#and she saw her child being steered toward a destiny that would take him away from her anyway

[guardian-of-da-gay]

simpler times

[kmomof4]

CS AU- Coming to Storybrooke (1/5)

It’s FINALLY here!!!!!! I’ve only been talking about this fic for over a YEAR!!! I’m so excited to finally share it with all of you!!!

I have to acknowledge and send all the love and internet hugs to all those who helped me with this fic. I can truly say that I would have given up on it LONG AGO without them.

First to @hollyethecurious​. She was my brainstorming partner and never-ending fount of encouragement. She pulled me back from the brink of deleting this fic entirely so many times. So when I say that this fic wouldn’t be here without her, I’m not exaggerating. 

Second to @profdanglaisstuff​. The best beta in the world!!!! Her suggestions and insights make this writing business so much better! Thank you, babe!

And finally to all the ladies on the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ discord. Y’all’s encouragement and sprinting dates helped keep me motivated and got me over the finish line. 

This fic is a S1 Canon Divergence, sort of, inspired by the 1988 Eddie Murphy movie Coming to America. It is complete with five chapters and I’ll be updating every Saturday.

Fic Summary: Prince Killian of the Enchanted Forest refuses to marry the woman that his brother has chosen for him, so he travels to Storybrooke in the Land Without Magic to find his own bride.

Rating: T for some strong language

Words: Ch1 2224 of 18K Total

Tags: S1 Canon Divergence, Inspired by Coming to America, Neal is an idiot, romantic fluff

AO3 Link

Tag LIst: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @xhookswenchx @gingerpolyglot @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @sailtoafarawayland @justanother-unluckysoul @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it

Ch1

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” David whispered, awestruck.

Tears filled his eyes as he looked through the door at his other True Love. The little girl sat cross legged on the bed and slowly turned a page of the book in front of her.

David stared, dumbfounded, as a firm resolve filled him.

“We can’t waste another second,” he stated, vehemently. “We can’t wait another second.” He took a step toward the door when Snow’s softly spoken wait stopped him. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked, looking at his wife.

Her eyes were glued to their daughter until they skittered away to their surroundings and the door in front of them. Anywhere but at him.

“We can’t go through there.”

David was stunned, incredulity coloring his features. “Snow, we have to.”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “If we go through that door, Emma will never become the savior.”

He turned back to the open door. To his daughter. He was heartbroken. He knew exactly what Snow was thinking. If they went through that door, they condemned their subjects, their friends, their family, to live under Regina’s curse, separated from their own loved ones, forever. But that couldn’t be true. Rumplestiltskin said to keep the child safe and she would return on her 28th birthday. No mention was made about the circumstances of her return, only that she would.

“She’ll have a new destiny.” He looked at Snow again. “With us. We will teach her. We will tell her everything. And when her 28th birthday arrives, we’ll all come back and she will break the curse.”

Snow’s tear filled eyes finally turned to him. “How do you know?”

“This family finds each other. We’ve found each other,” he said, taking her hands. He tilted his head slightly toward the open door, “We’ve found Emma. We will find the rest of our family when it’s time for her to break the curse.”

He saw the moment doubt was swallowed up by hope in her eyes. With a small nod and a smile, they turned and walked through the door.

Together.

~*~*~*~

18 years later

Emma Swan sat in the back seat of the family SUV with her brother Leo as they sped through the backwoods of rural Maine toward an uncertain and possibly perilous future. It was her 28th birthday and it was the day that her parents had been preparing her for ever since they came through the closet door to claim her so long ago.

The scenery outside her window went hazy around the edges as she got lost in the memory of the first time she met her parents. She hadn’t been frightened when these two strangers entered her bedroom through her closet door. Something about them seemed familiar. She knew in her marrow that she could trust them and when the woman fell to her knees with tears in her eyes, her arms open wide, and calling her name, Emma hadn’t hesitated to run into them. She rose to her feet with Emma held tightly in her arms, sobbing into her hair and placing kisses all over her face. Emma only caught snippets of what the woman was saying, but the words I’m your mom, I love you, we’ll never leave you, we’ll always be together sent Emma’s heart soaring. It was exactly what this little lost girl had always longed to hear. The man wrapped one arm around them both and cupped the back of her head with the other. She had never felt so safe and loved in all her life.

Now all these years later, it was time to fulfill her destiny. It wasn’t long after their reunion that they settled in Portland, Maine and her parents told her a story. A story through the pages of the book that her mother had brought through the door with her. A story that was more than just a fantasy. It was true. All of it. It was their story. It was her story. The story of where she came from… and what she was meant to do. Beginning with the day she was born, her parents told her why they had to get her to safety. How Doc of the Seven Dwarves delivered her only minutes before her father placed her in the magical wardrobe and the queen’s curse swept over the land. From there, they told her the true story of how Snow White and Prince Charming met and fell in love - very different from the Disney version - her mother’s history with the Evil Queen and how her father came to be in the position to even meet his True Love. She’d become intimately familiar with all the true stories in the book as she grew up, first her, then her brother Leo, and now it was time for her to save them all. She had to admit to being rather nervous about it. It was one thing to hear the story from her parents and believe it because of how young she was and because she trusted them. But it was entirely different to be a grown woman and solely responsible for bringing back all the happy endings for real people that her parents knew and loved. She was about to see everything from the storybook come to life.

Suddenly, her mother’s excited voice from the front seat roused her from her musings.

“There it is, David!” she exclaimed. “The town line!”

“I see it, I see it,” he replied.

Moments later, they crossed the town line and a chill passed over Emma’s entire body before something exploded out of her that nearly made her dad lose control of the car.

“What the hell was that?” Emma cried as her mom and brother shouted in alarm. She reached toward Leo’s shoulder while her other hand tried to find purchase on the door handle as her dad brought the car back under control. She looked out the window and saw a white shimmering something traveling across the sky toward the town. She saw her mom, dad, and brother craning their necks to see it too.

“I think…” her mom began, “that you just broke the curse, honey.”

“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “Just crossing the town line? That was all it took?”

“Apparently so,” her dad answered. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t still have to be on our guard.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened and his brow furrowed. “We don’t know what we’re going to find when we get to town. Regina and the Dark One are presumably still here somewhere.”

Silence reigned as they continued to drive toward the center of town in the direction of the white blast. A few minutes later, they turned onto the main street of the small town. Filling the street in front of them, people were laughing and hugging each other in reunions that were 28 years overdue. Her dad slammed on the brakes as her mom cried out, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Ruby! Granny!” She bolted from the car and ran toward a leggy brunette and older matronly woman. Emma could see the surprised joy on their faces as they turned and ran toward her mother. Emma and Leo got out slowly as their dad ran toward his wife as she embraced the two women. They approached the reunited and happy foursome just as seven men got their mom’s attention. Wide grins broke out on Emma and Leo’s faces as realization came over them. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Emma could hear her mom’s sobs as she tried to embrace them all at once. Once she’d finished greeting her dearest and oldest friends, her mom turned toward them.

“Everyone,” she began, “these are our children.” Her mom motioned them closer. “Emma and Leo.” Her brother suddenly looked quite different from the brash and bold teenager she knew. He looked equal parts dumbfounded and like he’d like to melt into the ground. Her father didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed his son’s shoulder and started introducing him individually to the dwarves, placing his arm around him.

“Emma?” asked Granny, drawing her attention again. “The Savior?” The old woman took steps toward Emma and tenderly cupped her face with her hands before kissing her on the cheek and drawing her into a hug. Emma knew the elderly woman from the storybook, but to be held in her arms in love and acceptance was nearly as good as the hug she received from her parents when they came for her.

“Papa,” another man further up the street shouted. He ran toward an older man that was walking toward the group with the aid of a cane.

The man turned, his face infused with disbelieving joy as the cane dropped and he took a hesitant step toward the other man. “Bae?”

Emma could feel the tears forming in her eyes as the men embraced each other. She had done this. She was the savior and she had given all these people the happy endings that the Evil Queen had taken away all because she refused to place the blame for the death of her love where it truly belonged. She turned back toward the crowd again as more reunions were taking place. She saw her parents embracing a red haired man with a dalmatian. Jiminy Cricket, she remembered.

Just at that moment, a joyous cry reached their ears and they all turned toward the sound. A young woman with wild brown hair and wearing nothing more than a dirty white shift ran toward the still embracing men as she launched herself into the older man’s arms and kissed him. A rainbow blast burst from them startling everyone gathered. They separated as the blast flew through the air and yet also concentrated around the man. The young woman’s eyes grew wide as the rainbow light grew brighter and brighter around him before finally fading away to nothing. The man had tears running down his cheeks as he reached for the young woman again. Emma watched her melt into his arms and could just hear him murmur, “Belle. It’s gone. You saved me.” The kiss they shared made Emma’s cheeks flame as she turned toward her dad.

“Huh,” he said. “Rumplestiltskin has a True Love. Who would have thought that?”

The couple separated again and the man she now knew was Rumplestiltskin, the practitioner of the darkest magic in the realm, the man that she had always thought of as the puppet master, since he seemed to have a part in every single story in the book, gathered both the young woman and the younger man to him as the three made their way toward their own group.

“Dark One,” her dad greeted the man with a curt nod.

“No more,” he answered, raising his chin just a bit. “Belle’s True Love’s Kiss just destroyed the Darkness. With my son here, I was ready to let go of the Darkness and find my happiness with my family beside me.”

Then a stately woman in a nun’s habit approached them.

“Your highnesses,” she began with a bow, “the curse is indeed broken. As is the Darkness that made the Dark One.”

Her dad reached out and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Blue,” he said. “Thank you.” He turned back toward the crowd and raised his voice in an exuberant shout. “The curse is broken and the Darkness is no more!” The gathered crowd cheered along with him. Emma wiped away her tears and met the eyes of the man that had embraced the former Dark One. His eyes twinkled as he grinned broadly at her. She felt her heart rate increase and cheeks flush again as she turned her eyes back toward her parents.

It was moments later when she felt a presence at her back. She turned around and found herself captured by a pair of laughing brown eyes.

“Neal,” he said, holding his hand out for her to shake. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as if a sudden headache had come over him. “Baelfire. Neal Cassidy was my cursed name. But you can call me whatever you want.” He smiled again.

She took his hand and smiled back. “Emma,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Neal.”

She could see her mom and brother over Neal’s shoulder exchange a stern and sheepish look. She knew that Leo, at 17, would love nothing more than to tease her about the man in front of her, but thankfully, their mother caught his eye before he could. She rolled her eyes at them before directing her attention back to him.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, “for uh, breaking the curse.” She couldn’t help but smile wider at his clumsy attempts to make small talk.

“You’re welcome?” she answered, with a shrug. “I mean, I didn’t really do anything, just crossed the town line…” she trailed away.

“But, I m-mean,” he stammered, “it was more than that. You…” he shrugged helplessly, apparently at a loss for what to say next. ��Listen,” he said, brightening, “Could I show you around town? Maybe buy you a cup of coffee?”

Emma grinned widely. “I’d like that.” She looped her arm through his and he led her away from the rest of the crowd.

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Show Level Violence, Fluff

Chapter 5.

"You better not let my insides turn to mush." You tell your best friends as they drive through the dark night towards the scene of the crime.

"We would never let you get hurt, ever. Don't be ridiculous." Dean mumbles as he lowers the music as it blasts throughout the car.

"I'm just saying." You whisper as you tug at your dress.

"Yeah well, don't 'just say' anything. And, stop pulling at your dress like that something is gonna pop out from one end or the other if you keep it up." He barks out.

Throwing his jacket over your legs, you let the scent of his cologne wash over you and you feel your nerves begin to calm down.

"You memorized what he looked like right?" Sam asks as you finger at the green fabric of his jacket.

"Yep. Got it all in here." You say tapping your temple with your index finger before looking out the window.

You watch the odd streetlight pass you by before eyeing the moon. You've always loved how, no matter how close you drive towards it it always seems farther and farther away with each step.

"Since Morley Rosmund was cremated by the state, he must be attached to something. A lock of hair, a locket, something he bled on." Sam says as he flicks through the sheets of paper within his manila folder.

"Maybe he's attached to the old woodchipper that prostitute shoved him through." You comment as the car begins to slow down.

"That would be an issue." Dean mumbles as he pulls up to the nefarious corner.

You want to open the door but your nerves seem raught with determination to stay inside the safe car.

"All we need to find out is where he takes the women. Whether it's his old house, his old office, anywhere. We'll send him packing for the night and go there in the morning to scout it out and find whatever he's attached to." Dean tells you as he hooks his hand behind the passenger seat to look at you.

It's a simple plan. Straightforward like always. You three are a team. There's no reason to let yourself get worked up over nothing.

"We're going to be right across the street. We'll be watching you." Your younger best friend tells you calmly and you look up at both of them before nodding.

"Okay. Let's gank this bitch then." You whisper before opening up the car door.

The gentle chill that blows through the breeze assaults all of your limbs as you stand on the street corner.

You watch Baby do a U-turn before the car shuts off. Dean is watching you like a hawk, eyes narrowed as he picks some skin off his bottom lip.

His gaze is comforting and you take deep breaths as you pace back and forth.

"She looks nervous." Sam comments to his older brother as he angles his head to watch you.

"Yeah. She's waiting for a weird pervert ghost. You'd be nervous too if you were her." Dean answers gruffly as his eyes roam your body.

"Why don't you guys just fuck already?" His younger brother asks as he brings his coffee cup to his lips. 

"Excuse me?" His older brother's voice is deep and low, the threatening baritone creeping into his head and rattling his brain. Dean turns his head slowly to his brother with narrowed eyes.

The gaze sets something akin to nervousness in Sam and he gives an awkward chuckle combing his long hair behind his ear.

"I just...I mean… I can see the way you both look at each other." He says with a shrug.

"It's complicated. Don't worry about what me and Y/N do or haven't done." He mumbles before turning back to watch you continue to pace.

"I mean you guys have both liked each other since you guys met. And...Well, you guys always pretend like something between you both doesn't exist." Sam fumbles with his words.

Dean sighs as he pulls his flask out from the inside pocket of his jacket. Taking a swig, he rolls his eyes. 

"I'm not talking about this right now, Sammy. All I do is talk about this shit to you, to Cas, to Bobby, even to Dad when he was still alive. I'm not with her because I don't fucking deserve her. I'm not going to ruin her life like I always do. So, shut the hell up." He barks out before cracking his neck.

Sam nods slowly as he presses his lips into a straight line, "Fine. I just think Y/N should be able to make those decisions for herself too. Y'know?" 

"Shut up, Sam." The fraction of a second that this conversation has gone on, Dean's eyes left you for a minute.

When he turns his head back to the corner, you are gone. 

"Goddammit!" He curses loudly, slapping the steering wheel harshly before shoving the door open and jogging across the street. 

Nothing but the brisk chill of the evening is all Dean can feel. You're completely out of his sight and he puts his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologizes quickly as he joins his older brother.

"If anything happens to her…Fuck!" He curses as his head continuously turns in all directions.

Pulling out his phone, the younger Winchester begins to track the GPS on your cell phone, "I'll find her." Sam whispers nervously as he takes in his brother's broken form.

Dean can feel his heart clenching, his eyes are watering at the mere thought of you being in danger. How could he let you out of his sight?

He promised. He fucking promised. 

This is like Marsh all over again.

Clutching onto the fabric of his shirt over his heart, his head lolls back at the pain and fear that encroaches upon him.

Dean and Sam weren't paying attention when Morley Rosmund came and grabbed you. That you knew for a fact. They were fighting. As per usual. 

The second the man in olden clothes had touched you, your body felt cold and numb.

You could count on your hand the amount of times you've met a ghost this pissed.

You've done jobs by yourself before while your best friends were gallivanting and fighting with every Archangel known to man. This would just have to be one of those times where you suck it up and have to fend for yourself.

You couldn't rely on them always and that's perfectly okay. You can handle yourself, you're strong and capable. 

Ghosts with this angered of a spirit can travel only a certain distance away from their soul-bound item. 

That seems to check out as you're pulled only a block away from that street corner. The office building is old and decrepit. There are many stop work orders on the face of the building as you're pulled inside. 

Grimacing, you step over dead bodies and bones in the first floor hallway.

"This is my office." You hear Morley explain and your breath comes out in puffs of smoke as you wrap your arms around each other for warmth.

"Oh. Lovely." You murmur as the body of a woman around your age lays on the old, varnished desk. 

Your hand reaches for your clavicle and you tug off the old coin pure iron from the necklace before pushing it down into the palm of your hand.

Your eyes glance around the office, trying to find anything that would be the key item for this man to still be bound here. You try to ignore the putrid smell of rotting flesh before the taller ghost is in your line of sight with a feral smile on his face.

His body shifts in and out of this plane of existence before solidifying once more.

"Get on the desk and spread your legs." He commands and you shiver at the roughness of his voice.

Clearing your throat, you sit on the corner trying your best not to touch the dead girl that's there.

"NOW!" The thin glass of the window shatters at his bellow and you swallow thickly as you raise your hand to his face.

Just the thought of touching this dead spirit is nerve wracking but you need to be able to get out of here. You know the building now, you just have to get away.

You press your hand to his face and he shimmers away with a yell. Closing your palm, you jump off of the desk hopping over dead bodies in the hallway. You're so close to the entrance door you can almost taste it.

But, Morley Rosmund is an old, angry ghost. Just as quickly as he vanished, he reappears.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he blocks the doorway and you go to throw the old iron coin at him. Before you can even let the coin slide out of your hand, you're in the air.

Your body travels backward against the wall with a loud thud and you crumple in on yourself with a whimper. You can taste blood in your mouth, can feel your body aching and bruising all over as the ghost advances on you.

Dean is mumbling to himself as he rummages through the trunk.

Hearing glass shatter in the distance, his head jolts up. 

"You hear that?" He asks his younger brother as he grabs his sawed off shotgun.

"Yeah. I got her location. She's not far." The words put gusto into his bones as he rapidly grabs the rest of the materials and weapons he will need.

Slamming the trunk shut, he hauls the bag over his shoulder before throwing a shotgun at his brother.

"Let's go then." He says quickly, ushering Sam to get a move on.

Jogging down the block, it didn't take long for them to find the old, decrepit building you were housed in.

Peeking his head in Dean can see the strewn bodies on the floor, new and old.

"Oh Y/N." He whispers gently as he pushes the door open with the mouth of his gun.

The office door which is cracked and shattered reads 'Mund.' You must be in there.

Stepping over the dead bodies gingerly, the closer he gets to the office with his little brother behind him the louder your whimpers and grunts of pain become.

His jaw clicks and he can hear you cursing out the ghost like a proud sailor.

Kicking open the door, he takes in your half naked body for a fraction of a second before he's shooting the gun at the ghost. The rock salt blasts through Morley Rosmund and he's gone within seconds. 

"Hey. Hey. I got you." He whispers as he jogs over to you.

You whimper loudly, holding your arms out like a frail child and his heart breaks at the sight of you.

"I'm so fucking sorry." He says as he picks you up. Your skin is already bruising and deepening in color as he coddled you to his chest.

"We gotta go!" Sam yells as more glass begins to shatter in the office.

Dean buries your face into his neck as he steps over strewn debris and body parts. You can hear him whispering kind, gentle words in your ear and you practically jump out of your skin as Sam shoots the gun behind you.

"He's one angry son of a bitch." Dean growls as he kicks open the front door.

Stepping down the stairs, the brisk chill of Autumn assaults your half naked body and you groan loudly as Sam shoots the gun once more before closing the front door of the building.

Sammy throws his jacket over your body as Dean jogs back to the Impala with fast feet.

"Did he hurt you? Where did that sick son of a bitch touch you?" The venom in his voice is almost intoxicating to listen too.

"I'm okay." You whisper as he opens the back door of the Impala without a word. 

Throwing the keys to Sam, the younger brother clears his throat uncomfortably. Dean sits in the back of the car with you, he pulls your upper body onto his making sure Sam's jacket is covering your body.

You're still aching and feeling the pain all over but it's also a soft comfort that creeps over your body as Dean runs his fingers through your hair. 

"De?" You whisper as your eyes flutter closed.

"Hmm?" He asks, lowering his head to hear you clearly. 

"When I feel better, I'm going to kick your ass for leaving me alone." You threaten before grimacing and putting your hand to your chest.

His face shifts above you, as if he's been stabbed or shot. Your words cut him to the quick and he can barely nod.

"I would expect nothing less, Candy girl."

You ended up in Dean's bed again that night, which was becoming more of a regular thing than you cared to admit. But, against all of your better judgement, you were okay with it.

You were finally sound asleep when Dean uttered his first words of the evening.

"I'm so sorry." He whispers as he turns towards you.

Your lips are parted, hair splayed over your face as you take shallow breaths during your sleep.

Turning his head to make sure his brother is sleeping, he curls his arm around your form. His thumb grazes gentle circles on your forearm as he watches you sleep.

"I'm so caught up in what to do around you, what to say, how to hide my feelings… It's all getting to be too much for me." He mumbles more to himself than to you.

"I shouldn't have taken my eyes off you tonight. I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention. I don't know what I would have done if you got hurt because of me. God…" His voice is deep and pained. A tear threatens to spill over as he hangs his head.

This would be about the time where he grunts angrily and drinks a beer but he can't leave your side. Not for a minute. 

"I'm getting sick and tired of not having you as mine. Really fucking sick of having to push you away because I'm too goddamn stubborn to do anything about it." He sounds breathless by the end of his monologue. Laying his head down on the pillow, his thumb drifts over your cheekbone once more.

"Then don't be stubborn." You whisper before turning over and facing the window.

Your older best friend's eyes widen and he clears his throat before rubbing at his face roughly with his left hand.

"I didn't...I didn't know you were awake." He whispers as you open your eyes.

You watch as soft grey clouds drift past the large moon that looms over the motel.

"Kind of hard to sleep when your best friend is spilling out his soul to you." You retort quietly, your fingers pull at a frayed string of the comforter that lays over your body.

"So...you heard me?" He asks nervously.

Oh. You heard it all.

Destiny Is Heaven Sent Taglist: @roonyxx​, @deans-baby-momma​

Forever Dean Tags: @akshi8278​

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 8 | Melancholy and Dreams 

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4,633

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡          

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven​ , I always say it, but I’m going to say it again, thanks for listening to all my plot rambling as I try and piece together all my strange plot / chapter ideas! 💕

Silence. Somewhere between dreams and reality, Visenya stirs awake. There’s no crackling fire, birds singing, or steady breathing; it’s dead silent and the air is stale. The room seems colder than last night. It’s not the type of cold that can be staved away with a roaring fire while bundling into a pile of blankets, but the kind that follows a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. And reaching one of her hands out confirms it, the other side of the bed is ice cold, almost as if no one ever occupied it. For a moment she convinces herself last night was a fever dream, a hallucination born from the flesh eating wound she sustained from the wraith, But the ache in her bones and the small love bites wrapping around her body contradict that brief thought.  

She slowly opens her eyes, the crust of sleep that coats her lashes causing them to stick together uncomfortably. Drowsily, Visenya sits up, running her hand over her face, rubbing away any traces of last night. The hairs on her body stand straight up upon feeling the cold air, her breast band the only barrier between air and skin. A deep sigh leaves her mouth as she mentally attempts to piece together her surroundings, everything past foolishing running into the night in a haze, fact and fiction blurring together until it is so intertwined she’d have to spend decades untangling them.                                                             

Looking around the small room there’s no trace of Geralt ever having been here, despite this originally being his room. Not a thing is out of place, besides her discarded armor that lies on the floor from when she haphazardly wrestled it off. While unsurprised, a wave of sadness hits her, a small sliver of her had been hopeful he would stay, even if only for a few minutes. But that feeling quickly gets shoved away, if there’s anything she learned from what happened to Robb when he married Talisa and what she’s seen time and time again, is that love is the death of duty. So like all her other feelings, she tucks it into a small locked box to be forgotten.

“My loveliest and fairest Jane, please consider this your wake up call!” Jaskier exclaims from the other side of the door, knocking obnoxiously as he does. An annoyed groan escapes her mouth, the beginnings of a headache forming. Visenya blindly reaches behind her, grabbing onto the first pillow she touches. With more force than necessary, she throws it, sending the pillow soaring through the air, until it hits the door with a soft thud before falling to the ground.

“Shut up Jaskier,” Visenya yells in a hoarse voice, stretching her arms in front of her as she yawns. The door clicks as it opens and once again as it shuts. There’s a soft patter as Jaskier steps into the room, his footsteps so light he’s almost gliding. Despite being untrained - as far as she knows - Jaskier manages to be lighter on his feet than Visenya could ever dream, something he makes sure to always remind her of. 

“Oh good, you’re awake and wearing clothes...sort of,” Jaskier says, seemingly unbothered by her less than friendly greeting. He’s wearing another one of his overly frivolous outfits - this one a combination of purple and a soft blue - that clearly defines him as a bard. No one else would dare to wear something so ostentatious in a backwater town. He pulls up his sleeves and grabs the chest piece of her armor.

“Now up up up! We have a day of traveling and adventure to start.” Jaskier says, tossing her discarded tunic towards the bed. It hits her in the face as she angrily groans at him, vision still disoriented from sleep. “Quit your groans and moans of protest my dear. Maybe if you didn’t stay up all night with our riveting hero you wouldn’t be so tired.” 

“Do you ever shut up or is that a myth?” Visenya asks, slowly standing from the bed. Her back cracks as she stretches. Her hips are sore from Geralt’s death grip from the night before, a glaring reminder of what transpired between them and just as she thought, discolored bruises in the shape of fingers mar her skin. Jaskier exaggerates an offended gasp, opening and closing his mouth three times like a fish before responding to Visenya. 

“You need to eat some food, missy!” he says, wagging a finger in her direction. He attempts to use a stern tone, but the merry glint in his blue eyes gives away his playful intentions. She throws her tunic over her torso, not bothering with the ties. 

“Have you always had those injuries or are they new? Nevermind, I won’t ask because I don’t want to lose my head.” Jaskier answers his own question, moving towards the door to leave the room, his tone too bright and his footsteps too peppy for her liking. “Get ready to leave and I shall return with a feast for you my lady,” and with that, Jaskier shuts the door behind him. The force of it causes the wall to shake for a moment but quickly stops, taking all noise with him and leaving Visenya in silence. 

With the door shut and the bard gone, Visenya quietly sighs. She lifts up the shirt inspecting the bandages. To no one’s surprise, Geralt expertly wrapped the bandages so they wouldn’t unravel while sleeping and...other activities. They’re slightly discolored but not oozing pus and blood. Carefully in an attempt to not disturb the wound, she unravels the bandages, exposing the semi-fresh cuts to the cool air. Two human-like claw marks drag across different parts of her abdomen. They’re raw and painful to the touch but appear to be healing fine. They’d need to be cleaned before redressing them, but that’s something to focus on after eating. 

