#almost drowning in the waves that would descend upon her. she would shout the death tolls of the native population at them for hours

[deliriousmonk]

I had a strange dream about Vietnam last night. This was in a timeline where the U.S. basically colonized the country and tried to slowly eliminate the population with regular rioting & starvation. I also tried (and failed) to get work at a fabric factory.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

ommgmgmgm yayyy new event!!

Sukuna, God, lukewarm :)))

This is literally my first Sukuna request...

Let's see how well I do this!

The Gathering: God!Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: NSFW

1K Follower Event Masterlist

"Jump or die!" You look into the churning waters below the boat and then look up to the four-armed god rapidly approaching from the left. Others have already dropped into the murky depths below, and you're one of the last ones debating your choice.

Death by a vengeful god, or death by drowning.

You could beg for mercy from the god, not from the unmoved sea. But your shipmates can't save you from a god intent on destroying trespassers. You're almost at an impasse when you hear the screams of the men and women below, their bodies desperately trying to swim away from the impending wreckage. If you jumped now, no one would save you.

"Y/n!" You look to your right and the man motions to the water.

"A captain always goes down with her ship," you shout, and the man's eyes lower. Right. He had forgotten.

"You were the best captain I've ever had the pleasure of working with. I will miss you." After this, he jumps overboard, leaving you alone with the ship in the tumultuous waters and the descending god.

"Trespassers!" Sukuna roars, and you flinch, falling to your knees as you hold the mast. "Speak! Plead for your life, and I may spare it."

"I am the captain of this ship," you cry out, the seawater spraying on your face and soaking your shirt. "I am responsible for this crime." The pink-haired god looks at you in confusion, then his shoulders shake as he laughs.

"You? Captain?"

"I will pay the price for the trespass upon your waters, which is death."

"You are not the captain." Sukuna waves you away. "Perhaps he is in the water... You could not have manned this large of a ship!" You come to a standing position and remove your hands from the mast. The waters slow as you approach the god, eyes boring a hole into his red ones.

"Just say you've never seen a female captain before and go." The god sputters excuses before you cross your arms and frown at him. "Are you going to destroy my ship or what? If not, I need to get back on track to get to the port of Ly--"

"Oh, your ship is doomed. But you..." Sukuna laughs. "You're coming with me." You have no time to ask what he means before he grabs your wrist with his clawed hand and whisks you away from the scene altogether.

_____________________________________________________________

You come to on a beach, sand cushioning your head as the sun sets in the distance.

"Finished sleeping?" you hear the god mutter behind you, and you turn to face him.

"Where are we?"

"My island," Sukuna mentions, standing. "Though there isn't much here except shipwrecks and treasure. Oh," He looks over his shoulder. "And you."

"What do you want with me?" you wonder, following Sukuna into a small temple and shaking the sand from your hair. "I'm not good as a bedsla--"

"Do you think I have a need for women to entertain me?" Sukuna asks, stepping around the mass of gold, clothing, and jewels. "No, I need someone to act as a plaything when I go to the gathering for the gods."

"The Gathering?"

"You're lucky I found you," Sukuna muses as he picks through the pile of things around him. "Or... wait. Is it the other way around? I--"

"What is the Gathering?" you repeat, and Sukuna looks up, his eyes landing on your face.

"It's the one day of the year when all of the gods get together and celebrate the turning of the earth. It's a glorious bacchanalian event if I do say so myself."

"And I am to be a plaything for the gods?"

"Of course," Sukuna laughs. "What else are humans good for? and you have wit and bite. You'll be a sensation."

_____________________________________________________________

"Sukuna! Where did you find this one? She's feisty!"

The blue-eyed god hanging onto your shoulders is terribly drunk but flatters you endlessly, hoping perhaps that he will be able to drag you to a room in the lavish mansion behind the party. But you're steadfast, rejecting every single advance from him.

Sukuna is lounging with a host of the other god's playthings - male and female - allowing them to stroke his massive muscles and preen over him. For a moment, you feel a stab of jealousy, but you quickly shake it off and walk around the garden, smiling at the other gods and goddesses politely.

You find yourself in a secluded area of the property, where only a few dancing stars can be found. You watch them with varying degrees of interest before they wink out, and you're left alone again, staring at the blank sky.

"You've come here to sulk, huh?" The sound of Sukuna's voice draws you from your staring contest with the sky, and you look over your shoulder at his hulking figure.

"Sulk? What for?" The knowing smile that spreads across his face is almost ungodly, and you look away, pushing down the lust in your veins.

"Just admit it, little one. You've been watching me all night. Even Gojo's advances didn't work on you, and that is rare."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But you do, and you can't hide that from him. Not Sukuna.

"Come here," he whispers, pulling you against him in the darkness. He now only has two arms, but his strength is still the same, and his lips ghost over yours before he kisses you, tongue swiping across your bottom lip immediately. The smell of the cedar trees and the cherry blossoms overwhelms you as you close your eyes, letting yourself melt into Sukuna's embrace. His hands grope at your body, but to your surprise, they're not rough or demanding.

Your dress is hiked above your hips and Sukuna mutters something filthy as he pulls away from you and shoves a finger into your drenched heat.

"Oh!" Your exclamation can't be heard by the other partygoers, thankfully, and you instinctively know Sukuna is going to take advantage of that for as long as you're in his grip. Before long, you're dangling on the edge of oblivion with Sukuna's fingers nestled inside of you, knuckle deep.

"That's it, little one. You can take it," he whispers, chuckling as you clench around his digits, cumming for the second time that night. When you finish, he pulls his fingers out, sucking on them before pulling you down to the grassy ground with him and revealing his length. "Ride me."

You obey his command quickly, hovering over his cockhead and pressing down on it. "It's too much," you whisper, halfway down. Sukuna thrusts up once, pulling a gasp from your lips, then thrusts again, sinking neatly into you. He grips your hips and slams the rest of himself inside of you, and you grab his shoulders as he bounces you up and down on his length. You've never felt so full or so aroused, but Sukuna has you overstimulated, one of his hands moving to tweak your right nipple until you're coming apart around him again.

"Sukuna!" you whine, but he keeps his bruising pace, staring up at you with a lazy grin.

"If I had known this is all it took for the little captain to come apart, I would've had you like this a long time ago." His laugh echoes in the garden, but you're too far gone to hear it, head dancing around in the stars.

[legolaslovely]

My Heart

A/N: Here’s me rewriting the barrel scene lol to add some Protective!Fili, everyone’s fine, Kili doesn’t get shot with the arrow, just HAPPINESS AND LOVE CONFESSIONS YAY HAPPY FILI FRIDAY FRIENDS

Pairing: Love of my fucking life x me JUST KIDDING it’s Fili x Reader

Word Count: 3,342

Warnings: Fluff, angst, violence against orcs

Summary: When barrel riding doesn’t go well for (Y/N), a human member of Thorin’s company, Fili saves her

You plopped down on the hard ground of the elven cell and tried to ignore the weird stench and horrific music that was falling from the halls above. You sighed and let your head fall back against the wall.

“(Y/N)?” You heard Fili’s voice. He must have been on the other side of the wall, in the cell just next to yours.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“You okay?”

“Pissed that we’re stuck in here, but yeah, I’m okay. You?”

“I’m fine. We’ll get out of here,” he said. You gave no answer but the tension in the air between you lifted. It was nice having one of the company right there even though you couldn’t see him.

“Get some rest!” Thorin called. “We’ll have to be sharp if we want to figure out a way out of here.”

You ignored the grumbling that continued and actually tried to obey his orders. After the past few days of excitement, you didn’t find it too difficult to nod off, but soon, the sound of cheers and soft clinking woke you up.

“Bilbo!” “It’s Bilbo!” “He’s got the keys!”

“Hush!” Bilbo said. “There are guards near!”

You rushed to your feet, grabbing hold of the bars of your cell and trying to crane your neck out to see if it was true. Bilbo was running down the slope, quickly freeing every one of the dwarfs. He was almost to you.

“Told ya we’d get out,” Fili said.

You looked to your left and saw him grinning at you through the bars of his own cell. The hobbit unlocked his door and Fili followed him closely to yours. Once the door was open, Fili’s hand was on your arm, pulling you out and guiding you down the slope.

“No thanks to you,” you joked to him.

You heard him huff.

The company followed Bilbo through the undermost corridors of Mirkwood. As usual, you were wedged between Fili and Kili. The younger of the two led the way and Fili was behind you as you stepped into a new room. This was the cellar of Mirkwood where the guards gathered and apparently blacked out from drinking too much imported wine. You smirked at the two guards bent over a table, sleeping deeply. Kili turned to you with a smile. This was perfect! These idiot elves were practically begging us to escape!

Then one snored and Fili grabbed you, pulling your back to his chest. He’d startled you and sent your heart into overdrive, beating ferociously. You turned to him with wide eyes. He almost woke them! you thought. You unwrapped his arm but kept a grip on his wrist as you toed right past the sleeping elves.

One by one, the company followed and soon all were standing in a huddle on the other side of the large room. Everyone looked to Bilbo for direction. Then Dwalin sputtered, throwing his hand out like he was about to strangle the hobbit.

“Where’ve you taken us! We’re worse off than before!”

Bilbo motioned to the barrels. “Get in.”

Your eyes blew wide. He wants us to what?

“We’ll be bruised and battered to pieces!” Balin whispered.

“And surely drowned,” Ori said, shaking.

And frozen, you thought, but you didn’t dare speak it.

Bilbo was exasperated. After all his hard work and planning, he couldn’t allow the dwarfs to ruin his plans by waking the guards that dozed just feet away. “You just have to trust me.”

All heads turned to Thorin at the back of the group. “Do as he says,” he growled.

You squatted on the ground and backed your legs into the large barrel. You fit entirely, with room to spare, but you didn’t think this was the best hiding spot in all of Mirkwood. The barrels didn’t even have tops. The elves would see the company immediately and then they’d be right back in the cells where they started. Or worse.

You popped your head out of the barrel and looked to Fili above you. “Are we really just gonna hide in here and hope they don’t see us?”

Before he could answer, Bilbo said, “No, (Y/N). Not exactly.”

He pulled some kind of lever and then you were rolling. It took all your self-control not to scream in fright when the floor tilted backwards and you saw the rushing water of the river below you. You shut your eyes tight and held onto the edge of the barrel as you rolled and started to free fall. When you landed, the freezing water took your breath and stabbed at your limbs. Then you were bobbing and floating and you wiped your eyes. You groaned at the cold.

The dwarfs around you cheered. In your spinning barrel, you could hardly see the floor of the cellar return to its rightful place. You heard Thorin cry out with laughter and victory. Then your barrel stopped spinning, thanks to Fili’s strong hand.

“We did it, (Y/N). We beat the elves at their own game.”

You finally allowed yourself to feel relief. You grinned, looking forward to the river ahead. It seemed rather steady and the fear of falling out of the barrel fizzled out of your mind. “Maybe we can just ride to the mountain?” you said, listening to Fili laugh at you.

“No! No, the damn gate!” You heard Thorin yell at the front of the pack. His barrel careened into a checkered, unmovable metal fence that blocked the dwarfs from their freedom of the Mirkwood kingdom. The rushing river pushed all the barrels together and you heard the shouts of orders from the elven guards. They’d found you.

A dozen elven guards floated down the banks of the river, quickly gaining ground. It would only be a few moments before they had the company surrounded. You followed their beady eyes up and over your head, and you found what you hoped to be the lever to open the gate.

“That can’t be what I think it is,” you mumbled to yourself.

“What?” Fili asked.

“Up there. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to put the gate lever in plain sight, would they?”

“Well, they are elves,” Kili said.

Fili’s hand landed on your shoulder. “(Y/N) you’re a genius. Those keen eyes of yours have saved us again. Kili, get up there. Quick, before the elves are upon us.”

You helped Fili pull his brother up and out of his barrel. He stood on its wobbly mouth and leapt to the next and the next until his feet landed on the solid rock of the river bank. You craned your neck to watch him run above your head and saw a black arrow fly through the air, narrowly missing his leg. You whipped around to see that the incoming elves were a small inconvenience compared to the pack of orcs emerging from the wood.

“Kili! Orcs!” you cried. You watched helplessly as another arrow headed straight for him, but was shot out of the air by a crossing one. The red haired she-elf from the dungeons had saved Kili from a poisoned orc arrow, but she was too far away to help him fend off the group of orcs that had descended on him.

You hopped out of your barrel, standing on the edge of yours and Fili’s. He yanked on your hand, almost sending you overboard.

“What are you doing? Get down here, now.”

You ripped your hand from his grasp, but bent to him. “You’re the only one strong enough to keep these barrels in place when the gate opens. I’ll be right back.” You had to get that gate open while Kili fought off the orcs. He couldn’t do both.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Fili said.

Your frustration snapped as you swatted his hands from you. “Stop babying me!”

“You are a baby! You’re twenty years old!”

“And you’re eighty-two. Are we really going to have this conversation right now? Kili needs help. Let me go.” You didn’t wait for his answer, but leapt to the bank, slipping on the wet rock and catching yourself but scraping your hands.

You ran up to where Kili was fending for himself, picking up an axe from a slain orc on the way. You squeezed, and ducked, and swung your stolen weapon, decapitating an enemy on your way to the gate. It took a jolt of all your body weight to move the lever, but finally, you felt it release and heard cries from the dwarfs of your success. “Kili!” you cried. “Fall back! Into the barrels!” You tossed the axe to Dwalin as he floated by so someone in the front of the group would have a weapon. It wasn’t your smartest move.

With Kili falling into his barrel and a dozen orcs turning on you, you now had no weapon to protect yourself. It was impossible to speed back down the slope of the bank the way you’d come- you’d be attacked for sure. You had to jump down to your barrel from far above and you winced at the thought. It was a long way down and suddenly the mouth of the barrel seemed very tiny.

