#hoping this small improvisations is of not disturbance

[theimperials1]

And I stand at the gates of hell, knowing well those incantations reach and call for me to beckon my descend towards the entrails of earth; in front of me, and as a warning of the impending doom to be bestowed upon those that choose so egoistically to simply allow themselves to try and flee from destiny, i see this beast, whose entire size, its entire spirit, its so amalgamated by the hell from which it came from that it stands as a dog, with eyes of a relentless white, mandating the descent to begin, is it Cerberus? is it a Hound of Tindalos? My dread doesn't distinguish between the two, instead, my first step is set on the grave, as i'm welcomed to the placed deserved, and the beast's presence dilutes into the infinite dark of the night.

Church Grim

[b1xi]

𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥

Glenn rhee x reader

Word count: 6987

Warninig: Blood, deaths, violence, bad words, use of weapons

Previous Chapter /Next chapter

You let out a low groan, rubbing your eyes with fatigue as you tried to shake off the sleep. The pain in your back was intense, a result of an uncomfortable night. The rain that had relentlessly fallen the night before had turned the floor of the tent into cold, wet mud, and the constant patter of drops against the canvas roof had kept you awake. However, to your relief, Alice hadn't been disturbed by the noise. She was still sleeping peacefully on your chest, her small body curled up against you in the sling that held her.

You got up carefully, trying not to wake her while adjusting the sling to ensure she remained secure. With one hand, you gathered your hair into an improvised bun, the mess reflecting how exhausted you felt.

As you stepped outside the tent, the cool morning air greeted you. "Good morning," you greeted Rick, who was emerging from the tent he shared with Lori and Carl. He nodded in your direction, responding with a smile. Everyone was tired, but the dawn always brought a slight sense of relief.

Your gaze swept over the camp, looking for something to focus on, some purpose to distract you from the weariness. It was then that your eyes landed on Glenn, watching Morales and Jim, the three of them focused on the red sports car they had recovered the day before.

You moved a little closer, observing the scene unfolding in front of you. You couldn’t help but notice the look of disappointment on Glenn’s face as the other two men, Morales and Jim, dismantled important parts from the sports car. They were removing pieces to use for Dale’s RV, something necessary but clearly bothering Glenn. Rick also approached, instantly picking up on his friend’s dismay.

“They're like vultures,” Glenn muttered, his tone laden with sarcasm and frustration as he watched Morales effortlessly pull one of the car’s tires off. “Go ahead, take it all apart.”

The weight of disappointment was evident, and though he tried to mask it with humor, it wasn’t hard to see that he felt defeated.

Dale, aware of the situation, tried to ease things. “We need the fuel for the generators,” he explained in his slow, measured tone, giving Glenn a light pat on the shoulder to emphasize the need to prioritize the group’s well-being. “Without power, we won’t have light. I’m sorry, Glenn.”

“We can get another one,” you said softly, hoping to offer some comfort. Your tone was calm, almost hopeful. Glenn, with a small, forced smile, nodded, acknowledging the attempt to cheer him up.

Rick, always pragmatic, tried to lighten the situation with his own touch of optimism. “She’s right,” he said, looking at Glenn firmly. “Maybe we’ll steal another one someday. You never know what we’ll run into.”

He gave him a few pats on the back before moving on. You stayed by Glenn’s side for a few more moments, sharing the silence.

Glenn, breaking the quiet, finally turned to you, his gaze soft but curious. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, his eyes searching yours as if, for a moment, he wanted to set his mind away from the car problems and focus on something simpler—on you.

You shrugged, trying to soften the response you knew you’d give. “I tried, but last night’s rain made it hard to rest. Alice, luckily, didn’t seem to notice,” you said, with a small smile as you glanced down at the little one, who was still sleeping peacefully in the sling.

Glenn nodded slowly, his eyes settling on the baby before a warm, genuine smile formed on his face. “I see,” he replied, his tone low and comforting. Tenderly, he let his finger brush against Alice’s tiny hand.

Alice’s little hand stirred under Glenn’s gentle touch, and both of you shared a fleeting smile, the kind that comes from a moment of calm amid the chaos. However, the tranquility shattered in an instant when a piercing scream broke through the silence that had covered the camp like a fragile layer of security. Immediately, everyone turned toward the source of the sound, their bodies tense and alert.

“Stay here,” Glenn said firmly, his gaze filled with worry before rushing to follow the rest of the group. His departure left a void around you, but you didn’t move immediately. You were used to those kinds of orders, yet the uncertainty grew in your chest.

Before you could decide whether to follow him or not, you felt a firm hand on your arm. It was Dale, coming down from the RV, his usual serious expression now more urgent. “Stay,” he ordered, his voice harsher than usual, while adjusting his grip on the axe he was holding. Without another word, he headed toward where the others were already gathering.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, frustrated but with no alternatives. Slowly, you began walking toward where Andrea and Amy were standing, watching from a distance. Their faces reflected the same unease you were feeling.

When you arrived, you joined them, and from that vantage point, you could see how the situation was unfolding. Carl, Sophia, and Morales' kids were crying, their small figures trembling as they clung to their mothers’ clothes. The women comforted them as best they could, though their own eyes were filled with terror. Meanwhile, the men of the camp formed a circle, weapons in hand, surrounding something you couldn’t quite see from your position.

The unmistakable sound of a growl confirmed your suspicions: a walker. How the hell had one of them gotten inside the camp? The mere fact that one of those things had crossed the barriers they believed to be safe made your stomach churn. You pressed your lips together, wishing you could see better, wishing you could do something more than just watch. But for now, all you could do was wait and trust that the others would take care of the threat.

Then, a familiar sensation interrupted your thoughts. Alice was starting to stir in the sling, and a look of discomfort appeared on her little face, accompanied by an unmistakable smell. A smell that, in any other situation, would have made you laugh, but now only drew a resigned sigh from you.

“Ugh, Alice...” you muttered, grimacing as you shook your head slightly. You knew what was coming, and though you couldn’t blame her—she was just a baby, after all—the task ahead wasn’t pleasant. “Again? Really?”

You looked around with a mix of frustration and resignation, as if the chaos outside and the chaos of changing a diaper were part of the same endless nightmare. But there was no choice. Even though the world around you was falling apart, even though the dead walked among the living, life carried on with its small needs, even in the apocalypse. Alice needed to be taken care of, and you were all she had at that moment.

You quickly searched for a spot where you could take care of the situation, finding a small corner far enough from the central tension of the camp. You carefully knelt down, unfastening the sling and placing Alice on an improvised blanket you carried in your backpack.

"Alright, ready," you whispered with a smile as you finished settling her, gently brushing her soft brown hair. Her little hands moved restlessly, and with a loving gesture, you held her face to look at her. "Are you hungry? Let’s get your bottle ready," you said in a soft tone.

Immersed in that small, private world you had created with Alice, you didn’t pay attention to what was happening just a few meters away. You didn’t bother to look when the shouting grew louder, nor when the sound of a fight began to echo through the camp. You already knew, almost without having to see it, that Rick and Daryl were clashing. Daryl had been beside himself since finding out what happened to Merle, furious that they had left him behind in the city, handcuffed to a pipe on that rooftop. What he wasn’t sharing was the reason: deep down, you believed Merle deserved it. After all, he was a dangerous idiot, and you could still feel the faint sting on your cheek, the ghost of the slap he’d given you before they left him behind.

Rick, as always, had given in to Lori’s insistence, who had practically demanded that he promise Daryl they would go back to Atlanta to search for Merle. It was a near-suicidal mission, and most of the group knew it. But, as expected, some reluctantly offered their help, knowing that refusing wouldn’t change anything. Glenn was one of them, and that stirred a pang of frustration and worry in you. You knew he couldn’t say no, that his nature made him too noble to refuse Rick, even if it meant putting his life in danger.

You walked over to Glenn, who had his back to you, focused on packing a few things into his bag: a water bottle, a flashlight, basic but essential items for such a risky mission. You watched in silence for a moment, feeling the weight of worry pressing on your chest. You knew that, even though he didn’t want to, Glenn always ended up volunteering in situations like this. He couldn’t help it; his nobility and sense of responsibility pushed him to put himself in danger time and time again.

“You couldn’t say no,” you finally said, breaking the silence as you stepped closer to him.

Glenn turned to look at you, with an expression that confirmed what you already knew: he was exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally. The burden of always being the one who helps, the one who sacrifices, was starting to weigh on him. His eyes, though filled with determination, showed a shadow of defeat, as if deep down, he knew what you feared.

You sighed, and almost without realizing it, you murmured to yourself, "My sweet boy can’t say no."

You instantly scolded yourself for what you had said. Not because you didn’t feel it, but because you didn’t want those emotions to get in the way at that moment. There was too much at stake. But despite your best efforts, the affection you felt for Glenn was evident in every word you spoke.

"You know you don’t have to do this," you said louder, stepping closer to him and placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Rick can find another way, you don’t have to put yourself in danger every time someone asks you to."

Glenn gave a small smile, a mix of resignation and sadness. "I’d like to stay, believe me," he said, his voice soft but hesitant. "But I already promised Rick I would go." His attempt to justify his decision only heightened the frustration you felt. Seeing the frown on your face and the anger in your expression, he tried to sound more convincing, though you knew even he doubted his own words.

"Don’t worry," he continued, softening his tone and meeting your gaze. "I’ll be fine. We’ve done this before, remember? It won’t be any different."

"I’ll come back," Glenn insisted, with a firmness meant to reassure you. His eyes locked onto yours, as if he wanted his words to sink into every last one of your doubts. "I’ll be okay, I promise. I won’t keep doing these things if I know they make you feel like this."

"Glenn Rhee, don’t play with me," you responded in a softer tone, though still carrying a hint of disbelief. What he said comforted you, though a part of you remained skeptical. You hadn’t noticed how close you were now. Barely a foot of space separated your bodies, the tension palpable in the air, vibrating between the two of you.

"I never would," Glenn murmured, his voice low and sincere, filled with an unspoken promise. The silence that followed was intense, charged with something you couldn’t quite describe, a mix of worry and something deeper you didn’t dare name. The world around you seemed to shrink to that small shared space, until Rick’s voice broke the bubble that had formed.

"Glenn!" Rick’s shout snapped him out of the trance. Glenn pulled away, a bit reluctantly, letting out one last sigh before turning back to you.

"Take care," he said quickly, throwing you one last affectionate look before heading toward Rick and the rest of the group waiting for him.

You watched him walk away, feeling a strange emptiness in your chest. You couldn’t help but worry, but you forced yourself to trust his words. You sighed again and looked around, searching for Alice, who was in Amy’s arms. The blonde was gently rocking her while the baby played with her hair, smiling innocently.

“Y/N!” Jacqui’s voice called you from a distance as she and the other women headed toward the quarry. “We’re going to wash some clothes, do you want to join us?”

“Sure, give me a moment, I’ll catch up,” you replied with a smile, feeling grateful for the distraction. Gently, you took Alice from Amy’s arms, making sure she was comfortable in her carrier before stepping into your tent. You quickly searched for your dirty clothes and Alice’s. Then, after a brief moment of reflection, you decided you could also take a couple of Glenn’s items. You didn’t think he would mind, and after all, the poor guy already smelled.

You sat on a dry rock next to the water source, beginning to separate the clothes you would wash first. You were so focused on scrubbing the dirty garments that you barely paid attention to the conversation forming among the other women. The effort felt exhausting; you weren’t used to handwashing, and household chores had never been your strong suit, considering the long hours you used to spend at work. An internal laugh made you think, I’m definitely not wife material.

“I’m seriously starting to doubt that this is fun,” Andrea commented, holding a basket of clothes next to Jacqui, her eyes filled with frustration.

“Why do we have to do the maid’s work?” Jacqui complained, indignantly.

“It’s not that hard to understand,” you replied without looking up, your hands submerging another garment in the soapy bucket of water. “The men are so stupid they can’t even take care of themselves.”

Andrea’s dry laugh and Jacqui’s nod confirmed that you weren’t the only one sharing that sentiment.

“Didn’t you hear? The world has ended,” Amy chimed in with a touch of sarcasm, her expression ironic as she shook out a wet garment.

Before you could respond, you felt Carol’s gaze on you, her soft voice breaking your concentration. “Are you okay?” she asked, noticing the frown you had been wearing without realizing it. Her tone was warm, filled with that maternal concern she usually showed everyone.

You shook your head lightly and wiped your forehead, which was starting to glisten with a layer of sweat under the relentless sun. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a smile that tried to seem casual. “Just battling this stain,” you added with a light laugh, rubbing your hands on your waist while glancing quickly at Alice, who was still playing peacefully on the blanket.

Amy, who hadn’t stopped watching you, let out a comment laden with complicity, glancing sideways at her sister before smiling. “He’ll be fine, he’ll come back,” she said in a tone meant to be reassuring but that held a spark of mischief. It took you a moment to process what she was talking about until you realized she was referring to Glenn. Just thinking of him made the heat of the sun feel trivial compared to the blush that started creeping up your cheeks.

“I’m not worried,” you blurted out without thinking too much, even though you knew it was a blatant lie. You weren’t sure why you denied it so firmly, but the idea of everyone noticing how much you cared about Glenn made you feel vulnerable, as if you were somehow exposing a part of yourself that you had kept locked away.

“Sure, sure,” Jacqui replied, her tone clearly indicating that she didn’t believe you at all. “But I saw you arguing with him before he decided to head back to the city. You looked more than just concerned.”

“We were just talking,” you insisted, scrubbing one of Glenn’s shirts between your hands harder than necessary, as if that could erase both the conversation and the feelings you were trying to hide.

“You talk too closely to be just friends,” Carol teased, a mischievous smile forming on her face.

“Wow, I didn’t expect that comment from you,” you shot back with a smile, trying to divert the topic. Then, in a playful gesture, you splashed a bit of water at her. “We’re just friends, nothing more,” you added, though the word “friends” tasted bitter in your mouth. The relationship between you and Glenn had become trapped in that label, and it was starting to smell like something unresolved, something neither of you was ready to confront.

“I miss my washing machine,” Carol sighed, exhausted, letting a wet shirt drop onto the pile of clothes.

“I miss my Mercedes and the GPS navigation,” Andrea commented as she meticulously brushed the clothes spread over her lap. Her tone was light, but the gleam in her eyes showed a palpable nostalgia.

“And I miss my double-filter coffee maker,” Jacqui added with a smile, “with the built-in grinder, of course.”

“My computer… and text messages,” Amy interjected, frowning as she helplessly regarded the garment she had been scrubbing for what felt like an eternity.

“I miss my air conditioning and a decent bed,” you sighed emphatically. You weren’t lying; your back was a battlefield of cramps, and the relentless heat made every day feel longer than the last. It was incredible how the basics had become luxuries.

The conversation took an unexpected turn when Andrea, without warning, blurted out, “I miss my vibrator.”

The silence that followed was brief but palpable, before everyone exchanged surprised glances and then burst into laughter.

“So do I,” Carol added casually, which unleashed even more laughter, this time louder and more liberating. It was a moment of respite amidst the storm, a small flicker of humanity in a world that tried to steal it from you every day.

The atmosphere turned dense in an instant when Ed, with his cigarette hanging from his lips, approached the group. The environment, which had just moments ago been filled with laughter, was now heavy with palpable discomfort. Quick glances were exchanged among the women; the tension was evident.

“What’s so funny?” he asked in his brusque tone, his gaze heavy with disdain as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Carol flinched slightly, and the discomfort on her face was impossible to ignore.

“We were just sharing war stories, Ed,” Andrea joked, trying to dissipate the tension. Though her words had a light tone, it was easy to see how tense she was. Carol, for her part, seemed increasingly uncomfortable, her posture shrinking with each passing second.

“Is there a problem, Ed?” Andrea’s patience was starting to wear thin, her tone sharper, almost defiant.

“It’s none of your business,” Ed replied with disdain, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and looking at her coldly. “You should focus on your work. This isn’t a comedy club.”

The coldness of his words ignited a spark within you, and before you could stop yourself, you retorted, “You’d better focus on shutting your mouth or I’ll kick your fat ass.” Your words came out with more venom than you intended, but you didn’t regret it. You held your gaze steady on him, challenging him to say more.

Seizing your intervention, Andrea stood up and walked toward Ed with a wet piece of clothing in her hand. “Listen, if you don’t like how we wash the clothes, then go wash them yourself.” She thrust the garment toward him with evident disdain, but Ed, instead of taking it, roughly tossed it aside.

“It’s not my job,” he replied, unfazed, taking another drag of his cigarette as if nothing had happened.

“Andrea, don’t do it,” Amy tried to intervene, her voice filled with concern.

“What is your job, Ed?” Andrea shot back, her patience exhausted. “Sitting on your ass and smoking cigarettes?”

Ed’s face twisted into a sneer of contempt. “I don’t have to listen to a stuck-up, arrogant bitch,” he responded aggressively. Then, his gaze turned toward Carol, who remained motionless, fear reflected in her eyes. “You, come with me,” he ordered in a rude tone, raising his voice. Carol hesitated, but fear paralyzed her.

You couldn’t just stand by. You stepped closer to her, gently taking her wrist in an attempt to stop her. “You don’t have to go anywhere, Carol.”

“Leave her alone, Ed,” Andrea interjected, placing herself between them.

Ed ignored the challenge. “That’s none of your business. Come with me!” His voice rose even further, and the tension in the air became almost unbearable.

Carol looked at you, her face pale and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Please, Y/N, it doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice so fragile that you felt your heart break a little. You understood her fear. It was a cycle she couldn’t escape from alone.

Ed turned to Andrea, his face filled with fury. “Don’t think I won’t hit you too, just because you’re a college bitch.”

Andrea looked at him, offended, but before she could respond, Jacqui intervened, crossing her arms firmly. “Are you going to bruise your wife again, Ed?” Her voice resonated with authority. “We saw it. We know what you do.”

That was enough to unleash chaos. In a matter of seconds, everything turned into a struggle. Ed, in his frustration, slapped Carol when they tried to stop him. It all happened so quickly that you could barely react, but before things escalated further, Shane appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed Ed by the shirt, lifting him with a strength that seemed almost superhuman, and threw him to the ground.

“If you ever touch your wife, your daughter, or anyone in this camp again, I won’t hold back, you hear me?” Shane’s voice was a palpable threat as his fist collided repeatedly with Ed’s face. Blood and blows filled the air, and Ed’s body lay on the ground, bloodied and defeated.

The crowd fell silent, except for Carol’s sobs. Shane stood up, breathing heavily, and shot one last warning glance at Ed.

After all the commotion, you returned to the camp with heavy steps. The air felt denser than usual, but you tried to shake off the bad taste of what had happened. As you hung the wet clothes on the line, you made sure the wind wouldn’t carry them away.

When you finished, you headed to your tent, relieved to escape the lingering tension in the camp. You sighed as you picked up Alice in your arms. “Alright, little one, you’re going to have to learn to walk soon. You’re getting heavier every day,” you joked, stretching your sore back from the day’s work.

Alice, with her little bright eyes filled with determination, tried to stand up. She leaned against your legs, her tiny hands gripping your pants, but after a wobble, she ended up sitting back down on the ground. You let out a soft laugh at the sight of her; her surprised expression was adorable.

“It’s okay, sweetie, we’ll try again,” you said gently, leaning down to help her up once more. You took her small hands and patiently guided her, holding her steady as she attempted to straighten up on her wobbly feet. Her little eyes sparkled with concentration, her lips pursed in an expression that, despite her young age, conveyed a mix of frustration and determination.

“That’s it, come on... slowly,” you murmured as she, with your support, managed to stand for a few seconds. You felt her strength, small but growing, as she tried to take a step. Every advancement, no matter how minor, filled you with pride. But on her second step, her legs buckled again, and she fell gently onto her bottom, this time letting out a light giggle that was contagious.

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The cold night air seeped between your bare arms, prickling your skin as you stared restlessly at the embers of the fire. The wind played with your hair, a dark strand tickling your cheek before you brushed it away with a distracted gesture. Your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, reflecting the agitation you felt deep within. Glenn and the others had not returned yet, and the weight of uncertainty was consuming you.

You tried to calm yourself, but negative thoughts relentlessly assailed your mind, showing you a myriad of scenarios in which things could go wrong. Each image was worse than the last, each one a reminder of how fragile the lives of those you loved had become. You hugged yourself, trying to protect not only from the cold but from the storm of emotions attacking you from within. Alice wasn’t with you; she had fallen asleep much earlier than usual, and Dale, in a kind gesture, had allowed you to lay her down in the RV for her safety, so you could get close if anything happened.

You let the conversations around the fire wash over you, although you didn’t participate much. You had never been one to talk a lot, and even less so now. You preferred to listen, to observe. It was something you did better than speaking: reading between the lines, understanding without needing to say too much.

“Where are you going?” you heard Andrea ask, her tone casual but filled with curiosity. Amy, her sister, had quietly gotten up.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” the young blonde replied softly, with a shy smile. “Gosh, a girl tries to be discreet…” she chided her sister with a hint of embarrassment as she made her way toward the RV.

Not long passed before a blood-curdling scream shattered the tranquility of the camp. The conversation halted abruptly, and everyone turned toward the source of the sound. What you saw paralyzed your heart: a walker had caught Amy and was sinking its teeth into her arm, eliciting screams of pain that seemed to echo throughout the camp. Chaos erupted like a storm. More walkers emerged from the shadows, moving slowly but with an insatiable hunger. Panic spread among everyone. Mothers instinctively shielded their children, while the others hurried to grab any weapon they had on hand to defend themselves.

Shane, with the skill of a soldier, began to shoot, taking down one walker after another that approached dangerously. Your heart raced wildly. You cursed yourself for leaving your weapon inside the tent. As you tried to back away to safety, you tripped over a rock and fell backward. The gravel scraped your skin, but you had no time to worry about the pain. One of the walkers lunged at you, and in a desperate move, you grabbed a wooden stick and drove it into its head, watching as the lifeless body fell beside you.

You breathed heavily as you got back up, the only thought in your mind being Alice. You had to reach her; you had to make sure she was safe. You fought your way through the chaos, taking down two walkers that were too close to the vehicle’s door. The dark blood of one splattered your neck, and the disgust almost made you vomit, but there was no time for that. You stopped abruptly when your eyes met a horrifying scene: another walker had reached Amy and was viciously biting her neck. Blood gushed out, splattering the ground and clothes, as Amy fell to the ground.

Andrea screamed heartbreakingly, unable to process what was happening as she held the bleeding body of her sister. The sound of Alice’s cries grew louder, increasingly desperate, and your ears began to buzz. It felt like everything slowed down, each second weighing like an eternity. Your instinct screamed at you to run to your baby, to protect her at any cost, but the horror of what you were witnessing kept you anchored in place, as if your body couldn’t move.

A scream jolted you from your reverie. "Watch out!" The warning came just in time. As you turned, a walker lunged at you, its empty eyes and decaying flesh hanging from its face. Instinct took over; you gripped the wooden stick with both hands, even as splinters dug painfully into your skin. You didn’t think, you just acted. The blow was brutal, striking directly at the walker’s head. You felt the resistance of the rotting flesh give way as the wood pierced through the skull. The body collapsed at your feet, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.

Without wasting any more time, you ran toward the RV. The interior was dark, but you didn’t stop. You knew exactly where you had to go. You walked quickly to the small room at the back, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would explode in your chest. With trembling hands, you pushed aside the curtain, revealing Alice. Her face was red, drenched in tears, and her arms reached out to you as soon as she saw you.

You scooped her up in your arms with a tenderness that contradicted the chaos outside. Your body shook, adrenaline and fear battling for control, but you sank to the floor, leaning your back against the wall, trying to find a breath amid the panic. Alice continued to cry, her small body shaking with sobs, and everything in you wanted to calm her, to protect her from this terrifying world that had become more dangerous with every passing second.

“Shh… I’m here, sweetheart, mommy’s here,” you whispered as you cradled her against your chest. The words slipped from your lips, automatic, a desperate attempt to soothe her, to soothe yourself. “Everything will be alright, baby. Everything will be alright.” But the sounds of screams and gunfire outside made it hard to believe. You knew the words were empty in that moment, but you repeated them, hoping they could offer some comfort, if not for her, at least for you.

The cries of Andrea, the thunder of Shane’s gunfire, and the growls of walkers continued to echo, but in that small corner of the RV, you tried to create a bubble of calm for Alice. You pressed her small body against yours, the warmth of her soft skin offering you a small ray of hope amid the despair. You couldn’t lose control, not when she needed you so much.

Tears began to fall uncontrollably, hot and heavy, as fear consumed you completely. Each sob was a reflection of the desperation you were trying to hold at bay, but you couldn’t anymore. Everything was crumbling around you. You didn’t know to whom you were praying, whether to some god that could still hear you or simply to hope itself, but you wanted the horror to end. You were so scared, so exhausted, that the simple act of breathing felt like an impossible task.

