#i heard once that the two hardest things to animate well are water and fire and this movie does both perfectly

[articskele]

(Source) I swear this scene is made of magic

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Rhys - Traitor.

  hi! i was thinking a bat boi x reader where the reader ”betrays” them but the reader is doing it to save the night court (they don’t know that until later tho) and the reader is exiled from the night court before the inner circle realises the reader did it to save them <3 (you can pick the bat boi :) Reader is a double agent - originally from Autumn court. The reader has allied themselves with the Night court after Autumn and Hybern began working together. Reader still poses as an Autumn court informant to Beron.

  This was a challenge for me, thank you for that!

They would be their own downfall. You knew they would do absolutely anything to protect Velaris and its citizens. Amren was the only one who seemed to be on your side regarding the risky method. Rhys outright refused. Which was why you had to pave the way to allow Beron's army in. Or, at least make them all think that was what you'd done. You spent weeks forging your plan, heart sinking with every tough decision to be made. Which buildings would be sacrificed, how to get the people of the city out without giving yourself away. Beron would be pissed off, but he wouldn't dare to actually march his army into Velaris. You had fed him enough information to make him hesitate at that idea. Plus, they were busy ruining the Summer court. But you doubted that the King of Hybern knew that. Beron liked to keep his soldiers tame and under his rule by allowing them free reign after battles. So you waited on your informants to get back to you to confirm. Like a spider waiting for it's trap to be set. If the king thought his own ally in the Autumn court had already sacked Velaris, he wouldn't make the stop there. He didn't want to ruin his own pride, wasting his first grand attack on a measly city that was already losing their battle. He would continue for the next city down the line that hadn't been trifled with yet. It was a risk and you knew it - playing the king's arrogance. So you covered all your bases, and you set fires. Got yourself the biggest Illusion spell you could find. A massive one that had cost you half your bank account for all the materials you needed to create it. Your lips trembled as you said the enchantment over the potion. You told yourself it would work. It had to. You packed your bag and tightened it on your back before you set off. Hurting Rhys would be the hardest part. You debated the plan all together because of the fracture it would cause. But you knew it was the only way to keep him safe from his need to protect his home. The city he built from the ground up. You tried to push those thoughts away until the day of your heist. Which seemed to come around much too soon. You led Rhys and Azriel far out of Velaris the hour before the potion was to be set off. You spun them a story of scouts watching from the south. You weren't even halfway to your destination when the screams started, a loud cracking sound ringing out over the land. The potions had worked. Your face went pale at Rhy's rage filled gaze. The hurt and devastation there. You didn't doubt the scene in the city looked much worse than you knew it to be. Rhys grabbed you by the wing and tugged you down forcefully. It was not what you were expecting, you thought his first move would be to use his power to make you paralyzed. You felt those claws lurking, but they seemed to hesitate. You spun, and were able to kick his hand off of you before you hit the ground with him. Azriel held him back, not understanding fully what you'd done. Az removed his hand once Rhys had filled him in, mentally speaking to his brother. A flash of shock and hurt lingered there even after Rhys told him. Shame built in your gut. You knew you weren't betraying them. You kept your shields up though, they had to think you would do such a thing. It would make the fight more believable to the king. It would force him away from Velaris. "Get out of this territory. Now. Do not come back." Rhys growled, watching the fake army invade his home. His chest heaved, those claws digging lightly at your shields. Perhaps he was afraid to go against someone he trained in the Daemati ways. You dared not open your mind to him. "Rhys I-" You began, stopping when he gave you the iciest glare you'd ever seen. His eyes were alight with rage. The trees seemed to quiver from the dark power that rushed to him. He pointed a finger at you, a curse. "Leave. Now." The command made your knees shake. Azriel looked away in shame. "There will be no second chances." He ground out. You could nearly hear his teeth clamping together. Holding himself back. You could hear Cassian calling orders far in the distance. Good, the scramble and panic would make the show more believable. The ships would be visible any second if your inside information was to be believed. Happiness for the safety of the city was your first reason for tears, the next was Fear. Fear settled in your gut, not moving no matter how much you re assured yourself. Not fear for Velaris, but for own alliances with any court. There would be a hit out for you, betraying Beron and the King and potentially Rhys depending how angry he would be about your Illusion spell. Those ships would surely be paying a visit to Beron after seeing his forces attacking without the order to do so. You backed away from Rhys slowly, like he was a wild animal. "Rhys, come on. We need to help." Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder to break him out of the rage filled trance. Rhy's last glance to you was something like death itself. You shuddered, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from telling him the truth. The fact he would believe that you would double cross him stung a bit. But you knew enough of the bad blood between Night and Autumn that you weren't incredibly offended. He shook his head ever so slightly. Disgust, before turning away. They took off together, quickly flying back to Velaris while the king's dark sails fired a few cannon shots into the docks, but kept sailing. Your hope soared at the sight of their departure. Watching those sails turn direction, then keep going. You could have cheered. Your plan wasn't done yet. You took off to Day court. The potions in your bag secure and ready. + When Rhys landed in his city the ground beneath him cracked.  The Autumn court soldiers kept marching around him. Cassian joined him, assessing the threat that did not attack. Rhys reached out a mental hand to the area and found there was nothing to latch on to. Nothing to torment for information. Cassian was at a loss as well, and reached out a hand to a solider. Only for it to break and slide through his fingers like water. His blood ran cold. "Fuck." Rhys breathed, utterly still. They looked to each other, then Rhys blanched in horror - "I promised them death." He whispered, voice hoarse. Cassian's eyes went wide, and they shot into the air at the same time. + Overlooking Day court, you heard Rhys approaching before you saw him. "They're all going to die." You said, voice trembling. You watched the scene below as it unfolded. The ships docked one after another, terrible dark forces lurched into the city. Overwhelming the guards and front linemen. "I'm sorry." He said. "We can help. I can help. I'm sorry." He said again, shame washing over his face. "I owe you everything." Your heart soared at the words, despite the destruction below. "Can you get the Illyrians here to help?" You nodded toward the front that pushed through. The streets already stained with blood and littered with bodies from both sides. Rhys nodded, and nodded to Azriel behind him. The spy curled his shadows around himself and winnowed away, off to summon the Illyrians. Cassian had a wide grin on his face, and stretched his wings, ready to take flight down to the city and help. His siphons thrummed with anticipation. Rhys gave him a nod as well, and he took off. The screams and clash of steel below quieted, then roared back to life with another wave of Summer court forces hitting the enemy lines. Rhys sighed, his dark power curling around the hillside. "I am beyond words with you. I'm pissed, but I'm... awestruck." He took your hand without looking, running a thumb over apologetically. As if he was asking permission. You squeezed back, then gave him a soft smile. "Let's get to work." You dropped your bag to the ground and pulled out two more potions. You handed them to him, then pulled your blade from its sheathe. Rhys hummed in approval at the sight of your handiwork. He held up the dark liquid and admired it. "Remind me to give you a raise." He said, shaking the glass. You held his hand in place before he could shake it again. The sparkles from the enchanted sand inside swirled. "You're going to get me a new house. And a raise." You took the bottle from him, and winked. You leapt down the slope and into the air, flying faster when you heard his laugh gaining on you. A promise of violence against the King's army was laced with that laugh. An underlying darkness. You smiled wickedly and tossed your concoction to the ground far below. Setting your spellbound illusions free.

[alicee1]

One more

Platonic! Phil x Teenager! Winged! GN! Reader

Warnings: injuries, mentions of being hunted, preening

Word count: 2.6K

Synopsis: After living outside on your own for two years without any proper knowledge on survival you set up camp in a forest beside a tundra. Crows find you when you’re hiding away from mobs in a tree and alert Phil that there is an injured winged child abandoned in the forest. After meeting you he takes you back to his cabin to teach you how to properly care for your wings and nurse you back to health. He may have promised himself no more children, but what was one more?

A/n: This was mostly written in a sleep deprived 4 AM haze of creativity but i’ve proofread it in a more consious state of mind and all so it should be fine now. Despite that i still believe that sleep deprived nights where half of the words that get written down are incomprehensible are the best nights to write creativity wise. By the way, I told y’all i write for other people except Techno, this is the proof.

Rules, Masterlist

The running water was cold but fresh against your skin, it gave you the opportunity to refill your water supply and the area allowed for a temporary camp.

You had been wandering the lands for a year or two now, but without any proper teaching on how to defend yourself and survive, you had to figure things out yourself.

It had been the hardest in the beginning, you struggled to provide food for yourself and without the knowledge on how to start a fire you were often too cold as well.

Since then things had gotten better, you survived mostly on berries, not being able to stay in one place long enough to start a proper farm and not skilled enough to hunt proper animals.

The reason why you hadn't settled down permanently was directly tied to your fear of people, you had been chased out of your home by hunters. Besides that, your stubborn nature insisted you would be fine on your own like you had been for the past two years.

Reality however differed despite your unwillingness to believe it.

The wings that sprouted from your back were coated in a layer of dirt, the feathers ruffled and out of place. Loose feathers still weaved through the others, some blocking the way for new feathers to appear creating a constant itching feeling between the feathers.

You had never been properly taught how to take care of your wings, two messy cuts in the back of your clothing spared barely enough space for them to sprout out. For over two years they had stayed unintentionally neglected, pressed against your back as you were unable to fly with them in their current state.

Besides that your diet of berries had left you starving, bones portruding from your skin as your unhealthy diet was unable to provide the nutrition you needed as a teenager.

Messy scars littered your body after countless of nights of close calls with various mobs. Lack of proper care for the wounds made them form into messy scars. Bruises and small cuts coated your skin although you had grown numb from the constant ache it resulted in.

The sun was setting now, forcing you to hurry as you cupped your hands in the small stream and splashed the cool water into your face.

It grew darker quickly in the forest as you looked around, trying to find some place, any place, high up where you could avoid the arrows of skeletons and the reach of zombies and other mobs.

A tall tree caught your eye as you hurried over. You climbed it expertly, many nights trees had been your safe haven to hide out in which had given you the necessary experience.  

Finding a strong and sturdy branch to sit on, you watched the night sky. Dark bat like creatures circled in the air as their glowing eyes scanned the surroundings.

It made you press yourself further to the stem of the tree, hoping to stay out of view of the creatures as you sat hidden behind the leaves.

Your eyes met the beady black eyes of what you thought was a raven, or maybe it was a crow, you couldn't tell them apart. It sat on the branch to your side, another similar bird by its side.

It watched you curiously, cocking it's head as a loud screech left it's beak. More of its kind seemed to approach at the noise, joining the first on the branch as they looked curiously at you.

If you weren't stuck in the tree to avoid the mobs that crawled on the ground, you would've ran from the black birds. They were starting to freak you out a little in the way they all silently watched your every move.

The loud twang of an arrow breaching wood could be heard as your eyes widened, temporarily forgetting the birds as you glanced down.

An arrow pierced the wood barely besides the branch you sat on, making you scramble up higher as you climbed to the thinner branches.

With your movement the crows flew off, loudly screeching as they reached the close by tundra, pecking against the window of the cabin loudly.

Phil's eyes narrowed as he watched the creatures gather in large quantities, they screeched towards one another, filling them in on what they had seen in the forest.

Some flew off to check out the sight for themselves, others asked questions loudly to the ones that had seen it for themselves. It was a flock of birds that continued growing and therefore continued growing wilder with the second.

"Quiet" Phil spoke, silencing the horde as he continued, "what is going on?"

Immediately the birds started squeaking over one another once more, forcing him to silence them again before picking out one of the calmer birds of the flock and asked them to explain.

"So there is a child in the forest?" He asked as the bird ruffled it's feathers, fluffing up in defiance as it squeaked, "an injured child."

"An injured winged child!" Another from the flock squawked up, a silencing gaze from Phil quickly shutting them up once more.

He looked at the one crow he that sat perched on his windowsill, "is this true?"

"Yes."

It has been decades since he had seen another person with wings. Often they were chased down and hunted for their wings, using the wings for artificial gliders. He wondered if that was why you were alone out in a forest at night.

"I'll finish this first, then I'll check it out." Phil looked to the brewing stand that stood perched upon his desk, different ingredients strewn around and a book with his findings laid on the side.

"Keep an eye on them in the meantime." He side eyed Chat as he closed his windows against the chilling tundra winds once more, returning to his desk to continue his brewing activities.

Minutes turned into hours as the man got caught up in his work,  brewing up enough potions to restock his chests as the morning rays of sun started to peek through the windows.

You had made it out of the night relatively alright, an arrow had found itself scratching your arm somewhere through the night. Although despite that you had stayed unseen by the phantoms that circled the night sky, which you considered a win.

Climbing down the tree once the ground had been cleared, you bid goodbye to the black birds that had stayed by your side throughout the night.

They however, followed your every step, making you grow more conscious of them as you sped up, hoping to shake them off subtly.

Their wings however proved more than capable to keep up with you, forcing you to break out in a sprint.

You had reached a small clearing, stopping in your tracks as a male stood in the middle of it. Crows similar to the ones that followed you crowded around him, some pulling at his green robe to pull him into a certain direction before getting swatted away by his hands.

His eyes found yours as you stepped back, instinctively retreating from the stranger cautiously.

The black wings that grew from his back put you at ease, knowing he was one of your kind. Despite that however he was still a stranger to you and you had never once met another winged person.

Your family hadn't been winged either, although they had kept you hidden from the world for the most of your childhood knowing the target your wings would make you.

When people had learned of your existence your house wasn't safe anymore and you had ran. On your travels you had heard of a place called L'manburg where hybrids of any kind were accepted amongst the normal people. It had been the reason you travelled in this direction in the first place.

He could easily see the fear in your eyes, as well as the mess of feathers that involuntarily fluffed up behind you. It only made the itching of the misplaced feathers worse, making you unconsciously swat at the limbs with your hand.

"Who are you?" Your voice was raspy, dark circles evident under your eyes as Phil seemed to realize the state you were in.

He offered you a small reassuring smile, cautious of his every movement so he wouldn't send you running. Lord knows you wouldn't be able to fly with the state your wings were currently in.

"I am Phil, it's been a long time since I've seen anyone with wings such as myself." He spoke, calmly spreading what was left of his black wings out behind him to show you what he meant.

Even to your untrained eyes it was obvious something had happened to his wings, although you didn't dare ask. The parts of his wings that had stayed untouched by the damage of the explosion however was well taken care off.

Carefully preened to a smooth and soft blanket of feathers that coated the muscled limbs.

They were everything your wings weren't, and immediately the idea of fixing your wings sparked a hope inside you. You hadn't flown often before but you had missed the feeling of the wind under them over the years.

You had known something was wrong with your wings but your lack of basic knowledge of the limbs hindered any proper care you could've given them.

"Are they yours?" You asked the older male, nodding to the birds that littered the small clearing of trees. His presence was comforting in a unfamiliar way, but it was nice nonetheless. It allowed him to take a careful step towards you as he turned to the small army of crows that had gathered around him.

"You could say that," he side glanced at the animals as their beady eyes watched the interaction carefully, "they showed me to you."

His words made your eyes narrow as you took a step back, "why were you looking for me?" The distrust in your voice was obvious as Phil tried to gain your trust once more.

"I wasn't looking for you specifically," one of the crows that had watched the ordeal from your side carefully hopped in front of you towards Phil, turning around to watch you as if asking you to follow them.

"they spoke of an injured winged child in the forest." Your hand found your upper arm where the skeletons arrow had pierced your skin unconsciously, the sting of the injury still present in the back of your head.

The male pulled a bottled red solution from his cloak, stepping closer to hand it to you as you allowed him.

Phil offered you a small smile, considering it a victory as he uncorked the bottle, swirling the deep red liquid inside for a moment before handing it to you, "it's a potion of health, it will help with your wounds."

"What do you want for it?" You asked questioningly as you held the bottle in your hands, looking at the older male now that he was closer to you.

A comforting smile formed on his features, "nothing mate, I'd hope to take you to the cabin where I and a closer friend of mine live. He's a hybrid as well, and I wish to help you."

Your eyes narrowed as you took a careful sip of the potion. The sweet flavorful taste was unlike anything you had tasted in years. A satisfied sigh left your lips involuntarily as the taste invaded your mouth and brought immediate relief to the ache you had forgotten existed and the pain from your recent arm injury.

It didn't take long for you to finish the potion, some of the color returning to your cheeks as Phil turned away from you, extending his hand in invitation to join him.

When you did he wrapped his sky blue cape around your shoulders, protecting you against the cold tundra as he guided you over the lands, back to his cabin.

The warmth of a fireplace hit your skin as you stepped inside the cabin, the comforting feeling of warmth had grown unfamiliar over the two years you had spent alone but was a welcome change.

Phil guided you to the couch, taking the cape from you before hanging it besides the door. He knew the health potion would be enough to help against the cut on your arm, what he was more concerned about were your wings.

"How long as it been since you preened them, kid?" The nickname rolled of his tongue without him noticing.

The clueless look you gave him should've said enough, yet you still chose to answer as you cocked your head, "what is preening?"

Instantly Phil realized what was the problem. You hadn't been unable to care for your wings, you just didn't know how to.

He sat down beside you, stretching out his right wing which had been relatively spared from the blasts of TnT. He showed the smooth feathers to you as you carefully traced your hand along it. He could barely feel your gentle touch as he explained what preening was.

He could see the light of curiosity in your eyes shine in your eyes as you had officially chosen to put your trust in him.

Moving to his small kitchen, he prepared a cup of hot chocolate milk. It would give you something to focus on if the preening felt uncomfortable, besides that, the warmth and nutrition would be good for you.

You carefully sipped the sweet liquid as Phil sat behind you, his touches feather light on your wings as he gently stretched them out to observe their state more appropriately.

A small shudder shut up your spine at the foreign contact, but it was a nice type of contact, something you could get used to.

His fingers started to rearrange the feathers, pulling the loose ones out and creating space for new ones to pop out. He found some childhood fluffy feathers amongst their larger and smoother counterparts. It made him question how long they had been there as he combed his fingers through the different layers of feathers, wondering if you had ever been properly preened before.

Where your back met your wings he could see the small fluffier childhood feathers that puffed up from underneath the slits in your shirt. They probably would never get replaced by the adult feathers and mark the transition between skin and feathers.