She expertly laces her shirt up and begins attempting to sort out her hair. It’s a tangled mess that resembles a mangy wild animal, something that would’ve caused Sansa to faint from shock if she ever saw. The strips of leather she used to tie it back yesterday are tangled with her knotty hair, making it difficult and painful to pull them apart. A grunt that’s a mixture with pain and frustration is released through her nose, similar to a bull getting read to charge. When Visenya is nearly ready to give up, the door clicks twice, once as it opens and again as it closes. 

“Here we go. Some meat, eggs, and potatoes. Oh, and a fresh cup of ale.” Jaskier practically sings, setting the food on a small table in the corner. Upon seeing Visenya attempting to sort out her hair, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, quit that, you’ll tear out all your hair. Let me.” Jaskier glides across the room, swatting away her hands as he pushes her into a chair. With expert hands and minimal pain, he begins weaving the ties out of her hair and brushing out the knots with his fingers. 

“I’m not a child,” Visenya mutters, her face flushed with embarrassment at not being able to manage her own hair. 

“Oh no, of course not! You’re a big, mean, angry lady with a large sword,” Jaskier teases, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But you’re a big, mean, angry lady with a large sword who’d be bald without me.” 

“I’d defend myself, but considering the state of my hair when we met I don’t think I can in good conscience,” she replies. A small smile forms on her face, the tingling sensation rippling through her body as he plays with her hair. It brings a sense of peace and serenity that’s been void from her life for so long; taking her back to being four, sitting between her mother’s legs as she braided Visenya’s hair, telling her fantastical tales. But also because, despite her best efforts, at some point between their first meeting and today, Jaskier wormed his way into her heart, like a parasite that you grow fond of. He chuckles quietly, a bemused expression on his face. 

“What? What’s so funny?” Visenya asks, unable to put any of her usual bite in her words. She attempts to turn her head to face Jaskier, but he simply swats her head with one of his hands before forcing her head forward with an iron tight grip his soft and uncalloused hands shouldn’t have. 

“You’re much cheerier this morning. Maybe you should spend more time with Geralt...if you know what I mean,” Jaskier says, suggestively wagging his eyebrows at Visenya, mirth filling his eyes. Visenya snorts at his answer, unable to stop her eyes from rolling.

“We didn’t have sex,” Her voice is even and deadpan, not wanting to inflect too much emotion, lest he use that as ammo against her. 

“Sex, trading battle stories, or braiding each other’s hair while gossiping about boys - it doesn’t matter to me! I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had without you threatening me.” Jaskier continues. By this point, he’s managed to unravel all of her unruly hair and began the task of braiding it. 

“I’d pay good gold to see Geralt let someone braid his hair while gossiping about boys,” Visenya says, playing with the ends of the ties on her tunic. Jaskier replies with a snort, twisting another section of her hair into a braid. 

“He seems pretty relaxed with you, maybe try that out the next time we come across our dashing Witcher. He might just let you, free of charge.” 

“If, Jaskier, if we see Geralt again.” Visenya says, already knowing the direction he’s steering the conversation. 

“Oh please, you may be good in a fight, but you really are naive in social settings aren’t you, Jane?” Jaskier teases. And before she can turn around and hit him so hard he’ll be feeling it for days, he pulls the braid he’s weaving incredibly tight, the force pulling her head back. “Oops, my finger slipped.” 

“Whatever,” she mutters, a scowl on her features, both from annoyance and the pounding pain in her head. 

“Now don’t get all grumpy with me, missy. If there’s one thing I can say without a doubt, is that both you and Geralt are incredibly complicated people, who seem to be very comfortable around each other. It’s only natural things might progress further,” Jaskier continues, taking care to be extra gentle with her hair, lightly running the tips of his nails through her scalp, soothing the headache he created. 

“And what do you possibly know about me?” 

“I know that something terrible has happened to you, something that left you angry and bruised, figuratively and literally. But I also know you care more than you let on, that much is obvious with how you handled Filavandrel.” 

Visenya snorts, rolling her eyes in the process, staring up at the ceiling before gazing directly in front of her, seeing but not really at the same time. 

“Geralt did most of the heavy lifting,” she mutters.

“Oh sure, of course our mighty Witcher did with his reverse psychology, Kill me, I am ready,” he lowers his voice significantly, attempting to mimic Geralt’s own growly one. “--but the Jane you want everyone to see wouldn’t have empathised with the elves. The Jane you want everyone to see would’ve at least threatened to beat a few of them before we had to drag you out.” 

Silence falls over them, the only sound in the room Jaskier’s soft humming as he finishes braiding her hair. Her mind is in overdrive, unsure of how to handle Jaskier’s observations that are too accurate for her comfort. And when he steps back, waving his hands in the general direction of her hair as he exclaims that his master piece is finished, she reaches her hand up to feel the style. He braided multiple strands of hair into small braids that come together into one large braid that falls down her back. Practical and stylish, Sansa would’ve approved.

“There we are. Now eat up and prepare your best scowl!” Jaskier says, taking a step away from Visenya and motioning towards the food with a ta-da hand gesture. She moves towards the table, the frown on her face slowly fading away as her vision grows clearer. 

 “Might want to stock up on more hair dye, by the way. Your natural hair color is showing,” Jaskier nonchalantly says, perching like a bird on the edge of the bed. Visenya stops in her tracks, hands immediately touching her head while she looks at Jaskier, panic clearly painted on her face.

“What are you --” She begins to say, but Jaskier cuts her off.

“You didn’t think a refined man such as myself wouldn’t notice that your hair isn’t naturally that way, thank the gods,” Jaskier says. Visenya levels a glare towards him, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling inside her. In response, Jaskier simply throws his hands up. “I’m just saying, your hair texture isn’t the best.” 

“Whatever,” she says, sitting down at the table to begin eating. 

The duo is silent while Visenya eats until Jaskier breaks it when the light reflects something that causes it to glint in the corner of his eye. He stands up from the end of the bed and goes over to a side table. 

“Well well well. Looks like our favorite Witcher left behind a token of his love,” Jaskier says, his tone similar to a smug child saying I told you so. Visenya turns to look at Jaskier, a sharp insult on the tip of her tongue. She racks her mind trying to figure out what he could be talking about. But of all the things that run through her mind, what she sees isn’t what she expected.

Renfri’s broach.

                                               o0o0o0o0o

“Have you ever been in love Jane?” Jaskier asks, breaking the silence that envelops the duo. It’s their second night of travel, and with the nearest inn being two days away from their current location, they’ve taken to camping off to the side of the main road. Visenya had found a small clearing in the heavily wooded terrain, the thick foliage surrounding the camp heavily obscuring them from anyone passing by. The radius of the camp was tiny, only large enough for the two of them to comfortably fit their belongings and light a fire. 

Visenya sits on her bedroll, leisurely reclining against the tree behind her while mindlessly chewing on the rabbit meat she’d hunted earlier. Her leather armor lies discarded beside her, leaving her in a light undershirt and a pair of trousers, the cool air feeling refreshing against her warm body. Jaskier is huddled near the fire he started when they first set camp, getting as close as possible without being burnt. Visenya’s eyes lazily move towards Jaskier, whose gaze is already firmly locked on her. A muffled sigh escapes her mouth as she looks directly at a tree on the other side of camp. For a moment she considers lying or telling him to fuck off. 

But unconsciously her thoughts wander back to Winterfell. To all the quiet nights she would sit with Jon in the Godswood. The towering trees surrounding them would block them off from the outside world, allowing them to just...be, creating a world with just the two of them. Even if only for a few stolen moments, they were just Jon and Visenya, not a bastard and an exiled princess. Neither of them would dare to speak, afraid that if they did the bubble would burst and this delusion they’ve created would come crashing down. In the sanctity of the Godswood, the reality that they’d never have more than unspoken words and an eventual goodbye was avoided. Sitting under vivid red leaves that fell around them and swirled in the biting cold, everything seemed simple. Even though they both knew it wasn’t and never would be. 

She’d smile at him so warmly that sometimes Jon fully believed it could melt all the snow in the North with a glance and he'd wield a small grin that made Visenya’s heart race. There’d be a crinkle at the corner of his eyes that reminded her of a mischievous boy that snuck into the kitchen to steal pastries with her. And the grim mask Jon often wore whenever in Winterfell would slip away while the ghosts that followed Visenya would melt like snow in summer until she couldn’t remember their names. Their hands would lie on the ground, just a hair away from each other. When either of them were feeling brave, their fingers would delicately brush against the others. Her purple eyes would trace the curves of his face while he would do the same, albeit subtler than her. 

Her mind retraces all the times they stood in sunlit rooms, filled to the brim with people who chatted between one another, never fully looking at Visenya and Jon, like they were illusions created from the reflection of the sun. They’d steal glances at each other when no one would see, their smiles speaking a secret language only they knew. Her eyes would meet his and she’d see colors that she's never seen with anyone else. The world always felt boring and grey without Jon, being with him showed her colors she never knew existed. And sometimes Robb would be in the room, noticing their glances, but he'd say nothing, feigning ignorance if it was ever brought up. Because he knew their fate as well as they did. 

“Yeah, I guess,” she responds after a few moments of silence. Her lips curve upwards unknowingly as she gets lost in her melancholy. Jaskier carefully watches her, a solemn expression on his face. He memorizes the look on her face, the tilt of her lips and the stars in her eyes. 

“What happened?” he asks, curiosity clawing at his mind. In the year they’d been traveling together he was so sure he’s seen all sides of her, and yet it seems not. 

Her lips pull downwards into a frown, and like the brightest star in the sky burning out, her eyes dim until they’re dull and lifeless. It’s not the same cold indifference he’s always seen in them or the teasing glint that sneaks past her cold exterior against her better judgment. It’s sadder, like her life has been nothing but a tragedy disguised as a fairytale. And maybe it has been.

She remembers trying to fight for it - declaring that she didn’t care about his status. Her father - as foolish as he was - abandoned his duties for love; Robert Baratheon started a war for a woman! Why should Visenya accept their fate lying down? She’d beg him to just run away with her, but he never agreed, just like Visenya knew he wouldn’t. But there were some days, in the quietest moments of the night, when the moon was at its highest and the stars were all but gone, where she swore he nearly cracked, almost let her have her way. But he didn’t, his fear that he’d never be able to give Visenya what he felt she deserved holding him back. But she’d fight anyways, stubbornly gripping onto him so tightly only for it to slip between her fingers anyways, like water falling through the cracks. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t change their ending that was written in the stars long before she even met him. Chasing him was like chasing shadows in a blackened room. And she knew-- gods she knew how it had to end, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the sting he left behind. Jon was the only thing she’d ever wanted since she could remember wanting anything. 

  Her gaze moves over to Jaskier, whose eyes are still firmly locked on her. She tightens her lips into a thin line, but there’s a slight quiver in the corners of her mouth. For the first time, Jaskier wonders how old she truly is. Her golden eyes in an eternal glare, with ivory skin turned steel, she holds none of the childlike nativity she should have. But with the warm glow of the fire reflecting off her face, she doesn't look like a hardened warrior. She’s just a child playing pretend, wearing her mother’s shoes while trying to wield her father’s sword that’s too heavy to lift properly. She’s just a kid, only a few years into adulthood. 

“Nothing,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. Jaskier's ears strain to hear the whisper over the wildlife ambient noises. She shifts her eyes away from him as she focuses on the flickering fire. 

She remembers watching Jon ride away on his horse with his Uncle Benjen. Hidden away from prying eyes in the ramparts she watched him leave her behind. The memory is so vivid she can nearly taste the salty tears that fell from her eyes. A hollow feeling in her chest as he did. How desperately she wanted to lash out and scream, to run to the stables and take a horse to chase him down - demand that he give her a proper goodbye. She didn’t want to just let him go, allow him to leave her with all the grace of the princess she should’ve been. Because despite what people may whisper behind closed doors or cupped palms that cover their mouths, she loved him, she really did. And a part of her was determined to fight for it, convinced that maybe it would be enough to make him stay. But she did nothing, her pride rearing its ugly head, unwilling to let herself make a fool of herself for the sake of a man that was always just out of reach. 

“He went his way and I went mine.” 

“Do you miss him, still love him?” Jaskier asks. 

The question brings her pause. Does she miss Jon? Without a doubt, yes. But does she still love him, if she ever did to begin with? She’s not too sure. He still lingers in the back of her mind, but grows fainter and fainter with each passing day and new adventure. Yet, some nights when she’s haunted by the what-ifs, the memories hanging around like smoke in a burning room, she’s convinced she did love him, if only for a moment in time. But who could really know, especially now that they’re worlds away.   

“I- I don’t know,” she says, her voice hoarse and croaky, like she just screamed for ten minutes straight. Jaskier opens his mouth, unable to stop the questions from spilling out of his mouth, but Visenya cuts him off. The tremble of her lips grows harder to conceal each passing moment, Westeros beginning to drown her with all the tragedy that haunts it. Her previously dull and boring eyes begin to glisten, but not with stars or warmth, but with tears. The perfectly curated facade of disinterest she wears like a mask begins to crack; pride being the only thing keeping her together. 

“We should go to sleep, early day of traveling tomorrow and all,” she says, the emotionless tone of her voice back, and as if it never broke, Visenya places the mask back on. Without awaiting a reply from Jaskier she shimmies between the bedroll and lies down. She closes her eyes, willing sleep to come sooner rather than later. She hears Jaskier quietly sigh before he begins rustling around, settling himself in his bedroll to get some sleep as well.

Despite herself, she thinks of home one last time.

How conflicted she was, angry at the world and angry at herself for how happy she was with the Starks. 

Until Robert Baratheon came and whisked them into the game of thrones. 

                                              o0o0o0o0o

The woman moves into what appears to have once been a magnificent throne room. However, it’s now been turned into ruins, a dull comparison to the shining gem it used to be. The vaulted ceilings lie in a pile of rubble littering the ground, exposing the sky that’s thick with ash. It falls from the sky, covering the floor in a similar fashion to the thick snow that coated the North. Pieces of it delicately land in the woman’s shining silver hair, creating a sort of crown on her head. A diadem of fire and calamity, naming her Queen of the Ashes. Her purple eyes focus solely on the throne ahead of her which was still relatively untouched by the fire that destroyed the rest of the city, leaving it a prize for the madness she succumbed to. But it wasn’t madness -- not to her. 

In a trance, she moves towards it. The soft patter of her heels clicking against the stone floor echoes in the room. Her heartbeat aligns with her breathing, growing quicker and unsteady the closer she gets to the throne. 

Her throne. 

The only thing she ever wanted.

Halfway across the throne room, something reflecting out of the corner of her eye captures her attention. Her movements halt, turning her body to face the source of the distraction. It’s the remnants of a stained glass mosaic lying smashed on the ground. Slivers of the glass cover the floor, surrounding a piece of the artwork that still stood intact, tall and proud and almost defiant. It’s jagged and uneven, the original art it depicted indiscernible. She moves towards it, eyes locked on her own reflection that becomes clearer the closer she gets. The crunch of glass beneath her boots causes an unpleasant sound, but her eyes refuse to leave her image to try and avoid any glass. 

Within a moment she stands before the glass. Her reflection is distorted and discolored due to its design, but her face is clear as day. Soft purple eyes stare back at her, hiding the storm brewing inside them. The soft curves of her face are replaced with harsh lines and the mischievous smirk that always pulled on her lips is instead in a tight line, but the most distressing thing is her eyes. They go from a soft purple to a fiery amber - similar to the flames that consumed the city around her. They’re bitter and cruel, unlike the warmth they held in years past. 

With a harsh gasp, she physically recoils from the reflection and immediately turns away from the glass. With her mindset on the throne once more, she moves towards it again, her pace faster than it had been previously. For some reason, the change she’d seen unsettled her more than she’d care to admit. Finally, she crosses to the other side of the room, standing mere inches away from the throne, and with an air of reverence, she walks up the steps leading to the dais that it rests on. Carefully, she reaches a pale hand out to touch it, desperate to know this is real and not a delusion the darkest parts of her mind created. Only a centimeter from grasping the left arm of the throne, a large shadow flies ahead. The woman looks up, watching the dangerously beautiful creature proudly flying above the ruins. Its large form blocks out any sunlight that manages to peek through the ash. Its vivid golden scales are a stark contrast to the shades of grey the city had been swallowed in. A terrifying screech escapes its mouth as it beats its massive bat-like wings, the force of it disrupting the settled ash on the ground.

���Visenya.” a distorted voice calls out. The woman’s eyes flit around the room, attempting to discern the source of the voice.

“Visenya!” it calls again, sounding more frantic than before.

“Visenya!” 

With a harsh gasp of air, her eyes snap open.

                                             o0o0o0o0o

Tags: If you’re name is crossed out, it means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you.

@sunlithours |  @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe |  @kholl101 |  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y |  @aknerdchick |  @stuckupstucky | @historicallydysfunctional | @ayamenimthiriel |  

[secret-engima]

Vitae probably had. Only very, very scattered memories of her biological parents. And perhaps - few to none at all of her biological father, Ardyn the gentle. After all, if Ardyn deliberately isolated himself from Vitae, she might only have ever known him from the letters her nanny read her. (And later on, she writes *him* letters, a lifetime's worth of letters - )

hamelin-born said: Also, the Vitae-as-Ardyn-and-Aera's-kid just. Goes hand in hand with *such* delicious irony. The offspring of the first King of Light and the first Oracle, that is - prophecy worthy. That /bodes/, and Lucis - and the Astrals - *lost her*. Or never knew of her existence in the first place; she slipped the web, slipped the net that ensnared her extended family to claim her destiny for herself and stand in Galahd with her face to the rain - and forged a legacy, a kingdom, an inheritance all her own

Hmmm EXACTLY. Honestly- that’s probably WHY Vitae started writing letters, because letters were how she best remembered her father (smuggled in things, not terribly frequent but much more common than his actual visits, frequent enough she came to associate the unique smell of parchment and ink with Father and Gentle and Loved).

IT DOES. IT REALLY DOES. SHE could have been the Chosen of Prophecy honestly, she had the blood for it, the Will to survive and protect and succeed.

And instead she became the first of the Defiant. The first of the Free.

And maybe that was the point where Bahamut lost all control of Eos. After Somnus slew the Oracle and imprisoned the Chosen Now Accursed. Maybe that was the point Ramuh and Leviathan stirred from their respective slumbers, and Leviathan saw Bahamut’s precious LC line WASTING such potential (potential even she saw in a puny human and she is apathetic at best to humanity now) and so when Ramuh approached her and asked her to use her tides to guide rather than destroy, to shelter rather than smite Just This Once. To help his Storm steer her to the islands of his children-

Leviathan saw the chance to spite the Draconian and TOOK IT.

Also can you just- imagine how POWERFUL Vitae was? How much of a SHOCK she was? Not only was her magic geared toward healing herself but also toward healing other people, and Galahdians had never met or known of the Oracles before, never cared to know Outsider politics when the Furia were the ones to go out to the mainland shores and raid and the rest stayed in the jungles. These are people who KNOW there terror to daemons and have no Havens, no hope to survive if they become infected and then-

And then Vitae, this child who cannot speak their tongue, but takes one look at an Infected being removed from the village by mourning, seething Clan before they can Turn and she RUNS through the crowd, past the guards and her keepers who think she does not UNDERSTAND the danger. Picture the moment she touches the Infected’s hands with her and her body GLOWS like golden and blue starlight (and OH do those colors catch attention, because colors MEAN things to Galahdians, and Vitae’s soul is all but screaming her purpose to the heavens to their eyes).

And maybe, as an LC mixed with an Oracle, she cannot heal traditionally. Maybe she can only partially cure with Oracle magic because the rest of her magic is LC. But that LC magic is ARDYNS and is POWERFUL and so what she cannot purge inside the Infected she instinctively takes into herself, just like her father did, just like what led to his downfall and she almost buckles under the pain of it, vomits black sludge as the Infected’s skin clears and sanity comes back to their eyes and maybe it would be a tragedy in repeat except-

Except she is not just Ardyn’s child. She was Aera’s. She doesn’t JUST have Oracle magic or JUST have Ardyn’s unique LC magic. She has both, and the two halves are more than the sum of their parts. Vitae takes in the poison and the two sides of her magic SCREAM and purge it, reach out angrily in a mini wave of power-intent-desperation to ripple over the rest of the Galahdians, desperately reaching and FIXING whatever it can find in the overreaction to its first encounter with the Scourge.

Picture those Ulrics, who have taken in this child of the Sea and Storm, who are painstakingly teaching her their language and mourning over how she looks at them in fear and wariness no matter how kind they are. Picture what they must have thought and felt during the moment Vitae’s magic rumbled over them, desperate and powerful and so young and earnest. Healing old aches and new bruises and sealing over cuts hidden beneath bandages without so much as a scar, curing an INFECTED, family they thought they had to kill or else see become a daemon too.

Then they see her crumple to the ground in exhaustion from her own efforts, see her look at them as the crowd close in awe and gratitude and see nothing but tears and FEAR in her eyes. Like she expects them to hurt her, kill her for her MIRACLE. For giving them back FAMILY.

Picture the moment they ... understand. That this little Storm child didn’t wash up by accident, caught in some foolish stunt on a boat. That she had been running. That she had chosen the teeth of the Storm over whatever (whoever) was hunting her on the Mainland for her power.

That is the moment, I think, even before she can speak their tongue enough to tell them Ardyn’s story, that the Ulrics decide the Mainland cannot be trusted, that all the Clans must be warned that the Mainlanders are more than strange and foreign. They are monsters to be watched and stayed away from.

For what other kind of being would drive away a child, a HEALER, a MIRACLE WORKER? What other kind of being would put such horror and terror into the eyes of a young girl who’s first instinct had been to HELP and HEAL and yet expect to be broken for it?

hgfdhgf anyway I went on a ramble but yea I really love this idea.

Also nobody knows why the Ostium keep getting the “recessive Oracle gene” so to speak when the other Clans all get LC magic 99%. The Ostium just blink and deadpan and point at their Ulrics (who are probably doing something Bonkers™ right that second because Attention Span of A Caffeinated Gnat™) and say something like, “How ELSE are we going to keep them alive?”

[maidenof-thesea]

Snakes & Butterflies | Part II

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Soulmate Au!, Fluff, Angst, Smut (Maybe, still debating)

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: None

Note: Here’s part 2 of my story, I hope you enjoy and understand that although Jimin has yet to come into the story, I hope you may find some of yourself in the character I am imagining and although BTS is important, I believe they would want us to value ourselves as much as we value them. 

The drive to San Ysidro was uneventful… I wish I could say that. My mom’s friend had always rubbed me off the weird way. Maybe it had to do with the fact that my mom took me to her once my Soulmate mark never appeared by the time of puberty, which is the latest it should have, in some rare cases. It was straight out of cult movie, people chanting, this random lady rubbing essential oils and raw eggs on me. That was enough to traumatize me as a child. I respect my mother’s culture but brujeria (witchcraft) is where I draw the line. My father took the more medical route, I had seen countless doctors and all could not tell my parents what was wrong, having no mark was unheard of, they were very rare cases. 

Miss Cassandra was the only one who could actually give my parents an answer. It is common knowledge that Marks are there just to guide people’s souls to one another and the rest is up to them. When my grandpa died, grandma’s mark started to fade, but it never completely faded away. Although my case is rare, Miss Cassandra told my parents that my Soulmate did not exist in this lifetime, that perhaps in my past life, I had sinned and now I was being punished. I rolled my eyes at the memory. She was such a witch, literally. Now here I am about to knock on her door.

“It’s about time you got here!” a small lady with long black hair whipped open the door, regarding me with annoyed eyes. “I’m trying to watch my novela! It’s not like Netflix, okay I can’t just pause it!”

“Hello to you too, Miss Cassandra '' I said entering in the small house and almost coughed with the smell of lavender and sweet lemongrass smell. Above the door hung some dried flowers, almost whacking me. “I love what you’ve done with the place very welcoming.”

“Haha, very funny” she said pulling my coat off and ushering me to her kitchen. “Hurry up I don’t have enough time for this. I have a cleansing to do in thirty minutes.”

“What another person with pink eye?” 

SMACK.

“OW!”

“Cállate!” she yelled. “You’re gonna wake up Miguel!” As if her yelling won’t. I sat on the bar stool and saw that she had already prepared all the ingredients for the henna tattoo.

“I don’t like that we’re appropriating Indian culture,” I muttered. 

“I don’t either,” she said stirring the mix. “But business is booming.” Great, consumerism trumps morals. Wait-

“Hold on,” I said in surprise. “What do you mean booming?”

“Ay Díos mio,” she exasperated. “You’re mother wasn’t kidding! It’s like you’re living under a rock! Do you really not watch the news?”

“Well I didn’t think it was such a big deal!”

“Of course,” she said rolling her eyes. “Those girls have all come to me for help.”

“Huh, did you tell them they were sinners too?”

“Of course not!” She said putting on gloves. “I said they were cursed.” 

“I love how nonchalant you are about all this.” I said as she wiped my arm down and began to apply the henna. 

“I’m being very serious, but I know you have a hard time believing me, you are your father’s child.” She said not taking her eyes off my arm. “You never told me why you always want this specific sword as a mark.”

“Besides the fact that you told me marks as weapons were rare,” I said averting my eyes from her family photos across the room. “Which they aren’t since I helped a couple with arrow tattoos yesterday, there’s not any other reason.”

“Arrows?” she said dapping the tool in more henna ink. “That’s strange…”

We fell into a comfortable silence and I let her continue to focus on her task at hand. My phone buzzed in my pocket and making sure she was focused, I pulled it out and sure enough, there was a message from Jungkook.

Jungkook [6:30 pm]: Hey noona, it’s me Jungkook. Is everything ok?

Me [6:32 pm]: Yes, I should be home around 7.

Jungkook [6:33 pm]: Okay, I’m making pasta. Let me know when you are on your way.

Me [6:35 pm] OK.

“Is that Jungkook?” Cassandra said as she stepped back to look at her handiwork. I was momentarily taken aback, but realized my mom must have already told her. “How did he take it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“He knows,” Cassandra said already cleaning up the ink. “Take a look to see if you like it.”

“How do you know-” I stuttered in shock. “It’s fine, I don’t need to look and I’ll make some excuse, I’ll say that my mark was burned off too just like those girls.”

“Your scars are too old for that.” she said regarding me with pity. “Just tell him the truth.”

“I can’t.” I said with finality in my tone. I wanted this conversation to end. “I don’t need any more pity from anybody.”

“Ah you see, you say that, but that is not what you want.” She said sighing. “You may be able to fool your mother but you can’t fool me. Soy una bruja. (I’m a witch)”

“I’m not having this conversation,” I said standing up and getting my bag and coat, I pulled out a couple of twenties and placed them on the table. 

“Do not be afraid of fate, Y/N” she said placing the money back in my hand. “I’m not entirely sure why but there’s something different, a spark in your future.”

“So you can see the future now?” I said scoffing as I walked towards the front door. 

“You had a dream last night? About the past?” 

