consume the pyrokinetic.

Sometimes, a person’s downfall was their greatest virtue, or as demigods liked to call it, their fatal flaw. A wise goddess once said that the most dangerous flaws were those that were good in moderation.

Finally reuniting with their friends, Camila shrugged, adjusting her bag. “What’s done is done, Lo.” Her russet eyes flitted from Lauren to a soggy-looking Dinah and she stifled a snort. “Uh, Dinah—”

The blonde raised a steady hand, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her jacket was darker due to the collected moisture of an onslaught of snowballs, and her hair was unkempt and damp. It was an accurate representation of a defeated player. “Don’t even ask. Somehow, Kelp Head beat me in the snowball fight.”

In the corner of Camila’s eye, she saw Ally’s grin broaden and Normani’s shoulders slump in disappointment. The brunette bit her lip at the drachma exchange between them, raising a brow at the golden coins Normani placed in Ally’s hand.

They would bet on this… Also, why didn’t I?

Lauren shifted on her feet, wearing a small smile at the aftereffects of their little snow fight. “Yeah, it just happened.”

Dinah blinked at the girl’s reclusive state and began to grin. “You know, I couldn’t help but notice that you got a lot fiercer after you noticed that girl talking to Camila,” she drawled, causing Camila to raise a brow. “I wonder what gave you that extra strength—”

“Okay,” Lauren interrupted, a small blush evident on her cheeks. She refused to meet Camila’s questioning gaze. “Don’t be a sore loser because I easily kicked your ass in a snowball fight.”

“Hand me an actual weapon, Jauregui, and then we’ll talk.”

Camila ran a hand through her hair in slight exasperation. “Guys, now is not the time. We finally know where the pavilion is.”

Ally immediately perked up at the news, eager to have a lead. “Well then, what are we waiting for? It’s the eighteenth and we have until the twenty-first to be San Francisco. Lead the way!”

She skipped ahead, making the other girls chuckle. The oldest demigod was such a child at heart and it was delightful to witness it. In times of panic and craze, it was good to remain pure of heart. Someone had to be the beacon of light in a dark, long tunnel.

The four girls quickly followed in suit, learning that Ally was quite capable of moving far distances with her short legs. Camila assumed it was due to her many years at camp, because how else could someone with such short legs move that fast.

While Ally led the way, Normani and Lauren were in front of the youngest half-bloods, discussing of possible ways to approach the mystery immortal. The daughter of Apollo pitched in from time to time while keeping an eye out for the marble pavilion.

Gods, how big is this damn park? Camila pondered absentmindedly as five minutes passed.

Camila and Dinah were busy staring at their surroundings and commenting on random occurrences to voice their thoughts to the other girls. The duo even created a game where they guessed what people were thinking from just their facial expressions, which then developed into making up a person’s backstory with a comedic twist.

The makeshift game caught the attention of the older girls, prompting light grins on their faces. Lauren fought to hold back giggles at Camila’s absurdly vivid descriptions of people’s thoughts and backstories while they slipped on ice and tried to play it off.

While Camila had a couple witty remarks, Dinah was in the lead by a few points. Before she could crush Camila with the ultimate comeback, the Polynesian captured a glimpse of a Caucasian male in camo pants and a gray hoodie, the distinct clothing style triggering a memory.

“Oh my gods, Mila, do you remember that stupid military chant we made up at Denton? The one we almost got expelled for?” Dinah suddenly spouted, her face lit up with joy.

It only took a second for the memory to click, making Camila’s eyes go wide. In her opinion, it was one of her proudest moments. “Holy shit, that was the best thing I’ve ever come up with.”

The curt song was made by Camila with Dinah’s occasional input in the span of ten minutes. They were to recite it in front of their sophomore class but couldn’t finish it because as soon as Camila uttered the first line, they were dragged to the administrator’s office and had lunch duty for two weeks. Camila still couldn’t remember the class the assignment was for.

She had forgotten how clever and snarky she was back at Denton Academy. From sneaking around to helping prank the entire senior class as a freshman, Camila was the loose definition of an undisciplined child. The suffocating school only made her creativity spike to great heights, fueling her riddled thoughts.

After all, a strict and oppressive environment only led to witty and sarcastic kids who questioned and broke every unjust rule set before them.

The loud confession snatched Normani’s attention as she slowed her pace, now only slightly ahead of the best friends. “Uh, what was it?” she asked innocently, her head turning to glance at the two girls. She was curious of their past in a boarding academy.

Camila and Dinah exchanged thoughtful looks before donning similar smirks, their eyes sparkling with rekindled mischief.

Normani was going to regret her simple question.

Clearing her throat, Camila cupped her mouth and inhaled deeply, creating a curt tension in the calm atmosphere before her blaring voice tore through the silence.

“Tits and ass are really great!” the brunette chanted in a military style, grinning maniacally at the bewildered stares she earned from random bystanders.

“Tits and ass are really great!” Dinah repeated with the same enthusiasm and hand motion, her eyes crinkled while on the brink of laughter.

Camila continued with, “But it sucks when you both menstruate!”

“But it sucks when you both menstruate!” Dinah echoed, taking a step forward. Turning to the Latina, she concluded the song with erratic pointing gestures toward her friend. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, Mila’s gay as hell, son!”

The two best friends burst into laughter after the improvisational chant, proud of how well they delivered it on the spot. Ally just shook her head in the front, giggling softly at how silly the girls were. Lauren held her stomach from laughter, clearly enjoying the impromptu moment.

Normani whipped her head toward the girls with her brows raised. She was trying to decipher the meaning of the song and how it related to the two former girlfriends.

“Wait, so are you both gay?” she queried for clarification, knowing that she didn’t ask about their sexualities when they admitted their past romantic relationship before. She couldn’t just assume that they were both gay until she asked.

Dinah shook her head, jutting a finger towards Camila. “Nah, she’s the gay one. I’m poly.”

Normani frowned, followed by the tilt of her head. “Polynesian?”

Camila sniggered, remembering her old pun, as Dinah pursed her lips with patience. “Yes and no. I’m a polysexual Polynesian.”

“Poly-squared,” the pyrokinetic muttered before receiving a punch to the shoulder.

Normani blinked in surprise before smiling warmly at the girls. She loved it when people openly accepted the gender of the person they were attracted to. “Aw, that’s so great. I’m pansexual.”

Dinah’s jaw went slack at the confession, her eyes roaming the dark-skinned goddess before her in a brand new light. Her palms began to perspire lightly at the inviting thought. “You’re pan?”

Nomani raised a brow, a small smirk twisting her full lips. “Love has no gender, baby,” she stated with ease before strolling back to the daughter of Poseidon, leaving the two best friends in shock.

Lauren simply chuckled at their expressions, knowing how sensually playful Normani could be. The girl was incredibly charming and flirtatious, even without the use of her Charmspeak powers. The only other person she knew who might be a better flirt was Camila, with her bright brown eyes and an infectious crooked grin.

It was no surprise that Lauren harbored a small crush on Normani when she first met her, but it quickly wore off as they became best friends. When Camila barged into Lauren’s life, she knew it was impossible not to fall for the caring, goofy Latina.

Life had a knack of messing with her love life. If she only knew what Camila had went through with her own encounter with the goddess of love, then she wouldn’t think anything else.

In the front, Ally had heard the entire conversation and was immensely proud her friends and how open they were about their romantic-slash-sexual preferences.

However, she soon realized that she was the only one who was straight among the group. “Ya’ll, I feel left out now,” she playfully uttered with a soft pout.

“Lauren, Dinah, and Normani still like guys though,” Camila pointed out while fixing her snapback. “I’m all about the ladies,” she added as an afterthought with her signature heart-throb grin. Lauren could already feel her heart flutter.

“It’s not the same,” Ally mumbled, intentionally dragging her feet to be overdramatic. As a daughter of Apollo, she was a great actress, even though she struggled to hide her smile at the looks she received from her friends.

The other four girls laughed at her simulated depressed state and continued forward. In the distance, they could make out the a row of fountains with the outline of a large marble pavilion behind it. Excitement began to fester within the girls as they finally approached their destination.

Surprisingly, this location was the most congested area of the park. People were taking pictures of the impressive pavilion and wandering around in small groups. Light conversations filled the chilly air, livening the colorless surroundings. Even families were present, some with baby strollers and senior citizens with canes.

Somehow, the water fountains were functional as some kids messed with the icy water, spraying it toward others. Camila supposed that it wasn’t cold enough for the fountains to completely freeze over. Lauren’s gaze unintentionally lingered on the water source.

The demigods halted at the footsteps of the pavilion, trying to come up with a solid game plan because they couldn’t just barge through and start looking around like maniacs while in public.

