#and the way she looks visibly WOUNDED and almost recoils from him the first time she says ‘fuck you’

[thealdersgateoffice]

Jackson Lamb tells Catherine Standish (some of) the truth about Charles Partner.

Slow Horses | 3.06 Footprints 🐌🐎

[marunashi]

Chapter two, Marou.

The discovery of Marou was almost a miracle in itself.

Lila had been the first to hear the cries, faint but desperate, drifting from the edge of chapel’s garden. She and a few others had followed the sound, braving the dense fog of the winter forest until they found her: a young girl no older than ten, crumpled at the base of a ravine. Her leg was a mangled ruin, the bone jutting through the skin, white and gleaming in the moonlight.

"She's still breathing," Lila whispered, before rushing to free the struggling child.

When they brought her to the chapel, Arsène stood over her, his expression unreadable. The child was pale, her breaths shallow, but she clung to life with a stubbornness that intrigued him.

"She'll need time," he said, taking care of her wounds.

Marou's recovery was rapid and remarkable. The fever that threatened to take her never fully set in, and within hours, the raw wound on her leg began to mend in ways that baffled even Arsène.

"It doesn't make sense," Lila murmured to Arsène one evening, as she rewrapped the girl's bandages. "The bone... it's like it's shifting, realigning itself in a few hours without any help. I've never seen anything like it."

Arsène crouched beside Marou, watching her sleep. Her thin frame looked impossibly fragile, but there was something unnatural about her resilience, something otherworldly.

The first time it happened, it was during an ordinary check of her injuries.

Marou had woken groggy but lucid, and when Arsène questioned her, she spoke of little more than vague memories of running, falling, and the pain that followed. But as Lila removed the splint from her leg, they both froze. The bone beneath the skin shifted visibly, snapping into place with a crack that made Lila recoil. Marou whimpered slightly in pain.

"What was that?" Arsène asked sharply, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't know," Marou said, her voice barely a whisper. "I-I just think about getting my bones like normal and it does it on its own."

Over the next few days, Marou's ability became impossible to ignore. The fracture healed at an unnatural rate, and Arsène began to test the limits of her strange gift. He noticed how she could manipulate her body in subtle ways: she sometimes felt incredibly light and other times so heavy when she didn’t want anyone to lift her up. Like even the density of her bones could shift according to her own will.

Marou's abilities fascinated him. No, more than that-they obsessed him.

"She's a sign," Arsène told Lila one evening, his voice low but fervent. "The world has cursed us with corruption, with chaos, but now it's sent us something pure. Someone meant to help us set things right."

Lila frowned, his overly enthusiastic behavior throwing her off "She's just a girl, Arsène.

She's been through enough without you treating her like some divine relic."

"You don't understand," Arsène snapped, his eyes flashing. "Her body is a miracle. Don't you see? Her bones... they could change everything. Imagine what we could do if we understood her gift."

"You mean if you understood it," Lila shot back, her tone sharper now. "She's not a tool, Arsène, she’s a child."

Arsène’s gaze snapped back to the woman, his cold eyes contrasting his previous excitement.

The first test was subtle. Arsène “accidentally” dropped a heavy wooden pillar on Marou to demonstrate her abilities by shifting her wrist into a twisted configuration so she can heal again under his curious eyes. She cried out in pain, but it worked either way. The exposed bone shifted back to place, only leaving an open wound.

But as the days turned into weeks, Arsène's fascination grew darker. He began to speak of her bones not just as a gift but as artifacts of divinity, fragments of something greater.

"They could heal the sick," he told the others. "Strengthen the weak. Perhaps even protect us from the corruption outside these woods. Marou's body isn't just a gift-it's a responsibility. One we must not squander. She can shift them, control their volume and density, she can definitely provide some extra for us to save the people."

Marou, eager to stay in the community that had saved her, didn't argue when Arsène asked to study her more closely. But the tests became more invasive, more grueling.

Arsène collected blood samples, pressed on joints until they popped out of place, and didn’t stop until her screams of pain and agony made her pass out. When Marou's arm was fractured during an “unfortunate accident”

—he kept the bone shard that had pierced her skin.

"It's divine," he murmured to himself, holding the fragment up to the light.

"Proof of something greater."

The fracture incident was a turning point. Arsène began to use Marou's abilities as a justification for his growing obsession with control. He crafted necklaces from her discarded bone fragments, calling them protective charms. He began to speak to the community of Marou not as a person but as a vessel of divine will, a sacred being sent to cleanse the people.

Lila’s expression hardened at Arsène’s cold declaration. She could barely contain the disgust boiling in her chest.

“She’s a child, Arsène!” she hissed. “You’re hurting her—using her!!!”

Arsène’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. He stepped closer, looming over Lila, his presence heavy and menacing in the dim light of the chapel. “Mind your tone, Lila,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “You forget who saved you and offered you the life you live.”

“Saved me?” Lila scoffed bitterly, though her voice shook. “You’ve turned this place into a cage, and now you’re turning that poor girl into—”

“Enough,” Arsène barked, his voice reverberating through the chapel. The sudden force of it made Lila flinch, but she held her ground.

“She needs to be protected,” Lila insisted, her voice rising. “Not from the outside world, but from you.”

In an instant, Arsène’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with enough force to make her gasp. He leaned in close, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You think I don’t know what’s best for this community? For her? Everything I’ve done has been for their sake—for your sake. And you stand there and question me?”

“She’s suffering, Arsène,” Lila spat, though her voice trembled. “You’re breaking her spirit and body, piece by piece. And if you keep going, there won’t be anything left.”

Arsène’s grip tightened, and his other hand came up to seize her by the throat. For a moment, he looked like he might kill her, his face twisted with fury. But then he stopped, drawing a long breath, and the anger in his eyes shifted to something colder, more calculating.

He leaned so he could whisper in her ear “You’ve always been loyal, Lila,” he said quietly, his grip still firm. “And I’ve respected you for it. But loyalty doesn’t mean you get to be treated differently.”

“Arsène—”

“If you can’t see the bigger picture,” he interrupted, “then you have no place questioning my decisions. And certainly no place here among us”

Lila’s eyes burned with tears of frustration, but she refused to let them fall. “If you keep this up, you’ll destroy her. And you’ll destroy everything you’ve built here.”

Arsène released her abruptly, his expression hard. “Leave,” he said, his voice cutting.

“Go back to where you came from. I don’t want to see you near the chapel or near Marou until you’ve remembered your place.”

Lila stared at him, her heart pounding with equal parts fury and fear. For a moment, she considered defying him, screaming for the rest of the community to hear. But then she saw the look in his eyes—cold, unyielding, and utterly convinced of his own righteousness. She realized he would not hesitate to banish her. Or worse.

Wordlessly, she turned and walked out of the chapel. Arsène watched her go, his jaw tight, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he exhaled slowly, his hands trembling faintly at his sides.

That night, Lila sat alone in the forest, staring at the moonlight peering through the leaves of the trees. Her mind raced with thoughts of Marou, of the community, and of Arsène. She had followed him for years, believing in his vision of a sanctuary for the outcasts and the broken. But now…

Now she was alone, Going back to the city stifling the burning desire to help the child,

But if Arsène would silence her so easily, how could she hope to stop him?

Meanwhile, Arsène sat in the chapel, cradling the shard of Marou’s bone in his hands. The pale fragment gleamed in the candlelight, and he traced its edges with a reverence that bordered on obsession.

“They’ll understand,” he whispered to himself. “In time, they’ll all understand.”

He crushed the thought as quickly as it came. Doubt was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

[veritasumbra]

mor loosens her grip onto his collar as she registers what eris is saying. he had never wanted her at all. ever. not even before her indiscretion. he would’ve probably found a way around the engagement, if she hadn’t acted first and lost her virginity in that illyrian camp. he’d been pretending all along. he didn’t care she hadn’t respected their engagement. but he had to pretend to. to survive. and he’d made a show of punishing her by leaving her to die in those woods. this had been a masquerade. for survival. she also did what she needed to do to survive but, unlike him, buying her freedom hadn’t almost cost a life — other than her own, that is. a single thought echoes in her mind. she'd been through all of this for nothing. she endured it all for nothing! he could’ve told his father he didn’t want her from the start, could’ve said he didn’t like how she looked or whatever else a spoiled prince could come up with! he could’ve perhaps bought himself time before an eventual marriage. his words bring her no peace. it twists the knife in a centuries old wound that never fully healed.

azriel is boiling. it is not the cold anger he’s used to. and these two aren’t helping. the room is filled with tension. centuries of pretenses and buried secrets. a game where each pretends they made it out unscarred. that the memories of that fateful day don't haunt them at night. mor has waited for so long to get some answers. but none of eris’ words appeases her in any way. and azriel can feel it. and instead of breaking down, she clings to that rage that makes her eyes simmer. 

mor won’t break. not here. not now. not in front of him. she won’t give eris that satisfaction. ever. she holds onto her armor. to the burning, divine wrath. her grip on eris tightens once more as she slams him onto his seat. ❛ do you wanna experience the so-called kindness you did us, eris vanserra? ❜ the voice is low, soft, dangerous –it doesn’t quite sound like mor anymore– as a nail, like a sharp talon, traces his jaw. ❛ your father is already looking for an excuse to descend upon night. might as well give him one, don’t you think? ❜ a cruel grin paints the lips. the smile of someone unbothered by consequences and bloodshed. perhaps someone who even revels in war and death. ❛ let’s see how well you fare without your precious royal blood, princling. ❜ the talon rips eris cheek and some ancient magic makes him choke on the life coursing through his veins until he has to cough it up to breathe. 

azriel knows. he knows that if he doesn’t stop her, she will unleash the morrigan upon him. some part of him wants to let her do it. but then, he thinks of the repercussions. thinks of the war that might ensue between autumn and night. of what it might mean for his family, for his high lord and high lady’s unborn child. his fingers tentatively reach for mor’s shoulder and stumbles back when he feels the burn on his fingertips. without a second thought, he drops the shadows around him that recoiled at the touch, making himself visible to all, and braces himself as he grabs her shoulders and yanks her away from her prey, breaking whatever spell mor had managed to cast upon the prince, then stands between the two, truth-teller in hand. what he sees in her eyes sends a shiver down his spine. this isn’t her. whatever— whoever this is—— this isn’t his mor. people were wrong to think illyrians were the ones to be feared in their circle. last time he’d seen her close to this state, she’d slaughtered hybern soldiers that had forced themselves upon the priestesses in Sangrava. ❛ Mor..? ❜ he’s uncertain and that’s unusual of the shadowsinger. enough to be a cause for concern, just in case the blood magic wasn’t enough to raise the alarm. he keeps his defensive stance, his body the shield between the autumn prince and whoever took over his beloved friend’s psyche. he’d never stood that close to eris but, right now, he doesn’t have a choice. he may as well be the reason eris vanserra will make it out of this war room alive.

the anger pooling in her gaze is molten gold, and when she grasps the edge of his collar, embroidered in intricate golden leaves, he has no choice but to look at her, a scowl etched into his features. his indignation is the remnant of a doused forest fire, the curling of smoke into the air, a subdued wrath that he bites behind his teeth, truth spilling from his tongue with none of his usual honeyed affronts. her taunt prompts a huff from him, an arched brow as her eyes waver from him and toward the darkness. ❝ keir promised autumn a bride and she arrived sullied by a lesser fae. you think my words harsh, but my father's cruelty would have been tenfold. you cost him that alliance. ❞ he says, his voice low as he strains to keep the frustration out of it.

opening that worn, old box of memories, the details of the day come to eris in disembodied remnants. sentimentality is a weakness he cannot afford in his position, and on most days, he does not spare valuable time for ruminations and regrets — a tale told cannot be rewritten, dwelling on the past is a fruitless, barren endeavour, of which no utility may be harvested. he looks at her now as she sways above him, noble and imposing in her stance, a reputation behind herself, and remembers the girl strewn amidst yellow and orange leaves turning red below her, flesh drenched in blood, nailed to the ground. helping her had not been an option, for a plethora of reasons, but he'd spent a few nights after that thinking back on the moment; so near the brink of death she had been, he could have ended the ordeal with a simple dagger, yet he hadn't. he could have called for her companions at night, yet he hadn't. but he had been young, too, and he'd done what he'd thought best. for both of them.

❝ if my guards or i had touched you, you would have belonged to my court, as my bride or as my hostage. i would not have subjected you to that. ❞ beron had wanted her dead, and so had the court of nightmares, her own family. eris had stood over her, turning that possibility over in his head, but for all his cruelty, he had not been able to kill her. he wonders, as his flaming gaze meets hers, if that hesitation had been born of sympathy or dismay.

❝ i did not want that engagement any more than you did. ❞ the prince affirms, finally. there is no more circumvention he can employ, and his duplicity is rendered useless. he wishes he could reveal some grand scheme, a clever ploy. he wishes he were as brutal as they all think him to be, and he wants to give her a better reason behind his actions, if only to affirm his own reputation and standing, but the simple truth of it is that he had been young, and afraid, and he had not wanted to marry her, or any female his father would have found for him. he had not wanted to look at his bride and see his mother, trapped at the forest house, forced to bear a marriage contract as if it were shackles, ❝ i made the most of your liaison and bought my own freedom, too. ❞ he manages to curl his mouth into a forced grin, teeth gleaming, ❝ no offence, morrigan, but i never had a taste for blondes. ❞

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Conference Tip-Off: Keigo “Hawks” Takami x Fem!Reader

F!Reader x Various series; pronouns are “She/Her”; Quirk: “Daze”: meaning that you can create almost tangible illusions so long as those caught within your range were tired enough (like those halfway dreams that you’re aware of what’s going on but at the same time not). Hero Name: Night Owl. Age: All characters are 18+

Warnings: Fluff, language, artillery, dark themes, adult content: nudity.

Prelude: You’ve been working yourself harder in preparation for the upcoming hero conferences and you are head of the business charged with organization. The conference went off with great success, leading to multiple agencies signing private contracts with your business in hopes that their future events will be as well. You received a tip that someone is out to sabotage your conference and decide to take matters into your own hands.

Your gaze flittered across the seemingly endless sea of guests, carefully checking over each person quickly for any signs of injury or panic as the small group of villains who had slipped past security took to the nearby stage to gain all person’s attention. From the corner of your eye there was a flash of light followed by several others, most likely the media was eating this up like hogs at a potluck, but you ignored them when the sound of weapons being fired caused the air to fall deathly still. A sigh slipped from between your lips when glancing at the nearby clock tower just barely visible through the nearby window that stretched from the floor to ceiling. The event should have ended hours ago and yet here you were, wearing that loathsome dress that had been hanging in your closet practically begging to be worn that showcased every single curve due to the fact it fit you tighter than a latex suit but it was the only thing you had since you’d been too busy with preparations to properly shop for attire, and felt a twitch settle in in your left eye when feeling the lightest of brushes against your outer thigh.

“Hey, now, look what we have here.” Hot breaths wafted down on you from above that were courtesy of a villain that you’d never seen before yet you remained outwardly stoic even when a long wet appendage appeared within your line of sight. “Damn, boss, this one looks tasty in more ways than one. Let me have a taste?”

The people who had been around you instantly retreated as what you could only assume to be a tentacle snagged your wrists and used them to toss you towards the stage. A telltale crack sounded as you landed to the best of your ability, signifying that a heel had given out completely, and found yourself being roughly forced to your feet by a hand buried in your hair. Bobby pins and decorative clips clattered the floor when the rough fingers caused your hair to tumble out of its confinement to pool down your back in gentle waves. “I take it you’re (L/N), yeah? You’re prettier than all those pictures in them fancy magazines and articles.” Bile rose in the back of your throat when the person who held you lifted you off your feet to dangle like a doll, their heavily shadowed gaze tracing over every inch of your body and leaving you feel disgusted when their Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow.

“Why are you here? There’s nothing for you to gain by interrupting this conference and honestly how stupid can you be when several of the guests are heroes?” You couldn’t help but scoff as those in question approached the stage while a few broke off from the crowd to handle the villains who were near the exits. “Seriously, the only thing you’re going to manage tonight is making yourselves look like idiots.”

“Ouch, that really hurt,” the villain recoiled slightly as if you’d physically wounded him, a hand rising to clutch at his chest before it extended towards you, “but let’s see how long that pride and bravado of yours lasts without that dress.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as they hesitated. “Oh, wow, let me guess, this is your first time doing this?” Anger shone brightly in their gaze but you ignored it and wiggled your fingers. “If you release me I’ll do it for you since you have no balls to do it yourself.”

A collective gasp rose from those who witnessed yet you could have sworn that somewhere you’d heard a laugh; one that was all too familiar and made your chest warm. So he was here after all, you guessed that your contact had eventually told him of your plan despite you making him swear to not, and though you were upset that the winged hero had been giving you radio silence for a whole month it was still nice to hear he was at least alive. Knowing he was here gave your spine a tingle but you ignored it to better focus your quirk in time to cause the crowd to lower themselves to the floor in submission. The longer those villains thought this was all real the better and it looked like the sedatives that you’d placed in the food was beginning to work judging from how they were alternatively hiding yawns and shaking themselves as if trying to stay awake.

“Eyes forward, princess, it’s rude not to tend to your guest.”

Except for this one. You hadn’t seen him take a single bite or drink yet, meaning that he may not be as susceptible to your quirk as the rest. No matter though. There were other ways of dealing with the situation at hand.

“Ugh, seriously? You couldn’t come up with anything better than ‘princess’?” It honestly had slipped out before you’d noticed, the retort at the lackluster pet name, and the resulting knee that impacted your middle that made your vision swim was nearly caused your concentration to slip. A cough caused saliva to spill from between your glossy lips but you didn’t let your outer appearance waiver. The hand in your hair straightened you with a rough shake as the same wet appendage moved to cup your chin. “Touch me anymore and I swear that it’ll be the last thing you do,” you growled in warning when feeling a certain gaze from somewhere, invisible flames licking their way through the air that spoke of hidden anger, but your own was far more dangerous right now.

It’s been weeks since a certain feathered hero had been home, meaning that you’d been coming home to an empty nest for way too many nights. The large bed all to yourself had been nice and not having to prepare more food for an extra mouth surprisingly made your meal prep easier, yet the loneliness that had accompanied the silence had caused your nerves to become slightly frayed. This was the longest you’d gone without that feather for brains hero and it had somehow unlocked a new ability for your quirk that allowed for a farther span of possibilities. You’d been restricted to nothing out of the ordinary, mild environment changes or extra people, but now you could conjure up things worthy of nightmares that could haunt someone.