His touch was comforting, combined with the sweet liquid in the mug and the warmth that hung in the cabin, you closed your eyes in bliss as you settled into the soft couch. You sunk in between the mess of pillows, your eyelids softly dropping closed as you sipped the remainder of your drink from the mug.

Phil could see the way your body seemed to slack in the soft material of the couch, his hands continuing their work as he gently pulled the now empty cup from your hands and put it on the small table.

He knew that last night, especially in combination with Chat, must have been exhausting for you. You looked blissfully and comfortable in your sleep.

Phil only took a quick break from preening your feathers to drape a blanket over the rest of your form.

He had promised himself no more. After everything that had happened with Wilbur, Tommy and Techno he had promised himself that Tommy was his last.

But the way you laid so peaceful in your sleep on his couch, he knew he couldn't just send you away after nursing you back to health. It was obvious you had no one to return to and you were still a child. Whether teenager or not, a child is a child.

Maybe one more wouldn't be so bad?

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Back Before You Lost the One Real Thing You've Ever Known

Summary: Rebecca spent over a year trying to coax feelings back out of Rafael Barba, only to have it all end abruptly when he lashed out. The attorney wasn’t able to fight the urge to fire first. When he needed comfort, she tried to reach out to no avail, but she’s been able to steel herself now. After all, creating a life changes you.

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OC

First Part

A/N: A few more ideas came up. 

Oh, your sweet disposition And my wide-eyed gaze We're singing in the car, getting lost upstate

Rebecca should have known better than to try and be there for Rafael Barba. She’d met him when she’d had to testify to what she’d walked in on in another Kindergarten classroom, the one eventually taken over by Al. He’d prepped her, and conversation came easily between the pair. After he’d gotten his guilty verdict, he’d asked her to get celebratory drinks now that the ordeal was over. They’d met several times throughout the investigation and trial, and Rebecca saw a determination to put abusers away and a quick wit that led her to accept his invitation eagerly. What she didn’t realize was that while her infatuation with the handsome prosecutor grew, so would the issues they ran into. It wasn’t easy for him to express anything but the cocksuredness he portrayed in the courtroom. Once he relaxed, he’d sing along to the radio or tell her stories from his childhood, but she sensed a careful wall.

At first, she’d assumed the wall was a sign of maturity; he was significantly older, though she hadn’t guessed it at first. As thirty came closer for her, fifty was coming closer for him. Maybe that was why he was so hesitant to tell her what was going through his head. He was always fine, but he’d had longer to learn to be fine. Meanwhile, she’d come home and cry because she couldn’t fix the fact that her student’s dog had died or they couldn’t afford lunch. Often, he’d stare at her, and she was certain he was thinking how ridiculous she was. Each time she gave him a defense, telling him that she prayed she’d never be numb to these feelings like some of her colleagues. To her, it was a sign she was feeling, and she strived to love without expectation. And each time, he’d hold her close and tell her that her extreme empathy was what he liked so much.

And despite his hesitance to share, he was sweet overall. When he learned how much she’d been wanting to sneak away to the mountains, he rented them a cabin. She’d watched the trees go by, in awe as she watched paths wind through the woods. On occasion, her hand would fly to his arm, and she would squeal as she pointed out an animal in the woods. She could remember the soft smile he’d affixed her with, the first time she was sure he did love her. It had been six months, and she’d been assuring him she loved him for three. It was hard for her not to hear it back, and anytime she felt jealous of the points her friends were at in their relationships, she’d remind herself he wasn’t as open as their partners. Being significantly older didn’t make him immune from hang ups. He’d sung her the sappy songs that came up with his phone on shuffle, and Rebecca couldn’t have predicted the way this would all sour a short year later. When she closed her eyes, she could still see him with a crooked smile and her hand in his, serenading her with a Frank Sinatra song.

After wishing and praying for him to come home, he was standing there, still with devastatingly gorgeous eyes and now with a sprinkling of gray in his hair and new beard. His dress wasn’t as meticulous as it used to be, and part of her wondered if he had intended to come here at all. Dark jeans and a tucked in button down shirt? In the city? The snow clung to his hair and beard and lashes, but she could suddenly feel everything all too well. The way she felt about him, the way his hands felt on her skin, his lips on hers, the insecurity when he couldn’t share, the overwhelming relief when he did. And now he was standing there, saying he loved her and she didn’t have to believe him. Tha last part was the hardest because it did let her start to consider that he’d never been so okay with uncertainty. He’d always been the one to say you know how I feel, or once he’d said it, you know I love you. She was always supposed to take what he said as fact, and now he wasn’t expecting it. 

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it I'd like to be my old self again But I'm still trying to find it

When he’d said he loved her, it was late at night, and she wasn’t positive he knew she was awake. He’s said it with such sincerity, however, that she wrapped her arm tighter around him, hearing his sharp intake of breath. It would be a year the following week, and relief washed over her to have something she knew to be true so easily confirmed. I love you, he’d repeated so easily, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as his fingers trailed up her sides. For Rafael, touch was what he used to say what he couldn’t with words. If he couldn’t tell her, he could show her, and that had worked for her. But now? As he laid over her, they moved together, and she could hear his whispered, reverent I love yous? There were no words. But in the weeks afterwards, things began to deteriorate, and she focused on the fact he was probably grappling with the shift and the fear she’d do to him what Yelina had. That said, she wasn’t going to bend her life to his trauma. He was old enough to know he needed help but too stubborn to get it. She’d been so excited to share her plans with Al. They were the two kindergarten teachers at the small school they taught at, and the last partner she’d had was stand offish and now in prison, thanks to Rafael. 

Just get a fuckin’ room already.

Raf, he’s my coworker. We’re friends.

You know exactly what he wants from you, and you want it too. 

What are you saying? I’m a slut or something? You know you’re it for me.

A spade’s a spade.

Crushed was an understatement. She’d gone home, spent weeks working through things at least enough to leave him a letter. He wasn’t a bad guy, and the guilt she felt for slapping him was overwhelming. He’d opened up to her recently, told her his dad had been abusive. And she slapped him? It was different, she knew, but still, Rebecca was incapable of not apologizing to him for any negative response he could have. 

And as time went on, she couldn’t go back to who she was before. Things had been irrevocably shifted by Rafael, and she began to be more hesitant with new people. She’d loved Rafael in a way she hadn’t before, felt she understood him as she hadn’t before. And she thought he’d understood her. The implication she’d cheat so easily and make him feel like she knew Yelina had was enough to give her a wall she hadn’t before. 

After all, creating life changes you.

Al had been the first one to comment on it. After weeks on the phone with him in hysterics, she’d started just saying she was fine. There had been dozens of phone calls to Rafael between Christmas and the new year, and he’d ignored each. She felt weak for how badly he’d managed to hurt her and how unable she was to find the beauty in it. Each night, she’d try to sleep and see every moment they’d spent together running through her mind like an old projector, flickering as it moved from the reel of Rafael in the three piece suit balancing coffee as he came to visit her while she prepped in July to the one of him begrudgingly joining her on a hike in the mountains. 

You’re not okay, Bec. Me and Rodney are worried about you.

It’s nothing.

It’s not nothing, okay? 

It’s nothing.

It took until Rafael’s trial for Rebecca to drop the black and white image on Al’s desk, her name and six weeks, four days in small letters at the top and a fetal ultrasound visible. Al stared at it, finding the date and doing the math, the realization she was ten weeks along. He looked up at her with wide eyes, pulling her into a hug. As Al cooed she’d be okay against her temple, promised to support whatever she did and murder Rafael if need be, she cried into his jacket. She didn’t go back to her apartment for three days, instead staying in Al and Rodney’s spare bed and avoiding the news. After Al’s encouragement, she emailed Rafael finally, calling the matter time sensitive, but she never heard back.

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so, back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known. It was rare. I was there. I remember it all too well.

It was easy, even three years after the last time she saw him, to transport herself to the seat beside his, and as she looked into his eyes where he stood on her stoop, the snow clinging to his beard and hair and the deep gray jacket, she wanted to cry because things weren’t as easy as they were four and a half years before. Their daughter was born the August after he left, and Rebecca didn’t know how to tell Rafael that what had changed was so cosmic. God had given her this little girl, now two and a half, eagerly waiting on Christmas eve the next night. The little girl who Rebecca had felt she was supposed to let know who her father was. She could recognize Rafael, though without the suits and with the beard, Rebecca thought there was a chance the little girl wouldn’t know. It suddenly struck her how easily Catalina could get out of the toddler bed she’d moved to, and the real possibility she’d call down for water or a story at any moment. 

She’d taken her to the same church she attended with Rafael, sat in the same pew. After giving birth, Rebecca had tried going by his apartment, finding it rented out and receiving the news he was in Iowa. She’d never met his mother, and Rebecca didn’t want to approach anyone in case he wanted nothing to do with them. Al and Rodney had been a blessing, always eager to step in to babysit or give her the adult company she needed. Their daughter looked almost infuriatingly like her father, with expressive green eyes and thick dark hair. She’d also make the same faces as him from time to time. One of the pictures framed in the living room showed her with her mouth set in the same frustrated line as she rolled her eyes in a huff. Every reminder rubbed the wound open again, but she’d gotten tougher.

Creating a life changes you.

“Rafael, no one had ever hurt me like that.” He had the decency to look ashamed, maybe even more than he needed to, and shift his weight from foot to foot. 

“I know. I was so afraid, Becca. I thought I loved Yelina. I didn’t. I was forty-six, falling really, actually in love for the first time. I felt stupid and afraid, and I lost the only good thing I had. The only person who loved the fucked up, broken parts.”

“I was there, Rafael. I was calling. I even emailed.”

“You emailed?”

“After the trial. About two weeks later.”

“Dios mio,” he ran his hand over his face, letting out a low groan. “You emailed my work email, didn’t you?”

“It’s the only one you use.”

“I resigned the day I was found not guilty. Mi corazón, I lost access that day.”

“You never got my email?”

“No. I ignored your calls, and that was stupid. But I’d have taken any communication then.”

“We’re going to need to talk about something then.”

“Who is he?” The way Rafael had resigned himself to the idea she moved on was something she’d expected to feel hurt by. Instead, she saw his face free of anger. “Becca, I want you to be happy. If someone else could make you happy, I’m glad.”

“Raf-” she could hear the slightest movement. It was ten o’clock and every night around this time, she’d give Catalina a cup of water or lay with her until she slept again. 

“Oh god, you’re with someone else and he’s here? I can go. I just- I had to try.”

“No. There’s no one else. It’s just-”

“Mama!” she heard echo down the stairs, and Rafael’s eyes snapped to hers.

“Mama?” he asked, and she opened the door to him finally. 

“I have to get her back to sleep. Go sit at the dining table.”

[almostkoo]

How Not to Train Your Dragon | Kim Namjoon

pairings: kim namjoon x oc

summary: getting placed with a familiar creates a sacred bond but when your familiar despises you with a passion the hoops you’ll jump through to patch things up will lead you on a journey

word count: 2.1k

warnings: language (as always), 1 (one) death threat, oc & namjoon got more beef than wendys, i swear one day i’ll write them being friendly .. but it is not today 🤡

author’s notes: day four !! of spooktober! getting these stories out back to back have been challenging but i’ve been having fun with this and i hope you guys are enjoying my stories ! we’re almost done :)

link to my main masterlist

The sweet smells of your workshop swirled around in the air as you bustled around over your cauldron, dropping things in and stirring around every so often. You were focused on the potion that had been taking you months to master. Shrinking potions were always hard to do, anything with changing anatomy was always hard to do. What made things worse was that potions were never your strongest area.

Stirring the lime green substance around you looked around at the shelves around you trying to find the one last ingredient you’d need for this and you’d be sure it would tie this potion all together.

The Water Buffalo’s tooth was placed on the shelf to your left in a transparent pink jar. Keeping an eye on the cauldron you started side stepping in an attempt to reach for the tooth. Your hand remained on the handle of the ladle you were using to stir. Fingertips barely ghosting the jar at all you didn’t know what to do. If you tried levitating it towards you there was a chance you would accidentally release the jar from it’s hold and drop it. If that Water Buffalo’s tooth hits the ground it’s gonna be of no use. You let out a sigh doing something you dreaded to do.

“Namjoon? Can you come help me in here please?” you called.

Every witch had a familiar, yours so happened to be Namjoon. It was bad enough he seemed like he hated you the moment his sharp, slit frosty blue eyes laid on you. He was a dragon too. The most hardest to deal with of all the supernatural beings. Namjoon was stubborn, arrogant and stand offish. You hated having to deal with him for prolonged amounts of time.

The curtain to enter your workshop pushed to the side and in came Namjoon, his grown out purple tresses hung wildly around his face.

“What do you want?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Can you please hand me the Water Buffalo’s tooth, it’s right there on the shelf in the pink jar I just can’t reach it.” you asked. Namjoon snickered at you.

“You can’t just make it fly over to you?” he waved his fingers around mockingly.

“Don’t you think if I could I would. If I do I could risk dropping it. If I drop it I’m going to have to travel just about half way up the mountains again to get another one and I really don’t want to do that.”

“That’s too bad. Figure something out. If you need me, which I hope you don't, I'll be out front handling your store while you squander ingredients trying to be a potions master.” Namjoon turned on his heels and stepped back out of your workshop. You felt a hot tear start rolling down your cheek. Quickly, wiping it away with your free hand. You straightened up, reaching out your hand to summon the tooth to you. Multitasking between that and stirring you looked out of the corner of your eye, watching the jar slowly float to you. The cauldron started bubbling and you looked away from the floating jar. When suddenly you hear the glass shatter, you looked down at the floor where the Water Buffalo tooth laid useless. Fighting back the urge to cry some more. You waved your hand freezing the potion in place. You walked towards the door to your workshop grabbing your cloak on the way out.

Namjoon looked up from the book he was reading. He snapped it close, the sound making you jump and stop in your tracks.

“Where are you going ? Thought you had a potion to finish.” He said.

“I dropped the Water Buffalo’s tooth on the ground, I can’t use it anymore. I’m gonna hike up the mountains to get another one.” You said, pressing the door open to the shop to exit. You were walking down the road in the direction of the mountains. Loud footsteps came from behind you, not even bothering to turn around you knew who was following you.

“Why are you following me Namjoon?” You sighed.

“I can’t let you just go off into the woods alone. Why don’t you let me fly you up there? It's going to take you hours to get up there and that’s if you don’t rest and power through.”

Not many things scared you. That’s something you learned early into your existence. Until you met Namjoon, then you realized heights and Namjoon’s dragon form was two of the only things that truly shook you to the core. Them put together you couldn’t just handle it it was too much.

“I don’t like heights and you know that.” You kept walking forward, dreading the trip up the mountains. A shot of fire blasted straight past your shoulder. You jumped back out of the way, whipping around to look at Namjoon who blew a puff of smoke out of his mouth.

“Namjoon? Are you serious? Did you just try and burn me?” You questioned. Namjoon let out a loud sigh, dropping his shoulders.

“Come on y/n. Please let me fly you up the mountain. I don’t wanna do this walk either! I still have to protect you and assist you. Stop being so damn stubborn.” Namjoon hissed at you.

“Me being stubborn you’ve got to be kidding me.” You shook your head, turning back around to continue walking.

“Y/n if you want you can close your eyes. I fly quickly, we’ll be there before you know it.” He pleaded.

“No Namjoon” you snapped. “I don’t care if my eyes are closed! I don’t care if I had soundproof headphones so I won’t feel the wind rush into my ears! I don’t care if I have on mitts so I won’t feel your rough ass scales on my hands! You’re NOT flying me up the mountain.” You yelled.

“I hate dealing with you.” You heard Namjoon mumble.

“I fucking hate dealing with you too, you aren’t special.”

Hour One

Somewhere during the first 30 mins of the hike up the mountains Namjoon’s airpods found their way into his ears. His loud rapping filling up the quiet air, annoying you very quickly. You scanned the ground as you continued walking until you saw a small pebble. Stopping in your tracks you picked it up, turning around in one swift move throwing it right at Namjoon’s chest. He flinched back in pain, snatching an airpod out of his ear.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” His eyes narrowed at you.

“Cut it out with all that loud ass rapping. I don’t wanna hear that shit!” You shouted.

“So what you’re gonna assault me with fucking rocks?”

“If I could levitate a boulder and get away with crushing you to death I would. But I can’t so the pebble will have to suffice.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.” Namjoon said smugly.

“Don’t tempt me.” You stated, sternly. Your cold stare peering into Namjoon’s eyes. He rolled his eyes and looked away. Muttering a soft “Whatever” under his breath.

You continued moving up the mountains and Namjoon resumed rapping out loud.

Conjuring up a pair of earbuds to listen to your music from your own phone. Seeing that your device was on 25% you hoped to the heavens your phone would at least get you the full trip up the mountains. You couldn’t even conjure up a portable charger because you know you would’ve managed to electrocute your hands … again.

Hour Two

The 25% did not last the complete trip up the mountains. Leaving you once again to listen to Namjoon’s loud rapping up the mountains. Slowly you found yourself getting irritated again. Scanning for another pebble you found a slightly bigger one than last time. You picked it up, tossing it up in your hand a few times to feel the weight of it. You turned around like a pitcher aiming to throw the pebble at Namjoon again, he attempted to dodge it, he missed it but his phone in his hand didn’t. It fell underneath the small rock, the now dark screen had a visible crack in it. You could see the smoke leave Namjoon’s nostrils.

“Y/n” Namjoon hissed. “You did not just do that.”

“Oh, but I did.” You said, in a saccharine tone.

“Why would you do that? You keep acting like a fucking caveman. You could’ve just asked me to stop rapping out loud.” He scoffed.

“I’m acting like a caveman? Says the giant lizard. You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered.

“If I’m a giant lizard why are you afraid of me then?” Namjoon taunted.

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of flying.”

“Well if you’re not afraid of me then I guess you won’t mind if I stretch my wings and trot around then until we get to the top of the mountain then.” You quickly turned around, spotting Namjoon’s blue scales appearing all over his arms.

“CUT IT OUT! I’M SERIOUS!” You yelled. Namjoon started cackling. You felt yourself getting angry. It wasn’t funny that you were scared. You could quite piece exactly why you were scared of Namjoon. But you knew you were and that was enough.

“Namjoon don’t talk to me for the rest of this hike. I swear to the heavens if you don’t you won’t speak again unless I want you to.”