“You have to jump, (Y/N)!” Fili yelled to you. “I’ve got you!”

Orcs were closing in on you from every side. You cursed yourself, took a step to the left to line yourself up with your barrel, and leapt from the height. You crashed down, half in Fili’s arms and half into the barrel, slamming your elbow on the lip of it.

“You’re an idiot,” Fili said.

“I know.”

Then the current swept the barrels downstream. On either side of you, orcs were growling, snapping, and hurling weapons at you. Luckily, they were also falling to their deaths thanks to the elves. Are they actually helping us?

“(Y/N)! Get down!” you heard Fili call and you instantly obeyed. You disappeared deep into your barrel, hearing the thump of an axe digging into the wood beside your head. The gravity of your avoidance forced your barrel bowling into a sharp jetty in the river, leaving you to tumble out of your safe, 360 degree shield. Again the freezing winter water washed over you and pulled you down into the tide. You were an open target to the orcs, the elves and the waves themselves.

After what felt like minutes underwater, you finally pulled your head above the waves, gasping for air and coughing. Your lungs felt like they were on fire and in the back of your mind, you knew you should be watching out for flying arrows but you could barely open your eyes as you bobbed up and mostly down in the water. Then, strong hands lifted you up.

“Come, kurduwê. You’re all right.”

You grabbed onto the lip of Fili’s barrel, opening your eyes to see his worried face. You’d never been so happy to him and you coughed on him to thank him. When your eyes finally freed themselves of water and focused, you saw an arrow flying toward Fili from over his shoulder. You yanked on him, pulling him down to you and listened to the arrow wiz by and splash into the current.

Fili spun and you both watched as the offending orc was taken down by an elf. You were safe for the moment. He lifted you above him and set you next to him in his barrel. “In here, now. You’re all right? Not hit?”

You steadied yourself on his arms, gripping his soaked tunic. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Good because we have more fighting to do and no weapons to do it with,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips.

You shook your head, knowing he secretly loved challenges like these. Then a poisoned dagger dug itself into the side of the barrel you shared. You tugged it out and held it up. “You just have to know where to find them,” you said with a wink. You turned and launched it, hitting a tall ugly orc straight in the eye.

Ahead, you heard the dwarfs calling each other’s names and tossing an axe down the line, all taking turns hitting an arching tree to split it.

“Fili!” Dwalin yelled, sending it back to him.

Fili reached back and swung it over his head, sending the final blow to the tree and sending half a dozen orcs to drown in the rough waters. The current had only grown stronger as the company flowed downstream. It was recklessly spinning the barrels and sending them speeding into the banks and wharfs. Though the orc pack thinned and eventually disappeared completely, there was new danger in the rapids. You flew into a tall rock and heard the wood of the barrel crack. You held onto Fili with fresh fear.

He pushed you in front of him, holding onto your waist tight and you were thankful for the grounding feeling. If you hadn’t fallen out of your barrel at the beginning of the ride, you were sure you would have by now if it weren’t for Fili’s strong grip. You careened and spun down the white waves until it finally evened out and the company was able to beach themselves on the bank.

You crawled out of your barrel, throwing your sopping hair over your shoulder and pulling your tunic away from your skin. Your limbs were heavy and impossibly tired, but you knew you’d have to keep moving to keep the distance between the group and the orcs. While you had the chance, you rung out your clothes and sat on the stiff ground as you listened to Thorin, Dwalin and Balin argue about the next course of action.

“You’re shivering.”

Your heavy eyelids lifted to Fili and you smiled. “I know I’m shivering Fili, I’m the one doing it. I don’t usually go for swims in the middle of winter.” You chuckled dryly.

“Stand up. I know you’re tired but you have to keep your blood flowing or you’ll freeze.”

“That’s hopeful,” you said, not moving.

“Come, now,” he said reaching for your hands.

You swatted him away. “Fine. I’m fine, just-just let me be.” You stood, closing your arms around yourself and feeling your freezing skin.

“And your hands are bleeding. Is this from when you fell?” He turned your palm up and rolled his finger over your cuts.

“Yes, but I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing-”

“Fili!” You side stepped away from him and wrapped your hand with a cloth you ripped from your tunic. Your argument started to draw attention from the company. “Will you please stop babying me! I don’t need it. I was chosen to go on this quest, same as you. I can handle myself and if I can’t I will ask you for help.” You stopped him from speaking. “Don’t even start with the age thing! Twenty years of human life is practically equal to eighty years of a dwarf’s. We’re the same. I don’t need your constant attention.”

“Well, you have it.” He laughed.

“I don’t want it! You don’t have to take care of me all the time.”

“(Y/N), I have to protect you.”

“Why?”

“We-we protect each other. We’re a company.”

“You don’t treat me like the rest of the company! You treat me like I’m less. Like I can’t handle myself or I’m in over my head or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“It is! You almost didn’t allow me to help your brother today! Why is that? You don’t trust me?”

“Yes, I do-”

“Then why?”

“Because I love you!” he said.

You froze.

“Stop,” Thorin said, coming between you. “Stop this arguing right now.” Then he turned to the company. “We need to keep moving or the orcs will catch up with us. Balin, speak to that human. Say whatever you need to. Get us on that boat.”

You started to speak, but Thorin’s glare stopped you. Fili didn’t move from your side as you listened to Balin speak to the other human, but he wouldn’t look at you. He didn’t even twitch. It was like he was the one who was frozen. You replayed the events of the day in your head and remembered something. What had he said to you in the river? What did that word mean?

You hadn’t paid attention to the conversation going on, but after a few minutes, the company was ushered onto the boat. You whispered Fili’s name, but he either didn’t hear you or ignored you. You hoped it was the former. Balin was busy counting coins and asking for your share.

“Take it, I don’t care,” you said, tossing your small purse on the table near him. Fili was alone at the bow of the boat and you moved to meet him there, when your arm was pulled back.

“(Y/N),” Thorin said lowly, leading you away from the company. “Do not go over there unless you have a firm answer for him. Do not give him hope where there is none.”

At length you nodded. Thorin stepped from you, but you caught him. “Thorin? What does kur-kurduwê mean?”

Thorin sighed and allowed his countenance to soften. “My heart.”

He left you alone by the mast as the boat shoved off and headed downstream. Fili had only been from your side for a handful of minutes, but you already missed him- his warmth, his comfort, and his sense of calm. You missed his smile and his hands and his soft laugh. Things made more sense now that he had told you of his feelings. Every drop of anger dissipated from your chest and was replaced by heavy guilt. You needed him.

You padded over to the bow of the boat, catching yourself on the edge when it had turned without warning. You stood next to him, but he didn’t look to you. “Fi?”

He hummed softly.

“I want to apologize to you. For snapping at you. You’ve been nothing but good to me, you saved my life today and I yelled at you for it. I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m sorry I made you feel inadequate. That was not my intention.”

“I know.” The boat was expertly winding through trees and islands in the quiet water. It turned quickly and you stumbled into Fili’s side. He caught you and placed you safely on your feet. “I didn’t mean what I said, Fili. About…”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Did you mean what you said?” you asked.

He finally looked at you. “Yes,” he breathed, like he couldn’t believe you’d asked the question.

You reached for his freezing tunic around his waist. “I don’t want you to treat me like a child.” You paused as he scoffed. “And I never want you to put yourself in danger because of me- to protect me from something. I can handle myself.” You looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile when you saw his eyes already studying you. “But I do want your attention. And your care. Your friendship and-and your love. I treasure those things.”

His fingers took your chin and his thumb ran over your skin. He bent to kiss you gently. When he drew away, you smiled, reveling in his shining blue eyes.

“How did you say that word?” you asked.

“Which one?”

“Kur-kurduwê.”

He chuckled at your attempt and corrected you, rolling the back of his fingers down your cheek. “Kurduwê.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “My heart.”

He hummed, running his fingers through your wet hair, gently untangling the ends. “Look, (Y/N).”

You followed his gaze and saw a strong peak thrusting up into the clouded sky. “Is that it?”

“The Lonely Mountain.”

“We’re almost there, Prince.”

He chuckled and hummed, kissing your head and listening to the excited cries of the company. He’d reclaim the mountain for his family and learn to lead it for his people with you by his side.

Taglist and those who may enjoy! @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel @fizzyxcustard @fire-flv  @nerdbirdsworld @deepestfirefun @teagarages @luna-xial​ 

[justfangstvdto]

Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 01 “City Of Devils”

Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 here. For some context, I´d advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.

Chapter warnings: typical vamp behaviour, blood, murder, angst and some very obvious foreshadowing

Word count: 4104

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming.

Open Coffin 2 Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

You were surrounded by pulsating air. Alive and undead hearts sinking to the pace of the drums. There was dooming danger in the air in the packed bar turned nightclub, as hunters moved amongst their prey. It would be only a matter of time before the hunters overpowered them.  

On cue, the lights dimmed to a sombre shade of red and the hunters ceased their movements. You identified them through the rousing crowd, eyes veined and fangs bared - ready for attack.

Three.

Two.

One.

Midnight. Time to feed.

Your fangs punctured the delicate skin of the neck closest and the addicting crimson blood drained into your mouth. The horrid screams from the human in your grip were drowned out by the sheer pleasure of holding a life in your hands.

The brink was here. Was there hope for your prey yet?

You stepped over it, without blinking, without remorse. One less tortured soul to roam the earth. If you came to think of it, you did them a favor.

With evil on the mind and blood spatters in the air, you retreated the battlefield concealed as a dancefloor. You headed to the bar, unbothered to swipe your bloody mouth. There was no use in pretending anymore, to hide behind a mask. The world had seen what wretched thing you were, and you were unbothered by it. Let them see, let them fear. It kept them away.

Ordering a bourbon with the wave of your hand, you sat down on the remote end, further from the thumping music.

“Rough night?” The bartender tried to joke with you.

“Rough life.” That answer may have been trite, but hell if it wasn't ́t the truth. And you didn't need that dimwit behind the bar to remind you of that. “Just do your job and pour the liquor. I ́m not looking for a shrink.”

He backed off, hands raised in defence. The relief of silence was short-lived though as two loudly talking vampires joined next to you, their mouth tinted from their feast.  

“You heard about what's happening in New Orleans?” One of the vampires said to the other.

This Bar, in the heart of Hell´s Kitchen, was where supernatural gossip lived. Everybody talked and gossiped about friends and enemies alike, but none had anything to say that was of particular interest to you.

You heard about the other side collapsing, the recent change in leadership in New Orleans, even talk of Klaus ́ mystical daughter that died in a war between werewolves and the Mikaelsons. And you heard about Damon ́s death. You had to hear it out of someone else's mouth, instead of Stefan ́s. You were not even invited to his funeral, nobody tried to even contact you. Not once. So much for the unbreakable bond of family everyone kept going on about. All bullshit.

So instead of wallowing in grief, you preoccupied yourself with mercenary-like jobs in exchange for currency, which in your case, was spells and spellbooks to hone your craft. You did not have any other purpose, so you made your own. To harness enough knowledge to never watch someone perish in front of your eye ever again. Or to destroy anyone standing in your path.

“Apparently,” The vampire continued “there's some shit going down. Something about a witch that ́s back from the dead who's jumping into people's bodies. Can you imagine?”

“I ́m not surprised, that place gives me the creeps, man.”

“Yeah, but jumping into someone's body? That´s fucking weird.”

“Sounds like a job for those hunter brothers on tv. They ́d clean that shit up good.”

“Hell yeah, man!”

You had no desire to listen after that, consumed by new opportunity. There was only one witch that could´ve risen from the dead causing that much trouble. Esther. It had to be her.

How was she back? The other side collapsed not 4 months ago and with it every spirit in there. Then, a thought crossed your mind that had you spiralling; If Esther crawled out of hell, could he be back too? Was there a chance he made it out alongside her?

All hope deafened when whispers came from men next to you that were oh so chipper a second ago. The taller one with jet-black hair looked over his shoulder and saw you sitting there and promptly turned his head with fear in his eyes.

You were used to it. People here knew what you were. A new species of hybrid. A freak. They crossed the streets when you came along, children ran away and hid behind their parents. They always feared what they did not know, what they were not able to comprehend.

The hushed whispers continued for another minute before you intervened.

“You got something to say to my face?”

“Nah, nothing.” The shorter ashen blond guy shook his head.

You wanted to leave it at that, to let them go with a warning not to talk in whispered hushes. But something in their dismissal made you angry. So as it was and as it has been for the last 2 years, and unexpected visitor knocked on the door that is your mind. And you welcomed old friend Rage with open arms.

You were not burdened by simple anger anymore. Something changed and transformed anger into rage and loneliness into despair. It was nothing like the usual vampire heightened feelings, it was a thousand times worse. The intensity, the strong, yet sometimes short, but intense feeling of emotions was something else entirely.

When anger would hit you wanted to destroy, cry and scream. You wanted to let out your wickedest thoughts, and you wanted the world to feel your pain.

There was too much energy flowing inside your bones to contain it so you let it out and you did not care who saw you like that.

This was no different.

You chanted into your closed palm and blew it over with a single breath of air. Within an instant, ashen veins burned their skin and invisible hands strangled the air out of their lungs. They tried to scream, tried to beg for their lives, but you let them disintegrate.

Served them right.

The room fell silent, nothing but gasps and retreating footsteps.

“Anyone else?” You addressed the room, but were met with instant silence “Didn't think so.”

You leaned back on the chair, and within another sip of bourbon, a plan of action for dealing with Esther and New Orleans edged itself into your mind. You smiled at the sheer craziness of it all. It was pure suicidal lunacy. It dug up old enemies, made new ones and, upon failure, leave the city in ruins.