Mortals continued to brush passed them as if they were in a crowded city. Unlike them, the girls were more focused on searching for a mysterious goddess than the frosty garden fountains.

Camila’s brows furrowed in concentration. “If I were a goddess awaiting guests in the main section of a park, where would I be?”

Lauren leaned into her. “We could always check the pavilion but we have to be subtle as to not draw attention to ourselves,” she suggested, watching Ally carefully inspect the white building.

“True, but immortal beings always attract unwanted attention so we have to be careful, especially with this many people around in such an open space.” With a small grin, Camila added, “Wouldn’t want to be on the news again, now would we?”

Lauren snickered at the reference to the bus incident including the clique of empousai and easily agreed, not wanting to be mistaken for an accomplice to murder again.

In the corner of Camila’s eye, she spotted a huddled trio of late middle-aged Hispanic women not too far from where they were standing. She stiffened when their intent gazes locked onto her and Lauren.

Oh, not again. Please don’t be monsters.

She gripped Lauren’s hand and subconsciously took a step toward the women to listen to their rampant conversation. Somehow, she was able to catch onto some of what they were saying to each other about them.

“Ay, mirenlas. Son hispanas pero me imagino que no hablan español. Esta nueva generación está renunciando sus raíces porque son huevones. Todo les pesan y solo pasan en esos pinches teléfonos. ¡Se están convirtiendo en gringas pero hasta los gringos pueden hablar espanol!”

[Translation: Ay, look at them. They’re Hispanic but I bet that they don’t speak Spanish. This new generation is giving up on its roots because they’re all lazy nowadays. Everything is a burden to them and they’re always on their fucking phones. They’re turning into white girls but even white people know how to speak Spanish now!]

Camila’s expression darkened and Lauren’s jaw grounded in irritation. They both understood what it was like to be the new Hispanic generation in America as the older generation patronized and belittled them for not knowing the smallest cultural custom when they couldn’t even work their own phone without help.

If a Spanish-speaking Latina is what they want, oh, they’re about to get a real fiery one.

The other three half-bloods could feel the shift in the group dynamic, silently encouraging the pair to go off on the Hispanic women, knowing a bit of Spanish themselves to see why their conversation bothered the two Cubans.

“Go get'em,” Ally coaxed with a wicked smile.

Without a second thought, Camila guided a furious Lauren to the trio of condescending women and smiled sweetly at their startled expressions. Camila faked a friendly wave, her cold eyes roaming across their anxious faces. She couldn’t be less afraid of these disrespecting women when she’s faced fearsome monsters and survived near-death experiences.

“Hablamos español,” Camila and Lauren claimed simultaneously, raising a brow at the now guilt-ridden women.

[Translation: We speak Spanish.]

“Y no podía dejar de escuchar toda la mierda que decían,” Lauren added spitefully with a smile. She stepped forward, obviously intimidating the women. “La próxima vez, dinos esto a nuestras caras en vez de hablar sin saber nada.”

[Translation: (1) And I couldn’t help but hear all the shit you were saying. (2) Next time, tell this to our faces instead of talking without knowing anything.]

Camila smiled fondly at a pissed Lauren before redirecting her attention to the three Hispanic women, who were too overdressed for thirty degree weather. Their eyes were wide, faces flushed with anger and embarrassment. They clearly weren’t expecting to be told off and Camila chest expanded with pride at what Lauren said before.

“Que tengan un buen dia, señoras,” she concluded sarcastically, dragging Lauren away before she could do anything she’d later regret.

[Translation: Have a good day, ladies.]

The three women were left speechless, mouths agape in shock. In the distance, you could hear Dinah cackling loudly in the background as Ally and Normani shared a high-five, applauding their friends.

“The nerve of those women,” the raven-haired girl grumbled as they walked back to the group. “They love to talk about shit that has nothing to do with them but get offended when someone talks bad about them.”

“Hey,” Camila soothed, stroking the back of Lauren’s hand with her thumb, “Forget about them. Why should we care about what they think when we’re trying to save the world?” She pulled her close. “Get your head back in the game, Jauregui.”

As much as the sight of an angry Lauren was appealing, Camila knew it was wise to get the girl in a clear and focused mindset while on their quest. It was no good to impair her judgement and reasoning because of some hypocritical women who regularly stuck their noses into other people’s business.

With a huff, Lauren dropped the subject, her body’s rigidness and facial anger lines dissipating. “Better?” she inquired, flashing her big green eyes at her.

“Much better, babe,” Camila confirmed with a soft smile, the term rolling off her tongue without her permission.

Before the daughter of Poseidon could question it, the duo reunited with the rest of the group, who had figured out a plan to their small dilemma of a wild goose chase with a mystery goddess.

“Let’s walk inside the pavilion and head to the back,” Ally advised. “Most visitors only care about what the front looks like, not the back. It’s worth a try.”

The demigods exchanged looks and unanimously agreed to the suggestion. The quintet began moving up the marble stairway in a tight formation with Ally in the front, followed by Normani and Dinah with Camila and Lauren taking up the rear.

Camila’s hand was tightly grasping Lauren’s as her other hand hovered over the main pocket of her tool belt, which contained her custom sword. She knew better than to fall for another ambush attack, especially after almost dying because of one.

No mortals gave them second glances as they proceeded to the open entrance of the white building. A group of slow teenage girls was nothing alarming to them.

The half-bloods drew in a deep breath at the same time as they set foot in the main infrastructure. Each footstep on the marble floor echoed in Camila’s ears as they delved deeper into the building.

It was a simple pavilion, with its only distinguishable quality being its larger size. The walls were plain and smooth, not holding a single art piece. Few people ventured inside as it appeared better from the outside than from within.

Toward the the farthest end stood a lone, slender young woman, who donned a black trench coat. Her long honey blonde hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves, complimenting her fair skin. She was looking down at something in her hands, completely unaware of the steadily approaching demigods.

A warm, inviting aura radiated off her and Camila felt a familiar tug in her gut. Her hands heated up momentarily and she quickly subdued any abnormal heat but it was too late.

The woman’s head turned to their direction and Camila faltered at the sight of those intense baby blue eyes staring back at her. She was struck by her innocent and human-like beauty. The woman appeared to be nineteen, or at least, that’s what it looked like what she was aiming for.

Unexpectedly, the young woman smiled kindly and motioned them forward. With a mind of their own, the girls’ feet moved with their own accord until they were a few feet away from the mysterious blonde.

Since the stranger was completely facing them, Camila could finally get a good look at what they were wearing. Her eyes widened at the sight of a flowy white top with a gold line embroidered across the middle and denim shorts. Greek gladiator sandals adorned the woman’s feet.

The blonde stranger smiled sheepishly at Camila’s perplexed stare before recomposing herself. “I don’t get cold,” she commented, wiggling her toes in her leather sandals. Her soft, soothing voice surprised Camila.

Just as Camila was about to question the mysterious woman, the blonde gazed deep into her eyes, those intense baby blue orbs stifling any outgoing words. Camila’s entire body froze and she felt like someone was digging inside her soul. Her chest tightened as her grip on Lauren’s hand slackened to the point where she was barely holding on.

The woman’s eyes shone with delight, a small smile curling her pink lips. “You don’t need water to feel like you’re drowning, do you?” she queried, tilting her head to the side. Her bright eyes narrowed. “A single glance was all it took.”

Those words shocked Camila because the only people who knew about her fear of drowning were Lauren and Dinah, and she was the only person who knew how Lauren affected her since day one.

A single glance was all it took.

It was the frightening truth that Camila was unwilling to face.

Dinah’s brows knitted together at how unusually quiet and still Camila was and fit the puzzle pieces together in her mind. “You summoned us,” she declared, breaking the spell between the woman and Camila, who felt like she could finally breathe. “You’re the friend Artemis was talking about.”

The immortal blinked and smiled proudly at her. “Well done, daughter of Ares.”

Lauren clutched at Camila’s slipping hand, holding her close. “Who are you?”

“I am Harmonia, goddess of peace, harmony, and concord,” the blonde announced, her line of vision straying on the recovering daughter of Hephaestus. “I apologize for invading your privacy. Your aura piqued my interest with its fiery brilliance.”

Camila nodded and rubbed the back of her neck, managing to understand the immortal’s curiosity. The blonde only looked a few years older them, making it easier to sympathize with her. “Let me guess, never met a demigod who could harness fire?”

The goddess smiled widely. “Indeed. You’re quite the talk back on Olympus, seeing as it’s been hundreds of years since the last pyrokinetic, which was in the 1600s.”

All of the girls cringed at the recollection of Thomas Faynor and his burning bakery. They did not want a reencounter of a deserted bakery bursting into violent flames. Lauren stood impossibly close to the brunette, who stared blankly at the goddess.