“But y/n come on-“ You turned, waving your hand, binding Namjoon’s lips together.

“That’s enough out of you for now.”

Hour Three

The rest of the hike up the mountains was pretty peaceful. Quiet and serene, except for the small sounds of nature here and there. Water running in a creek, birds chirping, animals running over leaves. The only non nature sound was the occasional grunt from Namjoon.

Soon you found yourself met right with a board of Water Buffalos. You searched around. The tooth you needed was from a special specific silver Water Buffalo, that made whoever wanted its teeth solve riddles. You found it in the back of the hoard. Bumping in between the Water Buffalos you stood in front of the silver one, taking a bow and waiting for it to speak to you.

“How could I be of service to you child?” the Water Buffalo hummed.

“I need another tooth … please.” You said.

“To receive one of my teeth, you must answer a riddle correctly. You may only have one chance. Are you ready ?” It asked you. You nodded.

“This number added to it's square, and the digits of that summation added together, bring it back to itself. What is it?” It questioned. Your mind went blank and then filled itself with confusion.

“I thought I was supposed to be answering a riddle. Is that a math question?”

“It is indeed a riddle.”

You were stumped. You couldn’t tell if this was going to be one of those twisted riddles that had some philosophical meaning or just one straight forward. You started thinking deeply when that was interrupted by Namjoon’s grunting. You looked at him. He pointed at his mouth in frustration. You waved your hand removing the binding.

“What is it? You better have something useful to bring to the conversation.”

“I have the answer. I do.” He stated, eyes big and his smile wide, deep dimples indenting his cheeks.

“Namjoon, I swear if you say something incorrect and I can’t get this tooth.” You rubbed your temples.

“I’m not stupid. I know this one. I swear, let me answer it.” Your eyes scanned Namjoon’s face trying to see if there was any indication of him lying or being uncertain and you couldn’t see any. You really hoped he didn’t fuck this up.

“Fine answer it. But I swear if you fuck this up I will never forget it. When I finally master this potion I’m going to shrink you down and keep you in a jar for the rest of your days.” You stated, sternly.

“3. 3 squared is 9. 3+9=12. Take the two digits of the summation and add them; 1+2=3. In short; 3-9-12-3. This can also work with the number 0 and 9.” Namjoon said, proudly. Hands on his hips and puffing out his chest like a superhero that just saved the day.

The Water Buffalo hummed in approval. Before opening his mouth and dropping out one single tooth.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” You smiled, bending over and picking up the tooth. Wrapping it gently in a cloth and placing it in your bag. You bumped your way back through the hoard and started your way back down the mountain.

“So what, you aren’t going to thank me?” Namjoon called from behind you.

“Jesus. Fuck. Thanks Namjoon. Are you happy?” You snapped.

“Yes actually I am. Thank you.”

“You are so annoying I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Thank you.” Namjoon smiled. You looked at him as he poked his cheeks right in his dimples. You shook your head laughing.

One would say you and your familiar have a dysfunctional relationship. Maybe one day it would change maybe one day it wouldn’t. You’d work through it any way it went.

[madbucker]

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon.

Daryl Dixon x female reader.

I. 

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: After Rick’s death Daryl pushed himself away, but he still had someone who would check on him. Y/N cared for him and wanted to make sure he was okay. This works as the presentation of their dynamic, it’s very simple. I will dig deeper, I promise. The chapters won’t be in chronological order, but I will make sure to list it that way too in the masterlist. First part of who knows how many.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 2.6k

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! Now that I got that out of the way, this will start as a one shot, but I probably will add more parts to it, digging deeper into the character’s relationship with Daryl and the entire group. I don’t want to do a rewrite because I’m not patient enough and I’d want to jump straight into season 8 or something, lol. If you have any questions or want me to write about a situation in particular (like how they met, runs, the prison, or whatever you come up with) just send me an ask and if I feel like it fits with the story, then I’ll write it! Anyway, if you are into simple writing and limited vocabulary, then I hope you like it and as I said before, I’ll gladly take constructive criticism! ♥

Half a dozen years (or so you thought) of human beings not messing with nature were enough for it to come to life again. The woods had never been greener, the sky had never been more beautiful. The dead were fewer since it was harder for them to walk through such thick undergrowth without them getting stuck in a bush; it was safer to wander around and you could not be happier.

Sometimes, when you looked at the sky at sunset, or even at its darkest time, you would stop thinking about those you had lost. You would never forget them, that was out of the question, but you could enjoy things a little more. Perhaps you were getting used to the guts, the smell, the constant danger… perhaps you had realized your life was not going to change, and that the apocalypse was definitely not a dream, you might as well start seeing the beauty in all that mess.

You sat uncomfortably on the log while looking at the sky. It was full of stars, the Milky Way shining brighter than ever, and sometimes, if you concentrated and were lucky enough, you’d see a shooting star, never missing the opportunity to make a wish.

The fire next to you was dying out and as soon as the first shiver made you jump slightly, you tried to keep it alive. If he came back to the camp he would bring something to cook, you thought. And if he didn’t kick you out or tried to convince you to leave, he would appreciate that you spared him the trouble of starting a fire from scratch.

Right?

You weren’t sure. Hell, you weren’t convinced at all. When Rick died, you witnessed how he closed in once again. It had never been so bad. Not since Beth, anyway. And even then, he had never left the group for that long. He was out there looking for something. So was Michonne, you had seen her walking out of Alexandria’s gates so many times you stopped counting. And you’d follow her without disturbing her, not making a single noise nor making small talk. Sometimes you wondered if she even knew you were there.

She did, of course, you knew. At least most of the times. But, once again, you were there just in case and stayed as far away as you could.

The truth is, though, you were looking for the same thing as her. Rick’s death had broken you too. Not that it could be compared to Michonne’s suffering, or even Daryl’s, but Rick Grimes had been your best friend, your mentor, the one who taught you how to live in this world. He was the one who kept you alive until you could fend for yourself. You loved, owed, and missed him like crazy. So you never stopped looking.

Rick Grimes had died almost a year ago. And Daryl was still outside the walls. He had stepped foot in Alexandria a few times but left right after checking in on everyone. And when it was your turn to trade, or when you just wanted to visit The Hilltop, they informed you he was also going there from time to time. But he left each and every one of them.

Still, you tried to keep him company sometimes. Most of the times he refused, told you to go back and stay safe. And you didn’t fight him, not even once. You weren’t trying to push his buttons, you just wanted him to know you cared.

He did. You knew he knew. But you also knew him, and a little reassurance would never hurt. 

As your mind wandered, your eyes started to feel heavy. It had been a long day, you had worked your ass off fixing some broken sinks and making sure all the cars were, at least, not about to explode. Your body ached and the thought of you doing the same thing the next day without getting proper sleep was not so attractive. And sleeping there alone was definitely not a good idea. You had to go back, even if he didn’t show up.

You forced yourself to get up, ignoring the pain on your legs, and started rummaging through your backpack, looking for the sheet of paper and the pen you had brought with you. It wasn’t the first time you had to leave without seeing him, you had to be prepared. You wanted to let him know you came.

“Water bottles in the bag. Be safe.”

A couple of weeks went by. Your work in Alexandria had kept you busy and exhausted, and Michonne forcing you to take care of Negan while Gabriel was out on a run had also mentally drained you.  You couldn’t be in the same room as him without getting overwhelmed by the memories.

Not good ones. Not at all. But somehow, you managed to get in and out every day without having the urge to kill him, which was an accomplishment.

Once Gabriel and the others were back, you grabbed your stuff and headed out, expecting to be luckier this time. It was still early in the morning, so you were sure you’d be near his camp in the afternoon. Earlier than last time, maybe he hadn’t even left yet.

Without running into any inconveniences, and as you pictured, you sat on the same log as the last time around three hours before sunset. Days were getting shorter and colder, which made you wonder if Daryl would choose to stay in Alexandria the next winter. 

You placed your backpack in front of you and took out the water bottles and the two unlabeled cans of food. You had come prepared to stay the night waiting, it had been almost a month since you last saw him and you just had to make sure he was alive. 

Of course he is, you thought, Daryl can’t not be alive. Last man standing, right?

The sun hadn’t set yet when you heard steps behind you. You expected to see Daryl yet you grabbed your knife just in case, but there he was.

He had three squirrels attached to his belt and looked as tired as he could be. His expression remained blank while looking at you. You got up and stood in your place as he walked around the camp leaving his stuff and preparing to skin the squirrels.

“Took you long enough,” you said, grinning. He was okay, he was back there and despite his appearance, him being there with you was more than enough.

He sat on the log you had been previously sitting on, with his back facing you, and started working on his next meal.

“Could say the same to you,” he said calmly. He wasn’t complaining, you knew. “Working a lot?” He stopped what he was doing and turned around lightly, almost expecting to hear bad news. Maybe someone had died or run into some crazy asshole, perhaps a herd was getting close to Alexandria. He had gotten used to bad news, you all had.

Walking around him, you sat cross-legged on the floor next to the log he was on, facing him.

“Sinks, and cars, and weirdly normal stuff. Kids are okay. Nothing happened, just too much to work on while some others were away.” You stretched your arms behind you and locked your eyes on the movements of his hands. You had never learned how to properly skin an animal, even if you tried your hardest. At least you compensated it with your surprisingly great aim.

You both stayed there for a while, just him skinning and you moving around and finally trying to start the fire, and for a little bit, you let yourself forget that you’d leave in the morning and not see him again for weeks.

It wasn’t like old times where small talk was still a common thing between you two, but you were more than grateful that he was there, and that you were able to take care of him the way he took care of you so many times in the past. He had been there for you after your sister’s death right after the quarry. In his own way, of course, Daryl Dixon was not one for hugs and slowly caressing arms, but he was there. He had asked you to go with him while searching for Sophia and let you talk your sadness out, and made sure you had somewhere to crash at night when sharing your tent was just too much to handle. You had become friends. Great ones, too, because you understood each other in a way you had never understood anyone before. You knew when to stay, and when to leave; when to speak up, and when to stay quiet and just… be there.

You respected him, also. You were loyal to him and believed in his motives as the good man you knew he was. He was to you what Beth had been to him: the person who showed you that there were good people left in the world. It wasn’t a surprise for you, either, when you caught yourself watching him in a different light. Catching feelings for him came almost too easy for you as if you were meant to care for him. It wasn’t unexpected, you knew, you had always known. But it scared you.

It was terrifying to even think about the chance of losing him, or him losing you if something happened between you. You loved him, and you were certain he was aware of it, at least to some extent. He knew you cared for him, the romantic side of it was what you tried to hide as much as you could. You were loyal to your friendship and to the bond you shared. Both of you were safer that way.

You had seen Rick losing Lori, Maggie losing Glenn, and then Michonne losing Rick. You didn’t want to be the next one to experience that kind of loss. Getting close enough to imagine a future together and then them dying in your arms was the last thing you wished.

When the squirrels were fully cooked, the sun was out and the night sky was starting to get cloudy. The temperature had heavily dropped and you could almost smell the upcoming rain. In no time you would be soaking wet and wishing you were back at Alexandria with a roof over your head, but it was too late to go back, and you would have to spend at least another hour trying to convince Daryl to go with you.

And on top of that, you knew you wouldn’t manage to.

“Kinda missing umbrellas now,” you said scanning the sky. He imitated you and scoffed, biting into the last pieces of his meal.

“‘s not gonna be bad,” he scrubbed his hands on his jeans and stared at you, “you stayin’?”

You knew you were going to stay, you would find a way to do it, but his question still took you by surprise. It was the first time he suggested it himself instead of you deciding to stay on your own.

Looking at him and lightly tilting your head to the left, you smiled.

“Am I your friend again then?” You joked and he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said mockingly as he got up to put out the fire. You got up too and stretched your legs, considering keeping watch first so he could get some sleep. He looked exhausted, you figured he needed to rest, and you being there could maybe help him relax since he wouldn’t have to pay attention to every little sound.

“I’ll keep watch,” you took the gun from your backpack and checked your knife, just in case. Looking around the perimeter you also confirmed the wires and metal cans Daryl had put up were all in place, you would hear the walkers before they could get near you. “Go ahead, get some sleep. I’ll wake ya up in a few hours.” You approached his tent and sat near the entrance, making yourself comfortable with your back pressed against a tree. 

Once he finished putting out the fire, he walked towards you and sat down next to you.

Shoulder to shoulder, keeping watch. It instantly reminded you of the never ending nights at the guard tower back at the prison. You remembered how you would nonchalantly talk about your life before the dead walked, how he would listen and comment on it without talking about his own. 

You remembered, too, when he opened up to you for the first time.

It had taken him a couple of years of knowing you, but he finally did. And you listened carefully, as quiet as you could be and giving him all the time in the world to speak. It had been on a night like this one, keeping watch like this time too. He had told you everything: Merle, his dad, his scars, his mom. You used to be so close it ached to realize that that was now in the past. He still trusted you, but it wasn’t the same, and sometimes you wondered if it was ever going to be that way again.

Suddenly, as the first thin raindrops touched your skin, you felt a knot on your throat that you drowned with a chuckle. How long had it been since you felt like crying? Months. Probably more. You didn’t have to turn to look at Daryl to know he was staring at you.

“Dixon I swear to God,” you spoke, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t give you away, “if you catch a cold…”  jokingly threatening him, you then looked at him. The drizzle making small raindrops land on his hair. You noticed how long it had gotten, making a mental note to bring some scissors next time.

He snorted, “what?”

“I’m draggin’ your ass back to Alexandria,” you stated, smiling widely.

Your smile didn’t last long, though. His face expressionless the moment you mentioned the place. You knew why. You felt like that sometimes too, but it didn’t matter who was there, it was still your home.

“‘m not goin’ back there. Not for a while.” He fidgeted with his fingers and then with an arrow. “I tried, but every time I go, knowin’ he’s there-”

“I would’ve killed him already if I didn’t have so much self-control.” You cut him off; he was right, it had taken him all of his strength to visit Judith and baby R.J. without going to the cell and finish what he swore he would finish. “Then I’ll drag your ass back to the Hilltop or the Kingdom.”

“I was thinkin’ of spending the winter there. At the Kingdom.”

Smiling, you reached for his arm and squeezed lightly, him not flinching at your touch the way he did when you first met all those years ago. That was still a thing, at least, his comfort with your touch.

“I’d love that.”

Not much was said after. He had given up and gone to sleep while you kept watch for the rest of the night. You had given up too when you realized he wasn’t waking up; you decided you would take the day off, Alexandria could do without you for a day while you recovered with a long, much-needed nap. Hearing his snores made you realize: that man hadn’t gotten proper sleep in weeks.  It didn’t matter to you when the rain got heavier, though it was never unbearable. You were glad that you were there and that you could help him some way. The only way you could.

[creative-type]

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Summary: Cora had never been very good at telling the truth AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099165 Word Count: ~2300 AN: Written basically in one sitting, with minimal editing, and without referencing canon for accuracy. Basically, I thought it was a cool title for a Cora fic and needed to get the idea out of my system

.

“Are you happy here?”

Rosinante looked up at his father’s tired, defeated eyes. He heard Doffy screaming from the next room over, drowning out Mother’s desperate attempts to calm him as he demanded they return to Mariejois. Rosi didn’t think his brother would hit her like he sometimes hit him when he didn’t get his way, but he wasn’t sure, and that frightened him.

“Rosi?” Father prompted, reeling the boy’s wandering thoughts back to the question at hand.

Rosinante fidgeted, dropping his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at his father’s earnest expression. There were things he did like about living in the North Blue. He didn’t have to wear a bubble when he was outside, or watch the other children laugh as they hurt their slaves, or hear the hateful words their parents hurled as his mother and father.

But this morning they’d had burnt eggs on burnt toast for breakfast, Mother laughing as she told the tale of how she nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to light the stove. Father’s moustache was crooked and there were bits of tissue paper stuck to his face where he’d cut himself shaving. Secretly Rosinante thought that his brother had a point, that their lives would be so much better if Father would let the family purchase a slave or two. Already his mother had ruined an attempt sewing a hole in his favorite stuffed animal, and Rosi had had to bear the indignity of doing household chores.

Quietly, shamefully, Rosi wasn’t sure he wanted to be a human anymore. He squeezed his eyes closed as Father put his hands on his shoulders and lowered himself down to his knees. A Dragon never knelt, and at that moment Rosi felt like screaming, too.

Instead he was forced to face his father. He saw his hopeful smile, strained to the point of breaking, and the bright shine of tears in his eyes. The grip on Rosinante’s shoulders tightened, fingers digging into tender flesh hard enough to bruise.

“Please, Rosi,” his father begged. “Tell me that you’re happy.”

Rosinante swallowed, and somehow managed to smile in return even as Doffy’s tantrum echoed through the mansion’s empty halls. He knew what he had to say, even if it wasn’t true.

“I am.”

Xxx

“Are you sure about this, Rosinante?”

Rosi swallowed hard. He loved Sengoku like a father, but there were times he hated being in the same room as him. People called him the Buddah, but there was no kindness in his expression now, only sharp lines and steep crevices that displayed both his worry and his displeasure. He had reservations about Rosinante’s mission, that much was obvious. What was less clear was why . Did he not trust his adopted son to do what needed to be done? Was he worried that Doflamingo would appeal to the Celestial blood that ran in his veins? Rosinante tapped his fingers in a sharp staccato beat against the arm of his chair. Or was he simply concerned about his safety?

No, that wasn’t it. Rosi had survived from hell and back. There was no pain, no weapon, that could compare to the terror of his childhood. Under Sengoku’s watchful eye he’d grown strong and clever. Clever enough to match wits with his brother, who was already amassing terrible power out of the North Blue.

Cipher Pol had tried and failed to infiltrate his crew. Mariejois had sent their strongest knights, only for them to return in body bags. Vice Admiral Tsuru had made it her personal mission to wipe the scourge of the Heavenly Demon from the seas, and yet not only did Doflamingo live, but thrive.  

Rosinante had known since Father died that he would be the one to end his brother’s madness.

“I have to do this.”

“He’s your brother,” Sengoku said.

Rosi’s grip on his chair tightened. “He’s a monster.”

Doflamingo, the boy who would kill his own father in cold blood. Doflamingo, the boy who swore his revenge on all the world. Doflamingo, who even before their banishment was cruel and hateful to anyone he considered lesser than himself.