Fuck it, you had nothing to lose descending into the crescent.

Next stop; New Orleans.

--------

Neon signs burned in the dawning morning sky, illuminating the streets like a beacon of hope and salvation for the tempted souls wandering in them. The Crescent City was the sort of city where easy living during the day occurred. Tourists wandered the streets, thinking this was where they wanted to get lost in, where they would let themselves go. 

But New Orleans had a darkness that lingered in the shadows. Come nightfall, innocent souls always ended up pulled into the dark abyss by wretched souls that littered the paved streets with their bloodshed.

Unlike their glow, the memories attached to this place that was long forced behind closed doors burned like a forest fire. Unrelenting, yet familiar, like coming home after being away on vacation: Adventures lost, but the familiarity and comfort greater than any hardships that linger.

Almost any at least. 

But his presence lingered around every corner, in every face that passed and in every nook and cranny in this city. It bled his and his family name, even more so since Klaus reclaimed the city's throne. 

You stood where the first stone was placed by the returned King himself decades ago, a fitting starting point you found. From there you descended on your enemies tails. 

“Don't you know that the devil walks among us?”An elderly man, sitting beneath a shadowed street light shouted as you approached from across the street.

“Oh, believe me, I know. I ́ve met him.” You said and dropped a 100 dollar bill in his turned-over hat “ Problem is, there ́s not only one of them. This is New Orleans, we all have horns.” 

You pitied the man, yet you wished you had a belief as strong as his. Something to rage against, to pretend to fight for. Something that burned so deep I inside your soul you had to shout it off of rooftops, smear it down on a piece of paper or whisper into a trusted ear. 

Perhaps you would find it here. New Orleans had tricks up its sleep it left every city in its shadow. And with the current faction war brewing, things were bound to reach a tipping point. 

And no one knew war more than your destination for the night.

The Mikaelson Compound.  

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

Timing had no place in the French Quarter. There was no good time for confrontation, no time for rest and certainly no time to waltz into a stronghold unannounced. 

You were aware of that, painfully so, but when timing had no place then neither had fear. He would smell it out, twist it and spit it back on your face. 

Stepping into the spacious courtyard felt like being dragged between the past and future. It was as if laid with a photograph of what lies before you today with another, shine-through one of the past. If the walls could talk they had tales to tell of manoeuvres schemed,  and allies lost, but most of all, they would have told you to run away and never return. 

But this was another point of your plan and was clear it would be the easiest to execute but hardest to stomach. Convincing the self-proclaimed king to join your side.

You followed the sound of paintbrushes stroking on canvas. Ascending the stairs, your feet remembered to navigate the labyrinth and you quickly found your way to his room. You expected to be greeted with a scowl or even a tinge of surprise, instead, you were met with a paintbrush rushing in your direction. Within a blink of an eye and a flick of your wrist, the paintbrush disintegrated to ash. 

“If your intent was the element of surprise, you lost it.”Klaus said, and you could detect the smile through his voice before you saw it “Y/N. I knew we would meet again.”

“Trust me, I tried to avoid it longer. But I can't exactly say no to a bloodbath and I heard this one is gonna be a big mess, so here I am,” You said spectating the strewn about paintings that leaned against the wall. Most where muted colors, full of sorrow. “Damn these are depressing. And I thought your grey period in the '30s was the worst."

“Have you come with a reason or simply to critique my art?”

“Both I guess.” You shrug your shoulders,  “But, let's cut to the chase. Your mother sent me.” His demeanour changed radically, like a sail changing in an oncoming storm “You´ve met her as that Cassie girl, right?”

“You dare come into my home as one of her disciples?” He sounded appalled, disappointed even. His muscle tensed, ready for attack. 

But you knew him. You knew he'd slice first and ask questions later. 

“If you think about attacking me, don't even try. I just have to rub these two fingers together and you´d be immobilized.” 

"I see you accommodated to your new powers. Outright hypocritical if I might add." 

“Can we just have a civilized conversation, please? ”

He raised his eyebrow “Civilized?You?” 

“Look who´s talking.” 

“Let me guess; Esther sought you out to persuade me to accept her foolish deal? To forsake this vessel and take on a new, human body?.”

"That's the plan. Thing is, I don't really follow orders, especially not from her. That is why I ́m here." 

He took the time to study your features, to find some sort of indication of truth or deception. But you looked at him, unwavering.

“Why would you tell me this? To garner my trust? My appreciation, perhaps?” 

“You trust me as much as I trust you, so no. I want to offer you a deal of my own. I'll tell you what she's up to, and you don't annihilate me for working with her.  As easy as that.”

“You ought to play double agent?” He dismissed as if he thought it impossible “How do I make certain you did not promise her the same in exchange for, well, let me guess, everlasting power? A unicorn perhaps?”

“You don't. Then again, you ́re a man of words and not of deeds yourself. How do I know you won't kill me anyway?”  

“What did she offer you?” He repeated, disregarding your question. 

"Kol back from the dead.”  It was the first time you spoke his name in years and it felt like dragging it through dirt with Klaus in the room. It felt wrong, but you continued nevertheless “Now I know what you ́re thinking. Poor girl can ́t live without her love...how tragically cliché. I can, physically, live without him. I can, but I don't want to. He deserves better” You informed, prepared for the onslaught of judgment 

Klaus remained unconvinced still, you saw it on his face. 

“There is one slight inconvenience.” He said, “My wretched mother could easily manipulate your desire to resurrect my brother and operate against you. ”

“I know how to deal with a wretched parent, trust me.”

Wretched was never a strong enough word to accurately describe your father. Violent when drunk, absent when sober and spirit destroying all around. 

“A drunkard is hardly any comparison to the most powerful and deceitful witch the world has ever known.”

“But the desire to send them screaming back to hell is.”  

That made him finally pause and you could swear a smile twitched across his lips. Good. That meant he was warming up. As much as someone like Klaus could. 

 “Look, if you don't want my help, fine. But you know as much as I do that taking down your enemy from the inside requires someone to be a traitor to the cause. You need me.” 

“Why you? I have an army at my disposal, why would I possibly require your help?” 

“I have nothing left to lose. That makes me the dangerous one, and as you know dangerous wins wars.”

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

Klaus agreed to your deal within your next glass of bourbon at Roussous´s. He stated his concerns in a calm manner, but not without adding life-threatening menaces, disguised in Shakespearean platitudes. Typical Klaus behavior. In a way, you were glad he hadn't changed. It only meant you knew what you were dealing with. 

Esther, on the other hand, was much more unpredictable. When you negotiated your involvement in her operation before involving Klaus, she promised her assistance and the spell to resurrect Kol from the dead. She told you exactly what you wanted to hear, and you could not help but doubt her intentions. But alas, she was the lesser of two evils. 

But at last, one beacon of hope, that had been standing its ground long before Esther crawled out of Hell,  survived the nuisance of time; Roussous

The establishment was in similar condition as it has been since you last saw it. The flooring had the same scratches of battles waged, crumbles in the walls of bodies slammed into and the same stench of old bourbon that soaked to wood to its core.  

There was a booth in the back right in the middle, anchoring both rows on each wall that separated the units. The vantage point from the seats where perfect,  the bar was in sight as well as the exit and the employee side entrance - no matter where you looked, a surprise visit was impossible without being seen. 

It was your and Kol ́s booth back in the day. You declared it so was after Kol invited you dug in there during a sudden rainfall, only days after he invited you to join his families festivities, the night where you chased all the stars in the sky. Before that night, you hid away from prying eyes, mostly Klaus´, to prevent suspicion. 

Klaus had almost caught Kol once as he sneaked out to meet you. Of course, Kol was crafty and had a feeling that his control freak of a brother would follow him eventually. He led him in a different direction when he spotted him and made sure he was truly gone before heading off to find you, here at Roussos.  

You slid into the seat after you had ordered Bourbon at the front and the green leather squeaked with your weight. Once situated, you looked at the wooden pillar behind you, expecting carved initials in them. You and Kol's carved initials. But the dark painted wood did not match. They replaced it.

You brushed your fingers over where your and Kol ́s initials where carved previously, silently chanting a spell you retrieved from a skilled witch in India months ago. You smiled as the initials reappear in the dark wood. Sometimes the past was not meant to be erased, and you were not ready to let them erase him so easily. Not the city folk nor his family, no one. 

Loud buzzing that came from your phone distracted you on your tangent into the past. You looked at the display. Esther. 

“I was just on my way.”  You lied as you picked up her call  “He took the deal just as I thought he would. I fed him some bullshit about taking down the enemy from the inside and he took the bait. “

“Good work. What about the stake?” Esther said. 

She had asked about the white oak on your first meeting and set it as a condition to your mutual agreement. You told her that you had lost the white oak years ago, probably at the hands of Klaus.

“I can ́t exactly snoop around with him there.”

“I want that stake.” She repeated impatiently “No matter what you have to do to get it.”

“You ́ll get it, I promise.” 

“I am not interested in promises, I expect results.” She said and hung up the phone without waiting for an answer. 

“Bitch.”

---------

It was quiet on the other side of the river.  Dangling your feet over the ledge of the tallest building on this side of the river, you tried to remember when you last were surrounded by near quiet Sensory overload around the clock had been your salvation over the last few years, and this silence outright scared you. 

“You're not gonna jump, are you?” A familiar voice cut through the stillness and pulled your knees to your chest to get to your feet. 

“Don't know yet. It's not like it would kill me.”You shrugged.

He moved closer and pulled in for a hug.

“Woah what do you think you're doing?” You held both your hands up and backed away. Marcel saw through your playful rejection immediately and only rolled his eyes “Just because we drank ourselves into oblivion one time doesn't mean I like you. “

“We drank ourselves to oblivion every day for a week straight.” He corrected “I think I deserve a hug. You know, as your friend.”

Marcel stumbled into the bar in New York 2 years ago all teary-eyed and pissed off at the world. And though you did not have the best history, he approached you and poured drink after drink in silence until you were both drunk enough to let the pretences fall. Then you talked. And talked. 

He explained why had escaped New Orleans and sought the comfort of the Big Apple. He was broken-hearted over the loss of Davina, a courageous girl that was like a daughter to him. He swore to protect from a ritual the local witches called the Harvest. She was supposed to be resurrected, but the ritual failed. 

You were both miserable out of different circumstances. But death remained death no matter what kind of love caused such suffering. Talking until the sun came up, sharing the same, overwhelming feelings of grief and the fact you were no strangers to war or the Mikaelsons, lead to you bonding in a way you'd never expect. You would even go as far as to consider Marcel your friend. 

“It's good to see you again.” He said as he let go.

“You too.”  

That was what you liked about Marcel, he was open about what he was feeling in the exact moment. Everyone knew if they were on his good or bad side, he did not leave anyone guessing. It was admirable, if not foolish in a city like New Orleans. 

“What are you doing here? Last time I asked you if you'd ever come back here, you almost burned me alive.”

“Well, things change.” 

“Oh great, I know that look. What are you up to now?”

You stared at the skyline, on the moving water underneath it. You thought about how the ground would shake, how the sky-high buildings would fall to crumbles and how you could level the entire city if you willed it.

“Just the most insane, plan I ́ve ever come up with. I'm playing the entire board. From top to bottom, left to right and it ́ll probably cost me my life. So the usual craziness that is, well, me. No biggie.”

“No biggie if you're dead?” 

“We all die one way or another and technically we´re already did." You paused, bracing yourself to what you had to say next "Besides, it looks like I don't have much time to spare anyway, because-

He saw the near-black blood drop from your nose before you even registered it. He had to take a second look

“Because you're bleeding randomly?”

“Yeah, It's been happening a lot recently. That, and weird bruises that appear as if I ́m in a fight only to heal instantly. Invisible hands that strangle me, memories that are not my own, indescribable rage...the list goes on.”

This drainage of power started two months ago. It came and went in waves as a roll of feverish symptoms and with it came unbearable rage and paranoia. It was severer on a full moon, so it had to be tied to its phases. That much you knew, but that was it.  You consulted grimoire after grimoire and witch after with - no answers. 

“So, I think I'm pretty much doomed already.” You breathed out into the wind “What ́s a little more death gonna do to me?”

“Don't get sentimental on me now. You used to hate me, remember? "

I didn't hate you. Just your boyfriend."  So, that plan of yours. Say the word and I ́ll help you however I can.”

“Remember you said that. You'll wish you hadn't. Let's meet at your place tomorrow. I have to make one more stop on my reunion tour.” 

“You want some company?”

“ I´ll be fine.” If you could not walk alone in New Orleans at night, you might as well have a neon sign around your neck blinking the word soft repeatedly and lie down for a beating. 

"You sure?" He asked again. There was reals concern in his voice now, compared to the level headed and calm manner, it sounded outright strange. 

"This is only the beginning." You said, stepping on the ledge "If I can't handle some espionage, how am I supposed to handle the rest?" With the wind breezing you let yourself fall. 

Marcel smiled and shook his head as the looked over the ledge and saw you speeding away. He knew as much as you did, that descending into the Crescent City, to undermine the war and come out on the other side alive, was near impossible. But he learned that impossible was not in your vocabulary anymore. The War lines have been drawn, and he knows you'd jump between them if you had to. 

Let the games begin..

-------

A/N: And with that, we´re back!!! I hope you liked this first chapter! I wrote most of this back when my fur baby of 13 years passed away, so if it feels detached or anything that might be why. But I thought it would reflect the Sisters situation quite well so I didn´t throw it in the garbage like I wanted to.

Anyway, I would love to hear what you think. Just remember that this is the “housecleaning” chapter. We will find out what the nature of the Readers weird suction of power is, on what side she´s actually on, and what familiar faces will reappear in NOLA. 

