#but i heard that people started writing humanization fics even on fandom challenges

[dropthedemiurge]

i suddenly have a small wave of new followers who don't feel like bots for some reason

.... is that reddit x tumblr humanization post making rounds on this hellsite again?xD

[pokelolmc]

One of my new favourite Hazbin Hotel fic AUs is this weird crossover niche of "Alastor is/was a character from another fandom, before he snapped and became who he is today" AUs, eg. "Harry Potter becomes Alastor", and one random "Tim Drake becomes Alastor" fic I found on AO3. Because I find it interesting to try and figure out how to meld the other character's backstory, powers or personality with his.

And that inevitably led my traitorous brain to the idea of "Danny Fenton becomes Alastor" (because now DP and DC are forever associated in my lizard brain, curse you Phandom!).

Which is just...the weirdest thing ever, because they're just so different—like, how the fuck do you set up Danny to become Alastor, of all people?! It feels like the most unfitting character to do this with...

And that's exactly what my brain has decided to see it as a challenge.

Added caveat: this is an AU!Danny specifically from a generic angsty dissection fic scenario, where he's been traumatised by his parents and fucked over by the world (and he has no healthy way to cope)—then he's sent back in time, lost and completely alone

-Danny falls through a natural portal to 1900's Louisiana with no way back (something something, Clockwork's-out-of-the-picture, something something)

-Alastor being a mama's boy? Danny gets taken in by a loving mother figure after getting lost in time—a kind woman familiar with the supernatural who accepts his ghost half right off the bat. He sees her as his family. After a year or so, though, she dies. He spirals again. He dyes his hair brown and starts wearing glasses when he runs away to New Orleans to change himself and cover his tracks.

-Alastor feels like an interesting name for Danny to choose because it means "the avenger", and can also mean "defender of the people" (a meaning more apparent in the Scottish version "Alasdair/Alastair"), but could also have a negative connotation of "persecutor"; the character symbolism writes itself

-the normally tech-savvy Danny who finds old-timey stuff boring would be forced to find something to entertain himself in the 1900's. So he gravitates towards radio, with it being the closest thing he's got to modern tech. Give him several years or so to grow attached to it and enjoy the idea of working in it. He goes from fantasising of radio comms at NASA to a public radio host, playing with all the fancy knobs and dials.

-his ghost half is the reason Alastor's powers/magic in Hell is green

(also I heard someone say the typical human!Alastor design has the "Timmy Turner hairstyle", which I can't unsee now. And it's Danny's hairstyle too. Because we know how well Butch Hartman and originality mix. Male protagonist? There's only one hairstyle for that!)

-he becomes a serial killer because he's snapped over the years after all the shit that's happened to him; he's developed a bitter, cynical and self-aggrandised ego and thirst for justice and revenge, and he's all alone with no one to keep him out of the dark echo chamber leading to villainy

-a serial killer with ghost powers plays cat-and-mouse with cops, and never leaves a trace; before he starts killing, he's already made deals with and intimidated the ghosts that come to New Orleans through other natural portals (it's a portal hotspot) under a new ghostly persona. He has both sides of the city fearing or respecting his power. Every ghost who goes to New Orleans knows whose territory it is. They just never link the ghost and human together. He becomes like an even worse Plasmius. It sets him up for Overlord stuff in Hell from the getgo

-the cannibalism was a...happy accident. On a whim, he decided one guy's crime was too insufferable to die without torment, so he took the guy back and...tortured him the way his ol' folks knew best. He starts cutting people open as if trying to relive what his parents did to him, but from the other end—as the person with all the power. Taste-testing what he cut up came incidentally, but he decided he didn't mind it and made it a routine.

I can imagine a villain!Danny with more narcissistic tendencies, but my main trouble is where the overblown confidence and charming/manipulative skills come from. After all, Danny's pretty socially awkward. How exactly does he grow into that?

[bcbdrums]

for the fanfic asks: 5, 23, 28!!

from this list

5. Quote one of your fics out of context

"This...I admit," he said, "I have longed for since first I met you." --Sarek to Amanda, The Logical Thing

23. Where do you usually write?

Either at my desk or in bed, on my laptop, in Microsoft's Notepad. No exceptions. It must be Notepad. And I do all my html for AO3 manually. This, I have found, is the only way to get formatting correct the first time. It also forces me to spell things correctly (although with Windows 11, Notepad does now fix a few typos automatically which is annoying but at least it's not as bad as I've heard Google Docs is, but I digress...). Yes yes, Notepad is the only way. In a small vertically rectangular window that takes up a very small portion of the screen, 4 1/2" x 6" precisely. And...on the rare occasion I'm out of the house and can write (usually I'm out for busy purposes so not writing) I'll write to myself in either an email or messenger app so that when I get back on the laptop, it's right there for me to copy-paste and reformat in my beloved Notepad. Plain text foreverrrr!

28. Which fic is closest to your heart?

Ohhhh boy... I have approximately 324 published fanfics (published under two usernames, and counting individual fics in anthology collections much like @blackbloodteeth's Ramble Room) and I know I have over 300 WIPs and unpublished fics as well, some in the 50K+ word count range. I did not look at all of them when considering this question, but there were some I went to automatically. I'll give one honorable mention, and then the one that I thought of first. Honorable mention because I'm just so proud of what I did, is a fic called The Letter (BBC Sherlock). This fic was written to address what immediately became a fandom trope - John's letter to Sherlock after Mary's death, the contents of which we never learn. So the story is ultimately about that, but it isn't revealed until the end. Instead it's a series of flashbacks from John's POV of events in their lives about their relationship, how it developed and grew, with Sherlock using music to tell John how he feels about him. I have audio links embedded in the fic, timed as well as I could to an average reading speed so that you're hearing something as a character comments about it. The story has humor, angst, love...everything. And I am so, so, so proud of my work on this. I even studied how to waltz for weeks because I wrote about Sherlock teaching John (another fandom trope) and I have to do things correctly, so....I had to learn first before I could write it. So yeah... This one is extremely dear to me and would be in my list of top recommended fics if I wanted people to read my work. I have a very great many stories I'm proud of, many that I just enjoy reading for their own sake because I find them that good/they scratch that particular itch just right for me (after all, don't we write for ourselves?). But ultimately, the story that first came to mind and stayed there as I scanned through the rest of my fics is.... The Logical Thing (Star Trek, Sarek/Amanda). I think my first, legitimate, serious romantic ship in any fandom is Sarek/Amanda. I don't know why either. Perhaps because of their obvious importance in Spock's life, because of their embodiment of IDIC (the Vulcan philosophy of Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations) by being a human/vulcan couple, and supposedly the first interspecies couple for either species (or at least the first we know about*), the challenges their relationship must have faced, the challenges they must have had raising a bi-species son... And Spock being one of my all-time favorite characters too... Yeah. I dunno. But something about those two has always called to me, and I've been desperate, desperate, desperate to tell their story. Which is the plot of a massive unfinished fic I started posting (forgive meeeeeeeeeeee I will return I promise) and the subject of so many WIPs.... So many WIPs.... But anyway, that's not the question. I needed to write them getting together finally. The Logical Thing is simply, Sarek entering pon farr and well...if you know vulcan biology, it's mate or die. But vulcans are also extremely private about intimacy and they are fiercely monogamous, and Sarek is a widower. So what is he to do? Well, then there's Amanda, with whom he has become friends over the past two years and who is secretly in love with him though she tells herself she's trying not to be... And this story is what happens next. I should clarify, no, there is nothing nsfw in the story. It's their relationship that called to me, and that's what I wrote, and what I will continue to write... I love, love, love all the headcanons I've developed for these two. Star Trek will always be the fandom of my heart, and I do think, ultimately, out of my many hundreds of fics, this one is closest to my heart.

Thank you sooooooooooo much for the ask and for allowing me a chance to talk about these things!

[psifitopia]

my two cents

So, some discussion of Christianity and homosexuality is going down in the salt and light tag. I'm going to give my thoughts. This post is going to be part confession, part comfort, and part exhortation.

This is a hard subject. There are a lot of personal feelings involved, as will be true, when humans are involved. This is going to be a very personal post. I'm not going to use philosophical language. I'm going to start this with three assertions. This is not an outline of what I'm going to say. I just want these three things in your minds, while you're reading this.

I do believe homosexuality is a sin. 2. Homophobia is a real thing and it, too, is a sin. 3. If we want to obey God, we have to give homosexuals the same unconditional love that we give anyone else. We are all sinners, who have fallen short.

I'm fifty years old and my family, both sides, is from Missouri, a very conservative state. I was raised attending Baptist churches. Homosexuality was almost never discussed...and never with anything approaching Christian love. It's important that you understand that.

I have heard family and friends of the family talk casually about violence towards homosexuals, up to and including talk about murder. Mind you, this was never carried out. (They aren't brainiacs and would have been caught). But the violent rhetoric was still there. And, most of these people were bigoted in other ways, too.

In my late teens/early twenties, I became convinced that homosexuality was not a sin. I saw the bigotry around me and couldn't reconcile that with what I knew, or thought I knew, of God. I honestly thought they were using the Bible to justify their bigotry. And, you know? They still might have been. You can use true things to justify garbage behavior.

Now, this conviction was not entirely other people's fault. Part of it was my own sinful desire to engage in fandoms with slash pairings. It excited me, for various reasons. Also, my dearest friend, one I will always love as a sister, came out as bisexual. I didn't want to believe she was sinning. She had always been a strong Christian and I couldn't imagine her going astray.

I spent twenty-plus years writing m/m slash fiction, including erotica.

Then, I got back into church. I found myself surrounded by loving, Godly people. I started not just reading the Bible, but studying it. I spent time with other Christians in small groups. And, I listened and learned.

One time, an elder of our church told a story about an interaction he had with a homosexual friend of his. The friend asked my elder what he thought of homosexuality and was told, "I love you as a brother, but I think it's wrong."

I can't emphasize enough how that hit me. I can not begin to imagine anyone I grew up around, not parents or grandparents, saying that. I can't imagine any homosexual trusting them enough to even ask. Well, no. I can imagine one person in my family being that kind...my late aunt Kelva. My elder's comment helped plant the seed for my repentance and he has no idea. One day, I'll have to tell him.

In June 2021, I decided to stop writing slash. I had already stopped writing porn and using profanity. I wasn't yet convinced homosexuality is sin, but, well. Here's a link to my post at that time, where I explained myself:

I honestly don't know, why God rejects homosexuality. I can make some decent guesses, but I don't claim to know. I don't need to know. I just trust God and submit to His will. But, here's the thing. If you go through your entire Christian walk and never have a moment where you're like "whoa, God, I don't agree with that" or "um, God, really? That doesn't seem fair" or something of that nature? If getting to know God doesn't challenge you? If everything God commands and says leaves you feeling warm and comfortable? You're probably not worshipping the real, living God. You're probably worshipping an image of God that you've tried to remake in your own image. Your understanding is human and limited. That's why the Bible warns us to not lean on our own understanding.

So, yes, homosexuality is a sin. But, we who know the truth have to be careful how we dispense that truth. We have to give love. No one is going to respond well to violence. No one is going to respond well to having abomination screeched in their faces...and these are all things the homosexual community has faced from a Christian community that sometimes has a bad case of i'm-right-itis. Being correct on a point does not justify any and all behavior and we have to stop pretending that behavior doesn't exist.

Here's the exhortation, put plainly. Homosexuals have to admit that same-sex physical relationships are sin. Submit to God. Is refraining from your body's urges really so much for God to ask from you? He's given you everything, including his life. On the other hand, Christians have to start showing homosexuals love and follow the Bible's commands on how to deal with persistent sinners, which is basically leave them alone. Peter and the other apostles were told to shake the dust off their feet and walk away, if a household wouldn't listen to them. Paul told congregations to send members away. Laws were not passed. Politics didn't enter into it. It's only by showing radical love for God and each other that we can shine as lights. And, I know the internet is fairly tone deaf, though entirely, but c'mon. Read your words before posting them. Would you want someone to talk like that to you, even if you were wrong? Well, then.

Now, for the comfort. This is for anyone in the LGBTQ+ community reading this. I love you. God loves you. Your attraction to other people is temptation, but temptation is not sin. Acting on the temptation is sin. You deserve to be as safe in this world as anyone else. You are just as valuable. I'm a sinner by nature, too. Heaven knows, I need a savior and praise Jesus for his forgiveness and love. Don't take our rejection of your sexuality as rejection of you. You are far more than who you enjoy sleeping with. We want you reconciled to us. We just need it to be on God's terms.

[atc74]

The One With The Letter

Square(s) Filled: Breakup for @spngenrebingo, Free Space for BTZ Bingo

Warnings: breakups, angst, tears, angst, confessions, love, fluff, implied future smut

Summary: After another break up, Dean can’t just sit back anymore. Will he be the man of action like we know him to be, or will he surprise us all?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1585

Written for: @supernatural-jackles Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge (prompts in bold) and @smol-and-grumpy Nat’s SuperFriends Title Challenge

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches

A/N: Thank you to my cheerleader and friend @waywardbeanie, for always saying the things I need to hear. Inspired by Billy Joel’s An Innocent Man, lyrics have been worked into the fic throughout. 

Like Dean’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

From the curved entry of her front door, Dean watches as his best friend, his rock, weeps. Another failed relationship that she no doubt blames herself for. But the truth was, she was attracted to a certain type of guy. A clean shiny penny on the outside, but on the inside, worth less than that. Not a single man she had dated in the last few years had treated her even close to how she deserves to be treated. How he could treat her. How he wants to treat her. No matter what, Dean is always there to hold her, to pick up her pieces and hold them together until she finds the strength to move forward.  

Y/N had been there for him when he hit rock bottom, too. A string of terrible relationships with women who would never hold a candle to her. That is why they failed. He knew that going in and yet, he kept going. For the last few years, she has been the only woman for him. He tries to make her see it, between douchebags, but he can never get through to her. He has been biding his time. Maybe, just maybe, tonight she’ll listen to him.

Because, he is an innocent man in this situation. He has never hurt her, has never lied to her. He hates seeing her like this. If she opens that door, lets someone in, fearful of a touch, living with the anger of having been a fool. She will not listen to anyone so nobody tells her a lie. For three weeks, he stops over each night after work to find her in this state of pain and anguish. With measured movements, he lowers himself to the sofa beside her, pulling her blanket a little tighter around her. Y/N involuntarily flinches at the soft touch. 

Sniffling and wiping at her eyes, Y/N pushes him away. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheart, and you don’t have to. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me either, but I wanted to see you. See how you’re holding up,” Dean’s soft voice rumbles through her small living room. 

Dean murmurs gently, his words encroaching further on her space. “I’m not going to talk to you if that’s not what you want. Please call me later, Y/N. You can’t ignore me forever. Let me know you’re okay.” 

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Dean,” she snaps, immediately regretting her words, her tone. Dean is always here. Each and every time she fails, he is right here to mend her broken pieces. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you don’t owe me anything, Y/N/N. I just want you to feel better, and I’ll do anything to see you smile again,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

With that, Dean rises from the worn sofa, dropping an envelope from his jacket pocket before turning and leaving, the door clicking loudly behind him. He uses the spare key she gave him to secure the lock, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

~*~

The daily alarm wakes her from a fitful slumber. Y/N blinks slowly, trying to clear the cobwebs of sorrow and tears from her heavy eyes. The first rays of sunlight dance across flecks of dust floating in the air, landing on the cluttered coffee table, illuminating the plain white envelope, her name written across the front in Dean’s simple block lettering. 

A small hand snakes out from the beneath the warm blanket, snatching the envelope from its resting place. With shaking fingers, Y/N opens it and scans the letters scrawled across the page. She takes a deep breath and starts at the beginning. 

Y/N, 

I know you’ve been through some shit, none of which you deserve. None of it was your fault, so stop blaming yourself. You’ve been my rock so long, I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side. I’ll be here for you through anything, good or bad, come Hell or highwater. 

I know you don't want to hear what I say. I know you're gonna keep turning away. But, I've been there and if I can survive, then I know you can, too. I can keep you alive. I'm not above going through it again, for you. I’ll do anything for you. 

I know you’re only protecting yourself. I know you’re thinking of somebody else. Someone who hurt you, but I’m not above making up for the love you’ve been denying you could ever feel. I'm not above doing anything to restore your faith if I can. Faith in humanity, in men, in me. 

I’ve held on to these feelings for you so long, too afraid to open my big mouth and lose the best thing that ever happened to me. But I can’t keep it to myself any more. I don’t just want to be the one to comfort you when you’re hurting, I want to be the one to protect you and keep you safe, so you don’t hurt anymore. I want to be the reason you smile, because you’ve been mine since the moment we met. 

Some people say they will never believe another promise they hear in the dark, because they only remember too well they heard somebody tell them before. I know you’ve heard them before, but this is my first promise to you, I will never make you a promise I don’t intend to keep. 

I don’t want to sleep alone every night. I want you by my side, to curl into you, create a safe space for you to just be, to feel, to be loved. 

But, I've been there and if I can survive, I can keep you alive. I'm not above going through it again. I'm not above being cool for a while, so if you're cruel to me I'll understand. That's your decision, but I'm not below anybody I know if there's a chance of resurrecting a love. I'm not above going back to the start to find out where the heartache began. To hold you until you believe the promises I whisper. To hold you until you believe that I’ll never hurt you. To hold you until you believe in you, in me...in us. 

I’d never do anything to ruin what we have. I guess some people hope for a miracle cure, or some people just accept the world as it is. But, I'm not willing to lay down and die without you, not without a fight. I’ll fight for us, but more importantly, I’ll fight for you. 

All my love always, 

Dean

Through the tears, Y/N reads his letter over and over until she can no longer see. Wiping her eyes, she unlocks her phone and shoots him a text. With new found resolve, she jumps in the shower. When she emerges from the steam, feeling better than she has in months, she finds her best friend sitting on her sofa. 

“Thank you for coming, Dean. After I pushed you away last night, I didn’t know if you would,” she whispers, taking a seat next to him. 

“I’ll always be here when you need me, or want me. You know that, Y/N,” Dean assures her, taking her hands in his. “I see you read my letter.” 

“It’s always been you, I was just too scared and selfish, and foolish to see it,” she replies, shaking her thoughts loose. “I never thought my feelings would be reciprocated. Nobody’s ever written me a love letter before.”

“I knew I couldn’t say all of that out loud, I was so scared to say anything, I didn’t want to lose you. I guess we’re a couple of idiots, huh?” Dean chuckles. 

“We found each other. That’s all that matters,” Y/N smiles, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a nap,” Dean yawns, running his fingers through her hair. 

“Didn’t sleep well?” she questions, looking up at him. 

“Not when I slept on the floor outside your door.” 

“You did not!” Y/N smacks his shoulder playfully. 

“I bet the neighbors know my name,” he grins sheepishly, pointing at his work shirt, his name clearly on display. 

“Not how you hoped that would happen, is it?” Y/N giggles, teasing him.

“It made you laugh, though. I missed it; your laugh, your smile,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. “I missed you.” 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. 

“Don’t be. Where there is no struggle, there is no strength. We will be strong together,” Dean vows. 

“Did you just quote Oprah Winfrey?” she laughs.

“I did. You’re a bad influence on me, what can I say?” he shrugs.

“Let’s get some rest. We can be bad together later,” she winks, rising from her seat and reaching out her hand for him. 

“Can we fight so we can have some angry make-up sex later?” Dean smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Slow down, Winchester. Nap first. We’re only about ten minutes in, I don’t know if I’m ready to have our first fight yet,” she scoffs. 

“Well, if it helps, it will probably be my fault and I’ll spend hours apologizing,” Dean offers. 

“So the neighbors really know your name?” she giggles. 

“As long as you keep laughing and smiling, I don’t care what they call me, as long as you call me yours.”

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @flamencodiva @blacktithe7  @amanda-teaches @hannahindie  @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @manawhaat @crashdevlin  @emoryhemsworth  @fangirlxwritesx67 @winchesterprincessbride @waywardbeanie @jensengirl83 @anathewierdo  @winchest09

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-jackles @fandom-princess-forevermore @akshi8278 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deanwanddamons @rockhoochie

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Hey everyone! My goodness, I have much less time than I thought I would on this vacation. But the good news is:

I have a new Spencer fic coming out today at 9PM UTC! It is a Fantasy AU with Fairy!Reader. I hope you enjoy!

now to catch up on some Anon Answers

1. Ah, yes, the shame of fandom. I know exactly what you mean. My answer is unfortunately a bit of a let down most likely, because it is essentially that I just... love writing! That's my only excuse for doing it! Even if I didn't share it with you all, I would have done it, anyway!

There IS gain from writing anything. No word written is a waste. You will learn to improve, try new things, and spend time doing something you love. That is the only reason humans need to do anything - because it makes you happy, and you deserve to be happy. Not everything has to be beneficial for capitalism. You are allowed to just be happy for no reason. You should do that often, actually. As often as you can.

Not to mention, everyone will be super happy you wrote fanfiction. People love reading it. So not only will you be happy, you make other people happy. That's hardly no gain!

As for the concept of a "guilty pleasure," I'll defer to Matthew's rant about them here. It's very good.

2. I adore you, and I am so grateful that you took time out of your day to be nice for no reason! You are a wonder and I hope you have a wonderful day!

3. Hi friend! I am familiar with the term kinning, although I must confess I mostly know it through the lens of DID/OSDD. That being said, I'm so glad that you feel comfortable here, and that my writing is accurate enough to make you feel seen!

I'm not weirded out at all (and what kind of Matthew Gray Gubler fan would I be if I were to shy away from weirdness?). I'm so happy that you're here, and I hope I can continue to entertain you! You deserve to feel safe and happy!

4. I'm notoriously horrible at reading - especially series. I've heard wonderful things, though!

5. I've added your ask to my About Me post since I get this question fairly often - but! The answer is... I don't really have a meaning! I was just explaining how my brain conjures words, and I used the word "margins" as an example. "Imagining" was the word I came up with, because they have similar letters.

That is quite literally all there was to it! ���� I was originally going to be a multi-fandom blog, so I wanted a URL that was more universal.

6. [NSFW] I do not have any, although I want to write one eventually. I just know the kink shamers are going to come out in full and I don't feel like dealing with them right now.

That being said, I've started a standing "Unique Kinks" challenge with my Discord (which I'll eventually open up on here, I'm just busy atm), and the wonderful @mercy-burning is writing one for us sometime soon!

Also, @dreatine found one (where Spencer is the sleeping beauty), which is "3 a.m." by @thespringpriestess !

7. Hi friend! I unfortunately only know of one fic I can point you to, and it is a Dark!Fic (so please read the content warnings). It is "I Will Possess Your Heart" by @zhuzhubii !

The closest I have of my own fics is also a Dark!Fic, and it is Lily of the Valley.

[hootysblog]

Guess what?!? I'm doing a 31 day challenge!

Most, if not all, of the fics will be Lumity.

Nothing against the other ships in the fandom, I just have a better time writing Luz and Amity.

So, without further ado, here we go! It takes place between "Understanding Willow" and "Enchanted Grom Fight"

Day 1: Why Do You Care?

Amity was not having a good day, to say the least.

First off, she overslept this morning. Her mother was furious with her and sent her to school without breakfast. She didn't dare to mention that the reason she overslept was because she was helping recover her former best friend's memories.

Next, she fell into a mud pile coming into Hexside, so her uniform was dirty. "Mother will punish me later for that," Amity thought and groaned.

She felt everyone stare at her as she made her way to her locker. Luckily, she was able to get most of the mud and dirt off of her uniform. She didn't notice Boscha walking towards her.

"So what are you bring to Skara's party?"

Amity pretended that she didn't hear her friend. She didn't even want to think about that right now. She didn't feel like going to be honest, but she couldn't say that to Boscha.

"You better not be ignoring me."

Amity sighed, gathered her things, and turned to Boscha. "Yes, I'm ignoring you. I haven't had a good day and I don't want to talk to you right now." Amity started to walk away. She overheard Boscha say "Rude much!"

_______________________________________________

Amity was sort of paying attention in her abomination class. She was busy thinking about her adventure with Luz inside Willow's mind and she also thought about her empty stomach.

"Miss Blight!"

Amity shot up and saw her teacher staring at her.

"Did you even hear my question?"

Amity gave him a blank stare and answered "I'm sorry sir. I didn't hear the question."

"Well maybe if you wouldn't daydream you would've heard my question."

Amity felt terrible behind reprimanded by her teacher. The teacher continued on with the lesson, but Amity's mind was elsewhere, and not in a good place.

_______________________________________________

Gym class was next. She hated gym class.

Luz ran next to Amity. "Hey Amity!"

Amity turned to get "Oh, hi Luz."

Luz could tell something was off with her. "Everything okay?"

Amity nodded and the teacher blew the whistle to start class.

She noticed that it was rope climbing day. "Ugh, could this day get any worse?" Amity thought.

The teacher went through the list and got to Luz. Luz, with her confident smile, grabbed the rope and started climbing. Well, climbing was an understatement. Luz is that kind of person that doesn't have upper arm strength, so she didn't make it far.

Amity was next. "Welp, here it goes." Amity started climbing. She was doing well, until she misgrabed and fell down to the floor. Luckily, the teacher created an abomination to catch Amity. She just laid there for a few seconds.

Luz could see something was wrong and before she could say something, Amity ran off.

_______________________________________________

Amity can't believe that just happened. "Great, something else for my mother to punish me for."

She sat in the bathroom, crying until she heard the door opened.

"Amity?" Luz whispered.

"Oh great" Amity internally said.

"Amity, I wanted to see if you were okay."

Silence followed and Luz continued.

