#bridge of his nose and commits it to memory so he knows exactly what scar looks—feels—like in every way he can

[rosaacicularis]

Blind!Grian using watcher sight all I can think about is like a weirdly paranoid Martyn trying to prove Grian is nefarious or isn’t just insanely perceptive so he throws stuff at Grian’s head trying to get him to slip up but Grian keeps expertly dodging them until Scar walks in then Grian gets absolutely nailed in the face by a stapler or something -🎶 anon

YES!! martyn has a cork board with pictures and red yarn and he’s trying so hard to get people to realise that grian can see!! he promises, guys! just look!! here martyn will throw a stapler and grian will catch it!!

grian only ever dodges stuff when no one else in the room, as soon as somebody walks in, he gets hit and looks like a foot away from where martyn is actually standing and sadly asks why he did that :((..

scar always takes grian into his arms and consoles him while glaring daggers at martyn. grian smiles very smugly right at him because no one will ever believe him, while cuddling into scar’s embrace <3

[theolddarkmachine]

Dead Space- 28 Days Later

It starts the day the hero falls. Crashing in a blaze of glory of twisted metal and burning ozone, he leaves a scar on the Earth that changes everything.

And Keith sees it all.

Chapter 2 of 11

Tags: attempted Horror Elements, Zombies, Violence and Gore, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending i swear

Also on AO3

A/N: Apologies this isn’t a longer chapter. I have to constantly remind myself that there isn’t anything wrong with bridge chapters even if they do drive me a bit crazy XD Hopefully there’s enough setup here to make it worth it. That being said, I may post another chapter next week instead of in two weeks to make up for said shortness.

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28 Days Later

The end of the world happened a lot quicker than anyone could have guessed, at least, as far as Keith could tell.

Starting that very same night that Shiro had crash landed, it took mere days to spread to the rest of the continent, and just a week’s time to have spread throughout the rest of the world. Blindsided by the sudden nightmare that had swept across the Earth’s population, scientists hadn’t even been able to give whatever it was a classification before it was already too late.

Some took it upon themselves to call it a virus.

Some called it biological warfare.

Others called it a reckoning.

Whatever it was, it had cleaved humanity at its knees, leaving the world’s nations stained with crimson and the stench of death.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

It would have been one thing if the dead had stayed that way, but they had found all too quickly that whatever this plague was that had turned the human race into an endangered species, had a second phase.

One that reanimated the corpses that outnumbered the living, and turned them into flesh hungry monsters.

Something akin to the creatures in horror movies and graphic novels, only more ferocious.

And quicker.

Hungrier.

More frightening.

Letting a tired, growling sigh slip through the cage of his teeth, Keith rolls a tight knot from his neck with deft fingers before letting his head fall back and his tired eyes close. It’s one small moment of blessed relief before he turns his attention back to the desert laid out before him.

Today marked twenty-eight days since he’d rescued Shiro from one Hell, only to find he’d dragged him into another.

Soft footfalls crunch across the broken, cracked ground, drawing close at a timid pace as if trying to not startle. As if they ever could. Even if they weren’t the last two living humans for miles, he’d still know exactly who it was.

“Hey,” Shiro’s voice hushes from just behind him as he brushed his fingertips over Keith’s shoulder before gripping it tight in greeting. Heat crackles and licks at Keith’s skin where his palm cradles the full of his shoulder.

Humming lowly as he pushes closer to the contact, Keith turns his attention away from the rust colored land ahead of them to look up at the man beside him.

The dusky light of the setting sun touchs Shiro’s eyes with an other worldly glow, turning them from stormy grey to something more alien, as he looks down at Keith. They glow with the watercolor mix of orange and pink, almost like heated steel. Swallowing around the sudden burn that tickles at the back of his throat, Keith draws his nighttime gaze down across the raised flesh over the bridge of Shiro’s nose.

It’s a darker pink now, contrasting starkly with the tan of his skin and standing as one of the few reminders of what he’d been through.

“Hey,” Keith returns, soft and quiet as the melting light of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Shrugging, Shiro draws a comforting circle into Keith’s shoulder.

“More of the same,” he hums as he tracks one last circle before letting his hand slide away. The burn of his touch leaves a lingering, blistering ache along Keith’s skin as he lets his gaze trace the rest of Shiro’s form.

Dark, worn leather of an old jacket hugs his still gaunt frame, accentuating the width of his shoulders. Black riding gloves cover his hands, hiding the way his bones had stood out beneath his pale skin.

In the fading heat of the day, Keith can’t help but wonder if the added layers are making Shiro uncomfortable, though he guesses they wouldn’t in his current state.

Those first few days after he’d brought Shiro home had been filled with his fitful sleep and almost crazed muttering. His words were always bitten out in broken statements, some nonsensical and others marking the harrowed nature of his escape, but almost always punctuated by Shiro’s claims that he was cold.

So cold.

When he’d finally awakened, he still couldn’t seem to fight back the chill that bit deep into him and left his skin feeling frigid to the touch.

It had been then that Keith had unearthed the jacket and gloves that had been tucked away, kept safe and hidden in the chest at the foot of his bed.

He had hoped that after the aches and the pains had abated, Shiro would be freed of the unnatural chill but it still remained as a constant, stubborn specter that haunted him.

“We can stay another night if we need to,” Keith assures, keeping his gaze locked on the man beside him. Lips turning down in something a shade lighter than displeasure, Shiro shakes his head.

“We both know that we can’t,” he replies, low and quiet, as he turns his silvered stare out toward the abandoned desert. With the sun fading lower into the horizon, the usual reds and browns are painted with dusky purples and shadows. It’s so mundane and almost peaceful, if only those shadows weren’t hiding monsters.

“Shiro,” Keith hushes, doing his best to ignore the way he’s turned his name into a plea.

“They’re getting closer every day, Keith,” Shiro cuts him off, eyes still trained ahead as if searching for something. Keith watches as he sees the sharp metallic glint of his stare flick back and forth over the horizon.

“So let them, I can hold them back,” he growls as he grabs at Shiro’s arm, giving it a gentle yet insistent tug to turn the older man toward him once more. The silver sheen of his eyes softens, turning from hardened steel to liquid mercury as he sees the ferocity that has pushed Keith’s mouth into a frown.

“Keith.”

It’s said low, a warning and a prayer wrapped into one as he holds Keith’s stubborn gaze. Electricity, hot and bright, crackles between them as their silent battle wages. Once upon a time the near command might have worked, but neither of them is the same person they had been before.

Moments pass, thick and slow, before Shiro’s shoulders sink forward with the weight of his sigh.

“We’ve stuck around here longer than we should have already,” he offers lowly, almost apologetic this time. As if somehow this might be his fault.

“And we can stick around longer if we need to to make sure you’re healed,” Keith returns brusquely. It pulls a dry, humorless laugh from Shiro’s cracked lips as he shakes his head. Gently brushing his fingers over Keith’s hand where it still grips at his arm, he carefully pulls it away to grasp it between his own.

“You don’t need to keep trying to save me, Keith. I’m already here,” Shiro says softly, tracing the back of Keith’s hands with his gloved thumb. Up and down the the licking fire goes, etching deep into the back of his hand. Keith watches it as it slowly moves back and forth.

A shudder rocks down his spine as he finally looks up at him, admiring the way the fading light still clings to Shiro’s gaze.

“I’ll save you as many times as I need to,” he vows, flipping his hand in Shiro’s hold to lace their fingers together. The last rays of sunlight die as the sun sinks beneath the dirt, blanketing them both in the soft hush of night.

Shiro’s grasp tightens, solid and reassuring as he replies.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt because of me.”

It’s a weighted confession, one that lands heavily at their feet as Shiro fixes his gaze on the dirt between them. Guilt twists bitterly in his gut as he pulls gently on their intertwined hands to bring him closer.

“You won’t,” Keith breathes, the words brushing across Shiro’s lips before presses forward, chasing after them. The kiss is chaste, nothing more than a soft promise brought to life between them.

He lingers, committing the dusky moment to memory before pulling away. A smile carves itself into the corner of his lips as he looks up at Shiro.

“I’ll get our stuff together.”

Turning away from him, Keith heads back towards the shack. As he pushes his way through the door, he misses the way Shiro casts a long, lingering look out over the darkness.

The pinprick of headlights dot the inky black of the desert in the distance, bright and sharp for just a moment too long before suddenly going out.

****************************

[nightwingshero]

Claws and Fangs Chapter 2

“You come here often?” his voice grinding on my nerves immediately, and I roll my eyes. I remind myself that we’re technically in public, so ripping his tongue out would be frowned upon. I hand my application over as Hudson walks away, glaring at Pratt on the way. The sheriff’s station is clear except for him and I, and I wished that I was anywhere else than here. “After being here for about a month, I thought for sure you would already be doing something else. Does deputy really suit you?”

“Leave me alone.” I replied, not looking up from my phone. I refused to give him an inch, not a bit of attention that he would snag onto and run with.

“Aww, that’s no way to treat your future fellow colleague.” He leaned against the desk next to me with his arms folded over his chest. “We might be partners, you know.”

I sneered at him, my eyes hardening. “I refuse to have anything to do with you.”

The door opened and shut loudly, drawing our attention to the front. A young woman stood with a green hoodie; the hood pulled up over her head. Her long, stringy, brown hair hung around her face, hiding it. But she shifted, and my eyes widened at the scars that marred her tan skin. Her dishwater eyes scan the room coldly before making her way to the visitor’s center. I can smell her from here, reminding me a bit of sage. I knew what she was, but she doesn’t dare meet my curious gaze, keeping her head down.

“That’s Jess Black. She’s Dutch’s niece.”

“What happened to her?” I asked and he scoffed. I threw him a look, and his smug smirk was back as he shrugged.

“What happens to anyone who crosses those lines. Holland Valley and Whitetail Mountains are off limits, babe. And she learned that the hard way.”

I bare my teeth at his slip, and he takes a step back. “Don’t call me that.” I eye the door she walked in, deep in thought. I knew they were claw marks, and I’m sure they came up with a story for the cover up. But something just didn’t sit right with me. “Who did that to her?”

Pratt sighed; boredom painted on his features. “Let’s just say it’s not someone you want to piss off.” He pushed himself off, making a show of brushing nonexistent lint off his shoulder. “Stick with Dutch, girl. He’ll keep you from the big bad wolves.” He turned and left me with a chill going down my spine.

  I knew that if Rowan saw me standing here, she would have my head. But I couldn’t help it. The river calmly running beneath the bridge. My finger twitched. We had been living in Hope County for about a month now, and I thought that scent would have left my mind by now, but it still haunted me. A curiosity I couldn’t quell pushed me closer and closer to the edge, and each night I went for a run, my wolf wandered closer and closer to this damn river.