Doffy, the boy who had yellow hair that burned like gold in the sunlight and a laugh colder than the glacial waters of the northern sea. Doffy, the boy with the charisma to draw people to him like flies to honey, only to pluck their wings and destroy their dreams with the crushing weight of his own ambition.

Doffy, his brother, who had kept Rosinante alive with nothing but spite and sheer force of will, who had always insisted on dragging him to greater and greater heights, whether Rosi wanted to accompany him or not.

Sengoku’s eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. He was a man used to making hard and difficult choices. But this was his hardest and most difficult yet, and Rosi wasn’t sure if it was because of any genuine attachment or if he was afraid of losing too valuable a chess piece in a rapidly changing world.

“If all goes well, you’ll be in a position to put an end to Doflamingo permanently. When that time comes, are you sure you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

Rosinante didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

Xxx

There was no doubting that Doflamingo had greatness in him. It cloaked him alike an aura, some vestige of his celestial halo, inspiring  those around him. A threadbear, overstuffed seat became a throne if Doflamingo sat in it, his pink-feathered coat his royal vestments. Though he mingled with the small people of the world, the dirty and the downtrodden, he could never be mistaken for an ordinary person. The blood of kings ran in his veins, and the insatiable desire of his ambition would not be satisfied until he ruled the heavens and used the earth as his footstool.

Rosi wondered sometimes what would have happened if Sengoku had found Doffy instead. He wasn’t sure the wildness of his brother’s spirit could ever be tamed, but thought, maybe, that it could have been directed toward a noble purpose. The world needed good rulers just as much as it needed good soldiers, but as the years went on it became increasingly clear that neither Donquixte brother was able to adequately fulfill the role they’d been given.

“Corazón,” Doffy said, savoring the taste of the word as it rolled off his tongue. He loved using the name he’d trapped Rosi with, the title that told all the world who it was he belonged to. “How are the plans coming along?”

Rosi pointed to the map he had laid out in front of him as Doffy edged closer. His brother brushed away bits of cigarette ash, chuckling, “You’ll burn my plans to nothing if you aren’t careful.”

Cold sweat beaded at Rosi’s forehead, but he kept each breath even and controlled. It was just a turn of the phrase, nothing to get worked up about. There was no way he could suspect that he’d already alerted Tsuru of their position.

Doflamingo traced his finger over the map, mad grin growing madder. “I want you to look after Law.” He lifted a hand as Rosi stiffened. “I know, I know, you don’t like the kids, but this one’s different. He’s already proven he’s going to stick around, and he doesn’t have time to waste hanging in the background with Baby 5 and Buffalo. He needs to get his hands dirty.”

Rosi tilted his head in silent question.

“More dirty,” Doffy allowed. He tapped a knuckle against the map, where their newest mark was circled in blood-red ink. “Do you feel it, Rosi? His potential?”

It was rare for Doflamingo to ask his insight like this. As much as he was able to decipher Rosi’s looks and quirks with uncanny accuracy, they never had much to say to one another. There was too big a gulf between them to ever be bridged.

Doffy trusted him, else he wouldn’t have made him his right hand man. But he didn’t understand Rosi anymore than Rosinante understood the fury and madness that made his brother want to set the world on fire.

Or maybe they understood too well, while standing on different sides.

But Law...Law’s vision matched Doflamingo’s perfectly. His brother saw that, and wanted to steal the boy’s hate and use it to fuel his own ambition.

“Keep him safe, alright?” Doffy said. “I’m gonna need him around when he gets older.”

Even if he dared speak, Rosinante’s mouth went suddenly dry, constricting his throat and strangling what little air he had out of his lungs. He’d suspected already that Doffy was looking for a way around Law’s time limit, and if he succeeded…

Law was smart and he was fearless and he was angry. Oh, so very angry. Rosi saw the same fire burning in his eyes that shone in Doflamingo’s when they hung on the city wall. Once Doffy sunk his hooks into him he would never let go. Already the boy cared for nothing but the next person he could hurt. If his brother was able to channel those destructive instincts on his enemies then he might just succeed in bringing the world to his knees.

Rosi left Doffy to his maps, pausing only to clasp his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Doflamingo’s smile grew. “I knew I could trust you.”

Of course Rosinante couldn’t answer, so he left in search of Law. The knife wound in his side throbbed with every step. He couldn’t let Doffy have the boy; there was too much at stake. But neither had he succeeded in chasing him away. Doflamingo offered Law the one thing he craved, and like an addict looking for his next fix, Law would jump through any hoops to stay by his side. To learn, to grow, to destroy.

Sengoku would have said it was worth doing the hard thing if it meant keeping the world safe. History said his mentor and father-figure had put those words into practice often enough. But Rosi wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do the hard thing, the right thing. There had to be another option.

Except that was a lie. It was always a lie, and not even Rosi could convince himself it was true.

Xxx

“I finally found it! The Op-Op Fruit!”

Even in the cold, spots of fever bloomed on milk-white skin. Between panting breaths, Law rasped, “The building’s on fire...I heard gunshots, I thought...I thought something happened.”

Black stars danced behind Cora’s eyes. The pain of countless wounds needled the edge of his temper. “Knock it off, this is the fruit that’s going to save your life!”

“Even if I eat it, doesn’t mean it’s gonna save me.”

There wasn’t time to argue, for him or for Law. Cora forced the fruit down Law’s throat before the strength left his legs completely. Blood trickled down his cheek and stained the white snow red. He didn’t care. They’d won, it was over. He could take Law...and run...and be free of Doflamingo forever…

Cora almost laughed. He’d always been a liar, but even so. He usually he stuck to stories that were believable. His pulse thundered impossibly loud in his ears, almost drowning out Law’s hysterics at the sight of his wounds.

But Law...Law needed help. He needed someone to show him there was another way, that he didn’t have to fall into Doffy’s madness. And to do that Cora needed to survive, and his brother needed to be taken somewhere far away where his poison could never hurt anyone every again.

It was ironic, in a way, that just as Cora resolved himself to live that Law unwittingly sealed his doom. Perhaps it was inevitable. After all, People of D were God’s natural enemy. The same blood in Doffy’s veins ran in his, just as terrible, just as evil. Though he’d renounced his title long ago, there was a time that Cora had lived as a god. Delayed as it was, his punishment was just.

For some reason, Cora was okay with that.

“What’s going to happen to you?” Law asked. He settled down into the empty treasure chest, naked fear in his eyes. Cora didn’t think he’d have the strength to stop him if he did something foolish, so he smiled.

“Doffy wants you and the fruit. I’m his blood brother. He might be furious, but he won’t kill me.”

It was worth it to see the hopeful grin spread across his face. For all that he’d suffered, there was still an innocence in Law. He believed what Cora said, because it’s what he wanted to believe, even if it wasn’t true.

“I’m sorry for lying.”

There was a certain magic in those words, a panacea stronger than anything the Op-Op Fruit had to offer. For just a moment every hard line on Law’s face softened, and he looked like a boy again instead of the sick, angry man Doflamingo wanted him to become.

“I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Cora felt Law’s fists pounding against the rough wooden box. He had to hang on just a little bit longer now, and it would all be over. The sting of regret hurt more than the bullet wounds, guilt crushing him more than the blows of the Doflamingo Family. He was a good for nothing, sorry klutz of a man who made a disaster out of everything he touched. Even now, with everything all on the line, he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

“I didn’t want you to hate me.”

The darkness was coming in, enveloping him like the sable feathers of his cloak. His arms too cold and heavy to even lift his gun, but still he hung on. For Law’s sake, he would stave off Death for as long as he could.  

His breathing slowed, eyes too heavy to keep open. Time was running out. He’d told so many lies, he could only hope that Law would believe him when for once he spoke the truth.

“I love you.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Poison and Wine || Morgan & Miriam

Just two undead gals being pals.

@meflemming

The hide, not yet treated, floated in the water like forgotten flotsam after a wreck, or perhaps a dead body. Morgan had only floated in the deep after coming back from the dead, where she could rise or sink at will. She couldn’t imagine how she might have looked if her curse had tried to drown her instead, if Remmy would have had to fish her out with a hook, or their bare hands, but maybe it would have been something like this. “And you say this helps you feel more alive?” She asked, curious underneath her snark. “Do you think this is like, a thing for people like us? Searching for life in more death?” she mused.”I’ve spent a lot of time this past month watching animals die and thinking about taxidermy.”

Hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up, Miriam added a few chemicals to the water so that the hide didn’t damage while it soaked. It’d be a while before it was ready to go into the liming process, but she had a few pieces in various states of treatment to show off to Morgan since the other woman had been curious enough about the process. “Well, perhaps it’s a thing for you, but this goes a bit further back for me,” Miriam said, lips quirked up. She washed her hands, explaining, “Leatherworking has been in my family since before we moved to White Crest several odd generations ago. Though, I will admit, the process of dying has become much more interesting. I suppose since I can’t do it again…” She raised an eyebrow. “Taxidermy, though? An interesting pursuit. A fun one, too, I’ve heard.”

“I didn’t take you as someone into tradition, Mim,” Morgan said. “You seemed like such a renegade. Still, I mean you’re heading this operation by yourself. And everything here is…” More than a little impressive. Even to her undead senses, the leather workshop was rich with the smell of creation, death into a different kind of life. The tools were heavy, plain, and simple. The tables, spacious. Everything had its place, its purpose, its balance. It looked like the most beautiful puzzle to Morgan. “Yeah, you can’t really watch your own death, you only remember the part where it hurt, and where it was quiet. Or--I mean, do you? Still remember?” She sped along with the other train of discussion, just in case it was too personal, even for the strange bond of undeath between them. “Yeah, well, my girlfriend dabbles and I spent a lot of time in the shed where she works. Playing with glass eyes and small specimens she’s done. It’s kinda neat, how they get suspended in time, sometimes a little prettier, a little happier looking than they were before. Some of them still look alive, if it weren’t for how still they are. It’s...interesting, I guess. I think skinning the critters is going to be the hardest part, if I ever try. I kinda go apeshit for some nice, raw, dead tissue.”

“I have a head for business and a talent for making things, dearest,” Miriam said breezily. “And I put more work into this business than my father ever did. I actually make things. He simply ran them.” She looked around her home workshop, everything neat and orderly and accounted for. Her father had it built for her after… well, after. No windows for sunlight to escape in, and it was connected to the house through the wine cellar. It was the perfect workspace for all sorts of work, and Miriam took more than a little pride in it. She grew quiet, trying to think of her death. The car wreck, the pain and the heat of it, was still fresh on her mind. “I remember it rather clearly, though I couldn’t even begin to tell you when the troubles of my life ended and the troubles of my unlife began. Someone, though, came along, and here we stand. Making leather.” She walked over to a piece that was closer to being finished, the hide already cured and turned into actual leather. She’d been toying around with it, a messenger bag, perhaps, tooling floral designs into the flaps of it. On the table in front of it was the designs sketched out more clearly onto paper, so she had a rough idea on what she was creating. Next to it was a sketch of a pair of heeled boots she thought about attempting, though it’d been quite some time since she’d attempted shoes. “It’s all a bit macabre how we make beautiful things out of death, isn’t it? Jackets, taxidermied animals, it was all living once and we… I don’t guess I could say that I’m doing much to preserve it, but.” She looked Morgan over. “You’re still very new to all of this. Control comes with experience. Until then… Perhaps you can help her with the less bloodied parts?”

Morgan hadn’t considered that Miriam’s work would be a pragmatic choice. But she’d never had anything passed down to her except her curse, nothing she could use or consider her own. She was used to using whatever she had on hand, though. And this, well, she could admit was a pretty good ‘whatever’ to lean on in a crisis. “Do you identify more as an artist or a craftsman?” She asked, hearing Miriam’s pride in doing the heavy work on her own. “Oh, yeah, I think...that’s the hope right now. I haven’t really got up the nerve  to see her while she’s working, but I fiddle with the tools sometimes, the glass eyes. It’s weird, what pains people will take to make something fake look like it has a spark of life. Although,  I think it’s all in the lid sculpting, from what I can tell. Even in people, it’s the skin that signals emotion, or the eyebrows,” She gestured to Miriam’s own expression with a smirk.

Morgan wandered over to the work in progress, ghosting her finger along the shapes tooled into the leather. “With leather I guess it’s different,” she said. “What do you think about, when you’re making it into something? What are you trying to capture?”

Considering the question, Miriam cocked her head to the side, considering her work. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. One of my teachers in college would have said an artist. Between my sketches, and I’ve dabbled in other mediums. But some businessmen I’ve worked with would say a craftsman. All the work that goes into the craft, the labor behind it. But you asked me.” She paused. “I’d say there’s an art to the craft. I can do practical. I made a saddle once. Someone recently asked me for a harness.” Though, that one seemed to be more for pleasure than practicality. “But I like detail, and adding artistic flair to my work. I want it to be personal. When I do something, I like it to be one of a kind. I have two employees for the shop in town. We all work everything by hand, though they rarely cure their own leather. I buy supplies for them, and they make it lovely. They make it into art. So, I suppose it’s all about the piece, really.” She smirked, allowing her face to be more expressive. “There’s your convoluted answer for the day. Though I’m sure I’ll have more. And people don’t want it to seem fake. They want it to seem preserved. A dear family pet isn’t really dead, only sleeping by the fire. They want the illusion of well-preserved life.”

Miriam looked over at the piece, moving a bit closer to Morgan. How strange; she was rarely around other members of the undead. It was almost as quiet as if she was alone in the room. Not a single heartbeat between the two of them. “Mostly I’m trying to capture what the buyer wants,” she said wryly. “But sometimes, I’m simply playing around. I think about what looks pretty. If it’s something I could stand to own myself or not. I might see a design in something and think I can do it better, so I make the attempt. The end result is either something that can be sold at an extremely high price or an extremely low one.”

“You’re gonna hate this, but putting my spin on a commission was my favorite part of the alchemy-crystal game,” Morgan said, looking thoughtfully at the sketches on the table, carefully picking up one sheet, then the other. “Every once in a while I got some really boring, overly-detailed request, usually ugly too. But some people would say, I want an amethyst mirror, I want a smoky quartz ring holder that reminds me of my cat’s left paw, and that was it. That middle space, where what they want becomes part of the challenge, or the fun, was the best. I don’t even know how many sketchbooks like these I threw out.” She brushed her hands on her skirt, as if dusting away the memory, the longing for those hours. “Whatever I do next will be the old-fashioned way, don’t worry,” she said wryly. “A set up like this would be nice. It feels lived-in, for lack of a better word. I bet you could pass a whole day here and not notice a thing. Or maybe that’s just me? Time has a way of getting slippery. I’m not good at coming home when I’m supposed to unless I set an alarm. If it wasn’t for everyone else, I don’t think I’d mind so much. Days and nights don’t mean as much when you don’t sleep. But I guess that’s different for you, you sleep a little, right?” She danced her fingers on the edge of the table, pressing down, testing how much of it she could feel. “Do you have anyone, that makes time matter for you?”

“You were certainly good with your craft,” Miriam said, only a bit begrudgingly. She had the decanter Morgan made in the house, filled with quality bourbon. She’d yet to actually drink any of it, but she stared at it sometimes, torn between being disgusted and impressed. “I’ve always liked it when customers give me that bit of creative license, the freedom to give them what they want without it being too specific.” She did raise a single eyebrow a bit at Morgan’s comment. “Morgan, dear, I know it’s not quite the same,” not as wholly wrong, “as it was before, but, for better or worse, you’ll always be using magic with whatever you apply yourself to for the rest of your days. There’s no more old-fashioned way.” She looked around, taking pride in her workshop, the one place that she felt at home. “I do pass the whole day in here occasionally. Sometimes several days. No eating, no sleeping, no noticing the time until it’s pointed out to me.” She shrugged, leaned against the workbench. Miriam didn’t slump; she was raised better than that, but she did grab a pencil and twirl it between her fingers, thoughtful. “I sleep?” She hated how it sounded like a question. “Not for long, and it’s not… I don’t particularly dream or anything. I suppose it’s just rest. The closest I got to sleeping lasted for several years and was closer to death, I think.” She watched Morgan’s fingers and the slight dent in the table they caused. She didn’t say anything about it, though, too focused on the question. Did she? No. She had acquaintances, occasional dalliances, but no one who made time matter. That had been Theo and his family and her family. They were all gone now. Now, all she had was revenge, and that didn’t make time matter; it just made it drag. “I have my work,” she said breezily, while not being specific as to what work she meant. “It’s no person, but it serves its purpose.”

“What do you mean no more old-fashioned way? Like, because--” Because she was dead? Or un-dead rather? Morgan hadn’t thought of it that way before. Obviously what had happened to her wasn’t the norm. Dead people, generally speaking, did not come back. The soft nothing space she had slept in was the end of all things. There were no more sunrises or lovers or rabbits any more than there was no more sleep, no more taste. And with magic dead inside her, she carried that betrayal. She hadn’t thought that it was keeping her alive, somehow. That it had seeped into her corpse and carried her through her existence. But if it wasn’t her heart, what else could she call it? “Because of what I am? W-what--” She looked down at her hands, pasty and dead and--still, somehow hers. “Does that ever bother you? That you’re a little magic too? That the same energy in the universe that I used to control is part of why you’re still here? I just-- I’ve never even thought of it that way before,” and now that she had, now that she could, her mouth quirked upwards in a small guilty smile of wonder. How could she never have asked herself that before? And how did Miriam know, and want to comfort her with that truth? “I just wonder how you could, much less say it so easy like that.” She looked at Miriam thoughtfully, and wondered if her loneliness had been part of why she’d felt drawn to her before. She’d lost so much, even before she died, and she knew pain well enough to become bent and twisted by it. How heavy must it be to do that? “You should let yourself have people, Miriam,” she said. “Sometimes they’re the only thing that makes a day mean anything.” She held her gaze for as long as she could. Morgan wasn’t sure if Miriam would listen, if she knew that she meant it, but she hoped. Morgan rubbed her hands on her skirt and reached under the table to pop the dents she’d made smooth again. “Is there, uh, anything else I can see?”