Gradually, the sounds from outside began to fade, the noise of the struggle transforming into the crunch of footsteps on the ground. Footsteps you didn’t recognize. Your heart raced again, and your mind imagined the worst: maybe everyone was dead, and you were the only survivor, doomed to face the world alone with Alice in your arms.

Your body tensed as you heard someone approaching the RV. The small room, which just minutes before had been a refuge, now felt like a death trap. You desperately searched for something to defend yourself with, anything that could help you protect Alice. But there was nothing. You were helpless, alone, and fear surged over you once more.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the doorway, and for a moment, your soul seemed to leave your body. But then you saw clearly: it was Glenn. It was him, and his gaze reflected both relief and concern.

“Are you okay? Were you bitten?” His voice was filled with urgency as he knelt in front of you, his hands searching for your face, touching it gently. His thumb wiped away a tear rolling down your cheek, his gesture so full of tenderness that it broke the last barrier you had built to keep yourself strong.

“Please respond… talk to me,” he insisted, his voice nearly breaking. His eyes searched yours desperately, trying to ensure that you were truly alright.

You couldn’t speak. The words lodged in your throat, choked by fear and relief. All you could do was nod weakly before collapsing into his arms. You surrendered to his embrace like a frightened child, your body shaking uncontrollably as you sobbed against his chest. Glenn held you tightly, as if he were the only thing keeping you connected to reality amid the nightmare.

"I'm here. You're safe," he whispered softly as he held you tighter, his arms wrapping around your body with a care that almost made you crumble further. His warmth, his presence, provided you with a small anchor in the chaos. Though the world remained a terrifying place, in that moment, in Glenn's arms, you found a glimmer of safety.

As Alice, in your arms, slowly calmed down, her breathing syncing with yours, you realized that, at least for now, you had survived.

[fuckyeahaudiodrama]

🪸 JULY LISTENS 🪸

(ft. some lovely coral for those of us caught up on The Magnus Protocol😌)

this month, i’ve been working through some of the stuff that’s been languishing on my listen list for approximately a million years as well as revisiting some old favorites. here’s what i enjoyed most in my earholes:

G.O.B.L.I.N.S — (pilot, crowdfunding now!) for fans of Stellar Firma, the Meredith brothers have reunited with some other familiar voices to spin a story about an overly ambitious human office worker who gets dragged through the veil into the fae realm by a pair of chaotic goblins. the show is scripted but it’s marked by the same sense of humor that has characterized the Meredith’s other improvised works. 8 episodes projected if it funds.

Larkspur Underground — (11 eps, complete?) a fictional exposé about the sole survivor of a serial killer’s disturbing abduction and grooming. i was giddy to discover this one as an ardent fan of Showtime’s Dexter. it’s gory and glorious, and if you’re keen you might spot some clues; if not, the final episode is going to shock you. creator wants to make more, but it’s been a few years so who knows.

I Found A Wormhole — (5 eps, complete) a short yet existentially harrowing series. exactly what it says on the tin. mind the content warnings on the final episode but by the time you get there you’ll definitely know what’s coming tbh.

The Grotto — (10 eps, ongoing) a pull-no-punches exploration of messy grief with a supernatural twist. season two is here! this series has an absolutely killer soundtrack and immersive sound design. it has such a unique vibe. you’ll definitely like it if you like WOE.BEGONE.

Dear Bastard! — (16 eps, complete?) an epistolary comedy about a bunch of squabbling neighbors. i like to use this show as a palate cleanser when i’ve been listening to a lot of gruesome horror, because it’s just so light and fun.

Deviant — (10 eps, complete) a space pirate dramedy! i stumbled across this purely by accident and did a little binge. i love an absolute mess of a protagonist, so this was right up my alley. it’s a little abrasive at times but overall i enjoyed the narrative and it wrapped up nicely.

Murphy — (6 eps, s2 in production) a folkloric monster-of-the-week mystery with very charming characters. the first season is complete and although it is short, the episodes are long and make great use of their runtime. pleased to see their recent crowdfunder has been successful so there will be more!

Ghost Wax — (45+ eps, hiatus) a horror anthology facilitated by a “reclaimer” who can extract the final statements of the dead. this is similar to How i Died but the lore feels much more fantastically intricate. i don’t want to spoil too much of the meta plot but there’s a LOT going on, and i’m looking forward to s2.

Fulmar’s Folly — (12 eps, ongoing?) people on reddit love this series so i decided to give it a spin. fans of zombie survival like We’re Alive are most likely to eat this up. it can be a little overwrought at times, but the constant tension feels genuine in context. episodes are quite long but the length feels satisfying and necessary.

Nowhere, On Air — (46 eps, ongoing) another spooky small town radio show about a girl in a world she doesn’t belong to. this is one of my favorite genres of AD. fans of WTNV, King Falls AM, Tiny Terrors, and other shows of that ilk will probably enjoy this. it leans a little more surreal and introspective than comedic. IMHO, the host also just has a lovely voice. the meta plot is currently really hitting its stride.

All In My Head — (19 eps, ???) night terrors turn out to be something much more sinister. so intriguing, i was devastated to realize it may have been abandoned. i’m not going to completely give up hope for a final season though!

Zoinks! — (11 eps, complete?) a darkly comedic homage to scooby doo and other childrens detective fiction. i loved the way the narrative approached the subject of child neglect, while still maintaining a thread of silliness that saved it from complete bleakness. s2 has been mentioned but it’s projected release date has come and gone without a word, so it may or may not happen.

Trice Forgotten — (10 eps, ???) an aspiring cartographer gets accidentally mixed up with some pirates. i relistened to this series in honor of its anniversary and was just blown away by the sound design all over again. the setting is made so rich and alive by the effort put in by the production staff! and the character dynamics are so intricate and gorgeous. i am especially a fan of the tension between alestes and gammon. beautiful first season with SO much left to explore, i really hope to see this come back for a s2 someday.

[astermath]

happy birthday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: carmen reminds you it’s your birthday. the two of you celebrate in your own way.

word count: 0.8K

notes: got inspired by @superhoeva​ and her super cute carmen blurbs, def check her stuff out!! lmk if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! requests are open!

By now, you’re used to closing up with Carmen. You were used to his routine of cleaning up and organizing, the order in which he’d do things, the cigarette you shared after you were done. 

And Carmen had gotten used to you too. The songs you’d hum as you mopped the floor, the way you’d sneakily organize the documents on his desk, the way you always put the spices back in the wrong order, but it was fine, because it was you. 

So needless to say you were a bit surprised when your usual routine was disturbed. You were in the middle of dusting off the cooker hood when he suddenly disappeared. “Carmy?” You’d called out, putting the cloth away for a moment to go look for him. What a great setup for a horror movie this would have been...

You walked into his office and looked around, until your eyes fell on a single slice of pie on his desk, adorned with a lit birthday candle. You raised an eyebrow, approaching and noticing the card besides it. 

You noticed a shadow behind you, and there he was, leaning against the doorway. Though that still didn’t explain things for you, a confused expression remaining on your face. “What’s this for?” You question, gesturing to the dessert.

A small smile graced his typically tired features. “S’your birthday today.”

Oh.

Fuck, right.

“Oh... Shit.” You said, chuckling to yourself. You recalled you told him in passing over a month ago, complaining that you didn’t have time to celebrate and that the years were practically passing you by.

You sat down at his desk, inspecting the clearly store bought card. It read “it’s a girl!”, with “girl” crossed out in red sharpie and your age written beneath it. 

“It was the only one they had left,” Carmen said, returning to sit at his desk with you with the rest of the pie. “I hope the pie makes up for it.”

You chuckled. “Absolutely,” you glanced at the candle”, “now do I make a wish or somethin’?” 

“You can.” He started cutting himself a slice.

“Hm... Alright.” You leaned in, closing your eyes and blowing out the candle. “Now I gotta taste this. Made it yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, laughing sarcastically. “I’m offended you’d think I’d curse your birthday with store bought pie. Dig in.”

You obliged, taking a bite and leaning back in your seat, nodding. “Mhm, mhm... As expected, delicious.” You went in for another bite. “Never took you for a pastry chef.”

“Me neither,” He took a bite himself, “improvised a bit for the special occasion.”

Your heart fluttered slightly at the thought of him going out of his comfort zone a bit just to make you something nice. All for an occasion you didn’t even remember. As much as he sucked at showing it, he did really care about his crew. And... Maybe just a little more about you specifically. But he’d never admit that to the rest.

The two of you enjoy a slice of pie in relative silence, before returning to the parking lot, sitting on the curb, where he lit a cigarette. 

“You know,” you started, “I haven’t done anything for my birthday in years.” You looked at him, the glow emitting from his lighter doing wonders for framing his face. Even after a painfully long shift, he was still so pretty. You’d even go as far the tiredness of his features added to his look.

“Well,” He handed you the cigarette, “hope this was a nice change of pace.” Your fingers linger over each other a little longer than usual when you take it from him.

“Yeah,” you smile, “it was.” You brought it to your lips, looking up at the night sky, and Carmen did the same. “Although I could think of something else that could have made it even better.”

Carmen smiled slightly, thinking your answer would have been something along the lines of “whipped cream” or “champagne”.

What he didn’t expect was to feel your hand on his cheek, bringing his attention towards you, and to feel your soft lips on his. 

You flicked the cigarette to the side and tilted your head slightly, leaning in further to deepen the kiss. He returned it after getting over his initial surprise, hands not moving as he was still processing what was happening. Just like it had been ages since you’d celebrated your birthday, it had been ages since he’d been kissed. If he could even remember the last time...

You pulled away after a few moments, eyes remaining closed in fear of opening them and it all being a dream. They fluttered open at the feeling of his hand coming up to touch your jaw.

“Shit... That...” He started, eyes half lidded and cheeks tinged pink with a soft blush.

“Don’t you dare say ‘that was fire chef’...” You laughed and he followed along, foreheads leaning against each other as you both savored the moment.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.” He smiled, leaning in once again.

Damn.

You didn’t expect your birthday wish to come true so quickly.

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar   @spr3id   @deadandstill  

[rogloptimist]

when i first saw you, the end was soon

Primoz has been here before. He knows these hours like the back of his hand, he can trace the minutes like a signature, every second he has lived so thoroughly that simply moving through time is like walking home— until now. Until this. Amber tufts of hair. Gray eyes sharper than a scalpel. It’s as if he’s lived from birth knowing daylight, but for the first time in his life, has been shown a sunrise. Brightness is redefined.

He understands Icarus now. It was neither hubris nor stupidity that sent him barreling towards the ocean’s unforgiving waves, but the thrill of discovering a marvel you thought you already understood. If they put wings on his back and told him to fly, he doesn’t think he could resist the urge to touch a miracle either, whether or not it burned.

heeey guys i needed to perform an exorcism as assassin!rog + time loop!pogrog has been haunting my mind like i disturbed a grave so here it is?? non-summary fic is below the cut, you can read it here on ao3

Primoz comes to as his hand shakes off the dripping plaid umbrella in his grasp. His vision lags for a moment, the droplets seeming to scatter in slow motion before his senses snap into place like a rubber band pulled taut and released, and the world comes into abrupt focus. He’s standing in the middle of a concrete staircase, the gentle sunlight streaming through the rain-slick glass dome above him hitting like a punch as the warmth registers all at once. The sound of hurried phone calls, pattering rain, and intercom announcements rush into real time like a slow clock hand catching up with the second. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking off the dazed feeling collecting in his temples. Three uniformed schoolboys bolt past him, cackling and grabbing at each other’s collars to pull themselves up the concrete stairs— he sidesteps as to not get trampled. On his wrist, his watchface reads 5:14:37 pm. About 15 seconds for his mind to connect stimulus to his body. Not a personal best, but it’ll do.  

His black loafers click rhythmically against the ground as he begins to walk down the remaining steps. The air is sticky with humidity, making his white dress shirt cling to him like wet paper. He appears to be decked out head to toe in corporate attire- a nondescript black suit utterly unsuited to the weather, mahogany tie tied slightly too loose, still-wet umbrella in one hand, and leather briefcase in the other. He hopes there’s a firearm inside-- or a knife, at the very least. With his luck, though, it’s likely manila folders full of legal jargon. He stops at the base of the steps and cracks the latch open to confirm his suspicions- nothing but stacks of papers in what looks to be a language he can’t even understand. 

That’s fine. He can improvise. He clicks the case closed and continues forward. 

A quick turn around a bricked wall reveals a few things he doesn’t like. First, more people. There are masses of people flowing up and down the stairway and through the small shops littered throughout the station. From the looks of it, it seems to be the beginning of an evening rush hour. He doesn’t like killing in a crowd- too many eyes, not enough space, and it becomes a pain to reach the target in the first place. The effort typically isn’t worth his odds-- even less so without a decently subtle weapon. 

Second, he’s inside of a subway station. Moving vehicles, particularly ones that he isn’t driving, add infinitely more variables to trailing a target. Not to mention it appears all the signs are in the script written all over the documents he’s lugging around- Korean, he thinks. Upon closer inspection, there are English translations underneath, but he’s still not pleased-- being unarmed on the job during a foreign country’s rush hour is likely a grand total of no one’s forte. He fights the urge to curse himself for taking work nearly exclusively in Europe for the last few years of his career. Panic makes him sloppy, and he can’t cover his own bet on an unsteady hand. As he approaches the turnstiles blocking off the remainder of the station, he swallows the beginnings of alarm creeping up his throat. He checks his pockets for a ticket, transit pass, a wallet- anything to get him onto a train legally, for the most part. Shockingly, he finds a crisp, one way ticket from Myeongdong to Apgujeong in his breast pocket. He lays the slip on the scanner, allowing himself a small sigh of relief, and silently crosses breaking and entering off his list of chores. Once through the turnstiles, he checks his watch. 5:18:57-- he has about 22 minutes. Time to pick up the pace. 

As he follows the signs directing towards Track 3, he melts into the crowd around him. This is where he’s most at ease: floating in his environments like shadow through liquid. Back at the agency, there was ongoing confusion and debate as to whether he was a control freak, or simply didn’t care. The answer? Both. Primoz craves a gamble-- but unlike most junkies, his obsession lies in carefully reconstructing the odds around his bet. The thrill comes from engineering the chain reaction, not the explosion itself. He likes to test himself. Controlled risk. An intercom announces that the train will arrive in 10 minutes as he rides the wave of people towards the glass-gated tracks, barely even corporeal. For his own schedule, he’s down to 19 minutes. He settles against a pillar and does what he is best at-- he waits. 

* * *

The train is utterly packed. Every time he thinks it’s about to empty as passengers flood out, just as many people (or inexplicably more) board the train for the next stop. He’s been wedged in between a little old lady holding a massive icebox and a college student who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks for the last eight minutes- the latter of whom keeps nodding off and falling into Primoz’s back. As best as he can without pummeling anyone in his immediate vicinity, he checks the time again. One minute. He begins to scan the train car for signs of anything unusual. He’s curious as to how things are going to play out this time around- practically nobody has the space to move, and the train isn’t due to stop for an additional few minutes.

Or not. Suddenly, his body is jerked forward as the train grinds to a violent halt. The intercom buzzes to life over the rising wave of confused chatter- first in Korean, then Japanese, and finally English. “Due to technical difficulties with the vehicle, we are currently unable to depart from our current location. We apologize for the inconvenience and ask for your patience as we address the issue.”

Well. There’s his sign. Like clockwork (which, upon second consideration, it quite literally is), he spots a bright green and navy blue jacket slipping through the yellow car door in front of him. Primoz snaps into action. He begins pushing through the sea of bodies, apologizing as he squeezes through the mess of limbs and heads. Through the glass, he can see the back of his mark doing the same. Good, he thinks. Better if we’re both slowed down. He reaches the door and bursts through, just as the figure pops out the other end of the horde. Apologies forgotten, he bulldozes his way through the crowd and pulls the next car door open. 

This one lacks a window of any sort, and it takes him aback when he opens it to see the car is nearly empty. Green jacket is nowhere to be seen, and there’s about 6 people scattered around all looking curiously on guard. Seeing as to how they all draw blades or battering rams of sorts the moment he stumbles into the car, he can guess as to why. Stupidly, his first instinct is to check his watch and think, six minutes earlier than usual, giving an excellent opening for the nearest man to lunge. It’s only muscle memory that makes his right leg kick out towards his attacker. Luckily for both parties, however, at that exact moment, the train jolts into motion. “We apologize for the delay, and hope you have an excellent remainder of your trip!” the intercom chirps as both men tumble to the ground. Their eyes meet in brief and mutual mortification before the entire car jumps back into action. Various deadly objects begin flying at Primoz, and he barely has time to block a knife whizzing towards his face with the briefcase (if he had one, he would take a moment to thank his past self for not abandoning it in the station) and jump to his feet before the assaults redouble. He stands, slightly crouched, and six bodies descend upon him in a frenzy. 

As is commonly understood, the human body’s near universal response to immediate threat is to fight, flight, or freeze. However, it’s been in Primoz’s job description for nearly the last quarter of his life to reject all three. He is paid to turn the tables, to swallow his pounding heart, ignore the blood rushing through his ears, and instead become the threat. He has painstakingly trained himself to remain perfectly level despite an onslaught, transforming from a man tasked with murder into a perfectly oiled machine. He responds to each strike with surgical precision. Every punch is meant to crush a windpipe, every knife he disarms from an assailant he puts to good use against throats and arteries. There’s not a swing that misses, not a single movement that goes to waste. The briefcase also continues to be remarkably useful- he takes two of his assailants to the floor with a crushing bash to the head, and hears ribs crack when he swings it at another’s torso. The umbrella, not so much. The thing breaks in half upon impact, but the broken metal pole makes for an excellent stake to the eye. In the back of his mind, he savors the violence. This is as close as it gets to being home.

And as quickly as it began, all the movement in the car ceases with a finishing knife to the back. Primoz scans his work. Certainly not his best, judging by the amount of blood on the floor. He much prefers to be the instigator of a conflict; being caught off guard makes him messy. He purses his lips at the caved in skull near his foot. He’ll have to do better next time. 

Scratch that-- if he does well enough now, there won’t be a next time. 

After shedding his blood-stained jacket, he escapes to the next car over. Thankfully, no one seems to have taken heed to whatever they were hearing next door. Or the train has excellent soundproofing. Either way, he goes unnoticed as he does his best to compose himself while pressed against a wall. And as luck would have it, the train rolls to a stop at Apgujeong. He follows the flood of bodies out the doors as a cheery voice thanks him for his passage over the speaker. He looks around, and doesn’t see much that’s new-- more concrete tunnels and tiled walls.

Okay, he thinks. What now? 

By instinct, he looks at his watch. After no longer being able to rely upon basic truths of his environment, he has learned to live solely by time. He’s dissected the constant reiterations of the various worlds he is thrown into by the second-- although he may be in the middle of an abandoned amusement park one day, and a salt marsh the next, he has the patterns of events carved into the back of his eyes. If he doesn’t know how disaster will strike, he sure as hell knows when. 

Which is why it is deeply disconcerting when he looks down and the analog face reads 6:02:19. Again, ahead of schedule. By about 11 minutes, in fact. The initial onslaught after the first moment of crisis ends at exactly 6:13:29- no earlier, no later. Never. He looks around, feeling as if he’s forgotten a limb on the train. He scans the space for anything suspicious, but sees absolutely nothing. Are there things embedded in the walls? Drones? Once, the loop put him in some sort of space station where an army of microbots swarming through the vents and cracks between metal plating bore through his skin and crawled through his lungs. He particularly hated that one. He finds an empty plastic seat nailed to the wall and pretends to go through his briefcase as he eyes the woman who he momentarily thought was staring right at him, before she began walking in the opposite direction. He shuts the lid much harder than necessary. He’s been thrown off his rhythm-- he feels like he's been blindfolded and told to steer a bike off muscle memory, he-- he sees something. In the corner of his eye, a flash of green and blue darts up the stairs. Recognition blares like an alarm bell as he begins sprinting in pursuit, subtlety utterly forgotten. 

The figure weaves through the crowd, deft as a pianist’s hands. Primoz silently thanks whoever it is he’s chasing for choosing to don the most crass of greens on their shoulders that morning. The oversaturated windbreaker sticks out like a sore thumb, his eyes locking onto it instantly. The two are nearing the stairs heading up to the busy street above when the target suddenly takes a sharp right turn away from the exit, and Primoz briefly loses sight of them. In a panic, he follows in the general direction. Fortunately, the individual quickly returns into his line of sight. Unfortunately, they’re now inexplicably on the other side of a set of turnstiles. Primoz pats himself down for any more tickets, or perhaps a slip of cash that he missed earlier, but no such luck. Not that he’d have the time to buy a new pass anyway, though. He looks at the green and blue-clad torso getting smaller in the distance, then at the attendant assisting a young tourist at the ticket station next to the turnstiles. He mutters a quick apology and leaps over the metal bars, hardly hearing the shout of surprise and ensuing multilingual demands for his return as he runs forward and disappears into another crush of people. 

The pair snake their way through the station at a distance as if connected by bungee cord. Every time Primoz tries to get closer, someone stops directly in front of him and blocks his way, every time he’s on the verge of losing the trail, a path miraculously opens. They make their way through the concrete halls like this, bouncing around equilibrium, until they arrive at Track 5. 

He skids to a stop just as a few stragglers board the closing train. The glass doors separating the station from the tracks are nearly shut, and Primoz thinks he finally has his moment, when the figure sharply dives toward the leftmost door, just barely making it inside. Primoz on the other hand, isn’t quite fast enough to bridge the gap from the turn in the tunnels to the departing vehicle. Astonished, he watches as the train begins to inch forward. The figure turns around and meets his gaze through the glass. A young man-- barely in his early twenties, with a shock of spiky honey colored hair and slate gray eyes. He cocks his head at him, slightly, then the train snaps into its full speed. Primoz almost thinks he sees him smile as he disappears into a blur of color down the dark tunnel. The last thing he notices about the train itself is a large ‘131’ printed into a white circle on the doors of his mystery mark’s car.

That was the door? It’s hardly six!

Flabbergasted, he checks his watch. For a moment, he sees nothing but black screen, until the white digits begin to flash erratically. He watches the pixels jump across the small, rectangular face before they come to a stop, reading ‘83:29:41’. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels like he remembers the six digits from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. He stares at the empty tracks, dumbfounded, heart pounding from the chase. 

“What the fuck?!”

He has just enough time to hear his voice echo on the tiled walls before, hours ahead of schedule, everything goes black. 

[heirbane]

Gaius has a soft spot for gardening.

During his prime years as the Wolf, van Baelsar became intimately familiar with the Galvus' palace - and all of the little glass rooms that peppered the sprawling building. When one has seen the world - as Solus had in his past lives - and is forced into dreary, sad gray, one improvises to the best of their ability.

With engineers and biologists at his disposal, Solus wanted for nothing. All throughout the palace stand small greenhouses: a world within a world, acting as interior windows and scenery when the weather is not keen on playing nice.

Gaius calls them small. Compared to their original landscapes, they are: but in the palace they seem just the right size, biomes from across the world able to be explored and enjoyed, window after window after window.

He came to use them as an artist would a sketchbook or an author a scroll of parchment. As a war lord, Gaius is often caught in the simulated midsts of his land: planning. Practicing. Pretending, if he were so truthful.

When he cannot be on the frontlines or in a war meeting in his claimed territory, Gaius improvises. The microscopic Ala Mhigo serves to remind him of their weather patterns, their greenery, their natural landscaping he could use for weal or woe.

In them, he can close his eyes and imagine the explosives he could hide in clay sand. In them, he can learn that the smell of a specific plant causes wheezing and another is a false sense of hope on wounds.

As he curates and takes care of his battlefield and it's soldiers, he begins to do just so in the glass box that holds a sample of his world. It would not due for weeds to disturb his planned treks, or for native Garlean insects to make their nest inside by happenstance.

After it all - after the fall of his Emperors and himself - he remembers the solace sought in false lands. The bubbles of existance simply perish without working technology to regulate the humidity and temperature; without the bioengineers to code and perfect a seasonal cycle, it falls apart.

And so does he.

But he remembers how it felt to prune and pick at plants until they could grow to their full potential. He remembers the fruit borne from false Ala Mhigan lands, and the sounds of their insects, and the proof that land and nature would persist even under a soldier's boot crushes it all.

In his Terncliff home, the native plants run amok. He is no engineer or biologist or botanist, even. He simply tries, planting pumpkins and squash, peppers and herbs, and is as meticulous with their care as he is with his gunblade...

And, eventually, himself.

[tamrieldrifter]

The Immortal Eight

For almost two months Captain Anatolius Caudex and his small band of legionnaires have managed to hold their makeshift garrison in the forum of the Nobles district against the Daedric horde. But now only eight of them remain and the combined forces of Molag Bal’s minions and the traitors of Legion Zero are preparing for perhaps their biggest assault on the Improvised Garrison yet.