All that training of honing your newfound ability may just be put to the test if they decided to proceed with their initial course of action. “Trust me, do that again and you just might meet your maker.”

Their face appeared inches from your own, wafting you with their sickeningly sweet breath that reeked of mints and tobacco. “This princess has quite an attitude.” Your skin prickled at the underlying growl within their tone when they roughly pinned you against the stage’s backdrop with a shove. There was a dark glint within their gaze as it darted across your being once more, the heart in your chest hammering faster and louder as the lesser villains that were part of their group began to snicker. “Thankfully I know just how to deal with pompous stuck up snobs just like yourself.”

A crimson blade appeared against their neck as the wet appendage made to shift your dress’s skirt to the side so that the underlying thigh was accessible. “I think you’ve picked on the kid long enough.”

From the small group of villains rose a chorus of exclamations as the crowd rippled then vanished as you disengaged your quirk with drawn out exhale, unable to help but smirk as the one still holding you stared with wide eyes. “Y-you’re really stupider than you look. Of course this wasn’t the actual location of the conference, idiot, its long since over but we caught wind that your little gang were planning on making an appearance so we decided to throw a party anyway.” The unbroken heel of your shoe met the top of their foot, earning a yelp and sudden release, the palm of your hand lashing out but instead of a slap you patted their cheek as if they were a child.

Amber readily met your gaze, silently asking if you were alright with a slight dilation of their pupils to which you gave the briefest of nods while raising a hand to lightly brush your fingertips against the hidden feather that was tucked within the dress, and winked while being led away by one of the heroes who hadn’t been apart of your mirage. “You and I are going to have a nice long chat,” you heard him tell the villain once they had turned around to see just who was standing there and internally relishing as the feather in your possession grew warm.

He was definitely going to rip into that poor unsuspecting villain.

You almost felt sorry for them until they began screaming vanities at your retreating form and gratefully slipped within the awaiting car that would take you home. The cell was retrieved from between your cleavage, you gotta love that secret little storage space sometimes, and with a few presses of buttons raised it to your ear in wait for the ringing to connect. Rain lightly pattered against the windows as the car began moving through the dark silent streets, your gaze rising to the black sky as the driver asked if you wanted to stop by somewhere for food fist. “No, straight home, please. If I eat anything now I’ll just be up all night and I know a certain someone would not be happy with that.”

They chuckled. “That would probably be wise, miss. Nonetheless I shall return you home shortly.”

“Thank you.” Your brows rose as the line finally connected. “Took you long enough. Looks like you were right. How’d things on your end go?”

“Nearly bored me to death.”

“Aw, poor baby,” your tongue clicked in mock sympathy, earning a chuckle from the voice on the other end, “thanks for keeping an eye on the actual conference when I left.”

“Bird Boy’s back in town now, Night Owl, go get some sleep already.” And the line went dead.

Before you’d realized it the car had come to a stop during the short conversation and the door was open on your right with a hand waiting to assist in helping you step out. Your fingers lightly rested against the driver’s larger while accepting their assistance, flashing an appreciative smile as they shielded you from the now pouring rain with an umbrella, and bowed your head in gratitude when they had successfully escorted you to the front door where you slipped inside.

Darkness and silence once again greeted you as the door was closed with a swing of your leg. This was your home and there was nothing that could touch you here as you quickly shed the ruined pair of heels next to the door with kicks. Slender fingers rose to work out the knots that had appeared thanks to the villain, softly cursing underneath your breath as you made your way upstairs to the master suite where the trusty detangeler brush and spray would be found. A frustrated huff rose up your throat when flipping the light that blinded you for a moment and sighed when it instantly disappeared so that you were surrounded by darkness once more. “That was fast even for you,” you softly hummed when hands appeared as if from nowhere to gently untangle the mess that was your hair as something wet was spritzed then they disappeared to be replaced by things much slimmer, “but I’m glad.”

Lips descended upon the junction that was your neck and shoulder. “As if I could focus on anything else when knowing you’d be here, alone, and wearing that just rubs salt on the wound too.” Something warm and wet darted out to lightly caress the pulse in your neck. “You have no idea how much I’ve fucking missed you, kid…”

More soft hums rose up your throat as what you recognized as feathers carefully worked out the knots as his hands drifted down to find the one of cloth sitting behind your neck then fell to rest in the curves of your waist as the dress pooled around your feet. The gloves were gone, allowing the pads of his fingers to caress your skin freely as the chill that should have invaded your being at the loss of clothing was stemmed off by a pair of large red wings that wrapped around you from behind.

“You did so good…” a kiss was placed against your skin, “…so damn proud of you…” he sighed against your skin while pressing an open mouthed kiss, “…such a strong one you are…” his lips trailed up towards the sensitive shell that was your ear as one hand rested against your stomach that earned a grunt from you. “I wanted to tear that villain apart when I saw him hit you. Would’ve if the others hadn’t been there.”

“You know it takes more than that to get me down.” You purred lowly while turning in his embrace so that he was forced to walk backwards until the bed met the backs of his legs and stared down at him as he landed with a light impact upon the duvet, amber eyes shining like twin embers still lingering with suppressed anger. A tremor wracked across his being when your fingers rose to tail a nail down the length of the feather resting between your breasts, brows rising when he snatched your wrist and in the blink of an eye you found yourself being pinned to the bed with him above you, wings now visibly poofed thanks to the flickering lightning outside that was courtesy of the thunderstorm growing in strength.

His nose trailed along the length of your own as the heat his body radiated caused your own to unconsciously seek it out by arching until your bare front brushed against his, a sigh sounded as instead of clothing you found his torso bare, nibbling your lips in slight excitement when the anger within his gaze turned into something more exotic. “Don’t think you’re gonna get away with the little stunt you pulled earlier, I know all about how you roped Dabi into helping you with the conference and making sure that those villains went after the right venue.” Teeth grazed across your throat as he growled lowly. “Naughty little baby bird was also working much later than she said all those times I called to check on you.”

Heat erupted within your veins as the softness of his feathers teased you but you hadn’t been the only one keeping secrets this last month and you definitely weren’t about to let him off without proper punishment. “Says the one who went overseas without telling me.” A smirk raised your lips as with a twist of your being caused him to become the one on bottom, with you straddling his hips, eliciting a deep throated groan from him as you swayed your hips. “I’d say the naughtiest person here is you, Keigo, and I want to hear an apology.”

A scoff sounded from the pro hero beneath you. “Baby bird is going to have—agh!”

The smirk raising your lips grew as his retort was lost thanks to the fact that your hands had descended upon his wings where they trailed from the joints all the way down to the farthest tips that left him in a whimpering mass of putty for you to mold however you wish. “You’re going to be a good boy and take your punishment for leaving me in the dark the whole month you were gone.” Your nails lightly drug across the feathers that were longest when he didn’t respond. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” he croaked with a voice so raw that your core warmed with anticipation when feeling a hardness grow beneath you, “I-I’ll be a good boy—”

Your hand rising to lightly take hold of his throat caused words to dissolve into a wanton moan. “That’s right, be good for mommy and take your punishment like a big boy.”

[bluexiao]

if your requests are open i have a scenario im currently brainrotting about

basically reader encounters their obsessive ex who had stalked them all throughout teyvat with the urge of ending them, of course the reader fights back but almost got defeated not until their current s/o came into the scene.

i'd like this with diluc & keqing please!

Defending you against an ex

➜ Character/s: diluc; reader; keqing (separate)

➜ Word count: 960 words

➜ Warning/s: mentions of ending a life. mentions of violence but i made this pretty vague enough to hopefully not trigger anyone.

➜ Note/s: this took long for me to write aaa i was busy with schoolwork the whole day so i’m late today oof. anywayy thanks for the request! was kind of intrigued writing this one since i’ve been building keqing lately hehe. hopefully i was able to fulfill your brainrot haha. feel free to send requests! they’re still open~

DILUC was instantly by your side, eyes trailing over your state before he quickly glares at the person in front of the both of you. He doesn’t know this person, nor does he ever want to, not when he could see the bruises and wounds that were inflicted on your skin and the look of fear that despite of having to keep it well, was still obvious on the way your hands and whole body shook, even until now when he was clearly already there to protect you at all costs.

So even if he doesn’t know the real context of why this is happening and who this person is, he was already in a fighting stance, ready to plummet them any time they strike again. Fortunately and knowingly, he was faster than the other person, being able to discard their weapon away before he could even raise it, pinning them down to the ground with all of his strength. He doesn’t even have to use his vision in order to do so honestly.

“Who are they, Y/n? Why are they trying to attack you?” he’d question, confused as to why this person seemed to hold an anger that could have been from a grudge towards you, and even if he’d want to beat this person up, he’d of course want to know if it is worth even saving the time to do so.

When he heard your answer that the person was an ex of yours and that they were trying to kill you for leaving them, there was a fiery anger that surged in his chest that made him want to beat the person up. However, he holds it in and there was a menacing aura that surrounded him as he let out a scoff.

“If you have nothing else better to do, better I give you off to the Knights of Favonius then. Surely you’d enjoy rotting in jail rather than running around, thinking of taking a life in your own hands. Pathetic.”

basically, Diluc is the type to want to “protect” and as his s/o, you’d be at his highest priority. He’s basically the knight in shining armor, except he’s not wearing armor and he’s not a knight anymore.

Would be too concerned of you but he wouldn’t pry too much. Still, he’s very worried and confused how a sweet person like you would have someone come after you.

He’d be now making sure no one is going to do the same thing again and would always keep an eye out for anyone who would dare hurt you.

KEQING came at the speed of light, her sword clashing with the person’s own weapon, instantly shielding you from the other’s point of view.

“Who are you and why have you come here? Why are you pointing a weapon towards Y/n? I am a Yuheng from the Liyue Qixing, surely we can talk about this and-” when the person launched forward, not paying any mind to her words, you immediately recoil back in fear as Keqing stood her ground, defending with a confident stature much more than you’ve ever seen her.

“You don’t want to talk then? Fine. If you want to fight, make sure you won’t regret it.”

She would actually beat up the person whilst using her vision to basically be able to tire the person out. If she finds out they’re your ex in the middle of this fight, there would be a slight change in her demeanor. At first, she’d try to interrogate them but as soon as she hears the truth, she just turns silent, almost like she had lost all mercy to this person and just wants to beat them as soon as possible.

And once she did, she’d look down at them, chin up and glaring eyes.

“As much as I hate giving word to the Milellith to send someone to prison, I’d have to give an exception to you. You seemed to have bad intentions to Y/n and as her companion, I wouldn’t want that.”

Once she was sure that your ex was truly restrained, that’s when she’ll turn to look at you and check if you have any major injuries. She was sure she didn’t take long to take the person down but she was really worried you took serious blows before she can even turn her attention to you. Thankfully though, you didn’t and that’s when her shoulders would visibly ease up, a breath of relief escaping her lips.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt much. Don’t worry about them now, alright? You’d be asked by the Milellith later on who they are but for now, let me get you a doctor to check you thoroughly. You’re safe now, I’m here.”

With her background, Keqing is authoritative. She’s actually quite used at these confrontations, making sure to tackle the problem first before repairing what needs to be repaired. She might seem uncaring at first, but she’d be tense the whole encounter, worrying at the back of her head about your current situation.

But still, she’d first do her duty to bring the person down before actually taking a good look on you.

She’s going to be really caring after that, staying by your side the whole time, trying to ask gently how this came to be. She wouldn’t push you to tell the whole story but she’s just worried okay… she wants to know what you guys should look out for

I think she’d probably even ask the Milellith to always look out for you, especially at times when she wouldn’t be there for you. She trusts in them but of course it’s still better when she’s there to protect you as much as she can.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

no bc imagine telling bakugou a deez nuts joke 😭😭

um @sparklygardenhumanoidbandit bESTIE- BESTIE. THIS IS THE SINGLE FUNNIEST ASK ANYONE HAS EVER SENT ME

and like, yes, telling him a deez nuts joke would be soooo funny, but u know what’s funnier???

picture this: he’s doing a fan event for the first time ever. bakugou obvi hates the idea entirely and isn’t looking forward to any of it, but the part he’s most dreading is doing a panel. he hates the idea of sitting and listening to a bunch of invasive questions, and then having to answer almost all of those questions purely for the sake of politeness. its hell to him. it just is. so imagine just how tightly he’s wound sitting up there on that stage, waiting for the first fan to come to the mic

a girl walks up. she’s probably like 12/13 and clearly wearing deku merch. (because u can’t tell me deku fans wouldn’t fight with bakugou fans, and wouldn’t then take that warfare directly to the source. they would, they’re teenage girls, they’re stronger than any US marine)

so anyway, she walks up, tiny hands on the mic, and bakugou’s eye is already twitching at her shirt. but he doesn’t say anything. she takes a folded up piece of paper from her pocket, pretending to read off of it

and she goes

“Hi Mr. Dynamight. I want to thank you for keeping our country safe. I know it is a very hard job and it’s important to thank those who work hard for us. So thank you. But, i do have a few questions about the way you treat people. Someone in particular named-“

and he knows what’s coming. Goddammit she’s gonna ask about stupid Deku He seethes. Knew this would fuckin’ come up.

“Named Kandice. I want to talk about Kandice.”

And he visibly recoils. scrunches his nose up, confused and looks over to his PR person who also looks bewildered but nods at him to go ahead and try to answer to the best of his ability

“I don’t know who you’re- Who the hell’s Kandice?” He asks into the mic.

and thats all it takes. its over. he’s lost.

Afterwards, #Kandicegate and #RIPDynamight trend for two weeks, and Bakugou doesn’t hold another fan event for 3 entire years. the girl becomes an instant internet celebrity and changes her bio to “Me- 1, Dynamight- 0. anyways vote @ProHeroDeku for #1 💞💞”.

[graaythekwami]

Adrino 10 with 18! I’ve never seen you take Drabble prompts before so I’m excited

Adrino 10 - After a near-death experience 18 - “I promise I’ll always be there for you. No matter what. You’re not alone anymore.”

CW: Implied child abuse, mild blood.

This turned out to be more Ninoir than Adrino I hope that’s okay.

-------

Nino woke up to the sound of a thump outside his window.

He sat straight up, a hand fumbling for his glasses as he tried to take in the dark room. A moment later his glasses were on along with his lamp, his eyes flickering towards the window. A large black shape huddled on the small ledge, bright green eyes glowing in the night.

For anyone else it might have been a frightening sight, but for Parisians they knew that those eyes belonged to their hero, Chat Noir. Nino was out of bed in an instant, wondering if there was an akuma about and Carapace was needed. He didn’t hesitate in opening the window, allowing the hero to come in.

Except for Chat Noir didn’t crawl inside, instead the boy collapsed into his room, huddled into a small ball. Nino’s eyes widened as he took in the hero’s shaking form, immediately falling to his knees, hands held out, but he didn’t dare touch him.

Because Chat was writhing in pain.

“Chat Noir?” Nino breathed in horror, and he flinched. “Chat Noir, are... are you–?” He didn’t finish the question, because that was the stupidest thing he could ask. “I... I’ll try to find Ladybug, dude, don’t worry, wait right here–“

Finding a hero wasn’t easy, but Alya was his best friend, and Alya had the Ladyblog. That was their best hope, his only choice–

“N-no,” Chat Noir croaked, speaking for the first time. “N-no, please, you can’t tell her, you can’t–”

Nino moved closer to the hero, hesitantly laying a hand on his shoulder. Chat Noir recoiled, before pressing into the touch. Nino’s stomach churned, looking at the bruises that were visible on the hero’s skin, flecks of... was that blood? Nino had thought the magic protected the heroes from such wounds–

Unless he had gotten hurt before transforming.

“You can’t tell her,” Chat Noir continued, words almost mere rambles. “It’s my fault, I was the blind one, I have to stop him, she can’t get hurt, no one else can get hurt, I just need a place to rest, please, I’ll leave s-soon, please–“

Tears were pouring from Chat Noir’s eyes, and Nino carefully pulled the hero up into his lap. The more he looked at him the sicker he felt, because these weren’t minor injuries. 

“What happened?” Nino whispered.

Chat Noir coughed. “F- f- fa– H-hawk Moth.”

A beeping filled the room, and Nino held Chat Noir closer. He had no idea why Chat Noir had come to him, nor why he was refusing to go to Ladybug, but if Hawk Moth had done this...

“I’m going to get you help,” Nino promised. “And I’ll find Ladybug, everything will be okay, I promise–“

More beeping. “N-no,” Chat whispered. “Y-you don’t understand, this is all my fault– he was under my nose the whole time– and I d-didn’t notice– she doesn’t deserve–”

A final beep filled the room, and suddenly a flash of green light blinded Nino. He clutched Chat Noir as his transformation fell, knowing deep down that he needed to turn away... but in the moment the thought didn’t even cross his mind. He just held the hero, watching as the green glow gave way to a very familiar face, green eyes looking up at him with nothing but guilt.

“Adrien,” Nino breathed, horror rushing through him. No longer sheltered by the suit, he could see the full extent of his wounds. Tears stung Nino’s eyes, and holding back a sob he brought Adrien into a gentle embrace.

“It’s F-father,” Adrien whispered, trembling. “He’s- he’s Hawk Moth. Th-this whole time, and I didn’t notice– he found out first–“

Hawk Moth was Adrien’s father. Hawk Moth had done this to him. Adrien’s own father had done this to him.

Anger pulsed through Nino, hot and burning, just like the tears that fell down his face. In the moment all he saw was red, cradling Adrien close, knowing that he couldn’t let go.

“D-do you see now?” Adrien whispered, crying himself. “Th-this is all my fault. Hawk Moth was right in front of me the whole time. If I wasn’t so b-blind I could have stopped him sooner, but I didn’t, you can’t t-tell Ladybug, I have to do this on my own–“

“No,” Nino hissed, and Adrien flinched in his arms. “You are not doing this on your own!”

“B-but–!”

“This is not something you have to carry alone!” Nino said, voice cracking. “And... and I’m sorry for not realizing what danger you were in. I always hated that man, but I never thought... I didn’t...”

Nino closed his eyes, and gently pressed a kiss to the top of Adrien’s forehead.

“I promise I’ll always be there for you. No matter what. You’re not alone anymore,” Nino promised. “I’m going to find Ladybug, and she’s going to heal you... and then all of us together will stop Hawk Moth. You will never have to be near that man again.”

Adrien didn’t say a word, just burying his face into Nino’s shirt, and cried.

Nino would bring Ladybug here as quickly as possible, heal these horrible wounds that had been inflicted onto him... and he would demand that the Turtle Miraculous was brought as well. He would not sit by.