All in good time my friends. This is only the beginning...;)

OC Taglist:

 @shadylittlewonder @thegoddessofvampire @newurleans @originalbish98 @acourtofhopeanddreams @bonniebird @imnoaingeal @mizzezm @vaniileiinkeks  @relmi-llorrac @piercethepottorff @maliae14  @5-seconds-of-animals @the-geeky-engineer   @rock-n-magick @flymeawayworld @givemesomehybrid @mikealsonlover @nuteller28 @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @drkplum @fandooomqueenforyou @free-the-fangirl @clockworkballerina @twisted1ginger @superwholocksociopath474   @pacifyprincessxo @mustachio1616 @thealyana @sandyclaws @unicorntrooper @buckysummers​ @sanity-is-overratedxp​ @akshi8278 @lunna-star-8 @graysonmalfoy @woodworthti666 @elenavaldez02 @lilulo-12 @selmasemlan @thelostallycat @characterobsessed @cococola-cocaine @crazyinternetgirl @tvdplusriverdale @-thatgirloverthere-  @alwxadria345 @trymexo  @willieshakesqueer​ @spunky-89 @putyourherohaironstefan @xxdragonagequeenxx @thegingerthatwaited @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @hinata7346​ @controloffandoms

[fullmetalscullyy]

his protector - chapter 3

summary: “you no longer hold the status as my first knight.” that felt like a knife in her heart, but riza had expected it. harsh, but she knew the consequences of her actions and would accept them wholeheartedly, because it was for the king’s own safety. “you’re no longer a part of my court. get the hell out.”

rated: t | words: 4857

read chapter 2 | read on ao3 and ffnet

Riza slipped out the castle walls undetected. Being the First Knight had its perks because now she knew all the hidden passageways in and out of the kingdom. Alphonse’s expression was one of distaste when she met him in their clearing. He wasn’t pleased she’d left the hospital when she hadn’t fully healed yet.

But she had work to do.

“I know, Al,” Riza told him as soon as she saw the look on his face.

“I didn’t say anything,” he frowned.

“I can see the displeasure on your face.”

He huffed. “You’re just lucky the hospital had more than enough antidote stocked.”

Riza shrugged as she checked over her horse. “I liked to be cautious and prepared for anything.”

Alphonse paused after he mounted his horse. “You acquired the antidote?”

Riza nodded. “A few years ago, from our wonderful friend, Mr. K.”

She tightened the bag of her satchel tighter than was necessary. She needed to have a word with that bastard, and that was where they were both bound for right now. Alphonse cast a healing spell on her wound to make riding easier, but it would still hurt like hell. This wasn’t over yet, and Riza wanted to get to the bottom of this ambush to see if there was still a threat upon her kingdom. Old habits die hard, but she wouldn’t leave a job unfinished. They had a job to finish, and it wouldn’t complete itself with her stuck in a hospital bed.

“We’re going to see him now?”

Riza winced once settled in the saddle. She felt a shift in the air around her and smiled at Alphonse, silently thanking him as well as appreciating the spell to make the journey easier for her.

Nodding, she nudged her horse to a walk, testing the strain it would put on her wound. It was all right now, but would it last? There was only one way to find out.

“I have a few questions to ask Mr. K about what happened the other day.”

It took them two days to ride north to the inn where they’d been meeting with their friend Mr. K before the ambush happened. Sure enough, he was still there, however this time, he was drowning himself in a pitcher of ale.

Riza grabbed him by the back of his grubby shirt and forced him through to the back of the inn, much to his surprise. Ale sloshed from his glass as he complained loudly. Luckily, he hadn’t managed to knock it over as Riza dragged him away from the bar.

“Everybody out,” she barked, looking around the back room as Mr. K squabbled drunkenly in her grip while he feebly tried to escape. She felt bad using such a harsh tone as it frightened the inn owner’s family out the room, but it had the desired effect. She’d have a word with the woman afterwards and compensate her handsomely.

“Did you know about the ambush against the King?” she asked, thrusting her supposed friend forward into the room. He stumbled and fell to his knees, catching himself hard on the stone floor with his hands.

“Haw – Hawkeye?” he cried out fearfully. “You really aren’t dead?”

“Surprise,” she deadpanned.

Riza grabbed the front of his shirt to jerk him towards her, but immediately regretted it. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell emitting from every pore of the man. He was in desperate need of a shower. His hair was greasy and hung limp against his head. Before, he’d been respectable at least. Now, he was just washed up drunk. Either his conscious had been weighing heavily on him with his decision to let her walk to her death, or he’d scrubbed up very well before.

“Did you know?” she asked again, more forcefully.

His gaze shifted between hers and Alphonse’s, but he never answered, only continued to stutter.

“It’s a simple question, Mr. K. Simple questions have simple answers to them. Yes or no?”

“They paid me to keep quiet,” he blurted out, lifting his hands in front of him. “My wife was extremely sick, and I needed the money and resources they offered to save her.”

“So, you’ll save your wife, but you’ll let an unsuspecting woman and a teenage boy walk to their deaths? How admirable of you.”

Mr. K paled. “I’m sorry, Hawkeye. I – I –” Tears filled his eyes. “I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “And they threatened to kill my family.”

She could believe that, but one thing was bothering her.

“If you care so much about them, why are you sitting here in this inn, drinking your life away?”

A look of terror crossed over Mr. K’s face and realisation dawned on her.

“Riza,” Alphonse called out to stop her from further questioning, he too realising why Mr. K’s appearance had taken a turn for the worst so suddenly.

Silence descended over the room and a lead weight formed inside Riza’s stomach.

“They killed your family, didn’t they?” she asked. The grip on his shirt loosened.

Mr. K nodded, then let out a sob. He lifted a hand to his mouth and pressed it hard, his eyes narrowing as his tears flowed freely.

Riza’s knees shook after she stood, letting Mr. K go completely, and she backed away from him, falling into a chair as the backs of her knees hit it. Her hands gripped the arms tightly, the whites of her knuckles showing.

“Riza?” Alphonse called worriedly, approaching in a hurry.

“They killed your family,” Riza repeated, thinking aloud to herself. “Because I lived.” Her head lifted and she met Mr. K’s agonised eyes. “Didn’t they?”

He was sobbing quietly and uncontrollably. Riza swallowed past the lump in her throat. The pressure there was almost unbearable, but she managed to reign it in.

Mr. K finally nodded.

Riza sat back in defeat.

A man’s wife and his son had been murdered because she’d lived. Those poor innocent people…

“I’m…” She was lost for words. “I’m so sorry,” she apologised, meeting Mr. K’s eyes with her own. They were turning wet, his sobbing form blurring before her. Riza blinked hard and looked away, her guilt at surviving threatening to overwhelm her. “I… I had no idea –”

“Yeah. Promise me you’ll give them hell,” Mr. K whispered as he wiped at his wet face with back of his hand.

Alphonse stepped forward and offered him a tissue, which he accepted with a sad smile.

“For my wife and my –” He inhaled sharply, a sob stopped his thought in its tracks. “And for my son. Make them pay for what they did.”

Riza eased out of her chair and knelt in front of him. She gripped his hand in hers and brought it above her heart. It was an old custom Knights used to make vows to people. It wasn’t general practice nowadays, but her father had taught her the Old Ways before he died. This was a gesture of utmost importance when making a vow. The position of the person’s hand over the Knight’s heart meant more than the spoken word vow.

“I swear on my life I will put an end to this,” Riza whispered. “I won’t let them terrorize anyone else. You have my word.”

“Th – Thanks,” he whispered.

Riza helped him to his feet and smoothed out his clothes from where she’d roughed him up a little. Grasping his elbow, Riza guided him out of the room once he’d composed himself enough, and the trio entered the main room of the inn.

“Hey!” the owner yelled from across the bar. “Just what do you think you’re –”

Riza glanced up after settling Mr. K back into his bar stool. The woman faltered upon recognising her and stopped her rant.

“Oh, Knight Hawkeye!” the inn owner fussed, face turning red after thinking she’d been shouting at the King’s personal bodyguard. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion, ma’am,” she apologised profusely. “I shouldn’t have barged in the way I should have.”

“No, no, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t have that right. I’m sorry.” Riza dug a coin purse out of her belt and mentally calculated the amount. She’d have enough to buy her and Alphonse a few days’ worth of food, but once that was gone, they would be left with nothing. She had no job and no income now, so she needed to be careful.

“Please take this with my sincere apologies.” She offered the owner the coin purse, but she quickly backed up and refused.

“No, no, I couldn’t –”

“I insist.” Riza placed it on the top of the bar. “And… I’m very sorry, but I’m in the middle of a job and don’t have the gold on me right now to assist my friend here,” she gestured towards Mr. K. He turned in place and stared at her in confusion. “Please, see to his every need and put his tab on me.” Mr. K’s mouth fell open in shock. “I’ll be back to pay his tab once I’ve finished my job for the King.”

“Y – Yes, ma’am. I will,” the owner stuttered.

“Wait –” Mr. K began to protest.

“Good day, friends,” Riza smiled at them both, forcing her lips upwards kindly. “I apologise for my actions once more, but I will see you both soon. I only wish I could stay longer, but duty calls.”

She waved at them both upon exiting, but her smile dropped once out of sight, and her guilt washed over her like an uncomfortable heat. It threatened to choke the air from her lungs. Once out of sight of the door, Riza bent over at the waist, resting her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath, her torso heaving.

“Riza?” Alphonse asked, hurrying over. He caught her by her bicep and placed a hand upon her back to steady her. She lifted her upper body, latching onto the hand on her arm.

“They’re dead because of me,” she whispered. Her tears made another appearance and threatened to fall. “His family is dead because I survived.”

“Riza, I need you to calm down,” Alphonse soothed.

She couldn’t. Not after that revelation, and not after how she’d treated him. She didn’t even think that had been a possibility. She’d let her blindness for the crown shine through and hadn’t picked up on why a previously respectable man had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.

Alphonse was right. She did blindly follow the crown. She was blinded by her feelings for him.

It’s over, Riza. Get a grip of yourself.

“Hawkeye!”

She stiffened, her spine straightening immediately.

“I…” Mr. K approached cautiously. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Riza turned to face him, swallowing hard and unsure what to expect.

Mr. K stood sincere in front of her, hands clenched into fists. “I don’t blame you for what happened. That is on them,” he stated. “I know you’ll do right by the King and the people of this kingdom.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “It’s not much – I cut ties immediately after the attack – but I know their last known location. It’s likely they would’ve retreated there.”

*          *          *

Riza breathed evenly to fight off the wave of pain in her abdomen. It was flaring up and she felt Alphonse already casting another spell subtly to ease her pain.

He shouldn’t have to though. He should be more focussed on his surroundings that worrying about her. She can handle this. The poison was finally out of her system after a week.

Yesterday… had been difficult. She’d been bed bound in a thin tent, unable to move as she rode out the waves of pain as the last of it left her. Alphonse had drawn it out using magic and it had been one of the worst things Riza had ever experienced. She tried to keep it together, but often she couldn’t. It felt like he was drawing the blood straight out of her body. Her nerves were on fire as the poison attacked them on its way out, clawing to stay inside of her bloodstream.

Most of all, she felt sorry for Alphonse. He’d had to put her through that and sounded so guilty after he hurriedly announced he’d finished. He lifted his hands in a panic, showing he was done and was no longer hurting her. He was only young and shouldn’t have gone through that. However, that was the nature of their lifestyle now, and there was no other option.

Riza would be eternally thankful to him for all he’d done during this uncertain time. He’d stuck by her without question and supported her, but also questioned her reasonings, mostly to try and learn.

Endearingly, he’d mistakenly called her “mum” without noticing. He’d blushed furiously in his embarrassment and turned away as Riza chuckled to herself, returning to gathering edible plants for their dinner that night. He didn’t look at her all night, but that was okay. Riza gave him the time he needed. She was honoured he thought so highly of her, but was also saddened, because it was a reminder his mother was no longer with them.

Alphonse had lived with his brother previously, before working with Riza. In the house, there were Alphonse, Edward, his brother, and Winry, Edward’s wife. Alphonse had told her all about his adorable niece and nephew too. There had been many stories from him during their long evenings camping. Riza was grateful for it. It was a break from the pressure to resolve this situation they’d found themselves in the middle of. It was also a reminder that although he may have had a tough upbringing after losing his mother and father, Alphonse still had a happy home waiting for him. That was what Riza wanted for him.

Riza silently threw out her arm to halt Alphonse. He was alert by her side and Riza felt the air around them push outwards. He was searching for any enemies in the vicinity. Until Alphonse give the all clear, they wouldn’t move. That poison was no laughing matter and Riza did not want to have to deal with that a second time.

“Upper balcony, on the right,” Alphonse whispered. Riza flicked her eyes over in that direction and saw an archer waiting with his bow in his hands. “That’s it.”

“Just the one?” Riza thought aloud.

“That’s all I can feel,” Alphonse replied. “They might have a shield spell up, but if they do, I can’t feel the magic energy from it. We might be too far away though.”

Riza nodded. “Let’s move to the left and move up.”

The compound they were approaching was grey and boring. Concrete walls stared blankly back at them. There was no glass in the windows and air flowed through the seemingly abandoned building. Alphonse picked out no mages, but did detect three more archers towards the entrance, and then five lifeforms inside the building itself.

“This spell with shield us completely,” the young mage explained as Riza felt it coat her body and cling to her skin. “Our movements are muffled, and we can move completely undetected.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” she joked. The corner of his lips quirked upwards but fell quickly when she noticed the strained look on his face. “What is it?”

“It takes a lot of concentration on my part to keep it up. That’s why I wanted to save it. I didn’t want to end up spent too quickly.”