“On the nose,” Miriam said quietly. “We’re just dead things reformed by something impossible to truly understand until we’re no longer quite dead.” She’d spent hours thinking on it, fretting about it. What she was, what made her, or, rather, unmade her. She had, for the early years, clung desperately to the idea that she might have survived that wretched car crash. It wouldn’t have killed her. She would have been fine. She’d been resentful of others like her, particularly those who weren’t bound to the town or molded by white-hot revenge. Eventually, she’d come to terms with magic, what it was and what it was for. “I have no problem with magic, Morgan. I truly don’t. It’s a beautiful thing, you know. But it doesn’t belong with humans.” How humans perverted magic. They used it and twisted it into beautiful things, sometimes, like Morgan’s crystals, but also awful, wretched things. “Magic corrupts them all, in the end. Kills them. It killed us.” Miriam places a hand over her unbeating chest. “Only difference is that it keeps us alive as well.” She knew she wasn’t going to get Morgan to see her side. Spellcasters, even former ones, rarely did. Though, she supposed that was usually because the conversation was a bit one-sided; she talked, they screamed. It made it so hard for them to hear her. The last one had screamed until he couldn’t; he’d been about useless, unable to tell her about any local covens or even how to fix her White Crest-locked predicament. He left his shoe, too. She saw it out of the corner of her eye but was careful not to draw too much attention to it. Instead, she met Morgan’s eyes and smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. It’d do me good to have,” she paused, ruminated on the word, “friends. We are so useless alone.” She clapped her hands together and looked around. “There’s not too much else going on in here, but there’s a set of stairs and a tunnel that connect to the house’s wine cellar so I can avoid sunlight. My mother’s idea.” It was also so the staff wouldn’t see the family’s bloody secret lurking around in the dark, but still. It was a nice gesture. “I have a fairly decent collection of alcohol. It’s practically useless unless in large quantities, but it’s pretty to look at.”

“A car killed you, unless there’s more to the story. Not that you have to share either, but—” Morgan shrugged, mouth stretched in a sympathetic grimace. “But my family curse killed me. So you’re not wrong there. I just didn’t think about magic as bringing me back. The magic I did before didn’t really look like this.” She slid off her cuff and showed the scar near her wrist in the shape of Remmy’s mouth. “But you’re right. Nothing else to call it.” She tugged the cuff back down and tugged on her sleeve for good measure. “And I am, about having friends. I don’t know how much you believe me, but I mean it. You should get to have people, Miriam. It means a lot, to be known.” She smirked at the idea of the wine cellar. “Hey, at least you can get drunk at all. I’m down to appreciate the aesthetic though.” She wandered over to the walls, looking for the stairs and room in question. She’d thought there’d be more, but it was almost a relief to see that Miriam held on to some of her humanity, even with the side murder.

“A car headed to confront my husband, who was only using me for money so that he could fund his coven’s magic is what killed me,” Miriam said with a shrug. It was fine. She’d come to terms with it. Her jacket was on the back of the chair she was standing near. She stroked the sleeve gently. “See, it’s magic that’s keeping us alive. Not what human’s can practice, of course.” They were doomed if spellcasters learned how to do whatever bullshit it was that made vampires and zombies. Then again… Necromancers. Miriam fucking hated spellcasters. She smirked, though. “Well, I do thank you for that, Morgan. I should invest in some people. Friends.” She batted her eyelashes, knowing it probably wouldn’t work with Morgan having a girlfriend but not being one to turn down an opportunity. “We can be friends, I hope? Put all the silliness of the past behind us?” She led the way to the stairs, wondering if she should move the shoe but deciding against it. “Have you tried mixing alcohol with, I don’t know, organs? That might get you a little buzzed. Blood always helps me.”

“People aren’t investments,” Morgan childed mildly. “It doesn’t necessarily speak badly of you if things don’t ‘pay off’ the way you want. What speaks well of you is that you try anyway.” She answered Miriam’s fluttering lashes with a coy smile, a roll of her eyes. It was a little late to pretend there wasn’t something of a connection between them. Mriam understood what it meant to walk through death in a way like she did, and without a reason to fear her, Morgan found the return of a feeling she’d had before: a wish that Miriam would let someone ease her pain a little, that she would let go and allow herself a different way of being. “We can be friends, yeah,” she said gently. “And, tragically, no boozy combo I’ve tried yet seems to take the edge off. So that’s one point for vampires!” She followed Miriam towards the dark hall, trailing her fingers on the wall. She noticed a stray shoe strewn absently as she went, pointing to it as she asked, “Do you, uh, get a lot of company down here?”

“Nonsense,” Miriam said. “I was always taught that people were investments. Good ones, if you went about it the right way.” But she could see what Morgan was saying. Relationships were meant to be enjoyed. They were good things, usually. Unfortunately, when all was said and done, Miriam had done a bit too much to allow anyone to get too close. She didn’t regret any of the wretches she’d killed; why, she could barely even remember their faces. Sure, the first few times had been rough, and sure, she ached for something to fill the whole inside of her, the one that wasn’t desperate for revenge and blood. But she was quite good at pushing all of that aside, pretending she was whole. She was still a young vampire, after all, more years in the ground than she’d spent as a creature of the night. Perhaps she’d eventually get used to feeling like this. And, if not, well. She’d read that vampires could turn it all off, if they so desired. Whatever would happen to her if she couldn’t feel her anger and rage? Her thirst for revenge? She didn’t know. Maybe she’d find out. “Darling, you can still go out in the sun. I’d trade all the booze in the world for a nice day sunning down at Dark Score. But maybe we can find something out there for you.” Looking at the shoe, she gave Morgan a wink. “Well, I did say I liked to have dalliances, didn’t I?”

Morgan winced, feeling guilty for bemoaning her eternal sobriety when Miriam couldn’t even watch a sunrise. She couldn’t feel a sunburn or a winter chill anymore, but she could stand in the light and the snow and imagine what it was like. She could remember, at least for now. “What, you mean drinking away the undead existential crisis isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” She asked wryly. “That’s a fair point, you know,” she said. “More than. Sorry. Although, apparently there’s a giant squid in the lake that may or may not eat people, so maybe you’re not missing out on too much.” She really didn’t need to know anymore about Miriam’s dalliances, however charming calling them that sounded in her dated cadence. She scampered down the stairs after Miriam, ready to leave all of that behind and see the rest of her place.

“There’s nothing like a drunken bender every few weeks to destroy your liquor cabinet,” Miriam joked. Though, she wasn’t actually joking, seeing as how she could smell last week’s rage in the form of spilled wine all over the cellar. She sucked in her cheeks frowning. “I forgot about the mess down here. Those undead existential crises tend to end in a bit of broken glass.” She gave a short laugh, but she could clearly smell blood, human blood, underneath all the wine. And if she could, she figured Morgan could as well. “It’s nothing to apologize for, darling. And I have heard about the squid. See, I can’t recall anything like that happening back when I was alive.” Miriam really needed to learn to clean up after herself better. And, perhaps a wine cellar wasn’t the best place to torture a little witch bitch into giving her information on a coven she apparently didn’t know anything about. There’d been some spilled wine, spilled blood, and a new rosebush in the garden. But no cleaning of the wine cellar. It was a shame, too. In her rage she’d managed to break a few bottles of very pricey vintage. It was a waste on all fronts. She walked over to the stairwell leading to the house, a sigh on her lips as she stepped over the mess. Miriam gave Morgan a tight smile. “I’m sometimes unaware of my own strength and anger, these days.”

Maybe if she hadn’t died and made a passtime of stuffing her face with viscera, Morgan wouldn’t have been able to notice the difference between wine and bloodstains on sight. She might not have been able to sense some bits of dead skin, dead something, ground into the floor. But she was salivating in a way that made her clench up with undease. Why was she feeling the hunger pull? Why was there blood mixed with broken glass. Morgan stopped short, surveying the mess. She looked up at Miriam’s thin smile, too sharp to reach her eyes. She didn’t need to ask, she shouldn’t. The whole reason she had stayed away from Miriam for so long was because she knew what she was capable of. She didn’t just carry darkness in her, she had hatred. The kind of hatred that lead to a mess like this. Blood spread in so many directions couldn’t be from anything swift or easy. She backed away slowly. “Y-yeah, um...I can see that. That’s…” The smart thing to do would be to come up with some non threatening question to indicate she didn’t care or at least wasn’t going to push. But as she crept back up the way she came, eyes fixated on the stains she couldn’t un-see as blood she asked, “Who was that? How many...how many people do you bring down here?”

Miriam frowned. A part of her recognized that she should apologize, try to start this over and appeal to the tentative friendship that had been forming between the two of them since before Morgan even died. Miriam wouldn’t lie, she’d grown a bit fond of the witch even while she wanted to kill her, just as she’d always been fond of Theo’s sisters and friends. But Miriam had been raised to not apologize, even before she’d been turned, so she didn’t, couldn’t. Whatever. “It’s mostly just wine, you know,” she said as a way of explanation. But that wasn’t good enough, probably. Readjusted. She smiled, an attempt to soothe. Sometimes, Miriam forgot that she was more bite than bark. “Morgan, I would never harm you, you know. Not anymore. I have no reason to even try.” She adjusted her posture, trying to appear non threatening, but she could no more do that than get Morgan to forget their first encounter. So, she sighed and took a seat near the steps that led to her house. They were on opposite sides of the wine cellar, at an impasse. “I don’t ask for names,” she said. “And she didn’t have any information. Just a drifter, lucky bitch.” Really, Miriam couldn’t be to blame for killing the woman. She’d practically rubbed it in Miriam’s face that she could leave and perform magic while Miriam was stuck in this town as a living corpse. She closed her eyes and took a soothing breath that she didn’t need. “I don’t know. Not many. Wine cellars make terrible places to conduct business, you know. Too many breakable things that I don’t want broken.” She ran her finger through a dark, sticky substance near her heel.

“Miriam--” Morgan began, her voice soft and heavy with disappointment. What had she expected? Where was the surprise in any of this? She stopped, tugging on the roots of her hair as she tried to take in the cold, matter-of-fact way Miriam talked about her killings. It reminded her of Deirdre when she was at her worst, when she was the thing her mother wanted her to be. How could Miriam be this way in so short a time, after one heartbreak? Had she loved him that much, that nothing could exist for her besides that hurt? She let out a long sigh. “I know you wouldn’t, Miriam. I know that,” she said. “But I wish you would let this go. Or at least that I could understand how--why this is so important to you. If it’s so fulfilling, why do you have to turn yourself off like that.” She nodded in her direction, taking in all the signs, the hard lines, the heaviness of the apathy. It was somehow more horrible to look at than the blood. “I just...if it was really that worth it, I don’t think you would have to be like this about it. I think if you understood you can have something besides hating people who never hurt you…” What? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t see another version of Miriam hiding under the darkness, exactly. She knew she was lonely, driven, proud. Sometimes, under the weight of her death and her un-life, she could be funny. But Morgan didn’t know what else. She just wanted to believe it existed. Another breath. It was stupid, she didn’t need to breathe at all, but if she could float some air into her, maybe she could understand why she felt this upset over something she should have known all along.

There was a part of Miriam that wanted desperately for someone, anyone, to understand. She couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t from a lack of trying. After she’d killed Theo, when the high from it all had faded away, she’d cried until she couldn’t. Her mother had been the one to find her, a bloody mess, a shadow of a human being, sobbing over what was left of the husband she’d killed. Her mother, prim and proper, who had left the rearing of her daughter to her stern and more business-oriented husband when Miriam had been more interested in leathers than satins, didn’t know how to react to seeing her child the murderer. The monster. She never did. And yet she’d tried to comfort. And Miriam had let her, had thought this was a one and done situation. But there was no such thing. She couldn’t explain the hunger or rage that was only quieted by others’ screams. Morgan would certainly never understand it. Instead, Miriam kept her face impassive as she licked the blood and wine off her fingers, her eyes flashing red at the taste. She smiled, both sharp and sanguine. “Dearest, I’m only being myself.” She leaned back against the steps. “At least, what’s left of me.” Her hate must be fed to be tempered. She’d learned that the hard way. Miriam would stop if she only knew how.

Morgan lingered in the stairwell, wondering again what in all the earth she had been thinking of in coming here. Why she didn’t have her fill of Miriam from the last time. Had she really set aside the hatred in her eyes over a shared dread of eternity? Was the numbness, the pain between them really enough to scrub away the things she’d done? When she’d been alive, Miriam had sent her to the flipping hospital, of all things. She looked at the woman, resigned and stubborn on the ground. She was so lost she couldn’t even argue with Morgan, couldn’t even fight her.

Morgan crossed the room, stepping over the mess out of respect for the dead. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know sorry’s are stupid, but since I actually know how it is to wake up and feel chunks of yourself missing, I feel like I’m allowed. And--I just don’t think those empty spaces have to stay that way. Not for you, or for anyone else. There has to be something different, something better for you.” She bent down, closer than she had ever been to Miriam yet. She ghosted her fingers over Miriam’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I wish you would look for it some more,” she said. Then she turned back the way she’d come and left.

Not meaning to, Miriam flinched back from the tenderness of Morgan’s touch. She hadn’t experienced anything like that in so long. Not even the people she’d slept with recently had been tender. But she didn’t cry, for what it was worth. Didn’t allow tears to even begin to well in the corners of her eyes. But she felt worn around the edges and seen. It was fucking with her head a bit. Did Morgan seriously think she could be redeemed? After all that she’d done? There was no redemption for her, only vengeance and the final death that it would bring. This was what she knew, what she felt in the pit of her cold heart. But she couldn’t find the words to say it. Instead, she said, “Shut the door on the way out, sweetness.” It wasn’t loud, and it lacked her usual bravado. She stood up slowly, a phantom feeling in her bones, like her true age’s weariness was catching up to her, and she went in the opposite direction. She was going to have to clean up herself, it seemed. Didn’t matter. She had a bit more time on her hands than she planned for the evening, anyway.

[scaredofheroin]

Captain N - Chapter 10: Miserable Little Piles of Secrets

His exhaustion catching up to him, Captain N tried his hardest to keep up with Zelda and the others. He could feel his legs grow weaker the more he ran throughout the dark, Gothic halls of Castlevania. Waking up so early in New Leaf Town, spending all day hiking through hills and valleys, and only reaching Dracula's castle at nightfall pushed his physicality farther than ever before. Zelda, Pit and Falco showed no such weariness. Still clutching the strange, new devices, Captain N felt his body scream at him for a break, to stop for a few minutes and catch his breath. He only shook these thoughts away, his determination shining through. He slowly drifted behind Falco and Zelda, but Pit remained by his side, running at the same pace. He stumbled more and more trying to match his teammate's pace around corners and up stairways. One corner hid an ornate vase placed on a wooden stand, which Captain N didn't see coming. He ran right into the stand, knocked over the vase, and fell to the ground, the vase shattering next to him. Pit was quick to help him back up, hoisting him back up after wrapping his arms around Captain N's arm. "You okay, Cap'n?" Pit asked. Captain N swallowed his desire to express his current state of being, choosing to respond with "Yeah, I'll make it.". Their little conversation was cut short by Falco hissing at them from across the hall, motioning them over to him and Zelda. As Pit and Captain N joined the two, the group hid behind a corner, with Zelda peering out from cover. "There's a group of axe-wielding knights ahead, I believe we should approach this carefully." Zelda whispered to the team, not taking her eyes off the unsuspecting enemies. "Why? Captain N could probably take them down no problem." Pit whispered back. "Indeed, he could, but recklessness is hardly a viable strategy." Zelda retorted. "You guys can talk strategy all you want once we're outta here." Falco interrupted. "Yeah, leave it to me." Captain N agreed, carefully moving next to Zelda to eye up the opposition. His sight was met with five animated sets of black knight armor, all wielding rather intimidating axes. None of them detected the presence of the four intruders but were approaching them to investigate the sound of the broken vase. "What's your plan, Cap'n?" Pit quietly asked him. After a moment's consideration, Captain N readied the light blue device. "Their armor's made of metal, which could turn brittle and shatter when exposed to a low enough temperature." He explained. "Hop to it then!" Falco nudged him slightly. Taking a few deep breaths and mentally psyching himself up, Captain N finally stepped out of cover, startling the axe men. Before they could recover from their surprise, he let another ferocious beam of ice loose from the device, immediately neutralizing the threats. Their axes fell to the ground pathetically, as the axe men became encased in a quarter-inch thick layer of ice. Letting up, Captain N stepped back and signaled to the three that the coast is clear. Falco and Pit checked out the frozen axe men while Zelda searched the various, dimly lit paths for where to go next.

"Well done, Cap'n!" Pit congratulated him, who blushed slightly from the praise. "Hey, this thing did most of the work." Captain N humbly admitted. Falco quickly struck the frozen axe men with strong kicks, immediately shattering them as their metal armor clanked to the ground. "See? Captain N can handle himself." Falco reiterated to Zelda. "I can see that, Lombardi." Zelda bluntly responded, more focused on finding the path forward out of three possible hallways. "Her majesty doesn't sound very grateful, does she?" Falco quietly remarked to Captain N. "I'm sure she'll come around." He jokingly responded, making sure to avoid having her overhear. "Follow me, quickly!" Zelda suddenly spoke up, running down the hall to the left before giving the group any kind of warning. Feeling more invigorated, Captain N was more able to keep up with Pit, Falco and Zelda, weaving more deftly through the halls and around corners. His Zapper was securely holstered in his right pocket as he held the two devices tight in his grip while he ran. Zelda seemed to have a much stronger sense of where an escape is, moving with much more determination and precision. Whenever one of Dracula's minions would jump out to attack, they were quickly struck down by a quick blast of either fire or ice from Captain N. Falco and Pit provided support from the rear, nailing shots on any skeleton or monster that happens to sneak up on the group from behind.