And Gabriel Agreste would learn not to mess with the one Protection loved.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

“Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great.” 11 with lewthur but with caretaker Arthur again bc it’s my favorite okay

HELL YEAH (source)

(context: instead of dying in the cave, lewis was “saved” and taken hostage by the station people, who also found reverb trapped in the arm. and they wiped vivi’s memories. juuust to be thorough)

Arthur never really expected to find Lewis anywhere they went – not after the first few times, it was just setting himself up for disappointment – but if he'd thought about it, he would have said that he was hoping not to find him here.

Lewis hated doctors, hated anything medical, hated white walls and being trapped and this place was the worst possible place for him. Underground and freezing cold, devoid of any real signs of life, full of cold, clinical language.

But as soon as Arthur noticed the musical theme of the place, a sick feeling of anticipation started to settle in his stomach.

That only got worse when they eventually found a room with a working computer. Arthur instructed Vivi and Mystery to watch the doors, and then started to search through the files – it seemed to just have a database, along with some other tools he wasn’t confident enough to touch yet. Most of the listed subjects weren’t human, were some kind of spirit or magic creature – but there was one, listed as human subject, that made his heart drop.

Harmony. He knew that name, remembered Lewis as a tiny child and that name sewn into the back of his shirt but if anyone said it he’d panic or shut down–

He committed the room code to memory and took off, not even bothering to give the other two a we’re going! first. The tunnels turned into a blur as he raced through them, barely stopping to check the signs for which way to turn.

Then, finally, they made it to the right room, and he slammed the door open. There was an observation window splitting the room in half, and he looked through it and–

–oh. Oh, god.

It was unmistakably Lewis, even with his hair out of its usual style and hanging in limp, dirty coils over his face, slumped over in the corner and god he’d lost so much weight–

“Shit,” he faintly heard Vivi breathe behind him, “shit, is that a person-?”

He didn’t have time to answer her, he had to get in there – but the door to into the test chamber was locked, someone must have left it like that when this place was abandoned not too long ago. He was reaching for the set of picks he’d stashed in his vest when he picked up a faint noise from behind the glass and his head jerked up.

Something... dark and smoky – mist? Fog? – was seeping into the chamber. Slowly, it took on a shape that looked almost... human. Its head – if it could be called that yet – was already focused in on Lewis, who was still unresponsive.

There was no time to pick the lock, he could feel it. Instead he backed up and balled his prosthetic hand into a fist and rammed it into the wall as hard as he could, and the glass, as it is wont to do, shattered.

He forced his way through the newly-made hole, paying no attention to the shards around the edge, and scrambled a couple steps forward before that thing had its eyes on him. It was forming a face now, glowing and sick green in a way that felt too familiar, in a blurry half-remembered way.

“Well, look at this!” it crowed, swirling slightly upward. “You’re actually here! It’s like a little reunion.”

Then it was moving for him, and there was nothing he could do to fight something that wasn’t corporeal –

And then Vivi stepped in with her bat at the ready, and Mystery hopped in after her, and the thing visibly recoiled, looking between the two of them. Its eyes settled on the dog for a moment, and it hissed. “You.”

Arthur didn’t pay too much attention to them – he was already moving for Lewis, dropping to his knees in front of him and with the monster at his back. 

“Lewis?“ he said, keeping his voice soft. He must have heard him, because his head picked up–

–and then he lunged back with a small gasp, eyes going wide with fear. He only got a little ways before something stopped him with a loud clank – he was bound to the wall.

“Lewis, it’s okay-” Arthur reached out to him with one hand, trying to reassure him, and then snapped his attention to the chains. He kept up a steady stream of reassurances as he worked, “it’s okay, you’re safe now, you’re going to be okay, just hang on.”

By some incredible stroke of luck, for which he spent a moment silently thanking whatever-was-watching in his head, whoever was in charge of the security in this place had made the common-but-still-embarrassing mistake of buying from a company that sounded fancy but didn’t actually have any idea how to make a lock. He shimmed it open in barely a second and the entire thing fell apart.

He looked back to Lewis, who still seemed frozen – had he even recognized him yet? – and scooted a little closer, reaching out again. This time he didn’t flinch away, and Arthur was able to close the distance and put a hand on his cheek. It was tacky with dried tears or sweat – it was impossible to tell – and his eyes were almost sunken, surrounded by dark circles.

“Lewis, it’s me,” he tried again. “I’m here now.”

He drew a little closer and then Lewis practically fell into him, burying his face in his shoulder. His breathing was shaky, unsteady, and if he was trying to hug him he was too weak to even get his hands up to his shoulders. Arthur just held him for a moment, rubbing his back with one hand, trying not to pay attention to the outline of his ribs and spine.

“We need to move,” he said after a moment, remembering that Vivi and Mystery were still holding back that thing. “Can you walk?”

“...dunno,” was the hoarse, almost-whispered reply.

“Okay. Just lean on me, okay? I’ve got you.”

They stood up together, Lewis’s legs shaking and threatening to give out before Arthur caught him and supported him a little more. This time, Arthur remembered to call out to Vivi as they were headed for the exit, and he briefly saw her head jerk around before he looked back towards the hole they’d made in the glass. He briefly struggled to get Lewis over the hole without scraping his knees, he couldn’t lift his legs high enough – and then Vivi was on his other side and, without another question, lifting him up and dragging him along, and they all started to run.

They were almost to what looked like a fire exit, when Arthur heard that indistinct whispering that had preceded the spirit’s arrival earlier. He saw wisps on the edge of his vision and could only try to move faster. Vivi suddenly disappeared and Lewis dipped forward, slowing both of them down significantly. The spirit was forming again next to him, that same sick grin stretched across its face–

Vivi’s bat connected with the thing’s chest and it exploded in a shower of ice-blue light.

When the light cleared, there was a frozen impact of ice shards in its chest, and it was visibly reeling. Vivi stared at it for a second, and then turned and ran for the others again, and that was everyone’s cue to start moving.

Arthur shouldered the door open, and thankfully there were only a few stairs, and he could see the bright orange of their van through the trees.

“Vivi, you drive,” he said when they were getting close to it.

She stared at him for a moment, visibly bewildered by this request. “What? I can-”

“Please.” He couldn’t leave Lewis alone, and she didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know how to help.

Maybe she could see or hear his desperation, because she didn’t argue anymore, just nodded and headed for the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Arthur helped Lewis up the steep ledge of the van’s back doors, and then they both dropped to the ground, and it was silent for a moment as the van’s engine whirred to life and they started moving.

It didn’t take much longer for Lewis to start hyperventilating.

Arthur was there in an instant, pulling him to his chest again, and forcing his own breathing to be even and slow as he rubbed his back and murmured reassurances. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re gone, you’re never going back there. Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great.”

It wasn’t long before he devolved into what might have been weak, hiccupy sobs, though he was too dehydrated for any actual tears. Arthur started carding one hand through his hair.

“You want some water?” he asked after a while. Lewis just nodded unsteadily against his shirt. 

Arthur pulled away a little and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. He helped Lewis drink, guiding the bottle with his hands.

After that, Lewis just stared at him for a while, and then reached out and put a hand over his.

“This... is you? You’re... real?”

His voice was still weak, but not quite as ragged as it had been before. Arthur picked up his hand and squeezed it.

“Yeah. I’m here. I promise.”

--

Lewis spent most of the next day pretty out of it, sleeping occasionally only to jolt awake at the slightest disturbance. Arthur barely left his side the entire time, except to grab water or something light to try to coax him to eat. He was always there to hold him and offer reassurances that yes, he was here, this was real, he was home and he wasn’t going to go anywhere.

At some point, pretty late in the night, Lewis was curled up against Arthur’s shoulder again, at the end of another bout of weak sobbing. He lifted his head only barely to speak.

“I still... smell like that place,” he murmured.

“You wanna take a shower?” Arthur answered, sitting up a little.

“Mm... too much work...” he laid his head back down again. “Don’t want you to leave...”

“I’ll help. C’mon.”

So Arthur pulled off the papery gown Lewis was still dressed in and helped him bathe, replacing the smell of sweat and disinfectant with the flowers and sweet vanilla of the bath soaps. He didn’t say anything about the large, messy, still-healing gashes in his side, just gently washed away the blood still left around the wound. He worked shampoo and conditioner through his hair, detangling the messy locks until they lay almost flat against his neck. The gentle rhythm lulled Lewis almost to sleep, swaying slightly as he sat in the bath, Arthur humming softly to him.

Once that was done, he helped him into clean pajamas, finally rid of every lingering trace of that fucking facility. Lewis’s own bed was dirty from him lying in it, so until the sheets could be changed, they both laid down in Arthur’s room instead.

They laid there in the darkness, the only sound a distant fan running in some other part of the house, and for a while, were just silent.

“...thank you,” Lewis said eventually, not opening his eyes.

“Of course,” Arthur responded immediately. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You came for me,” he continued. “I thought you were...”

Oh. He wasn’t just talking about the bath.

Arthur sat up a little, putting one hand on Lewis’s face and tilting it up toward his. “Hey. Look at me. I will always be there for you. No matter what. I’d look forever if I had to, okay? I would never leave you in a place like that.”

Lewis nodded slightly, and then went back to curling up against him.

“Thank you,” he said again, a barely-audible whisper.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 7

Thomas X Reader

2873

Summary: Reader gets medical treatment. Thomas is not ok.

by @adventuresintooblivion

They didn’t speak again until the Garrison Pub came into sight. Several men were milling about trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They parted with excited chatter craning their necks to see what Thomas was holding.

“Open the door! If you’re not helping, you’re in the way. Go home. We accomplished what we came here for tonight.” 

Only a handful of people remained. Most of them were the Shelbys themselves. Danny paced back and forth in the back of the bar murmuring to himself. Thomas nodded to the small room they conducted their business in. John hurriedly opened it enough for Thomas to set Y/N down on the table.

Y/N sat there swaying back and forth slightly, her eyes closed as she focused on not falling over. Moments later, Thomas draped his coat around her shoulders. A sigh of relief escaped her lips.  For the first time, she looked up at the people gathered around her.

Aunt Pol’s face was pale. A shawl was clutched in her hands with her hair unmade. John blinked blearily, but she could visibly see the fatigue drain away as he took stock of her injuries. Arthur simply wouldn’t look at her. 

Thomas hovered over her protectively. She could just barely see the redness on his cheek where she’d slapped him. His hand rested lightly against her lower back. She could feel his hand shaking even through all the layers.

“The doctor is on his way but there’s a few things I need to ask you before he gets here.” 

Y/N shook her head, “I want to talk to Pol first.”

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

She lifted her head, leveling her gaze at him, “You heard me, Shelby. I want to talk to Pol first.”

“Did he touch you?” He growled almost under his breath. Something about him changed. His knuckles turned a stark white as they gripped the table. His lips pulled back in an inaudible snarl, eyes wide as he used every inch of self control he had left not to turn on his heels and find whoever had done this.

“Wha…?”

Thomas roared a tremor visibly running through his body, “Did he touch you!”

Understanding dawned on Y/N. She reached out to lay her hand on his. He recoiled. She leaned forward just enough to press her hand over his. Her skin was ice against his rage, but he did stop shaking once she rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. 

She spoke softly, “He didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to Pol.”

He turned toward her, almost pressing his forehead into her shoulder. “I need answers.”

“And you’ll get them. After.”

Thomas locked eyes with her. Finally, he straightened and led his brothers out of the room.

Pol was left behind, her eyes wide as she adjusted her shawl. “That’s the first time I’ve seen Tommy listen to anyone when he’s like that.”

Y/N glanced down

“Well, you wanted me to yourself. Now what is it?”

“I think Grace is working for Inspector Campbell.” Y/N said it all in a rush, not trusting herself to actually speak if she took her time with it. 

Today, the inspector had wanted to instill fear in her and make her a useless pawn in this game of his. She hated to admit that she was in fact afraid. Of what she wasn’t sure, but she’d be damned if she let that decide her actions.

Pol cleared her throat. “That’s… a serious accusation. What is your proof?”

Y/N steeled herself before telling Pol everything. How she’d seen Grace at the opera, the little hints here and there that it wasn’t a place she’d normally be caught dead in. Then the great reveal of the man’s identity.

“I watched her hand him a piece of paper. I don’t know for certain that she is working for him, but it seems like the only logical answer, and at this point it’s dangerous to keep it to myself,” she finally finished.

The whole speech had taken a lot out of her, and she was already exhausted at best. Y/N pulled Thomas’ jacket closer around her, grateful that she was finally starting to warm up. At the edge of her senses, she caught a whiff of a smell that was distinctly Thomas. Stale cigarette smoke, aftershave, and hay. She almost smiled as she remembered the horses he loved so much.

Pol rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands. “That’s a lot of information to deal with. Why haven’t you told Tommy?”

Y/N frowned, “Right now if I did he’d storm off to kill her. I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Hell, maybe turning her in and ending this now would be preferred. I just… I wanted to ask your opinion.”

Her head jerked up. “This is your business. I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

Y/N sighed, finally letting the exhaustion cause her to sag in on herself, “Well, fuck.” 

“I can’t believe you told me this. I won’t be caught complicit if he finds out,” she hissed.

“Pol, I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He likes her, even if it’s just a little, and with Thomas that means miles. This could destroy him. Or it could get one of them killed, and I don’t know if Grace worked at an opera house and just hates it from exposure and this is all some huge misunderstanding. I just don’t know.” Even to her ears Y/N sounded a bit hysterical.

Pol began to pace, thinking. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, and even if the boys weren’t listening in they’d be able to hear that. After a few solid moments Pol rounded on the wounded girl.

She shook her finger at Y/N. “Listen here. For now, we say nothing. But if ANYTHING goes wrong and Grace is within ten miles of it, you tell him. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Alright, now let's get those boys in here. He’s probably about to strangle Arthur.”

As soon as the door knob clicked, Thomas stormed back in. His eyes were dark and cloudy as they traveled over Y/N’s exposed skin. Behind him, a small man with glasses shuffled in.

He spoke with a nasally voice, “Hello, I’m Doctor Tanish. Now if you could remove your coat I’d like to get to work.”

Y/N reluctantly shed the layer of warmth she’d built during her conversation Pol.

The doctor immediately swooped in, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Are there any pre-existing medical conditions I should know about?”

Y/N glanced at Thomas before turning to the doctor. “I have a bullet that’s lodged in my back that’s an inch to the left of my spine by vertebrae T11. They uh… found it and got me with a billy club. A couple times.”

He paused. “That’s very specific.”

“Yeah, well, you hear doctors say it enough eventually you can parrot it back if you need to.”

He nodded before continuing with this ministrations.

 Thomas, who was leaning against the wall, had turned a light shade of green when she spoke. His world was slowly closing in on him, a dark tunnel taking over his vision. It wasn’t until Arthur elbowed him that he was able to regain some control and return to the real world.

Eventually the doctor needed to see beneath Y/N’s underclothes. 

Pol shooed them out saying, “I’ll be right here with her. Let the girl keep some of her dignity.”

Thomas’ hand snaked out to grip hers firmly. “What did you two talk about?”

Pol’s lips settled into a thin line. “I will not betray her confidence. Just have faith, Tommy.”

He released her, allowing himself to be pushed back out into the pub with the others.

Arthur growled under his breath, “You’re gonna want a family meeting as soon as that doctor is done aren’t you?”

“Am I that predictable?”

He just grumbled and went to take a nap in one of the stalls. John soon followed suit, not really sure what his stakes were in all this. 

But Thomas sat at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. He couldn’t make out much in the way of sounds. That’s why they like that room so much. There were a few moments when a yelp or shout would set him on edge. But all he could do was wait. 

It wasn’t until the sun had started to come up that the doctor slipped from the room, blood covering his hands. Thomas sat up straighter, not realizing just how much he’d drunk until he tried to stand.

“How is she?”

Doctor Tanish let out a tired sigh. “Exhausted. Most of the damage will heal itself just fine; however, there are a few spots that I am concerned about. Will you be taking care of her?”

Thomas was a gang leader. He didn’t have time to be coddling people while he was supposed to be out managing things.

“Yes.” 

Doctor Tanish nodded, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write. “She has three fractured ribs and another one that was popped out of socket, but it’s back now. Her toe was also broken; that’s been splinted. There was some minor internal bleeding, but that’s been addressed. The thing I’m most worried about is that bullet in her back.”

Bile rose on Thomas’ tongue. “Is it that bad?”

“Well, it was already something that could cause chronic pain and difficulty walking. Now that it’s been agitated, the muscles around it have swollen which would lead to temporary paralysis. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s up and around at all.” He tore the paper of a small notepad and handed it to Thomas, “I’ll have medication waiting to be picked up by the end of the day. I’d get it here earlier, but she insisted that she wouldn’t take opium. Under no circumstances let her walk.”

Thomas nodded dumbly, not exactly sure how to process all the information, but as the doctor left he glanced down at the paper. Detailed instructions were scrawled out in handwriting that was little better than chicken scratch. Luckily, John’s scrawl was also atrocious, and if Thomas could read that, he could read anything.

The door was left open. As he looked at it’s gaping maw, something inside him wanted to run. If he didn’t go in, she would once again become a ghost that haunted his memories. He wouldn’t have to face the words he’d said that night, or back then. 

He took a deep breath and walked in. Thomas was a Shelby after all.

〜

Y/N had stopped paying attention to the doctor a while ago. Between the war and her childhood, she’d gone through all this before. Pol on the other hand looked like she was having a rough time. At one point Y/N even caught herself reaching out to hold the older woman’s hand.

“It’s going to be fine, Pol.” Her voice didn’t even quiver.

Pol nearly jumped out of her skin. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

Y/N flashed her a wicked grin. “Eh, getting hurt comes with the territory.”

“With knowing Tommy.” Pol’s gaze fell. A deep sadness had made a home for itself. It was in the small things. Her posture, her subtle frown, but most of all her eyes. Eyes that Y/N suspected had seen too many people die.

She gave a small tug to get Pol’s attention. “Actually, I was a bastard long before I met Thomas.” Pol’s brows furrowed so she continued, “Da wasn’t exactly a law abiding citizen. Hell, if I’d been a man I’d probably be in the same position as Thomas.”

A silence settled between them as they both came to terms with Y/N’s past. The doctor didn’t seem to care much about what was said around him. He only spoke to instruct Y/N to move. 

Finally Pol spoke, “While I don’t doubt the legitimacy behind your claim, you have,” she paused searching for the right words, “a certain level of education that isn’t typically available to people of our status.”

Y/N shrugged and immediately got scolded by the doctor. “Over-achieving bastard child. Not much else to it.”