“Okay. Only use this until we’re inside, all right?” Riza stressed. “I need you at your best.”

Alphonse nodded. “Right. Sorry I can’t do more.”

“Al,” Riza scoffed. “I’d be dead without you, right now. You’ve helped more than enough.”

His expression turned sheepish, but he nodded.

“Ready when you are,” Alphonse replied.

“Let’s move.”

They made it inside undetected. There was no one around to spot them anyway. They crept closer in on the apparent meeting that was happening, and Riza signalled to Alphonse to turn the muting spell off. She’d caught a glimpse of the sweat on his brow as they’d passed through some sunlight.

“… kill the King?”

“We already tried that,” an exasperated voice stated. “But he wasn’t there. That damned Knight showed up instead.”

“Is she dead?”

“No. Somehow, she managed to survive.”

“Damn.”

Riza gripped the top of her sword tighter.

“And there’s been no retaliation?”

The man Riza could see through the doorway shook his head. “None. From all the rumours I heard about Mustang and his precious First Knight I expected more, but apparently it was just hearsay.”

“That works for us,” one shrugged. He had his back to Riza and was unable to see any defining features about him. “We just need to try a different approach.”

“What about Knox?”

“Desolate. Family is all dead. Doesn’t have much more to live for from what I gather –”

The man was cut off suddenly. Riza tensed in surprise, but ready to react to any incoming attack. He lifted his hands to his throat, choking, while his face turned purpled. Riza glanced around the room and so no one else making a move to hurt him. They were all shouting, asking what was going on. Riza turned on her heel and saw Alphonse with his hand outstretched, fingers turned upwards like a claw.

“Alphonse,” Riza hissed. She jerked his hand down and the man collapsed to the floor, heaving with breath.

“They hurt innocent people,” he stated, voice as hard as the concrete walls surrounding them. “We have to deal with that.”

“Not like this,” she hissed.

“What, are you just going to go in there and talk to him?” he retorted.

“Keep quiet and stay out of sight,” she glared, surging to her feet. She entered the room, sword drawn.

“You –!” the man whose face she’d seen before cried out, pointing his finger in fear at her.

“You’ve done unspeakable things to a friend of mine,” Riza interrupted him, circling slowly around the room as the other men rose to their feet. “You tried to kill me and made a threat against my charge.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were worth much to him in the end though,” one sneered.

Riza shook her head. “That doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

It did. It mattered big time, but they didn’t need to know that. First, she’d get this situation handled and dealt with, and take it from there. She was always good at that. If things went well and she was able to subdue and make them surrender, she’d need to return to the King because he would need to decide what to do with them.

“Some “great friend” the King turned out to be for you,” another interjected from her left. Riza pivoted in place, keeping them both in her line of sight.

“Leaving you all alone like that? Casting you out after you were just trying to protect him?” A third entered the room behind her. Riza backed up so she could see them all. The one Alphonse had tried to choke rose to his feet. Now, all sets of eyes were on her, and they were all advancing.

This wasn’t good.

And where had Alphonse gone? She’d told him to stay put and out of sight, but only because he was being irrational. He wasn’t one to let her be thrown to the wolves like this.

And that behaviour, lashing out like that… That wasn’t Alphonse…

Where was he?

Riza flicked her eyes to the doorway, but instead of Alphonse, a man entered. He was dressed similarly to the others – long robes of varying bright colours – and his facial hair was a feat. His beard was long and fell to his waist, curling at the end because of the length.

“Al?” she called. She couldn’t help herself. Something wasn’t right. Riza had felt a shift in the air. The magic that felt like a third presence when she was with Alphonse had disappeared, and she felt bear without it.

“He’s not there,” the newcomer smirked.

“What do you mean?” Riza barked. She gripped her sword even tighter, levelling it in place.

“He has been taken care of. Now, the same will be done to you.”

Riza gripped her sword tighter. The centre of the room was bathed in light from their spells. However, the rest of the room was in darkness. Hoping to use that to their advantage, a fifth enemy launched themselves at Riza from behind. However, she hadn’t been the King’s First Knight for nothing. She spun parried his blow expertly and grabbed his arm, pinning it behind his back. Riza lifted her sword to his throat and twirled back around the face the other men.

“Where’s my friend?” she hissed. This was an unprecedented move to the other men. They stood frozen, poised to strike, but non-moving. One frowned and relaxed while the man underneath Riza’s sword squirmed.

“Keep wriggling like that,” she hissed in his ear. “And this sword will accidentally cut your throat,” she warned.

“That isn’t really becoming behaviour of King Mustang’s First Knight, now is it?” one jeered.

“Former First Knight,” she corrected. “Your lot saw to that.”

She jerked the man against her body hard, steadying her sword. He whimpered against her. Under all the bravado and smarmy comments, they were all just terrified. They were small men who were powerful when all together, but individually and under threat, they were squealing pigs, desperate not to go to the slaughter. Riza was willing to bed they would sell their own comrades in their place so they could save their own skin.

“Easy.” The man was talking to her like she was caged lion, ready to rip her teeth into this man’s neck. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe there was some shred of loyalty and camaraderie with these men. “Let him go.”

“Give me my friend, then I will,” Riza fired back.

She told herself, had told Alphonse too, that if anything happened to him, she’d never be able to forgive herself. Now his wellbeing and location was unknown.

What had she done?

He couldn’t be far. A few minutes had passed since she entered the room. Unless he teleported away… Unless he’d been put under such a threat that he needed a quick escape. Riza had told him to do that the first mission they’d ever been on together. She’d drilled it into him and maybe, just this once, Alphonse had heeded her advice when it came to saving his own skin over hers. He didn’t need to die for a failure like her.

If he’d teleported away, then he was safe. If they’d threatened him and he’d used it as his only means of escape, that was all right. He was away from this standoff and that was all that mattered.

“He’s gone.” The man to her left, who’d entered through the door Riza had, revealed, his tone slightly bitter. “He fled as soon as I approached.” Then, a glint returned to his eyes. He probably planned to use that to his advantage.

Riza felt her shoulders relax slightly, peeling away from her ears. Good. He’d escaped.

“So, not only has your King cast you out, but your friend has abandoned you too?” The men chuckled.

Bingo.

“Really?” Riza asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re taking that approach?”

The speaker faltered. He frowned.

“Nevertheless, you’re all alone. There’s five of us, plus our men, and only one of you. Surrender now, and we’ll let you live.”

Riza scoffed. The man in her arms stiffened.

“I’m not surrendering anything,” she replied. “You’re all scared little men. What can you possibly do against the likes of me?”

… There!

Alphonse crept forward in the darkness, lifting his hands in front of him.

Just need to keep them talking so he can get ready.

“One woman isn’t good enough to go up against the likes of us,” one sneered. “Even if you were the King’s First Knight.”

“I think I am,” she smirked.

She wasn’t arrogant. Riza hated arrogance and would never flaunt her abilities and think herself above another human being. However, this was spurring them on and keeping them talking. They were arguing with her, and that gave Alphonse the time he needed to spring his trap on them.

Al nodded in her direction – Riza caught it out the corner of her eye – and backed up in the darkness. Trap one was set. He had two more to make. Riza just had to keep them busy.

“We’ll see about that!”

The man who lunged at her was seething. Apparently, he didn’t take well to someone thinking they were better than him. Too bad.

Riza shoved her captive at him. He stumbled, hitting his comrade with enough force that they both toppled onto the floor. The man was outraged, scrambling to shove the man off his body, shouting at the rest of them to get her.

Jumping back, Riza avoided a sword was thrust towards her. She skipped to the right to miss another strike from another one of the men. Their movements were angry and uncontrolled. They were lashing out at her, desperate to shut her up and stop her. That was fine, Riza could deal with that.

Her only downfall was the dimming light in the room as they pressed her farther back into the shadows.

Berthold Hawkeye was a strict trainer. He was brutal and some of those training sessions scarred her as a teenager, however, Riza couldn’t argue that they had helped her. One session she’d been blindfolded during a fight in training. It had been terrifying, and she’d sustained many blows. He’d left her alone in pitch black rooms, leaving her with no light at all to find her way around there for days on end. She’d had to listen to audio cues and become comfortable with the darkness. It had been awful, but in a moment like this, it helped. She listened to the enemy’s footwork and their breathing, manoeuvring her way around the room on the defensive.

Another blow came from behind, completely unexpected. A sixth person entered the room, striking her lower back hard with something blunt. It left her gasping, the pain unimaginable and she stumbled forward onto her knees. She couldn’t move. It felt like she couldn’t breathe.

A shadow was cast over the thin strip of light in front of her and Riza rolled to the right, towards the wall and a window which was also lacking glass. It was a long way down to the ground, but it would get her into the daylight and out of this pitch black with six enemies.

Adrenaline fuelled her as she rolled her back over the ledge, gripping the edge of the window frame. There were shouts from inside, each clamouring over one another as they tried to stop her. Riza took a deep breath, clenched her teeth, and let go.

The impact on the ground was softened as she rolled to combat it, however once her back hit the concrete it exploded in agony once more. Her eyes popped open and she clumsily rolled onto her knees, one hand making a fist and resting against the gravel. The tiny stones bit into her skin but it was nothing compared to the pain in her lower back. Riza wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stand.

Hands gripped her hard and wrenched her off the floor. Riza gasped – both at the sudden movement for her poor, battered spine, and the panic that the enemy had followed her – but she recognised Alphonse beside her.

“Why did you jump out of that window?” he hissed urgently, thoroughly unamused.

“Why did you try to choke out that guard?” she countered.

She hadn’t forgot about that and wasn’t impressed. That wasn’t how they were going to do things, and it had surprised her a great deal. It wasn’t his usual behaviour.

Alphonse clenched his jaw in response but didn’t reply as he dragged Riza into the forest around the compound. Riza stumbled and fell once under the cover of the trees, her lower back cramping up and stopping her legs from moving.

“Do it,” she panted. “Activate the trap.”

Alphonse didn’t argue. He nodded and slammed his hands on the ground, eyes closed in concentration. Light blue light crackled in the ground, surging back into the compound. Two sparks followed separate invisible lines and disappeared underneath the undergrowth in the forest. The next thing Riza heard were shouts of surprise as the enemies were trapped by Alphonse’s magic.

Silence ensued and Al didn’t move. He remained in place while his face contorted in concentration.

“Did it work?” Riza whispered, not wanting to startle him out of his focus.

The young mage was silent for a moment longer. Alphonse let out a long breath, and he smiled tightly at her, but was still relieved.

“It worked.”

[mjwiththefangs]

Beautifully Deadly (NaLu) #6

Chapter 6

Vampire/Supernatural AU

Rating: M

Summary:  "Supposedly an entire kingdom disappeared when their queen went beyond the borders, remember?" When Natsu Dragneel leaves the kingdom to investigate mysterious disappearances, he finds a much bigger adventure than he was bargaining for, including a beautiful vampire hidden away in an ancient castle. She has little to say about her past, or why she's locked away. Who did this to her? What has she been feeding on? One thing Natsu knows for sure that she is dangerous... Could she have something to do with the disappearances? "I'm sorry, Natsu, but I'm just so thirsty."

Chapters: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

Read it on: AO3 & FF.net

AN: Hello! so this chapter ended up being cut a bit short- just because there was too much I wanted to cram in and ended up deciding (to avoid waffling in this chapter!) that all the other things can wait until later. Thanks to that, this chapter is a little bit shorter than the last one! I hope you all still enjoy, and let me know what you think!

As always, shout out to my Betas @mannyegb and @bmarvels !

Review shoutouts! to: KatanaNoNeko, NaluGrey, KJacket, YunaYue, takeagamble27, MadisonMikazuki, Delightfulxxx, ChaosreigN 

Thank you!!

There are certain beings within this universe that choose to remain anonymous. Some have existed as long as time and fallen to obscurity.

One individual prefers to be this way, it makes his work much easier. It helps him avoid awkward situations. Before, when his existence had been caught wind of, he found himself approached with requests about fate. Some asked when their time would be, others asked what the cost would be to avoid ever meeting him again.

They called him Death. He was the very first Reaper. He had a name, reserved only for the few that truly piqued his interest. One such in particular was a blonde woman, tainted by a cursed existence which should not have been hers to bear. She had not sensed what he was, or maybe she just did not care.

He had been perplexed by her. His dark onyx eyes had observed her with curiosity. She had been in a rush, he had dryly joked 'in a rush to meet your death’. The woman had held his gaze with honey gold eyes, and for an instant, he felt that desire in her. That desire to escape.

So, he gave her aid. He pointed her in the direction of shelter. Offered her… provisions of a certain kind. She reluctantly accepted, though never asked where he had gotten them.

Now, he wondered how she was, his mind absently wandering. He had not felt the tug of her soul, beckoning him to take her to the other side. Perhaps she would still be in her shelter.

How long would she survive without feeding, he wondered. Would she ever truly understand what this fate was that had fallen upon her?

He recalled their last meeting, unbidden. She had stood before him, her fists trembling at her sides. Her eyes bleeding crimson, drowning in darkened shadows. She was desperate.

'Please.’

He understood what she was asking. He reached into his dark robes, presenting a pail to her. She took it with greedy hands.

'You should follow your heart’ his advice slipped out. She reminded him of another blonde he had known, so very long ago. The deep recesses of his heart ached at the sorrow and pain on her features. He could at least offer her some salvation. He decided then, as she met his gaze unafraid, to gift her his name.

'You can call me Zeref.’

.

Lucy began to descend the stairwell, intending to get a basin of clean water for the blue feline. The cat himself purred happily in her arms and rubbing his wet fur against her. She wrinkled her nose.

‘Just what kind of trouble did you get yourself into before finding me?’ She asked. He meowed at her again and raised his paw to lick it clean. He smelled bad. The odour from his cerulean fur was like putrid fish and pond-weed.