Camila pursed her lips. “Well, I’m honored, I guess. I’ll try not to burn any major cities down,” she continued humorlessly.

“Oh, you’ll be fine. You seem to be in control of your power. In fact, you might be the strongest pyrokinetic the gods have ever seen,” the goddess admitted nonchalantly. “That is the only worry we have about you.”

Camila raised an eyebrow in surprise but said nothing, balling her free hand into a loose fist.

Harmonia’s perfectly arched brow crinkled with an abrupt thought. “You passed Pennsylvania without visiting my statue,” she claimed, feeling slightly insulted by their ignorance.

“Um, we’re sorry?” Normani apologized, not wanting to upset the goddess. She didn’t even know if her Charmspeak could work on immortals. “We were in a hurry.”

“We were trying to complete a quest,” Ally added, “which Lady Artemis said you could help us with.” The half-bloods awaited a positive response.

Harmonia’s face brightened. “Oh, yes, the quest. Yes, I have information about the prophecy you so wish to decipher.” She stepped toward them with a small grin. For a moment, she looked like a regular college girl with her innocent excitement. “But first, I must name you.”

Dinah blinked twice. “Name us?”

“To not show favoritism and to have someone to represent me to the big shots,” Harmonia clarified, referencing the Olympians. She tapped her chin as she brainstormed for ideas. “There’s five of you… And from what I’ve seen, you all work in sync… In harmony… My name is Harmonia…”

Her blue eyes momentarily glowed with immense joy. “Fifth Harmony! I will now refer to you as Fifth Harmony. It suits your group perfectly.”

The demigods shared a certain look but thought better than to argue with the goddess, regardless if she was a minor one. And neither wanted to admit it but that name had a nice ring to it. They could manage it if they had to.

“So, we’re Fifth Harmony now?”

Harmonia clapped her hands with a confident smile. “Precisely. You, Fifth Harmony, will strive to maintain the peace in the world. I have great faith that you will have great success in doing so. Oh, I can already see…”

It was obvious she was going to continue going off topic until someone interrupted her. Consulting with a being with no firm grasp of time was a difficult challenge. They were only fortunate that this immortal seemed to be forgiving and laidback.

Camila rubbed her right temple, knowing that they were wasting precious time. Since neither of her friends spoke up, she thought she might as well say something. The completion of quest depended on it.

“Look, I don’t want to sound disrespectful,” Camila interrupted, certainly catching the blonde’s attention, “The name is great and all, but we’re only here because you know what this 'chaos’ is. Can we get to that please? We’re on a time limit to save the world.”

The other demigods sucked in an anxious breath as they anticipated the immortal to lash out in anger and probably vaporize Camila, but only received a bitter smile and dull blue eyes in return.

Harmonia’s expression no longer appeared joyful and at peace. Her body composure was forced and rigid. She lost her radiant aura and she suddenly looked older than her early twenties. Even her hair seemed to lose its distinct silky shine. She looked as if she was carrying a heavy, overbearing burden and was dying to just let go.

To some level, Camila could relate, although only through a dream. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what it would be like in reality.

It was a peculiar sight to see an immortal age and appear vulnerable. The mere concept frightened the half-bloods.

“You aren’t going against the primordial deity Chaos, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Harmonia stated quietly. “If that were the case, the gods would have taken care of that situation themselves.”

Ally frowned, her pulse picking up speed due to the ugly, hurtful emotions of anger and resentment. “The gods let the Titans come back,” she remarked sharply, her voice growing thick.

She swallowed hard at the unforgettable memories that now replayed in her mind. Ally clenched her eyes shut at the gut-wrenching sounds of campers crying out in pain, the nauseating smell of mortal blood and monsters’ rancid mouths, and several dead bodies lying on the cold ground, either friend or foe.

Her body jerked at the distinct memory of the haunting gold eyes of Kronos in Luke’s body from far away, still managing to strike fear into her young heart.

Tears threatened to form in the corners of Ally’s eyes as her dull fingernails dug into her palms. Even though she was sixteen at the time, the memories occasionally tormented her, reminding her of what being a demigod was truly like. “I lost so many good friends because the gods didn’t intervene then.”

Dinah stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Ally who accepted the embrace, Normani soon following in suit. No one wanted to see Ally suffer from past traumatic experiences.

A dark shadow loomed over Harmonia’s face. She flinched at the curt reference to the violent war that occurred four years ago. The mere mention of factual discord seemed to drain her.

“I… We, the gods, and the Titans are not on the same playing field as primordial deities,” she stressed. “That is a completely different matter and would be handled in a different, less barbaric, manner.”

“Then who are we facing?” Ally demanded, startling both Normani and Dinah. She no longer donned her usual sweet and polite facade. Ally was tired of compromising and giving in. She wanted answers and she wouldn’t stop fighting until she achieved them.

Harmonia’s pale lips quivered into a bitter smile. Her blue eyes were cloudy, thundering skies, accompanied by light bags underneath them, but they harbored a familiar passion that Camila’s only seen in Dinah, Normani, and the goddess of love.

Gears started to turn in the brunette’s mind and her eyes widened at the realization of Harmonia’s unspoken parentage.

“You’re going against my aunt, Eris, and she’s looking for demigod blood.” Harmonia weakly jutted a thumb toward the pyrokinetic. “Preferably Camila’s.”

–––

A/N: and that’s all for this chapter. it’s roughly 9.0k but a lot happens in it. i’m actually quite proud of this chapter. i hope ya’ll enjoyed it! what did you like most?

oh and for some reason, it got dark so oops. hope the comedy and the camren satisfied you. i’ll try to update asap next time because school is almost over but i have tests first. :/

since it’s WAY past the one year anniversary of Through The Mist and it’s the seventeenth chapter, which correlates with my age, i’ll just tell ya’ll a little about myself because i honestly don’t have anything better to do.

- i’m a junior in high school - please kill me - i currently play rugby - i’m a proud bi latina - i’m obsessed with superheroes, females especially - i’m a firm believer that camila tops - i love dogs and i would die for them

oh, and happy spring break to those who are on it (like me for instance)! be safe out there, kiddos. till next time!

tumblr/wattpad: hellyeahfeels

#UPDATE #AU #slash #camren #action adventure #humour #scifi supernatural fantasy #submission #Through The Mist

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istrys · 8 years ago

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Nothing Ventured Pt 6

Whitstan remained at the hallway crossroads with the few survivors, keeping to himself while the others tried their best to endure their debilitating curse. Although the former Spell-Breaker made good time vanquishing that enormous fel bat and rescuing the survivors, something felt incredibly wrong. He kept his seething runesword in its sheath, silently awaiting for his two partners to return; but the longer he stared down the darkened halls, the worse his scowl became. Istrys and Ijiro were late.

“Someone approaches.” Ellyria’s voice licked the back of his neck, stirring the Knight to clutch the hilt of his sword while taking a few steps forward. The others perked up once the sound of meaty footsteps reached them, picking up their meager weapons to defend themselves. Much to their relief, it was several undead escorting a familiar Necromancer.

“Istrys…?” Whitstan started, slowly releasing his grip on his weapon, much to the dismay of the bloodthirsty spirit trapped within the blade. Istrys looked like she had barely escaped her second death, covered in scratches and cuts from head to toe; the corners of her mouth were split open, and with her ghouls carrying her, it was clear she was too weakened to stand. “What happened to you?”

“I found our Oathguard Val’kyr.” the Necromancer wearily glanced up at the former Breaker through her silver hair, but the presence behind her eyes did not go unnoticed. “The Burning Legion tortured her to the edge of her True Death… so I absorbed her essence and ended her suffering.” Whitstan pursed his lips into a frown, disappointed the main objective in this mission was a bust. Still, this essence she absorbed could prove useful to her cause; alas, getting these few Knights back in fighting shape would have to suffice for now.

“She’s lying.” The San’layn spirit whispered to her keeper, causing his ears to flicker in response; he wanted to inquire further, but he knew these questions would have to wait. “She’s amassed quite a bit of power since we last saw her, and she’s vulnerable in this state… we should claim this power for ourselves.”

“Are you going to recover from this?” Whitstan asked, grinding his teeth as he did his best to ignore the temptation by the malicious spirit.

“I just need some time to get used to… whatever this is.” Istrys’ gaze fell to the former Breaker’s treads, but whether she was getting uncomfortable lying to his face or if she was simply too weak to keep her head up remained to be seen. “Is the Redblood back yet? His job was to distract the Dreadlord, not kill it.”

“No, I haven’t seen him since we split up.” He glanced over his shoulder at the other Knights, who were back to being preoccupied with dealing with their maddening cravings. “They’re on the verge of becoming feral, and they’re far too weak right now to fight. Do you think you can escort them to the surface?”