Pol leveled her with a knowing gaze but enough had been shared that night. For the rest of the evening they either chatted idly or Pol dozed. The continuous attention was starting to wear Y/N out even beyond her limits.

She vaguely wondered if she was going soft after the war. Then she remembered that she’d been traipsing around town, got kidnapped, beat to hell and walked back on her own. Y/N allowed herself a small smile. Today was a productive day.

“It’ll take a couple months for your ribs and toe to heal but they’ll do it with little assistance. You must stay off your feet however. Especially if you ever want to walk again.” Doctor Tanish’s voice startled Y/N out of her thoughts.

She glanced at Pol’s dozing figure before replying, “I’ve beaten those odds before. But I’ll try not to push my luck.”

He gave her a curt nod and left.

Y/N glanced around the room, grimacing as she remembered that her flat was upstairs. She also had no way to pay for it now until she was healthy enough to work again.

A soft knock got her attention. There by the door was Thomas, peeking his head through as if he were walking into her bed chamber not his office.

“How are you holding up?” Deep circles had carved themselves underneath his eyes. His already drawn features took on a more extreme form in the dim candlelight.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I’m doing pretty well, all things considering. I might need help upstairs, though.”

Thomas cleared his throat before entering the room. He paused a moment to consider the best course of action. Then with little warning he simply picked her up. She bit back a startled yelp, clinging to Thomas as he moved easily with her in his arms.

“Tommy!” she hissed. Y/N couldn’t properly lift her arms to wrap them around him securely, so she clung to the front of his shirt with all she had. Her knuckles turned white instantly.

He simply chuckled. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Tommy’ since you got back. Maybe I should pick you up more.”

Y/N could already feel her ears heating up. “Don’t try and distract me with flirting.”

“Why not? It usually works.”

She didn’t reply as they reached her room. With horror she realized that her key was still in the pocket of her jacket. Which was probably in the back of some copper’s car.

Thomas seemed to read her mind, “You don’t have the key anymore do you?”

She shook her head.

He gently set Y/N down, careful not to jostle her. Then produced a pair of lockpicks, making quick work of the shoddy lock. A few moments later Y/N was sinking into her mattress slowly. 

Thomas kneeled beside her. She couldn’t see him; the darkness clouded his features. He reached out, fingertips the barest touch against her skin, to brush her hair out of her face.

Y/N would later blame the overall shittiness of the day for what she did next. She leaned into the touch. Her own hand reached up to cup his and press it to her lips. Thomas froze. But he didn’t pull away.

“Y/N.” His voice was gravilier than usual.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but it felt like all the years that had been lost came back to life in seconds, all at once. Something between them had faded over time. Now was the first time either of them had actually reached back out for it. It was a tenderness they’d never let the world see. A secret of the trenches. A dream of what could be. 

Eventually, the spell broke, and she released her hold on him. At first he didn’t pull away. Then he stood, ending the moment all too quickly.

Thomas cleared his throat, “I...I need to head out. If I catch you on your feet, I swear I’ll send Aunt Pol after you.” 

Y/N chuckled, and pretended her smile was as genuine as she wanted it to be. “I’ll have to be careful and make sure you don’t catch me then.”

He rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

Y/N let the darkness envelope her as she rolled onto her back. Her movements were stiff with pain. Exhaustion seeped into her joints and with Thomas gone there was nothing left to distract her. 

For the first time since it’d happened she let her mind wander over the events of the day, a sob ripped itself from her throat. Then another. She pressed the palm of her hand into her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle herself. But Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from streaming like trails of fire down her cheeks.

[bitchfitch]

Death crept through the lavish halls of a rich man's home. Old cracked paint flaked beside sun faded tapestries and over well worn wood floors. The raged leather soles of of his boots softly thumping along with the creaking of old wood that accompanied his every step. He found the room easily, following the sound of a fading cough and short not quite gasping breaths that failed to draw enough air. 

He ducked through the door and the dying man greeted him with age hazed eyes and a broad grin.

"Copper!" his exclamation carried joy even if his lungs couldn't support more than a creaking whisper, "Bastard, it's so good to see you again," he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes closing as he did so,

"And you as well," Copper returned the smile as he sat in the chair beside the bed, "But to be honest I'm a touch surprised, both that you can see anything through those cataracts, and that you would... Appreciate my presence," 

The rich man chuckled, "Not many people have hair that color, even fewer are as tall as you. I may not be able to see much, but I can still see that,"

"I suppose you're right," Copper huffs with a hand going to his dark red mess of a mane "Still, you must remember the terms of our deal and what my presence means for you now?"

"I do," he nods, "I'm going to die tonight, going to see Min again," 

"Min?"

"My wife," he smiles as he speaks of her even as his words become more labored, "That quill you gave me, I wrote a letter to the girl I had fallen in love with when we were young. I didn't know she couldn't read, so she had to get someone else to read it to her, but when she'd heard what I wrote she came all the way into the valley to slap me and call me an idiot," he laughs, "Told me we should've eloped when we were both still fresh, before she'd found another man to call her own,

I'd not even thought that she'd have gone on like that. It made sense, she could have, and did, do so much better than me. But luck of lucks saw that husband of hers dead not long after. I felt bad for being so happy, but I couldn't stop smiling when she and I married,

That quill- You, gave me the happiest life I could have imagined. I'm glad to pay my end of the deal now, because it means I get to see her again,"

"It's a rare treat to find someone with no regrets, thank you for your story," Copper smiles softly, genuine and warm,

"Oh, I've got regrets," the rich man say "Many, but I don't care to dwell on them, not now... or... Well, one, there's one,"

"Hmm?"

"Min and I, we had a fight right before... She was so mad at me last time I saw her. Do you think she still is?"

"I don't know, but you will have plenty of time to make it up to her soon,"

"Yeah, yeah that's true... It's close now is it?"

"Moments if I had to guess," Copper shrugs, "The clot in your lung is migrating and will soon block off blood flow to the area completely. After that happens you won't be able to get enough air and will... fall asleep, then you will suffocate over a few minutes. It won't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it won't hurt badly," he simplified things greatly, not caring for the slight inaccuracies so long as they helped keep the rich man calm and peaceful in these final moments.

"Any final requests?" Copper cocks his head,

"I think... yeah, I think I want to be alone for this. Thank you," 

"Of course. Rest well then, and may your sleep bring great growth" Copper stood from his seat, the blessing leaving him without thought as the rich man closed his eyes a smile still tugging on his old, withered face.

The door to the rich man's room shut with a light thud as Copper drifted down the halls, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He rarely visited the dying, usually he only came to the deceased caught between their death's and their afterlives to guide them across, and this was why. He knew where the clot was, it would only take a moment and a little bit of concentration to break it up enough that the rich man's body would be able to handle it on it's own. Sure, doing so would probably only buy him a few more bed bound days, a week maybe, but healers can rarely be trusted to leave the sick and dying to the whims of nature and he was no different. 

He wandered through the empty halls decorated with treasures that, do to a single deal made half a century ago, would soon be his, and found his way into a shrine room. Shelves upon shelves of precious jewls and metals, fine fabrics and sculptures filled the room. Though the alter beneath the stained glass window held only sea glass and shells that glittered from around a poorly made tapestry that depicted a stormy ocean.

The threads were too loose in some places too tight in others and there were places where it was clear the weaver ran out of one color and had attempted to dye more only for it to come out just wrong enough to be noticed. It was clearly made by inexperienced hands and now stood displayed still in it's loom in the place of honor on this shrine. Pride in its existence radiated from it and that made it stunning despite it's flaws. 

Distantly, he felt the rich man die, quietly and peacefully.

One of Copper's aspects would guide him across and later while Copper slept he'd dream of the conversation that aspect and the rich man would have, and he would dream of the conversations his other, near innumerable, aspects would have, and have had, and have been having with every other human who has crossed into his domain since he last slept. Then he would wake, and forget almost everything said during those conversations as they meld together into a messy but beautiful tapestry. All the threads visible and traceable in their places but ultimately he saw it not for the individuals, but the grander thing they made together.

He picked at the stones and shells scattered on one of the shelves, his dulled claws scraping against the rough surface. He should probably go find someone to deal with the body...

The soft creaking protest of a floor board that no longer fit in it's place being tread on called from behind him. Copper turned, curious to who or what would be intruding on this moment, but he was left slack jawed with a greeting trapped behind his lips as he saw the man.

Surrounded by gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the low moonlight that flowed through the windows, this man outshone them all. He was tall for a human, coming up to just below Copper's collar bones, with broad, strong looking shoulders. His sharp features highlighted by the silver light caressing his warm tan skin and haloed by that same light echoing through the broken strands of bleach blonde hair that fell from his neat bun to frame his narrow face.

Light agitation turned to wonder and awesrrucked silence as Copper struggled for a second to find words, but once again those words died when he met the man's eyes, they were probably a deep brown but the low light turned them onyx. His gaze was sturdy, not cold or calculating, not bored. Determined but practiced.

The strange, beutiful, human man wore the expression of a butcher or a slaughterer, he did not draw perverse pleasure or joy from what came next. He was so obviously merely doing a job as he moved faster than Copper's confusion addled mind could react to that that alone struck more fear into Copper's core than if the man were hissing and snapping with rage.

The ice hot cut of an iron blade dug past the flesh between his ribs and into his chest even as he recoiled. On pure instinct he growled an awful rumbling sound that made the butcher- the hunter, flinch as Copper managed to stumble away, nearly falling to one knee as his own lung struggled to inflate. He could feel his magic burning along the wound as it tried, and failed to pull it closed. His hand going to his bloodied side in a vain attempt of staunching the flow. 

The hunter advanced, cautious and silent, his blade, slicked with Copper's own viscous black blood, raised as he followed the retreating god.

Copper hissed as his back collided with a shelf, cornered he pulled his attentions together just enough to attempt to teleport away, only to feel his magic jolt painfully within him as it failed completely.

The hunter advanced, already readying another swing.

In that moment Copper forced himself to focus on the warm summer night air, on the flickering candles and the heat of the hunter's body, most seals could be overpowered, he just needs to rush it hard enough. 

Heat leaves the room, the hunter stumbles with a pained gasp as the heat leaves him too. Copper doesn't see if the hunter falls because the seal gives as he uses all of that stolen energy to burst against it.

He drops to his knees on the cold stone floor of the cave he calls home. His blood singing through magic seared veins, his hands shaking as he braces one against the floor below him as his world swims, both from blood loss and the disorientation that always came with pushing his power that hard,

He struggles with his wound, gasping with effort as his magic finally starts working again. The wound tieing itself closed beneath his palm, a thick black scar forming as he comes down from the mountain top high of fearing for his life for the very first time since before the advent of this universe.

Copper slumps against the water-carved wall of his home, his head falling back against it with a deep buzz running beneath his skin, and he Laughs, deep and hearty and Alive in a way he has not felt in centuries.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 7: Shadow And Moonlight

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which the woods try to tell Y/N something.

Word count: 3.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

.

.

.

“Don’t move.”

Harry hissed into his palm as he peeked through the gap between his fingers to watch Y/N tending to his wound. His hand had been burned slightly, but nothing too severe.

Y/N had managed to find some healing herbs in the forest. She chewed them in her mouth and spat onto the burn, amused by the way Harry’s face contorted with disgust.

“Yuck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said mockingly. “Would you like it to be infected?”

A corner of his mouth raised as he watched her bandage his hand with a piece of fabric she’d torn from her coat. “How did you know how to do this?”

“I read,” she said with a grin. “It’s great. You should try it sometimes.”

Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the cold or he was shy, but she’d just seen a bit of colour in his cheeks. Harry averted his eyes immediately, looking at his bandaged hand. And there it was again – that sinking feeling in her stomach.

When they’d managed to escape from the burning house, Y/N had regretted her decision to continue the journey. But as she was looking at Harry now and thinking about how she could lose him any moment, she was more determined to find the lake.

They didn’t talk about what had happened. Y/N wanted to talk about it, but she hated to acknowledge it. She hated that she didn’t have an explanation for the things that she’d seen. For all she could tell, it’d been magic. And magic didn’t always have answers.

Harry probably felt the same way for he’d been quiet this whole time. They were both thinking of the same thing and keeping their guards up. And maybe that was enough to keep them alive for now.

The sun was setting. They’d gone far from the house, killed two rabbits and cooked them for lunch and dinner. They and the horses were too exhausted so they’d decided to camp in the woods for the night, hoping there wouldn’t be another storm, otherwise they’d have no shelter and get buried in the snow.

“Impressive,” Harry said as he watched Y/N make a fire. “It’s like you grew up outside the castle.”

She didn’t say anything about that compliment, didn’t even remind him that he’d been the one who’d taught her that. The more he said things like this, the more she felt like she didn’t know him anymore. He was slowly turning into somebody else. And she must admit that there had been moments when she’d thought she was gradually falling out of love with him. But then, she’d think about that kiss in the burning house. That had felt similar, hadn’t it?

“You kissed me.”

Y/N started as she dropped the stick she was holding and gaped at Harry. He was looking straight at her, his eyes round and full of wonder as he said, “In the house. You kissed me, right? Or was it just an illusion?”

“Yes, I kissed you,” she admitted, not looking at him as she added more wood to the fire. She could still feel his eyes burning holes on the side of her face.

“Why?” he asked.

“I needed to shock you,” she replied coolly. “I pricked my finger and it pulled me back to reality. So I thought–I just...didn’t want to hurt you.”

Harry chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him. “I saved your life, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, Your Majesty,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m just imagining His Majesty’s face when he hears about all the things we’ve done to survive.”

Y/N mustered a smile at him, ignoring the jab in her stomach. “Well, let’s hope you’ll survive until my husband kills you.”

Harry didn’t say anything about that, but the smirk never faltered on his face. It made Y/N all flustered so she had no choice but to pretend that he wasn’t there and mind her own business.

They ate the rest of the rabbit, and it was night again. The stars and the moon were visible tonight. They could be seen through the branches overhead, so there might not be a storm and Harry and Y/N would be safe. At least if they were careful enough to not fall into another trap.

“We should take turns keeping watch during the night,” Harry said.

“Good idea. I’ll take the first watch.”

“No–”

“I insist,” said Y/N as she secured the fur coat around herself and sat down by a large rock. “I can’t sleep now anyway so…”

“All right,” Harry sighed, stretching his limbs and yawning. “Wake me up when you’re tired.”

“Sure.”

And so he lay down on the ground beside her, all wrapped up in his coat with his back facing her. She couldn’t help but stare, wanting to run her fingers down his spine or through his hair and kiss him goodnight. But all she could do was watch in silence and repeat those three words in her head so she wouldn’t forget what they sounded like.

“You were very brave.”

Y/N was taken aback. She blinked, for a moment thinking she’d misheard it. But then he went on, not turning to face her, “Thank you for not abandoning me there.”

She felt a smile growing on her face. “Can’t even look at me as you say thank you?” she asked, laughing so he knew it was a joke.

Harry laughed too, quietly. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to see you blush. Wouldn’t be able to sleep if I kept thinking about it.”

Y/N was left speechless. She worked her jaw for a response that never came. But Harry didn't seem to expect anything from her; he drifted right off, his shoulder rising and falling as he snored softly.

Y/N put both arms around herself, feeling goosebumps pimple her skin as a cool breeze blew right through her clothes. This was the first time she’d spent the night in these woods. She’d heard tales about them when she’d been little. The kinds of tales that were used to scare naughty children. And after what had happened in that house, Y/N was very convinced that those tales were all real.

Once you had stepped into the darkness of these woods and felt the cold pass through you, the trees would swallow all memory of light and they would know all your secrets, the stories you’d kept hidden inside the cage of your chest. The trees whispered, too. They could be taunting Y/N right now, making her think she was safe and getting her when she least expected.

She pinched her eyes closed and took a deep breath before observing the lines of tall soldier trees standing guard around them. It was all so quiet, but why did she feel like something was out there.

She imagined a beast or shadow with hooked claws and grim eyes. A thing the forest kept, waiting for the right moment to release.

Her fingers twitched as fear rose at the base of her throat. She hated this feeling building inside her. She was her mother’s daughter. She should not be afraid of invisible things. But then again, when it came to things she did not understand and could not explain, she should be afraid.

“Come.”

Y/N jumped when she heard the voice. It wasn’t Harry’s. He was still sleeping. She whipped her head around, trying to locate where it’d come from but she could not.

“Come.”

There it was again. The voice of a woman. Somebody was here. Somebody was hiding in the dark, camouflaged by the trees, silently watching them.

Heart pounding out of rhythm, Y/N tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Harry, I heard something.”

There was no response.

“Harry, wake up. Harry!” She shook his shoulder harder. He still did not budge. If he weren’t still breathing, she would assume he was dead. It was almost like he could not feel or hear her.

She took a second to calm herself down and study her surroundings. Moonlight peeked through the trees, pale and lonely, bathing her skin. Bare branches above looked like skeleton fingers waiting patiently to grab her when she slept. She held her breath, straining her ear to listen to the voice. But she heard nothing. Moments had passed, and still, nothing.

It was not real. The mountain had a way of getting inside your head—playing tricks on those who dared to walk among the pines long after the sun had set. These woods were wild and rugged and unkind. They could not be trusted.

Feeling anxious, she added some more sticks to the fire and sat there hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the flame. She thought about her mother, trying to hold onto those few precious fading memories of her childhood to put herself at ease.

Suddenly, a branch cracked.

Y/N’s head snapped up like a hunter expecting her prey.

Or maybe she was the prey all along.

“Come.”

It was the voice again.

Soft like silk.

Longing like a distant memory.

Y/N covered her ears as the voice kept repeating the same word over and over again. It only grew clearer as she tried to block it out. The voice was coming from inside her head.

Her skin pricked with gooseflesh.

And when she opened her eyes again, she saw it.

A white deer glowing in the blackness of night. It stood between the trees, watching her silently with its eyes gleaming like the brightest stars. She stared back at the animal, holding her breath, wondering if it was just a figment of her imagination or such creature did exist in these magical woods. Everything could seem and feel real until it wasn’t. Like the house. Like this entire journey. She could be dreaming.

Wide eyes stayed fixed on the deer, she reached for Harry, but he was not there. She snapped her head to the side and found him gone. So were the horses and their weapons and supplies. She was all alone. She pressed her fists to her heart, feeling its violent beats as she prayed that this wasn’t real. Then, the fire went out. Y/N recoiled, shaking all over. What was happening?