"C'mon, please say something to me, even if it's to tell me to get out."

Amity thought about saying that, but she doesn't. She slowly opened the door and looked at Luz.

Amity's eyeliner was ruined by her crying, but she didn't care. "Why are you here?"

"You seemed pretty tense back there."

"Why do you care?"

"Because I'm your friend. And friends worry about each other when they aren't feeling good."

Amity was shocked. "You think we're friends?"

"Well yeah," Luz smiled. "We defeated a Slitherbeast, saved the library, and we were able to persevere Willow's memories yesterday, so I thought we were friends."

Amity didn't know what to say next. She liked Luz (more than she would admit to her social class friends), but she didn't know if she liked her as a friend or more.

"I never had friends like you, Willow, and Gus in the human realm. But I was always good at reading people and seeing when they're stressed out. I could see that in your face when you landed into that abomination. I can tell that you haven't had a good day, but I want you to know that I'm here for you if you need anything." Luz smiled, grabbed Amity's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Amity returned the smile to Luz. "Thank you Luz. I needed to hear that right now. It hasn't been a good day", Luz looked at her, but Amity continued on, "and nothing against you, but I don't want to talk about it. Knowing that someone is here with me makes me feel better. And to your last statement, I do consider you my friend Luz."

They sat silent for a couple of minutes when Luz got up. "Do you want me to walk you back to class or possibly help you with your makeup?"

Amity laughed. "I'll get my makeup, but if you want to wait outside while I touch it up, we can walk back together."

"Okay! I'll be outside when you're done!" Luz bounced out and closed the door to the bathroom.

Amity looked at herself in the mirror. She thought about what Luz had just says and started to blush as little bit.

"Yep, I have a crush on Luz. But I wouldn't change it for the world." Amity happily thought.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33155107

Of all the people in the Hachiko Group, aside from Neku… the person that Joshua had always valued the most, was Rhyme. Neo spoilers.

The Joshyme here is platonic, but you can see it as romantic if you want.

Beam of Sunshine

Of all the people in the Hachiko Group, aside from Neku… the person that Joshua had always valued the most, was Rhyme.

And so, he supposed it was a good thing he’d brought her back to life, when he really hadn’t had to, then.

And there were a few reasons for that he did love her… It was for the fact that the clever girl could keep up with him (so much so that she had said she’d known he was the smart one in the Tin Pin universe, when he’d rightly called her out on being a traitor)… for her laughing at his jokes at her brother’s expense (though she did clearly love Beat more than anything)… and since they could think alike sometimes.

Joshua had heard Rhyme thinking during her week of the Game, that everyone in Shibuya’s values were trying to come in the loudest, much like how he had later said it was impossible for people to understand each other.

…Rhyme was also nice. Much too kind for her own good, really, and he hated to see when she got taken advantage of (and almost wanted to give her a stern talking to when these moments happened). And Joshua knew that that was a lot of the reason he adored about her, since part of the reason he’d wanted to destroy Shibuya was because of its sin, after all.

But the reason he was making himself known to the girl now? And preparing to compliment her? It was because he owed her, that’s why.

At the moment, Rhyme was buying herself an ice cream cone at Miyashita Park. And while Josh himself didn’t like the stuff, he thought Rhyme certainly deserved the treat, if she herself did. “All work and no play made Rhyme a dull girl,” like she had told Beat earlier in the week.

Making sure that no one was watching him, Joshua sat on the bench beside the younger Bito sibling, willed himself into the RG, and touched Rhyme’s hand, so that she would know he was there.

…Though he supposed he shouldn’t have done the latter, because that seemed to startle the girl more than anything. She nearly jumped forty feet into the air, Joshua thought (quite impressive, for a non-flier) and her heart rate had gone quite high. Joshua was almost worried she’d have to start playing the Game again, if it shot up any more, and that just wouldn’t do.

He held up a hand and offered her a small smile to try and calm her down. “Sorry to startle you, Raimu. I admit, I could have gone about that all a bit better… This whole thing I’m about to do is largely out of character, and I’m out of my depth.”

“C-can I help you, then?” Rhyme breathed. Her heart calming down, as she caught her breath and cautiously took a seat beside the Composer.

Joshua could hardly blame her for her caution. Because while they had hung-out a little bit in the past, it had been three years since they had seen each other last, really. And he doubted she remembered when she’d been soul fragments in Traverse Town.

“After all, two people working as opposed to one lightens the load!” Rhyme carried on.

Joshua smirked and “hmmed” at her comment. Because he could have expected that she would use an adage, but for some reason he never would have guessed she would have directed one at him. Was he becoming too human for her to have done that, or was he not enough human, that he thought the little ray of sunshine wouldn’t try to win him over with her words, too?

“Normally, Raimu, I would take you up on the offer. And it’s quite nice of you to ask… But not now, when what I’m here for is quite simple. Just know that I’m here to tell you… I’m proud of you. And these words don’t leave my mouth easily. I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken so candidly with Neku. But… while I don’t know if I necessarily want you hacking my Game ever again, young lady.”

And somehow, Rhyme had it within her to first look guilty for what she’d done, but then also challenging—as if thinking that she would do it again, if she needed to—and Joshua, despite himself, found himself respecting her all the more for it. He resisted the urge to pat her head, for the good little girl she was.

But she was so much more than that, too, wasn’t she? And that was why he was here.

Forming an arch with his fingers, and placing it over his forehead, Yoshiya continued on. “But you really helped to save the day. Shibuya would not be standing now, were it not for your efforts. And that is something. Hacking is not the dream you originally had. You lost your dreams—your original Entry Fee—but you didn’t wallow in despair, but instead filled in that hole with something new, and saved the day when duty called… And if I didn’t know any better, I’d be thinking that maybe I should be calling upon you when the UG needs someone, and not Neku anymore.”

Rhyme gasped at that. And while Joshua was very much not human—especially not now. The Composer had come out to play at this moment. Joshua had never meant to make that proposition to Rhyme… and to get “creepy”, and so “god of death-like”, as it were, but perhaps Yoshiya had all along—he could allow her being so human as to be shocked, as he tried to get a handle on this horrible situation he’d just screwed up, when he’d just come to give the poor kid a solid… not give her cardiac arrest. Really.

After she had gotten her breath once more, it seemed it was Rhyme’s turn to surprise Joshua. The girl’s ice cream was starting to melt: again, this was Joshua’s own fault, for having such a conversation with Rhyme, when she was eating such a substance. And he comforted himself in the fact that it was vanilla ice cream (white), at least, matching his shirt. If the disgusting, overly-sweet gelatinous stuff got on his top, as Raimu leaned towards him now, he should be able to get the stain out with his powers, just fine.

“…Not that I’d ever really want to go back to anything involving the Game, if I had the choice, Joshua. I enjoy being a hacker, thank you very much. And I think I might try to work for the NPA… I have been thinking about it some… and if it ever came down to it, I wouldn’t mind trying to ascend to try and help everyone, if I needed to. But only then! Because where there’s no light, be the light, right? Kind of like I was the other da-.”

And here Joshua had to put a hand to the girl’s lips to keep her from finishing that sentence. What a minx Raimu Bito was! Who would have guessed it?! Because, yes: the lonely part of him would have been far too happy to find a way to make her into an angel now, so he could have someone with him forever; it was the same way that he desperately wanted Neku to be his Conductor.

Well, Joshua supposed he deserved this temptation for getting as off-track as he had. He tried to grab control now—as he got off the bench, backed away from Rhyme, and bowed to her slightly… which was all too weird, because even this was how Japanese politeness worked (Joshua knew it well), he couldn’t help feeling, she should have been bowing to him, and not the other way around. But he would stifle that feeling. “I, uhh… apologize I guess, Rhyme Bito. Thank you again for your assistance. But do keep out of the RNS, unless I specifically ask.”

Rhyme had sobered up now, too. And was somehow gracefully licking at all the melting spots on her ice cream cone, to try and salvage it so she wouldn’t have a complete mess, before she waved at him, “And thank youfor showing up and helping us, Josh! I know Neku doesn’t show it that much—still more than he used to back in the day, though—but it meant more to him than you know… And thanks for what you did for Shoka and Rindo, too! Don’t be a stranger!”

And Rhyme beamed at Josh, being very much like the ray of sunshine he’d referred to her earlier.

And so… Joshua decided that maybe for that—for her… for all of the Hachiko Group, really—he could try and keep the life-and-death things to a minimum, and be a normal person people would appreciate around them, and show up to these events that Neku and Rhyme had invited him to.

“Yes, Rhyme… thank you, indeed.”

Author’s Note: So, for those who don't know, Joshyme was a pretty big deal in the fandom, back in the day.... 

And I guess I've brought it back in the year of our Lord 2021. But this might be the last fic I write for them. Or it might not. We'll see.And I kind of wrote this by accident? I wanted to write some Bito sibling stuff... but that'll come later. 

But Joshua and Rhyme's possible relationship (platonic) has always fascinated me, because I feel there's some interesting stuff there. And I think Joshua could potentially be proud of her for what she did, even after she lost her dreams.

Hope you all enjoyed?

[lowkeyorloki]

You're generally thought of to have really good characterization of Loki in this fandom (I'd say that's what you're known for???), so I was wondering if you could give some tips on how to write Loki? And maybe some general tips on writing imagines/x readers?

Hi there anon! First, thank you very much for such a high compliment. I think any fanfiction author would agree when I say being told we get our muse’s characterization correct is one of the highest compliments we can be given, so THANK YOU! 

I would be happy to give you some advice, but keep in mind, this is just my interpretation of Loki. You, and any other author, are allowed to take creative control and do with his character what you will. This is just what works for me!

For Imagines/X Reader Fics

This is my third imagines blog, so I have been doing x readers for a long time. If you’re looking to expand your following, I would start out doing preferences. This is when you take a group of people from the same piece of media (in Marvel, a good example would be the whole team of The Avengers) and basically write a little drabble for each of them in one post. This will allow you to use multiple character tags, which means your posts are more likely to circulate. From there, you can totally branch off and have an emphasis on one character, or create a whole new sideblog for one character that people from your already-established following can find. I used this method twice and it worked really well- it also lets people see you can write for different types of characters, which is always a plus.

Tags! Use as many tags as you can, because that’s how people find your work. Make sure to use some with your muse’s first name, and some with their first and last. For imagines specifically, I would always make sure you have “(name) x reader”, “(name) x you”, and “(name) imagine”, because those are what people usually search for.

Avoid physical descriptions. “Reader” is just that: the reader. Not everyone has blue eyes, not everyone has long hair, not everyone is white, etc. etc. If you really want to write a character with specific physical traits, then you should develop an OC. It rips your readers out of your fics when they’re described in a way that doesn’t fit them, and can also really harm their confidence- the only descriptions of someone’s appearance I’ve ever seen in x readers are features that are considered conventionally attractive, so it’s important to be mindful of any implicit biases you may have.

...You also have to keep the reader as a character somewhat neutral, because they are supposed to be whoever is consuming your fic. If you’re going to give them character traits, justify them with your story. You want your reader to be trained in hand-to-hand combat? They took martial arts as a kid. You want your reader to be the smartest in their field? Give them a backstory that made them that way. It’s personality traits you have to look out for, because if someone’s personality doesn’t match with “y/n’s”, that person isn’t going to be able to read your works. 

Speaking of y/n, I would suggest not using it at all. I’ve recently stopped using it due to my own experience and feedback from my followers. Most people don’t see y/n and replace it with their name, it just becomes a reminder they’re reading something. Your goal is to immerse your readers in your fics, and I’ve found this often has the opposite effect. There are a lot of ways to avoid y/n, such as pet names (darling, baby, love) or creative phrasing (”your name passed over his lips, whispered softly like he had never heard it before”). It can be a challenge, but writing always is!

If possible, keep your reader gender neutral. This sounds a lot harder than it is. Especially in the Loki fandom, there are a lot more male readers than you think, and there are people who don’t conform to either gender. Not assigning pronouns makes your reading more accessible (which also means more exposure!!!) and also allows everyone to find a place in fandom. The only times it becomes a problem is when other characters are talking about the reader behind their back, or when writing smut. In my case, I do my best avoid the first option and, until I find a solution, I do use gender and everything associated with it in smut. However, if none of these appeal to you, you can also copy and paste your fics to have different pronouns. 

Strategically place that “keep reading”, it’s a good way to get readers hooked!

For Loki’s Character

In my opinion, Loki is all about a balance of vulnerability. We all love to see him be loving and open and intimately intwined with someone, but it would take a lot of time to get there with him. For that reason, if you’re wanting to write that side of the Trickster, I would make your fic an established relationship or slow burn. If that doesn’t sound like something you want to do, a lot of faults in writing can be forgiven if you call them out yourself. Does something feel too random? Say it was sudden or unexpected. This shifts blame from you and actually becomes a characterization choice: now, instead of you possibly misinterpreting Loki’s character, he and the reader have so much chemistry with each other they’re acting differently than they normally would. 

Loki (and Thor’s) way of speaking is a HUGE factor of any fics with him. Loki has a different colloquial than we do, and thanks to Tom Hiddleston’s really sexy voice, it’s something closely associated with the character. So, we have to walk a line of Loki’s words being formal, but not being out of touch. He was able to assimilate easily (that’s part of the reason he was such a threat in Avengers), and is super clever and picks up on a lot of things. Therefore, Loki is more likely to address Tony as “Stark” rather than “Man of Iron”, and I think it’s fair to say he knows the name “Coulson” doesn’t refer to the SHIELD agent’s lineage (he’s probably not going to call him “Son of Coul”). But phrasing is also a part of this. I try to avoid contractions coming out of his mouth, so “you are” instead of “you’re”, “he is” instead of “he’s”, etc. etc. 

Loki also isn’t going to say things we normally would: As humans, we tend to exclaim “Oh my god!” or something along those lines. But Loki was brought being told he was a god, so that isn’t going to be in his vocabulary. It’s little things like this I keep an eye on when I’m writing for him.

A good way to accomplish Loki’s speech is just... adding words the modern world has deemed unnecessary. A recent example of mine is in one of my fics, Loki is asking the reader what a group of characters want from her. Originally, I had him saying “What do they want?”, and while editing, I changed it to “What is it that they want?.” It’s subtle, but when this is how most of the Loki’s sentences are structured, it calls back to the Loki we saw in earlier Thor films (regardless of your opinion on Ragnarak, the Shakespearean-esque language is gone by the film) and creates a simulation of sorts that makes your reader feel more in tune with your story. Not to keep using this word, but it’s a technique that immerses your reader.

Make sure your style matches Loki! I have a very dramatic and articulate style, lots commas, lots of (carefully placed) repetition, and paragraph breaks. This works for Loki because he’s such an emotional and complex character, and my style compliments and emphasizes that. 

Readers respond well to your style correlating with your character: Compare my fics Aftermath or Wounds to A Mortal Occurance. Aftermath and Wounds are written in the style I described above, and are approaching 500 and 400 notes respectively; whereas I tried a more domestic and conversational style in A Mortal Occurance, which has yet to reach even 150 notes. While there’s definitely something to be said about people subscribing to you for one specific form of writing, it would be impossible for me to deny one style is not only more true to me, but more true and realistic to Loki. Think of if I wrote in my style for Ant-Man or Sam Wilson. It wouldn’t really work because their characters aren’t as high-stakes as Loki.

I hope this all helps! Remember this is just my opinion and is what has worked for me. You’re free to take all this to heart or completely reject it. I’m honored you came to me in the first place <3

[therealsaintscully]

[TJLC] Distracted by AGRA (or the many hints about personification of death in The Six Thatchers)

PLEASE CONSIDER THIS A WORK IN PROGRESS. IT’S NOT PERFECT BUT  I HAVE SOME GOOD IDEAS HERE, I THINK, SO KEEPING IT FOR NOW.

A FEW DISCLAIMERS: - I’m not a native English speaker and this wasn’t betad, so excuse the less-than-perfect English (although you’re about to find out what native language actually is). - I’m very new in the fandom and in reading/writing meta, this would be my second meta post tbh, so excuse the amateurism. - Everything I’m about to write here is based on very quick and easy Google searches. I’m BY NO MEANS AN ACADEMIC! I’m not well versed enough in any form of literary analysis to claim more than that, but perhaps this post will be a breeding ground for new ideas. If you are an academic and you find these interesting - please go ahead and expand on them. - Lastly, this may have been picked up before by other meta writers and if so - I’m not aware of it, as I’m quite new to this fandom.

tl;dr: The Six Thatchers seems to be full of hints about the personification of death and cultural/religious representations of it, in a way that may even hint that that Mary = death, and/or that Moftiss were very preoccupied with the idea while writing it. It should be noted that I find these tidbits interesting in the context of well-established TJLC theories I’ve been reading up on a lot lately, namely EMP and M-Theory. I found these details interesting in the context of reading TST as something that’s happening in Sherlock’s MP as he’s dying and suspecting that Mary is dangerous and perhaps even linked to Moriarty.

AGRA > Samarra > The Four Angels of Death

As these things always go, I’ve been re-watching episodes while researching my WIP fic ‘Turned’. I have this new habit these days of only listening, instead of actually watching the episode in search of a fresh perspective. This time I was blown away, once again, by Sherlock and Mycroft’s conversation about AGRA. It’s a VERY odd conversation considering the topic, and what caught my ear this time was Mycroft mechanically reciting facts about the city of Agra. Why Agra, I asked? What’s so important about it? Nothing, the way I see it. One search led to another and I looked up Samarra, thinking perhaps I’ll find some connection between the two cities, but couldn’t.

The search for Samarra and the parable about it led me to the Appointment in Samarra wiki page, which mentions that the title of the book comes from a retelling of an ancient Mesopotamian tale by W. Somerset Maugham (the source of the next quote is here):

"The Appointment in Samarra" (as retold by W. Somerset Maugham [1933])

The speaker is Death

There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture, now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate.  I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me. The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threating getsture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise.  I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

There is also a very interesting study guide link from this website, which asks some very interesting questions about tale, such as Maugham’s decision to make Death a non-omniscient narrator of this tale, as well as a woman. I’ll return to Death being referred to as a woman later. However, since I have no expertise in literary readings, I’ll leave it to others who might be to add some more here.

More below the cut:

The version of the story in TST is a bit different; the servant is absent from the tale; it is instead the merchant who has the nighttime appointment with Death in Samarra after being startled to see Death that morning in the Baghdad market. (This note was taking from a wikipedia entry about another - apparently-  very deterministic play by Maugham, Shepey.)

Anyway, the Appointment in Samarra wikipedia mentions that Maugham’s story comes from a much older version recorded in the Babylonian Talmud, Sukkah 53a.

The Talmud is the central text of Rabbinic Judaism. I’m a Hebrew speaking Jew, though an atheist one who isn’t well-read in religious texts at all, but I was intrigued enough to look up the Hebrew Talmud version of the text (in fact it’s originall in Aramaic, but wikipedia offers a Hebrew tranlsation). A quick Google search led me to the wikipedia page about the personification of death, and that’s when things got interesting.

Under the section about the grim reaper in Judaism, a story from the Talmud is mentioned, which seems to be another version of the Appointment in Samarra story. Here’s the story, translated by Google Translate, because I couldn’t find an English version:

The Babylonian Talmud tells of a sage, Rabbi Bibi, the son of Abiy, whose angel of death was often in his company. Rabbi Bibi heard the angel of death ask his emissary to name a woman named Miriam (Mary) who was a hair dresser (the future mother of Jesus). The messenger of death accidentally killed another woman named Miriam (Mary) who was a teacher. The angel of death said to his messenger: "I asked you to kill Miriam the barber and not Miriam the teacher." The messenger of death replied: Then I will bring Miriam the teacher back to life and bring before you Miriam the barber. The angel of death said to him: If you have already brought Miriam the teacher, leave her with me along with the rest of the dead. The angel of death asked his messenger: How did you manage to kill the teacher Miriam even though it was not her time to die? The messenger of death replied: She was killed before an opportunity to kill her - she was fiddling with the stove with ember in her hand to clean the stove. Inadvertently she caused a burn in her leg - and when a person was harmed and his determination of his time to die was undermined - so I had a chance to kill prematurely. The sage, Rabbi Bibi, asked the angel of death: Do you have permission to kill people before their pre-determined time has come? The angel of death answered, "Yes, for it is written, 'There is no one who has perished without judgment.' 

(According to wikipedia, this story is taken from תלמוד בבלי, מסכת חגיגה, דף ד, עמוד ב – דף ה, עמוד א).

AGR(A?M?)

Alright, I said, two Marys, escaping death but then meeting it eventually. It happens.

But as I read on… that Hebrew wikipedia page mentions another personification of death, the angel of death Azarel. Azarel has three ‘colleagues’ (e.g archangel) in Islam (and in some variations, they also exist in Judaism and Christianity): Jibrail (Gabriel), Israfil, commonly thought of as the counterpart of the Judeo-Christian archangel Raphael, and Mīkhā'īl (Michael).

So wait, that’s -- that’s Azarel, Gabriel, Raphael... as in AGR(A)?  Whoa.  That fourth angel mentioned in Islam is Michael - which doesn’t hold up with AGRA - but could that be a coincidence? We’re told two things about BBCSh’s AGRA, but we can’t really know they’re actually true. The first one is that Mary claims it’s her initials, which we later learn is possibly not true - John gets mad realizing it’s another lie. The other thing is that Mary claims to be ‘R’, for Rosamund, but we can’t be sure about that either. However, another cool detail: in Christianity, Raphael is generally associated with an unnamed angel mentioned in the Gospel of John, who stirs the water at the healing pool of Bethesda. Yes - I know, the M really doesn’t fit there, but M really is a character that stands out in the BBCSH universe, doesn’t it?

Moving on to more cultural references of the personification of death the Hebrew wikipedia page offers, note that I haven’t read the first and it’s been years since I watched the second:

Death with Interruptions

In Death with Interruptions by José Saramago, they mention, death is a woman, and she falls in love with one of her future victims. She decides to spare his life: Every time death sends him his letter [notifying him of his imminent death], it gets returned. Death discovers that, without reason, this man has mistakenly not been killed. Although originally intending merely to analyse this man and discover why he is unique, death eventually becomes infatuated with him, so much so that she takes on human form to meet him. Upon visiting the cellist, she plans to personally give him the letter; instead, she falls in love with him, and, by doing so, she becomes even more human-like.

Chess and The Seventh Seal

Another reference is the film The Seventh Seal, about a knight returning from a crusade, and discovers his land his ravaged by plague. The knight encounters Death, whom he challenges to a chess match, believing he can survive as long as the game continues. Does that remind you of any particular promo pics?

What I find interesting in all these references, is that they all seem to deal with questions regarding ‘dealing with death’ that, in the context of EMP for example, can be seen as Sherlock ‘running simulations’ (or asking philosophical questions) on how to deal with his current situations:

- ‘Do you have permission to kill people before their pre-determined time has come’? (Can people time die before their pre-determined time? Can people escape pre-determined death?)

- Can you interrupt death with love? Was Mary supposed to kill John, fell in love with him and thus his death was postponed? Is John still in danger?

- What can one do to postpone death - perhaps challenging it to a game, hoping for survival as you distract it?

Tagging other meta readers/writers who I think might enjoy this ; let me know if you don’t - I won’t tag you again): @sarahthecoat​​, @devoursjohnlock​​ @inevitably-johnlocked​​ @possiblyimbiassed​​ @waitedforgarridebs​​ @tjlcisthenewsexy​​  @loudest-subtext-in-tv​​ @therealsaintscully​ 

[shadowfae]

1- Not much tbh, just what you've posted, and 2- To be honest I quite like your long answers. It can definitely wait though, you should get some sleep.

Is your warpriest link a constant thing? Does it ever fade into the background? I'm contemplating forming a second link, something happier than my copinglink, and I'm not sure how to tell when to tell when the line of a link vs a persona is crossed when not worn out of necessity.

And the original ask so I have it on hand. I did take a look at your original context, and if you're cool with it, I'll edit this post with a link for those who may find this is a useful answer and need that on hand. Otherwise, it'll stay a mystery.

But yes, it seems like my Sabe experiences would be a useful thing to talk about here. And in order to do that, I need to go over four things: who and what Sabe is, why he exists the way that he does, what that does for me, and lastly what I think he is in terms of terminology and why.

To start, here is his toyhou.se profile, if you want to read more about his actual story and thoughts and whatnot. But I doubt you'll have the necessary context for that, so let me go into it. RuneScape (RS) is one of the oldest MMORPGs in existence. WoW might be older but I doubt it. Basically it's a medieval magic fantasy that's very long running and you the player end up the World Guardian, aka the guy that stops the gods (who are very powerful folks who just don't die of natural causes and typically stand for some philosophy) from blowing the world up because Guthix, the dead god of balance, asked you to. Well, he voluntold you. And that makes you a major chess piece, Elder Gods get involved, it's a big mess.

But before all that happened, back in 2006 when I was introduced to the game and very shitty at it, well. I liked the lore insofar that I've always liked the lore, it was interesting and I liked thinking about it. I didn't have membership and I sucked at playing so I just read the wiki and the God Letters over and over and sometimes the Postbag from the Hedge. Alongside my two friends, we played at being children of the then-triad of main gods: Saradomin, Guthix, and Zamorak.

I liked Zamorak best, but I didn't think his ideas would be the best for society as a whole, so I ended up playing child of Guthix. Eventually we grew up and grew apart but every couple of years I'd go back to RuneScape, read the lore, settle on what choices I'd make if I could play, and think about being the player character. In 2010 I discovered a fic - dawn by khayr, it's on Ao3 and dA - about Iban, son of Zamorak, right around when I was reading Percy Jackson. Cue him showing up as a soulbond and an older brother figure and guiding me right up until the end of sixth grade. Iban got me through the ruthless bullying that would later set the stage for all my major suicidal-ideation and self-hatred for the entirety of high school: even then, I was more stable than I might've been otherwise, because he interfered.