I stopped in my tracks. Feeling the color drain from my face.

“A dream that felt like a memory? But you don’t remember?” she said as she approached me from behind and when I refused to turn around, she continued. “Destiny always finds a way, no matter how hard you try to erase it.”

“Well,” I said shivering. “If destiny decides to come knocking on my door, I could tell it to fuck off.” Cassandra laughs and smacks me on the back, making me flinch. This woman hits me more than my own mother. 

“That is something you would say mija,” she said hugging me. “Promise me you won’t cry too much.”

“Huh?”

“Ve con Díos” she replies and closes her door, leaving me in confusion on her doorstep. 

“‘Don’t cry too much?’” I repeated softly to myself as I made my way back to my car, only to see a man leaning against my passenger side. Great. “Can I help you?”

The man looks up at me from his phone. He looked at me up and down and started to approach me but stopped when I reached into my bag. He holds his hands up.

“Hold on!” He says, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just wanted to talk that’s all.”

“Well you can talk from there I can hear just fine.” I said clutching my taser in my hand.

“Are you Y/N?”

“How the hell-did you follow me here?!”

“NO!” He yelled. “God no! Look here look!” He pulls up his sleeve to his jacket and shows me his arm. Nothing. No soulmate mark. “I’m just like you.”

“Excuse me?” I said offensively. “What the hell do you know about me?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude. Let me explain.” He said pulling out his wallet, he pulls out a card and attempts to hand it to me. When I refuse to take it, he places it on the windshield wiper of my car. “My name is Minho. Lee Minho. I’m a professor at the University. I heard about your situation. I-”

My phone rings and we’re both startled and I quickly pull it out of my pocket and answer without checking. 

“Noona?” Jungkook says his voice laced with worry. “Where are you? It’s already ten minutes past seven.”

“Oh Kookie,” I say cooing even though my heart was beating rapidly. “Don’t worry, I just had to stop by for gas real quick. I’ll be there in 30.”

“Oh okay Noona” Jungkook says softly. “Drive safely okay?” I hum in response and he hangs up. 

“Okay bye babe! Love you!” I say as I hear the dial tone. I look back at Minho and he seemed a bit confused. “I don’t know what you are talking about. My Soulmate is waiting for me, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“I’m sorry,” He said moving away from my car. “But you are Y/N right?”

“I’m sorry but how in the hell-”

“Your father sent me here.” He said, “He said you would be here. He told me everything. If there’s somewhere more private you want to go to dis-”

“Look,” I said stepping up to him. “I don’t know why you think it’s appropriate to approach me like this but I am definitely not interested in what you have to say or offer and as a matter of fact you can forget that I even exist.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that,” Minho said with a hint of desperation. And with a shake of his head, he took a step back. “I didn’t want to meet you in these circumstances either, but I was just so curious and-”

“Look,” I said interrupting him. “I’m sure you have good intentions, but you are not the first man my father has pushed on me. You are the first to approach me this way though and trust me you are not making a good first impression.”

“But-”

“I have to go,” I said with finality, entering my car. “I have someone waiting for me.”

Instead of stopping me, Minho just watched me go. I sighed with relief once I got back on the highway. I would have to break so many laws just to make it on time and I was grateful that the traffic wasn’t too bad. Once I had a view of the cottage, I slowed down not wanting to scare the beach goers. My phone started to ring again and instead of Jungkook’s name like I expected, it was an unknown number. I answered and a deep gruff voice resonated from the speakers of my car.

“Why do you always have to disappoint me?” My father said with an eerie calm voice. 

“How did you get my number?” I responded back, clenching my hands on the steering wheel. “Mom pro-”

“Do you really think she had a choice in the matter?” 

“And do you think you have the right to decide she has no choice?” I scoffed. “You must have threatened to divorce her again. And you’re supposed to be Soul-”

“ENOUGH.” He all but roared and I flinched causing me to jerk the car. 

“I’m driving right now,” I said rolling my eyes. “So if you don’t mind, can we keep this conversation civil?”

“You’re gonna want to talk to this professor.”

“Why? Because he has money?” 

“His research-”

“So what now I’m gonna be a lab monkey for this guy?!”

“Y/N did you see his Mark?” He said calm once more, and when I said nothing, he continued. “He doesn’t have one either. Just like you.”

“What?” 

“Talk to him.” He said and the phone call was disconnected. I had managed to park on the driveway of the cottage. On my windshield, I could see the business card that Minho left. I felt my breath leave my lungs and I could feel tears starting to pool in my eyes. My thoughts were racing and it made me dizzy. I quickly got out of the car and made my way to the beach, not even going to the cottage. Thank goodness it was a short walk. Once I stepped onto the uneven sand I sat down and hugged my knees to my chest. I then proceeded to take deep calming breaths and once more I focused on the sound of the waves, willing myself to think logically and calmly. 

He doesn’t have a mark? Is he one of the victims too? Or was he really just like me? Did he never have one like me? And if so, what does that mean for me? Could it be possible that no mark could be a Mark?

“Is he my Soulmate?” I thought out loud. 

“Noona?” 

I jumped up from my position that I almost lost my footing, and strong arms caught me. Looking up, Jungkook was staring down at me in confusion and shock once he saw my tear stained cheeks. I quickly scrambled from his embrace and wiped my cheeks.

“Jungkook!” I said avoiding eye contact. “How did you-”

“Why are you crying?” Jungkook said cupping my cheeks in his hands. I felt my face get hot. “Is this about your Mark?”

“Let’s go inside,” I said tugging his hands from my face, but I held his hand as I led him back to the cottage. “Did you start the movie?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook said stepping his way in front of me, blocking the path. “Why were-”

“Just got off the phone with my dad,” I shrugged. It wasn’t exactly a lie. “The usual: ‘You are such a disappointment’, ‘You’re not my daughter if you are useless.’ The works.”

“I don’t remember him being like that,” Jungkook said, pulling me to a hug. I cleared my throat as I felt my face once again go hot. This boy was gonna give me heart palpitations. 

“People change,” I replied, wrapping my arms around him. “Like you. When did you get so tall! I still can’t believe you’re the same Kookie that used to pull on my pigtails.”

“Noona,” Jungkook whined and bent down to tuck his face in my neck. I felt myself stiffen and almost immediately he released me and started up the path to the cottage. I quickly followed, not wanting to be out in the cold anymore. I followed him inside and Luke Skywalker’s face was on the TV screen and I squealed and jumped onto the couch getting myself comfortable for the movie marathon. Jungkook comes back from the kitchen and hands me a bowl of pasta to which I hum in thanks, my eyes never leaving the screen. “People never really change.”

I looked at him and he was staring right back. I put the pasta down and grabbed the remote to pause the movie. We sat in silence for a bit. Yuki jumped onto the armchair across from us and was staring intently at me, almost as if waiting for me to speak up.

“Jungk-”

“Noona,” Jungkook says, “You don’t have to explain anything to me, if you’re not ready.”

“I-” I sighed. “Depends on what you want to know..”

“Since when?” He sighs. “How long has it been?”

You should tell him the truth

“If I tell you,” I say as I clench my fingers. “Will you promise not to look at me differently or walk on eggshells around me?”

“Noona,” Jungkook says, turning to face me. “Why would I look at you any different?”

I turn to look at him with incredulous eyes and his eyes shined with sincerity. It threw me off. I look back at Yuki who started to purr, almost as if to encourage me.

“Well when I hit pube-”

“No Noona,” Jungkook said with a sigh. “How long have you shut yourself off from the world?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said confused. “Why does that matter?”

“Seriously?!” Jungkook shouted, standing up. “Noona, why aren’t you acting like yourself? You were never one to hide, there’s moments where you seem like yourself but then you’re this completely different person-almost like your mem-”

He stopped abruptly almost if coming to a realization or as if he said too much. 

“Jungkook,” I said standing up as well, wanting to comfort him but not sure what to do. “You aren’t curious as to why I don’t have a mark? I mean that’s what everyone-”

“Noona,” Jungkook said almost exasperated. “Mark or not, you’re you. I know that life changes people, I understand that but you act as if you’re ashamed.”

“Kookie,” I said stepping back. “You have no idea what my life has been like.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said covering his face. “You’re right, but I can’t but feel guilty-”

“Jungkookie,” I said rubbing his back. “You have no reason to feel guilty.”

“I’m sorry that we-that I wasn’t there for you.” Jungkook sighed as he wrapped his arms around me, using my head as a headrest. Normally I wouldn’t be comfortable with this amount of skinship, mostly because I never let myself get close to anyone besides my mom and Jennie. But with Jungkook, it felt so natural and I felt a sense of relief. “Jimin and I would have never let you hide…”

I felt myself stiffen with the mention of Jimin’s name, and I almost recoiled from him, almost as if my body felt a sense of shame. But why would I feel that way?

“Noona?” Jungkook said, cocking his head in confusion. “Are you-”

Jungkook’s phone rang, interrupting him as we both came to our senses. He quickly ran to get it from the kitchen table as I gathered Yuki in my arms, requesting cuddles from her. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Jungkook said, his voice laced with a hint of anger. He showed me his phone and ‘Jiminie Hyung’ was facetiming him. 

Prev / Next 

Masterlist 

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 47)

Jaig Eyes (47/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

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

Chapter Forty-Seven: Gone For a Moment

Obi-wan and I were probably about halfway up the pit wall when Ahsoka spiralled down to us on a speeder She hummed, glancing down below. “Nice job,” she teased lightly.

“What took you so long?” Kenobi offered back immediately jumping onto the speeder behind the padawan. I too, turned and leapt to the back. It certainly wasn’t a good fit with three people. I was more so perched on the back than sitting. But hey, I prefered anything that wasn’t climbing up the rest of the wall.

“Here,” Ahsoka said, handing back an ignition gauge to Obi-wan. “I did as you said. The shuttle’s going nowhere without that.” I smirked a bit. Great minds think alike.

“Good. That gives us some time to rescue Anakin.”

“We should head to the monastery,” I commented from behind them as Ahsoka guided us out of the pit. The air was fresh and cool, soothing the sting of my burned hand and tired lungs. “The Father will be there.”

As Ahsoka steered us towards the monastery, she glanced back at me. “What happened? Why did Anakin join the Son?”

“He showed Anakin the future,” I yelled back over the wind. “That place was enough to tempt you just by being there.”

“I felt it,” she commented. “And I wasn’t even all the way in it. What was that place?”

“The Father had called it the Well of the Dark Side,” Obi-wan answered. “We need to hurry.”

The monastery loomed before us, Ahsoka moving to take us up to the landing platform. “Wait,” I cried, pointing down towards the arena Anakin had been tested in. “Look over there!” In the center of the arena, laid beside the kneeling Father, was Anakin.

Ahsoka turned immediately, guiding us down. “Master!” she cried, stopped the speeder and climbing off. Anakin looked...normal. The shadows that had been on his face in the Well were gone, replaced by confusion.

“Are you alright?” Obi-wan asked gently.

“I think so,” Skywalker responded, finding his feet. “But we must stop the Son once and for all.” I raised my brow, a bit confused. Was Anakin just suddenly better? What about the jedi being the reason for war?

“We have little time and you’ll only get one chance.” The Father rose elegantly. “You know what you must do.”

“How quaint.” The Son floated down from above, his voice booming with power. “My own personal send-off.” He landed gently between Anakin and the Father, unbothered by our ready stances.

The Father regarded his son sadly. “I ask you one last time. Do not leave, my son.”

“You have no power to keep me, old man,” the Son smirked. “You must understand by now this planet is not my destiny!”

“What you will do will destroy all that is good,” the Father protested adamantly. “I beg you, restrain yourself and stay!”

“I cannot.”

“And then, it shall be,” the Father spoke, backing up slowly. “I love you, my son.”

“Do you?” he asked teasingly as Anakin ignited his lightsaber. Anakin attacked, but was easily blocked by the Son. The Dark Sider grabbed Skywalker by the neck and throwing him backwards. He pulled the lightsabers from Ahsoka and Obi-wan’s grasps before sending all three of us flying backwards.

“What?” I heard the Son chuckle lowly as I sat up tiredly. “You’re going to kill me now?”

“I held hope that you could resist the Dark Side.” Looking towards them, I saw the Father was now holding the blade that had killed the Daughter. “But I see now, there is no going back.”

I watched in horror as the Father turned the blade on himself, plunging it into his own chest.

“Father,” the Son breathed. “No!” He raced up to his father as he collapsed. “What have you done? It did not have to be this way!”

“Yes, my child,” the Father panted as he was helped to the ground. “It did. You and I are tied together, and your strength runs through me. This way, I take your power.”

A small gasp of breath came from the Son, making my brow arch in surprise. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t die.” As we all found our feet again, I watched as Anakin approached the Son from behind.

“I always knew there was good in you.” The Father wrapped his son in a hug, glancing up at Anakin. 

Skywalker struck from behind, stabbing the Son through the chest with his lightsaber. “And so you have betrayed me, Father,” the Son gasped in the old man’s embrace before falling lifelessly to the floor.

“It is done,” Anakin said softly as he kneeled before the Father.

“And now I die,” the Father responded hoarsely. “My heart broken, but knowing the role you will play.”

“And what is that?”

“You are the Chosen One,” the man panted. “You have brought balance to this world. Stay on this path, and you will do it again for the galaxy. But beware…” his voice began to peter out as he fell backwards in death. “Your heart.”

The Father disappeared, evaporating like he had never been there. The feeling of the entire planet shifted and the monastery began to crumble. We all turned to see the glowing crystal crashing downwards on the top of the spire. It shattered into thousands of pieces before erupting in a bright purple spark. It billowed for a moment before letting off an explosion.

The light was blinding, making me squint against it. Would the entire place be destroyed before we could get back to the Jedi’s shuttle? It was our only way off this rock, considering my ship had been destroyed...by my own doing.

I closed my eyes as the wind rippled past us, turning away from the light.

And then I felt a familiar seat under my legs. Snapping my eyes open, I was shocked to find myself alone in the cockpit of my ship. I looked down, seeing that my weapons were all returned to me, as if I’d never lost any of them. Whirling, I made my way from the cockpit and into my quarters, seeing the holo-image of my family flickering in the corner. 

A sigh of relief slipped past my lips. It was all a dream. I reached out, touching the edge of the holo-projector fondly, only to flinch when my fingers made contact. My hand...it was still burned and bleeding.

Whatever had just happened...had been real.

“Miss? Miss?” I jumped at Apex’s voice, walking into the hallway. “We were disconnected for a moment.”

“A moment?” I questioned, glancing down at my hand again. “I was gone for…”

“Miss? Are you alright?”

I cleared my throat. “Fine.”

“There is an incoming transmission from the Republic vessel.”

“The Republic--” I froze, recalling who else had been with me in that strange world. Hurrying back to the cockpit, I accepted the transmission, seeing an admiral I recognized. They couldn’t see me yet.

“This is Admiral Yularen of the Republic Starship, Venator. You are an undocumented vessel. Please transmit identification codes.”

I smirked at the formal man’s image, looking over the familiar attire of the Republic’s military. “I’m in Wild Space,” I muttered, knowing he couldn’t hear me until I opened a channel. “I don’t report to you here.”

I sat in my seat, resetting the system to fire up the engines. As much as my experience with the jedi had been good, especially since I found out I wasn’t a wanted woman anymore, I still didn’t really feel ready for another run-in with the military.

Especially because I knew Yularen was assigned with Anakin. 

And that meant Rex was aboard, too. And the rest of the 501st that I knew.

I wasn’t ready for that at all. I knew I had to go on a journey of healing to learn to...see. But I had already taken steps that day. Large steps. Any more felt like a bit too much.

“Undocumented vessel,” came Yularen’s call again. “Disengage your engines and lower your shields. We are going to engage our tractor beam.”

“Not likely,” I muttered, already typing in a set of coordinates to jump to quickly. I glanced up through the viewport for a moment, seeing another small vessel below the Star Destroyer. The Jedi Shuttle. 

My hand had been on the hyperdrive lever. I should have just pushed it and ended the whole thing. But I hesitated at the sight of the ship, relief flooding over me. Whatever weird thing had let me leave Mortis had let them survive too.

My mind shifted to what Anakin had said. “I will do such terrible things.” He had sounded so broken. Yet, so sure. It sent a shiver down my back, knowing that I was the only one alive who heard him say that. That questioned what he had meant. Who worried that it may still come to pass.

“Ah, Miss Fett,” I heard Yularen’s accented voice greet through the comms again. I turned my head abruptly at him knowing my name. “General Skywalker informed me of your presence,” he answered my unvoiced question. “He requests you come aboard for a briefing and to refuel.”

Every nerve was on fire as I panicked. I wanted to run. A past me would have run. But something held me back. I knew I was supposed to agree. This was the way to rekindle my connections with the Republic...and maybe start healing. Then maybe my crystal would heal, too.

My hand moved from the lightspeed lever to the comms, opening the channel both ways. I quirked a smile to the man as he finally saw my hologram. “Admiral,” I greeted. “Nice to see you. Is--” I stopped myself as I found that I was about to try and duck the situation again.

Bendu would have clicked his tongue at me.

“Whatever I can do to help. Please inform Skywalker that I’ve accepted his request.” The comms cut out as the Admiral gave me a curt nod. He didn’t really smile, but I’d come to learn that he usually didn’t.

It wasn’t surprising. He was so rigid and by the book. And he got paired with the wildest Jedi the Order had to give.

“Miss,” Apex cut in as I shifted the shuttle forward gently, heading for the landing bay. “If I may ask, why are you agreeing to go aboard? Your hyperspace engine was ready.”

“I know,” I breathed back. “But I am no longer afraid of what the Republic thinks of me. Or the clones. Or the Jedi,” I declared, both the the AI and myself. “It’s time I faced the things I’ve been running from.”

My automated friend was silent for a moment as he processed my words. “You have been changing an awfully lot of late, Miss, if I may say.”

I hummed lowly. “I know.” Trying to lighten the mood, I smiled, “Why? Getting bored with me?”

There was a moment of quiet in which my heart nearly dropped. Sure, his programing had a loyalty implant towards myself, but he was an AI, after all. Could he have developed past that and actually determined me boring?

“Never.”  Was the only response to the conversation I got before I guided the ship into the landing bay. He picked right back up as if he’d never mentioned my change. “The ship is prepped for landing.”

I set the shuttle down easily, already seeing the astromechs and clones approaching to start refueling. With a hard swallow, I stood to exit the ship. “Keep an eye on those mechs,” I warned the AI as the gangway descended. “I don’t want them messing with my ship.”

“Of course, Miss,” I heard him respond as I walked onto the Republic Star Destroyer.

“Kida Fett,” one of the clones greeted, standing tall. A shiny. “The Generals are waiting for you on the bridge. I will escort you--”

“I know the way,” I said with as much surety as I could muster. In reality, I was nearly trembling with nerves. I saw some clones with 501st blue painted on their armor. They were relaxing in the hangar, playing a game of get’shuk. They were all laughing. Brothers. My heart longed to go play with them like I had before...when my hair was a short as theirs. 

I kept my head down, glancing sideways at the shiny again. “I prefer to avoid the attraction of an escort,” I explained gently before walking on with confidence. I tried to appear confident, at least. 

I remembered the ship well. Considering they were all laid out the same, I’d been on more than enough to navigate this one. Despite not having an escort, I still drew stares. And this time, I was more in-tune with the Force.

I felt their feelings towards me. Some scoffed at my ‘desertion.’ Some were curious. Some recalled the stories they’d heard about me. Some were surprised I was the legend they’d heard about. The ones that were the hardest to sense where from those that recognized me. They were more confused on how they felt than I was.

Then I heard a voice, that even though it came from genetically identical throats, still managed to be recognizable. “Kida?” I turned slowly, seeing the tattooed face of Jesse, followed closely by Hardcase.

I offered them a small smile, both genuine and apologetic. “Hi guys,” I said gently, trying to ease any tension. Nevertheless, I could feel it building in the hallway around us as more eyes turned to see what would happen.

Yet, none of that tension seemed to be coming from the three approaching clones. I was nearly bowled over as Jesse practically tackled me in a hug, followed closely by Hardcase’s burly arms. 

“Woah!” I cried out in shock, doing my best not to stand rigid from fright. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s great to see ya, kid,” Kix smiled at me from behind his brothers. “You had us worried there for a bit.”

I quirked my eyebrow as the brothers finally detached themselves from me and gave me some breathing room. “Had you worried?” I wondered for a moment if the destruction of Mortis had caused changes in the galaxy. Had I never left in their minds? “What do you mean?”

“The Republic hadn’t gotten any word on you for over a month,” Hardcase explained adamantly. “We thought you’d gotten yourself killed.”

I glanced between them all in silent shock as it dawned on me. They had been asking after me. They got the intel from spies the Republic used when they would spot me. They weren’t angry at me for leaving at all. They were just glad to see me. Tears sprung to my eyes at the realization, making me glance away and blink awkwardly. 

“Aw, Kida,” Jesse teased gently. “We wouldn’t have told ya if we knew you’d get all emotional on us.”

I let out a wet sounding laugh as he came forward and gave me another hug. I returned this one happily, wrapping my arms around his armor. With a sniffle and a small wipe at my nose, I glanced between the three men.

“I’m sorry I had to leave. I wish I didn’t have to.” I wasn’t sure how to apologize. Was there a right way to?

“Aw, we know, kid,” Kix assured me, clapping me gently on the shoulder. “We’re just glad you’re alright.” The tension in the room dissipated as the other clones saw how we were acting. They moved on, walking as if they’d never seen anything. “Kida, what the hell is this?”

My attention was drawn back to the clone who was holding my wrist, examining my injured hand. I flinched, not because it hurt--even though it did--but because I knew that tone. I was about to get the scolding of a lifetime for not treating it already. “In my defense--” I started, but was cut off.

“No, no,” Kix commanded, turning to grab out his on-the-go medical supplies. “You don’t get an excuse. You were just sitting in your ship! How did you manage to go this between then and now?”

I chuckled lowly, not wanting to try to explain, since I wasn’t even sure if I understood myself. “I have to get to the bridge, Kix. I can’t be late.”

“Then we do on the go,” Hardcase suggested, punching my shoulder pauldron lightly, right over the painted kyr’bes. I rolled my eyes, but allowed the clones to escort me to the bridge while Kix bandaged my hand. I wasn’t really worried about drawing attention now. I had friends with me.

“So, what took you off the map for the first time, Kida?” Jesse asked beside me with a smirk. “Found yourself some young rogue?”

I laughed shortly. “Kriff, no. I was...looking into something.”

“Looking into something?” Hardcase repeated. “For months? Nah, it must have been a boy. Or a girl. Whichever you prefer,” he waved his hand dismissively, making me chuckle. 

“Or she got lost,” Kix added in shortly from where he was concentrating on my hand. I winced, pulling away slightly, earning a click of his tongue. “If you’d treated it when it happened, I wouldn’t be picking rocks out of it. And is this--is this shrapnel?”

I winced again, but didn’t answer, following the other conversation instead. “I wasn’t lost. I was just staying off the grid for a bit while the Republic had a price out for me.”

“I knew that wouldn’t last,” Jesse assured, rolling his eyes. “I’m surprised, really,” he commented, glancing back at me. “I never pegged you for someone who could stay in one place for so long.”

I hummed. “Well you’re right. But it was out of necessity. I was there because I needed to figure some things out.”

The brothers all glanced at each other in quiet curiosity, but didn’t ask. “Well did you figure them out?” Kix finally asked gently.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I quipped back, making them all smirk at me again. We reached the bridge, the doors opening before us to reveal a room crowded with familiar faces. “Ouch,” I squeaked as Kix gave me a shot in the arm between my pauldron and arm brace.

“Feel better?” I nodded at him. He waved the canister in front of my face. “Stim canisters. You have a belt. Please start carrying them.”

I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, giving a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Glad you could join us,” Kenobi greeted as I slowly entered the room filled with gazes. The jedi and Admiral Yularen stood in the room, with even more jedi watching on as holograms. In the corner, rather removed from the crowd, stood Captain Rex. His helmet was on, but I could feel his gaze on me. “Thank you, gentlemen,” Obi-wan said to my companions, dismissing them from the room.

They left an I immediately felt outnumbered again. While the three present jedi had been friendly on Mortis, I still didn’t get any sort of warm greeting like I had from the clones. I cleared my throat quietly, folding my hands behind my back. 

“Thank you for letting me refuel here.”

“Of course,” Windu responded from the holoprojector, as if it was his decision to let me do it. “We owe it to someone who has helped members of our Order.” He gestured to Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-wan. I assumed they had told him at least a little about Mortis.

Or maybe he was trying to make up for helping place a bounty on my head.

I hummed slightly, doing my best to still feel relaxed. “I was told you wanted a briefing? I’d like to clarify that it’s about what just happened...not everything else.”

“While we are certainly curious about your adventures,” Kenobi voiced, touching his chin. “We only require your recounting of these recent events.”

I nodded my head slowly, aware of the hair that was still slipping from my ponytail. “Alright.”

“If you would be so kind, this is a Jedi matter,” Obi-wan voiced to the room. Yularen pivoted immediately, gesturing for the communications officers to follow him from the war room. I stood awkwardly as Rex passed me, glancing at his chest plate rather than his visor.

It was cowardly, but I was barely holding it together as it was.

“Your story, tell us,” Master Yoda said to the room as the doors sealed off. I settled myself in for a long recounting of a terribly confusing adventure.

[shadedrose01]

Burning Hope

Ship: none. Parental/Paternal relationship between Tony Stark and Harley Keener

Summary: Tony goes to visit a boy that he met, and discovers something he shouldnt.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, medieval times, Knight Tony Stark, Future King Tony Stark, Kid Harley Keener, Even though hes not named at all during the fic, Its him i promise, Magic, Magic-Users, Alternate Universe - Magic, Mages, Mage Harley Keener, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Summaries, Febufluff, Day 20, Butterflies, Fire, Magical Fire, pyrokinesis, Pyrokinetic Harley Keener, Cliffhangers, Badish ending?, Unhappy Ending, sorry :/ - Freeform, Tony Stark Acting As Harley Keener's Parental Figure

Day 20 of Febufluff: "Butterflies"!

Part 2 of the "Devil's Backbone" series

Note: This is apart of my Devils Backbone series. There is a oneshot already written that's apart of this series, but you do not need to read that to understand this one. This fic happens way before that one does, in the past. You can read that oneshot here, but please be mindful of the tags if you do <3

Also this is really bad (especially compared to the oneshot), I'm sorry.

--

Tony walks towards the stables, the tall grass surrounding him swaying into the light summer breeze, and crunching under his weight. His horse, Friday, a beautiful tall brown horse with a blotch of white on his nose, nickers to him in greeting, Tony running a hand up and down her face in response, from her muzzle to her forehead. He takes one last glance at the sky, seeing the sun blazing down on them from the middle of the sky, before he gets to work.