She could still feel the creature watching her. So she slowly opened her eyes and saw that the deer was glowing even brighter than before. It was the only source of light now. The moon had been obscured by the clouds. As the light from the creature’s skin touched her own, it was warm and put her at east. So when the creature nodded its head to ask her to follow, she hurriedly pushed herself off the ground and went after it.

This is a dream. This is a dream. This. Is. A. Dream, she kept telling herself as she made her way around the trees. The air was cold and damp. Y/N breathed slowly as she moved forward, stepping carefully, deliberately, over fallen logs and frozen flowers. She didn’t know how far she’d followed the deer. She didn’t remember walking. Her steps felt so light it was like she was being carried.

The next thing she knew, she was heading towards a cliff. The moon was so big it looked like a giant eye or a face in the sky. Y/N was so taken by the moon that she did not see the deer transforming into a woman. The woman was dressed in a white gown. She stood on the edge of the cliff, her white hair flying like a silvery stream.

Just like the deer, she was glowing, too.

“W-Who are you?” Y/N asked, but the woman didn’t answer nor turn around. And when Y/N opened her mouth to ask again, the woman whipped her head to her left, revealing her face for the first time. She was a young girl, about Y/N’s age or even younger.

Curious, Y/N looked to where the girl was staring at and saw a dark figure. A man. He didn’t pay a single glance at Y/N, so Y/N knew he could not see her either. He and the moonlight lady rushed toward each other for a strong tight embrace. They were both young and beautiful. But Y/N had never seen them before.

The man was dressed in all black. The girl in all white.

Shadow and moonlight.

This wasn’t just an ordinary dream. It was trying to tell Y/N something.

But what?

“Your Majesty!”

Y/N’s eyes popped open when she heard it. Harry’s face rushed into view, and she flinched at the touch of his fingers on the side of her face. He immediately jumped back, raising both hands in the air.

“What—” She looked around, baffled. They were now standing at the same spot by the fire. The horses were still here. Moonlight still cast eerie shadows on the snow. But there was no deer. No girl. No mystery man.

“Were you sleepwalking?” Harry asked, looking concerned. “I woke up and saw you just standing here staring into nothing…”

“No,” she said, tearing her eyes from his. “I thought I heard something. That’s all.”

Harry’s forehead puckered slightly. He didn’t believe her. “Your Majesty, if something’s wrong, you must tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry,” she murmured, forcing a smile.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “So you weren’t sleepwalking?”

“No.”

His eyes locked with hers for a second as if he was trying to detect a lie. To her relief, he exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. “All right. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Y/N didn’t say another word to Harry as she came to lie down by the fire. For some reason, she could feel someone watching them. It was the woods. They were always watching. And when she fell asleep, she saw the face of the white-haired girl inside the giant moon.

.

.

.

“Your Majesty!”

“Get out.”

Jo’s mouth fell open as she smacked her palm onto her chest, acting shocked, frozen in the doorway. Lance probably expected her to leave immediately, and when she didn’t, he tore his eyes from the book he’d been reading and glanced up at her. He cocked an eyebrow, looking annoyed. “I said–”

“A maid told me you'd called for me,” she said.

Lance opened his mouth, probably about to tell her off when he seemed to have remembered calling for her, so his mouth snapped shut at once. The smug grin she was giving him must have got him all bashful as he cleared his throat and combed his fingers through his raven hair. “Well, I was going to ask you a few things but I figured it out on my own.”

“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I should go now?”

“Yes.”

She picked up her skirt and gave a curtsy. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

“Wait. Actually–” Lance heaved a sigh as he rose from his chair. “I think I’ve discovered something.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Close the door,” he said.

Jo did as she was told then padded over to the desk where Lance had laid out two tall piles of books. This was what he’d been doing for the last few days. Research. Y/N had almost died twice. And at this point, Jo guessed Lance was done just sitting at one place and doing nothing.

Isolde had been at peace since their Queen had left, but it could be the calm before a huge storm. Jo didn’t know much about politics, but she knew Lance had been losing sleep over what Calanthe might have up her sleeve, and also for Y/N’s safety.

As Jo watched him flip through the pages of the huge dusty old book, she could not help but watch the ring on his finger glowing red.

Y/N, she thought, when are you coming home?

“From what we’ve learned from Mary,” Lance said, snapping her back to reality. “This group of people called The Monks believe in one ruler. They want to believe it’s Calanthe so they’re on her side, giving her advice and will fight for her in the battle.”

“If you’re asking me for more information, I haven’t got any,” Jo sighed. “I barely talk to the witch.”

It was true. She now shared the room with the witch who’d erased Harry’s memory of Y/N. Jo didn’t care that the witch no longer had magic. It was best to keep her distance and be guarded at all times.

“No, not that.” Lance shook his head. “I just found something fascinating.” And pointed to the page. “King Lokesh. The first High King in the North was thought to be the one ruler, too. The Monks were on his side during the war with his brothers.”

“It was a useless war. There was no winner. That was how one hundred kingdoms were divided into four high courts.”

“True.” Lance raised a finger. “But Lokesh didn’t rule for long. He died after only two months on the throne and the crown was passed onto his eldest son. It was said that he’d died of a mysterious illness.”

Jo grimaced as she tapped her fingers on the table. “What does that have to do with us?”

Lance clenched his jaw, his thick brows knitted. “Do you think The Monks have something to do with his death?”

“You mean they killed him?”

Lance nodded. “Because he was not the chosen one.”

Jo took a moment to think then shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re worried. I’m actually hoping they’ll kill Calanthe when they realize she’s useless.”

Lance pursed his lips before letting out a sharp breath. He closed the book and crossed his arms as he leaned against the table. “Do you think I’m being paranoid?”

“A little,” Jo scoffed. “But I get it. It’s been stressful for us both.”

Lance was quiet for a moment, his gaze glued to his feet. “I really hope she’ll make it home. With or without finding the lake.”

“So do I,” Jo said. But the voice inside her head was quick to add, With or without Harry.

She felt bad about it, of course. Harry had been unbearable at times yet he didn’t deserve what he was getting. After all, he’d lived and died for Y/N. And Jo’s ultimate mission in life was only to make Y/N happy and keep Y/N safe.

She returned to her room with those heavy thoughts clinging onto her and almost forgot that she wasn’t alone. Her heart jumped as she stepped in and saw the girl with a damaged face sitting on the bed beside hers, dressed in a white nightgown like a ghost.

“Where were you?” Mary asked, giving a smile that crinkled her good eye.

Jo tried not to show how disgusted she was as she walked straight to the fireplace to add some wood to it.

Mary was quiet for a moment, either waiting for Jo to speak or thinking of what to say next. Eventually, she broke the silence, “You cannot not speak to me forever.”

Jo could. In fact, she was doing it now.

“How’s the Queen?” Mary persisted.

Jo didn’t want her to be doing this all night, so she decided to answer this one. “Alive.”

“Good, good,” Mary said, laughing nervously. There was a three-second pause. “Hey, I was wondering...um...since you were the last person to see my sister...h-how was she when she left?”

“She was happy,” Jo said without any emotion in her voice. Then she suddenly felt bad about it and added, “I didn’t really know her, but she seemed like a nice person.”

“You’re a nice person, too,” Mary said. This time, Jo cast a glance at her and saw her grinning. “Maggie wouldn’t just save anyone.”

Jo would tell Mary that Maggie had done it for Y/N, not for her, but she didn’t want this to turn into a conversation. She stayed quiet and walked back to her bed, but Mary had already got up and got in her way. She stopped, second-guessing what Mary would do next when the witch took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said.

Jo was too shocked to pull back so she just stood there like a statue. “About?”

“The Queen. I know you–” Mary stopped herself at once, yet Jo already knew what she was going to say. It wasn’t hard to tell how she felt about Y/N. “Also,” Mary went on, her hands turning warm as they held Jo’s. “I’m sorry about your baby.”

It’d been so long since someone had last mentioned it. Jo felt like her wound which had recently healed was sliced open again. She stared at Mary unblinkingly. And somehow Mary thought it was a great idea to continue adding salt to her injury. “We’re more alike than you think, Josephine,” Mary said, lacing her fingers with Jo’s.

Jo immediately shoved herself away from the witch. Mary opened her mouth to speak but Jo didn’t give her a chance. “No.” She held up a finger and took a step back. “We’re nothing alike. You’re a witch. Look at you. You’re...you’re–”

Ugly. Evil. Heartless. Manipulative. Pretentious.

“Just...do not touch me ever again,” Jo said under her breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary said to her but she didn’t bother to hear it. She turned abruptly and stormed out of the room. This was all too much for her to take. She would have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas20 Christmas Eve: All These Broken Things

... Is it really the end of FicMas if I haven’t posted something from All These Broken Things? I think not. The first sections can be found here and here. This is the fic where Alice travelled with James and doesn’t meet the Cullens until that baseball game. 

It's very strange finally being with the family she was always destined to be with, when she thought she had lost them so long ago.

She finds great satisfaction just watching them - Emmett yelling at the sports on the television; Edward perched at the piano, Rosalie working on her cars. She hovers, like a little ghost, folded into corners and against doorframes, vanishing the second they might acknowledge her.

Esme seems to like her company, as she goes about day-to-day things, chatting away to the silent girl with the enormous, sad black eyes, who trails after her like a stray.

She stays away from Carlisle, trying to avoid the moment he declares her to be cast out, too far gone for them to redeem.

And she stays away from Jasper, because it hurts too much. She doesn't tell Jasper what she knows, what they were meant to be to one another. The past is gone, and she has been broken into too many pieces. He watches her like a hawk, and without words, she knows he will be the one to destroy her if she steps out of line. His hands will crack her limbs apart and he will not flinch or feel any loss.

She wonders if she should tell him that if he was the to destroy her, she would not fight it. She would part in his hands like a paper doll, and hold no ill will to him for such an act.

Sometimes, she lets herself remember the old visions, the ones where they were everything to one another. Only when Edward's away, though; she doesn't like him rifling around in her head. No one deserves being forced to see some of those things.

And it hurts, a raw wound in her heart, that she was meant for something else, for happiness and peace and love, instead of what she was dealt in life. One of her greatest unanswered questions is why? What unforgivable thing did she do in her forgotten human past that earned such a punishment?

Then she remembers what she has done at James’ side for so many decades, at the faces and the screams and the suffering, and somehow she lived her crimes and her penance at the same time.

So she continues to pretend she doesn’t notice that Edward keeps Bella away from the house; that Emmett or Jasper hover in the background as she trails after Esme, as she watches Rose. That she can only go hunting when Jasper and Emmett can go along too; the ones strong enough and fast enough to restrain her.

When Edward does bring Bella back to the house at Esme’s insistence, she sits on the opposite side of the room, and listens to the conversation, keeping still and silent.

When Carlisle arrives home from work, she focuses on the magazine or book she has found, pretending to be absorbed by the glossy pictures, still and silent, to not notice as he studies her with patience she isn’t sure is genuine.

When Jasper joins Emmett for something noisy and angry on the television, their gazes occasionally sliding towards her, she is frozen in place, her gaze out the window.

She’s played this game before. Be good and quiet and still. The blow will come, eventually, but at least she can prepare herself for it, brace herself for the inevitable fall. They don’t trust her.

She doesn’t trust her, either.

Six.

They settle into a sort of routine.

She’s allowed to hunt with Esme and Rosalie now, though she’s careful to keep her distance, to trek a little further into the forest, to reassure them. She usually waits until they call her back.

She is always carefully supervised during their hunts, and finally, finally, the cracks James left across her nose and cheeks have finally faded away. They hunt too often for her, and when she forces herself to finish the animal, she vomits everywhere. She says nothing, but she feels safer a little hungry, her eyes black rather than a strange gold-orange.

Edward lets her sit beside him when he plays the piano, tells her about each of the pieces of music. He tries to teach her once, attempts to guide her hands into position, but she panics and jerks away, and he doesn’t offer again.

Emmett is nice to her. He seems to understand not to come up behind her without warning, not to touch. Sometimes she perches on the end of the couch and watches the television with him. She doesn’t stay very long, but he always gives her a big smile when she leaves, as if he’s had a wonderful time.

She doesn’t understand Emmett, but she thinks she could like him.

Rosalie can’t seem to decide whom she dislikes more – her or Bella - and she’s sure that Rose is going to get whiplash from changing her mind about both of them so many times. But Rose addresses her and is reasonably civil, mostly out of some kind of misguided caution that she is some kind of threat, and that is some kind of progress.

She and Bella have few words to say to each other. ‘Sorry I helped someone attempt to torture and exsanguinate you’ isn’t something she can work out how to say out-loud and have it sound genuine. Mostly because the truth is closer to, ‘I’m sorry you found yourself in this situation, but I don’t regret my choices. The consequences for me would have been much, much worse than you can ever comprehend. Your fragile mortality would have spared you of the worst of it. I’d make the same decision one hundred times in a row without a second thought.’

She’s certain that would upset everyone.

Bella seems rather reluctant to spent time in her presence, and she does wonder if that’s because she’s the side of the coin that isn’t beauty-wealth-love. She’s the side of suffering, of pain and of misery, murder and regret. Bella wants perfection, wants the glamour and magic of the Cullens, and none of the honest truth of being a vampire.

But it’s probably the murder attempt.

Then there are things that haven’t changed since she arrived. She’s not allowed to be alone, or to leave the house aside from hunting – even then, she has to be accompanied.

But every single day, James is still gone and she is still here. And there will never be a time when that knowledge is not sweet.

//

Her wardrobe is limited - a few old t shirts that once belonged to Esme and are too big, her worn jeans and the filthy, stained cardigan that she had when they found her. Her thin knees have long since torn through her pants, and the cardigan's sleeves are frayed and holey, but she is clean and free.

And then she is deemed in control enough to go shopping. Esme approaches her with the idea, with glossy magazines and gentle suggestions. It is an idea that has even intrigues Rosalie enough for her to join them.

They clearly still think she is a risk, though, because it is a family outing, with looks of such boredom and long-suffering on the faces of the male Cullens when it is decided, that she laughs softly behind her hand.

The building they take her to is huge and full of people. It is like a blow to the face, of blood and scent, and she visibly recoils from it at first, unsure and on edge. And they are patient, escorting her in, with encouraging words.

Eventually, though, they show her the clothes and the sight of the racks is enough to distract her from the heady scent. It is overwhelming, the colours and fabrics and styles, and she simply stares, with Emmett laughing at her stunned expression.

Esme is so kind, guiding her gently through the racks, telling her to choose anything she likes. She is careful, though, picking new jeans, a new cardigan, soft and clean and sunshine yellow. Esme helps her pick shoes out - the first pair she's had in decades. Soft brown winter boots, black sneakers, gold and black flats that make her feel like a princess. At her childlike delight with her fancy shoes, Esme buys her a black sundress with ties at the back and bows on the straps, that will bare her arms and triangles of flesh on her back.

Underwear is a strange concept. It's nothing that she has ever bothered with before. She is useless in the wake of so many choices, and let's Esme and Rosalie choose what she needs, dress her like a doll, whilst she amuses herself with how clearly uncomfortable both Jasper and Edward are in such a department.

She almost feels pretty – even desirable - in the plain cotton that make her skinny frame look almost womanly. She’s too embarrassed to even try on the satin and lace sets Rosalie has chosen. They aren’t for girls like her – girls that wear those things are more than she will ever be – prettier, sweeter, bolder. They are too much, and when she refuses, she doesn’t understand the look Rosalie and Esme exchange, Rosalie looking sly and Esme with an expression of warning.

Afterwards, they look for other things. The books hold little interest for her, as do the endless electronics. She doesn’t mean to wander off, but a demonstration by the art supplies store catches her eye, and she stands a little away from the crowd, watching the man draw. It is Esme and Jasper who find her, both looking alarmed, but she pretends she doesn’t see them, her gaze focused on the pencil that so carefully makes its way across the page.

“Alice,” Esme is at her side. “You scared us.” Her smile is bright, but her eyes worried – what would the Cullens do if she attacked in a place like this, with so many eyes? She doesn’t get to ponder that thought much longer, as Jasper’s hand closes over her shoulder and she is guided away.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jasper is her ominous shadow, as she dutifully trails after them.

She doesn't have her own room, but she doesn’t truly need one. Until now, she hasn’t had any possessions to store, and she doesn’t require the privacy a mated couple does. But, she has found she likes the attic. Full of things that need repairs or to be stored, it is a mad tea party of furniture and items.

There’s an old grey chair is missing a leg, and has an ugly stain that not even Esme could draw out that she likes. She folds herself into it, and she feels safe in that little corner, with the narrow window that overlooks the forest and spills in afternoon light. There's an old dresser up there, too, so that's where she arranges her new things, carefully folding and smoothing them into each drawer, precisely and lovingly.

Rosalie brings her some cosmetics and half a glass bottle of perfume – the bottle is shaped like an egg and etched with tiny flowers and curlicues and it is so delicate and beautiful, she is frightened to hold it. Rosalie watches as she sprays the scent into the air, the delighted look at the scent of flowers. She is nervous at Rosalie’s gesture, but grateful. Grateful enough that she allows Rosalie to cut the matted ends of her hair off into a neat, shorter style.

It makes her look more delicate, younger, maybe sweeter, she thinks as she strokes the strands in the mirror. And less like a roving maniac, at least according to the shiny-haired Rosalie, who watches her with satisfaction in her eyes.

She should be offended, but there’s this tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, Rosalie is turning her into something new. Something good and better.

Something like a sister.

//

It’s Esme’s idea to invite Bella around the evening of her birthday. Just a family gathering, with a few simple gifts. Everyone sort of agrees, and try to work out what to give the sullen girl.

She manages a portrait of Bella and Edward seated together at the piano that Esme gushes over, and has framed.

There have been some hints, from Carlisle and Edward that she will have to attend school eventually. She doesn’t understand that, but is just waiting for them all to graduate. They’ll leave when they’ve graduated and she won’t have to worry about school again.

She arranges peonies on the piano for Bella, upon Esme’s request, and is reminded of her old, fragmented vision of blood and glass. But nothing comes to her; the future is clear and her mind has decided to play tricks on her again.

Or perhaps her mind is the best part of her, the gentle warning she ignored becoming obvious as soon as Bella’s finger slips against the wrapping paper. Jasper’s eyes blacken as soon as Bella’s flesh parts and the blood beads, and suddenly he is lunging. She sees it in an instant, Bella’s crumpled body in his grip and Edward’s howls and the house of the Cullens irreversibly fallen. She sees an endless parade of James’ victims, broken and dead in Bella’s blank eyes.

She sees the horror and the guilt in Jasper’s eyes, sees the vastness of Mexico and the rise of a monster born of regret and impulse.