The legionaries brief me on what I did not know about that night of the Ruby Betrayal. It appears the loyalist legionaries in the Arboretum, Temple and Nobles districts lasted longer then the rest of us against our treacherous brethren. Indeed, for a time they believed they might win, but the daedra quickly turned the tide and the Arboretum and Temple units became overrun. Only Captain Caudex’s unit withstood the onslaught. Their scout suggested however that there might be more to their resilience then meets the eye, yet his comrades are unwilling to confide more in me. I cannot blame them of course, for it is difficult to trust anyone once you have been betrayed by your own brothers and sisters. Perhaps that is why this dutiful band is more like a family then a company.

Zelanus Equitius scouts the district for supplies and recruits to ease his comrades fight. Zelanus knows his talents, and makes the most of them to serve his company, even if that means not fighting at their side. He believes that the god’s will sell them all they need for the price of his honest labour.

Devout Arrianus Capius prays on his knees for Arkay to end his waking nightmare with a soldiers death, yet he seems certain his prayers will go unanswered. Despite this he pledges to never give up his fight to protect the mortal world from this immortal invasion… until his last breath.

The youthful Dulcilla Iullus attempts to keep the flagging spirits of her comrades raised and brightens their remaining time with music and smiles. The quality of the human spirit is to be able to face our certain doom with optimism. Yet when the night is darkest this Blessed Lady takes it one step further, reaching down and lifting up the people around her.

The studious Justianas Gratus believes that even in the absence of hope, it is still a virtue to study and learn. He endures this chaos by knowing more today than he knew yesterday. Knowledge however can only furnish the mind, it cannot impart wisdom, and Justianas has learnt you can only survive in battle by listening to the wisdom that your blood whispers to you.

Kyleus Herminia is annoyed when I disturb her writing. Bitterly she complains that the Eight ignore their prayers and that all is surely lost. They say that bitterness is to be avoided as it feeds upon its host, but it also fuels anger and resentment, and the truth of it is that some people need that fire to survive; It burns away their fear. And for this elemental mage, it is her enemy's who must fear the fury of her storm.

Maxima Petellia thinks of her comrades as her children to be tended, fussed over and mothered. She cooks their meals and heals their wounds. Compassion is her way of fighting back against the horrors of the outer darkness. For these soldiers her acts of kindness are as powerful as a sword or staff raised in anger.

Statius Vettiena is sharpening his sword, when not swinging it at his enemies, he is always sharpening his sword. His tongue is as sharp as his blade, as he vociferously proclaims righteous indignation. For him it is simple, he survives solely to bring Stendarr's justice to those who betrayed them. The longer he lives, the more justice he can deliver.

Finally Captain Caudex, the leader of this band who stand alone in defiance of the will of a Deadric prince. He personifies the Imperial qualities of endurance and dutiful service. As a leader he keeps his fears to himself, but shares his courage with his comrades. And he embodies the motto that it doesn’t matter how many times you get knocked down, all that matters is that you get back up.

S.K

[lucielxbe]

next gen s2 part 2. ⋆ better, but never enough.

a dive into an unfamiliar world comes with many struggles. luciel is used to operatic elegance, the sense of grandeur and formalities. be that as it may, he’s a blank canvas. he’ll let himself be painted with any colour and shade. he’s sung rock for his first performance and showcased some waacking, which was a risk since he’s not a professional in either of those fields… yet he’s received a positive response overall.

‘nothing is impossible in this world, luciel. you just have to work harder,’ he remembers the words of his parents that repeats in his head over and over again. ‘you can do it if you set your mind to it.’ unrealistic pressure settled down early on little luciel’s shoulders from the moment he was adopted. if one were to think about it, isn’t it too much to place that much weight on a child?

luciel doesn’t thinks too much about it (he can’t). on the bright side, he knows how to navigate through difficulties and hardship without stressing out too heavily. he’s encountered trouble right away when training for the first mission, yet he remained as calm as the still waters, not allowing the storm to disturb that tranquility.

then he’ll add more colours to that canvas.

when luciel takes his steps to the stage, he strides with unwavering confidence and flashes a cheerful smile while bowing before his audience. then he wastes no time in his brief introduction. talk less and show the world that at this very moment, he’s a star.

the song he’s replayed countless times begins, starting off with the dance and rap. as soon as his body moves to the beat of the music, he makes eye contact with the audience and the camera when he feels he needs to. it’s as if luciel is telling them with his eyes to look at him and carefully watch his performance.

it’s unfortunate that there wasn’t much singing, more so of rapping. he still feels detached from this form of music, nevertheless, it doesn’t deter him from working harder and achieving a new colour. he’s been practising with the assistance of the coaches and of course, his fellow contestants (especially seira, a kind soul he’s grateful for). his delivery doesn’t come off as strong, and his breathy singing tone is still a little apparent there but there’s weight to it. he ensures that he articulates the lyrics clearly to the ears of the crowd while keeping his rhythm in check throughout. luciel hopes that at the very least, he sounds pleasant to hear.

then there’s syncing the dance with his vocals, another challenge. stamina doesn’t pose as a great obstacle for luciel, he’s excellent at controlling his breaths. so during practice, he quickly caught up to coordinating the different elements into the fluid performance he’s displaying right now. his movements are sharp and clean just like the video with an added touch of gracefulness (which made it appear a little… sensual, somehow).

he retains the same confidence as when he walked onto the stage until the end. in some parts of the performance, he acts like a tough guy determined to prove his worth, then he’s someone who’s having fun on stage. above all, luciel makes sure that the smile (that he has perfectly crafted and honed over the years) he presents is a lovely dream to his audience.

luciel concludes the performance by improvising with intricate hand and finger movements to form a heart shape. it's cute, and because of how sleek those motions are, it fits the vibe of the song (he hopes!).

he’s doing better, he thinks. he’s done so much better than before within the small amount of time he was given. he had fun and it was thrilling. all that is left now is for the judges to evaluate his performance. he's unsure if he had done well in their eyes, but the most important thing was them enjoying his performance. he's satisfied with that alone.

the canvas is flowering with beautiful, vibrant colours. even so, no matter how many shades there are, luciel only sees an achromatic painting. the glimmer of light in his gaze fades.

‘it’s still… not enough.’

[annie-creates]

One day in a year

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader (kinda platonic)

Genre: fluff

Words: 900

Note: We got a hundred followers! Thank you so much everyone for the support, likes, comments and requests sent. Here's a birthday fic to celebrate. Maybe I can add another character to my repertoire? What would you think? Who should it be? <3

It started with rain. You hated rain. It got you all wet and cold but without the childish excitement snow did. The weather made you not want to get out of bed, but you were a big girl and couldn’t hide away from your responsibilities just because you didn’t like the climate. It wasn’t even a weekend so the pleasure of sleeping in wasn’t indulged to you. With a heavy sigh you got out of bed, choosing a dress to wear today and leaving for breakfast, hoping there was still some sweets left for you.

Due to your absentminded state you accidentally put salt in your morning coffee. Not realizing your mistake earlier than when drinking the disgusting beverage. That only sunk your mood lower, feeling like a lonely rowboat in the middle of a thunderstorm ocean. Not even the blueberry muffin could pick up your sore mood. You rather went to class earlier than needed, not wanting to risk any more troubles. That proved to be quite of use when you almost crashed into a pillar, obviously not paying enough attention to where you’re going.

Students started to pour in just like the rain outside the window until the bell rang and you made sure everyone was here on time. You looked around your table, looking for your prepared materials for this lesson but finding none. You must have done the preparation, where did it go? You wouldn’t forget about such a thing…

“Ma’am, what about the test?” one of your students reminded you.

“A… test?” you asked confused until the realization downed on you. “Oh, the test! Well, I thought maybe we'll go over the study material for the test once more today and we’ll take the test next class.”

You tried to save the situation, which was celebrated by some, booed by others. You could tell who was happy to have more time to study and who wanted to be done with it already. How could you forget such a thing? You never forgot what you planned to do next time in class, let alone when you planed a quiz! You had to improvise the whole lesson and the ring announcing end of class was probably more freeing to you than it was to your students.

By the time of dinner you had changed your dress since you spilled your lunchtime cup of tea on yourself, two broken nails from trying to open some jars which normally wasn’t any problem for you and a scraped knee due your fall over the rocks in the garden. It was safe to say your day was completely ruined and you were ready to just lay in bed hidden under the blankets waiting for it to pass.

“Can’t I have just one day in a year to be perfect? Just one…” you whined to no one in particular, hoping to sleep the rest of the day away.

Your intentions were interrupted with a knock on your door. Why would anyone come to visit you this late? Can’t the universe just leave you alone already? Giving up on your hopes for a peaceful night, you got up and open the door, not expecting Lady Lesso to stand behind it. But there she was, graceful as always with her long coat and shiny cane. Sometimes you wondered if she was a daughter of a fairy of some sort.

“Can I help you?” you asked concerned, if she was here, it couldn’t be anything good right? Your day was already full of unfortunate events.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been your usual annoyingly cheerful self today.” Her voice was completely blank as was her face. “And even tho I usually enjoy a piece of quiet, it was weirdly disturbing.”

“Uh… thank you..?” you didn’t know why she’s telling you this. “Did you come all the way here just to tell me you… didn’t like my unhappy mood?”

“Not entirely. I also came to give you this. Guessed it might help to cheer you up today.” She thrusted a small package into your hand turning on her heel. “Good night Y/n.” before you could say anything she already left.

With an inept shake of your head you got back inside your room, inspecting the parcel she gave you. It was packaged in a festive paper neatly tucked around. For a moment you contemplated if it was some type of prank. Will a bomb of glitter go of the moment you tore into the present? No, you were very certain Lesso was not one for glitter. Maybe a pocketknife will jump out and pierce your heart… But would she go all the way here just to slaughter you? You didn’t have any beef with her lately, did you?

With a shrug of your shoulders you opened the gift, a little note falling out on the ground. You picked it up, opening the piece of fancy paper. Happy birthday Y/n. That was all the note said, yet the three words warmed your heart up. She remembered your birthday. And she even gave you a gift. And not just some gift, but a rare edition of your favorite story book in your native language you have never seen before. You hugged the book to your chest, a genuine smile making it’s way to your face for the first time today. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad birthday after all.

[mrs-immortal]

Hey it shark anon and yes you can call me that but here another request self aware lilac cookie x chubby reader I’m pretty sure they bully’s will died of envy seeing y/n dating our beautiful lilac cookie headcanons please

lilac cookie with a hint of yandere if you squint hard enough! enjoy :D ’*•.¸♡ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ love suits you-!i♡ ¸.•*’ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･self aware! lilac cookie x chubby reader HCs ♡ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he did not know how much he needed you. ♡ When he first got pulled he was..quite pleased, with who he was stuck with. Out of everything that could happen, he was secretly happy things turned out the way they did that day. “Okay..last 10 pull of this week, i hope i get someone new this time-” you said as you let out a sigh you had held far too long: as the animation had begun, you clicked skip: and there you saw his animation. You have obtained lilac cookie! “Finally! It was about time he came home!” you huffed. He could get used to this. ♡ You would pamper him from the second he got into your kingdom, the second he came home. His attractions, his decor, his own small district..name it all he would ever want, you have already given it to him. Tap taps a plenty as well, he was fairly pleased with the living quality you supplied, but it would grow to be more than that over time. ♡ He got used to your schedule and listened to you some more..you would say you wish you were pretty like him, which .. made him quite sad at the thought, deep inside he wishes he could fix what was wrong but it was no use trying to reach for someone that does not exist in his world, right? ♡ Realising the world he lived in was not natural was..odd, disturbing almost: but he could distract himself with tasks. Or you; he could listen to you ramble on and on without a worry in the world knowing you are real, even if he..isn’t..? Identity crisis’ take too long, so he was gonna ignore that question for the time being. ♡ He started to pay much more attention to you, listen to you more often: and sometimes he would be angry at the things he would hear: sometimes you would talk down on yourself, and he did not enjoy hearing you say the words you always do when it comes down to yourself. You were not just ‘decent enough’ and you certainly were not ugly: he wished he could be real at times like these. ♡ After some time..he started to notice fellow cookies acting strange,randomly looking at the sky just like him, and the idea of them trying to take you was not on his to-’fix’ list today. So he improvised to find a way out instead. ♡ Finding a very handsome and very half naked lilac man in your room was not expected, however you seemed to connect the dots; so you found a way to make it work. ♡ People’s reaction to your boyfriend were, strange, and sometimes rude backhanded compliments towards you but..those would never end well for them. Lilac was a good man for you, but he had no promises for anyone else on this blue rock we call earth. ♡ He enjoyed going around town and taking you out on cute, calming dates across the districts: he liked to get some cute and comfy matching clothes, though he still needs to adjust to wearing a shirt at most times of day, but it’s fine, you don’t complain. ♡ He enjoys putting his head on yours and giving your tummy a lil squeeze as he hugs you, he loved how you feel so soft! And loves to lay his head on your stomach when you lay in bed; no words , just flop. ♡ Overall, it was 100% worth the shock, hell he might be your lucky charm! You have not seen any of your bullies around since he showed up, except that one time but it seems they just don’t exist anymore, i wonder why?

[ts-porter]

The Shanty and the Hive

.

The first time the humans told us they sang their way through subspace, we thought it a translation error.

.

We-the-hive were overjoyed to meet them. Finally, finally, it was proven that we were not alone! And though we already knew that we must not be, given the vastness of time and the multiverse, we also knew that those same vastnesses were against us. Civilizations we could meet are greatly outnumbered by those who came before us and we are too late to meet, those who will come after us and we are too early for, and those so far away that we cannot find them.

A starfaring civilization, like our own, increased the chances of meeting greatly. One of our most distant scientific surveyors sensed a faint and far away disturbance, similar to the waves our own ships make when diving into and out of subspace. An exploratory team was sent to investigate, and there at the furthest reach ever taken from the hive's center, to our everlasting joy, we found human explorers on the far edges of their own range.

Their ships were strange to us, and their selves even stranger. Translation, and the mutual communication of peaceful intentions, was difficult. Mathematics was the first understanding we were able to share, as the basic principles do not change—though their and our systems of harnessing it are different. Science followed after, as the elements and natural laws are unchanging. So it was discovered that we-the-hive and the humans share the common ground of being carbon-based heterotrophs who consume water to maintain life processes.

These commonalities were far outnumbered by our differences. Yet, the most important thing we had in common was the desire to understand each other. With earnest effort, with forgiveness for unintended insult and misunderstanding, we worked to learn each other's languages.

Science being an early part of our understanding of each other, we asked them about the construction of their ships. They told us of their material compositions and their subspace engines, different in design but similar in purpose to our own technology—but when we asked them about the shielding and stabilization they used to make the journey survivable, they told us only that they sang their way through.

Translations were imprecise, and their language often contradictory. Of course we believed that it was yet another translation error. We believed there was a nuance we were missing.

The humans were a very musical civilization. They were always singing, all of them. They sang for joy, and they sang for mourning, and they sang for any reason at all between the two extremes.

(Later, we would discover that this was not universally true. That those who crewed their ships were chosen from the most musical among them. We only met their singers, their travelers, their ship's crews. How could we know differently?)

We believed, with music such a central part of their civilization, that they had given the words for song more meaning. Their subspace stabilization and shielding technology, without which any ship that dove into the confusion of subspace would be utterly destroyed and lost, had taken its name from music. We-the-hive noted the mistranslation, and worked to increase our understanding.

As our trust and understanding increased, as the human linguists became haltingly conversant in our language and we in theirs, the humans introduced to us a group of their hatchlings. It was a mighty show of trust, as they valued their younger generations as deeply as we did our own. Though still flexible, an adult human's mind was too set in its ways to easily become fluent in another language. That of their hatchlings was far more suited to the acquisition of language. With equal time spent between their own language and ours, it was hoped that the young would grow to be adults who could serve as translators and teachers to increase the closeness and understanding of our peoples.

We allowed our hatchlings and theirs to mingle, to play together, to bond. We spoke to the human hatchlings, and the speed at which they learned our language matched the speed they learned the language of their own people. It was to be a long project, but a joyful and an exciting one.

We learned more about the humans, and they learned more about us. Along with scientific sharing, we established a small trade, exchange of goods and curiosities from one civilization to another.

Our understanding grew, but we still did not understand completely. The humans told us that they sang their way through subspace. When we could no longer believe that the translation was so deeply in error, we instead believed that the crews who piloted the human ships did not understand the technology they used. They were such a granular species, not unified. We believed that those who built the ships had not shared knowledge with those who piloted them, and so they had developed superstitions around technology they did not comprehend.

We-the-hive asked to send a pod of researchers through a subspace dive on one of the human ships. We asked for it. The humans agreed, willingly, in exchange for an equal number of their own scientists to take the same trip aboard one of our ships. Our pod and their scientists were chosen. The ships and the destination were chosen.

The pod boarded the human ship with nothing but curiosity and excitement. As the humans were wont to limit the number of dives they took and make the most of every trip, a ship carrying cargo on one of their usual supply runs was chosen. The ship was called the Merry Dancer, of the type the humans called a 'small freighter'.

It was greatly open through the inside. The 'bird's nest' hung from the ceiling at the center, and there the Captain and Pilots had their stations. Room had been found to rig up two safety harnesses, to secure two individuals from the research pod where we could watch the Captain and Pilots work. The rest of us joined the singers, who stood in a line from stem to stern along the bottom of the ship.

The mood was solemn and focused as the humans prepared for the journey. The subspace engines were prepped, their rumble vibrating through the ship. The Pilots and Captain stretched their hands and rolled their necks, loosening themselves up. The singers took deep breaths and hummed, warming their voices.

"All Ready?" the Captain asked. She was a small human, her wrinkled skin a pleasingly luminous deep brown and her thickly curly silver hair tied up in many braids and twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She was called Janette, and when she spoke, in her firm and quiet voice, the crew of the Merry Dancer listened closely and with respect.

"Singers in Position," the chief among the singers—the Lead Chanter—reported. "At your command, Captain." He was a large human, hairless and very round, with pink skin heavily freckled with brown spots. He was called George, and his voice was big and booming as so many of the ship's singers were. Even when he was not working he was always surrounded by the singers of the Merry Dancer, in a loud and happy group that was always singing, for they trusted him and liked to be close.

After a look and a nod with the two pilots, the Captain spoke again. "You may begin when ready," she said. And then, informally and with a small smile, "Sing to me."

Lead Chanter George stamped out a beat that the rest of the singers took up immediately. He inhaled a massive breath, filling his belly and broad chest to its limit. (And we had heard of the training most ship's singers chose to undertake from childhood, exercises to increase their lung capacity and improve the volume and resonance of their voices, that they might sing loud and long without doing themselves damage. George epitomized the results, as so many lead chanters did.)

He belted out the line to song we had heard the humans singing before. A 'shanty', they called it; an old one. It was dated from long before their species even dreamed that they could leave their birth planet and sail across the stars rather than the oceans of their homeworld.

"Oh, we'll blow the man up and we'll blow the man down!" George led.

And every singer through the ship, in time and at great volume, sang out in answer: "Way, hey, blow the man down!"

George spared a brief moment of attention to wink at the nearest member of the research pod as he led again: "We'll make the trip over, won't let our friends down."

"Give us some time to blow the man down!" the singers responded.

The sound of their voices and the solid beat of their stamping boots vibrated the entire ship. It was clear that the acoustics were designed such that the vibrations bounced off the walls of the ship, centering unerringly on the crow's nest. The Captain and the Pilots nodded in time as the Lead Chanter improvised the next verse and sang it up to them, as the singers responded in tuneful chorus.

The Captain's hand clenched on a lever, the subspace engine throttle, tight enough her knuckles paled. A deep breath, and she slammed the throttle wide open in time with the singers. The engine roared briefly, outclassed only by the song. Immediately it was clear why the humans, in their language, had named their version of the subspace dive after a violent strike—the punch. It was a hard transition, swift and jarring.

Then. Oh, then. We understood, suddenly and most terribly, why the humans could not describe their subspace shielding and stabilization technology to us, for they had none.

They had none!

Their minds, bodies, and their entire ships were fully exposed to the nongeometrical confusion of subspace. The research pod, we who had asked to be there and been eagerly chosen, were caught up in it as well. Spacetime was ruffled, twisted, wrinkled, defying understanding in ways that three-dimensional space and regularly linear time never did. Unshielded subspace was a mind-destroying horror, the likes of which we-the-hive had never experienced.

And through the midst of the direful disorientation, the humans were singing.

We-the-hive discovered the principles of subspace engines, the basics for the traversing of subspace to make the lightyears of interstellar travel pass in hours, long before we used them. The dive to the space below the three dimensional and outside of linear spacetime requires mere force. Three generations were born and died while we developed the much more difficult shielding and stabilization technology, which requires finesse. Only when we had perfected it, when we could hold an entire ship in a stable pocket of three dimensions through a subspace trip, did we become starfarers.

The humans had taken a very different approach.

Lead Chanter George stood like a stone against the wind, inventing lyrics for his ancient shanty, and the ship's singers stomped the deck in time and answered, never faltering. Above them, Captain Janette and her pilots listened hard to the song and the echoes. Their hands were on their controls, manually firing the ship's small stabilization engines. They judged by the sound alone whether any part of the ship was warping, if it was redshifting or blueshifting out of tune or out of time.

Ship's singers had told us, proudly, that they lived and died by their voices. We had thought it hyperbole.

The twist and shake of the ship, what the humans called the shimmy and roll and the bucking gravitational waves, never abated. The singing never ceased. In between lines of the call and response of the shanty, singers took sips of water from the bottles on their belts to keep their throats from growing dry. George communicated with his Second with brief hand signs, and sie took over leading with a different shanty—another ancient song, The Wellerman. The pilots breathed hard with the effort of concentration. Sweat beaded at the Captain's hairline. A thin trickle ran down her cheek and neck in a jaggedly uneven line, pushed and pulled by the roiling of subspace.

The humans, with their fortitude and adaptability, and specifically the crew of the Merry Dancer with their long experience, were able to keep functioning. They could continue to work despite the tearing disorientation, else the ship and all in it would have been lost. The members of the research pod were not so prepared, and were not so adaptable. With communication disrupted between us so each was utterly alone, with the confusion and isolation overwhelming, we had all curled up tight inside our carapaces for safety, like frightened hatchlings. Only one in three were able to even peek a single eyestalk out to observe with shattered perception, to increase our knowledge and understanding as had been the intention of the trade.

(On the hive's ship, mid journey, one of the human researchers aboard hesitantly asked when the trip was going to begin. This caused great confusion all around.)

Another unknowable and incomprehensible time later, the Second signaled to Lead Chanter George, and he led again with a third song—Roll The Old Chariot Along. The music, sure and unending, was a comfort in the confusion. The singers' strong voices, unified, were a touchstone in the chaos.

The third song was ongoing when the subspace engine began cycling again, powering up for the punch back out. Despite the strain, despite the confused length of time of their singing, George's voice grew in volume, and the rest of the singers followed. They overwhelmed the sound of the engine, providing Captain Janette and the Pilots with the guidance they needed through the last moments.

The second punch was every bit as harsh as the first. Space time warped, twisted, and then snapped back into three dimensional linearity. Through the transition, the singers never faltered. The reverberation of their voices rang through the ship, a joyful shout. George had his hands raised high as he led one final chorus at half time.

"Lead Chanter, singers, you may stand down," the Captain announced, formally, and then smiling but still dignified despite her obvious weariness. "Nicely done, crew."

Some of the singers cheered and hugged each other, or slapped each other's backs in celebration. Others, though, ran and fell to their knees by the nearest of the research pod to them.

"What happened?", "Are they ok?" "Are they hurt?", "I don't understand they just collapsed as soon as we punched!"

Lead Chanter George, trusted and respected by the singers he led, sang out calming words even as he sat on the deck beside one the nearest researcher from the pod—one who had an eye stalk out monitoring. He smiled at us, human expression of happiness. He placed one large warm hand on the back of the researcher's carapace. He could not speak our language, but with his tired voice he sang the tone of safety—with the caress and the crooning he communicated an absence of danger as we might to our own hatchlings.

We would learn that a young relative of his was among the human hatchlings who mingled with ours, that by observing us with our own hatchlings he'd learned the way to offer comfort. One and another of the singers took up the tone, until the ship throbbed with it. The research pod were given care and reassurance, and with the sharp reduction in stress we were able to uncurl, to communicate and reintegrate and return to a harmonious whole as we worked to piece together our shattered understanding of what had occurred.

The touch and the tone were not quite the same as our own, similar enough, but different. Still, the difference was not unpleasant. In that moment, in the relief and the... the kindness, the sonorous resonance of a human singer's voice and the softness of a human hand were fixed as beautiful. These humans were not us, not ours, but become beloved. When the research pod was reintegrated in the whole of we-the-hive, the beauty and affection remained.

We would learn that the journey we observed had been 'easy', routine, as safe as any trip could be. The humans had pride in the safety of their ships and in the training of their capable crews—that they lost, astoundingly, merely one in two thousand ships in unstabilized dives.

