#hibernating so deeply that he seems half dead

[oathwilled]

i vastly enjoy the fact that more than a couple people, unprompted, have compared him to a bear, and you know, it's so true

[jacks-obsessions]

Moth Risotto: Hibernation

Now that you knew what was wrong with Risotto you began to take care of him, he was pretty inactive most of the time, nighttime was when he was most likely to be active. It was a bit unnerving when you woke up to Risotto going through your fridge, because in your half asleep state you forgot he was in your house as a guest, but other than that it was like he was dead. You couldn't help but feel a bit worried when you saw him practically dragging himself around, and you knew it was normal but you couldn't help but be worried about him. You spent your free time with him, usually watching tv while he laid his head in your lap, this massive monster is now a couch potato who just lazes around no longer caring for lamps or anything that would exert him.

Risotto did want you to sleep with him more and more, though it was completely innocent, he wanted to have you close to him so even in his weakened state he can protect you. He likes that you care for him though, like how you gave him soup and lots of blankets it just made him feel happy and like you were his mate. You would make such a good mate and parent to his children too, but he can’t think of that now not when he was getting better and would soon need to leave, oh how he hated the thought of leaving you it just wasn’t right! He was realizing how much he wanted you to be with him, but he wasn’t sure it would work out, not with how many people were terrified of his kind and that he was dangerous to an extent, but he could dream.

He wanted to stay with you, he really did but the more he thought of it the more he thought that you only helped him out of fear, he started to spiral, and it hit him. You must have been doing everything out of fear, of course it would never work out, unfortunately him being in hibernation mode meant he also got seasonal depression it was all too easy for him to worry about anything and everything. He was surprised when you came in without anything to bring him. “Hi Ris, the power went out so I thought you might need some extra warmth.” Risotto hadn’t even noticed the creeping cold, but now it was unbearable and he gladly moved over for you, as you got into bed with him he felt his heart race and your scent calmed him down significantly. 

For a moment he wished he could turn his back to you then he could hide from his feelings for a bit, but here he was stuck watching as you fell asleep because his wings kept him there, it seemed you fell asleep faster with him even if he didn’t release his sleep pheromones and you always seemed so relaxed around him too, maybe just maybe you did love him back, or at least you weren’t scared of him and he could live with that. When he woke up you were still asleep and nestled into his chest, his heart just about jumped out of his chest, you were just so cute! He bit his lip as you snuggled even closer to him, he wondered if you could here his thundering heart in your sleep, but he kind of hoped you could maybe that would help you to know how deeply in love he was with you.

To be continued...

[stiltonbasket]

It’s 1 am and I can’t sleep. For the renouncement verse, does wei ying ever lay awake thinking of their little baby bun on the way? Maybe in the later months of the pregnancy? I imagine wei ying keeps waking up early as he did while he was acting sect leader, but does Lan zhan wake up even earlier and just *looks* at his growing family? 🥺 does wei ying also cool for the baby lan disclipes like he did in lotus pier? 🥺🥺🥺 it’s late and I’m feeling soft

Long before he was old enough to read or write, Wei Wuxian was painfully aware that the world was never kind to children.

He learned that fact when he was a child himself, picking through rubbish heaps for scraps on the streets of Yiling, and when he saw other street-children die of hunger and thirst around him. He learned it again when he was eighteen, watching the little bodies of his nine and ten-year-old baby shidis being laid out in Lotus Pier’s training courtyard for burning--and then a third time, though it felt like the hundredth, when Jin Zixun had thirty women and children shot to death in the woods of Lanling for nothing but his own pitiful amusement.

(Even twenty years after that day on Qiongqi Dao, Wei Wuxian will never feel an ounce of remorse for the way Jin Zixun died; the moment Jin Ling struck him out of the Jin clan’s records was one of the most satisfying moments of his life, and even Jin Guangshan’s name receiving the same treatment did not please him half so much.)

To this very day, it seems to be an unwritten law that the rich and the mighty have no obligation to care for the vulnerable, or the weak, and it was only due to luck and Lan Zhan’s timely intervention that their A-Yuan did not join the hundreds of babies who were left to die, forgotten, or killed for the crime of being born to clans who were disgraced or disbanded or somehow fell out of favor--and if Wei Wuxian had not been in Yunping last year at exactly the right time to find Xiao-Yu, who can say what might have become of him?

“A-Die,” Xiao-Yu mumbles sleepily, curling up against Wei Wuxian’s side like a hibernating squirrel. “There’s a big mouse in Xiao-Yu’s sock. A-Die, look...”

Anything could have happened to him, Wei Wuxian thinks, swallowing down a mouthful of bile as he cradles his son close to his chest. He could have been treated poorly in that children’s home, or beaten, or run away to find his father and ended up on the streets, or even--

After tormenting himself by imagining what Xiao-Yu might have suffered if Wei Wuxian had not found him, he presses a hand to the front of his robes and prays that wealth and the blessing of a good family will be enough to protect his unborn daughter from suffering as her two older brothers did in their childhood. But even little A-Lan was nearly murdered before her parents learned she existed, thrown into mortal danger to atone for the sin of being part of Wei Wuxian, and both of them would have died in that cellar full of fierce corpses if Lan Zhan had not reached them in time.

“Hurry up and grow strong, A-Lan, so that no one can hurt you again because of me,” he whispers, as the baby directs a plaintive kick at the spot where Xiao-Yu’s tiny feet are sticking into him. “I’m sorry that I brought this bad fate to you. But after  you’re born, your A-Die and I will both be able to protect you, and you’ll never have to worry about anything again.”

He often finds it strange to think about how deeply he adores the baby slumbering in his dantian. Being with a child has come with a host of uncomfortable changes to his body; he has to steady himself when he walks, and take care not to bump into things, and the nausea that made the first three months so miserable has returned now that he’s approaching the end of his confinement.

But he loves his little one so dearly that the idea of her being hurt brings him to tears at least three or four times a day, and even during the night if Wei Wuxian wakes before mao shi and imagines a tiny, fragile infant crying for her A-Niang in the Burial Mounds while an army of thousands charges upon the mountain to destroy her.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan’s hand is resting on his cheek, and Wei Wuxian leans into it with such desperate gratefulness that his tears trickle down onto his husband’s sleeve. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“You are,” Wei Wuxian sighs, as Lan Zhan rolls over to wrap him and Xiao-Yu up in his arms. “Lan Zhan, I...after the baby comes, what are we going to do?”

His husband kisses his forehead. “Do about what, xingan?”

“I thought everything would die down after the wedding, but those cultivators from Zhoushan showed their hand only six months ago,” Wei Wuxian says, biting his lip. “Nie-xiong said he was certain that everyone who knows I don’t have a jindan is either dead or in prison, but he can’t have tracked down everyone who was involved--and Lan Zhan, it won’t matter if anyone comes for me, and nobody would bother going after A-Yuan or Xiao-Yu, but A-Lan--”

“We will keep her safe,” Lan Zhan says fiercely. “I will let no harm come to either of you, and Nie-zongzhu has over fifty men collecting intelligence in Zhoushan. He will not rest until this is finished, and neither will I.”

“But what if something happens to her anyway?”

If an answer to that fear exists, Wei Wuxian has no idea how to find it; but then Lan Zhan squeezes his hand, and reaches out to touch his cheek before tucking him back into his nest of blankets.

Lan Zhan must have comforted him well enough to lull him back to sleep after that, though Wei Wuxian was too exhausted to remember what he said; but he does remember that he dreams of his baby born and grown up enough to walk and run by herself, and wonders how such a darling child could possibly belong to him.

She’s half Lan Zhan, and half of me, Wei Wuxian muses, watching with his heart in his throat as the little girl in his dreams goes through her hours of work and play, and even climbs onto Lan Zhan’s lap and begs him to tell her a story before leaping straight into Wei Wuxian’s open arms. A-Lan, Lan-bao, my good Shuilan--be healthy and happy always, and live with no regrets. A-Die and Papa will be with you wherever you go, and no matter what you do--so you don’t need to be scared, all right? Don’t pay any mind to me.

He has often wondered what his daughter will be like: but when he opens his eyes the next morning, it seems as if he might have known her all along.

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 5 | " ILLICIT AFFAIRS "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @serendipitysung @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @fluffi @gyeraniee @stxrryemxlys

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

“The morning sun has come, and the evening moon is gone. Dearlings, I am elated to apprise you of the events at the debutantes’ ball that occurred as of late, and must I warn you, they're not for the feeble spirits!

The ton is abuzz with the most beefy tale as Northumberland’s jewel among the lovely rocks, Miss Y//n Park, has earned herself a ticket to glory! She danced with the most favored noblemen in the ton and surely, she went home with a hearty grace as she'll most likely expect an abundant roster of suitors in the following days.

Not only was she offered a dance by our dear second-born, Lord Yang, but she also had the privilege and pleasure to be twirled around the court by the most charming, Lord Lee, and the ever coveted nobleman among the ton, Lord Park, the next-in-line Duke of Northumberland!

Where's the beef you might ask? Well, it seems to me that these men are blindfoldedly playing fire with each other.

Not only does Lord Lee has women wrapped easily around his fingers, he has men too! With a sly steal of Miss Y/n’s hand from Lord Yang last night, he certainly left the chap earnestly plotting for a segue of intrusion- and Lord Yang intriguingly delivered!

With the timing in its most opportune, Lord Yang managed to finally dance with the young miss, in private! Ooh! This is new! My senses told me they spent their waltz in the Queen’s library, alone! How in the world did they let this happen to the ton’s jewel unchaperoned? That is something the Daily Tattle is unfortunately unable to unearth, but the mystery will continue to haunt us for long. Do take note: the more you hide in careful secret, the more people will know and hear about it.

What happened next will have you either boggled, or enchanted! The young lord abruptly rushed out the room before the music even ended! Should that be counted as a waltz at all? Before you ask about the enchanting part, Miss Y/n was seen dashing out the room moments later in tears and evident heartache. What do you think happened in the mere minutes of alone time in that large 4-cornered room?

But come now, enchanting stories aren't as they are without a knight in shining armor. In fact, in our young miss’ case, her knight wasn't clad in shining, silver sheath, but in magnificent and elegant, vintage red tailcoat draped over a loose white jabot shirt that’s cleanly tucked into the black, satin knee breeches, finished off with a pair of shiny Hessian boots. With skin as white almost akin to snow, it complemented perfectly with his ravishing fit. The beautiful marquess certainly dressed himself valiantly for the seasonal occasion. With that stunning presence, anyone would surely presume he went to the ball looking like a duke in careful search of a duchess.

Lord Park and Miss Y/n surprisingly became one of the ball’s highlights as they graced the Royal Court with the most heart-stopping, corset-itching, tantalizing waltz. All the while their faces are almost an inch apart from each other, a brooding identity was found hiding in the crowded corner of the hall! Under the bright gleam of the grand chandeliers, our dearest second-born, Lord Yang, was seen eyeing the two with such stare that even the buffy slice of vanilla cake on Lord Sunoo’s plate could almost melt in a blink of an eye!

Among the splendid tales told by yours truly, which tea do you think tastes like sweet ecstasy of oddity and fervor? It is the ton's tradition to portend the lady’s endgame by the person whom she had her last waltz with. From one man to another, should these prophecies dictate Miss Y/n Park’s fate?

Well, don't turn your heads away now! The story's just begun.”

The mid-morning sunrays peek through the large leaves and busty trunks of the hibernating redwood trees lining in disarray. Y/n is just about to plummet into her habitual readings in the Kielder forest and the autumnal breeze is keeping up with her bubbly morning approach, fortunately.

The sounds of the birds chirping and the dead leaves crunching under her shoes creep up through her puff sleeves making her tingle in giddiness and enthusiasm. She deeply inhales the aromatic forest and lets out a giggle in the process. With jumpy leaps and crispy leaves echoing in her every move, the young lady surely knows where she's going in this partly mysterious forest that is most often open only to men and men alone.

Somewhere deep in the evergreen woods, Y/n has built a fortress of her own for whenever she needs to run away from the seldom, mundane life in the manor. At the heart of Northumberland's famous Kielder Forest, lies a small, whimsical looking fort made up of translucent voile casually hanging on a tree branch. One of her lady maids helped her out with the fabric one time and it still stood prettily among the chaotic scenes that go around in the forest today.

She enters her slightly sheer fort and sits down on a pillow that she stole away from the comforts of her bedroom. Flipping the olden pages of the aged Jane Austen book she borrowed from a boy several years back, she heaves a sigh at the sight of a dead Catalpa flower resting on a particular page accompanied by a little, worn out parchment dating back to when she was a tiny ten-year-old lassie. She reads,

Her eyes drifted over the page to where the note and the old flower were situated. The pads of her fingers graze over the certain phrases that were underlined by the book's owner that says, “I cannot make speeches. If l loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.一 You hear nothing but truth from me.一”

She suddenly feels a gush of nostalgia and loneliness upon muttering the words she had ultimately carved in her tongue way back; reciting each word with fervor while she bask herself under the brightly-lit moonlight in their garden. How can children of ten gobble up such emotions at once? So much for a pair of hopeless romantic hearts from the distant years of ten, screaming disagreements and would later huddle on a sprawled out table cloth on the flowery fields, exchanging sentimental poesies and stolen stares.

She relives the brief moments they both shared last night in the Queen’s library, and ponders on how one could be so adjacent to the changing of tides in the sea; promptly, and mostly without warning.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the feelings I've been trying to avoid.” She whispers to the autumn air. Unfortunately, her pondering truncates as snaps of twigs and crisps off dried leaves echoes in her corner. She hastily crawls out her hand-made canopy and brushes away any pieces of tiny crumpled leaves off her dress.

“What are you doi-”

“Who are you?” She cuts off the startled chap cladded in ragged clothing, apparently embodying that of a mainland farm boy.

“Greetings, your ladyship. I come in peace and I am just here to fetch the chopped woods I’ve laboured a day prior for the farm.” The chap with a very odd accent replies with both hands hanging mid-air. “You are fully aware that you shouldn't be in this place, especially unchaperoned, right?” He continues.

“I am fully aware. But such matters shouldn't concern you.”

“Indeed, my apologies. Furthermore, I will respect your unspoken wishes if it is truly your desire to keep your whereabouts hidden from your townspeople. My lady.”

Y/n relaxes from her bold stance as she found a hint of kindness from the odd stranger. Surprisingly, she extends her hand out to the stranger for a greeting.

“Please. Call me Y/n instead.” The boy looks at her open palm for half a minute before shaking it, looking as equally surprised as the young miss with the sudden gesture.

“You live pretty far from the town, huh?”

“I do. Life's utterly chaotic over on your end?”

“Oh, you don't have the slightest idea.” They both share laughters and inside jokes of their own livelihood that made the young miss settle her shoulders down comfortably.

“I'm Jake Sim. Just Jake Sim. Apparently, my name was originally Jaeyun, but the farm folks got used with Jake and so did I. They said it sounds more Australian.”

“Why would they associate your name with something Australian?” Y/n grew more curious as it was, after all, the first time she's ever been with a person that's not of Northumberland's proper.

“I grew up in Australia.”

“That's curious. How did an Australian boy land among the ragged farms of Europe?”

“It's complicated. The story involves a lot of conspiracies so it's definitely not for your ears. Some other time, maybe?” Y/n smirks at the sudden brazenness from her newly found acquaintance.

“Is this an Australian thing where we shift from acquaintanceship to something more?” She teases.

“Certainly, if you're down to it on your next Kielder visit?”

“For sure. But as for now, I must take my leave. My presence is very much needed for the promenade scheduled for me today.” Y/n half-covers her mouth as if reaching out for a whisper, hissing the last sentence.

“Ah! Rich people things that I could never.” The chap could only roll his eyes at the fancy thought.

“See you soon, Just Jake Sim!”

“Where have you been, princess?” The young miss scoffs at the marquess upon arriving at the town’s park, with a hand immediately sliding through Lord Park’s arm.

“Down with the flirtatious remarks now, aren't we? I went to promenade with myself, Your ever handsome Grace.” Sunghoon smirks at her tiny, playful whispers against his shoulders. They go around and about, traipsing along the cemented pavements as they give away acknowledging nods and polite smiles to whomever wants their brief attention.

The ton is still in amazed shock at the possibility of these two ending up with a ring on a finger. Everyone was subtly betting for Jungwon but as a result of his loss, a much better gent carried his girl off the floor. Something he let himself do, out of cowardice perhaps, or out of pride.

“Remind me the point of all this?” Y/n carefully whispers to Sunghoon.