Soon enough, the four found themselves in a grand yet empty dance hall, with all the tables and chairs stacked neatly off to the side. "Why don't we jump out the window we came in through?" Falco asked, noticing they've strayed from the path they initially entered. "Too risky, Dracula's forces are out in greater number, they'll be expecting us there. I've found a more feasible path for us to exit through." Zelda elaborated. "What about Simon? Shouldn't we regroup with him?" Captain N asked. "I wouldn't worry about him, this isn't his first rodeo with Dracula." Falco waved off. "Yeah, I bet he's already defeated that monster!" Pit agreed. Zelda remained quiet, clearly wrestling with herself on whether to press on or find Simon. "...Shouldn't we at least look for him?" Captain N asked. "We do that, it gives those creepy-crawlies a better opportunity to trap us here." Falco replied. "What about you, Princess? Can't you reach out to him telepathically?" Captain N turned to her. After a few moments of frustration, Zelda shook her head. "I'm not getting any kind of response from him." She answered shamefully. Captain N gulped slightly, worried further by her response. "...Well, maybe he got away? Doesn't your mind reading have a range?" Pit asked Zelda. "...Perhaps, it's unlikely, but Simon could have already escaped, and this place is keeping me from reaching out to him." Zelda agreed. "And you DO have an escape route, right?" Falco asked further. "Correct, but it's more... unconventional." Zelda admitted. "Pretty much everything I've seen these past three days could be described as unconventional, Princess." Captain N spoke up. "But we're ready! Right, guys?" Pit assured, nudging Falco and Captain N. "Yeah, totally." Captain N agreed, with Falco providing only a nod in agreement. Just then, the sound of countless monsters could be heard approaching from the doorway the team entered through. "Then lead on, Princess!" Pit cheered. Zelda quickly regained her bearings and immediately set off up a nearby grand staircase. Just as the door was flung open by the zombies, Captain N threw another beam of fire their way, immediately scorching the mob to a crisp.

The journey throughout Castlevania continued to higher and high elevation. Stairway after stairway, Zelda maintained an air of confidence in her stride, Falco, Pit and Captain N following closely behind. With the majority of his adrenaline rush from wielding the powers of the elements gone, Captain N felt his exhaustion come crawling back to him. The relentless, energetic demeanor of his three allies was only salt in the metaphorical wound. Axe men, haunted knights, skeletons and more bats would swoop down from the shadows but were quickly eliminated. Falco and Pit proved to be more skilled, with Captain N growing clumsier and more sluggish. In attempting to broil a nearby zombie, one of the errant ashes flying from the blaze almost landed on Captain N's sleeve. Frantically waving away the fire hazard, Falco blasted the zombie away. "Remind me to get you a bucket of cold water." Pit remarked, getting a nod of agreement from Captain N. Falco couldn't squeeze in another one of his witty remarks in trying to keep up with Zelda, quickly joined by Pit and Captain N. Pushing open a large set of doors found the group in a long hallways decorated with sets of armor encased in glass. The eerie silence directly contrasted against the hectic struggle from the lower floors as the four carefully made their way through the room. But as Zelda passed one, it suddenly sprung to life, crashing through the case and knocking her over with a strong strike to the head. Before the others could react, three other suits of armor ambushed them. Captain N tried to respond with another blast from the devices, but the two devices were knocked out of his hands by the armor restraining him, its arms locked under his. Even Pit and Falco struggled in trying to escape the armor's grasp, as Zelda tried in vain to wriggle free. Remembering his primary weapon, Captain N's hand quickly shot to his pocket, drew the Zapper, aimed it behind his head and blasted the armor in the helmet, the armor set collapsing onto the floor with an empty clanking. Regaining his footing, Captain N hastily closed his left eye, steadied his breath, aimed and fired at the suits of armor holding his allies hostage. As the suits of armor broke apart, Zelda got back on her feet, helping up Pit as Falco waved off her offered help and got up on his own. "Nice shot, Captain." Falco complimented. "I couldn't just leave you to those deadly outfits, could I?" Captain N remarked, picking his two-colored devices up off the floor and stuffing them in the back pockets of his jeans. "Behind you!" Zelda suddenly exclaimed, pointing behind Captain N. Swiveling around, Captain N found three more suits of armor approaching him, this time wielding spears. Stumbling back, he clumsily aimed and fired at the attackers. His following shots were less graceful, each set of armor taking two or three hits to go down. Another one was about to sneak up on Captain N, but Falco quickly shot it to pieces before it could reach him. "...I had him." Captain N sheepishly stated, which Falco met with rolled eyes. "Sure you did, Cap." He remarked with a sting of sarcasm in his voice. "Save it for later!" Pit yelled to the two, with Zelda blasting away two more sets of armor with her magic. "More of them will regroup soon, we must hurry!" She added, pulling open another large door.

As soon as she opened the door, the group was met with a strong gust of the cold air of night. Adjusting his eyes, Captain N found that on the other side of the door led to a large, open staircase leading to a chamber above. The crescent moon hung magnificently in the night sky, seeming much larger than before as it illuminated the night sky. "So we jump out from here?" Falco asked Zelda. Shaking her head, Zelda eyed the chamber ahead. "There should be a safer escape in there." She explained.

"There SHOULD be?" Falco interrogated.

"Hey, hey, before we start arguing again, I say it's worth a shot!" Pit interjected, determined to avoid another argument.

Falco stopped himself from responding, deciding to not prod further.

"...You wouldn't happen to know where Dracula is, would you?" Captain N asked Zelda, who racked her head trying to focus her magic.

"Unfortunately not, he's shrouded by a dark and mysterious force, I couldn't detect him even when he was right in front of us." Zelda answered.

Captain N nodded, sticking the Zapper back in his pocket while stepping towards the staircase. Falco only groaned in annoyance.

"Come on! Onward and upward!" Pit declared, quickly ascending the staircase. Captain N and Zelda followed him close behind, with Falco ascending the staircase backwards, eyeing the doorway for any monsters that may have been following them. Captain N couldn't help but feel an ominous feeling growing in his stomach as he conquered one stone step at a time. The cold breeze only grew colder the higher up he went, making him hold his arms close to his chest to conserve heat. A nearby clock tower had four gargoyles presiding over the four corners at the top, which thankfully stayed inanimate throughout the team's ascent. It took slightly longer than initially expected, but the four found themselves in front of the grand doorway. Captain N tried to push the doors open on his own, but their large, bulky nature proved too much for him. Hearing Falco snicker slightly, Captain N was about to get the red device out to burn a hole through the door, but Zelda quickly stopped him. "Perhaps you're getting too eager to use your new tools." She remarked. "Yeah, using these things are way too much fun." He admitted with a slight smile. Zelda only took in a deep breath, focused her palms out, and summoning her magic, slowly pushed the massive, imposing doors open.

As the light from the moon filled the chamber, the interior was revealed to contain a coffin on the far end of the room, surrounded by ornate stained-glass windows that reached to the ceiling. The stone interior only accentuated the cold temperature, sending another shiver down Captain N's spine. But what was found right in front of the group in the center of the room was a large, masculine figure tightly bound by chains. Pit quickly ran over and split his bow into two blades to hastily cut away at the restraints before anyone could object. After hacking away, the chains fell limp and unraveled on the floor, revealing an unconscious Simon Belmont. "Simon!? But does that mean-" Pit started, but was harshly interrupted by the doors suddenly slamming shut behind the group. Jumping at the sudden, loud noise, Captain N stepped closer to Falco and Zelda, the room swallowed in near darkness. The candles, torches and chandelier then lit on their own, emanating a mystic fire from their wicks. Behind Simon stood a large, dark, ominous figure idly holding a wine glass. As the light from the candles slowly filled the room, the four intruders were met with the unimpressed visage of Dracula himself.

"I honestly, truly did not believe it would be this easy to capture you all." Dracula admitted slyly, swirling around the wine in its glass. "The Belmont was easy to ambush, what with all the ruckus he was making." The four stepped back, readying themselves for combat at a moment's notice. "What are you talking about, creep?" Falco asked, irritation in his voice rising. "Oh, come now. Surely her majesty knew her abilities wouldn't triumph over mine in my own domain." Dracula elaborated, motioning to Zelda. An ashamed look fell over Zelda's face as she slightly stepped back speechless, realizing she lured everyone into this trap. "You there." Dracula turned to Captain N. "You're the only one I don't recognize. I'm well aware of the Princess of Hyrule, Palutena's best guard and the ace of Star Fox, but your identity escapes me." Dracula went on. Captain N cleared his throat before addressing him in return. "Wh-What can I say, I'm kind of new around here." He managed to stammer out, summoning the strength to speak directly to such an imposing threat. Dracula chuckled softly before replying.

"Ah yes, you must be the predestined one Kamek has told me much about."

Captain N gulped before speaking up again.

"The name's Captain N." He introduced himself.

"What were you doing in my humble abode, Captain N?" Dracula asked him, adding an extra emphasis to his name. Carefully reaching to his back pockets, he gripped the two devices and quickly whipped them out at Dracula. "Getting these!" He shouted, channeling his inner action hero before blasting Dracula with two elemental beams. Dracula was caught off guard by this, and fell to the ground with a load groan, still gripping his glass of wine. Pit and Falco slowly circled Dracula as he slowly got back up. "Is that so? Perhaps this castle holds more than even I knew." Dracula spoke up, standing back up. "You're going down, monster!" Pit shouted, firing an arrow at his opponent. Dracula was more prepared this time, and deflected the arrow aside. "Very well then, have at you!" Dracula declared, tossing the wine glass aside.

Captain N immediately ran back and crouched down to let off another fire blast. While Dracula avoided this, Falco was able to dash aside and place a few shots on the vampire. Pit quickly joined the fray, allowing Zelda enough clearance to get to Simon, still lying on the ground. Dracula idly tossed a few spheres of dark energy towards Captain N, who was able to avoid all but one of the attacks, crumpling onto the floor. Pit and Falco stayed on opposite sides of Dracula, who managed to keep up with both their attacks at once. Getting back up, Captain N drew his Zapper and fired a few shots at Dracula, running side to side. Zelda summoned her power and imbued Simon with part of her magic, bringing him back to consciousness. Jerking awake, Simon rolled to the side to get a view of the situation. "It's Dracula, he-" He started to explain, but was quickly interrupted by Zelda. "We know, we were lured here as well." She replied. Simon quickly got back on his feet and drew his whip. "Leave this to me." He bluntly stated, running over to join the three before she could protest. Zelda stayed a further distance away while Captain N slowly got closer as he shot his Zapper at Dracula more. The vampire proved to be a worthy opponent, swiftly avoiding or blocking nearly every attack from the five challengers. Throwing his cape around himself, Dracula suddenly transformed into a swarm of bats, swirling around the group to make them lose their steadiness. Captain N and Pit dove behind cover, hiding from the bats as Falco and Simon maintained their footing.

Reforming as one, Dracula then summoned pillars of fire to shoot up from the floor and nearly incinerate his enemies. "Geez, is this guy ever gonna go down!?" Falco exclaimed, exasperated. "Escape now! I can handle him!" Simon insisted, running up to confront Dracula. As he was knocked down by another one of Dracula's dark energy blasts, Pit protested with "We're not leaving you here!". Simon's experience clearly matched Dracula's, his whip strikes swift and precise enough to stagger his opponent. "Captain N has his weapon, you all need to leave now!" Simon stated again. Zelda was about to resist this offer, but Falco spoke up. "He's right, you know! He's got this!" Falco insisted. Captain N remained hiding behind a nearby column, not ready to leave yet. As scared as he was, he found it too cowardly to run away now. Gripping the Zapper with a shaky hand, he could feel his heart race, peering from behind cover to fire at Dracula. "Come now, don't leave us when it's starting to get interesting." Dracula taunted, backing up against the stained glass windows. Simon then ran over and with a single, mighty kick, knocked open the doors descending back down into Castlevania. "Escape while you can!" Simon ordered as the cold air billowed in. Captain N peered out from cover to the night sky, Zelda and Falco near the doorway. Pit suddenly swooped down from circling Dracula and hooked his arms under Captain N's, clumsily carrying him over to the doorway. "We gotta go NOW!" Pit exclaimed to Captain N and Zelda as Simon kept Dracula busy. With one last worrying glance over to the battle, Zelda nodded and spoke up with a reluctant "Alright, you win.". Captain N knew there was no winning this argument, and nodded, relenting. Dracula could tell they were about to escape, and transformed back into a swarm of bats to prevent them from leaving. As the four stumbled back out of the chamber, Simon raced over and slammed the door shut, yelling "Godspeed, Captain N!" from beyond the doorway before going back to battling Dracula.

Zelda didn't trust her senses in finding an escape, just leading the group back to the initial entryway from memory alone. Her memory proved adequate as she led the team racing back through the halls. The four completely ignored the monsters guarding the hallways, sprinting past them desperate to escape. Captain N felt like his legs were about to fall off from all the exertion, but he persisted nonetheless. After a few minutes of frantic running, the four burst through the doors to the dining room, spotting the broken glass representing their escape. Falco leapt out onto the ground, landing squarely on his feet on the grass below. Zelda followed him with a more graceful descent thanks to her magic cushioning her impact, and before he could protest, Captain N found himself hoisted off his feet by Pit, who carried him back onto the grassy ground of the forest outside the castle walls. Not long after the four regrouped, a deep rumbling could be heard coming from inside the walls, and Castlevania collapsed into a massive cloud of mist.

[darkwritingsnshit]

Living the Dream

Chapter 4

Warnings: This is a dark fic, please don’t read if you’re under 18, or ucomfortable with noncon, kidnapping or dark characters

This was not your bed. These were not your blankets. From memory foam and down, to something harder, scratchy, thin and uncomfortable. The sun was not shining in through your window, in fact, there was no light at all, no window. What the fuck was going on? In an attempt to sit up, leather cut into your wrists and ankles, making your cloudy head bounce back onto the bed. A headache thrummed through your temples as your eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Good morning doll, how’d you sleep?” Steve’s voice came from a corner, he emerged with two cups of coffee and sat down next to where you were strung up on the bed.

“What the fuck is this?” You spit at him, tugging at each arm and leg. Steve frowned and rubbed your restrained leg by the ankle, a seemingly soothing gesture.

“I know, I don’t like this either. It seems silly, but it’s just a precaution. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, you know? I’m concerned for you.” Steve moved his hand to stoke your face; you snapped your head away from his touch. He frowned. “Look,” he sounded tired, “don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, okay? I’m doing this to make you happy, to make us happy. You need to appreciate what I’ve done for us.” Again, he stroked your cheek, and this time you couldn’t move away any further.

“What the hell are you talking about you psycho?” Between clenched teeth you sounded feral.

“First of all, I don’t appreciate any of that language. I’m going to let you get adjusted today, but all decisions have consequences, so you need to keep that in mind. I did this for us, don’t you see? This is what you wanted. A loving husband, a nice house, a bundle of kids someday, and you get to stay home and care for the home, raise our kids. We even have that white picket fence I know you’ve been secretly dreaming about.” He laid it out like it was t e most logical thing in the world. Like he hadn’t tied you to a bed and stuck you in a windowless room. Like it all made sense.

“Steve.” You used even breaths, even speech. He had to see what was wrong with this picture. “We aren’t married, we never even dated, you just knew me as an acquaintance. We don’t have kids, and this isn’t my house. Do you see why I’m confused?” You were trying so hard not to get upset, not to escalate the situation.

“Well, not yet,” Steve said with a half smile, “but those things will come quickly, you don’t have to worry.”

“No, I am going to worry.” You assured him. “Steve, I want you to let me go, I want to go home. I’m not interested in staying here, okay?” Maybe he could be reasoned with. This was Captain America, Mr. Red-White-and-Blue, not some psychopath. He was a reasonable, stand up guy who defended the rights and liberties of the downtrodden, right? You didn’t understand any of this.

“Not yet you don’t, but you will.” Steve stood up, placed a coffee on the table next to your bed, and unclipped one of your arms, and both of your legs before walking out the door.  

“WHAT the FUCK??” You threw your entire body weight against the last restraint, trying to bend the metal of the frame, trying to break the thick leather, anything to get you out of that fucking cuff, what the hell was going on? “What the HELL Steve? What are you doing?” The two walls you could touch were concrete, and the door Steve exited through looked to be concrete as well, except for the heavy metal bars in front of some safety glass and a nasty looking handle. “My brother will be back, my work will miss me, STEVEN!!!” your voice came out as a shriek, you were slipping into hysterics.

You weren’t sure how long you waited in that godforsaken room. Long enough to take inventory, long enough to ponder your predicament. Your lungs and throat were sore from screaming, your hands were bloody from all the attempts to free your left arm from where the restraints were attached, there were bruises up and down your legs from kicking and pitching fits. It had been long enough for you to realize the reality that you were not going to get out of that room, not until you got your other arm free, not until you were let go by the man who trapped you here.

It was cold in the concrete room, you had torn the blanket and sheets off the bed hours ago and had no inclination to use them. You were hungry and thirsty but sick to your stomach all at once. The nerves had never abated, you seemed to get more anxious with each passing minute, an ongoing panic attack that gripped your lungs and made you draw shaky breaths. You had given up the fight for now, sitting against the corner on the bed, counting as you breathed in and out, trying to calm yourself. The room itself was as long as the full twin bed, but looked a little wider. There was a curtain that had been pulled back, so you could see a showerhead, a sink and a toilet against the other wall, with a drain on the floor. There was the metal table next to the bed chained to the wall, three cameras, one in each corner except the bathroom, and other than a few anchoring spots in the walls and floor, the room was bare. You had thrown the coffee against the wall, determined not to take a damn thing he gave you.

Steve had to have lost it. That’s the only explanation you could come to. What the fuck else could this be, some sick joke? No, this wasn’t funny. Besides, too much time had passed for someone to leap out of the shadows with a ‘surprise! We fooled you!’ and this was too fucked up even for your brother to make a joke out of. Steve must have snapped. You thought about what you knew from his past, your work as a therapist, and decided it was entirely likely. From constantly being ready for a fight, to losing the people he loved, to ongoing PTSD, you knew people who had had a mental break from this kind of thing, though you had never seen a case this extreme.

Your mind was still working as you sat with your knees hugged to your chest against the wall. You didn’t hear the click, you heard the scrape, concrete on concrete, a heavy door pushed open, then shut by a concerned looking blonde. Steve approached your bed, but stayed out of arm’s reach.

“Sweetheart, this is what I was afraid of. You’ve hurt yourself pretty bad, look at you.” He gestured to your body and you realized he was right. You were streaked with blood and bruises, your eyes were red and you were pretty sure you had broken your hand by punching the wall so hard.

“I’m going to help you now, I don’t want you to try to hurt me. You know it won’t work anyway.” Steve’s words did nothing as you tried to claw his goddamn eyes out as he approached. Kicking, screaming, you were sure you looked like a wild animal. A caged animal. Steve looked unhappy, a frown on his face as he easily held you down and reattached your arm and leg restraints. “The first couple days will be the hardest, but I’m going to teach you to behave. I hate this disobedience from you, trust me when I say my patience won’t last forever.” You couldn’t stop snarling and thrashing.