Lucy hoped that she still had some of her good soap leaves left over to cleanse his stench. She really did have to ponder what he had done to find himself so damp and smelly.

The small blue cat, however, was already plotting his next escapade with the strange fish lady.

.

Juvia, meanwhile, was not having such a good evening.

She had only returned to her waters the day prior, and the weather had been most unpleasant, though for once that was not by her doing. The dusklight earlier had been irresistible as it shone on the lake’s surface. She had indulged herself, lazily paddling and creating ripples across the surface, flicking her tail languidly to create waves. She had sighed, closing her eyes and floating through the water.

What she had not expected, however, was the almighty chomp of teeth on her teal-scaled tail. She had squawked her displeasure, her leisurely swim disrupted. Her eyes snapped open as her torso dropped below the surface, her perfect balance ruined. Her tail flailed ungracefully above water, the biter temporarily dislodged. She glared, bursting above the surface once more to give the cretin a piece of her mind!

She whipped her head around, azure locks flicking over her shoulder. She had heard what she swore was giggling above her. Her head snapped up. A blue-furred cat floated on fluffy white wings, he held paws over his mouth, his eyes were wide and watching her like she was his next meal.

‘I am not dinner!’ She exclaimed, her face burning red with anger. She yelped when the cat flew at her again with his mouth wide. The mermaid had ducked, and eyes flashing blue, heaved her tail, and hurled an enormous portion of water towards the cat instead.

That had been that. Her assailant had yowled his displeasure and shook out his wings before hissing and fleeing.

Now, Juvia remained sour-faced, floating on her back. There was a large crescent shape left behind on her otherwise pristine scales.

She sighed, still frustrated about having her pleasant night disrupted. Gazing at the darkening sky, she could see the waning crescent moon. Although not a full moon, it still entranced her. She felt eased into calmness and opened her mouth to sing.

Singing was always her solace when she felt upset. Tonight was no different.

Further away, unbeknown to Juvia, a man had caught a glimpse of blue descending the sky and grinned to himself. He had to be on the right track. He continued his course in the direction of the lake, frost crackling underfoot.

.

The Fire Dragon King was observing the Titania at work. He couldn't decide if he was watching meticulous planning or organised chaos unfold before him. But the distress on the Valkyries’ face was clear.

Gray had flown the coop. A day or two ago in fact. All of her plans had been thrown into disarray and she needed to reconvene. As such, her troops were stuck in limbo.

Erza had needed him here. Sure, part of it was to stop his magic destabilising further. But his command over ice would have been essential to protect the kingdom. She had to change her plans.

As such, before her stood Lyon Vastia and Ultear Milkovich. They were both close with Gray; Lyon had been apprenticed to Ur alongside him and Ultear was Ur's daughter. As such, the 3 of them were like family. They had certainly mourned for Ur together.

Erza studied the two of them carefully. Like Gray, they were gifted with the Ice Element. Lyon was a Yeti, his mop of snowy white hair and piercing eyes giving him away, despite using his magic to appear human-shaped. His ice magic worked with nature itself, allowing him to form ice that looked like other creatures and behaved as though alive. He had sought Ur out to train him to be stronger when he was just a small boy.

Her violet orbs drifted over to Ultear, who stood with a shoulder towards the Red-head. Her skin was pale, white enough to camouflage her with snow, if not for her ebony dark hair.

She was a rare creature known as a Yuki-Onna, a Snow Girl. She was usually a recluse, often omitting her presence at the castle in favour of the written word. She had always had a strong affinity with the Ice Element, her mother had been a Khione, daughter to the North Wind, and Deity of Snow.

Ultear's state of being was partially her inheritance of the ice element but she ultimately had her awakening as a Yuki-Onna after almost losing her life to the cold. As a young child, she had been foolish, venturing out into a snowstorm and had fallen dreadfully ill. Ur had used her powers, smiling as she accepted this fate, and taken the cold threatening her daughters’ life into her own body.

Ultear would always remember the dark-haired man, how he smiled gently at her, his presence ethereal, time stopping all around them both. The way his onyx eyes met her sadly, she was so young.

Then suddenly he was fading from view, time sluggishly restarting around her. He smiled at her again, this time with warmth. He turned away from her, leaving her arc of time as a parting gift.

She regained consciousness soon after to Ur’s loving smile, brushing the hair from her face. She understood years later her mother's sacrifice. By taking that cold into her body, it had slowly begun to freeze her from the inside. It seemed ironic, Ultear thought, that her mother was killed by the same element that she had mastered.

Her piercing crimson eyes opened, and she turned to face the armour-clad Valkyrie regarding her. She held the woman in high mutual respect and currently shared her irritation with a certain ice demon.

Ultear, temporarily foregoing her irritation, decided to get to the point, ‘What do you need me to do, Titania?’

Erza nodded, silently agreeing they could get mad at Gray later. ‘I normally wouldn’t ask this of you, Ultear. I know how you prefer your solitude, and your charms have always proved invaluable. But right now, I need you as close to the perimeter as possible. You have mastery over ice that we have not known since Ur was still with us. I need you to build ice walls if you see any hostiles approaching, and if you have to, freeze them with your ice, or Arc of Time. Just keep them out.’ Erza instructed and Ultear thought for a moment, before nodding once.

Erza turned to the sullen Yeti beside the Yuki-Onna. ‘Lyon.’ He made a noise, signalling she had his attention.

‘Your frozen beasts are perfect for patrolling. Keep them divided if you can manage, but position some at the weak points of the border, and reserve some for the palace.’

‘Yes, Captain.’ He said in a low voice and she dismissed them both with a smile of thanks.

Igneel still remained atop the stairs overlooking the exchange, his hands clasped behind his back. Deep lines of worry were drawn across his face. His ears twitched when he heard heavy footfalls approaching.

His features relaxed into a smirk, ‘Metallicana, It's not very often you join me up here.’ He turned towards his companion, holding out a hand in greeting.

Metallicana boomed a short laugh, clasping his hand warmly and slapping his shoulder. The man was decked out in studded leather, with several piercings adoring his features. He had salt-and-pepper coloured hair, which pointed wildly in several directions. He was a Dragon, similar to Igneel, but unlike him, Metallicana was not a pureblood nor a Drake.

‘Igneel! I wanted to make sure you were keeping busy!’ His voice was gravelly as he spoke, ‘I did wonder if you had any updates about my Son.’ he finished in a quieter voice.

Gajeel was still considered part of the nest, even though he had taken his Mother’s wolf heritage. The draconic blood in him was still prevalent in his unusual diet of raw iron.

Metallicana missed him dreadfully. He had also come to speak to Igneel to offer words of empathy. After all, Natsu had gone now too.

The Fire Dragon King sighed heavily. ‘I’m afraid not, old friend. I suppose Natsu wanted to go after him.’

The iron-studded man closed his eyes and sighed softly, musing. He squeezed Igneel’s shoulder in his hand and opened his eyes again to meet his gaze.

‘I am sure they’ll return when they’re ready. Though, that may take longer than either of us hope.’

Igneel nodded. They had to believe that.

His attention was stolen by insistent, frustrated mewling. He titled his head, searching for the cause of the noise. Metallicana raised a studded eyebrow, his features perplexed and leaned sideways to peer around the King.

A small white cat was hissing furiously, spitting and screeching as she leapt around one of the wagons. She batted and slashed her claws on the tarpaulin covering the cart.

Igneel watched the cat with knowing eyes, a feeling of conflict bubbling in his chest. He didn’t have long to ponder though, as Metallicana asked ‘Isn’t that Carla?’ rubbing his chin, ‘She’s always with Grandeeny’s daughter, Wendy, right?’

Igneel rumbled a ‘Yes’, under his breath, already moving to step towards the irritated cat. Carla was still hissing vehemently when Igneel reached her. The snowy cat startled, fluffy wings bursting from her back and she leapt upwards, turning to face him as she did.

Carla meowed loudly in his face and fluttered down, rubbing herself along his leg. He crouched to scratch her gently behind her ear, he flicked his gaze upwards to the cart.

‘You can come out now, Wendy.’

A small whine came from the back of the wagon and the tarpaulin shifted slightly. Shocking blue hair framed her face, large chocolate coloured eyes looking owlishly out at him. Carla yowled indignantly, Wendy raising a hand apologetically, silently begging her to be quiet.

Igneel kept his voice low, hoping to soothe the girl, ‘Your mother would be worried if she knew you were out here. She's making medical drafts with your Aunt Porlyusica. Why don’t you go find her? I'm sure they could use your help.’

She gnawed on her lower lip, briefly averting her gaze and glancing back at him, nodding shyly. He offered her his hand, helping her out the wagon.

The iron dragon watched with bemusement, catching the young girl’s eye when she was back on solid ground, chuckling as she flushed with embarrassment and jogged towards the castle, Carla hot on her heels.

‘She’s certainly free-spirited.’ Metallicana chuckled, his eyes following her retreating form. 'But then, Wyverns always are.’

Igneel cocked his head at the other man, and with a half-shrug responded with

‘They’re both still Draconic, and as such valuable to the nest’ he smiled and gestured towards Erza. 'I need to speak with her, but I shall meet you in the study after.’

Metallicana returned his smile, and with a nod and wave, he returned to the castle.

Igneel breathed deep, his attention turning towards the Valkyrie. He wanted to know her plan of action, and gift to her the lacrima he'd been holding onto.

It was a simplified communication lacrima, part of a pair, and could not be detected by other lacrimas of the same variety. The pair specialised in exchanging data on the others’ environments and the respective holder's thoughts and feelings, including magic energy transfers. Essentially, Igneel could scout and aid them from the castle.

He approached her and cleared his throat.

.

Elsewhere, Jellal was becoming anxious. He was sealed in a guest room at Avatar, and whilst he'd been told he could move freely, he knew that wasn't the case. His magic was pulsating within him, fluctuating with his temperament, and purposefully reminding those nearby of his power.

It was also acting as a sonar, alerting him who was in close proximity. He needed to concentrate. Jellal Perched himself on the bed, elbows on his knees, resting his chin behind interlaced fingers. He sought out the bond between him and Erza, the one created when he first began to watch over her as a guide; the same magical bond that altered dramatically when the two of them became lovers. It was like feeling along an invisible thread, and gazing through a keyhole at the other side. He could sense her alertness. Igneel had gifted her something, he noted, feeling the orb shape in her hands. She was tilting her head now, feeling him tugging on that thread. He could see her in his mind’s eye, fuzzy, but becoming clearer the more he focused on her.

Her beautiful scarlet hair whipped around her face, her sharp eyes scanning her immediate vicinity. He could have gazed into those pools of violet until the end of his days if she’d have only let him. Those eyes settled, seemingly meeting his own.

The Angel smiled softly at her, his fingers unconsciously moved to stroke her cheek, as if he were truly with her. Her own usually stern expression softened, his name falling from her lips.

‘I don’t have much time. You can find our location here.’

He had always found this method of communication unusual. It wasn’t quite telepathy. It was something akin to a data transfer, he supposed. He made sure she knew his location, how he’d found it and even the coordinates he’d memorised earlier.

Suddenly, his magic spiked violently. His image of her face rippled. She nodded in understanding. He wanted to reach for her. She knew. Instead, he simply whispered ‘I love you’ and abruptly severed their connection.

Mentally realigning himself always felt like awakening from a dream. It was disorienting to say the least. But Jellal was used to the strange sensation. His magic demanded attention for more urgent matters.

His cyan coloured eyes snapped open and swept to the door. His magic was reacting furiously. Someone was approaching. He tilted his head back, sitting up and straightening his shoulders. His eyes narrowed. He urged his magic into a calmer state. He allowed it to still spill from his person, as though it was lurking just beneath the surface.

Jellal could sense the approaching hostility. It seemed he’d failed to avoid raising suspicion. There was a knock on the door.0

[nitewrighter]

Gency Week Prompt: “Dark”

Well this’ll probably get blown out of the water by Michael Chu, but in honor of Gency Week, have my take on their first meeting!! 

Also, my apologies but I can’t put it under a cut because tumblr code is currently butchering text posts that have a “read more,” so anyone who doesn’t want scroll through a shit-ton of text, I recommend you hit “J.”

-------

Mercy felt queasy. Maybe it was the fact that the Blackwatch transport was smaller, more easily jostled than the Orca. Maybe it was the fact that she could feel this armor weighing down on her chest more heavily. She glanced down at her ‘adjusted’ uniform. The beret was red, not white, her hair tightly tied back and under it, and her nose, mouth and jawline were covered up by a gray and black mask that was somewhere between surgeon’s mask and pilot’s oxygen mask. Her valkyrie suit had been done up in Blackwatch’s black, red, and gray color scheme, more heavily armored. It didn’t feel right. The purpose of the valkyrie suit wasn’t just easy transport around the battlefield, it was supposed to be a symbol of hope, it was supposed to boost morale, and calm people down. Her face needed to be exposed---people had to know that it was a human looking after them, a doctor. That was the point. All this armor, all this secrecy, felt terribly grim to her. Her grip on her caduceus staff tightened and she pursed her lips, already feeling claustrophobic with the mask, but her unease only made worse by the jostling. She didn’t like this. She never got motion sick. Her body had all but been trained out of it with the Valkyrie suit.

“It’s tactical,” Reyes spoke from across the transport, as if sensing her discomfort. She brought her eyes up from her lap to him. “It’s not permanent,” Reyes went on, “Just for this mission. This was outlined in your contract when you signed on.”

“As were the non-disclosure agreements,” said Mercy, furrowing her brow slightly.

“That’s...  kind of the definition of a Black operation, Doctor Ziegler,” said Reyes.

