#entrails strewn all over the place

[smute]

if i recommended a book to someone and that person returned to me the next day explaining that they got shart jibbity to summarize it for them i think i would have to be physically restrained for my own safety

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VIII

Chapters: 7 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Enjoy! Happy holidays! x | Cover PSD by queend3lrey on deviantart.

ACT VII.

I sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath me, a warm cup of chamomile tea cradled in my hands. The steam swirled lazily upward, its warmth brushing against my face, but it did little to deafen the icy unease settled deep in my chest. The living room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the dim light of the lamp cast long shadows on the walls.

I tried to focus on the comfort of the moment—the familiar scent of tea, the way the soft blanket draped over my shoulders—but my thoughts were too loud. They dragged me back to earlier in the day, to the moment everything shifted.

I had come home tired, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. Everything that had happened in the last two days has mentally drained me. First it was Tina's death, then Jungkook's captiveness by the police. My mind was a mess and I could barely function, let alone focus on my work daily tasks. All I wanted was to sink into my comfy bed with Hades by my side, maybe order takeout, and forget the world existed for a while.

But the moment I opened the door, my breath caught in my throat.

My apartment was wrecked.

Drawers had been yanked out and emptied onto the floor. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, cushions slashed open, their stuffing spilling out like entrails. Even my little plant by the window lay tipped over, its soil scattered across the hardwood floor.

My heart raced as I stepped inside, each careful footfall crunching against the debris of my once-safe haven. The smell of something sharp and chemical lingered in the air, making me feel nauseous.

And then it hit me. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t a burglary.

I had barely processed the thought when a new fear gripped me. “Hades?” My voice trembled as I called out. “Hades, where are you?”

The silence was deafening.

Frantically, I searched the apartment, stepping over shattered glass and overturned furniture. “Hades!” I shouted, my voice rising in panic. My chest tightened as I realized he wasn’t there. The mess suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me. I had watched enough scary movies to know that even the innocent animals were taken or worse, killed. I felt my blood bumping in my ears as my breath hitched. I squeezed my bag, looking around as if the world around me was squeezing. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I was on the verge of collapse when a knock at the door startled me.

I swung it open to find my neighbor, Mrs.Cordelia, the kind woman who lived two doors down, holding Hades in her arms. Relief washed over me like a wave as I saw his familiar face, his tail wagging furiously.

“I found him wandering in the hallway,” she said gently, handing him over. “He looked scared, poor thing. Are you alright? Your place…" her green eyes shifted over the mess behind me, her face immediately changed into one of concern, "Oh my, dear! It looks like someone broke in!” She exclaimed, then glanced at me. "Do you want to call the police?"

Clutching Hades to my chest, I began sobbing quietly. His small wet nose brushed over my cheek and warm licks licked off the tears that streamed down my face. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Thank you so much.”  My voice was shaking as I held him. He was the most important to me and I'd be lost if something happened to Hades. I swallowed shakily, finally processing Mrs.Cordelia's question.  "N-no need, ma'am. Uh, I will deal with the mess here." Partly, I was afraid of calling the police, they wouldn't do much and from what I could see, the bulglar did not left any tracks behind them. It'd be a lost cause.

She hesitated, her concern evident. “If you need help, or if you want me to stay for a bit, just let me know. You shouldn’t be alone after something like this.”

I managed a small, grateful smile. “I’ll be okay. Really, thank you again.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, I sank to the floor, holding Hades tightly. The familiar weight of him on my lap grounded me, but my mind was racing. Whoever had broken in was searching for something, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what.

Tina’s journal.

My eyes flicked to my bag whom I had just dropped on the ground seconds ago, this was where I had hidden it and it was still untouched thankfully. They hadn’t found it—yet. But I knew this was far from over. I realized the danger I was in, yet my pride refused to give up and seek help from the police.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. My apartment wasn’t safe anymore, and Hades wasn’t safe either. This wasn’t just a robbery—it was a message.

And I needed to figure out what came next.

The faint scent of lavender from the fabric softened the tension thrumming through my body, but my mind was still racing. Hades lay at my feet, his head resting on his paws as if he could sense I needed his calming presence.

The muffled sound of running water stopped, and a few moments later, Rya emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair tied up in a towel and an oversized hoodie falling just above her knees. She carried a casual ease, but I could see the worry etched in her features as she walked over and plopped down onto the couch beside me.

“You okay?” she asked, folding her legs underneath her and leaning her head against the couch’s backrest. “I mean, as okay as you can be after… everything?”

I exhaled slowly, trying to piece together an answer that didn’t feel like a lie. “I don’t know. It’s still sinking in, I guess.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I can’t believe someone actually broke in. You must have been terrified.”

“Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I admitted, my voice shaky. “The apartment was a complete mess. And Hades—when I couldn’t find him, I thought…” I swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Rya reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my knee. “But he’s safe now, and so are you. That’s what matters.”

I gave her a small nod, though the tightness in my chest remained. “Thank you, Rya. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t picked up my call.”

Her lips quirked into a small, empathetic smile. “Of course, Y/N. What are friends for? You can stay here as long as you need.”

For the first time that night, I let out a small laugh, though it came out more like a sigh. “You sure you’re not going to regret having me and a very anxious dog invade your space?”

She grinned. “Are you kidding? Hades is the least of my worries. He’s adorable. You, on the other hand, might be a little high-maintenance.”

I rolled my eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I promise not to hog the couch or eat all your snacks.”

“Good, because I don’t share my ice cream,” she teased, then her tone grew serious. “But really, Y/N, do you have any idea who could’ve done this? Why someone would target you?”

I hesitated, my hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. “I… I think it’s because of the journal.”

Rya’s eyebrows shot up. “Tina’s journal? You think this has something to do with that?”

I nodded, my stomach twisting as I thought about it. “It has to be. Whoever broke in was looking for something specific. They didn’t even take my laptop or jewelry. They tore through the place like they were searching for something hidden.”

Her expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Y/N, if someone’s after that journal, it’s not safe for you to keep it. You need to tell someone—maybe the police or…”

“Or who, Rya?” I interjected, my voice rising. “It’s not like I can waltz into the station and hand it over without explaining where I got it. And that’ll lead to questions I don’t have answers to.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Okay, fair point. But you can’t just sit on this thing like it’s some kind of secret treasure. Whoever broke in isn’t going to stop because they didn’t find it the first time.”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I know.”

Silence stretched between us, the weight of the situation pressing down like a heavy fog. Hades let out a small whine, breaking the tension as he nudged my leg with his nose.

Rya watched him for a moment, her expression softening. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Her words carried a warmth that made my throat tighten. “Thanks, Rya. I don’t think I’ve said it enough, but… I really appreciate you.”

She waved me off with a smile. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. I’d do the same thing for Hades.”

I laughed, the sound lighter this time, and for a moment, the weight of the world didn’t feel so suffocating.

But as the night deepened and Rya retreated to her bedroom, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Whoever had broken into my apartment wasn’t going to give up easily. And I needed to figure out what Tina’s journal was hiding—before it was too late.

-

The next morning came far too soon. My eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and my body ached from tossing and turning all night. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of my ransacked apartment replayed in vivid detail. The thought of someone invading my space left a lingering sense of unease that refused to dissipate.

Rya, ever the early riser, had already made us coffee by the time I emerged from the spare bedroom. She offered me a tired smile, her damp hair falling in waves around her shoulders.

“You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” she said, handing me a mug.

“Because I didn’t,” I muttered, taking a sip and savoring the bitter warmth. “I kept thinking about what happened. And then I started worrying about it happening to you.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Please. I’m not the one carrying a target on my back right now. If they want to mess with me, they’ll regret it.” Her words were light, but I caught the edge of concern in her tone.

We left her apartment together, stepping into the chilly morning air. The ride to work was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Every shadow, every person walking by, felt like a threat. By the time we arrived at the office, my nerves were stretched thin.

Hoseok greeted us with his usual sunny smile, but his expression quickly shifted to concern as he noticed my face.

“Whoa, what happened?” he asked, standing from his desk.

Rya stepped in, her voice quiet. “Someone broke into Y/N’s apartment last night. She stayed with me.”

Hoseok’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at me. “Are you okay? Did they take anything?”

I shook my head, sighing. “They weren’t there to steal. It was more like they were searching for something. They trashed the place, but nothing’s missing.”

His frown deepened. “You think it’s connected to Tina’s journal?” I frowned and turned around toward Rya. "You told him?!" Her face changed into one of shock and then regret, "Sorry, Y/N, I accidentally blurted it out to him last night on the phone." "You know that the more people know about this, the more in danger you all become." I snapped but regretted it, Rya was a good person with a kind heart, but I definitely was scared for Hoseok and her now.

Before we could say more, a voice chimed in from behind us.

“Someone broke in your apartment last night?”

I turned to see Yoongi leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his dark eyes sharp with something I couldn't recognize. Was it concern?Annoyance? I hadn’t even noticed him nearby.

“None of your business." I muttered, turning around to look at Hoseok who had his eyebrows raised. I heard footsteps behind me until I felt warmth all over my entire back. He was standing there, wasn't he? "This was the same night where I drove you back to your place, wasn't it?" he muttered in a flat tone. My heart raced, I could catch a scent off his cologne.  "Stop asking me questions, this does not concern you." "The hell it fucking does." his voice became raspy and deep. Rya kept glancing at me and Yoongi who stood behind me. I didn't really want to turn around. Deep annoyed sigh escaped my lips as I turned around to face him finally. "No, it does not. Just. . . just be focused on getting our Boss out of jail, please?" He kept staring at me and didn't even reply to my plead. Yoongi's face remained blank, hands crossed against his chest. I could see his jaw locking tightly.  "How about you do not tell me what to fucking do? I told you to be careful, didn't I? You will be staying at my place from now on. I can keep an eye on you and on that damn journal you got yourself involved with." "Yoongi," I spoke lowly, "I am NOT staying with you." He took a step forward, towered over me, his face was close to mine and I felt my cheeks heaten.  "Oh yes you are. Staying with Rya puts her in danger too. I, on the other hand, know how to protect myself and protect you from this bullshit you got into. So don't even dare to fight with me right now." I exhaled sharply through my nose but then I remembered I was at the office, Hoseok and Rya were watching us with wide eyes, some people passing by also kept staring at us. My eyes closed for a moment as I tried to calm the rage bubbling deep inside of me, before I replied. "Fine." I spoke lowly, only to get him off my back. "I will stay with you. Happy?" I gritted my teeth and turned to glance at Hoseok and Rya. "Come on, let's grab coffee at the cafeteria." "S-sure," both of them grabbed my hands and dragged me down the hall as Yoongi stood there, staring at us until we disappeared around the corner. "Y/N, what the hell was that?" Rya asked hushedly. "What do you mean?" "There is a LOT sexual tension between you two." Hoseok added in with a smug smirk on his face. I scowled at him. "The fuck you are on about. He is an ass and he thinks that after he is a rich son of a conglomerate he gets to treat people like properties. I despise him." "Yet you agreed to stay with him?" Rya muttered, teasing me. "I only did that to get him off my back. He would be forgetting about it by the end of the day." I could hear them both giggle as we walked into the cafeteria. Did they not believe me? Gosh, those two annoyed the hell out of me sometimes.

-

The meeting room was filled with tension, the air thick with unspoken words. I sat at the long conference table, my hands resting on the surface, fingers drumming nervously against the polished wood. To my right was Rya, who seemed deep in thought, her eyes flickering between the others in the room. Across from me sat Hoseok, his usual carefree demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a cool, determined expression.

And then there was Gina—her eyes hard, and posture stiff. She was the one who had invited Hoseok to that masquerade ball, only to be turned down cold. I could almost feel her resentment lingering in the air, even though the others were too polite to address it directly.

The room fell silent as Yoongi walked into the conference room, his usual calm but imposing presence commanding attention. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“As you all know, Jungkook’s departure leaves us with a gap in leadership,” Yoongi began, his voice steady but with an edge of authority. “Until he returns, I will be taking over the company on a temporary basis. But more importantly, we need to address the immediate future of the team."

My heart skipped a beat. The room was tense, everyone waiting for what would come next.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted to Hoseok. “Hoseok," he said, his tone not giving anything away, "you will be stepping up as the new direct manager for the team.”

A gasp escaped Gina's lips, her eyes wide in shock. Rya shifted slightly, her gaze darting between Yoongi and Hoseok. I held my breath. Hoseok didn’t flinch, though. He nodded, his usual warmth replaced by a seriousness I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“I understand,” Hoseok replied, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind—this wasn’t just about Tina’s death, it was about filling a role that many had doubted he could handle. The weight of responsibility suddenly seemed to settle over him, but there was no doubt he would rise to the challenge. Still, I knew he didn’t expect it to be this soon.

Gina crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "So, Hoseok, you’ll just… step into Tina’s shoes?" she asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her, his expression unreadable. "It's not a choice, Gina," he said quietly, "it's what's needed. And no need for worry, I have discussed this with Jungkook already."

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence almost unbearable. I wanted to speak, to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. I knew what this meant for all of us—for Hoseok especially—but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavy on my chest.

“I’ll take it on,” Hoseok said after a moment, standing from his chair. His voice was firm now, as if the decision had been made in his heart, and he was ready to carry the burden.

I looked at him, trying to read his expression, but he was already focused on the task at hand. I couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though I knew this would be a difficult road ahead. As the room buzzed with quiet murmurs and Yoongi began laying out the next steps, my thoughts drifted.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen next. The meeting continued with a few new clients joining in, Yoongi was oddly prepared and I couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook had given him all the information. My mind drifted to my Boss again. I could imagine him sitting in his cell, awaiting for a miracle to happen. My heart raced. There has to be something that proves his innocence. Anything. . .

Yoongi's voice brought me back to reality.

"You gonna keep sitting there, Y/N?" he muttered, his eyes boring into mine. I blinked a few times only to realize that the room was now empty. Yoongi and I were the only ones left. Fuck. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I rose up and collected my papers without paying much mind to him. 

"Hey, talk to me." I heard his footsteps approaching and I froze. Slowly turning around, our eyes met. "You good?"

"Peachy. Move." I muttered, trying to pass by him, yet a grip on my arm stopped me. I swallowed thickly as I felt his fingers curl around my elbow. 

"Can you tell me what the fuck is going on? Is it because I asked you to stay with me?" .  "Why does everything have to be about you, Yoongi? The situation itself is disasterous," I shot at him, pulling my hand away. "I don't trust you, and I won't be staying with you. I don't feel comfortable being around you, every second I look at your face I want to look away and disappear," I blurted out, stepping toward him. In my rage, I didn't care that we were close. 

"You are too dumb to even realize the situation," he spoke out.

"Fuck off." I spoke out, pushing him and walking out of the office. I was blushing and fuming at the same time. That idiot. He thought he was the Boss now and everyone would bow at his fucking feet. I reached my desk and slammed the papers I held on it before I sat down and buried my face in my hands, clearly frustrated.

-

The workday finally came to a close, the tension still lingering in the air. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding my breath until I stepped out of the meeting room, the weight of the new responsibilities hanging over Hoseok, and over all of us, like a storm cloud that refused to dissipate. I was exhausted, but the day wasn’t over yet.

Rya and I walked back to her place in silence, the streets unusually quiet as we made our way through the city. The only sounds were our footsteps and the occasional hum of passing cars. I could feel the heaviness of what was to come—Tina’s funeral was tomorrow and the cruel reality of her death still hard to grasp.

Rya had been distant, her mind clearly elsewhere, but when we reached her apartment, she greeted me with the same quiet, welcoming smile she always had. I let myself in, and immediately, Hades came bounding toward me, his large, fluffy form jumping up to greet me. I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned down to scratch behind his ears, the simple act of petting him somehow grounding me in the chaos.

“We’ll get through tomorrow,” Rya said, her voice soft as she shut the door behind us. "It’s hard, I know. But it’s over now."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I was agreeing with her or just trying to convince myself. Tina had been a complicated figure in my life, a bully and a tormentor, but now—now she was gone. And that meant something. What exactly? I wasn’t sure.

The conversation died as Rya and I settled into the couch. Rya made tea, and I pulled out Tina's worn journal I kept hidden in my bag. Tina's death was still too fresh, and I wasn’t sure how to process it yet.

Before I could open the journal, there was a knock at the door. It was gentle, but I could tell it was someone who had a reason to be there. I stood up slowly, my gaze flicking to Rya. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. I slowly opened the door and my eyes met with Hoseok's.

“Thought you two could use some company,” he said, standing in the doorway with a hesitant smile. He was in his usual casual wear—jeans and a hoodie—though there was a solemnity in his eyes that wasn’t usually there. Hades barked, running over to him, and Hoseok knelt down to pet him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Come on in,” Rya said, stepping aside. “You’re always welcome here.”

Hoseok nodded and stepped inside, taking a seat next to me on the couch. He seemed out of place, as if his mind was miles away, but his presence was comforting. The weight of the day seemed to lift a little with him there, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else.

We didn’t talk about the company or the changes Hoseok would face. Instead, we hung out like we always did. Rya made more tea, and we spent the next hour just talking—about life, about the things that made us laugh, about whatever came to mind. I caught myself smiling more than I had all day, my body relaxing as the warmth of the room filled me.

But then something caught Rya’s attention. She had been glancing out the window, her expression suddenly hardening as she stared into the night. I followed her gaze, and my heart skipped a beat.

Three men in black suits were standing just outside the building, pacing slowly around the entrance. They looked like they were waiting for something—or someone. I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something unnerving about their presence, their movements almost deliberate.

“What is it?” I asked quietly, already feeling the tension rising in my chest.

Rya didn’t answer immediately. She just kept watching them. Then, in a quiet voice, she muttered, “They don’t look good.”

I stood up, moving toward the window with her. The men weren’t doing anything threatening, but their presence felt off—like they were watching, waiting for something. The hair on the back of my neck stood on. I kept staring until one of the men glanced up and our eyes met. I took a few steps back. They looked like the damn mafia because I noticed that each one of them had tattoo on the back of their necks. "Should we call the police?" Hoseok asked. "I believe they are here to guard more than harm us." I muttered but I was unsure.  "I am gonna go and ask them who sent them." Hoseok stood up and before me and Rya could protest, he was out of the room. We turned around and waited until we saw Hoseok approach the three men. They stood taller than him which was quite intimidating from up here. Hoseok's face changed into pure surprise as they conversed back with him. Five minutes passed and Hoseok finally headed back into the building. Me and Rya looked at each other, then at Hoseok who just walked in. "What happened. Who were those people?" I asked, approaching him slowly.  "Yoongi sent them. They are here to guard."  "What?" I muttered and turned around to stare back at their figures. Yoongi sent them? So he was indeed involved in the mafia. Now that I think about it, after our little bicker at the meeting room I didn't hear much from him nor he approached me after that. So this was his plan? To send his gorillas to watch over us? Rya and Hoseok stared at me as I was clearly deep lost in thoughts. "I guess Yoongi does have a heart after all," Hoseok commented before flopping back on the couch as Hades jumped in his lap. I turned around to give him a glance, then back at Rya who shrugged her shoulders and joined Hoseok.  -

The rain was unrelenting, a steady rhythm against my umbrella that matched the dull ache in my chest. Everything felt muted, from the gray sky to the whispers of the wind through the trees. The priest’s voice carried over the gathering, solemn and heavy with meaning, but I couldn’t focus on the words. My mind wandered, my gaze fixed on the dark casket lowered into the ground. Tina’s family stood closest, their grief raw and exposed, a mirror to the ache none of us dared to show so openly.

I felt numb. Standing there, surrounded by my colleagues, I couldn't shake the surreal feeling that none of this was real. Tina was gone. She was really gone. The thought made my stomach churn, and my grip on the umbrella tightened. My mind drifted to the last time I’d seen her, how she tried to humiliate me in front of all those people, feeling so prideful of herself... Now, those moments were nothing but memories, fading with each passing second. I did not hold a grudge against her however, I had forgiven her already and was ready to move on with my next step in life. But the mere thought that death could take anyone, anytime made me question if I was actually living my life to the fullest.

The rain picked up, and a gust of wind threatened to flip my umbrella. I didn’t care. My thoughts were a storm of their own, louder than the priest’s speech, louder than the sobs around me. Why did it have to be her? Why did life have to be so cruel?

A presence nearby pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I felt it before I saw it—warm, steady, and familiar in a way that startled me. Turning my head slightly, my eyes fell on him. Yoongi.

He stood a step behind me, an umbrella of his own shielding him from the rain, his dark suit blending into the dreary backdrop. His expression was unreadable, but when our eyes met, he spared me the briefest glance. It wasn’t much—just a flicker of acknowledgment—but it felt like an anchor, grounding me when I was moments away from being swept away by my thoughts.

For a moment, I wanted to say something, but the words tangled in my throat. Instead, I turned back toward the priest, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside me somehow comforting. I didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The funeral ended with the soft murmurs of condolences and the muffled shuffle of footsteps on wet ground. People began to disperse, their umbrellas bobbing away in the gray mist. I stood still for a moment, watching Tina’s family linger by the grave, their grief a tangible weight that pressed on everyone who passed. I felt a pang of guilt as I turned away—I couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

Hoseok and Rya were waiting for me by the cemetery gates, their faces pale and drawn.