It is over before he even moves, decision made, and she has to stop this.

The shriek startles them all, coming from her mouth as she darts in front of him.

In another life, the flavour of her desperation and fear would be enough for him to pause, to grasp wildly at his resistance. Instead, he throws her aside, her body crashing through the front windows in a rain of wood and glass, leaving an imprint of her body in the flowerbed outside.

She picks herself up out of the flower bed as Emmett and Rosalie drag Jasper bodily from the house, Esme close behind them. Their eyes are all pitch black; a harmless paper cut did not cause this reaction.

“She cut open her arm,” is Emmett’s grim explanation as Jasper’s struggles slow, his eyes firmly on the door of the house.

“It was an accident,” Esme adds, shame in every line of her stance.

“Alice seemed to know,” Rosalie murmurs, her eyes still on Jasper.

She will never understand Rosalie, why she always needs to assign blame, to identify the victim and the antagonist. She ignores the statement, even as they all swing to look at her, as she examines her shoulder. Jasper didn’t hit her hard enough for cracks to form, but it doesn’t look like it’s properly aligned.

When she does look up again, she can see it in all their eyes – did she let this happen on purpose? Does she hold some ugly vendetta against poor, sweet Bella?

She did help James …

She’s surprised – she thought it would be Edward that came after her, later, to criticise and punish her for the limitations on her faulty gift. He still might – he hasn’t decided properly, too focused on patching up Bella.

But it’s Jasper, wrenching out of Rosalie and Emmett’s grasp, with murder in his eyes and the target on her.

He doesn’t yell, but his words are poisonous, nasty and accusing. She flinches, Esme gasps and even Emmett tries to get him to stop. Some of them, she knows, aren’t meant for her. They are frustration, humiliation and disappointment directed at himself, at his own weakness.

But when she instinctively backs away, and he grabs her wrist, and she lets out a tiny cry of fear; it is Rosalie who comes to her rescue, who snarls and yells and pries his iron grip from her.

“I don’t care how pissed you are, you don’t touch her like that.”

The words seem to echo, and Carlisle, Edward and Bella are watching from the front door.

Her apology is stammered, weak in the sudden silence, her insistence that she didn’t know sounding bewildered and feeble as she darts away, into the forest to pick glass and wood out of her hair and wonder just how many other warnings she’s missed.

//

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 9. ) “Acheron?” Beyond mere passing curiosity, it was the urgency supporting Bonnie’s need to understand the man sitting behind the wheel of his ridiculously expensive car that scalded her tongue. He was ever evasive, enigmatic and rarely straightforward where his past was concerned. But none of it quelled her demand to search for the truth. She didn’t seek it for personal gain either, she only sought to soothe the battle-weary hearts of her hunters. During the long weeks of bonding with each one of them, Bonnie convinced herself their inner peace was too valuable to be overlooked. Neither was the sharing type yet she was determined to help them heal wounds inflicted centuries ago, in a time innocence still characterised their human lives. And only the deepest betrayal could taint it. Riding in comfortable silence, Bonnie suspected the indecipherable Dark Hunter would resort to the infamous technique called feigned indifference where he pretended not to hear her while she would be forced into accepting his choice for silence. Stoic, and his features impassive, Acheron Parthenopaeus held all the charisma in the universe with full lips pressed against one another into a thin line. His gaze seemed focused on the road but behind that wall of opacity from his shades, Bonnie couldn’t be certain. And if her senses were correct, then he was, most definitely, eyeing her with the stealth of a predator. She felt the burn of his gaze on her. “Back at the comp—“ He sighed. As if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. “You want to know.” He interrupted her train of thought. “About the... incident from earlier.” The wilderness that rolled naturally from the contained storm of his voice offered her familiar security. A balm to her soul, she would never grow weary of it. It was almost as if he could read her innermost thoughts. And though she knew Dark Hunters possessed different gifts, Acheron seemed to be the rarity to that rule. The odd one out. Kyrian once told her he was the first one to be created. And she figured that was why he shared similar abilities to those of his brethren. Perhaps Kyrian and him were even more alike than her initial evaluation, conducted on the spot, back in Sanctuary when she first met Ash. Their personalities, however, differed significatively. “I—I probably can’t imagine...” she started but her words lost their direction when Acheron steered the Porsche into a new destination. No longer on their way toward the Garden District, it wouldn’t be long until Bonnie recognised St. Louis Cemetery’s aged iron gates. The car came to a stop near its old entrance. And without another word, he vacated the cramped space to welcome the fresh air of February. At first, Bonnie didn’t dare moving. She was paralysed in fear, mostly. The waters in which she swam were dangerous and treacherous, she knew of the promise navigating through the past and what it could potentially entail for the one taking a peek, even if brief, into that old chest of memories. She sensed barely contained pain, and worlds of sorrow and unrestrained grief. Outside, Acheron sat on the hood of his car. Alone. His chin slightly raised, it was obvious his gaze was lost to the skies already painted with the light tones of dawn. The night had come fast but the sun showed signs of similar elation for its return. It was now or never, she thought. As she opened the door on her side, left the car and took a seat next to him, Bonnie registered no movement from the embodiment of enigma himself. His shoulders slumped, his gaze finally sought refuge in wide-open doorway to her soul —those forest green eyes he had gotten lost in on multiple occasions before. But Bonnie wasn’t having any of it by allowing him to hide behind the comfort of his ever present shades. Hesitantly, and watching him from beneath curtains of thick lashes, her fingers took possession of his sunglasses as she slowly stripped his eyes naked. She knew what to expect but the gasp of appreciation still escaped. Liquid mercury swam quietly in his eyes as he watched her disarming him. Bonnie was the first and only one to accomplish that since his rebirth. And while he said nothing, a furious tic thrummed visibly along his jaw. She expected the momentary peak of anxiety after the bold exposure of him. A small grin stretching her lips, Bonnie folded his sunglasses and slid them inside her jeans pocket. For the time being, she was holding them hostage. Despite her calm facade, her heart suddenly became a professional gymnast as it did flips back and forth like there was no tomorrow. “It’s okay, Ash. If you prefer to keep your story to yourself,” she interrupted their silence at last. Besides panic and desperation, she was hit with a fathomless wave of grief the likes of which the young witch had never drowned in before. The raw intensity of these emotions flooring her, she was left breathless for several heartbeats. “I just... I hate seeing the torment of your past shadowing the light in your eyes.” Staggering from the onslaught of emotions, tears prickled her eyes. “You’ve been so hurt. I can sense it. I can.” Her chest rose and fell repeatedly. “You still bleed from your wounds. The past still holds you prisoner. And I don’t even know for how long! I can’t imagine the damage that’s caused on your soul.” Disturbed, Bonnie quickly wiped away the disgraceful tears that managed to escape her defences. The gates were now wide open. Beside her, her companion chose immediate silence. Frozen by the prejudice of his past, he walked trough the wastelands of memories without realising her fingers interlocked with his as she slid her palm on top of his massive hand. An earthquake-like tremor shook the whole of him. “It’s eleven thousand years.” He stated matter-of-factly. Surprise and shock registered on her face. It couldn’t be, her meagre knowledge of history told her it wasn’t possible. Yet, the exhaustion etched on his features spoke a whole different tale. “How is tha—?” She started. “That history lesson is too long and complex for tonight.” His gaze wandered to where their fingers stood united, Bonnie’s index finger stroking his knuckles. “And Bonnie? I’m soulless. All Dark Hunters are.” Promptly rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. Like a masochist, he smiled down at her. “Ow.” Acheron massaged his arm, successfully allowing them both a reprieve from the growing tension. “That ought to teach you not to smart-mouth me! You know what I meant. It may not inhabit your body, Ash, but it’s still yours. Still bleeds. I can see it, you know?” The soft, tangent urgency to secure his understanding clung to the breaths expelled. Since the moment she had been brought into their lives, Bonnie had been silently collecting data, studying and gathering every ounce of information about her warriors. Acheron and Kyrian, in particular, as both had been the ones she had spent the most time with. After careful analysis of her research, she was fairly confident Ash loathed the thought of having someone at his back. He even recoiled with the exaggerated proximity of another. With that thought in mind, and wanting to test her theory, Bonnie leaned closer. Purposely invading his personal space. Even though it was minimal and discreet, he drew back. Inside her chest, the thin walls of her beating heart cracked. The desolation mirrored in those pools of mercury laying waste to the fields of her weeping soul. ───Just how much misery has he been put through? Persisting, she tried again. “Back at the Mikaelson’s, before Klaus showed up, you…” With her insides twisting in oceans of anxiety, she lifted her gaze to his face. The urge to see him impossible to bypass. He was now peering right through her. “I know.” Serene but resigned, the direction of his gaze shifted so that he was staring at the horizon whilst pushing closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather coat. Soon, the first timid rays of sunshine broke free. Tearing the darkness apart. Had she been sharing this moment with Kyrian, they’d be on their phrenetic way home. As a norm, Dark Hunters were banished from sunlight, yet their leader stood as exception to that rule. Nothing about Acheron Parthenopaeus was ordinary. After several minutes spent in absolute silence, and with a defeated sigh, she rose from the hood of the car and handed him his shades, certain he had murdered the topic and buried its corpse. Her hands tied, Bonnie decided to respect his deafening silence and privacy. “Come on. Let’s face King Stubborn. I can almost hear his tirade from here.” It was her way of letting him know of her decision. “It was my nephew.” Halfway through her march to her side of the car, Bonnie froze. Her curls bounced back and forth with the abrupt movement of her head as she looked back at him. She almost doubted she heard him when he didn’t elaborate. His tone had been so low as well, as if afraid of the damage the words would deliver. Hesitantly, she approached him again. ─── Was Acheron Parthenopaeus finally allowing her to take a peek into the fortress of solitude of his soul? The sunglasses still caged between his fingers, calloused by countless battles, Bonnie found herself peering deeply into the oceans of mercury of his eyes. Saying nothing, the petite woman simply reached for his hand, securing it between her fingers as she gave him a nod of encouragement. “He was murdered while I lay in a drunken stupor in the room next door. His death and my sister’s, his mother, are on me, Bon. Their blood still stains my hands.” Without pretending she was privy to all the details of that tragic night, Bonnie shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. You would probably be killed too if you had gone into their room… And besides, something tells me you weren’t drunk because you felt like partying. You’re not that type. You were drowning. Weren’t you?” She lowered her chin while her thumb and index finger secured his. Turning his head her way, she then forced him to look back at her. “Weren’t you?” Again, she asked. “That’s no excuse, Bonnie.” Rising from his spot on the car hood, the Dark-Hunter swiftly made his way to his side of the car. “I let them die.” With a sense of finality, he tucked himself behind the wheel of his Porsche. But Bonnie couldn’t disregard the raw vulnerability drenching his words. The agony exuding enough to rob the air inside her lungs. Enough to inject her with a weakness capable of driving her to her knees. Leaning over the passenger’s seat, Acheron opened the door to welcome her inside. And without another word, she took her place beside him. A stirring of magic began tickling her senses then, like a foreshadowing of sorts. In the cramped space, Acheron touched her arm in the midst of shifting gears as he brought the engine to life. Taken by surprise, Bonnie gasped loudly. Not by the touch itself but the sudden flashes of ancient memories taking her brain hostage, without an ounce of mercy. Lying in a pool of his own blood, Acheron Parthenopaeus struggled to rise from the slippery floor of the grand palace. Lost to his anger and bloodlust, his attacker, a male figure of pure perfection with a golden aura, sank his knife into Acheron’s heart before slicing him open up to his navel like a hunted animal being gutted by a barbarous predator. The brutality of the scene alone successfully stealing the remaining air flowing through her lungs. “You died that night, too.” She stated in a whisper, haunted by the violence still burning behind her eyelids. This time around, he didn’t elaborate. But he watched her, from the corner of his eye with a strange light reflected on his gaze. The assertiveness supporting her revelation pushing him to put his every available resource to use, he was soon faced with a growing mystery Acheron couldn’t quite figure out yet. Still petrified by the sudden revelation on both parties, the pair rode in a rather strained silence for the remaining journey. At Kyrian’s antebellum mansion’s gate, the young witch finally dared a peek at the man sitting beside her. “Ash—“, she started only to be interrupted by him. “You don’t have to apologise, Bonnie.” He paused as if weighing the impact of his following words. “I wanted you to know. For some reason.” The air of mild astonishment clung to him furiously before quietly leaving her to her own thoughts as he braved the path toward the main entrance of Kyrian’s exuberant manor with regal superiority that bled from every pore without an ounce of vanity exuded. “One day, Ash. One day, you will tell me every secret you’ve buried deep in your soul. Then, I’ll set you free.” With that whispered vow, Bonnie vacated the car to follow him and, finally, confront her latest source of woe. Their gazes locked instantly as she stepped through the door. The cold morning’s timid breeze blowing, dragged her curls behind her shoulders as her fingers made haste to shield Kyrian from the invading sunlight. Even in darkness, the ancient Prince’s blonde curls glistened like an aura of mortal divinity. Incapable of staying unaffected, her heart quickened at the sight. And though his stance prevailed rigid and unfaltering, Kyrian stood silent. Almost defeated, and at a loss for words. In return, Bonnie’s demeanour evolved through different discharges of emotions as her thoughts raced through her mind. Neither willing to break the silence of discomfort. Drowning in conflict, she entertained their staring contest for a little longer just so she gave herself the time to examine the source of all her current heartache. Convinced her stubborn Dark-Hunter had recovered from most of the damage done to him the previous night, she finally mustered the courage to reveal her intentions of returning to Mystic Falls for a few days. “You look better already. That’s a relief.” Pause. Fidgeting fingers found temporary shelter in her jacket’s pockets. Then she cleared her throat. “Ash is taking me home for a couple of days.” ─── There. It’s done. Best to just blurt it out and take them both out of this misery. Unsure he had heard it right, he sought Acheron for clarification. Or any indication of the meaning behind her words. As the sole witness to their exchange, characterised by tension and uneasiness, Ash chose not to elaborate. Leaving that pleasant task to her. “I’m gonna find Nick. There’s something I need to discuss with him.” And just like that, he vanished toward the kitchen. Betrayal spoiled Kyrian’s patrician features. As a member of the male community, he had hoped his boss would join forces with him in solidarity. To dilute the growing tension building between him and Bonnie. But no, the old bastard slipped through the cracks at the first chance. “Why?” Defeated, he couldn’t even hide his dismay. It took him several heartbeats of aching silence to finally tear it apart. In his head, Kyrian had already demanded her all the answers but none were brought into the light. Only that broken whisper seemed to matter. “You know why.” She murmured back, without wasting a heartbeat. Though Bonnie wouldn’t admit it out loud, her poor bruised heart cracked even further. Pain oozed from it like poison as it continued to pump blood unknowingly of the destruction caused. Suddenly lightheaded, and with weakened knees, she sought swift support from the nearby sofa just to avoid worlds of embarrassment. His rejection had been enough. It stung like a viper’s attack and now she bled. She just wanted to bleed alone for a couple of days before raising her chin and throwing her misfortune over her shoulders as if nothing had transpired.

Guilt-ridden, at least he had the decency of showcasing remorse by fixing his stare anywhere but her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Can you, please, tell Acheron I’ll be ready in a few minutes?” Sighing in extreme desolation, she left him alone to his thoughts. The whole packing process didn’t take her even twenty minutes, she had been taken to New Orleans against her will after all. A bittersweet smile tugged at the ends of her lips as the memory of the first encounter with Kyrian invaded her thoughts like a Trojan’s horse. She nearly laughed reminiscing on their first exchange of words and how much he had feared her even though he had been the one kidnapping her. Instead, a choked sob escaped. Life had to have a grudge against her, she pondered. All her efforts to turn things around when nothing went right could never hold the walls that sustained any form of happiness. It took her a minute of sitting on the bed that had been hers for several weeks to pull herself together. Her emotions ran haywire and she was having some trouble taking their reigns. Once certain she wouldn’t break as easily in front of him, Bonnie grabbed the bag with her clothes. But as she was leaving her room, she felt the urge to leave a memento that would remind him of her. Aware of his instant appreciation for relics, Bonnie decided to gift him with one of her grandmother’s old necklaces, a witch’s talisman. Her favourite and most powerful. Hoping he would find it after her departure, Bonnie made her way downstairs to find both Kyrian and Acheron waiting for her in a silence that felt strange, thick with tension. “I’m ready to go.” She announced bravely while focusing her attention on the straps of her bag, avoiding Kyrian’s burning gaze. Sensing the unresolved tension between them, Acheron gave Kyrian a meaningful stare with a message only privy to them both before getting up and making his exit. “I’ll wait outside for you, Bonnie. Whenever you’re ready.” Emphasising that last sentence, Ash conveyed his belief the two of them should trade some parting words before her temporary departure. In silence, she nodded and waited until Acheron was outside. “I don’t want you to go, Bonnie.” Kyrian’s delivery almost like a plea took the young witch by surprise. She had expected to be one breaking the silence. “I can’t stay and pretend nothing happen. I’m not like that, Kyrian.” The anguish in her voice becoming more solid with each word. “If I’m coming back here to fight against this enemy alongside you then I need time to put my priorities in order.” Unable to withstand the sound of heartache in her voice, her fallen Prince closed the gap between them and took her face with both hands. Admiring the beauty of her strength, Kyrian closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he cursed his very existence. For the first time in over two thousand years of solitude and misery, his heart awakened from a long death. But they could never be, regardless of his feelings toward her. That would be a direct insult to his vow and the goddess he served. Resting his forehead on hers, temptation bit him hard as they stood on the verge of goodbye. ─── I love you, Bonnie. The words never came. Instead, he breathed in her perfume. “At least let me be the one to take you home...” With tears prickling her eyes, she attempted her escape but he wouldn’t let her. Kyrian remained frozen as if willing to extend their moment. “I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll just delay the inevitable. Better to just rip it off and hope for the best.” Inside, every wall crumbled to the ground. There was shards of glass everywhere. She was a wreck, bleeding and the ruins of what could be would become unfinished dreams. “I should go now, Kyrian.” Fighting off a sobbing session, she rubbed her eyes to dry unspent tears. After all, nothing would change even if she cried. Opposite from her, an ancient warrior stood deep in thought. Tormented by visions of a future he never meant to have or share with another, Kyrian remembered the tragedy of his human days, mostly marked by the betrayal that had murdered him. An inner voice had once convinced him he was not worthy of love but looking down at her, the infamous “what if” tormented him aggressively. Saying nothing, her Prince pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes to savour the bittersweet moment as he committed into memory every piece of her. “Be safe.” The softness of his whisper practically snuffed out Bonnie’s remaining strength as her knees buckled. With a tenderness that rivalled even her grandmother’s, Kyrian caressed her face one last time as if afraid he might not see her again. He was determined to make her departure the hardest one yet. Only by Bonnie’s perseverance did she manage to break them apart. “I will.” Finally turning around to leave, their fingers crossed paths in intimate touch and his self control flew out the window. Awakening from self-inflicted slumber, Kyrian closed his fingers around hers and pulled her back, drawing her into his body by surprise. He, then, stole her breath with a searing kiss, full of longing and unspoken promises her warrior vowed not to disclose in fear of what might befall her were he to defy the goddess he served. Bewildered, Bonnie gaped at him. Giving her half a smile, he knew he had to let her go but his fingers refused the separation by caressing her face while his midnight eyes dove deep into her soul. “You shouldn’t have done this.” The words came barely above a whisper as she enforced their physical distance by taking his hands hostage. “Goodbye, Kyrian.” Barely holding on, with the grip on her emotions fading with each heartbeat, she made a hasty retreat. The front door slammed, effectively shutting another chapter of her life as the weakened walls guarding her heart crumbled. She couldn’t breathe through the onslaught of heartache and agony. ─── Was this what she was destined for? Her gut-wrenching sobs, though quiet, didn’t go unnoticed by Acheron who waited for her by his Porsche. Rather unsure on how to approach her as Bonnie’s heart bled without restraint, he took calculated steps in her direction in hopes that she would note his presence. And she finally did. “I’m ready.” The strain she put on to have her voice sound remotely even through the remains of her shattered heart reinforced Acheron’s respect for her. Perturbed by her breakdown, the ever observant but quiet Dark Hunter offered her a modicum of solace by drawing her trembling frame into his chest, surrounding her with his strength through an unusual embrace. Massive hands stroked her hair with inimitable softness. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Bonnie Bennett.” The admiration reflected on his lilt administered a sense of temporary serenity. “Just remember it is not an obligation to be strong 24/7. Sometimes we have to drown before we can return to shore.” Struggling for words, she merely nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?” As if pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, Ash offered her his hand. “We aren’t taking your car?” She asked, perplexed. Tearing a rift in her skies of grief, Acheron Parthenopaeus conjured a disarming smile she felt particularly victimised by. “No. Not this time. Have you ever traveled through the time-space continuum, also commonly known as teleportation?” Openly gaping at him, she then glanced at his exposed palm, the tears making it a near impossible feat. A stirring of excitement unleashed a few wild butterflies in her stomach as her fingers touched Acheron’s calloused hand. “Should I be afraid? How does it work?” Like any other creature, she grew hesitant just as treaded these unknown waters. “For me, it’s like breathing. Do you trust me?” Assuming an almost defensive posture as if expecting the worst, he stared at her intently from behind his trusted sunglasses. Waves of relief rolled off of him when she nodded. “You know that I do.” His fingers had barely taken possession of hers when he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “You can open your eyes now, Bonnie. You’re home.” She did. One glance around them confirmed his claim. In fact, he even brought them to her grandmother’s unkept porch, once again proving her his powers far exceeded those of his brethren. Apart from the light discomfort in her stomach, she felt fairly confident on her competence to teleport. “It was easier than I expected…” She mumbled as realisation gutted her. She was back. Back in Mystic Falls, her so-called cursed birthplace.