“While you do what, dry hump a rock waiting for our bloodhound?” A light huff slipped from his mouth, relieved her apparent injuries weren’t serious enough to rid her of her sass.

“I’m going to see what’s taking Ijiro so long.” the former Breaker, turned toward the third hallway, pausing to push the silent warnings his sword-bound spirit was barraging him with. “Assuming he isn’t already dead.”

“If he hasn’t shown up now, he’s surely captured or killed. Why bother risking yourself down there when you already know the answer?” Istrys weakly glanced up at him with cold indifference. “He’s just a Redblood, afterall.”

“I’m not doing this for his sake. I’m doing it for Syrahn’s.” Whitstan gave the Necromancer a disinterested shrug. “I owe her that much, I suppose.”

“More girls to fawn over you, huh? Fine. But if you die and you’re boiling in the Void, when we eventually meet again I’m going to tell you how stupid this all was.” Istrys leaned back in her ghoul’s arms, adjusting to her newfound power far faster than she would have thought. “We’ll be waiting on the surface… at least I will. As soon as we reach the entrance these goons are going right back to the Acherus to get in killing shape.”

“I’ll catch up with you soon, then.” Whitstan gave the woman a quick glance over before lightly jogging down the darkened hallway, now far too impatient to stick around for any more smalltalk. Although he could barely see down the hallway, he already knew where to go; all he had to do was follow the ominous power of whatever demon lurked at the bottom of this once-impregnable prison.

“This is foolhardy.” Ellyria warned, causing the former Breaker to clench his fists. “We don’t have enough power to defeat this threat… all thanks to your empathy, I might add.”

“You and Istrys are starting to sound the same.” Whitstan huffed out, spotting a bloated corpse in his path just quickly enough to step over. “Are you two related?”

“Funny.” Irritation dripped from the spirit’s voice, which only stirred a smirk from her master; it wasn’t often he was able to get under her skin. “But I’m serious. This demon… it will kill you. It will kill you and rip your soul from your corpse… like you did mine.”

“I’m not down here to slay it, though I won’t overlook that opportunity if it presents itself.” he turned a corner to see the end of a spiraling staircase was incredibly well lit. “Ijiro is coming back with me by my side or over my shoulder; either way, we’re getting out of this place in one piece.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident. There are a great many things you don’t understand about the Legion. I wouldn’t be surprised if that mortal we’re trying to save is being used as bait to lure us in.”

“Heh… now you’re starting to sound like Rethandus.” Whitstan assured, slowly peering around the corner to avoid any detection. “I’m sure Ijiro is handling himself just fine.”

Ijiro was sent flying through the air like a ragdoll, slamming hard into one of the support pillars; he slid a few more feet across the ground, stopping in a cloud of dust and debris. The Hunter grit his bloodstained teeth from the pain that wracked his body, and he was certain he broke something. A cruel laugh rolled across the open chamber, foretelling the source of an overwhelming power and the demon that wielded it.

“My my, that was a nasty fall.” Umbragos curled his lips back into a sinister grin, flashing his razor-sharp fangs. “I’m surprised I didn’t snap your back in half with that last one.” Slowly Ijiro rolled himself onto his stomach, letting out a pained grunt once he started forcing himself to rise to his feet. “Tossing you about has been unusually amusing, mortal… but now your tenacity is beginning to bore me.”

“S-say that to my face…” Ijiro pressed his back against another support pillar, barely strong enough to stand up straight.

“What do you plan to do? Bravado me to death?” The Dreadlord chuckled maliciously. “Squashing you beneath my hooves will be a simple task. You are weak.”

“Strong enough…” the Hunter leaned forward, staggering for a few steps while he clutched his stomach. “... to make you bleed.”

“You think these scratches mean anything to me?” Umbragos threw his head back as another cruel laugh bellowed from the back of his throat. “Do you have any last words, mortal? I’ll be sure to deliver them to your family as they prostrate before me, begging for mercy.” Ijiro refrained from a retort, hoping he could catch his breath before this Dreadlord moved in to finish him off. He unclipped a small crimson vial from his belt, thankful it hadn’t shattered from his countless collisions within the former prison. ‘Just a little more time…’ he thought as he popped off the cap and downed it with two quick gulps, using his renewed albeit diminishing strength to stand up defiantly against the odds.

“It might not mean much to you… but it’s more than enough for me.” Whitstan said as his greaves shifted along the cracked stone and loose gravel that remained of the floor. He lifted his left arm toward the dreadlord, the runes etched into his arm glowing a bright red beneath the bandages, “Blood is blood.” he commented as he ignited the vital within the demon’s veins. Introducing his blood plague to its wounds was facilitated by all of Ijiro’s attempts to wound it but that wouldn’t satisfy him or his hungering blade. “Kneel.” he commanded, hoping his demand would be carried out by what power he had. As with the demon he faced before, the blood began to flow in droplets from its wounds.

“Foolish mortal…” the dreadlord grunted through its teeth as it hunched over slightly, its arms folding to its chest. “You think you have enough power to even phase me?” Its wings spread as its malevolent grin grew. “Both of you… false bravery, pathetic tricks and nothing more.”

Whitstan strained to pull more from the demon but intense fel magics counteracted his hemomancy. He grunted as he extended both arms now to drain the dreadlord’s life essence. More droplets of blood flowed out as they formed a stream to Whitstan. The corrupted green blood began to soak into him as his eyes adjusted a dull green for a moment, his own undead self being infested by the Legion’s influence.

“We Nathrezim created you and your ilk…” Umbragos hissed, stretching his leathery wings out as far as he could. “Behold TRUE FEAR AS I-”

“That’s wonderful.” Whistan cut him off as he ignored the dreadlord shouting its attempts at intimidation. He faced Ijiro as he spoke, still trying to subdue and draw the demon’s life-flow. The runes on his blades glowed a bright blue as chains of ice lashed out from the ground, one after the other violently wrapping around the demon’s extremities without relent. “I can hold him here for a few moments… you need to leave, Hunter.” The blood being drawn from the dreadlord began to freeze and acted in tandem with the chains to keep the destructive figure in place.

Ijiro didn’t waste any time breaking off into a sprint, dashing around the outer ring of the chamber; he scooped his rifle out from beneath a pile of rubble on his way toward the exit, but as he tried to reload, the demon once again focused on his presence.

“Neither of you will leave this place alive!” Umbragos sent a wave of festering locust toward the Hunter with a mighty flap of his wings, forcing Ijiro to leap behind a fallen pillar to take cover. The magical insects devoured everything they came into contact, nearly eating through his cover before disappearing. As soon as the coast was clear, Ijiro dashed out of cover and fired a single round into the Dreadlord’s leg, causing thick green felblood to ooze out from just below his thigh.

With a surge of fury the demon broke free of Whitstan’s restraints and turned to tear the Hunter apart, filling his clawed hands with a familiar and foreboding green light; Ijiro dove behind another pillar a mere second before the beam of felfire struck his position, causing his cover to crumble into a thick cloud of dust and ashes.

“I detest being ignored.” Whistan spoke out as he amped up his blood runes, attempting to take advantage of the demon’s wounds, his hands drew into a fist as he focused. He knew this wouldn’t be nearly enough to even dream of defeating it, but he had hoped to draw its attention to allow his living ally to escape its ire for a brief moment.

“Damn you both!” Umbragos collapsed to his hands and knees as his blood betrayed him. “I will rend your souls in half!” Almost in an instant the demon vanished in a cloud of bats, dispersing into nothingness to leave the two mortals seemingly alone in the chamber. Ijiro slowly peeked out from behind his destroyed cover, sliding another Light-blessed slug into his rifle. The rune magic tethering Whitstan to the demon dissipated as well, causing a slight backlash which forced him to a knee while his arms collapsed.

“Where did that batty bastard go?” Ijiro shouted, though he was thinking out loud more than actually asking Whitstan that question.

Whether out of habit or instinct, Whistan began breathing rapidly. The blood in his veins began boiling aggressively, even flowing, as an odd sensation overcame him.

Thud.

He felt his organs shift as his chest began to shake violently.

Thud.

An intense grin began to wear on his face as the pain flowed through the Death Knight. “Keep your eyes open, Ijiro. It thinks…” he paused, waiting for another pulse of pain, “...it has us done for.”

THUD.

He fell to his knees as he clutched his chest. His ribcage felt as if it were containing the backfire of a cannon. He grimaced while scanning desperately for his invisible adversary. Ijiro’s ears twitched while he strained to catch the slightest sound, but the only thing he could hear now was the thumping of his heart against his chest, and his dry breathing. “Maybe he ran aw-”

Umbragos reappeared behind the Hunter in a flash of green light, bringing his claws down hard to tear the mortal apart; without hesitation Ijiro spun around and fired blindly, searing the Dreadlord’s face with the Light. It was just enough to cause the demon’s strike to miss, shattering the ground between the Hunter’s feet to send him stumbling backward. Ijiro landed hard on his back, leaning up to ready his aim again, but the demon had vanished once more. “Son of a bitch… we gotta stop this coward from this hit-and-run tactic, yeah?”