“Are you coming with us now?” Rya asked softly, her voice hoarse from crying. She gave me a weak, hopeful smile, her hand resting lightly on my arm.

I hesitated. “I think I should stop by my apartment first,” I said, trying to sound steadier than I felt. “Grab some things before I come over. I won’t be long.”

Hoseok looked concerned, his brows knitting together. “Are you sure you want to go alone? We can come with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

They exchanged a glance but didn’t push further. “Alright,” Rya said gently. “Just... don’t take too long. We’ll wait for you.”

I nodded, thanking them before turning toward the parking lot. The rain had eased slightly, but the cold still clung to the air, making every step feel heavier. As I neared one of the parked cabs, I heard footsteps behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Yoongi approaching, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression calm but unreadable.

“Yoongi?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. “What are you doing?”

He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head slightly as if the answer was obvious. “You’re heading to your apartment, right?” he said. “I’ll drive you.”

I blinked at him. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied simply. “But I want to. And I’ll go in with you. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be there alone.”

There was something about his tone—firm yet unassuming—that made it hard to argue. A part of me wanted to refuse, to insist that I didn’t need anyone’s help, but the exhaustion weighing me down won out.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thanks.”

He gave a small nod, motioning toward his car parked nearby. The drive to my apartment was quiet, the silence between us broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires splashing through puddles. I stared out the window, my mind swirling with a mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle. Yoongi didn’t press for conversation, and for that, I was grateful.

When we arrived, he parked by the curb and followed me up to my apartment. The air inside felt cold and stale, a sharp contrast to the warmth it used to hold. Everything was exactly as I’d left it, but it felt different now—lonelier.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I said, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. Yoongi lingered near the door, his sharp eyes scanning the space.

“Take your time,” he said, leaning against the wall, his presence calm and steady.

I moved through the apartment, grabbing the essentials—a change of clothes, my toothbrush, my charger. But as I packed, the weight of everything began to creep back in. 

I stopped in the middle of the room, gripping the edge of the counter as my chest tightened. Yoongi must have noticed because, before I could process it, he was standing beside me, his voice soft but firm.

“You don’t have to hold it together all the time,” he said.

His words broke something in me, and I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back spilling over. I expected him to say more or simply let me be by leaving the room, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed quiet, a solid presence beside me as I let the grief wash over me in waves.

The tears came fast, hot, and relentless, pouring out in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since it all happened. I tried to stifle the sobs, to keep it together, but the weight of everything—Tina’s empty desk, the funeral—broke through whatever fragile composure I had left. My shoulders shook as I leaned heavily on the counter, my hands gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

For a moment, Yoongi didn’t say anything. The silence between us stretched, filled only by the sound of my uneven breathing and the rain still drizzling outside. I wondered if he was regretting coming with me, if he was silently willing this moment to end. But then, I felt him move closer.

“I’m... not good at this,” he admitted, his voice low and hesitant, almost like he was speaking to himself. “But... you don’t have to do this alone.”

The words were simple, awkward even, but they struck something deep within me. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him standing there, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his brows drawn together in concern. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with something softer, something almost unsure.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, his hand hovering near my shoulder as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch me or not. Eventually, he settled on a light, tentative pat, like he was testing the waters. It was almost laughable in its awkwardness, but somehow, it made me cry harder.

“Hey,” he said quickly, his voice rising just a little. “It’s okay. I mean, not okay—none of this is—but... you’re allowed to cry.” His hand stayed there, a steady, grounding weight on my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was something so painfully honest about the way he spoke, like he was trying so hard to say the right thing even if he didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t polished or rehearsed, but it was real, and that was enough.

“I just—” My voice cracked as I tried to speak. “She was a shitty person, but she didn’t deserve this.”

“I know,” he said softly, his tone steady now. “None of this makes sense. And it’s not fair. But...” He paused, searching for the right words. “It already happened and we must move on. You have to take care of yourself and what you do. Of your own future....”

I nodded, my tears slowing but still spilling over. His hand left my shoulder briefly, and I thought maybe he was stepping back, giving me space. Instead, he grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to me, holding it out like it was some kind of peace offering.

“Here,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re, uh... kind of a mess.”

Despite everything, I let out a choked laugh, taking the tissue and wiping at my face. “Thanks,” I muttered, my voice still shaky. “For stating the obvious.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The heaviness in my chest hadn’t disappeared, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore. Yoongi didn’t fill the silence with empty platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep. He just stood there, awkward and quiet and real, and somehow, that was exactly what I needed.

-

As we stepped out of my apartment, the rain had lightened to a soft drizzle. Yoongi walked beside me, his pace measured, as if he wasn’t in a rush to leave. I wasn’t either, but I didn’t say anything. The lingering weight of my tears had left me feeling raw, but lighter somehow, as if letting it all out had taken a small part of the burden with it.

We got into his car, and I buckled my seatbelt, glancing at him as he started the engine. The drive to Rya’s place was quiet at first, the steady hum of the heater filling the space. My thoughts swirled, still caught in the strange, bittersweet moment we’d just shared, but something else tugged at the back of my mind.

I turned to look at him, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Yoongi,” I started, my voice breaking the silence.

“Hm?” he responded, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“The bodyguards.” My tone was even, but there was a pointed edge to it. “Why?”

For a second, his hands tightened on the wheel, a flicker of something crossing his face—surprise? Annoyance? It was hard to tell.

He shrugged, the motion nonchalant. “You figured that out, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “They’ve been following me everywhere.”

“Good,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice calm but resolute. “That’s the point.”

I stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but he didn’t offer one. “Why?” I pressed. “Why did you send them? And don’t say it’s because you’re just being ‘nice.’”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk, but it faded quickly. “You didn’t agree to stay with me,” he said simply, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “I couldn’t just leave you to deal with everything alone. You’re... you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “So your solution was to have me followed?”

“It’s not following,” he corrected, his tone almost teasing. “It’s protecting. There’s a difference.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need bodyguards, Yoongi. I’m fine.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and the air grew heavier with the weight of the conversation. Finally, he sighed, his voice quieter this time. “You might think you’re fine, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone looking out for you. Especially now.”

There was something in his tone—something softer, almost vulnerable—that caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got stuck. Instead, I turned to look out the window, the city lights blurring as we passed them.

“I don’t know whether to be mad at you or grateful,” I muttered.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and surprisingly comforting. “Why not both? Seems fair.”

Despite myself, I smiled a little, shaking my head. Typical Yoongi. Always doing things his way, even if it meant annoying me in the process.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, and when we pulled up to Rya’s apartment, he turned off the engine but didn’t make any move to get out immediately.

“Thanks,” I said softly, my hand resting on the door handle. “For the ride. And for... everything else.”

He gave me a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

I lingered for a moment before stepping out of the car, the rain now just a faint mist against my skin. As I walked toward the building, I glanced back briefly to see him watching me from the car, his face shadowed but his presence as steady as ever.

Rya’s apartment was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the dreary night outside. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air as I stepped inside, and the sight of Hoseok and Rya’s familiar faces brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. They greeted me with soft smiles, though their eyes still held traces of the sorrow that lingered from the funeral.

“Hey,” Rya said gently, pulling me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re back, but it took you a while.”

She was referring to me being late. The images of me crying and Yoongi trying to comfort be flooded my mind and a fait blush crept across my cheeks but I decided to not say anything else.  "I had to figure out what to bring." I muttered a lame excuse.

Hoseok appeared behind her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“As okay as I can be,” I admitted, forcing a faint smile.

“Well, you’re not alone,” he said, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. “We’re here.”

The apartment felt cozy, with blankets draped over the couch and soft lighting from a few lamps scattered around the room. It was exactly the kind of space I needed—a temporary refuge from the chaos of my own life.

Rya ushered me into the kitchen, insisting I have some tea before settling in. I obliged, the warmth of the mug grounding me as we sat and talked about nothing in particular. Hoseok tried to lighten the mood with his usual humor, and while it didn’t completely lift the heaviness, it was enough to make me feel a little more human.

As the night wore on, the apartment grew quieter. Hoseok eventually left, giving me and Rya some space, and Rya retired to her room shortly after, leaving me alone with Hades in the living room. The small, neatly arranged space was calming, but my mind refused to quiet. I sat on the couch, staring at my bag where the journal was tucked away.

I told myself I wasn’t going to look at it tonight. I needed rest. But the pull of it was too strong, the questions it raised too loud to ignore. With a sigh, I reached into my bag and pulled it out, the leather cover worn and familiar under my fingers.

Flipping through the pages felt almost intrusive, even though I’d done it before. My eyes skimmed over the familiar handwriting, notes scrawled in a hurried script that hinted at Tina’s urgency. Names, places, fragments of thoughts—it was all there, a chaotic puzzle waiting to be solved.

And then, my breath hitched.

My eyes landed on a sentence, circled twice in a way that made it stand out among the cluttered text.

K told me everything will be okay. The deal would be closed and I don't need to worry, but why do I feel so uneasy as I roam at my apartment during the night? Almost as if someone's watching me.

I stared at it, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't figure out who that man with the letter K was. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I shook my head and closed the journal with a soft thud before putting it back in my bag and closing it securely.  -

I was sitting at my desk, the office buzzing around me with the usual chatter and the clinking of keyboards, trying to focus on the emails piling up. The weight of Tina’s journal still hung heavily on my mind, especially after the discovery last night. The letter 'K” was like a puzzle piece lodged somewhere deep in my brain, but it didn’t fit. Not yet.

My phone buzzed on my desk, breaking my thoughts. I glanced down at the screen and saw my parents’ name flash across it.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. It had been a while since I’d heard from them, and though it was never a bad thing, it felt like I had too many loose ends of my own to deal with. Still, I swiped to answer.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.”

“Y/N!” my mother’s voice came through. “We heard about your colleague's passing. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Mom,” I said, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice. “Just... busy with work." There was a silence to the other side of the line, I could feel that my answer wasn't satisfactory for them nor did they believe me. "Sweetheart, are you sure you are okay?" I wasn't. Not really. My apartment was trashed, I am staying at a friend's place for the time being and I hold a journal that has a target on my back. No, I am not okay. But I wasn't going to tell them all of this. They'd flip and arrive with the first flight here and I did not want their appearance to complicate things and potentially put a target on their backs too.

“Yes, Mom. Just... work has it's toll on me." "Have you been taking care of yourself? Eating enough and sleeping enough?" I rolled my eyes, leaning back on my chair as I rubbed my temple. "Yes, Mom." "Good, good. So, how's Taehyung?"

"He is fine, we went out during the weekend and spent some quality time together” "Oh, that's lovely. You and him should visit us for the holidays!"  "I am unsure, work here is a killer and I need to finish some project before New Year's Eve." I lied. "I am hoping you'd visit us, you know. It's been a year since we've seen you." I swallowed thickly. "Well, when I get the chance, I will visit." I heard rustling from the other side of the line, "Remember when you were a kid and Taehyung used to steal your dolly toy? It was hilarious, you'd throw whatever you find at him." I heard my dad chuckle and my mom did the same too. "Yeah, I remember." "You were such a feisty child back then, I swear. You also used to have trouble saying Taehyung’s name,” my dad continued. “So you’d always call him ‘Kim.’ You couldn’t quite say his full name, and I think you just got used to calling him that.”

I froze, the cup of coffee in my hand going still. "Wait, what?" "Silly girl, you don't remember it? Taehyung liked it so much that everyone started calling him Kim."

The memory hit me like a rush of cold water. Was he possibly the one Tina referred as K in her journal. I felt my breath hitch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What if it was?!

I nodded absently, my mind racing. “Yeah. Mom, Dad, something came up, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you.”

Before they could say anything more, I hung up, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm. Kim. The letter "K." That name had been haunting me for days. The man behind the cryptic letter, the one who had been tied to Tina’s journal—the “K” who had promised everything would be okay...

My hands were shaking slightly as I grabbed Tina’s journal from my bag, flipping through the pages until I landed on the sentence I had found last night. My heart pounded as I read the words again, my eyes scanning the haunting sentence:

K told me everything will be okay. The deal would be closed and I don't need to worry, but why do I feel so uneasy as I roam at my apartment during the night? Almost as if someone's watching me.

Taehyung.

The unease that had crawled through Tina’s words—the feeling of being watched—was too similar to what I had experienced, too unsettling to ignore. Had Tina been trying to warn me? Was she afraid of him?

No, this couldn't be true. There was no way Taehyung would be involved with Tina's murder. He was a kind gracing soul, his eyes sparkled when he smiles and he has the brightest energy. I refused to believe this. Fuck. I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry. Jungkook was rotting at the police station and I felt my hands were tied. -

A week had passed since the call with my parents, and the chaos surrounding Tina's death had only escalated. The media was in full frenzy, throwing every possible theory into the spotlight. They were relentless, accusing Jungkook, linking his name to the case, and bombarding every source with questions. The headlines screamed: Jungkook: The Man Behind Tina's Murder? Did Jungkook Have a Motive? Tina’s Death: The Dark Truth Behind the Hidden Relationship. It felt like the world was spinning out of control, the noise growing louder, and my head throbbed from the constant barrage of speculation.

I couldn’t bring myself to buy into the media's narrative, though. I knew Jungkook, and something about it didn’t sit right. The accusations seemed premature, reckless even. Still, I couldn’t ignore the mounting pressure to find some kind of answer. I was still in heavy denial that Taehyung was the man with the letter K which Tina referred to in her journal. Speaking of Tae, he tried to contact me a few times in the past week but I either ignored his calls or picked up to tell him I was busy. I didn't wish to talk to him right now.

After days of sifting through Tina’s journal and chasing after dead ends, I felt more lost than ever. There was no concrete evidence, no undeniable proof to tie anyone to Tina’s death. I’d met with the police a few times but nothing was helping. They’d brushed off my theories—rightfully so, in hindsight—leaving me to wonder if I was grasping at straws. I was on the edge of giving up, frustrated, exhausted, and feeling hopeless.

It was late in the afternoon when a small white envelope appeared at my office. No return address. No name. Just a plain piece of paper that seemed ordinary, yet I couldn't shake the unease that washed over me. I hesitated for a moment before opening it, wondering who would send me something anonymously.

Inside was a single photograph. My breath caught in my throat when I saw it.

The picture was grainy, clearly taken from a distance. It showed Tina standing in front of her apartment building, the night she was murdered. The time stamped at the bottom of the image was just moments before her estimated time of death. She was talking to someone. The man was standing close to her, but his face was obscured by a black umbrella, as if to shield himself from the rain.

I squinted at the image, my heart beating faster. But then, my eyes narrowed at something else. A dark scar on the man’s wrist. His hand was gripping the umbrella, and the scar was visible just below his sleeve—large, jagged, and unmistakable. It stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his arm. Everything else was shrouded in shadow. His face, his body—everything but that scar and the way his hand gripped the umbrella.

I felt my hands tremble as I turned the photograph over, hoping for any sort of clue written on the back. But there was nothing. No note. No further explanation.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

This wasn’t just any man. This was someone Tina had been with right before her death, someone she clearly knew. But who? And why was his face hidden? Why was there only a scar on his wrist to identify him?

The dark scar—it was familiar, somehow. I racked my brain, my thoughts racing. Where had I seen something like that before?

The answer hit me suddenly, like a flicker of a memory I’d buried. The scar on his wrist... it was so similar to the one I had seen on someone else. 

I stumbled back from my desk, gripping the edge as my head spun. 

I couldn’t waste time second-guessing. I needed to find out who this man was, and fast. I needed to know if the scar was really the key to unlocking everything. Could it be a coincidence? Or was it part of something far more dangerous?

I shoved the picture into my bag, heart pounding in my chest, a new sense of urgency coursing through me. Time was running out. The mystery was growing darker, and I was one step closer to something much bigger than I could have imagined.

I had to keep going. There was no turning back now.

My heart raced as I clutched the photo tightly in my bag, the urgency driving me forward. I had to get to Taehyung’s law firm—he had to know something. The scar on the man’s wrist... I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the missing link, the connection that would tie everything together. I had no time to waste, not when the pieces were finally starting to fall into place.

I moved quickly through the city streets, the damp air clinging to my skin, the sounds of traffic and people filling the space around me. My mind was consumed with the photo, with the potential answers it held, but as I crossed the busy intersection, something felt off. My senses were heightened, like a tightrope walker balancing between instinct and logic.

I barely noticed the car speeding toward me until it was too late.

A sudden screech of tires, the blinding flash of headlights. My body tensed as I tried to step back, but it was too fast—too close. Everything happened in a blur. My heart skipped a beat. I felt the impact, the jolt of the car against my side, sending me crashing into the pavement.

Pain exploded through my body, sharp and overwhelming, but it was the darkness that came next that consumed me. A deep, suffocating blackness, pulling me in from all sides.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. The world around me disappeared, replaced by the weight of nothingness. My mind felt as though it had been ripped away from my body, trapped in a void that seemed endless.

I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but there was nothing—just silence.

Everything faded away.

[wren-l-winter]

“I won’t let you take her from me,” the captain snapped, the point of her cutlass resting at the base of her first mate’s throat. But it wasn’t her first mate who looked back at her. The warm gaze of the woman she’d known had been consumed by a whirlpool of vengeance and bloodlust. It was the same look that had possessed the rest of her crew when they’d slaughtered each other.

“There’s nothing left of her.” The woman took a step forward, uncaring as the captain’s blade sliced the fragile flesh of her neck. “She touched the gold like the rest of them. Greed has a price. They chose theirs.” 

Entrails squelched and popped beneath her boot as the captain danced back. “She didn’t know.”

A laugh slipped from her first mate’s lips, foreign and yet painfully familiar. “And the others did?” The creature bearing the face of the woman she loved took another step toward her.

The captain slid to the side, narrowly avoiding the mangled, outstretched hand of the deceased cabin boy. The crew hadn’t know of the curse, but they didn’t matter. Not the way her first mate did. “Let her go.” “What will you do if I don’t?” The spirit tilted her head—the movement slow and calculating. “Cut me?” Calloused hands slid over the oozing cut on her neck, painting her fingertips in crimson before she traced the line of her lips. “Throw me overboard?” Her first mate took a quick step forward, cackling as the captain flinched back, lest she impale her. “Weep and beg?” A smile cut across her face like an open sore. “I prefer that option.” 

The captain’s mouth parted, then closed. What could she do?

The answer was nothing. 

The spirit could not harm her as she had not touched the gold and the captain could not bear to lose her first mate, even if the spirit was right and there was nothing left of her soul. 

“If I found someone else, someone to take her place, would you let her go,” the captain said as their back met the unforgiving railing. 

“I do love a good bargain.” The creature moved closer, undeterred by the threat of the captain’s blade. “If you truly care for her, then you know her soul is worth more than one.”

Dread pooled in the captain’s belly like a cannonball. 

“A hundred souls in return for hers.” The captain’s gaze slid away from her first mate’s features to the carnage strewn about the deck. Would she condemn a hundred people to save the woman she loved? She looked back to the spirit, eyes slipping down to the wound on her neck. “You said there was nothing left of her,” she said, her words nearly carried off by the whisper of the sea. 

“I lied.” 

“How do I know you’ll keep up your end of the deal?” 

“You don’t,” the creature laughed. “But your darling girl is worth the risk, isn’t she, hm?” 

“A hundred souls,” the captain repeated.

“A hundred measly souls.” 

“I’ll do it.” The captain’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the deal she’d struck. 

“Lovely.” The creature stepped back and clasped her hands together. “Now, I suggest you clean this mess up before it stains your beautiful deck.”

~*~

Acrid smoke burned the captain’s nose as she stood on the village’s dock. The wild flames consuming the small port seared into her mind as the screams of the burning twisted through the air like the plumes of smoke blocking out the sun. She turned and walked up the plank to face the creature she’d come to loathe.

“You look so sad.” The cracked lips of her possessed lover formed a mischievous pout. “I thought you’d enjoy your little trip away from me. I know you’ve been so eager to get her back.” 

“They’re dead,” the captain said bluntly. 

If those obsidian eyes could roll, they would have. “You’re no fun.” 

“Give her back.” 

“No.” 

“What do you mean, no?” The captain stalked forward, blind with fury. “We made a deal!”

“We did,” the creature said coolly, “but all those poor villagers have been taken by the fire, not by you.” 

The captain stopped a mere breath away. Her fists trembled with restraint. 

“You know,” her first mate cooed, “you never asked how I wanted you to deliver those souls to me, now that I think of it.” 

“They’re dead. What does it matter how I killed them?” 

The creature tsked. “Again, you didn’t kill them. The fire did. How am I supposed to take their souls when they’re just floating away, hm? Really, you’re just being inconsiderate.” 

“Enough with your tricks.” She grabbed the stained collar of the creature’s shirt, pulling her close. “Tell me what you want.” “I don’t think I will.” Soft fingers lifted, touching the captain’s rosy cheek. “You’ll have to figure it out.” She sighed with a drunken smile. “I love how red you get when you’re angry. I could just bite it.” Her teeth snapped shut an inch away from her face. 

If the captain had touched the gold, she knew those teeth would have torn into her flesh. 

“But I’m feeling generous.” Those chapped lips closed the space between them, stealing a kiss before the captain could jump back. She giggled—her laughter a wicked, manic sound. “I’ll count their deaths for one. Ninety-nine to go.”