Saradomin stands for strength through order. Procedures and law and diplomacy and war strategy. He was originally kind of a ripoff of the Christian god, but he's grown to be more of an order-over-peace character and is quite well-written. Guthix stands for strength through balance, and has been all over the board in terms of what he's done and will do. He's kind of a dick, actually, but his heart's in the right place.

Zamorak, as you've heard, is strength through chaos and personal strife. It's no "the strong over the weak" or "the strong take care of the weak", it's flat-out "everyone is strong, and just need the right circumstances to tap into it to be the best they can possibly be". Now, his philosophy is kind of more for warriors and scholars, but if you tilt your head, it applies to everyone. Chronically ill folks will find their chaos in fighting to get up every day and maintain a life. Folks in traumatizing, abusive situations find that chaos in their very survival. Scholars challenge themselves and their fellows and their predecessors trying to find the answers they so need. Nobody in lockstep, no such thing as "we've always done it this way."

A lot of human Zamorakians and Saradominist propaganda says that Zamorak is simply absolute evil: and to be fair, when most of that was written, he kinda was because he was based loosely on the Christian devil. Later writing says that they're typically mistaken on that. Zamorak isn't evil. The very first thing he did upon becoming a god was fulfill a promise and lead a slave rebeliion. (The Avernic uprising, if anyone's curious.) He stands for the downtrodden and says "You are never going to get your dignity by going through the motions and trying to peacefully show you're worth respect. Burn some shit down and prove that you won't stand for this bullshit."

Zamorak in a Saradominist's eyes is someone whose banner you wear when you want to be a crazy murderer. Zamorak in a Zamorakian's eyes is the singing voice who murmurs "Get up, this isn't enough to kill you, you can still do this," when transphobic laws get passed or you hear a slur thrown your way on the street.

And as someone who grew up queer and nonhuman, yeah, that resonates, and the older I get the more I think "Guthixian philosophy is best for a society at large, but Zamorakianism for individuals is good." Because Zamorakianism can't really apply on a theocratic level. It really doesn't. It turns into American bootstrap culture and no social services and all that shitty stuff.

The funny thing is that Zamorak himself has no issues helping out if he thinks you need it. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be cool with asking for help, or giving it when he's asked. Which he does do repeatedly so. The man has more kindness in him than people want to admit.) What I do find fascinating is what he thinks of the actions of some of his longtime subordinates, who clearly support him, but I don't think support his actual philosophy. Because if you ask me, he'd side with the downtrodden humans of Meiyerditch, not the vampire lords that treat them like cattle. He's proven that he likes humans, and doesn't see them as unworthy. I do wonder if Jagex will show us what he might do about that.

Either way. Ahem. Over the course of a decade and a half, I keep going back to RuneScape, refining my philosophy and side, thinking again what I would do playing the game proper. About... I want to say five years ago, Jagex opened up the Sixth Age and I finally noticed, and they rewrote every god's philosophy because they wanted every single one to be actually playable. Not just "hurr durr evil" but actually have a logical line of thought. They probably didn't have pop culture paganism in mind, but the gods of RS are incredibly well-suited to it.

Well, I found that out, and immediately went through every god's philosophy, and reasoned my way through it. What does a worshipper of this god look like? What sort of life would they lead? If i apply this to me, what does that look like from that perspective? Do I understand this? Is it comfortable to exist in?

And as it turns out, I understand Zamorak the most, followed a close second by Armadyl, which was quite surprising. Zaros remains incomprehensible and I don't trust like that. (That's another story.) So I thought about it more, and it stuck even when I wandered off to different fandoms and interests. But what happened was that I ended up internalizing it, unknowingly and without meaning to.

It meant that when, two years later, I ended up in a horrific and traumatizing situation, the anchor I hit that held me together was a mixture of being a Devil - I am a fucking God you will obey me and recognize my power - and Zamorak's core philosophy: this cannot kill me, this cannot stop me, this is pure fucking hell and I am going to laugh in the face of death because people are forged in hellfire and I will walk away knowing what I'm made of.

And I was right. Honestly, out of everyone who was there with me, I think I'm the only one that was that deeply entrenched and walked out without trauma. I do not believe I could have done that had I not internalized Zamorak's philosophy. (That isn't to say if the others had that philosophy they wouldn't be traumatized, because there were absolutely other factors I wouldn't know about and some that I do and didn't do them any favours; but I am saying that it saved my ass and without it, I might not have been okay.)

I walked out of that with zero regrets. Zero. Even now, I don't regret a thing. Because it doesn't matter what happened or how much I was lied to or if he deserved my kindness. I know what I perceived to be happening, and I know how I reacted, and when the pieces were down I was stronger than steel, gave kindness without considering the cost, and I walked away unscathed.

How many people can say they've looked death in the eye and laughed? More than there should be, not too many that knowing what I'm capable of when put into pure chaos isn't somehow impressive. Because it is. And Zamorak's words proved themselves, or rather, I proved him entirely correct.

And when I last went back to RuneScape, and thought about it with enough time to put it all into hindsight, well. Aw, shit, he was right. Then vaguely around that time I went back and read Dawn, which was unfinished, tracked down the author and demanded to know how it fucking ended. (She told me and we're still friends like three years later. xD) Then I went back and found my old OCs, and decided fuck it, I'm making my own World Guardian.

So first thing I did was log in and jump over to the Makeover Mage and make myself into a boy. Kept the plateskirt though, I wanted to have the RS equivalent of a limp wrist to prove I'm Very Queer. Then I went about remaking my character. I wanted to make a self-insert, I was old enough to know it wasn't cringey, it was just fun, but I didn't want to use my default avatar with the black hair over one eye and the Chaorruption. I wanted to make a new self-insert based in nothing I was already using.

So I made the most beautiful man I could! Long, dark brown hair, pretty semi-dark skin, looked Kharidian, and then I said fuck it and made him Zamorak's youngest son. Originally, he was adopted when he was young by Iban and Clivet, and suffered serious imposter syndrome when being WG meant he'd never get demigod powers. But as I grew more confident in myself, he ended up getting powers? And then eventually I rewrote his backstory, and then wrote about his mother, and her relationship with Zamorak, and then he had friends like Blaire and Icthlarin (who was also my furry awakening, rip me).

Then with the most recently questline I've been getting a bit more into RS magical theory, and I've been mulling it over lots, and Seanan McGuire's Middlegame definitely helped; and I figured out how I wanted him to handle being World Guardian: it didn't make sense for him to be openly Zamorak's son, the other gods would just target his family to manipulate him. So I had him play neutral openly and Zamorakian to his friends, effectively living a double life.

Then he just looked up one day and said "Oh, by the way, my father won't acknowledge me to keep me safe but I don't know that so we have a very unsteady relationship because I don't know if he loves me", and then Children of Mah came out, and he was all "Oh and I think I just got disowned (I didn't, Zamorak was protecting me, but I don't know that) so my relationship with Zamorak is Fucking Shitty" and he was stuck that way until I figured out how to save their relationship.

It culminated in Sabe not knowing how his Mahjarrat powers worked and guessing, and hating himself for being half-and-half, and missing everything about being a Mahjarrat, and literally you couldn't have gotten more obvious in order to tell me I was having Fucking Issues coming to terms with the fact I didn't have any understanding or knowledge of my own heritage, but whatever, eventually I noticed that.

And as I've been working to understand myself and my heritage, so too has Sabe been doing that with his Mahjarrat heritage. But for the longest time, no matter how I put him and Zamorak in the same room in a scene to try and get them to talk it out, it wasn't working. Something wasn't right. Sabe resented being World Guardian, hated having to betray his family, didn't know if he was wanted, and hated himself for having to kill Mah, the mother of his species.

Not that long ago, a few months actually, he informed me (which is my shorthand for 'I suddenly figured out this happened, and it genuinely feels like remembering that one fucking word you have on the tip of your tongue, I always knew and just forgot for a while') that no, he'd been ripped in two by a hope devourer, brought to his father's stronghold, and Zamorak split his magic between mortal and divine in order to get around his godproofing and heal him. Zamorak's intense worry for his youngest son was what caused Sabe to break down and tell him honestly what was going on and how he was feeling, which caused Zamorak to do the same, and they finally, finally made up.

A week later, I noticed the connection between Sabe's Mahjarrat issues and my Irish issues, and started to wonder if he was a linktype.

I mean... he's a self-insert. He makes the choices I would, the me in the here and now, that I think are best. He's not a person I was and still know myself to be, he's not someone I grow into, he's not living his life beside me like a shadow. He's me, choosing the things I do, because I say so. But he's also me in the things he reflects, the things he struggles with, and things I had zero fucking conscious input on.

Sabe is the person I am when a crisis hits and I have to deal with the chaos. Sabe is the person I am when I need to lead. Sabe is the person I am when I am desperate to be known and loved by those I consider family. Sabe is the person I am when I want to be sure in where I came from, where I will return to, and the things that I will always be. Sabe is a man of darkness who knows the light as an acquaintance and nothing more, who is cruel and careless and kind.

Sabe is a warpriest of Zamorakian philosophy, because it took me twenty fucking years to put into words how I see the world, and now that I know, I will argue them to death and use them to help others. Drakath may have wanted a messiah to share the hivemind with others. Sabe is a warpriest, spreading the word and calling home the broken and the damned. He is the Last Rider, not the last of the Ilujanka but the one who keeps riding towards the chaos and never falls, no matter what.

Some of who Sabe is I have conscious input on. A whole lot of him was unintentional and perfectly reflects me.

So when it comes to terminology... I don't know what he is. A self-insert, yes. A linktype, maybe. A kintype, also maybe. Sabe doesn't feel like my past linktypes, because Sabe isn't always catharsis and comfort. Until he made up with his dad, Sabe was brutal and hurt a lot and constantly yearning for his foundation and slowly going mad. It wasn't fun. I just refused to do anything but see the story through. I was going to get it right. I wanted to see it to the end. I wanted to be the Last Rider, even though I didn't phrase it that way.

But to answer your actual question, of what he feels like when I'm not actively being him out of necessity, desire, and active thought. If it fades into the background.

And like... it can? Sabe as he is, recognized for what and who he is, is kind of a new thing. Sabe as a concept is very old, but Sabe as what he is right now is new, and confusing, and honestly I'm still trying to figure out what to make of it.

Like, seriously. Sabe is Zamorak's son. Am I Zamorak's son? Is he keeping an eye on me as I am? Would he be proud of me? Would he offer his approval of my progress? Does that make me, in some way, the World Guardian?

I have not a clue, buddy. Not a goddamn clue.

So what it means is that I've been paying attention, really. I don't just become strong in times of crisis. I've been trying to do better. Be better. Learn, and listen, and rethink myself. Break out of lockstep, of doing things the way I've always done them. Try to always do better than I did, build habits I like, stop waiting for things to change and just do it. Become the chaos, instead of waiting for it to hit me.

It means I need to live up to what Guthix told Sabe to do. It means being gentler, being kinder, not burning bridges when I'm not sure. It means keeping an eye out for any sign Zamorak's listening, in case I am his son, in case I really have to decide what I'm gonna do about being the son of chaos incarnate.

But other than the questioning, what it feels like is just... what I was already dealing with, just a little more at arm's length and easier to deal with. Once I recognize that his issues are reflective of mine, if I solve his, I have a pretty good idea of how to solve mine. Some of it won't work exactly right - Zamorak will always forgive him for not being the son he expected he might have had, my own parents may not, yay I'm queer and pagan - but it's a good rule of thumb.

It's also just comforting to know that when in doubt, nothing can kill me, because I simply refuse to die. I am World Guardian, I am a demigod of chaos incarnate, all the hellfire in the world can do nothing but strengthen me. And if I present those to myself as unshakeable beliefs, because for Sabe they are, then I'll be okay. It probably couldn't stop most disasters or tragedies, but I got hit by a car, broke five bones, and walked away with a record recovery time, so I mean... I can't prove that I can't die by some accident or tragedy, but you also can't prove that I can. (Trying to do so usually falls under what we call 'murder', and I personally believe I can't be murdered. Only assassinated.)

But really, I think the worst that could possibly happen with a new linktype is that you learn what not to do. It's new, it's scary, it's chaotic, and from where I'm standing, that's the best way to learn.

[edgydepressedchoicesthot]

24: my love was stronger than your pride (any ES pairing)

Summary: Neither of them knew that this was the last time they’d see each other before Andromeda’s sacrifice made time reassert itself.

Something else they didn’t know is that the same force that tore them apart would bring them back to each other. Seraxa/Yvonne

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248093

A/N: Well, this one took a while. Apologies to @brightpinkpeppercorn for taking my sweet time with this. I originally asked for prompts to get myself out of my writing funk, and I decided to take the quarantine as a chance to use some new free time to start writing again. I hope you’re all doing okay and staying safe.

After getting the prompt, I thought a bit on what ship do to this for; Estela/MC, Quinn/Michelle, Craig/Aleister (idk lol). But seeing a post saying that Serafine in Bloodbound is Yvonne from the Vaanu!Ending (who she OBVIOUSLY IS DAMMIT), that got me thinking. When I was fresh in the fandom, I heard someone suggest Seraxa/Yvonne, and I kinda liked the ship. And after seeing the “Serafine is Yvonne” Theory Fact, I wondered: what has she been up to? Is she keeping in touch with the Catalysts? Has she been back to La Huerta? HAS SHE SEEN HER GREEN GIRLFRIEND AGAIN? And thus, this fic was born! I made a few alterations to the canon (Yvonne stuck around during the Cetus battle and helped out), but nothing so that it’ll be too unrecognizable. Enjoy!

BTW I am not responsible in any fashion if you injure yourself whilst trying to lick your elbow.

————————

The pirate was probably trying to be stealthy, but Seraxa still heard her coming.

Night blanketed Elyys’tel, and lanterns hung all over the Great Tree, made to look like their own star-filled sky.

Andromeda, just Handfasted, was off enjoying the night with their beloved. The rest of the Catalysts joined the Vaanti in the festivities. People danced by bonfires and played as many games to rival the ones from the last Valinorim. All the laughter, singing, and happy shouts melded together into one joyous roar.

The last Seraxa saw of Taari was he and Zahra running off to play what she had called “dodgeball”, leaving Seraxa with her thoughts.

“Not one for parties?”

That was the second time she and Yvonne had spoken. The first was just before Varyyn’s coronation, when she bid the Catalysts a fond farewell.

Seraxa had thanked, or at least acknowledged, Yvonne for helping to protect the Vaanti during Cetus’s attack. The pirate tipped her hat with a flourish and a wink, and called her “milday”.

Taari promptly asked if the pirate was her new girlfriend, and Seraxa assigned him a long list of chores after the Valinorim.

“I’m here for one, am I not?” Seraxa replied, not turning around.

“With the way you scowl like the sun’s in your eyes, you could have fooled me,” Yvonne was right next to her now, joining Seraxa in standing off to the side instead celebrating. It looked unfamiliar to Seraxa, since Yvonne seemed the type to waste no time in celebrating.

Seraxa also remembered the way the pirate arrived in the midst of Cetus’s attack to help, and how she led a crowd of Vaanti to safety deeper into the jungle.

“Truly though,” the pirate broke the warrior out of her thoughts. “Do you ever rest?”

“I am not fighting or preparing for a fight, so you can say I rest now,” Seraxa retorted.

“You’ve not touched a single drink the whole day, and watching everyone like a hawk does not help your case. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you relax.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so keen on watching me.”

To Seraxa’s surprise, Yvonne blushed. She didn’t take that long to recover though.

“Still, with you being a military leader, that warrants a day off, no? Two, at the least?”

All the more reason I can’t let my guard down, Seraxa thought to herself. Everything seemed safe before Cetus attacked, and attacked he did.

Seraxa’s pride refused to acknowledge what might have happened if the Catalysts hadn’t come when they did.

“And I told you, I am resting. If we are to talk in circles like this the whole night, you’ll grow weary.”

“That I doubt,” Yvonne said quietly with a mischievous smirk that Seraxa didn’t quite understand. “You seem to have missed quite a show earlier,” the pirate continued. “The big one, Craig? He challenged one of your soldiers to a match.”

“Then Ursa is a dead man for sure-”

“He won.”

“Hm?”

“You heard correct,” Yvonne smirked. “Against several, actually.”

“He…he, an outsider, bested my warriors in a spar?”

Seraxa’s mind went through all the grueling exercise regimes she would put those warriors through to compensate for such a defeat (she will get names), before Yvonne spoke again.

“No no, they did not fight.”

“…Then what did they do?”

“Craig licked his elbow, and challenged one of your soldiers to do the same.”

“Whaa…” Seraxa’s jaw dropped.

“And several of your troops tried to succeed where the first had failed. None of them could.”

Seraxa…had no words. Elbow licking? She expected warriors under her command to be above making a fuss over something so ridiculous…

Her eyes darted down for a second to her left elbow; only for a second, but long enough for the pirate to catch.

“Try it.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“We both know you’re thinking about it,” Yvonne waggled her eyebrows. “Someone did manage to accomplish the feat, at last.”

“One person out of nearly everyone in Elyys’tel?”

“Yes. It was Grace. And naturally, she won the prize.”

“There was a prize as well?”

“Indeed. She had the privilege to watch as all who tried and failed form something they called a ‘human pyramid’. It was quite the disaster.”

A smile played on Seraxa’s lips, one that she couldn’t quite smother. Not overly large, but big enough to be visible.

The pirate leaned closer, eyes squinting as they inspected Seraxa’s face. The warrior’s cheeks heated up.

“What are you-”

“Checking to see if your face has cracked,” she said earnestly. “It appears intact, and lovely as ever.”

Lovely…lovely…

Lovely…????

Seraxa’s mind went blank, as if her mind was thrown into a time loop, focused on that one word.

The two of them stand in silence for a minute. Seraxa’s eyes glanced once at Yvonne, feeling an uncomfortable rising of anxiety at the awkward quiet.

She turned to Yvonne to speak. Later, when Seraxa thought back on that moment, she could never remember what she had wanted to say, because what happened next took over her full attention.

Yvonne leaned in and kissed Seraxa.

The kiss was like lightning; quick and intense. Yvonne’s lips were warm and searching, and pulled away.

Once again, Seraxa’s entire mind went blank.

When the warrior was silent for a few seconds, vulnerability flashed on the pirate’s face.

“I’m sorry, was that not-” Seraxa swapped their places with a kiss of her own.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seraxa said when they broke apart. “Unless it’s because you didn’t do that sooner.”

A laugh escaped Yvonne’s lips as they met Seraxa’s again.

Neither of them knew that this was the last time they’d see each other before Andromeda’s sacrifice made time reassert itself.

Something else they didn’t know is that the same force that tore them apart would bring them back to each other.

————————

Something Seraxa was used to waking up to was the sun’s rays shining through the windows of her home, or her cats’ morning playfulness dragging her from sleep.

This morning, she woke up to Yvonne, behind her in bed, tightening her arms around her lover in a secure hold.

Speaking of the sun, all of Seraxa’s windows had now been boarded up to keep it from shining through, accommodating Yvonne’s now-nocturnal nature.

It had been almost two years since the first time she had seen Yvonne after Andromeda’s sacrifice. The Catalysts when they made their yearly visits was always a welcome sight. But seeing with them, someone she had thought she’d never see again, was a surprise to say the least.

When everything had settled, and it was established that there wasn’t any trickery afoot, Yvonne had quite a tale to tell.

After being taken back to her own time, she said that she came into contact with creatures from the world outside of Vaanu. Creatures that made her into one of them, an immortal.

An immortal, with a regular need for blood.

Yvonne couldn’t stay on the island any longer than a month before the need for blood would become unbearable. Neither of them knew how Yvonne would take to Vaanti blood, if it would nourish or poison her, and Seraxa wasn’t willing to risk it. Pavos volunteered to run tests on Vaanti blood, and only ended up confirming what they feared.

Thus, Yvonne could not stay for any longer than three weeks at a time. And affairs on the outside world kept her from visiting as regularly as she would have liked.

It was probably for the best, Seraxa thought. Adventure was in Yvonne’s blood, and she was not meant to pick one place to live out the rest of her days.

Yvonne had told her all of this on the first few days she had come back; that she did not want marriage even if her nature wasn’t a factor, and said that she understood if a relationship with her was too much for Seraxa to handle.

Thoughts back to the present moment, she turned around, and joined Yvonne in a mutual embrace.

“Did I wake you?” Yvonne asked sleepily.

“Yes,” Seraxa smirked. “But I’ll have to get up soon anyway.”

“Can’t you order someone else to take care of your duties for the day?” Yvonne asked. “You need your sleep. And what good is authority if you can’t flaunt it every once in a while?”

Yvonne’s nature altered Seraxa’s sleep schedule quite a bit, but it was a worthy sacrifice.

“I’ll be back by nightfall,” Seraxa shifted and pulled Yvonne closer.

“That’s still too long.”

“You’ll survive without my embrace for a few hours,” the warrior resisted the urge to laugh.

“You’re so cruel,” Yvonne whined, snuggling closer.

“We’re here now,” Seraxa buried her face in Yvonne’s hair. “So until I hear a knock on the door, I’m yours.”

They’re not sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, until Yvonne poked Seraxa’s nose.

“You look too thoughtful for someone who just woke up,” Yvonne commented, and Seraxa finally noticed she was frowning.

“I was just wondering…” Seraxa began. “Before I met you, I was resolved to live a life without a partner. There would be no guarantee of a long life, so I did not want anyone to need me, a wife or a child, should I leave them behind.”

Yvonne stroked her face.

“That’s a lonely way to live, my dear.”

“For a while, I thought it was the only way I could live.”

Yvonne said nothing, and Seraxa continued.

“Both my parents died in battle when I was a child. It was a reality I had to face when I followed in their stead as a warrior, and more so when I was named War Chief. I’ve have so long to get used to the idea, that my pride wouldn’t allow me to indulge anything else.”

“Well it’s a good thing I plan to keep you around,” Yvonne said before giving Seraxa a deep kiss. “What we have might not be normal, but-”

“It is not normal, and I want it no other way,” Seraxa kissed Yvonne this time.

“Thank you,” Yvonne breathed. “For letting me in, and for having a place for me with you.”

“Thank your ability to break past a War Chief’s defenses, my love.”

“I’m afraid it was rather simple,” Yvonne curled up closer to Seraxa, nuzzling her head into her neck. “My love was stronger than your pride.”

Seraxa pressed a kiss to Yvonne’s head.

“And I thank the stars for that.”

 A/N: Seraxa is a little spoon, Yvonne is Serafine Dupont from Bloodbound, and both Craig and Grace can lick their elbows. I don’t make the rules I just think them up and write them into a story.

Also, Yvonne and Seraxa might not have the “living together” relationship I thought of when I started writing this, but in my mind this is the most realistic scenario for these two to be together. Yvonne’s too adventurous to stay in one place for the rest of her life, and Seraxa has a big sense of duty regarding her responsibilities to the Vaanti that I can’t imagine her giving up (even more so if she becomes Elyyshar when Varyyn leaves with Diego). So, in the end, these two have a long distance and open relationship (I strongly headcanon Yvonne/Serafine as polyamorous), but they love each other very much and fill their time together with as much lovey-doviness as possible.

Another thing, this is my first time writing a bilingual character while not writing up scenes directly from ES, so I apologize for any mistakes. Since I figured Yvonne is either in her late twenties or early thirties, and since being multilingual would almost be a necessity in sailing and adventuring, she would be a fairly decent English speaker. And I learned some of the biggest reasons for bilingual people slipping back to their native language is when they’re either really tired or go back and forth from speaking their native language to the other one. And since Yvonne is spending a lot of time lately around primarily English-speaking people, she probably wouldn’t have spoken much French at all. I hope I did it justice. I heard from other members of the fandom that PB butchered the way Yvonne and Tio Nicholas, both bilingual, would have spoke, so I wanted to do better and tread lightly. 

Finally, I have no idea what alien forces enable a select few to lick their fucking elbows and I don’t care to know.

[abeautifulblog]

Sooo not to be a downer, but... 18 & 19? 😣

18. What is the most negative comment you have gotten?

19. How do you handle negative comments?

Not a downer question at all -- so let's mash those together into “gremble's guide to dealing with negative feedback.”

(And giving it, sort of.)

First off, I think it's important to recognize that not all feedback is created equal. Sometimes the problem is with the reader—because let's be real, some people have zero reading comprehension skills, so any feedback they have to offer (positive or negative) is going to be pretty worthless.

(Like when you’re reading a review panning something you liked, and they’re complaining about a plot hole, and you’re like, “That... was not a plot hole. That... was very clearly addressed... Were you even paying attention, bro?” o_O)

(Or if their criticism is something vague like “I couldn’t get into it.” Okay, but--throw me a bone here, what, specifically, was the stumbling block? If they don’t point out concrete problems, they’re not giving you anything to fix.)

Other times, it's not that they're wrong, but just that there was a mismatch between the story they wanted to read and the story you wanted to tell. And that's not necessarily anybody's fault—you’re not a bad writer, nor are they a bad reader, just because they were hoping for something else. But that means their criticism may not be terribly useful either—if they say “you should have done X instead,” when X is a development you straight-up have no interest in making happen, that's not a flaw in your story, it's just a difference in personal taste.