We were still technically rogues. A makeshift pack wasn’t a real pack, and it wasn’t something Rowan and I fully committed to the old man convinced that he was an alpha of a fucking island. We weren’t stupid. But that didn’t stop us from being wary of what awaited in the other regions. Or how the Henbane was the most untouched. This past time was the only other time I had seen Pratt since that night at the pizza bar, and Rowan and I both roamed to familiarize ourselves with it. And yet there wasn’t a trace of them anywhere. I wasn’t sure where this his “pack” even was, assuming he was right.

I took a hesitant step forward, the jeep behind me and pulled off the road. Part of me expected the old man to immediately jump out and yell at me for even thinking of doing this, but nothing happens as I take another step. And suddenly, I find myself walking across the same bridge we had crossed before. The sweet scent still clung to the air until I got over halfway, and then it’s there again. It definitely reminded me of sandalwood, a hint of spice just alluring enough to draw you in closer. God, it was intoxicating.

Stepping off the bridge, I inhaled deeply. It was as if a fog had lifted from my head. Everything was so clear and bright. I smiled, grasping onto the way the leaves on the trees shimmered in the sun, a radiant glow that called to me like it never had before. Everything was more alive here, I could hear the birds singing so loudly, and there was a deer running through the forest. I laughed in awe, carefree and light.

The scent was a couple of days old, but it hung onto everything. I followed it in the direction of the forest, as it ran along the border of the river. I found it strange, but I paid it no mind. I was determined to find the source, and as I stepped into the shadows of the forest, I knew I would find it.

It had been about an hour since I disappeared into the brush, but I was no closer to finding the source. I would go too far and lose it, having to circle back. It seemed to run parallel to the river, not straying from the border. I frowned. It was just so strange. I stopped, picking a white flower along the way. Bringing it to my nose, I gag, dropping it immediately as my nose burned. The sickly-sweet aroma lingering, and I realized that this was what caused the scent in the Henbane.

I froze as a low growling came from behind me. I straighten and look over my shoulder as I’m suddenly tackled to the ground. Sharp, hot pain shoots through my shoulder as their claws dig in, easily cutting through. I cry out immediately, and attempt to get away, my nails scrapping the dirt for some sort of purchase beneath the twigs and fallen leaves.  

“Rogue!” the man snarls, and I’m terrified. I turn and try to kick this man away. He’s bearded, wild, and the rage in his eyes is overwhelming. I finally start to get to my feet, turning back away, but he’s on me in seconds. He fists my hair and slammed it against the forest floor, causing me to cry out. His knee dug into the center of my back, making it impossible to move.

A growl sounds, louder and angrier than the one before. It’s deep and I can feel it in my chest. I’m immediately twisting my neck in submission, my whole body shaking. Tears began to fall as I desperately try to figure a way out of this. The man loosens his hold as says the exact thing that had crossed my panicked mind.

“Alpha.”

Another growl rang through the air, a warning, and the man quickly stumbled away. The strange scent hits me stronger, and I can’t help the curiosity driving my actions. I peek up, and my eyes widen at what I saw. I’ve never encountered one before, but Rowan always told me that I would know one when I saw it. And she was right. This wolf wasn’t anything I had ever seen in my life. His eyes are blue, ocean blue, and his coat is a shiny, dark brown. So dark it was almost black. He was massive and lean, enough muscle mass to rip you apart, but I would bet my money on speed being his strength. The shock of him was one thing, the reaction of my own wolf was another. I fought her back as she came to the surface, curious and liking what she saw. I was absolutely appalled as I exhaled heavily. Of all the males we have encountered, none of them had piqued her interest until now. And this male was likely going to kill us.

He caught the shift, his ears twitching as he bares his teeth, and ice-cold fear twists my gut. I raise my hands in surrender the best I could, my head tilting down to submit. I couldn’t meet his eyes, not again. I couldn’t risk it. I knew that if I was in my fur, I would’ve gone belly up by now, which sparks an anger in me. I didn’t enjoy this, and the fact that I heeled for a complete stranger tasted bitter in my mouth, memories of my father swarming in my mind. I didn’t want anyone else to have that control over me. Rowan and I answered to no one.

I jump when I feel his snout brush through my hair, sniffing and investigating. I fought the desperate urge to bury my face in his fur as the scent invades my space completely, and I feel like a fool. It had been him this whole time, his scent setting the boundary of his territory right along the river. He pressed his teeth against my neck, and I shudder. I’m trembling as he applied a bit of pressure. Fresh tears cloud my vision as I wait for him to rip into me, ending the life of me and my wolf. She’s clawing inside, whining in the back of my mind to be let out, but I can’t. I don’t want her to be the one to die with his jaw around her throat. I owed her more than that, she deserved better than that, and her curiosity wasn’t worth it.

I don’t dare move, waiting for the inevitable, but it doesn’t come. He pulled away, his tongue running over where his teeth had been. I almost choke at the shock as he turns, placing his body over me and hunching down slightly, enough to where his fur was caressing against my skin, tickling as he moved. He snarled viciously, and I turned my head to see what exactly he saw as a threat. I expected a bear, a cougar, perhaps a regular wolf. But I wasn’t expecting the group of wolves gathered around the trees, circling us.

I realized immediately that they were males, warrior wolves perhaps, from his pack, glaring at me as he stood over my body. I Inhale deeply, trying to force my beating heart to slow as I wait. My muscles tense, my trembling coming to an end. I shift slightly, slowly adjusting my body. He looks down at me for a second before a wolf stepped forward, a growl ringing through the quiet forest. His head snapped back with a growl of his own, deep and threatening.

I see the opportunity and take it. Only for a split second do I mourn for the clothes I’m fond of before I’m forcing a change, my favorite leather jacket ripping into pieces as I leap and barely land on four legs. I stumbled, hitting a tree before I right myself and take off. I’m running as fast as I can, desperate to get across the river. Her curiosity is gone, she’s skittish enough to get the hell out of dodge, especially when a pack is questioning an alpha in the presence of a rogue. We were both keen on living.

I can feel him behind me, snapping at my tail as I zigzag through the trees. She thinks it’s a game, but I’m waiting for him to make the killing move. There was no way in hell I could outrun this male. I know the distraction wasn’t enough, he hadn’t been as unaware of me as I had hoped. My heart hammers, and I’m trying to push to go faster and faster. My black coat catches on branches and thorns, but I paid no mind. That was nothing compared to the pain the male behind me could cause.

Finally, I broke through the line of trees and I leap into the river, paddling madly as exhaustion began to set in. Once my paws hit bottom on the other side, my change forces itself back over me, and I collapse on my knees on the muddy bank with a cry. My muscles are screaming, my head pounding. I hadn’t had to do something like that in so long, forcing my wolf out without warning took such a toll on me. Rowan said it was because I hadn’t been trained properly from a young age. My endurance wasn’t where it was supposed to be, I hadn’t practiced enough. Instead of embracing myself for who or what I was, I hid it deep down and I was paying the price.

I crawled up further on the bank as my body trembled from the exertion. I sat up and pulled my leg close to my chest, curled up into myself as a sob forced its way out of my mouth, and I look at the other side of the river. He’s there, standing tall and alert, his eyes not leaving me. I’m almost completely bare to him, and I know that embarrassment will find me later, but the fear is still coursing through my veins. His gaze doesn’t waver as he takes me in, from my scars to my tattoos, and the blood that’s running from the marks on my shoulder.

He doesn’t move, both of us taking each other in, and I fight the urge to bare my teeth. Mostly out of fear and humiliation, knowing that there was very little he had seen. My show of modesty was in vain, but it had given me some sort of comfort or reassurance as I watch the male on the other side. My wolf wants to whine and come back out, but we’re both exhausted. My pride cared nothing for her want to investigate the beast. And as if he too could sense it, he huffs before smacking his paw in the water, giving a false start to the side, and watching to see how I would react.

I breath out heavily in shock at his display. He was trying to play, and she loved it. She tries to rush to the surface, desperate for control, forcing a painful cry to leave my lips, and I double over. I breathe deeply, trying hard to rein her in. I hum loudly as the pain forces my muscles to tighten, my whole body feeling like a charley horse. My muscles spasm before finally she recedes back. A sound leaves me that I don’t recognize, a painful moan that is almost incoherent to me. And I turn to glare at him as he analyzes me, every move, every sound. Hatred fuels me as I realize it’s for him to study me. To watch what I do, like some sort of fucking experiment that amused him, and I finally show fang in disdain, a clear and obvious threat. Not caring that my display is disrespectful and challenging, that I could come to regret it. I was safe, I wasn’t on his territory, and I could hear his growl in response as I turn back away.

My nails are digging deep in the mud, and I just want to go home. I don’t offer him another glance and he huffed in frustration at my lack of action. Finally, he runs back in the forest, and spare a look just to make sure. I stand, hesitantly, on shaky legs as I make my way back to my jeep. Praying that there wasn’t anyone around to witness me. I had never been more thankful for this county than I had been then.

Rowan is home by the time I pull in. I quickly slide out, almost collapsing to the ground before catching myself. I walk around, going through the back door into the kitchen. I didn’t want to track mud everywhere, and I also didn’t want someone to see me at the front of the house. Trying to be cautious as possible. The kitchen light is on and I know she’s about to start dinner soon. I can hear her laughing at something on the tv. I stumble against the counter, and pause, taking a deep breath.

“I can hear you banging around in there. You’d think that for a werewolf, you would be less—” she stops midsentence, and I can hear her sniffing the air and jumping from the couch. “Wren, is that…?” She rounds the corner and looks at me with pure shock and horror, both emotions fighting for dominance on her face. Her deep brown eyes search before they finally land on the marks on my shoulder, coated in drying blood. “What happened?” She finally breathes out.

I look at her, tired and sore. A sob catches in my throat and I swallow it back down. There’s no reason to cry anymore, what was done was done. “Alpha.” I say as I fall to my knees.

  I’m sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around me, the towel she had originally used on the kitchen and long forgotten. The shower was quick, the skin on my shoulder quickly pulling together and healing. The hot water finally forced my muscles to relax, my wolf becoming calmer and calmer. I quickly found a pair of shorts and a tank top before settling in the living room with Rowan.

She leaned forward in the armchair, contemplating. “And he just…let you go?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it letting me go.”

“But he didn’t catch you, right? He wasn’t the one that attacked you?”