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 43

Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

“Murder in the streets! Is the Flaming Fist failing its duty to protect the people!? Sources say yes! Read about it here! Hot off the presses!” The young dragonborn squeaked as she waved a newspaper in the air. A tall tiefling with blue-grey skin and close cropped blond hair handed the girl some money, more than the paper was worth, and took a copy, reading it with a frown. His sister and another Tiefling with honey brown hair and striking green eyes stood beside, tending a little girl with dark blonde hair and small newly curving blue horns who was hopping up and down eagerly. “Tibs, you know how The Baldur's Mouth is...Don't take it to heart.” His twin gave a small, sympathetic frown. “Dear, you know they criticize us almost daily. Just focus on doing our duty...We will put a stop to these killings.” His wife assured him, picking up the little girl and holding her towards the off-duty fist. “Still...is this my fault, that body near the school a few months back, should I have looked further into it...” The man, Tibs, Gauntlet Tiburon Thalassia when it was proper, thought out loud. “At the time I didn't even think of what it could mean....Jaina, are you sure you didn't see anything?” His sister, Jaina Thalassia, bit her lip and lowered her head. She couldn't bring herself to recount her chance meeting with The Dread Executioner. There was something about him, far more ominous than an ordinary cultist. She told herself that fact made her concerned for her brother, not that she hesitated because he'd been friendly to her, almost charming.

As the family stood discussing the news, the little girl giggled happily and pointed. “Mama! Papa! Auntie! Beau'ful lady!” The toddler squealed with excitement, her tail wagging happily as she squirmed in her mother's arms and pointed to a stunning elven woman with dark hair and eyes, exquisitely dressed in a black and violet traveling suit, purchasing a paper. Tomi smiled at the little girl as she took her copy of the gazette. “So you think I am beautiful?” She giggled and inclined her head. “Thank you, sweetling.” She turned to lock eyes with Jaina and her expression caused the young teacher to freeze like a cornered doe, her eyes took on an unsettling look and she raised a finger to her lips before turning and walking away. “Beau'ful lady! Beau'ful lady!” Her niece's happy squeals and clapping brought Jaina back to reality and she shook off her discomfort, continuing her morning walk with her family.

Below the city streets, Sentry stood at his latest canvas. The opera scene hanging triumphantly over his favorite mirror, now depicting several running, screaming nobles and at least five more impaled upon the bloodied crystals of the grand chandelier, pieces of red stained glass scattered amongst entrails and viscera across the carpeted floor.

His current work was a bloodied hand clasped with one painted inky black. Himself and Gortash sprawled atop two closely placed, bloodstained altars. Gortash was flayed and bits of him chewed and eaten from the legs up to his neck, Sentry's mouth was stained in blood and gore, his belly swollen and the beginnings of small sharp claws beginning to tear through the flesh were poking up through the taught skin. The sky above was red with angry black clouds and lightning and all along the ground below the altars was strewn with signs of death.

He sighed happily as he looked at the picture before him, his hand moving down to rest on his stomach, now visibly round beneath the baggy, paint splattered shirt he wore. Leaving to collect materials was getting more and more difficult recently and he found himself sleeping a lot to conserve energy, curled up with Malta and the gnolls for far longer than he would have in the past. Father's anger had gotten worse as well, adding to the fatigue. While the enchanted ink he was tattooed with and Malta's presence did weaken Father's hold just a bit, the anger had grown such that sometimes Sentry found himself losing consciousness from the pain in his head, engulfing his mind in blood red agony.

The dreams and memories were getting worse as well. Sentry half wondered if in his infinite pettiness, father was playing on his fear and pain from his days being trained as a breeder or the days when he had been to weak to push Jackal off of him and send him howling. But Sentry would never equate this with the sort of breeding father wanted. Sentry had chosen Enver as the father of his child. Sentry had eagerly milked his lover's seed from him and practically begged him to claim his womb. It was because Enver was not a Bhaalist, and moreover, was someone Sentry cared deeply for, maybe the person he'd cared most for in his entire life, his equal, his partner, that this was different. Father could not, no, father WOULD not, take that from him.

Far above the sewers where Sentry worked, Enver was feverishly building and writing. His desk strewn with gears and cogs, scraps of metal, papers as well. So many bloody papers. Patterns, schematics, letters... Standing across the back of the table, a series of miniature models of the design he was perfecting. At first blush, they would appear to the untrained eye to be simple toy soldiers, albeit ornate ones, but a trained artificer would recognize a prototype in miniature. They wielded swords or crossbows and wore beautifully designed armor decorated in gold filigree. A paper haphazardly tacked up behind them christened them 'The Steel Watch'. Among the countless blueprints, a letter in infernal lay open, illustrations of a mechanical heart wreathed in fire circled a dozen times and copied in many variations across other scraps of paper. Nearby, drawings of a brain and hastily scribbled notes. It was coming together, slowly but surely. Enver himself was showing signs of wear and tear after what seemed like endless nights awake and never leaving his workshop. Plates of half finished food were piled forgotten on a side table, empty bottles of liquor littered the floor. Dark circles, more prominent than usual, decorated his eyes, he'd grown out a ten-day's worth of stubble, and the cot in the corner lay undisturbed.

It did begin to occur to him finally, however, that he hadn't seen his dear Executioner in some time. He felt an irritating tug at his heart at that thought. It was not in Enver's nature to get close to someone. Affection caused nothing but pain and people were best used as a means to an end. But not Sentry. Sentry was uniquely broken in a similar vein to Enver himself. Sentry understood, only he could be considered a partner, a lover, an equal. When Enver pictured his iron fisted rule over first Baldur's Gate and then all of Faerun, he could never picture Sentry anywhere but at his side, standing tall and imposing as an equal. Sentry could not be subjugated, refused to be conquered. Enver respected that and it made him desire the tiefling even more.

With these thoughts racing through his mind, he pulled a blank piece of paper in front of him and began to write. The message heavily coded with the cipher only known between the two of them. He scrawled feverishly, asking his beloved Bhaalist to come to him, forcing his words to sound coy rather than pleading or desperate. Yet he was, he needed Sentry. Only his Dread Executioner could soothe him and give him the rest he grudgingly admitted he required. As he signed the letter, he took a deep breath and noticed the sour scent of sweat and rotted food in the room. With a sigh, he staggered to his feet and made his way to the cluttered table of plates, collecting as many as he could and carrying them to a wall in the corner of the room. He pressed a hand to one of the bricks and a small pulley revealed itself. He placed the plates on the metal platform and gave the rope a few tugs, sending the plates down to the kitchen. It took him some time, but once all the plates and bottles had been discarded, he staggered to the stairs, slowly making his way back to the main house. If he planned to see Sentry, he didn't want his partner's first reaction to be chastising him about overworking himself.

[manwalksintobar]

The Far Field // Theodore Roethke

I

I dream of journeys repeatedly: Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula, The road lined with snow-laden second growth, A fine dry snow ticking the windshield, Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic, And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror, The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone, Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut, Where the car stalls, Churning in a snowdrift Until the headlights darken.

II

At the field's end, in the corner missed by the mower, Where the turf drops off into a grass-hidden culvert, Haunt of the cat-bird, nesting-place of the field-mouse, Not too far away from the ever-changing flower-dump, Among the tin cans, tires, rusted pipes, broken machinery, -- One learned of the eternal; And in the shrunken face of a dead rat, eaten by rain and ground-beetles (I found in lying among the rubble of an old coal bin) And the tom-cat, caught near the pheasant-run, Its entrails strewn over the half-grown flowers, Blasted to death by the night watchman.

I suffered for young birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower, My grief was not excessive. For to come upon warblers in early May Was to forget time and death: How they filled the oriole's elm, a twittering restless cloud, all one morning, And I watched and watched till my eyes blurred from the bird shapes, -- Cape May, Blackburnian, Cerulean, -- Moving, elusive as fish, fearless, Hanging, bunched like young fruit, bending the end branches, Still for a moment, Then pitching away in half-flight, Lighter than finches, While the wrens bickered and sang in the half-green hedgerows, And the flicker drummed from his dead tree in the chicken-yard.

-- Or to lie naked in sand, In the silted shallows of a slow river, Fingering a shell, Thinking: Once I was something like this, mindless, Or perhaps with another mind, less peculiar; Or to sink down to the hips in a mossy quagmire; Or, with skinny knees, to sit astride a wet log, Believing: I'll return again, As a snake or a raucous bird, Or, with luck, as a lion.

I learned not to fear infinity, The far field, the windy cliffs of forever, The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow, The wheel turning away from itself, The sprawl of the wave, The on-coming water.

III

The river turns on itself, The tree retreats into its own shadow. I feel a weightless change, a moving forward As of water quickening before a narrowing channel When banks converge, and the wide river whitens; Or when two rivers combine, the blue glacial torrent And the yellowish-green from the mountainy upland, -- At first a swift rippling between rocks, Then a long running over flat stones Before descending to the alluvial plane, To the clay banks, and the wild grapes hanging from the elmtrees. The slightly trembling water Dropping a fine yellow silt where the sun stays; And the crabs bask near the edge, The weedy edge, alive with small snakes and bloodsuckers, -- I have come to a still, but not a deep center, A point outside the glittering current; My eyes stare at the bottom of a river, At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains, My mind moves in more than one place, In a country half-land, half-water.

I am renewed by death, thought of my death, The dry scent of a dying garden in September, The wind fanning the ash of a low fire. What I love is near at hand, Always, in earth and air.

IV

The lost self changes, Turning toward the sea, A sea-shape turning around, -- An old man with his feet before the fire, In robes of green, in garments of adieu. A man faced with his own immensity Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire. The murmur of the absolute, the why Of being born falls on his naked ears. His spirit moves like monumental wind That gentles on a sunny blue plateau. He is the end of things, the final man.

All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened pines; Odor of basswood on a mountain-slope, A scent beloved of bees; Silence of water above a sunken tree : The pure serene of memory in one man, -- A ripple widening from a single stone Winding around the waters of the world.

[wendigoartbot2]

Where the Tree Limbs Twist

The community of Merrill rests uneasily within the dense forests of northern New York. Though its old clapboard houses and quaint main street bespeak a cheery simplicity, behind its rustic facade lies a history steeped in shadow.

I first learned of the area’s troubled past during my graduate studies in folklore. I had chosen to focus my thesis on legends of the Wendigo, the vicious man-eating spirit of Algonquian myth. My research led me to Chateaugay Lake, where locals whispered of an ancient evil lurking within the nearby woods. Intrigued, I decided to visit and see for myself if any truth lay beneath these chilling tales.

Arriving on a cool October afternoon, I found Chateaugay Lake bathed in the vibrant hues of autumn. But even the bright foliage could not mask the hamet’s underlying gloom. The residents I encountered regarded me with suspicion, their weathered faces grim and eyes darkened by some unspoken knowledge. Though outwardly quaint, the area’s architecture betrayed a subtle wrongness. The peaked roofs of its buildings spiraled up to slightly warped points, while the angles of its windows and doors seemed somehow off-kilter. The shadows cast by its structures at sunset seemed to writhe with a strange, unfathomable energy.

The local library proved disappointingly devoid of useful history, containing only sanitized accounts that glossed over the town's past. The true history of Merrill, I learned, was passed down orally through the generations, its secrets closely guarded. After days of seeking locals willing to open up, I finally found an ancient man named Abraham who agreed to tell me his family's stories under condition of anonymity. He led me to a remote covered bridge on the outskirts of town, away from prying eyes and ears. As we sat beneath the bridge’s heavy rafters, he related the dark history of Chateaugay Lake in a voice cracked and worn by the passage of time.

“The Wendigo has haunted these lands since before the town's founding,” he rasped. “The natives who once lived here knew of its evil, and avoided these woods at all costs. But the early settlers had no such wisdom. Drawn by the lushness of the land, they built their homes along the forest's edge, heedless of the native warnings.”

According to Abraham, it wasn’t long before the settlers experienced the Wendigo’s horror firsthand. Livestock torn apart and half-devoured, elderly townsfolk going missing in the night, strange screams echoing from the woods after sundown. Some dismissed the incidents as mere animal attacks or superstition, but fear grew steadily among the residents.

Things came to a head the following winter, when a group of trappers failed to return from their seasonal hunt. The town organized a search party to comb the snowy woods for their missing brethren. What they discovered in that silent, frosted forest left them shattered to their very souls.

The trappers’ ransacked campsite was found first, tattered tents and belongings strewn about darkly. No bodies were discovered, but the snow was stained crimson in several places. The searchers pressed on with growing dread, leaving the relative safety of the campsite behind.

It wasn’t long before their fears were confirmed. Abraham hesitated here in his retelling, as if hardly able to voice the horrors witnessed that day. The search party had come upon a clearing, he continued, where the twisted, half-eaten remains of the missing trappers hung from the trees in a grisly display. Organs and entrails scattered haphazardly about, faces frozen in twisted visages of primal terror. What monstrous being was capable of such an atrocity?

Panicked, the search party hastily returned to town with their gruesome discovery. None dared return to that tainted clearing to cut down the bodies. Fearing a curse had befallen the woods, the area surrounding the trappers’ grim death site was left abandoned, a black void in the mapped forest.

Abraham sighed heavily in the wake of his tale, as though the telling had sapped his very life force. I sat silently, staggered by the account of brutality and haunted by the imagined scene. Before I could gather my wits to question him further, Abraham rose abruptly to leave. Over his shoulder, he left me with one final chilling remark: “There are some mysteries best left undisturbed, for the sake of one's sanity."

Though initially disturbed by Abraham’s cryptic words, I found myself only further drawn to penetrating the enigma of Chateaugay’s past. I began trekking frequently into the surrounding forest, observing its unsettling distortions—the strange angles at which trees leaned, the peculiar patterns and shapes assumed by twisted branches and snarled underbrush. It was a woodland that seemed almost alive, governed by a skewed, unnatural logic just beyond human comprehension.

My wanderings eventually brought me near the reputed location of the trappers’ macabre resting site. I cannot properly articulate the primal dread that seized me as I crossed into that accursed glade—an atmosphere of wrongness that shook my very being. The grove seemed unnaturally silent and still, shunned by animals and devoid of life. The trees bent at warped, impossible angles, their branches twisting into disturbing shapes that vaguely hinted at contorted human forms. I hurriedly turned back, feeling the heavy weight of the Wendigo’s gaze pressing upon me, as though the ancient being guarded this tract of damned land against all human trespass.

Despite the disturbing insights gained from my travels through the Chateaugay woods, I became obsessed with acquiring empirical proof of the Wendigo's existence. Surely if I could obtain photographic evidence or tangible marks of its presence, I could make a legitimate academic contribution. In hindsight, this was but the latest in a series of unwise decisions born of youth and arrogance.

One fateful night I concealed myself in a blind deep within the forest, my camera trained on a bait pile of raw meat. I was prepared to document the appearance of any wildlife drawn by the scent. But it was no mundane animal that lumbered out of the darkness toward my outpost.

I remember little of the hulking, antlered form that appeared in my brief flashes of photography. My memories consist only of a blur of coarse fur, claws, and a pair of burning eyes that cut through every defense of logic and sanity. The accelerating clicking of my camera sounded absurdly loud in the awful stillness, shattered only by the thunderous pounding of my heart. The creature froze for a single nightmarish moment, transfixing me with its searing, inhuman gaze. Then the monstrosity was gone, vanishing with a swiftness that belied its massive form.

My next concrete memory is of being found days later, emerging dazed and trembling from the forest. My clothes were tattered and stained with blood from countless gashes delivered by branches and briars during my panicked flight. The sweat-slick camera still hung from my neck, but appeared damaged beyond repair. I have little doubt that seeing the contents of that memory card would have broken my psyche irreparably.

It has been many years since that ill-fated night, but its scars run deep. Though I did piece together enough of my thesis to graduate, my career never recovered from that impulsive pursuit of forbidden knowledge. I have shared my tale with only a handful of confidants over the years, fearful of the professional ridicule it would invite. But I know what I witnessed in those accursed woods. There are primal secrets festering beneath the civilized veneer of our world, horrors too ancient and terrible for fragile human minds to behold. We disregard the old warnings at our own peril.

As for the hamlet of Merrill, it remains cloaked in mystery to this day. Their secret protected by generations of silence, the residents go about their daily lives seemingly unperturbed by the evil lurking in their own backyards. But the forest remembers. Its twisted trees stand as grim monuments, deformed by centuries of the Wendigo's corrupting influence. Venture into those woods, and you enter a realm surreal and unknowable—a living testament to the horrors wrought by the Wendigo since time immemorial. Tread lightly, keep to the path, and pray you don't stumble into the Wendigo's domain...for there are fates far worse than death.

[deities-anew]

Nice.

[It straightens]

Take good care of my brother or your entrails will be strewn all over this God forsaken place :)

[bap.]

MnbUH- [they sit up, awake.]

[filhadoboto]

My loneliness and me - Chapter 13

a Darklina canon divergent fic

Fic summary: Alina tries to distract herself the night before the Shadow Fold crossing and her path ends up crossing that of the mysterious Darkling.

AO3 link; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - The life of a Grisha – part 2

Alina Starkov

Time seemed to slow down as everything around Alina turned into complete chaos.

The man in front of her fell to his knees screaming in pain, his hand trying to stop the bleeding from the stump of his arm, his eyes filled with pain and disbelief as he looked around for the enemy.

The hunter holding Alina abruptly released her, and when she turned to look at him, he had been split in half and his entrails were strewn across the leaf-strewn ground.

With alarmed shouts, the Fjerdan hunters around the clearing began to react to the mysterious attackers. Some shot back, others dropped to the ground and sought to protect themselves using the bodies of their comrades as shields, and others sought shelter in the logs they had used to sit on or in the nearest trees.

Alina felt someone's hand grip her arm and pull her down, and when she turned, ready to fight one of the hunters, her eyes met the Darkling's gray eyes. A mixture of surprise, happiness and relief flooded her body at the sight of him and she just couldn't take her eyes off his.

She had accepted her fate. She had given up all hope and then the Darkling had appeared to save her. Several things went through her mind at the same time: she wanted to laugh, she wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to say she was sorry, she wanted to tell him that Ivan and Fedyor were dead, she wanted to ask how he found her, she wanted to hug him, she wanted to say how grateful and happy she was that he was there, that he had come to save her, but the only thing she could say was "I t’s you!"

"Stay down." he ordered in an urgent tone and got to his feet in front of her.

Several shots hit him, but the Darkling ignored them and she remembered Ivan's words about how their keftas protected them and that she should remember to protect her head in case of a firefight. She lowered herself to the ground as far as possible to avoid being hit by one of the bullets.

She saw the Darkling summing shadows and something like a scythe form on his hands. As he moved one arm and then the other before him, dark blades like the one that had cut the leader's arm struck the hunters on the far side of the clearing and sliced them in pieces. Amazed, she understood that the Darkling was somehow using the darkness as a weapon. He repeated the gesture and continued to tear apart the Fjerdans and whatever they were using to protect themselves until there were no more hunters alive. Or whole.

Silence filled the clearing and then a group of armed oprichniki led by Captain Sobyanin came out of the trees and the Darkling turned to her, bent down and untied her "Alina, are you alright?" he asked in a worried tone and she nodded.

The Darkling helped her to sit up and Alina massaged her wrists and she only remembered the wound in her palm when she felt pain. She looked down at her hands to assess the wound and, to her surprise, saw that her skin was glowing with a light as pale as moonlight, which made her wounds and blood even more evident on her pale skin.

"You will never win, Darkling." said the injured man lying beside them and she looked at him "Fjerda won't stop until this witch is dead and Ravka is destroyed."

"You Fjerdans will try." said the Darkling in a defiant tone and put a protective arm in front of her, as if he wanted to hide her from the hunter's sight.

The man gasped and placed his remaining hand over his heart. Alina looked toward the trees and, with relief, saw that Ivan was alive and he was the one using his power on the hunter.

“Ivan, no! Don't kill him!" she ordered and the Heartrender stared at her, confused and she added looking the hunter in the eyes "His life is mine to take."

Ivan looked at the Darkling, who nodded, and the Heartrender released the Fjerdan.

Alina looked around and crawled over to where the man's hand was still holding the knife and picked it up. She stood up then, and when she turned around, Ivan had the man on his feet and the Darkling was watching her with attention and curiosity in his gray eyes.

She came face to face with the man holding before her the knife he had used to torture her minutes ago and he spat in her face.

Before she could react, the Darkling punched the man hard in the face and then gave her a black handkerchief. Alina smiled and gently wiped her face with the handkerchief to wipe away the Fjerdan's saliva. The Darkling looked at her and gave her a slight nod.

"You broke my nose, you damn freak!" said the Fjerdan looking at the Darkling with hatred.

"Disrespect her again and I'll take another piece of you." countered the Darkling in a menacing tone that made the man's eyes fill with dread.

Alina grabbed the man's chin. "Don't touch me, witch!" he said and tried to pull away, but Ivan held him in place.

"Are you afraid of me now?" she asked with a satisfied smile.

"A predator is not afraid of its prey!" he snapped "Fjerdans are not afraid of creatures like you!"

She studied him for a few seconds "Do you know what predators and prey have in common?" she asked and held the knife between them. His eyes rested on the knife still stained with her blood for a few seconds and then he stared at her "Both bleed and both fear death." she said calmly.