(The fact is, not everyone wants the same things out of their fiction. This was an understanding I came to some years back, that the venn diagram between “media I enjoy” and “media that is objectively High Quality” is not a circle, and it doesn’t need to be.

And then I proceeded to break up with my boyfriend of the time because he couldn't grasp that concept, and wouldn't stop giving me shit about the things I liked.)

And lastly, of course, sometimes it is a flaw in your writing—that the story you were trying to tell could have been told better if you'd done something differently. (Ideally, you want the people who can spot those flaws to be your beta readers, so you can fix the problems before they go to print.)

*

Although to be honest, unless you're the unlucky victim of a targeted campaign of abuse, you're not likely to get negative comments on fic at all—even gentle, constructively-critical comments are rare.

Fandom on the whole has a very well-developed sense of “don't like, don't read”--not just for sex-kinks, but if you don't like a pairing, or a trope, or hell, if you just open a fic and read three paragraphs before deciding that the prose quality is waaaaay below what you can tolerate, fandom etiquette is to discreetly remove yourself from the room, and not holler YOU SUCK!!! to the host on your way out.

(And if you are being targeted, turn off anon comments and make use of AO3′s abuse-report button. People are entitled to disagree, they’re not entitled to be dickbags about it.)

I'm pretty sure the don’t like/don’t read thing happened with some readers of Beautiful Day—because there were a few people who'd commented positively on the early chapters, and had Joseph icons or made Joseph-positive remarks (“I love this fic like Joseph loves ocean time!!” was one), whom I never heard from again after “This House”--because I'd abruptly taken the story somewhere they didn't want to go.

(Although I am vaguely curious how far they got before quitting—whether it was my characterization of Joseph as a reptilian sexual predator that offended them, or whether they noped out even earlier because they didn't like being made to confront the harm his affairs are doing to his family.)

But I've never had a Joseph fan challenge me head-on about it—because they may not like the direction I'd gone, but it clearly wasn't a mistake. I had a fundamentally different take on his character than they did, which meant they weren't going to enjoy my depiction him, now or in the future, and so they wisely stopped reading.

Here’s the thing though: I knew when I wrote it that I was going to be alienating a significant chunk of the fan base. Before posting that chapter, I mentioned to my BFF that I was nervous about how it was going to be received, to which she said, “Well yeah, you do call a fandom favorite a 'shitstain of a human being.'”

I knew that, and I went ahead with it anyway—because that was a hill I was willing to die on; it was a hill I was willing to lose readers on.

To a lesser degree, I also knew “The Old College Try” wasn't going to land for everyone, for a number of reasons. It was the longest chapter to date, it was tone whiplash from the rest of the fic, featuring characters and a pairing that were not what readers had signed up for. I knew Alex was going to be a polarizing character, and there was no guarantee that people who'd been enjoying Robert's quiet psychological drama would also enjoy watching a bunch of college nymphos having a sex comedy.

(And indeed, that's the chapter a few people have singled out as their least favorite.)

But I did it anyway, because that was the story I wanted to tell. (And just crossed my fingers that readers who were unenthused would stick it out until Robert's story picked up again.)

*

I don't think I've ever gotten any AO3 comments pointing out objective flaws in my stories (again, fanfic tends not elicit that kind of feedback), but that is the primary purpose of beta readers.

And when I get critical feedback from betas, I deal with it like any mature and sensible artist does: by hyperventilating into a paper bag for half an hour.

Then I get a hold of myself and try to consider their feedback rationally.

And it usually turns out that they’re correct—I've talked before about some of the behind-the-scenes moments when a beta reader pointed out the flaw in what I'd been trying to do, which were often A-HA! moments that broke the gridlock I'd been in.

It can be hard to put yourself out there for beta readers, to ask someone to enumerate all your weaknesses, and be ready to listen to them when they do. (And not go into an OMG I SUCK meltdown over it.) You have to remind yourself that they do like your writing and they do think you’re talented—if they didn't, they wouldn't care enough to spend all this time taking it from good to excellent.

You're not likely to get that kind of criticism if you just post your fic on AO3 as-is, because readers will usually keep that to themselves, even if they're thinking it. But having someone who will give your fic that tough love, who will put every line through the analytical wringer, is worth growing a thicker skin for. I've had editing sessions with betas that felt like I’d gone through a meat grinder—but I came out at the end with a story that was staggeringly better than the one I’d started with.

*

In conclusion, there's a degree of self-indulgence in being a writer—that yes, you should listen to other people's feedback, and consider whether there's merit in it, but at the end of the day, it's your story, not theirs. You're not going to be happy with it if you’ve compromised your vision to please someone else instead.

(Unless it’s like, grammar mistakes, such as capitalizing pronouns in inquit tags, in which case stop bitching and fix them, Sam, don’t argue with me.)

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 3.4

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew – Part 4

Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3

Author: Gumnut

29 Dec 2019 - 4 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4342

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

I’m probably posting this before it is ready and I’m not happy with the ending so may change where it ends when I start writing the next part, but I really need a little cheering up today, so here be the next 4000-odd words of this fic. I hope you enjoy them :D

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

They stashed their luggage in the hostel, a large white and wooden building that had obviously seen many residents over the years, but was well loved and maintained.

Melissa gave them a quick tour of the compound. It consisted of series of buildings similar to the hostel but of varying sizes over looking the ocean and the adjacent Oneraki Beach. The island was basically a triangle with the encampment on the north facing side high up on Fleetwood Bluff. There was something about a Flagstaff but Virgil missed it...mainly due to the conversation Gordon and Sam were laughing over behind him.

Whatever it was called, the view was magnificent. Far below in the bay, A Little Lightning was a small white smudge on the blue of the Pacific.

Melissa ran them through the rules of conduct on the island. No one was to venture anywhere on the island outside the compound unaccompanied by a DOC employee. Please keep your luggage inside the hostel. All life is protected on the island and in the waters. It was illegal to damage or remove anything. No littering. The list went on.

It was a long one.

Apart from being a cetacean biologist and a loud talker, Sam was also apparently the resident cook on the island. Melissa put no claim to any culinary skills, so had left it to Sam.

The man had baked a cake.

A Christmas cake.

In their isolation on the boat, despite their aim to be home for Christmas, Virgil had forgotten it was the day before Christmas Eve. December twenty-three.

It wasn’t the first time he had forgotten Christmas. Three years ago he had spent Christmas dragging survivors off the Amazon flood plain when the river engulfed an entire city. Christmas had been obliterated. As had the two months after due to the damn fever he had caught from those flood waters. It hadn’t been a great start to the year.

But this year it was different. They were on vacation. A forced vacation, but a vacation nonetheless, of which the whole purpose was to get home in time for Christmas. Yet the decorations and the tree in the corner of the communal hall had taken him by surprise.

The cake was very nice. He had to hold Alan back from grabbing seconds. But it got him thinking about the day after next and what they would be doing as a family.

“He sang to the whales?!”

Virgil jumped at Sam’s exclamation somewhere behind him.

“Yeah, he did. You should have heard it. It was incredible.” Virgil’s eyes widened at the pride in Gordon’s voice.

“They didn’t pay any attention, though, did they? All previous attempts have failed.”

“Ho, Sam, I have to show you the recordings. They responded alright. Virg may not speak whale, but he knows how to speak emotion. Mamma whale definitely understood something.”

Virgil buried his face in his coffee. The experience was still raw. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it and it was inevitable that he would be asked.

“What did he use?” And the conversation dropped to normal levels. Virgil’s name was mentioned several times along with John’s. Sam was eager and excited.

Virgil felt dread.

“You okay, bro?” Alan was frowning at him while hoovering the second piece of cake Virgil had already told him he couldn’t have.

Why did he bother?

“So I guess we’ll be hauling in extra food supplies for these people after you’ve finished with them.”

“It was one piece of cake.”

“It’s the only cake, Alan.”

His brother’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“I’ll bring them something before New Years.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Or maybe Scott can. He might want to visit.”

“What? Why?” But Alan was gesturing with his head in the direction of their eldest brother.

Deep in conversation with Melissa Fisher.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

-o-o-o-

“So by claiming for twenty one instead of twenty volunteers we get just that extra bit of funding.”

“Clever move.” Scott had finished his cake and was drinking tea. Virgil had shot him an incredulous look when he asked for it, but if there was one thing Scott remembered about this place, it was the herbal tea. Melissa knew how to brew a great drink...even if she had to threaten him and his father to try it the first time.

“Are you still using Jack Dunning?”

“Oh, yes, the man is brilliant. And he does all our work pro bono which saves us so much. Thank you for the recommendation.”

Scott was not going to mention one Gordon Tracy jumping up and down in front of him one afternoon several years ago. His aquanaut brother had been apoplectic and at the end of a very sharp conversation, Scott had been more than willing to call in their lawyers to act on behalf of the DOC Kermadec Expedition. The fishery megacorporation challenging the validity of the Sanctuary hadn’t known what hit them.

And if Scott wanted Jack to send him all the bills, that was his prerogative. Melissa didn’t have to know everything.

“So how is Virgil?” It was a quiet question as she picked up her own cup of tea.

He eyed her a moment. He was well aware of her attraction to his brother. Gordon had made a point of stirring Virgil until his quiet brother had clapped him around the ears.

“He’s recovering. I’ll be happier when he is home.”

She eyed him as if considering whether she should breach a topic or not. Something flickered in her eyes. “How goes Tracy Island? Is the regrowth flourishing as we hoped?”

He thought back at the tracts of native vegetation his father had planted all those years ago, mostly on the other side of the island, though some covered scars from the IR excavations.The pōhutukawa and palm trees seemed to be okay, but his mind was usually on other things when he ran past them.

He shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know. You could ask Gordon?”

She peered closer at him. “Are you okay?”

He straightened where he sat. “I’m good.” He stretched. “Got any recommendations for a good place to run? Need to stretch my legs.”

She swallowed the last of her drink. “I can show you.”

“No need, just point me in the right direction and I’ll find my way.”

A snort. “You’re not on Tracy Island, Commander. No visitors go unaccompanied on Raoul, remember. You’ve got a choice between me and Sam.” A smirk. “And you won’t get much distance out of him unless you prefer swimming.”

Internally he groaned. He had been looking forward to time alone.

“I can show you around the crater rim. You’ll get a great workout.”

The thought of finding the physical relief was just too tempting. The hike up the hill had been a teaser and he wanted more. He sculled the last of his tea. “Fine. Lead the way.” He hoped she could keep up.

Her smile was a challenge in itself. “I’ll go grab my running gear. Meet you out front in ten.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon watched as Scott stood up, brushed past Virgil and said something, before following Mel out the door.

“Do you think Virgil would be willing to talk about his experience?”

Gordon glanced at Sam and then eyed his brother. His linen shirt was tight across his shoulders as the man hunched over his coffee. “I don’t know.”

“Can you ask?” Sam was all eagerness. It was understandable. The surfer had made cetaceans his life’s work and this was a fantastic opportunity.

A sucked in breath. “Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do.”

-o-o-o-

John, drink in hand, had taken the opportunity to find himself a vantage point on the cliff. The island was very quiet, even quieter than Tracy Island was at times and considerably bigger.

He appreciated the solitude.

Of course, the boat hadn’t exactly been loud or even crowded. He truly enjoyed the time with his brothers. But it was nice to step away, even if only for a little time.

He parked himself in the long grass at the edge of the bluff and stared out into the blue of the Pacific.

An idle thought.

“Eos?”

“Hello, John.”

“Hello, Eos. Status?”

“All emergency calls are being fielded by the appropriate agencies. Mr Lemaire has entombed himself in ice at the South Pole in an attempt to locate Santa Claus. I have advised the GDF. He is safe and secure for the moment.”

John’s thoughts locked up for a second. “The South Pole? Santa Claus lives in the North Pole.”

“Ignoring the fact that Santa Claus is a myth, Mr Lemaire claimed that ‘the North Pole is an ocean and only an idiot would build a house on an ice floe that melts every summer, therefore he must be hidden at the South Pole.’ He planned to be the first human to interview the father of Christmas and used a specialised drilling machine to dig into the ice...which promptly collapsed on him twenty metres down.”

John sighed. “You are sure he is safe?”

“Colonel Casey has sent a specialist team. He and his wife have enough survival supplies to make it through to New Years if necessary.”

“Monitor the situation. Call us in only if there is no alternative.” A trip to the South Pole was something they did not need.

“FAB, John.”

“And how are you?”

“I am functioning well.”

“Do you have any results from the problem I set you?”

“I have analysed three thousand two hundred and twenty-three recordings of humpback whale communications. Unfortunately, many of the recordings are missing the lower frequencies as the equipment used was not sufficient. I do have some translation possibilities, however I am still calculating multiple variables and am hesitant to postulate a theory.”

He had expected as much. She had only been working on it for a few hours. “Are you enjoying the work?” To be honest, he wasn’t expecting a positive result. It did, however, keep a bored AI occupied.

“It is very interesting. Virgil’s response shows no pattern relative to the language he was attempting to respond to, yet he received a result.”

“I suspect there is an element of synergy in the language that enables it to become more than a sum of its parts. Perhaps that is what Virgil was able to tap into.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, John.”

John sucked in a breath. “You are a computer program, yet you are more than lines of code, you are a person. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps this language is a step beyond simple complexity. Perhaps the elements combined create a new level of communication? One that is not entirely on the conscious level.”

His daughter was silent for a moment. “How does interpretation differ between the human conscious and subconscious? The literature claims a lack of cognitive recognition of events created or observed subconsciously. How could Virgil create something he is not aware of?”

“There is much we do not yet understand. The human subconscious is well known for gathering multiple observed factors and combining them into instinct, all without conscious control. Perhaps you should explore that region of research?” Come to think of it, Virgil’s instincts in the field were very sharp. There were multiple examples of his brother acting against orders and ultimately saving lives that otherwise would have been lost, including those of his brothers.

“I will, John, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” His lips curled into a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

-o-o-o-

It was amazing to finally get his feet moving.

Scott’s shoes pounded volcanic dust and rock so familiar it was almost as if he was home. A regular thud-thud-thud, the sea breeze, the rock, the vegetation...energy flowed through him and was used, muscles firing, skin tingling in the afternoon air. God, it was so good to get out.

Melissa said nothing to him beyond directing which path to take. She had removed her DOC uniform, reducing her clothing to a tight crop top, shorts and running shoes, and if he was honest, he had to admit he was appreciating the view.

The woman was all slim muscle. Tight waist, lightly browned skin. Her pale hair bounced behind her in a hastily tied ponytail and he found himself following it as she leapt from path to rock and over logs.

She had no trouble keeping up. In fact, it was more the other way around. He had to work to keep up with her, despite the difference in stride. She knew exactly where she was going and she was offering no handicap.

They pushed up a steep incline for some time. She had taken them off the main track and deep into the forest. Birds sung all around and the wind rustled through the blossoming trees. The pōhutukawa were in their brilliant crimson Christmas flowers, festooning the island as if to decorate for the season.

Grandma loved the pōhutukawa trees on Tracy Island and was in fact the only reason he knew the name of the plant. She cut flowers every year for their Christmas table to acknowledge the beautiful piece of land they lived on.

They reminded him of home.

This whole island reminded him of home.

Melissa ran around a particularly large tree and he followed only to come to a screeching halt as the path suddenly changed direction. A huge crater appeared in front of him.

Melissa was running on the spot. She nodded down at the lake at the bottom of the volcanic bowl. “Blue Lake.”

And it was.

A stunning, almost unnatural cobalt blue. He stared down at it, panting from his exertions. His thin grey tank top clung to his sweaty body.

She grinned at him before darting off along the crater rim.

Hmmm. An indrawn breath and he took off after her.

The crater wasn’t massive on a volcanic scale, but it was impressive nonetheless. The late afternoon sun shadowed the mountain, emphasising the extremes of the landscape.

“The far lake is Green Lake.” Melissa had stopped and was running on the spot again. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin.

He did know the geography, he had flown over the island often enough, but this perspective was considerably different. “It’s beautiful.” Not unlike its caretaker.

The random thought shook him out of contemplation and forced himself to look out at the smaller green lake in the distance.

Where the hell had that come from? A sideways glance in her direction and he found her gaze caught on the spectacle before them, her love for the island obvious.

Well, he had to admit that he did have his own island love. Just not this island.

“C’mon, slow poke, let’s up the pace.” And she darted off into the forest again.

Really?

Thighs pumping, he followed her under the trees, down the slope a little before he found himself climbing again.

She called back to him from several metres in front. “Got a full body workout coming up. I hope you’re up to it.” Her grin bounced down the mountain and off his head.

She was challenging him? Well, he had been known to hang off rocket ships and climb vertical cliff faces. Bring it on.

She did.

The path dissolved. There was no other real word for it. It became a mass of black jagged volcanic rocks, interspersed with tree regrowth.

“This was dumped here last time Virgil yanked us off the Island.” Her words were interspersed with harsh breathing as she clambered over the obstacle. As he climbed the crater once again came into view and the scar in the side of the mountain became clear.

Wow.

There was a swath of dead forest dotted with regrowth. He remembered Virgil’s report. The footage had involved billowing smoke and steam, but his brother had confined most of his readings to the encampment, his concern more for the lives endangered than any geological happenings. Brains had taken readings and read GeoNet’s reports as he did for any activity on the Kermadec Ridge, but he had reported it small and unremarkable.

Looked far more remarkable in person.

Melissa reached the top of the pile of rock and finally stopped.

He was grateful. The woman knew how to push it. He clambered up the last few and stood next to her.

The view was magnificent.

“She risks our lives, but I have to say she is beautiful.” Her love was there again, in her eyes. It was a similar expression to what he saw on Gordon’s face when he stared out across the ocean.

“You love this island, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

She turned to stare at him and he realised that her eyes were a startling multicoloured grey. “I love this place. It’s mountains, its plants, its ocean, its everything. It is one of the truly saved places on our planet. There aren’t many left.” She shrugged. “I’m just lucky to be able to experience it and contribute my little bit of help.”

He snorted. “Even I know what you are doing is anything but little. You’ve expanded the Sanctuary by hundreds of kilometres since you’ve been here.”

Her gaze turned back to him. “You’ve been reading up on me?”

Half a grin. “I like to know who I am dealing with.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what did you find, Commander?”

His smile spread. “Someone remarkable.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil hid for the rest of the afternoon. He slunk away to the hostel, found himself a bed and curled up. At some point, he heard a brother open the door to the communal room and another brother, Alan maybe, mutter something, but they went away and he was glad for it.

The wood of the building creaked in the sun and birds squawked almost continually, but despite, or perhaps because of the soundscape, he fell into a much better sleep than he had had the entire week. Deep and complete.

The sun was heading towards the horizon when he woke, yellowing rays cutting across the hostel windows, turning the white paintwork gold.

Gordon was in the room, fossicking through a bag. “G’don?” He blinked and screwed up his face.

“Hey, Virg! Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. Don’t think so?”

“How are you feeling?”

Virgil rolled over and pushed himself up, sitting on the side of the bed. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, I guess.”

His brother snorted. “I’ll ask you again in half an hour after coffee and brain activation.”

The grunt he sent in the aquanaut’s direction only proved his point.

“Sam is very interested in what you did today.”

Crap. Another grunt.

That earned him a querying look. Virgil had no idea what his brother expected. If a simple question about how he was feeling was a stumbler, the complex concepts involving what had happened earlier in the day were a complete brain frier.

“You up for dinner?” Gordon was suddenly sitting on the bed next to him. When had he moved? “Sam’s dragged out the barbecue. Claims he wants to test the theory of ‘throwing a prawn on the barbie’. Apparently, as an Australian he’s never cooked a shrimp on a barbecue before.” As if to punctuate the statement, the smell of cooking meat wafted in through the window.

Virgil stared at his brother.

“They had to import the shrimp for Christmas.”

The staring continued.

“They’re throwing a party because we’re here and using their Christmas supplies to do it...why the hell are you staring at me like that?”

Virgil didn’t answer him. He just wrapped an arm around him and hugged Gordon to his side.

His brother didn’t resist, but did look at him strangely. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

Gordon didn’t say anything further and for a moment they sat there together.

Virgil’s stomach rumbled.

Gordon snorted. “C’mon, bro, food awaits.” He slipped Virgil’s hold and, turning around, offered him a hand up.

Without another word, Virgil took it and stood up beside his brother, his hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing.

That earned him another questioning look, but he ignored it.

The grassed central area of the compound had been transformed both by the golden sunlight and the lights strung between the trees. Sam was standing in front of a sizzling barbecue, someone Virgil didn’t know, laughing and holding him close. Alan and John were deep in discussion with another new person. All three of them had drinks in hand. John’s hair flickered about as if it was on fire, the sun catching it as the breeze tossed it around. And Scott...

Virgil stared.

Scott was laughing his ass off.

With Melissa Fisher.

The two of them sat beside each other in a couple of deck chairs. His brother appearing more relaxed than Virgil had seen him in a long time.

“What happened?” It came out without thought.

“They went for a run. Came back friendly as can be. I think Scott may have fallen for her charms.”

Charms? The woman was a handful. Virgil wasn’t afraid to admit he found her a challenge. Her gratitude the last time he had airlifted her and her squad of staff and volunteers off Raoul had been...exuberant.

If Kayo hadn’t escorted her out of his cockpit, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. As it was, Gordon had ribbed him until he cracked and thwapped him one.

But Scott seemed almost enthusiastic. Despite himself, Virgil broke into a grin.

Gordon echoed it. “Yeah, it’s great to finally see him relaxing.”

Quiet. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Gordon grabbed his arm and nudged him in the direction of a table piled with food and drink. “Let’s get you fuelled up so I can introduce you to Liam and Elspeth.”

Coffee, as always, solved a lot of problems and, hugging his mug like the lifeline it was, Virgil was introduced to Sam’s husband.

Liam turned out to be a meteorologist. Raoul was not only important as a wildlife sanctuary, but also supported this corner of the Pacific’s meteorological station, providing atmospheric readings crucial to both weather and climate studies.

Having no shortage of interest in weather conditions, both as a pilot and a rescue operative who often found himself in the extremes of all kinds of those conditions, Virgil fell into in a very interesting discussion regarding navigating tropical cyclones.

In appearance, Liam was taller than Sam, blond and much more reserved than his husband. Hell, it was almost like someone had grabbed John and Gordon, thrown their physical characteristics in a blender and then assembled Liam and Sam. Liam even had a similar flick of blond hair on his forehead that John had in his red hair.

Almost in contrast, where Liam was pale and tall, Elspeth was dark and petite. Long plaited black hair hung to her waist, her features in shades of sepia. The artist in him was quite drawn to her.

But not as much as his two starbound brothers, because Elspeth was an astronomer. She and Liam had been on the other side of the island earlier in the day collecting readings from the observatory. Something about a rogue object passing through the Solar System. Virgil lost the discussion at some point between the Oort cloud and the orbit of Jupiter. He kept getting distracted by Scott laughing.

Virgil hadn’t heard his brother laugh so freely in a long time. Melissa appeared to be enjoying herself. It was as if a bubble had surrounded them and cut them off from everyone else. Stuck in their own happy little world.

An irrational spark of envy and the inevitable smirk at his brother deploying his well played charms were all completely smothered by the happiness he felt seeing Scott finally relaxing and enjoying himself.

As the evening became night, Virgil continued to hover on the edges of conversation, more Gordon, Sam and Liam than John, Alan and Elspeth. The latter group’s discussion had dissolved into equations and while Virgil loved a good piece of math like any engineer, theoreticals were more than he was willing to think about right at the moment.

The food was delicious and he complimented Sam thoroughly. Liam smiled and waxed poetic about some of the meals his husband had cooked in the past. Sam blushed appropriately red on several occasions, setting Gordon off into ribbing the poor man.

A thumb in Gordon’s direction. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous. There are days on end where we don’t get time to cook a decent meal.”

“You don’t have a cook?” Sam was frowning.

“We have Grandma.” Gordon was smiling ruefully.

“She’s a good cook?”

Virgil cut in. “Grandma is the backbone of International Rescue.”

“Your grandmother works with you?”

“Often, yes.”

“A truly family business.”

“Yes, it is.”

The conversation fell quiet a moment and Virgil took a swig of the beer in his hand.

“So, how did you become a cetacean biologist?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh, um, had an encounter, fell in love, now devoted to them forever.”

Liam snorted. “He asked about you and whales, not for our love story.”

His husband shrugged. “Pretty much the same story really. Found myself in dire straits off Waitpinga Beach while surfing, dolphin saved me.”

Gordon had obviously heard the story before. He grinned. “For a surfer, you really are crap at surfing.”

“It’s all about the image, Gordo. You know that.” But Sam was grinning as much as Gordon. “But on a more serious note,” and the grin turned into a mock glare at Virgil’s brother, “she saved my life. It was a big, life changing moment. Been saving the whales ever since.”

“I can understand that.” All the Tracys could understand that.

Sam sparked up, all eagerness and bright eyes. “So, you spoke to a whale today?”

-o-o-o-

End Day Three, Part Four

[connan-l]

Cleavered

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana & Higurashi: When They Cry

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationship: Rena Ryuuguu & Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana)

Summary: Rena was lost, all alone and far away from her village and country. But while trying to find her way back, she gets herself involved into a sordid story of blood and witch…

Content Warnings: A few graphic depictions of violence, including slashing, blood, blood draining, attempted murders. Panic attacks and vomiting towards the end. Briefs kidnapping and slavery mentions.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I promise this initially started as a silly joke. I only wanted to write a ridiculous crack one-shot with ‘what if Rena Ryuuguu saved Morgana’ as a premise, and for some reason it ended up as this giant taken-too-seriously mess. It was actually pretty hard to write though — took me months before finishing it, and it was a real challenge to find a way to fit Higurashi’s plot in FataMoru’s setting. Rena was also pretty difficult to write, and I wish I would’ve been able to reread Tsumihoroboshi before that, but oh well.