He grabs his leather, hand sewed saddle made for him by his lovely wife, and heaves it into place on Friday's back, making sure its snug into place, before checking the knapsack he had brought with him, ensuring hed have everything he needed for the remainder of the day. Water for him, and some extra, some arrows, some string, some rope, a sewing kit just in case and strung over his back, two separate bows, one significantly smaller than the other. One he had created, hand crafted just the other night. With everything checked off his mental list, he slings the sack over his shoulder, opens the gate in front of Friday, and saddles up onto her, his muscles straining with the effort, even after the countless times he's done this.

He gives her a squeeze of his thighs, and she on the move, galloping out of the stable and towards the town with a steady trot. He passes the stone houses quickly, giving a wave or two to the few people that recognized him, before picking up the pace as they ride towards the woods, towards the edge of the territory.

Towards where a small, rickety straw and mud house stood, cracked and old, deteriorating with time and age. Towards where a little boy stayed, all by his lonesome.

He shouldnt be going this way, shouldn't be getting involved, getting attached the way that he is. He should have left it alone when he found the boy a few days prior, on a random excursion of the edges of the territory. He should have let natural selection take it's course, no matter how cruel it could be. Hell, he didnt even know the kid's name. But, there was something tugging at Tony, twisting up his insides every time he thought about leaving the poor boy alone, to die no less, and it overwhelmed him. He felt compelled to help, felt the knowledge of knowing, knowing that this boy no older than twelve years of age had a part to play in the future of their kingdom, that he had a destiny of some sort. He could feel it, feel it with all of his heart, in the depths of his bones as if God himself had whispered it in his ear, written it into his heart, and sealed it into his brain.

So, he kept returning to the boy, to the house at the edge of the woods, of the world, getting attached to someone he should have never known, hoping that one day he'll understand why. Why he had been lead there, why he had stumbled upon the boy, why he continued to help. Until then, though, he will continue on the path God laid out for him and put his faith into His hands, knowing He would never steer him wrong.

He pulls back on the reins, Friday slowing to a stop as they pull up on the old, worn down structure, the wind whistling through the cracks and holes. He dismounts the beast, rubbing and patting her as he tells her to stay. She shakes her head, puffing air out of her nose in response, as if the idea insults her, making Tony snort in amusement as he walks past her, glancing through the cracks as he goes.

He freezes as soon as he does, eyes widening before he rushes through the door, the creaking wooden slab slamming against the wall, splintering as Tony gapes at the mystical scene in front of him.

What has to be about a hundred or more butterflies are scattered around the room, their wings, their bodies, their being made of a neon, artificial blue fire, flooding the room with harsh light and a sweltering heat. Some are perched around the room, around the structure, but more are flying, flying in some sort of cyclone, some sort of tornado formation, practically swarming around one central point in the middle of the room. One person, one kid sat in the middle of the building, sitting on his legs, eyes closed in concentration, hands held out in a cupping gesture, holding a ball of flames, of fire in his small, small childlike hands.

As soon as the bang of the door echoes, the kid flinches harshly, head swiveling to stare with wide, bright, neon eyes, neon eyes that Tony's only seen a few times, only seen on- no, no he couldn't be a- couldnt be- and all of the butterflies flare up, their flames growing brighter, stronger, before they disappear completely, flickering out into flairs are fade as soon as their formed, the flame engulfing his hands disappearing to. Kid's mouth drops, and he rushes to stand, hiding his hands behind his back and looking absolutely terrfied. "M-Mr. Stark! What- What are you-?"

"You're a mage." He breathes out, his mind reeling with this new information, and the kid flinches back as if stricken, his lighter blue eyes (but not neon blue, not anymore, that having left when the butterflies did, when the magic did) widening even further, looking like the ceramic plates his wife had gotten Peter was born, around eight years ago.

"N-no, I'm not!"

Tony narrows his eyes at the smaller boy, only afew years older than his son seemingly, incredulously. "I saw you, child. With your magic, the butterflies, the- the fire!" He flairs his arms out. "I saw it! I saw it all. You truly expect me to ignore it, and pretend I saw nothing? This is-" he runs a hand through his hair, and starts to pace slightly. "Dangerous, child, this is dangerous! If the town caught whiff of you, much less the guard-"

"Don't tell anyone!" The kid blurts, his eyes looking like oceans, swimming with clear tears and flooded with petrifying fear. "Please, you can't! Momma said if-if anyone finds out, they'll-they'll-" He sobs, his tiny body shuttering, sniffling as hands press up into his face, wiping away the liquid now running down his face. "I'm sorry! I wont do it again, ill- I'll try to control it- I swear!"

Tony feels a rush of adrenaline, a parental, paternal urge rearing his head until Tony's moving forward before he can think, kneeling in front of the trembling child and shushing him gently. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's alright."

He carefully grabs at the boys hands, covering in dirt and filth, all scuffed and scabbed up, covered in cuts and scrapes, fingernails black, and, ignoring the flinch the boy gives, slowly pries them away from his face, similarly dirt ridden, his entire face marked with brown's and blacks, the only clear part of his face being the trails of tears still running down his face. He looks him dead in the eye, and, even though his mind is screaming at him, says firmly "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Won't tell anyone?? Is he mad? He needs to tell someone, he's about to become a part of the royal guard! He has to tell the soldiers, the knights, the king, it's a part of the law, now, it's what he's supposed to do, as a man soon to be knighted-

But he can't. He knows he can't, as he feels this fierce wave of protection for this child he doesn't know, this child that isn't his, as he feels the same foreboding feeling as before, as he feels, knows, that this is what hes supposed to do, that this is what's right.

Especially when hope brightens the kids baby blue eyes, the raging storm brewing behind his irises turning into a calm, overcast summers day, and a smile grows wide on his face. "Really?!? You won't tell 'em?"

Tony shakes his head, giving the kid a small smile as he rebrates himself internally, before suddenly letting out a huff as the kid practically knocks him over, embracing him tightly, his tiny, lithe fingers grasping the back of Tony's tunic with a strong hold, almost ripping it in his excitement. "Thank you, thank you, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's nose scrunches up as soon as the kids stench waves over him, but he ignores it, choosing to wrap one arm around the kid's back, patting it awkwardly, feeling his jutting bones through the big, loose shirt the boy is wearing. Over his shoulder, Tony watches as another butterfly forms, the blue fire lighter, wispier than the others were earlier, watches as he flaps its wings a few times in front of his face, the flames licking at his nose, his chin, before it takes flight, flying around the pair once, twice before sprialing upwards and squeezing through one of the cracks in the foundation, flying away, its neon flames blending into the sky.

Tony's smile widens at the unconscious act, at the innocence and purity of it, and wonders, wonders why people believe magic is so bad, why mages are so awful, when they can create beauty like that, at the snap of their fingers, without even a second thought? He wonders, and throws his other arm around the kid, fully embracing him, holding onto the warmth of the moment for a few seconds longer, while he still can. While he still has hope.

A few days later, Tony is send to war, serving his kingdom as a knight. A few months later, he comes home a king, the memory of warmth, of butterflies and of hope vanished like a dream.

[yukiwrites]

The Heart of Immortals

Thank you so much for the support and patience as always, @breeachuu! I had a blast writing this, I hope you likey!

Summary: Wolfram had been specifically chosen by Naga to undergo a very special mission -- to travel to another world by the name of Fódlan and help one of the many suffering children that inhabited it. Someone who bore something very special and key to that world’s salvation.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

It took less than a minute for the then-empty kitchen to pack itself with manaketes, all jostling one another with Nidra at the front, facing Wolfram.

The mother felt her mouth twitch in nervousness, the faint holy presence Naga left in her wake making her youngest's words ring even louder in her ears.

"Your... 'destiny's call', my son?" Nidra gulped, taking uncertain steps in Wolfie's direction.

As though leaving a trance, the boy blinked, finally focusing his gaze on his mother, seeing all of his siblings hustling behind her. "Was that as weird as it sounded now that I saw it through in my mind?" Wolfie's shoulders sagged as he chuckled, his hands slightly trembled from having probably (he'd never be sure about that, even years later) touched Naga's very skin once She made her contact.

Both Cynthias exchanged overly excited looks as their big brothers opened their arms in unison. "This is SO EPIC! YOU HAD AN UNPRECEDENTED VISIT FROM NAGA HERSELF-" The older Cynthia leaped from under Nidra's arm, set on pouncing on her little brother.

"No!" Nidra clenched her fists and stomped her foot on the ground, a very timely and most likely intentional tremor shaking the house in response.

Cynthia's pigtails deflated along with her whole body as she fell flat on the floor. "Uh, Mom-"

Cyn reached out for her mother from behind as Meli glanced from Wolfie to Nidra and Meliodas placed a hand on Cyn's shoulder. Henry peeked his head out of the door to Wolfram's left, carrying the bag of herbs he had stepped out to get only a few moments previous.

"I guess I didn't feel this whole holy presence 'cause I'm not a manakete, huh? Nyaha!" He dropped the bag loudly on the floor, clapping the dust out of his hands right after. "Aight, guess it's Mom and Dad time, yeah? Everyone but Wolfie, out!" He clapped cheerfully, walking towards Nidra to steer her towards their youngest son, her body shaking slightly.

As the youngest opened his mouth to continue, Nidra's swaying in front of him made he reflexively reach out for her, though Henry was the one who caught his faint wife. "Ohh..." Nidra took one hand to cover her forehead, her eyes spinning. "Not my little baby..." Her voice got weaker and weaker until it turned to incomprehensible mumbling as consciousness slowly left her.

The children all turned pale in the face as Henry never lost his smile. "Whoopsie, guess that was too much for good ol' Ni-Ni, huh?" He teased, adjusting her in his arms. "This has been funsies and all, kids, but now we really gotta talk just with Wolfie, alright? C'mon, kid." He gestured with his chin for the boy to follow him towards the stairs. "We'll be at the nest and don't worry about your Mother, 'kay? She's gonna be fine after we talk a bit. I'll call you guys over when it's time."

Cynthia hugged both Meliodas and Cyn, her eyes so wide they almost bulged out of her skull. Meliodas himself shook slightly, not wanting the memories of a future past to shadow the excitement they were just experiencing.

Noticing his older brother's lack of color, Meli immediately caught on the reason Nidra's fainting shook his eldest siblings so much, taking it upon himself to take their minds out of it. "Hey, Brother? Big Sister?" He softly took their hands in his, feeling them tremble. "While we wait, I wanted to show you two something."

Following Henry through the corridor, Wolfram didn't have time to wonder why only his eldest siblings turned silent so quickly, his mind much too focused on the vision he had seen.

A field bathed with blood. A battle so fierce the red never left its soil -- a massacre so brutal the ruins still remained to ever remind the people of what had transpired.

Memories of a distant past mingling with the present, though its bloody history remained unchanged.

A single survivor of a tragedy, the dead haunting their every step.

A lonely soul, the last of its line, tortured to the mind-breaking point.

An outcast, forced to survive inside a den of enemies.

A life that wasn't supposed to survive, yet by joining with Immortals it was given a second chance.

The setting sun bathes the full winter coat of every wolf in a foreboding scarlet glow. Hunters spread the word that the red wolves are back on the prowl.

A voice, one that felt so familiar, so intimate -- as though a mix of a Mother's and his own inner voice --  a sound one could only stop to listen and appreciate. The voice rang, not actually speaking, but simply delivering the message, as though the words were always in his mind to begin with.

"Help the one with the Heart of Immortals. The fate of a long lost child is finally within our grasp. Go, my champion, and aid the one that's forgotten their purpose, but who has never been forgotten by those they left behind."

"Heart of Immortals, huh?" Henry mused, one hand over his chin in thought as he petted Nidra's hair with the other. Nidra, on her part, rested on her husband's lap, all wrapped around the blankets of their nest as Wolfram sat in front of them.

Pouting, the matriarch fought back the tears she had finally managed to quell. "Hasn't our family suffered enough? Our firstborns fight an impossible war, turn back time to save their parents, fight yet another war and now- now the only one who knew nothing of fighting-!"

"There, there, Ni-Ni." Henry pinched Nidra's cheek, making the pout deflate. "Well, this might be an inevitable prophecy? Is that what is it? Welp, anyway; this might be an inevitable prophecy and all, but what I wanna know the most is: how're you feeling about all 'a this, Wolfie? You're the one who has to choose and I actually mean 'choose' it, you know? I don't mind it at all to fight even your god if it means to protect you from it." His usual smile faded for a split second, a dark shadow covering the mage's face. It soon shifted, however, "nyaha! We already overthrew one ancient overgrown lizard, after all!"

In the face of her husband's blatant blasphemy, Nidra did one thing and one thing only: she nodded in accordance, slowly getting herself to sit up. Manakete as she might be, she was now a Mother; and would topple her own Mother to save her children.

Overcome with emotion, Wolfram could only clutch his chest lest he burst into tears right there and then. Nidra had always followed Naga's words down to the T and yet, there she was -- ready to throw hands at their god just to protect him.

Oh, gods, how he was going to miss them!

"I... I wanna go." He said finally, a lump forming in his throat just by thinking about leaving. "There're people who need help, Mother, Father. And Naga said that only I could save them! But honestly, even if I were only part of the rescue party or something, I'd still be raring to go! I don't wanna see someone in need and turn my back to them."

Nidra sniffled, her eyes once again full of tears. "Oh, my boy... Come here," she opened her arms, welcoming her small (who towered over her by at least 15cm, but he'd always be her little baby) bundle of joy into her chest. She kissed his white hair, so alike to his Father's. "You truly are your sister's sibling, aren't you?"

"Nyahah, and your mother's son, no?" Henry patted his wife's back, making her chuckle as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She simply squeezed the boy in her embrace further, digging her face into his hair.

"I'll have a long talk with Naga about all of this and come to a compromise." She declared after a few moments of silence. "I am warning that I will not allow you to stay away for too long! We are to stay together as a family for all eternity!" She tugged on his shoulder, making him chuckle.

"I wouldn't want to stay away for too long, Mother! Our family means everything to me!" He grinned, pulling away to look Nidra in the eyes. "Though I'm really really nervous, I can't wait to see how this is all going to turn out!

To give Nidra the space to talk to Naga, Henry and Wolfie went downstairs first instead of calling the horde to their nest. Once they reunited, Wolfie disclosed everything about the vision and the message to his siblings, receiving equally high amounts of excitement and joyful yells.

"Do they have dragons there?!? Will you be able to transform? Or hide yourself? Ohhhhh, being an undercover manakete in the works would be so cool!" Cyn struck a pose, though quickly hopped where she stood.

"You'll obviously take Aquilo with you, yeah? OOooh I wonder if they have more wyverns on the other side? What are their pegasi like? You gotta tell us everything when you come back!"

"Oh!" Meliodas gasped loudly, making all eyes turn to him. "We were going to teach you how to make your friendship jewel before your 16th birthday, right? Maybe we should just teach you right away..."

"Oh, yes, I learned when I was 16 as well..." Meli pondered as Cyn nodded beside him.

"That will not be necessary. Well, the teaching part will be, of course. But no need to make haste in your teachings." Nidra's voice surprised all present, all of them too focused on their little brother to notice their mother's presence approaching.

"Mother!" They said in unison, expectant.

"Hah," Nidra sighed, still not used to the idea. "Come here, my boy," she reached out to Wolfram, who promptly got up from his seat to hug his mother. "My little boy, my baby..." she kissed his cheeks, getting on her toes to do so.

"Um, Mother? How was the talk?" Unbothered by his mother's smothering, Wolfram tried to look down at her under her kisses and hugs.

"I've spoken with Naga," she sighed once again. "And we have come to an agreement: you will depart on your 16th birthday to this foreign land."

"One year to prepare!" Cyn mused, "whoa, one whole year!"

"We'll be able to get you ready for anything!" Meli puffed his chest, exchanging winks with his eldest brother.

Nidra bobbed her head to the sides. "This is a truly foreign land, not unlike the one our three friends delved into for five years."

Cynthia opened her mouth to ask if Rammy was going to Valla, but Nidra kept talking.

"There are no manaketes there, or at least they do not want to make their existence known -- so you will have to hide your dragon half to the most of your abilities. Perhaps the reason you were chosen was because you resemble a human the most..." She whispered the last part, being heard only by Wolfram himself, who smiled brightly.

"Thank you for giving birth to me just the way I am, Mother! I wouldn't be who I turned out to be otherwise." He bended down to engulf his short Mother in a big hug.

"Oh, you silly boy, what are you doing -- making me cry at a time like this? I haven't finished!" She sniffled, patting his back so he would let go. Once he did, she dried her eyes before speaking. "I have also given a deadline... You must be back no matter what after seven years pass. So do your utmost to save everything that needs to be saved within that time, you hear?"

Henry burst into laughter beside his wife. "Wahaha! What? And the Almighty Naga just said 'yeah, okay, don't worry, he'll come home before 10pm in seven years, stat!'?"

Nidra stepped on her husband's foot, "she did say that whatever was afflicting that world wouldn't last the decade -- if it wasn't resolved within six or seven years, then it would be too late."

"This keeps getting better and better..." Cyn said under her breath, her eyes gleaming. Cynthia nodded beside her sister, almost drooling.

"Yeah..."

Wolfram giggled, the excitement his family felt somehow melting away any nervousness he felt. "I just need to stick to the one with the Heart of Immortals for seven years? Easy!" He laughed.

"Say that again, short stuff!" Henry arm locked his son, pulling him away from Nidra. "One year seems like a lot, but it passes by so quick you barely notice! We're gonna work you to the bone, so get ready!"

Meliodas made some sort of math in his head, lifting one finger for each point he remembered. "Yes, there are quite a few things we need to get ahead of schedule to teach you."

"Also flying tricks!" Cyn hopped as Cynthia nodded.

"And we'll have to procure a headband for your ears... Maybe get in a sewing crash course or two just in case, as well."

His heart full, Wolfram couldn't hold back a loud laugh. "I can't wait to learn everything! Don't go easy on me!" He said, his face red with anticipation.

Watching her children and husband get along made Nidra shed a tear before shaking her head in acceptance.

True to Henry's words, the year went by so quickly it made Wolfram's head spin. His siblings and parents truly didn't go easy on him -- they crammed so many survival tips, battle techniques, flying tricks and even some melding and crafting into him he felt ready for quite literally anything!

The time and place for the crossing would be once the clock ticked midnight of the 30th of October -- Wolfram's birthday -- at the Mila Tree.

"To think we will not be able to spend this precious day together," became Nidra's signature complaint during that short year.

The entire family made the trip to the Mila Tree in a never seen before event: five manaketes flying mixed with a wyvern in their midst. Henry rode on his wife's back, though he and Wolfram laughed the whole time, finding the scene too amusing not to.

Once at the Mila Tree, Nidra refused to let go of Wolfram, even as the hour approached. Tiki, Nah and Nidra herself would serve as bridges for Naga to channel her power through them and open the portal at the roots of the Tree -- so it was of essence that Nidra took her spot by one of the roots instead of staying with her son the whole time.

"It's gonna be okay, Mother. I have the locket you gave me right here," he pulled out said locket from his chest, a proud smile etched on his face.

"Oh yeah, kid," Henry rummaged through his pockets. "And this here is from Dad here," he placed a pocket watch with a badly designed crow inside his son's hand. "The hour's prooobably not gonna be the same when you cross over, so maybe change it up when you arrive? Nyaha!"

"Father... It's the crow I've always asked you to draw when I was young..." Wolfram choked with emotion, finally feeling that the separation was real. "Thank you so much... I'll never change the hour so I'll always know what time it is here, back home, where I belong."

The moment Nidra was about to be even more emotional, she felt it. A strong current of power, almost sweeping her away. "Oh... Oh, it's here. Get ready, my Son." She squeezed his hand before stepping away to go to her spot.

The wind blew, the leaves sounding as though they whispered. The voices of the elements conjoined as the space in front of Wolfram seemingly distorted itself inside-out. A faint light glowed from the three manaketes standing side by side as they channeled the power of a god through them towards the spot their hands reached out to: Wolfram.

The light ebbed away from the women to the boy, enveloping him in the warmth of a Mother's embrace. He felt his fingertips grow numb as the spot in front of him grew larger and larger -- a door of some sort, engulfed in light, called to him.

Instinctively did the boy reach out to it, his entire body being attracted to what lay behind it. Hypnotized, he walked towards it, barely hearing anything around him, his hand grasping Aquilo's reins simply because they were already inside his fingers.

"Bye-bye, Rammy!!" Cyn and Cynthia yelled atop their lungs, waving as though their lives depended on it. Their screams echoed with Meli, Meliodas and Henry, all wishing him safe travels and health.

Blinking, still out of it, Wolfram simply smiled to his family. "See you later!" He said and in the very next moment, as though he were never there to begin with, he disappeared.

He felt the not-quite touch once again, guiding him through the countless pathways he saw flickering all around him -- from above, below and beside him, paths leading to Naga-knows-where stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Yet, in the next moment, he opened his eyes, startled. "Wah!" He huffed, his lungs so tight he felt as though he had been drowning on dry land. "Where- is this that other world? It's just a normal forest for now..." His mind raced.

Aquilo was nowhere to be found, but through their bond Wolfram could feel that the wyvern had also made the crossing. "Calm down, Wolfie, you might be on your own, but your family's with you." He forced himself to breathe until he could do so normally. "It seems to be nighttime here also, though this cold- it's... a lot more than I expected." He quickly turned to his oversized backpack, taking out the warmest coat he could find and bundling himself up with it. "It's also winter here, it seems, though it's a LOT colder than Ylisse's..."

Looking around and finding nothing but leaves, Wolfram looked up in search of the sky. "Should I give the forest a sweep from above?" He reached for the locket whence he kept his dragonstone, but stopped himself before even giving the idea much thought. "No... it's better to avoid transforming until I know for sure no one's gonna see me. For now let's look for Aquilo, then the both of us can look for shel- oh!"

The moment Wolfram tapped into his dragon half to assert Aquilo's location, he felt the presence of not only one, but two Ancient Blood, much like the manaketes from back home, yet bearing a fundamental difference he couldn't quite pinpoint at the moment. There were another two presences of the Blood, but they were weaker... Perhaps halflings just as himself? Either way, Wolfram knew which way he had to go after fetching Aquilo.

But for now, he had to deal with the human presence he felt approaching rapidly from behind. Assuming attack stance, Wolfie reached for the tome in his waist, ready to throw around some magic if need be.

"Show yourself!" A dignified voice shouted from someplace at Wolfie's right. "I will not hurt you if you simply come out peacefully!"

"Oh, is that right? Then okay." Wolfram's shoulders sagged. "I'm a bit lost, actually, maybe you could help?"

"H-huh? Oh, um, that is... not what I was expecting a stranger in the woods to say in the middle of the night, but..." The voice approached, as did the rustling of leaves towards Wolfie's direction. From the spot emerged a tall, blonde young man dressed in some kind of uniform. "I shall do anything in my power to help." He bowed politely. "Who are you, stranger? And how does one get lost so late into the night in Garreg Mach?"

Oh, he looks friendly, thank Naga, Wolfie thought as he sighed in relief. "Um, I'm actually not sure myself... I was about to go thaaaaat?" He pointed towards the presence of the Blood, remembering the fake setting he and his siblings came up with, "that, yes, that way? And then I got lost and that's... basically all I remember, honestly."

The young man gasped, quickly approaching, his face painted with worry. "Poor thing; to get lost in this dense forest while having no memories! Were you perhaps about to enroll at the Officer's Academy?" He pointed to the general direction Wolfram had mentioned.

"I... was? I suppose I was, yes. If the Academy's that way, then I probably was going to enroll, but... yeah." He kicked some dust, feeling rather guilty from managing to convince the youth so readily, but not about to let his disguise fail out of pity.

The young man sighed with empathy. "Do you remember your name? Or what you were doing around here at all? The school year already started quite a while ago -- were you lost around these woods all this time?"

"School year? So it's a literal Academy? Whoa," Wolfram mumbled to himself, squinting. To the blonde young man, it looked as though the strange boy was simply searching his memories for something. "I don't think I was wandering around for that long, no? I know for sure that I'm not from here, otherwise my muscle memory would activate, right?"

"An outlander? It is a wonder you managed to come so deep into Fódlan territory relatively unscathed; though judging by your attire, there is no mistaking that you are not from here... Maybe you were supposed to be the other exchange student we never got once the year started? I, myself, only saw Petra, but I did hear we were supposed to get more students from outside Fódlan..."

Wolfram clapped, as though he remembered something. "That's it! Maybe that's what I am? But I can't recall this Academy at all... Ugh, this is so frustrating!"

"You poor thing." The young man shook his head, his expression full of pity. "Please, allow me to help -- I will guide you to the monastery so you can speak with the headmaster and archbishop, Lady Rhea, and sort it all out."

"That would be a delight, um-"

"Oh, how boorish of me! I'm Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and I am a student at the Officer's Academy. A pleasure to meet you, stranger-"

"Wolfram- ah, um, I'm pretty sure that's my name, anyway. Nice to meet you, Dimitri! Thank you so much for all you're doing... to someone you've only just met, too!"

Dimitri shook his head, changing the weight of his body to another leg, "please, think nothing of it. If I see someone in need, it is my duty to help them, whether they are in Kingdom territory or not."

"Duty...?" Wolfram tilted his head to the side. "Oh, well, duty or not, you're trusting me while I have nothing to give in return! And yet, I still must ask something of you..."

The blonde young man had begun to lead the way, "if it is within my power, I will be glad to help, Wolfram."

"Could you tell me more about this place as we walk? Maybe that'll trigger some memories..."

"Oh, is that all? Gladly! Perhaps starting from the date and year would be more appropriate..."

As they talked, Dimitri led Wolfram out of the woods that surrounded a place called Garreg Mach Monastery -- and the more they approached it, the stronger the presences of the Blood became, so Wolfram was glad he was on the right path.

"Normally I wouldn't have the authority to meet with the Archbishop without an appointment, but perhaps if Professor Byleth is with us, we can get you to talking to her in no time."

"It's the middle of the night, though? Won't it be a problem?"

Dimitri chuckled, "I would not say 'middle' of the night so much as 'a bit past sunset', but I do understand that the sun setting so early might look strange in outlander's eyes."

"Oh, so it's not midnight or something..."

"Quite the contrary," Dimitri said, the laughter still in his voice. As they passed the gates for the monastery, they turned left after the little bustling market. "This way; let us meet my- ahem, our professor first before heading to the audience hall."

Wolfram looked all around, finding everything as amusing as it was mysterious -- the way the monastery was built somewhat resembled the castle in Ylisse, though the very stones felt as though they were imbued with some sort of power he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Distracted with the scenery, Wolfram didn't realize they were walking straight towards one of the strongest presences of the Blood, only realizing it once Dimitri came to a full stop. "Wolfram, this is our professor, Byleth. Professor, I would like to ask something of you..."

Wolfram felt as though a sudden gust of wind blasted him away so sudden was the surge of power he felt emanating from this Byleth person. He felt a magnanimous presence lurching around her, as though protecting her from any and all influence, good or bad.