They had done so much with so little, singing their way through subspace while still researching the technologies that would make it safe.

When we-the-hive truly understood the risks the humans took with every single journey, when the research pod's knowledge was fully integrated, we knew we could not leave them without the advantages we had.

.

The decision to share all details of our subspace shielding and stabilization technology with the humans—with our friends—was swift and without dissent.

.

.

Edit - 04/20/21 So! This story is actually an eventual-future-worldbuilding of a short story about space shanties that I wrote in 2018, and which I have finally found a home for! The story in question sadly does not include aliens, but it does have ace lesbians singing their way through danger. It’s sweet and hope-punky and I think that if you enjoyed this one, you’d enjoy that one too!

“(don’t you) love a singer” is available in the It Gets Even Better: Stories of Queer Possibility anthology by Speculatively Queer. You can grab a copy [here]!

[thefanficmonster]

Corpse’s Girl

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing, Derogatory Terms

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N’s life as a regular college student is forever stripped away from her when her relationship with the famous YouTuber Corpse Husband is accidentally revealed during an online class of hers. How will she cope with the sudden spotlight and the unwanted attention, some of which crosses into bullying?

Requested by my amazing Tumblr friend @itsminniekat 🥰 She’s been reading and liking my works since day one and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. If you’re reading this, all I can say is thank you, darling. Thank you so much for sticking by my blog even when I posted some crappy fics. I’ll make sure this ain’t one of them. Love you with all my heart. ❤❤❤

P.S. - I named the mean character with my name so I hope no one who reads this has the same name. Wouldn’t want any of you feeling like the villain 😘

Who knew online class would be even more boring than being physically present for a lecture? Seriously, I find myself doing the weirdest of crap to entertain myself - like trying to balance a pen on the tip of my nose for example. I jot down some notes every now and then but that’s basically it. My mind can not fathom the concept on concentrating on whatever my professors are going on and on about. Well, full disclosure, I couldn’t concentrate even if I wanted to, especially with my boyfriend streaming in the other room.

He’s currently playing Among Us with his usual gaming squad. Listening to his input during the discussions, I can always tell when he’s lying. I honestly find it hilarious that his friends can’t pick up when he’s bullshitting them. I sometimes wonder if he has brainwashed them. And that’s one of the main reasons we don’t play Among Us together - he can’t lie to me. Not only do I pick up on his con with ease, but he always says he feels bad when he lies to me which is just the sweetest thing. Also, I refuse to play cause I’m shy. His friends are all well-known content creators and I’m a literal nobody. Every now and then I find myself wondering why Corpse is even with me. He’s always quick to push those thoughts out of my head and make sure they don’t return on a long notice, but they do interrupt my peace from time to time.

“Y/N, do you know?“ The sound of my professor saying my name takes me out of my eavesdropping of Corpse’s stream.

I panic, but quickly improvise, “Sorry, my internet is slow, you cut out for a second. What was the question?” I feel my face heating up, making me glad we are allowed to keep our cameras off.

“Question number 15 on page 82 in your textbook. Do you know the answer to it?“ My professor repeats himself, his tone annoyed.

I look down at the page that’s already opened in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the question is rather easy.

“Yeah, um, it’s...“ Suddenly, Corpse’s laugh reaches my room loud and clear. There’s no doubt my mic picked up the noise, especially since the door to my room is open.

The color drains from my face as I hurry to say the answer and remute myself. My eyes are wide as I stare at my screen, hoping no one will acknowledge that very recognizable laugh.

“OMG Y/N, are you watching a Corpse Husband stream in class?” One of the bitches in my class, Vy, speaks up, “Not a very goody-two-shoe move on your part, dear.” 

I purposely unmute my mic to mumble a quick ‘Shut up, bitch’ that somehow manages to fly under my professor’s radar and the class continues. It’s the first time something like this has happened and I’m not sure if I handled it properly or not.

The class ends shortly after, allowing me a sigh of relief as I disconnect from the meeting. 

“Fucking finally.“ I mumble to myself, leaning back in my desk chair. Tilting my head backwards, I see Corpse standing in the doorframe. I grin, not only because his presence itself makes me ten times happier, but also because he’s upside down from my viewpoint. “Well, hello there! How long have you been spying on me?“

He struts over to me, leaning his face over mine, “Long enough.” His lips linger above mine without any actual contact before he pulls away, allowing me to sit up straight and proper in the chair. “You still have classes?”

I nod my head while disappointedly rolling my eyes, “Yeah. One more. Shouldn’t be too bad since it’s English Lit. You’re done streaming?”

“Yeah, I just have some other things to do. I haven’t done a narration video in a while, I miss making that type of content.“ He plops down on my bed, running a hand through his messy black curls.

“Weren’t you recording some lines a few days ago?“ I frown as I try to recall if what I’m referring to actually happened or my brain is too fried to decipher reality from my bootleg perception of it. Online class, man - messes with your head like sleeping pills - makes you disoriented and exhausted with barely doing anything other than trying to wrap your brain around a lecture or two.

He hums affirmatively, “It’s not a finished project and I don’t even know if I’ll use those or rerecord them. I’ll have to listen to them again before I make a final decision.“

I tilt his chin upwards with my pointer finger, a gesture he has told me he finds very endearing, “I’m sure they’re great and you just refuse to be satisfied. Everything you do is great.“

He smiles a small, shy smile, his fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand in place, “You’re biased. You like me too much to tell me when I do some bullshit.”

I scoff, “You know that isn’t true. If someone’s gonna kick your butt in formation, it’s gonna be me.“ I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away from him, “Go on, now. I have a class to attend. You distract me enough while you’re in the other room, I can only imagine how hard it’d be for me to focus if you were right by my side.“

He smirks, bowing a little as he makes his way out of the room, “You flatter me.”

I playfully roll my eyes, getting my headset back on as I tap the last class for the day. We have an assignment due to the start of the class which we’ll have to present if the professor approved of it. We basically had to write a psychoanalysis of a character from any book of our choice. I chose Heathcliff from ‘Wuthering Heights’ which is one of my favorite books of all time. I’m proud of what I wrote and the way I wrote it, but I’ve always barely scraped by with a B in this class, a B+ if I’m lucky, so I’ve never gotten any major credit, even when I put my 110% in the assignments and projects.

Well, color me surprised when the professor calls on me first to read my work, complimenting it on its detailed and specific nature. I get my printed assignment out in front of me and unmute myself.

“I wrote a psychoanalysis on for Heathcliff, a character from Emily Bronte’s novel ‘Wuthering Heights’.“ Just after I say this line, Corpse’s voice booms throughout the whole apartment, no doubt being picked up by my mic. It doesn’t sound like he’s actually talking, he can’t be that loud. I put two and two together when I recognize the lines he’s saying - the ones he recorded a few days ago. They’re coming from his computer speakers. He probably didn’t check the volume before playing back the recording.

I mute myself as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The voice dies down as Corpse probably turned down the speakers.

My professor, who is already done with this lecture, just annoyedly remarks, her words overdosed with sarcasm: “Read your assignment and you can go back to whatever it is you are watching.”

“Wow, Y/N! Again?! Are you one of those crazy obsessed fans or something? Is Corpse Husband all you watch?“ This bitch is really poking a stick at me, huh? The only crazy obsessed fan here is her, and my friends but they are allowed. Little do all of them know, I am obsessed but not simply over a YouTuber. I’m obsessed with my boyfriend who just happens to be a YouTuber.

“No commentary, please.“ The professor scolds her, “Go on, Y/N.“

I finish reading without any other disturbances. The professor compliments my essay again when I’m done, the small incident at the beginning forgotten already. Well, not by everyone. One of my friends shot me a quick text to joke about it which only earned an eye roll from me.

My friends don’t know that I’m dating Corpse either. As I said, they are simping HARD over him while I act the most indifferent on the subject. Whenever they ask my opinion on him I either say ‘he’s OK’ or just avoid answering completely. I know saying anything more enthusiastic than that would turn into a snowball rolling down a snowy hill - I’d just keep babbling about how nice, amazing, wonderful and a gift to this world Corpse is, inevitably revealing our relationship in the process.

I’m afraid of revealing my relationship with Corpse in front of these people. They are all run on jealousy and selfishness and I can only imagine how mean they’d be about it. I’m already not too fond of them, it would only be worse if any of my personal life was exposed.

When the class finally ends I remove my headset, putting my forehead down on the desk, barely missing the keyboard. I groan in frustration and anger at myself for not fighting back. I could’ve and should’ve said something - ANYTHING. But what? That’s a question I can’t find the answer to.

“Hey...“ Corpse’s hesitant voice comes from behind me, “You ok?“

I straighten my posture, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, but these people suck.”

I get up from my chair as he approaches me, basically falling in his arms. The comfort I feel radiating off of him makes me relax, forget the past hour or so. He has always had this effect on me. Like my own personal kryptonite to my anger and anxiety.

“Did I get you in any trouble because of that?“ His voice shows clear concern and guilt. 

I wrap my arms around him tighter, burying my head in his chest. “No, don’t worry about it.“ 

And I really wasn’t in trouble. Not until now that the video is officially posted....

I can call these people dumb all I want but they sure put two and two together awfully fast. They recognized the lines they heard during class as the same ones from his new video that came out almost a week after the incident, aka two days ago. It’s safe to say I haven’t touched my phone or computer since.

“This is all my fault.“

Of all the horrible things I suspected would happen this has to be the worst - Corpse is blaming himself for it. I am prepared to take all the shit these people have to throw at me but seeing Corpse beating himself up over this is killing me. No amount of convincing can change his mind. Nothing I say helps.

“Please, stop doing this to yourself. Non of this is your fault, Corpse.“ I’ve repeated this sentence more than a thousand time these past forty eight hours, each time saying it more and more desperately.

“All of it is my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I hate myself so much.“ Has been his reply single time.

 I can’t watch him be so mean to himself. It’s the most conflicting thing when the person you love most is torturing themselves. It’s easy if it’s someone else doing it, you just kick their ass. But what are you supposed to do when the person you want to protect is the same one you need to protect them from.

Corpse has shut himself away in his recording room these past few hours and though he clearly needs to be alone, he still left the door open just a crack cause he knows I’ll be worried sick otherwise.

While I’m alone in the living room, I’ve finally managed to brace myself and build enough courage to power up my laptop. Last time it was on it was going mad with notifications.

“It’s digital. Only digital. It can’t hurt you too badly if it can’t touch you, right?“ I mumble to myself, already frustrated despite not having yet seen all the horrors that await me.

And horrors there were. Everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook.

My grades. Some pictures of me no one has ever seen. My school files. People from my class tweeting Corpse to ‘expose’ me for the ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ I really am. Corpse hasn’t touched social media either and I plan on making sure it stays that way. God only knows how much worse he’ll get if he sees these claims.

And then, like a notification sent straight from hell, an email from my professor.

Practical lectures on Friday. Be here at 9 AM. Don’t forget your mask and gloves.

Good thing I opened my laptop when I did. Friday is tomorrow and I need to prepare for this day. Not only do I need to hit the books but I need to toughen up a bit. I can’t go there looking like I feel - like a mess.

Alright, time to put the brave face on. No more wallowing in it, at least not until tomorrow afternoon.

I make a study plan and hop in the shower. I feel the need to apologize to my hair for washing it so roughly, basically yanking at my strands from frustration that has been suppressed for too long.

I get our of the boiling hot shower, red as a lobster, and change into some clean comfortable clothes and put my ass in study mode. I remove all the scary expectations of the morning to come from my mind and let the information the textbooks has to offer seep into my brain.

                                                            *  *  *

I’m about to head out and, despite my put-together composure, I am a wreck inside. I actually put effort into my appearance, I mean - I even styled my hair. A pretty façade to hide a ruin.

I saw my friends’ texts last night, all three of them ending their friendship with me because they felt betrayed. I haven’t yet decided how to feel about that. Doesn’t matter at the moment, there are more important matters at hand, aka surviving the next three hours.

My college is within ten minutes walking distance from our apartment. That ten minute walk has never been so stressful, not even during exam season. The air feels a little harder to breathe, the path a little shorter to walk. And my moment of reckoning a little too close.

I feel eyes on me the second I start walking through the park of our campus. Sure, I could just be paranoid, but the feeling is too real to be just my imagination in overdrive. I’m glad I have my hair down and a mask on so the redness of my cheeks and neck isn’t on display. That’s a sign of weakness right now.

We have two an hour and a half long classes between which we have a snack break that’s half an hour. I usually enjoy that period but I’m dreading it now. These assholes can only be so mean in the presence of a professor, but during lunch break they can increase that tenfold. 

“Well if it isn’t Corpse’s girl.“ I hear that a lot. The whispers are not so much whispers as intentionally loud enough for me to hear remarks. I’m not bothered by them, it’s the least they can do. If I let such a simple thing get to me, I’d be crumbling by the end of first period.

I hear some shuffling behind me and out of the corner of my eye I see, yeah you guessed it, THAT bitch. She’s standing as close to me as she can without violating Covid regulations. A mask is covering her face but the menacing look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about the interaction that’s about to go down.

“I’d ask how much he pays you for the hour.....“ her long nails tap the wooden desk, “but that’d be rude. I bet it’s tough being a maid. Do you just clean or are you a multipurpose lap dog? No offense, I’m genuinely curious.“

“Vy, would you be so kind as to give Y/N some room to breathe?“ The professor asks as he nonchalantly walks in.

Vy rolls her eyes, batting her eyelashes at me, “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” With a fake friendly wave she’s out of my hair, at least for now.

Remember what I said about these people not being as dumb as I pegged them to be? Yeah, scratch that. These fuckers actually tried getting away with taking pictures of me with flash in broad daylight. Like, HELLO! I have two functioning eyes and a brain, I’m onto you. Sadly, me having figured out their childish but hurtful methods of humiliating me doesn’t change much. They still posted the pics they took, using the most derogatory terms they could find in the English language, always making sure to tag Corpse and me both.

Needless to say, these were the longest three hours of my life.

  ��                                                           *  *  *

Shutting the door to our apartment behind me causes relief of the highest levels. I feel like I’ve locked out all the bad shit I have had to deal with these past twenty four hours. 

I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I feel like a discarded piece of paper. 

And it all starts crumbling. A wall is bound to start slowly falling apart after being hit over and over again, each time feeling the blows with a stronger intensity. 

I slide down the door sitting down on the floor and slowly taking my shoes off. I put my bag beside me and wrap my arms around my knees, hiding my head in the space between them and my chest.

One tear slides down my cheek.

Another follows.

And another, this time accompanied by a choked sob.

A pair of arms wraps around the ball that my body has been shaped into. One of his hands comes up to stroke my hair gently, feeding me the comfort I have been longing for since I left the apartment this morning.

“I saw it. All of it. All the shit they talk about you. All the names they call you. And I’ve never wanted to beat so many people up simultaneously.“ His words make me raise my head from its low position, giving him a knowing look. “I wish I could. I would, but that would land me in jail. Which doesn’t even sound so bad cause I don’t like going out. Only problem is you wouldn’t be with me. I wouldn’t want you to be there with me, don’t get me wrong, I’d never want you to end up in jail. I-...” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. A quick kiss that says so much but mainly shows the immeasurable gratitude for his support.

Seeing those awful tweets and comments had the complete opposite effect on him. He no longer blames himself but the people who actually deserve the blame - all those jerks from my college.

I pull away, giving him a small smile. “I would never let you go to jail.” 

He smiles back at me, overjoyed that my mood is slowly being lifted, “Come on, I have a nice crowd that would like to meet you.”

I know exactly what he means. Felix, Sean, Rae, Dave, Sykkuno and the rest of his friends. The people I’ve been so shy and afraid to meet since day one. Being shy doesn’t really make sense now, seeing as how they know I exist and that I’m a part of Corpse’s life. 

What do I have to lose?

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.“ Corpse’s black avatar runs around my cyan one in the Among Us lobby.

I can’t help but giggle when I unmute my mic, “Hi everyone! It’s so nice to finally meet you.“ They each introduce themselves, expressing how happy they are to be meeting me too.

It’s the first time in what feels like a while that I’m truly having fun. These people are wonderful, each so unique and lovely. They never brought up the scandal nor acted as though they knew about it. I know they did and I am beyond grateful that they never mentioned it or treated me any differently because of it. Also, Corpse was streaming the whole time. I had my phone on his stream, my eyes nervously scanning the chat every now and then. I couldn’t believe it. Corpse’s real fans were just as wonderful as his friends - they were nothing but supportive and happy to have met me.

Now, I can either choose to believe these people were being so nice to me out of sympathy or I can believe they really like me and appreciate me for who I am and not for what happened to me. 

I choose to believe the latter.

And while I’m still getting accustomed to this whole new spotlight, I know I’ll be able to handle it as long as I’m holding Corpse’s hand in the process. All I need is to have him beside me and I’m prepared to tackle anything.

“They love you.“ Corpse tells me once the stream is done and we’ve hopped out of the Discord call, “But I love you more.“

His arms wrap around my waist while mine instinctively find their way around his neck, “I love them, too. But they’re at the number 2 spot.”

He smirks at me, “I wonder who’s at number 1.”

I push up on my toes, putting my lips an inch away from his, “Hmm, I wonder...”

He doesn’t let me finish, silencing my teasing with a sweet, loving kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat

[giorno-plays-piano]

Rusted Remnants

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x mutant!Reader

Warnings: past noncon, smut, dirty talk, Stockholm syndrome, violence, mention of human experiments, swearing.

Words: 1924.

Summary: You felt better knowing he wouldn't have to leave for quite some time now, staring at the man as he leaned back against the pillow, watching the smoke slowly disappear in the air - Heisenberg wasn't your darling, but he's the only one who kept you sane in that fucking hole where human life mattered so little. Among other Lords he's the only one who had the resolve to fight that heartless bitch hiding behind the façade of a holy mother.

____________________

When a bearded man in sunglasses opened the door with a grinding, abrasive sound, you felt both fear and relief - Heisenberg was a mean son of a bitch who couldn’t stand people crossing him on anything, and you learned that the hard way. However, thanks to that insanely strong bastard who could smash in a Lycan’s skull with one swing of his hammer, you were still safe in his hideout, not having to worry about mutilated monsters this place was swarming with.

Besides, even though Heisenberg was as rotten and disgusting as any other Lord, he still had more human in him than Dimitrescu, Beneviento and Moreau altogether.

“Did you miss me, little monster?” He smirked, watching you laying in bed with some cheap romance novel you traded for bullets with the Duke: you had little hobbies since you barely left Heisenberg’s factory.

You rolled your eyes, knowing he hadn’t been home for a couple of days and now needed to get under your skin, feeding off your emotions like Alcina fed off her victims’ blood. It was something like a routine to him: he needed to know you had something human in you, too.

“Who else do you expect me to miss?” you snorted, leaving a worn book with a dirty yellow cover on the bed. “You know I don’t like when you leave for so long.”

“It’s not like I like it either.”

Leaving his monstrous hammer on the table full of blueprints, drawings, nails and all other things you were forbidden to touch, he took his glasses off, and you saw his weary eyes, the blood vessels widened in their white. It didn't happen often, but from time to time Heisenberg would abandon his façade of a smug, careless bastard, and then you could catch a glimpse of a deadly tired man who had long lost any hope to ever free himself from Miranda’s death grip. Something had happened in those couple of days when he had been wandering the woods and catacombs filled with Lycans, Samcăs, and Vârcolacs, and it certainly wasn’t good news if it stripped Heisenberg of his endless complacency.

Quietly slipping away from the bed, you put your shoes on while the man in front of you left his coat hanging on a chair and stilled, his dirty hands on the desk as he stared at it blankly. While he stood there, motionless, you turned on the large faucet in an improvised shower cabin - everything there had been old and rusty, and you needed time to adjust the temperature of water from icy cold to bearable cool or even hot if you were lucky enough. Thankfully, Karl never protested against showering, washing away dry blood, machine oil, muck and filth.

Saying nothing, you carefully lifted his hat, unclasped the belt on his chest and started unbuttoning his dirty shirt - nobody would believe it had been white once. Finally, Heisenberg came back to his senses, smirking and letting you strip him of his clothes, leaving his pants and huge heavy boots on the floor. As he stepped into the shower, he dragged you with him behind the old plastic curtains full of holes, and your nightgown got drenched within a couple of seconds, water pouring over your head. You didn’t protest anymore, knowing the man wouldn’t let you go until he blew off some steam, pushing you into a wet stone wall and wrecking you ass till you started sobbing - he loved when you squeezed his fat cock with your pussy, but Heisenberg couldn’t risk getting you pregnant, leaving his child to be endlessly tortured by that holy bitch until she turned his baby into some fucking monster doll. Sometimes he could buy some condoms from the Duke, but it was still a rare occasion, so most of the time Heisenberg spent using your other holes, filling you to the brim with his cum until he felt satisfied.

"Wearing that white nightgown like some noble slut from Alcina's castle." he growled into your ear from behind, grinding against your ass, his callous fingers gripping your hips as he forced you spread your legs for him. "Did you do it on purpose, baby? Did you want to bounce on my cock so bad?"

Turning your head to him, you didn't get a chance to speak up when the man crashed his mouth into yours, his arm lifting up the drenched fabric of your nightgown and baring your flesh. Landing a loud smack to your ass, he grinned through the kiss: he loved it when you behaved well around him, taking whatever he was giving you like a good girl you were.

You didn’t mind. At first the thought of him touching you had been giving you panic attacks and nausea, but as years flew by, nothing changing in this Hell of a place where sanity was a privilege, you clung to Heisenberg in a desperate attempt to feel human again - even if it was something as primitive as grinding your bodies against each other.

As he rubbed his cock in between your shaking thighs pressed together, you moaned, the water cascading down your bodies while Heisenberg fondled your breasts, biting and nipping his way down your neck.

"You're going nowhere until I fuck the shit out of you."

_________

Breathing in the smell of his Cuban cigars, you watched Heisenberg smoke as he laid close to you, his naked body barely covered by a blanket: his skin was littered with nasty scars, and it seemed like every centimeter of it had once been burned, cut or bitten. Some of them were so old you could barely see them, others relatively knew where the scar tissue was still angry red and thick: most of the time he got them while working on his personal army down there, but with his regenerative abilities they were like a kitten bite to him. Of course, even of they weren't, Heisenberg would still pretend like it was nothing, wearing his shit-eating grin.

"The holy whore is up to something," he says after long minutes of silence, ash falling to the floor from his cigar, "and I don't like that I know fucking nothing of her plans."

You felt better knowing he wouldn't have to leave for quite some time now, staring at the man as he leaned back against the pillow, watching the smoke slowly disappear in the air - Heisenberg wasn't your darling, but he's the only one who kept you sane in that fucking hole where human life mattered so little. Among other Lords he's the only one who had the resolve to fight that heartless bitch hiding behind the façade of a holy mother. You couldn't call him sane, but he had enough sanity to remember what Miranda did to all of you and how fucking twisted was her desire to have a family. You weren't her children, regardless how many times Moreau was going to call her his mother. Whatever she did to you or those miserable villagers, her cannon fodder, she did only to revive her real daughter, and the thought had been making you sick since the times Heisenberg told you about Miranda's past.

"You think it's something big?"

"Yeah. She keeps disappearing into thin air, and I can't find a trace of her anywhere at all."

You grew silent, staring at the blanket with empty eyes: it certainly wasn't a good sign. Where was she going if even Heisenberg couldn't locate her? Was she crossing the forest to get to the outer world? The last time it happened she brought to the world one more horrifying monster with a face of a little girl. The only thing you knew about her was that she was destroyed a couple of years ago, just a failed experiment like all those Miranda had been involved in.

"I think she partners up with someone, some organization that can give her what she wants like, you knew, she did before." You muttered, and Heisenberg stared at you, narrowing his frightening light eyes.

"With whom could the old bitch partner?"

"I don't know, but I know she brought someone with her, willingly or not."

Now you had his full attention as he turned to you, his eyes burning a hole in your face. "Who did she bring here? How the fuck do you know?"

Rolling over to your stomach and hugging a pillow - a real pillow you got from the Duke a month ago, not that pile of garbage the man had been sleeping on for ages - you let out a loud sigh. You weren’t eager to go exploring the factory even though you knew where his soldiers were, but you couldn't just stay in his room for the rest of your days, and sometimes you would get out for a couple of hours, wandering empty corridors with rusted doors.

At first it was subtle. You knew this place well, but you couldn't sense monsters or people getting in the way Miranda did even after Cadou implantation. You just wandered the same places over and over, collecting semi-precious stones, bullets and other things you could trade for something with a merchant. As the time flew by, the feeling of uneasiness was washing over you as you stepped into certain rooms, got into certain places. There was nothing peculiar there, nothing that would catch your attention, but something was still eating you up as if you knew something wasn't right.