"You won't hear me begging for mercy or begging for my life, witch!" said the Fjerdan in a defiant tone, but Alina could see the fear in his eyes before her fist hit him with all the strength she could muster.

Pain radiated through her fingers and spread up her right arm, but she ignored it and watched the surprise sweep over the hunter's face. She smiled when she saw that she had managed to cut his eyelash in the same place he had hurt her.

Her eyes met the Darkling's and there was a mixture of wonder, surprise and pride in them. She glanced at Ivan and saw the same look in his eyes.

Alina turned her attention to the Fjerdan. She held the knife in her right hand and pressed it to his chin and made him look at her, but she only relieved the pressure when she saw blood start to trickle down his skin "You don't need to beg for your life, murderer." she said calmly "I would never deny mercy to a wounded animal."

Alina put a hand on his shoulder and drove the knife into his heart to the hilt. His hand gripped her arm, trying to get her to drop the knife, but she held her ground and twirled the knife several times, making him scream. She felt her lips forming a smile when she heard his screams of pain and she wished that Tatiana and Sonia were alive to hear it too, to watch her kill him. But they weren't, and Alina watched him and felt satisfaction as he drowned in his own blood and struggled to breathe.

His body collapsed and she knelt beside him, bent over his body and whispered in his ear in a calm tone "I told you I would offer you the same mercy you offered us." he groaned as she twisted the knife in his chest "I will learn how to use my power and then I will use it to burn Fjerda to the ground, I’ll burn your land until there is nothing left but ashes. Too bad you won't live to see me bring destruction to your people and your country.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye and there was dread and horror in his eyes and it was clear he had believed her threat. She gave him a wicked smile and watched him until his body stopped moving and the life left his blue eyes.

"Miss Starkov!" she heard the Darkling say in an urgent tone, “Alina, stop! He is dead." he said and she felt a hand on her shoulder and only then did she realize that she had taken the knife from the hunter's chest and was stabbing him furiously.

She let the Darkling pull her to her feet, pull her away from the body, and she looked around. The clearing was filled with the corpses of her enemies, their blood soaking the earth, and she smiled as she realized that these men would never again harm or kill another Grisha.

A movement in her peripheral vision made her act on instinct and she turned to see a wounded hunter holding a rifle and pointing it straight at Ivan. Without thinking, she stepped away from the Darkling and stepped in front of the Heartrender seconds before the shot hit her chest. Her body slammed into Ivan's who, reflexively, wrapped his arm around her waist, preventing her from falling. Before the soldier could fire again, Alina threw the bloody knife in her hand toward him and the blade dug into the soldier's head. She had never had a good aim and thanked the Saints for that little miracle.

She looked around, looking for any more threats as she struggled for breath, but there was none left, all the hunters were dead.

"Alina, what did you do?" she heard Ivan ask in a panicked tone.

She pulled away from him and he released her "He was going to…" she began and her whole body shook with pain. The kefta had stopped the shot, but the impact of the bullet had been like a blow to her ribs and had taken her breath away. How had the Darkling managed to take so many shots without even flinch? “He was going to shoot you. And then I killed him.”

"My kefta was going to protect me and then I would have killed him." insisted Ivan with an edge of anger in his voice.

She stared at him, unable to understand why he was mad at her for saving his life and felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I couldn't bear to see anyone else die because of me."

Her words made his look soften and before Ivan could say anything, the Darkling turned her so she was facing him and there was a mixture of fear, admiration and anger in his gray eyes "Tatiana and Sonia are not dead."

"What?"

“They are alive. We arrived in time to avoid the worst.” he said pointing to the edge of the clearing.

She looked where he was pointing and saw that the two had been untied from the trees and there was a Healer and other Grisha looking after them.

"Are they really alive?" she asked in an incredulous whisper and looked him in the eye.

"They are. Dimitri only knocked them unconscious to spare them the pain. It is standard procedure in these cases.” he said "Don't worry, they'll be fine."

"Promise?" she begged.

He nodded "I promise."

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his chest and hugged him "Thank you." she whispered as tears wet her cheeks and she felt his arms wrap around her gently.

"You don't have to thank me, Miss Starkov." he said in a gentle tone "It is my duty to keep my Grisha safe."

Alina took a deep breath trying to hold back her tears and it made her moan in pain.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling her away from him so he could look at her.

She nodded and her eyes landed on the body of the man she had stabbed and an urge to vomit made her stagger away and she vomited everything in her stomach. Once on an empty stomach, she felt dizzy and ended up lying on the ground near the edge of the clearing and closing her eyes. Now that the adrenaline had left her body, she could feel each of her wounds. She moaned in pain when someone touched her face and when she opened her eyes she saw that Fedyor was kneeling beside her. Her right eye was swollen enough to make it difficult for her to see, but there was no doubt it was him.

"Fedyor, you're alive too!" she said and, ignoring the pain, she sat up quickly and hugged him tightly.

"Of course I'm alive, Alina." he said hugging her gently "Did you think it would be that easy to get rid of me?"

The tears running down her face made the wounds on her skin sting, but she couldn't stop crying. Fedyor, Ivan and Sobyanin were alive as well as Tatiana and Sonia! "I'm so happy to see you again."

"Me too, my dear."

"You have no idea how guilty I felt." she said.

“Guilty? Why?"

"Because you all almost died." she replied, her voice almost a whisper. “This was all my fault. You just had to accompany me to the Little Palace and almost died because of it.”

“None of this is your fault, Alina. These hunters would have attacked any Grisha group they encountered.” he said carefully wiping her tears with his thumb "Alina, did you know you're glowing?"

"I do, but I have no idea how to stop it."

"I don't want you to stop glowing." he hastened to say "Your power is beautiful and you are looking like the moon right now." he held her hand between the two and she smiled "I'm happy to be alive to see you learn how to use it."

He offered her a canteen with water and she rinsed her mouth and hydrated herself "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

He gave her a sweet smile and said "I need to check you out to see if you have internal bleeding or any broken bones."

She was feeling so much pain spread through her body that she didn't doubt she had some broken bones. He helped her lie down again "I didn't know Heartrenders also knew how to heal." she commented.

"I'm not going to heal you, I'm just going to use my abilities to find out if your injuries pose any risk to your life." he explained.

"That doesn't seem like a very useful skill during battle."

"It's always good to know if your enemy has any old wounds you can use to extract information." he said and gave her a wink "Please don't move." he asked and after making a movement with his hands he continued “Two ribs on the right side and three on the left side are fractured. No internal bleeding and your organs are fine. The rest of your injuries are superficial.” he looked at her "You look worse than you are, Alina. Avoid making sudden movements until Dimitri can heal you or you will feel pain.”

"I'll try not to move."

"Good girl." he said and gently brushed some strands of hair from her face "I'll clean your face." he informed her and used his wet handkerchief to wipe the blood, dirt and tears from her skin with extreme care "Done." he said with a smile.

"Thank you, Fedyor."

"You don't have to thank me, Alina." he said and took her hand "Sorry I couldn't protect you."

She gave his hand a hard squeeze. “They ambushed us and you did the best you could, Fedyor. All of you did. I will always be grateful to you all for risking your lives to keep me safe.”

"I shouldn't have left you three alone in that carriage." he insisted in a guilt-ridden tone.

"Ivan needed you out there." she countered. During the trip, Alina had discovered that Ivan and Fedyor had been married longer than she had been alive and knew from the stories she had heard that the two were nearly unbeatable when fighting side by side "If you were in the carriage, I would have to see you being burned alive too." she forced herself to give him a smile and her whole face hurt. "Ivan got mad at me for putting me between him and the shot."

"No, Alina, he wasn't mad at you."

"No? He looked very angry."

"Yes, he was angry, but not at you." explained Fedyor "Ivan got mad at himself."

"I do not understand."

"Our job is to protect you and you ended up risking your life to protect his."

"But Fedyor, that doesn't make sense." she insisted "My kefta was protecting me."

"Just as he was protected by his." said Fedyor "We were all already feeling guilty that we didn't prevent your kidnapping and if you had died trying to protect him, he would never have forgiven himself."

Alina nodded. She understood the feeling, she would never have forgiven herself if she had been in their shoes either. "The important thing is that you found us and we are safe now."

He nodded and said “I can use my power to knock you unconscious. That way you won't feel pain."

Alina considered his suggestion. Although she was surrounded by people who would give their lives to protect her, she feared that another group of Fjerdans would appear and attack them and she would wake up a prisoner once more, so she preferred to stay awake “No thanks. I prefer to be conscious, even if it is in pain.”

"As you wish." Fedyor placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and, before standing up, said "Rest, Alina."

Alina closed her eyes and, minutes later, opened them when she felt someone kneel beside her to see it was the Darkling. His face was serious, but his gray eyes were filled with guilt as they examined her face intently. She had no idea how bad it was, but judging by the pain she was feeling, it shouldn't be a pretty sight and without the blood, her injuries should have been more evident.

"You should see the other guy." she said in a playful tone, but he remained silent and his serious expression made her say "Fedyor examined me and said I look worse than I really am." but that only made him look even more upset and she heard herself say "I'm sorry."

She saw him swallow hard before asking "For what?"

"For everything that happened."

His eyes finally met hers. "Being kidnapped and tortured and nearly burned alive was not your fault." he said in a serious tone that reminded her of what Sonia and Tatiana had told her, that the Darkling was like a father to them all.

How had he felt to see the two of them being burned alive? Or when he saw the Fjerdan holding a knife against her neck?

Was that how he saw her now? Not only as the miracle he'd expected but also as his responsibility, as his to protect, as a child? A stubborn, reckless child who had ignored the danger and nearly died because of it? A reckless child who had almost destroyed once and for all Ravka's only chance to get rid of the Shadow Fold?

She didn't know what he was thinking, but now that she stopped to think, she was feeling guilty for acting so thoughtlessly.

"I'm sorry I put myself in danger." she heard herself say.

"You don't need to apologize, but I have to say that you shouldn't have risked yourself like that, Miss Starkov."

She took a deep breath and regretted it when she felt pain spreading through her chest "Please, just call me Alina."

“You really shouldn't have risked yourself like that, Alina. You could have died.”

"Just like Ivan." she countered, remembering to breathe shallowly "Even if I'm the only sun summoner, his life, the life of any of them is just as important and precious as mine."

His gray eyes locked with hers and he studied her for a few seconds "And what would it be of Ravka if that shot had killed you?"

She hadn't thought about Ravka, she hadn't even thought about her own safety. She had seen the hunter aiming the rifle at Ivan and she had acted on instinct.

"In my defense, I acted on instinct." she said and then added "I'm really sorry, sir."

He took a deep breath and his tone was gentler as he spoke, "You can stop calling me 'sir' when we're alone." his request surprised her, but she nodded and he continued, "There isn't a place on your face that isn't bruised or injured." he looked to where the corpse of the Fjerdan leader was "I wish I could bring him back to life and kill him too." he said in an angry tone "I wanted to make him suffer for everything he did to you three," he looked back at her and his eyes softened. He brought his hand up to her face but didn't touch her "what he did to you."

She wished he would touch her, but he lowered his hand. “According to Fedyor, I only have a few fractured ribs and the rest of my injuries are superficial and not life-threatening. Despite everything the Fjerdans have done to me, I will survive.”

"I have no doubt you will." he said in an intense tone.

"And speaking of survivors, how are they?"

He looked in the direction where the girls were being looked after before saying "Still unconscious." he looked into her eyes and for a few seconds there was a mixture of concern and tenderness in them “Dimitri has already taken care of their respiratory system and is now taking care of the most serious injuries. Fortunately their kfetas protected their upper bodies and the burns are concentrated on their legs and hands.” Alina tried to smile and moaned in pain. He placed his hand over hers and she felt calm and certainty spreading through her body and her power recognizing his "Hold on a little longer." he asked in a comforting tone.

Without thinking, she turned her hand over and laced her fingers with his, wanting to prolong the effect of his touch. She didn't know if she was thirsty for human contact or for the Darkling's touch, eager for the sensation his power caused in her. Maybe both were true.

"I just have to remember not to take a deep breath or make any sudden movements."

He gave her hand a light squeeze, as if afraid to cause her more pain. "You managed to use your power." he said and there was pride in his voice and in his eyes.

She raised her other hand, the one the Fjerdan had cut the palm, and saw that her skin was still glowing, though the sense of freedom that came with using her power had long since disappeared "Yes, I managed to use it, but unlike the volcra, the Fjerdans didn't turn to ashes or flee in fear of my light."

"They may not have fled from your light, but their fear is precisely what makes them hunt our people, Alina." he said in a hard tone “They fear what they cannot understand. And they can't accept that despite our gifts, despite being different, we're just as human as they are and they believe we should be wiped out as if we were a plague on the earth.”

She nodded and couldn't help but remember the words that had been spoken to her by the Fjerdan leader. They regarded them as unnatural beings that needed to be eliminated to restore the balance of nature.

"I don't know how I managed to use my power, but using it only helped confirm that they had captured the right girl and sentence us to death once and for all."

“No, Alina. In a moment we were surrounded by darkness and then your light engulfed us and brought us straight to you." he informed her holding her hand tightly "If you hadn't lit our way," he looked to where the two girls were and back to her "maybe we hadn't made it in time to avoid the worst and Tatiana and Sonia would be dead."

His words made her feel better, as did his touch. Her power had been useless to protect her, but it had brought him directly to them when she had accepted that there was no more hope.

“Tatiana and Sonia had a plan. They told me to pretend I couldn't talk and Tatiana said she was the one who lit up the Shadow Fold. When the opportunity arose, the three of us tried to run away, but we didn't get very far.” she said avoiding looking him in the eye "I tried to stick with the plan, even as they beat us, but when they were tied up in those trees and I realized what they were going to do, I…" a lump formed in her throat and she swallowed hard “I couldn't be silent anymore and I said I was who they wanted. I was a fool to think that they would let them go, that they would have mercy…”

Her eyes filled with tears and she closed them. Seconds later she felt his fingers on her face and continued "Before you saved us, I had completely given up hope and accepted that I would die here." she opened her eyes and he was staring at her “But somehow I knew you would avenge us when you learned what they did to us. That you wouldn't rest until you've killed every one of them.”

He carefully placed his hand on her cheek. "You can be sure I wouldn't rest until I avenge your death, Alina." he said in a low tone and a cold look "I probably wouldn't stop until I shed everyone's blood and saw Fjerda completely engulfed by darkness and devoured by it."

Her mapmaker mind imagined Fjerda's territory being engulfed by darkness, she imagined their screams as they were devoured by the volcras. Part of her knew it was a horrible fate, but most of her was too angry to think about whether it was right or not.

"You can do it?" she asked, curious.

"Do you want to know if I'm powerful enough or if I'm capable of doing something like that?" he asked.

She had no doubt he was powerful enough to cover Fjerda with darkness, but she realized that she desperately needed to know if she was important enough to him for him to do something like that for her. She needed to know if she was, in fact, as valuable and precious to him as she had thought and told the Fjerdan she was.

“Would you do this to avenge my death? Would you shed their blood and cover them with darkness?”

"Yes. I would kill each and every one of them for daring to take you away from me.” he replied, his eyes fixed on hers and she could see how important she was to him.

He cared not only for the sun sunmmoer who could help him save their country. The Darkling cared about her, the girl he'd met by chance in a stable.

She pressed her cheek against his hand and closed her eyes for a few seconds before smiling and saying "Thank you, you have no idea how much I needed to hear this." she opened her eyes and asked "What are you doing here?"

He looked confused by the sudden change of subject "What do you mean by here?" he asked taking his hand from her cheek and looking at their intertwined hands and she felt her cheeks burning.

"Before I left, you said you couldn't leave the camp, but you're here, far away from the camp."

He took a deep breath and looked like he was carrying the whole weight of the world on his shoulders when he said “Some time after your departure, I received an intelligence report regarding the presence of various groups of hunters in the vicinity of the Vy and I left immediately. I underestimated the magnitude of the danger you were in. And my mistake almost cost your life and the lives of some of my most esteemed and loyal soldiers.”

"You couldn't have known that we would be attacked or that there would be so many of them hunting me."

He looked away from her. “Actually, I knew there was an unusual movement of Fjerdan hunters in areas near the camp even before I knew who you were the Sun Summoner. And I knew what you did in the Shadow Fold had been seen a long distance away.” he said and then he looked at her and she could have sworn there was guilt in his gray eyes “I should have been more careful and sent other escorts through different routes, I should have left everything behind and got into that carriage with you, but I didn't…” he trailed off and took a deep breath “My mistake almost cost me everything.”

He was blaming himself for what had happened, just as she was blaming herself "You don't seem like the kind of person who makes a lot of mistakes." she said trying to comfort him.

"And I'm not." he said "But when I make a mistake, the consequences are always dire."

Someone cleared their throat above them and they both looked at a girl dressed in a blue kefta that Alina identified as a Tidemaker. She seemed to have been standing there for some time, but the two of them were so focused on each other that neither of them had noticed her presence before. The Suli girl was slender and taller than Alina. Her black hair was cut very short and perfectly matched the shape of her face and further highlighted her beautiful brown eyes and full lips.

"Yes, Lara?" said the Darkling.

"Sir, I found a good place for us to set up camp, it's a smaller clearing about fifty meters from here and there's a stream nearby." said the girl.

“Why don't we camp right here? We already have a fire.”

And I'm already settled here on the floor, she thought. Her body was so sore she doubted she would be able to walk to the new camp without help.

"Do you really want to spend the night here in this place, Alina?" asked the Darkling and looked at where the bodies were.

Alina had completely forgotten that they were surrounded by the corpses of their enemies.

"No, I don’t."

"That's what I thought." he said and looked at the girl “Prepare everything, Lara. As soon as Dimitri is finished we will join you.”

"Yes, sir." she said and they both watched her walk away.

"What are we going to do with all these bodies?" asked Alina.

"I will tell Yaroslav to burn them." he replied.

This was so much more than those killers deserved, but she nodded "Now that you've saved me, are you going back to Kribirsk?" she asked fearing he would say yes.

"No. I'll accompany you to Os Alta as I should have done from the start.” he replied and looked at the forest.

Alina couldn't help but smile "What about the business you had to take care of at camp?"

His eyes met hers and his hand squeezed hers once more. "Right now, nothing is more important to me than your safety, Alina." he said and she smiled "I won't make the same mistake twice."

She had felt protected before, but knowing he would be with her the rest of the way made her feel protected and relieved. The Darkling was the most powerful Grisha that existed and was feared by everyone and she knew that the mere sight of him was enough to fill their enemies' hearts with fear. But if she was honest with herself, that wasn't the only reason she was happy with his company. She liked the way he made her feel, she liked how he seemed able to read her, she liked how he was able to make her feel seen.

"I've finished healing them both, sir." said the Healer kneeling beside them.

He was as tall as Fedyor, had curly red hair, a shade more to orange than to red, his eyes were a light brown and his face was all covered with freckles. He didn't look any older than Tatiana and Sonia, but now Alina knew he could be a hundred years old and still look young.

“Alina, this is Dimitri. He will take care of your wounds.” said the Darkling and gave her hand a light squeeze before releasing it and standing up.

She thought about asking him to stay, but then remembered that there must be other duties he needed to take care of and just nodded.

"How are the two?" she asked the Healer.

Dimitri gave her a tired smile. "They're fine and now they just need to feed and rest to get their strength back." he said.

His voice was soft, the kind of voice that soothed and conveyed security and surety and it seemed a very appropriate voice for a Healer.

He examined her face gently looking for fractures and Alina couldn't resist. "You should see the other guy."

Dimitri looked to where the body of the man she had stabbed was and smiled, “I saw him. You did a great job, Alina.” he said and then asked "I need you to open your kefta so I can examine your abdomen and where the shot hit you."

She did as he asked and after examining her he said "Your internal organs are fine and there is no internal bleeding."

He started by healing her ribs and as soon as he was done she took a deep breath and smiled as she felt no pain. She closed her eyes as he began to work on her face and concentrated on the sensation his power caused. First there was the heat, then the tingling and then a slight itching.

"Now, your hand." he said when he finished healing her face.

She nodded and held out her injured hand to him "Can you leave a scar?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I want to know if you can heal the wound but leave a scar."

"Do you want a scar?"

She didn't exactly want a scar, what she wanted was a reminder of that day. Just as the scar on her right hand reminded her of Mal, the scar on her left hand would serve to remind her of the day she almost died. She knew it was a strange request, maybe even meaningless to him, but she nodded "Please?"

"As you wish." he said and focused on her wound "Done." he said and she examined the new scar that crossed the palm of her left hand "How are you feeling?" he asked and she smiled.

"Tired, but all the pains are gone."

"Is your nausea gone too?" he asked.

"It passed after I threw up, but how do you know I was nauseous?"

"Fedyor, Ivan and the Darkling told me." he replied with a smile "The three were very concerned that it was some side effect of the gas the Fjerdans used to knock you unconscious."

She couldn't help but smile. It was delightful to know they were so concerned for her well-being "It was actually seeing what I was able to do with the Fjerdan that made me nauseous."