Whitstan bit down on his lip as red blood began to flow from it. “Yeah… Let’s get him back in the fight.” he uttered as his heart began pumping adrenaline and corrupted blood through his system. His teeth made a grinding noise as his eyes began to swirl a teal hue. He dashed out into the open and drew his greatsword behind him as its tip tore at the ground. For once since his reawakening he felt alive as the stakes grew. It was victory or his true death. He either would help save this mortal or die in vain; before this he didn’t understand what an exhilarating battle felt like. Now he would be consumed by his relentless desire compounded by his runeblade’s thirst. “To your left!” Ellyria commanded.

He began to move faster as the vital flowed through his body, infecting and enhancing his muscles. He released a torrent of dark energy that collapsed the ground, a red flash instantaneously destroying the debris adjacent to him. “Miss! He’s at 11 o’clock!” she whispered, directing him. He stopped in his tracks to summon all the dark energy he could muster to create a potent field of decay that would eat away at all living things, to include demons. “Come out, you fucking piece of shit!” he shouted uncharacteristically as his heartbeat grew more and more active from the runic magic pumping blood through his veins.

“Ooh, if only you knew what my Master has planned for your kind…” Umbragos’ voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. “Is that parasite guiding your strikes, undead? I’ll be sure to make it suffer… almost as much as you will.” His malevolent chuckle caused a chill to run up Ijiro’s spine, but he remained ready for the next surprise attack. “But first… let me dispose of your friend you’re trying so desperately to save…”

Before Ijiro could open his mouth to respond, Umbragos reappeared in a thick green cloud right in front of him. One of his crackling hooves slammed into the Hunter’s stomach, sending him airborne; the Dreadlord lunged forward in pursuit, closing the gap far faster than the Hunter was prepared for. A fist smacked him into the ground, nearly robbing him of his consciousness. Now pinned between the ground and one of the Dreadlord’s hooves, the only thing Ijiro could do now was draw his knife and desperately try to drive it into the demon’s foot.

“Die.” Umbragos hissed, stretching his wings out wide.

Whitstan tried his best to rationalize some form of plan or action that would lead them free from their circumstances. For a split second he wondered if he could use dark energies to grasp the debris blocking the escape route. That thought was immediately erased as the blood in his veins raged on as he recklessly used dark magic to tear the demon’s foot from his ally. He savagely sliced at the leg with unmitigated speed while his undead limbs benefitted from the sanguine fortitude flowing from his heart, his runes granting him an unholy frenzy all the while. For once, he felt alive.

Umbragos whipped around and grabbed Whitstan by his head, allowing his blackened claws to sink into the Knight’s chest and back; with a furious swing the demon launched him clear across the chamber. He turned to finish Ijiro off, only to find a small streak of blood where the mortal used to be; but with his maddening fury reaching its peak, the demon was too delirious with his blind rage to properly detect either of them.

“Over here, you piece of shit!” Ijiro shouted, causing Umbragos’ attention to immediately snap to him. The Hunter pulled his arm all the way back while he carefully aimed a slingshot, releasing a tiny dart with the intention of burying it squarely into the Dreadlord’s chest. Much to his dismay, he covered his body with his arms and wings, causing the tiny dart to pierce his right arm instead.

“You wasted your element of surprise, for this?” The Dreadlord sneered through his bloodstained teeth. “I’m going to drain every ounce of blood fr- AUUUGH!” He lurched forward as agony shot up his wounded arm; instinctively he clawed at the dart to remove it, but by now it was already burrowing deep into his bone. “What…. WHAT IS THIS?!” Umbragos felt the skin on his arm begin to ripple and shift, forcing the demon to collapse onto his knees once again. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE…?!”

“It’s… uhhh..” Ijiro stuttered, covering his face moments before the demon’s arm reached its boiling point; Umbragos let out an agonized wail once his arm violently erupted, tearing away from his torso in a cloud of fel sludge and sinew. “I missed my chance to say something witty.” Ijiro silently cursed to himself. “Fuck it I’m saying it anyway.” Taking a step forward, the Hunter crossed both of his arms to stare defiantly down at the wounded demon. “That’s what fear tastes like.”

“Ijiro…” the Death Knight gasped out while reconstituting himself with blood spilt during the battle from all sources, “...I… respect Syrahn’s... reverence for you… so I’ll give you one more chance to say something that isn’t dumb.”

He reached with his hands again to control the flow of blood from the demon’s wound into liquid lances in all directions before the red runes on his arms diminished and blue runes took their place, flash-freezing the fel-green blood-spears. He gasped for air for a few moments as he concentrated what remained of his runic power. His eyes shifted back from the teal hue to a sapphire one and he stopped breathing as his heart began to slow and stop again. “Now’s your chance. Say something good.” he spoke in all sincerity.

“It’s…” Ijiro paused, taking the time to snap his fingers while giving Whitstan a wink; or perhaps he was merely blinking again, it would be difficult to tell either way. “It’s… ice to see you stick it to him, yeah?”

Whitstan let out one final breath in the form of a disappointed sigh as he closed his fists together to pierce the demon with his own blood. Umbragos slowly turned toward the Knight in time to see the spears race toward him, piercing his wings and sending him barreling toward the adjacent wall. With only one arm to defend himself, the Dreadlord slashed one spear away from his chest, but the other two pierced him in gut; he let out a blood-curdling screech, now too weak to vanish into a flock of bats.

“I-im...impossible…!” Blood flowed from the corners of his mouth freely, a clear sign his internal bleeding was significant. “You’ll… regret… uuuughhhh…” With his gurgling death rattle, his head drooped down and his arm fell limp.

“Thanks for coming back to save my hide, yeah?” Ijiro panted, stretching one of his arms in an attempt to soothe some of his cramps. “I was beginning to think you and Istrys high-tailed it out of here without me.”

“The thought had crossed my mind more than once.” The former Spell-Breaker replied flatly. “But…” he paused. “We should get out of here. More than one person is waiting for us to get back safely.” Ijiro silently nodded, plucking his rifle out from the rubble once again while they began to make their way to the exit. Whitstan’s mind, now calm from the previous blood-frenzy he went under, recalled his last encounter with Kaevia Sun’rael. Would she feel differently if she saw the unholy frenzy he gave into? The blood rushing through his very existence to find a violent means to an end? He shook his head. A familiar voice echoed in his head but he couldn’t make out the words just yet as his mind settled from the fel-blood dissipating within his system.

“Yo, Whitstan? What’s wrong?” Ijiro glanced over his shoulder to gaze at the Knight, who stopped walking and was seemingly staring off into space. “You coming or what?”

The Death Knight grunted lightly, it was the only response he could give at the time. A slight rumble sounded behind them as a colossal finger twitched against the wall. “... -not dead! It’s still alive. You never had enough strength...” the words began to make sense to him again as he clutched his head. Another rumble began, “... tear your souls apart if you don’t get out of here, now!...” He grit his teeth as the words sunk in, “...you should have finished those weakened undead and Istrys… you could have had the power to make a difference here… fool. Now go, before both of us are consumed.”

Whitstan looked to Ijiro, “Keep going, no matter what.”

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lillotte17 · 8 years ago

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*flings more Crossed Streams drama into the void and scuttles away*

idk @feynites owns like..half of these ppl. >_>

In some ways, being the child of an evanuris is not so different from being First to a Keeper.

Even without being directly in charge of things herself, there are a lot of expectations for Aili to live up to, responsibilities to shoulder, and people who need looking after. She has to maintain a certain degree of composure, to project a demeanor that inspires confidence and loyalty. And affection, if she can manage it. Everyone always has their eyes on her, ready to praise her if she succeeds. Ready condemn her, albeit very quietly, if she fails.

The main difference is the sheer scale of her new influence.

One evening her mother had decided to wear what she had personally thought to be a rather hideous shade of chartreuse that she had insisted was ‘daring’. Aili had not thought much of it at the time, but sure enough, less than a week later, the entire Upper City was awash in the very same shade of snot-colored green. And the trend had held for nearly three months. She had been completely flabbergasted.

She had thought that being an advisor to the Inquisition might have helped her adjust to the scope of the Evanuris’ sway, if only a little. It was not wholly incongruent, after all, what with a large portion of Thedas insisting that her spouse was some sort of divine savior. But this… She does not know if she can wield this much power without inevitably breaking something.