“To make your man jealous and spit out his genuine sentiments in the process, as well as an advantage for me as we get to keep the marriage-minded mothers of the ton at bay. Now, all we have to do is smile, nod, and appear madly in love with each other if this is to work. Is it clear enough for you?” He jerks a brow at her paired with the most charming smirk he could ever expose.

“Crystal.”

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[hedwigstalons]

Bad Things Happen Bingo - Virgil + Bloodstained Clothes

On to fic number four for @badthingshappenbingo​ although really it’s for @gumnut-logic​ who asked to have her boi whumped.  I’m still hauling myself out of burnout after work/life took over so the ending is a little ropey but I’m getting back there with writing again.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go

Prompt: Bloodstained Clothes

Character: Virgil

Requestor: @gumnut-logic​

Words: 1397

It was Scott who found him.

Scott who found him but Gordon who realised something was wrong when his cheerful exuberance was greeted with neither fond indulgence nor growled warning to back off and keep quiet.

“Hey, hey!  All back safe and not a single mark on your ‘bird.”  Gordon announced his presence to the lounge, all sunshine and smiles.

Scott looked up from the desk he’d reached a good 20 minutes earlier, already reviewing the mission log.  It seemed the slower arrival of Thunderbird Two also heralded the end of his peace and quiet.

“Keep it down, why don’t you.  Can’t you see Virg is sleeping?”

“Bit hard to miss, what with him being flat out on my favourite couch.  What’s a guy got to do to get a sit down after a mission?”  

“Well, can’t you sit down somewhere else?”  He was getting nowhere fast with the data files, the holo-projection was flicked to one side so he could look at his brother without the haze of blue numbers getting in the way.

“Nah.  Besides, he asked for an update every time I flew Two and,” he checked his watch, “the big guy is due his antibiotics so needs to get up anyway.”

Scott checked his own watch and made a few calculations.  It turned out Gordon was at least partially correct; Virgil was indeed due his next round of meds.  He hardly felt the threatened ‘if I find so much as a scratch you haven’t owned up to once I’m allowed back in the hangers then you are one dead fish’ hardly counted as needing an instant update though.  Still, they were all protective of their craft and could get grumpy as hell when they were grounded.  

“Fine, give him a nudge, but go gently.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” a mock salute was thrown out as Gordon stepped down into the seating area and towards his slumbering sibling.  “Y’know, it’s odd he isn’t up already, Virg gives the rest of us hell over antibiotics.”

This was true.  Of all of them Virgil was normally so good about drug schedules for anything other than painkillers and he knew how important it was to take the full course of antibiotics.  Scott had been run to ground more than once when he had his own injuries and lectured by the medic on the importance of the correct use of antibiotics and the global threat posed by antibiotic resistance.  Gordon might be a pain at times but he was equally strict with drug regimes and Scott was about to become incredibly glad of this fact.

“Viiiirg.  Virgieeee.”  It wasn’t often Gordon got permission to wake the sleeping bear and he couldn’t resist a little teasing over it.  “C’mon sleeping beauty, time to wake up.”

The form on the couch stayed resolutely still and prone.

“Virgil?”  A little louder this time and with a slight edge of concern creeping in.  Virgil hadn’t moved throughout his whole conversation with Scott and also evidently hadn’t been roused by the earlier landing on Thunderbird One; he knew Virgil could sleep deeply sometimes but this was ridiculous for a day time nap.   

The aquanaut knelt down by his brother and gave his shoulder a gentle shake.  

Nothing.

Now he was up close he could take in how pale Virgil was.  Worryingly so.

He shook a bit harder and was rewarded with a groan in response but he was unable to fully wake the engineer.

“Scott!” There was still some clear concern now, mixed in with the tone of authority more commonly heard on rescues and Scott’s head snapped up and away from the figures he had returned too.  The look on Gordon’s face was enough to have him on his feet in a moment, crossing the short space from the desk and vaulting into the conversation pit.

“Call Grandma.  Gonna need a stretcher too.”  Gordon had started triage, checking vitals and making a well practiced assessment of Virgil’s condition.   “He conscious but I can’t rouse him.  Pulse a little high but strong.” Fingers were carefully slipped into the gap between Virgil and the back of the couch.  The hand that was withdrawn was smeared in crimson.  “Aww man, he’s bust his stitches.”

This information was relayed over the comms and it wasn’t many minutes before Grandma entered the lounge, trailed by Alan who came bearing a hover stretcher loaded with her medical kit.

“What do we have, boys?”  

Gordon reeled out a stream of information, half of which Scott hadn’t even realised he’d been gathering during his assessment.  He should be used to it by now, he’d seen it often enough, but he was once again surprised by how quickly his little brother could flip from annoying wind up merchant to active responder.  Pure professional.

Surprised, but proud.

Being transferred onto the stretcher, with its accompanying stab of pain to his injured side, was enough to rouse Virgil from his stupor.   The concerned words that permeated his consciousness were enough to keep him the right side of awake.

“What’s up?” he slurred.  “Feel...foggy.”

“Steady up, big guy.”  Gordon laid a gentle hand on Virgil’s shoulder, preventing him from trying to sit up.  “You’ve managed to rip your stitches somehow.  And looking at the mess you’ve lost enough blood to make you feel a bit woozy.  What’cha been up too?”

Virgil settled back and groaned.  “Was only painting,” he mumbled.

Scott looked at the canvas set up by the picture window.  A canvas that was huge and would have needed Virgil to stretch to reach the top edge. 

Stretching was a banned activity for a man who had only recently been cleared to leave the infirmary after being pierced by rebar in a building collapse.

Scott could picture the scene as clearly as he could see the part finished evidence of his brother’s labours.  Immersed in his art Virgil could easily have been distracted enough to not notice the damage he was doing, especially if he’d not long taken his painkillers.  The seeping blood and the exertion of painting would have worn him out until he gave in to the need for a nap and settled on the couch.

That same couch was now marred by an ugly, dark stain.  

Scott felt guilty for not realising something was wrong.  He was their eldest.  Their protector.  He should have known the slumbering bear was hibernating more deeply than usual.  Should have spotted the pallid skin.  The laboured breathing.  The slight sheen of sweat.

But he hadn’t.

If it hadn’t been for Gordon and his rigid committing to memory of drug schedules whenever a brother was injured Virgil could have been left to sleep and bleed, the leaking wound hidden out of sight while the blood leached into the upholstery.

Blood.

There had been so much of it.

He felt sick at the memories of the rebar, punctured through uniform and skewering his brother.  The spreading crimson stain consuming the blue so quickly despite their care not to disturb the wound any more than necessary.  The fear as hypovolemic shock set in and the adrenaline fuelled dash to a hospital to access the necessary transfusions.

A hand on his arm broke through his reverie and he found himself confronted by those same concerned eyes that had made such a thorough assessment of their brother.  Now it was Scott’s turn to be in the spotlight.  Appraised.  Assessed.  Triaged.

“I’m fine, Gordon.”  He didn’t need to hear the question before he snapped out the reflex answer.

“Sure you are.   Just sit down for me Scott, you’ve gone a bit pale.”  Legs buckled at the command and Scott folded into the nearest seat, Gordon claiming the next space along.  The comforting hand was replaced.  “Virgil’s going to be fine.  Grandma’s gonna get him sorted.”

“But…”

“It looks worse than it is.  He just needs to get his stitches checked and redressed.  The worst casualty is his shirt, and maybe that couch.”  He waved in the direction of the offending seat and Scott found his eyes transfixed on the mark; it felt like damning evidence of his oversight to check on Virgil.  “Now come on, we have a brother in need of rescue.  I heard Grandma threatening chicken soup as they took him off.  Unless you think it will help him learn his lesson to stay away from that canvas.”

[sedge-and-sanctuary]

Sanctuary Pack Stories: The Herbalist [Part Four]

[The last part of this story!Eight and Dace finally find the expert herbalist they’ve been looking for, and ask him to help cure the illness that’s been ravaging The Sanctuary Pack]

In the cramped, low space of the den, the bear's bulk is only magnified; Dace is glad he went down first. She's not sure they could have squeezed past him to get out again, if he were sitting by the exit.

It’s a strange place; the roof a tangle of gnarled roots, many hung with drying plants, and the air is thick with the smell of them. Heady, almost overpowering. Strange piles of-- things, lay up against the walls; the skins of dead animals, bones, feathers, pinecones, seashells. Dace tries not to look too closely.

The Bear, of course, notices nothing unusual about his own den, and trundles his way straight back to start scraping at his herbs without another word. 

Eight peers around his shoulder as best she can without getting any closer, and Dace watches her with a kind of helpless fondness. Ever the herbalist.

The bear maybe senses Eight's curiosity; he turns and says- through a mouthful of leaves- "Keeps me awake, right? Hibernating time, I'd go right to sleep otherwise! I'll send you home with a clipping, you’ll propagate the stuff yourself. Yes, that’ll be nice.”

The bear doesn't seem to need a reply. He turns back to his work, humming a little; a deep, resonant sound, in the immense barrel of his chest.

Eight gives Dace a sideways look, ears twitching in amusement, and Dace feels her tail tap, once, involuntary. 

It's easier to be entertained by the bear here, with his back turned. If anything happens, the low ceiling will hamper the bear more than them, and they're closer to the exit than he is. Dace is pretty sure she could get both Eight and herself out before he'd catch them. And on flat ground like the prairie there's no question they could outrun him, once they were free of the den. Even tired, a wolf can outdistance a bear.

So she lets herself relax, a little, and enjoy the warmth of the den-- with all three of them packed in, their body heat makes it practically cozy, and it's good to rest for a second, after their long march.

At last, the bear turns, and Dace ducks her head again, submissively. Eight follows her lead.

"Well, none of that," the bear says. "No time to waste. Which one of you is the healer?"

A brief pause. And then--

"I am." Eight's voice comes out soft.

The bear nods his great, broad head, and reaches forward to sniff her.

Eight flinches back a little, and Dace half-rises, heart hammering-- although what she could actually do if the bear chose to attack Eight directly, she has no idea. Distract him? Buy time for her to get away? Her instincts pay no attention to the impossibility of fighting-- her blood goes hot, and saliva floods her mouth to wet down her teeth.

But the bear only pulls back after a moment, nodding to himself. "Yes, you smell like it indeed! Carrionflower, I think? Yes.” He doesn’t pause long enough for Eight to answer. ”Well, and what's wrong then?"

Eight hesitates-- but only for a second. "We're-- not quite sure? Sir. I've never seen- and my mentor never taught me about it, either- so I don't know what it is."

The bear snorts; a waft of hot breath, smelling of herbs and meat. "Well, are you a healer or aren't you? Haven't you tried anything?"

Eight straightens. "Yes, of course!" She sounds almost indignant. "Goldenseal and Kava for their coughing, and it helps a little, but they don't get better. Bed rest, food, water, and I dose them with pineapple leaf when I can get it, too, which is rarely.”

She rattles off the list with growing confidence, voice firm and clear, and Dace has to stop her tail from wagging. When did you get so rotting smart? 

The bear nods. "Good, Good. A cough then? Other symptoms?"

"Hardened pawpads and nose, fatigue, fever, loss of appetite, and then they sort of-- waste away." Her voice only wavers on the last point, and Dace can't blame her. 

Dane lost, Seven sick, and who knew who else, since they'd left?

"Yes." The bear has gone very serious, sitting back and frowning deeply. "And it's contagious?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Distemper, I think. Nasty, but it's treatable." The bear pauses for a long moment, his deep, whistling breaths the only sound.

Eight looks at Dace, uncertain, and Dace nods at her. Well done, she wants to add, but holds her tongue.

The bear speaks, at last, picking up as if he hadn't gone silent at all. "And do you know to craft medicines, or just give the raw plant?"

"Both, depending on the need." Eight pauses. "Is that-- alright? Should I not--"

"No, no, that's all well." The bear waves a paw in dismissal, and Dace has to stop herself from backing away-- even an incidental swipe from those massive claws could kill a wolf, or at least maim one. "This one, you will have to craft-- stew it in water, equal parts Mullein and Goldenseal, half as much Guaiacum."

"We have no Guaiacum."

"Hm. I will send you with some. I don't suppose you live anywhere tropical?"

"No, we’re-- no. Up in the mountains."

The bear huffs. "Well, you won't be able to grow more, then, and a shame, because it is very tasty on venison." He shrugs. "Well, you know where to find me-- and the birds are sometimes good for it, if you ask them before they migrate. I don't suppose you speak with birds very much?"

Eight looks at Dace, lost.

"We eat them, mostly, sir." Dace says. "So they avoid us."

But it's an idea. Dace wonders if they couldn't leave some seed out, in the spring, and make a truce-- the migratory birds surely have a better sense of the land then they do, and they could bring all sorts of things back, and-- Dace cuts the thought off, frowning. 

Of course, she won't be with the pack, by spring. A brief pain in her chest, something like a phantom limb-- she hasn’t managed to shake the instinct, all these long months as a loner, to think first of the pack.

The bear shrugs. “Well enough, well enough. A thought for later, then. I will get your bundles, never fear."

And he turns from them, without another word, and sets to his herbs.

After a moment Eight pads up next to him to watch, and the bear sidles over to make space, giving instructions in his low, rumbling voice.

Dace watches them- watches Eight, truthfully. She is very confident at her work, asking questions Dace wouldn't even think of, let alone know the answer to.

With no one looking at her, Dace lets herself feel- just for a second- that horrible, looming grief that's been biting at her heels all this long journey, like a wolf after a wounded buck, harrying.

It might be the last time she sees Eight at her work.

 Dace has a brief, bright flash of memory-- Eight gangly with adolescence, trotting after Saturn to go foraging in the bright, warm sun of early autumn. The smell of herbs on her fur when she returned, bursting with new knowledge. Talking into the night about their training until the other adolescents got up to tell them off, for keeping everyone awake.

Dace's head droops. She should try and enjoy the time she has left, she knows. But their imminent parting looms, and just for now- just for a second- she lets herself mope.

When Eight turns back with her mouth full of hides- the precious herbs bundled safely within- Dace has straightened up again, and can speak without her voice going all gloomy. "Ready to go?"

"Yesh," Eight says, muffled by the bundle, and drops it, ears flattening back, embarrassed. Dace's chest gives a helpless squeeze.

"Yes," Eight says, more clearly, and turns to the bear. "Thank you very much!"

"Yes," the bear says, and yawns enormously, teeth flashing. "Glad to help. I will take a nap, now."

And he turns without another word, curling up to sleep.

Eight looks at him, for a second, and then shrugs at Dace. Dace shakes her head. No explaining bears, really. She crouches to pick up the bundle.

"Oh-- thanks!" Eight steps back to let her take it. "We can take turns?"

Dace nods, grateful for the excuse not to talk. She follows after Eight, lost in thought.

[littlemessyjessi]

“Blood of My Enemies”: BBC/Netflix Dracula Imagine

BBC/ Netflix Dracula  Imagine BBC/ Netflix Dracula x Reader, PS Reader, Plus Size Reader

At four a.m. I had just left after working a sixteen hour shift at the hospital.

My patience was beyond thin as I stood in line at the twenty four hour mini mart.

All I wanted was my bottle of wine, a shower and my blissfull, blessed bed.

After wearing my scrubs for that long I felt disgusting.  

I was an unholy amount of bitchiness standing there and when I heard a distinctly male voice behind me....I nearly snapped.

"Excuse, madam."

The accent was nice but I had no patience.

I turned on my heel and looked at him.

"Yes?" I asked offering nothing but vacancy across my features.

"Come now, darling." he said. "No smile?"

My eyes narrowed at him for a moment before I bit the inside of my cheek in anger and sat my wine down on the shelf nearest to me.

"Listen." I said tucking my hands into place on my full hips. "I have just spent the last sixteen hours on my feet at the hospital covered in other peoples piss, shit, vomit and blood.  I have been yelled at, slapped, had a gun pulled on me and had to hold someone while they died.  And that's just tonight.  I am in no mood for some random guy trying to flirt with late night scragglers."

"Listen, darling. I just-"

"No you listen!" I snapped. "I just want to go home, drink my wine and hibernate for the next four days and if I could jump start that process by being left the fuck alone that would be great!"

Was I an unholy bitch?

Was it uncalled for?

Probably but in that moment I couldn't have cared less.

"You have my most sincere apologies, madam." he said. "Allow me."

He reached for my wine and I promptly smacked his hand.

"I don't need you to buy anything for me.  I just made it glaringly obvious that I worked very hard for my money.  I'm good." I snapped.