"Was this the first person you killed?" he asked and she nodded "I also threw up after I killed the first time." he said almost in a whisper and looked to where Fjerdan's body was "For some it gets easier to kill after a while." he shook his head as if trying to get rid of a bad thought and looked at her "Want help getting up?" he asked and offered her his hand.

Even feeling better, she accepted the hand he offered her and he helped her to her feet "Thank you."

To her surprise, she felt no pain in her body as she moved. What would take months for her body to heal on its own had been healed in less than half an hour by Dimitri. She looked around for the girls and only saw that there were some oprichniki gathering the bodies of the Fjerdans along with an Inferni and a Squaller.

"Where are Tatiana and Sonia?"

"Fedyor and Ivan took them to where we're going to spend the night while I was healing you." he replied “I think we'd better go there too. Unless you want to stay and watch them burn.” he suggested.

"I would love to stay and watch them burn." she replied.

"Can I keep you company?" he asked and it made her wonder if he had already lost someone to the Fjerdans.

She nodded and, before she could stop herself, she asked "Have you ever lost anyone to the Fjerdans?"

He looked at her looking surprised at the question, “Fortunately, no. And that was my first contact with them.” he replied "But I've heard many stories about what they do with the Grisha they capture and, during my studies, I read about the drüskelle and the means they use to hunt us down and kill us."

“Drüskelle? So that's what they call themselves?"

"No, those weren't drüskelle."

"But they hunted us and just didn't kill us because you stopped them."

“The hatred of the Grisha is very strong among the Fjerdans, so there are basically two types of hunters. Those who attacked you were just ordinary hunters who kill the Grisha they encounter. And then there are the drüskelle, who are elite hunters trained from childhood to hunt us.”

"I had never heard of them."

"They usually kidnap the Grisha they find and take them to a place called the Ice Court where they are tried for the crime of being born Grisha."

“And let me guess. None of them were ever found innocent.”

"As you've just experienced yourself, being captured by any of them is basically a death sentence."

The more Alina found out about the Fjerdans, the more she hated them. The two watched in silence as the others finished piling the bodies and severed limbs, and then everyone backed away from the pile and only the Inferni, Yaroslav, stayed close. He was a little taller than Alina, with brown eyes, short black hair, broad shoulders and muscular arms.

"Alina, this is Galina." said Dimitri when the Squaller who had been helping to pile the bodies joined them.

Galina was half Shu like Alina, but her eyes were greenish brown and she was a little taller than Alina.

The girl smiled, took off her bloody gloves and held out her hand and Alina returned the smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

“It's a pleasure to officially meet you.” she said and Alina frowned. "I was in the tent when the Darkling tested you, so technically I already knew you."

The three, as well as the oprichniki, turned to Yaroslav as he opened his arms and the fire in the bonfire answered his call and went to him. Alina's mouth dropped open as she watched as the flames danced around his body in a spiral, changed color from orange-yellow to pale blue, and then he directed them at the piled corpses.

The smell was definitely not what Alina had expected and it ended up making her nauseous all over again. But she held her ground and watched the pile burn and burn and burn until there was nothing but ashes. Then Galina used her power so that the wind carried the ashes into the forest and the only signs left of the fight were the pools of blood and bullet holes in the trees. And, of course, the marks on the ground and the trees cut down by the Darkling when he used his shadows as a weapon.

The Inferni dropped his arms and turned to them "It's a pleasure to finally meet our Sun Summoner in person." he said walking towards them and held out his hand to Alina "I'm Yoraslav."

She squeezed his hand "Alina." she said with a smile "It was beautiful to watch!"

“Thank you! That's a big compliment coming from the Sun Summoner!”

"We better get to camp before they think something bad happened." said Dimitri.

"You really should, the Darkling sent me here to see what was going on." said Lara, the Tidemaker, walking towards them.

"We were admiring Yaroslav's abilities." replied Dimitri.

Lara laughed "My love is really a very skilled man." she said in a tone that made it clear that she was referring to other abilities that had nothing to do with his gift.

She hugged him and he placed a soft kiss on her lips. "I'm glad you appreciate my skills, baby."

Lara looked at Alina and smiled "We haven't had a chance to be introduced before." she said and held out her hand to Alina "I'm Lara."

"Alina." she said with a smile.

"We'd better get to camp before the Darkling himself comes to see what's going on." commented Lara "We can continue this conversation over there where he can keep an eye on Alina." she said and gave Alina a wink.

Everyone agreed with her.

“Do you need help walking, Alina? You're so pale and you look like you're about to pass out.” said Galina.

"It is true. If you want, Yaroslav can carry you to camp.” offered Lara with a worried tone and the man beside her nodded.

Alina felt her cheeks burning, “Oh no. I'm fine. Actually that's my normal appearance.” she said "But I appreciate your concern."

She expected them to make some comment like 'this isn't what a Grisha looks like, are you sure you're one of us?' but they just nodded.

Yaroslav and Lara held hands and led the way while Dimitri and Galina walked beside her looking ready to catch her in case she fell or fainted and the oprichniki followed closely with their rifles in their hands.

She knew they were being overdone, but that over-caring made her feel cared for and warm inside.

When they entered the new camp, Alina saw that several tents had been set up in the clearing and that Tatiana and Sonia were awake and sitting by the fire. Without hesitating, Alina went to them and knelt before them.

"You are okay!" said Sonia while Tatiana said "Alina!" and both looked relieved and happy to see her again.

That made her feel even more guilty and she said “I'm sorry. I thought I could save you two if I told them I was the Sun Summoner, but I ended up condemning us instead. I'm so so sorry."

"It's okay, Alina." said Tatiana and pulled her into a hug "I'm so relieved to see you well!"

"I'm sorry." she said when Sonia joined the hug "I should have listened to you."

"You don't need to apologize to us." said Sonia.

Alina stared at them and said, “I killed him. The bastard who gave orders to others. I killed him. He will never hurt another Grisha again.” she took a deep breath "But now I know that we, the Grisha will never be safe as long as there are people who think like those hunters."

"You're right," said Sonia "but now we are as safe as it is possible to be outside the Little Palace."

Alina nodded and felt tears wet her cheeks. “I'm glad you two are alive. And Fedyor and Ivan too.”

"And we're all glad we found you three in time to avoid the worst." said Fedyor joining them with Dimitri at his side. The Heartrender knelt beside Alina, cupped her chin gently and examined her face. "Too bad you stopped glowing."

Alina looked at her hand and saw that, in fact, she had stopped glowing.

"Her glow faded as I healed her." said Dimitri.

"Did you manage to use your power?" asked Sonia and Alina nodded.

The two were burning in their pyres when she managed to use her power.

"Her light led us right to you." said Fedyor.

"So, in the end, revealing who you were ended up saving us." commented Tatiana.

"If you prefer to see it that way." commented Alina who still felt very guilty about what had happened.

"It's time for you two to rest." said Dimitri.

"You can talk more in the morning." commented Fedyor "And Alina, you should eat something before you rest."

The three nodded and Fedyor and Dimitri helped the two walk to their tent where the Heartrender made them fall asleep again.

They joined the other Grisha around the fire and Galina offered her food, but she was completely without appetite and refused. She realized that the Darkling was nowhere in sight, as well as Ivan and Captain Sobyanin, and she figured they must be talking about which way was safer for them to travel on the next day.

After a few minutes of socializing with the other Grisha, Alina went to the stream next to the camp, removed her kefta and washed as best she could the blood that was left on her hands and face.

She wanted to take off her clothes, step into the stream and let the water wash away all the dirt from her body and help her forget, at least for a few minutes, what had happened. But the water was cold and the night air was cooling rapidly and she dismissed the idea. After putting on her kefta she thought about going back to camp, but ended up sitting on the rocky bank.

Images of the man she had killed invaded her thoughts and she thought of how quickly she had killed him. He deserved to have died slowly, he deserved that she had done to him what had been done to the girls and to her. The damn Fjerdan deserved to have been tortured and suffered a lot before he died.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Alina found herself imagining slow, painful ways to hurt, to cause pain, and to kill another human being. Days ago, that kind of thinking would have made her feel like a bad person, would have made her feel like a monster, but now she couldn't feel guilty for wanting to spill the blood of those who had hurt her.

The sound of footsteps behind her brought her out of her thoughts. Somehow, she knew it was the Darkling even before she heard him say, "You shouldn't be here alone, Alina."

[seizethecarpe]

Appetite || Dave and Griffin

Timing: Current Summary: Dave is hungry. Griffin knows the feeling. One is definitely coping better than the other with this.  Content: Animal death

His stomach was bloated. Blubber smeared his hands like oil slick, the breast of his shirt bloodied. His whole body trembled with a growing revulsion as he looked at the carcass laid strewn on the rocks, evidence of a messy meal. Seal fur was caught between his teeth. Less control than a starving dog. He swallowed uneasily, turning and wading into the water so that he might wash off the mess and sin. Jesus christ, there was so much blood all over him, covering his clothes like a coat he couldn’t take off. His stomach felt distended, filled like a stuffed chicken, but still, his mind whispered for more. At this point, it was sheer arrogance that kept Dave  in denial, but it suited him to pretend nothing was wrong. For some reason, he lurched towards land the second he saw a figure moving along the beachside hungrily, long before he realised why he was moving. 

 It was thankless work, looking for floaters, but someone had to do it. As far as Griffin saw it, it was a waste of good brains. Someone had to clean up what with the way the White Crest mortality rate went. Or it was a nice, rose-tinted glasses thought to see it that way. Truthfully, he was just hungry. That’s all it was. Death on White Crest’s shoreline wasn’t unheard of and he wasn’t against sifting through wet sand. The zombie could feel it, the way it tugged at his gut like a rope, and he wandered closer to the water. Something was nearby. Something dead. His teeth ground together. How was its head? Focused on the craving, it took him a moment for the rest of his senses to catch up. Such as noticing that he wasn’t alone and Jesus Christ, the guy looked fucking rough. His eyes flitted from the carcass--was that a seal?--on the rock and the guy coming towards him. Water edged close to his feet. There was something familiar about the movement. The zombie unlocked his jaw but didn’t move himself. “You alright there, guy?”

 Dave strode out of the water without pause, uninterested in whatever the man had to say, knowing only that the feeling drawing him towards the man was insistent and pressing. Maybe he’d be able to help whatever the hell was going on. All he knew was that his instincts were as demanding as a current, dragging him forward by his stomach. Perhaps he could even get a sna-

 Dave inhaled and lurched to a stop, six feet away from the man, who did not smell so appealing at all. His stomach twisted at the thought, still ravenous but repulsed at… at what? He hadn’t been considering eating the man. No one sane would do that, it wouldn’t even cross their mind. But this one… this one smelled like week old road kill preserved by a january freeze. In short: he smelled dead. “Don’t know,” Dave replied honestly, when his jaw started working. “Are you?”

 Griffin’s eyes fixed on the other man in a dead stare. The shuffle, the gait. The way the body moved after something it needed. Mix in a hint of restraint, shake in some desperation, strain it over some ice…The zombie’s head tipped back by a slim margin. He didn’t blink. “Don’t know either,” he retorted. He glanced back to the seal on the rock. Not his first choice but little really was. “...You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question. It had already been answered when the man stopped dead in his tracks before he could make it to Griffin. Dead meat didn’t taste so good. He lazily gestured to what remained of the seal. “That yours?”

 Dave dragged his mind back from the brink of starvation, sick with how full he was and how much more he still wanted to eat. Under the scrutiny of the man, unflinching and hard, Dave began to feel the first creepings of shame. He didn’t want to eat that kid, nor the woman in the lake, nor anyone else, but it was a need deeper than anything he;d ever felt. Even his hunger for revenge had never been so loud. Even now… would it really be so bad to eat a corpse? It’d taste a little bland, but that human flesh would taste so much better than a seal ever would. For some part of him, it’d still be a step too damn far, and the indecision threatened to tear him apart. Dave staggered, saliva dripping from his lips. “Something’s wrong,” Dave admitted, finally. “Never been like this. Never… not like this. I ain’t some beast.”

 Except now, blood stained, clothes torn, with a seal corpse behind him, he wasn’t so sure. His hesitation wavered in his stoic voice. He looked back at the carcass behind him, his body shaking. “Shouldn’t have done that. She had pups.” His first thought was how delicious those would be too.

 Griffin had never seen someone hunger for seal before. It was an interesting choice, to say the least. He wondered why that was. There were easier things to grab. Rats, the neighborhood dog, a raccoon or two. But it wouldn’t be the same. It never was. Even after he got his fill of Homeward Bound, there would always be that...emptiness. The zombie fixed the other man with a calm look as he dug into the pocket of his jacket to grab a handkerchief. Old habits, he thought to himself, before he tossed it over. “Yeah, ‘course you’re not,” he said honestly. “You’re just hungry.” 

 He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he thought, eyes on the seal’s corpse. 

 “Did you…” What was a good way to ask if someone had died? He hadn’t quite learned that one. “What happened to you?”

 Dave Dave caught the handkerchief out of instinct, and looked down at the crumpled material with something approaching shame. It already picked up blood stains from his fingers. He wiped the corners of his mouth, and a fatty strong of blubber smeared into the cloth along with all the blood and spit.

  "I don’t know," Dave admitted hoarsely. I don’t know. I woke up hungry a few days ago, and I keep eating, but it keeps getting worse. Like… like I’ve got some sort of parasite. I'm full, damn near bloated, but I'm still hungry." Ravenous. Ready to eat decaying meat even as it offered him a tissue. Dave could barely fit another thought in his mind other than the crushing command to eat. Like if he didn't, the very thought might consume him surer than a mermaid's bite.

 "You're dead," he stated after a long moment. "I'm not… I'm not going to eat you. I… it's fucked, I want to. I won't." Probably. He took a step back into the water. "We're not… we're not like that."

 “I am, yeah,” Griffin muttered, pale brow creased. “Seems like you’ve still got a pulse. Probably. Did anything...bite you?” He understood having the hangups, even if this man wasn’t...dead. Like him. There was a little confusion brewing in him at that. It took time to break down the mental barriers in place to prevent, or strongly discourage, people from eating one another. Like the whole idea of you could bite through your finger like a carrot if you really wanted to. Griffin wasn’t sure on that one. He and carrots hadn’t seen each other in awhile. He huffed a laugh, an odd sound in the quiet they shared marked by death and famine.

 “Thanks. I’m not gonna eat you either,” he said with a wry smile, then a slight rise and fall of his hand. “It was like this at the start for me too. Just a diner and...more people.” He gestured around him, a fanned out motion, before he glanced down and worked his jaw. “It gets easier,” he said. “The, uh, eating. You don’t think about it as much. It’s always there but it’s not...you always, you know?”

 Dave nodded slowly, as if he was briefly unconvinced by the assertion about his own pulse. At the question about whether he’d been bitten, Dave frowned, looking at the unravelling bandage on his arm that he wasn’t supposed to get wet, that he should have changed earlier in the day. It was increasingly hard to remember he had a body that needed caring for. Right now, he was more hunger than man. “A werewolf. It should make me sick, not anything like this,” Dave said, lowering his arm again, licking his lips as he looked at Griffin again. “Shouldn’t eat people. Shouldn’t eat seals, not like this.”

 “How does it get easier? I’m getting hungrier every day. My stomach’s fit to burst, but it’s like I haven’t eaten in weeks.” Dave insisted still, not realising how intently rude he was. “I’m not like you. The hunger- it’s not supposed to be like this. Not for me. We don’t… We don’t lose control.” He looked at the carcass behind him, entrails bobbing in the waves. They weren’t the signs of someone in control. He shuddered, dropping to his knees on the hard rocks, rubbing his face like he might snap himself out of it “I have to get away from here.”

 Griffin eyed the bandage. He wasn’t an authority on much, if anything at all, but he knew hunger. The death that followed it. It usually started with teeth and it ended, whenever it ended, the same way too. A werewolf. Right. Those were around too. It was becoming apparent that his knowledge of strange and unusual was frustratingly limited. A byproduct of avoidance. He frowned to himself before he echoed what the man said. “A werewolf? How do you know that it’ll just make you sick? I’m not...familiar with ‘em.” The question came from his own curiosity and the strange, sympathetic notion that maybe if the man talked about it, it might help. Wasn’t that what people said? Fuck if he knew what people said. The man seemed really hung up on the seal. “You shouldn’t eat seals like this?”

 “Maybe easier isn’t the right word,” Griffin admitted. “It gets more manageable. It’s all just... meat in the end. That’s all it needs to be.” All it has to be. The zombie held the man with pale eyes, his own pallor sickly and drained. Not the flash fever that this man seemed to be going through. As the man stumbled some, Griffin took a confident step forward and held out a hand. “You haven’t tried to eat me yet so...control.” He lifted and dropped a hand with a shrug. The step made the carrion call in his gut a touch louder. “Whatever this is, it’s different. I’ve never gone for seal before but...” He stopped himself. “There somewhere you can go?”

 Dave turned his head to look at the man looking over him, squinting at the sunlight shining in his eyes. Griffin’d never had a craving for seal, but Dave would bet his home that Griffin had died a human, before. Dave… well, Dave’d never been human. Maybe the werewolf had been a werewolf zombie, it’d explain the strange healing and the surviving being shot to a face. Dave panicked and touched his wrist,k but his heart was still beating loud and strong. For now. “Control. Feel like I’m holding on to that with a thread.”

 “Got my van,” Dave said quietly. Picked up a pebble worn smooth by the Sea. She didn’t do that to folks, she wore wrinkled into their faces and callouses into their skin. The quiet texture grounded him. “Too many towns nearby. Too many humans.” Dave rubbed his face. “Too much temptation. I need to get away away. Maybe on a boat. Ride this out. It shouldn’t work like this.” Because if he waited long enough, right, it had to go away. Washed away like the hard edges of his rock.

 “You’ve still got your mind,” Griffin said as he tapped a finger against his temple. “That’s something. Use both hands to hold onto that one.” A sardonic smile came and went. A funny thing for a zombie to say, he figured. The pull of the dead was strong. Had been ever since he moved closer to the man. A few more steps, water up his shins, and he was on the seal carcass. Crouched beside it and fingers prepped to peel the meat. At the mention of too many humans, Griffin picked his eyes up from the meat and cocked a brow. His tongue pressed against his bottom lip before he nodded in understanding. 

 “No humans here,” Griffin said with a puff of needless breath through his nose. “Haven’t been that for awhile.” The meat was slick in his fingers and when he swallowed it down, there was just a hint of salt. It wasn’t bad but he kept that thought to himself. He almost felt bad for the seal but it was dead now. It couldn’t feel anything. All it had left to do was rot and feed. It might take time for the man to understand that. If what he was going through lasted that long. “Do you think a boat’s a good idea? Where more...seals are?” He wiped the gore against his bent knees. “It’s your call but…” He paused and scrutinized the carcass, then looked at the man again. “This...hunger. It’s, ah, hell. But if you…” He hadn’t done this in awhile. “You’re not like me, we established that, but I get it. This.” A loose gesture was made between the carcass and the man standing. “If you need help...somehow, I don’t fuckin’ know, I’ll try my best.” More dead meat was torn between his teeth. “...That’s all.”

 “Barely,” Dave replied gruffly. “For a while, huh?” It was like the hunger had filled every inch of him, and now with nowhere else to fill, it had begun to squeeze him out like putty through a sieve. If it pushed hard enough, Dave wasn’t sure there’d be much left of him. He frowned as Griffin leant in to eat the carcass too, nearly tearing the zombie away. He wasn’t allowed. But then neither was Dave, and at the very least like this nothing would go to waste. Her body would be used whole, the way it was meant to be. “Out in the open water’s away from most things. Seals included. Better than this, it’s got to be.” Better than calling out a hunter. Better than admitting something was wrong that he couldn’t fix.

 “S’a kind offer. More than I deserve.” Dave grabbed Griffin’s arm sharply, squeezing tightly. There was hunger on his mind, thick as soup. Every second it mattered less that Griffin was less fresh than the carcass on the beach, that he was being kind and fucking understanding. There was a desperation to Dave’s hunger, stuffed full of flesh as he was. Nothing was hitting the spot, not fish nor squid nor seals. He needed to try something new, something better. “I think. One of us oughta go.” Before he tore out Griffin’s throat. His nose wrinkled, he looked back in disgust at the thought of wanting to eat anything, anyone, but mostly at the thought of eating anything so rotten.

 But his stomach gurgled loud of enough for even him to hear. He couldn’t quite get himself to let go. 

 “Yeah,” Griffin said. “A while.” He didn’t want to further elaborate and he was sure that Dave got the gist of it. One nearly empty cup of half-and-half, that’s what he was. He continued eating until the man grabbed his arm and he stopped. The grip was tight, desperate. There was a war happening behind the man’s eyes, the kind that cracked ribs and split flesh. Griffin nodded again. “You go where you have to go,” he said. “Wherever is...comfortable. To figure this out and shit.” And then tell me what that’s like, when you find this Shangri-La, he thought bitterly to himself. Such places didn’t exist. Wouldn’t ever. Not with things the way they were.

 As delicately as he could, Griffin unfurled Dave’s hand from around his bicep and stepped away from the seal carcass. Before he walked away fully, he pocketed his dirtied hands and glanced back. “I’ll see you around. Don’t forget my offer, huh?” Or yourself. The hunger had a way of eating at the self too. With a slim smile and a faint wave, the dead man was gone.