At one point you realized that what disturbed you were things moving from their original places - changes were small, barely noticeable for someone who didn't spend hundreds of hours walking around here, but you could know put your finger on what was wrong. Who was it? You knew it weren't the Lords who had no business here. Besides, the Master of Metal could always feel their presence. Obviously, it weren't humans from the village for whom the factory was sacred, and monsters possessed too little intelligence to put things on their places in the very same order. You thought it could be Mother Miranda, but she wouldn't be sneaky if she really wanted to show Heisenberg his place.

Now it all made sense. You knew the outer world would learn about this place sooner or later, especially after that monster girl incident, and it only proved the idea Miranda brought someone with her.

"I think it's someone smart, Karl. Someone who will either destroy Miranda or try to take control of her - and us, maybe." You said after telling him about your little adventures, and the man smirked, stroking your back. Of course, after her little Eveline had been released into the world, he had thoughts about other organizations having their fair share of Megamycete,

“Someone we can use against her, then.” He whispered, his eyes dark and perceptive as he leant closer, dropping a kiss to your shoulder, his complacency getting back as he sent you a smug grin, slapping your ass loudly. “Good job, little monster. Good job.”

Rolling you over on your back, he got on top of you, pushing your legs apart and licking his lips at the sight of your naked pussy right in front of him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve forgot to tell you baby," he grinned at you when you squirmed from his touch, his thumb already tracing tiny little circles against your clit. “I’ve got a rubber, so you better milk me dry with that sweet little cunt of yours.”

[peaceisadirtyword]

Your Grace IV (Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello! I’m really sorry for not posting these weeks 😭 everything is like too much lately and I couldn’t find time to sit down and post anything, I’m truly sorry, please forgive me🙏🏻 (there is something else coming this week too). I hope you like it anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy!❤️

Warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, addiction and depression, mentions of death, loss, mourning... 

Words: 5475

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Part 4: exile

Only a few days after Ivar left, someone knocked at your door.

Your door, or the door of someone who probably fled from Kattegat and abandoned their house. It was a good house, far from the Hall, not too big, with a comfortable bed and some furs. You had used some of the money you still had to buy enough food to survive for a few weeks. After that, you would just improvise.

You already know who was knocking before you opened the door. You had been expecting Björn for days, after they celebrated a trial against the soldiers loyal to Ivar that stayed in Kattegat. You kind of expected the same treatment, but they left you alone, and you didn't notice anything except some whispers and stares. A woman in the market spat at your feet when you walked past her, but you didn't really pay attention to her. You had bigger problems than the hatred of an older woman.

"Hello, Y/N" he nodded with a sympathetic expression on his face "I hope I'm not disturbing you"

You pressed your lips together, but shrugged and stared at him, hoping he'd just talk and leave.

"I was glad to see you decided to stay" he smiled forcefully. You bit your tongue to avoid telling him that he knew very well that you hadn't had a choice.

"What do you want?" you sighed.

Björn raised an eyebrow in surprise, and his lips curved on an amused smile.

"Just wanted to check on you, Y/N" he shrugged "Can I enter?"

You nearly refused, but something in his expression told you that he wouldn't give up anytime soon. Stepping aside, you let him enter your small house and looked back at you with an impressed look.

It wasn't much, definitely nothing compared to the big chambers you had had in the Great Hall, when you were still queen, but you preferred that to sleep under the same roof as them.

"I wanted to ask you" he sat on one of the wooden chairs you had placed in front of the fireplace, ignoring your irritated stare. You walked to the fire, where you cooked a soup with some vegetables for supper. You weren't going to invite him, though "Your plans for now on, now that Ivar has fled"

"My plans?" you clenched your jaw "Survive this winter, and then get on a boat and leave"

"You know you are welcome to stay" he said softly with a sympathetic smile. You hated the condescendence with which he always referred to you "You're not to blame for Ivar's atrocities"

No, but you still didn't allow me to leave.  

"I could have stopped him" you shrugged, maybe trying to get under his skin. The battle for Kattegat had lasted days, and Ivar had repelled Björn and Harald's forces easily, which you knew wouldn't have had a chance without Freydis' betrayal. Björn might have been a good leader, but Ivar was smarter and you had learnt that most of the time the brain was a better weapon than the sword.

"No you couldn't" he shrugged "I know you tried, Hvitserk told me"

You sighed. You had tried to stop being angry at Hvitserk for days, but you just couldn't forgive him. Not yet at least. Maybe it was selfish, but you didn't care.

"My brother was hard to control, especially when given any kind of power" Björn shrugged "My father once told me that power is dangerous, it attracts the worst and corrupts the best" he fixed his icy eyes on you, they were also blue but not as intense as Ivar's "I'm not sure which one was Ivar's case, but still"

"Don't talk to me like I don't know him, I know him better than any of you, better than you ever will" you glared at him from your seat next to the fire "And like he was dead. He's not dead"

"Y/N" his expression softened again, and he looked almost trying to comfort you "I know it's hard, but Ivar can't survive out there all alone, he's..."

"Don't say that word" you jumped from your seat "Don't call him that, Björn"

"I'm just saying he's probably never coming back, Y/N, I didn't even send people looking for him, he's dead"

"He's not" you scoffed "I know he's not. That's the difference between you and I, Björn, you only saw a weak child when you looked at him, you never thought he'd be a real viking, like your father, like Ubbe, Sigurd, everyone, but I saw him, I saw the strongest man I've ever seen, and I know that if someone can survive out there all alone that's him"

"I never thought Ivar was less than me or any of my brothers" he said, calmly "I admired him, but he's not a good man, Y/N, he was a tyrant, he lost his mind, he wasn't a good ruler"

You rolled your eyes, turning around to try and calm yourself down. The tears filled your eyes again. It seemed that everything you did those days was crying, missing him, fearing for him. No matter how many times he had broken your heart or how mad you were at him before the battle, you felt like he took a part of you when he left Kattegat. The mere thought of Ivar dead made your stomach turn.

"He cheated on you, lied to you, treated you badly, he left, he abandoned you" Björn's voice was more stern now.

"I know what he did" you wiped the tears that started falling down your cheeks with the back of your hand "I was there, I suffered all of that, I don't need you to come here and explain all the things Ivar did wrong because I witnessed them, I'm not stupid, I'm not the stupid little girl all of you think I am, I don't want nor need your pity"

As you took a deep breath, you heard him standing up and approaching you.

"No one thinks that" he muttered "I know you've gone through a rough time, I just want to help you"

"No" you turned to face him, not caring if he saw your tears anymore. You had hidden your tears for too long now "You just want me as a hostage, because in case Ivar is still out there he will try to take Kattegat back, you need something to stop him" you smiled sadly "I'm afraid he doesn't care, so you have nothing"

Maybe the sadness in Björn's eyes when he discovered Freydis' dead body was actually because he knew she was his only option. Ivar was obsessed with her, not you.

He stood silent for a few minutes, as you wiped the tears again and tried to calm yourself down.

"That's not why I'm here, Y/N" he insisted "We care about you, Hvitserk cares about you, Ubbe cares about you, you were part of our family" the small smile on his lips confused you "And Ivar cared, or cares, if he's still alive, I know it, I knew my little brother much better than you think"

"I'm not sure I care anymore" you cleared your throat.

"I also need to know" he frowned softly "If you're pregnant"

You froze, turning your head to look at him completely taken aback. It made sense, though, as the prospect of Ivar having an heir could be threatening for his claim.

"And what if I am?" you licked your lips, already dry from crying so much "Would you kill my baby too?"

You knew you were being unfair. Björn hadn't killed Ivar, but he had made him flee, and for you it was very similar.

"I would never do that" he shook his head "But if you are, I would help you as much as I can, we could help you to raise him, but we need to know... And in case you decided to leave the child would stay here"

You didn't know what was more cruel, killing a baby or taking him away from his mother.

"I'm not pregnant" you muttered, shrugging. That was another one of your heartbreaks, not being able to give Ivar a child. Maybe if you had been pregnant at least once he wouldn't have been so obsessed with Freydis, maybe he would have taken you with him when he left.

Björn took a deep breath with... Relief?

"Alright" he nodded "But you're still invited to stay with us"

"I don't want to be with you" you scowled, and you had the feeling he knew exactly what you meant.

You wanted to be with him. You were willing to forgive him, to ignore all the pain he had caused you because the pain of being without him was much worse. If only he forgave you for all those things you did wrong, like not giving him an heir.

"We'll give you all the space you need" Björn nodded "But we'll be there too, if you ever need us, no one is mad at you and no one blames you, Hvitserk is worried about you and we all understand your situation"

"Stop" you covered your ears. His compassion and his understanding tone were driving you mad "Shut up, Björn, why are you being nice to me? Why are you so caring? You barely know me"

"Because I feel bad for you" he looked amused by your reaction "Would you prefer if I put guards on your door and treated you like a hostage? Send word to your father and tell him to pay a ransom for you? Kill you and spread the word so it reaches Ivar, if he's still alive, and when he comes back I can kill him too?" he raised an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes and turned your back to him again.

"I'm just being nice to you because Hvitserk told us you did all you could to make Ivar change his mind, and that you stopped him from doing even worse things" he said softly "And I do know you, and I know your family, your father was always close to mine, I don't have anything against you"

You looked down. You felt lost, hopeless, you were always angry and sad, with your eyes always wet and missing your Ivar for more than you could remember. Your Ivar, not the man that you had been sharing a bed with for the last months, that lost his mind and wouldn't listen to anyone. You missed his eyes, how it felt when he looked at you, the touch of his fingers, his lips and his skin on yours, his voice, listening to his heartbeat before falling asleep, braiding and unbraiding his hair, his laugh, how he pouted whenever he couldn't understand something, his muttering when he was drunk, the sound of his crutches approaching you, the feeling of his armor pressing against the soft material of the expensive dresses he bought for you, the tales of the Gods he'd whisper in your ear late at night. You missed all of him, and it felt like the Gods had taken him from your arms to punish you for something you didn't know you had done.

"Thank you" you managed to say to Björn, who looked surprised "I appreciate it"

You'd probably feel like that for a long time, but taking it all on someone else wasn't going to make it better.

He nodded, visibly confused by your reply.

"It's nothing" he shrugged.

None of them would ever understand how lost you felt, you were sure of that, but initiating a war with them wouldn't change a thing. You would still be all alone and left behind.

"Tell Hvitserk" you managed to say as he turned around to open the door again "That I'm sorry about Thora, and that I tried to stop him"

Björn looked at you for a moment, then he smiled and nodded.

"I will"

______________________________

You found him lying in front of your door as you came home. At first you didn't recognize him, but as you got closer your eyes widened in realisation. He wasn't himself, but instead a shaky and trembling man that could barely keep his eyes open. You heard his whimpers, he called your name and muttered something. As you kneeled next to him he was startled, almost scared.

"Hvitserk" you gasped and covered your mouth in horror. You had heard he was acting differently. People in town talked about him drinking a lot, but this... This was nothing you could have ever imagined.

"Y/N" he managed to call your name again, and this time he sounded almost desperate.

"What...? What happened to you, Hvitty?" you caressed his hair softly. His eyes were red and puffy, his face pale and his lips dry, but what alarmed you the most was the way he was looking everywhere, almost like he couldn't focus on anything around him.

Hvitserk muttered something else again, and this time he started coughing. You finally reacted, grabbing his arm to help him stand up. Even if he was too heavy for you, you managed to take him to the Great Hall. You knew Björn was out of Kattegat, trying to free King Harald, but you nearly preferred it. Ubbe was ruling in his place, and he loved Hvitserk, didn't he? He would help.

You could barely breathe when one of the soldiers at the Hall helped you. Queen Gunnhild was there, and she looked at Hvitserk with a worried expression that made you wonder whether that wasn't the first time she saw him in that state.

"He asked about you" she explained when you helped him sit at the table "He always asks about you, this time I couldn't stop him"

You raised your head to look at her quickly before focusing on him again.

"Has he been like this for long?"

"Since the battle" she explained, and your stomach turned. Björn had said Hvitserk was worried about you, and you immediately felt terrible for not reaching up to him earlier "He... Gets drunk frequently, and also eats..." she sighed "We don't really know what to do anymore"

Hvitserk fixed his eyes now on the nearest fireplace. You'd swear he wasn't even listening.

"I found him at my door" you muttered.

"He keeps talking about Ivar and about you" she nodded "And about a girl..."

"Thora" you nodded.

The queen pressed her lips together and then smiled sadly.

"I'm afraid we haven't been introduced, I'm Gunnhild"

You tried your best to smile back at her.

"My name is Y/N" you nodded respectfully.

"I'll ask the thralls to bring some food for Hvitserk" she glanced one last time to the trembling man on the chair next to you, and disappeared on her way to the kitchens. You realized she was giving you some time alone with him, so you immediately turned to him and touched his face softly, making him look at you.

"Hvitty" you said as gently as you could. His eyes finally focused on your face and finally his eyes widened in recognition "What's wrong?"

"Ivar" his voice was shaking, and he had a panicked expression when he spoke his name. You couldn't blame him, you hadn't been able to say his name out loud without whimpering afterwards "He's... Out there"

You frowned, confused. Was he scared of Ivar? He had motives, but Hvitserk had never been afraid of Ivar. Not even when he had threatened him directly.

"Hvitserk, he's not here" you whispered "It's just you and me"

"He's here, Y/N. He's everywhere" he shook his head "He looks at me, he wants to kill me, just like he killed her"

"Hey" you were starting to get scared, his eyes looked at every corner of the room "Please, calm down, you drank too much, it's just that" you grabbed his face "No one is here, he might even be dead"

It hurt you to say those words, but he was terrified and you needed to calm him down.

"No, Ivar is not dead" he said, more firmly "You know it, you know he's alive" his eyes fixed on yours. He was right, you could feel he was alive, in ways you couldn't explain.

Finally, you nodded. And Hvitserk seemed to take a deep breath then, almost relieved.

"The queen is with child" he muttered "Björn's child"

You nodded slowly. You had heard it a few days ago when you were walking around the market. The news made your heart shrunk, but you had tried to ignore it.

"I always wanted a child" Hvitserk sobbed, still trembling "I know you did, too. I saw how sad you were every time Freydis walked into the room when she was pregnant... I saw your sad face every time you asked the thralls to change the sheets because you had bled" your lower lip started trembling at his words and you looked away, suddenly feeling a familiar ache in your chest "You wanted a child and I ruined it, I ruined your life, just like I ruined Thora's"

"You didn't" you leaned your head on his shoulder "Hvitserk, you didn't, you just did what you thought was right, I don't blame you, it's not your fault" you hugged him, sighing.

"You hate me"

"I don't" kissing his cheek, you kept hugging him, even if he was still between your arms "I truly don't Hvitty, I'm sorry if I made you think that, but you're the only family I have left" you muttered "Please, I don't want to lose you too"

________________________________

Ivar looked to the glistening snowflakes that fell silently at the other side of the window. Everyone slept, but for some reason he couldn't. The arrival of Oleg's new wife had stirred some memories. Not only about Freydis, whom she resembled too much, but also about you. He regretted leaving you in Kattegat every single day, but even if he almost woke you up to take you with him, he knew it wasn't wise to do so. While he knew for a fact that Björn wouldn't hurt you, especially if Hvitserk and Ubbe were with him, he didn't know what he would find out there. He was almost sure he'd die in his escape, and between leaving you without saying goodbye or risking your life, he chose the first option.

Knowing it was the right thing to do didn't make it hurt less.

It was then when he started to miss you. Your absence was deafening, during his journey along what they called the Silk Road he had thought about you every single moment. How much you would have loved to see all of those people, animals and objects they sold. Sometimes he thought he was hearing your laugh somewhere, and his heart would break when he realised he hadn't heard your laugh since way before he left you.

Maybe he took you for granted, thinking you'd always be there even when he didn't deserve it, thinking you'd always forgive him. Because you loved him, right?  

You always said it, sometimes when you were about to fall asleep you'd mutter the words against his neck. How many times had he said it to you? He couldn't recall telling you that many times, only sometimes after making love, and now he regretted it. He wished he had told you now, but then again, what would he tell you? That he hadn't tried his best even though he promised it to you? That you were the only person that kept him stable, the only one that he didn't feel the need to impress because no matter how hard he tried, you would always see the real him?  He felt frustrated.

His time as king with you by his side resembled more a nightmare than a memory. He had seen himself in Oleg, he had seen the cruelty others saw in him. Admitting to kill his wife, killing his brother with no remorse, treating his own nephew like a dog... Ivar didn't want to be that. But he had done even worse things, hadn't he? Hurting you was one of them.

He also regretted killing Freydis. He had loved her too, or at least he thought he did. It was hard to know the difference between love and lust for him. She had been beautiful, perfect, especially when pregnant. But she had betrayed him. Even if they weren't married, she still promised many things to him, she swore she loved him. And suddenly he had two beautiful women by his side, he ruled Kattegat, he was powerful, everyone knew his name, he was going to have a child.

He'd like to be able to blame that loss on someone else. On his brother Hvitserk, who also betrayed him, on Freydis, on his own soldiers that weren't able to defend Kattegat. But the truth was that he was the only one to blame. He trusted the wrong person, and ignored the rest. Including you.

"Ivar?"

The soft voice startled him. He usually didn't let his guard down in Kiev, not trusting Oleg, but this time he had been too self-absorbed by his own thoughts and didn't hear Prince Igor's steps.

The kid looked sleepy, he had a small frown on his face and looked cold as he turned his head to look at him.

"My prince?" he raised an eyebrow. Igor was now able to speak Norse, but Ivar preferred talking to him in his own language, so he would be more comfortable "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I woke up and saw you here" he shrugged "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I was just about to go back to bed" Ivar lied with a small smile "I was just thinking about someone that would have loved the snow like this" he pointed at the window. Igor tilted his head with interest.

"Y/N?"

To hear your name out loud, on someone else's lips, for the first time shocked him. Even with Igor's accent, the sound of your name made his heart skip a beat as your face reappeared in his mind.

"How do you know Y/N?" he shook his head, trying to remember any conversation in which he had mentioned you.

"You said her name a few times, when you were sleeping" Igor shrugged "Sometimes you talk in your sleep"

It was true. You had said it a few times, but he never thought he'd say something coherent.

"Who is Y/N?" the boy asked, curious. His big eyes were fixed on him, and Ivar fought the smile that threatened to curve his lips.

"Y/N is a very special person" he said, sighing "Someone the Gods sent to me when I needed her the most, even if I didn't know at that time... She was also my wife, still is if she's not..." he couldn't finish. The mere thought of you being dead crushed his heart, he couldn't stand it.

"Then why is she not with you?" Igor frowned again "Where is she?"

"I don't know" he shrugged.

Igor pouted then. Ivar smiled, thinking about how much you'd love Igor if you knew him. He was such a special boy, and he saw himself developing a soft spot for him. Maybe it was because he recognized himself in him, maybe because the way he played music the first time he talked to him reminded him of Sigurd. But even if his interest in the boy was merely strategic at the beginning, now he felt the need to protect him.

"Come on, let's go to bed" he winked at Igor, who nodded and stood up. Ivar couldn't hold back a chuckle when he saw the little prince crawling into bed. It warmed his heart. And he wondered if that's how being a father felt.

_____________________________________

"Y/N!"

You had tried to ignore him, but he clearly wasn't giving up. Sighing loudly, you stopped walking down the beach. You did not have a destination in mind, but it was something you did at least once a day, walk around Kattegat, sometimes into the forest and around the beach, just to get away from everything. Turning around with what you hoped was a very annoyed expression, you looked at him.

"What do you want, Ubbe?"

You hadn't talked that much to him, even when you spent a lot of time in the Great Hall to take care of Hvitserk, you barely talked to other people that weren't Gunnhild. And now Gunnhild wasn't in Kattegat.

"I need to tell you something" he sighed when he finally reached you "I wasn't going to, but I suppose you'll find out sooner or later"

You frowned. Immediately your thoughts went to Hvitserk, had something happened to him? Before you could ask, Ubbe shook his head.

"It's about Ivar"

You felt almost like someone had punched you in the face at the mention of his name. Only Hvitserk talked about him, and even if he was in your mind every single day and every single place in Kattegat seemed to scream his name at you whenever you walked by, the rest of them chose to ignore his existence. You were kind of thankful for that.

"A party we sent to the East came to inform us of something" he explained "They said the Rus mentioned that Prince Oleg had a very important guest in his palace in Kiev. A viking king."

Your jaw nearly dropped. Apart from the wave of relief that hit you when you realised he was alive, you felt strange. Almost disappointed.

Because he hadn't come back to look for you.

"Ivar is with the Rus?" you asked, more to yourself than to him. You tried to remember everything you had been told about the Rus.

"Yes" Ubbe sighed "He's there and I'm not surprised, to be honest, to hear that he's alive" he almost smiled then "But that means that he will probably come back here"

You looked at him again, narrowing your eyes.

"If he comes back" he continued "We'll fight him"

"Of course" you shrugged "As you should"

"Will you fight with us?"

You licked your lips before answering.

"I don't fight anymore" you shrugged.

"Not even for your own home?" Ubbe pressed his lips together in disapproval.

"If I fight it's for myself" you raised an eyebrow "I fought for Ivar once too, but now it's just me, and I don't want to fight anymore"

"Fine" he raised his hands "Do whatever you want, but remember we could use a shieldmaiden like you"

"Does Hvitserk know? About Ivar" you asked, ignoring his disapproving stare.

"Amma went to tell him" he shrugged "I figured it would be better"

You looked away. You liked Amma. It was clear she cared about Hvitserk, but you weren't sure whether she understood him.

"Anyway" Ubbe stepped back "Just wanted to tell you. If you change your mind, you know where you can find us"

You watched him as he left, walking back to Kattegat. Ubbe would make a good king, you thought, better than Björn whose real desire was to travel to distant lands.

Looking back to the empty beach, you resumed your walk, knowing this would be maybe a bit longer than usual.

_________________________________

You had never seen Björn so angry. It scared you a bit, knowing there was nothing you could do and everything escaped your control. You felt guilty. If you had been with Hvitserk that night, maybe...  

He trembled between your arms. He felt terrible, you knew it, you hadn't left his side since they found the body. He confessed everything to you in a hushed voice, whimpering and shaking as his eyes looked everywhere.

'I thought she was Ivar'

Björn yelled, screamed and threw things around. A part of you wanted to laugh, to remind him how he laughed at Ivar when he wanted revenge for his mother. When you stood there, watching as they burned Lagertha's body, you felt everyone's sadness, and even felt bad for her. But the only thing in your mind was Aslaug's funeral, when they burned her body without her sons present, without anyone by her side. You remember seeing her falling to the ground when Lagertha's arrow caught her, and you remember searching for any sign of regret in Lagertha's face as she struck down the woman that treated you like a daughter, finding nothing. You remembered Ivar's cries. How you had to hold him when he lost both his parents at the same time, when no one cared but him. No one mourned her like they mourned her killer. Maybe that's why you felt some satisfaction seeing Björn yell and cry. It was justice, after all. The Seer said she would be killed by a son of Ragnar, it was fate, the Gods' doing, and not even Lagertha could escape it.

Even if you didn't feel sorry. Even if you wanted to smile and laugh at him, ask him how it felt when someone took what you loved from you, you now kneeled before him. Swallowing your pride and your satisfaction, to ask for forgiveness.

Not for you. For Hvitserk.

You had your eyes red from crying when you heard Hvitserk would be executed. Burned alive. If they took Hvitserk from you too...

Björn's stern face intimidated you, but you still looked up and opened your mouth.

"He wasn't himself" you took a deep breath "Please, he's your brother"

"I wouldn't be the first son of Ragnar that kills his own brother, would I?" his mockery tone infuriated you, but you closed your eyes to calm yourself down.

"Please" you repeated "Hvitserk is not well, he's sick, he's..."

"He is a drug addict!" he screamed, making you flinch "He's pathetic, not worthy of carrying my father's name!"

Your fist clenched.

"You didn't help him when I asked you to" you raised your voice "He lost control"

"I'm not his mother" he laughed bitterly "I owe nothing to him"

"He's your brother" you argued "And no, he doesn't have a mother, your own mother killed her" you raised an eyebrow "Remember?"

His entire expression darkened. He walked to you, until you raised your head to meet his eye. You could hear gasps and whispers from the people present.

"Are you saying my mother deserved to be killed by that piece of scum?" he whispered, leaning close to you with his eyes widened in rage.

"Maybe" you didn't look away. You kept your eyes fixed in his, and waited. Maybe you just condemned yourself to death, but you couldn't care less. It felt good to finally say what you thought.

Björn's face contorted in rage. He touched the handle of his sword, but seemed to change his mind and instead he yelled again. Men liked to yell when they were angry, sad or frustrated. And Björn was all of those things at the same time.