It does not seem to have worked out very well for anyone she knows who has tried.

Luckily, she has some time to ease into things. No one in Elvhenan seems to expect much of anything from young children, outside of cuteness and perhaps some sort of wild phase once they start really getting into their magic and travelling about by themselves. And their idea of what actually constitutes a ‘young child’ is…somewhat different than what she is accustomed to.

When Aili had reached her sixteenth nameday, she was already hip deep in the social mechanizations of clan life. An adult, by most standards. She had collected wild vegetables and herbs, hauled buckets of water, built fires, patched aravels, and helped to look after the children, among other things. All while actively competing against two other clanmates for the honor to be chosen as Deshanna’s First. Learning magic and how to read the old tongue. Preparing for her vallaslin ceremony.

But by the time she reaches the same age among the elves of Arlathan, it seems as though she is…not old enough for much of anything. She still has her lessons and her training, which are extensive, but even those are mostly voluntary. Her parents and extended family all consider her too young to be much involved with affairs of state, though Lavellan keeps her informed, when she can. She cannot compete in tourneys. She cannot hunt unless the creature has been released into some contained area and she is surrounded by attendants and guards to protect her person, which feels a lot like shooting fish in a barrel. She is not even permitted to attend festivals unless she spends the evening glued to her mother’s side.

She feels a bit…aimless.

Aili tries to learn new things to give herself some sense of purpose, some of the crafts and artistry that Elvhenan seems to place such importance on, but she has never been the most proficient at getting her hands to recreate visions from her thoughts. She has the most success with wood carving and clay and other three-dimensional media, anything she can just chip and shave and beat into submission. She suspects there are likely some strange rumors of her vanity, since she seems to spend so much time simply making the same face over and over.

However, as the daughter of an evanuris, as well as a ‘sweet innocent child’, the only comment anyone is willing to make about it to her face is that it does not look quite right. The expression is wrong for her, almost fierce and nearly always smiling. The girl is too young. Her nose and chin are too sharp. The ears and mouth are a little off.

Aili can concede that they do have a point. The face never looks exactly right, no matter what she does, or how many times she makes it. It horrifies her that perhaps she has already begun to forget the features she had spent so many days gazing at lovingly, and the failed attempts at artwork always seem to mock her somehow. But she is even more afraid of stopping, and letting even more details slip through her fingers.

Her one true solace lays between the pages of books. Sylaise and June both have decent libraries, and there is an even larger one in the city intended for public use, though access to certain materials is restricted based on rank, and in Aili’s case, by age. But there is very little she is denied, and after a while, she begins to build up her own collection of worthwhile reading material.

She wants to learn everything.

There is no doubt in her mind that there is a certain amount of bias to the historical texts in particular, but even that can be telling, if you know what to look for.

Aili studies the Dreaming. Converses with almost any spirit who will talk to her, of which there are many. Her memories are unique, and there are many of them who would trade all manner of knowledge for even the slightest glimpse. She presses her advantage, trying her best to make Josephine proud. To be cunning without being ruthless as she seeks out history and truth.

As she seeks out Uthvir.

They had not enjoyed talking overmuch about their origins, and she had never pressed too hard. Certain that they had time. All the time they could ever need, to find enough peace in their life that sharing their burdens would no longer bring all the shame and pain of it back to the surface of their heart.

But Solas had robbed them of their time. Both of them.

All of them.

She has a rough idea of the events that shaped Uthvir’s life, so she at least has something to work from. The real issue is that she has no idea what events in Elvhenan’s history correlate to their own. She has not seen them amongst Andruil’s favored hunters, but she does not know if that means they have not been given to her yet, or if she is simply keeping them to herself. Perhaps they are still suffering at the hands of Falon’Din. Or perhaps they do not even exist yet.

And that poses yet another problem.

“What should you do when you know something terrible is going to happen,” she asks Lavellan one evening over a game of cards not unlike Wicked Grace, “But if you somehow manage to stop this terrible thing, it might mean that someone you care for will never be born?”

“I’ll let you know when I find out,” she replies with a wry twist of her lips. Aili frowns at her, concern permeating the air around them, and Lavellan heaves a weary sigh, “For all we know, simply being here has changed the entire course of history as we know it. And since we clearly came from different worlds, there is no way of knowing if this is even the past of one our own timelines, or another place entirely. Commissioning a suit of armor from a certain vendor could change someone else’s life for the worst. Talking your parents into sparing people from sacrificial death might mean that dozens of other people might be born who never existed in either of our own timelines. There is simply no way of knowing for sure what will happen, and you will make yourself mad if you attempt to reason through every tiny decision. The only option available to either of us is to just…try. To do what we can to make things better. Fix what can be fixed. Save what can be saved. Do…what you feel is right.”

It is not too much longer after that, that she finds herself dreaming of a vast green wood.

Not that dreams about forests are really all that extraordinary, but this place feels different. Older. Protected. The air is filled with millions of tiny floating lights, gold and white and silver, all twirling through the tree branches. Like living motes of sunlight. Catching in her hair and clothing. Dancing away from her fingertips, as if suddenly shy.

She has never seen anything like it.

There is an obvious path, and she can make out the shapes of other spirits flitting through the trees. None of them look strong enough to have built this place, though. She gets the distinct impression that this area of the Dreaming is generally hard to reach. Invitation only, as it were.

The trail seems to end very abruptly as she walks along it, and she thinks perhaps she is being barred from venturing any farther. But then the trees shift themselves into a small clearing, and standing at its center is the largest, brightest spirit she has ever met. Several pairs of enormous wings and arms, and a large smiling face that appears mostly curious, for the time being. She feels her eyes burning just from looking at them, and she is not certain if it is the intense light they are exuding, or the powerful rush of emotions that seem to have jammed themselves into her throat.

“How did you find this place, little dreamer?” the spirit wonders in a soft voice that reminds her of the distant tolling of a great bronze bell. It is not loud, yet somehow it still resonates. Making something in her chest thrum, uplifting and awe-inspiring, and maybe just the tiniest bit frightening too. She suddenly feels impossibly small.

“I…I’m not sure,” she confesses hesitantly, glancing around again, “I was…looking for someone.”

“And you think they might be here?” it asks.

“I don’t know,” Aili admits, “So far, I haven’t been able to find them anywhere. They…they might be dead. Or they might never have existed in the first place. The more I look, the less I feel like I know.”

“What a strange quest to have found yourself on,” the spirit comments, sounding amused, but not mockingly so. As if they find something about her oddities inherently endearing. Like a puppy chasing its tail. “And stranger still that it would lead you so deep into the Dreaming, knocking on the door to my home. You would have done better to seek out Curiosity or Purpose or Wisdom, if you were hoping to find some sort of guidance, little one. Or perhaps even Fortune, if your wish was to improve your chances of success. There is glory to be found in the completion of a journey, even if it does not end the way one might hope, but I confess that I have much more interest in the seekers than the lost things themselves. I am afraid I cannot help you.”

“Then…that means…you…you are-” Aili stammers, her -eyes going wide as saucers.

“I am Glory,” the spirit grins, as if her reaction is to be expected, “I thought you must be seeking me in particular, when I felt you trying to enter this place. There are traces of glory hanging about you, bright golden threads tethering you to something that does not quite exist. It is rare to see in someone so young.”

Aili stares at it until her eyes water, searching for something. Some hint or feature of her lost heart. Glory does not look like Uthvir, of course. And it is difficult to be certain, because the sense of the spirit is so vast and radiant that it nearly seems to swallow everything surrounding them, but…

“I think…I know you,” she breathes out, and it feels like her lungs have been burning to exhale that single sentence for a thousand years.

Glory smiles at her again.

“I can see why you must feel that way,” it tells her gently, “There are so many little sparks of light, threaded through your being, and flooding out into the Dreaming here. The pride you have for your people, the heights you reached for to champion them. The alliance you secured for their sakes, even though it also bought your own happiness. The heady rush of victory in battle, small and large. To save the world. To come home to those waiting arms and lift her up and-”

“Enough!” Aili snaps, suddenly brittle and aching. Glory blinks at her.

“I am…sorry, if I have upset you in some way,” it says slowly, bending down until it is nearly level with her face. It does not sound as though it quite understands what could be troubling her.

“I…have a warning for you,” Aili answers, and the words are ash in her mouth. It smacks of treachery, to sacrifice the possibility of Uthvir’s existence in exchange for Glory’s freedom, but she knows… it is what they would choose. She does not know if that makes it right or not, but perhaps that is as close to knowing as she is going to get. “I cannot be sure when it will happen, perhaps the wheels are in motion as we speak, but… The Evanuris will come for you. They will hunt you down and seal you away for the rest of your days. And… Please. Please, go deep into the Dreaming. Go now, and hide yourself where you can never be reached.”