Steve opened the first aid kit he bad brought down with him, and set to work cleaning your self inflicted wounds. He cleaned blood from under your nails and feet, wrapped up your wrist, carefully wiped down the bruises. You had gone from screaming and thrashing to shaking while tears ran down the sides of your face. He was shushing you the entire time, and his hands were gentle with your body.

“See, there we go. I really don’t like it when you hurt yourself, that’s why you’re restrained. It breaks my heart to see you like this, it really does. But if you want out of here we’re really going to have to work on your behavior, okay?” He was stroking your hair, gazing at your face, trying to make eye contact that you wouldn’t give him.

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice was broken and scratchy, you hated it.

“I told you, doll. I’m doing this to make you happy, to make us happy. This is what you want.” He said again. You refused to believe it. Even a deranged man had to know that this was unacceptable.

“Steve, taking someone against their will and tying them to a bed is not in anyone’s best interest, and it won’t make me happy.” You had tried so hard not to sob through those words, but you didn’t make it.

“Shhh baby, it’s okay. I know it may take you a while to adjust, but you’ll see very soon that this really is what you want.” His hands never left your skin and you hated it, you wished your skin was on fire so that his hands would get burned.

“NO IT’S NOT! I don’t want you! I don’t want anything to do with you!! I want to go home!!” There was nothing you could do to stop crying now. You turned your head to the side and tried not to let him see how much this hurt.

“You need to get some rest sweetie, you don’t realize what you’re saying. I’ll be back and we can talk when you’re less hysterical.” Steve stood again, placed a sealed water bottle by your bed and left you tied up and in tears.

[malereader-inserts]

More Than Exes

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Archie Andrews x Ex!Male Reader Summary: A story of loss and gain Word Count: 2282

Archie was a man of many ladies and many men.

But, amongst his many exes, there was one that he was always hung up about. Veronica was a great girlfriend and the sex banged but there was someone he longed for more, a spark he vaguely remembers and the pouring rain that puts out his blazing fire.

He longed for you.

You and he were the It couple, before Veronica, before Jason’s murder. It was a strong relationship, have their ups and downs, someone who loved him for his personality and looks because he wasn’t as ripped as he was before summer. You were his everything as he was with you. But, news travels fast that you were moving across seas and living in France, you didn’t know when you were coming back and you knew that the distance would eventually break you two apart.

“If things are still there, maybe we are meant to be, Arch,” You softly spoke, running your hand through his hair.

“I don’t want you to leave, (Y/n).”

“I know, babe, I don’t want to go.”

No one spoke of you when school started, people missed your stupid grins and loud proclamation that you adored Archie Andrews. They missed you, the ball of energy, the person that screams the loudest during a football game or clap the biggest during music performances.

Everyone just made no effort to mention you because your presence was missing, the atmosphere was quiet.

When Archie got with Veronica, most people knew it wasn’t going to last because Archie still takes a moment to look at the trophy winners cabinet to look at your smiling face, a victorious win for the water polo team. 

Archie smiled when he was with Veronica, but he grinned when he was with you.

Archie often looks to Betty and Jug’s relationship, remembering the adventures you and him would venture off to. Archie often stays awake at night remembering small details, he hides photos and love notes away from Veronica.

“You have to move on, Archie,” Betty spoke with their windows open and they spoke across.

“I miss him,”

“But, what about Veronica?”

Archie’s favourite moment with you, or at least the one that stood out to him the most. The one that repeats over and over again in his head. Was the night before you left to live across the pond, a night you last shared as a couple.

You were lying on his shoulder, the midnight moon looming over you and shining through the small parting of the curtains. Your arm was slowly coming numb as it comfortably wraps over Archie’s shoulders, at your hand was held by his hand.

His head rested on your shoulder as you both stare at the ceiling, the silence was calming as the only noise to be heard was the soft breathing that matched the occupants of the bedroom.

“With you, I’m comfortable. I know I can talk about anything or sit by your side in complete silence. You see me at my worst but only talk about my best. I can be happy about my biggest achievements, while you know my deepest insecurities. I’m comfortable with you, and you should know that means everything to me.”

Archie hums as he listens to you because you had more layers to a loud lover. He found a passionate romantic as you dance with him in the kitchen whether it was upbeat or slow, or how he was often treated to fancy meals, or how Archie found himself in a soft but full of fire kisses.

Archie knew your true insecure side, how you feel like you are not enough for him or how things might change between you two when you leave. Archie knows your likes and dislikes.

But, he also knew that you kept a list of his favourite food at each restaurant you visit, so you know what to get him when he wasn’t by your side. He knew that you keep a box of his love letters as he did with yours. 

“Some say love only feels right if you get butterflies. I say that’s bullshit. Whenever I’m with you I am calm and at peace with the world. Yes, I’m still the wild animal I’ve always been… but everything inside me is quiet and my heart is full of love. I feel like I can stop running, for once. And let me tell you: to me, that is so much better than butterflies.”

“Don’t go pouring your heart out now,” He warns, “Because I might start doing that and we may cry, and we can’t be two loved-up boys loving each other.”

You snort a laughter as Archie grins to himself.

“You fuck me up, Archibald Andrews,” Archie grimace of his full name being used but he felt your lips against his hair, “Maybe I’m scared because you mean more to me than any other person. You are everything I think about, everything I want.”

“I know,” Archie breathily spoke, “I love you.”

There was a silence, the last thing he remembers that night was him slowly falling asleep and your soft calming murmurs of love one last time.

“If I could trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday, I would.”

It had been almost a year and so months since you went. Archie was soon turning seventeen and the last time you saw him, he was sixteen with skinny arms. Archie had just got out of his court trials and the expose of the underground fight club had let Archie breathe a little.

But, when he had Veronica by his side, his mind wandered if his situation was different if you were around. There would be no obsession between the father and daughter of the Lodge household, Archie wouldn’t be in a hot mess.

“You know, I think you should break things with Veronica,” Jughead suggested as Archie hung around at the trailer, surrounded by Jughead and Cheryl whilst Betty distracted Veronica for a best friend day out.

“I agree,” Cheryl nodded, “You’re not you anymore, Archie, especially without him.”

“I don’t want to hurt Veronica-”

“You’re hurting her more if you don’t break things with her, it’s obvious that you’re still in love with (Y/n), either break up with Veronica or move on,” Jughead advised as Cheryl tightens her smile and nods.

“I haven’t seen you more in love with anyone else but him,” Cheryl continues, “It’s obvious that you guys are meant to be.”

“I just feel lost without him-” Archie sighs, “You know, I often think would everything be different if he just didn’t go.”

“Of course,” Cheryl spoke, as she watched Archie slump in the chair and stare at the fire, “You know, this is just one small test of your love when he comes home maybe everything was just there, just how you left it.”

“You’re just looking for something you and him had in Veronica, and if you keep doing that you’ll burn out,” Jughead advised, shrugging his shoulders, “V is great but you know she’s not the one.”

“But-”

“Do you love (Y/n)?” Cheryl interrupted.

“Well, of course,”

“And how do you know?”

Archie looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed together confused for a moment because he wasn’t thinking when he was speaking, Cheryl and Jughead knew he spoke from the heart when he had you in his mind. Whilst he had Veronica fooled for thinking all his loves songs are for her, it was the soulmate across the waters.

“Because my soul knew him far longer than I have. All I know is I’ve never felt anything this deep. I know that whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Veronica never thought that there will be the day that Archie Andrews would break up with her. Hiram Lodge vowed to ruin the Andrews boy because no man should walk on earth that dares to hurt his mija.

Archie felt relieved, some sort of weight was lifted off his shoulders as he told his dad about it, his dad looked at him before nodding. Fred Andrews knows his boy and knows love. If his son was able to get his happy ending then he’s going to encourage him because he never did get his happy ending.

Archie had a fresh breathe of air as he was welcomed to school on Monday, the news travelling fast in the grounds. Many of his teammates teased him, congratulating him for being single, some hinted if he was going to find you again.

Everyone knew that there was no better pair than you and him, you were his anchor, his biggest fan, his best friend, you more than his boyfriend. He was more than your boyfriend, best friend and another half. 

People call them soulmates, you two were lucky to stumble into each other’s lives early on. Was love young? Absolutely. Was love foolish? With every fibre it was. But, lovers know love and you wouldn’t trade it for any other.

Veronica and Archie remind friends, or at least civil as they could be. But, Veronica couldn’t help noticing how much Archie smiled more, or how he joked often, she noticed how he continued to make love songs without her in his life.

Veronica knew Archie didn’t love her like she loved him and that broke her.

Veronica was smart, she was a tough cookie, but it pained her to find out that her friends and cheerleader gang all knew that relationship was going to sink.

No one told her why.

It had been a month since Archie and Veronica broke up.

Tensions were there but there was nothing that they could do. Christmas had past and there were the harsh winters. January was often the hardest time, with the severe snow and unrelenting cold, it was almost impossible to function. 

Archie, Veronica, Betty and Jughead walk down the hallway together, behind them they heard gasps and quickly hushed murmurs. Betty looked over her shoulder before jugging on Jughead’s hand, they both twirl around with grins on their faces.

“Archie?”

Archie stopped at his tracks as he spun on his heels, facing someone he had longed for. Archie made a step forward as Veronica looked confused, behind her friends. Her eyes gazed on you, she found nothing special about you but Archie?

Oh, how he could barely breathe, but oh when you had smiled everything had realigned for him. The world made perfect sense to him, the skies were blue and the warmth radiated from you.

When your (e/c) stare at his brown eyes, you had fallen in love with him once again. You use to think brown eyes were uninteresting until you gazed upon his and you suddenly realized all the potential brown held, you saw houses, books, playgrounds, forests, river beds and hiking trails. Your future flash before you in shades of brown.

The feeling was still there as if days, weeks, months had passed was nothing. A familiar spark that Archie craved and that excitement course through him. Your soft gentle eyes held adoration for your lover, you craved for his touch, his hugs and electrifying kisses.

“(Y/n)?” Archie breathes out, afraid it was one sadistic dream.

Everyone watched, just two lovesick boys standing in the hallway, it was one cliché plotline - Jughead would agree. But, this was the only couple that they truly cared for because everyone some take decades to find their other half, but you two were rare high school sweethearts.

“I’m home, mi amour.”

Archie bolted into a sprint as you laughed, catching him into your stronghold. Archie breaking the hug, touching your face making sure you wouldn’t disappear through his fingertips.

“You’re home?”

“I don’t think you can get rid of me for a long time, Archie. I’m staying and the next time I leave, I’m having you by my side.”

Archie beams, a smile that Veronica has never seen, as she watched Archie smashes his lips onto yours. The hallway erupt to claps and cheers as she watched two lovers reunite, a grinning kiss that held desperation and love, something she could never achieve with Archie.

She watched how Kevin and Josie cheer, Kevin breaking out the phone to update the whole town of the lovers’ long-awaited reunion. Reggie was cheering the loudest, praising that his favourite couple was back on. Cheryl and Toni beaming happily as Betty hugs Jughead closer. Veronica looks at Jughead, who was softly grinning at his best friend.

Veronica looked at her ex and his apparent ex-boyfriend.

“I never stood a chance did I?” Veronica questioned to Jughead.

Jughead rips his attention to Veronica, her shoulders deflated as she wished that she was in your place, but she didn’t know the story of you and Archie, she didn’t know what it was like watching your relationship bloom and how painfully obvious that Archie Andrews and (Y/n) (L/n) was going to get married in the future.

“(Y/n), he’s different, he’s all Archie ever needed and wanted.” Jughead spoke softly, “There’s nothing comparable with their love.”

“What’s so good about (Y/n)?”

“It’s not what’s so good about (Y/n), it’s what’s so good about them. They bring equal love, passion and grace…”

Veronica looked at him confused as Jughead turns his attention to his best friend and his boyfriend, he smiles gently at Veronica.

“They find home within each other, no matter how long they’ve been separated or how different things have changed. Love is where home has blossomed, things just haven’t changed. So, no. You never stood a chance.”

“Oh.”

“Some exes are more than exes, they’re best friends, biggest fans, and ultimately soulmates.”

[castellankurze]

A Completely Normal Judgment Call

Anime bullshit returns.  Again.  Back to the main throughline of the plot, taking place in March, in the distant past, a bit to the left.

.........

"I'll believe it when I see it," was the saying that kept rattling around in Shouko's head.  A saying about how some things were so unbelievable that you had to see them before you'd accept the reality of them.  Funny how some things could be the exact opposite - you could see them every day, all the time, and still not really believe it.

Impossible things were actually pretty easy to believe in, once you finally saw them.  Shouko had plenty of experience by now.  Faerie-tale beasts.  Ghosts.  Dragons.  Immortal warriors of legend.  Time travel.  She'd learned to just shrug and tried to roll with the newest loop the world tried to throw at her.

What was really had to believe was the girl whose head rested in her lap.

As if picking up on Shouko's thoughts, Saika let out a soft murmur and shifted slightly, and Shouko lifted her hand to gently stroke Saika's long golden hair.  Her girlfriend had drifted off to dreamland - heh - an hour ago, leaving Shouko to sit on watch alone at the cave entrance while the rest of the group recuperated inside.  Shouko didn't mind - she was still too wired to sleep right now.

It was still weird, she thought, looking up at a moon that was probably seventy million years before her time as she continued to idly stroke Saika's hair.  When they'd first met, Shouko had initially figured her for another wannabe rebel-girl - looking for a fast, flirty ride on the back of a real motorcycle.  She wouldn't have been the first.  Then within days of their first crossing paths, there had been the whole...everything.  But the world turning upside-down and revealing magic to be real didn't guarantee anything, and Shouko had kept waiting for Saika to get over the impulse and move on.

Then there'd been their first real date, the day Shouko inadvertently found out about Saika's secret, and that had seemed to hold them together a little longer.  Then there'd been the concert where they both almost got killed.  And then.  And then.  And somehow she kept being there, kept supporting her.

And somehow, crazily enough, through all the turmoil, they were still an item.  Shouko hadn't had a relationship last even half as long before.  She sat on a rock in front of a cave, watching real-life dinosaurs wander by in the distance, and yet it was the blonde who leaned on her that still seemed the strangest thing.

Saika murmured again, wordless noise escaping from her lips as she shifted her shoulders and pressed her face into the crook of Shouko's knee.  Shouko gently rested her hand at her girlfriend's temple.  Before she even knew what she was intending, she whispered "I'll keep protecting you."

A part of her recriminated herself for the promise.  After all, not so long ago-

She tried to stop the thought, even tried to squeeze her eyes shut as if to physically block it out, but it was too late, and the memory played of the fiery meteor screaming down from the sky towards Saika, leaving her no time but to put up her arms in a hopeless gesture of self-defense-

Shouko grit her teeth and swallowed hard as her eyes welled up.  She'd thought that she would scream out her voice for good, if such a thing were possible.  Somewhere along the line, Saika had become...everything, it felt like.  She was irreplaceable.  Living without her would be like living without the sun.  Shouko had never gone in for that kind of baloney - the whole 'oh, I couldn't live without them,' romantic silliness.  But.

Even now, just sitting still, with a sleeping Saika in her lap, she felt...more whole.  More here.  Like she had her own personal star to warm her and light her way and all that gooey crap.  Just the idea of losing her...

Her hand trembled, and she lifted it to rest it at Saika's shoulder instead, breathing slowly as her lip trembled.  She looked down at her girlfriend's sleeping face as she breathed in and out, struggling not to hitch.  "I l-" she started to say, but her voice fell dead.

She swallowed again, and a bit of liquid escaped one eye.

She breathed in and out again, and again, squaring her shoulders and, in a throaty voice she tried to find the words once more, "I lv ymm," even as her lips closed around them.

Her free hand balled into a fist.  A couple of stupid words.  A couple of stupid words Saika wasn't even awake to hear.  And nobody else was even around.  Why was she so bad at saying them?  Why, of all things, did a couple of words yank away her courage faster than a roaring dragon?

"Loveya," she finally managed, but even then her tone was tinged with irony, and she had to turn her head away as she mouthed the words.  It wasn't enough.  Maybe it never would be.

Hard to believe.

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

How to even describe the next forty-eight hours?

I'll believe it when I see it.

Dinosaurs.  Magic dinosaurs.  Magic talking dinosaurs.  People living in dinosaur times.  Alternate dinosaur times.  Other time travelers.  Time traveling Nazis.  Nazis riding dinosaurs.  Magic Nazi dinosaurs.

And amidst it all, the hardest part to accept was that, as the group fought their way through a cave seemingly packed to the brim with fanatical reptilian shock troops bent on slaughtering the humans who opposed them, deep down Shouko had to admit that while Count McFuckface was still a bastard for sending them to this place, maybe he'd had a point to do it after all.

Capture Hans Abner, his little emissary had said, tossing them a set of enchanted silver shackles.  They'd balked, of course they had, but the more they learned about how messed-up this world had become, the more it seemed maybe he really had sent them somewhere they could do some good.  Hard to believe.

They still ended up in over their heads - that part was pretty easy to believe.  They'd sliced and cut and burned their way through one obstacle after another, picking up one axe-wielding local badass named Jorik on the way, but then-

Well, then they'd found themselves in a dark, high-ceilinged chamber Shouko could hardly think of as anything other than a boss room.  Surrounded by gun-toting storm troopers right out of the Second World War.  And a triad of hunters - two women and one man, all of them pale-haired - in officers' regalia, flanking the not-so-good Doctor Abner as he delivered what would have been a hilariously badly-accented speech if the words hadn't been so chilling.

Hardly more than two hundred human beings left in this version of the world.  Poor Jorik.

He made the expected offer to join him.  By this point Shouko was having trouble listening as her eyes darted left and right, assessing the situation.  They were going to fight.  They couldn't not fight.  No way in hell was Option B even on the table.  But they were outnumbered more hilariously than they'd ever been before, and not by dumb brute beasts but by men with guns and rockets, and no less than three of their own kind.

That part was the real gut-clencher - a horrifying reminder that the Radiant Court and the Eventide Vanguard, for all their efforts, didn't hold a monopoly on individuals with magical power.  That not everyone turned such power to good uses.