The Heart of Immortals!

Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, Wolfram used every ounce of power inside of him not to leap around and laugh like a mad man, yelling "I found her! I found the Heart!" at the full capacity of his lungs.

I found her, everyone! His mind blared, a smile escaping through his lips. Now I just need to stick to her!

[primatechnosynthpop]

It was a relatively calm day in terms of traffic, which was a rarity to end all rarities at that time in the evening. This stopped being true very quickly as a blue Nissan Versa rounded a corner and barrelled down the road toward a comic book store. The screech of the vehicle's tires were nearly--although not quite--loud enough to drown out the Queen music it was blasting. As the Versa reached the comic book store, it pulled to a halt and a man in sunglasses stepped out.

As he walked in, the little bell on the door chimed, catching the attention of the shop's proprietor, who was currently lounging in a beanbag chair. He had been there for several hours now, or perhaps several days, depending on how long it took for dust to start gathering on someone.

"We're closed!" Hiro called out without looking up from his first-edition original-run Superman comic. "Go away!"

"It's me, Hiro."

"Oh!" Lowering the comic, Hiro glanced up to see Ando leaning in the doorway, hand in his pocket. "Ando-kun. What brings you here?"

Ando grimaced as he walked over to sit down beside Hiro*. As he turned to face him, Ando took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his jacket pocket, showing off his snake eyes. Hiro looked at him expectantly. As much as he may have secretly wished otherwise, Ando didn't usually drop by without a reason. He wondered if he was going to invite him out to dinner again, or perhaps he just wanted to get drunk and unwind in Hiro's backroom.

[* he pulled up a chair that certainly hadn't been next to the beanbag chair before, and most likely would no longer be there after he stood back up.]

"Well..." Ando hesitated for a moment, then let out a beleaguered sigh. "Armageddon is officially on."

Hiro blinked in surprise.

"It can't be time for that yet!" he objected. "Can't your side wait a little longer?"

Ando shrugged as if to say, "why not check the future for yourself if you don't believe me?"

"Well, can't you tell them to put it off?" Hiro persisted. "I don't want the world to end yet! What about all my comics? And--well, all the people and cities and everything," he added quickly. "Especially America. I must say, I've gotten rather attached to America."

"Oh, believe me, I know," said Ando. "It almost makes me think... hmm." He hummed in contemplation, brow furrowing slightly.

"What?" Hiro prompted.

"Ehh, it's nothing," Ando said, waving his hand dismissively. "Nothing that'd ever work, anyway."

At this, Hiro perked up. In his experience, there were a lot of things Ando thought wouldn't work that worked out just fine. Adjusting his glasses*, he leaned forward attentively to hear his counterpart's idea.

[* naturally, ethereal beings don't require any sort of eyewear, but Hiro opted to wear glasses because they matched his general disposition. At least, that was what he told the higher-ups. Truth be told, he kind of hoped his next corporation would have better eyesight.]

"Well..." Ando said, "I suppose we could always try to save it."

"Save it?" Hiro echoed. "The world?" His mouth quirked into a frown. "I'd love to, but... do you think Upstairs would allow it? They're very strict about following the course of destiny, you know."

"That's true," Ando acknowledged. He leaned back in his chair, a wine bottle manifesting in his hand. "Your side's uptight like that. No sinning, no questioning, no straying from the path of destiny..." He paused to take a sip of wine and shot Hiro a meaningful look. "...No comics, as you say. No waffles, either."

Right about then, a wine bottle appeared in Hiro's hand as well. He took a sip and reflected on what Ando was saying. Truth be told, saving the world did seem like a very exciting prospect. The superheros in his comics did it all the time, and they rarely saw any serious consequences for it. Still, if the world was supposed to end, then stopping it would be going against destiny.

"How do you know the world is ending, anyway?" Hiro asked. "Did you read it in a book of prophecy? Because those things are rarely accurate, you know. Except for the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Isaac Mendez, of course, but there aren't any copies of that left."

"Nope. No books of prophecy," Ando told him. "I know... because I just got back from delivering the antichrist."

Hiro's eyebrows rocketed up. "Really?'

"Yep. We gave her to the family of an American diplomat*. She's a very cute baby, really, apart from the fact that she's the spawn of satan."

[* as far as Ando knew, the baby swap had gone perfectly. A blonde-haired baby girl, whose new parents had named her Jackie, had indeed been delivered to the American diplomat. The other blonde-haired baby girl one room over, whose parents had named her Claire, was without a doubt a perfectly normal child and not the misplaced antichrist. Ando may or may not have been very wrong about this.]

"Well, if the antichrist is on earth, I don't see what we can do," Hiro said, his shoulders sagging. "I don't really want to kill her... I suppose we could just lock her away somewhere."

"Who said anything about killing?" Ando asked incredulously. "I just thought maybe we could provide some outside influence to her. Prevent her from growing up evil, you know?"

"Ohh! That might work," Hiro said. For a moment he perked back up, only to immediately slump back down again when he remembered his side's non-interference policy. "But Upstairs still isn't going to like it. We aren't supposed to get in the way of destiny, you know."

"How do you know what our destiny is if the only accurate prophecy book has been destroyed?" Ando countered. "Hey, maybe it's our destiny to interfere and protect the earth. It's about as likely as anything, right?"

Hiro stopped to think that over and to take a sip of wine. Outside the shop, cars drove by on the street as the sun sank lower in the sky. A bird cawed somewhere off in the distance. It was a nice city, and a nice planet, for that matter. Sure, there were other planets, but Hiro did like earth. He certainly didn't want it to be destroyed. And, well, if what Ando said was right...

"We'll do it, then," he decided, breaking into a grin. "Steer the antichrist onto the right path. Save the world!"

"Or try to, anyway," Ando amended.

Grinning, Hiro snapped his fingers. Somewhere many miles away, a diner in Texas suddenly had a table reserved for two.

"On that note, would you care for breakfast?"

"Angel, it's 5:30 PM."

"Not in America, it isn't," Hiro said. Laying his hand atop Ando's, he added, "Besides, I still owe you from... what was it, the Edo period?"

At that, Ando smiled. He laced his fingers through Hiro's--a typically wily demonic gesture--and lowered his sunglasses back over his eyes. Hiro snapped his fingers again, and the next moment, they were comfortably seated across from each other at the Burnt Toast Diner.

Throughout their meal, they built upon their plan until they were fairly confident in it. They were going to go undercover as a nanny and a gardener*, and they would each try to sway the antichrist toward their respective side. It was hard to tell how well it would work out, but Hiro, for one, was pretty optimistic.

[* Hiro called dibs on the position of gardener, not because he was particularly fond of gardens, but because he had no interest whatsoever in looking after babies, satanic or otherwise.]

In fact, as the night went on, Hiro became quite certain that the plan would work. Having it not work would mean armageddon, after all, and that was the last thing anybody wanted. How hard could it be, really? It all boiled down to simple cause and effect: raise the antichrist, save the world.

[huntershelper25]

The Path of the Chosen: Chapter 4

PotC: Ch 4

Summary: Brooke is a 21 year old girl who’s life is flipped upside down when she receives a phone call from someone she hasn’t heard from in years. This phone call leads to events that cause her to get sucked back into the lives of two young men whom she hasn’t spoken to in years. Her life is never the same. Along the way she learns a secret about herself that not even her father had known. She is forced to face her destiny. Which path will she choose: duty or family?

A/N: I suck at summaries. I started writing this fic YEARS ago. It was posted here on Tumblr, but I have made some edits recently and have decided to repost it. This requires some introduction though. I had a thought one day of what the show would look like if there was a female character that was brought in that actually stuck around for longer than a season or two. And because the thought wouldn’t go away this story and Brooke were born. I had a lot of good feedback the last time I posted this years ago so I decided to repost it for my new followers with some edits.

Disclaimer: There is a LOT of direct quotes and scenes from the show. Especially in the first few chapters. I do not own any of it. I only claim the character of Brooke and how she fits into the story. All else is credited to the writers and copyright holders of the show Supernatural.

Warning: There is some smut thrown in randomly for the first 5 chapters as flashbacks to establish timeline, character building, and relationships, but after that the smut dies off.  Also, let’s just assume condoms are implied. They aren’t mentioned, but let’s assume they are used.

Pairings (through entire story): Dean/Brooke (OFC), Sam/Brooke (OFC)(in later chapters)

Word count: 1700

Previous Chapters:

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter Four

She awoke the next morning with the inevitable headache of someone who downed half a fifth of whiskey in less than an hour. As she walked to the bathroom, change of clothes and toiletries in hand, she could hear Bobby snoring away down the hall.

A blinding pain shot through her brain as she flicked on the bathroom light. She stood there blinking for a minute or two, allowing her eyes and her hangover to adjust to the blinding light. She set her things on the toilet seat and stood to examine herself in the mirror. Her two-day old makeup was showing its age. Her eyeliner had decided to finally dislodge and smudge down her cheeks following the trail her tears had taken the night before and her foundation was nearly nonexistent and flaky. She sighed as she took her disheveled self in. She hardly recognized herself anymore. In just two days she had gone from a young, almost pretty girl with such life, to this mess. She hated what she saw in the mirror: a helpless, scared, pitiful girl who couldn’t hold herself together, everything that she was not.

“Pull yourself together.” she told her reflection, “No one is going to hold your hand through this, you’re in this alone now, so suck it up.”

Brooke watched as the girl in the mirror turned from a frightened child into a determined young woman. Satisfied with what she saw, but still unsure of how long it would last, she turned to take a shower.

After she quickly and quietly showered, dressed and put fresh makeup in place, she made her way slowly and quietly down the stairs.

She hadn’t forgotten her plan to leave and start her life anew, but she wanted to do something nice for Bobby before she just took off on him. So, she cleaned the kitchen and straightened things up a little bit. Tossing empty whiskey bottles in the trash and giving things a good dusting. As she put an unopened beer back in the nearly empty fridge, she remembered that she had planned on doing some real grocery shopping. She looked at the clock and saw that it was 8 AM. There had to be a store open somewhere. So, she quickly made a list of what she knew Bobby ate and headed out the door.

After some driving around town she finally found a tiny family run market that was open. As she walked through the automatic doors, she grabbed a shopping cart and instinctively headed toward the produce aisle. She smiled when she found herself surrounded by apples and carrots, knowing full well that Bobby would not eat this, but she grabbed a few apples anyway.

She ran into a few employees stocking shelves, obviously surprised anyone was in the store at this hour. She politely smiled and walked by, not wanting to start up any small talk. She wanted to get this done with and get out on the road to her new life as fast as she could. The less time she spent idling in this one the better. However, you can’t escape the cashier. She sighed when she saw the ear to ear smile of the young gal that stood at the register as she approached.

“Hi there. Did you find everything alright?” she asked as she slowly began to ring things up.

“Yeah, thanks.” If she kept her answers short, she may get the hint.

“Haven’t seen you around before. You new in town?” she continued to scan and bag at a glacial pace.

“Just visiting.”

“Oh? Who? I know just about everybody here in Sioux Falls.” This time she paused. Brooke’s patience was running thin with this one. She made a note to herself to avoid small towns as she searched out her new home.

“Just my uncle, who’s expecting breakfast when he wakes up so if you wouldn’t mind.” Brooke gave her a quick smile, which seemed to do the trick because the girl nodded and hurried up the rest of the transaction.

Bags in her arms, she walked out to her car, as she was about to unlock the door, she caught a flash of pink out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see a little girl, not much older than seven dancing around saying, “Please Daddy? Please!” Brooke’s heart sank as she saw her dark curls bounce around her tiny little face, and saw her fierce green eyes smile up at her as she waved when she caught Brooke looking. She reminded Brooke of herself.

She looked up at the father, who was also waving with a “What can ya do?” look on his face. He too had dark curls and green eyes, just like her father. She tried to conjure up a memory of her own that resembled this interaction, but she couldn’t. She and her father didn’t see much of each other when she was that age, much less ever have that kind of relationship. She learned at a very young age that when Daddy came home you left him alone.

She used to stay with Aunt Julie whenever her dad was off on a hunt, who to this day she didn’t think was actually her aunt. When he would come back, he would be either injured or in a bad mood. He would shut himself up in Aunt Julie’s study and not come out sometimes for days. She remembered the first time she had entered without knocking. She must have been six:

She had just made a batch of yummy cookies and wanted to share them with her father. She slowly opened the sliding doors leading to the study and slid into the room without making a sound. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the walls had been covered in photographs and newspaper clippings depicting some very terrible things. She remembered them because they had never been there before.

Her father was at the desk with his back to her. She slowly walked towards him captivated by all the photographs. As she drew closer she saw a picture of her mother on the wall directly in front of him, she only knew her from photographs he had shown her, it made her smile, but not for long. Alongside her photograph were newspaper clippings and more photos depicting her mother in gruesome circumstances; lying on the floor in a precarious position, covered in blood. She gasped and dropped the plate of cookies.

Her father spun around in surprise, “Brooke, what are you…” then he followed her gaze to the photos of her mother and his expression changed from surprise to anger. He walked around from behind the desk and escorted her out of the room, his grip on her arm tighter than it had ever been. “How many times have I told you to never come in here!” The first time he had ever raised his voice to her.

“But Daddy, why do you have pictures of Mommy like that? What happened to her?” tears welling up in her eyes, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her.

“That is not of your concern. Stay out of this room!” and he slammed the doors in her face.

She knew now that he thought anger and firmness would protect her from the truth and keep her curiosity at bay for fear of angering him again, but that day shaped their relationship, from that point forward she always feared angering him. She never fully trusted him with anything. Whenever he would come home, she would steer clear of him and let him do his job. They never had father-daughter moments, they never bonded. They were just two people who coexisted. When she became old enough to help him on hunts, once John had convinced him to allow her to, she became his soldier, his partner, not his daughter. A partner he never fully trusted. She could never seem to move fast enough, think sharp enough, or aim sure enough for his satisfaction. He left her behind more often than not.

It pained her seeing this father-daughter interaction and not being able to conjure up her own memory with her father. She gave them both a quick smile and quickly unlocked the car and got in.

She pulled up to Bobby’s just as he was walking out the door.

“Let’s go.” He motioned towards the tow truck the second she got out of the car.

“Good morning to you too,” She said as she heaved one of the grocery bags into her arms.

“Put that stuff in the house and let’s get a move on.”

She gave him a quizzical look as she walked past him into the house. He seemed a little nervous about something. She peeked out the window as she set the bags on the counter and saw him almost pacing by the truck. She became a little concerned. Bobby almost never showed his panic. He always managed to appear calm in even the direst of situations. She quickly put away the perishables and left the rest for later.

“What’s the deal, Bobby? Why so in a hurry?” She asked as she locked the back door behind her.

“I’ll tell ya on the way.” He watched her walk around the back of the truck to the passenger side, a contemplative look on his face, before he opened the driver door and got in.

They sat in silence as he pulled out of the driveway and drove through town, a look of determination on his face. Every few minutes he would look over at her like he was about to say something and then turn back to the road.

“Bobby, seriously, you’re starting to scare me a little. What’s going on?” Brooke finally asked as he pulled onto the freeway.

He sighed and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Sam called. They found John, he was possessed by the demon,” her heart stopped, “It didn’t stick around for long, but it apparently did a number on them all before it took off. They were on their way to the hospital when they were hit by an 18-wheeler. Sam didn’t give me too many details, just that we need to get the impala from the impound lot before anyone sees the arsenal they got in there. We’re meeting Sam at the hospital on our way.”

She turned and looked out the window. They couldn’t be that hurt. Sam was up and around enough to join them at the impound lot, so they had to be fine… right?

She started fidgeting in her seat as they pulled off the freeway and started following the signs to the hospital. The entire drive she had wanted to call Sam to get the full details, to find out if everyone was okay, but she didn’t want to be stuck on the road feeling helpless if the news had been bad, so she refrained.

She was about to explode when they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. She saw Sam standing just inside the automatic doors and leapt from the truck before Bobby had come to a full stop. It took every fiber of her being not to run across that parking lot. She walked at a controlled steady pace, listening to her heart pound in her ears. He was up right, standing on his own. He didn’t seem to be using the wall to hold himself up. That was a good sign. As she drew closer his face began to come in to focus. She saw the swelling of his eye, the busted lip, and the multiple cuts on his face. He gave a crooked smile when he saw her, but it wasn’t his smile, she could tell it was for her benefit, the pain in his eyes gave that away.

The three of them had always been a tight knit family. They cared for each other more than anything in this world. They would each die for one another without hesitation. Brooke knew that Sam was feeling a thousand times more fear and anxiety over this than she could even imagine. When she was within arm’s reach, she wrapped her arms around his waist. She thought maybe more for her sake than for his, she wasn’t sure, all she knew was it didn’t seem to make a difference for either of them.

“How are they?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Dad’s okay, a little beat up, but okay,” he started to fidget a little and avoided eye contact.

The smile he had given her as she approached, the way he hugged her tighter than normal, and the way he was avoiding her gaze already answered her question, but she had to ask, “and Dean?”

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her told her everything she needed to know.

[tessatechaitea]

We Are

Imagine, if you will (because it’s not hard. Just fucking go along with this. Stop being so stubborn), driving through the American Southwest in the 1950s. You’ve got the top down in your huge steel car that steers like a child’s spring-loaded rocking horse and is painted the colors of a football team that hasn’t won a homecoming in twenty years and whose mascot is a fish nobody has ever heard of. Don’t try too hard to figure out what that reference might be because it isn’t a reference. It’s just a colorful turn of phrase to get your imagination going but in a way that isn’t directing it too narrowly. You’re free to imagine your own world, baby!

Dammit. Stop interrupting. Now I need to start again.

Imagine, if you will, driving through the American Southwest in the 1950s with that car and stuff. The stifling wind blows back your hair and tastes slightly of electricity and cancer. You’ve passed through half a dozen small two gas pump towns where old fellas greet you at the pump and their wives greet you inside at the register. Too many stray dogs to count have sniffed at the cuffs of your pants or the hem of your long skirt, depending on what you’ve decided to be wearing in the fantasy. Maybe you’re naked. What do I care?

Are you still imagining? Okay good! You’re getting a bit weary from the road (unless you’re just dizzy from the radiation in the atmosphere) and you see a town up ahead in the distance. It’ll probably have a small motel where you can unwind by masturbating frantically in the shower as you wash the dirt of the road and the gamma rays of the air from your tangled hair. But what you don’t know is that this town hides a secret. You might be too self-involved when you arrive to notice how the people are different from other communities. Like antelope at a watering hole, they glance furtively about them without even realizing they’re doing it. They’re kinder than the people you’ve met previously who have been far kinder than the people you left behind in the big city you’re imagining you came from. If you imagined you’re from a smaller place, fix that! That’s a part of the fantasy that you don’t get to control.

You pull into the motel parking lot (The Setting Sun Inn) and laugh audibly. Not the kind of laugh you’d emit upon hearing a neighbor’s anecdote about somebody at work making a huge fool of themselves but a kind of relieved chuckle. So many motels along this stretch have entered the atomic age by cutely referencing the testing of nuclear weapons that it’s a slight comfort to be staying in one that decided to keep the old fashioned charm of a name that represents the end of a long, weary day and the promise of a restful night’s sleep. Of course you only feel that way because you don’t yet know this town’s secret.

Perhaps you get lucky and your rest is fulfilling and peaceful. You wake, masturbate again, grab a quick breakfast at the diner across the parking lot (Also The Setting Sun but a Diner instead of an Inn. You might remember later how you thought it should be The Rising Sun Diner as you strode across the already too hot asphalt on your way in to grab some hash browns and gravy), and drive out of town without ever learning why the town was different from any other town you’ve driven through on your journey. You eventually make it to wherever you were headed for whatever reasons spurred you on to that destiny. Hope for a better life on the West Coast? A chance at romance? Running from the bodies you buried in the crawl space under your neighbor’s house. Who knows! None of that is pertinent to this fantasy.

But in the end, you aren’t lucky. Because if you were lucky, I would end this fantasy and you would be sitting there thinking, “What the fuck was the secret?! The secret, goddammit! What was it?! You can’t end your story like that!” So even though the secret might not be pleasant and most likely will end in the death of the main character (which is you, remember), you can’t bear to not know it. You would sacrifice the safety and happiness of your alternate timeline self simply to satiate your curiosity. What a fucking bastard.

So instead of having a restful sleep, the clerk at the front desk grabs your wrist as she hands you the key to your room. She still smiles at you but there’s an urgency in her grasp and you feel her desperate need to articulate something to this stranger who thinks they’re just passing through. And, again, you might be one of those. But the clerk feels she can’t take that chance. She’s been complicit in the death of too many strangers who weren’t let in on the town’s secret. Her fingernails begin to dig into your wrist and you pull back, maybe a bit too frantically. She’s caught you by surprise and your heart rate skyrockets. For the first time since you’ve entered this town, somebody’s smile falters. Her lips tremble and her eyes go glassy and distant. “Don’t stay,” she croaks in a voice straining to not break into a sob. You almost bolt out of the front office but that curiosity that resides in your actual chest also lives in the chest of your alternate persona in this story. You have to know. What’s going on. Why should you leave? So you ask.

“Why?”

But before the clerk (Ms. Waverly. Her name was Ms. Waverly. The black and gold nameplate near the little bell read Ms. Waverly) can answer, the air around her shimmers. You hear a muffled roar that seems to echo down from above as if you were at the bottom of a deep canyon and somebody was yelling from the top of the cliff’s edge. The air around Ms. Waverly streaks red and black and shimmers like the air over a desert road. A blast of warm air punches your hair back and stings your face. It only takes a second or two but in the end, Ms. Waverly is gone. The shock of the incident keeps you from noticing, at least for a few seconds, an intense pain in your right foot. You were standing back on your left heel and your right foot was still stretched out ahead of you, where you were standing when Ms. Waverly grabbed your wrist. You look down and notice blood gushing out of the front of your shoe. Not the front, exactly, but what is now the front after having lost about an inch of the toe. Your big toe has been sheered in half, and maybe the tips of several others. If you hadn’t fallen back violently when Ms. Waverly grabbed you, what happened to your right foot might have happened to the rest of your body.

You stumble out the door away from the incomprehensibility of whatever the hell that was. You run, limping heavily, toward the diner across the parking lot where two old men sit smoking on a bench outside. Their eyes open wide with fear as you stumble toward them and they do that thing you noticed earlier…that bit where they glance back and forth quickly and tense up, like rabbits having seen the shadow of a hawk. They know you’ve seen it. Their secret. You don’t yet understand it and maybe that’s a good thing. But, once again, you have to know. What just happened in front of your eyes? What took your big toe?

“Ms. Waverly!” you stammer. “She just…she…she’s gone!” One old man stands up and puts an arm on your shoulder.

“Come on, kid,” he says, possibly saying son or daughter, depending on your vision of yourself and how you present yourself to the world. “Take a seat. You’re still here, by God. You’ll be okay.” You slump onto the bench next to the other old timer who nervously chews on the end of an unlit cigar.

“A mighty shame,” he states, unemotionally and with a voice like irradiated gravel blown across the potholed asphalt of a long Southwest road. Your breaths come hard and fast and you feel like passing out. The first man, the one who stood at your approach, kneels down in front of you and begins removing your shoe. He pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wraps it around your bleeding foot. The other man pats your knee and gently takes your hand in his surprisingly smooth grip.

You win the fight to stay conscious because you have to ask: “What was it? What did I see?” The old man tending to your foot looks up at you, makes eye contact, then looks over at his friend. You glance over at his friend and see him biting his lower lip, the cigar now in his free hand. He begins to speak in that voice which reminds you of a motorcycle throttling low.

“Imagine, if you will, an ocean. In that ocean float millions and millions of plankton. What they know, who can say? They’re just little creatures and their entire world is simply drifting en masse towards whatever destiny has in store for them. For what is an inconceivably small fraction of them — inconceivable because whales are so large and eat so many at a time — death awaits. There one moment. Peaceful, tranquil…or whatever the feeling of just being is to a goddamned plankton. And just gone the next. Imperceptible to the others, really. The whale is on a scale so large that the plankton, if they were sentient, couldn’t articulate what was happening. They couldn’t know the scale of the world they lived in. Imagine only knowing a world of plankton. And imagine you’re the plankton at the top of the plankton food chain. What do you have to fear? You eat them little veggie bastards getting their energy from the sun. You have nothing to fear. Except…there’s that thing that happens. That thing where your mates just up and disappear for no reason at all. Just huge swaths of them…gone.”

Your foot is throbbing but your heart has stopped racing. The old man’s story has distracted you from the terrible sight you saw earlier, even as his story offers the explanation for what you saw. He’s telling you the town’s secret the only way he knows how. By parable. Because what you’ve quickly understood from the story is that the people of the town are the plankton who have no concept of what terrible whale engulfs them one at a time. The only evidence? The occasional organic matter that comes slightly too close to the feeding but not close enough to be consumed.

These men have obviously told this story before. They recognize the moment you understand what they’re saying, and they grow quiet. You want to know why they don’t leave. You want to know how they have survived to the age they are. You want to know how they live with this terrible knowledge that their lives aren’t in any way under their own control. But what you don’t want to know is the real secret they have yet to tell you. It’s the secret they keep to themselves, and it’s the secret they won’t pass on to you as you race out of town in the middle of the night. Why burden a stranger passing through with the truth, one of them will say to the other long after you’ve fled. Why let them know that this creature…these creatures, for surely the laws of nature work the same on whatever plane this predator exists on…doesn’t merely hunt in this one small irradiated town in the American Southwest. They feed across the world.

The old man with the cigar pulls another from his shirt pocket as he watches the dust roil around your car as you back out of the parking lot across the way. He hands it to his friend and they light their cigars together as they watch your taillights disappear down the perfectly straight highway that connects their little town to the rest of the world. They inhale deeply and, as they do, they shift their glances quickly to the right and to the left, unconsciously, and constantly, keeping an eye out for some thing they’ll never see.

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from A Reel of One’s Own by Andrea Thompson: Top Films Of 2019

By Andrea Thompson

I state that my list wasn’t too late, 2020 came too early. So here are my top 25 movies of 2019.

25. Avengers: Endgame

Walt Disney Studios

Fan service doesn’t have to be a bad thing. While “Avengers: Endgame” mostly gave fans what they wanted, it was also a fond farewell to an MCU that had been building for over a decade, one that would be greatly altered by the movie’s end. Making good use of its three hour runtime, “Endgame” takes it time wandering through its own universe in a way that’s both heartfelt and entertaining before getting the gang together in an absolutely jaw-dropping, action-packed climax that had the most jaded moviegoers cheering.