I shrugged with a sigh. “He chased after me when I took off. He nipped at my tail a few times but didn’t get a hold of it. Maybe I was just faster than him.” I knew better, but it was an attempt to throw out an explanation, and the look Rowan threw at me confirmed what I already knew.

“No. There’s no way in hell you could outrun an alpha, Wren. No offense.” She sits back, pulling her knees to her chest as she meets my gaze. “The healthiest and fastest of us could never outrun an alpha.”

“His pack reacts poorly to rogues.”

“Most packs usually do.” Rowan sighed. “So, his scent has been what’s causing this with you?”

“I…I don’t know.” I reply with a shrug. “I just know my wolf has been stirred up since driving through the Valley and hasn’t exactly eased up.”

Rowan hummed, her head tilting to the side a bit “He pressed his teeth against your neck?”

I scoffed. “Yeah, after he was sniffing around. I thought he was going to kill me.”

“No, that’s not what he was doing. Not that I believe, anyway.” She laughed, drinking her hot tea before continuing. “I think he was enforcing his dominance and checking to see if you were actually unmated.”

“What?” I asked, throwing her a look and she just shrugged.

“I mean, you had just left the sheriff’s department. You probably smelled a bit like Pratt. And I mean, I think there’s a possible bond between you two—"

“No. No, absolutely not.” I immediately rejected the idea. “For one, I’m sure alphas smell good to every female—”

“I didn’t smell him, Wren. You did.” Rowan cut in, returning my look with a serious one of her own.

“Yeah, and I’m sure that an alpha would get paired with a rogue.” I replied sarcastically.

“When you mate with a male, the female’s status changes to that of the male. If a beta female mates with an omega, their status lowers. And vice versa.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes, tucking the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “Look, obviously nature wouldn’t just pair a super weak wolf with an alpha, everything would collapse. There has to be a balance. But the female changes after bonding. It has to in order fill the position they just practically married into. If you mate with an alpha, he’ll train you to make you stronger, and your biology shifts to be able to take it.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all.”

“No, but your wolf does.” I look at her in shock, trying to desperately come up with an argument, but I was empty handed. I hated how right she was. “This is the first male that has even been on this level of a pull, and she’s excited, because it’s an alpha and she has his attention.”

“And I’m sure every single alpha loves to give attention to every female they’re compatible with.”

“Bitch, you think you’re picky?” Rowan laughed and she shook her head. “Sure, you’ll have those alphas that gorge themselves on females because they can, but for the most part? They’re picky. Extremely so. Alphas have issues with finding matches, too. I mean, they’re alphas. We mate for life, Wren. That bond doesn’t break easy, if at all. And if it does, it’s either madness or death for them. When a wolf dies, their mate is soon to follow. An alpha’s mate is a crucial member, because they’re the other half of the dominant pair. Believe me, alphas do not pick them carelessly.” She leaned forward, setting her mug on the coffee table as she eyed me. “You said he was testing you, watching you like a hawk at that river. Why do you think that is?”

I don’t answer, because I was afraid of what I would say. But more importantly, I was afraid of what she was implying. I ignore her question completely as I go on. “Yeah, okay. So, let’s just say hypothetically there’s a chance, a small one, that you might be right. Obviously, I’m not going to just run over there and offer to mate with him.”

“Oh hell no.” Rowan reacted, a look of absolute horror crossing her features. “No, don’t do that.”

“Wasn’t going to.” I muttered to myself.

“You need to make sure you’re compatible on both sides. Like I said, we only mate once. Your wolf isn’t the only one involved in that, you’re a package deal. Your wolves could adore each other, but the other side of you could despise the hell out of each other. You could be miserable, which can and has led to people breaking the mate bond. That’s why I think a lot of us died off so quickly. We saw the numbers dwindling, so our kind thought it would be a good idea to just mate with anyone that we had the slightest pull towards. The theory was that you mated, reproduced, and helped rebuild our numbers. But it backfired because a lot of wolves, thinking that having the slightest bit of compatibility, believed that this was enough. And it wasn’t. It caused a lot of issues that ended in demented lone wolves or just wolves dying left and right from being so unhappy. Our numbers decreased twice as fast.”

I breath out heavily as I feel the weight in my chest. The fear and uncertainty curled and twisted in my gut as I processed her words. I knew this, and deep down, that was part of the problem. Between the history of our kind and my father, I had told myself that mating was bad news. But my wolf whined, almost begging for us to turn back and to see if he had returned to the river now that our strength was back. But I was too terrified to even consider it. Alphas meant dominance, which meant power over other people. I didn’t want to be in that situation ever again. Flashes of my father made me cringe. “I don’t think I’m keen on meeting him, Rowan.”

“And that’s your choice.” Her voice soft and understanding. “Just make sure you make the choice that’s best for both of you.”

[idabbleincrazy]

AotM readers, need your opinion...

Could really use some help narrowing down which 3 snippets to submit to WIP Big Bang for artists claims, can’t decide which ones will best draw interest from the artists.

Will post my potentials below the cut.

Snippet One

Christa woke up to the feeling of warmth against her back. As she pulled herself out of the fog of sleep, she recalled the events of the night before. After she and Gabriel had finally confessed their feelings, they had spent the entire night showing each other exactly how loved they were. Gabriel had taken his time, worshiping every inch of skin, committing to memory every reaction, every sound she made. She had lost count of the number of orgasms Gabriel had worked her through, his angelic stamina making recovery time almost unnecessary. Every nerve of her body sung in response to the slightest touch, warmth spreading through her from every point of contact. When they were both thoroughly sated, Christa promptly curled up in Gabriel’s arms, wanting as little space between them as possible, and fell asleep.

Christa blushed as the images flashed through her mind. She was torn between the stirrings of desire and her debilitating self-esteem issues that were once again pushing their way to the front of her mind. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Gabriel loved her. Her heartbeat sped up as she worried her lip.

A hand running along her arm startled her from her thoughts, as the arm Gabriel had wrapped around her waist pulled her flush against him, his nose brushing against her neck. “Morning, sweetheart. You okay? Your heartbeat is running a mile a minute.” He nuzzled into her further and placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

Christa sighed and relaxed into his touch. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just…over-thinking things, again.”

Gabriel’s free hand ran back up her arm and stroked her cheek. He stretched out a finger and placed it under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. He stared into her eyes, a calm smile on his face, silently nudging her to continue.

“I’m just still trying to process the fact that you, you want me. That you love me. I-I’m not entirely convinced that this whole thing hasn’t been some crazy fever-dream. I’m afraid that any moment now, I’ll wake up, in my own bed, alone.”

Gabriel’s smile slid slightly at her words, feeling the emotions rolling off of her in waves. He could feel how deep her worry ran, disbelief and fear tinging the corners of her mind. His Grace thrummed at this realization, reaching out for her in response. He held it back, barely. He couldn’t let his Grace just do the work for him. He needed to show Christa her true worth on his own, the way a human would. He took one of her hands and placed a kiss on her palm.

“How can I convince you that you really are awake? That last night really happened? Should I…pinch you?” The arm he had around her waist snaked up and gently tweaked her sheet-covered nipple, causing Christa to let out a surprised squeal.

“Should I tickle you?” He smiled down at her as he sought out sensitive skin, not stopping till a peal of laughter rang out from his human. He could feel her nerves starting to relax, but the taint of fear still lingered. He untangled himself from her and laid her back against the pillows, pulling himself up on an elbow. Staring down at her, he traced a finger along her jaw, up to her earlobe, and down her neck and along her side.

Snippet Two

Soulmates! They. Were. Soulmates. How was that possible? How was that a real thing? And wasn’t it just Christa’s luck that her soulmate was a freaking Angel; and not just any old angel, oh no, an Archangel! A top-tier, celestial being, just a step below Chuck himself. Sure, she knew she was falling hard for the golden-eyed feather-brain; but it was another thing altogether to find out it was literally Fated, planned out by especially God. Did she even have a choice? What happened to free will?

Her head began pounding as her thoughts swirled. She took a deep breath and tried to fight back the wave of anxiety she felt starting to rise within her. Christa had been so happy last night. Why did this have to happen? If she hadn’t been so stubbornly set against believing he could feel the same way she did, would he even have shown her the truth? Would he have just kept stringing her along, forever, letting her believe it was his choice to be with her, not destiny? Maybe it would have been better that way, staying blind to the truth, basking in the glow of his forced love.

The way she had felt with him last night, she had never felt with anyone she had ever met. She had never felt so secure, so safe. No one she had ever been with had made her feel like she could trust them with her life. Heck, none of her relationships had even lasted more than a few months, even before she had become a hunter. Even if the sex had been great, she would soon realize there was little to nothing that she had in common with the person. Some of them had become good friends, some like family.

Take Sam, for instance; when Christa had first met the Winchesters, she had found herself inexplicably drawn to the tall, dark-haired hunter. They had ended up going on a couple of dates, even shared a kiss or two, but something about it had seemed, well, off. Luckily, they had both realized that before ending up in one or the others bed. Made it less awkward to just go back to being hunting partners. Eventually, she began to just see him as as much of a brother to her as Dean, though there was still some odd tug she would feel every now and then. Christa had felt one of those tugs the other day, when Sam had hugged her good-bye.

She sighed, her head in her hands as she sat against the door. All this time, she had thought her failed relationships had been due to the deep-rooted fear of rejection she’d had ever since she had gotten attacked by the werewolf that had left her neck badly scarred. Though, if Christa looked back, really looked, she knew it went back way before the day she stumbled upon the supernatural. Even back in high school, the other kids had never been more than a passing fancy. She’d felt love, sure. But never the type of love that made her heart flutter every time she thought of the person. The type of love that made her breath catch in her throat when she looked at them. None of that had ever happened until Gabriel.

Snippet Three

Christa set the mug on the counter and picked up the jar, running her fingers over the ribbon around it; she hadn’t noticed it there before. There was a tag attached to the ribbon. She opened it and read the two simple words written there in a beautiful flowing script.

I’m sorry

Christa sighed heavily and twisted the cap open to give it a sniff. The jelly smelled like a mixture of raspberry and currant, along with something she couldn’t quite place. She placed the cap back on and put the jar in the fridge, grabbing the creamer and went over to the coffee machine. After she made herself a cup, she hesitated. She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back the headache that had been pushing at the back of her skull for the past hour. She went and grabbed another mug and fixed a cup for Gabriel.

Walking out of the kitchen, she sent out a timid prayer to the Archangel. Gabriel, you can come out now. I’m in the library. She went and sat at one of the desks, her gaze fixed wistfully at the leather chairs as she waited for Gabriel to make his way down the hall. Staring at the chairs, the scene of last night’s mutual confession of love replayed in her mind. So much had happened in such a short time; last night seemed like a year ago. Christa shook her head to clear it as Gabriel hesitated in the doorway.