"I kept you alive because I pitied you" he shook his head "I thought you were just a poor woman whose husband forgot, that you were defenceless and quiet, a good person that was charmed by my little brother" he clenched his jaw "But you're not. You're exactly like him, and I should have killed you and sent your head to that pathetic excuse of a husband you had"

"You kept me alive because you're scared, Björn Ironside" you smirked softly, not letting his insults get to you "Because you know Ivar would be back to avenge my death, because you know he'd kill you. Because you can't beat him"

"I beat him" he raised his eyebrow "I'm king of Kattegat. He's exiled somewhere in the East, too scared to come back here"

"You didn't" you shook your head "He beat himself. With his own decisions and judgements. You just happened to be here too in the right moment"

"You know nothing" he spat at your feet "You're still loyal to him when he threw you away like you were a dog"

"I understand you're hurt" you shrugged "But killing Hvitserk won't bring your mother back"

"But there will be justice"

"Then Hvitserk was also doing justice to his own mother"

Björn growled again, and his fist clenched almost like he wanted to hit you. He turned around, paced for a few minutes until he looked back at you.

"Leave" he scowled at you "Don't ever step into this Hall for as long as I'm here or I will burn you alive next to you dear Hvitserk or worse, I will kick you out of this town forever"

You rolled your eyes at him. Hoping that annoyed him a bit more before turning around and leaving the Hall. Hvitserk wouldn't die. You'd make sure of that.

_________________________________

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[mythicalninjas]

From anon's request: "How would the boys react to see the reader appeared out of no where in the lair. Like there is a portal that open in the middle of the lair and the reader get out of it. They don’t know the reader before. How would they react? You can do separately or all together I don’t mind."

A/N: It got too long, but hope you like it! If you find any mistakes in the paragraphs or do not understand something, feel free to tell me.

They/them pronouns used!

The Guest

It's just another random day in the underground. Eletronic sounds from improvised machines coming from Donnie's computer station, splashing of the waterfall in the enormous main space and a Hip Hop song echoing around, filling the light dump air of the air.

Leo sat on the edge of the platform where he is used to train, a heavy breathe leaving his mouth, exausted by an intensive training session he just had; several drops of sweat slide over his muscled and hot body, clothing showing dark stains here and there as outcome of his effort. But he was satisfied by his well-conclued work. The leader takes a look around to see what is currently happening in his home, as always. Donnie isn't at his computer station or neither his lab. Well, the genius must be doing who knows what somewhere. Leonardo ran his eyes around carefully to find his purple-clad brother and Bingo! Donnie is lying down, using his tablet, on his improvised bed in the giant pipe hole with purple neon wire making a circle around the edge. Rising the corner of his mouth by the view, Leo watched around again to look for his two troublemakers brothers, but couldn't find any of them. Meybe they are distrubing each other somewhere.

Sighing, Leonardo stands and jumped off the platform, walking towards the kitchen area to take a glass of water.

''Eat Me'' red neon sign above the kitchen makes him think of inappropiate things; of course, he tried to change Mikey's mind when the young brother choose it as decoration, but there was nothing the leader could do. Leo is not gonna lie, that sign suits a lot with the kitchen...

Shaking his head to wash the naughty thoughts away and opening the high cabinet door, he picks his favourite blue glass and headed to the fridge. Opening the door he ran his eyes through the small cold space and found the jar water. After pouring the cold liquid into the blue glass, he let's out a relief sigh as brings it to his mouth, finally swallowing the fresh liquid down his throat. His muscles are exausted to continue the intense training, so the blue-clad turtle decided to take a break.

Suddenly a light beam emerged from behind him.

''What the-''

Boom!

The whole lair vibrated.

He was threw against the cabinets by the shock wave. Groaning, Leo rubs behind his neck; a pair of blue ocean eyes scanned towards to where the defeaning sound came from and saw that there's a thick and dark gray fume hovering in the middle of the big space, spreading around.

"Donnie! You must be careful with your stuff!'' Leo yelled, thinking that this explosion was caused by one of Donnie's inventions.

''It wasn't me, Leo!'' Donnie protested, running beside his brother, who is already in the local of the explosion, trying so hard to see what was demaged.

''What happened?!'' Raphael shouted from a distance with Mikey walking right behind him.

Master Splinter came out of the dojo and gasped while watches the unexpected situation ''Leonardo!'' the old rat called ''Explain what just happaned here. Is everyone okay?''.

''Yes, we are, master. But I don't understand the cause of the explosion. It was so fast.''

''Do not worry, my son. The importand is that no one got hurted.''

Leo sighed relived, placing his hands on each side of his hips and just kept stand there a few seconds, watching everybody disappearing into the dense fume. The brothers walk carefully through it to find a reason of the explosin. But all they can see is the concrete ground was covered with a dark dust, for now.

Then...

Raph gasped when see a silhouette a few steps away from him, the arduous smoke difficulting his view.

The silhouette was crouched, its head lowered between its knees, and arms crossed around its body. Raph grabs his both sais and positioned them beside him, ready for the action. He slowly takes steps towards the stranger, being careful to not scare the unexpected guest.

He knew it is not Splinter because that shape is human.

As he aproaches to the mysterious form, Raph noticed that it is a person. ''What ta hell...'' he whispered. ''Hey!'' He called, but you didn't response, keeping your head down between your knees. "Hey!'' Raph called again, but has received no response yet. The brute's yell called the others attention who went quicly beside him, and got surpried by your presence.

''Who is this person?'' Mikey asked, in shock.

''I don't know.'' Leo said as take a few steps closer to you, his eyes watching you form carefully.

Donnie took a few steps foward as well, and pulled his googles down to scan you and adjusted some annulus to have a better view of your vital signals, and kneeled in front of you. ''Hey'' he called, but you kept your head lowered.

The boys looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

You're so afraid to lift your eyes to see what is happening or where you got. You knew that you're being watched by someone, but a discomfort high-pitched sound disturbs your ears, preventing you to hear them.

Donnie lift his hand and with all careful of the world he touches your shoulder.

You quickly rise your head, and shut your eyes open wide.

Gasping, your breathe got faster as you watch a big humanoid green creature a few inches away right in front of you. Without thinking twice you dragged yourself away from the weird creature who stands quickly and lift his hands in front of him as a peace sign. You could see that it is like a human, but with a green skin and so fucking tall; military green cargo pants, a pair of big boots, suspenders around his... plated chest, and that scary thing he's using above his eyes, or are those literally his eyes?!

"WFT?!" You thought.

"Hey, hey, It's okay!" The purple-clad terrapin said, but all you could see is his mouth moving.

You quickly moved your weak body away from him, but something hits your back, preventing you from escape. Slowly your eyes looked back and chills ran down your spine. A pair of sandals in a feet with two big fingers? Your eyes followed up slowly and saw that it is another creature, but this time it is using black pants over his thighs, something you couldn't describe over his lower legs and nothing on upper body. And... Is it wearing a blue cloth around his eyes?

But, out of all of it, you got surprised of how massive these things are. Where have you arrived? And what kind of aliens are they? Wait, they are aliens, right?

"Hey, it's okay. We're not gonna hurt you" Leo said with a comfort voice but you can't hear a single word from him.

You tried to get up and run away but your legs failed, bringing you to the ground. And an excruciating pain started to roll through your legs, making you groan violently.

"Wow, easy!" Donnie shouted "Leo, they're legs are injured! Keep them on the ground or they will hurt themselves even more!".

"Raph, with me!" Leo ordered but his brother didn't even moved; Raph just crossed his arms and shift his wheight from a leg to another. Leo studied your body language, he knew that if he holds you by your legs he would cause more pain on you, so he made a decision to hold you by your arms.

''Hey, hey. Easy'' he tried to grabs your arms but you fought with all your strength to shove his three-fingered hands away. Donnie noticed that Raph doesn't want to collaborate and groaned, walking towards you and kneeling.

Mikey joined his brothers and could finally grabs your arms and laying you down on your back on the ground. Even with a hell of pain you're feeling you moved your legs to kick your immobilizer but the pain hits you so hard, making you're scream.

''We need to calm them down!" Donnie warned.

''And how we're supose to do it? They're freaking out!'' Mikey said, holding you against the ground while Leo keeps his hands on your hips to keep you immobilized.

Donnie has no choice but talk to you.

''Hey'' he carefully lands his hand agaisnt your forehead to call your attention ''I know that you're scared and that you're not understanding what is happening, but you need to calm down''.

You eyes locked with his amber ones.

''Calm down...'' he repeated ''What's your name?''

You didn't get his words and made a question expression, shaking your head from a side to another as a negative response.

''Um... Do you have a name?'' Donnie asked, and quirked a brow ridge.

''I think they're not hearing ya'' Raph opined from behind ''They didn't answer my call when I called them twice in front of them'' Raph continued, shrugging.

''Really?'' Donnie looked back at his red-banded brother.

''Yeah''

That's make sense...

Donnie payied back his attention on you. How will he comunicate with you now?

Unless...

''Can. You. Hear. Me?'' he asked slowly, making sure that his lips are moving for you understand perfectly. Of course, none of them knows language signal, so moving his lips slowly is the only way to make a communication with you. He could see your eyes locked on his lips while he talks, reading carefully each words formed.

You look back at his eyes and nod negatively.

''Oh no...'' Leo murmured.

''Are they deaf?'' Mikey asked.

''I fear...'' Donnie answered, then sighed ''But I'm relieved that they can understand lip reading. Raph" He called, looking back at his brother who was just stand behind him watching you with caution "Can you bring a pen and a paper, or whatever the thing I can write down?"

''Okay." Raph nodded, making a scary and intimidating face without breaking eye contact with you. You knew that the red-clad creature has something negative about you. His deadly stare says everything.

''Hey...'' Donnie called your attention back, and repeated the same exercise as he did to communicate with you ''Keep. Calm. We. Will. Release. You."

You nodded positively.

The boys slowly take their hands off you, waiting if in case you do another resistance or an escape attempt, but you kept layied there, calm.

''I'll need you guys to help me to take them to a confortable place'' Donnie said ''Mikey, I need you to pick them on bridal style. It's the only way to carry them''.

''But how about their legs?'' the young brother questioned, worried about hurting you by accident.

''I guess it will hurt them a bit but... It's the only way. If you lift them just by their arms, they will try to stand instinctively, and it would make them suffer even more''.

"What kind of injury they have on their legs, my son?" Splinter questioned, emerging and walking beside his taller son.

Your eyes went wide.

A GIANT RAT?!

"I scanned their legs and I found out that they have some brusies and their muscles are demaged. I'm surprised the bones weren't broken." Donnie continued "I'm gonna care their injuries and soon they will walk again. But... I'm not sure when they will be healed a hundred per cent.''

The boys stood around you a minute watching you lay on the ground, thinking and speaking between them about what they must do to help you. And you took it as opportunity to study more carefully their forms. Green skin with scales here and there, tonic muscles on their arms and legs. "Holly fuck shit" you tryied to whisper but your voice cracked, indicating that your vocal chords are very weak as much as your body. For sure that traveling through the portal was pretty bad for you.

Your eyes studied them again and you rise an eyebrow. They're wearing backpacks. Wait, those are not backpacks... are... Shells... Shells?! And why are they're wearing colourful clothes around their eyes? Are they criminals or something?!

Your eyes caught the purple clad creature kneeling beside you again. You are sure that he said something like "alright". He lift his three-fingered hand, approaching it closer to your face and you couldn't help but refuse his touch shifting your head away making Mikey and Leo kneel to hold you still, but this time not too hard as before.

Donnie touches your cheek and sotfly turn your face towards his. "Easy... We. Want. To. Help. You". Then he shares a soft smile.

You have no idea what or who they are, but you knew that whatever they're planning, is for help you. Is for your own healthy and safety. At least, if these massive creatures wanted to harm you, they would have already done it, but all they have done is being careful with you; taking care of you.

You smiled back.

Donnie lets out a heavy breathe, then glanced at Mikey and nodded. Leo stood aside to give his younger brother space enough to adjust himself beside you and pick you up. You quickly turned your eyes back at the purple-clad creature like asking him to tell you what his friend will do.

He just nodded positively, smiling.

Leo positioned himself on your another side to help Mikey, taking care to lift your upper body first. Mikey reached to support your body, placing his arm behind you. And now, the most difficult part: your injured legs. ''I'm sorry if you feel pain. You have to be strong as possible.'' Mikey murmured. But before they could work on your legs, Donnie raised his hand to call their attention and soft landed it on your knee. A soft groan left your mouth but you thanked that your knees were just a bit ached ''Wait! Let's do it one step at time. After I count three, lift them fast. Ready?'' Leo and Mikey give a firm nod. ''Alright. One.'' You read his lips, and asked to yourself why he was counting. ''Two''. Your eyes lower to take a look on your legs, and saw that they're with their hands positioned like would pick you up on bridal style. Wait... Your heart beats faster. Donnie noticed that you are staring at him with wide eyes and shaking your head from a side to another desperately, but there's nothing he could do. ''Three!''

You screamed; a heavy wave of pain ran through your weak legs like a hundred knives were penetrating your meat violently. You threw your head back, your mouth open while agonizing sounds go out; it is hard even to breathe.

''Take them to the sofa. Now!'' Donnie ordered.

Mikey quickly headed towards the .... He has to admit that hearing your protesting painfully in his arms breaks his heart. Never in his life he heard someone scream like you're doing right now.

"Here..." Leo directed, adjusting the soft sheet to lay you down and a sofa pillow to support your head. Mikey bent over to place you carefully on the sofa with Donnie holding your head. "Be careful." Leo commented. It hurt a bit when your legs were landed on two pillows, but as fast as the pain started, it ended.

Finally you can inhale oxygen after a whole minute of suffocate.

"I'll grab a medicine to lower their pain. It will get them tiredness but will worth" Donnie said, turning and heading towards his lab.

Leo and Mikey positioned themselves beside you, his eyes watching over every single movement you do. You kinda felt uncomfortable with them looking at you all the time; feeling totally vulnerable under their care, but you knew that what are they're doing is for you own good.

Your eyes caught another massive form coming closer and your bones started to shiver again. The red-cladded humanoid creature is back but this time he was holding pen and a notebook.

"Hey, guys. This is all I could find at the moment" Raph said while look at the stuff he just took, then his scary stare locked on you.

Your blood freeze.

"Thanks, Raph." The leader grabs the stuff and sat on the ground right beside you. He positioned the pen between his big fingers and the notebook on his lap, and his eyes landed on yours. You couldn't help but appreciate to utmost of how beautiful his eyes are. A deep and vividly color of blue. They're like a painting... You shook your head and looked to opposite side, hiding your blush.

"They shook their head. Why? We didn't make any questions." Mikey said.

"I don't know, but let's find out" Leo continued, writing down "Are you okay?". Finishing, he reaches out his hand and gently touches your shoulder making you snap your eyes back at his. Then Leo lifts the notebook to show you the question.

You read it and shake your hand as "So so" then pointed at your legs.

Leo nodded back, understanding your message, then placed the notebook on his lap again and wrote "My brother will take care of your injuries and certificate that you'll be okay and we will help. Don't be afraid". You read it and show a positive thumb. Leo replaced the notebook back and wrote "I'll introduce us to you". You show a positive thumb again. Then Leo wrote all their names down and lifted it to you."Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, Raphael, and our father, Master Splinter".

Leo got up and started to introduce them. He pointed at his name and then at him. Then he pointed at Donnie's name and then pointed towards the lab where Donnie is preparing his medical kit. Then Leo pointed at Mickey's name and then at his brother beside him. The young turtle waved, grinning. "So cute" you thought, waving back. Then Leo pointed at Raph's name and at him, an the brute just crossed his arms. "He's kinda... Rude..." You thought again. Then Leo pointed at Splinter's name and then at him who is a few steps away from you. "Wait. Father? Father? Is he they're father?!" You practically yelled mentally. Your mind was filled with many questions about this impossibility of this giant rat be father, or he must be their adoptive father. You prayed to the second option be the true.

You were brought back to reality with another soft hudge on your shoulder, making you look back at his deep blue eyes. The blue-cladded turtle took a deep breathe and made a worry face; and lift the notebook with the next phrase: "We are mutant turtles."

Your eyes went wide. Mutants? How? Since when it is possible? The boys looked at each other already expecting your shock. What kind of place you just arrived where there're mutants?! The mutants made a fear expression, waiting for your scream. But no sound has come out from your mouth.

You just got froze.

''Won't they scream?'' Raph asked, quirking a brow ridge.

''They got shocked'' Mikey simply commented.

Leo sighed and wrote down another sentence. 'Just keep calm. I'll explain everything when you get well soon". You made an effort to nod.

After a few minutes, Donnie went back holding a first aid kit under one of his his slim but muscular arms, a medicine pack between his thick fingers and a bottle of water. Leo and Mikey took a step back to give their brother some space to work on you. First of all, Donatello shows you the medicine pack, holding it in front of you; he looked at Leo and asked for the notebook and the pen, picking it. Your eyes watched every single move he does and you got the conclusion that this mutant has quick skills and much attention in his work, murmuring who knows what while work on you. "Interesting", you thought.

After finish writing, Donnie lift the notebook. "I'll give you a medicine for your pain, but it will make you tired because it has some substances which cause tiredness. If you feel some uncomfortable symptoms, warn me". You immediately rised a positive thumb. You had taken some medicines with that description many times in your life, so you're kind of used with it. But the bad news is that it makes you fall asleep quickly, a scary idea in your opinion. You have no clue what these mutants would do when you're sleeping; if they would do dirty things or something or whatever the shit you refuse to think. You pray, at least, for these mutants do not do disrespectful things.

Donnie picks a pill from the pack and gave it to you, then the bottle of water. All the five mutants are literally watching you doing it, and it made you uncomfortable. You're not used to many people staring at you like that.

After taking the medicine, Donnie mentioned to you lay down again. The nerd placed the first aid kit on the ground and open it, his hands moving some stuff away again and again, his eyes scanning the stuff in the box. What is he looking for, exactly?

Suddenly your eyes caught his facial expression turning from serious to happy. Well, what did he just find to make him smile? The other mutants—except the red one—grinned. "Why the fuck are they grinning?" You thought. Donnie returned his attention to you with his grin. Okay, you don't know if his smile is a good sign or a naughty sign.

Then you started to feel your eyes heavy.

"Fuck... Now now..." You murmued, feeling a weariness filling your body. You hate when this medicine effect affect you rapdly, and you can't fight back.

"Hey, did they say something? I swear I heard that" Mikey commented.

"Well, they can speak by the way" Raph mocks.

Slowly your vision got blur, and the last thing you remember is they debating with each other, then the darkness pulls you for a long rest.

——————Time Skip——————

The light fills the darkness of your sleepy world like a white spot growing and consuming every single space of the dark. You are not sure how much time you slept, but at least all of it was merely dream and those creatures were just an invention of your mind.

Opening up your eyes slowly, you expected to wake up in your bedroom, but, even with your vision blurring and get used by the ambient light, the place seems totally different of your comfortable bedroom. Damp walls, two thick pipes in a corner a thin one on another, and neon lights a few steps away from where you are layied down. As you can feel, it is a comfortable bed. Groaning softly you turned your head to the space illuminated by the neon flashing lights, seeing a shell with a big backpack facing you. Immediately you recognized him.

It was not a dream.

You hear quick types on a keyboard, noticing that this mutant turtle is using his... computers? He was typing who knows what about something you have no idea, and you got surprised how fast this turtle can do it. He might be a guy of technology, you presume.

Wait. Wait...

If you can hear him working, that's mean your hearing came back to normal! You let out a happy sigh, making the genius turn his head towards you. "Oh, you're awake!" He said grinning, but palmed his face remembering that you can't listen to him. The tall purple clad terrapin takes his skateboard and rolled it beside you and sat down. ''How. Are. You. Feeling?'' he asked; you couldn't help but share a soft smile and say with a weak voice ''I'm good... And I can hear you now.''

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide.

''Hey... Are you... okay?'' you asked quietly with the corner of your mouth rised.

''Oh! I'm- Yeah. I'm-'' he rubs his hand behind his neck ''I'm glad you're okay'' he murmured, sharing a shy smile. What is going on here? You started to think that the air got ''tensed'' sunddely between you. Is it good?

''So...'' Donnie started ''About your physical condition, you're getting better. The muscles of your legs are healing and your wounds are cicatrizing. The rest you've just taken helped you a lot.'' he continued ''Uh... I almost forgot: what's your name?''

''Y/N.''

''Amazing.'' he lower his head, trying to not show a light blush over his cheeks which you already noticed. ''So, uh... Who are you, where did you come from and how did you get here?'' he asked quicly without concerns, locking his amber eyes on yours again. Okay, that was expected but too fast as he did. You looked away from his gaze, fearing your answers would not convice or be plausibles for the situation. Well, there's no way out.

''You... will not believe me if I answer honestly'' you said with weak tone.

Donatello cocked his head to the side, quirking his brow ridges.

''I am from another... I don't know...'' you answered, sighing ''Also I don't remember exactly how I got into that portal-''

''Portal?'' He questioned.

''Yes. I do not remember how or who exactly put me in that portal, but all I can remember is of the explosion when that thing closed and then... an uncomfortable sound filled my ears and a sudden ache consumed my legs''.

''Oh, yeah. I noticed it too''.

You started to feel a little shame by your overreact you had when the boys tryied to help you; and you regret ''Sorry for my bad behaving. I was very scared...''

''Hey, there's no need to apologize. You were just shocked and didn't have time to think. It's totally okay.'' Donnie knew that going through a portal and end up in another place is odd and unconfortable, so he and his brothers will do everything to make you feel safe before find out a way to take you home. The nerdy shares a smile and comes closer to you, pulling his googles above his eyes to scan your vital signs. Your eyes went wide. That thing scared you when you saw it for the first time!

''Did you make these?'' you pointed at his goggles.

''Oh yeah! I did it all my own'' he said proundly.

You gliggled ''Amazing! But it scared the hell out of me when I saw it for the first time. I thought it were your eyes or something.''

Donnie chuckeld of your observation, which you're not wrong. ''Sorry, was not my intention. You're not the only one who got scared of my briliant creation.'' he grinned, adjusting some of his goggles annulus here and there, then actived his hologram from his watch and typed on it. You got surprised with his advanced technology, never in your life you have seen something like that. Which year are you?! A distant future?

Are these mutants evolued humans or hybrids?!

''Are you still hearing that unconfortable noise?''

You woke up from your thoughts ''What?''

''That noise you said about. Can you describe how it sounded?'' he asked without leave his attention from his screen.

''Um... it was like... uh... high-pitched sound.''

Donnie noded, still typing on his screen. You're just sit there watching him working on his whatever the thing it is, his three-fingered hand moving and shifting above the screen. ''I guess you got a temporary deaf by the reason of explosion, and I am surprised that it just gave you temporary damages. I thought your eardrums would suffer a rupture and your bones break... Well... I'm glad that you're okay now.''

You beamed timidly ''All thanks to you and your brothers''. It's just you or his cheeks are being filled with a dark colour? "So... before answer your questions, can I ask where am I? Is this place another dimension or something?''

Donnie's locked his eyes on you, not expecting this question ''What? Uh, no... Why? Are you from another dimension?''

You shrugged ''I donno. Where I came from is Earth. It's all can describe to you.

''Oh! Well, you can still keep calm because you're still on Earth''. He smiled playfulness.

You sigh relieved; thankfully you weren't thrown out of your planet. ''And... where exactly am I?...''

''New York City, USA. Technically under it; you're in mine and my family's home in the sewers''.

You froze. New York? Underground? Sewers? ''You got be kidden me...",

''No, I'm not. And... how about you?''

''Originally I'm from (your hometown). But... I just remember being kidnap and then... Everything went dark. The last thing I remember is flashbacks of some men putting me in that portal. Why did they do it? I don't know.'' you shrugged.

Donnie noded again, his head filled with several hypothesis about your weird past event. "And these men... what kind of clothing they were wearing?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

"Uh..." You made a question expression, not getting what does he want to know about something so random. But who are you to refuse to answer? This turtle must know something you don't. "There were some people wearing different kind of clothing. I remember some wearing white coats—like doctors—and... Others in black. All black. Even their masks...''

''Masks?''

''Yes.''

Donnie's eyes went wide. He knows exactly who wear dark clothing as in your description. Foot Clan. He stood and walked towards the exit over quick steps.

''Where're you going?''

''I'll be right back. Stay where you are, okay? Don't you dare escape.'' he pointed at you and then left, leaving you totally alone in his lab. What is he planning, by the way? Perhaps he has some knowledge about those people you have seen? Well, by his sudden shock react, he surely know.

After a few minutes, Donatello has arrived in his lab and going to where you both had a conversation. And he was not alone.

''So... what's the news?'' Mikey shares a cocky smile, picking a chair and sitting on the oposite of ot, keeping the back of this object in front of his plastron and landing his arms above the top rail. Leonardo stood right beside you and Raph a few steps away from your bed, arms crossed and looking at you with no interest, and the giant rat stood beside Mikey, who glanced at his father still with the cocky smile on his face then back at you.