24. Knives Out

Lionsgate

Rian Johnson may have had a complicated year, but “Knives Out” has him on top of his game. Johnson has built a career around toying with audience expectations in the most enjoyable way possible, and he does so yet again in “Knives Out,” giving us a whodunit that seems to reveal who in fact dun it pretty early, only to provide even more layers to peel back. After wealthy patriarch Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) dies in an apparent suicide, gentleman detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) is hired to investigate, only to discover some very combative family dynamics, with caregiver and audience surrogate Marta (Ana de Armas) caught in the middle. Anchored by an all-star cast that also includes Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael Shannon, LaKeith Stanfield, Toni Collette, and Chris Evans, Johnson keeps the mystery and the fun coming from start to finish.

23. Monos

IMDB

Just when you think the eight isolated teenage soldiers in “Monos” are treating the unnamed war they’re fighting in like a neverending slumber party, tragedy strikes, and they become very aware of what the consequences of failure are, and the life or death stakes they’re involved in. As they descend from their remote base in the mountains to the jungles below, their bond is torn and transformed into something far darker, as the beauty of their natural surroundings likewise becomes less of a contrast and more of a complement to humanity’s brutality. Moisés Arias is a standout as the group’s charismatic leader, who likewise leads his charges (and peers) into their own increasingly insular culture, as the bonds of adolescence enable them to surrender more and more of their humanity.

22. Toy Story 4

Walt Disney Studios

“Toy Story 4” certainly had no business being good. It was another sequel in a franchise that seemed to wrap everything up neatly in the last film, not only giving Woody (Tom Hanks) and his pals a happy ending, but reassurance that life would go on after their beloved Andy grew up and grew beyond them. So what else was left to stir any kind of conflict interesting enough to prevent one of the most creative and commercially successful film series ever made from devolving into one of the most cynical cash grabs of all time? Thankfully, quite a bit, and it mostly amounts to a case of white male anxiety. Woody had always been sure of his purpose, but when he runs into Bo Peep (Annie Potts), he’s inspired to rethink his life, as his former love has transformed from the demure, delicate toy who stayed behind on adventures to a capable leader who’s embraced life without a child, assists other discarded toys, and plans to see more of the world. It all amounts to a progressive message, that of being who you are right now. Life may change, and your place in it can become frighteningly precarious, but you should never be defined by your past, whether it was scarred by tragedy, or was the source of your happiest moments. Throughout it all, friendships, family, and love can last. To infinity and beyond.

21. Hustlers

STX Films

“Hustlers” is one of those films that could’ve just been a puritanical cautionary tale about the dangers of girls gone wild. Good thing writer-director Lorene Scafaria saves her anger for the patriarchy rather than the strippers who come up with a plan to turn the tables on their Wall Street clients after the recession hits. Even smarter, Scafaria anchors her story in the friendship between Ramona (Jennifer Lopez in a career-best performance), the originator of the scheme, and Destiny (Constance Wu). Before 2008, they and their co-workers are able to earn more than a good living, but after the financial crisis, their profession becomes less than viable. So they decide to drug wealthy Wall Street men and get them to spend ridiculous amounts of money, which they would then keep for themselves. By giving women who are normally sexualized furniture center stage, Scafaria allows us to share their delight in scamming the scammers, then their fear as their world inevitably unravels, resulting in an insightful, female-centric crime story that mostly unfolds sans judgment.

20. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

A24

Gentrification has been given the movie treatment before, but “The Last Black Man in San Francisco” doesn’t just show the scope of its horrors, it makes you feel them. In this world, it’s perfectly feasible for a little girl to happily skip down the street while men in hazard suits are cleaning up the water, as long as she resides in a neighborhood the rest of San Francisco is determined to leave behind in its mad rush for profit. Jimmie Fails (co-writer Jimmie Fails, who plays a fictionalized version of himself) has one thing to cling to though: a beautiful house in the heart of the city, which was built by his grandfather after he returned home from WWII, and is now occupied by an older white couple. When the couple departs, Jimmie and his friend Mont (Jonathan Majors) decide to move in as squatters in a desperate attempt to reclaim it. A tribute to a city that provokes love and despair in equal measure, “The Last Black Man” is a devastating indictment of an America that claims to reward hard work, yet often condemns those who are born with the most odds to overcome.

19. Ready Or Not

In-laws can be tough, but the clan in “Ready or Not” could probably teach the Lannisters a thing or two. Having grown up in foster care, Grace (Samara Weaving) is eager to bond with her new family, so she happily participates in their tradition of choosing a random game to play on her wedding night. But when she draws the card “Hide and Seek,” she discovers that her new relatives believe that if they are unable to find her and kill her before the night is over, they will lose their vast family fortune. In addition to making the honeymoon awkward, Grace must fight to stay alive in an environment where everyone now regards her as disposable, an acceptable sacrifice to keep the money flowing in. As wickedly funny as it is violently entertaining, “Ready or Not” is a surprisingly heartfelt tribute to humanism and the benefits of being an outsider…especially when insiders have murder on their minds.

18. 1917

IMDB

Sam Mendes has a reputation for intensity, but his harrowing war drama “1917” brings more suspense and terror than most horror movies. During WWI, two young British soldiers are given a seemingly impossible mission of going behind enemy lines to deliver a message. If they make it through, they’ll not only prevent a disastrous attack, but save quite a few lives, including the brother of one of the soldiers. Shot to give the effect of one continuous take, Mendes turns what might have been a gimmick and uses it to capture the horrors of war, and the humanity that often emerges in spite of it, all in a technically masterful work that showcases a filmmaker at the height of his storytelling abilities.

17. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Sony Pictures

Given that 2018 saw the release of the critically and commercially successful documentary “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?,” did 2019 really need another film about Fred Rogers? Hold that thought, because “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” makes an enthusiastic case for yes. It’s probably no coincidence that the posters for both films also mention kindness, since Fred Rogers not only advocated it, he seemed to embody it, and not only to the children who were the target audience of his wildly successful show “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” Even if Tom Hanks doesn’t have much of a resemblance to Mr. Rogers, he nevertheless seems to channel him and the values he tirelessly championed to an uncanny degree, enough to make journalist Lloyd Vogel’s (Matthew Rhys) journey from cynic to believer feel fresh rather than tired. Director Marielle Heller also brings the same clear-eyed compassion that made “The Diary of a Teenage Girl” and “Can You Ever Forgive Me?” so heartfelt to this story of a budding friendship between two very different men.

16. Her Smell

Elisabeth Moss has long since proven she’s a force of nature, more recently on the Hulu series “The Handmaid’s Tale.” So what more does she have to prove with the film “Her Smell?” Quite a lot it turns out. If “The Handmaid’s Tale” is a showcase for Moss’s powers of restrained passion, then “Her Smell” allows her to tear up the screen like a tornado, destroying all the mere mortals unfortunate enough to become swept into her path as the self-destructive punk rocker Becky Something. As Becky’s mood shifts with the rapidity of a deranged pinball, she can’t seem to latch on to anything resembling stability, despite the efforts of her bandmates, collaborators, and ex-husband to steer her towards a healthier direction. Or just anywhere other than the rock bottom she seems determined to hit with full force. If Becky’s downward spiral is difficult to watch, it’s even harder to look away, as Moss infuses her with a charismatic talent that makes the inescapable tragedy feel Shakespearean in scope.

15. Varda By Agnes

If the documentary “Varda By Agnès” is difficult to define, it’s because the late great filmmaker Agnès Varda herself defies anything resembling easy categorization. Like her other films, the premise of “Varda By Agnès” is deceptively simple, yet soon reveals layers of complexity which unfold throughout, as Varda looks back on her life and career while articulating her style of filmmaking. However, the doc is far more than a retrospective, and far less predictable, at one moment reminiscent of a casual chat with an old friend, the next an imaginative journey wherein a great artist instructs devoted cinephiles and neophytes alike on how she not only viewed, but interpreted the world. It’s a fitting end to a decades-long career and life, both of which 90-year-old Varda defined on her own terms to the end.

14. The Farewell

IMDB

A movie with a character who happens to be a terminally ill grandmother is a tough sell for a comedy. But the matriarch who receives a fatal cancer diagnosis isn’t just a side character in “The Farewell,” she’s the central plot point. After struggling New Yorker Billi’s (Awkwafina) beloved Nai Nai (Shuzhen Zhao) is diagnosed, her family opt to keep her illness a secret and decide to throw a fake wedding to provide an excuse for them all to gather in China and celebrate Nai Nai one last time. And it’s…pretty funny, with not just the expected dark humor, but a wide spectrum of hilarity abounding alongside the touching moments of grief. Based in part on writer-director Lulu Wang’s own experiences, “The Farewell” is apt to make you laugh and cry not just in equal measure, but simultaneously.

13. Little Woods

IMDB

You can never have too much of Tessa Thompson, and “Little Woods” allows her to fully immerse herself into a role and world where a single wrong step could tear through a life with the force of a tornado. And she downright mesmerizes as Ollie, who finds herself in tight circumstances with a mere eight days left on her probation and the hope of a new life. Or rather, her somewhat estranged sister Deb (Lily James) does after their mother dies, and Deb and her son find themselves on the verge of homelessness and destitution. To help her family, Ollie decides to reenter the world of prescription drug smuggling, a dangerous but profitable business in their bleak rural North Dakota town. Remarkably, this is director Nia DaCosta’s feature debut, and the fact that she gives us a brilliantly realized modern Western with a feminist twist, where a drug run to Canada also doubles as an attempt to receive a safe and low-cost abortion, is hopefully indicative of much more to come. Thankfully, there are already hopeful signs of just that.

12. Dolemite is my Name

IMDB

Just when you think Eddie Murphy might be teetering on the edge of irrelevance, he reminds you why he’s a pop culture phenomenon by tearing up the screen as Blaxploitation legend Rudy Ray Moore, who became famous in the 70s for his portrayal of alter ego Dolemite in his film and stand-up career. Even if we’re aware of how this is going to end, with Moore investing – and risking – everything he’s built to make a film based on his Dolemite character, Murphy is astounding, radiating joy as he brings his larger-than-life energy and charisma to Moore, who was similarly magnetic. And it’s not just Moore, but the people he’s gathered around him who succeed as well, many of whom were just as underused by the mainstream entertainment industry. As they all revel in building and profiting off a film made on their own terms, it’s the kind of tender, inspirational tribute that earns every bit of its charm and intensity.

11. Queen & Slim

Universal Pictures

“Queen & Slim” kicks off with its title characters on a date that is only remarkable for its lack of spark, but things get heated in the worst way after a police offer pulls them over for a minor issue, and things escalate, with Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) getting shot and Slim (Daniel Kaluuya) shooting the officer in self defense. The two then go on the run together, with their bond and their relationship blossoming as they drive south through a lush vision of Black Americana. That they both come off as deeply human while remaining symbolic of the tragic human cost of racism seems due in large part to the near symbiotic creative melding of director Melina Matsoukas, who also directed Beyonce’s “Lemonade,” and writer Lena Waithe, the creator of the series “The Chi” and who also wrote the acclaimed “Master of None” episode “Thanksgiving.” Their story is tragic, but it is also full of beauty and humor as Queen and Slim dare to hope for something better, even as they know the odds against such a thing are overwhelmingly stacked against them.

10. Fast Color

Lionsgate

It’s said that not all heroes wear capes, and certainly none of the women with superhuman abilities do in “Fast Color.” This criminally underseen gem has many of the beats, but almost none of the familiar tropes of typical superhero fare. Gugu Mbatha-Raw plays a woman named Ruth, a fugitive on the run from authorities attempting to harness her abilities, and most critically, from herself, since those abilities have become a destructive force she’s unable to control. In this bleak dystopian future which is rapidly running low on resources, the key to Ruth’s future may just lie in the home she fled years ago, where her estranged mother (Lorraine Toussaint) and daughter (Saniyya Sidney) embody a past she tried to escape, and a more hopeful future they may be able to bring to fruition.

9. The Souvenir

IMDB

Joanna Hogg’s semi-autographical film “The Souvenir” is like a deceptively calm pond which conceals a raging torrent just beneath the surface. Honor Swinton Byrne, the woman responsible for the storm that’s eventually unleashed, may still be constantly referred to as Tilda Swinton’s daughter, but this film suggests that won’t be the case for long. Her performance as Julie, a young film student in the 80s whose dreams are nearly derailed by her involvement with an older man who is also a heroin addict, is the kind of on-screen arrival that the term breakout role was made for. With part two arriving next year, it’s hard to imagine how Hogg or Byrne will match the kind of urgency they brought to this film, but this creative pairing – which feels like a match made in cinematic heaven – could feasibly pull it off.

8. One Child Nation

One Child Nation

Director Nanfu Wang grew up in a time when China’s infamous one-child policy was at its height, with every facet of society extolling the virtues of having a smaller family…and the consequences of disobedience. After Wang had a son, she decided to investigate the policy she’d never given much thought to and its impact. When she uncovered was a complex and horrific hidden history of forced abortions, child abandonment, and infants who were literally torn from their arms of their families and given to American couples for adoption, who were tragically unaware that they were abetting kidnapping. Wang fearlessly confronts her own complicity and that of her family and community as she delves into the past, and how China is attempting to erase it from its future.

7. Uncut Gems

A24

If we’re our own worst enemies, then Adam Sandler’s New York City jeweler Howard Ratner will never have a worse one. A gambling addict who’s always in search of that next big score, his need for his drug of choice has wreaked havoc on his personal and professional life. He’s managed to get his hands on the titular gem that may finally change his luck…if he can somehow hold off on his on self-sabotaging impulses. Anchored by not only a career-best performance by Sandler, but a breakout one by Julia Fox as Howard’s mistress, the Safdie brothers immerse us into Howard’s world, then his mindset as he unravels, all the while clinging to the belief in that one big break that could still change everything.

6. Bedlam

Sundance Institute

In exploring the history of mental illness in America, director Kenneth Paul Rosenberg explores his own family, and how they reacted to his sister’s mental health struggles, then expands his scope into the personal and political ramifications of how we decide to treat a hidden social crisis of our time, one that is steadily worsening. As he travels to jails, Ers, and homeless camps, Rosenberg grounds his documentary with subjects who permit him a staggering amount of access to the highs and lows of their journeys to stability, and more often, how ill-equipped the system is to assist them. It will leave you emotionally gutted, but also with a much-needed greater understanding of a large population who are in desperate need of both compassion and assistance.

5. Luce

IMDB

No one escapes unscathed in “Luce,” including us, as director Julius Onah slowly but surely tightens his grip on our collective throats, forcing us to realize how even the most privileged among us are caught up in a system that ultimately demeans us all, with little doubt as to just who bears the brunt of the consequences. The titular Luce (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) first seems to have it all and more. Adopted as a child from war-torn African county by suburban white couple Amy (Naomi Watts) and Peter (Tim Roth), Luce is a star athlete, a top student, and popular with students and teachers alike. It’s only when his teacher Harriet (Octavia Spencer) alerts his parents to a potentially disturbing essay by Luce that the cracks in the facade start to show, and Amy realizes just how little she may know the son she’s loved and raised, and perhaps also tokenized. Harrison’s masterful performance is equal parts chilling and heartbreaking as a young man who may be capable of great and terrible things. Just what will Luce become? The film has no answer.

4. Little Women

Sony Pictures

Greta Gerwig didn’t just write and direct Louisa May Alcott’s beloved 1868 novel, she brought it to life, with each of the four March sisters getting their due. Yes, even Amy. One of the most brilliant decisions Gerwig makes is to bring the book to the big screen in a nonlinear fashion, juxtaposing scenes from the sisters’ idyllic childhood with their darker adulthood. While the Civil War rages, depriving them of their father, the March family becomes a matriarchal worldutopia, wherein Meg (Emma Watson), Jo (Saoirse Ronan), Beth (Eliza Scanlen), and Amy (Florence Pugh) are free to explore their hopes and ambitions, guided by their beloved Marmee (Laura Dern), and befriended by their wealthy neighbor Laurie (Timothée Chalamet). As each sister struggles to find her way, Gerwig takes care to ensure that their lives not only feel familiar, but relevant as each wrestles with how to balance their dreams with the narrow expectations imposed on them.

3. Atlantics

IMDB

Mati Diop made history in more ways than one with her feature debut “Atlantics.” She was the first black woman to have a film in the main competition at Cannes, where “Atlantics” won the Grand Prix. The film more than lives up to the hype, with a touching love story that is also part supernatural fable and devastating indictment of modern exploitation and rampant poverty. Ada (Mama Bineta Sane) lives in a Senegalese suburb, and is promised to a wealthy man. But she is in love with Souleiman (Traore), a construction worker on a futuristic tower which is due to open soon. Souleiman and his co-workers haven’t been paid for their labor in months, so they decide to take their chances and depart by sea in search of something better. As Ada waits for news of him as she prepares to marry, she gradually learns that the spirits of Souleiman and the other young men are possessing the bodies of the living and demanding justice. As Ada slowly comes to accept the truth and take control of her own life and body (she’s forced to take a virginity test), Diop infuses her story with a beauty that never belies its sense of urgency for compassion in a world that can often seem short on it.

2. Parasite

IMDB

The word parasite conjures up images of a creature which takes from a victimized host without a thought of giving or the consequences thereof, but as Bong Joon-ho’s latest slice of brilliance unfolds, it’s unclear just whom is feeding on whom. But in the vicious capitalistic times we’ve arrived in, perhaps everyone is feeding on everyone, whether they know it or not. In the story of the impoverished Kim family, who manage to scam their way into various positions of employment with the wealthy Park family, Bong Joon-ho serves up a scathing indictment of the inequality which twists haves and have-nots alike. As one jaw-dropping development after another threatens to deprive the Kims of their newfound prosperity, both families suffer the horrific consequences. And even if you are able to free yourself from the dark obsession inherent in wanting a good life which remains tantalizingly out of reach, the vicious cycle, one borne out of a need that will never be quenched, continues.

1. Portrait of a Lady on Fire

IMDB

If Céline Sciamma had just wrote and directed a romance between two women who find the kind of love that leaves the screen burning from their mutual passion, “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” would still have been one of the best films of the year. But Sciamma does so much more, making the case for an entire history that has mostly been unacknowledged by the art world. Not just of the female artists who managed to create in spite of the obstacles, but the lives of women in general, who are often not considered worthwhile subjects. (Times have sure changed, huh?) “Portrait” may take place in 18th century France, but its insights into the dynamics between artist and muse, how art is created, and how those who are silenced manage to find a voice, feels very much needed in our present moment.

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[littleshebear]

Destiny fanfiction; A Killing Thing pt. 2.

Part 2 of 2. Jolder’s POV on what happened in the last chapter. far more sweet and fluffy this time. 

Lord Saladin | Lady Jolder | Saladin/Jolder | Iron Lords | The Dark Age | Canon Typical Violence | cw: Assisted suicide | cw: Character death (but they got better | Romance | Fluff |

Part One. 

AO3 Links: Chapter One. | Chapter two. 

The farmers have lit a bonfire in the centre of the village, and set up tables around it laden with food. Those with the talent for it play instruments and sing, while the remainder eat, drink and dance. The settlement isn’t completely safe, not yet but the local Warlord will think twice before attempting another attack and that is cause for celebration.

Jolder makes her way through the crowd, fielding heartfelt thank-yous, offers of food and drink, and the occasional marriage proposal from villagers who have over-indulged on alcohol. She smiles indulgently and says that were she not an Iron Lord, she’d definitely consider it. She scans the gathering and picks out her brothers and sisters from among the villagers. Skorri has joined the musicians, improvising along with their songs as best she can. Silimar is attempting to learn one of the villager’s dances, under the tutelage of Gheleon, who’s having limited success. Silimar is ungainly, he has no sense of timing but he won’t give up. Radegast is speaking with the village elders, always serious, always strategising. Felwinter walks circuits of the courtyard, observing the gathered people with a detached curiosity, as though they were subjects of a scientific experiment.

She finds the only one she was really looking for seated on a log that’s being used as a makeshift bench, on the periphery of the festivities. Saladin sits alone, his elbows resting on his knees, his shoulders hunched. He glances around periodically but refuses to make eye-contact with anyone. It’s as if he’s checking to make sure that his closed-off demeanour is doing its job. It is. No one approaches him, there’s none of the easy camaraderie Jolder experienced when she arrived at the gathering. Saladin may as well be screaming, ‘leave me alone,’ at the top of his lungs.

Jolder just watches him for a while, suddenly reminded of how he was when Radegast had first found him. He’d been so wary, so slow to trust, a wolf unsure if he’d truly found his new pack. She had made it her personal mission to break down his walls. It was a game at first, trying out different strategies to get a reaction out of him. Later, it became a serious challenge to herself, she genuinely wanted to know him, so she sought out every possible chink in his emotional armour. Today, he had finally let down the last of his defences and she found she didn’t know what to do about it. A simple “thank you,” would have been unforgivably trite and she wouldn’t dream of trying to laugh off what they had shared; how that would hurt his easily-bruised heart. She eventually sat up and pulled him into a wordless embrace that she suspected neither of them wanted to end. They knelt together in the blood-stained snow, until Jolder’s comm had crackled into life, with Radegast calling for an update. They hardly spoke on the journey back to the village, their only significant communication being Saladin offering her his arm for support when phantom pain flared up in her.

Jolder’s attention is diverted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She smiles as Perun draws level with her.

“Good work out there today,” Perun nods respectfully. “The Lightbearer give you any trouble?”

“No,” Jolder shakes her head. “No match for the Iron Grump over there. Poor guy didn’t know what hit him.”

“And he’s looking particularly grumpy just now,” Perun observes with a soft chuckle. She then regards Jolder with a searching look. “Everything alright with you and him?”

“Yes,” Jolder answers a little too quickly. “Why?”

“You’re normally joined at the hip but you’ve barely said two words to each other tonight. Something happen between you two?”

Jolder isn’t sure how to answer. It was certainly Something. Something violent, yet tender. Something sublime, yet intimate. How does she explain those contradictions? How does she put into words the way his voice soothed and took away her pain? How does she make Perun understand that if Jolder were to die her final death, and Saladin were the last thing she saw, it probably wouldn’t be a bad way to go?

She opts for a shrug and some misdirection. “The violence gets to him. He’s emotional. You know how he is.”

“You should speak to him. You can usually talk him out his moods.”

Jolder nods and looks back over to Saladin. While she was distracted by Perun, Saladin had been approached by two villagers, a man and a woman, both middle aged. Jolder can’t hear what they’re saying but they’re speaking earnestly to him, they obviously didn’t get the message that his body language was sending out. That, or they chose to ignore it because what they have to say is too important. The woman is clutching Saladin’s hand and looks ready to burst into tears. The man proffers a bottle of something or other to Saladin, who extricates his hand from the woman’s and steps backwards. He shakes his head, holding his hands up. He’s trying to refuse whatever gift they’re giving him but they’re insistent. Saladin eventually accepts the bottle and says an awkward thank you. The couple retreat backwards, scraping and bowing as they go, while Saladin nods his acknowledgement. He remains standing for a moment, clutching the bottle in front of him like a shield. He glances back and forth furtively, then sits back down. He resumes his hunched posture, rolling the bottle between his palms.

“What was that all about?” asks Perun..

“I have no idea,” responds Jolder.

“Go talk to him.” Perun says this as request from a mutual friend but it could almost be an order from their field commander. “He looks like he needs it.”

“Yeah,” Jolder sighs. “I will.” She ambles over towards Saladin with as much nonchalance as she can muster. She doesn’t wait for an invitation to sit, she just plants herself beside him before he can object. She’s gratified when she sees a slight relaxation in Saladin’s posture.

“How are you doing?” he asks. “Does it still hurt?”

Jolder gives a lopsided shrug. “It’s getting better. Twinges a little now and then. I think my brain is finally starting to accept that I don’t have a hole in my side anymore. I’m okay.” She tips her head towards the retreating couple who had accosted him. “What did they want?”

“While you were…” He pauses to search for the right word, “... down , I came across this raider. He swore it was his first raid, he swore he hadn’t fired a shot. I believed him.” His features cloud with what could be anger, sadness or both. “He was just a kid. I let him go.”

“Were they his family?”

Saladin nods. “His parents.”

“The Warlord sent that boy to raid his home village?”

Saladin sighs, “Some sick loyalty test maybe? I don’t know.”

“And the bottle?” A note of amusement creeps into Jolder’s tone.

“The local brew. I don’t think have much of value to offer by way of thanks. They insisted.” He takes a breath and continues before she can interrupt, “I know what you’re going to say, I’m a bleeding heart , it was a risk but I believed him and I was right, he made it home this morning.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” She keeps her voice as gentle as she can, so that nothing she says can sound like admonishment. “I was going to say that you’re a good man.”

He snorts softly and lets his gaze drop to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” She lays her hand on his arm, “And please don’t say ‘nothing.’ I know you’re upset.”

“Fine.” Saladin places the bottle at his feet and speaks in a monotone. “We killed eleven people today. And we’re having a party.”

“We did. Twelve if you count me.”

“That was different,” Saladin shakes his head. “I did that to help you. You were suffering.”

“ Is it different? Yes, we killed eleven people but how many did we save ? How many would have died if they had made it here?  And you gave those people back their son. I’d say that justifies a party.”

“We’re dead people, brought back to kill. That's all we do. Can we honestly say we’re better than the people we fight?”

“You are nothing like them. Don’t ever think that. You're a protector, not a killer.” Jolder places her hand over Saladin’s and gives it a gentle squeeze. “And it won’t always be like this. We’re making a better world. The Risen who come after will be what they were meant to be; guardians, not conquerors. They’ll be like you.”

He threads his fingers through hers and leans in towards her, while Jolder cups his face with her free hand and pulls him closer until their foreheads touch.

“You’re a good man, Saladin Forge,” she whispers, tracing her thumb across his lower lip. They remain like this for a few moments, just leaning against each other, breathing the same air.

Saladin swallows hard and begins, “Jolder, I-”

“So are you two going to get a room, or what?” Saladin and Jolder pull apart, both glaring towards the interloper. Efrideet stands in front of them, hands on hips, with a mischievous smirk on her face. “Seriously. Do you have any idea how long the pool on you guys has been running now? So is this it? Is it happening? Can I cash out?”

“I don’t know, Efrideet,” Jolder says with mock-brightness, “See, someone just interrupted us.” Saladin just sets his lips in a thin line and growls deep in his chest.

Before Efrideet can respond, Radegast stalks up behind her and grabs her by the collar.

“Come along child,” he intones, steering her away, “Let the grown-ups talk.”

Saladin shakes his head, glowering as he watches Radegast manhandle Efrideet back to the main gathering despite her protests. Jolder tries to maintain her composure for a second or two before collapsing into laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Saladin grumbles. “That girl’s got no manners.”

“Come on, it’s a little bit funny.” She nudges him, jostling him. “They’re running a pool on us.”

“Hmm, and when I find out who’s in on that…” He sighs, picks up the bottle and pulls out the stopper. “I need a drink”.

“What are we drinking to?”

“How about a better world?” He raises the bottle in a toast before taking a swig. He passes it to Jolder who takes a draught. The liquid is warm and the flavour is an odd mix of sweet, sour and smoke.