[firemblem-fics]

Running With the Wolves [2]

<< | >>

-> Pairing: Yuri x Fem!Reader

-> Gang!Au | Modern!Au | Enemies to Lovers

-> Word Count: 2.4k

-> Warnings: Blood, Violence, Cursing, Angst, Crack

-> Summary: You were just a normal college student, trying to find her way in a new place. You didn’t mean to get caught up in the wrong crowd. You just wanted coffee, but now you’re running with the wolves.

-> A/N: okok i know this is a lot shorter than the last chapter BUT y’all already heard my struggle with it so i’m actually kind of happy with this and liked where it ended. i’m sorry it’s boring, i think this was just a chapter where i do some introductions and go further into characters and a teeny bit more into the world of the gangs idk more info in later chapters because reader will NOT suddenly get a huge info dump of shit - also i hope you all like my two oc’s in here!

if you’d like to be put on the taglist, send me an ask or a message!

“Run.”

In that second, Yuri began firing shots at your pursuers again. Hapi gave her gun to Balthus, who began using both his and her pistols to keep them back as well. She turned and grabbed your arm- the same one that was bleeding before recoiling.

“Who hurt you?”

“Yuri dragging me around.”

Hapi scoffed and reached for the other arm, leading you out the back door and into a small white car. She cranked the engine and backed out before you could even get buckled, narrowly missing a larger black van parked beside it. You held onto the door frame, your fingers turning white as Hapi whipped the car down a smaller, empty street.

“Why are you driving like a fucking lunatic?”

“They could easily follow us! Look behind, do you see anything?”

You turned as well as you could as Hapi made another sharp turn. “No, there’s nothing behind us.”

She slowed the car just a little bit. “Keep checking. We don’t need someone knowing where we’re going.”

You stayed turned in your seat, heart jumping out of anxiety every time you saw a random car or person pass by. “My home is the other way.”

“Wh- Oh, honey, no. They think you’re a part of us, you can’t go home.”

“What? Why not? I could just explain to them what I was doing- they’ll understand-“

“No, they won’t.” The redhead leaned her head back against the seat and bit back a sigh before mumbling to herself. “We weren’t even involved in their little spats with the other places. Why the hell would Edelgard come after us?”

You checked back one more time. “Didn't she say something about how ‘she’s the boss now’? Whatever it’s about, it’s because she’s apparently in charge or whatever. I- I just want to go home.” Your nose burned as tears filled your eyes, but you willed them to not fall. Hapi would definitely be the kind to make fun of you.

You thought back to the others- Yuri, Balthus, and Constance. Ellie had said that they were just some random college kids, making money to get by. Obviously they were more than that.

“What about the others? We just left them there.”

“They’ll be fine. They’ve had their fair share of fights. We’ll meet them back at the house.”

You could only nod and try to soothe your shaking body. Your arm still burned from the wound, but you didn’t want to look at it. Knowing the severity of it would only make it hurt worse.

Eventually, Hapi pulled into a normal looking house. It seemed inconspicuous, with a fraternity sign hanging out front to complete the “normal college kids live here” look. You shuddered. Things are not as they seem with these people, and their house for sure isn’t a normal one as well. Hapi got out of the car and scouted around it, searching the entire car before once again muttering to herself.

“... Can’t believe I forgot to look for a tracker-“

“Look who’s finally home! Hapis and- who’s this?”

Suddenly a loud, annoying voice shouted from the front door of the house. You looked up to see a new man, slowly putting down his waving hand as he saw you. From the top of the brick stairs, he looked quite tall, but as you continued to ascend, the shorter and shorter he became until he was scarcely a few inches taller than you.

“Hiram, this is Y/N. She was, uh, put in an unfortunate circumstance and had to come with us.”

His white eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Hapi confusedly before nodding. “Uh, yeah, okay. Come on in, then. Rhys is out getting takeout. What’s the circumstance?”

“Edelgard attacked the café.”

Hiram was still confused, but it was cut short as the same black van you saw earlier pulled into the open garage. Hapi motioned for the two of you to come inside, saying that Yuri would explain everything.

The house was more normal than you expected. The living room walls were painted a light blue with a couch surrounding the fireplace and a TV on top of it. The colors of that room contrasted greatly against the honey yellow walls of the kitchen, where everyone had gathered and sat at the table. You squeezed yourself between Hapi and Constance, the only other girls there.

“We should wait for Rhys-“

“There's no time.” Yuri scoffed at Hiram and leaned back on his chair. “Somehow, Edelgard took power from her father and is now the leader of the Black Eagles. I’ve yet to figure out what her plans are- attacking us, out of everyone possible- but I’m sure they aren’t good.”

You sighed and leaned against your arm, but stopped. You really, really needed medical attention for your arm. You also really, really needed to go home. You stood up.

“Okay, well, have fun with that. I’m out.”

Yuri laughed. “No, you’re not. Sit down.”

You whipped around to face him, your cheeks burning in anger. “I am! I’m going to leave this house, go to a hospital, fix my arm, and go home. I have no business here.”

You moved to leave again, but a pair of pale arms wrapped around you. One arm gripped your waist tightly as the other flicked out a knife, holding it against your neck. You tried to struggle, but the person- a tall man- tightened his hold even further. Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Easy with her, Rhys. You started having business here the minute you decided to open your stupid little mouth. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to shut up? To think rationally in the face of danger? Did you even realize the danger you were in, or are you really just that dense?” He sneered, walking towards you. “You, Princess, have gotten yourself into a Hell of a lot of trouble. You’re right, you shouldn’t be here, but now it’s time to reap what you sow.”

You grimaced at Yuri’s close proximity and spat at him, making him stumble back and wipe his face in disgust. This caused Rhys to lift your chin with the knife, pressing down enough to leave a small cut. A trail of blood dripped down to your collarbone.

“I suggest you learn to keep your mouth shut.” Hiram laughed almost maniacally from the table. “Rhysie’s silent but deadly. Don’t mess with us.”

Said man finally let you go, pushing you back to your seat, which you took with a huff. Constance handed you a tissue from the small pocketbook she carried and you thanked her, smiling wearily.

Hapi, who had stayed silent the entire time, coughed awkwardly. “So, what’s our next move?”

Yuri shrugged. “We’re no longer neutral, obviously. But we don’t know if the Golden Deer or the Blue Lions are on our side either. Edelgard had to have had a plan when she attacked us.”

The six others sat in thought for a minute while you, on the other hand, had never been more confused. “Wait, what’s even going on? Why do restaurants kill each other?”

Hiram giggled and plucked the bloody tissue out of your hand, beginning to mess with it and look at the new stains. “You’re tellin’ me that you really thought this was just some dumb restaurant rivalry? Hah! Sweetheart, we’re gangs. Y’know. Drugs. Illegal trades. Turf wars. The usual.”

You tried to put more pieces together. “So, Edelgard’s gang is the bad guys?”

“Exactly-“

“We’re not good. None of the gangs are. Our sins are irredeemable- we’re not the good guys. Edelgard’s people aren’t the bad guys. We don’t know what’s going on right now.” Hapi cut off Hiram.

Said man snorted and ran a hand through his ponytail. “Hey, Rhys, say fuck for me.”

Rhys’s freckled skin flushed a bright red and he avoided the eye contact of everyone around. “...I can’t.” He mumbled.

“See? Rhysie’s good.”

Hapi closed her eyes and suppressed a sigh again, and you wondered what was up with her and sighing. “The next move is to wait. Maybe do a little digging in their computers and communication, but that’s Hiram’s job.”

“We’ve got to figure out something for the rat to do.She can’t just sit here and be in the way.” Yuri mused. “Housekeeping, perhaps?”

“I am not a rat!” You hissed, “You are!”

The purple haired boy only smirked. “Whatever you say, Princess. Go upstairs to the first room on the left. There’s a big stack of manila folders with profiles on the desk. Bring them back down here.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up from your seat, practically stomping your way to the wooden stairs. Opening the first door on the left, you found the folders Yuri was talking about. You reached for them, but hesitated and looked out of the window beside the desk.

It would be so easy to leave, you thought, but jumping from this height would definitely lead to a broken bone.

You committed this room to memory and grabbed the folders, taking your time down the stairs to plan an escape route if needed. You were going home, whether they liked it or not, you decided. You were close to the bottom of the steps when a paper slid out from one of the folders. It was a profile with a rather familiar looking face on it.

Yuri Leclarc, It read, Age 24. Affiliation: Ashen Wolves. Family: Father (unknown), Mother (missing).

You heard footsteps walk through the living room and you quickly snatched up the paper, stuffing it in a folder before you finished reading it all. Hiram became visible, one hand carrying a large laptop and the other, a basket of cables and other equipment. He didn’t say anything to you. Instead, he barely spared you a glance as he walked back into the kitchen. You followed.

“Here.” You huffed and slammed down the folders. Hiram was busy plugging up different cords and routers to the computer, still completely ignoring your presence.

Yuri nodded and stood, sifting through the papers before landing on one labeled “Black Eagles”. He pushed the other folders to the side and opened that one. He laid out 8 profiles, all of people around your age. You could’ve sworn you’d seen some of them around campus, but you nearly vomited as your eyes caught one certain profile.

Ferdinand von Aegir.

“It’s up and running!” Hiram’s voice knocked you out of your stupor. “A piece of art, truly!”

Constance snorted. “A piece of shit, actually.”

Hiram ignored her comment and grinned, placing his hands on his hips proudly. “I call it the Computer of Chaos. COC for short.”

The silence in the kitchen was practically screaming.

Yuri looked up from the profiles. “The what?”

“The Cock, Yuri-bird. Didn't you hear him correctly?” Balthus nearly choked trying to hold in his laugh.

“Exactly! And it works for everyone here, you just have to say your name and it’ll unlock for you.” Hiram motioned for someone to give it a try.

Yuri still looked at the computer quizzically, but walked towards it nonetheless. He leaned down and said, “Yuri Leclarc.”

“Access Denied.”

“What?” Hapi questioned, pulling the computer toward herself. “Hapi.”

“Access Denied.”

“Ohhh, that’s right.” Hiram’s grin turned mischievous. “It only answers to the nicknames I gave you all.”

If looks could kill, Yuri would have committed a murder. He sighed heavily and violently moved the computer back to him. “Yuris.”

“Permission Granted.”

“Go die.” He growled at Hiram, who only laughed.

“What nicknames?” You had to ask, but regretted it once Hiram’s smile was directed at you.

“I add an -is to the end of everyone’s names! Yuris, Hapis, Constis, Balis, but I call Rhys ‘Rhysie’, he doesn’t tell me not to~”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t fucking talk, that’s why.”

“Can I have a nickname?” If you were going to be stuck here, you may as well make friends.

“Hmm,” Hiram pondered, “No.”

“Wh-“

So much for making friends.

Yuri interrupted the awkward moment by slamming his hand down on COC, making Hiram gasp in protest. “Fucking- Hiram, try to find something- anything- to find out Edelgard’s intentions. We had a neutrality pact, she shouldn’t have broken it.”

Your head was starting to hurt from the events today. Rubbing your temples, you stood up, making everyone look at you.

“Listen, I’m tired. I’m stressed. Is there like, anywhere I can sleep? I can’t do much more.”

Constance nodded. “I’ll take you up to the spare room!”

She led you up the stairs and past the room you had gone into earlier. Opening the door to one of the bedrooms, she gestured for you to enter.

“I’ll have to lock you in, but I’m sure you won’t mind. You’ll be sleeping, after all!” Constance smiled, “Goodnight!”

You waved back at her and waited for the click of the lock before turning on the lamp and peeling your sleeve away from your arm. You grimaced- blood had dried and caked around the wound, which was still slightly bleeding. You needed medical attention, but you didn’t blame the Wolves for not thinking about it.

They certainly were stressed- being previously neutral and suddenly attacked. They’ve got enemies now and you suspected that was something they haven’t had in quite a while. And then there was you, the epitome of ‘wrong place, wrong time’. Who would’ve thought that you’d end up accidentally in the middle of a gang war when you moved here? Certainly not you.

Guilt tugged at your stomach. These people were different from you. You didn’t belong here and you needed to get out of their hair. Yuri made it obvious that you stuck out like a sore thumb, unaware of what to do like they did.

You glanced at the window in the bedroom and stood up, making your way towards it. You could easily unlock it and risk an ankle injury. You’d already hurt your arm, it would be fine.

Your two choices were to try to survive a mob that wanted to kill you all, or get a foot injury while escaping and get back to your normal life.

Unlocking the latch on the window, and sitting on the edge, you had already made your decision. You jumped down and ignored a loud crack that resounded in your ankle, slipping into the depths of night.

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

taglist: @fairyblue-alchemist @emperor-pizza @flavoredmilktea @sadies-stories-n-things @mifuyuyu @blviddyd @laurexlance @atomicchocolatecookie @mapesandoval @local-goth-lilz

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

[kryetara]

the first moment ira and kel speak following   ( x  ).    //    WHEN IRA WALKS THROUGH THAT FABLED, GLOSSY BLACK DOOR, AND INTO THE MUSKY THRESHOLD OF THE WOLF, TWO THINGS ARE IMMEDIATELY OBVIOUS TO KEL.              one ;   the money - man isn’t available this evening to listen to his treaty.     two ;   he might  never  be available.    it’s with a sour expression and stiff lip,  it appears,  that dunham treads through the murky,  waist - deep and  hazy  waters of the bar toward the rear,  and he spares no glances,  either ;    not even to check if any of the mehmeti siblings are roosting tonight,    an act highly unusual for him.         (  as if it doesn’t  bother  him.  )      to which,  they  are  present this gloomy thursday evening ;    kel behind the bar,  gaze fixed,  now,  on  his  accountant,  conversations interrupted ;    murrat lingering like  dracula  by the dark corner,  his knuckles still a burnt red from the recent   vampiric slaughter ;      and this time,  emina is there,  one of the  terrible  siblings ira hasn’t had a great deal to do with.    while she sits perched on a stool opposite her youngest brother,  she doesn’t immediately notice that the energy in the room has   distinctly shifted.      a knot’s forming behind kel’s adam’s apple,  so he swallows it down.    for the first time in a while,    𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.      he’ll pour himself a small tumbler of golden whiskey,  and though emina now appears to clock onto his unrest,  he’s already slid past,  in pursuit of a man he now feels he has no choice but lay out a plea to.

the wooden stairs creak as he ascends them,  and with every step,  the mehmeti son feels himself riddle with   energetic nerve.      kel isn’t  used  to feeling anxious,  isn’t   equipped   to deal with feeling divided ;    he is always so very sure of himself,  so certain of his goals and convinced by his methods.    but  this fateful night,   one that has been building for a number of silent days and pressing hours,  was bound to come by sooner or later ;     he has his work cut out for him to win dunham back.     standing by the white wooden door of ira’s office,  there - in is a touch of grappling hesitation.     how ought he to approach this ?     in true fashion of himself,  though,  he pays shrunk time to this mindfulness ;    it’s with a puffed chest that he opens the door.

ira is already sat,   a smouldering cigarette in his left hand,  and his narrow face is lit blue and  gaunt  by the screen of his laptop.    when he peers upward,  the depth of his rage,  it seems,  has curdled so exhaustingly on his features that he appears not to show any emotion at all ;    almost   completely unreadable.      attempting not to liken the exchange between them,  at this moment,  to that of a delinquent student being summoned to the headmaster,  kel sniffs,  and tilts his chin upward at him.    while one of them seeks out dominance in the situation,  the other appears to have effortlessly slid into it,  without even trying.