“You can come sit down, I made you a cup of coffee. Consider it a peace offering for the way I ran out on you.” She nodded him over to the table, sliding his mug over to the chair across from her. She was wary of making physical contact again just yet. “I’m sorry I freaked out like that.”

Gabriel sat down and took a sip of the coffee. He wanted so badly to reach out and take her hand in his but he could feel her anxiety rolling over in waves. He didn’t want to scare her off again. “Thanks, Sugar. Just the way I like it. Christa, look, there’s no reason for you to be sorry about all…this. I should have gone about this whole soulmate thing differently. I shouldn’t have just shown you all of that without any warning.”

Christa looked down into her coffee, her hands wrapping tighter around the ceramic to stifle the urge to grab his hand. Here he was, apologizing for something that wasn’t even his fault; not really. “Gabriel, it’s okay. Ha, looks like neither of us handled this right. I should have given you the chance to explain what you showed me. I was just, so…shocked. I mean, finding out that soulmates are a real thing? I still can’t wrap my head around it. Not fully, anyway.”

She sighed and set the mug down on the table before looking Gabriel in the eye. She chewed her bottom lip and released a nervous chuckle before continuing. “Maybe, Gabriel, do you think maybe you could answer some questions about all this? If I understood this whole thing a bit better, then I could start to process it all. I don’t want to give up on us, I just need…” sigh “I don’t know what I need actually. I just know that I can’t walk away from you, I don’t even want to try.”

“Sweetheart, whatever questions you have, if I can answer them, I will.” Gabriel gave her a hopeful smile, hoping she could feel at least some of his love through their connection. “Christa, even if we weren’t soulmates, I would still love you. I’ve loved you for months now, way before our touch started the bonding process. I just had forgotten, after so many eons, that my soulmate was somewhere out there. I just got lucky that mine just so happened to be someone I was already crazy about.”

Christa’s eyes widened at his admission. “So, wait. How I felt about you, that wasn’t just because I’m your soulmate? It wasn’t just…Fate pulling me to you?”

Snippet Four

“Pie!” Dean rubbed his hands together, grinning like a child as Christa cut an extra large slice for him. He scooped up a forkful as soon as she set down his plate, grunting in approval as he chewed. “‘S excellent, Chritha.”

“Dean, gross. Could you not talk with your mouth full?” Sam shook his head at his brother as he accepted his plate from Christa with a grin. “Well, looks like it’s got the Dean Winchester stamp of approval. Thanks, Christa, Gabriel. You guys out did yourselves tonight.”

“Well, there’s kind of a reason for that. After you guys finish eating, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Christa sat down and took a bite of her pie, avoiding the three sets of eyes watching her in various states of confusion. Castiel was the first to look away, turning his glance to Gabriel instead. Dean soon gave up and went back to eating his pie. Sam, on the other hand, kept casting looks over at her as he ate. The room was quiet except for the clinking of silverware on ceramic. All too soon, plates were cleared and snapped away. The Winchesters looked over at you expectantly; Castiel still stared at Gabriel, eyes narrowed as if channeling x-ray vision.

“Okay, Christa, what’s so big that you felt the need to butter us up with all this before telling us about it?” Dean leaned back in his chair and his patented Concerned Big Brother frown marred his features.

Christa sighed, her hand snaking under the table, seeking out Gabriel’s. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, the motion grounding her as she cleared her throat to speak. “Well, uh, there’s no easy way to say this…it turns out soulmates? They’re real. Turns out, everyone’s got one. And it just so happens that Gabriel’s mine.”

Christa grimaced as she waited for them to respond. Dean was unexpectedly calm, his eyebrow raised in surprise. A look of clarity and understanding dawned on Castiel’s face as the information sunk in. Sam was by far the most shocked by the news. His expression was somewhere between utterly dumbfounded and mortified. His face paled and his jaw went slack.

“Well, somebody say something. The girl just dropped a bombshell, and you’re all silent as the grave.” Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at their reactions. “Maybe we broke them.”

“You didn’t break us, Halo. Look, I’m not exactly happy that you’re the one who ended up being Christa’s soulmate, but I know there’s nothing I can do about it.” Dean heaved a resigned sigh and looked over at Cas. “Guess we might as well let them know now.”

Let us know what? Dean, why are you not more shocked by the fact that soulmates exist? Brother, did you tell him already?”

“Gabriel, brother, Dean is my soulmate. We bonded years ago.”

”What the hell, Dean? You knew about soulmates, and you never thought to share with the class?” Sam finally spoke, his shock slowly turning to anger. “You’d think you would at least share the fact that you have a freaking angel for a soulmate, with your own brother of all people! Were you ever going to say something?”

Snippet Five (Smut)

Christa’s hands gripped at his neck and shoulder, tugging at the end of his honeyed locks. She could feel the euphoria building up in the bond again, and fought to keep her head clear. She didn’t want it to be over too soon. She let her head fall back against the pillows, her hands sliding down to roam over his torso, the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers grounding her.

Gabriel felt her intentions through the bond, and, eager to draw it out as long as possible himself, slowed his thrusts while keeping them just as deep. He could sense a question forming in her mind and quirked an eyebrow at her.

“What’s going in there, sweets? Talk to me.”

Christa hesitated before answering, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Could you…can I see your wings?”

“You want to see my wings?” Gabriel’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this was a surprise.

“I mean, as your Soulmate, I should be able to see them without my eyes burning out, right? And, well, I’m curious. You don’t have to if it’s too soon…”

Gabriel cut off her sentence with a kiss, rolling his hips as he did. She squealed into the kiss, her back arching off the bed. He trailed a path of kisses to her ear, nipping at her earlobe, his breath ghosting over her.

“Close your eyes, Sugar.”

Gabriel sat up, making sure her eyes were completely shut before focusing his Grace. He let his primary set of wings pull through to the earthly plane. A bright flash of blue light lit up the room for a couple of seconds as his wings unfurled around him, tips brushing against the walls. When the light dimmed down, he reached out a hand to caress Christa’s cheek.

“You can open them now.”

Christa opened her eyes slowly, gasping loudly as she took in the sight above her. They were beautiful. A tear stung at her eye as she tried to remember how to breathe. She started to reach a hand towards them but hesitated, unsure.

“Can…can I touch them?”

Gabriel nodded, a smile beaming across his face as he angled his wings closer to her. She ran her fingers through the golden feathers of his right wing, momentarily speechless. Christa let her mind speak for her in the bond. They’re beautiful, Gabriel. Just like you.

“I’m glad you think so, you’re the first human who’s ever seen them.” Gabriel’s wings fluttered happily at her compliment.

Christa swallowed and found her voice. “I thought Archangel’s had six wings?”

“We do. I didn’t want to test the bond too much just yet.” Gabriel’s eyes closed as her fingers continued their journey over the wing, a purr-like rumble vibrating through his chest.

“Hmm, you like that, Angel?” Christa smiled up him coyly; when he nodded she let out a soft chuckle and delved deeper through the honey-colored feathers. “How about…this?”

Her fingers ran down his wing, noting how the shades of yellow varied from a bright gold to a rich butterscotch color nearing caramel the closer she got to where wing met flesh. She was mesmerized by the combination of the sounds she drew from him and the soft down beneath her fingertips. Gabriel had resumed thrusting into to her slowly, a soft sheen of sweat beading on his skin from the effort of his restraint. Christa wrapped her arms around his torso, clutching at the feathers near his shoulder blades, caught up in the emotions flowing through the bond.

“Oh, fuck! Ahh!” Gabriel thrust deeply into her, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut.

“What?! Did I hurt you?” Christa let go of his wings immediately, eyes wide with worry.

Gabriel looked down at her, eyes glowing, and shook his head. “No, Sugar. Felt so fucking good. Don’t stop, cupcake, please don’t fucking stop!”

Christa let her fingers smooth back through his feathers, giving a testing tug. He moaned and resumed thrusting into her, letting out little tendrils of Grace along her skin. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer with her touching him like that and needed to make sure she’d be right there with him when he came.

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

Any opinions on which three i should use, or even if there’s a better scene (of at least 500 words) i should include, would be greatly appreciated. I really want this story to appeal to at least one artist out there. I’m really nervous that either there won’t be any artists in the fandom taking part in this bang, or that none of them will choose my fic in the first round of claims and that it’ll just end up being that kid who gets picked last for sports...

[rhetoricalrogue]

CW for blood, violence, character death.

I wrote this back in 2017, but upon reading it over, it needed a bit of an editing overhaul.  Here’s part of my contribution of an AU that @alittlestarling and I have been yelling to the other for the better part of two years, and I’m hoping that posting it will get me to write something else for it.  For reference, Roz is her character and Vincent is mine.

“We need to talk.  Follow me.”  Years of ingrained habit had Vincent nodding and following the Templar into the cover of night, even though he could sense the wrongness in the situation down to his bones.  Ser Abernathy had been a Templar stationed at Ostwick for as long as Vincent could remember, and while he had never been outright cruel to his charges, he’d been stricter than most in finding - or making up, if Vincent was being honest - any minor infraction and punishing severely for it.  They were faint, but Vincent’s back still bore the slightest traces of scars earned when he had been a boy, a willow switch biting into his skin and teaching him a lesson about sticking up for fellow apprentices who could not.

He hadn’t learned his lesson that day, but he had learned how to be more subtle when lending aid in the future.  

“What can I help you with?” Vincent asked as they walked further away from Skyhold’s walls, habit again having him clasp his hands behind his back and rounding his shoulders to present the image of a cooperative, peaceful mage.

He knew exactly what Ser Abernathy wanted to speak with him about.  The Templar hadn’t been quiet about publicly accusing Roz of blood magic since his arrival to their mountain fortress, and Vincent doubted that he would stop his accusations until something was done.  The thought that Ser Abernathy’s respect for protocol and order were the only things keeping the former Circle Templar from cutting down Roz where she stood made fear claw at Vincent’s throat.  He figured that this private confrontation and assessment of what the newly named Inquisitor would do about it was the last step before he took matters into his own hands.

 Vincent would have to tread carefully.  Not only was Roz’s life on the line, but those of all the mages who walked freely as Inquisition allies.  If one Templar ignored the truce that had fallen between mages and the Order, he feared what the fallout would be.

“Rosalind.  She’s a maleficar.”