"Yes, you have made it obvious.  Please, if you'll allow me to purchase it... as an apology.  I assure you I am a gentleman and I wouldn't want to leave you with the impression that I was anything less than such." he said.

With an underlying attitude of hostility, I let him purchase the wine and he gave the bag to me.

"Again, I'm terribly sorry for any trouble I've caused you." he said, his dark eyes twinkling in a way that I wasn't totally sure if I liked or not.

He was quite handsome.

In a sort, old school classic type of way.

It wasn't something you saw a lot of anymore but it was nice.

"Thank you." I said.  "And sorry for biting your head off.  I'm a bit testy after working overtime for the fourth night in a row."

"That's understandable." he said with a slight smirk.  "Besides, I've always been fond of women who have a bite to them."

His corny remark got the best of me and I couldn't help but smile a little in spite of myself.

"I figured your smile would be lovely." he said. "I see I wasn't wrong."

My glower was a little less intense as I looked over at him.

"Well, thank you again." I said.  "But if you'll excuse me I need to go home, get piss drunk and attempt hibernation."

He chuckled a bit and opened the door for me and fell into step with me as I headed down the street.  

"Would you like an escort home?" he asked and offered his arm.

"Look." I said turning to him. "While I appreciate this whole dapper gentleman routine, I don't know you, man.  I'm certainly not leading you back to my home.  Try not to take it personally but I'm not that stupid."

He sighed again with a small shake of his head, "Seems I've overstepped again. I just wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet.  As you said, you are tired and in need of sleep. It would be selfish of me to keep the beauty from her sleep."

"Hey, if you're awake at this hour you'll probably see me again.  I usually work night shift.  I'm just covering someone else's shifts this week because her kid's sick. There's only a handful of places open around here at four in the morning.  And trust me, I'm definitely always popping in here on my break for coffee.  Otherwise know as the blood that runs through my veins." I said.

He said, "I look forward to that."

"See you later, Mysterious Stranger." I said and turned to leave.

"See you later, Fiesty Nurse." he said.

"Oh, I'm not a nurse." I laughd. "I'm a much bigger nightmare."

"A doctor?" He laughed.

"No." I said turning and walking backwards for a moment.  "A CNA.  Twice the bullshit for half the pay.  Evil incarnate is probably a better name for me."

"Evil incarnate is it!" he called after me.

"Night!" I said. "See ya in four days!"

And I did.

Every night that I worked, I bumped into the mysterious stranger who I soon came to know as Dracula, later shorted to Drac.

Eventually those chance meetings became planned meetups.

He'd be waiting on me with coffee and something to eat- always having claimed to have already eaten or drinking some type of thick liquid from a travel mug.

I wasn't surprised.

He looked like a fit guy and it wouldn't have shocked me in the least for him to be drinking some type of beet juice cleanse.

As was so popular these days.

Fuck it- I just wanted my nachos, man.

Tonight was no different as I approached.

"Hey, Drac." I said as I walked up to him - supremely happy to be rid of my workplace for the night.

"Hello, darling." he said handing over the coffee and whatever he decided to give me to eat.

"You know, you don't have to buy this for me every night." I reminded him. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I appreciate it but-"

"Yes, yes, Miss Independent.  I get it.  However, I like knowing I can buy you a coffee and a meal occassionally." he said taking a sip from his drink.

I eyed it for a moment and sipped my coffee but apparently he could see the wheels turning.

"What are you thinking?" he asked with a slight smirk.

"I think many things." I answered elusively. "I'm a CNA.  I'm still cussing the patient who gave me the bird and his wife who accused me of checking him out.  I mean, I was but checking out someone's abs out of lust and out of a need to cleanse a fucking bullet wound are two different things."

"Don't beat around the bush." he teased.

"I gotta ask." I said before taking a hulking bite of the sandwhich.  "What is that red sludge you're always drinking?"

"The blood of my enemies." he quipped with a smirk and I rolled my eyes.

"You should market that." I said and nudged him with my elbow.  "No really? Is it some kind of beet juice monstrosity?  Because how dare you, sir?  How dare you?"

He chuckled for a moment , "Just a source of nourishment.  Everyone has their diet thing these days don't they?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, I guess.  My diet thing is that I am deeply offended by brussel sprouts.  I hate them so much I would even go so far as to have a doctor LIE and give me a statement to say I was allergic."

"What is your reaction to them?" he played along.

"Extreme bitchiness." I said.

"Oh, so we've got a list of other things that you're allergic to as well." he teased and I promptly socked him in his rather solid arm making him laugh.

"Jerk." I giggled.

"What if it was blood?" he asked.

"Huh?" I asked, draining the last drop of my coffee.

"My drink." he clarified. "What if it was the 'blood of my enemies', so to speak?  What would you do?"

"Look, man." I sighed. "I had a woman come into the emergency room the other night drinking a tea she made from her own hair.  She carried it in a flask on her hip.  I've seen it all. "

He chuckled, "I suppose you have."

"You ok?" I asked noticing his change in demeanor. "Something wrong?"

He gave me a smile but I knew it to be fake.

"Nothing, love." he said settling a hand on my knee.

I looked at it for a moment before I took it in my own.

I could feel him looking at me but I was determined to just look up at the moon instead.

"Drac, you could be flesh eating demon and while it might be a bit shocking- honestly, I've seen worse." I said.  "I've had little girls brought in the emergency room by their supposed father's.  They've had broken arms and bruises and I've wanted nothing more than to take them away from those heartless bastards who I knew were doing unspeakable things to them.  But I couldn't.  But I didn't have prove.  Sometimes you just know but you can't do anything about it.  That's my cross to bare.  Hell, if I had a bloodsucking beast at my disposal I could sick her on every evil person I know."

"Her?" he chuckled. "It's a woman?"

"Well, we are the root of all evil aren't we?" I smirked finally meeting his gaze.

His other hand came up to rest on mine and he sighed and stared at our intwined digits.

"Let's say I knew such a creature." he said. "And this creature was infatuated with you. More than infatuated.  Positively spellbound. And this creature did have to do horrible things to survive but he also cared for you so deeply and would never harm you.  Even knowing what kind of terrible creation he was....would you have him?"

"Are you the creature in this scenario?" I asked and he finally met my gaze.

A deep sigh left them.

"At times, I both love and loathe how clever you are." he said. "But yes."

"Then yeah, sure." I said simply.  

His full brows furrowed as he looked at me, "Yeah? Sure? That's it."

"Listen, man." I said. "If you want me as a snack, I'd already be dead. Plus you buy me food and coffee every night.   That's trustworthy material right there."

"Food and drink earns your trust now?" he chuckled.

"You're not listening." I said. "I work in the medical field. Coffee is my blood and I am always hungry."

"I adore you." he said with a lightness in his dark eyes. "You're impossible but I adore you."

"I tolerate you." I teased him.

He took my teasing in good nature and placed an arm around me, "Just so we are clear on the matter, I have contemplated you as a snack on many occasions.  Just not in the way you might think."

"Oh, I'm not a snack, honey." I sassed him. "I'm a full course meal."

"I shall await the day when I can taste it." he said teasingly.

"You filthy whore!" I laughed and smacked his chest.

And that was how I ended up in relationshp with five hundred year old vampire of all things.

What was most surprising is that he turned out the best relationship I'd ever had.

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

Hello, darlings! I hope you enjoyed this Drac fic! I just love that handsome devil! Thank you for the requests and feel free to send in more Drac requests! Love, Kenny

@frankie2902

@pleasantdreamqueen   @becrazy–beyou –beyou

@becrazy-beweird

@littledeadrottinghood @blackirisposts

@therealmrshale @woodworthti666

@jimmys-afterlife-love-deactivat @thegreatirene@fanfictionandjunk

@angelus320

@alanlizzingtonshore@buriednurbckyrd@disneymarina@@tubbypeachwriting

@sullybot @georgiagrl1990 @whenallsaidanddone

@mischiefnevermanaged94 @inumorph

@congurl

@centerhabit

@bubblymusiclover13

@meetcally

@qtmeryr

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@tnupsweetpie

@alisoncdariel

@hannahloveslife

@wormyboi

@blackirisposts

@maggyme13

@amethyst09

@lostdarksoul6

@fanfics1717

@coffeebooksandfandom​

@gruffle1​

@neeadinghugs​

@marvelismylifffe

@mrscasnovak

@thickemadame​

Love, Kenny

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 21: Jasper/Monty + Delinquents, Worms

Canon-divergent AU, ~800 words

My tag list: @ciewill @dealingdreams @shadowheron2013 @julyrubyrose @wonderland-promises @hanav @rycewritestrash @thelittlefanpire @musicnote902 @stonybnatural @earthgay2052 , @bellarkehastakenovermylife , @bellarkewriting, @astridandoddsandedds, @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @hopskipaway, @reyes-murphy lmk if you would like to be added to or deleted from this list)

*

After ten days of rain, the worms appear. They wiggle up out of the earth, hoards of them, uncountable numbers of them, their pale pink-gray bodies squirming through the rich, wet mud.

Through the torrential rains, Jasper and Monty stay indoors, slowly growing bored. Time ceases to matter in its familiar, well-worn way, when the sun never appears. The sky grows faintly lighter during the day and deepens to black at night, and sometimes thunderous storms roll through to turn even early afternoon a soulless, bitter gray. On the Ark, they never knew real light, but they've learned the patterns of the ground with ease. Now their flickering candles seem poor substitutes for the real, natural light that used to shine bright and clear through the long summer days.

Those days are gone now, packed away for the year. In their place, heavier clothes, sweaters, blankets and furs from their closets. Their beds piled high with quilts sewn from old, found scrap; and knitted throws; and extra pillows.

Jasper finds it impossible not to sleep in, when the rain beats a steady rhythm on the roof and the sun never rises. The cabin is only shadows, and the warmth he and Monty make themselves, huddling together on the mattress. Monty has taken to dozing odd hours again. He sleeps hidden under the blankets with his head on Jasper's stomach, half-twisted on his back.

Bellamy tells them this isn't healthy, and starts pulling on a raincoat and boots every morning, and making the rounds of the village, banging on windows, making noise that could wake the dead. He sounds like a wraith himself, thrown about by the storms. The first day, Jasper startles, choking on his heart as it beats against his throat. He pictures villains, monsters, ghouls conjured by the wind, howling with the wind. He feels the tension in his shoulders unkink itself only slowly, only later, when Monty's hands rub the soreness from his muscles, thumbs sinking into the slope between his shoulder blades.

The second day, he reaches up and knocks on the window in return. Then he lies back down. Doesn't go back to sleep but watches the shadows on the ceiling while Monty turns onto his side and starts to snore.

They pass the time playing card games, sitting opposite each other, cross-legged on the floor. Monty learns new card tricks. Jasper is his audience of one, clapping raucously at each one. They talk about the planets and the drop ship days, and ask each other trivia questions, as the Earth continues its rotation around the sun they cannot see. And when the boredom seeps in too deep, they make a break for it, pull their jackets up over their head and splash through the mud and muck to Octavia's cabin, where they dry themselves out on the rug she made herself, and wait for the others to arrive.

Clarke brings her art supplies and draws portraits. Raven and Miller compete in feats of strength. Bellamy reads aloud to them, until Jasper falls asleep, his head on Octavia's leg.

After the storms pass, they step outside again like small animals out of hibernation, blinking up into the pale yellow sun that streams through the breaks in the clouds. Water dripping from the eaves disturbs the silence. Their footsteps, too, squelching through the mud. No other noises. Jasper shivers. The cold that blew in with the rain has settled now, bitter and crisp. Slight aftershocks of breeze rustle the leaves, all of a sudden turned golden and red, and clack together the branches of the trees.

When he looks up, he sees the movement of the branches, and when he looks down, he sees the worms.

They gather in a circle in the middle of the village and stare at the wriggling mess of deep earth creatures at their feet.

"Gross," Octavia determines, finally, and Clarke rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips.

"I wonder if Arkadia has this many," she says.

"Doesn't seem right, does it?" Jasper asks. "Doesn't seem... like there should be so many?"

But what does he know? What sort of expert is he in his own home?

"Maybe it's a curse," Octavia says. She keeps her voice quiet, doesn’t mean anyone’s eyes. Jasper thinks she might be serious.

Raven scoffs. "Pretty lame curse, if it is," she says. But no one answers, and her sigh sounds too loud above the dripping aftermath of rain, the shivering of the leaves, the sound of Monty shifting his weight in the squelching wet mud.

The air smells deeply of mud, and underneath, of something old and decayed. Worms crawl up over their toes, slither around their feet, and Jasper feels uneasiness settle over him again. The feeling is familiar, that same old second skin.

[fourdaysofrain]

‘Tis The Season (For Hot Chocolate)

Summary: Peter visits Tony in his cabin over winter break.

(You’re probably gonna see a million of these today, but this is my @irondadsecretsanta for @theoceanphoenixhasrisen! Hope you like it, buddy!)

Read on AO3

The crunch of gravel under the Uber’s tires jolted Peter from his stupor. He hadn’t been sleeping, but he hadn’t been entirely awake. The last thing he remembered was the rush of buildings outside the window, but now there was only a smattering of trees. He shook his shoulders to loosen them up and adjusted the seat belt strapped across his chest. 

Leaving the city always made him nervous. Suburbia was just a little too wild for Spider-Man. Thankfully Tony’s cabin still had the sounds of the woods and water filtering through the windows, but still. It’s hard to sleep with all that silence. 

“Have a good nap?” the driver asked from the front seat. 

“Yeah.” Peter had completely forgotten about him. “Yeah, yeah, thanks.”

As if spurred by Peter’s response, the driver continued to speak. “Gonna be quite a storm, eh?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Peter looked out the car window to see a few snowflakes falling down. Nothing was sticking yet.

The driver’s wide green eyes flicked to Peter’s through the rear-view mirror. “It’s the Blip causin’ it, you know. Everyone coming back all at once like that, it’s bound to cause some damage.”

Peter nodded as politely as he could. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before; it was basically all New York could talk about recently. How would the Blip affect the climate? Apparently, the few winters during the Blip were the coldest on record. As with the rest of the doubts about its long-term effects, they could only wait and see. 

He was happy to get some form of solace from the sight of Tony’s cabin. 

“Can you pull over here, please?” He motioned to the side of the gravel road. Hopefully Tony wouldn’t mind bringing a stranger this close to his house. They were still outside of FRI’s sphere of influence, at least.

The frosty gravel noisily crackled as the Uber parked on the side of the road. “Need any help with your bags?” the driver asked as they both walked out towards the trunk. He popped it open and Peter grabbed his small suitcase and backpack easily.

“I’ll be good, thanks.” Peter looked to the cabin and back to the driver. “Happy holidays, man!”

The driver nodded and got back into the driver’s seat. “Have a good one!”

The car drove away and left Peter standing alone about 500 feet from the cabin with his suitcase at his feet. It felt strangely symbolic in some way. The moment was broken by him lunging for his phone to give a rating and tip to his driver. 

Peter sighed and started walking the rest of the way to the cabin. It was well worth the cold, he convinced himself. Tony still thought that he was stuck on campus for another couple of days. The only people in on it were May and Pepper. This surprise trip had been Pepper’s idea, actually. She was on a week-long trip to Europe to meet with some big-wig investors and had been worried Tony would be too lonely with just himself and Morgan at the cabin. May agreed, and now Peter was surprising Tony with a night spent at the cabin and an invitation to his and May’s apartment for the next couple of days. 

He finally spotted the gnarled old tree that marked FRIDAY’s border. He jogged over and shuffled his feet a bit before speaking. He always felt weird talking to FRI at the cabin. It was too rustic looking to house an AI, but yet, she was ever-present as always. 

“Hey, FRI.” He chewed his lip and hoped no one was watching him talk to a tree. ”I’m trying to surprise Mr. Stark, so can you promise to not tell him I’m here?”

He waited for a few beats, but there was no response from the AI. He frowned. Normally she gave some sort of response, even though she didn’t have any speakers set up outside the cabin. A text on his phone, or something. 

“Wrong tree!” came a voice from his right. He swung his head over and saw Tony smiling next to a pile of half-chopped firewood. He was walking over much too calmly to be surprised. 

“No, it’s the uh...” Peter looked over to the tree and counted the branches. “Isn’t it the big dead one with four branches?”

Tony finally reached him and pulled him into a hug. “Nice to see you, kid.”

“Yeah, nice to see you too.” Peter broke the hug and glared warmly at Tony. ��But you’re supposed to be surprised!”