Again though, it’s principally just a self-indulgent crack fic, so don’t try to think too much about it if there are some details that don’t makes sense and roll with it haha.

I’m thanking Ried (@kosongnonsens) too given I started writing this after we joked around about this idea.

Spoilers for the entirety of The House in Fata Morgana and A Requiem for Innocence, and for Higurashi: When They Cry’s sixth arc Tsumihoroboshi-hen/Atonement Chapter.

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She was definitely lost by now.

Whether she looked right or left, behind or in front of her, none of the landscapes and surroundings had one once of familiarity. She had been walking for hours now, at least — but she was pretty sure she had just managed to get even more lost than she initially had been.

Disheartened, she let out a long, heavy sigh, and sat down on a rock in the shade of a tree. Her big satchel that she’s been dragging around since she first came into this country was starting to really hurt her shoulder and back, so she also put it down on the ground. The soil was probably going to tarnish it, but it didn’t bother her much. It already was an old, deteriorated bag anyway, and there wasn’t anything of value in it — just a few clothes, some fruits and bread, and her cleaver.

She wished her father was here. And her friends. She wished she could just go back to her village, which she hadn’t seen in months now. What was she even doing out there in this foreign land she knew nothing about? People only looked at her weirdly, as if she was some sort of exotic animal, and she felt terribly uncomfortable and unwelcome.

(But maybe this was part of the curse of Oyashiro, too…)

As she unconsciously sighed again, she suddenly heard something. It sounded like footsteps. Then, after a while, she was sure she could feel a presence — a human presence. She always had a good instinct for stuff like that. She instantly grabbed her satchel, ready to welcome anything, but the person who showed up in front of her emanated absolutely no danger or suspicion whatsoever.

“Ah, as I thought! I truly had seen someone coming here!”

It was a girl, a bit younger than her, with long wavy blonde hair and sparkling sunny eyes. Her first thought was that she looked really cute, and she if wasn’t feeling so tired she probably would’ve loved to try squishing her round cheeks. Her second thought was that on the other hand, her pale face, chapped blue lips and dark circles told her she wasn’t in the best of health. Still, the girl bounced towards the newcomer like a rabbit, smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s so rare to see people!” She exclaimed. “No one ever come around here.”

“Really?” A part of her still felt suspicious, but the girl’s smile was contagious so she couldn’t help but mimic her friendly tone. “I got lost in the forest… I’ve been walking for hours trying to find my way back. Do you think you could help me?”

Th blonde girl grimaced. “Well… I can try, but… Honestly, I don’t really know my way around here either…”

“Oh… I see…”

Well, of course, that would’ve been too easy. At least she wasn’t lost in the middle of the woods anymore, she supposed. She had never been afraid of forests or dark, isolated places, but those were still tricky areas when you knew nothing of the surroundings.

“Um…”

The girl cleared her throat, getting her attention back to her, before smiling shyly with a hopeful gaze.

“Uh, well, I don’t think I can help you find your way back, but… you said you’ve been walking for hours, right? So you must be tired. If you want, I can invite you at my home!”

“Y-You would? I-I mean… it’d be very kind, but I don’t want to bother,” she stuttered.

“It’s okay! I’m all alone right now, and I’m sure the Saintess wouldn’t mind either!”

“The Saintess…?”

“I know how to make excellent tea, with rose petals! I promise you won’t regret it if you come!”

The blonde girl took her hand and begins to pull on it excitedly. She seemed oddly happy at the idea of sharing her afternoon with this stranger she knew nothing about. Maybe it wasn’t a really prudent decision to follow her, but honestly, at this point she felt too tired to refuse such an alluring invitation. Plus, she felt pretty charmed by that girl, and she didn’t think she was dangerous.

“Okay!” She replied. “You lead the way then.”

The girl’s face instantly lit up and her smile got even wider as she saw the stranger rose up from the rock and grab her satchel.

“Aahh, that’s so great! We could bake together too! Ohh, and chat about all sorts of things! Ah, by the way, I’m Nellie. What’s your name?”

She smiled at her new acquaintance, her hand still intertwined with hers.

“I’m Rena! Nice to meet you.”

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Nellie hurriedly guided her to her home all while making little mindless talks (“You’re ‘Rena’? It’s the first time I hear that name! It sounds so weird!”), and it only took them five minutes to reach it. The place where she lived looked more like a little cabin than an actual house, to be honest, but Rena thought it’d be rude to say so she kept quiet. The interior was fairly cozy, and with all the adorable, tiny decorations put all around the walls it wasn’t hard to guess that Nellie was the one who was spending most of her time here.

“Do you live here all alone? Do you?” Rena asked tentatively.

“No, I live with the Saintess… Ah, the Saintess is a nun who works at the church up there! Before that, I lived with my brother in another house, but we moved here a few months ago.”

Rena nodded while the younger girl ran up to the kitchen. She had spent enough time in this country to know that ‘saint’ and ‘nun’ were religious figures here, though she wasn’t sure what were their roles exactly. She sat at the table and waited patiently for Nellie to reappears a few minutes later with a plate in her hands.

“Haoo, those teacups are so kyute!”

“Hehe, I know, right? They’re ones of the only things I was able to bring back from home.”

“From where you lived with your brother?”

“Yes— Ah, I mean, no, even before that. Initially, we didn’t even live in the same country. We used to be rich, you know? Living in a huge mansion and all.”

“Ohh, it sounds nice! I’ve never been in a mansion.”

Well, she supposed her friend Mion’s big house could count as one, but from what Rena had seen it was still very different from what Western people called ‘mansions.’

“Well, if you want, there’s a mansion not far from here, so I could show you. I mean, it’s technically a church, but it still looks more like a mansion than a church.”

“Aw, really? I’d love to see that!”

Nellie giggled. “You’re funny. I like you. I wish I could show you my own manor too back in my country, but… I probably will never be able to go home…”

The blonde girl sighed, and a sad expression spread on her face. Rena guessed it was a touchy subject and that it was better to just change the topic rather than push the issue, but at this moment Nellie stared straight into her eyes, her smile back in place, as if it had never disappeared.

“What about you?”

“H-Huh?”

“You’re a foreigner too, aren’t you?”

“Oh… yes, that’s true… I come from the Far East. Um, well… I came to this country some months ago because of my father’s work. He’s a trader and came here for a new business opportunity… but then we got separated, and I got lost, and so here I am.”

It was a pretty simple summary of her situation and she left out a lot of complicated factors, though. No matter how cute Nellie was, she still didn’t felt like telling her whole life story out of the blue like that.

“You speak the language really well for someone who only came here months ago,” she noticed.

“O-Oh… thanks… I still don’t know how to write it though…”

Nellie seemed to ponder her words for a moment in silence, and Rena thought she was going to keep questioning but instead she just grinned and rose up from the table.

“Well, whatever! It doesn’t matter where you come from if I like you. Hey, what do you think about baking with me? I feel like eating sweets!”

Rena didn’t get the time to reply that Nellie grabbed her hand and dragged her in the kitchen, but she didn’t try to complain and instead just let herself be subjugated by the other girl’s cheerfulness.

“I love cooking, actually!” She only added. “What do you want to bake?”

“Hmm…” Nellie crossed her arms and frowned. “I dunno… Something with sugar. Lots of sugar.”

Rena giggled, then looked around the room to quickly catalog the ingredients at her disposition. “All right, then I have a proposition: how about I try to make some sweets from my country?”

As she had expected, Nellie’s eyes brightened with enthusiasm and curiosity. “Yeah! You do that! I’ll help out too.”

And thus they started to bake together, spreading flour and butter and sugar all around the house. Rena thought she felt a little bad about the so-called ‘Saintess’ if she were to come back home and see all this mess, plus all the food they squandered. But to be honest, she was having so much fun right now that she didn’t even care.

Nellie reminded her a little bit of her friends, and especially of Satoko. Maybe it had to do with the way she spoke about her big brother with so much love and admiration. Either way, it had been a long time she hadn’t had so much fun. For a moment, if she closed her eyes, she could even pretend she was back home in Hinamizawa…

The sun was starting to set and they were almost done with their cooking when the door from the house suddenly opened. Nellie seemed surprised — she apparently wasn’t expecting anyone to come home so early. When they both went to look, Rena saw a young man with the same blonde hair as Nellie standing in the room.

“Dearest Mell!” The younger girl exclaimed, and all of a sudden it was as if Rena’s existence had been completely erased from her mind.

She ran in the room and jumped in the boy’s arms, who caught her as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hello, Nellie,” he said gently.

“What are you doing here? I thought I wouldn’t see you at all today!”

“Yeah, I, uh… I forgot my bag here, and I felt the need to check on you. But, I won’t be able to stay long… maybe half an hour, at most…”

Nellie’s happy face instantly fell upon hearing that. “Are you sure? We were baking some sweets together, stay at least to taste them!”

“‘We’?”

At this moment, the boy ‘Mell’ finally noticed the other person at the end of the room. Rena smiled in a friendly way and waved at him, hoping to make him understand she wasn’t anyone suspicious, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on him as he instantly tensed and glared at her.

“Nellie, who’s that?” He asked in a stiff voice while grabbing Nellie’s arms in a protective manner.

His sister didn’t seem to notice his unease, though, because she just replied happily: “Oh, it’s Rena! Rena, it’s my big brother, dearest Mell!”

“R-Rena…?”

“Yeaaah, that’s a weird name, right?” Nellie added.

“No, that’s— I mean, who on earth is that girl, Nellie? What is she doing here?”

“She’s a foreigner I found outside. She told me she got lost, so I invited her here to play together.”

“Nellie!” Mell exclaimed, his voice firmer and almost panicked. “You cannot do that! Didn’t I tell you a lot of times to never let inside any strangers and to open the door to no one?”

“But… she’s not dangerous. I like her, she’s really nice. We baked toge—”

“It doesn’t matter how nice she is, you just can’t do that!”

Rena listened to the siblings’ argument from afar, and the more she observed the more… off, it seemed. Of course Mell had every reason to not want his little sister to interact with a stranger, but his reaction still felt wrong, somehow. He looked almost desperate, and Rena clearly wasn’t the only one to think he was acting weird.

“Dearest Mell,” Nellie said in a softer voice. “It’s fine. She really didn’t do anything but bake with me…”

Maybe his sister’s calmness and reassurance managed to cool him down a little bit somehow, because he blinked, looked at Rena, and took a deep breath.

“Yeah… uh, sorry. I’m just… a bit tired. That’s all.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” Rena replied. “I understand being tired.”

She also understood what it was like to feel paranoiac as if the entire world was against you, and to lash out at anyone as a result. And maybe that was why she couldn’t help but find Mell’s behavior more than suspicious.

“I… I need to get back my bag,” the boy blurted out, before heading towards the end of the cabin.

As soon as he had turned their back to them, Nellie’s expression darkened, and she looked down. Her eyes were shining so much Rena thought she might start crying. She didn’t, though.

“Could it be that… you two are not getting along well?”

Nellie shook her head. “We get along fine, usually. But these last months, Mell has been… so distant. First, he’s wanted to move here all of a sudden, and then he spent all of his time at that mansion… I know it was because I got sick, but…”

“Because you got sick?”

Rena didn’t need to read mind to guess the girl wasn’t healthy. She saw her cough quite a few times during their afternoon together, and there were moments where she even had to sit down because she felt dizzy. But she wasn’t sure how that was related to them moving. Nellie looked up and stared at Rena for a while. She seemed to hesitate, then nodded.

“Not long ago, the church up there started giving out a miraculous medicine that can heal everything, called ‘Saint’s Blood’.”

“Everything…?”

“Yes, and it really works! I was extremely ill, but after I started drinking it, I started to feel better. It’s temporary, though, so Mell has to get me some of it every once in a while. But…” Nellie bit her lip. “Well… you probably won’t believe me if I tell you…”

“Try me. You’d be surprised.”

Nellie looked at her once more, then finally made up her mind. “This medicine — it’s actually real blood from a real saint.”

“You’re drinking real blood?”

“Yeah, from the nun who lives with me. But it’s not like my blood or yours! It’s special, because she’s a saint. The real deal.”

Rena tried to register everything Nellie had told her with the little of what she knew of this country’s culture and religion. ‘Saints’ were some sort of divine figures here, weren’t they? Were they similar to the priests and shrine maiden serving the gods, like Rika? Maybe Rika would be considered a ‘saint’ here too then. So it wasn’t surprising that the blood of such a being could realize ‘miracles.’ She wondered if Nellie would believe her if she were to tell she also probably knew a ‘saint’ of her own…

“It’s good that I was able to get better… But if it comes at the cost of my brother… then it’s not worth it…”

Nellie’s small voice sounded so defeated and sorrowful. Rena looked at her with sympathy. She might not have known her for long, but seeing her like this was still painful. She wanted to try to say something to comfort her, but couldn’t find the words, and at this moment footsteps got her out of her thoughts.

“All right, I have it,” Mell declared.

Nellie’s sad expression disappeared, and a wide smile replaced it. For some reason, seeing this made Rena even sadder for her.

“Does that mean you’ll stay here then?”

“Just for half an hour,” Mell reminded her strictly. “But yes. I will.”

“Aha, yay! Thank you, dearest Mell!”

The girl jumped at her brother’s neck. Mell patted her head, then turned around towards Rena, his suspicious look back on.

“Do you… intend to sleep here?”

“Oh, no! Don’t worry, I will not bother you like that! Actually, I was just going to leave.”

“Eh? Already?” Nellie exclaimed disappointedly. “That wouldn’t have bothered me for you to stay sleep here…”

“No, it’s okay! I’ll find another place to stay the night. But thank you.”

Mell kept staring at Rena with distrust, but hearing her affirm she was leaving now seemed to put him a bit more at ease.

“Plus, I need to do my best to find my way back.”

“But…”

“Thank you for helping me, Nellie. But I can’t abuse of your kindness any longer. Oh, and of course I’ll leave you the sweets! I hope they’ll be good.”

All while talking, Rena took her satchel. She gave a tight hug to Nellie, smiled at Mell who just stayed quiet, then headed towards the door.

“Bye!”

The last thing she saw before closing the door was Nellie waving her hand sluggishly at her. Once outside, Rena sighed. The sky was orange, and it wouldn’t be long before the night fell. The smartest thing to do would be to try to find a place where she could sleep. She actually came around a small abandoned ranch earlier in the woods, so if she finds nothing else that would be her last resort, but it was a few hours away from here and far from being ideal.

But apparently today Rena didn’t feel like being smart. Instead, she thought about Nellie’s sad face, about the shady story of saints and blood she had just heard, and about the growing, insatiable curiosity that was starting to form inside her. And so, after a few moments of hesitation… she decided to hide in a bush next to the cabin, and wait here.

As Mell had said, it was about half an hour later when he finally went out. She looked at him say good bye to his sister, and when Nellie went back inside the cabin, he finally started to walk off.

Rena hesitated. She had a bad feeling. She knew she shouldn’t meddle. But her curiosity was stronger than any common sense she might have right now.

So, she tightened her grip on her satchel inside which resided her cleaver, and as discreet as a cat, she started following Mell.

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The house started to get into sight a few minutes later. It was a huge, intimidating building — and just like Nellie had told her earlier, this looked more like a mansion than a church. Mell stopped for a few seconds in front of the door, manifestly hesitating to go inside. He sighed, shook his head, then pushed the door and disappeared behind it. Rena waited a few seconds, then followed him.

The interior made her stop and gasp. She had arrived inside a giant room, with two rows of benches and a big, beautiful stained-glass at the end of it. Was that what the natives called an angel? She heard about this, too, but the one on the stained-glass looked so beautiful and dignified. The entire place seemed magical, and she couldn’t help but stop to admire it. She had already visited a ‘church’ once since she arrived in this country, but it was far from being as grand and pretty as this one. It’s only after some time gawking at the architecture that she heard the sound of a door opening, which brought her back to reality and reminded her of her original goal for coming here. Obviously, the boy hadn’t waited for her, and so she hurried to run in the direction of the noise. She arrived just in time to see Mell’s flaxen hair, then instantly hid behind the wall and froze in place when she heard a grave, severe voice roars.

“You’re late.”

“I-I’m sorry… I had to get back home because—”

“I don’t give a damn about your reason. Next time you are late, I’ll order the dog here to cut off your head.”

With all the precaution she could muster, Rena leaned very slightly from behind the wall and took a glance of what was going on. Mell was there in front of another closed door, looking like a lamb that had just been cornered by a pack of wolves, and she distinguished two adult men with him. Both of them had peculiar appearances that made them stand out from the majority of the people of this country, and Rena wondered if maybe they were foreigners — the first one because of his dark skin, and the second one because of his unusual features. She also was quick to notice the threatening long sword hanging at his belt. Was that man from the Far East like her? Maybe in other circumstances she would’ve felt a sense of kinship with him, but right now she could only feel suspicion and confusion.

“Then let’s go now, we’re not going to spend the night here,” the man with the wavy hair ordered, while the other one silently stood behind him like a shadow.

All three of them then took out a key from under their clothes and inserted it in the heavy lock that hanged in the middle of the door. After a loud click resonated, the man with the most expansive-looking outfit removed the lock, opened the door and started to climb the stairs, swiftly followed by the other two.

Rena frowned, and hesitated once again. She felt that keeping on trailing them would be making a mistake, and she still had time to go back. She could just leave the mansion right now, and forget about everything. She knew it was the most logical, safest course of actions. But for some reason, her body refused to listen. With uncertain and quiet steps, she opened the door which they thankfully had not locked behind them, and started climbing the stairs.

The circular area seemed infinite, as if this tower leaded directly to heaven. Each of her steps resounded abundantly inside the staircase, no matter how quiet she tried to be, which made her feel anxious Mell or anyone would spot her presence at any seconds. Yet, she managed to reach the top without anyone stopping her, to her surprise.

“Hurry up and go feed her,” was the first thing she heard upon arriving.

“Y-Yes,” Mell squeaked, before quickly hobbling towards the door.

His hands were shaking and he struggled a bit to open the door, which only served to aggravate the annoyance of the disgruntled wavy-haired man. When finally the door opened, Mell reached to take a tray on the ground, then penetrated inside. At this moment, Rena tried her best to get a glance of what was in there without getting noticed. At first, she couldn’t see anything — then she caught sight of a chain on the soil… and she gasped.

At the very bottom of the small room, shackled and curled up on herself, was a girl. Rena couldn’t really tell much from how far she was, but she seemed young, clothed in a dark robe and with long, braided red hair. Her head was bent and hidden in her knees, dissimulating her face. The most noticeable thing was the way her right sleeve was sloppily hanging to her side, completely empty, indicating her missing arm. Rena’s brain shut down, as she felt unable to comprehend the situation that was happening in front of her eyes.

What? What? Why is there a girl chained up at the top of this tower? Why are those three men bringing her food? What on earth is going on here?

Mell approached the girl with shaking steps, and kneeled in front of her.

“It’s… uh, it’s time to eat,” he muttered weakly.

The girl didn’t react. In fact, she didn’t even seem to calculate his presence at all. Mell sighed.

“Come on… You almost didn’t eat anything yesterday either…”

He took a piece of bread and handed it to the girl. As she seemed decided to ignore his very presence, the boy awkwardly tried to push the bread on her mouth, which finally managed to get a reaction out of her. She raised her head and turned it towards him, before glaring at him. Her eyes were so full of hatred that it made even Rena want to step back, but it wasn’t the thing that was the most surprising. The girl’s face… was covered in some weird scars. It looked as if her whole face had been burned, the only exception being her pale golden eyes. Rena felt unable to stop staring at her, as if hypnotized.

Hao… She’s… She’s so kyute! I wanna take her home!

“If she really insist for not eating, then leave her be,” the wavy-haired man said, getting Rena out of her daydream.

“B-But…”

“If she doesn’t eat, she’ll die though,” the swordsman replied, but there was no hint of sympathy in his voice.

“She’ll eat tomorrow. For now, we need to take care of the blood.”

Rena didn’t understand what he meant by that, but judging by Mell’s livid face, it wasn’t anything good.

“I… I can’t—”

“Hmph. You have a lot of demands for someone in your position. But be reassured, I had no intention of asking you to do such a task.”

Instead, he looked at the other man, and made a sharp chin movement.

“As you wish, lord.”

And with this, the swordsman entered the room, while Mell hurried to get up and go away. Just like the boy earlier, he kneeled down next to the girl — but it was not to give her food. Instead, he took out a knife in one hand, and a bowl in the other. Seeing this, the girl had this time an extremely intense reaction. She shrieked and tried to get away as much as she could from the man, almost crushing her body against the wall.

“No! No! Go away!” She screamed, almost hysterically. “S-Stay away from me!”

But the yells didn’t seem to faze the man one bit. He continued to approach her and firmly grabbed her shoulders. The girl started to struggle and scream and scratches at him like an insect caught in a spider’s web. Despite this, the swordsman had no problem immobilizing her, as if he was made of stone, and then plunged the knife in her arm. As red, shiny blood started to flow, he quickly put the bowl under her wound and simply waited. The girl kept on screaming and twitching, but no one reacted to her cries. The swordsman simply drained her blood in silence, the wavy-haired man looked at the scenery with arms crossed and a frown, and the boy seemed to want to run away from the place and forget about all of this. But none of expressed any guilt or sympathy for the girl that was being tortured under their eyes.

Rena also watched in silence, her whole body frozen by the surreal experience that was happening in front of her. Her eyes just couldn’t register what was going on. Or rather, she could understand, but her mind had way too many questions about it. Why were they doing this? Who was that girl? Who were the other men? But the questions felt minimal compared to the screams that were lacerating her ears. Her first reflex was to come in and put a stop to this, but she was well aware that it would be suicidal. Mell probably wouldn’t be too much of a trouble, but the other two were well-built adult men, one of them holding a sword at his waist. No way a lone young girl like her could just overthrow the three of them all at once… not like this, and not right now, at least.

As she was still lost in thoughts, she suddenly felt a gaze pressed on her and her blood froze in her veins. Slowly, she turned her head, and her eyes suddenly crossed the ones of the wavy-haired man. Her body reacted by reflex, and she instantly turned around and ran down the stairs as quickly as she could. Once she reached the chapel, she hurried to join a corridor and hid in the first room she saw. She stayed there in the dark a few minutes, to calm herself down. Then, she slowly opened the door, and glanced outside.

Nothing. There was nothing. No voice, no footsteps, no sounds. That was… odd. She was sure that for a brief instant, that man had seen her. That their gazes had crossed. Rena remembered how the swordsman had called him ‘lord,’ and it indeed had seemed that he was the mastermind behind this whole mess. If this man had noticed a stranger spying on them, surely he would have instantly ordered someone to go take care of her. She couldn’t believe that them draining the blood of a girl was public knowledge, so it certainly must’ve been a secret they didn’t want anyone to know. So why…? Did she just imagine him staring at her, after all?

Voices and footsteps reverberated from the chapel, and she instantly tensed up again. She tried to hear what was being said, but she was too far away to manage to grasp anything. After a while, the silence returned, so she glanced once again from behind the door. Upon looking at the end of the corridor, she noticed someone walking. The place was dark, but the fluffy blonde hair that shined in the obscurity made no doubt that it must’ve been Mell. She saw him stop in front of a door and enter a room. Rena returned inside the chamber she had taken shelter in, and collapsed on the bed.

She had two options. She could just sneak out of the mansion in silence, forget everything she had just saw, and move on with her life. Or… Or what? Infiltrating herself in the tower and save that girl she knew nothing about? That sounded like some silly fairy tale. To begin with, the door was locked. She had seen earlier the men use three keys to open the lock, which each had one. That meant she would need to steal their keys to open the door, gets the girl, and ran away with her, all of that without getting caught. That sounded… pretty much impossible.

She knew what the logical decision should be. This whole thing was none of her business. She knew nothing about this girl, about these men, about this entire affair. For all she knew, maybe they were even doing a good thing! Putting her nose into this would only mean trouble for her; and she was a lone foreigner who barely knew anything about the country. But…

But when she started to think that way, the girl’s screams resonated inside her head. The oppressive atmosphere of the room, the heavy scent of blood. Nellie’s sad face… Did Nellie even know about this? No, probably not. Rena might barely know her, but she couldn’t imagine that girl would agree to keep silent about such an inhuman thing. Once again, those scars-covered face and shining golden eyes flashed into her mind. Rena sighed, and smiled very briefly against the pillow.

“I can never abandon a kyute thing, after all.”

She stood up, grabbed her cleaver with her two hands, then got out of the room.

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With all the delicacy of a feline, Rena approached the door behind which she had seen Mell disappears. Nellie had told her that her brother didn’t sleep in the cabin with her, so she guessed it must’ve been his room in them mansion. The lights were turned off. Best case scenario, he would be asleep. Otherwise, well… She tightened her grip on her cleaver, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The room was dark, but thanks to the light from the corridor she had no troubles to distinguish the bed, nor the boy who suddenly sat up on the mattress. So, he was not asleep. Well, it wasn’t a big deal. Unlike the other two, the boy looked quite spineless, so she shouldn’t struggle too much with him.

“Y-You…!” He exclaimed, recognizing the strange orange-haired foreigner. “Wh-What are you—”

But Rena didn’t let him the time to make any more noise. She didn’t want him to alert the other two right now, if they were still around. So she instantly brandished her cleaver and put it just under Mell’s neck. As soon as he saw the blade, the boy paled and stared at it with wide eyes.