She looks at the bottle in confusion, “What is that?”

“Kefir,” he answers, taking back the bottle and helping himself to another swig. “It’s made from fermented mare’s milk.”

“You’re telling me I just drank horse milk vodka?”

“Essentially,” he replies with a smirk.

“You know all that stuff I said about you being a good man? I take it back.” She wrinkles her nose and makes a staged retching sound.

Saladin laughs; a low, rumbling sound that makes Jolder’s stomach feel like it’s flipping over. She rests her head against his shoulder and the sit in companionable silence for a while.

It’s Jolder who finally speaks first. “So should we?”

“Should we what?”

“Get a room.” She feels him tense up. She slips her hand back into his. “Do you want to? I thought you did. After what happened today and, well,” she lets out a short, quiet laugh, “I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes.”

“Everyone looks at you that way.”

She places a gentle hand on his cheek and turns him to face her. “You’re the only one I ever look back at.” She feels his hand begin to tremble beneath hers. She holds his gaze with her own and strokes his face with a feather light touch.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Do you trust me?”

She sees something break within him when she asks that question. His brows knot together and he exhales sharply. He swiftly closes the gap between them presses his lips against hers. Jolder whimpers softly against his mouth and puts her arms around his neck while Saladin takes her by the waist and pulls her to him. She presses into him as much as she can, she wants to be closer but their armour keeps them separate. It’ll have to go. She breaks away, panting slightly. She takes her hand in his and pulls him to his feet without any resistance. They make their way out of the village, walking faster and faster until they reach the edge of village when they break into a run, and don’t stop until they reach their ship.

They sprint up the gang plank and tumble into Jolder’s quarters. Saladin tangles his fingers in Joldler’s hair and kisses her feverishly, working his way from her lips, to her jaw and down her throat. Jolder does battle with the many (far too many) buckles and clasps on his armour, collapsing into giggles when one proves too stubborn for her shaking hands to undo.

When they finally shed their armour and clothing, when they are finally naked and entwined on her bed, she thinks back to what he'd said in the village. When she feels him move inside her and his heart beating next to hers, she knows he's wrong. They are not dead things. They are not killing things. They are alive, they are so alive.

A/N: I shamelessly stole, “Iron Grump” from @dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd because it is perfect.

[jungnoir]

destiny | 06;

⇢ summary: you’re just about ready to give up on life altogether; your love life is in ruins, you’ve lost your job, and your family couldn’t care less about you… and then you meet your blushing guardian angel, and maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

⇢ relationship: jeon jungkook/reader, min yoongi/reader.

⇢ genre: supernatural, angel!au, demon!au, romance, thriller.

⇢ words: 9.8k (rewritten)

⇢ warnings: mentions of physical abuse, graphic depiction of death.

previously |  next

a/n: time for seokjin’s backstory. * is for the beginning of the death scene, so if you’d rather not read it, * will mark the ending of the scene as well. also, this is hella long hahaha hope this makes up for the wait :)

about three hundred and forty years ago.

He’d never seen something so beautiful in his life. You’d think a being who lived amongst the clouds and touched the stars at night would think otherwise but yet here he was, looking upon the face of a baby only a few moments old, her eyes seemingly fixated on air according to her parents, but locked with Seokjin’s a mere breath’s away from the bed she lay on. 

She murmured quietly, little dark curls on her head already beginning to form out of the wisps of hair there, and he had a thought that it might have been as soft as a brush of silk along his hand, the thought making him smile, and in turn, making the baby make a sound her mother cooed at. 

This was the love of his life, his very first and most important. He was to watch her grow and protect her from all that did her harm until the moment she passed, and he would sadly be moved on to another charge shortly after. Until then, he would have to make the most out of this tiny mortal’s life, make sure he could do everything he could to keep her safe. It was his duty as a guardian angel, and it was his duty as her guardian angel.

“Hello, little one,” he coos in a high pitched voice and takes delight when she cocks her head to the side at him, “I’m Seokjin. You won’t remember me in the future but… I’m here to protect you, okay? Try not to make it too hard on me. This is my first job ever and I want to make my boss really proud.”

As if she could understand him, but he smiles anyway and wishes she could, wishes she could continue to see him past this point in time. This moment, so small and barely there in a baby’s eyes was all he had to communicate with the child, so he at least wanted to give her some sort of peace or reassurance that she was cared for, before he was forced to remain in the shadows the rest of her life. Even if a sliver of a memory of him remained in her mind later on, he’d be fine. He’d be happy. She could hold onto that in dark times and that was all he could hope for.

His happiness is cut short however, when he looks across the cramped, dirty room toward the man who had unfortunately helped bring her here. He was a scruffy looking fellow with beady eyes and a frown set into the frame of his mouth, and he looked upon his wife and child with a selfish look. A look that said “Now I have two mouths to feed”. Behind him stood a silver haired angel, eyes naturally baggy and dark, though his aura was much more welcoming than that of his charge. An inkling of a bad feeling began to rise in Seokjin’s throat but he swallowed it down, if only in fear of committing a sin he wouldn’t have even noticed he had later. Even if he disliked her father, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

After all, it was a rule not to tamper with human life beyond the supernatural realm. Something about fate and the like.

“Seokjin,” the angel whips around to meet eyes with one of the other angels in the room, Yeri, who was the guardian of the mother, “she’s very beautiful.”

Seokjin smiles in pride, as if the little girl cradling her mother’s finger was his own child, “Isn’t she? I can’t wait to see what kind of life she has in store.”

Yeri’s smile diminishes some, and her eyes flicker to the same spot in the room Seokjin had been fixated on a moment ago, her own set of unruly feelings fighting to make themselves prominent, “Yes… I only wish good on her life.”

But wishing was not sufficient enough.

“Please be careful, Elinor, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Seokjin watches the chubby child attempt to make her way along the farm, her small legs giving out every few steps and sending her to the dry grass with a soft thump. He had expected her to cry or wallow in pain every time she did, but like a little soldier, she’d push herself back up again and continue to walk with added excitement in her step. She was determined, he’d give her that.

Seokjin found being a guardian angel felt an awful lot like being a parent, only he was unable to make himself known. He was cursed to watch her make terrible decisions time and time again, and could find no peace even in the night hours when she slept. He knew of infants who would pass in their sleep, and so he’d wait up, agonizingly worrying over whether she’d lose her breath in the night. Yeri had warned him he was being too cautious, that he could be miles away and their bond would alert him of any trouble in an instant, but he swore that the child out of his sight was a danger he didn’t want to risk.

He watches her wobble closer to the road, thankfully void of anyone or anything that might hurt or scare her, and he crouches down in front of her, ignoring the twisting feeling in his stomach when she looks right through his chest, “Elinor,” he sings, “Let’s turn around now, hm?”

But coercing a child was one of the trickiest things a guardian angel could do. They were rather stubborn, you know.

He feels a cool sensation that feels a lot like being shoved in an icy riverbank envelop his body when Elinor walks right through him, and the sadness in his chest nearly makes him gasp. However, he’s quick to turn and continue watching her, making sure she’d at least not cross the road and go into the field of wildly growing grass across from them. He could hear and sense the animals that prowled in it, just waiting for some poor soul to try and come near.

Seokjin was so caught up in making sure she steered clear of the grass that he didn’t hear the human rounding up and right through him, intent on Elinor. The minute he realized who was reaching for her, his chest tightened in fear. 

His big meaty hand seized her small arm so hard it made her fall back onto her behind, yet unlike all the other times she’d fallen, this time tears sprung to her eyes. Seokjin began to panic at the sight, knowing what tears elicited out of the horrid man when he saw them. “Stop your whining, brat!” The man yelled, extending his hand up into the sky, and Seokjin threw himself before Elinor, momentarily forgetting he could literally do nothing to stop the attack, nothing to save Elinor from what was to come, nothing to-

The hand stopped mid-air.

Seokjin tore his eyes away from the crazed man’s to see that another angel had appeared on the scene, inches away from the man’s ear with an expression laced in calm. He was Jisoo, ever the calm one even in situations where Seokjin was not. It appeared he had somehow convinced his charge in his craze to rethink hurting the child, and grudgingly, he retreated, yet continued to drag the little girl into his arms and back toward the farm house, none to gentle even as the little girl cried. 

Seokjin had barely let out a breath before Jisoo was speaking, “You almost exposed yourself to him.”

“He’s a monster. He should be punished for what he does!” Seokjin yells back instantly, his heart hurting in contempt for the man. He hated how logical and calm Jisoo could be, how simply the angel could brush away emotions if only for the greater good. Seokjin was not the type, never could be if this was what he’d have to turn a blind eye to. 

“Are you the Almighty? Do you have the right to judge?” 

“He… he hurts her, Jisoo. That man is out of his mind. He’s terrible… why… why does he get to live a life with them? Why doesn’t he get what he deserves?”

The angel above him looked displeased, but didn’t disagree with him. Seokjin knew deep down that he, too, also felt a level of distaste for his own charge, even if he was conditioned to love him despite it. Yet annoyingly, there was not much he could do about it. Simple whispers in the father’s ear to change his mind had become harder and harder to pull off, and anything past that was out of Jisoo's control.

He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something else, when he seemed to catch sight of something in the distance. A second passed, and he was suddenly grabbing Seokjin and pushing him toward the farm house, “We must go.”

“W-Why? What’s wrong?” Seokjin tries his best to look over his shoulder, but Jisoo is insistent, pushing the man further down the dirt road where the voices of the fighting parents could be heard clearer and clearer. 

Jisoo's hold slipped, and Seokjin spun on the spot.

She was not hard to miss, with her hair raven and eyes glowing red even from so far away. She stood within the field that Seokjin had been keeping Elinor from entering, long black dress loose and twirling in the wind as she stared forward, unblinking. It didn’t take long for Seokjin to realize she was a demon, and she was rather fixated on him.

“Who is that?” Seokjin finds himself asking, interest piqued. He had never been so close to a demon out here where seldom humans, let alone supernatural creatures, passed by. Seokjin had grown accustomed to the two other guardian angels existing on the property with him, but that was it. The only times he had ever come close to a demon was in town, when the family would rarely go out together. He could never find it in him to make eye contact. 

“A demon… I don’t know why she’s here, but it’s obvious it’s trouble. Go inside, let’s ignore her. Maybe she’ll go.”

She didn’t. If anything, locking eyes with Seokjin made her want to stay all the more.

Seokjin’s favorite time of any day was night. He’d learned that as the moon came, serenity came with it. Life settled and even the evils of the world would come to rest for a while. He enjoyed the view of the sky from the country house because he could see every star he’d ever admired while living in the clouds and it was the only piece of routine he’d maintained since being sent down to earth. He also enjoyed night because Elinor was safe, wrapped in the rays of moonlight as she slept peacefully mere steps away from the window seat where Seokjin rested, back to the window and eyes dancing with love for the baby girl.

It had been days since the incident with the demon in the field, and Jisoo had made it known that she most likely grew bored and left on her own. That was what Seokjin had hoped. That was what Seokjin believed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you from getting hurt today,” Seokjin whispers, a reciting of the things he felt terrible for that day, “that burn is going to stick with you for a while.” Seokjin looks at Elinor’s arm, where a dark burn takes over the expanse near her wrist. She had never cried quite as hard before, simply wanting to help her mother bake in the kitchen. He hoped that her father would never ask about it.

Seokjin sighs, “And I’m sorry you couldn’t go to town either. I know how much you want to see the fall festival… maybe, if your father stays out of town a little longer, your mother can take-”

The atmosphere of the room changes the minute Seokjin spots something appearing in the corner of his eye.

In seconds, he’s up and in front of Elinor’s bed where she continues to rest, unknowing that before her is her guardian angel… and before him, a demon.

It’s the same one from days ago, her head tilted to inspect the angel as if she’d never seen one before. If Seokjin could make it happen, he’d be throwing actual daggers at her from where he glared, “You have no place here.”

The demon tilts her chin up at him mockingly, “Then I’m very curious how I’m standing here anyway, angel.” She makes no move toward him (or more importantly, Elinor), but instead crosses her arms across her middle, the same dress moving like shadows with her every movement. Her eyes glowed that mysterious undertone of ruby and made him all the more frightened. She stayed somewhat concealed from the moonlight, with just enough illuminating her figure that she looked ghostly.

Seokjin was preparing to question her, when “Do you want me to kill him?” falls from her lips. Seokjin is far too stunned by her question that he falters, and she takes a step forward.

“W-Who?” He asks, pressing closer to the bed, hoping to the Almighty that Elinor would stay safe and sound and asleep through this whole encounter.

The demon’s lip twitches into a smirk, “You know who I am talking about. You’d do it. To protect Elinor, you’d kill her father.” When Seokjin remains silent, for more reasons than one, so she continues, “Regardless, I will.”

“You can’t-” “You can’t, angel. But I can. I can interfere in human affairs as much as I please, it’s the joy of being one of my kind. And if I see a bastard like him raising his hand at anyone in this house again I may just have to… impale him.” Images of Elinor’s father “impaled” leave Seokjin uneasy, but he hates to say that it doesn’t seem all that sad to him either.

He has to repent immediately.

The demon leans against the wall when she’s further in the room, now completely shrouded in moonlight. This was the closest he’d ever been to her, and seeing her now up close was so… odd. He couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t absolutely stunning, in the way a snake might be before it sunk its venom into your neck. Whatever her venom, she didn’t seem at all inclined to use it on him or Elinor right now. If his instincts told him anything, it was that this demon had no enemies in this room tonight.

As the demon watched Seokjin stumble to keep Elinor out of sight, her eyes softened a little and she whispered, “I’m guessing you won’t answer my question.”

Seokjin shakes his head. Smart of him, the demon thinks. “Why would you want to interfere?”

“Us demons have questionable morals sometimes, yes, but even I know someone like him doesn’t deserve to be happy. If your god won’t watch out for them, someone’s got to.” The demon makes sure to glare at the sky, openly cursing the Almighty then and there, and it makes his skin crawl to think what might happen to her because of it. Nothing does, to his relief.

The angel stiffens when Elinor makes a sound, waking, and before he can think the demon is grasping his wrist and pulling him into the darkness. His surprise is evident, “What are you doing? She can’t see me.” He tells the demon as Elinor stirs, eyelashes fluttering the moment he digests how close she is to him. That she's touching him.

The demon looks up at him, and had it not been for the glow of her eyes he might not have bought that she was one. Her warm hand is still wrapped around his wrist, and while he should feel terrified in her presence, all he can think to do is stay still and hope she wouldn’t try to rip his heart out of his chest. She doesn’t answer him as Elinor rubs her eyes and sits up in bed, frowning at the moonlight and blinking away the sleep in her eyes. She stays seated for a little while, unmoving, and then rolls back over in bed to rest again.

“There are moments… fractions of a second where humans can perceive the otherworldly. Straight out of sleep like this, and still so young… yes, she very much could have seen you if you didn’t move.” The demon tells him, fingers slowly detaching from his wrist to rise in front of their faces. The moment Seokjin sees some light emitting from her hand, he grips her limb and moves it toward himself instead.

Shocked, the demon closes her hand and the light dissipates, “…it was a sleeping spell. The pain is…” She gestures over to Elinor, most likely meaning the burn, “…it’s keeping her awake.”

“I don’t trust you. What angel in their right mind would let a demon put a spell on their charge?” Seokjin’s voice turns hard and the demon realizes in that moment that the angel was different than any she’d ever seen before. Guardian angels were always instructed to love their charges but to be objective, to never be emotional in times of stress. But here she was, in the hand of an angel who looked ready to flip hell on its head if she even thought to lay a hand on the child.

She was more intrigued than she was the first time she’d seen him.

“I have no intentions of hurting that little girl. None whatsoever. I swear on my life that if I do hurt her, you can strike me dead here and now. But right now she is hurt and I can help… I will not do anything more if you still disagree.” The demon keeps her voice soft and level, and even moves to take something from the sleeve of her dress. She brandishes a sheathed dagger, and when it touches his free hand, he can feel the magic thrumming through his whole body. “A weapon of my own design. It will kill me if you will your angelic power through it, and you can hold it to my neck while I heal her.”

His instincts once again did not give off any warning signs, though his heart had never beat so fast in his life.

And so, with what he knows could go so horribly wrong, he lets the demon heal Elinor with dagger to neck as instructed. He keeps his eyes more on the demon than Elinor, but there’s no doubt that he can feel his charge’s soul calming as the demon works her magic. He takes a glance, and the burn looks so much better than it did before.

“What is your name?” Seokjin asks after a little while, the demon working diligently to heal his girl.

The demon looks up at him in slight surprise, and then goes back to work with a small smile on her face, “Inhui. And you?”

“Seokjin… Thank you, Inhui.”

“Call it a gift thanks to my questionable morals.”

Seokjin says nothing to Jisoo or Yeri when he sees them, keeping his mouth shut tight and focusing all his attention on Elinor and her newly healed burn. He can tell without hearing it that the other angels are suspicious and astounded at the little girl’s quick recovery, but neither of them approach him the whole next day, or even the day after. It feels odd that he’s left with this feeling of gratitude as he watches Elinor play, not in pain anymore like she had been before. Instead, she’s prancing around her mother who too is stunned at her quick recovery.

It’s only after a week that he is visited by the demon again at the same time in the same place.

Seokjin is sat on the window seat, watching the stars, when a presence makes itself known next to him. The angel jumps in his spot the minute he takes in the dark figure of Inhui, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she keeps a good enough distance away from him. Her arms are crossed and he can see her fingers are glittering with rings that reflect the moonlight well, “Good evening, angel.” Her voice carries softly, and Seokjin casts a quick glance to Elinor in fear that it’ll wake her, but she is deeply asleep as snores pass her lips.

Seokjin couldn’t fathom a reason why the demon was visiting once again, or why she looked so comfortable in his presence and they had only ever talked to each other once. However, the demon moves with grace until she’s leaning against the opposite end of the window seat, now the moonlight only casting him in a glow and making him feel vulnerable under her sharp gaze in the dark.

Swallowing, he answers, “Hello,” he winces at the crack in his voice, much to the demon’s amusement, “…w-what are you doing here?”

Inhui casts a glance toward the little girl and sighs, “…it’s oddly calm here, lately. Where is the father?”

Seokjin hums, “He’s away on business… or something to that effect. I personally think he’s fallen into a ditch somewhere drunk.” Seokjin feels a little pride when Inhui laughs, and then blinks when she scoots his feet away and takes the seat furthest from him (out of respect for his personal space). She curls her own legs underneath her and looks rather comfortable sitting there, like she could belong here.

She too casts her gaze out of the window, “It’d be better for everyone if that were true… why are you always looking at the stars, I wonder?”

Seokjin licks his lips nervously, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on his folded arms, keeping a watchful eye on the demon who leaves him cautious. “I… sometimes miss home.” He says honestly, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.

She looks over at him and he swears there’s something like empathy in those dark red eyes, but it doesn’t feel totally unsettling like usual, “I see. I assume you don’t get to visit.”

“I wish, but I wouldn’t go unless Elinor could come with me. I’m sure she’d love heaven. I could see her dancing on the clouds and riding on my back as we fly through the sky… I’d show her the sunset from up there, it’s gorgeous.” Seokjin turns his gaze from the stars to the sleeping girl feet away from the two otherworldly beings at her window seat, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that instantly puts him at ease. Inhui follows that gaze with wonder.

Carefully, the demon speaks, “I bet she would love to go with you. One day, she will.” Seokjin’s heart breaks at what the demon implies, and he quickly hardens his expression to hide the panic that flashes across his visage for a split second, as if Inhui hadn’t already seen it. “Sorry, I should be more careful of my words,” She apologizes, “I promise I meant it in a comforting way. Better there then-” “I understand what you meant, I just- I hope that day stays away for a very long time.”

The demon and angel continue the night in silence, staring outside the window and longing for homes and worlds they hadn’t seen in a while… all the while stealing glances of each other and pretending to have not when the other would catch them.

His name was John Hatchett. He was thirty-eight years old, had eyes dark and empty like the deepest pits of hell, and yet managed to be so painfully human that Seokjin had no right to lay a hand on him as long as he was alive. Inhui, on the other hand, had every right in the world.

It was his fifth night in a row that he’d stayed out all night and drank until the sun came up and pimples scattered his ugly skin like his body was desperately trying to flush out his filth for him. It had been the fifth night that he had lived carelessly, wasting the little money he did make on alcohol or women or whatever he could to occupy his time. It had also been the first time since she’d come into the picture weeks ago that he had raised his hand on his wife, hours prior to fucking off to the nearest bar in search of an escape.

Inhui had watched it all, so angry she had caused him to trip on a “misplaced” rake outside and hoped the fall would split his skull right down the middle. It hadn’t, just caused him to stumble a little on his way to town. At first, she had wondered if she should have just finished him there, but no… she had felt the eyes burning into her back the second she had thought it. Sure enough, casting her eyes up to the window looking out over the field, she’d seen Seokjin giving her a look to please think this through.

So she was good. She waited. She had tailed the bastard and all his vicious mumbling well into town and into the closest bar, and a few hours later, the guy was too drunk off his ass to know right from left. She had intended to shove him into a waste bucket and leave him there for someone else to find the miserable mutt, but it felt so wrong just leaving it as it was.

She had been visiting Seokjin for a few weeks now, under the guise of boredom or pure curiosity or whatever lie she could think up. It was always the same time and place, and Seokjin had become a lot more comfortable around her than he had in the beginning. She thought it had a lot to do with what’d she done for Elinor, and so she didn’t stop. Whenever she would notice a new scratch or if Elinor was running a fever, she’d be right by the child’s side, healing her so she could sleep peacefully. Elinor’s mother had chalked it up to her having an amazing guardian angel, to which Seokjin had blushed at. He had mumbled something like “I’m not nearly as capable” and she had spent the rest of her time with him, reassuring him he was and so much more.

It was odd… she had a place to be. A place to visit. A place where, when it was quietest, she could escape into the presence of a being purer than herself. Someone who radiated innocence, justice, love… things she had despised for much of her demon life. All those things were things only humans could have. All those things were things only beings deserving of them could have.

And yet, when she was with Seokjin, watching over Elinor… she felt she was pretty damn close to having it. 

Demons weren’t supposed to feel like she was when she was with Seokjin, and maybe God was gearing up to smite her (she’d like to see him try, the wish-washy bastard) soon for tainting him, but if that was the case, she’d do as she pleased if only for whatever time she had left to do it. That was the way of her kind: live like you’ve got eternity to make up for it, because you do. She doubted she would regret what she was planning to do now, and if Seokjin hated her for it, he’d have his own eternity to get over it.

She watched as John stood, following a young woman while wetting his lips. A chill ran down Inhui’s spine and she promptly stood, her being masked as she slunk after him. She could feel all his feelings toward the woman, and each and every one of them made her sick to her stomach.

He even had the audacity to call out to her, startling the poor thing and making her stumble in her walk. It seemed she hadn’t even realized he was there in the first place, and she started to wonder what would happen if she wasn't there.

It only took a few more moments of walking before Inhui had figured she’d had enough and promptly materialized behind him, snagging him by the collar and yanking him back until he was hanging off the ground by his shirt. The woman he’d been following stared at Inhui, paralyzed with confusion and fear, not totally sure who she should be more scared of at this point.

Inhui, smiling as softly as she could, whispers “go” under her breath and watches as the girl scrambles around a corner and away. As soon as she’s sure the girl is out of sight, Inhui releases John and the man falls to his knees in a crumpled heap, gasping for breath after being strangled by his own shirt for so long in the air.

“…you… bitch-” He rasps, barely getting a chance to finish his insult before Inhui is flicking her hand to the immediate left, and the vile man goes flying into the alleyway just to the side of them, his body colliding with the cold, stone wall of an old bakery with a sickening thwump! that makes even her skin tingle (with excitement). He falls to the ground like a ragdoll, hunched in on himself and barely having the strength to raise his head to her in his intoxicated state. However, when he finally does make eye contact, all Inhui can see is unbridled fear and it excites her even more.

Flicking her hand again, the man is raised onto his feet and then shoved back into the wall by invisible bonds, his hands and legs utterly useless to him now. There is nowhere else to look but at her, and when Inhui’s eyes flash that dangerous red, she sees his pants leg get warm. Wet.

“I am the bitch who has your pathetic life in her hands. Are you scared? I can smell it.” She laughs, barely casting a glance down to his soiled clothes to know that he’s released on himself in the midst of his astonishment. The smell is putrid, just like his soul. In the middle of her laughter, she notices that he's mumbling something, words... a prayer. “Are you... praying to God?”

The man even dares to whimper an affirmative.

“He may be more corrupt than I am,” she giggles, as if this is just a peaceful walk in the park, “but trust me… he’s not listening. This is between you and me now, baby.”

It’s the first time in what feels like a long time where Inhui has felt her true self emerge from the surface, the part of her she had opted to keep on a leash because of him and her. She hadn’t wanted to scare them, hadn’t wanted to ruin something she finally felt good doing for once in her life. But now… all of her pent up rage was being poured into something and she could let loose because for once, her conscience, which at one point she had deemed practically nonexistent, was no longer bothering her.

No, she was doing this for them.

*

“Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to have your heart being ripped out of you? I’m sure you haven’t. I’m sure you haven’t even got a heart to rip out… but I’m not one to jump to conclusions. I guess the only way I can satisfy my curiosity is to check, hm?” She hisses, hovering a hand over his chest where her nails extend into needlepoint claws. John prays with all his might now, knowing very well that the woman before him was something inhuman. If he must repent for what he’d done, surely this was the time to do it? Surely, he would be okay if he just-

He doesn’t feel it at first, her nails sinking into his chest. It’s so blindingly painful that his mind blanks the minute it happens, but then his senses all come back at once like he’d been dumped under ice cold water and yanked right back out to feel the stabbing sensation it left behind, not even granted the chance to feel numb.

Inhui’s hand visibly shakes with rage as it curls in, crushing his flesh under the pressure of her strength. Blood gushes around her fingertips and out of her victim’s mouth as she presses her free hand into his gut, hard. She’s surely broken several ribs at this point, the bones digging into his lungs as they fill with blood.

The hand over his chest clutches tighter, and then she feels what she was looking for, giving him one last sickly smile if only to rub it in more, “So you do have one. Perfect.”

And no longer is it attached to him.

She lets him fall to the ground for a final time, holding his heart in her hands and barely flinching at the strong stench it gives off in her hold. She can feel it thump, thump, thump until it’s no more.

Staring at it as her wits come back to her, she examines the organ in her grasp and then drops it, crushing it with the heel of her shoe with a snarl, “It’s as black as I thought.”

*

At the very edge of the alleyway, far enough from the demon's sight, Jisoo flinches at the squelch. A searing burn begins to travel up his spine.

Seokjin doesn’t see her for quite some time after that, but when he is visited by a much different Jisoo without his charge in tow, his suspicions are unfortunately confirmed. Seokjin can’t even mask his shock when the angel approaches, eyes burning into the younger with something that says more than he could put into words.