“FRIDAY used to be in this tree with four branches-- you’re right about that.” Tony points at the tree Peter just finished talking to and then pointed to where the gravel road bends through the trees to reach the main road behind them. “But you’ve been gone since August. I got bored. Now she monitors everyone who comes off the main road and can be talked to from anywhere on the property. By the time you get back from next semester, I’m hoping she can talk back, too.”

Peter sighed. Surprising a billionaire super-engineer was impossible. He’d have to put some of his MIT skills to use next year if he wanted to succeed. 

“So you saw the Uber, then,” he said. 

Tony hummed in affirmation. “I’m honestly offended you didn’t use Happy. I’m deeply offended on his behalf.” “I swung as far as I could, but had to Uber the rest of the way.” He adjusted his backpack’s straps. “And Happy can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

Tony snorted and looked away to the pile of firewood. “Morgan’s still taking her afternoon nap.” He looks back to Peter with an eyebrow quirked up competitively. “Ever used an ax?”

Peter, as it turned out, was very good at chopping firewood. It took him a while to get over the whole not-needing-to-hold-himself-back thing, but once he did, the log slices were being split with one quick chop. 

“You’re catching up, Pete,” Tony said from his own pile, a few yards away. 

Peter wiped sweat from his brow and his eyes lit up with an idea. He threw the ax to the side and picked up a log on its own. It didn’t feel too sturdy. 

“I could probably just…” He trailed off as he tossed the log between his hands. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed it firmly near the center of its cut-off end and pulled. The crack of splitting wood filled the grassy area. Peter examined the split: it was a little rougher than if he had used the ax, but it was much more efficient. It didn’t need to be a pretty cut, they were going to burn it all anyways. He threw the sloppy halves onto the top of his pile. 

He looked over to Tony, mouth open and ready to brag, but stopped when he saw the expression on his face. 

Tony was staring at Peter’s hands with his eyes slightly wide and nostrils flared. He flexed the palm of his right hand a few times, which caused his thumb and little finger to move jerkily. It was an awkward remnant from his time spent in the suit that looked especially strange with his prosthetic. 

“You okay, Tony?” Peter cautiously asked. He walked over towards him to… do something helpful, he hoped. Maybe start by taking the ax away from him. But before he could reach him, Tony blinked and it was like a switch had been flipped. He was back to how he was a few seconds ago.

“I’m doing perfect, kid.” Tony set down his ax and clapped his hands together. “How about we head in, Mo’s probably gonna be up soon.” He motioned between the two piles of wood. “Loser with enhanced strength takes in the wood. We’ll only need a few pieces for tonight. I’ll get your bags.”

Peter grabbed an armful of firewood and lightly jogged to catch up with Tony on the way back to the cabin. Tony seemed to be back to normal, but there was a tenseness in his shoulders that betrayed the easy smile on his face. 

“You sure you’re good, Mr. Stark?” Tony gave a short dry chuckle and looked away.

“Remember when you were young and easy to lie to?” Tony sighed as he peered at Peter through the corner of his eye. “I think back on that time fondly. You’d believe anything I told you.”

Peter jutted his chin out. “You never lied to me.”

“‘Course not,” Tony quipped. He turned to Peter with a grin. “I never had to.”

Peter rolled his eyes as the two stepped on the porch of the cabin. He dropped the wood noisily in the corner and took a second to appreciate the view. The sun had already mostly set, making the woods a comfortably eerie backdrop. Although it was barely 5pm, the sky was quickly darkening. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground-- Peter guessed that it had finally started to stick sometime in the past half hour or so. The snow was falling lazily from the clouds above. 

“I assume you expect me to get you dinner, then?” 

Tony’s soft voice took Peter out of his reverie. He coughed awkwardly before responding. “Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind. You know how I get when it’s cold.”

“And by that, you mean your whole…” Tony paused to point vaguely at Peter. “Storing energy for hibernation thing.”

Peter crossed his arms with a huff. “Geez, you sleep through one week of high school and it’s all anyone ever talks about.”

Tony laughed and gripped Peter’s shoulder with his good hand. “You’ll get it when you’ve got kids of your own.” He quickly cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go wake up the princess, you find a takeout menu in the junk drawer.”

Peter hummed as Tony went inside. He took in the outdoors for another second before following him into the cabin.

“You’re a traitor, FRI,” he greeted as he walked to the kitchen.

It only took a second for her voice to come online. “Welcome back, Peter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered as he opened the junk drawer and rummaged for an appealing take out menu.

Navigating Tony’s cabin was second nature to Peter. He knew it as intimately as he knew May’s apartment. Simply being inside it was a comfort after the months he spent in an unfamiliar dorm. 

He picked out a menu and it wasn’t long before him, Tony, and Morgan were squished onto the couch with a plate of food each and gently debating which movie to watch.

“We watched Coco in Spanish class when it came out back in 2017-- it’s great and Morgan needs to see it,” Peter offered. 

“I can’t watch another musical, kid,” Tony complained. 

“I wanna watch Frozen 3 again!” Morgan argued. 

Eventually, they agreed with Morgan and promised each other to stop being such pushovers by the time she realized how easy it would be to take advantage of them. 

Tony and Peter were both beginning to doze on either side of Morgan as the movie ended. Peter jerked awake when Morgan shook his shoulder.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked.

He stole a glance at Tony sitting on the opposite side of the couch, whose eyes were closed with his mouth was open in an unflattering circle. As great as it was to see Tony having restful sleep, Peter knew he would be complaining about his back all day tomorrow if he slept on the couch. 

Peter looked back to Morgan. “I’m not, but I think your dad is. Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll wake him up for you?”

Morgan nodded and ran upstairs, leaving Peter alone with Tony, who looked like he was just about to start snoring. He leaned over and held a hand halfway to his shoulder before pulling it back and electing to just use his voice.

“The movie’s over,” he whispered. Tony responded with a heavy exhale that started to rumble in his chest. Peter raised his voice. “Tony, wake up!”

Tony sharply cleared his throat and blinked open his eyes. “Was just resting my eyes,” he said with a voice heavy with sleep. 

“Morgan’s up in her bedroom already,” he said, deciding not to refute Tony’s point. “You should say goodnight to her, I’m gonna go bring my stuff to the guest room.”

Tony groaned as he stretched his back and stood up. “How many times do you have to stay over before I convince you it’s not a guest room? You’re the only one who I let use it, kid.”

Oh, that’s nice, Peter thought. And then, He should really invite more people over.

“Okay, then uh-- I’ll just take these to my room, then.” He grabbed his bags from where they were resting against the wall. “By the way, I’m going back to May’s in the morning and she wanted me to invite you and Morgan until Pepper gets back.”

(He decides not to mention how he pestered May about inviting them for the week leading up to this trip.)

Tony followed Peter to the stairs. “Is there enough room?”

“Yeah, we think.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “I’m gonna take the couch, Morgan can take my room, and then May said she can share her room with you.”

Seeing the look on Tony’s face, Peter backtracked. “Or, I mean, I can spend the night at Ned’s so you don’t have to share a bed with May. Or you can like, just stay here.”

“Kid, relax,” Tony said through a chuckle. Peter was starting to revert back to his anxious 14-year-old style of rambling. “I’d love to. If May’s okay with it, I am too. ‘Sides, the little miss always loves seeing her aunt.”

Peter smiled back at Tony as he went to open the door to the guest room. Tony watched as his hand hesitated at the doorknob. He suddenly felt very emotional. Maybe it was just how Tony was standing in his pajamas, looking at him with a casual smile, but he felt loved. Being in Tony’s orbit meant you never felt ignored. Sometimes it meant you couldn’t go patrolling whenever you wanted or you had to put up with nonsensical texts sent annoyingly early in the morning when he stays up all night, but most of the time it was this: seeing Tony when he’s vulnerable. There’s something to be said about seeing the universe’s savior when he’s just a person. When he’s tinkering on your newest suit after you visit him with one-too-many stab wounds. When he’s smiling at one of your jokes over a crowded dinner table. Or right now, when he’s about to read a bedtime story to his daughter but he’s still making sure you’re comfortable. 

“Do you need a bedtime story too?” 

“No, I was just…” Peter shifted his weight between his feet. “Y’know, thanks for everything.”

Tony’s lips slowly stretched into a smile. “Of course, kid. It’s what I do.” He opened up the door to Morgan’s room. “Night, Pete.”

“Night, Mr. Stark.”

Peter finally entered the guest room, his room, and dropped his bags on the rug. May made fun of him for packing so much for an overnight trip, but he never knew what to expect. His backpack was filled with homework he had to do before the next term started. He had been so sure he’d have the will to do it while he was packing it, but now he just wanted to sleep. He begrudgingly took out his mechanical engineering textbook and started to read. 

He woke up with his face resting somewhere between kinematics and thermodynamics. He groaned and checked the time. It was after 3am. He groaned. While his bed was still calling to him, he felt compelled to go down to the kitchen. 

When he got there, he saw Tony fiddling with the coffee maker. He looked a bit deranged, like a bear trying to get into a trash can. 

“Hey, man.” Peter jumped up to sit on the counter across from him. 

Tony jumped at his voice and turned around. When he saw Peter, he deflated. “Mornin’, kid.”

“Coffee machine not working?” Peter asked, nodding at the array of red lights on the appliance. 

Tony sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s a touchy subject right now.”

“Cool, cool.” Peter looked from the machine to Tony’s empty mug when an idea came to him. “Hey, do you wanna make hot chocolate?”

“There’s probably some mix in the pantry somewhere. Feel free to rummage,” Tony said as he waved a hand nonchalantly. 

Peter kicked off the counter and started searching. It took him a few minutes to find everything he needed. He laid out a few packets of hot chocolate mix, milk, two mugs, and candy canes on the counter. He was even able to find some peppermint extract in the pantry, which was probably leftover from holiday baking. Tony just leaned against the counter and watched as he flitted from cabinet to cabinet. 

“Isn’t peppermint a spider repellent?” he asked as Peter filled the two mugs with milk and put them in the microwave. Peter turned and saw him looking at the small bottle. 

Peter grabbed two spoons as the microwave hummed. “Yeah, I think May read that on Pinterest a while back.” A beat. “Wait, is that why you didn’t let me eat any of your candy canes last year?”

Tony’s silence spoke volumes. 

“Wow,” Peter said. “I don’t know whether to be honored or offended. Not all spiders are the same.” He took the now steaming mugs out of the microwave and stirred in a generous amount of hot chocolate powder. “I’m still good with all the same things, by the way. May and I tested all of the ‘natural spider repellents’ on me when she read the article.” He screwed his face up as he continued to stir. ”I didn’t like lemon, but I didn’t like that before either.”

“Duly noted.” Tony walks to look over Peter’s shoulder as he works. “So what’s with all this then?”

Peter debated not telling him. It would be easy to just make up some story about how some Buzzfeed video showed a new and exciting way to make hot chocolate, or something like that. But Tony would probably be able to see through it easily. He could read him like a book. Sometimes it sucked, but honestly, it was nice for someone who he’s not related to care about him enough to be able to know when something was up. 

He took the spoons out of the mugs and set them in the sink, carefully not making eye contact with Tony. 

“Ben and I used to make hot chocolate in the winter.” He motioned to the remainder of the ingredients on the counter. ”He taught me how to make it like this.”

Tony nodded. “Good man.”

“He was,” Peter said softly. And then, a little stronger, “He was. You should have met him.” 

“I would have loved that.” Tony cleared his throat to reset the atmosphere. “Should I leave the room, or am I allowed in on the secret?”

Peter debated that for a moment, then got embarrassed for making such a big deal out of it, then chided himself for acting like it didn’t matter. Sure, it was a simple adjustment to the norm that Tony could easily guess. He was sure there were a million families that made hot chocolate the exact same way. But it was one of the few sacred things that Ben left behind. One of the very few Parker family secrets, left for the one of the very few remaining Parkers. 

“Pete?”

Peter looked up to Tony from where he had been staring at the still-swirling hot chocolate. He smiled nervously.

“Sorry, just uh… thinking.” He picked up the bottle of peppermint extract and shook it in his hand. He didn’t mind adding a third person to their ritual. “Yeah, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Tony’s face softened minutely. Even though Peter didn’t let on to how personal this was, he seemed to understand. 

That was the good thing about Tony: Peter didn’t need to say everything he felt for the message to get across. 

“So,” Peter started, rolling up his sleeves. He wasn’t going to do anything messy, but it felt like the professional thing to do. “You start by making hot chocolate normally, which we’ve done.”

Tony grabbed one of the mugs and stood right next to Peter and his mug. “Got it.”

“Then, you add a few drops of peppermint extract and stir it with a candy cane.” Peter passed the bottle and a candy cane to Tony once he’s done.

Tony repeated what he did and looked at him expectantly.

“And then,” Peter said in a low voice. “And then, you’re done. Sorry, that was--”

He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder. “I dig it, kid. Keepin’ it simple.”

They shared a smile. 

Tony nodded his head towards the kitchen table and they both took a seat. They sat without speaking for a moment, just enjoying being in the same room after Peter’s term at college. Eventually, Tony broke the silence. 

“You reminded me of Cap earlier,” he stated matter-of-factly. “It surprised me, is all. I sometimes forget that you’re…” He waved a hand at him vaguely. “Enhanced.”  He finished by averting his eyes and taking a sip of his hot chocolate. 

Peter looked down at his hands and flexed them. “Sorry.”

“No. Lord, no.” Peter looked up and saw Tony leaning over the table to make eye contact with him. “I’m not saying that to make you... “ He leaned back in his chair and put a hand over his face. “I’m trying to have a moment with you.”

Peter raised his eyebrows at him.

“I care about you,” he said simply.

“So you’ve said.” 

Tony’s lips quirked at that. “It’s surprising to how much you’ve grown. I mean, for God’s sake, do you remember our first Christmas together?”

Peter took a sip of his hot chocolate and sent his mind back. He had shown up to the Avenger’s tower with a rumpled present and an awkward grin the day after Christmas. Tony, although he hadn’t expected him to show up, welcomed him in and led him to the living room where him and Rhodey were drinking mulled wine. By the end of the night, he had ordered a few packages to be sent to Peter’s apartment in the morning. 

“Yeah, it was really cool.”

“You’ve gotten a lot stronger since then. More confident. Not to say that you couldn’t pull apart some wood back then.” Tony made a face. “I-- Lord. I’m terrible at this.”

Peter didn’t deny that.

“What I’m trying to say,” Tony said, “is that I’m proud of you. Sometimes it just surprises me when you prove how capable you are. I don’t have to worry about you anymore, it’s nice.” He scratched his eyebrow. ”Of course, I still worry, but I know I don’t have to.”

Something soft and warm bloomed in Peter’s chest. 

“Thanks, Tony.” His voice came out a little fragiler than normal. He cleared his throat. “I uh-- I get what you’re saying. It means a lot.”

Tony grabbed his now-empty mug and walked around the table to clap Peter on the shoulder. “Anytime, kid.” He took Peter’s empty mug too and went to the sink to rinse them out. “That hot chocolate was great, you’ll have to come over and make it more often!” he called behind him. 

“Yeah, for sure,” Peter responded. He stood up and stretched. “Anyways, we should get to bed. I want to leave for May’s before noon so we can have lunch together.”

Tony turned around to look at him directly. “Kid, have you not looked outside?”

Peter shook his head and Tony pointed his chin to a nearby window. Wow. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground and it was still coming down heavily from the gray clouds above. No way they were driving home now. He said as much to Tony. 

“Looks like you’re going to be spending more than just the night here.”

Peter shrugged. 

There were worse places to be. 

Tag List:  @ironfamjam @addi-is-amazing @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @wellplacedbanana @night0seven @unfathomable-universe​ @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @spideynamu

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 10: CHILDREN OF MAH

QUEST SUMMARY:

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

CHAPTER 2 - SOMETHING IS WRONG

It seemed that Wahisietel was the first one to arrive. Staring across at the haunting, snow-covered Ritual Marker brought back less than pleasant memories for him. He wondered how an inanimate object could be so ominous, could strike so much fear right into his core, fear all of his kin shared but would never confess to.

He’d been left with no choice, and frankly, he was surprised his kin hadn’t beaten him to it, hadn’t arrived here and summoned the rest of their kind days ago. Perhaps everyone was just as reluctant to accept what was happening to them as Wahisietel was.