[speedypandaweasel]

Tumblr Songs #1 Who Killed Markiplier Part 6

6. Ghost (958 Words)

I highly suggest going back and reading the others before continuing if you haven’t already

CW! Language

TW! Gore and Violence

The warm lights have dimmed into darkness and a drowsy Mayor has safely secured their close associate into their assigned bedroom, their mouth uttered a slurred “thankyou” before drifting off into a restful nights sleep.

His dashing tie hangs loosely around his neck and his untucked shirt becomes a new fashion statement. He staggers one of the many decorated Hallways, the moonlight through a window being his only guide.

He lets out a gentle yawn as to not wake up his other companions and runs a hand through his charcoal hair.

He stops. He squints his eyes as he double-checks the other end of the Hallway.

There stands another figure.

The figure looms and starts to lurk towards him. Its footsteps lighter than a feather yet its presence resembling the weight of lead.

The Mayor starts to panic. His breath becomes more ragged whilst his sleep induced mind is still trying to comprehend whether this is happening or not.

Invisible creatures creep unsuspectedly around the now cold walls and the two figures are now face to face with one another, the shadow leaning slightly taller than the Mayors.

His breaths are now visible and his stylish shirt clings to his torso. His eyes are becoming wider at every moment...

The warmth of the walls returns as the Silhouettes face comes to light. The guest breathes a sigh of relief, it was his Host. A friendly face reminds him that everything is much scarier at night, it was just the mind playing tricks.

The smooth acquaintance smiles and leads his sleep-deprived friend into his own master bedroom, all the while the Mayor is whispering how grateful he is to be invited to this party.

Nearly there...

The duo passes through his labyrinth of a Manor, further and further away from the occupied bedrooms. The stairs become steeper and the Hallways become longer and longer, much like Snake’s scales.

The Host elegantly gestures for the sleepy Mayor to enter the private quarters. He accepts, too tired to argue with him..

The door locks.

Like Honey, the Mayor is attracted to the clean mattress that is sat in front of him whilst the Host waits.

And waits.

A shard of broken glass is picked up but the stars hit it with a warning.

The Mayor realises that he is in danger and pelts for the door, his eyes, wide awake. His fists bang on the thick door. His pleas for his District Attorney are smothered and he quickly realises that its no use.

Still, he keeps going. Banging and thumping the door, jumping up and down, hoping that someone is below them.

His hands seep with a warm liquid which propels him to stop.

The Host casually walks to the door, his Cigar Robe slight exposing his maliciously decorated chest, whilst he plays with his pre-crafted weapon as if it were a child’s toy. His once charming nature has turned into full-grown malevolence as the creatures circle and surround him, blocking out most of the light for the Mayor.

Nowhere to run now...

CRASH

What the?

The Mayor springs from his only form of escape and starts to thrash in the darkness, chucking anything and everything he can get his clammy hands on. His attacker, now startled, attempts to dodge the books and chaise lounge that was fired at him. He wealds the shard, hoping to strike a body.

No luck.

The trashed bedroom becomes a nightmare war zone. One of them isn’t going to make it out alive.

Calls are made as the Mayor’s thigh is leaking out, his limping becoming a disadvantage. He now grasps a candlestick and has barricaded himself under the bed, all the while the Host is circling in the dark, like a Vulture over a dead corpse.

The Mayor swings at the Vulture and knocks him hard on the top of his head. He collapses onto the floor, surrounded by strewn clothes and books. The Mayor heaves a heavy sigh as he stares down at the injured animal, its head covered in what he thinks is blood but it actually purple mist exiting his head.

With a groan, the Host stands back up and cracks his head back into place.

What the Fuck is he?

The door has become vacant and the Mayor seizes his last opportunity of making this out alive.

Like in a library, the carpet muffles his syncopated footsteps, one heavier than the other. He might actually make it out!

He’s at the door...

It’s open!!

He has to warn the others! This is much more than Poker Night! They have to get out before it's too-

His back shoots up straight. His eyes still looking at the closed door. His knuckles turning white on the brass doorknob. His body becomes numb for what felt like an eternity before the Adrenaline kicks back in.

He really did it.

His pale face turns around, and he cautiously looks up.

Daylight is breaking in the window in front of him but the man can only see the winner of this war, blocking the light from reaching him.

A wide grimace is moulding upon the murder’s face.

He pushes it deeper into the crimson-stained shirt as a man’s last agonies fade.

He pulls the weapon out. The corpses entrails are covering the smashed fragment he now grips in his bloodied hand.

The man’s lively body flops to the soaked carpet and the Host sniggers.

The poor soul’s hand is still rested on the doorknob.

Too bad he didn’t escape in time, he would have loved an improvised chase scene.

He drags the corpse back into the bedroom and jams the door shut.

No one is getting in and only the “Mayor” is walking out.

[avian-writes]

The day we decided to live

The Days: Part 1

Content Warnings: depression, thoughts of suicide

words: 3039

In hindsight, when we had to park the car on a dirt road with only a government power strip on it and cross the barren back road to reach the GPS location, we should’ve known it was a bad idea. But it wasn’t like we were worried for our lives. We never have been.

    It had been a long day: my car broke down after a 10 hour shift and my best friend, Darian, had to come pick me up. Neither of us could figure out what was wrong with it so I called a roadside mechanic who said he could come out and check it out the following day. Tired, we got food and went to my apartment to hang out. We hadn’t done that in weeks, we didn’t have the time or energy. What time we didn’t spend working was spent in bed, not wanting to get up to see the other.

    It was during this that Darian asked, “Hey Jake, attractor, void, or anomaly?”

    “...What?”

    He turned his phone towards me and showed me a screen asking the same thing. “It’s Randonautica.”

    “It’s what now?”

    “You haven’t heard of it? It’s been all over the internet, mostly Tik Tok.”

    I shook my head. I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything lately. “What is it?”

    He explained it was an app that gave you a random location and you just...went there. He almost mentioned something about manifestation but I had already agreed and was taking his phone out of his hand. I needed something to do and distract myself that wasn’t my own anxiety biting at me.

    Most of the screen was taken up by a GPS map with a radius of 2km. At the bottom were the choices of Attractor, Power, and Void. I hit Void then ‘generate’.

    The screen turned black and white text appeared. ‘What would you like to find?’

“Something interesting.” Something that made moving worth it. Something that made life worth living.

‘Imagine it. Manifest it.’

Because we were good young adults, we did as we were told and closed our eyes, trying to manifest a reason to live. Not like we didn’t spend every day doing that already. When we opened them, an owl took up the screen telling us to prepare and I didn’t even get the chance to move when the map came back up.

    ‘Generated point; Void Anomaly’

Under it was an address I didn’t recognize. Zooming in on the map I could see the point was in the middle of woods. “Is that private property?” Darian asked, squinting.

“Sure is! You ready?”

I grabbed my Emergency Drive bag, a bag containing my portable charger, an extra cord, granola bars, chapstick, a notebook and pen, and a water bottle. It was solely for the purpose of when things got bad in my head and I just needed to get in my car and drive. I used it more often these days.

Less than twenty minutes later, we’re both standing on the side of the road across from the point. Darian had to park on a dirt road a ways off, parking on the side in our city would’ve been a horrible idea, and we walked over. We waited for the road to be clear and darted across.

    On the other side, there was a ditch directly off the pavement filled with lumps of dirt similar to snake pouches all along it. It was the only way to the woods with a treeless stretch of tall grass. We both stood at the top of the drop off, staring down into the thorns and possible snake pits.

    “Maybe we’ll find a dead body,” I said, referencing one of the stories I had read on the way there. With my phone plugged into Darian’s car charger of course. No way was I going into this with it even on 99%.

    “Hopefully it’ll be one of our own.”

    I didn’t comment. Especially when I agreed with him.

    A sewer pipe went right underneath the road, leading into the overgrown bank. The grass went up to our knees and it wasn’t until we were already in that we noticed the briars growing along ankle-height.

    “Welp, here we go!” I said with only a slight tint of enthusiasm. I started through the briar patch and Darian reluctantly followed me. Since we had come right from my apartment and neither of us were known for thinking things through, we weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion.

    I had on short shorts and Darian had short pants as well as sandals; at least I had on tennis shoes. As we walked, I could feel every little cut on my legs as the briars dug into my skin and scratched along until I was past. Long cuts of red were scattered on both of our legs.

    Finally, we got through and we were on the edge of the woods. Darian pulled up the GPS and handed it to me since I could read a map better than him. I turned it so it matched where we were facing and held it parallel to the ground. “Look, see! It’s the middle of this pathway where there aren’t trees.”

    “Unless we want to deal with more briars, we’re not going straight there.” Darian pointed ahead of us and sure enough, grass taller than even him along with even more briars grew everywhere in the stretch. The woods it was.

    I took the lead and we headed into the woods. It was only short in width as it bordered a farm; it was the woods on the other side of the stretch that was formidable. It went on for miles according to the GPS map and neither of us were good with directions when everything looked the same and we couldn’t see the sun.

    All throughout the small journey to our destination, I laughed as Darian stumbled his way over fallen logs and small creeks of water going criss cross all along the dirt floor. He nearly tripped right into a tree and I caught his arm.

    “Didn’t you say you grew up on a farm in a rural area? Did you never go exploring in the woods?” The thought baffled me, someone who had spent 85% of his childhood and high school years in the woods, playing pretend and just going on forever until the darkness pushed me back home.

    Darian shook his head. “Our woods weren’t really woods like this. I never went in them much anyway.”

    “What did you spend your time doing?”

    He smiled at me, a real genuine smile I hadn’t seen in months. “Playing video games.”

    It was a sweet bonding moment that got ruined real soon. I spotted something dark through the soft, brightly lit grass and leaped out into the strip. I darted over and stumbled back just as fast.

Darian followed me and lurched back. An animal carcass was strewn across the only patch of short grass, torn apart and unrecognizable. Hundreds, maybe thousands of flies swarmed the area and we both took heavy steps away.

    Flies. Hundreds of little flies. I batted at them, but I could feel little flicks all over me as they flocked to me and Darian. I pressed my lips together in an effort to keep them from getting in my mouth. Waving my hands around in a feeble attempt to get them away from me, I accidentally smacked Darian right in the shoulder.

    “Feck, sorry dude.”

    He didn’t answer me. I blinked through the swarm and if I had eaten that day, it would’ve come right back up. The dead deer was laying in the small patch of short grass, right in between us and the rest of the easy way through the stretch.

    I’m from the mountains, my family is a combination of hillbillies and rednecks, and I had a vulture as a best friend back home. Dead animals were a common occurrence as well as roadkill being the main feature of dinners at family reunions.

    But this was much worse than simple roadkill. This was a mutilation. An attack on the poor thing. It’s entire body was torn open, entrails and organs spilling out into the blood-caked grass. Bones were almost licked clean and we could see the skull through a hole in the neck.

    I felt Sick. I backed away and ran back to the woods, Darian right on my heels. As soon as we entered the dark, shady, and death-free safety of the trees, I keeled over and crouched in the dirt. Burying my head into my arms and trying to take deep breaths. Beside me, I could feel Darian doing the same.

    A pricking at the back of my head nudged at me and I violently shook it away. A pleasant but jealous feeling that I didn’t feel like psychoanalyzing. “Alright, that’s enough for today. Want to go to another location?”

    Darian shook his head and pointed at his phone screen. “We’re not too far from the coords. Might as well go all the way and make this worth it.” He pointedly didn’t look at the corpse when speaking.

    I thought about it for only a moment before shrugging and nodding my head. We continued on through the woods and kept going around the strip. In complete silence, we followed his offline GPS until we were directly across from the bright red point.

    We looked at each other then stepped out of the woods and crossed the barrier further into our nightmare. Not even 10 footsteps away was stomped grass that led back into the woods. This was where the point was supposed to be. Broken glass littered the ground, quite literally; it looked like someone had littered.

    “It’s probably nothing, Jake. Someone else must have gotten these coordinates too.”

    “Aren’t they randomly generated?”

    “We’re not that far from the farm. Probably one of their kids hiding their drinking from overbearing parents.” But even he didn’t sound convinced. I didn’t know why, but something about the area didn’t seem right. Maybe I just wanted to believe that since it was a new place and something was odd about it. I bet if someone came into my backyard, they’d feel something was off too, but it would just be the overturned lawn chairs we hadn’t bothered to pick up after the last storm.

    I bent down and carefully picked up a piece of glass, holding it up to eyelevel to inspect it. It was thin and after looking closely, was curved just a bit. My stomach dropped and I looked around, spotting a broken piece of long, slender plastic.

    “This wasn’t a beer bottle. It was glasses. Like, eyeglasses.” I looked up at Darian through my own glasses and he blinked at me through his. This had gotten too creepy and it seemed he agreed with me as we both started lightly sprinting for the woods.

    As we ran, something hit me. Nothing physical, nothing stopped me from running. But something for sure hit my chest. I stopped of my own accord and turned back towards the strip and started walking. Why?

    Good question. Wish I had an answer for you.

    Behind me, I could vaguely hear Darian asking what the feck I was doing but I just kept walking. Just like when I drive down random roads at night with no real direction, when I go on walks through town and take random turns, it was like something was telling me to go that way. That I needed to see what was there.

As I broke through the clearing, I regretted it immediately. A circle of mowed grass amongst the overgrowing field of weeds wasn’t what we were expecting to find but alright. Just to add to the weirdness factor.

“What the fuck is going on, Jake?” Darian’s voice sounded ten miles away and right at my ear, still incredibly tired.

All I could do was shake my head, an overcoming sense of dread took me over and I turned and booked it. Praying Darian was behind me, I skipped along back into the woods and looked all around me. There was still plenty of daylight, I knew this. My phone said 3:46 pm with no reception. But the sky was growing darker already. Not even in the Winter did it get night this quickly.

I started running and dodging trees, reaching out my hands to feel for bark and shoving myself out of their way. My foot caught on a log and I went face first onto the ground. The warm, soft ground.

All at once, my body relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. I rolled onto my back and took in a deep, deep breath. I almost didn’t need it; I couldn’t breathe but also could breathe finally. Nothing held it back, nothing weighing on my heart to keep it from beating at a steady, normal pace.

    The overbearing, sinking feeling over took my chest; begging to drag me down into the depths of the woods. The trees closed in over head and the sun was successfully blocked out. No light streamed in, the only source being from the far off tower strip.

    I tried to move but couldn’t. I raised my arm and it just dropped back to my side, it was af it was light as a feather, with hollow bones, and filled with lead at the same time. I let my head hit the dirt as I leaned back as all my motivation to stay up left me.

    But it wasn’t scary. Only…strangely comforting. It didn’t feel like it wanted to harm me, simply take away any preexisting pain. Take away everything until nothing was left, including the sadness. Dull all my senses. Block out the noises. Silence the humming noise and voices.

    I could just not move. Let it consume me, take my spirit and mind away. It would be so easy…

    “JAKE!”

    Darian’s voice cut through every thought I had. Any resolve I had to let whatever it was take me broke away. My best friend needed me, and as much as I wanted to die, he needed me to live even more.

    I scrambled to my heavy feet and took off into the strip. I dashed through the grass, ignoring the broken glass, leapt over the decaying deer, waved off the flies, and ran until my legs ached and my chest was burning.

    “JAKE!”

    The grass cut at my legs and arms, sharp searing pain akin to getting sliced with a knife covered me from head to toe but it was miniscule compared to the building anxiety rising in my tightened chest.

    I broke into the circle and there Darian was. Just laying there, staring up at the open blue sky. His arms and legs outstretched as if he was just sunbathing on a lovely day. But the fear striking his face and pulsing veins streaming from his clenched fists and neck told me otherwise.

    I fell to my knees next to him and yanked an arm around my shoulders. Darian had a good five inches and 70 pounds on me, but the shallow breathing and returning clawing feeling in my brain gave me just enough strength to lift my best friend up to get the feck out of there.

    We finally made it past the deer and Darian suddenly slipped away from me. I started to panic until he grabbed my hand and we both took off. We ran in the slim space between the woods and strip, leaping over logs and doing our best to avoid briars.

    It was the most terrifying time of both of our lives. Especially with the feeling now rising out of the ground to pull at my ankles, trying desperately to drag me back down. I ignored it the best I could until I couldn’t.

I briefly stopped, yanking Darian to a stop, and stomped on the nearest stick. It broke right in half and the feeling vanished with a cold, fleeting pass. I slipped my hand around Darian’s wrist and dragged him through the strip.

    Then we heard the sweetest sound, calming music to our ears: cars. Driving past at fast, back road “no cops around, speeds. We ran faster and the road finally came into view. We only slowed down enough to step on the rocks and climb up and over the sewer pipe. Darian pulled me up and we took one step onto the road.

    “Well, we did find a dead body.”

    “Shut up.”

    Probably dangerous to stand on a road at night, but nothing could’ve felt more dangerous to us than those woods. The pavement felt like heaven to us at that moment. We caught our breath and walked across the road in silence. Back to the car, got in, and just sat there.

    Darian started the car and switched on the headlights. The two of us stared into the dimly lit dirt road ahead of us, neither of us wanting to speak. If we did, then that made it real. What we experienced had been real and we had really almost let ourselves be left behind.

    We had almost died. We didn’t know what about what we felt led us to believe death was the end goal, but neither of us doubt we would’ve died if we hadn’t just gotten up and left. No matter how hard it was to do so.

    Something we had both wanted for so long. But given the chance, we didn’t let go. It didn’t feel like the other attempts, to me anyway. I had been in control then.

    “You good?” I managed to croak out.

    Darian huffed out a weak laugh. “Not in the least bit. You?”

    “I’m never going into the woods again.”

    Eventually, he put the car into drive and we left. Back to my apartment. I had work early in the morning, but we didn’t want to be alone that night. So we slept on my floor where I held tight onto his jacket sleeve until the sun rose. Neither of us brought up him choosing to call for help nor me answering that call.

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twenty-two - a brother’s promise

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

DEIMOS ROARS WHEN he enters the villa in Phokis, knocking over a weapons rack in the courtyard —chest heaving in his rage. Everything was predicated on a lie. He shouts again, lashing out at the cold, iron brazier. It topples to the tiled floor, spreading ash and coal over the white stone slabs. The words of the Cultists play over in his mind. Tightening the laces of his cuirass, Deimos sets his mind on finding Lesya —he does not know what he will say, nor if he will be able to tell her she is right. He just knows he needs to see her. Sliding the Damoklean sword into the sheath on his hip, Deimos sets off to Kirrha with fury and cold determination. 

Kirrha’s Harbor is always bustling with merchant ships —pilgrims who come to seek the wisdom of the Pythia. Among them is a trireme with three masts, a gilded figurehead, dark Tyrian red sails. The vessel once belonged to Elpenor, though now it fully belongs to the Cult. The Areion remains a fine ship. “Deimos!” Labdakos exclaims, the captain had not expected to see the champion so soon after Kleon’s messenger departed. 

“Prepare the ship,” Deimos announces, ascending the short staircase to the helm of the trireme. Labdakos barks orders at the crew and they bustle around the deck, securing lines and arranging the barrels of freshly fletched arrows. The horizon is dark, mimicking the raging storm within his heart and mind. 

The captain stands behind his chair, hand resting on the carved back. He knows something is wrong —that Deimos is not falling in line with the given orders. “Where do we sail?” Labdakos asks. 

“Keos,” Deimos answers. He will sail to where Lesya is, or at least where she is rumored to be.   

“But Kleon’s orders–” Labdakos trails off —a fool to fear Kleon more than the unhinged demigod before him. Deimos seizes the captain by the neck, fingers tightening around his throat until his pitiful cries for air are nigh silent wheezes. “Fuck his orders,” Deimos spits, throwing the captain back to the deck. “Take me to Keos or I’ll see the sharks have their bellies filled.” It is not so much a threat as it is a promise. 

Labdakos dips his head low, hand rubbing the tender places of his neck. “Of course, champion.” But the appeasement is insincere. Kleon has paid enough to sail the champion to Athens regardless of the champion’s wishes to travel to the Pirate Islands. Deimos can tell the captain’s loyalty no longer lies with him. He places his hand on the back of the Labdakos’ head, forcing him to his knees, then twists to the left with the other —then a little farther. Deimos does not even strain and with a quick, final jerk there is a crack and the captain’s head snaps around to face backward. Stepping back, the Labdakos’ head loosely rolls back to the front, then lolls —his neck hanging at an angle with white bones poking through the skin, leaking scarlet blood. 

The body flops forward onto the deck. Deimos looks at the frightened deckhands and the lieutenant of the vessel —he steps toward the second-in-command and motions at the captain’s chair with his bloody hand. “You’ve just been promoted to captain,” he announces with a grim smile.

“THANKS,” LESYA SAYS when Kassandra hands her the other blade. It had been buried to the hilt in the back of an Athenian spy. Save for the corpses, the camp on Keos has been emptied. Xenia’s lieutenant will offer a hefty reward for helping him remove the Athenian thorn from her side and it will put Kass closer to earning the drachmae to pay for information about Myrrine. 

Kass eyes the pair of daggers again —she has noticed the strange glint of the metal several times, it is similar to her spear and the sword Deimos had carried. There had been a cast for a dagger the same shape and size in the Ancient Forge as the two Lesya carries. “What’s so special about them?” She asks, though she knows they never need to be sharpened or honed, much like the Spear of Leonidas. 