“Keep quiet, and you’ll keep your head,” Rena ordered in a firm voice.

It took a few seconds for Mell to regain his spirits, and when he did, he raised his eyes towards Rena and glared at her.

Oh? Then maybe he’s not as spineless as I thought… Unless he underestimates me?

Well, it didn’t matter what he thought of her. She still objectively had the upper hand here.

“I knew it, you’re trouble after all,” he said, but he was pretty bad at hiding the tremor in his voice. “What did you do to Nellie?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t play innocent! You couldn’t have gotten close to her by coincidence!”

“It was absolutely by coincidence,” she replied genuinely. “And it’s also completely by coincidence I found you three draining this girl’s blood at the top of the tower. What would you little sister thinks of that, I wonder…?”

“You… You don’t intend to tell Nellie—”

“I saw you enter the tower by using three keys. I want the one you have.”

Rena’s tone didn’t vacillate in the slightest and her voice was as threatening as she could, but Mell was completely bewildered. He looked at her as if she had just told him she was a ghost or something.

“You… want to go save her…? Th-That’s impossible!”

“I don’t care what you think. Give me the key.”

“You don’t understand! You can’t open the door without the two other keys that the lord and the swordsman have! M-Maybe you can get the key from me, but those other two, they definitely won’t let you do! They’ll kill you without hesitation, and me too—”

“The. Key.”

She took a step further, putting more pressure on the cleaver’s blade. Mell gasped.

“You… You wouldn’t do that… I did nothing wrong, I’m innocent…”

Rena snorted. “I don’t care. I’m not afraid of killing.”

All while speaking, she gently slashed the blade against the white neck of the boy, and a thin trail of blood trickled on his skin. He shrieked, then instantly reached in one of his cloth’s pocket, before taking out a pretty, golden key.

“I-It’s there! It’s there…”

“Thanks!”

Rena smiled at Mell, her threatening aura instantly vanishing while the boy still stared at her with an astonished face.

“Y-You’re still making a mistake,” he added shakily. “You don’t stand a chance against—”

But he didn’t had the time to finish his sentence that Rena swinged her cleaver and hit him on the head. It was only with the back of the blade, so there was no way it was a fatal hit, just hard enough to knock him out. She still checked just to be sure, and while his forehead was bleeding a bit, he would survive.

“Sorry, I just don’t want to take the risk of you getting in my way…”

All while talking she took the key and put it in her satchel. She’d probably usually think it is a kyute thing she could bring back home, but she wasn’t in the mood for that. After she saves the girl, maybe.

Before stepping out of the room, she glanced one last time at the boy. She didn’t have strong feelings towards him, but she still hoped he’d be able to get out of here alive, if just for Nellie’s sake.

“‘I’m innocent,’ huh…”

She chuckled, then got out and closed the door behind her.

No matter how pitiful Mell’s claims had been, he had actually been right about one thing: it would be a lot harder to obtain the keys from the two other men than from the boy. She had guessed just upon seeing them that threatening their lives wouldn’t be enough — and her instinct was telling her that the swordsman was a lot more skilled as a fighter than she was. She would need to think about a plan to get them, then. The question was what plan. Hopefully they still mustn’t be very far from the house yet, maybe were they even still inside, so she shouldn’t have troubles finding them. She tried to think about the possibility of other people being here too — the ‘Saintess’ came to her mind, but from what she had understood she lived with Nellie so she probably wouldn’t be here this late at night. Unless she was also involved, which made things more complicated. She also remembered the third man was supposedly a ‘lord,’ so shouldn’t he have some guards posted around? But she couldn’t recall seeing any on her way here…

Once again, she really wished her friends were with her right now. Together, they would certainly have come up with a good plan in just a few minutes… But, no, maybe that was too naïve of her. She shouldn’t rely like that on people. She was all alone now, and even if she wasn’t, it was more certain to take of serious matter by yourself. Not even ‘friends’ were always reliable and trustworthy allies, and they could just as much become betrayers who stab you in the back, after all.

“Hey, you there!”

Rena froze. When she turned around, she found herself face to face with the swordsman. Apparently, fate refused to give her a chance to elaborate a plan before having a confrontation. She thought about acting innocent for a moment, but with her cleaver in her right hand, it would be difficult to swallow.

The man narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re… a foreigner, aren’t you?”

His expression told her he mustn’t have seen someone akin to him since a long time. Which wasn’t surprising; in the ten months or so since she’d arrived in this country, she didn’t think she had come cross anyone from the Far East like her.

“I am,” Rena simply answer, seeing no reason to lie here.

The swordsman contemplated her for a moment, then his gaze slid towards the cleaver in her hand.

“What were you doing here?”

Rena tried to think up something to get her out of this situation. But no matter how much she ransacked her brain, nothing came to her. So in the end, she just sighed, and smiled at the man.

“I’m here to save the kyute girl in the tower.”

The swordsman had no reaction at all to her arrogant nonchalance. He just stared at her coldly, before an odd, distorted smirk slowly stretched his lips.

“I see. Then I’m sure the lord won’t mind if I kill you in that case.”

And then, before Rena could retort anything, he drew his sword and ran up towards her. Rena’s body reacted instinctively, and when he raised his weapon to cut her she instantly managed to parry it with her cleaver. The two blades clashed in a metallic ringing, but she didn’t have the time to catch her breath that the man went on with his next attack. He assaulted her with a strong rain of hits, one after another, so swift and sharp that the girl could barely see them at all. She greeted her teeth and glared at him, but the man didn’t seem unsettled in the least.

Rena gave the sword a hit more forceful than previously, and managed to get away momentarily before starting running in the mansion’s corridors. The man instantly chased her down, of course.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He shouted at her from behind. “Are you really running away after talking so big? Let me hear you beg for your life and maybe I’ll consider letting you live!”

Rena stayed quiet, not falling for the preposterous provocations. She wasn’t trying to escape, just to buy some time. She knew that man was stronger physically and more skilled than her, by a large margin. There was no way she could beat him in a face-to-face fight. So she had to find another solution, somehow.

In her dash, she inadvertently ended up finding herself in the chapel again. The stained-glass angel was shining of an ominous light thanks to the moon behind it. However, Rena didn’t have the time to admire it this time, as the swordsman quickly caught up to her, chasing her down like a beast towards his prey. Finding herself cornered, she had no other choice but to yet again fend off his sword in the middle of the bench rows. Right under the angel’s impassive gaze, they kept on exchanging hits after hits.

The girl was defending herself quite well, but there was no doubt as to who had the advantage in this fight. In fact, Rena was pretty sure the man was holding himself back against her, maybe just for his own amusement. She groaned, trying to find the slightest opening she could use… but in her impatience, she let her guard down, which the swordsman didn’t hesitate to profit off. He swung down his sword, and the blade mercilessly cut through the girl’s shoulder. She screamed in pain, then lost her balance and fell down on the ground, letting go of her cleaver at the same time.

Despite the vivid pain and the blood already soaking her clothes, she still had the reflex to rush towards her weapon, but at the last moment the man crushed her hand with his heel. She moaned then threw a glare at him. The only change in his expression was now the clear sick pleasure he had to have the girl at his mercy.

“You run quickly and you do know how to use that weapon, I will give you that,” he said, his voice vibrating with sadism, and Rena was pretty sure it was the first emotion she had felt coming from him since earlier. “But it stops here now.”

She said nothing; not letting an ounce of fear transpiring through her blue eyes, not a single hesitation shaking her body. Just anger. The man narrowed his eyes at her curiously; maybe was it because he had expected her to beg and cry for her life. But Rena would never give him the satisfaction.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t play much more with you sadly, otherwise I could in troubles. Well then—”

He raised his sword, his eyes shining like a predator’s, while the girl was still lying on the ground, bleeding and gasping painfully. And then he struck it down—

“Wait.”

—but stopped at the last moment. Both he and Rena turned around in surprise, to see the shadow of a man drawing near them — the last one of the three, of course.

“Lord…”

The swordsman seemed almost irritated to have the other man barge in, but he still managed to stay courteous enough. The ‘lord’ didn’t seem to notice or maybe care about it though, he just stared down at the teenage girl on the floor.

“Who is she?” He finally asked. “What is going on here?”

“She is an intruder who knows about the witch,” the swordsman replied, his monotonous, indifferent face back in place.

The witch…? Rena repeated in her head, but didn’t have time to ponder much more about it.

“She knows?”

“She told me she was here to save her. This is why I decided to take care of the problem before it could reach you.”

“And since when a dog acts without his master’s orders? The least you could have done is consulting me about it before making that decision.”

“You’re right… I apologize, lord.”

The swordsman politely inclined himself in front of the lord as a sign of excuse, as Rena watched the scene in silence. The wavy-haired man then eyed her with disdain, and crossed his arms.

“Well, it doesn’t matter much either way. We can’t keep her alive if she knows. So just get rid of her.”

Right at the moment he finished his sentence, Rena seized her chance. With the arrival of the lord, the swordsman had stopped paying so much attention to her, which meant it was the only opening she could have. As quickly as she could, she grabbed her cleaver, got back on her feet and almost jumped on the lord. Before the two men even had the time to react, she was already tightly holding the lord’s arms and had her cleaver’s blade under his neck.

“Don’t move!” She yelled, as the swordsman was reaching for his own weapon. “Don’t move or I cut off his head!”

As if to show she was not kidding, she pressed the blade against the skin of the lord even more. The swordsman frowned. He didn’t try to reach for his sword anymore, but he didn’t seem particularly distraught either.

“Do you think I care even slightly about what might happen to this man?” He asked.

Rena smiled. “Probably not,” she admitted. “But he is your boss, isn’t he? You must be working under him because only he can offer you something. So his death would be pretty inconvenient to you. Am I wrong?”

She certainly wasn’t, because a slight annoyed scowl formed on the swordsman’s face.

“I want you to put your sword on the ground, and make it slide towards me,” Rena ordered. “Or else…”

“Don’t listen to her,” the lord finally spoke. “I doubt a girl like her actually could kill anyone. She’s just playing tough.”

However, the swordsman seemed less certain than his employer. He eyed the girl suspiciously, deliberating her order while staring at her in the eyes. Rena sustained it with determination.

“I don’t want to offend you, lord,” he finally said. “But I think I disagree on that one.”

And then, just as he had been told, he put the weapon on the ground and slides it towards Rena, while the lord sighed heavily. She quickly retrieved it, then threw it as far away as she could without letting go of her hostage.

“Now I want you to come towards us.”

They were about three meters away from each others. The swordsman looked at her once again, then stepped forward. Two meters. One meter. And before he could get even closer, Rena suddenly slashed the lord at the waist, and then with a slick movement of the wrist, she cut the swordsman’s throat with great precision.

Blood splattered. She heard the lord groan in pain and fell on his knees, while the swordsman put both of his hands on his neck in an instinctive attempt to block out the blood. But it was fairly vain, as only a few seconds after he collapsed on the ground. Before it, he glared at the girl, an inhuman shine lurking in his eyes, and she thought his lips parted to say something, but she couldn’t tell what.

She looked at his agonizing body drenched in blood on the floor with an emotionless gaze, then she turned around towards the last man, her cleaver still in hand. He was still on his knees, breathing heavily and holding his wound. Rena stared at him in silence for a long time, before finally speaking out.

“You saw me earlier, didn’t you?”

The man only lifted his head towards her.

“When I was in the tower. You clearly looked at me in the eyes.”

“That… must’ve been your imagination…”

“No, I know you did. You saw me. And yet, you said nothing. It would’ve been easy to chase me down and kill me at that moment. In fact…”

She took a step forward, her gaze not letting go of his.

“It would’ve been easier to just let him kill me earlier too, instead of stopping him. Or to try to disarm me when I was holding you. Even with my cleaver at your neck, you’re still stronger than me physically.”

The man sustained her stare, but he said nothing back.

“Could it be… that you did that on purpose?”

His expression didn’t change at her accusation, as if his face had reverted to a mask of stone. But no matter behind which kind of layers and facets he would hide, Rena was still exceptionally good at reading other people.

“Did you want me to do this? To get the keys and free that girl?”

Finally, a haughty grin formed on the man’s lips.

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous. I am the lord. There’s no way on earth I’d ever want to do something as ludicrous as this.”

Rena kept on staring at the lord in silence, her eyes as cold as ice. She knew he was lying. But she also wasn’t exactly interested in getting him to say the truth. Her only goal was to free that girl. The rest didn’t matter.

“Well, I suppose so. Either way, it is none of my business.”

And so, she raised her cleaver once again, and gave the man one final blow. He didn’t try to protest or resist, and just collapsed on the ground like his subordinate. Rena then quickly kneeled besides the two bodies, searching them, and finally retrieved the two last keys, as well as another one which she guessed was for the chains.

The young girl was standing here in the chapel in front of the angel, her white dress all drenched in red, with two barely-alive bodies at her feet.

If she were from this country, she would probably find this to be quite the profane picture.

But she wasn’t, and there was only one thing she was interested in.

________________________________________________________________

She took out the three keys one by one, and slowly inserted them. Her hands were greasy because of the blood — both her own and others’ — but she still delicately handled them. The lock opened right away, she barely had to force at all, and then she pushed the door.

Climbing the circular stairs almost felt ceremonious, and the steps seemed a lot longer than the first time she had came here, as if they had suddenly grown infinite during the instant she was dealing with the three men. It took a few minutes for her to reach the top, and when she did she stopped in front of the closed door. As if nervous, she grabbed her satchel in which she had put away her bloody weapon. Her cleaver wasn’t the only thing covered in blood — her dress, her hair, her entire body were completely dark scarlet, and even if she had managed to stop the bleeding, her wound was still hurting quite a bit. She looked as if she had just been out of a war battlefield. She definitely was far from looking like a brave knight rescuing the princess.

But well, she wasn’t a knight, and that girl wasn’t a princess.

With hesitation, she grabbed the handle and stopped. For some reason, she felt… anxious. Why, she had no idea. She had done all of this just to save this stranger, and now that she was so close to her goal, it felt wrong, somehow. She knew she had to hurry before anyone notice something was off inside that mansion, but her feet refused to move. She didn’t even know how she should greet that girl or what to tell her. What if freeing her was a mistake, after all? What if the best choice was to just run away right now?

Rena shook her head, then breathed in forcefully. That wasn’t the time to hesitate. She couldn’t go back now. So she opened the door.

The dim luminosity hurt her eyes, and it took a few seconds for her to adapt to it. Once she did, the familiar, pitiful scenery she had seen earlier appeared yet again before her, in the exact same state, as if nothing that had just happened had been real. The girl was still there, chained, slumped against the wall. Her eyes were closed. Was she asleep? She seemed to be barely alive, to be honest. She looked more… like a corpse.

Wouldn’t that be funny if Rena had done all of that just for the girl to die at the least moment? But she pushed that thought away and took a step further. At this moment, and to her relief, the girl twitched. She suddenly opened her golden eyes and stared straight through her, making Rena almost jump out of surprise. But with the shook cooling off, she was just glad the girl was definitely still alive.

“Hi,” she said in a friendly tone, smiling gently. “I’m Rena.”

The girl replied nothing. She just kept staring at her vacantly, as if she wasn’t really seeing her.

“Ah, d-don’t worry! I’m not here to hurt you, or— or anything like that,” Rena added hurriedly, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m here to save you!”

But her reassuring words seemed to do nothing for the captive. Rena quickly started to grow uncomfortable, and she tilted her head.

“Can you… hear me? Can you?”

No answer. Rena sighed. Well, she seemed to be really out of it. It probably shouldn’t be surprising given what she’s been through until now. Rena didn’t know since when she had been detained here, but she guessed it must’ve been quite some time. Well, it didn’t matter much if she could speak or understand her or not. She just needed to get her out of here as soon as possible. First, she needed to—

“—el…”

Rena suddenly stopped when a hoarse, barely audible voice resounded inside the dark tower. It took some time for her brain to understand that it was coming from the girl.

“—gel…”

“Huh?”

Her murmurs didn’t even sounds like words, more like some background noises that struggled to get out of her mouth. Rena slowly approached the girl, and kneeled in front of her, putting herself down to her height and staring at her in the eyes. But the girl acted as if she didn’t even see her.

“—angel…”

“Angel…?”

“Are you… angel…?”

Rena blinked with surprise when she realized the question. She wasn’t sure if this was addressed to her exactly. Maybe it was addressed to no one. Even so, she slowly took her hand in hers — a tattered, dirty, covered in scratches small hand.

“I’m sorry… I’m not an angel. I’m just some foreign girl who got lost and wandered around here by mistake.”

The girl became silent again, her golden eyes empty.

“But I’m still going to save you.”

And with that, she searched for the keys she had retrieved on the lord’s body, and freed the girl from the chains. As she expected, this got no reaction out of her, so she then grabbed the only remaining arm, and then, after struggling for a bit, she managed to hoist her on her back. It wasn’t easy to carry another girl of the same age while wounded, even if she was extremely light, but Rena could handle it. She had no other choice.

With fumbling steps, she hurriedly get down the steps, walked through the chapel without doing so much as glancing at the men’s bodies spread there, and finally got out of the mansion, not even the stained-glass angel daring to stop her.

________________________________________________________________

She was bleeding.

Red liquid poured out from her wounds, trickling on her bare skin, sullying her body and the ground. It seemed as if the flow was endless. She felt no pain, though — the throbbing and aching had left her a long time ago, and in its stead there was only numbness and emptiness. Her vision was a blur, her mind a haze. She could only perceive shadows moving in front of her, vague laughing and chuckles, joyful voices rejoicing in her torment, like demons dancing in front of her. If someone had told her she was in Hell, she would have believed them.

But she wasn’t in Hell — this was earth, and those were humans, and maybe this was the most disgusting of truth to face for her. The chains around her wrists bounded her to the altar, preventing any escapes she could have.

Suddenly, the shadows stopped moving, and her surrounding began to scramble. Before her mind could understand what was going on, vivid pain reached her arm, lacerating and pitiless. All sorts of landscapes scrolled in front of her eyes — a carriage full of bloody corpses, a cottage in front of a lake, a mansion, a tower.

And finally, the figure of the lord, always standing in her way.

Despair, agony, betrayal, anguish all agglutinated inside her heart at the same time — but the most powerful of all, the one that overwhelmed everything else—

—was hatred.

She rose up, clutching sorely at the sheets as her eyes darted right and left around her. She felt like she was lost inside a fog, the walls around her waltzing and shrieking as if they had a will of their own. As she painfully tried to regain possession of her broken five senses, yet another shadow took shape to her side, producing sounds.

“—ke… —p…”

But she didn’t even try to decipher what it was saying. There was only one and unique shadow that appeared both in her dreams and reality, after all. The lord.

So she pushed him with all of her forces, making him fall on the ground, and then, desperately groping blindly around her, she was able to feel the cold touch of a blade brush her fingers. Without waiting, she grabbed the handle of what looked like a cleaver and jumped on the silhouette before it could move again. She wasn’t strong enough to actually stand up, but she could still hold a weapon. Or stab someone with it.

“Die!”

That was the first word that escaped her mouth. The most precious wish she had cherished during all these months, the only thing that had kept her alive all this time — her voracious hatred.

“Die! Die…! I’ll— make you pay…! You… You—!”

The lord she was straddling caught the blade with his bare hand, unbothered by the blood that soon trickled down his hand. She tried to get back the cleaver, but his grip was too strong.

“Let… go! I will— I’ll kill you!”

“Given how weak you are, I doubt you’ll be able to even kill a fly like this.”

The voice made her stop instantly. Because this… this wasn’t the lord’s voice.

That person didn’t sound like the cruel man who had haunted her nightmares since she was a child… but like a young girl she didn’t know. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that voice before—  

“—I’m still going to save you.”

She felt completely lost, and the shadow took the occasion to push her away and get back the cleaver. She collapsed on the ground, and all of a sudden it was as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut off. She had no strength anymore, and just lay there on the floor, her whole body hot and aching. She heard a few slow steps coming towards her, and soon a face came into her view.

Blue eyes like the sky, and orange hair like the sunset. A sweet smile.

“I’m glad you’re awake! Please wait here, I’ll bring you back something to drink.”

________________________________________________________________

The girl came back in the room a few minutes afterwards with water and bread, and helped Morgana get back into the bed. Well, it wasn’t actually a bed, more like something that looked like an old mattress with some blankets thrown on it. As the other sat next to her, she took the glass of water and stared at it absentmindedly.

“I promise it’s not poisoned,” the girl said in a joyful voice. “It’s just water.”

There was a part of Morgana that felt silly of being suspicious of a simple glass of water… but then she remembered that given she had no idea where she even was, it was only natural. So she still didn’t try to drink it.

“I’m really relieved you woke up and seem well! You slept for almost two days, you know? So I was worried. So, um, well, anyway, I already introduced myself before but you probably don’t remember so… I’m Rena! Hey, what is your na—”

“What happened?”

“Wh-What? What? About what…?”

Morgana let out a big sigh and looked away. She could already tell that girl was going to be hard to deal with.

“About everything.”

“Oh… um, um…”

The girl, Rena, fidgeted with a flustered face, as if she was about to tell a very embarrassing story. After a while, she finally managed a small friendly smile.

“Well, it’s a bit, uh, messy, but I’m a foreigner who got lost, and I found out this church by coincidence. I saw you and those… men in the tower, and so… so… I thought I should do something, you know? You know?”

Morgana stared blankly at her, somehow expecting more. But there was nothing else.

“You make absolutely no sense,” she finally declared. “Why would you randomly decide to help out a complete stranger at the risk of your own life?”

“I-I know it’s not very logical! But, well, I just…” Rena closed her mouth. Looked down. “I just couldn’t do nothing.”

“Yes, you could have. That wouldn’t have been very difficult.”

“Are… Are you actually angry at me for saving you…? Are you?”

“So how did you do it? How did you manage to get past the lock and get me out of the tower? I can’t believe these men cooperated willingly.”

“Oh, that. Well, I just cut them with my cleaver, retrieved the keys and got out of here with you as soon as I could.”

She said all of this with a wide smile, as if it was no big deal at all. Morgana stared at her, expecting her to tell her she was kidding, but nothing came afterwards.

“And?”

“Th-That’s all…?”

“That can’t be all. There’s no way a single girl could overpower three men with just a cleaver.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy, it’s true, but it’s possible. As proof, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Morgana felt the urges to yell at her, but managed to stay calm. She didn’t believe her, but she had the sensation that even if she kept asking questions she wouldn’t get another answer. So she breathed in deeply, and tried to gain the most knowledge possible.

“Where are we?”

“Oh… um, I’m not really sure to be honest. I think it must’ve been an old ranch to keep cattle or something, but it seems to have been abandoned for a while. It’s in the middle of the forest, about an hour away from the city. It’s not ideal to hide in, but for now we’ll have to content ourselves with that.”

“What happened to them?”

“The men? Oh… I just knocked out the flaxen-haired boy, so he should be fine, but I dunno what must’ve happened to him afterwards. As for the other two…”

Rena grimaced and looked away. She seemed hesitant to continue speaking, so Morgana had to push her.

“Are they dead?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure? I cut them pretty badly and they were bleeding a lot when I left, but I didn’t actually, um, checked if they were still alive or not…”

“So there’s a chance they’re still alive?”

“Yes… I think.”

“I see… Good.”

“Are you… relieved they’re possibly still alive?”

Morgana snorted at this, which quickly morphed into full on chuckles.

“I suppose you could say that,” she finally blurted out. “Yes… these men, they can’t just die like that… Not after what they did to me…”

She clutched the blanket and her long hair fell in front of her face, darkening her usually pales eyes.

“Dying would be a way too easy fate for them… They need to suffer… Suffer just as much— no, even more than me…”

A fate worse than death. A fate worse than being locked up in a tower and having their blood drained.

A curse — she wanted— needed to inflict a curse upon them, watch their lives slowly get torn apart, one by one—

“Do you intend to take revenge on them?”

Morgana turned her head towards Rena at the sound of her question, and their eyes met. The orange-haired girl was staring at her without saying anything, her face unreadable. She didn’t appear disturbed by Morgana’s grudgeful words in the least, and her question had a surprising innocuous tone to it, as if she had just asked her what was her favorite food.

“Aren’t you… scared of me?”

“Huh? Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Because of… my scars.”

“Oh, those!” Rena chuckled. “Not at all! In fact, I think they are really kyute! That was why I wanted to take you home, you know?”

Morgana felt as if she had just been hit with a rock. ‘Cute’…? Did she just call her scars ‘cute’? Was that girl completely insane? Maybe it should’ve made her feel happy, to hear someone call her hideous face ‘cute’ for the first time, but it actually ended up have the opposite effect.

Instead, she felt angry. Like that girl was mocking her. Mocking her suffering, her struggles, and entire life.

She tensed up and grinded her teeth.

“What are you going to do with me now?”

Rena blinked ingenuously and tilted her head. “What?”

“I’m not an idiot. If you saved me, it must’ve been because of personal interest. So what do you want of me?”

“Wh-What? No! Did you think I was lying earlier?”

“Of course. Who would believe such an inane story? I’m betting you must’ve heard about my blood and came here to profit off it.”

Rena frowned, and she seemed to think for a while before replying:

“Your blood… I saw the men drain it from you in the tower. It’s what the church is giving out as medicine, isn’t it? I heard it was called ‘Saint’s Blood,’ but… it’s actual, real blood. Yours.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but stayed quiet.

“Did these men kidnap you? I mean, I can’t believe you would’ve ended up in this tower willingly…”

“This is none of your business.”

“I wasn’t lying earlier. I told you the truth, I promise. So the least you could do is told me your story as well, right?”