"So, Y/N. Can you explain everything you know for us? We just want to help you, nothing otherwise." Leo assured, but quick steps has approached him and a sudden punch on his arm made him groan. "Help them?" Raph protested "We don't even know who they are or if they work for someone that is not by our side!". Splinter quickly acted, beating his tail behind Raphael's legs to stop "Enough! Let them speak. We will just know if they tell their story.", "But Master, if they lie?!" The brute threw his arms up in protest, but Splinter just shares an intimidating look, making his red-clad son shut up and take a step back. "I apologize, my young one. You can go ahead with your version of your story."

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit uncomfortable for being watched and sorrawnded by five mutants, but actually you don't care. They seem to be good guys—except for the hot head one. For a while, you told every single detail you remember; since your kidnapping till your arriving in this place, the people who put you in that portal, your hometown. It's so weird that all of it happened so fast which you couldn't believe that it took a while—maybe because you were put to sleep as that people did everything they want to you.

The mutants looked at each other, expressions like surprise, shock, suspicious, doubt traveled through each one. You're afraid of they all think that you're lying, well, the red one is already thinking, of course. But how about the others?

"I might think that people in black are members of Foot Clan..." Leo commented after a moment "And the people in white might be scientists. Helpers of-".

"Baxter Stockman." Donnie finished.

''You gotta be kidding me...'' you murmured, surprise that this dangerous clan are in the same universe with them. You thought you got in another dimension or wherever but you literally were transported to another place, just it. And you lived your entire life without know the existence of these mutants. You want to freak out.

''And why would those people put Y/N in that portal?'' Mikey asked ''Like, just them! Were... were you alone when you were transported, right?'' the youngest looked at you with concerns.

''Yes! As I remember, yes...''

"Well..." Leo started "From now on we have a hard work to do. Y/N, you are under our care, and you have to stay down here with us. It's for your protection".

"What?! But-"

Master Splinter takes a step forward and place one of his hands on your shoulder, looking deep into your eyes "You have no choice, my dear. But there's no need to be worry" he smiled "While you're with us, no dangerous will happen to you" then the old rat glanced at Raphael, who groaned and sighed, getting Splinter's message.

You have to be prepared for all obstacles that are coming, and you're thankful that these mutants are by your side. As Leo said before, there's hard work to execute, dangerous or not.

[themurphyzone]

BatB AU: Be a Pest

AN: Sorry it’s been so long! Enjoy this next chapter!

Ch 19: Be a Pest 

AO3 Link

Wakko had been gone for a while. There was no way to check on him since the mirror was no longer in the castle’s possession. Yakko had to trust that Wakko knew what he was doing, or at least successfully improvise a plan. Maybe he’d been lucky enough to find some help out there. 

But as a big brother-slash-leader of their troublemaking trio, Yakko wondered if it was truly right to allow Wakko to venture into the outside world alone, without any preparation or guide to help him. Maybe he should’ve insisted on grabbing Dot so all three of them could present a united, persuasive force in case Pinky was reluctant to come back. 

A little late for any what-ifs now, isn’t it? 

The only thing he could do was check on Dot. Pinky’s departure hit everyone hard, with Dot and the Beast taking it the worst out of everyone. Everyone else was still coming to terms with the terrible news or distracting themselves by cleaning up the remains of the ball. 

Nobody dared disturb the Beast while he mourned Pinky’s presence. Yakko found himself at the West Wing’s entrance, about to barge in against orders to tell the Beast about Wakko’s plan, but he couldn’t provide the Beast with false hope. They’d had too much of that recently. 

It was better to wait until Pinky showed up, if he wanted to come back at all. 

Until then, the only thing he could do was try to be there for everyone else. Write some new songs, create some new jokes, make some wisecracks at their situation that belied just how serious everything had become, anything to fill in the melancholic silence that had quickly descended upon the castle. 

Leaving the West Wing corridor behind, he tried to follow other servants around, but they were all too lost in thought to react to his antics. Laughing was the best reaction, but he was willing to settle for a ‘go away, Yakko’ or ‘please stop, we’re busy’ too. Negative reactions were still reactions. 

So far, nothing. 

He’d left Dot alone for longer than he meant to. Though he knew his younger siblings were capable, he still worried about them. Sometimes Wakko was naive, and sometimes Dot was headstrong. Someone had to rein them in from time to time. 

She was on the cupboard’s bottom shelf, not even bothering to claim the top like she always threatened to do. If it wasn’t for the occasional clink of her handle against the wall, he could’ve mistaken her for one of the completely inanimate teacups. 

He climbed up to the cupboard without any issue thanks to his years of practice.  

“So how’s my favorite sister?” Yakko asked as he sat on the edge of the shelf, letting his base dangle in the air. 

Dot sighed. “I’m your only sister, Yakko.” 

“Which makes you a favorite by default,” Yakko said. He let a small ember burn on his left candle. 

But Dot didn’t laugh. 

The tiny flame flickered out. This would be tougher than he thought. 

“Wanna bother Scratchy? It’ll be fun. Turn that frown upside down and all,” Yakko suggested. Dot’s body shook with a vehement no. Okay, so maybe that wouldn’t work. There were a million other things he could try. “Ehh….we’ll file that under maybe later. You wanna…hear my latest educational song about Martin Luther and the Reformation? I arranged it to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony for easy listening!” 

Dot sighed. “I’m not really in the mood…”

Okay, okay, so music was a bust…maybe a game to pass the time would work? 

“Well, we could try cards, checkers, borrow funny hats from Marita for a tea party-” 

“Yakko Warner, what part of I’m not in the mood do you not understand?” Dot snapped, her base clinking sharply against the shelf. “Just leave me alone if you have nothing important to say!” 

Though her tone was sharp, her voice hitched. With a sigh, Yakko shook his head. “Yeah…can’t leave you alone even if you tell me to. Comes with the job.” 

Dot glared at him, but Yakko knew perfectly well that she didn’t want to be left alone right now. 

“Fine,” she grumbled. “So where’s Wakko?” 

Here we go.

This was the question he’d been waiting for. 

While he wished he could’ve swayed Wakko into waiting for Dot instead of relying on Yakko to explain everything, he also knew that no time could be wasted so Wakko could sneak out without being noticed. 

“Wakko’s gonna persuade Pinky to come back,” Yakko said. “Came up with the plan by himself and hitched a ride in Pharfig’s saddlebags.” 

“Without saying anything at all?” Dot scowled. “Typical.”

Yakko ignored the harshness in her tone. “Well, I caught him trying to sneak out, and I admit to trying to stop him from leaving, but he was really adamant about this. He didn’t have time to wait.” 

Dot pouted, and Yakko knew she would’ve jumped at the chance to go with Wakko. Some selfish part of Yakko was glad Dot was here though. He didn’t think he could take both of his younger siblings sneaking off the castle grounds without his knowledge. 

Or going without him for that matter. 

“And you let him go?” Dot asked. 

Yakko nodded. He had the odd feeling that Wakko wanted to go by himself anyway. Like there was something he was trying to prove. 

Except…he doesn’t need to prove anything to us. Does he know that?  

Dot was silent, though only because she was trying to think up her next question. 

"...would you have let me go if I asked?" 

Yakko was prepared for anger, but to his surprise, there was none within her question. 

A long time ago, he'd promised that they would stay together no matter what. Though he wished he didn't have to break his promise to his parents, the circumstances had forced him. 

"...I don't know. It was hard enough with Wakko. Don't look at me like that, I know you're not as fragile as you look, and I should've realized that sooner, but…" 

Dot gave him a sharp nudge. 

"I get it, Yakko," Dot murmured, placing most of her body weight onto Yakko in a no-armed version of a hug. "Stop talking before you say something really mushy." 

Yakko gasped in disbelief. Stop talking when that was his entire shtick? "What, you gonna ask the sky to stop being blue now? Or for the stars to stop shining? Any other impossible requests you wanna make?"

"Well, now that you've kindly offered…" Dot said with a cheeky grin, and Yakko nudged her back.

Honestly, if he'd known that all it took was admitting his younger siblings were capable even with their inanimate forms, he would've done it much sooner. 

"Wake me up when Wakko and Pinky come back. I wanna be awake for the love confession," Dot yawned, nestling into Yakko's side. 

Yakko wrapped his brass arm around her as best he could. 

They would come back. It would be difficult to wait, but they would come back. He was sure of it.

o-o-o-o-o

Dot wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, just that it was a very long and emotionally exhausting night, but with Yakko's light flickering gently around her, she felt more confident that Wakko and Pinky would return. 

They seriously needed to hurry up though. Apparently a sense of timing didn't come with being a clock.

As much as she wished she could've gone with Wakko, she realized that maybe Yakko needed her to stay for his own peace of mind. 

Yakko had sacrificed so much for her and Wakko, doing his best to play with them, educate them, and keep them safe and together in spite of everything life threw at them. 

Sometimes he got too overprotective, and sometimes he talked so much and forgot to listen, but he was working on it. 

And Dot wouldn't trade her brothers for the world, even if they did annoy her to death. 

Despite all of Yakko's efforts to stay awake, he'd fallen asleep. 

Dot blew out a tiny flame that still burned on his wick, nestling under his arm to see if she could somehow get back to sleep. It was hard when she was anticipating Wakko and Pinky's return. 

It wouldn't be long before she could nestle into soft fur again.

She closed her eyes, but before she could sink back into sleep, a commotion outside the cupboard caught her attention. 

"EVERYONE, WAKE UP! WE GOT TROUBLE!" Pesto's loud voice echoed through the kitchen. 

Dot tried to squeeze her eyes shut and will herself back to sleep, but Pesto's voice was impossible to ignore. 

The kitchen staff, who'd just finished putting away the remains of the ball's dinner, grumbled as they crawled out from the shelves, racks, and cupboards. 

"What's going on?" 

"Someone tell that featherbrain to shut up!" 

"Can't get any sleep in this place!" 

Pesto made an indignant noise. "Who are ya callin' a featherbrain, ya big lunk? I'd get that wide behind to the big lobby window if I was you!" 

The serving tray who'd insulted Pesto humphed. "I don't have a wide behind…" he muttered. 

Several of the servants around him whistled innocently and chose not to comment. 

Though Dot wondered if Bobby or Squit said anything that would drive Pesto into a crazed, profanity-laden tirade, the featherduster sounded genuinely panicked. 

Dot slipped out from underneath Yakko, curious about whatever was happening. Though some of the servants retreated to their sleeping areas for the night, others chose to heed Pesto and followed him out of the kitchen. 

"Huh? Whazzgoinon?" Yakko asked, sleepily rubbing his eyes. 

"Something's happening out there. C'mon!" Dot said, and Yakko's flames burst as he fully woke up and hopped out of the cupboard after Dot. 

They followed the servants to the window, where a large crowd was already gathered. They all had worried expressions on their faces, and Yakko and Dot glanced at each other, uncertain at what they would see. 

Pushing their way to the front, Yakko and Dot emerged beside Rita and Buttons. Runt and Mindy played together on the rug, oblivious to whatever worried the others. 

Outside the window, through the torrent of rainwater and flashes of lightning, bright specks of light shone through the darkness. 

Though Dot wished it was Wakko, Pinky, and Pharfignewton, that hope was quickly dashed as a series of thundering footsteps echoed on the stone bridge below. 

It was too loud to be a single horse. 

The lights steadily grew brighter and larger as they approached, and with a pit of dread in her non-existent stomach, Dot realized they were torches. 

A mob was coming. And they weren't here for a friendly chat over tea. 

"Gee, where are the pitchforks?" Yakko asked with a nervous chuckle. Nobody reacted to his attempt to make light of the situation. 

"We were roosting in an alcove above the entrance when we spotted 'em," Bobby said. "I'd say they're about fifty strong, each of them armed with at least one weapon." 

With the exception of Pinky and Wakko, nobody had ventured beyond the castle grounds in a long time. So nobody was sure what exactly they'd done to incite a mob. 

"So does anybody know what they're here for?" Adeline asked in concern. 

A deafening chant came from the mob, roaring over the thunder as they marched across the stone bridge. 

"Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast!" 

A hush fell over the room, and even Runt and Mindy stopped their game as the revelation sank in. 

"No…" Dot whispered. "No! Yakko, we can't let them kill the boss!" 

If the mob got to the Beast before Wakko and Pinky got back, well, Dot didn't want to imagine the devastation that would follow. 

"Everyone. Look at that green light. Is that…" Rita pointed to an otherworldly green light poking out of a saddlebag attached to an enormous black horse. 

The horse's rider shouted in fury to his followers, who bellowed and swung their torches and weaponry through the air. 

"The mirror!" Yakko gasped. "How did they get their grubby hands on the mirror?" 

"We don't have time to worry about that dingy mirror! They've got a battering ram with 'em!" Pesto snapped.

"Forget the mirror, is that Prince Snowball among them? He hasn't come around for years!" one of the chairs shouted. 

"They're all following his lead!" a bucket cried. 

Abrasive as he was, Pesto had a point. They needed to focus on the attack, not the mirror or their leader! 

But why is Snowball coming back now of all times? He'll ruin everything! 

This entire situation was getting worse by the minute. 

Nobody had given Snowball a second thought in years, since the curse was a far more pressing matter. 

Maybe they should've been more concerned in hindsight.

The mob finally crossed the bridge, a quarter of the men heaving the enormous battering ram over their shoulders as they finally reached the front door. 

"Barricade the door!" someone screamed, and everyone rushed downstairs to block the front door. 

Dot stuck close to Yakko as they pressed their backs to the door, and she felt every slam of the battering ram against her back. The other servants joined them, but despite their numbers, most of them were too small to be effective. 

The mob would get into the castle. The only thing the servants could do was delay them. 

"Runt and I'll gather the others! We need everyone's help!" Rita exclaimed, wasting no time as she jumped onto Runt's back. "Mush, Runt!" 

"Mushing! Definitely mushing!" Runt barked as he ran into a nearby parlor room. 

"I'm gonna warn the boss!" Dot shouted. "We'll need him too!" 

Once more servants arrived to take her place, Dot moved away from the door, but before she could get far, something tapped her back. 

She turned around, prepared to argue that she could do this, but her words died away when Yakko gave her an encouraging nod. 

"Go for it," he said, shoving her to the stairs. 

Dot smiled. Their little talk had really gotten through to him.

Yakko was counting on her. They all were. 

She rushed upstairs, weaving between a crowd of mops and chairs who were hurrying to aid everybody with the barricade. 

Finally, she reached the West Wing. The Beast's mournful roars had long gone silent, so nobody knew what he was up to, or if he'd heard the commotion. The door was ajar, so Dot slipped through the opening. 

The entire West Wing was dark, save for the enchanted rose's ethereal glow. The Beast hunched over protectively in front of the rose, though he could barely summon the strength to be intimidating. His ears were limp against his back, the light that Pinky had brought back completely sucked out of his pink eyes. 

"You have to come help us! A mob of angry villagers are gonna break down the door any minute now!" Dot shouted. 

But the Beast only turned his back on her. 

"Leave me in peace," he growled. 

She'd expected some level of stubbornness, but she hadn't expected him to be so…despondent. 

Every movement was heavy and sluggish, and though Dot didn't want to entertain such a morbid thought, it seemed like the Beast had lost the will to live. 

"Didn't you hear me? We're under attack!" Dot cried. "And Snowball is leading the charge! They're chanting about how much they want to kill you!" 

But the Beast barely reacted to the name, despite their shared history, only pressing his clawed hand against the bell jar. 

"Then tell everyone to stand down and let them pass. Don't let them know you're alive," the Beast rasped. 

"So you're just…giving up?" Dot protested. 

The Beast turned his back on her, refusing to say anything more. He didn’t even tell her to leave, nor did he make any attempt to shut her out of the West Wing. 

And Dot realized that he didn’t have the strength nor the will to do anything but await discovery and certain death. 

Pinky was the only one who could truly chase away the Beast’s despair.

And they were still awaiting his return. 

There was nothing anyone could do until Wakko returned with Pinky in tow. What was taking them so long? They couldn’t wait much longer!

Even from the upper levels, she heard the mob’s mantra as the castle walls shook with every blow of the battering ram. The door was strong, but it was only a matter of time before it broke completely. 

She hurried down to the main entrance, knowing that there was nothing more she could do for the Beast. 

She needed to be with the other servants. They were the last line of defense within the castle. 

o-o-o-o-o

“KILL THE BEAST!” 

Their catchphrase grated on Yakko’s nerves as he shoved his back against the door. The wood and stone frame splintered, dust raining down from above. The servants pressed close together, but their bodies wouldn’t be an effective barricade for long. 

Their defense was crumbling fast. 

Above the cacophony of the mob and the servants shouting encouragement to keep their unruly visitors out, Yakko heard Dot’s voice call everyone’s attention from the landing of the staircase.

“The boss ordered us to stand down and let them pass!” Dot shouted. Everyone fell silent, stunned by the unencouraging orders. But that wasn’t what Yakko focused on at all. Instead, he saw a determination brimming within Dot. 

That they would defend their castle, their lives, and the Beast at all costs, and they would all live to see the curse broken once the battle was over. “But we can’t let the mob succeed, you hear? So disregard all orders and kick the mob’s butts!” 

Everyone belted out battle cries in response to her speech. 

If candelabras could shed proud tears, Yakko would’ve done it. Instead, he elbowed a broom on his right. “That’s my awesome sister,” he said, unable to stop himself from shamelessly bragging.  

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” was the broom’s snarky reply. 

Yakko clapped his candleholders together, and Dot smiled at his unwavering support. “Well, you heard her, everyone! Let’s get into battle formation!” he shouted. 

Truth was, they didn’t have to completely disregard orders. Everyone was willing to stand down and pretend they weren’t alive…but only so they’d catch the mob off-guard. The element of surprise would be essential.

The servants quickly split into two groups, one on each side of the red carpet that led from the doorway to the stairs. 

“We definitely gotta guard the castle!” Runt yipped, and Rita tugged on his tassels to shush him. 

“Wait for the signal, Runt!” she hissed.

Buttons scurried off to check on Mindy and came back in record time. Knowing Buttons, he’d found a really good hiding spot to keep her out of harm’s way. 

The Goodfeathers and their fellow featherdusters perched atop the gargoyles and rafters, waiting to spring upon the unsuspecting mob. 

Yakko and Dot quickly perched upon a small table which had settled near the front. Though some small, instinctive part of Yakko wanted to protect Dot, he knew that she wasn’t as fragile as she looked. She could handle herself just fine.  

Everyone froze in place, pretending to be the inanimate objects they resembled. The room was dark, and nobody made a peep. 

With one mighty crash, the heavy door splintered and fell to the ground, revealing the mob with their torches and weaponry. Prince Snowball was at the helm, his brows furrowed and mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. He peered into the lobby, then gestured for the mob to follow him inside. 

The men dropped their battering ram, creeping along the carpet as they carefully looked around. Snowball was the only one who masked any fear, while the others nervously pointed their weapons to anything that made noise, not realizing just how tightly packed they were. 

“He’s lurking somewhere in the shadows,” Snowball growled. “Be on your guard.” 

A short, heavyset man followed closely behind Snowball, smiling anxiously and wringing his hands in an effort to kiss up to Snowball’s higher status. It was pretty pathetic to watch. “Y-you saw how sharp those fangs were in the mirror. Not to mention those horns. Wh-what if he-” 

Snowball whipped around and hurled his torch at the man’s head, who yelped as he patted the embers out of his sideburns. “Are you suggesting that I can’t handle the monster on my own, Plotz?” he growled. 

Plotz gulped. “N-no, of course not, your Grace! He’s no match for your might at all!” 

Pleased with Plotz’s desperate assertion, Snowball signaled for everyone to fan out and search the castle. 

“Take all the valuables, antiques, and relics you can find!” he ordered. “But remember, the honor of killing the Beast belongs to me!”

Everybody tensed, awaiting the command to spring their trap. None of these invaders were going anywhere near the Beast! 

Plotz reached for him to provide some light, and Yakko did his best not to squirm at the idea of having the man’s grubby hands around him. He had to remain still, like the candelabra he appeared to be… 

And once Plotz looked away, distracted by the men’s rowdiness around him, Yakko knew that it was time to strike. 

“NOW!” Yakko screeched, his flames bursting with such intensity that Plotz howled in pain, dropping him at once. 

And the entire castle was engulfed in chaos. 

o-o-o-o-o 

Dot ducked and weaved between men's feet to trip them up as they swung their weapons. Many of them made the fatal mistake of looking down, and the momentary distraction cost them dearly. 

She didn't have a knight's strength nor Marita's bulk, but she was excellent at being an absolute pest. 

"Outta my way, jerk!" Dot hollered as she slipped between a bearded man's shoes, and he fell onto his stomach with a surprised shout. She stopped in front of his face and blew a raspberry at him, happy that she still had a tongue to blow raspberries with. "Well, I did warn you. Doncha know teacups have right of way?" 

With a frustrated huff, the man tried to grab her, but Dot easily evaded his grasp. 

"Boy, I've seen babies with better reflexes than you!" Dot hollered. "So crawl back to your little shack and tell everyone you lost to a teacup!" 

The man bellowed in outrage, his ego bruised at the idea of a dainty, fragile, floral-patterned talking teacup outwitting him at every turn. 

But before he could make his move, a caterwaul erupted from the frenzy of servants and villagers. Runt burst from the crowd, barking apologies as he bowled over friend and foe alike, while Rita rode atop his back. There was a sharp-toothed grin on her face as she clutched Runt's tassels with one paw, while the paw was held out to the side, a set of gleaming, sharp needles poking out from her white-laced sleeve, bound to her arm with a red ribbon. 

Every member of the mob was trying to avoid her at all costs, choosing to take their chances with the knights' swords or Yakko's fire. Their clothes were slashed, their bare skin sporting angry red scratches. 

Then Rita turned her attention to the man antagonizing Dot, and she thrust her makeshift claws into the air, yowling as she goaded Runt into knocking him over. The man screamed in pain as Rita slashed his thigh. 

"Not bad for a Christmas angel, don't you think?" Rita purred, fixing her halo to give off an air of pure innocence. 

"Yeah, and you have the voice of one too!" Runt barked. 

Rita rubbed the back of her paw against her cheek nonchalantly. "Save the flattery for later," she said, glancing at Dot for any sign of injury. "Holding up okay, Dot?" 

"Don't worry, I'm having plenty of fun!" Dot exclaimed. 

Rita flashed her claws with a grin. "So am I," she declared, narrowing her eyes at a bulky man with a meat cleaver who was terrorizing the laundry staff. "Hey Runt, doesn't that guy over there smell like a nice, juicy beef tenderloin? Ya think he might be the butcher?" 

Runt's tassels wagged. "Oh boy, beef tenderloin!" he exclaimed, bounding off in excitement. 

That poor butcher never knew what hit him. 

An operatic shout sounded from above, and Dot barely had time to look up before Marita slammed into the ground, crushing a hapless soul under her bulk. 

Ha! Serves them right!  

But Dot celebrated too early. Someone's meaty hands clamped around her, lifting her several feet off the ground. She wriggled her base and tried to pull away, but the man's grip was too strong. 

"Thought you could escape, huh? Real cute," he guffawed, raising her above his head. 

Fear coursed through Dot. He was gonna shatter her! Maybe she'd been too confident in her abilities at a time when everyone else was preoccupied. 

She braced for impact, praying that it wouldn't hurt too much as the man flung her to the stone below…

…and something soft cushioned her fall. 

Below her was a tan ottoman, whose focus was completely locked on the man who'd tried to shatter her. 

Buttons! 

And riding atop him was a candelabra with an easygoing smile on his waxy face, which couldn't quite conceal the simmering fear and anger. 

"Got here in the nick of time," Yakko said casually, his tone concealing just how furious he truly was. "Feeling up for a little revenge, Dot?" 

"I'd love some," Dot grinned. 

True, she could be fierce and independent, but truth was, sometimes she needed to rely on her brothers too. 

Every once in a while of course, not that she'd ever let them know that. Her brothers didn't need the ego boost. 

"You know what to do, Buttons!" Yakko declared. 

In a matter of seconds, Buttons had the cruel villager pinned to the ground. Trapped between Buttons' wooden legs, the man's eyes comically bulged in fear. 

Buttons growled, a surprisingly ominous sound for an ottoman. 

Yakko's flames flared to a height that Dot had never seen before, changing from a warm orange into an intense, scorching blue. 

He hopped off Buttons' back and onto the man's chest. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as Yakko held a flame close to the man's exposed neck. 

"The only one who messes with my siblings is me, understand?" Yakko growled. 

The man stared, cross-eyed at Yakko's flames. 

"Couldn't quite catch that," Yakko said. "Mind speaking up? It's so hard to hear over all this racket!" 

"U-understand," the man squeaked out, his voice an octave higher than it was before. 

The score now settled, Yakko's blue flames cooled to orange. He settled atop Buttons' back once again, slinging an arm around Dot. 

"Care to do the honors, Buttons?" Dot asked. 

The man breathed a sigh of relief as Buttons released him, though he scarcely had time to sit up when a hind leg slammed into his gut, causing him to keel over once again. 

Revenge had never been sweeter. 

"Shall we?" Yakko asked, his arm sweeping out to indicate the hall-turned-battlefield. 