Lesya holds out the blade, balancing it on two fingers. She remembers the stories Chrysis told about the daggers and the Damokles sword. Mighty weapons from long ago. It was only after she and Deimos had been named champion that the Cult gave them the blades. “They belonged to the Amazon Penthesilea,” Lesya explains —a daughter of Ares and queen of the Amazons but slain in battle by Achilles. “Or at least that is what the Cult claims.” With ease, Lesya spins the dagger between her fingers and sighs. There is something special about the weapons, she can feel the difference with a normal spear or kopis in hand. “I believe it though, whenever I use these it’s like I can see my opponent’s next move before it comes.”

Smoke lingers in the battered streets of Koressia, masking the foul stench of death. Barnabas had spoken of the horrors committed in the polis before the Adrestia docks three days ago. Pirates had taken the city by force, but a shortage in food could mean starvation and the rise of sickness. The elder denizens within the city were forced to drink hemlock tea, culling the population of the city. Merchants said Aphrodite had forsaken Keos after that. The misthios leaves to report their success to the lieutenant and collect on the deed, but Lesya wanders the ravaged town. 

Tucked away near the white cliff-face is a sunken pit, with stairs carved into the rock. Pirates surround the pit, watching one of their brethren fend off a wild boar. Wagers are made and collected on who will emerge from the fight victorious. Given the size of the beast and the bloody gash in the man’s side, Lesya already knows who will win the fight. It happens quickly when the boar charges —its sharp tusks sinking into the fighter’s gut and pinning him against the smooth wall. Red streaks the white marble and when the boar halts the assault a bloody mess of entrails are left strewn across the white sand. 

“Are there any other challengers who wish to face this mighty descendant of the Erymanthian?” Lesya looks down into the pit at the beast roaming around its freshest kill. She and Deimos had skewered plenty of boar in the past —and a rasher of fried back fat does sound good. Stepping forward to the edge of the rope fence, she calls out. Accepting the challenge. The organizer thinks her a fool for not taking the leather-and-metal cuirass they offer. All she takes into the pit is a wooden lance affixed with a rusting leaf-shaped spearhead and her twin blades. 

The beast does not notice when Lesya steps into the arena —it is busy rooting around the guts of its last victim, but she knows better than to strike first from behind. Moving around in a low crouch, she clicks her tongue —drawing its attention to her. The boar charges and Lesya rolls out of the way and reaches behind her, unsheathing one of the daggers. 

Weighing the blade and the opportunity, she throws it. The boar squeals when the dagger buries itself to the hilt in its flank. A wave of chants and cheers sweeps through the rabble above, but she tunes them out —eyes narrowing on the beast as it returns its raging black eyes on her. Stamping its hooves into the sand. When Lesya rolls to the side again, she reaches for the second dagger on her back —cutting a deep line into the boar’s side, it rears up and cries as though it had already been skewered. 

The beast readies to charge again, but Lesya is done with the spectacle. Crouching, she adjusts her grip on the spear and faces down the boar as it races toward her, bloody mouth agape. Lunging as it nears her, she thrusts the spear forward and up —pressing into the wooden lance with a loud cry. The crowd above grows silent as the boar halts, its squeals of pain turning to silence. Metal glinting with red pushes through the top of the boar’s skull —twisting the spear, she jerks it free and drives the bloody point into the ground next to her foot. 

Tundareos is there when she emerges from the fighting pit, grinning —his clear blue eyes like a sparkling sea. Sandy blond hair windswept and loosely tied back from his face. He is so much like the lively boy Lesya remembers from a distant childhood, but a pang of despondency rises in her chest. Tundareos has not led a gentle life either, that much is evident from the deep scar running across his left cheek down to his lips —half-hidden by a scruffy beard a shade lighter than his hair. “You’re insane,” he laughs, clapping her on the shoulder, having watched the fight from above.  

The purse is heavy with silver and gold —from the prize and the bets even if the organizer is reluctant to part ways with the pay. Her brother trails along as she returns to the Adrestia, tossing the earnings down at Kassandra’s feet. It will put her closer to paying Xenia’s hefty price.  

FOR WHEN TUNDAREOS is not at sea, he has a small house in Koressia beneath the Temple of Athena Nedousia. He pours two cups of watered wine and lays the thick-cut slices of boar fat into a bronze tagēnon to fry and render over an earthen brazier. The supper of fried back fat, brown bread, olives, figs, and honey is taken in silence —though Tundareos and Lesya exchange quick looks and small smiles. It is the first time either of them has been with family in over a decade and had been longer since sharing a meal. 

Lesya does not part ways for the night as she had initially planned, instead, her brother leads her up to the roof. A full moon hangs in the clear dark sky, pocked with the twinkle of a thousand stars. Tundareos looks out over the sea, a deep sorrow washing over him. “Sister,” he breathes, “tell me what happened to you after that night.” He has heard stories of a ghost with copper hair, fighting like a demon —after witnessing her kill the same beast who gored countless men there is not a doubt in his mind the stories had been about his sister

“Tundareos,” Lesya shakes her head, laurel gaze darting down to her palms. Remembering is one of the hardest things to do, but forgetting is even harder. “I–” she pauses and when Lesya begins again, the words come pouring out as a torrent. Lesya tells him everything and it feels good to have someone to confide in without fear of judgment. 

His face twists in anger —no one would have hurt his sister if his father had not given her up as a girl. “What can I do to help you stop these people?” He asks but Lesya does not have that answer for herself either. Luck leads her to some Cultists and Deimos to others. The only way to stop them from choking Hellas was to cut the head from every serpent. “I’ll do it. I promise,” Tundareos says, voice reflecting his iron will. “They all deserve to die and rot in Tartarus.” A good number already were. 

Then something stirs in the pit of her stomach, rising to seize her heart. “Deimos doesn’t,” she says, softly. Deimos was the only person who knew what it was like to be a weapon, to be twisted into something valuable from a young age, to have freedom and humanity stripped away. Lesya cannot stop her heart from aching every time she thinks of him —can not stop hoping their paths will cross sooner rather than later. Tundareos looks at her oddly for a moment before he begins to understand what the pause and the rose color on her cheeks mean. “His name is Alexios,” she tells her brother, smiling. I love him. 

@wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fjor-ok-skadi @fucking-dip-shit

[beatnicksellar]

Marda Loophole: TPB: Issues #7-12

Issue #7 – The Exodus Then: Mada opened her eyes to the inhuman sights and sounds of war Half-men strewn about Bramshott the RCAMC tent soaked in red gore Through the horror she saw her scarecrow the one she treated before Minus a leg he was alive and that was enough to lift her off of the floor Now: Mada opens her eyes to the fuzzy sight of 4 purple children overhead Siphoning energy from a radiant boulder their chant stirs her from the dead A tingle in her toes and sour taste in her mouth the Hole is as Dennis said He labours nearby as the kids stitch Mada together with amethyst thread With the dulling drone done the rock bathes everyone in its immortal hue The old wendigo’s cell unlocks in the uproar allowing her to slip through Before Mada’s blurry eyes the frailest child’s torn from the circuit and slew She can hear the rapacious wendigo sob as she reluctantly continues to chew The plaster walls of the outbuilding begin to buckle from the stone’s potency Suddenly Pope enters the Hole and descends the staircase with much urgency The doctor’s met mid-way by the limping wendigo who embraces him completely Mesmerising him with her wildfire eyes she gladly detaches his loins from his body Dennis returns to find the Hole in shambles with Dot eaten and Dr. Pope screaming He disconnects the kids and requests that Mada give the boys’ lives a new meaning One of the boys grabs a ledger while the other two grip Mada and they begin fleeing Dennis and the wendigo clash by the emitting mound soon buried under the ceiling South Calgary is silent for the first time since the 33 soldiers were secretly dosed But without the hum to calm them they thrashed 33 Avenue like a whipping post Possessed troops overturned the streetcar and chard the theater like it was toast Stiff pedestrians and sate scavengers guide Mada back to her husband Marc’s ghost She mourns over his blood-spattered prosthesis as one boy reads a shard of glass His brothers study the ledger as he peers into the sliver to see what’ll comes to pass ‘We’ll return when the streetcar does’ the scrying boy points to the upturned mass With crazed GIs loose Mada and her boys depart while a curious crow tails her ass… Issue #8 – The Wild Boys ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩ A gayageum plays notes from the concerto called Dorothea The ribbon of rhythm writhes on the airstreams over Korea Baroque tones stir the ancient visage which inspired its idea Eddying over the ocean to hover above a 33rd avenue pizzeria ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫ The melody meanders up 20th street pausing at its composer Three long-haired boys that look 10 but are very much older Standing before Currie Barracks Condo they are of one mourner The unrelated triplets commiserate over their deceased sister ‘I cannot feel her in there’ John the empath of the family confirms ‘I cannot reach her’ Robert retorts ‘all I hear is Dennis and worms’ Scryer James perceives future events but cannot grasp their terms ‘All I see is that the stone has been scattering its ill will like germs’ Treating the condo as if a gravestone they pay respect to her spirit With unkempt heads down the trinity are subdued for a moment Each recalls Dot, the Hole, the old woman then all begin to fidget John pulls a music sheet out of his shorts and whistles a snippet ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♬ James and Robert join him in his performance of Dorothea No. 4 When done John tosses the concerto down onto the sewer floor As they skate through the Loop Mada’s name hangs in every store Coffee shops hum with anticipation over the 70-year-old folklore Around the corner of 35th avenue is where a hungry entity stalks A hefty shadow cast from a vacant lot that limps wherever it walks The boys are too distracted to notice the relic from Pandora’s Box Because a fireball is about to knock’em out of their graphic socksIssue #9 – The Vacant LotYellow barricades protect the rich soil within the vacant lotThough ideal for growth it’s contaminated by junkyard rot Comparable to the toxin that comprises Hausis’ blood clot An

inherit gift from her father and the affects it has wrought Over a century old she has been scarred twice by the stoneAs well Hausis has been forced out of more than one homeFrom her log cabin to that school and finally the catacomb A hole she fled full of a plum, revenge and astral syndrome Dark energy leached into her, those boys and the headless one Wendigo mixed with indigo and once again she was on the run But on the Rez her spirits calmed; she even adopted a grandson It was the last time she felt love as the Sixties Scoop had begun Hungry and hateful she hid her mercy and fed on colonial fears Hitchhiking Highway 16 in the 1970s she traded entrails for tears Retribution for her surrogate sisters who had began to disappear When the stone summoned her home she returned with souvenirs She settled in South Calgary and became a landlord to tasty tenants Bones buried in the vacant lot next-door while lying to their parents A cane sword to assist her limp and cutback on the slaying minutes Serrated steel dentures to masticate and absorb her preys’ essence A century old entity at last content with her damned life up until TONIGHT When her plums return assured and still ripe enough to enjoy a quick biteWhen her bone yard is deemed aseptic and police investigation is in sightHausis lunges at the wild boys only to be repelled by a nimbus of starlight… Issue #10 – The Above People CREEEAK! The tactless teenager forcefully opens the oxidized attic door In search of a white wig for her cosplay getup she stomps across the floor Rummaging through containers she finds something unusual in a drawer A thirteen-year-old letter that when opened clarifies exactly who it is for ‘Aline: It’s with regret and sadness that I write this letter to my daughter’ ‘I had to go to a dangerous place so I left you to be raised by your father’ ‘I never stopped loving you or dreaming of the day we would be together’ ‘When you are ready to meet amass juniper twigs and a magpie feather’ Elated to see her mislaid mother Aline flees the loft in her space-opera costume She sprints across 35 Avenue towards a vacant lot shrouded by juniper in bloom Ripping off a bouquet Aline is unaware that just beyond bodies are being exhumed She spots a pudgy magpie perched on the yellow barricade and plucks at its plume Clutching the vital items the Big Dipper shaped beauty marks on her right arm glows FWOOOOM! A blinding white light descends from overhead lifting her off of her toes Aline suddenly finds herself in a melancholy landscape of stars, clouds and shadows Before her sit 2 enormous Above People who enquire as to her odd-looking clothes ‘It’s for Comic-con’ she roars removing the wig ‘who’re you and where’s my mom’ Sun God laughs as Moon Goddess speaks: ‘We see that you were raise with aplomb’ The electric entities sizzle and pop as they struggle to alleviate Aline’s many qualms ‘Your father fell in love with our granddaughter: the Morning Star he wished upon’ ‘But she had to return to Sky-Country to rid it of the evil her mother had let loose’ Mother Moon details how Feather Woman disobeyed and iniquity was introduced ‘She moved the giant turnip that which protects our portal because she was obtuse’ Mother Moon adds she encased the dummy in indigo stone and made her vamoose That is the past but the portal remains open for dark matter to infest Sky-Country The same stuff brought down with the stone when it crashed in the 19th century Aline accuses her great-grandparents of killing her kin and for spreading villainy The Gods giggle at the allegation clarifying Feather Woman merely has an injury More gen is traded and a deal is struck: if Aline fixes the portal all will be forgiven Above People will help find the Morning Star and teach Aline of her nuclear fusion KRA-KOOM! A fiery comet crashes and Aline emerges from impact like a magician Gazing at the wild boys she states ‘You dudes are my gran and we have a mission’… Issue #11 – The Penultimate Sequential squares spread over an infinitude of glittering stars Panels parted by gutters spanning

centuries between the bars A billboard advertises Marc and Mada’s forthcoming memoirs Christened Marda; Loop denotes the superannuated streetcar Inset in the ad is a shot of Magpie gnawing on a decayed thumb bone Balanced on the sign she spots a bird below who was once well known Magpie cries: ‘Ain’t seen you since you left with THAT there veiled crone’ Alit next to Magpie Crow recalls his ghastly exploits beyond the stone ‘It was Hell’ he croaks ‘The screaming, the silence, the suicide attempts’ ‘It took HER forever to bond with THOSE boys and get over her regrets’ ‘Once she did’ Crow pauses ‘she spearheaded some tantalizing events’ Led by the ledger and scryed images they tracked the fiery GIs’ contempt While 7 indigo infected ones enlisted for Korea 26 settled in Forest City An innocuous epithet for somewhere death stalked the streets regularly Enclosed by thickets it’s where butchers would conceal a mutilated body ‘The Serial Killer Capital’ Crow yelps ‘We lured them out during the 1960s’ Crow clarifies that when the GIs moved there each become a major player: Mad Slasher, Bedroom Strangler, Balcony Killer + the Chambermaid Slayer Mada the bait, Crow the lookout, and 3 wild boys unified became the healer ‘In the forest we’d draw out the purple poison leaving the mortals tamer’ Mada’s nursing background afforded them a home and a baby-grand piano She worked while under pseudonyms the boys penned novels & concertos ‘Forest City was safe and we had obtained almost all of that fugitive indigo’ ‘Almost’ Crow echoed ‘We left for Korea in ‘81 on a plane from Toronto’ Magpie squawks sceptically: ‘And then miraculously back for the 70th Anniversary’ {Had it been that long?} the crone ponders {Why did they whitewash my tragedy?} The veiled woman below the advert grimaces then utters anachronistic profanity Stalwart in stance she shudders when the #7 rolls by renewed for the pageantry… Issue #12 – Giant-Size Finale The fixed indigo stone pulsates expelling the remnants of its space toxin Pumped into the faucets of 22 occupants of the new condo atop its coffin Dragging fingers thru mauve hair they’re rapt by the stone’s dim doctrine They riot inside the structure while outside Mada and her wild boys lock in ‘Try it again’ the costumed Aline guides from inside the infinite sealed loop She has juniper and feather in hand yet something is off within their group ‘That thing’s teeing me off’ Mada breaks from the ring and sits on the stoop The rebuilt #7 streetcar gleams in the parking lot next to an effigy of troops Suddenly…a service door opens and the old wendigo limps out of the edifice ‘You’ Hausis growls at Aline ‘You’re relations with that Metis bastard Dennis’ Mada perks up at the name of the man who inadvertently made her endless ‘Are you?’ Mada asks ‘She sure is’ Hausis sniffs ‘and it’s making me ravenous’ Incensed Mada bares the jagged indigo scar spanning the length of her collar ‘Dennis did this’ she states ‘and orchestrated the 1950 South Calgary slaughter’ Aline has entirely no clue as to what occurred because of her great-grandfather And before Mada can educate her the group is spotted by a police helicopter ‘Freeze Ms. Cranmer’ a voice booms as a squad car pulls up with guns drawn Hausis has been hiding since police uncovered the bodies she had feasted on Clotheslined and cuffed the 145-year-old Cree woman is beaten with a baton Aline, Mada and wild boys watch in horror as Hausis is tenderized like carrion The wild child named Robert tugs at Aline’s skirt pointing at the departing cop car ‘Dot’ the 80-year-old kid chirps ‘The hungry lady has carried our sister’s soul so far’ Mada is not their 4th because it is the frail child Hausis mauled like a chocolate bar ‘We need that granny back’ Aline barks at Mada who turns away rubbing her scar Aline suggests they take the idle #7 and propel it with a trick she has just learned ‘Can I borrow a feather from your crow?’ she asks of Mada who still feels scorned Crow leaves Magpie atop the streetlamp landing beside Aline his feathers formed ‘I am not getting on that ’

Mada repeats just as the crazed tenants emerge armed KRA-KOOM! The refurbished #7 streetcar rockets down 20th street like a fireball Crow and Magpie try to slow the tenants’ progress to the 33rd avenue mini-mall Meanwhile the #7 zips down the parade route until it hits the cruiser then a wall Everyone on the #7 is unscathed and so too is Hausis who’s eating a cop’s eyeball Magpie and Crow flutter in to warn everyone of the approaching horde of tenants The wild boys jump into action with a hand out for Hausis who sees it as penance ‘Doesn’t make me a plum’ she gripes grasping John’s hand as if she is pregnant As the 4 siblings unite clouds appear and a powerful deluge forms within minutes The first drop hits as the vicious throng reaches Marda Loop then the sky cries The drenched tenants lose their momentum as the mauve washes over their eyes The rain relents as does the horde but Mada’s inner ire cannot be overemphasized The wild boys embrace Hausis and in turn Dot whose soul has now been reprisedOnlookers have gathered at the site sad to see there’s no anniversary to reminisce Crow and Magpie peck at the injured police officers as Aline stares into the abyss She apologizes to Mada for her relative’s actions but asks for her not to be remiss ‘We cannot change the past’ she points out ‘But if you help us now we can fix this’The wendigo, the crone, the wild boys, the star-child and the scavengers all return Loitering outside of the Currie Barracks condo building hashing out their concerns Hausis has subsisted with the stone while in exile so she knows where it’s interned In the bowels of the sub-basement they find the ancient rock fading in a slow burn John, James and Robert the perpetual 10-year-olds encircle Aline and embrace her Hausis jeers as the boys kiss their kin then whisper in Mada’s ear: Goodbye Mother The siblings start siphoning the stone’s essence back; Aline waves Magpie’s feather Hausis and the boys convert to stardust they swirl around the stone and then enter Aline and Mada escape the building as the boulder flies backwards thru the nexus Its trajectory bearing straight for Sky-Country where it will rid the land of sepsis The portal is sealed and The Above People welcome Feather Woman and Hausis Back in South Calgary Mada stands in the quiet rubble no longer feeling headless ‘Wanna meet my dad?’ Aline asks of her lithe friend who nods producing a smile Mada calls Crow but he and Magpie are stardust in a constellation of their profile Unveiled Mada and neophyte Aline walk towards a rainbow after their long trial As both fade over the hill stardust diffuses and floats to somewhere worthwhile An End

[unkiben]

Transmission Incoming...

Downloading data entry...

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User: UnkiBen

System: Attifi-Gekuit, Euclid Galaxy

Day 2: I awoke today feeling bad, not from sickness, or anything like it, but perhaps yesterday's epiphany had scared me a little. Whatever this feeling was, I could not put my finger on it.

I decided to roll from under my ship, climb straight into the cockpit and leave Usuki for good. On the journey across to the space station, the emptiness of the system left me only time to think. I still, after all these years travelling, do not know who I am, where I have come from, or what it means to be a traveler. What is my purpose here?

I was a few clicks out from the space station when some commercial freighters warped in, the ricochet of their entry into the system rattled through my ship with a great force. They were followed by a number of frigates. In my passing, one reached out over the communications unit and offered their services in combat. I had no interest in this offer, but I did board to greet the fellow Gek and to stretch my legs a little... Or is it stretch my little legs.

While aboard I had time to reflect my life's work, looking out across the stars and to the many frigates passing by, from the landing pads.

All I could think to myself was that I could not settle here... it was no home. I'm not even sure I know what home is... Sleeping in the cargo hold of my starship was the closest thing I had to a home I suppose.

When they released me from the research facility, I knew nothing of my own life, where I came from, if I had relatives, ancestors... Anything... The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I mean, think about it. As a young Gekling, they took me and concealed my real life from me, training me for some cargo pushing job like an absolute icerittel taajan.

I wasn't going to hang around much more. I boarded my ship and engaged my warp drives, in search of something more than... More than this, my life.

I spent a few solitary moments in the the swirling vortex of the warp, until finally it dissolved around me and I was thrust into the expanse of space among a toxic green sky.