Very carefully, Glory reaches out one of many hands, extends a single long finger, and traces a path down her cheek. Aili feels as though she is being warmed from the inside out. As though she could move mountains and leap over oceans and stop a wildfire with a wave of her hand all in a single afternoon. She thinks she might be close to tears.

“Do not be distressed, little heart,” the spirit coos at her, “You entered this place because I allowed it. It is safe here. The Glory of the People will linger long after your Evanuris have gone into the deep sleep.”

“But-” she tries, floundering.

“So much sadness, for one so small,” Glory continues, hushing her, “But have courage, there will come a time when you can look back at your achievements and feel joy again. Your heart is righteous and true, and it guides you faithfully. I think perhaps, we shall meet again, little dreamer. …But not here.”

“Wait!” Aili cries out, but it is too late. The spirit pushes her back, away from their haven, and even out of the Dreaming itself. And the next thing she knows, she is jolting awake in her bed.

She pitches a decorative vase across the room in frustration, shattering it against the far wall. ~

A few months later, she is expected to join her mother at the spring festival. The other evanuris journey to the city, ostensibly to enjoy the festivities, but truthfully because there have been more rumors of the Nameless encroaching on their territories, and there has been talk about needing to send an actual force out to crush them. Aili is not permitted to attend the actual political meetings, but there had been a request made by both of her grandparents that she at least be present in the meeting hall to greet them.

Aili still largely lets Sylaise dress her however she pleases; she can understand the importance of needed to make the right impression, and she certainly does not have a knack for following the frivolous trends of the Arlathan upper class. She thinks that her mother almost finds it strangely satisfying, though, no matter how she tuts and sighs and straightens her collar or moves a lock of hair back to where it should be. Her daughter is quite lovely, according to the Arlathan rumor mill, but lovely is not beautiful.

Not like Sylaise.

For her own part, Aili can say that she does not care about her appearance one way or another. And if her lack of perfection is somehow making her mother feel a bit more secure… Well. She can have it.

But her deficiencies do not seem to stop her uncle from staring at her all through the official proceedings with an intensity that makes her skin crawl.

She must not be the only one who had noticed, because the next day, her mother sits her down and begins teaching her how to alter her appearance with magic.

It makes her hyper aware of all her perceived flaws in a way she had never paid much attention to before. The slight crookedness of her front teeth. The fact that her left nostril is just the tiniest bit larger than her right. The sparse spray of freckles across her shoulders from long days of training out in the sun.

It is…strange to be without them. In a way she does not think she likes. Almost like wearing a mask.

There are definite advantages though. To not looking like herself. It makes it that much easier to look in the mirror and not see ghosts. Her father’s eyes. Her mother’s coloring. The echoes of a long-lost dream.

Aili finds that she can grasp the concept of it rather quickly.

The easiest change is her hair. She decides that she prefers it dark, unless her mother presses her to wear it in a different shade to match her outfit for an evening. Her skin shifts easily too, with a little more practice, and she moves away from the tawny golden color she had inherited from her mother, to more of a deep rich olive. And between the two, she hardly recognizes herself.

She never can seem to change the color of her eyes though. ~

Years pass, and Aili takes her place as her mother’s second, advising her and acting as her surrogate whenever needed. She finds that she has a much easier time loving her parents from afar, and spends whatever time she can out in one of the smaller country estates that her mother so rarely deigns to visit. She keeps in close contact with her beloved Aunt Lavellan though, extending whatever help she can to aid her in her efforts for subversion.

They are put somewhat on hold when the war begins.

She wants to fight, to join her aunt out with her father’s troops, but she is still considered young, and her parents will only humor her enough to accompany them to well-fortified campsites, when there is little to no chance of an actual skirmish.

Amidst it all, Aili has done her best to keep an eye on Ghilan’nain and Falon’Din, watching for any signs that they might be in pursuit of Glory at long last. But it is hard to keep track of between troop movements, and shifting supply routes, and building new settlements to provide for followers who have been uprooted by the fighting. Even Lavellan’s agents cannot keep track of everything.

The fighting drags on, long lulls of peace, broken by sudden fierce clashes. Over and over, like waves trying to beat down a range of mountains.

But every time she returns to the city, Arlathan almost seems to exist outside the rest of the world. The Nameless are discussed in hateful whispers, like an inconvenient infestation, instead of a serious threat. Distant and disconnected with anything that might actually change the course of their lives.

When she enters the meeting hall at her mother’s side, her eyes are automatically drawn to the delicate creature standing just behind Falon’Din. Long pale hair like spun sunlight. Smooth golden skin. Small and slight and somehow…lost.

Rage and grief flood the air around her before she even has a chance to form a coherent thought.

“Do not,” her mother warns, reaching over and taking hold of her hand in a way that likely seems purely affectionate from far away. Her grip is fierce. “I know that you have an affection for spirits, but this is a deed that has already been done. Glory has been given a most beautiful form by Ghilan’nain, and Falnon’Din favors them greatly. There are worse fates.”

“Do you really believe that?” Aili wonders, looking up at her frowningly.

“I believe…that sometimes one creature must be called upon to endure hardships so that others may avoid it,” Sylaise says evenly, reaching up and moving one of her daughter’s dark curls back into its proper place, “Let Falon’Din have his prize, so long as it keeps him from seeking another one. A far more precious one.”

Aili ducks her head, a sick churning feeling roiling in her gut. Sylaise catches up her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“I did ask,” she assures her softly, “I tried to convince him to engage in some sort of trade in exchange for them. I knew it would upset you. Your father and grandparents did as well. Your uncle is much too fixated on the delights of having something that we all so obviously want to take away from him. He will tire of them eventually, as he tires of all things, and then we can attempt to broach new negotiations.”

“Please,” Aili scrapes out in a broken whisper, “Please, help them. Who knows how many years it will take until he will consider giving them away? Who knows what he might do to them in the interim? What if he-”

“I will not start a feud with my brother in the middle of a war,” Sylaise answers sharply, “You are so fixated on sparing them, but consider all the other lives it would put at risk. The followers Falon’Din would sacrifice to bolster his power to win such a fight. Where is you compassion for them?”

“I…” she begins haltingly before bowing her head again, “You are right, of course. Forgive me. I met Glory once, when I was very young. It was kind to me, and I am afraid I have let sentiment cloud my judgement.”

“You never told me that,” Sylaise blinks at her. Aili shrugs despondently and her mother smiles, stroking her hair fondly, “You have a soft heart, my sweet child. But you should not be so quick to let it show. It makes an easy target for loose daggers.”

Her aunt is of a slightly different opinion.

“I am going to kill him,” Lavellan informs her quietly when they are alone in a somewhat secluded corner of the room, her tone casual, as if asking Aili what the weather has been like in Sylaise’s territory as of late. It is the third day of their meetings, and there are less people and less general enthusiasm for the tasks at hand. Falon’Din is still parading his new acquisition around, but he is drawing a noticeably reduced amount of attention for it, and it seems to be irritating him to no small degree.

“Not if I beat you to it,” Aili grates out under her breath, “But in the meantime, something must be done to help Glory.”

“I am open to suggestions,” the General nods, “but this might not be the best place for such a discussion.”

“Of course,” Aili agrees, her eyes still glued on the poor creature as Falon’Din all but drags them across the room. They seem despondent. Confused. Barely capable of stringing together whole sentences.

Her jaw clenches, frustration and sorrow radiating from her in fits and bursts. Lavellan eyes her pensively.

“This…is not just about another abused spirit, is it?” she wonders.

“Do you remember some years ago, when I asked about whether it was right to allow something terrible to happen in order to ensure that someone you love came to exist?” Aili returns.

“I think so?” Lavellan answers slowly.

“Well,” Aili sighs dejectedly, “This…is the terrible thing. I tried to stop it, but it happened anyway. And worse than that… I think it might have happened because of me, in some part.”

Lavellan puts a hand on her shoulder. Steadying.

“At least you do not seem to have made things any worse than they were going to be without you,” she offers, though she does not sound any more comforted by the idea than she expects Aili to be. “I’m sorry, lethallan. Hopefully, we will have better luck with other attempts we make to change how history will unfold.”

“What if it was Solas?” Aili asks pointedly. Lavellan’s eyes move back towards the helpless figure being touted about the room like a prized show pony, and her expression sours further. Her hand twitches towards her blade, as though on reflex.

“I never said we were abandoning them to their fate,” she reminds her firmly, “We will find a way to get them away from him, I promise.”

“In the meantime, I think I shall remind my dear uncle that he cannot, in fact, have everything he wants,” Aili grinds out, her hair already lightening. Her aunt grabs her by the wrist.