Edging closer to the Ritual Marker, Wahisietel exhaled deeply, tentatively making his way across the plateau. The Marker wouldn’t bite, or strike out lightning - at least, that’s what he thought - yet he couldn’t help feel humbled by its terrifying aura. It was the Marker that meant death to the unfortunate members of his race, after all.

Wahisietel also knew that, as soon as he touched the Marker, his fellow Mahjarrat would know. In the few instances they have needed to gather outside of a Ritual, this was how they would alert one another. If they’d been reduced to the same skeletal fate Wahisietel had, no doubt a lot of them would arrive in search of a sacrifice. All would search for knowledge, at least, wanting to know why the last Ritual had not sustained them.

Would Sliske join them? Wahisietel found himself wondering. He wanted answers from his half-brother, wanted to know why he was so determined to dig a shallow grave for himself. But if he came to the Ritual, and if indeed a sacrifice was chosen, Wahisietel knew that the unilateral decision would almost certainly be to sacrifice Sliske. He’d burnt every bridge he’d ever made; Wahisietel didn’t even know if Azzanadra would side with him any longer. By Zaros, Wahisietel didn’t even know if he could stand with his half-brother after everything he had done.

Sliske was a powerful Mahjarrat. Even without Azzanadra’s protection of him, he was usually safe from the Marker. Thanks to the joint protection of Sliske and Azzanadra, Wahisietel too had been safe from the Marker for all these centuries. He was never as strong as his half-brother, never adept in shadow magicks to a near mastery level like Sliske was. But now, if Azzanadra turned against Sliske, and if indeed every other Mahjarrat ganged up against him, Sliske wouldn’t stand a chance. Yes, he had the Stone of Jas and the Staff of Armadyl, but so did Lucien. Lucien even had support from the other Zamorakian Mahjarrat. What few Zarosians were left wouldn’t side with Sliske, Wahisietel bitterly concluded. His half-brother would be overpowered, and he would be gone.

If he came to the Ritual at all. Perhaps the Stone of Jas has slowed his withering? It didn’t do so for Lucien, but that was after five hundred years of degrading. This was a peculiar scenario, one that perhaps Sliske would be immune from.

Wahisietel didn’t know. He hated not knowing. He hated not knowing what Sliske’s endgame was in all this, why he had to turn his back on Zaros, Azzanadra and himself. Why did he nearly slaughter the World Guardian he seemed so very fond of?

If Sliske came to the Ritual Site, Wahisietel would get answers. But then he’d also lose the only family he had left.

Exhaling a frosty breath, Wahisietel knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Placing his hand upon the Marker’s surface, a chill ran through his body.

Now, he waited.

But not for long.

Khazard and Enakhra teleported in first, a wry grin slashed across the former’s skeletal face as soon as he locked eyes with Wahisietel. “Ah, I see the sacrifice is already here. Nice of you to show up early, Wahisietel.”

“This is going to be the most unanimous vote since we said goodbye to dear Lamistard,” Enakhra remarked, sniffing a laugh that rattled the bones in her jaw. “Unless Sliske turns up soon, that is. You might last another few years if that’s the case.”

Almost immediately afterwards, Akthanakos joined the fray, standing beside Wahisietel as the divide between the Mahjarrat factions formed at either side of the Marker. “I see it did not take long for you to descend into petty insults.”

“I would keep your voice down if I were you, Akthanakos,” Hazeel was next to arrive. “You are so feeble you have completely reverted to your skeletal form already.”

Gulping, Akthanakos looked down at himself in horror. “I… I have? Surely not so soon…”

“Something is affecting all of us,” Azzanadra graced the circle with his presence. Of all of them, he had degraded the least, though the skin was thin and taught around his features. “We can’t descend into quarrels before we uncover what that is.”

“For once, I agree with you, Azzanadra,” Bilrach arrived on the plateau, the Zarosian Mahjarrat taken aback by his presence.

Akthanakos voiced those feelings, “I thought you dead, Bilrach!”

A smile on Bilrach’s face stretched the sparse layers of skin around his jaw, a haunting picture of decay. “Not so easily."

“I feel as if I haven’t seen you in a milenia, Bilrach,” Azzanadra’s tone was not one of someone glad to be reacquainted with an old friend. “It is odd to see the lapdog without his master.”

To his credit, Bilrach’s tone had the same edge of subtle disdain, but he held back from snapping at the petty insult. “Last I saw you, we’d made a prison out of your pyramid, hmm. Hibernate, did we? I had hoped you’d expired in your tomb.”

“You traitors took many years from me, but you did not take my life,” Azzanadra replied through gritted teeth. “But what of you, Bilrach. I haven’t seen you since Lamistard was sacrificed. Why didn’t you attend the last Ritual?”

“I didn’t need to attend,” Bilrach’s lips danced around a dark smile. “Tell me… you felt the power that rippled across the world’s surface, yes?”

Eyes wide for a fraction of a second, Azzanadra inhaled sharply. “You… sacrificed someone. How? Whom?”

“It’s not important,” Wahisietel interjected. While he too was curious at Bilrach’s tale, they had more pressing matters at hand. “What’s important is that we find out what’s happening to us, why Lucien’s sacrifice didn’t sustain us. Now, any suggestions?”

It was like throwing meat to starving wolves.

The bickering continued for far too long, featuring a squabble between Akthanakos and Khazard that nearly came to blows before Hazeel calmed them down.

Out of all the Zamorakians, Wahisietel found Hazeel the most tolerable. The former Mahserrat always had a head on his shoulders.

“Perhaps it was because the Mahjarrat Ritual was interfered with by outsiders?” Hazeel suggested. “The dragonkin struck the killing blow after all, not a Mahjarrat.”

“That shouldn’t make a difference - he was on the Marker,” Akthanakos replied.

“But every sacrifice has always been at the hands of fellow Mahjarrat,” Hazeel maintained. “Maybe the dragonkin absorbed the power, or it went back into the Stone, or-”

“Now you’re just guessing. We have no time for silly theories.”

“Stop! Please!” Wahisietel implored, feeling the coarseness of his skinless fingers fubbing into his temple, “Let us not try to hide the fact that this is no normal Ritual. Clearly something strange is happening to us.”

“Why should we listen to anything you say?” Enakhra spat, heatedly. “We know it was you Zarosian scum who killed Zemouregal! Murdering your kin outside of a Ritual… how dare you?!”

“That’s why Wahisietel should be the next sacrifice!” Khazard declared. “Vengeance for Zemouregal!”

“Enough, Khazard,” Azzanadra stepped in, his voice measured. “Our power is draining at an alarming rate. We are not due another Ritual for hundreds of years. We need to understand what is happening to us.”

“Hah! You fear for your own life as your numbers dwindle, Zar-”

This time, it was Hazeel’s turn to interject. “Quiet, Khazard. The time for bravado has passed. How long would another Ritual sustain us? Months? Weeks? If our power continues to drain at this rate we will ALL be dead within the year.”

Azzanadra nodded. “Agreed. It is imperative that we push for a solution.”

“Perhaps it is time we outgrow these primitive Rituals,” Wahisietel suggested, the hope and despair in his voice blending together seamlessly. “There must be another way!”

“Preposterous!” Enakhra spat. “There is no other way!”

Akthanakos pointed out, “Clearly Sliske thinks there is. He hasn’t even bothered to turn up.”

“Probably because he knows of the target on his back,” Khazard sniffed a dark laugh. “Him being the sacrifice? Now THAT would be unanimous.”

The responses that followed indicated that all agreed with Khazard, except for Wahisietel, who clenched his fist and bit his tongue. Sliske was smart enough to know what battles to pick. Perhaps the Stone was holding him together after all and he didn’t need to attend? Perhaps he’d found another alternative, like Bilrach? Perhaps he was scared of being sacrificed, so had decided to take his chances at not getting rejuivated?

Looking up at Azzanadra, Wahisietel noted that the Mahjarrat was avoiding his glance, his eyes turned downwards.

Wahisietel despondently realised that his suspicions were confirmed, his heart weighing him down as he tore his gaze from Azzanadra.

Swallowing hard, Azzanadra eventually spoke, “If there is an alternative then I am not aware of it. We need to find out what is draining our power. A traditional Ritual is our last resort.”

Suddenly, the air darkened slightly, a low rumble stirring around the Ritual Site.

It was then that Zaros appeared before them.

Instantly, the surprised Azzandra bowed low. Had it not been for the precarious company he was keeping, he would have dropped to his knees. “My lord. You honour us by gracing us with your presence.”

Wahisietel and Akthanakos bowed too, having not seen Zaros since his return to Gielinor. They knew of Zaros’ movements from Azzanadra, but had not yet been summoned to confer with Zaros. Such distance grated at the two Zarosian Mahjarrat, Wahisietel especially, who hated being kept out of the loop.

It didn’t show in Wahisietel’s voice though; raising his head, he said, “My lord, I am heartened to see you return. It has been too long.”

The Zamorakian Mahjarrat, on the other hand, weren’t much pleased with the reunion.

Gulping, Khazard took a tentative step back, slightly behind Hazeel. His eyes were locked on Zaros’ form as he mumbled, “Please Zamorak… save us…”

“Be still,” Zaros commanded, the gravitas of his voice knowing no bounds. “You need not fear me. I have come to earn back the trust you once placed in me.”

Azzanadra, naturally, was the first to reply, “You have always had my trust, my lord, and the trust of the loyalists that stand beside me.”

“Your loyalty has never been called into question, Azzanadra. But there are those here that conspired toward my downfall.”

Instead of allowing himself to be scared, Hazeel took a bold step forward, challenging the deity. “Zamorak will know you are here. Do you wish to re-enact that downfall?”

If Zaros had conventional eyes, he would no doubt roll them at such an attempt. “Such vitriol, Hazeel. Zamorak does not concern me. I reiterate: I wish you no harm.”

Khazard challenged, “Then why have you come here?”

Looking at each of the gathered Mahjarrat in turn, Zaros declared, “I know what is happening to you all. I know why you are gathered here.”

Azzanadra was relieved by this, hopeful once more. “I pray you bring good news, my lord. We fear for the future of our race.”

“Good news?” Enakhra laughed sharply and with incredulation. “He is probably the cause of our troubles!”

“Enakhra, I will tell you only once - do not insult me,” Zaros warned, clear enough for the female Mahjarrat to step back. “Unfortunately, you are right to fear for your race. Your power is being drained so rapidly that you will all likely wither and die without a solution.”

Akthanakos shook his head in despair. “This cannot be…”

“Zaros, if you truly have nothing to do with this, then why have you come here?” Hazeel demanded, though he didn’t have the accusational tone of his Zamorakian brethren. “To witness our demise?”

“As I said, Hazeel, I wish to earn back your trust. Hope is not lost. I wish to make good on a promise I made to all of you long ago. Before the god wars... before the empire. If you accept, I offer you salvation. I offer you freedom from your Rituals.”

“You did not keep that promise last time you made it,” Enakhra pointed out, sneering. “Your empire was built on empty promises.”

“Know your place, you ungrateful whelp,” Azzanadra snapped, rounding on Enakhra.

“Mmm, yes, a good point has been made,” Bilrach mused. “What makes you think we should believe you this time?”

Zaros simply replied, “I have not come here to beg. I once promised you something I did not know how to give. I return to you now with knowledge I did not possess before. I wish to bestow upon you a gift that will make amends for my past missteps. All you need to do is return to Freneskae, the origins of your species. I implore each and every one of you, accept my offering.”

Lowering his head, Wahisietel said, “Of course, Zaros. We would follow you to the ends of the cosmos.”

Naturally, Khazard audaciously cut in, “Pah! Speak for yourself, you-”

“Enough,” Zaros’ firm tone was rock-solid, hiding the exasperation that even the most powerful of deities could feel. “You have heard what I came here to say. I will await you at the Ritual of Rejuvenation site on Freneskae. Go through the World Gate and meet me there, or conduct your Rituals until the last of you breathes your final sigh of regret.”

With those chilling words, Zaros teleported away.

After the air had stilled, Azzanadra announced, “Well, my opinion should be clear. We must go to Freneskae.”

Enakhra rolled her eyes. “Surprise, surprise. Zaros clicks his fingers and Azzanadra comes running.”

“Stop sulking, Enakhra. I see no other option but to hear Zaros out.” Hazeel contributed, rubbing his hairless chin in frustrated contemplation.

Clicking her tongue, Enakhra crossed her arms over her chest. “Before we make any decisions, I would like us to recall the last time Zaros made us the very same promise. We did the dirty work building his empire on the false pretence that he would save us from extinction. He turned his back on us time and time again, until we entered his throne room beside Zamorak and made that arrogance his downfall.”

“And Zaros still had the good grace not to strike you down the moment he saw you!” Azzanadra spat back. “You heard what Zaros said. He wishes to save us.”

“He does not! It is just as before… an empty promise with no intention of delivering upon it.”

“Enough!” Wahisietel interrupted, a headache forming thanks to the bickering from both parties. “The way I see it, we have no choice but to hear Zaros out. Regardless of your allegiance to our lord, he seems to have an understanding as to why our power is draining as it is. I am going to the World Gate and crossing through to Freneskae. I hope to see you all there, lest I never see you again.”

There was a thick, contemplative silence that followed Wahisitel’s departure. Hazeel was the first to break it. “Perhaps Wahisietel is right. Our impending doom is not something we can ignore.”

“So we should just play right into Zaros' hands?” Khazard continued to protest, but his resolve had lessened. Perhaps the weightlessness of his receding flesh had finally gotten to him.

Even Enakhra was starting to come around, begrudgingly. “Unfortunately, it would seem we have no other choice. Zamorak will watch over us on our journey, of that I am sure.”

“At least some of you are able to see reason,” Azzanadra remarked with a sniff of a chuckle. “There may yet be hope for us.”

“Hope for these Zamorakians? Unlikely,” Akthanakos maintained with a haughty raise of his chin. “The only reason I will set foot on Freneskae is because I cannot perform a Ritual on my own.”

Hazeel replied, “We may yet get a sacrifice, Akthanakos. But unless we go to Freneskae, I fear our fate is sealed.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

[saintcheesus]

@failedmy-tbtest requested some Charles/Reader action! I hope you enjoy :) 

NSFW/SMUT ahead!!!

-----

They’d been separated from the rest of the gang for hours. Somehow, through all the bullets flying and law that was chasing them, Charles and (Y/N) ended up heading in the same direction during the escape. They ran until their horses were bucking them off out of a desperate need to catch their breaths. They headed on foot the rest of the way after letting their horses breathe and stopped when they saw an abandoned cabin along a string of what looks like a rundown farm. Empty, dead quiet. (Y/N) too tired to care started leading her horse toward it.

“What are you doing? You don’t even have your gun out!”

It was the first time Charles spoke more than three words in all the time they were travelling. She thought it was a shame however, that she had to hear his gorgeous baritone whenever he was nagging her. Sure the advice helped, but he didn’t have to nag, and it made it extra confusing when he only did to her. She rolled her eyes and turned her head without stopping her meandering to the cabin.

“So I can shoot a ghost? I’m about close to knocking out cold from sleep, Charles. (H/N) can’t walk for too much longer no more, and Taima ain’t much further from that neither. If you so worried you take your gun out.”

They’ve usually bickered like this before but she wasn’t lying when she told him she was bone tired. She was already having trouble sleeping before the robbery, she always had some anxiety about upcoming heists. There was always a chance someone could die. Her heart always jumped a little more when she thought about losing Charles during a job. He was always on the frontlines, wedged right in between Sadie and Arthur whenever there was a shoot-out, and besides John, it made sense. Those four were the best shots in the gang. Best shooting skills in the West or not, it always made her fumble when she thought about him getting caught in the cross-fire. She was relieved to see him running with her down the same path when they were fleeing, but she was tired, hungry, and worried about the others so now wasn’t the best time to pick a fight with her about her gun.

Charles stomped ahead of her with his shotgun out, Taima drifting to (Y/N)’s horse lazily after her owner let go of her reins. He opened the door and then took cover in the entrance. She didn’t hear any gunshots and she didn’t see Charles ducking from any.

“No one’s here, Charles! I already told you that.”

He just grunted and holstered his gun before coming back to his horse. He pet her head softly and whispered words of encouragement to her. Taima’s ears twitching happily and her eyes closed in what (Y/N) can only describe as fondness. Her heart fluttered at the sight and she found something like a smile gracing her face even after the rough events of the day. They hitched their horses up and walked inside the dusty and shabby cabin.

“Not the coziest abode but I reckon we can bunker down here for the night. Head towards camp in the morning.”