‘      i was  hoping  you’d turn up tonight,    ’         mehmeti admits,  rubbing his signet ring with his thumb absently,  and making his way toward the chair that opposes ira’s desk ;   slowly,   as though he were approaching a hawk guarding it’s eggs.          ‘     we have things to talk about.    ’

‘    i disagree.   ’         somehow,  the usual pitch of ira’s voice comes out  deeper  than normal,  and is utterly  burnt to a crisp with exasperation.     he knows he shouldn’t smoke inside,  but he does so out of   spite,    and takes a long drag ;  letting it puff itself out of him between them,  as if the rift that separates them needed any further highlighting.         ‘    i’m not here long,  i’m just finishing some things i didn’t get chance to finish the weekend before last.    so if you don’t mind.    ’  ‘    ira.   ’ unchanging,   dunham is   silent   at kel’s plea. ‘    we should talk about what happened last weekend.    ’ ‘    why would we do   that ?      ’      another exhale of smoke,   aimed  at kel. ‘    …   well,   i assumed you’d want to.    ’ on a sardonic,   humourless  laugh,           ‘    you shouldn’t assume  anything.   ’

while it’s clear to kel that ira has reformed himself into something of a   sealed membrane,    shut so totally that he’s almost unable to hear him at all,  he persists ;  they share a gaze so unshaking that   neither can look away,  as if to do so would admit defeat.      not even the corners of ira’s jaw clench,  nor does he touch at his face to hide behind his hand.         𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.        kel has to   admire   him,  for a fraction of a second          ––––          whatever he felt when he’d come to   scoop up severin from the jaws of the wolf,    it appears to have turned him to stone.    poised,  and   unflappable.      (   he wonders,  though,  if this is some ruse ;  that underneath that,  there isn’t still some volcanic core,  pulsing and spitting.  )

‘      i don’t agree with what murrat did,    ’        kel goes on,  at last finding himself breaking eye contact to touch his desk,  tap his fingers against the beechwood.         ‘    when i came in,    he was already finished.      there wasn’t much of anything i could do.      that was when i called you.    ’         well aware that ira’s gaze is still locked onto him in the wordless beats that pass by,  kel continues.     ‘     how is he ?      ’

this is when the mask   slips.      ira’s upper lip recoils as his nose twitches ;  a creep of view to what kel had suspected was lurking ;      that tumultuous rage.        there comes no response,  simply a deepening of his stare,    so exhausting that kel can’t maintain it with him,  and all but wriggles underneath it.

‘      well,  i hope he’s …  getting better,   ’      mehmeti concludes with.    as clearly there’s no point trying to go further,  he stands,  and takes heavy,  almost   defeated   steps to the door.       ‘     i’ll leave you to it.   ’

‘     if  murrat …   ’            when ira speaks,  it’s got a   sudden   quality to it ;  louder than before,  and with a  slight tremble  to it,  as though it   groans under the pressure of his fury.      while kel simply  has  to look,  and feels as though he’s peering into the core of a  nuclear reactor,   ira remains seated.        ‘      or  any  of you …    or anyone  working  for you  …    ever   …    touch  him,  or  anyone  with me,  ever again  …    ’

there’s a pause.    the silence between them is so catastrophically  deafening  that neither man can turn aside from each other ;  like the north and south of magnets,  colliding and  crashing  together.

‘     i’ll put you all behind bars for the rest of your fucking lives,  and every penny you’ve ever made will be mine.   do you understand me ?    ’    ��   this is when the   money - man   stands.    even kel,  someone so versed with staying steadfast in the face of trials,  has to bite his cheek ;  ira moves round the desk toward him,  slowly shrinking the gap between them.

‘      every penny you’ve ever made.    every penny your  family  has ever made.    your father has ever made.   his  fucking father ever made.    everything in the mehmeti name.    it will all be mine.    do you hear what i’m saying ?    everything.    your houses.    the bars.    your money.        everything.    ’         ira stands before him now,  and the difference in their height has never been quite so   significant   before ;  he seems to rise on his haunches like a grizzly bear at him,    and every word comes out as though he’s frothing at the mouth ;  hoarse,  but volatile.    kel has never seen ira so  raw.

‘    do you understand ?    ’

kel considers doing one of many things.    pushing ira back away from him in defence,  raising himself higher,  threatening  him  back with violence or calling down to murrat to outnumber him ;  all of them,  though,  have the enormity of admitting to the same root cause.    for the first time between them,   he is not the one in control.     while the realization of this starts becoming obvious in his expression,  and suddenly he’s aware that whatever action he takes within these next few seconds will dictate the immediate and late future,    kel finds himself submitting.      he nods slowly.

‘    good.    so we’re on the same page  after  all.    ’

while kel wonders if his outburst is simply an act of prying it from his system,  or if there’s  truth  in his threats,  he elects not to argue.    it becomes very apparent to him,  then,  that as he often is,   dunham is right ;    and for the first real moment of truth ;  that   he doesn’t doubt the accountant could sell them all out if he really wanted to.      with this thought a raising inferno in his mind,  and unsure if he should be excited and thrilled by ira’s display,  or horrified at the transgression of the man before him,  or what he’s  become,      what he’s becoming ;      he backs toward the door.

‘     we’ll talk later,    ’        mehmeti at last speaks,  voice quieted.

the nerve of him to do all that knowing full well  where  he is,  he thinks,  as he steps out,  and closes the door shut behind him.    get murrat to teach him a fucking lesson,  is the next thought,  upon the descension of those creaking stairs.    kick him out and cut ties with him completely.    talk to emina about what to do next.    have him jumped one night and put his body in the thames.      have a fucking drink.      all thoughts become a visible matrix on him as he finds himself back among the thudding music of the bar and pacing with mounting frustration toward the counter ;   emina catches his gaze,  and notes that he seems far more wound up than before.    than,  perhaps,   ever  before.

‘    what is it ?    ’      she poses ;  but he almost immediately shuts her out.    you fucking idiot,  he thinks ;  he snapped you like a fucking twig and you let him.    whiskey. ‘    nothing,   ’     kel snaps back.    the same glass is refilled,  and downed within seconds. ‘     it doesn’t   look   like nothing.    ’ ‘     it’s  fine.    ’

kel   retreats   further,    at this point ;  escapes to the street outside for a cigarette.    shakes himself,  shakes that   frustration,   rags on it like a dog and leans against the brick wall.    slams his hand against it.    you can’t let him talk to you like that.    you have to show him why he can’t talk to you like that.        ––––          but what if he   could   do all that ?    there’s no reason why he’d lie ;  it’s ira.    he doesn’t say anything unless he’s already thought it through a   million fucking times.

‘     you talked to him,   ’         the familiar voice of   murrat,    already outside.     murrat,      man of the hour,    who still looks as he always does ;    as though he knows something you don’t,    and that wry,  shallow little smirk as though he’s   proud   of himself.    for once,  it grinds kel the wrong way,  and in a flash,    he’s on him ;    pushing into his chest.    their noses touch.    the breaths kel pushes out his nose are short and   fuming.

‘     ju idiot i ndyrë,    ’          you fucking idiot,    he spits.         ‘       a e kupton se cfare ke bere ?!    ’        do you realise what you’ve done ?!

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 7- Mineral Mage

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

The hermits are home on their hidden island of Eremita, welcomed by a friendly face...and a not so friendly friend. TFC is desperate to discover what the crystal is, even at the expense of his own wellbeing. But does he take it too far?

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

At the tallest rise of the island, a glimmer is visible. Light shining off metal, and a small red tassel flowing free of the knight’s helmet. As stoic as he looks, standing heroically at the crest of the island, his face shows a childish glee. Jevin squeals, jumping from the sky turtle and rolling across the grass. “Wels! Long time no see, my man!” 

Wels lets out a raucous laugh, features lighting up with joy to see his friends, his family. After what he’s been through in Alphasgard, he was afraid he’d never see them again. See the ragtag team of idiots he calls family. “Hear you guys got a big contract- and you didn’t invite me?” 

“You stopped answering our letters, we thought you were too busy.” Stress giggles. 

“Phoebe was so sad every time she returned with the letter unopened.” Zedaph pouts, patting the head of the massive turtle, fingers gently preening the green feathers of the beast, the whorls like clouds in the sky. 

“What even happened?” Doc questions, sliding down the massive turtle shell with a lot less of his usual suave attitude. He may be a puppeteer mage, but animals are Zed’s thing. “We came as fast as we could.” 

“Let’s just say some people were less than happy to find me snooping around their sewer lair.” Wels shrugs off his tunic’s sleeve, showing the scar running over his shoulder. Mumbo winces alongside Stress, but False steps up.

“Wicked scar, man.” She high fives him. “I’m sure you left me with a whole pile of things to fix, huh?” 

“You bet. But first… what’s been going on with TFC? What is that crystal that he’s practically sleeping with?” The guild turns, looking down the hill, across the small forest and pond, over the training grounds to the inhabited side of the island. Among the odd collection of homes, he can see the crystal cave that TFC calls his own. 

“Lets grab TFC, and we can go over everything at once. Including what he missed.” Xisuma nods the rest of the guild to their open hall, while he follows the footpath to the cave. Exactly as Wels warned him, TFC is hunched over his desk, picking and scraping at the crystal in his hand. “TFC?”

“What?” TFC looks up, blinking away the fatigue in his eyes. Dark rings and bags accentuate the sharp gaze he shoots at Xisuma. X steps back, before entering into the cave. 

“We’re back, all of us are gathering in the guild hall to go over everything that happened. Haven’t you filled in Wels yet?” TFC isn’t acting like himself, he isn’t acting like the leader Xisuma knows he is. The father he is to every hermit. Strong and a good leader, calm and thoughtful. His words are short, cutting into Xisuma’s skin and lashing him with the tone in his voice. 

“I’m busy, can’t you see?” TFC raises the piece of the crystal, light consumed by the darkness. Xisuma retreats from the magical item, feeling the evil magic within. He looks up, noticing the hungry, weak stare that TFC holds with the crystal. He’s obsessed with it, he doesn’t even notice his hunger or fatigue. 

“TFC, please. Take a break, we have...a lot happened in Milliara. You’re our guildmaster, you need to be there.” Xisuma reaches out, but as soon as his fingers brush the draining crystal, TFC’s hand wraps around his wrist. It’s a firm grip, fingers constricting tighter and tighter until Xisuma’s knees buckle from the pain. Xisuma gasps, shaking. Sure, he’s been in duels with TFC more times than he can count, but TFC never intended to hurt him before. He never intends to hurt any of them. “T-TFC.” 

TFC notices the fear crossing Xisuma’s eyes, the way he’s collapsing under the tight grip around his wrist. Fear...of him. Of his own guildmaster. TFC retracts his hand, cradling the crystal close to his chest. Why did he do that? Why did he hurt Xisuma? He just didn’t want him to touch the crystal. “Fine, I’ll go.” 

The rest of the guild is listening to Wels regale them with his mission, pointing to aging wounds. “-and that’s when they captured me. They thought they had me beat? Ha! I took that sleep potion on purpose. I knew they’d take me right into their lair.” 

“But you were tortured! Wounded!” Keralis whimpers. 

“A little bit of pain wasn’t going to stop me from finishing my mission. These rogues were murdering people in cold blood- lucky for them mine was hot.” Wels’s lion tail flicks to the side, passing from one shoulder to the next like the tongue of a clock. Content to be with his friends- and very content to have some of Cleo’s amazing hard cider in his stomach. 

Everyone looks up, seeing the last two members of the guild arriving. Wels turns, resting his arm on the black pants. He doesn’t feel like wearing his armor, not on a day off like this. “So… tell me, what took all of you guys off the island?” 

“We got a huge contract. For all of us.” Grian grins, before remembering how that contract ended for them. They didn’t even get the gold, just a slap on the wrist. For what? Doing exactly what Magistrate Dolios wanted. 

“We were asked by the magistrate himself to investigate a disturbance in a town. But when we arrived, everything was dead.” Xisuma adds, tucking himself in the shade of the tree. He pulls off his mask, safe from the blinding light of the sun, his eyes weak after years of stargazing. 

“Okay… that’s not all that weird. Was it a plague? Or some banshee?” Wels shrugs, pulling his curly blonde hair away from his neck. He did not miss the warmth that the Ashioll sea brings, compared to Alphasgard’s cool mountain breeze. 

“No, not dead like that. Not just a corpse on the ground.” Cleo mutters. “There was nothing. Not even a soul left for me to find. And not just people or animals. Crops withered to ash, wood rotted to charcoal, and water dried up. It wasn’t just the people- the entire land was dead. A black scar on the map.” 

Wels’s face darkens, his eyes falling to the floor as he considers this news. “So what did you find?” 

“We found a crystal within the well system. Large, imposing. Floating over the spring. Taking its power.” Zedaph leans over Tango and Impulse. 

“And then it attacked us.” Tango hisses, playing with the tattered sash of Impulse’s. Pulling on the yellow threads and adding it to Zedaph’s golden locks. He’ll have an extra head of hair, if Impulse doesn’t notice. “These two creepy husk townsfolk came in, one attacked us, and then the crystal started spewing creepy mist stuff and nearly spiked us with it.” 

“The same crystal that TFC has?” Wels looks at the black gem in his hand. It’s so small, how was it able to overcome them all? 

“No, that’s just a mega tiny chunk.” Iskall responds, before pausing and squinting as he recounts his words. “No matter what we did, almost nothing could break it. Only my iskallium was strong enough to put it back into dormancy.”

“We narrowly escaped, but that’s when we rushed to Milliara. To tell the magistrate what we saw.” Xisuma leans against the massive oak tree at the center of the open guild hall. 

“Wait...the magistrate, Magistrate Dolios- leader of the Council of Guilds, creator of that ridiculous law about licensing guilds? He asked us?” Wels looks around, waving at the island hidden among the mysterious, danger ridden sea. “He does know we aren’t a legal guild, right?”

“That was his whole point. His whole ploy.” Doc growled, his lips curling back. He wishes he could give that jackass a taste of his own medicine. Play with him like he did to them. “He tricked us into doing his dirty work, then made a fool of us all in Milliara.” 

Now it’s TFC’s turn to be confused as well. “Wha- what do you mean? He tricked us?” 

“Oh yeah, that’s the best part.” Etho growls. “He burned the contract, and kicked us out like we were idiots asking to be licensed. He played us.” 

Anger flares hot in TFC’s veins, itching from his wrist where he holds onto the crystal. Like it’s feeding off his emotions. “So we did all this...for nothing!” 

“No, not nothing.” Xisuma tries to calm TFC down. Try to get him to think like he normally does. Rational and calm. “This crystal, the one you have. I think there’s more going on. Joe, could I root around in your library, see what I can research? See what this magic could be from?” 

Joe nods, and opens his mouth to welcome X to even search through his restricted books. But TFC cuts him off. “No! I’ve got this, I’m close to figuring it out. Learning the trick behind the crystal. You don’t need to get yourself tangled up in my work.” 

“TFC...we always work together. That’s why we have a guild.” Mumbo whispers, standing up. “Listen mate… a lot of us are worried about you. I think that crystal is affecting you, dude. You’re- you’re scaring some of us.” 

Mumbo opens his hand, quietly asking for the crystal. Not forever- he can’t do the magic that TFC can. If they hope to learn anything, they need his work. But it’s obviously affecting him. He’s changed. 

But TFC recoils, gripping the crystal tight. “No! This is my work- I just have to test the gem and see it’s properties, and we’ll know exactly how to handle this. I don’t need you guys interfering!” 

Xisuma’s eyes widen, realizing what TFC is saying. “T no!” 

He reaches out, but he’s a second too slow. TFC’s magic circle has already been cast, surrounding the gem and sapping it’s powers. The blue arcane light stains black, circles and lines falling apart and struggling against the dark magic. Taking it over. 

TFC falls to his knees, gripping his head. Black veins crawl up his skin, from the hand still holding the crystal. Unable to let it go. Like worms crawling through his bloodstream, infecting his body, sapping his strength. His skin turns pale, almost an ashen grey tone. The corrupted magic circle fades away, black mist replacing where magic hung desperate in the air, trying to stay activated. The mist retreats back to the crystal. 

The hermits rush to TFC’s side. Grian’s hands are already glowing, trying to find a way to heal TFC from the pain, but none of it is external, or even wounded. He’s sick, not hurt. He’s in pain, not broken. Xisuma holds the guildmaster up, ignoring the painful glare of sun in his delicate eyes to focus on TFC. “The crystal! He must’ve activated it’s magic! It’s draining him like it did Gildara!” 

“We have to get it out of his hand.” Iskall tries to pry the gloves open, but the older hermit won’t let go. It’s a vice grip, and when Iskall pulls his own fingers away, black mist trails behind. Trying to attach to even more power, the power surrounding it in two dozen different faces. 

Wels draws up his magic circle. “Stress! You’re the strongest of us! Get it out of his hand!” 

The azure circle is released, wrapping around the ice sorceress. Imbuing her with a strength buff. Iskall steps back, knowing not to get in her way. She digs her fingers between TFC’s. “Sorry, luv, but this really isn’t good fer yer health.” 

Stress’s fingers pull apart the guildmaster’s, prying free his metal gloved hand and wincing through the mist that catches on her. Crawling on her like a cobweb, searching for magic to steal. She finally gets all the fingers to release, grinding her teeth as the crystal is exposed. 

Jevin reaches out, encapsulating the dark gem in a mold of blue slime, hardening it into a thick casing. TFC collapses into the hermit’s warm embrace as soon as the crystal is punted away. “That thing needs to be destroyed now!” 

“But what about TFC? We need to get him to the infirmary.” Grian needs to take care of him, or at least try to help. He’s the healer- he needs to heal their resident grandpa and guildmaster. Stress, still imbued with the strength buff, picks up the larger man bridal style, aided by Ren and Scar in giving her a gentle slope to the bottom of the hill. The hermits race off, leaving behind only a few to deal with the crystal. 

Namely, Mumbo and Impulse. The two both watch the guild run to the infirmary room, but they know they will only add more bodies to the chaos. Impulse’s magic won’t do anything to help with that- but he is a master of destruction. And Mumbo, he knows he can’t help, and the last thing he needs to do is cause more issues. 

The two look at each other. “Guess we’ve set ourselves up to deal with the crystal.”