“I know we’re supposed to love them,” Jisoo starts, and his voice cracks some, “but… he was a monster… so this is my fate, Jinnie.”

Seokjin couldn’t understand even after Jisoo had hugged him tearfully, and then did the same to Yeri who was much more levelheaded than he. Jisoo had fought, though, hadn't he? He must have put up a fight. No doubt, he'd probably taken Inhui's life in retaliation for killing John... it was what the Jisoo he knew would do. Why did he feel like he didn't know Jisoo that well at all, now?

He didn't. Jisoo had promised he would visit when he could, but that he needed to figure out what to do now that he was no longer an angel. His only choices were very clear; it was only a matter of time before Seokjin found out which one it was.

It was strange to find the time after Jisoo's departure as calming despite the mix of feelings that it all brought him. Jisoo hadn't mentioned the fate of Inhui, nor anything more than sweet goodbyes and warm promises. Even as he missed the angel, he did not miss his charge. It was only a little while after the entire mess that the mother had been visited and told of her husband's murder. It was... odd, the relief that washed over the home when they'd told them the charge was found brutally mutilated in town. While Elinor found it confusing, her mother explained it as best as she could in her own shock. One thing was clear: every one in that house had not mourned a day since the news broke.

However, it didn’t take long for Seokjin to feel like he was missing something.

Despite spending most of his time caring for Elinor, a majority of his worries left him with the source of all her problems gone now. The money John had kept away from the family was finally given to them, and whatever they needed to get by on was also given to them, so finances were thankfully taken care of.

Instead of a weeping widow, Elinor’s mother was as sprightly as she could be, dashing around the house here and there and taking care of Elinor the best she could. Yeri had sworn she’d only seen her this happy before she married that man.

As Elinor grew with the years, Seokjin became more and more proud of the woman she was becoming. He watched her transition to flowy skirts and strange new updos that he’d seen some of the townswomen wearing on the now frequent occasions the women of the house left to shop together. He’d never been out of the house so often the entire time he’d been with Elinor, and he had never known there was so much to offer in their little town until then.

And with every visit, he searched for Inhui.

Her disappearance had left him extremely worried, wondering if maybe something had happened to her in the midst of killing John that Jisoo hadn’t told them. After all, the angel hadn’t stayed much longer after what had happened for Seokjin to even ask.

He had no way to contact her, and going out of his way to fraternize with demons surely wouldn’t earn him points with the Almighty. After a few more years, he had to stop himself from trying to find her face in every crowd; If not for his sake, then Elinor’s.

By the time Seokjin had become accustomed to Inhui’s disappearance from his life, Elinor had just turned seventeen years old. Seventeen and embarrassingly in love with a baker’s son.

Seokjin follows the bright-eyed teenager with a playful scowl on his face, watching the way she fiddles with her new dress and her new hairdo and her mother’s basket to go collect the groceries for the day. Ever since she’d reached that age, she was impossibly hard to keep up with. He had started to feel an awful lot like an old man, watching her tie daisy chains in the fields while muttering the name of some boy she'd grown inexplicably in love with for the day. He wasn’t dumb, and he knew one day she would meet someone and possibly fall in love, and all he could hope for was that whoever it was she fell for was the right one.

But he still really, really didn’t like tagging along on their dates.

Seokjin watches as they approach the familiar bakery from the back, the angel muttering something about how scandalous his girl had gotten before she’s slipping through the kitchen door and finding her target of affection kneading bread. Seokjin watches as she approaches him from behind and the boy, too kind and too gentle that Seokjin had wondered if it was all a show, turns and greets Elinor with a happy kiss.

“No need to vomit, Seokjin. They’re a sight for sore eyes.” A peachy voice scolds from across the room, and when Seokjin meets eyes with Minhyuk, the older angel makes a point to gag loudly in retaliation.

Minhyuk was the guardian angel to Christopher, Elinor’s “lover”, and was probably more pure than even the holiest angels Seokjin had ever come across. However, the angel did have his mischievous side, which often landed him in more trouble than he was probably willing to admit. Still, he was on the good side of the Almighty so Seokjin didn’t worry too much for him anymore.

The younger angel waltzed on over to Seokjin, beaming as he asked how things had been. It had been a while since they’d last seen each other, what with Christopher having gone to be the apprentice to another baker a few towns over for a couple of months. No matter how “disgusted” Seokjin pretended to be, he was very glad the seemingly perpetual frown on Elinor’s face had vanished the minute she realized that Christopher was home and she could go see him.

“Things have been quiet at the house, but I’m really glad Elinor has perked up again. I thought she was going to have a pout frozen on her face if Christopher stayed away any longer.” Seokjin divulged, watching the younger angel snicker.

“I was worried about Christopher too. Their letters to each other weren’t nearly enough.” As if to prove his point, Minhyuk waves his hand toward the two lovers embracing each other and Seokjin smiles, however tinged with sadness it might have been. She was growing so fast before his eyes, yet he could still remember when she was a baby… like it was yesterday.

The two angels continue to talk, following their charges on their night out on the town. They share stories of the places they’d been and the things they’d seen, almost in their own little world. Seokjin didn’t get to socialize with other angels too often, so when he did, he jumped at the opportunity. It had only been an hour into the night when Minhyuk had finally piped down, looking a little concerned, “Seokjin… I think there’s a demon here.”

Every hair on Seokjin’s body stands erect at once, his heart stuttering in his chest. He can’t believe Minhyuk had picked up on the presence before he had; maybe he had been too carefree, or maybe he’d been so used to that presence before that it wasn’t so easily disruptive…

For whatever reason, it didn’t matter. She was here.

The eldest whips his head around the small restaurant that their charges have slipped into, talking animatedly to each other about this and that and more. He almost misses her, almost. She is the dark energy sitting in the corner of the room with eyes trained on him and only him, expression turned into one of sorrow that he’d never seen before on her. It didn’t suit her.

He can’t tell you how long he stared before he decided to approach her, instructing the other angel to keep close watch over their charges while he inspected Inhui. The demon had changed since the day she left, exchanging her long, billowy dress for something shorter and closer fitting. Her long hair no longer draped her face, but was instead braided behind her back to showcase her strong gaze more prominently. She no longer looked so much like the shadows that lurked in Elinor’s bad dreams, but more like the woman you wouldn’t dare cross on the street. Only slightly less intimidating, he thought. Her beauty had never left her, though.

As he got closer, he realized she was acting rather uncharacteristically: her fingers fumbled with each other in her lap and her gaze shifted from his eyes to his chest as he got closer. He’d have mistaken her for a kicked puppy if he didn’t know any better, “What are you doing here?”

His voice is not void of cracks in it, the sheer surprise reaching Inhui in an instant and making her sigh. She finally looks him in the eyes again and holds out one of her hands, some of her favorite rings having been removed, “Can we talk?”

He lets her lead him by his hand outside, giving Minhyuk a comforting look before they entered the cool air of the night. It was less loud out here, despite being only a door away from the excitement. “I… I was debating on coming back at all, if I’m being honest. I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I did.” “Were you expecting me to be angry?” He asks, watching as she remains dubious with a noncommittal hum. “I’m not, by the way,” he adds, though he can understand why she’d mistake the emotion in his voice for anger, “I’m just confused… and I want to know what happened that made you run away.”

She furrows her brows, “Didn’t the angel tell you?”

Seokjin recalls Jisoo's last moments with them and frowns, “I was shocked, but I don’t think even if I wasn’t that I would have fully understood. Yeri did, but she was with him longer.”

Inhui takes a breath, leaning her back against the wall of the restaurant and looking away from him and toward the street, “That night, the last time I saw you, I followed John to the bar and killed him on his way out,” she decided to leave the gruesome details out; she expected he knew enough about it anyway, “I was so consumed with rage that I hadn’t even thought about the fact that the bastard had an angel protecting him… but the angel didn’t show until well after the last breath left John. I was surprised, shocked… I couldn’t understand why his angel let me do all of that and didn’t even try to stop me. I thought that all angels had such a bond with their charges that even if they didn’t think they were a good person, they’d at least try to protect them, right? But that angel… he just watched.”

Seokjin felt that same odd feeling again, picturing Jisoo, his mentor and friend, watching his charge die in such a terrible way and not even flinching. The older angel had been beside him since the moment he’d come to earth, had been just as caring toward him as Yeri, and had always made sure he kept on the right and just path. He had felt like a big brother to him, and now he was hearing that that same big brother figure had done nothing in the face of a demon killing the one person he was sworn to protect. He had a feeling in his stomach that only escalated the longer Inhui talked.

“When I had finally calmed down, I was expecting him to smite me. To stab me through the heart or throat or head or whatever was more painful. Hell, I was half-ready to hand him my dagger to do it because I felt so… powerful,” Seokjin looks at Inhui’s hands, curled in like the claws of a lion, “I had never felt so angry in my life and it scared me. But that angel, Jisoo, he just watched. And when it was all calm, I asked him if it hurt. And he said "yes, but it hurt less knowing that even if I wasn’t the one to kill him in the end, he was gone for good". I asked him if he wanted to save himself, but he told me he’d think about it. It’s been years and he’s living somewhere peaceful, still thinking about it.”

Inhui looks up at the stars next, ironically appearing like she was praying to the Almighty for strength, “I didn’t know if I could face you after that, so I just never came back. After all, the one thing that kept me there was making sure that little girl was safe, and with that bastard gone, my work was done.”

“Why… why did you care so much? Our troubles had nothing to do with you, and yet you still intervened. Why?” Seokjin had asked those same questions to himself so many times, yet now they were finally reaching their intended target.

The demon looked away from the sky and into his eyes, effectively trapping him there with her gaze, “You two made me feel human.”

Yeri had grown quite used to the demon coming to visit again, so much so that the angel would often ask Seokjin about her if she wasn’t around for whatever reason. Despite Yeri’s initial warnings about overstepping the rules of the angels, she had been as civil and kind as she usually was toward Inhui. The demon, as far as Seokjin knew, had refrained from any truly sinful activities since the day she’d come back into town, and he had started to see her as something like Elinor’s second guardian.

A few years had passed and before Seokjin knew it, it was the summer of Elinor’s twentieth year on earth and she was getting married. Minhyuk had been so elated by the news that he’d promptly thrown himself over Seokjin and declared himself the angel’s official little brother, right before Seokjin had explained that technically, all angels were related in the first place. His technicalities were ignored, regardless.

Seokjin had been there for the months prior when Elinor’s mother had eventually passed, peaceful and happy to see her child living a life far away from the man who had hurt them both. Now, she was with someone who loved and cared for her and who she knew she could trust her with, and that was all that mattered to her in the end. Watching Elinor grow into such a strong woman had made him so proud that he’d probably cried more times about it than he would have liked to say (Inhui knew how many times, and she teased him about it regularly).

Standing in the field in front of their home, Seokjin stood with his proud eyes watching Elinor dance with her new husband. The jolly band playing on the other side of the grass enchanted everyone at the wedding to come close and dance together, losing their inhibitions with the wine sparkling on their tongues and the happiness of the occasion. Minhyuk had joined in dancing with a few of the angels that had attended with their charges, having spent most of his night glued to another angel, Jooheon. Seokjin swore if Jooheon wasn’t there, he’d be the one roped into dancing with him instead.

It’s only when the music turns into a slow ballad that he feels a presence behind him, and when he glances back to see just who it is, he’s startled by Inhui’s closeness to him. The demon grins wickedly, holding out her hand in front of him in traditionally the way he should have been doing to her, “Care to dance?”

“I think that would be breaking about twenty different angelic rules, actually.” Seokjin smirks, giving her a little nudge with his shoulder that only has her rounding in front of him and holding out her hand to him with more determination.

Inhui’s incessant need to braid her hair had given her midnight strands a naturally wavy effect once let free, making them curl around her face in a pretty pattern. She had still stayed true to her dark clothes, no one able to see her in the first place, but she had opted for a somewhat occasion-worthy dress if only so Seokjin wouldn’t poke fun at her. It was nothing like the one she used to wear, which in Seokjin’s mind, was a positive thing. “Me simply looking at you should be breaking about twenty different angelic rules, yet here we are. Rebels.”

At this point, Seokjin is finding it a little hard to say no again.

She’s just about to pull away before Seokjin drops his hand in hers and lets her pull him onto the makeshift “dance floor”, her grin melting into something softer. He tries not to let his mind race, but this is probably the most intimate he’s ever been with another person, and he feels like this should be wrong in a more evident way. It isn’t.

He actually has fun as she begins to slow dance with him, her hand on his hip as she takes the lead. His skin is probably on fire and she’s probably internally teasing him about it, but thankfully she keeps whatever remarks she has to herself for the time being. He’s never really been one to dance, but he’d grown used to the hobby as the happiness in the household finally flourished at the death of John. Some mornings, he’d wake to Elinor singing a tune she’d heard in town and dancing this way and that as she got ready for her mornings.

He assumed Inhui would know much more about dancing, having been exposed to it more in her adventurous life. “Don’t be shy, dancing isn’t so much about doing it perfectly as it is about having fun.” She reassures him as she catches him watching his feet, looking a little upset when he trips over his own feet a few times.

He huffs, looking up at her, “Says you. You’re dancing perfectly.”

Inhui smiles endearingly at the pout on his face and pulls him a little closer, catching him off guard. He’s forced to look her in the eyes when the space between their bodies disappears. “Stop pouting, it doesn’t do that pretty face justice.” This effectively makes him soften his expression and blush.

Seokjin turns his eyes to the side instead, looking over at Elinor and Christopher. He can hardly believe she’s so big now, in love with someone and planning to start a family with them. He’s so happy she’s happy.

Inhui watches him watch her, and she hums, “You’ve done a great job, Seokjin. She’s grown into such a beautiful woman.”

Seokjin looks back at Inhui with a grateful smile, “Hasn’t she? I almost feel like her father, watching her like this… This is all I’ve ever wanted for her.” He absentmindedly squeezes Inhui’s hand in his, forgetting all about how “badly” he was dancing as he falls into a comfortable routine with the demon. “Thank you, by the way.”

Inhui’s eyebrows raise at this. “For what you did,” Seokjin continues, tone more serious, “…I don’t think she’d be here right now if it wasn’t for what you did…”

Inhui feels her heart flutter a little, and her hand on his waist squeezes there, “I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if I had to. That little girl deserved more than what she was destined for.”

The angel nods minutely, shutting his eyes for a moment as the music lulled him into a sense of calm. This, without a doubt, had to be the most content moment of his angelic life. He silently prayed that it would only continue like this. “Don’t feel bad,” Inhui murmurs, catching his attention again as his eyelashes flutter, “I know you would do whatever you could to protect whoever you could. So don’t feel like you failed her in any way, okay?”

He stares at the demon, the demon who he remembers striking fear and curiosity into his heart the first time he’d seen her. Despite being his polar opposite, she fit him so well. She held him lovingly, in a way he was told demons were incapable of, and if anyone were to rival his love for Elinor, it would be her. If it was wrong to feel this way about her, was it bad he didn’t mind?

“…I won’t. Because from now on, I will be the hero. I will protect the people I love first and foremost, even at the cost of myself.” He declares it confidently, holding Inhui a little tighter. The demon says nothing, letting Seokjin just hold her as they continued to sway to the music. Was it just the candle lights, or were her eyes sparkling?

Inhui swallows, “I believe that much, Seokjin.”

Inhui doesn’t leave Seokjin’s side the entire night, even after all the guests go home and the wedding reception draws to a close. He recalls that Jisoo had sent a gift to the happy couple, though it was marked under the name of a distant family member as to not confuse them. He also recalls that on the walk back to the old house that he had known since Elinor’s birth, through all the trials and tribulations they’d faced under that roof, he was watching a new chapter of Elinor’s life begin. The emotions were almost choking him as Inhui led him in, Minhyuk opting to stay outside to enjoy the night sky for everyone knew what was to come.

Immediately, Inhui drew Seokjin into the farthest part of the house away from the newlyweds upstairs, which just so happened to be the study Elinor had turned into her own private library. There were already a few candles lit inside, the warm summer air carrying in through the window and playing with the flames.

Seokjin let Inhui settle him down on the couch in front of the great window looking out at the starry sky. He feels her settle down close to him, her hands wrapped around his arm and her head leaning against his chest. They’d never been this touchy with each other before, and Seokjin couldn’t say it wasn’t affecting him. “I suddenly realize that the rest of our life with Elinor will be escaping to the farthest room when they’re… doing that.”

Inhui snickers, squeezing his bicep, “Having sex, you mean?” “Shh, I don’t want to think of my little Elinor- ugh, no, no, no-” “Do you need a distraction?” Inhui inquires, watching mirthfully as the angel laughs and nods his head at her, mid-hair-pull. He doesn’t realize until he’s turned his head that they’re both much closer than he had originally thought and… oh, she was quite stunning.

Carefully, she reaches her hand up to his cheek and pulls him even closer and he complies like putty in her hands, “Can I… kiss you, Seokjin? Would that be alright?”

Seokjin doesn’t know who she’s asking if it’ll be alright to, because if it’s him, then of course it is. And if it’s the Almighty, then surely she knows that answer fairly well. But right now? He doesn’t want to think about anyone else but her, so all he says is a breathy “yes” before she’s taking him in and kissing him.

Their soft, careful kisses escalate as he gets the hang of things. She goes slow, asking him if he’s alright and if he wants to stop, but he keeps telling her that everything is perfect and they fall into the very thing they were trying desperately not to think about.

It’s only when it’s all said and done, when she’s laying bare on top of him and he the same underneath her, that it settles in what has just occurred. The starry sky looks blacker than usual, and the candlelight seems dimmer. The once warm summer air turns cold and makes goosebumps rise on his skin.

Before Seokjin can succumb to the gentle lull of sleep, a deep, imposing voice shatters his peace and reverberates through his body so strongly that he fears it’ll wake the slumbering Inhui in his arms. The voice is one he hadn’t heard in a while, and the sheer power of it sends him shuddering when he realizes that everything that he’s just done was seen. All of it. Every second, and he was to pay the price.

“Seokjin,” the voice calls, fury in every syllable of his name, “guardian angel and my creation, you have committed a sin worse than any… and you shall find your punishment far worse than burning at the hands of every demon in hell."

[tessatechaitea]

A (Probably) Fictional Story

Imagine, if you will (because it's not hard. Just fucking go along with this. Stop being so stubborn), driving through the American Southwest in the 1950s. You've got the top down in your huge steel car that steers like a child's spring-loaded rocking horse and is painted the colors of a football team that hasn't won a homecoming in twenty years and whose mascot is a fish nobody has ever heard of. Don't try too hard to figure out what that reference might be because it isn't a reference. It's just a colorful turn of phrase to get your imagination going but in a way that isn't directing it too narrowly. You're free to imagine your own world, baby! Dammit. Stop interrupting. Now I need to start again. Imagine, if you will, driving through the American Southwest in the 1950s with that car and stuff. The stifling wind blows back your hair and tastes slightly of electricity and cancer. You've passed through half a dozen small two gas pump towns where old fellas greet you at the pump and their wives greet you inside at the register. Too many stray dogs to count have sniffed at the cuffs of your pants or the hem of your long skirt, depending on what you've decided to be wearing in the fantasy. Maybe you're naked. What do I care? Are you still imagining? Okay good! You're getting a bit weary from the road (unless you're just dizzy from the radiation in the atmosphere) and you see a town up ahead in the distance. It'll probably have a small motel where you can unwind by masturbating frantically in the shower as you wash the dirt of the road and the gamma rays of the air from your tangled hair. But what you don't know is that this town hides a secret. You might be too self-involved when you arrive to notice how it's different from other communities. Like antelope at a watering hole, the residents glance furtively about them without even realizing they're doing it. They're kinder than the people you've met previously who have been far kinder than the people you left behind in the big city you're imagining you came from. If you imagined you're from a smaller place, fix that! That's a part of the fantasy that you don't get to control, jerko! You pull into the motel parking lot (The Setting Sun Inn) and laugh audibly. Not the kind of laugh you'd emit upon hearing a neighbor's anecdote about somebody at work making a huge fool of themselves but a kind of relieved chuckle. So many motels along this stretch have entered the atomic age by cutely referencing the testing of nuclear weapons that it's a slight comfort to be staying in one that decided to keep the old fashioned charm of a name that represents the end of a long, weary day and the promise of a restful night's sleep. Of course you only feel that way because you don't yet know this town's secret. Perhaps you get lucky and your rest is fulfilling and peaceful. You wake, masturbate again, grab a quick breakfast at the diner across the parking lot (Also The Setting Sun but a Diner instead of an Inn. You might remember later how you thought it should be The Rising Sun Diner as you strode across the already too hot asphalt on your way to grab some hash browns and gravy), and drive out of town without ever learning why the town was different from any other town you've driven through on your journey. You eventually make it to wherever you were headed for whatever reasons spurred you on to that destiny. Hope for a better life on the West Coast? A chance at romance? Running from the bodies you buried in the crawl space under your neighbor's house. Who knows! None of that is pertinent to this fantasy. But in the end, you aren't lucky. Because if you were lucky, I would end this fantasy and you would be sitting there thinking, "What the fuck was the secret?! The secret, goddammit! What was it?! You can't end your story like that!" So even though the secret might not be pleasant and most likely will end in the death of the main character (which is you, remember), you can't bear to not know it. You would sacrifice the safety and happiness of your alternate timeline self simply to satiate your curiosity. What a fucking bastard. So instead of having a restful sleep, the clerk at the front desk grabs your wrist as she hands you the key to your room. She still smiles at you but there's an urgency in her grasp and you feel her desperate need to articulate something to this stranger who thinks they're just passing through. And, again, you might be one of those. But the clerk feels she can't take that chance. She's been complicit in the death of too many strangers who weren't let in on the town's secret. Her fingernails begin to dig into your wrist and you pull back, maybe a bit too frantically. She's caught you by surprise and your heart rate skyrockets. For the first time since you've entered this town, somebody's smile falters. Her lips tremble and her eyes go glassy and distant. "Don't stay," she croaks in a voice straining to not break into a sob. You almost bolt out of the front office but that curiosity that resides in your actual chest also lives in the chest of your alternate persona in this story. You have to know. What's going on. Why should you leave? So you ask. "Why?" But before the clerk (Ms. Waverly. Her name was Ms. Waverly. The black and gold nameplate near the little bell read Ms. Waverly) can answer, the air around her shimmers. You hear a muffled roar that seems to echo down from above as if you were at the bottom of a deep canyon and somebody was yelling from the top of the cliff's edge. The air around Ms. Waverly streaks red and black and shimmers like the air over a desert road. A blast of warm air punches your hair back and stings your face. It only takes a second or two but in the end, Ms. Waverly is gone. The shock of the incident keeps you from noticing, at least for a few seconds, an intense pain in your right foot. You were standing back on your left heel and your right foot was still stretched out ahead of you, where you were standing when Ms. Waverly grabbed your wrist. You look down and notice blood gushing out of the front of your shoe. Not the front, exactly, but what is now the front after having lost about an inch of the toe. Your big toe has been sheered in half, and maybe the tips of several others. If you hadn't fallen back violently when Ms. Waverly grabbed you, what happened to your right foot might have happened to the rest of your body. You stumble out the door away from the incomprehensibility of whatever the hell that was. You run, limping heavily, toward the diner across the parking lot where two old men sit smoking on a bench outside. Their eyes open wide with fear as you stumble toward them and they do that thing you noticed earlier...that bit where they glance back and forth quickly and tense up, like rabbits having seen the shadow of a hawk. They know you've seen it. Their secret. You don't yet understand it and maybe that's a good thing. But, once again, you have to know. What just happened in front of your eyes? What took your big toe? "Ms. Waverly!" you stammer. "She just...she...she's gone!" One old man stands up and puts an arm on your shoulder. "Come on, kid," he says, possibly saying son or daughter, depending on your vision of yourself and how you present yourself to the world. "Take a seat. You're still here, by God. You'll be okay." You slump onto the bench next to the other old timer who nervously chews on the end of an unlit cigar. "A mighty shame," he states, unemotionally and with a voice like irradiated gravel blown across the potholed asphalt of a long Southwest road. Your breaths come hard and fast and you feel like passing out. The first man, the one who stood at your approach, kneels down in front of you and begins removing your shoe. He pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wraps it around your bleeding foot. The other man pats your knee and gently takes your hand in his surprisingly smooth grip. You win the fight to stay conscious because you have to ask: "What was it? What did I see?" The old man tending to your foot looks up at you, makes eye contact, then looks over at his friend. You glance over at his friend and see him biting his lower lip, the cigar now in his free hand. He begins to speak in that voice which reminds you of a motorcycle throttling low. "Imagine, if you will, an ocean. In that ocean float millions and millions of plankton. What they know, who can say? They're just little creatures and their entire world is simply drifting en masse towards whatever destiny has in store for them. For what is an inconceivably small fraction of them, being that whales are so large and eat so many at a time, death awaits. There one moment. Peaceful, tranquil...or whatever the feeling of just being is to a goddamned plankton. And just gone the next. Imperceptible to the others, really. The whale is on a scale so large that the plankton, if they were sentient, couldn't articulate what was happening. They couldn't know the scale of the world they lived in. Imagine only knowing a world of plankton. And imagine you're the plankton at the top of the plankton food chain. What do you have to fear? You eat them little veggie bastards getting their energy from the sun. You have nothing to fear. Except...there's this thing that happens. This thing where your mates just up and disappear for no reason at all. Just huge swaths of them...gone." Your foot is throbbing but your heart has stopped racing. The old man's story has distracted you from the terrible sight you saw earlier, even as his story offers a vague kind of explanation for what you saw. He's telling you the town's secret the only way he knows how. By parable. Because what you've quickly understood from the story is that the people of the town are not, like they thought, at the top of the food chain yet have no concept of what terrible whale engulfs them one at a time. The only evidence? The occasional organic matter that comes slightly too close to the feeding but not close enough to be consumed. These men have obviously told this story before. They recognize the moment you understand what they're saying, and they grow quiet. You want to know why they don't leave. You want to know how they have survived to the age they are. You want to know how they live with this terrible knowledge that their lives aren't in any way under their own control. But what you don't want to know is the real secret they have yet to tell you. It's the secret they keep to themselves, and it's the secret they won't pass on to you as you race out of town in the middle of the night. Why burden a stranger passing through with the truth, one of them will say to the other long after you've fled. Why let them know that this creature...these creatures, for surely the laws of nature work the same on whatever plane this predator exists...doesn't merely hunt in this one small irradiated town in the American Southwest. They feed across the world. The old man with the cigar pulls another from his shirt pocket as he watches the dust roil around your car as you back out of the parking lot across the way. He hands it to his friend and they light their cigars together as they watch your taillights disappear down the perfectly straight highway that connects their little town to the rest of the world. They inhale deeply and, as they do, they shift their glances quickly to the right and to the left, unconsciously, and constantly, keeping an eye out for something they'll almost certainly never see coming.