I sat motionless watching my monitors and checking that I hadn't lost anything during my journey here. But from the corner of my eye I saw that the location reader was just flickering...

No Data Available...

I tapped gently upon the screen, just to see another shudder in my display, before that same message appeared.

No data available...

Leaning forward I did a visual survey of the area, only a single ringed planet lay behind me, and a further distant planet lay behind it.

I set a course for the planet closest by...

Just as I rolled my ship over to head out warp holes opened all around me. They exploded with bandit ships pouring out in what appeared to be an ambush. The system was eerily vacant for these bandits to be operating like this and in such great numbers.

Immediately I engaged in a frantic combat, I spent a large amount of my time in evasive manoeuvres due to the sheer amount of fire I was receiving. After a final barrel roll out of the firing line, I positioned myself behind two of the ships who were gearing up to loop around and pincer me, as they engaged their pulse engines I fired on one of the bandits engines, successfully disabling them and causing them to spin out, crashing into the other.

The final fighter was hot on my tail, utilising as many of its weapons systems as it could. I had obviously pissed him off, yet the fight was far from over. No matter what I tried, every manoeuvre I executed... He was right behind me. One blast from the enemies Phasers and I was almost out of shields.

I took the fight through an asteroid field weaving through the jagged rocks and boulders. It seemed to have given me some space and enough time to spin my ship around... Scanning the countless rocks for a sign of the enemy... Nothing... My ship was rattling, various bleeps and rumbles emitted from the interface... I had taken some serious damage.

As I lifted my hand to adjust course and retreat the Fighter bandit rolled over the top of a large asteroid, firing directly upon me. The force of the impact knocked my ship off centre and disabled all power to my thrusters. My head jolted forwards and I hit my forehead against the control panel. I had no control of my ship, testing the thrusters, wing calibration... Nothing!

Disorientated, my head spinning and a high pitched ringing in my ears, I lifted my hand and reached for the weapons controls, the trigger for my canons to find that they were still operational. As they fired into the distance, I noticed that the recoil wasn't being counteracted, what with my thrusters not working. I decided to use this as a means to knock my ship into the direction of the enemy.

I continued to fire as my ship flipped over... looking over my shoulder I saw him honing in for the kill, his engines roaring, so with little time left, diverted all reserve power to the weapons systems and blasted the enemy with a killing burst right through the cockpit of his fighter ship. The outside vacuum sucked the bandit straight out of the shattered hole, shredding him to ribbons. The moments of stillness after would stay with me for eternity... his body floated off, his entrails, slung behind him as blood scattered in clumps behind. I sunk back into my seat, relieved... But sad. Killing has never been easy for me, but if I have learnt anything out here, it is either you or them...

My shields began to recharge...

As my ship stabilized, I continued to navigate my way to the surface of the nearby planet. As I entered the atmosphere I was lucky enough to spot a small structure sitting in the heated wasteland.

As my ship touched down, a cloud of dust kicked up around me. Slowly it settled and through the particles, emerged the doorway to the structure. Yet another abandoned facility... I ran from my ship in the scorching storm outside to be met with yet another terminal... At least this one was tentacle free...

The screen burst to life... it looks like the set up was for some sort of logistical control centre. After being presented with some sort of numerical lockout puzzle, I was allowed access to the interface. Hidden among the countless data logs was a black box report from an old freighter that seemed to have come into trouble just over the planets atmosphere...

I always here about these freighter warping too close to a planets surface, but have never seen one for myself. The prospect of discovering it's story was too appealing, so I took the navigational data and plotted a course for the freighter.

The flight over was short, I could see from my ship that the place was a harsh and unforgiving environment, but not devoid of life. Surprisingly, many creatures seemed to roam the boiling dunes below.

Just beyond a large dune lay the freighter, it's large red metallic structure erupting from the surface, jagged panels lay strewn across the surrounding area.

As I landed the sun began to cool as it sunk away over the distant hills, I jumped out of my fighter and clambered up one of the freighters storage compartments to get a better view of the area... In this moment, the heat settled... The storms and clouds began to disperse.

And from over the dunes, arose a creature so magnificent, so beautiful in its stride... it grazed among the flora, running in what seemed to be a small herd. I couldn't help but take this hiatus and just watch, this spectacle of raw beauty as it traversed the desolate wastes. So out of place, but yet so perfect.

The sun was setting, I couldn't face another strom so got to work on excavating for buried caches and storage units. I found a number of valuable resources but nothing from the wreckage gave me any clues on what caused it.

Could it be that they warped in too close the the planets atmosphere? Or did they get ambushed in what has already been proven to be a hostile system? I could no longer hear the creatures around me, as if they were settling for the night... Or hiding...

I loaded the last of my spoils from the wreckage into 'The Leviathan of Despair' and hopped into the cockpit to scan for any other local settlements or buildings. Nothing local came up... Nowhere to sleep but my blasted storage again.

At least the Silicate haul will make a nice bed...

Transmission Ended...

Gek Language

Quote

[aion-rsa]

Rick and Morty’s Most Gruesome Deaths

https://ift.tt/3m2NOh1

The super-slick, super-sick Rick and Morty brand is known for many things: the warped, borderline-abusive dynamic between its titular characters, its deliciously dark humour, the gleefulness it takes in capsizing the conventions of a thousand genre tropes. Then there are the catch-phrases, and the colourful cast of supporting characters – everything from fatally-depressed Mr Meseeks to embedded family friends like Mr Poopybutthole. What really characterises it though, is death. That it’s not the first association you make with the show is possibly a by-product of there being so damn much of it that it stops registering.

There are long deaths, slow deaths, good deaths, bad deaths, sad deaths, funky deaths, perfunctory deaths, ironic deaths, iconic deaths, horrid deaths, hilarious deaths and hectares of borderline disturbing deaths.

Here are the most gruesome, in all their gory glory, season by season. (It’s a testament to Rick and Morty’s perpetually heavy ante that a little girl having her head sliced off by a Freddy Krueger substitute doesn’t even make it onto the list.)

I hope you haven’t eaten yet.

S1, E3 ‘Anatomy Park’ Come Flay With Me

Morty fails to save a fellow miniaturised man when things go south in ‘Anatomy Park’, a themed pleasure experience situated inside the body of a chronically unwell homeless man. The poor soul is sucked through the dying tramp’s windpipe and out through his mouth, the skin and flesh being stripped from his bones in the process, leaving him a peeled human spit-ball.

S1, E3 ‘Anatomy Park’ Space Guts

Things aren’t any less gruesome when the bloated corpse of the tramp is made giant by science. It ends up floating in space – because of course it does – whereupon it’s blown to smithereens, sending bone and guts spiralling into the void.

S1, E5 ‘Meeseeks and Destroy’ Who You Gonna Kill?

Morty not only finds himself preyed upon by parasite zombie versions of his family, but also has to watch as they’re trapped, burned, squished, melted and pulled into a piece of trapping technology that Rick clearly ripped from Egon’s ghost-busting manual.

S1, E5 ‘Meeseeks and Destroy’ Fairytale Ending

A fairytale giant – in the ‘Fe Fi Fo Fum’ mould – slips in his kitchen and slams his skull on a table-top. He bleeds out, a look of mystified shock frozen in his eyes, convulsing as his life-force ebbs away. RIP childhood.

S1, E6 ‘Rick Potion #9’ RIP and Mortal

In a sequence as chilling as it is gruesome, Rick mishandles some super-dangerous piece of kit and blows himself and Morty to Kingdom Come. Their crumpled remains, spattered with blood, smash against the wall; Rick’s eye pops out. Our own – thankfully unscathed – Rick and Mortys arrive from a doomed neighbouring dimension to bury them and take their place.

S1, E8 ‘Rixty Minutes’ Lepre-gone

You should never watch Inter-dimensional TV on a full stomach. In this advert, a cereal-hocking leprechaun – the mascot of this universe’s favourite breakfast cereal, Strawberry Smiggles – is pinned down on a tree stump by a little boy and girl, who proceed to slit open his abdomen and feast on his spilled-out innards; even squeezing out cereal shapes from his intestines and gobbling them like Pez sweets.

S2, E4 ‘Total Rickall’ Memory Massacre

Morty and family encounter shape-shifting alien parasites that reproduce through implanting false memories in a host’s brain. Their pus-fountained death throes – as their bodies wither, wilt, and burst in a screaming fanfare of tentacles – is pretty gruesome to behold, but thankfully you become desensitised to it pretty quickly.

S2, E7 ‘Big Trouble in Little Sanchez’ Rick Kills Himselves

At least Rick is an equal opportunities murderer. Even another version of himself isn’t exempt from his nihilistic rage. Here he gleefully smashes, drop-kicks and hacks up his own glass-encased surrogates, leaving a pile of bloodied parts strewn across the floor.

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S2, E8 ‘Interdimensional Cable 2: Tempting Fate’ Man vs Car

Another Interdimensional TV segment, another stomach churner. Literally this time.  A punkish strongman is crushed to death under the wheels of a car he’d hoped to repel, his blood and body parts thrown from the fast-spinning tyres like fireworks from a Catherine Wheel.

S2, E8 ‘Interdimensional Cable 2: Tempting Fate’ Jerrymurdering

Jerry is violently shot to death, leaving his face a drooping, lacerated, blood-dripping husk. Thankfully he’s in a technologically sophisticated futuristic hospital that presumably offers socialised healthcare.

S2, E9 ‘Look Who’s Purging Now’ Mashes to Mashes

When Rick and Morty don robo-suits and enter the Purge, expect blood. When Rick hoists a purgee off the ground and pops his head off like it was a bottle-top, sending a fountain of blood arcing into the air, it’s pretty damn disgusting – and admittedly also a bit cool – but for gruesomeness you can’t beat the sight of two people having their heads slammed together leaving a mess of pink-hued, brain-flavoured mashed potato.

S3, E1 ‘The Rickshank Rickdemption’ Pop Goes the Weasel

In the midst of some inter-dimensional Rick and Morty-based carnage, a poor Morty is crushed to death with one swift trample, as if he were nothing more than a tube of toothpaste. His dead body lies on the ground like a stuffed tiger rug, his hollow eye sockets and melon-mouth aflame with blood.

S3, E2 ‘Rickmancing the Stone’ Bad Beth

Summer flips a Mad Max-style baddy’s death-machine, maiming him horribly. He drags his torso towards her from the wreck, on a slime of entrails, pleading with her to put him out of his misery. ‘OK,’ she says, ‘But not because you told me to.’

S3, E2 ‘Rickmancing the Stone’ Give Him a Big Hand

For maximum yuk, you really can’t beat Morty smashing skulls to a pulp in a Thunderdome-inspired death arena with his beefy, vengeful and murderously sentient replacement arm.

S3, E3 ‘Pickle Rick’ Rat-a-tat-splat

I’m going to condense multiple deaths into one here, all perpetrated by that mighty, vegetable-based superhero, Pickle Rick. First, he slices off a rat’s head with a trap and harvests its bones and sinew to add limbs to his pickle body. Next, he proceeds to dispatch a whole army of rats with his makeshift power-tools in a variety of brutal and ghastly ways: pummelling brains; suspending bleeding corpses from the ceiling; cutting them into strips, and even cleaving them in two. Riotously disgusting.

S3, E3 ‘Pickle Rick’ Laser Tag

Pickle Rick’s human opponents fall just as easily – and horrifically. The best, and messiest, kill is when Pickle Rick bores a laser-shot through the heads of three of his enemies, and then proceeds to stare cockily through the tunnelled lens of charred goo like some pickle-based James Bond.

S3, E4 ‘Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender’ Falling Down

Speaking of Superheroes, let’s say hello and goodbye to Morty’s favourite team, The Vindicators, most of whom met a particularly savage end. First there’s Vince Maximus, who flies into a ceiling vent, and is shot to death in such a spirit of Rambo-esque overkill that his disembodied legs drop to the ground like a downed plane.

S3, E4 ‘Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender’ See You Later Alligator (In a Pile, Crocodile)

Then there’s Croc-u-bot, splatted into a green pulp by a springing trap.

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S3, E5 ‘Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender’ Ants in His Pants

And the perpetually angry Alan Rails, whose gullet is invaded by the shifting, morphing body of Million Ants, who first inflates him then detonates him in a riot of guts.  

S3, E5 ‘The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy’ Game Over

This one if possibly the most viscerally gruesome death in the entire show. A little girl is shot through the head by her giggling boy pal just as Rick deactivates the invincibility shield protecting everyone inside the dome from death.

S3, E5 ‘The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy’ A Bug’s Death

Another death that’s psychologically, rather than physically, gruesome. Three little bug-people sit toasting each other’s health and happiness. ‘Let’s just relax and enjoy our retirement,’ says one, as he’s snatched by a bird of prey and carried to his doom. The last thing we see of him as he’s ferried to his horrible off-screen death is the open portal of his screaming mouth.

S3, E6 ‘Rest and Ricklaxation’ Party Poopers

A furry party-entertainer and a bunch of happy young kids are engulfed in a toxicity field. An angry exchange ensues, which culminates in the brutal beating, beheading and evisceration of the entertainer. They’re also available for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs.

S3, E7 ‘The Ricklantis Mixup’ Morty’s Flush

Thousands of dead Rick and Mortys float eerily through space having been tossed from the airlock by a homicidal Morty.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ Crystal Death Addiction

When Morty first gazes upon the death crystal we see a shimmering smorgasbord of possible deaths. If you’ve got a fast pausing-hand, or the eyes of a spider, you’ll see such memorably brutal deaths as: Morty being sucked through a spacecraft toilet and ejected into the cold, airless void of space; dropped into a nest of giant baby birds and torn asunder; decapitated by an elevator door; and even falling from a skyscraper and being whisked to death by helicopter blades.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ Rick’s Crystal Maze

Rick carks it in some hellishly grizzly ways, too. He’s torn in half by Squanch, is eaten by a giant spider, has his head splattered open like a melon by a swinging log, and – in perhaps the most horrific segment – has his body churned through a rectangular aperture in a giant Play Doh maker.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ Clunk, click. Dead Rick.

Rick soon after dies for real (but not forever) in a spacecraft crash following some death-crystal-related shenanigans, smashing through the windscreen and impaling himself on a spike.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ The Wasp Factory

Extra points for top tier body-horror gruesomeness with this one. Wasp Rick lays eggs in giant Rick’s eye, causing fast-hatching grubs to spill out from his massive mouth. Seconds later, a horde of Rick-wasps hatches en masse from his face, splitting it open like an overboiled hot-dog. Yuk!

S4, E3 ‘One Crew Over the Crewcoo’s Morty’ Treachery Will Tear Us Apart

Heist artist Miles Knightley is torn apart like a chicken dinner by a medley of bizarre alien creatures – a cross between the ghosts from The Real Ghostbusters intro sequence and something that fell out of Clive Barker’s nightmares – whose piece de resistance is yanking the skin from his wet skull like it’s a bad mask. 

Are there any particularly gruesome deaths you’d like to add to the list? Or would you like to weigh in on which of these fatalities repulsed or horrified you the most?

The post Rick and Morty’s Most Gruesome Deaths appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[zipegs]

irving/little  //  1368 words, g, missing scene  //  ao3 written for the trpw day 2: tender tuesday prompts: a friend in need & a comforting touch

“Lieutenant Little?”

John peers into the wardroom with no small measure of uncertainty; despite how well—how deeply—he has come to know Edward, the days have grown long and jagged, and tear at even the strongest of bonds. There are some things, he knows, a man must face on his own. His fingers curl tentatively around the doorframe, and he is brave enough to pierce the threshold with only the upper quarter of his body. It is dark inside—in the winter, the ship’s belly grows cavernous and cold, and there are but few tapers left to cut through the gloom.

Edward sits at the table, dimly illuminated. His focus does not lie on the parchment strewn before him but rather in some far off place apparent only to himself. There is a small frown pulling at his lips, and his visage droops beneath the weight of his thoughts.

John hesitates. When it becomes apparent that Edward has either not noticed him or does not intend to respond, he clears his throat softly and compels himself to enter.

“Edward?”

It is not until John reaches the table that Little looks up. His eyes gleam in the candlelight; John cannot quite tell if he has been crying, and has not the heart to ask. These last few weeks—few months—have been a trial for them all, yet he knows none have carried so heavy a burden as Edward. With the Creature’s reemergence, the Captain’s worsening condition and present illness, and the general unrest of the men, there has been much to address, and little to mitigate their many difficulties. John has watched helplessly as Edward shoulders each new weight, has witnessed him bow and shudder beneath their pressure. And yet, regrettably, there is not much he can offer, save his faith. His love.

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me, he thinks, and shifts his weight.

“It’s nearly morning watch,” John says.

Little looks away.

“Edward.”

He stares down at the table, but as it was when first he entered the room, John does not think he is actually examining it. It pains him to see Edward like this. When he closes his eyes, he still pictures the lieutenant as he was in those first years, whiskers trimmed and hair smoothed, the curl of a smile on his lips. Free of ice crystals, and snow blindness, and chapped, reddened skin. In the time that’s passed, lines have carved themselves into his face, the flesh beneath his eyes has sagged and darkened. John does not doubt that he himself looks much the same; they have all been altered by this—no man will emerge unscathed.

It does not make seeing it any less trying.

He places a hand upon the table. The need to touch is swelling within him, and—as always—his first instinct is to recoil from it. But he swallows the urge and lowers himself to his knees, casting a glance toward the doorway. No men have stirred. They are alone—as much as one can be on board such a vessel.

Slowly, John raises his other hand. He thinks of all the ways in which Edward has comforted him—of how much each gentle touch has affected him in his times of need—and places it on Edward’s shoulder. The effect is near-instantaneous. Little melts, spine curving downward, body sinking into his chair. He rests his elbows upon the table and lowers his face into his hands, torso swaying subtly toward John like the stalk of some gentle flower pulled by the wind. The sight unfurls in John’s body, warm and bittersweet, and he curls his fingers into Edward’s shoulder. The fabric of his waistcoat bunches beneath his grip; he can feel the insinuation of Edward’s form beneath it.

Little inhales; John feels the breath shudder deeply through his body and quiver its way out again. With that single, simple motion, he is lost. He shuffles closer, lifting his hand from the table and reaching up to smooth Edward’s hair. He does so with the hesitant tenderness with which he always touches him, the tips of his first fingers barely brushing the deep brown tresses. Still, he feels their closeness deeply. In the silence which follows, tenuous and aching, John fumbles for something to say. As always, he feels their ranks acutely. It is not his place to give orders or unprompted advice; Lieutenant Little is superior here, as he is everywhere. It is not John’s place to take control, to think he might know better or more than Edward does, or even to seem as though he might think thusly. And yet there are times in which they break those rules—when they cast the fetters of rank aside and attempt to inhabit some other place where neither sex, nor command, nor nature itself holds any dominion over them. He only hopes they might find that place here, and now.

That sometime, at the end of all this, they might discover it again.

Slowly, lightly, John covers Edward’s hands with his own. He urges them downward with naught but the suggestion of pressure, and Edward, kind and gentle and weary as he is, allows himself to be led. His expression, when it is bared, is as open and vulnerable as John has ever seen. He spares but a moment to cast another glance at the door, and then he brings his palm up to rest against Edward’s cheek. Edward’s eyelids flutter closed; he leans into John’s touch, and John thinks (traitorously, blasphemously) that this must be what Christ felt, when he decided to offer himself up for love of the world and all its creatures.

“Do you know,” he begins softly, “Isaiah 41:10?” He keeps his other hand on Edward’s and dares to curl his fingers lightly around it.

Edward’s mouth lilts downward in thought. He opens his eyes and gives the slightest shake of his head.

“Fear thou not; for I am with thee,” John recites. He brushes his thumb over the back of Edward’s hand. “Be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

It is, perhaps, too bold. He feels himself blush and spares a moment to be thankful for how little light graces the room.

But Edward does not chastise him. He does not frown or pull away. He wraps his fingers around John’s, not quite interlaced, but enough of an embrace that it would be deemed unseemly were there any witnesses. There is a glint in his eyes which John cannot quite read, but he thinks—hopes—that he has made his meaning clear.

“I shall endeavor,” Edward says, “to trust in him.”

John’s mouth draws upwards; he tightens his hold on Edward’s hand and leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. The hand on Edward’s cheek slides back to tangle in his unruly hair. He wishes he could offer some further assurance, or insist that all will be as it should, but he is not certain what he truly believes, and he will not hinder Edward with falsehoods.

“Come to bed, Edward,” John says instead, the words no more than a whisper into the limited space between them. “Please. For my sake.”

Edward hesitates; his muscles stiffen, but John does not allow himself to relent. He stays where he is, skin to skin, nose to nose.

Finally, Edward nods—a single, short dip of the head—and draws back.

John allows his hand to fall from Edward’s hair and permits it to graze his neck, his shoulder, his chest. He stands, pulling himself up with the table as Edward, too, lifts himself from his chair.

As they slip out of the wardroom, John can’t help but cast a look back at the table. There is, he thinks, some prophecy lying hid in the spread of papers over dark wood. Some omen writ in their splay, as doom once was thought to lurk in the entrails of cattle, the spread of birds across the sky.

He is not certain they can escape it.

But in this moment, with Edward slipping into his berth beside him, he thinks he doesn’t much mind.