Vincent closed his eyes and decided to play stupid for a little while more, just to see what proof Ser Abernathy had.  He’d stormed into Skyhold raving about Rosalind murdering his friends, spitting the accusation of maleficar out at her like a curse.  “Roz? Ser Abernathy, you’ve known her since she first arrived; she wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

The older man frowned, his fingers nervously tapping at the pommel of the sword at his hip.  “Those are the ones that you have to watch the most.  They lure you into a false sense of security and then...”

“Have a care as to what you say, Ser,” Vincent warned, his hands clenching into fists behind his back.  “Rosalind has been a valuable asset to the Inquisition.  There would be many who would be affronted if your accusations proved to be false.”

“I’ve seen her perform firsthand.  I would have struck her down in Ostwick, but she moved out of my range.  I’ve been tracking her ever since; I have strong reason to believe that she’s one of the catalysts of the Circle rebellion.”  Ser Abernathy stared at him, eyes hard.  “She needs to face justice, be it by your hand or mine.”

Vincent sighed and closed his eyes.  “I understand.”  He looked out to the small rocky clearing that Ser Abernathy had led them to, far away from the safety and warmth of the fortress.  It was remote, away from the main road, and no one traveled the currently unstable path this late at night.  No traffic meant no witnesses, should Vincent, Inquisitor or no, stray from the Helpful Mage script.  He let his shoulders slump.  “I must confess, I’ve had...doubts.  Suspicions that I didn’t want to think about.”

Ser Abernathy seemed to be surprised by Vincent’s words, almost as if he had expected a fight.  Vincent thought it was strange, seeing that aside from the sword he wore, he had neglected to wear any sort of armor. “I thought that you would deny it.”

“There have been too many cuts on her arms that she easily dismissed, ones that she took great care to hide from me.  I asked her about them and she couldn’t look me in the eye.”

“The two of you have been friends since childhood.  I doubt there’s much she can hide from you.”

Vincent nodded.  “Which is why I didn’t want to believe the evidence staring me in the face.” He took another deep breath and fought to stand up straight.  “You bring me firsthand accounts witnessing her using what we’ve been taught was forbidden.  Is there anyone else that was there that saw her?  Anyone else that can back up your accusations?”

“No.  The Templars who were at Ostwick all died, save for me.”

Vincent nodded, his fingernails cutting crescents into the meat of his palms as he tried not so show how badly his hands were shaking.  “Then I guess the next question now would be, what do we do about her?”

Ser Abernathy was quick to answer.  “Death or Tranquility.  They’re the only options that will suffice.”

Vincent felt nausea roll in his gut at the thought of Roz suffering either fate.  He released one of his hands from behind his back to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He knew what he had to do.  “I can’t see Roz turn Tranquil.”  It was the truth.  To see the expression go out of her eyes, to know that there was a piece of her forever cut off from herself...he’d die first. 

“Then you choose death for Roz.”

Vincent took a shuddering breath, the world spinning for a brief moment.  “Yes.” His hand clenched behind his back. “I choose death.”

Ser Abernathy came up to him and clasped his hand over Vincent’s shoulder.  “I know that this was a difficult decision for you.  You’ve been…”  Ser Abernathy didn’t finish, his breath seeming to hiss out of his mouth, his eyes wide as he stared at Vincent before looking down to the dagger stuck in his belly, belatedly realizing that Vincent had been armed this whole time.

Vincent’s expression was blank as he pulled Ser Abernathy closer. “I never said I chose death for her.”  He twisted his wrist and shoved the dagger deeper before pulling the blade out and almost mechanically stabbing over and over, only stopping once the pained gurgles and gasps his former guard gave quieted, the man’s eyes glazed over and face pale.

Vincent stared down at the body, alternating between relief that Roz was safe and wanting to vomit at the fact that he had killed someone so easily.  He dropped the knife and stared at his bloody hands, realizing they were violently trembling.  Sinking to his knees, he tried to breathe in and center himself, but the scent of blood triggered more memories of battlefields that he’d been on that he so desperately did not want to visit again. 

“You’re going to have to hide the body.”  Vincent spun around, fire flickering to life in his hands to attack the new intruder, only to see Rolfe slip out from the shadows.

“How long were you there?”  He’d never even heard anyone follow.

Rolfe crouched down and inspected the body, fingers pressing against the dead man’s throat to check for a pulse.  “I’ve been following the two of you ever since you left Skyhold. I didn’t like the guy the moment he showed up, and my gut said that he would try something the moment he had you away from prying eyes.”

Vincent closed his eyes and let the flames in his palms extinguish.  “I guess you could say that your gut was right.”

 “I also figured that you could use someone to back you up if things did go south.  Obviously you didn’t need the assist.”

“I never saw you.”

Rolfe rolled his eyes.  “I’d be a really shitty bodyguard if you’d have seen me coming.”  He sat back on his heels.  “You okay?”

Vincent swallowed hard.  “He was going to hurt Roz.  He said that she was a blood mage, he was going to kill her…”

“I know, I heard.” He put his hands on Vincent’s shoulders. “Slow, deep breaths.  This looks like it was your first time killing someone; the first ones are always the worst.”

Vincent frowned.  “I’ve killed people before.”  He let the memory of smoke and screaming hit him, anger fueling him back to his feet.  “You don’t know a damn thing about the things I’ve done, the things I had been ordered to do.”

“You’re right, I don’t. What I do know is that the people and the things you’ve killed since I met you have always been nameless faces, people who’ve attacked you first or that have done something to justify their deaths in some way.  Those are different kinds of deaths, ones you can go to sleep afterwards and not have them haunt you.” Rolfe looked down at the body again, noting the multiple stab wounds and defensive marks on the dead man’s hands. “This was personal; you not only knew him from the Circle, but he was threatening someone you care about.”

“He was going to hurt Roz,” Vincent repeated.  “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And I don’t blame you.  If I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”  He tipped his head.  “Maybe not exactly like this, it’s going to take some messing around to make it look like an accident, but I’ve worked with less before.”

“How can you be so…so…flippant about this?”  Vincent clenched his hands into fists at his sides, realizing in horror that they were tacky with Ser Abernathy’s blood.

“Because you didn’t answer me when I asked if you were okay.  I needed to get some sort of reaction out of you.”

“I’m fine,” Vincent said woodenly.

“Don’t stare at his face.  Committing what they look like in death to memory only fucks with you later on.”

“Have a lot of experience, don’t you?”

Rolfe shrugged, his expression blank.  “You aren’t the only one who’s been ordered to do things in the name of the order that has you under their thumb.  Just know that no matter how many people you’ve killed in the past, there’s a chance I’ve done far worse.” Rolfe picked up the dagger from the ground and wiped the blade on the shredded remains of Ser Abernathy’s shirt.  “How attached are you to this blade?”

“Not very.”

“Good, because I’m going to take a visit to the blacksmith and melt this down in the forge, get rid of the evidence.  You should head back to Skyhold.  I’ll hide the body nearby for now, then get with Leliana and explain what happened.  Together we’ll dispose of it more permanently, make sure it keeps quiet.”

“I didn’t think that we’d have to involve Leliana in this.”

“It would be hard not to.  Besides, it’s better to get her involved at the start instead of waiting and letting things get complicated. Ser Abernathy’s accusations were already made out in public - people don’t believe them of course - but we’re going to have to do some damage control, figure out a story that explains his abrupt departure from Skyhold.”  Rolfe pulled out a canteen of water from his belt.  Vincent numbly wondered why he’d have it in the first place, but then he noticed that Rolfe was also wearing an unfamiliar and oversized cloak, one that he more than likely thought to bring with him for the express purpose of rolling up a body in.  He’d come prepared.  “Hold your hands out, Vincent.  You’ve got blood on them.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because...” Rolfe unscrewed the cap and poured water onto Vincent’s hands before setting the canteen down and rubbing at the already drying bloodstains.  “ “Well, I’ve never had a little brother before.  And trust me, my older half-brother wouldn’t be questioning why I was helping, he’d be too busy trying to figure out how to get himself out of this mess and blame everything on me.”

Vincent snorted, feeling something aside from dread and disgust for the first time that evening. “Your older brother sounds like a dick.”

“That’s because he is one.” Satisfied that most of the blood was washed away, Rolfe stepped back. “And because this sort of thing isn’t for you. You’ve got the whole of Southern Thedas looking up to you.  Me?  I’ve got more than my share of blood on my hands, one more body isn’t going to matter in the grand scheme of things.”

Rolfe’s expression was unreadable in the dark, but Vincent caught his tone of voice.  “Thank you,” he said quietly, drying his hands on his pants.  “This is going to be complicated, isn’t it?”

Rolfe shook his head.  “I think you underestimate your spymaster and your diplomat.  They’ve been working on angles to spin the rumors ever since this guy showed up.  You and Roz are in good hands.”

Vincent caught Rolfe’s eye. “Roz is all that matters, Rolfe.  I’ll do anything to keep her safe.”

“I know.  And right now you need to go to her.  If I read her right, she’s planning on running.  She hasn’t had a chance to bolt yet, but she’ll probably decide to go under the cover of night, try to take herself out of the equation.”

“What?”

Rolfe raised an eyebrow.  “You aren’t the only one who would do anything to keep the ones you care about safe, Vincent.  She probably figures that if she’s not around, then the Inquisition won’t be known for harboring blood mages and your reputation will be intact.”

“So you believe it?”

“Not at first, and that’s a point in her favor.  She’s so unassuming that it makes accusations like this suspect.  And with no one alive to corroborate this one’s story, plus the fact that practically everyone here loves her, I’d say it won’t be difficult to put rumors down.”  Rolfe took off his cloak and spread it out close by the body. “When did you know?”

“After Redcliffe, after seeing what happened to her in the dark future.”

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Not directly.  She knows that I know, but we haven’t really spoken much about it.”  Neither of them had wanted to, but it was something that was going to have to be talked about now.

“It might be something you want to discuss.”  Rolfe rolled the body onto the cloak and efficiently wrapped it up.  Job done, he stripped off his shirt and handed it to his brother.  “You might want to wear this.  Yours is a little...”

Vincent grimaced as he realized that dark material or not, it was going to be difficult to hide the bloodstains that had gotten on his clothes.  Peeling himself out of the shirt, he grabbed the canteen off the ground and used what was left to wipe what had managed to soak into the material and get to his skin. “Thanks.”

Rolfe took Vincent’s ruined shirt and stuffed it inside the makeshift body bag.  Grunting, he hefted the body onto his shoulder, staggering a bit as he regained his balance.  Even in his older years, Ser Abernathy had been a solidly built man.  “Now, I need you to walk back to Skyhold as if nothing had happened.  I was watching and no one was around to see the two of you leave together, so his disappearance isn’t going to be something linked to you.  If it is questioned tomorrow, I’m sure that we can say he was ashamed for accusing Roz with something so dire without any proof and left, never to be seen again.”