Charles wasn’t the most chipper out of the gang members, but even by looking at his face she could tell that he was upset. Irritated mostly. He’d been tense since they left the bank, quiet even by his standards. She’ll be honest she never seen Irritated Charles before but she equal-parts disliked it but found it the tiniest bit arousing. But then again a lot of the things he did usually ended up with her touching herself in her tent. Not like she’d ever tell him all that. Especially not with the attitude he was sporting right now.

“Not like we have much of a choice.”

Her eyebrow twitched. She let it go and slid down the wall to sit down and closed her eyes. She could honestly fall asleep right there and it looked like Charles read her mind as well.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor when there’s a bed right there?”

She opened one eye and followed the man’s finger to the dingy bed in the corner of the cabin. Her eye went back to Charles.

“I weren’t going to fall asleep here, thank you very much.”

“Your eyes were closed.”

“Yeah but did you hear me snoring? Was my head lolling about?”

Charles hand shook and his eyes narrowed before he threw both his hands in the air and walked away.

“You know what, I’m not going to argue this with you, do whatever you want.”

“That’s the first time you said something I liked, Charles!”

She half meant it as a joke but when she got a good look at him and saw that he was actually irritated with her, her mood soured considerably. She opened both her eyes and stood up.

“And might I ask why you got such a problem with me right now? If you mad about the robbery going wrong that’s fine but you ain’t right to take it out on me Charles, now if I did something you ain’t agree with, you best tell me now!”

“Or what?”

(Y/N) put her hands on her hips and gave him the nastiest look she could.

“I’ll leave and I’m dead serious.”

She saw the way his face dropped at the threat. He looked like he wanted her to be bullshitting, baiting him into an argument, but she was entirely serious about leaving. Even if she was on the verge of hibernation and the dead of night. She didn’t need to be holed up in a cabin with him if he was going to be short with her all night. It honestly hurt more than it made her angry, but she didn’t want Charles to see that. When he failed to reply quick enough she started marching toward the door, hearing him calling after her name absent-mindedly before coming to his senses and coming towards her.

“(Y/N)…please wait. You were right…I’m starving. Please stay and eat with me and I promise I’ll get my act together.”

He seemed honest and slightly panicked at her attempted exit. She was hungry too, and maybe he was right about them eating first before they started arguing again. They were sharing a dinner of beef jerky and beans and nearly done with their meal before she spoke.

“You ready to tell me why you was catching a fit today?”

His eyes were reluctant to look into her (E/C) ones. He picked at the food with his fork and drummed at the table with his free hand. She smiled, it was kind of cute to see him like that.

“You almost got shot.”

She looked at him a little disappointed at his words.

“Uh, yeah. Kind of a constant in this line of work, Charles.”

A breath of laughter but he shook his head.

“No, I mean today during the robbery. If Dutch hadn’t seen the lawman pointing his gun at you when we left the bank you would have been shot, and...”

“And what?”

“…I was worried.”

She didn’t think that would come out of his mouth. He always seemed more frustrated with her than he did worry. But then if he was always nagging then maybe that was him showing that all along? She nearly dropped the fork.

“Charles Smith…”

“You were distracted during the shoot-out and you almost died! Why weren’t you paying attention?”

“Because I was looking to see if you was alright you big idiot! You think I don’t get mad seeing you throw yourself into the bullets all the damn time! You human just like the rest of us and people would miss you something awful if you died!”

“Like who?”

“Like me!”

(Y/N) was standing up now, she didn’t think before she said it, but it’s been said now and there was no going back. They would either spend the rest of the night in awkward silence or they could act on whatever was lingering between them. Charles was looking at her like he had been struck by lightning and suddenly she felt her cheeks get hot. She coughed and sat back down, picking up her can of beans and forking it around. She felt Charles’ hand rest atop hers and she made careful eye contact with her. Silently, he rubbed his thumb on her hand and stood up to kiss her on her forehead. She felt like they were young children.

“I’m about ready to call it a night, what about you?”

Charles hesitated and looked toward the door.

“Someone….someone should keep watch, just in case.”  

“Charles, ain’t no one coming! We need sleep more than anything if we’re to go back to the camp in the morning. Now come get in the bed with me!”

“But…there’s only one.”

“I’m not that big, and the beg looks big enough to hold the two of us. It’s only for one night.”

Charles thought for a longwhile before he finally agreed to share the bed. They both got settled on the bed. Both were still wearing their clothes but shed their bandoliers and weapons, placing them beside the bed for quick access. Charles was sleeping against the wall and (Y/N) was facing the entrance. She had her eyes closed but she certainly wasn’t sleeping, and she hoped Charles wasn’t either. She pressed her ass against his crotch, and felt herself being poked in return. She rubbed against his jeans and was surprised when she found his arm draped around her waist, pulling her closer and feeling him grinding on her behind. He grunted and that’s when she let out a stifled moan. His other arm, with difficulty, moved under her ribcage as she was now enveloped in his embrace and grabbed at her boob.

The hand that was draped over her waist was now snaking its way into her pants. He unbuttoned her jeans and she shivered when she felt his cold hand travel inside. She moaned louder this time when she felt his finger graze over her clit. He laughed and started peppering kisses alongside her neck and the top of her shoulder. When his fingers went back towards her clit again she gasped and rolled over so that she could be face-to-face with him. Just as he was doing to her, she dove into his jeans and grabbed his erect member, slowly working her way up and down while kissing him deeply. When they broke apart for air, she bared his neck to him and his kisses trailed down the perfect length of it.

“You know I always heard you.”

Through pants she responded, “What?”

“I could hear you everytime you touched yourself at night. The way you’d moan my name when you thought we were all asleep. I’ve always wanted to come into your tent whenever I heard you, but I didn’t know how.”

“Well you’re doing just fine now; oh lord…”

Charles’ fingers started to rub at the spot she reacted to and if she was being honest, it had been a very long time since she been with anyone so she extra sensitive tonight. Charles moans made it harder for her not to cum too quickly. Her hand squeezing and pumping at his large dick, the feeling of him twitch and come undone made her wetter and easier for him to enter his fingers inside of her. Charles had since moved to her tits, sucking at them like a newborn infant eager for milk. She bucked her hips again and again, feeling his fingers go deeper with each thrust. She felt the precum oozing from his cock, the lubrication making it easier for her to rub at the head and jerk him off without friction. His hips were thrusting into the wanking and she loved the fact that he was also sensitive. She went in for more kissing when he parted from her abruptly.

“(Y/N)…please…I’m so close…” he moaned again and she could feel the tightness pooling in the bottom of her stomach. She groaned and panted for him to take his pants off. The minute his fingers left her she was filled with a mad desire to have him back inside. They both shucked their pants off and after she threw her shirt off, he followed. He was sitting up and she was on top of him, his arms wrapped around her waist and mouth sucking and nipping at her hard nipples. Her hands were raked through his hair, grabbing at the soft black locks and tugging everytime she felt that jolt of ecstasy again. She thought she was in heaven with him fingering her, she was ascending when she felt his dick enter her. She rode him harder than she ever did on horseback, and from the speed and energy he had with each thrust she knew that he was giving it his all too. She felt his cock throbbing and increased her pace, her moans growing louder and his turning into grunts as they neared their orgasms. His muscles started contracting and she felt the warmth from his cum entering her, he had short spasms as he rode it out. His breathing hard and satisfied as he grunted with each throb. She was overwhelmed by his orgasm and let her head hang back as she moaned his name through her own climax. They were both panting, sweating, but stuck to each other. He looked up at her and gave her two short kisses before they both moved to lay back down. They cuddled, and it felt a million times better than the awkward way they were in the bed before. She grabbed his dick a few times and rubbed her thumb over the head, laughing each time he twitched and moaned from the sensitivity. He pulled her hand away and draped his arm over her waist.

“Still mad at me?” She asked coyly. She was surprised herself that she had that much energy to fuck him, but she was definitely spent now after using the last of her energy cumming. He chuckled and stroked her cheek.

“No.”

Sleep came real easy to them that night. They found the gang at camp the next day and Charles was subject to many a joke by Arthur, Dutch, and even Hosea after everyone saw the hickeys on (Y/N)’s neck.

-----

I also take requests so feel free to shoot me a message! 

[reivenesque]

Not The Best Around CH5

Chapter 5: You’re The Best (Around)

(x)

The couple of nurses that came and went were about as much excitement as Laura received that night before the sun finally came up. The morning greeted them with Johnny’s very first visitor for the day it was someone Laura was always happy to see.

“Ali,” she said happily when the familiar face popped up from behind the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Lawrence,” said Ali, lingering by the door for a moment before hesitantly stepping in, not getting more than a few feet into the room before she stopped, hands fidgeting nervously behind her back. “How is he?”

“He’ll be okay. He just needs a little rest and some TLC but he’ll be right as rain in no time. What about you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. You don’t come by the house anymore,” Laura said inquisitively.

Ali’s mouth opened and closed in an effort to find an appropriate response to the statement but obviously couldn’t come up with anything rational.

“I just – uh, I wanted to see how he’s doing. I don’t want to be a bother –”

There was an uneven sound of footsteps by the door when a new figure appeared, looking much more nervous and much more hesitant than Ali when she first stepped in.

“Umm, Mrs. Lawrence, this is a friend of mine, Daniel,” she motioned towards the newcomer, who looked hesitantly between the two women before raising an uncertain hand in greeting.

“N-Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lawrence,” said Daniel, careful to stay beyond the threshold of the door.

Laura returned the greeting before reaching over to shake Johnny’s shoulder. “Johnny,” she called softly, “Ali is here to see you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Mrs. Lawrence. I don’t want to disturb him,” said Ali quickly.

“Oh nonsense, Ali. I know he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Daniel had the literal look of someone caught between a hard place and an even harder place and nowhere to escape.

“Johnny.” She resumed shaking his shoulder gently until his eyes finally cracked open, heavy lidded and bleary, attempting to blink his vision into focus. “Honey,” she said once his eyes finally focused on her, “Your friends are here.” She motioned towards the door and Johnny could only follow the direction she was indicating with his eyes which widened the moment they fell on Ali standing awkwardly near the far end of the room. “If you two could stand a little closer in his line of sight,” Laura said, indicating towards the foot of the bed.

Daniel had the look of someone who’d just stumbled upon a cave full of hibernating bears and was trying to back out slowly before any of them smelled fresh meat and decided that they didn’t need the sleep that badly but had inadvertently woken all of them up. The moment Johnny’s eyes fell on him, it was clear from his expression that he’d picked the bears any day of the week.

However Ali beckoned him in and like with everything to do with Ali Mills, Daniel was too weak to refuse.

“H-Hi, Johnny,” said Ali, forcing a chipper appearance as she approached the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Johnny remained silent for a moment before he plastered on a smile which looked more pained than happy when he returned Ali’s greeting. Laura didn’t seem to notice the obvious tension in the room, or the one between Johnny and Ali and Daniel who was still skulking by the door.

“I’ve been better,” Johnny said, swallowing the lump in his throat before his eyes glanced over to stare at Daniel who was trying his hardest to blend into his background. “I’m really… glad to see you, Ali,” he added, though from the hesitation in his voice it was obviously only a show put on for his mom’s sake.

“Me too. We were all so worried.”

Johnny tried to keep up the smile but it ended up looking more like a grimace, though lucky for him Laura’s attention was more on the situation between him and Ali as opposed to whatever was going on inside his head, because his mother was one of the few people who could read him like an open book. “Yeah…” he answered simply because the atmosphere of the room descended into silence.

“I’ll just give you kids your privacy,” Laura said, obvious misinterpreting the situation and the silence as being brought on by her presence. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee, sweetheart, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, reaching over to stroke Johnny’s hair and plant a kiss on his forehead. She gave Ali a brief by warm hug when she passed by her before stepping out of the room, leaving Johnny alone to face off against two of the people in the world he probably wanted to see least. Though, maybe second after Sid.

The silence remained for a while after her exit. Daniel ended up toeing his shoe against the linoleum, eyes glancing over at everything in the room besides Johnny, willing himself to shrink down into nonexistence because of the awkwardness of the situation. Ali was fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, eyes downcast while Johnny finally tore his eyes away from the sight of the two people in front of him and opted to stare at the far end wall because it was pretty much the only thing in his line of sight that didn’t cause little stabs of pain inside his heart.

“What do you want, Ali?” he asked finally, his voice cold. “Come to rub it in my face, LaRusso? Don’t worry, I’m not such an idiot that I didn’t realize I’d lost.”

The hesitation immediately drained from Ali’s shoulders when Johnny finished. Her eyes snapped up instantly, the look in her eyes blazing. “God, Johnny, can’t you ever not be so… so… vindictive? We were genuinely worried about you – I was worried about you, despite what you might think of me.”

Johnny clenched his eyes shut tight as Ali continued her almost tearful monologue until the point he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he said, sounding more broken than Ali had ever heard him which caused her to stop mid-sentence. “Just… please. I’m tired of fighting,” he said with a sigh. “Please just leave.”

Ali immediately looked apologetic, almost deflated by the defeated tone in Johnny’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I really didn’t come here to upset you. Just… I really did just want to see how you were doing.”

Johnny mimicked the tired sigh. It genuinely hurt how much Ali’s presence had come to be more painful than pleasurable and he knew he had only himself to blame for that. “I know, but… the truth is you being here isn’t helping anything, Ali. I appreciate the concern but just… I’d rather if you didn’t come by again.”

“I understand,” Ali replied sadly.

Hurting Ali was something that hurt Johnny deeply, but so was having her so close but at the same time so far out of reach. He knew he would probably never be over her, or over the relationship they once had, especially with her being around, taunting him with the unattainability of her presence.

Johnny looked away when Ali turned to leave and he expected to hear the sound of footsteps leading away from his room, leaving him to his privacy to let his tears flow, but instead there was a shuffling sound and the voice that had at some point become the bane of his existence all of a sudden called his name.

“Hey, Johnny,” LaRusso called out and it took all of Johnny’s will power not to roll his eyes outright. He kept his eyes averted hoping that LaRusso would for once take the hint and just walk away from the situation in which his presence was neither required nor wanted.  “Look, man. I know we’ve had our differences, and we’ve made each other’s entire year hell – though some of us more than others –” he added the last part as a mutter under his breath, “But I never meant for anything like this to happen. Not even to you. So… just – just know that. I’m really sorry that it turned out this way.”

Johnny could appreciate the balls it took for LaRusso to step up and say what he said, to apologize for it nonetheless. The way he never would have done. He’d hurt his fair share of opponents in tournaments but it was never anything personal. It was just for the win. What his sensei asked him to do… what he’d asked Bobby to do… it went against even his own skewered moral compass, but he never in a million years would he have apologized to LaRusso for what happened.

Maybe he really had been the bad guy all along.

LaRusso obviously took his silence and lack of eye contact as his definitive reply and was about half way towards the door where Ali was waiting for him when Johnny found himself calling out to him.

“LaRusso,” he said, finally meeting LaRusso’s eyes when he turned around. He took a deep, measured breath before lifting his left hand up slightly, holding it out to LaRusso who looked between his face at the offered appendage confusedly. “Now we’re finally even, huh?” he asked. He wasn’t sure how he even remembered the words or why they chose to come out at that moment, but he thought it was appropriate.

LaRusso looked confused for a moment and Johnny could see the exact moment the significance of the words finally dawn on him. He smiled, and Johnny found him own lips curling slightly at the edges. “Yeah, man,” he said, walking over without hesitation and grasping Johnny’s hand, holding his firm and giving it a slight shake. “Now we’re even.”

They both let go at once and LaRusso finally turned to join Ali who was staring between them confusedly from the door.

The calm that settled in his heart, probably for the first time in years, as usual, didn’t last very long, because just as Ali and LaRusso both turned to leave, the last person either of them probably wanted to run into appeared at the door.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” asked Dutch in a sing song voice, grin plastered on, stopping dead in his tracks the moment his eyes fell on LaRusso.

Johnny just sighed. He was too tired to have to deal with that particular situation. Though he was half proud and half hurt watching Ali put herself without hesitation between LaRusso and Dutch.

The sound of multiple footsteps signaled the arrival of the rest of the Cobra Kais, stepping in into the room behind Dutch who was prowling threateningly around Ali and LaRusso like a wild animal.

“Dutch,” said Tommy, his tone almost cautionary as he said Dutch’s name.

Johnny thought he should break up the tension before it escalated but he didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth to tell him to stop once Bobby walked in.