"Charge!" Dot screeched, and the trio leapt into the fray once more. 

o-o-o-o-o

Wakko's heart raced as Pharfignewton burst through the edge of the forest, rushing past the broken iron gates that marked the beginning of the castle property. 

From across the stone bridge, they heard the shouts and caterwauls of a raging battle, though from this distance, it was impossible to tell who was winning. 

Behind him, Pinky wrung his tail anxiously. "I hope we're not too late…" he whispered. 

"It'll work out, Pinky," the old mouse said in reassurance, though he couldn't hide his nervous tremor either. "You'll see." 

Slappy and Skippy emerged from the forest canopy, leaping from the branches to the top of the stone walls. 

"Whoa, that's a huge castle!" Skippy exclaimed. "You really live here, Wakko?" 

"Sure do!" Wakko replied. Though he wished Skippy could've seen the castle before it fell into disrepair during the curse. He would've been even more amazed.

"Eh, you've seen one castle, you've seen 'em all," Slappy shrugged, not nearly as impressed as her nephew. 

Bugs popped out of the ground, unable to continue tunneling across the stone bridge. He munched on a carrot as he took in his surroundings, casually resting his elbows on the soil, his lower half still underground. 

“Well, this looks like a fun party,” Bugs commented. 

He was suddenly shoved out of the hole by an incredibly irate Daffy, whose beak was scrunched up in disgust. He retched and coughed out a wriggling earthworm, glaring at Bugs once he was finished. 

“Thank you, Bugs,” Daffy said sardonically. “For treating me to a wonderful dinner of mud and worm a la mode.” 

“No problem, duck,” Bugs said, brushing himself off as he stood up. He offered a carrot to Daffy without even looking. “Care for dessert?”

Daffy snatched the carrot out of Bugs’ hand and angrily chomped down while muttering insults against rabbits under his breath. 

The group charged across the stone bridge, the air filled with the screams and chaos of a raging battle. As they drew nearer, they passed several villagers who were shouting and fleeing from the castle. 

A bearded man sported two black eyes and several missing teeth. Another was limping along, dressed in nothing but a ballerina’s tutu with his mascara running trailing down his face from the rain. 

That one was definitely Marita’s work. 

“I told you not to fall for that harp’s feminine wiles, Tom!” a man scolded his bruised friend as he dragged him into the trees. 

Tom moaned, clutching his broken nose. “Bu’ she was so bretty!” 

Hello Nurse seemed to be doing fine in the battle too. 

Wakko’s heart soared as they finally crossed the stone bridge. Despite the battered and broken exterior, they were actually winning the battle! 

“Hey, you guys better be saving some for us!” Slappy shouted at Wakko.

“Yeah, don’t hog all the fun!” Skippy agreed. 

Daffy rolled his shoulders back and cracked his knuckles. “I’m getting a headstart on all of you!” he shouted, pulling out a meringue pie and anvil from behind his back. He charged straight into the castle, and there was a high-pitched scream followed by a loud crash from inside. 

Slappy and Skippy rushed in after Daffy, letting out war cries of their own. 

Bugs stayed behind, content to finish his carrot before joining the fight. 

"Let's go, Pharfignewton!" Wakko shouted, tapping his wooden legs against her saddle. 

She took a step forward, but her legs trembled. Yet she tried to hold her head high, even though her sides heaved with tremendous effort. 

Unsteady on her hooves, she shuffled over to a patch of grass and collapsed on her side, her tongue lolling out as she panted.

Wakko, Pinky, and Jack yelped as their ride ended unceremoniously. 

The rain plastered her mane to her back, but she didn't seem to care. Wakko and Pinky quickly climbed off her saddle, draping themselves around her muzzle. 

"...you okay, Fig?" Pinky whispered, tenderly rubbing soothing circles into her muzzle. 

Pharfignewton nickered quietly, her eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. 

She's in a lot of pain, Wakko realized. And she ran so far, so fast with those burns on her legs….

Pharfignewton’s nostrils flared, and she tossed her head with a snort. Wakko and Pinky’s hands slid off her muzzle. 

Go. 

The message was loud and clear. Though Wakko and Pinky were hesitant to leave her in such a vulnerable state, she wanted them to save the castle. The inhabitants were her friends too. 

“Shall we?” Bugs called, dropping the remaining leaves of his eaten carrot on the ground as he stretched his arms. 

Wakko unstrapped the mallet from his back, which fit perfectly in his hands. Heavy enough to cause damage, but light enough to swing around. It was just right for him, and he was happy that Slappy let him keep it. 

Wakko glanced up at Bugs, nodding with conviction. “I’m ready,” he declared. 

His siblings had waited long enough. 

“Here. You’ve earned this,” Bugs said, holding out a carrot to Pharfignewton. She gratefully accepted it, whinnying her thanks. 

But Pinky clung to Pharfignewton, too distraught to let go. 

Jack rested his hand on his son’s shoulder, tilting his head towards the castle. He knew what needed to be done.  

Wakko hefted his mallet over his shoulder, giving Pinky and Jack a determined nod. He was ready to protect his siblings and friends now. 

Then he and Bugs rushed into the castle, deftly avoiding an unconscious villager who’d been knocked out in the doorway. 

They were instantly met with a chaotic scene. 

Feathers from the pillows and featherdusters were scattered everywhere. The villagers slipped on puddles of soapy water that the buckets dumped on the floor, rendering them vulnerable to attack. Somebody screamed, the large metal pot on his head muffling the sound. Several cooking utensils jumped at the chance to aid him by repeatedly banging on the metal pot, and the man stumbled and swayed as his entire body vibrated with the sound. 

Wakko recognized a large man, Gerald, nearby. He was fending off the seamstresses’ assault, even with one hand bound to his back with some incredibly strong thread, he wasn’t going down easily. 

He’d mocked Pinky for his kind offer to feed him soup, in addition to tying Pharfignewton up in the stables after he led her away, ensuring she couldn’t aid her family while they were in trouble. 

Needless to say, Wakko hated him. 

His grip tightened around his mallet, ready for payback, but Bugs walked up to Gerald and tapped him on the shoulder before he could do anything. 

“Eh, pardon me doc, but would you like any assistance with that thread?” Bugs asked. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a bind.” 

Bugs chuckled at his own joke as he led a bemused Gerald over to a stone gargoyle. Then Bugs tapped his finger against the gargoyle’s sharp fang, nodding in satisfaction. 

“Here, this one should cut it nicely,” Bugs declared. 

Gerald turned his back to the gargoyle and tried to use the fang to saw through the thread, and though it held quite well, it would eventually break. 

“Well, glad there’s still some decency left,” Gerald grunted as he attempted to break the thread. It was clearly going to take some time and lots of strength. “Can’t really expect much help when everyone’s fighting off demon-possessed furniture.”

Bugs nodded. “Tell me about it. Afraid I’ve never been one for Gothic decor myself. I’m more into the classical style.”

“I’m sure the Devil would be right at home,” Gerald grunted. 

Then Wakko noticed that one of Bugs’ long ears was pointing to the top of the gargoyle’s head. Bugs’ eyes flicked to Wakko, then back to Gerald. 

And Wakko understood. 

Strapping the mallet to his back, Wakko silently crept over to the gargoyle and climbed to the top of its head. Bugs kept Gerald talking and focused on cutting the thread so he wouldn’t notice. 

“Humph. You aren’t half-bad. Better company than Jacque anyway,” Gerald admitted, the thread finally snapping. “Tell you what. Come to the tavern and I’ll treat you to Dick’s whiskey at the victory feast. He’s the best brewer in the village.” 

Wakko’s hands tightened around the mallet as he waited for Bugs’ signal. Any moment now. 

Bugs shrugged. “Eh, can’t say I care for that bitter stuff. I prefer a nice, refreshing glass of carrot juice.” 

Gerald guffawed. “So that explains why you’re so scrawny then! How do you ever expect to be a real man without meat and whiskey?”

Bugs produced a cup filled with carrot juice and pressed it into Gerald’s hand. “Well, have you ever tried carrot juice before?” he asked, rubbing his chin as Gerald stared at the cup, his mouth agape as he wondered where Bugs pulled it from. “Hmmm, most first timers find the taste a bit earthy. Fortunately, that’s an easy fix. You want one or two lumps?” 

Two sugarcubes sat in Bugs’ open palm. 

“Fine. I’ll humor you. Two lumps,” Gerald grumbled, snatching the sugarcubes out of Bugs’ hand and dropping them into the carrot juice. 

“An excellent choice,” Bugs grinned, taking a step back. “You heard this upstanding gentleman, Wakko! Two lumps for him, if you please!” 

Gerald whirled around, his eyes widening in terror as Wakko raised his trusty mallet, delivering two lumps to Gerald’s temple as promised. 

Gerald collapsed, completely unconscious with two large, red lumps on his forehead. 

“Well, I can hardly expect to be a real man since I’m a rabbit,” Bugs chuckled, sidestepping Gerald’s body to shake Wakko’s brass hand. “Whoever named you Wakko must’ve known you’d be a real hard hitter with a mallet.”

Wakko’s heart soared at Bugs’ praise. 

“Hey, everybody!” a voice shouted from above. “Wakko’s back!” 

Squit circled around Wakko’s head in a joyful greeting, and Wakko happily shook Squit’s tailfeathers.  

With the threat of the villagers greatly reduced thanks to Daffy, Slappy, and Skippy’s enthusiastic attacks, the servants eagerly rushed over to the gargoyle to see Wakko. 

“It’s about time! What took ya so long?” Pesto shouted. 

Runt happily wagged his tassels. “Didja see any good sticks out there? I really, really love sticks!” 

Rita sighed, careful not to scratch herself on several razor-sharp needles she’d attached to her paw. “Not really why he was out there, Runt…” she sighed. 

“Well, talk to ya later,” Bugs said, lifting Wakko off the gargoyle and placing him on the ground. “I can’t let Daffy and the Squirrels take all the fun.” 

The servants let him pass, recognizing him as an ally.

“WAKKO!” 

Above all the noise were the two voices Wakko had looked forward to hearing the most. 

Yakko and Dot burst through the crowd, slamming into Wakko at full speed and knocking him into the gargoyle’s stone leg before he had the chance to drop his mallet. 

Dot nuzzled into Wakko’s side, and Wakko gripped her handle with one hand in their own version of a hug. She had a bright smile on her face, and Wakko was happy to see that somehow, she’d cheered up while he’d been away. 

Yakko’s brass arms were tightly wrapped around Wakko, the flame on top of his head bursting sporadically. 

“Yakko did some soul-searching while you were gone,” Dot said with a teasing grin. “He was a total mess.” 

“I’ll have you know that I was always the cool, calm, smooth-talking eldest Warner brother and semi-parental figure I’ve always been,” Yakko declared. “So what happened during your time away?” 

Wakko rubbed his chin. “Well, I found out that Prince Snowball wanted Pinky to marry him. And Pinky said no, so Snowball threatened to throw everyone he loved into the Maison des Lunes with the support of almost the entire village. They didn’t believe that the enchanted castle was real, so Pinky proved them wrong by showing them the Beast through the magic mirror. Then Snowball got really, really mad and riled everyone up into a mob to storm the castle and kill the Beast. Then he told the Devil to lock Pinky, his father, and Slappy in the asylum until he returned to claim Pinky’s hand in marriage. So the Devil tried to take them away, but then I met Skippy, Bugs, and Daffy, and they helped me destroy the asylum carriage. Then the Devil tried to kill us, but I smashed his knees with my mallet and Bugs dragged him underneath the earth. Then we rode here to save the castle from the mob and the curse! Pinky’s still outside though, we should really check on him once we’re finished dealing with the invaders.” 

Everyone was silent during his tale, and the only noise was Daffy’s furious quacking as he whacked a villager for setting his tail on fire. 

Then Dot let out an indignant noise. “You beat up the Devil and didn’t let me have a turn?” she complained. “That’s it. When I have my arms back, I wanna try out your mallet. You owe me.” 

Fair enough. 

Yakko half-laughed, half-sobbed with glee. “You’re different now, but you’re a Warner sibling through and through,” he grinned. “Wish Mom and Dad could see you. They’d be proud.” 

And so was Yakko, though he’d never admit to anything so mushy. 

“Well, what are we all standing around here for?” Wakko shouted, raising his mallet to the cheers of the servants. “Let’s save our castle!”

And the castle’s fighting spirit was rekindled once more. 

o-o-o-o-o      

Responsible guardians would’ve made sure their kid ate their veggies, brushed their teeth, and went to bed at a reasonable time. 

Responsible guardians definitely wouldn’t let their kid ride on machines with questionable safety mechanisms, chase down the Devil, or encourage them to store dynamite in their hammerspace. 

That’s why Slappy enjoyed being an aunt. 

To hell with everyone who tried to separate Skippy from her. Belatedly, the villagers realized that was the worst course of action they could’ve taken.

“Now Skippy, you’re probably gonna hear a lotta people say you should take the high road if someone wrongs you,” Slappy declared. She whistled shrilly, and an enormous anvil dropped from the second floor onto an unaware Stanley. “But lemme tell ya, revenge is the best way to make sure they’ll never do it again. Thanks for the demonstration, Henri.” 

Henri the anvil hopped off Stanley’s back, the ground shaking under his weight. “No problem,” he said before hopping off in search of some hapless villager’s foot. 

Skippy eagerly scribbled down notes on a small pad, quickly putting it away and bringing out a mallet that was ten times as large as he was. 

“Whoa!” Skippy shouted in surprise, wobbling back and forth as he tried to control the swaying mallet. 

Everyone on both sides hastily scrambled out of the way. Nobody wanted to be caught under the mallet. 

That is, everyone except for Daffy, who was too busy counting and organizing his pile of semi-conscious villagers to notice the ominous shadow dangling over him.

Daffy hummed a tune to himself as he threw the baker on top of the dairy farmer. “La-da-dee, la-da-doo, ten for me, none for that dumb bunny, la-da-dee, la…DAHHHHHHHH!” 

Too late, he noticed the mallet swinging down from above. With a mighty crash, it flattened him against the stone floor. 

Skippy let go of the handle with a nervous smile. “Oops…” 

“Eh, don’t sweat it, Skippy,” Slappy said, lifting the heavy mallet enough so a very irate Daffy could scuttle out from underneath. “Give it a couple years. You’ll grow into it.” 

“Your child is a menace to society…” Daffy muttered, snapping back to his normal height. “And you’re despicable for encouraging it.” 

Slappy rolled her eyes. Like she hadn’t heard it all before. 

Skippy bounced on his toes. “Thanks for the compliment, Dewey!” he exclaimed. 

“IT’S DAFFY, YOU SNOT-NOSED CRETIN! NOT DRAKE, NOT DONALD, NOT DEWEY, BUT DAFFY!” 

Daffy hooted, hollered, and rammed through the solid stone walls, startling villagers outside who were trying to crawl away from battle. 

“This time, let’s try to stay away from friendly fire,” Slappy suggested to Skippy, ignoring the carnage outside. 

“I make no promises, Aunt Slappy,” Skippy declared. 

Fair enough.

Just as they were about to begin their search for a suitable target, Plotz stomped up to them with a furious glare.

His once-neat suit was shredded, an ember smoldering on one shoulder. Half his hair (not that he had much to begin with) had been ripped out, and he was missing a shoe. 

"Alright, kiddo. Go be a menace to society," Slappy declared, giving Skippy an encouraging nudge towards Plotz. 

Skippy puffed out his chest with pride and met Plotz's glare without flinching. 

She'd step in if needed, but deep down, she knew he wouldn't require an intervention. If Skippy could fight back against the Devil and win, then a cowardly thief was no match for him at all. 

Skippy was taller, wittier, and braver than he'd ever been before. 

And the realization struck Slappy harder than a thousand ton sack of bricks ever could. 

He's growing up. 

Skippy and Plotz traded insults, but Slappy barely heard any of them. All she knew was the swelling pride that overtook her as Skippy remained calm and collected, while Plotz launched into a furious diatribe about Skippy, his behavior, his heritage, and everything else he hated about the young squirrel. 

Instead of replying, Skippy crossed his arms and turned his back to Plotz. 

A risky move, but the complete disrespect left Plotz seething.

Plotz stomped around Skippy to force eye contact, but Skippy lifted his chin proudly and turned his face away. It didn't matter which direction Plotz tried to move, Skippy was one step ahead of him. 

I didn’t think I could be any prouder, but- 

A hiccup interrupted her thoughts, and a half-llucid Jacque stood in her way, blocking her view of the entertainment.  

"I rembr'er when my son grew up," Jacque drunkenly rambled, his nose as red as a beet. He swayed on his feet, rum trickling down his face as he sloppily drank out of his bottle. "Ne'er spoke to me again once he turned the ripe ol' age of sixteen. I miss that bright fella-" 

Slappy snatched the bottle out of Jacque's hands and smashed it against his head. The local drunk was instantly knocked out, humming a very out of tune Alouette as he collapsed. 

"Never asked for your tragic backstory, Jacque," Slappy growled, eager to get back to watching the one-sided showdown between her nephew and Snowball's lackey. 

But she found that her vision was partially obscured by a glossy sheen. She quickly glanced left and right, and once the coast was clear, she wiped her eyes against her bushy tail. 

“Do mine eyes deceive me?” a voice chuckled behind her. “The great Slappy Squirrel, crying over her kid growing up?” 

Slappy jumped. She was usually good at discerning sneak attacks from behind since Skippy sometimes tried to hug attack her when he thought she wasn’t watching. But Bugs had crept up on her, and she’d let down her guard. 

She released her tail and folded her arms, her vision returning in full. Then she kicked Bugs in the shin to shut him up. 

If there was anything she agreed with Daffy on, it was that Bugs didn’t know when to shut up. 

“Tell anybody and I will personally chop off your feet and peddle ‘em as good luck charms,” Slappy threatened him. 

Bugs held up his hands to placate her, though she knew her threat fell on empty ears. “Duly noted,” he agreed. 

Then Skippy reached behind him, pulling out a cannon and letting it drop to the ground with a loud thud. Startled by the cannon’s sudden appearance, Plotz had no time to react as Skippy shoved him inside headfirst. But Plotz didn’t fit smoothly, and though Skippy tried shoving him at first, he resorted to tilting the cannon upwards and jumping repeatedly on him, though Plotz barely budged at all. 

“Aunt Slappy!” Skippy shouted. “Can I get some help over here?” 

“Duty calls,” Slappy told Bugs, who grinned back as she walked over to a struggling Skippy.  

Her kid was growing up, but he still needed her help every now and then. Besides, what could possibly be a better bonding activity than launching minions out of cannons? 

“Get off and tilt that cannon towards the window, Skippy,” Slappy instructed, taking out a long pole with a clubbed end from her hammerspace. “Never aim your cannon directly upwards unless you want to get blown to smithereens.” 

Skippy jumped down and with some effort, shoved the cannon into the proper angle for launch. Plotz let out a muffled oomph, his bottom and legs sticking out in an awkward position. 

Slappy rammed the pole into Plotz, and everything up to his legs disappeared into the cannon. His entire body was scrunched up inside, his screams echoing inside the metal. 

“Can I try?” Skippy asked eagerly. 

Slappy handed him the pole, and Skippy gave the pole an experimental push.

Slappy shook her head. “You’re poking a bear, not a poodle. Put all your strength into it!” 

It took three more shoves, but Skippy finally managed to stuff Plotz’s legs into the cannon. 

He’d get it down once his physical strength developed, she was sure.

She took the pole from Skippy, making sure Plotz was shoved properly to the back. Once he was in position, she and Skippy moved to the other end of the cannon. 

“Care to do the honors?” Slappy asked, striking a match and offering it to Skippy. He took it and lit the rope, shaking out the match’s leftover fire.

There was a hiss and the smell of smoke and gunpowder in the air as the fire sizzled and burnt the rope, finally reaching the end of the cannon. 

She grabbed Skippy, pressing down on his ears to protect his hearing from the deafening cannonfire since there was no time to search her hammerspace for earmuffs. She used her tail to cover her own ears, since squirrels distinctly lacked more than two hands. 

The cannon shook, then fired its contents into the air with a deafening boom. A soot-covered Plotz soared through the window and into the sky, the mighty castle far below him. He’d land somewhere in the forest, or if they were lucky, he’d land somewhere in the jungles of South America. 

Slappy didn’t care. 

They’d gotten their revenge, and she’d never been so satisfied in all her life. 

There was a stir as the villagers came out of their unconscious state, drowsy and confused. 

“C’mon, while they’re still groggy!” a floral-patterned teacup called to them. Wakko stood next to her, holding his mallet with pride. He waved at them and waddled off, calling for everybody to join the crowd of animated inanimate objects at the base of the stairwell. 

Daffy strolled in, beak up in the air and his chest swollen with pride. 

“I win,” he smirked before turning to the inanimate objects. “All hail your conquering hero! Thank you! You’re all too kind! Autographs are fifty livres each! Mwah, mwah, please, you’re too much!” 

Bugs shrugged, Slappy rolled her eyes, and Skippy laughed. 

Once they were all huddled together in one enormous mass, a candelabra hopped up to the groggy villagers. Then he leaned into the baker’s face with a smug grin. 

“Boo.” 

That single word drove the scattered remains of the mob into a panic as they fled from the castle for good. 

And once they were all gone, cheers and joyful shouts reigned through the castle. 

“We did it, Aunt Slappy!” Skippy squealed, throwing his arms around her waist in a hug. 

She ruffled the fur on Skippy’s head, silently promising herself that she’d never allow Skippy to be forcibly separated from her ever again. 

The nightmare was finally over. They’d won. 

o-o-o-o-o

The rain poured around Pinky, the wind whipping violently at his fur and cloak. He gripped the fur on Pharfignewton's muzzle, though in her weakened state, she was trying to get him to let go. 

It was his fault that Pharfignewton had been whipped, burned, and galloped a long distance with her untreated injuries. 

The burns on her flank and legs were a furious red, in stark contrast to her white coat. 

She needed medicine, somewhere warm to rest, and food. But he couldn't provide any of those things.

I failed her. 

Pharfignewton whinnied softly, trying to reassure Pinky. Though it didn't really work, he appreciated the gesture. 

"...you should go see your friends," Papa said, his cold fingers prying Pinky off Pharfignewton. Then he sneezed, rubbing his nose on his cloak. 

Papa too. He shouldn't be out in the rain…. 

Pinky wanted to see the servants again. According to Wakko, they were all waiting to welcome him with open arms. 

And most of all, he wanted to see the Beast again.

Maybe, once everything was alright again, they could read another bedtime story in front of the fire. The Beast would complain about Pinky using his cloak as a blanket, but wouldn't do anything to take the cloak back from him. And they'd fall asleep with Pinky nestled safely against the Beast's warm body, protected from the outside world. 

But…maybe he was hoping for too much. Maybe he was so excited to see the Beast that he hadn't considered if the Beast would be excited to see him. 

He'd left with hardly a goodbye. Now that he thought about it, when the Beast brought him into the West Wing just before they parted ways, there was something important he'd wanted to say. 

The Beast had been so nervous and shy. The thing he'd wanted to say was very important, but also hard to express. 

If the Beast was willing to see him, maybe he could say the thing he'd wanted to say before? 

Papa's hands turned Pinky around so that they were face to face with each other. Papa's eyes held no trace of anger or hurt, just understanding and love. 

"Pharfig will be safe with me," Papa said. "Go see your friends, Pinky." 

Pinky glanced at Pharfignewton, who only gave the tiniest, knowing smile. She was encouraging him too. 

"Papa…" Pinky began, but before he could say anything else, the sound of shattering glass roared above the storm. 

Startled, Pinky's gaze was drawn to the high towers of the castle. There were two figures on a stone protrusion, illuminated by flashes of lightning.

Snowball’s harsh laughter echoed through the air as he kicked a defenseless Beast towards the edge. The Beast laid helplessly on the stone, unwilling to move even though Snowball was about to bludgeon his head with a stone piece he’d broken off from the castle roof. 

Why wasn’t the Beast defending himself? Pinky had seen him fight a wolf! He should be able to fight back against Snowball! 

"Beast! Get up! You have to get up right now!" Pinky screamed. His heart leapt with terror, his stomach churning at how the Beast teetered over the edge, darkness in one direction and a murderous, enraged Snowball in the other.  

I can’t be too late! Please tell me I’m not too late… 

Yet at his words, the Beast stirred, lifting his head from the stone. His mouth moved, though Pinky couldn’t hear anything from this distance. 

The Beast had seen him. But instead of the joyful reunion Pinky had hoped for, it was a matter of life or death. 

“Stop it, Snowball! Please!” Pinky shouted as Snowball stood over the Beast and raised the club, preparing to strike-

-and the Beast’s hand stopped the club. 

Snowball faltered, shocked as the Beast loomed over him, his grip firmly on the club as he pushed Snowball back to the roof. They grappled for control, the Beast’s roars echoing through the air. 

And Pinky finally understood where he was needed. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Pinky rushed into the castle.