“It’s pretty late, I should turn in.”

Rolfe nodded.  “You do look tired.  It’s understandable; you’ve had a few big days recently and things tend to catch up with you when you least expect them to.  I think you should go straight up to your room after your little walk you took to clear your head.”  Rolfe hitched the body higher on his shoulder and turned to go further down the path.  Vincent could barely make out the shape of a few decent sized boulders in the distance that would be excellent for temporarily hiding a body.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.  Tell Roz hello for me.  I like her; it wouldn’t be the same around here if she did decide to leave.”

“I will.”  Vincent started down the path he had come from, but stopped after taking a few steps.  “The bodies and blood from your past don’t have to define you, Rolfe,” he quietly said.  “And you’ll always have a brother who cares about you, no matter if he needs your help or not.”

Rolfe didn’t say anything, he just squared his shoulders and slowly took off in the opposite direction, his gristly burden making him walk slower than he usually did.

Vincent watched him for a while before the darkness hid him from view.  Taking a deep breath and willing his heart to stop racing, he made his way back to Skyhold, hoping that he’d make it in time before Roz did decide to run.

He just hoped that he could make her change her mind and stay.

[lady-therion]

Everything I Meant to Say: Part 4 [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian sends the wrong message at the wrong time.

(Modern AU.)

A/N: *Blows the dust off this fic.* It’s about time I returned to this series—this time with a glimpse from Nesta’s point of view. 

***

   It had been raining the day Nesta decided to leave Cassian.

   The memory was as clear and sharp as broken glass. The shards of it buried so deeply in her heart that the wound had festered and spread. As the years passed, the wound would scar over, but the pain...the pain was constant.

   Sometimes, the pain felt fresh.  

   She remembered how the world outside her window matched her mood to perfection: cold and dark and miserable. The anger brewing inside her was a living thing, pulling at her limbs like they were on strings. It directed her every thought and every motion.

   Everything inside her was screaming to get away.

   Away from the city.

   Away from him, especially.

   So she did.

   It took her less than a day to make her decision, a day where her mind kept playing their last argument on loop. Her, screaming at him not to walk away. Him, walking out and slamming the door so hard the hinges shuddered. Their arguments had always been like that: a raging inferno; their fire and passion equally matched. But this was the first time Cassian had ever walked away from her.

  The first time he had ever left.

  The blow hit her like a knife to the gut.

  He always told her would never walk away. And until that day, he kept that promise. She was too much; she had always been too much...she burned and burned and burned with all she felt and all she saw. But Cassian assured her that he could handle her moods, her temper, her walls...

  You’re worth it, he told her. You’ve always been worth it.

   Maybe it was a lie they both believed.

   Once she made up her mind, everything fell into place. She emailed her landlord, paid out her rent, and began packing up her belongings. She didn’t want to carry much, so she gave whatever she didn’t need to her sisters and sold off the rest. Later, she would use the money to buy a ticket out of the city. She did it quickly, with absolutely no consideration to the fallout.

   You’re making a mistake, said Feyre.

   This isn’t fair to him, added Elain.

  But Nesta didn’t feel like being fair. She didn’t feel like she owed him anything, not even an explanation. It would be a long time before she would come to terms with how she left things. Like a thief in the dead of night. Like a coward.

  And isn’t that what she called him when he told her “this was over”?

  You’re a coward, Cassian…a goddamned coward.

  Christ.

  “You’re frowning.”

  She opened her eyes to glance at her reflection. Alis, her make-up artist, had paused in dusting her cheekbones with blush to point out the deep crease forming between her brows.

  “Sorry,” said Nesta, smoothing out her expression into something bland.

   “Got a lot on your mind?” asked Alis, resuming her finishing touches.

   “Always,” she said.

   Alis smirked. “How was coffee with the ex?”  

  “About as awkward as I expected,” said Nesta. “I took your advice and was honest with him. Seeing him again…” Her eyes shuttered. “It was fine, all things considered. But I can tell he’s really conflicted. And why wouldn’t he be? We don’t know each other anymore. It’s like we’re starting all over.”

  “Mmm,” said Alis. “But that’s a good thing, right? Clean slate?”

   I miss you...

   Nesta shrugged. “I’m glad he’s willing to try, it’s just—”

   “You’re thinking too much,” said Alis, gently tapping her nose with the end of her brush. “He’s coming to the photoshoot today, isn’t he? That’s progress.”

   It was progress. But that wasn’t was Nesta was afraid of. No, her doubts and fears centered on something else entirely. She was about to tell Alis as much when Vassa flew into her trailer, eyes wild and short of breath.

   “We’re almost done,” said Alis.  

  “Glad to hear it,” the redhead said dryly. “But we’ve run into a little problem on set.”

***

   Something wasn’t right.

   Cassian couldn’t put his finger on it, but he couldn’t deny his feeling off-kilter after meeting with Nesta. Seeing her again, after all this time...he didn’t have the words for it. Even after six years, Nesta could mix a cocktail of heady emotions within him: regret, sorrow, even hope.

   But hope for what? Closure? Reconciliation? They had left on such an ugly note the last time they saw each other. That she was all smiles and apologies now made him feel...not suspicious, but confused. Nesta was never quick to forgive and never one to let go of a grudge. At least, not easily.

   It was a thought that made him feel guilty. His expectations of how she would react were based on someone who existed six years ago. They were younger then, and more naive. They were also each other’s first serious relationship and they had both handled that commitment poorly.

   He would have liked to think that they were both older and wiser, that healing the rift between them was possible. But could it really be that easy? Could Nesta have changed that much? Was he being unfair in questioning her intent? The unknowns tore at him even as Nesta hugged him goodbye and called him a cab—and paid for it too.

   Now he was waiting on the curb of the street outside his apartment. She had texted him that morning to let him know that a town car was picking him up to drive him to the studio. A town car.

   She didn’t need him anymore. That much was clear. Besides, what could he possibly offer her? Nesta was one of the most fiercely independent women he knew, and her success was nothing short of remarkable. Some part of him always knew she was destined for greater things; that she was a woman who was going places.

   And here he was, standing still.

   He had always been standing still.

   It was part of the reason why she left.

   A cheery ‘ding’ from his phone told him that the town car was about a minute away. He could see it coming down his street, its sleek lines and platinum silver paint job sticking out like a sore thumb against the dull urban backdrop of his neighborhood.

  The uneasy and restless feeling dogged him even after he settled into the heated leather seating. The driver told him that they were headed towards the park, near the bridge that overlooked the river.

  The very same spot where Cassian first told Nesta that he loved her….

  So if he thought he was nervous and on edge before, it was nothing compared to the roiling hurricane of anxiety he felt when the stone bridge came into view.

  Once again, he was in way over his fucking head.

   They parked off to the side of the set, which was a flurry of activity. A flock of assistants and crewmen flitted from trailer to trailer. A line of high-end cameras and expensive lighting equipment was set up at a sectioned off corner of the park, the majority of them facing the bridge. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that they had set up the photoshoot this close to sunset. Their city was famous for its sunsets and looked even more spectacular when night fell.

   The driver handed him a V.I.P. badge and directed him to the biggest trailer towards the end of the lane. Nesta’s trailer. As Cassian drifted through the crowds, he took stock of the other models being led from one place to another and registered something else…

   They were all dressed like they were part of a wedding party.

   So when Nesta emerged from her trailer looking like the proverbial goddess of brides—decked in layers and layers of rich white fabric and intricate crystal beading—it was all he could do to not have a heart attack on sight. 

   In his secret heart of hearts, he had always thought Nesta would make a beautiful bride.

  But the reality of it was so, so, so much better than the fantasy.

  And that much more painful, if the dull ache in his chest was anything to go by.

  “You made it,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. As though she couldn’t believe he was actually here. That she seemed more surprised that he showed up on set versus showing up yesterday for coffee was something Cassian took note of.

  Was she still reeling from what he said about the new world she inhabited now? The one he had little to no understanding of? The one where he didn’t fit in?

  She glided towards him with a graceful ease that only she could have ever mastered. His heart caught in his throat as he took in her devastating face, framed by a crown of expertly woven curls and braids. A few strands fell near the corner of her blue-grey eyes, made more intense by a deep plum shimmer. The veil she wore trailed behind her exposed back. And even though it had been over half a decade since he last saw her, he would bet every last penny in his bank account that he could still trace all his favorite freckles.

  At some point, he started to breathe again.

  But if Nesta saw him falter, she at least gave him the courtesy of not calling him out on it.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly. Her smile was shy, tentative. Those full lips coated in a deep, distracting, kissable red. “My groom went missing. So we may have to wait a while.”

  The words fell over him like a bucket of ice water. “I’m sorry. Your what?”

  “The groom,” drawled a red-haired woman just behind Nesta. “Fucking Eris Vanserra. Probably sleeping off his hangover at some upscale bordello. Ugh, male models are the worst.”

  Nesta sighed. “This is Vassa. She’s our creative director and also a major pain in my ass.”

  “Hey!”

  “But she also keeps me in business, so there’s that.”

  “Better,” added Vassa.

Next to Nesta, Vassa seemed younger and almost coltish. But the penetration of her assessing gaze gave off the free-spirited vibe of an “old soul.” Also, for someone who was supposedly a director, Vassa didn’t seem to dress the part. With her knit cap, vintage polka-dotted skirt, and combat boots, her entire being seemed to exude a carelessness that was almost cocky. It was...unexpected, but refreshing.

  “So this is him?”

  Vassa peered above her Clark Kent-ish glasses to look him over. And over. What exactly did Nesta say about him? And just how many of these people knew?

  “Yes, this is Cassian,” said Nesta, her voice oddly neutral.

  Vassa looked him up and down once more, her blue eyes lit with a manic gleam. Cassian fought the urge to squirm, digging his hands into the pocket of his jeans when she began to circle him like a shark, making “mmm” and “hmm” noises that did nothing for his nerves.

  “I have an idea,” said Vassa, finally.

  “Absolutely not,” said Nesta, the tone in her voice so sharp and cutting that it stirred something inside him.

  There was the fiery Nesta he knew.  

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Vassa. “It’s a brilliant idea and you know it.”

  “Vassa,” Nesta snarled.

  The redhead only grinned.

  “Say there Cassian, my new buddy, my new friend, my new pal.” He gulped as she placed an arm on his shoulder. “How would you like to be a supermodel for a day?”

***

Up next: Cassian plays the role of Nesta’s groom, plus more revelations about Nessian’s breakup...