The immediate shift in Dutch's body language was apparent, it was almost like he deflated; the prickly hairs standing on end like an aggravated feline settled down though his typical smirk stayed on. He raised both hands as if in surrender, taking a deliberate step back.

“I’m good,” he said immediately, looking between LaRusso and Bobby. “Cool as a cucumber,” he added, bowing slightly and motioning towards the door with both arms. “Careful, Danielle, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

LaRusso looked about as confused as Johnny felt on the inside by the unexpected turn of events. However he was obviously not too confused to recognize the escape route when it was handed to him on a platter made of gold. He immediately grabbed an equally bemused Ali by the wrist, tugging her away from Dutch. Just before they disappeared out the door, Johnny found himself calling out one more time.

“Thanks,” he said, “For… for coming and for playing along; for not telling my mom the truth about us.”

For the first time in a long time, Ali looked back at him with an expression other than disdain on her face. She actually smiled. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” she said. “Your mom’s a lovely person and I genuinely care about her. But you really should tell her the truth eventually,” she said.

Leave it to Ali to always tell him things he didn’t really want to hear. Johnny guessed that was why he loved her so much.

But then she left with LaRusso, walking away with a last lingering smile before she disappeared behind the wall and far out of reach.

Johnny exhaled through the ache in his chest; furrowing his brows because it was pretty much the only part of him he could move without pain.

“How you feelin’, Johnny?” asked Bobby as he approached. He seemed to be the only person in the room unaffected by Dutch’s strange behaviour. Everyone else was still gob smacked silent by Dutch’s uncharacteristic reaction. Though knowing Bobby as well as he did (the real Bobby that not everyone got to see all the time) Johnny was positive that something had happened between the two that he didn't know about.

The question immediately erased the thought of LaRusso clear from everyone’s minds and they turned to approach Johnny’s bed; some with slightly more spring in their step than others as demonstrated by Tommy who nearly skipped up to Johnny’s side.

“Yeah, man. You doing okay?” he asked, reaching down to grab the side rail of the bed with both hand, leaning down into Johnny’s line of sight.

Johnny gave them a tired smile. The exhaustion was just a default mode of his lately though he was glad to see his friends. “Probably going to have to hang up my dancing shoes for a while,” he said.

Tommy laughed, probably a little too fervently, but then again, it was Tommy. Everything he did and said was slightly more exaggerated than that of a normal human being.

“Really glad you’re okay, Johnny,” Jimmy said, stepping up on his other side, across from Tommy.

Dutch stepped up to the foot of the bed as Bobby came up on Jimmy’s left, his warm smile plastered on his face immediately lifting Johnny’s spirits by just the sight.

“We’re Cobras,” he said, “It’ll take more than this to keep us down.” Though the voice saying the words inside his head wasn’t one that belonged to him, they were words he wanted to believe with all his heart.

“Damn straight,” said Dutch determinedly. “But I still can’t believe you let LaRusso drop you like that, man.”

The resounding sharp intake of breath was apparent in the room and Johnny turned in time to see Bobby deliver a sharp slap to Dutch’s shoulder with the back of his hand, his expression both of disbelief and irritation.

“What?” whined Dutch, feigning offense with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Seriously, man?” stated Bobby, half in query and half as an exclamation of disbelief. His expression was one that Johnny could only describe as an ever suffering mother dealing with petulant two year old who’d just thrown a tantrum. But then again, that was Bobby’s default more when it came to dealing with Dutch most of the time.

“What?” Dutch repeated, putting on the face of the wronged party so convincingly that even Bobby could barely suppress the grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re incorrigible,” said Bobby once he finally gave up trying to hold back the chuckle.

Johnny couldn’t hold back his either and eventually the whole room descended into laughter.

“You’re the real ace-degenerate,” said Tommy with a cackle and Johnny honestly couldn’t agree with the statement more if he tried.

Tbc.

[ritebeforeyoureyes]

Haunt

This is a bit of a filler, but it’s kind of necessary. Hope you still like it!

Masterlist – Plot: Zendaya deals with the shooting in her own way.

Haunt (Chapter Eleven)    

By the time Jon got Zendaya back to the Holland’s’ penthouse, he was incredibly worried. She’d been silent the whole drive back, her face inhumanely still. There was no indication of pain or worry or fear; she was a big bundle of nothingness. Jon had been watching her for weeks prior to this day and this behaviour was so unlike her usual self. There was always an identifiable sparkle in her eye and a smile gracing her lips. This was the first time he’d seen her so lost.

Her usually opinionated self didn’t even hesitate when Jon wove stitches into her wound, constricting the excessive blood flow. Having patched up each one of the Holland boys after a botched job gone wrong, Jon had enough practice in basic medical care. He was extra careful with Zendaya, his hands gentle as he wiped away at the blood. But, there was no evident flinching or defiance on her behalf. She kept quiet as he handed her some water and some vitamins, she kept quiet as he led her back into Tom’s room, kept quiet when he handed her a new phone and you guessed it, she was quiet as he gave her some time to rest. Jon offered to run her a bath, set up her new phone but Zendaya simply responded with a dead stare that Jon just figured meant she wanted to be alone. So, he left.

Once Jon had left her alone in the silence that became unfearingly impermeable, Zendaya broke down. To begin with, her sobs were silent, the briny water sinking into her blouse. And then, her cries were body shaking and loud. She cried into the palms of her hands, the dull ache in her ear reminding her that the recent events had been real – she had been shot at. This wasn’t a bad dream that she could just wake up from. This was now her reality, Tom’s reality, and Zendaya found herself compelled to know everything that she could about it. Tom had told her quite a bit whilst they were out having lunch but the information she’d gathered wasn’t enough to explain this whole situation. Zendaya had been asking Tom for concrete answers and truthfully, she’d gotten none. She wanted to know more and in the modern age, more came from the internet.

Using her new phone, Zendaya did something that was so contradictory to who she was a person – she googled a gossip column. And, frankly, finding information on The Brother’s Trust wasn’t a difficult feat; they were three eligible bachelors in New York’s socialite circle. Within seconds, Zendaya found herself looking at a collection of paparazzi pictures that she always tried her best to avoid. There were pictures of the whole family, Zendaya’s mouth dropping at the sight of the familiar faces she had yet to be reunited with. They all looked so different and yet so similar, it was almost a mind game. Even if she had paid avid attention to the tabloids, she wasn’t sure if she’d recognise them in their fancy clothing and their expensive cars. Nikki hadn’t seemed to age one bit whilst, on the other hand, Paddy was practically the same height as Tom.  There were pictures of Sam and Harry walking down the street, pictures of the four boys eating out, going to the gym, at black tie events … pictures featuring an endless array of women on their arms.

If somebody had shown Zendaya the pictures of Tom and these multiple women a few days ago, she was certain she wouldn’t feel much. In fact, if somebody had shown her the pictures a few hours earlier, she probably wouldn’t have cared all that much either. However, hearing Tom say that inheriting all this money had changed his mind about coming back for her, made her angry. All Zendaya could remember about being in Oakland was heartache and difficult endeavours, all of which would have been resolved if Tom had put away his greed and stuck by her side. She had always blamed him for abandoning her but now, she really blamed him. Tom was the reason she cried herself to sleep all those nights, the reason she struggled to trust people, the reason she withdrew from her family and friends. And seeing him, grinning, with woman after woman on his arm made Zendaya unbelievably mad. She didn’t understand how he had the audacity to be happy and promiscuous when she’d been so upset. It had taken her years to open up to somebody, Trevor, whilst Tom had been out earning the title of ‘Player of the Year,’ three years running. Seeing him like this, smug and smiling, brought back all the tears.

But it wasn’t just that. Zendaya couldn’t help but question herself as she looked at the onslaught of gorgeous women that Tom had been caught out with. She subconsciously compared herself to them, in her eyes, her physicality not matching up to their preened perfection. They were all model-like with shiny hair and endless legs; their bodies adorned in what looked like high fashion couture. She felt self-conscious and unworthy and she hated that Tom still had the capacity to make her feel that way. She was jealous; jealous because he had knowingly taken them out and spent time with them whilst simulatenously excusing her.

She felt like a teenager again; heartbroken and helpless.

And truth be told, Zendaya hadn’t cried this much since being a teenager either. She suddenly felt like a child in desperate need of some comfort, comfort only one other person could provide- Darnell. Darnell had never failed to comfort Zendaya in her tough times. He had been the one to pick up the pieces when Tom had broken her heart and she needed him again -  this time, more than ever.

With his number memorised and at the forefront of her mind, Zendaya didn’t hesitate to reach out to her best friend and trusty sidekick; a man who answered, reliably, within a heartbeat.

“Sup, Grandma. You finally out of hibernation?” Darnell answered the phone mockingly, referring to how Zendaya liked to keep to herself when she wasn’t working. Usually, his jokes would be returned with a customary ‘fuck off’ or witty quip but not this time.

“D … Darnell.” Her voice cracked, and she felt an immediate burning in the back of her throat. Zendaya hadn’t spoken since the shooting and honestly, she didn’t know how long ago that was.  Jon had stitched her up hours ago and she’d spent so long researching Tom and his family that she hadn’t even processed the amber haze that had started to infiltrate the sky outside.

“Zendeesha, what’s wrong?” Instantly, Darnell was able to detect the sadness in his friend’s voice.

“I … just … I need you.” Zendaya sucked in a sob, trying to seem as composed as possible on the phone.

“What happened? Was it Trevor? Bastard. I swear, I’m going to murder the limp dick for making you cry again-“ This time, Zendaya couldn’t help but let a small, half-assed smile drift onto her lips. This was one of the many reasons she adored Darnell, his loyalty.

“No, I just-“ Zendaya inhaled deeply. She knew telling Darnell everything would consolidate the validity of everything. “Tom’s back.”

“Ha, you’re joking, right?” Darnell elongated his syllables, his head shaking in disbelief. Tom was like Voldemort to him and Zendaya; the man who was never named. “Please tell me you’re joking? Where are you?”

“I’m at his place.”

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Darnell yelled into the phone, Zendaya pulling away on instinct. “Stay put, your location is on. I’m coming to get you.”

Initially, Darnell’s words made Zendaya panic a little. She wondered what Tom would think if she just picked up and left before he arrived. She wondered if he’d even let her do that. Would he lock her in his bedroom again? Take her phone? Stop her from seeing Darnell?

But, as fleeting as those thoughts were, they were replaced by a sudden desire to just be her again. Zendaya wanted to spend a night with Darnell in front of the TV watching telenovelas. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder and have him cuss pointlessly at her need for affection. She wanted to fall asleep on the couch in a strange position, Noon by her side. She wanted normality. She wanted to wake up and not have to worry about someone coming to kill her. And just like that, Zendaya was eager for Darnell to come to her rescue – for the first time in what felt like ages, a smile genuinely enveloped her lips.  

She was ready to go home.

If you enjoyed this piece and would like to help further me and my work, please support me whilst I get through university. The money you donate will go towards assisting me in my student fees. It is one hundred per cent a voluntary pursuit and greatly appreciated, however, your lovely comments and votes are always welcomed too. Thank you for being the greatest: https://ko-fi.com/D1D072V0

[phillipdelaney-blog]

Don’t Touch What is Mine - Edmund&Phillip

Ivory Tower; Brailston Month of August

"Make the rain stop,” Phillip pouted against the throat of his progeny Edmund. The vampire laughed richly, turning his head to peer through the cracked window to see the downpour continue. It has been many days, actually weeks now. Brailston was a sodden mess, and even the witches hadn’t been able to slow the rain. Edmund couldn’t travel to the church with the minor flooding, so he was staying in the Ivory Tower until it let up.

“Rain-- stop,” came a lazy drawn out attempt to ask it to stop, Edmund even pointed a finger towards the offender. Phillip peered up to see if it worked and was greeted with a lightning strike that hit the tower in a rapid crack of bright white light. Phillip’s pupils dilated and buried himself back under the wool blankets, fingers gripped along Edmund’s ribs and taking advantage of his lean body to lay completely on top of him.

“You are a baby in thunderstorms,” Edmund always had an undertone of exasperation when it came to Phillip. It wasn’t a secret his progenies usually took more care of him than he did for them. Phillip enjoyed it more than he should, but he never had a good template to go off of when it came to family. He loved all his progenies with an impossible level of understanding, bordering possessive-- and they took those emotions and used them to stay safe, to move forward in their lives with business and pleasure.

“Do you think-- if a vampire were struck by lightning, they would die?” Phillip asked, kissing collarbones to ignore the truth in Edmund’s statement. Especially when he was honestly terrified of thunderstorms-- it brought back flashes of memories from Dragos. The fighting had been gruesome even to a freshly turned vampire who had been thrown into a bloodlust immediately. Being so young and overwhelmed by the scents of blood and battle had been tough. The body horror of watching people torn in half by large weapons made his humanity crack and splinter days into his unlife. The death and the rebellion he had been apart of but didn’t entirely want to fight in physically had done damaging things to his head.

And that wasn’t all that crept back-- Phillip just wanted to forget it all but knew that request from the Eternal could be devastating to his role in the Congregation. Or so that was what he was warned.

“Perhaps, they would burn and scar at the least,” Edmund answered, Phillip, realized the other was deeply thinking about it when a soft wrinkle met his brow. Ever the curious one Edmund was. Phillip winced when the lightning continued.

“We could close the window,” Edmund reassured.

“We should of just lock me in my casket like I suggested weeks ago and hibernated until it's over.” Phillip frowned, the only reason he had the window open was that the fall weather was coming, and the humidity and chill from the downpour made the Ivory Tower not seem so stuffy.

“You would choose to rot away in a coffin over rain? Please don’t talk like that,”

“I would rot because I’m dead. But then my mind would sleep peacefully-- I imagine you would be able to bring me back with some blood. Cut a beautiful throat right over my corpse, and I’d spring up and feast back to unlife,” Phillip fantasized about such a thing, mostly because when the sadness in him hit a critical peak, it was easier to think he could just lock himself away for a few years than anything too permanent.

Edmund stirred under him at the darkness of his thoughts and wrapped his arms around his middle, so they were better cocooned in the large bed.

“I sent your soul to Hell,” Phillip’s nails bit into his rib cage, “you pray still to a God who allowed that decision to be torn from your control. I chose to watch the light leave your eyes-- to allow your heart to slow down until it beat no more. I still remember how you tasted, the scream you released-- the words you whispered.”

“That was years ago,”

Phillip scuffed, closing his eyes when the thunder rumbled through the room after a rapid flicker of lightning.

“There is a plan, were suppose to be here for some reason. If Hell is to walk on Earth, then it’s likely we abominations could be the force to meet with it. The Eternal solicits us to integrate with humanity without many reasons, I spend all my time with them, more than my kindred. I pray. I can walk into a church without being smited-- I can step on hallowed grounds and aid in prayer for those humans who perish. All of that is not in vain--”

“This is why I took you. You are--” Phillip’s mind reeled suddenly, and Edmund pulled away to see his face. A knot swelled in his gut, pain and feared coiled like a noose to his throat and though he didn't need air to breathe, it felt suffocating.

“What?” Edmund shook him lightly.

“I met with Juda after the Tourney, him and Ivo are together right now in Leeds,”

“Isn’t that what you ordered?”

“It is, but this fear I am feeling--, I realize it’s also Ivo’s.”

“What?” Edmund repeated sitting up; Phillip followed, slipping from the confines of their bed to pull on a robe. His fingers slightly trembled while he paced, attempting to seek out his youngest progeny so far away and without much practice was proving to be a little tricky. Edmund got out of the bed and left in a blur to find Dachi.

“Ivo--” “Phillip,” “Are you okay?”

Flashes struck him to the ground, and his knees buckled in the collision to the hardwood floor. A vision filled his mind, distorted like he was underwater and seeing through a glass bowl. Ivo’s fear was all he felt right now, it had been an undercurrent to his own with the storm, but now that he focused-- it was devastating. The room he was in came back into view as Phillip gritted his teeth and curled his fingers into fists.

“Someone has me--”

The three words whispered in his head, and Phillip’s eyes bled red. Anger blossomed like an opening nightshade, slowly taking over every ounce of fear-- it swelled until his fangs protruded and his iris’ shifted to a burgundy. Bloody tears slipped over his pale cheeks, striking the floor as he stared at the doorway where Yachi and Edmund stood.

“Ohh... I’m going to kill them--” he laughed then, a distorted crackle that shook his shoulders. His tongue darted out to catch one of his bleeding tears, rising just as another lightning struck behind him without notice.