“Don’t,” she hisses out, “If he is focused on getting back at you, you’ll have even fewer chances at getting Glory away from him.”

“Precisely,” Aili retorts, finishing her shift back to her natural coloring, but leaving the alterations to her features and complexion, giving her that strangely manufactured sort of beauty that Sylaise favors. “If all his attention is on me, he will not be paying attention to anything you might do. He will be watching my people, not yours. If he raises a hand to me, Elgar’nan will beat him senseless, assuming my mother does not kill him first. He wants to flaunt something that everyone desires and no one else can have, and I intend to flaunt right back.”

“This could backfire spectacularly,” Lavellan points out, “What if this makes everything that much worse for Glory? What if he takes out his frustrations on them when he cannot get at you?”

“…I am not sure I believe anything could make things too much worse for Glory than they already are,” Aili murmurs, “And it could just as easily have the opposite effect. He could get bored of them more quickly, and move on to something else.”

“Are you willing to risk that?” Lavellan wonders.

Aili pauses for a moment, catching her gaze.

“All we can do is try. Fix what can be fixed. Save who can be saved.” ~

The fact that she has altered her coloring is not lost on anyone, least of all Falon’Din, even as he does his best to pretend as though she is beneath his notice. There is also some quite murmuring about the obvious similarities between Sylaise’s child and the Lord of the Dead’s new prize. Aili walks with her head held high, trying to project confidence that she does not quite feel as she approaches the pair of them.

Falon’Din is still acting as though he is unaware of her existence, and she takes advantage of the moment to extend her hand, and trace a single finger down the side of Glory’s cheek. Her heart wrenching at the sight of the bright blue vallaslin scrawled across their face. Spilling out over their features like tears.

“I think I know you,” she tells them softly.

Glory blinks up at her with violet eyes. Not quite the same shade as hers, but noticeably similar. Their expression is glazed, as though drunk or possibly drugged, but they seem to find the wherewithal to meet her eyes when she speaks to them.

Falon’Din’s grip of her hand is crushing.

“Do not touch what is mine,” he hisses out, furious, and clearly barely holding himself back striking her, or something much more. Aili smiles at him, doing her best not to wince. Or rip his arm from his socket and beat him to death with it. But there is collateral damage to consider, including Glory themselves, so she restrains herself.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” she says brightly, venom seeping out around the edges of her tone, “I am curious by nature, as you know. Aunt Ghilan’nain’s work is always so impressive, is it not? To be capable of binding such a powerful spirit and building such a beautiful body for it to inhabit… I find myself almost in awe. She did not get all the details quite right though, did she? The eyes are still a little too blue. Still, I must congratulate her before the meetings conclude; Ghilan’nain’s Glory is a sight to behold.”

“Glory is mine,” Falon’Din all but shrieks.

“Glory cannot simply be given,” Aili snorts in disdain, “Real glory is only for those who earn it. Who seek it out with a true, clear purpose. Who embody the things that it values so much that it comes to them willingly. Ghilan’nain achieved this Glory. All you did was receive a gift.”

Falon’Din raises a hand to strike her-

And Sylaise yanks her back away from him, fire in her eyes, radiating cold fury.

“What do you think you are doing?” she demands, and Aili is not sure which one of them she is talking to. Her uncle seems to find his tongue before she does, though.

“I am teaching her a valuable lesson about insolence,” he snaps.

“She is a child,” Sylaise retorts.

“She is only a child by your warped perceptions,” he snarls back, “She is more than old enough to receive punishment for her actions.”

“She is my child,” Sylaise reiterates through bared teeth, “If anyone is going to punish her, it shall be me, and no one else.”

Falon’Din makes a face, and Aili gets the distinct impression that he is weighing the outcome of starting an all-out brawl in the middle of the meeting hall. His conclusion seems to be that it would not end well for him. He scoffs.

“See that you find the time in that busy schedule of yours to teach her some manners,” he spits out as he storms off, all but dragging Glory in his wake, “Before she offends someone with less magnanimity, and something tragic occurs.” ~

But despite the obvious threat, and several attempts made on her life, including one where she was nearly stabbed during a procession in the streets of Arlathan itself, the only figure who seems to attract tragedy is poor Glory.

Aili does not see them fall, too busy maneuvering her own small portion of her mother’s troops across a different area of the battlefield, it is one of her first major fights, and she is eager to prove herself capable. But she feels it somehow. Down in the marrow of her bones. And she hears the cry that follows. The outrage and fury.

She turns, and breaks formation, trying to fight her way over to where they have fallen, but she is too far away.

She comes for them after. When the main body of the army has withdrawn and there is no one left on the field but the dead and the dying. And the carrion birds circling overhead.

As gently as she can, she pulls the shaft of the black arrow from their back and seals the wound with healing magic, turning them over in her arms and caressing their face. Not dead. Not yet. But close. Closer than she would like.

She gathers as many fragments of the shattered spirit as she can find, and lifts Glory’s body in her arms as though they weigh nothing. Hastily making her way towards where she knows some of Lavellan’s agents are waiting.

“Stop!” a voice calls out, and she turns her head to see three scouts approaching, all bearing Ghilan’nain’s markings. “Our lady wishes that the body of her failed experiment should be returned to her for study. We have been ordered to remove them from the battlefield.”

Aili pulls away her helmet so they can see her face. Free of any vallaslin. The symbols of Sylaise scrawled over the shapes of her armor, bright as moonlight. She scowls at them as they seem to put two and two together and realize who they have been shouting at.

“You are free to take them from me, if you can,” she offers simply, continuing on her way.

She changes directions a few times, wandering about until she is sure she is not being followed before doubling back and seeking out her aunt’s people.

“Here,” she says, passing the limp body into one of the agent’s arms, “You are…Desire, yes? My aunt told me you would be the one to help them. I was seen taking the body away, which means Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain’s eyes will be on me. Keep them away from Sylaise’s territory. Find somewhere secure in my father’s lands. His voice has been largely quiet on this matter, and they will not suspect him.”

Desire looks as though she is caught somewhere between bursting into tears and vomiting. Aili can hardly blame her. She takes the pouch of spirit shards from her hip and passes it to her.

“This was all there was left of them,” she informs her quietly. “I am…so sorry.” ~

The years pass much as they always do. Armor and battles. Fine dresses and festivals. Mountains of tedious paperwork to ensure that her mother’s territory runs smoothly. Especially in the more rural areas she is most likely to overlook.

She has no word of Glory.

Aili insisted that it be that way, for their safety. And because she does not know what sort of strange effect she might have had on them, if she had been the one to shape their views of the world. If her obvious devotion would somehow be misconstrued as an obsession similar to Falon’Din’s.

The spring festival arrives in Arlathan again, and her mother insists, as she always does, that she attend.

She is in an outfit that makes her feel like a walking rosebush more than anything else. Live flowers blooming across the top of her gown, bright blushing pink and dark velvety crimson, offset with threads of gold and touches of starlight all tumbling down into a gauzy green skirt. Her hair is a loud flaming red, and her skin is pale, as though suggesting she is merely another type of rose.

The damn train on this dress is an absolute menace.

She spots them standing near the General, out in one of the open courtyards in front of one of the Pleasure houses. Melarue’s if she is not mistaken. She does not spend much time here herself, unless there is some function going on in the city, but it is difficult to know anything of the Pleasure District without hearing their name.

Aili hears her heart thundering roughly in her chest as she walks over to them, attempting to act casual. They look younger, brighter somehow, than she remembers. They wear their hair in a slightly different fashion and, the biggest difference of all, the vallaslin written across their face is done in copper instead of red. June’s vallaslin.

“Aunt Lavellan,” she greets, pressing forward for a brief embrace, made somewhat awkward between all of her leafy bits of finery and the shapes of the General’s armor. Her eyes shift to her companion and she nearly swallows her tongue. They will not be the same, she reminds herself. They will not know her. “And who is this?”

“My name is Uthvir, my lady,” they say with a courteous bow, “I have the honor of serving your father as a cartographer.”

“A fine and noble profession,” she commends.

“Thank you, my lady,” they reply with another inclination of their head.

Silence blooms between them. Lavellan gives her a look. Uthvir blinks at her. And for her own part, Aili finds herself at a complete loss for words.

I think I know you, she nearly blurts out. She can see the same features that she fell in love with. Their nose. Their chin. Their eyes. The face of her spouse.

The face of her beloved daughter.

Instead she tugs a rose off of her dress, a red one, and hands it to them.

“You should dance with me some time,” she tells them instead, smiling faintly and hoping they do not catch the slight waver in her voice, “When you are feeling brave.”

#aili lavellan #uthvir #lavellan #hot mess au #fic #*SCREAMS*#FINALLY #I AM FREE #FREEEEEEEEEE #the sharp one likes your shine!

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