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[shift-shaping]

For DWC! 💰 “they’re NOT my sugar daddy!” For Solas x Surana because I love that ship way too much...

@4vrafangirl, @elfsplaining

Glimpses: Absurd

@dadrunkwriting

Rating: M

Genre: Romance

Verse: Confessions of a Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Teacher x student, age gap, mention of sex work

Sequel to A Quiet Evening Alone

She sat back, kicking her feet underneath her where they hung off the hood of his car. His car. She closed her eyes, attempted to focus herself on the physical realities of this moment and not the excited, electrified terror gripping her chest.

It wasn’t his fault. He was nice to her, sweet to her, and always so encouraging. He did nothing inappropriate or untoward. Even this, even taking her to get dinner after dark, involved an impressive lack of awkwardness between them. Maybe there was a line somewhere, and maybe this was on it, but it didn’t feel wrong to be with him like this.

He shifted, the car moving slightly under his weight. She smirked and glanced at him, holding her french fries close to her chest for warmth. “Poor car. I think we’re too heavy for it.”

He sighed and closed his eyes as he lay back, moving until he was comfortable. She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting, from falling to his hips as they moved against the cold metal. They lingered there for far too long, stuck on his hips, her thoughts going to places they shouldn’t when she saw it didn’t look like he had much extra room in his pants. “I needed an excuse for a new one anyway.”

She turned away quickly and scoffed. “No way do they pay you enough for a new car.”

“What? You do not know that.”

“Yes I do,” she said, smirking. “They’d never pay an elf enough for new cars as you please.”

He winced, still smiling slightly. “I want very badly to disagree.”

“You can’t though, it’s true.” She ate a few fries and hummed softly. “It sucks.”

Solas opened his eyes and looked at her. “Speaking of which, as much as I trust that you are an excellent athlete, I am curious as to how you managed to earn a full scholarship.”

“Well,” she started, shifting to cross her legs under her on the car. “Obviously,” she looked at him over her shoulder. “I slept with the athletic director.”

“Obviously.” 

Eirwen sighed and shook her head. “No, she’s way out of my league, to be honest.” Eirwen ate another couple of fries, then held the box out to him. He hesitated, then took a few and thanked her. “Have you ever met her?”

“I do not believe so. Perhaps in another capacity. What’s her name?”

“Aveline Vallen. She’s a redhead and gorgeous. Also, probably married.”

“So… does she have a soft spot for Elvhen?”

Eirwen cast him a wry glance. “She has a soft spot for talented athletes, hahren.”

He grunted softly and sat up, raising his eyebrows at her. He was so close now, close enough for her to see the subtle laugh lines on his face, the first hint of crow’s feet around eyes. Like this, when she could see the signs of his age up close, she always expected some sort of revelation. Maybe she’d finally realize on a deeper level that this wouldn’t work, that the spots and scars in his features would only divide them. But she always found herself memorizing them, committing every piece to memory for when whatever this was inevitably fell apart; she didn’t think it pessimistic to assume that one day this would be a memory. 

“You know I am not implying you aren’t talented,” he said softly, that little smirk making her heart race. He had an almost dreamy look in his eyes, reflecting the yellow streetlights around them. 

“Well… you are just taking my word for it…”

He turned his head, narrowed his eyes, giving her a look that seemed to smolder in the dark. Her lips parted softly, her gaze flickering over his face, hesitating on his lips. “I have every bit of faith in your abilities.”

“You have no proof, hahren,” she replied softly, smiling at him.

“Mmm… is watching you compete truly the only way to know you excel at something requiring so much skill and grace? Honestly, da’len, I think not.” He leaned toward her slightly, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t respond, her words buried deep down in her chest. Her eyes widened, her heart pounding in her ears, heat flooding the blood in her veins.

“I- I have to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly, surprising both of them. He blinked and pulled back, nodding, eyes wide as if shaken from a dream. “I’ll be right back.” He gave another nod and she slid off the car, grabbing her phone to take with her.

She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, immediately turning around to put her back against it. Her breathing was too fast, her heart pounding in her ears. But this wasn’t a panic attack; she’d had them enough times to know this wasn’t the same thing. She was still on-edge, still hot and shaky, and the feeling wasn’t exactly good, but it wasn’t an all-consuming burn either. She closed her eyes and let her head drop toward the door behind her. As soon as she took a few deep breaths she could go back. She needed to be more realistic about this. Everything, all of the closeness, every overmeasured breath, was an overreaction. He just wanted to help her, and she was turning it all into something it wasn’t.

With a renewed, forced calm she went back outside into the night. From the side of the restaurant where the restrooms were she couldn’t exactly see his car, and as she stepped out of the dark and toward the streetlight her ears perked at the sound of his deep voice. At first she couldn’t make out what he was saying, but knew he was talking to someone and wasn’t particularly happy about it. 

She crept closer, staying just out of the light and well-away from his line of sight. “That is not what this is.” He had a subtle growl in his voice, a noise that should have frightened her but instead did something else. “This is not any of your concern, either.”

“Man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just asked a question, you didn’t need to take it so personally.”

“It is not an apology if you only make it to excuse your poor behavior.”

Eirwen smirked at that, ever-impressed by his bluntness. She emerged from the shadows behind the lamp, smiling a bit as she approached his car. “Something going on?” She asked, glancing between them.

Solas sighed and looked at her, shaking his head slightly. “If you are finished, we should leave.”

Her eyes flicked from Solas to the man talking at him. He was probably about Solas’s age, some kind of vague professional, and significantly less attractive. Not that he was bad-looking, per say, he was just human and… generic. Eirwen frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. The man took a deep breath and put his hands up, stepping back. “Just asking a question.”

“What were you asking?” Eirwen tilted her head, genuinely curious. 

“Eirwen,” Solas started.

“Listen, I just wanted to know how he got you. Like… I’m not saying anything disrespectful, it’s just… you’re very beautiful, and I was wondering how I could get someone like you.”

“An… elf?” Eirwen asked, raising a brow at him. 

“No! Fuck, an escort.”

“Craigslist?”

“Eirwen!” Solas cut in, blinking at her and pushing off the car. “Can we please just go?”

She nodded and stepped back, watching the man warily. He mumbled something under his breath and turned around, presumably heading back to his car. Solas unlocked his doors and she got in, looking out the window as he watched the man leave. He finally got in and closed the door, then looked at her with raised brows. “Craigslist?”

She smirked and shrugged. “He wanted an escort.”

“Don’t tell people you’re an escort!”

“Technically I didn’t. I just didn’t disagree with him.”

Solas closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Eirwen…”

For a few minutes she didn’t say anything, just pursed her lips around a smirk that pulled at her cheeks. He started the car, and in the silence between them she finally spoke. “It was pretty funny, though.”

Solas gave her a wry side-glance as he pulled out of the parking spot. Despite himself, he smiled. “You are an absurd person.”

She shifted and let the side of her face rest against the seat. “Well… you haven’t kicked me out of your car yet.”

He paused and looked at her, fully smirking now. “I did not say it was a bad thing.” Then he laughed and shook his head. “And I would never kick you out of my car.”

“Never?”

“Well…” He considered that. “Maybe if you threw up without warning, or smelled particularly bad.”

She snorted as he turned to look back at the road. “Dick.”

He chuckled, and the sound made her heart skip again. “That’s not very respectful, da’len.”

“Mmm neither is throwing someone out of your car because they’re a bit stinky.”

“It does explain why I keep our meetings after you have practice as short as possible.”

Her jaw dropped and she sat forward, stunned. “No way, you are a dick!”

He laughed and pulled out of the parking lot, on to the highway. “I am joking, you really don’t smell that bad.”

“I actually don’t believe you.” 

“Well, you would know better than me.”

He continued on to the main road, bringing her back to campus where she shared an apartment with three other girls. Comfortable as they were with each other, and as loudly and easily as their conversation carried on through the drive, still he dropped her off far from her residence hall, leaving plenty of space for no one to associate them with each other. He did it without having to explain to her, without having to justify the distance between his parking spot and her home. She knew without having to be told that even this was not allowed.

if you enjoyed this fic, please hit the reblog button on this post. comments are cool but not necessary -you can leave no tags, a keysmash, or even just 'nice' if you'd like! thanks for your support -arden

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: As Long As You Love Me – Are You Ready For It

HOLY CRAP IT’S THIS AU AGAIN. Yes, while “The Technicolor Phase” is on a “I need to write more of it” hiatus, we’re having a brief but grand return to the “Holistic Assassin!Alice and her tagalong Victor” AU! I’ve had this particular snippet waiting in the wings for a while now, and it’s time to finally bring it out into the light.

When we last left our intrepid heroes, Victor had watched a very convenient news report and discovered Alice had been injured and arrested in the line of duty. Which led to him realizing that maybe the reason he feels so out of joint with his current life is because he’s not where he’s supposed to be anymore. So he’s called up Victoria (and Emily by proxy) for a very important meeting. . .

"You're what?!"

"Going back to Alice," Victor repeated obligingly. "I leave today."

Victoria and Emily gawked, first at him, then at each other. Victor didn't blame them – he probably would have done the same in their place. "You're – going back to the woman who says it's her mission in life to kill people?" Emily said at last, turning back to him.

"Purpose," Victor corrected. "And yes, I am."

"Do – do your parents know?" Victoria asked, scrambling for solid conversational ground.

Victor burst out laughing. "Do my – Victoria, do you honestly believe they'd have let me out of the house if they knew I was about to head off to become the official accomplice of a serial killer?! No, of course not! Mother thinks I'm on a date with you, actually. It was the best way to leave without them suspecting anything."

Victoria's eyes flicked to the duffel bag sitting by his chair. "They thought you needed all that for a date?"

"Oh, no, I packed this last night and hid it in the bushes," Victor said, nudging it. "I picked it up before coming to find you. It's not that much, really – my keyboard and sketchbook take up the most space. The rest is just clothes, pens, a couple of books, a few CDs, a photo album, and some snacks."

"Sounds exactly like the sort of things I packed to go meet Barkis," Emily said darkly. "Victor, you're really just going to vanish from your own life? For someone like – you yourself admitted she was a serial killer!" She rubbed her ribcage, searching out the scar under her shirt. "How do you know you're not walking into your own grave?"

"Because I'm supposed to be with her." Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. "I – oh, how do I explain? Alice doesn't kill randomly. It might look that way when you first meet her, but. . .you two didn't stay with her as long as I did. You didn't see how it all worked."

"How does it work, then?" Victoria asked, leaning forward. "Please, Victor, we want to understand. But all we know about this – purpose of hers comes from you screaming at her that it was her job over Barkis's – corpse."