“Pack your bags; we're heading to Leeds right now. Rain be dammed,”

[day0one]

A president ignored: Trump’s outlandish claims increasingly met with a collective shrug 2 hrs ago

Shortly after a deadly explosion in Beirut this week, President Trump offered a theory — backed by no apparent evidence — that the devastating incident was “a terrible attack,” claiming “some of our great generals” thought it was likely the result of “a bomb of some kind.”

Such a bold proclamation from a U.S. president would usually set off worldwide alarms. Yet aside from some initial concern among Lebanese officials, Trump’s assertions were largely met with a collective global shrug.

More than 3½ years into his presidency, Trump increasingly finds himself minimized and ignored — as many of his more outlandish or false statements are briefly considered and then, just as quickly, dismissed. The slide into partial irrelevance could make it even more difficult for Trump as he seeks reelection as the nation’s leader amid a pandemic and economic collapse.

In battling the coronavirus crisis, which has left more than 158,000 Americans dead, many of the nation’s governors have disregarded the president’s nebulous recommendations, instead opting for what they believe is best for their residents. So have the nation’s schools, with many of the country’s largest districts preparing for distance learning when they reopen this fall, despite Trump’s repeated calls for kids to return to classrooms in person. And the president’s own top public health officials are routinely contradicting him in public — offering grim, fact-based assessments of the raging virus in contrast to his own frequently rosy proclamations.

Congressional Republicans, meanwhile, never seriously entertained Trump’s desire for a payroll tax cut in the latest coronavirus stimulus bill, and the president has been more of a spectator than a key player in negotiations. Even former vice president Joe Biden, the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee, often seems to ignore the president he is running against, focusing his messaging elsewhere.

Ian Bremmer, president and founder of Eurasia Group, a political consulting firm with a global emphasis, said that when Trump made his claim about the bomb in Lebanon, much of the global community intuitively understood that the president “is inclined to think that of course it must be terrorism because it’s the Middle East and people blow up stuff up there.”

“And so he said it, and it’s stupid, but after almost four years of Trump, we all kind of know that he doesn’t really listen to experts and briefings,” Bremmer said.

International leaders and diplomats, he added, no longer find themselves scrambling over every Trump tweet and utterance, the way they did early in his presidency. “They understand that a lot of stuff that Trump says does not remotely equate to policy and they’ve had enough experience with that to understand, most of them, when you can just tune it out,” he said.

Click to expand Biden, meanwhile, has made a core theme of his campaign the argument that Trump’s lack of credibility is eroding the presidency, as well as the relevancy of the United States on the world stage. He has called the president a “charlatan” and “a serial liar,” and criticized his response to the coronavirus, saying he should not be listened to.

“He’s like a child who just can’t believe this has happened to him,” Biden said during a speech earlier this summer.

At times, Biden has tried ignoring Trump altogether — or, when he does engage, doing so with a tone of exasperated mockery.

“I can’t believe I have to say this, but please don’t drink bleach,” Biden wrote on Twitter in April, after Trump suggested injecting disinfectant as a means of combating the coronavirus, in a missive that became the platform’s most-liked tweet that week.

John Anzalone, Biden’s pollster, said the strategy against Trump works because “a supermajority of people believe he’s a liar, so he can come into the Situation Room or he can come into people’s living rooms and they don’t believe him.”

That represents an electoral weakness for Trump, Anzalone said, making it harder for the president to effectively diminish Biden. Part of that, he said, is how the public views Biden — as a generally decent man — but part of that is the president’s own credibility deficit.

“His problem is that there’s also a collective shrug when he attacks Joe Biden,” Anzalone said. “He attacks, attacks, attacks, but people don’t believe his attacks. They kind of eye-roll and they shrug.”

Donald Trump wearing a suit and tie standing in a room: President Trump at the White House on Tuesday. (Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post)© Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post President Trump at the White House on Tuesday. (Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post) The White House press office rejected the notion that Trump now finds himself minimized on a range of issues.

“While the radical left and the D.C. Swamp continue to attack this President, the American people recognize his bold leadership and commitment to putting America First every day,” White House spokesman Judd Deere said in an email statement. “President Trump has proven over and over again that he will not back down from tackling the big challenges facing this country, including defeating the China virus, rebuilding our economy, and protecting this country.”

The deadly pandemic seemed to hasten Trump’s troubles in being heard. Many state and local officials have implemented their own strategies to combat the virus, regardless of the president’s desires and demands.

In early May, more than half a dozen Eastern states announced they were banding together to buy medical supplies. This month, another group of governors formed a bipartisan consortium to address severe testing shortages and delays.

“If you’re a governor fighting the coronavirus and you want to get information out to the people of your state, what is the value in fighting Donald Trump?” said Lis Smith, a Democratic consultant, explaining the go-it-alone approach of some of the nation’s governors. “If you’re amplifying the president’s misinformation on this virus, then you’re shortchanging the people of your state.”

While Trump has repeatedly expressed his desire that all students return in person to school this fall, a growing number of school districts are openly defying his requests. Even St. Andrew’s Episcopal School — the private school in the Maryland suburbs attended by Trump’s youngest son, Barron — plans to begin the school year with virtual classes only.

The president’s own top public health officials, meanwhile, are increasingly contradicting him in public. Speaking on CNN’s “State of the Union” last Sunday — just one day before Trump claimed the coronavirus was “receding” — White House coronavirus response coordinator Deborah Birx warned that the virus was “extraordinarily widespread” in “both rural and urban” areas.

And on Wednesday, as Trump was repeatedly claiming at a news conference that the virus will “go away,” infectious-disease expert Anthony S. Fauci told CNN’s Sanjay Gupta that the United States is faring poorly compared with the rest of the world. “The numbers don’t lie,” Fauci said.

Similarly, Trump has played only an ancillary role in the ongoing discussions for a pandemic relief package on Capitol Hill. Senate Republicans almost immediately rejected his desire for another payroll tax cut, never seriously entertaining the idea. And in a seeming acknowledgment of his inability to directly shape the congressional negotiations, Trump held a news conference Saturday at his private club in Bedminster, N.J., to sign one executive order and several memoranda intended to provide economic relief to millions of Americans by providing temporary unemployment benefits and deferring taxes.

At a news conference the previous day, Trump also rejected the idea that he is not deeply involved in the stimulus conversations, saying he is being represented daily by his emissaries — Chief of Staff Mark Meadows and Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin — and speaks with them frequently.

Donald Trump wearing a suit and tie: Trump speaks during a coronavirus briefing at the White House on Monday.© Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post Trump speaks during a coronavirus briefing at the White House on Monday. But a Republican Senate aide likened the president to a sleeping grizzly bear. “If you woke up the grizzly bear, he could destroy anything — but now he’s just hibernating,” the aide said, speaking on the condition of anonymity to share a frank assessment of Trump’s role in the relief package.

Smith, the Democratic consultant who was also a senior adviser to former Democratic presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg, said ignoring Trump was also an effective strategy for 2020 Democratic hopefuls. The candidates who ran campaigns that deliberately didn’t engage with the president generally fared better, she said.

And, she said, the novelty of getting attacked by Trump — once a badge of honor in some Democratic circles — has now worn off, another sign the president is losing some of his influence.

“At lot of politicians would pray for Trump to attack them,” she said. “But now, you see him going after obscure Democratic county officials and Z-list celebrities.”

She added: “It’s not worth dignifying his attacks a lot of the time.”

[weirdspookystories]

Subterrannea

I became a wildlife photographer to find stability in life, but when I fell into that crumbling bunker, I felt part of my soul leave my body.

    I remember most clearly of all that it had been such a beautiful autumn morning. Brisk and refreshing, the air full of falling leaves and birdsong. I had walked away from the beaten track and climbed a hill for a better panorama shot of the vibrant green valley. It was there that the ground gave way and I fell suddenly, falling with a hideous crunch, ankle-first. The following is a little hazy from the shock and intensity, the fiery agony was absolute, but I lay there screaming and weeping for what must have been close to an hour. Panic stripped away any shame or semblance of civility until only primal survival instinct remained.

   I knew to stop the bleeding I had to tear off a shirt sleeve to form a tourniquet around my thigh. As my eyes had gradually adjusted like slow old lenses, I fumbled hurriedly through my rucksack for anything that might help, I managed to retrieve some painkillers, bandages, water, my torch and phone. I applied the bandage after pouring some water on my caustically-stinging wound to clean it and applied the bandage. The torch was dead, of course, and my phone had no signal, but had a little battery left so I was forced to use that as a light source for a while instead.

   There was no way I could reach where sharp shafts of bright light now pierced violently into the ugly, tomblike cell, to climb back out. Certainly not with my injury. But by now I’d decided I was finished with panic and was determined to fight my way through this and breathe fresh air again as soon as possible.

   The derelict tunnel stank of something deeply unwholesome. Damp concrete and something I’d never smelt before. I also noticed, as I finished whimpering in pain, an inconsistent, deep mechanical-sounding whirring or grinding noise. Some kind of power source maybe, but how would it still be running? Forcing myself to stand, my ankle still screaming at me in torture, I took stock of my surroundings as best I could before deciding arbitrarily a direction. I was in a corridor, but could not see either end. The concrete was cold, damp and felt too processed to be lurking under such a nice area of undisturbed countryside. Furthermore, while the ceiling was high, the walls felt too close. Bad past experiences were inadvertently brought to mind and I shuddered. I couldn’t let fear drown me now. Had to push on.

    My joint and bones were crushing into each other like scraping teeth, while my bandage was already starting to soak through. I felt the wound throb. Breathing was short and fast from adrenaline. Beyond the pain and desperation to escape very little crossed my mind, except that vague paranoid feeling of being watched. Maybe it was the stress or injury, but I began to feel the bunker was haunted. There was something here utterly unnatural, I was sure; I was intruding.

   Old buildings are notoriously hazardous. I should know. My friend was paralysed when we went urban exploring. Trespassing at an old office block that seemed damp and unhealthy though stable.  I was just through a doorway when the floor collapsed behind me and he fell, landing horribly. He begged me not to leave him to go get help, and I could relate to that now. Alone, injured horribly and lost, acting on animal instinct. This was why I preferred the wide outdoors to confined spaces and probably why old buildings felt so skin-crawlingly…wrong. Not to mention that old buildings can be uninhabitable, literally toxic, and poor ventilation can mean escaped natural gases may accumulate. They become something between man-made and natural at once: crumbling shells left wasted, forgotten, to be slowly reclaimed.

   After an indeterminate stretch of painful limping against the abrasive wall, scraping me like rough sandpaper, I emerged into a room with a profound echo. The smells of damp earth and rusting electronics were more potent here, but there were no real signs that nature had forced past the wartime defences. I hated how alien the room felt. A very specific feeling I still can’t put my finger on, that years later I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat about. The indescribable feeling clings to me like a pollutant, a scar. I knew I was not alone in that room. I didn’t know who it could be…my mind raced through thoughts of ghosts, trapped officers unaware the second world war was over, or even some top-secret rusting robotic experiment. I had goosebumps.

   What I did find was a lot of old monitors, audio equipment and broken computers suggesting the brutal grey hellhole was meant to be some kind of listening post after the second world war, in case we lost. Or to monitor allied civilians to root out spies. Either guess lent the dusty equipment a more morbid feel and detached it from the above landscape. Whatever happened here was unnatural and morally concrete-grey.

   I hurriedly searched the unaired room, my breath still in tatters and lower leg in pain, but found little more than a lighter and some documents. The latter seemed like an alien language, being so full of coded jargon. Perhaps an emotionally reactive exaggeration, but the people working here must have been so integrated in their huge machines and technical language they were more like robots than people. It was there, thinking this, while stood in a cold concrete bubble cut off from the natural world, that I discovered the source of the wheezing whirring. It was traumatisingly close. It was in that panicked final moment of dying light that my whole body tensed and I froze, holding my breath until I felt I’d pass out.

The noise wasn’t decades-old machinery but organic breathing. My phone died and total darkness took hold again.

   I had shone my phone at the beast in the moment before the battery died. It seemed to be asleep. I was mildly relieved to see that it remained asleep as I crept slowly away, past a desk towards the wall, but my injured leg gave way, and I fell excruciatingly across some loudly-cracking debris. It was a skeleton. There was shuffling movement. I think at this point it had begun to awaken, which forced me to search for a way out even faster. I wasn’t able to retrace my steps due to how close it would bring me to the behemoth and I was completely swallowed in the dark, pushing against industrial walls in a panicked search for other doors. My silent frenzy was hopeless and I sensed movement behind me, across the room. The hulking entity had moved, it had to be awake now.

    By sheer luck, I felt a rough rusted-metal panel. There was a door here, and, I realised, one of the documents I had found had a 4-digit passcode for the panel. Total relief washed over me and I knew I was going to make it through this. I visualised fields, hills and clean air. Feeling for the positioning of the buttons carefully, I gleefully punched the numbers in and shoved the heavy steel door.

   Too heavy. The code was wrong. I was desperate, it had been so naive of me to believe a random sequence of numbers would be my salvation. I cried, collapsing where I was, still following the unseen movement across the room. I kept my sobs quiet, but I had lost hope, I no longer cared, intimidated beyond all dignity or self-preservation. Intense fear controlled my actions rather than thoughts of self defense, and in hindsight that is my only good explanation for the bad choice I made. The lumbering creature drew nearer, and on instinct I grabbed the lighter I’d found earlier in a desperate attempt to search the room again. After a few fumbling attempts I managed to light it.

    Explosion.

    The heat was intense and suffocating and I was close enough that it seemed like an apocalyptic tempest tearing down the walls. I was lacerated by debris. I smashed my head on the wall with a horrific crack from the shock-wave. I was winded in the blast. The ceiling caved in, concrete shards and earth pinning me down.  The pale, fading sunlight stung my eyes, though not nearly as much as the explosion.

    To this day, those pained ululations break me out in a cold sweat. The spectral beast was injured too, provoked into an ungodly rage.

   It was a miracle, then, that I could then claw my way to the surface on a longer block of ceiling, covered in dirt, blood, my own filth and concrete dust. I myself must have looked hideous and unnatural. But it was as I struggled on my arms back into the world that I finally saw it, in the pale pink light of the setting sun. It was just a bear, hibernating in a crumbling human-cave, but brutally mauled in the gas explosion I caused. I felt equally sorry for it as terrified by it. Approaching me, I saw its fur was singed, muzzle was half torn off and it walked with a limp. Towards me.

    I scrambled in the dirt to my feet, immediately falling again, my only reserves of strength coming from pure adrenaline. Everything span and my vision blurred nauseatingly, everything was uncertain. There had been a smear of blood where I landed after the blast: I was heavily concussed and keeping reality in sight was a constant strain by now. It was all too much and I felt-light headed, my vision swimming, colours overly vibrant. Falling unconscious here was unthinkable with the enraged demon stalking me, but all I could do was crawl through the mud, as it slowly sunk in how brutally injured I actually was. I trailed blood from my head injury, mangled leg and uncounted cuts, and the surreal image burned into my eyes. I couldn’t make sense of it, the pain having not kicked in and the concussion still nauseating me.  I tried focussing on my breathing but couldn’t help grunting and crying.

   I had to move, to get to safety, and being out in the open at last, feeling the late-evening breeze, gave me hope, despite my injuries. I pushed through it all, fought off the urge to vomit, pulling myself forwards, taking drinking in deep, clean breaths. Crawling, then stumbling into an exhausted limping jog, tripping many times but forcing myself on, even with stitches. My injury was worsening but I was sure the bear would be hungry and angry. I drank and poured the remaining supply of water over myself to fight my fading consciousness.

   Hours went on, until stars shimmered like sunshine on waves and the soft glow of the moon gave me strength beyond strength. I was hungry, had no energy, was still losing blood, and was lost in the wilderness with an ethereal bear spirit following me.

   I collapsed at some point, but I’m not sure when or where, and woke up in the bright, pristine hospital, perhaps days later. I don’t know what force kept me alive. I would see it again though, most nights for the next few weeks, a ghostly vision in my traumatised nightmares. Fur singed off, face terribly disfigured and always utterly vengeful. It was somehow very human-like but simultaneously hauntingly transcendent. I was always chased through endless concrete mazes in complete darkness before it always caught me. Totally inevitable, every time. I felt it tear me apart in every conceivable way and could not sleep without the inescapable terrors.

  There was no way I couldn’t go back.  I had to redeem myself by paying tribute to this spirit. I believed absolutely after enough sleep deprivation that it was my only hope to reclaim my humanity. It will happen now, I can see it somehow, it is inevitable. Fate, maybe...