“Please. Do you honestly want me to believe you just randomly decided to save me, out of the kindness of your heart? What a generous person you are.”

“Is that something that sounds really so impossible to you? That people just do kind things sometimes?”

Of course that was impossible to her. Everyone in her life had only thought of her as a tool and acted kind as a way to profit off her, even her own mother.

And the only people who hadn’t… well, they were dead now. She had absolutely zero reasons to trust this suspicious foreign girl. For all she knew, she wasn’t even the one who had saved her.

And then, suddenly, Rena started to giggle, which made Morgana even tenser.

“You know what? You’re not wrong, actually. I didn’t save you just out of kindness. I’m not a kind person at all, really.”

Her voice sounded a little off, and Morgana felt a chill goes up her chine. Rena stared at her, but there was an odd shine in her blue eyes, something unwell.

“I just thought you looked kyute and wanted to take you home. So I did. That’s all.”

“What… What are you…?”

“But for now, I don’t intend to do anything with you.”

She suddenly stood up, her smile not leaving her face. “After all, you can barely get out of the bed yet, right? I am also wounded, to tell you the truth, so for now we’ll have to stay here for at least a few days. We won’t be able to stay too long, though, because I can’t believe people won’t do anything after what happened to their lord, so afterwards it’d be safer to just leave the region…”

Morgana couldn’t bring herself to say anything as that girl seemed to plan her next few weeks all by herself. She definitely felt irritated and wanted to shut her up and tell to stop taking all these decisions by herself… but the fact was that, she wasn’t wrong.

Morgana could barely walk, she had one arm missing and had lost a huge quantity of blood during the past few months. There was no way she could just go off on her own.

As if she was reading her thoughts, the girl smiled again and told her in a light voice:

“So in any case, it seems we’re stuck together for now, that you like it or not.”

And then she left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Morgana all alone in the dim room.

________________________________________________________________

It took Morgana at least three days before starting to feel like she was regaining some strength. She still almost couldn’t get out of bed though, so she was spending most of her time in the arranged room, in that bed that wasn’t one, staring at the ceiling and counting the spider webs while she was lost in thought.

Her thoughts, of course, usually came back to what had happened to her. A lot of her memories felt fuzzy, and trying to think too much about it would give her a headache, but she still had managed to retrace the events she had been through in the last few months. Her encounter with the flaxen-haired boy. His betrayal. The beast cutting off her arm and kidnapping her. And finally, discovering it was the lord, out of everyone, that had been behind all of this, for some disgusting greedy plan of using her blood yet again.

Just recounting all of this made her hatred feel stronger than ever, but at the same time, it all felt surreal, as if she had dreamed everything up. As if it was a story she had read somewhere and not something that had actually happened to her. But her missing arm was a sore reminder that all of this was true.

She wanted revenge. That was the thing that had been on her mind all these long, insufferable days inside that tower. She wanted to kill them. Tear out their eyes. Stab their stomachs and watch them bleed to death. Just made them suffer, as much as possible, and by her own hands.

But despite how overwhelming her anger and hatred was… she still felt that slight pang of guilt at this. Not because she pitied the men, but because wishing harm upon others would just go against her very identity as a saint. Saints were martyrs. It didn’t matter how much humans could hurt them, they had no right to retaliate in any way, because they were pure and selfless.

But could she really call herself a saint, after how much she had been mutilated and tainted and mangled?

(Had she ever been a saint to begin with, though?)

“Hey! Lunch’s ready!”

Her door brusquely opened, and a smiling young girl burst into the room with a tray full of food.

“I tried to make something new today, I hope you like it! Sorry, I’m not too used to the food of this country yet, so hopefully it’s not so bad…”

The girl kept babbling happily while sitting next to Morgana, not seeming bothered in the least by her glare. She had acted like that for the past few days, as if the two of them were friends and not strangers clearly suspicious of each others.

Rena was a weird girl. She was a cheerful, friendly person, and despite how coldly Morgana treated her or how much she tried to ignore her she kept talking and taking care of her with a sweet smile on her face. From time to time, she’d have odd reactions like getting flustered about the most ridiculous of things or getting lost in thought and fawning about things that escaped common sense. She wasn’t afraid or disgusted by her scars, either. She loved cooking and pampering her and ran around the abandoned ranch energetically despite her own wound.

She had told her some vague information about her, how she came from a country in the Far East and had been here for business with her father and how they got separated, but she never gave any details about it.

In a way, Rena reminded Morgana a little of her time at the brothel, as a weird mix of the blonde woman who acted as a big sister to everyone and the exhaustingly cheerful dark-skinned girl. (But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t remember their names, or even their faces.)

And all of this, actually, made Morgana more uncomfortable than anything. She actually would’ve preferred that Rena treat her coldly rather than that, it would’ve been less tiring and unpredictable. Because she was sure these acts of kindness and friendliness would end soon enough, at any moments.

There was something… dark lurking in Rena’s shadows, in the deepness of her blue eyes, and that darkness couldn’t help but make Morgana suspicious of her whenever she’d smiles at her.

“You don’t eat?”

Rena asked her with a worried look, as she was biting into her own piece of bread.

“I’m not hungry.”

“No, that’s not good! You have to eat, otherwise you won’t get better.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get better. Maybe I just want to stay here and wither away all alone.”

Rena’s happy smile fell from her lips, and instead a frown darkened her face. This was a serious expression she would take sometimes, when Morgana acted a bit too cold towards her.

“No, you won’t,” she said, and it almost sounded like an order. “You will eat now. I didn’t prepare all of that for you to waste it, and I didn’t save your life for you die now.”

“I never asked you to prepare this, or to save my life, for that matter.”

“So you would’ve preferred to stay in that tower and die all alone there?”

Of course not, who would want that? Morgana almost spat out, but she restrained her tongue.

Certainly, she wasn’t content with her situation right now and it was more than frustrating to be at the mercy of this weird, suspicious stranger… but she knew there were still worse fates. Like being chained up on that altar under the cruel mad eyes of a lord. Or dying little by little in a tower without anyone even knowing about it.

She sighed, then after a few moments, finally grasped the fork Rena was holding out to her and piqued inside her plate. She made a point to not look at the other girl, but she could still guess her satisfied smile on her face, which pissed her off. She had the reflex to want to use her second arm, before having the painful realization she could never do so ever again. She still wasn’t used to this, and with the pain having fading away, she sometimes had the sensation to still have it.

Her life would never be like before ever again. She already knew that of course, and it wasn’t the first time she had experienced that feeling, but right now she felt even more lost and disoriented.

She had her hypothetic revenge to keep her alive, sure. But then what? What was she supposed to do after that? She couldn’t go back to being the witch of the lake selling herbs to whoever would dare to come. She just…

“Do you want me to help you eat?”

Morgana glared at Rena. “I am not a child,” she dryly replied. “Don’t treat me like one.”

“A-Ah, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, uh…”

Morgana angrily started eating her food while Rena fell quiet, her cheeks as red as a tomato. Their meals were generally just a handful of vegetables and bread, or sometimes potages. Which was comprehensible given they were technically in hiding, so Rena couldn’t go in town often to buy supplies. Furthermore, they had no money.

Well… I don’t have money. I actually don’t know about her… That’s right, how did she even get the flour for the bread? And the dishes?

“So, um, don’t you think it’s time for you to tell me now?”

Morgana stopped eating, and looked up at Rena strangely.

“What?”

“I want to know your name,” Rena specified gently. “And, well… I’d like you to tell me a bit more about you, too. Like, what were you doing before getting… in that tower? Don’t you have any family?”

“You don’t need to know my name.”

“But I told you mine. You can’t risk much by telling me your name, right?”

Well, she had a point. But the last person she had trust with her name had betrayed her and she found herself with one arm missing locked up in a mansion.

“I… don’t have any family,” she finally decided to say. “Before that, I lived by myself in a small cottage near a lake.”

“Oh. That sounds… lonely.”

Rena grimaced while saying this, and the idea of being pitied by that girl felt incredibly insulting for some reason.

“And then those men kidnapped you?”

“Yes… Well the beas— the swordsman did. The flaxen-haired boy lured me in so he could have my arm. It was all under the lord’s orders.”

“Hmm…”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell her all of that, but those were all things she could’ve guessed by herself anyway. More than anything, Morgana still expected her to ask her information about her blood, and then to give some to her… But apparently that wasn’t even something that crossed Rena’s mind.

“Don’t you have any friends either?”

“What? No… Why would you demand that?”

“Well, for nothing? I did have a nice group of friends back in my village, you know. We were pretty close, I think… I think.”

For some reason, her gaze became a bit vacant, as if she was doubting her own words.

“Then what happened to them?”

“Nothing… They’re still back in my village.”

And then she stayed unusually quiet. Not like Morgana was all that interested in knowing more about this girl or her so-called friends, anyway.

“So, so! You finished eating, right? Let me bring all that back, then!”

“Ah— Wait—”

Morgana tried to grab Rena to stop her, but she missed her and instead fell on the ground. She heard Rena gasp loudly and run towards her instantly.

“A-Are you okay? Are you? O-Oh, wait, I’ll help you get up, I’ll—”

“I’m okay! I’m okay…”

Morgana raised herself up with her only elbow, and grinded her teeth at how difficult it was without her other one. Rena stared at her worryingly.

“How did you fall so bad…?”

“It’s… my arm, I think…”

“Huh?”

“I’m… still not used to it, so I lost balance… It’s nothing.”

“Oh…”

Morgana instinctively brought a hand to her shoulder, where the rest of the arm should have been. It felt so off. So wrong, to have just an empty space here, and it made her stomach turn. They both sat on the ground face to face, without saying anything for a moment. It felt too awkward, for some reason. Then, suddenly, Rena broke the silence:

“You want me to bring it back to you?”

Morgana almost strangled herself.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You said the one who took it was that boy Mell, right? Then I could go ask him to give it back.”

“Y-You want to bring me back my arm?”

“Yes? That’s a bad idea?”

“D-Do you even hear yourself? That’s insane. Even if you were to get it back somehow, what would I do with it now?”

Rena put a finger on her lip, and tilted her head innocently. “Sew it back?”

“You’re completely crazy!”

Morgana shouted at her, and the process made her whole body hurts. She coughed a little, and then heard a giggle. When she raised her head, the other girl was laughing softly.

“It’s the first time I see you getting angry like that,” she simply said, smiling. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I see you having any kind of emotion at all… Well, except for glaring at me. Does that count as an ‘emotion’? Does it…?”

Wait. Could it be… that she said all those inane things on purpose? To makes me react?

Morgana stared at Rena blankly for a moment… then she snorted.

“You are really weird,” she mumbled.

“Hmhmm, I know.”

Maybe… being at the mercy of this strange girl wasn’t the worst of fate. Maybe it was something she could actually survive, this time. She sighed, then looked up at Rena.

“I… am Morgana,” she said softly.

Rena blinked at her in astonishment, her mouth opening so wide an entire apple could fit in it.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t trust you in the slightest. But like you said, it would be pretty awkward if I was the only one knowing your name…”

A big, silly smile brightened Rena’s face. She giggled yet again and nodded happily.

“Your name ends just like mine,” was the only comment she made.

________________________________________________________________

“—ou think?”

“Huh…?”

Morgana gasped, and looked around her with agitation. Rena was in front of her, looking strangely at her.

“Morgana? A-Are you okay…?” She asked warily.

“I-I… ah…”

The first thing she saw was a blinding light. There was a soft wind brushing her skin. Her eyes stung and it took her a few long seconds to make sense of her surroundings. She was outside, in front of the ranch. The entire area was covered by enormous trees, so the place felt fairly dark, but some sunlight still managed to pierce the foliage. In a way, it gave her a sense of security, as if no one would ever be able to find them here.

Morgana was drowsy and numb, her mind a mess, as if she had just wake up from a particularly deep slumber. The sudden light made her feel a bit dizzy and she quickly sat on a rock nearby to not stumble, under Rena’s worried gaze. What was she doing here…? She remembered waking up this morning, eating lunch, and then… then nothing came to her mind, like she had just blanked out.

“Hey, what’s going on…?” Rena asked again.

“I’m… fine,” Morgana blurted out, massaging her temples. “What… uh, what are we doing here?”

Rena blinked, a clear confusing sprouting on her face. “What? What do you mean?”

“I… mean what I mean. Why are we outside?”

But her precision only seemed to worsen the situation. Rena looked at her as if she had told her the world was going to get destroyed.

“We… um, u-um, th-that’s… I mean, well, uh, you— you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Ah, a-after lunch I proposed we go outside for a bit, and you accepted, and we were just talking about what we would do if it started raining…”

This time, it was Morgana who was confused. She stared at Rena as if expecting her to explain the situation, but manifestly the other girl didn’t understand any more than her.

“You… really forget?” Rena asked again. “Y-You were talking with me normally up until now though…”

“I… was?”

She had no recollections of such a thing, though. After lunch, she had no recollections at all. What had happened? Had she really just… blanked out? She breathed in, trying to regain her calm and reflect about this logically. Now that she was thinking about it… this wasn’t really the first time this happened. She had vague memories of experiencing something similar as a child during her time at the brothel, but she was pretty sure it had stopped after she started living at the cottage. Or, well, maybe it did happen again, but given most of the time she was alone it was hard to tell…

“Morgana…?”

But in any case, it wasn’t something she needed to tell Rena about.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing important.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes. Forget about it.”

Rena stared at her for a while. It was obvious she wasn’t convinced at all, but still one of her usual smile blossomed on her face and she nodded.

“All right! Well, I’m just glad you’re able to walk and go out by yourself now. I’m sure you’ll be full of energy in no time!”

“I have… never been ‘full of energy’…”

Rena laughed light-heartedly and started to spun and bounces on her legs, as if practicing some sort of weird dance. Morgana sighed. Just watching her move like that was tiring to her. But… in the last few days, she had managed to get used to it. Sort of.

“What about you?”

Rena stopped moving and looked at Morgana interrogatively.

“What?”

“You were wounded too, right? At the shoulder, if I recall.”

“Ooh! That! Haha, I’m okay, I’m okay!”

“It seemed like it was a pretty severe injury, though…”

“It did hurt quite badly, but I’ve always recovered very quickly! I’m tougher than I look, you know? You know?”

“Is that so…”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Rena laughed yet again, and Morgana rolled her eyes, and it seemed it had pretty much been their relationships since at least their first conversation.

“And…” Morgana started again, a bit hesitantly. “What do you intend to do now? Didn’t you want to find you way back? To search your father?”

“Hmm…” Rena crossed her arms, a pensive look on her face. “I guess so. Yeah, that’s probably what I’ll do, once you’re completely fine again.”

“You don’t seem convinced… Aren’t you worried about your father?”

“I think he’s fine… He’s a bit clumsy, but he’s still a grown up, you know.”

Even so, Morgana thought she was talking about him in a weird detached way, like he was some random neighbor or distant relative she didn’t know well.

“Aren’t you very close?”

“We are! Of course I’m worried. I’m just… I dunno. Maybe it’s just better that way, because I can’t really go back to him, or to my village…”

“Why? What about your mother?”

“My mother’s gone.”

A smile was still on her face, but it was a cold one. It made Morgana uncomfortable, and she understood she wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of her about this. The more she tried to learn about Rena, and the more mysterious she felt. It was almost frustrating…

“Anyway, how about we play a game?”

Morgana felt startled at Rena’s sudden change of mood and proposition. At the very least, she couldn’t say she was bored with that girl…

“A game?”

“Yeah! Look, I have this with me…” All while talking, she began to look through her satchel and pulled out what looked like a deck of cards. “One of my friends, you see, is a big game collector, and she gave this to me before we come here. The rules are really easy! Wanna try?”

“I don’t like games.”

Rena looked suddenly horrified, as if Morgana had given her a death sentence.

“You’re kidding, right? Right? There’s no way anyone dislike games!”

“Well, I do,” Morgana added. “I never even played one.”

Back in her village, the other kids would never approach her. At the brothel, maybe some of the prostitutes had proposed her to play some simple games with them at times, or the slave man had tried to get her to play with other children her age, but she had always refused. As the daughter of God, she couldn’t let herself be associated with such baseless entertainments.

“N-Never?” Rena sounded even more shocked. “Not even when you were a child?”

“No, I never had any interest in that. It is just meaningless.”

At this moment, Rena’s expression changed. Her face grew serious, and she frowned, as if Morgana had said something particularly offensive.

“It is not meaningless,” she declared, in a tone so serious Morgana wasn’t even able to retort anything. “Games are so important. They can bring so many things to people. So many things! If you have never even played one once, then there’s no way you could be able to understand that.”

Morgana felt bewildered. Why did she seem so angry about something ridiculous like that? Wasn’t that just a game? But before she could say anything, Rena fiercely grabbed her hand, forcing her to stand up, and dragged her inside the ranch.

“I’ll show you!” She said with determination.

“Wh-What?”

“We’ll play together! Whether you want it or not!”

Morgana felt like yelling at her, but for some reason the strength of Rena’s hand holding hers and the firmness of her steps felt undefeatable. So she let herself got dragged inside, sat on a bench and watched the other spread the cards in front of her without saying a word.

Rena explained the rules to her in a confident voice, as if she had done this her entire life (maybe she had, after all). The rules were, indeed, fairly simple: the cards had all different colors with some cute animals drawn on them. There was also a few characters on them which Morgana guessed were in Rena’s country language, but she told her it was just the names of the animals and not necessary to the game. To win you had to get rid of all the cards.

She was given one mercy round to get used to the game, but when things actually started Morgana quickly realized behind her sweet façade, Rena was extremely ruthless. She may be an airhead, slow girl in appearance, but she was in reality pretty shrewd.

“You have to cheat,” Morgana suddenly said after losing for the eighth time. “It’s not possible to win so many times.”

“I did not! I’m just really good at this game, and you’re not.”

“You liar. I refuse to play against you again until you tell me your trick!”

At this moment, Rena smiled maliciously, and looked at her with a mix between amusement and endearment, which felt incredibly condescending.

“Wh-What?”

“You know, despite the fact you act so composed and mature most of the time, you’re actually a really sore loser.”

Morgana felt her cheeks flare up, and never did she felt as glad that her hideous scars were there as now to cover up that fact.

“That’s quite the accusation, I am certainly not a sore loser. I think this is fair of me to ask for a proof that you are not cheating.”

But Rena simply starting laughing and Morgana suddenly felt like a flustered child trying to deal with a bully.

“S-Stop making fun of me!”

“Haooo, you’re so kyute! I wanna take you home! Ah, but I guess we’re already home, huh… Then can I hug you? Can I?”

“No. Stop that, you are grossing me out.”

“H-Hao… How mean…”

“I already told you to stop treating me like a child.”

“S-Sorry! You’re just… really making me think of one of my friends right now. She was also quite the sore loser.”

“Like I said, I am not—”

Morgana stopped, and let out a deep sigh. Evidently, Rena would not listen to her no matter what she said. The other girl giggled a little, and then an odd, nostalgic smile stretched her lips.

“My friends and I, we used to play these games all the time. We would gather everyday and play together like that… It was fun.”

For a few seconds, she seemed lost in thought, as if thinking back about her hometown. Then she looked up at Morgana, this time with a gentle smile directed at her.

“It felt a little like when I played with them right now,” she admitted. “It was fun too. Thank you.”

Morgana only looked away while restraining another sigh. She couldn’t say she had ‘fun,’ — she even felt quite annoyed she hadn’t been able to win even once — but… it had not been a bad experience. She would never bring herself to say this to Rena, though. Or to anyone, for that matter.

“You sounded close,” she suddenly blurted out, without looking at Rena in the eyes. “With your friends.”

“Yeah… I guess…”

“You ‘guess’?”

This time, it was Rena who looked away — not out of embarrass or shame, but in a contemplative way. Her face was neutral, as if all emotions had left her.

“I think… other people are quite weird, you see. I like my friends, but we were only just playing around together. We were close while laughing, joking, messing around… But…” She stopped. “When things actually started to get rough, I still was unable to believe in them and ask for their help. I couldn’t help feeling they’d betray me anyway. I was stabbed in the back like that in the past, you see.”

Morgana almost felt like Rena was more talking to herself than anyone else, so she simply listened to her in silence.

“I wanted to be… happy. And I thought I was happy, in my village. I was around people I loved and who loved me. But sometimes I just wonder if it all wasn’t just some façade. A factice happiness, maybe. Or maybe it’s just all part of Oyashiro’s curse too…”

She turned her head towards Morgana, and smiled at her in an odd self-deprecating manner.

“What is happiness, though? How do you know when you are truly happy?”

Morgana was unable to answer to that.

________________________________________________________________

The lord was laughing.

His voice was strident and raucous, rasping her ears, piercing her mind. But she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop listening to it. The ground seemed to get loose with each chuckles, and the walls appeared to want to swallow her alive. Everything was hurting, aching, crashing. She wanted to scream, but her throat didn’t even allow her that.

“No tears — now that’s a good girl. Dignified and saintly — that’s what I need you to be.”

Mangled words resounded in her head, but she couldn’t make any sense of them. The only thing she could feel were the chains around her ankle, and the vivid, unbearable pain in her arm.

It hurts, it hurts, it all hurts so much — and it was all their fault — those three disgusting men. The lord.

That’s right, she had swore to get her revenge against them, to get their heads, for what they had dared to do to her. They locked her up — she who was a saint, the daughter of God — and treated her even worse than cattle — made her a witch, draining her blood day after day until nothing was left of her…

Everything was hurting her, this whole world was worse than Hell itself — and the only way for it to end was to finally kill her torturers.

I wasn’t born to spend my whole life suffering—

She woke up with a start, gasping for air and feeling nauseous. Her entire body was trembling and she couldn’t breathe. She felt like a fish out of water and her mind, still trapped inside that tower, could see nothing but blood and chains and death. Her surroundings was spinning around her, but in a desperate attempt to make a term to her suffering, she jumped out of bed and ran outside the ranch.

It was pitch dark outside, even barely any stars shined in the sky, and the giant trees in front of her looked more like demons ready to tear out her soul at any moment. Yet, she kept running into the woods, bare feet, not caring about the way her long red hair got caught in the branches or how her skin got scratched. The feeling felt familiar, like an odd sensation of déjà-vu, and for a moment she thought she was back to being eleven years old in the slums, running without any goal in the middle of the narrow streets.

(Except this time, no kind young man would come calm her down and carry her on his back to show her the sunrise—)

She only managed to stop when her legs stopped supporting her and she collapsed on the ground. Leaning on the trunk of a tree, she kneeled down, coughed, and finally threw up everything she had in her stomach. It was as if she was trying to evacuate all the horrifying events she had gone through, trying to purify herself from all the pain and suffering and hatred. When she finally stopped, she felt empty — both in her stomach and in her heart. With no strength, she simply lay down against the trunk and stopped moving, before slowly closing her eyes.

Suicide was a sin and she would never even consider this an option, no matter how tainted she was, but in this very instant… she honestly wished she could just die. Just slowly fall asleep here, and never open her eyes again…

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on her side, as instead she heard noise that instantly got her out of her slumber. She immediately turned around, and in the horizon, she saw some vague small lights. There were footsteps, too. And voices.

Who on earth could be out there in the woods this late at night? The will to know the answer to this question was stronger than her exhaustion and numbness, and she gathered all of her strength left to stand up and slowly approach the lights. After a few moment, she noticed apparently a group of men — at least four of them, on horses, with torches.

Actually, those weren’t simple men. They were wearing heavy armors, and swords — which meant they were likely knights or guards. At first, she didn’t think much of it. These men were working for the Church generally after all, weren’t they? Anyone serving God was deserving of respect. But then she suddenly remembered that actually, there was another authority they listened under other than the Church: the lord.

At this moment, a chill ran down her spine and she instantly backed away. A part of her wanted to believe it was only a coincidence. But it would be too naïve a way of thinking. Why would a group of guards wander in the middle of the woods at night? If the lord had survived, then there was only one answer…

They were searching for the witch that had escaped the lord’s clutches.

Panic grasping her, she started to run yet again despite how much pain her legs was in, but this time in the inverse direction. She traversed the forest with even more speed than earlier while her heart was beating so strong in her chest she thought it was about to explode and that her mind was only focused on one thing: that she didn’t want to go back there. She didn’t want to go back in the tower, not back to being chained and getting her blood drained. She’d rather get killed horribly than this.

The ranch appeared in sight rather quickly, but it was barely a relief at all, and she entered it before slamming the door behind her. There, she had only the strength to fall on the floor, gasping painfully.

Why was this happening? How did these men manage to arrive there? It had been about two weeks since her escape, but still, it felt too early. How were they able to find them in the middle of these lost woods? Had someone told them? Had someone—

“Morgana?”

A sweet voice got her out of her thoughts, and when she raised her head, Rena was here, in a pink nightgown, holding a candle.

Rena.

“Is everything okay? I heard noise…”

There were only the two of them here, after all.

“Morgana…?”

With some strength she didn’t know she still possessed, Morgana stood up, grabbed the cleaver that rested against the wall, and jumped on Rena. The candle crashed onto the floor, plunging them in darkness — only the dim moon through the window lightened the room. It was like a reenactment of their first meeting, except this time Morgana was fully aware who she was threatening with the blade.

“What are—”

“Shut up! You’re the one who warned them, right?”

Rena’s blue eyes, shining like jewels under the moon, widened like saucers.

“Them?”

“I knew it! You were suspicious from the start! Of course you’d do something like that!”

“I have no idea what you—”

“Stop lying now! I knew you’d betray me!”