Mercy glanced from Reyes to McCree next to him, apparently half-napping with his hat brim pulled down, covering his eyes. Mercy craned her neck to look out the window of the transport. Hanamura glittered below, a city that had recovered more quickly than most after the crisis.

“Why were you so sure you would need a medic for this mission?” asked Mercy.

“We’re doing a pick-up,” said Reyes.

“So you’ve said,” said Mercy, “But Blackwatch has its own medics, doesn’t it?”

“We do, but... we figure since previous reports indicate there’s no way to tell how bad the damage might be to our pick-up, we’ve decided it’s wise to prepare for the worst,” he gestured at her, “By bringing in the best.”

“Your flattery is appreciated, Gabriel, but it’s a poor substitute for more details,” said Mercy, eyeing the three other blackwatch agents coming along as backup.

“This ain’t Overwatch, Doc,” McCree, apparently not as asleep as she had previously thought, lifted up the brim of his hat with his thumb as he leaned forward, “We run things a little differently here.” Reyes shot McCree a look and McCree cleared his throat and gestured at Reyes with his thumb. “He,” McCree said, correcting himself, “He runs things a little differently here.”

Mercy glanced back at Reyes and Reyes gave a reassuring nod. She rolled her grip on her staff and did her best to quiet the storm of Murphy’s Law thoughts that now clouded her mind.

The transport landed on the roof of an arcade and the team poured out and quickly descended a fire escape, with Mercy herself simply jumping off the roof and descending safely with the Valkyrie wings.

“Drone intel pans out,” said one Blackwatch agent, unfolding their tablet as they ran up a hill, “Most of the security is spread thin around the city. Some kind of manhunt, it looks like.”

 The six of them came upon a massive wooden gate. Mercy paused, staring at the Emblem on the gate: two dragons, spiraling around each other. Her stomach dropped.

“Wait--” she started.

“Deadeye, take point,” said Reyes, “Remember--Non-lethal takedowns for any remaining hostiles.” 

“Got it, boss,” said McCree running past the gate.

“Gryphon,” Reyes motioned to another Blackwatch agent, “Back him up.”

The agent, apparently codenamed ‘Gryphon,’ nodded and ran past Mercy after McCree.

“Reyes---” Mercy spoke through gritted teeth.

“We’re in the field. Codenames, Merce,” said Reyes.

Mercy rolled her eyes. “Prospero,” she said, her voice dripping with venomous disdain for the theatrical codename, “The NPA stated it wanted no interference from Overwatch in regards to Shimada Clan activities.”

“The NPA’s concern has been noted,” said Reyes. 

“Courtyard secure,” McCree spoke over the comms, “One body, no other hostiles.”

“Understood. Advancing,” said Reyes, “On me, Mercy. Daleth, you’re with us.” he pointed at another blackwatch agent, “Nero, maintain the perimeter.”

“...noted and ignored,” muttered Mercy, following after Reyes as he and the Blackwatch agent moved through the courtyard. Mercy saw the body. It was far from the first body she had ever seen in her career as a combat medic, but somehow in the context of a Blackwatch mission, it felt... more wrong. They were in the den of one of the largest and most dangerous crime families in Japan, a part of her was mentally prepared for this at this point. His suit indicated him as one of the higher-ranked members of main branch security detail. Cause of death appeared to be a stab through the ribcage, followed through with a slash across the neck. The blood hadn’t even pooled around him, being instantly sucked up by the gravel of the karesansui beneath him, the weight of his body disrupting the ripples of the gravel. A sidearm lay uselessly by his side. Who brought a knife to a gunfight and won? she wondered.She shook her head then followed Reyes through the shadows of the wall surrounding the compound before they backed up against the wall of an interior gate that opened into a smaller garden filled with blooming cherry trees that looked silver in the moonlight. Reyes peered around the corner of the gate.

“Two hostiles,” McCree spoke over the comms, “Hold your position.”

Mercy, Reyes, and Daleth maintained their position for several seconds.

“Hostiles downed,” McCree said after a tense minute.

“Non-lethally?” said Reyes.

“One of ‘em, yeah. The other....didn’t really give us an option.”

Reyes sighed. “Gryphon, get the body back to the courtyard. Make it look like they were killed by the same person.”

A wave of nausea surged up from the back of Mercy’s throat. “Does Jack know about this?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“Would it make you feel any better if I said ‘Yes?’” returned Reyes.

Mercy fell quiet then. 

“Deadeye,” Reyes brought a hand to his ear, “You almost at the target?”

“Almost there, Boss.” said McCree over the comms, “Inner garden is clear, moving to the interior of the main building.”

“Copy. Moving to the main doors,” said Reyes, as he, Mercy, and Daleth moved through the garden, past Gryphon carrying the body on their shoulders out to the courtyard. 

“What happened here...?” murmured Mercy.

They walked toward a small garden pavilion just outside the main building’s front door and stopped short at the sight of three bodies, more Shimada family security guards. Mercy’s hand went up to go over her mouth in shock, but her fingers just ended up bumping dumbly against her mask. Bullet wounds, all of them, two in the head, one through the chest. The grass of the garden was muddy beneath them. 

“A gunman?” said Mercy, examining the wounds, “Or---”

“Main building’s clear. One body--Oh shit--” McCree’s voice came over the comms, “Boss, I think we’re too late.”

“What?” said Mercy.

“Our esteemed Doctor will be the judge of that,” said Reyes. He looked at Mercy. “Get in there. Deadeye’s watching you from the upper balcony. I’ll watch your back at the door,” Reyes brought a hand to his ear, “Nero. Get the transport and wait for us at the north terrace off the main building.” 

Mercy’s grip tightened on her staff as she peeked down the doorway and saw a large dimly lit chamber. A green and blue dragon circled each other on a tapestry. Then her eyes trailed down and her breath caught in her throat. There was a figure there, lying on his side on the floor, dressed in black and green. She pushed off the ground and shot forward on her valkyrie wings before reaching the side of a bloodied figure in the middle of the floor, her staff already activating its healing stream before she reached him.

 An arm was gone. Both legs were gone. A large chunk had been taken out of his torso, and blood was staining the white tatami beneath him red. A bloody sword lay at his side and Mercy pushed it out of reach before getting to her knees next to him and getting to work. She acted quickly, stopping off the bleeding on his severed limbs with foam bandage-gel and trying to focus on the massive chunk taken out of his torso.“I need a hand over here!” she shouted, and Daleth ran up alongside her and took a medkit out of their pack and placed sensors on his torso, taking out their tablet to monitor his erratic heartbeat. A weak half-drowned sound escaped him and Mercy looked around, keeping the stream of biotics on him. There were no limbs or entrails scattered around him, and deep lacerations of varying width scored his torso and face. The most unusual lacerations on his face were along his jaw, what was left of it at least, with a clean triangular thumb-width chunk, bone included, simply gone.

“Gabriel--” Mercy started and then caught herself, “Prospero,” she corrected herself with Reyes’ codename, “No human should be alive with injuries like this.”

“That’s why we’re picking him up, Doctor Ziegler. He’s not like any human alive,” said Reyes.

“Even from here it looks like it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a biotic staff,” said McCree.

“Just get him stable enough to move onto a stretcher and get into the transport,” said Reyes.

“I don’t understand,” Mercy muttered, keeping the biotic stream on him, “These wounds aren’t consistent with... with anything, I mean there’s some blade lacerations but whatever’s taken his limbs---it’s literally taken them.” 

“Vitals are crashing,” said Daleth.

“What? No!” said Mercy. She pulled her staff up and grabbed a scalpel from one of the pouches on her hip.

“Set down a biotic field,” she instructed Daleth, who complied and the three of them were in a small circle of yellow light as Mercy jammed the scalpel between two plates of her caduceus staff.

“Merce, what are you doing?” said McCree.

“I don’t have a defibrillator on hand, and I don’t know if his torso could handle a blow like that, I’ll need to use the next best thing,” she said, prying off a plate and revealing the two chords which controlled both the ‘Damage boost’ function of her staff and the biotic stream, with a capacitator dividing them. Mercy jimmied the scalpel under the capacitator and pulled it out of the staff. 

“Please work,” she whispered as she gripped down on the staff’s trigger, “CLEAR!”

 Daleth flinched back away from the bright braid of blue sparks and yellow light that shot forth from the end of the staff. The usual soft chime of biotics suddenly loudened to a shriek, and the crackle of the damage boost a sound like thunder that had struck too close, causing the staff itself to shake and glow blue and yellow with unbridled power as the man spasmed from the force of the beam. A roaring scream escaped the bloody man.

“Wh--How is he conscious!?” Mercy shouted over the crackling and singing of her own staff and the man’s screaming. Her eyes widened as suddenly a green light started issuing out of his body. “What...?” she said, her voice hushed by awe as the green light shaped itself into a dragon above him. Daleth scrambled back away from the dragon, but Mercy was fixed in place, unsure of what she was looking at. 

“Holy shit,” Mercy could hear McCree’s voice in her earpiece comm.

“That.... That’s not possible...” she said, releasing the trigger on her staff and staring at the dragon. It opened its maw and roared at her, blowing loose strands of her hair back and blowing her beret off of her head.

The bloodied man’s eyes snapped open, glowing green, and suddenly his hand shot up and gripped her neck as the dragon spiraled around his arm, Mercy gripped his wrist.

“Shit--” McCree said again,  “Boss, I have a shot---”

“Don’t shoot him!” Mercy blurted out, even with his hand squeezing her neck, he barely had the strength in his arm to grip it. The dragon had shrunk down to a brighter, more concentrated form, coiled around his arm, green light flushing off of it as if it were trying to lend the man his strength, and Mercy could feel it, his fingers closing on her throat. 

She looked down at the man, into the his glowing green eyes, then glanced at the dragon glaring at her from around his arm, “You’re a part of him, aren’t you?” said Mercy to the dragon, her fingers gently moving under the man’s fingers on her neck, “If he dies, so do you.”

His eyes scanned her, squinting a little, unsure of what to make of her. Unthinkingly, she took her free hand, previously gripping her caduceus staff and undid the mask covering her nose and mouth. His eyes widened slightly at her face.

That’s why the valkyrie suit doesn’t cover my face, Reyes, thought Mercy, People need to know there’s a human in it.

 “You have to trust me,” she said, “Please, let me help.”

His hand loosened from her neck, the dragon coiling around it disappeared like a neon green ink diluting in water. His arm dropped to his side and the green glow faded from his eyes, then his eyes rolled back in head and closed.

“...h-heartbeat stable,” said Daleth, looking at the tablet in their shaking hands, “For now.”

“Get him to the transport,” said Reyes, walking in and picking Mercy’s beret up off the floor, “Let’s get him back to Zurich.”

Reyes, McCree, Daleth and Mercy all eased the bloody mess of a man onto a Vishkar tech hard-light stretcher and brought him up a short set of stairs onto a large covered terrace, where Nero, Gryphon, and the Blackwatch transport waited. It took off into the night and Mercy watched out a window as glittering red lights pulled up outside the Shimada estate as they flew away. Mercy re-installed the capacitator in her staff and kept a steady stream of biotic energy on their pick-up. The transport was silent as they flew out and Hanamura shrank beneath them.

“So...” McCree said at last, “Helluva resumé you’re building, Doc.”

“What?” said Mercy, glancing up from the glow of biotics that she kept on the bloodied man.

“Angela Ziegler,” said McCree, with no small amount of gravitas, “Doctor. Surgeon. Biotic Technology Pioneer. Dragon Tamer.” 

[rosienth]

Ghost Story

I wrote this piece for my college science fiction class in response to Octavia Butler’s, “The Book of Martha”; there are also a few references to Ted Chiang’s, “Exhalation,” and to Chen Qiufan’s, “Smog Society.” It’s not the best thing that I’ve ever written, but it’s best read when accompanied by the Gone Girl soundtrack–my favorite movie soundtrack to date–specifically, “What Have We Done To Each Other.” 

My wife is as transient to me now as the fog is to everyone else. She comes when the fog opens, like curtains, revealing the face that appears so familiar to me, yet not, at the same time—and she goes when the fog thickens, closing off my view of her and her world in all of their foreign familiarity.

Space travel had not been successful in the earlier years: it took longer than we could afford to wait amidst the famines and the riots, and the astronauts—“our pioneers of the future,” as the last of the grimy government officials liked to call them—went missing, often, much to the public’s horror. Those were the days when my wife was still writing for the papers and leading protests and coming home to talk to me about how things were going to get infinitely better, Emily. As it always did, her doe-eyed optimism rubbed off on me with time, and so we, as in my naive colleagues at the lab and I, went looking for more efficient means—a shortcut that would bridge great spatial distances—of transcending time and space. No more primitively launching ourselves out of orbit. We were arrogant enough to tell ourselves that this project would not only be our redemption, but also the revival of the scientific world. The advent of the Second Enlightenment. When we presented our abstract to our prospective patrons, we called the theory something long, pretentious, and technical—a title that I could not even bother to remember later, when the fog arrived and settled. My wife called it “closing the gaps”—that’s a much more digestible term, Emily—which seems so appropriately ironic, in retrospect. I would have laughed if I had known better then.    

There is no telling or predicting when the fog will clear and there is no demanding or manipulating the fog into clearing. For the first time in a long time, we had to wait to get what we wanted from what was left of our planet. I cannot say whether or not this was good for us, or even if the fog had produced more patient, less self-serving people. It certainly did produce the most devout of religious fanatics, though. First, came the prayer circles; they were mostly secretive and inconspicuous in the beginning. Then, followed the chanting and the singing that echoed throughout the day, into the desolate alleyways and into the brittle corpses of fallen skyscrapers, and bled deep into the night. They—most likely because my wife had gone missing by the time that the Fog Societies multiplied and infiltrated the cities—didn’t bother me as much as they had bothered those who eventually attempted to silence their “disruptive nonsense” through violence. Their singing soothed me and helped me to drown out the sounds of regretful memories: dishes crashing against the kitchen floor, doors slamming in faces, empty curses shouted from across equally empty hallways. I didn’t like being told that I was being greedy; she didn’t like being told that she was being jealous. I was officially granted my own research space at the national lab; she was discharged from her position as editor-in-chief of the local paper.