Victor winced. "Yes, I know, not the best first impression. . .but things had gone a little awry then. . ." He rubbed the back of his head. "Barkis is the kind of person Alice is called to kill. The lowest of the low, the scum that have escaped all other justice. I told you that she rescued me from my kidnappers."

"But – did they really deserve to die? Not that I'm saying it wasn't a horrible experience for you, Victor, or that they shouldn't have been arrested, but–"

"But I'd likely be dead if she hadn't come along when she had," Victor cut in. "I left this out before because you and Emily had already gone through enough, and I – I was still reeling over Barkis, but Hugo Landis and his crew made snuff films. Alice learned of them when one of them handed her a business card."

Emily sucked in a shocked breath. "What?"

Victor nodded. "They tricked people into coming to their studio, then murdered them on-camera. All without ever getting caught. And Hugo offered to put me in their pictures once or twice – goodness, the day Alice showed up, he was preparing to cut off one of my fingers to show he meant business." He flexed his hands, shuddering at the mere memory. "If she hadn't come along, I might not have ever made it out. And who knows how many young women and men looking for their big break she saved by slaughtering the lot of them."

"Be that as it may – how can you be sure she only kills evil people?" Victoria pressed, a lock of hair escaping her bun.

"Because that seems to be who the universe sends her way. How else do you explain her killing some biker in the parking lot of a diner, only for him to be revealed to be part of a notorious band of violent thugs who burn anyone who crosses them? Or the mechanic who helped fix our first car when it broke down – only to reveal he intended to steal it, kill us, and then quietly sell our organs on the black market? Goodness, the only reason we were anywhere near where Barkis was keeping you captive was because our second car mysteriously stopped just across from his house!"

"But – it ran fine when you brought us back to it," Emily pointed out, blinking.

"That's exactly what I mean. The world – warps itself around her. It always makes sure that she's going in the right direction – and being aimed at the right targets." Victor clasped his hands together. "We were kidnapped by the rest of the gang of that biker I mentioned before. They had us tied to a fence in our underwear, helpless. And then one of them threw a baseball at me, and it bounced just right to free her. In under a minute, she'd gotten a gun and killed them all. Does that sound like totally random chance to you?"

Victoria worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Well. . .still. Victor, you're throwing away your entire life to chase after a murderer."

"The life my parents have planned out for me, you mean?" Victor responded, deadpan. "The one where I take over the cannery despite having very little head for business? Where I spend all my free time schmoozing with the elite despite hating parties and preferring a night at home with a good book? Where, somehow, you and I end up married despite you being in love with Emily?"

Victoria went pink. "Surely there's something worth staying for."

"You could just leave Hill Valley, you know," Emily added. "Make your own way somewhere else. Your parents can't force you to stay."

"My mother would probably find a way. . .but no," Victor said, shaking his head. "The universe is calling me, and I have to answer. I haven't felt right since I came back, and when I saw her on the news the other night. . . ." He leaned forward, hands clasped before him. "She's in hospital. She got hurt again on a kill, and that – that's not supposed to happen. And now. . .n-now I think they're going to try and throw her back in a sanitarium."

"Back?!"

"She was committed before – it's a long story," Victor said, waving a hand. "I know she'd fight it with everything she had – she'd probably even find a way out. But. . .when they interviewed the captain about it. . .he looked right at me when saying that they probably wouldn't have caught her if she'd had an accomplice. If I'd been there. . .she'd be okay." He pressed on his eyes, squeezing them tight against sudden wetness. "You w-weren't there before. You didn't see her singing along with the radio, making jokes about the edibility of shampoo, teasing me for being such a mother hen. Telling me I – I was important. That I had a purpose in this world. She and I – we fit, somehow. We can survive apart, but – when we're together, we live. She needs me. And I. . ." He sucked in a breath, fighting to master his emotions. "I need her."

There was a significant silence. ". . .Guess you've finally moved on from us, huh?" Emily said at last.

Victor nodded. "I only let myself appreciate how I felt yesterday. Maybe if I'd done so earlier. . .perhaps calling her my 'soulmate' is a little far, but I know we're meant to be together." He forced himself to look up. "Please, trust me – she's not evil. She's just doing what she has to. And I – I want to be there for her. More than that, I need to be. It's my destiny."

Victoria leaned on her hand, considering him. "We're not going to talk you out of this, are we?" she murmured. "All right. But – why tell us at all?"

"Because someone needs to know where I've gone – what I'm doing. Just so my parents don't panic." Victor reached across the table, taking one of their hands in each of his. "And – I wanted to see you both one last time. Say goodbye." He smiled. "You two – you were the best part of living here."

Emily snorted. "Being told you had to date this one girl by your parents, accidentally convincing another you wanted to be her boyfriend, then getting dumped by both of them for each other was the best part of living here? Cripes, Victor, you must be miserable."

Victor laughed. "Hey – it made my life a lot more interesting, at least." His expression softened. "And you were the ones who always understood me best. You've been wonderful friends. And you were great girlfriends too, for however little time it lasted." He gave them each a squeeze. "Frankly, I'm glad I killed Barkis if it means you two can stay in this world. And I hope you can find your purposes soon. You deserve so much better than this town has given you."

"Oh, Victor. . ." Victoria got up and came around to give him a hug. Emily immediately followed suit. "You were one of my best friends. And certainly the best boyfriend I've ever had."

"Same here," Emily agreed. "I know the competition wasn't particularly stiff in either case, but. . ." She chuckled, then her face went soft. "And you deserve better than this place too. So – if you think you can find it with Alice. . ." She sighed and shook her head. "I still don't quite get it. But I know a lot about doing anything for love." She leaned down, looking him dead in the eye. "Just be absolutely certain she's not going to put a knife between your ribs."

Victor patted her back reassuringly. "If she was supposed to kill me before, she would have done it already. And if she stabs me after we get back together, I'll know I did something to deserve it."

Emily shook her head. "You are a very odd person, Victor Van Dort. And the people you fall in love with are even odder."

"Present company excepted?"

Emily giggled. "Well. . ."

"If you can, let us know that you're all right, once you find her," Victoria said, ruffling his hair. "Even if you're going to be on the road the rest of your days, you must pass by a postbox every so often."

"I'll do my best," Victor promised. "Hopefully the universe will be kind." He looked between them, taking each of their hands and giving them a squeeze. "I – I guess this is it then. You both have a good life."

"You too," Emily said, patting his back. "And please, stay safe out there."

Victor bit his lip as he remembered being tied to the fence by Blackwing, the hot metal searing into his back. "That's – kind of up to the universe. But it hasn't killed me yet, so. . . ." He shrugged. "You stay safe as well. No more getting kidnapped."

"God forbid," Victoria said, grimacing. "The first thing I did once we got back was look up some self-defense videos on YouTube. Mother doesn't approve, of course, but she's hasn't tried to take the computer away yet. . ."

"Father and I found a class at the old aerobics place – starts next week," Emily told them. "If I don't know how to take care of myself after that. . ."

Victor smiled. "Good. I hope it goes well." He retrieved his bag and stood up, reluctantly breaking the hug. "As it is, I'll let you two get on with your date. I'm off to Zemeckis Plaza to catch the next available bus to the train station. I'll work my way toward Millsville from there."

"I – suppose that sounds like a plan," Victoria said with a little nod. "Good luck."

"Thank you. Goodbye."

With that, Victor shouldered his bag and started on down the street, leaving them at the table. It stung a little, to leave such good friends behind him, but it had to be done. He certainly couldn't ask them to give up everything for this quest. It wasn't in the cards for them – as far as he knew, anyway. At least I got the chance to say goodbye, he thought, absently playing with his collar. And I'm glad they took it as well as they did. I thought for sure there was going to be more of an argument. . . He rubbed out an itch at the corner of his eye. All right – bus, then the train station. What was the route I found again? Greenville, then a switch to Pickerton, then another bus to –

"Victor!"

Victor started, then turned to see Victoria and Emily still standing over the table, watching him with worried eyes. "You're – you're absolutely sure you're doing the right thing?" Victoria asked, twisting her hands together.

Victor bit his lip, a tiny frisson of doubt going up his spine. He was almost totally sure he was – could feel the tug in his bones – but. . .looking at their anxious expressions. . .was he really? Was all this him following the plan of the universe? Or was he the victim of a number of odd coincidences and about to make an utter fool of himself? He opened his mouth, unsure what was about to come out but hoping the right words would magically find themselves falling off his tongue –

SCHREEEEEEEECH!

Victor just about jumped out of his skin. Out of seemingly nowhere, a bright cherry-red convertible pulled up alongside him, one tire jumping the curb and just missing Victor's foot. The engine had barely stopped revving before the owner – a man with a truly atrocious fake tan and the worst bleached-blond hair Victor had ever seen – jumped out of the driver's seat and thrust the keys into his hand. "Park it for me, noodle-boy," he ordered, jabbing Victor in the chest. "Don't bother about the slip."

"I–"

"I don't care if it's policy," the man said, talking over him as he adjusted his sunglasses. "I'm already late! Shouldn't be more than an hour anyway." His lips turned up in a mocking sneer. "And trust me, vampire, I'll remember your face."

And with that, he was off, slapping his phone against his ear without even a glance backward. Victor blinked rapidly as his brain scrambled to put events in order. "But – I – sir – I-I'm not–"

The man just waved a hand in a very "stop talking to me" fashion, babbling away to whoever was on the other line. Victor stared at him, then at the keys, then at the car. What on earth had convinced that jerk he was a valet? He certainly didn't know of any businesses around here with that service available. Sure, he was wearing a suit, but that didn't really mean anything – people went around in suits all the time! And wasn't the duffel bag a rather big clue that he was on his own important business? Park it, he says, he thought, frowning. Would serve him right if I just took the damn thing and –

Oh.

Victor turned back to Victoria and Emily, staring at the scene in open astonishment. He grinned and held up the keys. "Yup."

And then, well aware that he only had a limited amount of time before the spell was broken, he slid across the hood, slipped into the front seat, and fired up the engine. He gave the shocked girls a final wave, then, with an ease he'd never felt before, did a smooth U-turn back onto the main road and hit the gas. On a whim, he switched on the radio. Sure enough, there was Taylor, belting out, "In the middle of the night, in my dreams – you should see the things we do, baaaaby. In the middle of the night, in my dreams, I know I'm gonna be with you – so I take my tiiiiime. . .are you ready for it?"

Victor beamed, coasting through a set of traffic lights that turned green the moment he reached them. "I am indeed. Hang on, Alice – I'm coming."