An odd expression spread across Rena’s face that Morgana couldn’t exactly identify, but she had no intention to anyway. Anger and panic and fear all overwhelmed her mind and reason, and flashes of the flaxen-haired boy and of his kind smile and sweet words turned in a circle inside her head.

This girl was just like him, after all. Her smile was only there to trick her, and all of her words were honeyed poison.

“Calm down, you don’t make any sense,” Rena talked again. “Think about it, why would I—”

“I told you to stop lying!”

Morgana raised the cleaver and lowered it towards the other girl’s neck, but she managed to block out the blade and kick her in the stomach with her knee. Morgana momentarily coughed and lost balance, giving Rena enough time to got away from her and stood back up, but she didn’t let this rattle her. Quickly getting back on her knees, she yet again swung the cleaver at Rena, who avoided it by only a few margins.

“Stop that! You might be better now, but there’s no way you can win against me with my own cleaver!”

But Morgana couldn’t care less about Rena’s words. That girl was just like the three men. No, maybe she was worse — because she had actually tried to save her and gain her esteem before throwing her back into hell.

She wouldn’t forgive her. Not Rena, not the lord, not the three men, not anyone—

She kept swinging the cleaver at Rena, again and again, destroying quite a few of the woodwork in the process, but the girl was as agile as a cat and managed to get away from her hits with only a few cuts.

She couldn’t forgive, because that was all she had left now.

Everything else had been taken from her.

Her identity, her life, her possible happiness and future… everything had been crushed at the hands of humans.

Everything was just unfair and cruel and disgusting.

“Just… disappears!”

For some unfathomable reason, her Father had just abandoned her.

No… maybe he had never been at her side from the beginning.

Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe she was not the child of God, but of some devil.

Maybe she truly was a witch, after all—

“Die!”

Finally, blood splashed onto her face and dress. It looked black under the moon. She had hit Rena on her left hip, which made her let out a constricted moan while glaring at Morgana, before putting her back against the wall and letting herself fall on the ground. Morgana looked down at her coldly, taking slow steps towards her.

The girl was completely at her mercy. There was no way she could defend herself with such a wound. She would probably bleed to death if she left her like that too. Yet, Rena’s eyes showed no fear. It was as if death wasn’t something that even crossed her mind… or maybe it did, but it wasn’t something she cared about. Well, it was fine either way.

She raised the cleaver one last time, her eyes glaring down at the gasping girl.

She saw the flaxen-haired boy figure in her stead. The beast’s. The lord’s.

Her hands tightened around the handle, and she lowered it.

But the blade didn’t hit Rena at all.

Instead, it planted itself inside the wooden ground next to her.

Morgana was shaking. Her trembling hands let go of the cleaver, and she fell on her knees, her long hair scattering around her like a veil. A long silence swallowed the room, where even barely their breathing could be heard.

“What are you doing?” Rena suddenly asked softly.

Morgana shook her head.

“I have… no idea…”

She plunged her face in her hands.

“I have… honestly no idea at all. I don’t know what I should be doing anymore… I lived all my life being so sure of who I was and what I should be doing, but now… I have nothing of that anymore… The only thing I desire is revenge, but I don’t even think I have the strength to get it…”

She didn’t know why she suddenly bared her heart like that. Maybe she wasn’t really talking to Rena. Maybe she was just letting out feelings that had been swarming inside her head for the past days… no, maybe even for the past months and years.

“I really… don’t know what I should be doing from now on anymore… I feel—”

—like the entire hate me. Like God Himself hates me. Like fate and the universe have just decided to make me miserable for the rest of my pitiful life.

‘I wasn’t born to spend my whole life suffering,’ she had yelled in her heart, as hatred and anger and despair boiled inside her…

But what was she born for exactly?

“I feel… cursed.”

Another silence — no sounds, no noise to disturb her intimate monologue. Until a giggle break the moment. Morgana lifted her head slowly, and stared with confusion at the girl who was chuckling heartily as if she had just said the funniest joke ever.

“What a coincidence,” she finally said. “I am cursed too.”

Morgana blinked, her eyes stinging. She wasn’t crying, though — she felt as if all of her tears had left her a long time ago already, maybe when she had been brought inside that tower — and now she was just completely empty.

But in this moment, the girl in front of her looked just as empty and lost as her.

“I might… have lied to you a little,” Rena suddenly admitted. “I didn’t actually come here with my father.”

Her gaze lifted up towards the moon behind Morgana, as if to help her focus.

“There’s a deity called Oyashiro in my village, you see. She protects it and its inhabitants, and prevents any strangers to come in. But, on the other hand, there is also an unspoken rule you are not allowed to leave the village or you’d trigger her wrath.”

“A… deity?”

“I know in your country there is only one God who rules everything, but in mine, we have different faiths. Our ‘deities’ are not really the same as yours, but at least I know Oyashiro is real. She spoke to me, quite a few times. And she also cursed me.”

Morgana restrained her instinctive envy to say this was nonsense and that there was only one God in this universe, as stating the contrary felt like a personal insult to her. But she felt too exhausted to fight Rena on this, and just wanted to keep hearing the rest of the story. Maybe Rena guessed her train of thoughts, and Morgana wondered if maybe denying her village’s ‘deity’ would feel like an insult to her too, but she made no comments about it.

“Why did she curse you? Oh… Because you left.”

“Yes, though I was cursed before that. As a child, my family left the village to find jobs in a bigger city. I’ve lived there a few years, but then my mother… left,” she said, spiting the word, and Morgana felt there was a lot of grudge in that sentence, but she didn’t ask about it. “So my father and I came back. And then I thought it would be okay. It was, for some time. I met my friends. I thought I’d be happy again. But… Dad was still jobless, and in the end, he attracted the attention of some bad people.”

Her eyes darkened, and she clenched her jaw.

“These people wanted to use him. They wanted to take away my happiness. So I had to do everything I could to prevent this. I had to.”

“What did you do?”

Rena stared straight into Morgana’s eyes, her gaze resolute.

“I killed them.”

This should’ve come off as a surprised. This should’ve shocked Morgana to her core. But for some reason, it didn’t. Maybe she had already understood, somewhere deep inside, that this girl was a killer.

“But… I suppose I made a mistake. Or maybe that was just the curse. I think, some people related to the two I killed discovered it, and tried to come after me. I was knocked out, and when I came back to myself I was inside a boat’s hold, chained up, with a lot of other people.”

The blurry image of the aftermath of the brothel’s raid flashed through Morgana’s mind, as she was tied up inside that carriage with all those other strangers… just before the beast slaughtered all of them.

“Slave traders?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rena added. “I was dragged around for quite some time, in boat and carriage, and thankfully none of them thought of checking my satchel. So when I got the occasion, I slashed them up and escaped. And that’s how I ended up here.”

Morgana sighed. She could understand why Rena would make up that lie, it certainly wasn’t a story she could to tell to everybody.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back to my village, and even if I do… with what I did, I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever gain my happy life back anyway.” She chuckled. “Well, that’s something I’ve always known. Happy days never last.”

That was something Morgana could relate to all too well, and she hated how much similarities she could find in Rena’s words. The girl in front of her had just admitted to her she was a killer, a sinner of the worst category. It was disgusting and almost above salvation. And yet… she felt no disgust towards her at all. Only…

Maybe only something akin to sympathy.

That just illustrated how far she had fallen. But right now, she didn’t care all that much about it.

Without saying a word, she rose up, disappeared in the other room and came back her hands full of bandages. Rena watched her kneel besides her and starting to clean up her wound.

“What are you doing…?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m treating you. We can’t stay here any longer. I spotted some guards afar from here, and I bet they’re working for the lord. We need to get out of here before that.”

“Oh… so that’s why you suddenly panicked.” Rena chuckled. “Do you not think I betrayed you anymore?”

Morgana stopped her treatment, her eyes staring fixedly at the ground.

“I don’t know,” Morgana admitted. “You’re a killer and a sinner. I cannot trust you.”

“I bet,” Rena said, and there was clear amusement in her voice.

Morgana wondered how she managed to use a joking tone with such a heavy wound, but then again, she had been able to narrate her entire life story without so much as flinching despite it.

“But,” she added, still without looking at the other girl in the eyes. “I… can’t let you die here.”

“Really?”

“Take this as thanks for you saving me from the tower.”

“It’s you who inflicted this wound on me, though…”

“I won’t apologize for that, if that’s what you’re expecting. I still think my suspicions were fair enough.”

Rena opened her mouth to reply, but instead she just let out a moan as Morgana started to apply the bandage.

“You’re really rough,” she complained.

“I’m more used to handle dead bodies.”

“You what?”

“It’s nothing… For now, this should okay. We can’t spend any more time here anyway.”

All while talking, she helped Rena to stand up by handing her a shoulder and letting her lean on her body. Morgana was far from being a strong girl, so supporting the other weight of another human was quite the struggle for her. She thought about how Rena must have carried her all by herself from the tower to here, and wondered how on earth she managed to accomplish such a prowess. She certainly didn’t look any physically stronger than her.

Am I really starting to trust her words now? Stop being silly, Morgana.

But despite lecturing herself, she still gathered all of her strength to help out support the other girl as best as she could. As they slowly passed by the window, they could see a few lights twinkling in the distance. The guards had probably noticed the ranch by now, and were starting to approach dangerously close to it.

“They seem to be quite a few…”

“I’ve seen at least four of them earlier. Let’s hurry.”

In spite of these words, they couldn’t exactly run with Rena in this condition, and Morgana could hear her hiss and groan with each steps they took. She knew her wound was still bleeding too, but now was too late to regret her hysterical episode from earlier. She still thanked God that the ranch had a back door, and they managed to reach it after a few minutes of hobbling, finally leaving behind the dilapidated habitation they had occupied for the last weeks.

Once outside, they staggered a little in the middle of the forest, then took a pause against a large trunk. Rena was already gasping heavily, and they hadn’t even been walking for five minutes.

“How’s your wound?”

“Pretty bad,” she groaned. “I… doubt I’ll be able to run away from them like that.”

“We don’t have a choice, though.”

“You have a choice, however. You could just leave me here.”

“Not interested.”

Rena chuckled. “You really are a sore loser.”

“Shut up.”

Morgana sighed and sat down next to Rena, and the two of them stayed quiet for quite some time.

“You’re really okay with taking the risk to get back inside that tower because of me?”

“Then what about you? I just tried to kill you, and you seem completely fine with putting your life in my hands.”

“That’s right. That’s really weird, huh.”

“It truly is.”

Rena giggled yet again, and if Morgana didn’t felt so exhausted, maybe she would’ve let herself laugh with her.

“If we do manage to get out of these woods…”

Rena started talking again, her voice a whisper.

“What do you want to do?”

That was a question Morgana had asked herself ever since she had been out of that tower. How ridiculous that she’d spent the last few months wish for any kind of miracle to free her, and now that she was free, she was even more lost than she’d ever been in her life.

“Do you still intend to take your revenge?”

“Probably…” She hesitated a little, trying to search for the stars behind the heavy foliage of the trees. She found none.

“That’s the only thing I have left.”

“I see…”

“And you?”

“I still have no idea either. Healing that wound would be a start. And then maybe I’ll be able to find another kyute thing to take home.”

“We really won’t have much to look forward to then, huh.”

“I guess.”

They shared another moment of silence. Behind them, the sounds of the guards breaking open the door resounded brutally, but this put neither of them into a panic.

They just kept staring at the sky, entirely camouflaged by the trees.

Until, Morgana finally stood up again, and handed her hand to Rena. The girl smiled, neither a gentle or cruel one, before grabbing it.

Morgana had no idea where they could go, and they had very little chance to be able to run away from the guards.

But, in this instant, putting aside all of her complicated and complex feelings, she swore to herself they’ll manage to escape this place no matter what.

This was her gratitude for the lost girl who had saved her from the tower.

A mean for both of them to find their ways back.

[mrscrowley8]

Soft Smut Sunday Anderlock Fic

Title: Be gentle

Rating: Mature

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock, Anderson

Pairing : Anderlock

Notes: My first Anderlock and attempt to the soft smut sunday challenge. Word: "gentle"

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Summary:

After days without news of Sherlock, Anderson ends up receiving a text from him, urging him to come to his flat. Anderson rushes to Sherlock's place, hoping for a very pleasant reunion under the covers. Unfortunately for him, Sherlock has something else in mind.

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When the first blow landed on his lower back, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. The pain was so intense that it burned him from the inside. Fortunately for the neighbours, he managed to remain silent. For once, Philip Anderson felt extraordinarily brave.

The second smack hit him hard between his shoulder blades. The impact was even more acute than the first one. Breathless and hopeless, he clung to the chair, wrapping it in his arms, as if the piece of furniture was a heartwarming Teddy Bear.

He had to remain strong in the face of adversity.

Teeth clenched, eyes burning with pain, he put his cheek on the chair, waiting for the next strike. The wood was so cold against his skin. It felt good. Behind him, his torturer clicked his tongue, thwarted. The strap of leather fell gently over the back of his head.

“Sit up straighter,” the voice ordered firmly.

Philip let out a grunt of discontent. He was feeling so much better in this position. Wasn’t that obvious? The end of the riding whip then pressed his cheek. Philip's sensitive nose absent-mindedly picked up the typical smell of blood.

His blood.

His entire body began to shake with a tremor.

Despite the situation, Philip Anderson wasn't frightened.

Valiantly, he sat ''properly'' down on the chair, his back straight, his hands squeezing the chair bars. He didn't want to disappoint his tormentor. He breathed deeply to relax, wondering where he was going to be hit. Maybe in the back?

He didn’t have to wait a very long time. The characteristic whistle of the riding crop broke the silence and Philip felt his skin split under the force of the blow. This time, he uttered a cry of pure agony, and he leapt out of the chair.

“Damn it! Can’t you take it easy?! Be gentle?” He asked, a hand pressed against his bruised flank. He whistled, writhing in pain. “Ow!” Touching the wound was a very bad idea, but he couldn’t help it. The carmine liquid stained his fingers.

“No,” came the laconic answer. “I have to respect all the parameters of the experiment perfectly.”

“You know, when you asked me to come here for a little experiment, I didn’t have that in mind.” Philip wanted to turn around, but the whip prevented him from doing so, by teasing the lower part of his back. Then, the leather hit his shoulder, and it wasn’t gentle. “Sherlock!”

“We're not done yet,” the consulting detective said. “I'm willing to give you a break, but only because I have to take pictures of your injuries.”

“You're too kind, Sir.” Philip complained, turning his head slightly to see the other man in action. Sherlock placed the leather whip on the living room table to grab a photomacrographic scale in his left hand and his phone in the other. He approached him, his blue eyes professionally watching him. He beckoned him to sit down. Philip sighed and dropped himself on the chair. Despite all these years, Philip was still struggling to decipher the emotions on his face. “Are you gonna ask me what I had in mind?”

“No.” Another very succinct answer.

Philip groaned and he turned his head to stare at the wall in front of him. He was really upset by Sherlock’s attitude. He hadn’t seen him all week and he would have expected a little more enthusiasm from the detective. Sherlock was still working on another of his complex cases, but he had refrained from telling him until today.

Not like John Watson, who had to know every detail of the case.

It was hurtful. Very hurtful.

Philip would like them to communicate more.

Sometimes he had the awful feeling that Sherlock didn't trust him.

“I know exactly what you had in mind,” the detective forced himself to say, after a couple of minutes. Philip hadn't expressed interest in a more elaborate answer and Sherlock didn’t like to be ignored.

“I don’t think so,” Philip retorted, colder than he would have liked. However, the throbbing pain in his upper body, combined with Sherlock’s distant attitude, had overcome his usual gentleness.

“You thought I invited you to share a pleasant moment in my company,” the sleuth whispered in his ear. Philip immediately tensed. He hadn't realised that Sherlock was so close to him. “Sex,” Sherlock purred in his ear, proud of himself.

Needless to say, Sherlock was right.

“Whose fault is that?” Philip asked, moving away from his very warm lips. He was still terribly angry with him. “You sent me a text to order me to come immediately to your flat. Naively, I thought you wanted to ... you know...”

“I know,” Sherlock assured him. “You were wrong.”

“I had noticed, Mister genius,” mumbled Philip between his clamped jaws.

Philip Anderson was... frustrated.

Upon arriving at Sherlock's place, he had been over the moon. He thought he was finally going to spend some time alone with the consulting detective.

It all started so wonderfully.

Sherlock had urged him to take his clothes off. Philip hadn't hesitated for a second. He had stripped naked with a certain eagerness, before approaching the detective to rip off his so indecently tight purple shirt (of sex).

Unfortunately, Sherlock had stopped him firmly, by grabbing his wrists.

His disappointment had only been short-lived.

Sherlock had instructed him to sit astride a chair so he could whip him.

Whip him ?

Philip knew Sherlock was special in every way, but ... BDSM? Seriously?

Of course, Philip wasn't against testing new things. New practices. Especially with Sherlock.

However, the surprise had quickly been replaced by bitterness.

Sherlock just needed a human guinea pig to verify a point from his current case. He wanted to study the healing processes of a leather whip on the skin. Similar to the marks found on a dead man, who had been discovered in the Thames. The body had had multiple lacerations on the back.

Sherlock and his eternal sidekick, John-Always-Bonded-with-Sherlock-Watson, had managed to follow the man's trail back to a very private club in the heart of London. Posing as rich customers, in search of thrilling sensations, they had entered the place and they had questioned the 'Favourite' of the man in question.

She had assured them he hadn't died at the club.

However, the man was an addict to such practices. He needed his weekly 'dose' of pain to withstand the pressure of his work. Sherlock was certain the woman was the culprit, but Lestrade wanted solid proof.

While Lestrade was checking her alibi, Sherlock had opted for a more 'scientific' approach.

Philip Anderson was a very lucky person.

“Why didn't you ask John?” Philip asked, grumpy. The doctor was spending more time with Sherlock than him. When did John Watson work? Besides, was the man really a doctor?!

“You don't like John.” Sherlock remarked, with a strange tone in his voice. Could that be surprise? Disappointment? Sadness? “Yet John is a remarkable person.” Remarkable?

R-e-m-a-r-k-a-b-l-e?!

“He certainly has better things to do than to accompany you everywhere, like a little dog.” Philip did his best to remain calm. Oh, he didn’t hate John. Not really. He was just...

“John and I have a unique alchemy that optimises my thinking process. This has always been the case. This will always be the case. There's no way this would change over time.” Sherlock’s honest answer didn't help him relax.

An ... an alchemy?!

Better and better!

Philip tensed up on his chair, more and more upset.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sherlock naively asked, when he noticed that something was bothering Philip.

“Nothing. Everything is fine. We're doing great.” Philip muttered and he clenched his fists. He absolutely didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't sure that Sherlock would understand it. Emotions weren't his area of expertise. Far from it.

Yes, Philip Anderson was jealous of John Watson.

Sherlock was still spending far too much time in the company of the doctor. The two men shared so many things. They investigated together. They had fun together. They ate together. They talked about everything and nothing. John even had an assigned seat in Sherlock’s lounge! And Sherlock was also taking care of little Rosie, John Watson’s daughter.

What about Philip?

The poor man was entitled to the last remaining crumbs.

The two lovers rarely saw each other. Only when Sherlock had time.

If Philip wanted information about Sherlock, he had to read the posts that John was writing on his blog or to check Sherlock's tweets.

Unlike John, Philip couldn't leave his office in a heartbeat. He couldn't come running at him when Sherlock asked him, and leave everything behind.

Was that why Sherlock never sent him a text? So as not to bother him?

No, it was ridiculous. Nothing could ever stop Sherlock. He didn't care about embarrassing people in the middle of their work. Sherlock didn't think of him. The truth was... even more painful than the lacerations on his skin.

Philip would love to investigate with Sherlock.

To accompany him.

To be with him.

To do ‘normal’ things.

To have dinner in a restaurant.

To go to the movies.

But no!

Instead, Philip was his giant guinea pig.

Was Sherlock ashamed of him?

“You’re jealous,” Sherlock finally understood. Philip shook his head. He didn’t want to admit it. “If Mycroft says it, it’s the truth. Pure and simple.”

Philip almost choked when he heard the Holmes brothers' eldest name in Sherlock’s mouth. He turned around just in time to see Sherlock put his phone in the pocket of his trousers.

OH MY GOD!

HE HAD SOUGHT THE ADVICE OF HIS BIG BROTHER!

WONDERFUL!

“This obvious jealousy for John is stupid,” Sherlock assured him and he reached out to him. Very gently, he ran his fingers through Philip’s hair, in the vain hope of reassuring him. Philip scoffed, his shoulders hunched, and he turned his head to the other side.

Did he honestly think he could coax him like this?

“Our alchemy is different from the one I'm sharing with John. Is he jealous of you? No. He isn't. He knows what his function is, by my side. He is my blogger. My conscience. My...”

“Sherlock.” Philip didn’t want to hear Sherlock anymore. He felt awfully... weary.

“I will clean your wounds,” Sherlock warned and he removed his hand. “The experiment is over.” The sleuth seemed to be even more disappointed for his experiment than for the unfortunate Philip.

Or was all of this in his head?

Philip’s new job was exhausting and far from London.

The former member of the Metropolitan Police's forensics team had ceased to be considered an expert by numerous institutes. His resignation, following his severe depression, caused by Sherlock's (fake) suicide, had seriously tarnished his image.

Oh, of course, he had received a very tempting offer from a private forensic medicine institute. The offer was TOO PERFECT for him. Philip had declined this strange opportunity. He was certain that the job offer had come from Mycroft Holmes, who had wanted to please his beloved little brother.

Philip just wanted to be accepted for his competencies and not because he was Sherlock Holmes's lover. He had his pride.

His professional situation hadn't facilitated their relationship.

Perhaps it would have been better to accept his kind offer... ?

Philip heard Sherlock walk away and quickly return to his side. He put a first aid kit on the pedestal table, next to the chair, and he opened it.

Long pale fingers grabbed a compress to wipe the blood.

Philip decided to remain silent and distant.

“Does it hurt?” Sherlock asked, concerned. Philip knew he was concerned because his voice was softer and warmer than usual.

“Hmm...”

This was Philip's only answer.

Sherlock sighed.

“I am...” Sherlock began, but he stopped before saying the word 'sorry'. Apologising wasn't in his DNA. Instead, he gently blew on the gash that was streaking his shoulder.

“Hmm...”

This time, Philip shivered and closed his eyes.

Sherlock couldn't say he was sorry.

However, he knew perfectly how to demonstrate he was sorry with his actions.

For a cerebral, Sherlock was very... manual.

Two large hands landed delicately on his deltoid, carefully avoiding the cut on his right shoulder. Philip breathed deeply, relaxing almost instantaneously, under the sudden contact.

He felt... appeased.

His anger disappeared strangely, as if by magic, followed closely by his sickly jealousy. The rational part in him knew Sherlock was right. The alchemy they both shared was very different from the one he shared with his blogger.

It was excessively...

Physical.

Carnal.

Although he was certain that he was Sherlock’s exclusive sexual partner, Philip was suffering from a serious lack of self-esteem. For him, it was impossible to dispose of his constant anxiety. Sometimes he thought he was dreaming. This couldn't be the reality. He couldn't be Sherlock Holmes's lover.

And yet, as soon as Sherlock laid his hands on him, Philip felt reassured. Safe. He felt... considered. Loved. It was strange because Sherlock had never pronounced a single “I love you.” Or even a simple “I like you.”

Neither had Philip.

He feared the detective’s reaction.

Oh yeah, he felt really stupid.

The hands slowly slipped along his bare arms and teeth began to bite the sensitive skin of his neck. Philip felt his body flared up with this simple contact. He let out a moan of appreciation. It had now been over a week since he and Sherlock had been intimate.

Just like the dead man from the Thames, Philip was addicted to something.

Addicted to someone.

He was addicted to Sherlock Holmes.

He had been obsessed with him for years.

And even now, he was still an obsession.

If Sherlock were a God, Philip would be his first disciple.

“Hmm...”

Philip tilted his head to the right, offering his neck as a sacrifice, to his deity. Teeth scraped his jaw before closing around a specific point. Voracious lips replaced them to make the skin blush. Philip uttered another moan, without concern for the neighbours.

Soon his body was pressed against the chair, forcing him to spread his thighs further. Sherlock sat behind him, his torso painfully snuggled against his back. Unlike Philip, who was completely naked, Sherlock was still wearing all his clothes. The sensation was unpleasant.

For a couple of seconds.

The former Scotland Yard employee could now feel something particularly awake against his buttocks. Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him, like an anaconda on the verge of suffocating his prey.

Philip hoped he would be soon swallowed by him.

“Do you still want me to take it easy?! Do you want me to be gentle?” The detective asked, and he licked the bruise he had just made on his neck. Philip shook his head vigorously, his eyes closed. "Are you sure?" Sherlock insisted with his deep baritone voice.

“Sherlock, take me hard,” Philip implored in a weak voice. He already felt he was losing his mind. Sherlock’s hands started to wander on his chest. “Sher-...” Philip began to gasp, waiting for the final blow, which would finish him off. A fingernail scratched an eager nipple and Philip completely snapped. “Oh yes! Here and now! On this chair! This is what I want! Hard! Not gentle!”

“As you wish,” Sherlock whispered in his ear and he obeyed scrupulously the least of his lover’s requests.

If there was one man in the world who could submit Sherlock Holmes to his will, it was Philip Anderson.

Not Mycroft Holmes.

Not John Watson.

Shame he didn't realise that.

Philip Anderson could ask him so many things.

Philip Anderson could ask for everything.

Everything.

And have everything.

But for now, Philip Anderson was just asking Sherlock Holmes to be...

Here for him.

And Sherlock was here for him.

Only for him.

A very gentle thought.