Public distrust of science was rampant long before my team and I even started our experimental trials, and rightfully so: our predecessors took advantage of science’s promise of absolute objectivity and absolute truth to justify eugenics—among other inhumane acts. Scientists like me were scarce and poor, so naturally, the prize money was the objective of our project; the fog, of course, was the unintended, unnatural consequence—to some, a godly blessing—of our hasty curiosity and desperation.  

What emerged from the tear that we made in the atmosphere was not expected. I thought that you were closing the gaps. There was no kaleidoscopic storm that threatened to devour the city and the oceans; there was no ominous black hole to rip us apart and pull us into the fabric of the universe and end all human life as we knew it; there was no loud, cinematic climax, only a potent, viscous slowness. The fog materialized in waves, ever so subtly, before it was everywhere and before it became everything. It clouded our vision as it snaked through the uprooted streets and penetrated the thin walls of our homes, lulling the city into a gradual hibernation: it dimmed the street lamps, it eclipsed the stars, and it silenced the birds and the children in the parks. The fog became the air that we breathed and it, too, seemed to move—to clot and to dissipate—with the rhythm of our lungs: the exhale, the clotting, was deep and exaggerated, while the inhale, the dissipation, was brief and euphoric.  

Strange, inexplicable things happened during the inhalations, during the fleeting moments when fog cleared. There were miracles and there were tragedies; the two merged into one. My wife was the first to notice the differences that emerged from underneath the fog. At first, they were small, insignificant differences. The wedding album cover was royal blue instead of the seafoam green that my wife swore on her right hand that it was. Peach rose bushes bloomed in places where there should have been dirt and cracked concrete. Grandma Kay’s gilded antique music box disappeared from my wife’s bookshelf and was never found.

“This is a cruel prank, Emily,” my wife had assured me one morning before I left for work at the lab, her voice hoarse from last night’s yelling match. She must have also found it cruel when people began disappearing, too, but she retreated to her room without a word when the first headliner showed up at our door: 25 Missing, No Leads. They were never found.  

I spent the weeks leading up to my wife’s disappearance tossing and turning in the bed sheets, only occasionally getting up for nutritional biscuits and water from the kitchen. It was difficult to cope with the immobility during the exhalations; they were such agonizingly long periods. You could not see the hand in front of you when you stepped foot outside, let alone travel, because the fog was so opaque when it thickened and descended upon everything. My wife liked to joke that we were living beneath a large fleece blanket, though I suppose it wasn’t much of a joke given the bitterness in her tone. Ironically enough, we were safest in the darkness, when we were blind to everything outside of that large blanket. At least, people didn’t go missing during the exhalations.

The city is mostly quiet now because people had given up on hypothesizing and rationalising and instead, surrendered, shut up, and listened to the soft humming of the fog. You cannot sleep because the noise is so incessant, omnipotent, and it is usually at its loudest just before the fog lifts for the next inhalation. You can hear distorted, almost palpable voices muffled in the fog, some of them foreign, some of them so eerily familiar that they make you pause to stare at your reflection in the mirror at night, as my wife so often did. She said that she saw the ghosts of another family living inside of our house: one mother who goes to work—A scientist, Emily!—another mother who stays at home with the giggling baby. She witnessed the welcoming of the new family cat, reflected in the bathroom mirror. She was there for the baby’s first birthday celebration; she watched them dancing around together in the window panes. It made her uneasy, at times, the voyeurism of it all, but she could not bring herself to look away.

It was not long before the rest of the city saw their own ghosts, too. Behind the fog, we saw glimpses of different versions of ourselves. Some of them were brilliant, others, not so much. We got to see the ones that never broke up with our first loves, the ones that pursued the internships that we had been too afraid to in college, and the ones that found solace in opium and lived in dingy spaces on the edges of town. The fog gave us new vision, new eyes: we saw life and we saw death, living and dying, all at once. For some, the gift was too overwhelmingly colorful; it drove them down the rooftops of skyscrapers and down the flights of apartment building staircases. For others, the gift seduced them into stagnance. Sometimes, they formed new religions like the Fog Societies did in order to evoke more frequent inhalation periods. Sometimes, they sat still in their living rooms, inhaling the sounds of their potential lives and choices. My wife sleep walked through empty rooms and traced the spines of nonexistent books that she did not own, at least not in this life. Not here and not now. All of these things were ultimately just different forms of waiting and postponing action. People were tired of working and protesting to deaf ears. Waiting felt good.

One night, sometime after my wife went missing, a stranger joined me in bed. This was an inhalation. The woman resembled my wife in almost every way: she shared the same waist-length curls, same pointed nose that I used to teasingly poke, same bright, hazel eyes. I watched the panic grow and then plateau in those eyes at the realization that I was not at all who she thought that I was.

“You’re not Cara. Where is she? Where is the baby?”

This wife-imposter did not stay for very long. She left just as quickly as she had arrived, when the fog came back and swathed us in its great arms. I don’t think that I ever saw her again. There were other wife-imposters, certainly, but all slightly different; a minority of them recognized me—probably a different version of me, maybe a better me that didn’t abandon my wife when she needed me the most—and I pretended to recognize them too. Most of them reacted similarly to the way that the first one did, by bombarding me with questions, to which I answered as honestly as I could. The questions that I asked myself tortured me more so. Was my real wife starving somewhere on the side of some nondescript road? Was she happier with whomever she wound up with than she was with me? Was she still alive? The first few times the women appeared were frustrating and disorienting; I just wanted to get past the formalities, past those shrill, hysterical questions, and find out for sure if this was indeed my wife from here, from now. My increasing loneliness and guilt softened me, however, and I found myself hopefully waiting for these awkward visits from these strange women that ghosted in and out of our house. I wanted for just anyone to distract me from that harrowing loneliness and guilt.  

These days, I wait out on my flamingo pink lawn chair, half-heartedly pretending to sunbathe, but mostly I’m focused on my breathing. I’ve stopped going to the lab and I’ve stopped communicating with my colleagues altogether, not that either of those things would have mattered, anyway; some of them don’t even remember my name or why they’re even working at the lab. I can’t blame them, though. My own memories feel more like distant childhood bedtime stories than they do reality. Perhaps we are all too intoxicated to tell the difference. Perhaps the fog has suffocated us all in our own daydreams; I don’t know. For now, I know that I am perfectly content waiting around for the fog to churn out the next dazed stranger. I know that she’ll have a lot of questions that I can’t answer, but maybe one day, she won’t have any. She’ll know exactly who I am and she’ll know that she is home.

[what-am-i-darlin]

June 25, 2019. The last chapter ( Treachery. )

I have started writing this chapter so many times now that it made much more sense to leave it behind, leave it unfinished forever, kind of like you’ve left me. It somehow never fully expressed my truest, deepest emotions. No matter what I did and how much effort I made or how many crossings out there were on these pages, no matter how many times I rearranged the words and replaced adjectives, nothing seemed to capture what I was experiencing. None of the words fully represented the immensity and the colossal nature of my feelings. Nevertheless, in the end, or should I say six months later I managed somehow to piece it all together, the broken bits and fragments, solely for the purpose of having a  written record of the day I broke apart. Even this introduction, which is written as a confession of a sort, a reminder for myself, doesn’t do it any justice. But It has been long enough, too long really, and it is time to let go. Let it go. Let it all go.

It was Christmas evening and the sun was sinking so low in the sky, causing the clouds to become the shade of faint lilac streaked with crimson. It was very cold outside and the girl was preparing to leave the warmth and pleasantness of her living room, fire still kindling from the mantelpiece, causing light to fall gently around the room and shadows to spill over the floor. She was waiting patiently for the sun to set and for darkness to descend so as to avoid being seen and caught. Her heart grew restless every second and her breathing was becoming deeper and faster. She was fully dressed, her long, dark coat and scarf ready by her side. The sun sank below the horizon, dissolved and finally surrendered to twilight. It was the perfect moment to leave. She quickly put her coat on and placed her hand on the doorknob. “One more glance” she thought. She turned around for the last time and gazed around the comfortable but empty room. A wave of grief rose suddenly inside her chest but she was determined. She had to warn him. The hunters were ruthless and they wanted him. They weren’t going to give up until they’ve caught him. She turned the knob and stepped outside into the crisp Christmas air. Outside you could see the houses decorated with ornaments and Christmas trees, you could almost smell the cinnamon and taste the mulled wine. “What if I just stay here? Stay here and grow old..” Marveling at the happy families, safely hidden inside their homes, at children laughing and waiting for their presents and sweets, once more the thought of staying here danced around the edges of her mind. No, no, she should move, she needs to move, run even. She needed to find him and warn him. She knew where his hiding place was, but if they followed her somehow, she would lead them straight to him. No, she must warn him. She broke into a run. The cold air was filling her lungs and spreading all over her body. The pain was sharp and piercing but she had to endure it, she needed to be strong. After a while she had reached a clearing just before the forest started. There was a wide stream in between and the only way to reach the woods in time, was across it. Pondering about what to do, she was startled by a rustling in the trees ahead and she lifted her head when her gaze fell upon something crimson that revealed itself just for a second. He was there, waiting for her. Excitement sparked inside of her and her heart started beating really fast once more. She had to reach him. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the dogs barking and disturbing the silence of an otherwise quiet evening. The hounds must have picked up her scent and any moment now they would lead the hunters to her. She sped up, one foot in front of the other, careful not to slip and praying in her mind not to fall. She had almost crossed the slippery rocks and the icy water and was now coming to solid ground right at the entrance of the forest. “Wait” she shouted! The fox looked at her but it didn’t stop, it broke into a run without looking back. It was fast and cunning, avoiding rocks and branches on the ground. “Wait!” She gasped again. She was running now also, trying to keep up but to no avail. Her coat billowing behind her, her long curls flailing in the wind, spilling and falling on her back. Why was the fox running? The barking and the voices grew louder and louder now, the hunters were quickly gaining on her but she wasn’t giving up, she was still intent upon reaching the animal, following in his tracks. “Stop! Why are you running away?” The fox was still moving, even more fiercely now, leading her deeper into the forest grounds. The trees were growing thicker and it was becoming darker and harder to see. Yet the crimson fox was avoiding every obstacle with ease. Her coat caught on branches, they scraped her hands and cheeks. Something warm glided down her face and without touching the place it hurt and stung, she knew it was blood. She no longer knew whether she was bleeding from her eyes, from her heart or from somewhere else.

The cold air stabbed at her lunges, it was becoming more and more difficult to draw breath and she thought she was going to suffocate. She would lose sight of him soon, she wouldn’t be able to keep up much longer. The hunters voices grew louder still, you could smell how determined they were. The trees were now so thick that it was extremely difficult to avoid bumping into them. There was a small silver light streak that gleamed and found its way through the trees and the fox was running towards it. Could it be a safe place? Was he perhaps leading her somewhere they could both hide? Or was it a trap? No.. She must not think like that, she had to trust it, she had already given her soul to the animal, what was more left to do? She would follow until the very end. Until death itself. The light was now shining brighter, they were again reaching a clearing of some kind, the fox still a long way ahead, though still in sight. Then a small archway of branches appeared before her and she crawled through it. Suddenly, she felt a hand grab her from behind and panic struck. One of the hunters had caught up and was trying to pull her back but she wouldn’t let him. It took all the strength she had, all the bravery that resided inside of her to shake him off and push her way through. When she finally pulled herself up, she saw a small lake in the midst of the forest and a new set of trees that continued beyond the lake. She reached the shoreline of the lake and saw that the surface was frozen. You could see the water flowing below which meant that the ice was freshly formed and thin, and anything heavier than an animal or a child would probably break it. Thought the small and light fox was moving quickly onward, the surface would probably not support her and if she continued and the ice broke, she’d drown them both. She tried to tread carefully, placing first one foot on the frozen surface and then the other, slowly, prudently, to establish security, to make sure she was safe; That they were safe. “Oi! You there! Girl! Step aside!” The fox was still treading carefully, moving slowly across, trying to reach its final hiding place, trying to reach safety and shelter. The girl on the other hand was now trapped, she stood rooted to the spot, not daring to make a move. She was standing directly in front of the fox, shielding it from the hunter’s arrows, and if the fox continued straight without meandering, the arrows would miss and not reach him. “Step aside” another voice bellowed as the hounds barked behind her. A wave of complete hopelessness and grief rose high and washed over her, her whole body shivering. Warm, salty tears started streaming down her scraped cheeks, stinging her. She started weeping into the night. “Why won’t you look at me?” she cried in lament. Desperation came next; It was suffocating her, she couldn’t move a single muscle, only stand frozen in shock and pain. The fox finally stopped, turned its head, looked straight into her eyes and without hesitating, turned around again and continued onward once more. At that precise moment one of the hunters shot an arrow straight at her. It pierced her from behind, went straight through her chest and punctured her heart. The fox continued on, without turning, without looking back and the last thing she saw was the crimson tail disappearing behind the tall trees ahead. Her tiny body crumpled as she fell on her knees hitting the icy lake, finally breaking its surface. And while her body slowly sank into the freezing watery depths below, the very last thoughts echoed and resounded in her mind. She didn’t know which was worse? 

Beinng betrayed? Dying? Being left to die alone? Dying without her soul? But had she survived this treacherous night would she really be alive at all?