Amidst the standoff, it was a girl with raven-black hair and crimson eyes who turned her attention Shouko's way.  Shizuka whispered the words, but somehow she heard them clear as day.  "Shouko, show me what you've learned."

Not surprising that Shizuka was the one willing to take point in the coming throwdown, and as she gestured with one hand in Shouko's direction, the Dauntless Heart felt a chill touch, like a cold mist seeping around her shoulders and settling into her chest, and she realized what was about to happen.  She nodded.  Jorik was standing in front of her.  She'd have to step around him to get in front of the group, but in the center of the room just ahead of where they were facing was some kind of well, the water that filled it looking black as ink in the chamber's gloom.

One step.

Cast aside doubt.  It has no place in the dauntless heart, a part of her told herself.

Two steps.

Cast aside fear.  It has no place in the dauntless heart, she thought as the icy touch swelled within her breast.

Three steps.  She drew even with Jorik, and Erika glanced sidelong in her direction.

Four steps.  

Cast aside all thought of safety.  Of comfort.  They will only weigh you down, and you must fly on wings of fire if you are to survive.

Five steps.

Shouko was distantly aware of every set of eyes in the room settling upon her as she moved to the front of the group and into the center of the standoff.  She didn't hesitate - it was already too late for that.  She bowed her head, eyes obscured behind the sweep of her teal hair as her foot hit the edge of the well and she stepped out over the still water.

The sole of her boot never struck the surface.

From Shouko's back sprouted wings of blackest night, beating hard in a majestic sweep of power, and she hovered in midair as the entire room seemed to hold its breath.  From somewhere...somewhere far away, in a half-remembered memory, something floated to the surface.  The ardor of red flame is thine, and thine the steely soul of ice-

"Thou poisonest the fair design of nature, with unfair device," she murmured, and it would have been a lie to say she did not distantly enjoy the sight of some few of the confronting soldiers shifting uncomfortably.

There was no time to linger on it.  Shouko drew in her wings, hovering in midair with her body obscured behind the jet-black feathers, and then she snapped them out to their full span, and with the motion summoned numerous blades of flame that fired out in a grand arc towards everything in front of her.  Abner himself was beyond the reach of the eruption, but a full half-dozen of his stormtroopers were struck down by the fiery hail, and the triad of hunters likewise pelted by the flaming blades.

Amidst the sudden carnage, Shouko brought her hands together, one over the other before her breastbone and clenched her fists, summoning not her customary daggers, but a single elongated blade wreathed in flame.  Shizuka's icy touch vanished from her chest as she readied the weapon, replaced by a furious blaze of hatred.

All hell broke loose.

The remaining soldiers opened fire, beginning with one of the men who held a rocket tube firing it off and setting the chamber to rocking as blast after blast shook the walls.  Shouko heard Reika screech few curse words, and in the corner of her vision she saw a blast of magic strike one of the enemy hunters - the man, the tallest of the three, who held a pistol in one hand.  Miyumi's spell wrapped itself around him, and his body seemed to distort and become translucent, wavering as his will fought against the girl's banishment.

The second of the trio, undeterred, drew a sword and leapt into the fray, charging towards Jorik and Erika, and steel clanged as they met her rush.

That left the shortest of the three, and she went for no weapon but rather raised her hands, fingers curled into arcane gestures, and with a motion and a few words in German she called forth a torrent of flame that swept over the group.

Shouko felt outrage explode within her as the flames licked at her, a pale reflection of the flame that burned insider her, and with a clap of her wings she crossed the distance separating her from from the occultist in an eyeblink.  There was just enough time for the sorcerer's eyes to start to widen before Shouko's blade struck in a left-to-right cut that left a haze of smoke rising from the enemy hunter's uniform beneath her upraised arms.

She didn't know any German, but she saw the gleam of recognition in the occultist's dying eyes as she hissed "your flames are extinguished," before the top part of the Nazi creature's torso fell away from the rest of her and collapsed to the floor.  Shouko heard Saika yell something encouraging and even briefly luxuriated in the sound of Abner's startled "what?" but before either emotion could reach her face she saw the male hunter finally pull himself free of the banishment spell, and reacting to anything else dwindled away to nothing as she leveled her sword in a clear gesture of intent.

Cast aside comfort.

He gaped, but was only wrong-footed for a moment before he leveled his gun and fired.  A hunter's weapon would be no stock gun, Shouko knew, but even so, as it seemed like fire surged in her blood the bullets seemed to move in slow motion as they crossed the space between the combatants.  Shouko twitched her wing, and the leading edge of the shadowy feathers brushed aside the projectile like a pebble, while the second was deflected by the edge of her sword as she swung to face him head on.

She was rewarded with a soft groan of "sheisse."

There was a split second to survey the battle.  Reika was on one knee, bloodied and burnt, swearing as she traded fire with the remaining stormtroopers with her rifle, while Miyumi's scepter arced with black energy as she supported her half-sister.  Shizuka, Erika, and Jorik were all trading blows with the sword-wielding hunter.  And Saika was...singing and dancing?  No, not just either, because she she moved she brought forth twirling streamers of light energy, which Kanako used her staff to manipulate, sweeping them over the group and healing them of the burns inflicted by the now-dead occultist and the explosions from the rockets unleashed by the soldiers.  Kanako held out a hand and the multitude of lightbeams coalesced into a feline form, and the class president rubbed her nose affectionately against the image of her pet cat before turning towards Shouko and nodding.  The phantom cat promptly bounded towards her, and where it would have alighted on her shoulder, Shouko suddenly felt a burst of energy that made her bare her teeth in a savage smile.

If her blood had felt on fire before, now she felt as if napalm flowed through her.

The man with the gun leveled it for a third shot, and perhaps in an attempt to encourage the remaining troops he shouted as he pulled the trigger "Gott mit uns!"

Shouko didn't need to speak German to understand what he'd just uttered, and Kanako's surge of energy boiled over in an unbridled fit of rage. How dare the creature speak so, when the avenging angel stood right before him!  Her wings beat and carried her up into the air, well out of the path of the oncoming bullet, and as she came down just behind the man, he had only a moment to hear her snarl "God was never on your side."

Then the blade of fire tore through him, striking through the right side of his chest and tearing out his shoulder.  Only the faintest of margins as he tried to turn aside saved him from an instant death, and the resilience of a hunter served him well, for as he toppled, he twisted, thrusting out the gun he still held in one hand, and fired off a fourth round.  This time, he was too close for Shouko to dodge the round.

Cast aside safety.

She was sure he felt a moment of triumph as her head snapped backward and she started to keel over, but her body caught itself inches above the stone floor of the chamber and, with a ferocious beating of her wings, reversed its course to bring her back to her feet.  Blood tricked down her face from the wound in her temple where his bullet had grazed her skull, the crimson rivulets framing a set of eyes no longer a sparkling shade of magenta that her friends would have recognized, but had instead become pitch-black, without even the faintest semblance of humanity.

"Nein!" he shrieked as he struggled to drag himself away.  "Nein!  N-"

But the third denial was not to come, as another of Miyumi's spells erupted in the air above him, a blast of shadow energy finishing the job that the blade of fire had begun.  Shouko looked across the gap between herself and Miyumi, but her comrade did not show apology for claiming the kill, and was already making a beckoning gesture to gather up the remnants of shadow energy that lingered in the room, bolstering her energy.

Shouko realized that she didn't particularly care, and assessed the state of the rest of the room.  The battle had been short and certainly explosive, but decidedly decisive.  The swordswoman was on the back foot between Shizuka and Erika, and though Reika looked like she had seen many better days, she was still in good enough shape to shoot down one of the remaining storm troopers, leaving only a single one of them alive, currently menacing Jorik.

Shouko glanced in the direction of the seated Dr. Abner, who by now was all but apoplectic with his underlings' catastrophic failure, but in a moment's passing decided his judgment was not for her to pass.  Instead she swept forward to cut down the final soldier from behind.  Her eyes met Jorik's and the inhuman jet-black gaze turned briefly towards the despoiler of the man's homelands before returning to his own in an unmistakable gesture of invitation.

Jorik picked up on her meaning instantly, charging the man with a roar and a cut from his axe.  At nearly the same time, the swordswoman finally went down under the blades arrayed against her.

Shouko's feet touched the ground for the first time since the battle had begun.  She realized that she was breathing hard, heart pumping furiously, giddy energy surging through her.  It was impossible to deny how alive she felt.  

But the moment of joy came too soon.  Abner threw himself out of the chair, ducking away from Jorik's axe with a snap of some villainous repartee, and dove for the well of black water, vanishing into it with a splash.  A moment later and the corpses that the group had left behind began to slide towards the well, like iron fillings drawn to a magnet, toppling in one by one.

Someone swore.

A figure emerged from the churning waters, hovering in the air above the well.  It wasn't Abner anymore, but someone else, a man Shouko didn't recognize, a portly European draped in black.  She didn't need to know his name to know what he was at heart - another damned immortal, like Taliesin and Jeanne.  Outrage swelled within her.  Another battle to fight.  Another mountain to climb.  She couldn't release her power yet.  Not yet.

Cast aside fear.

Miyumi met her eyes, and she stretched out a hand towards the avenging angel, the hand that clutched her scepter leveling it towards the figure of the man.  Even as she did so, he stepped down onto the lip of the well and swept a hand towards the group, black flames arcing from his fingers to crackle in the air, scattering them.  Shouko turned her gaze back towards Miyumi and nodded.  Miyumi stepped towards her, slender hand daring the arch of one black wing, and touched her on the shoulder.

Reality itself seemed to twist and bend, but Shouko knew this feeling well, and recognized that it was happening to her rather than the room without as Miyumi used her power to pull the angel into the realm of shadows, distorting space and time alike as she channeled power through her scepter.  Shouko vanished from sight, exploding into being a moment later at the man's shoulder, blasting him with shadow and flame - a thing he surely hadn't expected, as he turned a snarl upon her.

Even uglier than his face was the realization that the attack hadn't seemed to do as much damage as she'd hoped.  The others waded in, and it should have been a foregone conclusion - one man against Erika and her greatsword, Shizuka and her katana, Reika and her spear, Jorik and his axe, and Saika with her magic granting them speed, and Kanako and Miyumi with their own spells of healing and destruction.  And Shouko, the avenging angel at his heel.  But he seemed to turn aside their blows, his flesh regenerating even as they struck at him.  It seemed impossible - perhaps if they'd been fresh and full of hope it would have been a different matter, but they'd been through three battles in a single day, one after another, and they were flagging while their foe seemed to grow only stronger by the moment.

Cast aside doubt-

No, no, Shouko fought against herself.  Dauntless Heart or not, she couldn't lower her head and try to batter down the bastard, much as he certainly deserved it.  She couldn't retreat into the persona of the avenging angel, as comforting as it was.  She could feel her heart pounding, her head starting to swim, her vision starting to darken at the edges as the effort of channeling so much power for so long began to catch up with her.  She couldn’t...

She couldn't win by doing something hard.  She had to do something smart.

Shouko opened her hands and her sword vanished, and she grabbed for something different.  A silvered chain.  A chain that connected a pair of magic shackles.

Saika's haste spell made the first one easy.  He wasn't expecting it until the metal band snicked closed around his forearm.  Shouko tried to make it two for two, but as they grappled she felt her wings beginning to fray, feathers dissolving in the air as her concentration finally began to fail.  She couldn't do it.

So she screamed a name.  She'd tried to hand the scumbag's fate off to him once before, because if anyone deserved the right to claim victory it was Jorik, who's people had suffered so much at his hands.

The axe-wielding native surged forward, grabbing at the loose shackle and with a seemingly superhuman feat of precision it

clicked

around the villain's other wrist.

He stood there, mouth comically open as he stared down at his bound arms, before the enchantment surged to life and he was hauled bodily into the air, twisting and thrashing as he spat and snarled, until finally he vanished in a burst of light.

And then it was over.  For some definitions of 'over.'

For her part, the world was a blur of colors and sounds as Shouko sank down to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself as they shook and her teeth chattered.  Her stomach felt turned around as the energy of her and Shizuka's joint effort finally left her, the sensation of fire in her veins deserting her to leave them seemingly filled with icewater.  For one horrible second, it felt like she'd left herself behind, a shell of a person, deserted by the soul within.

The others were talking, and Shouko pushed herself to her feet in an effort to look normal, and she even joined in, mouthing words of support for Jorik that echoed the burst of emotion she'd turned loose on Shizuka a scant few days ago.  That a person couldn't blame oneself for failing to defend one's people when the odds were stacked against them.  That it wasn't one person's fault, the evils perpetuated by another.  That someone could fall short, and still be a good person, and worth saving.

She was getting good at saying that kind of thing.

Maybe someday she'd gather up the courage to say it to herself.

And at that thought, more than any threat placed in her path that day, the so-called Dauntless Heart quailed.

Hard to believe.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 8 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here! | Chapter Masterlist here

A/N: So it's finally here, the long-anticipated eighth chapter! Three cheers for the amazing readers who asked when my next instalment would be, you guys kept me writing through this stressful and busy academic year! Also, was the wait worth it? No. You guys deserved an update months ago! (I still have Halloween prompts in my inbox... *laughs nervously*) I hope you enjoy this chapter. All I can say is... the action picks up in the next chapter!

Note: Reader’s last name is Markolf. A lot of season 3 callbacks!

Words: 3062 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Past Trauma??? An insensitive Peter? Some tropes thrown in there! That’s it I guess.

"What did you find out?" Liam whispered, conscious not to be too loud since you were passed out on the cot a few meters away.

"It's too much to get into now," Derek whispered, his eyes on your resting form. "But I think I know how she survived the first attack."

"The John Doe case in New Hampshire?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded.

"In her memories, she hid behind a sage bush that caught on fire."

"Are you suggesting these hunters are afraid of Sage?" Peter fired off the question like it was a race after rolling his eyes at the idea.

"She burnt some sage at the animal clinic too. I think they have to sense who their targets are. The sage probably throws them off the scent… or however they track people."

"There has to be a reason people use sage to cleanse houses. I saged the hell out of my house after I found out we had a Hellhound on the Police payroll." Stiles revealed boldly. Everyone turned to look at him like he’d set his underwear on fire. "What? Lydia told me sage cleanses negative energy and auras."

After a beat, Liam added, "Sometimes the answers to the hardest questions are the simplest ones." He sounded like a philosophy major. Now it was his turn to get everyone's confused glares. "What? I read it on a fortune cookie once."

Scott's head snapped up with a thought, "What if they see their targets the way we see Kitsune? Auras.”

“And the sage acts as a smoke screen," Stiles finished Scott’s thought.

"Are we supposed to start sporting necklaces made of sage? Maybe make a nice cologne? Don't know about you, but I'm quite partial to the smell of my Eau De Nuit Oud. Besides, we can't set fire to any bush we come in contact with in hopes it may be sage when the hunters attack again." Peter said.

"We aren't a priority on their kill list now that we know they want Y/N." Derek reminded his uncle bitterly. "Which means we can't leave her unprotected until we find a way to fight them."

"Who's gonna be on first watch?" Stiles asked, "Because I'm in desperate need of a shower and a nap."

"I'll do it." Peter offered.

"And are we just supposed to trust that a former homicidal maniac like you wouldn't just give her up to the Order to try and save your own skin?" Stiles shot back.

"Hey!" Peter acted offended, "Reformed homicidal maniac to you."

Derek made his way to the exit, "Peter comes with me. I have a lead to check out."

"I'll take first watch." Scott declared.

Derek took a double take of your sleeping form. He was becoming all too aware of how increasingly protective over you he was getting. He didn't like where this was going. He clenched his jaw, and with large strides, he left the bunker with Peter on his tail. He kept berating himself; he should have never fucking kissed you!

***

You awoke with a hell of a headache and a throbbing feeling where Peter’s claws used to be. Your legs were as heavy as logs as you dragged them off the bed and onto the ground, your hand pressed to the nape of your neck in a feigned effort to sooth the stinging sensation.

You heard the faint whispers of voices coming from the other side of the room. For a moment you thought you had been in your own house. Correction: your new house with unpacked boxes and fresh sheets, but after a few seconds, when you finally got your bearings, you realised you were still in the Bunker. You sighed, feeling exhausted of your dark surroundings more than anything else.

"Look who's finally awake," Scott said with a relieved smile on his face.

"How long was I out?"

"A little under four hours," he answered.

"Four hours?" you asked in disbelief. "Why didn't anyone try and wake me?"

Scott awkwardly shuffled his feet, "Honestly, we figured after the night you just had, you could use a little rest."

You gave them a soft smile, "You got any pain killers?" you asked, still rubbing at your neck.

Scott looked at you with both a confused and concerned look, "It hasn't healed yet?"

"I heal faster than humans, but not as fast as werewolves," You stood up from the cot, which took more effort than you'd have liked. That memory sharing fiasco left you feeling winded, even several hours after said aforementioned memory sharing. Though, something about it made you feel different. It was like you were forgetting something crucial. You only remembered bits and pieces, like the last remnants of a dream that was slowly slipping from your mind. Instinctively you traced your lips with the tips of your fingers. What were you forgetting?

"Here you go," Scott handed you a container of painkillers and some bottled water.

"Thanks," You looked around and noticed how empty the bunker was. "Where is everyone?"

"It's daylight. The hunters don't come out during daylight so Stiles went home for a change of clothes and some sleep. Peter and Derek took off on some 'urgent business' and Liam… Well, he's supposed to be here by now. It's his turn on guard duty."

"Guard duty?"

"You were unconscious. And with what happened to the animal clinic, the hunters are after you too."

"You guys would do that, help a total stranger?" You looked at Scott in awe. There were very few people willing to put their lives on the line to help a total stranger. Scott simply gave you a well-worn smile, like he'd practised it many times before. A smile that said 'you're not the first stray we've taken under our wing'. In a way, he reminded you of your older brother. They both have that annoying to God hero complex. Then, like a bolt of lightning striking twice, you remembered the devastating state of the animal clinic. "Shit! The clinic. How the hell am I going to explain what happened?"

Scott put a hand on your shoulder, "Don't worry. We have a sheriff in our pocket."

"What? The town's sheriff knows about werewolves?"

"He should. He's Stiles's dad after all."

"Who are you people?" You were completely dumbfounded by the level of transparency going on in this town. Maybe moving here for a fresh start away from all things supernatural wasn't the best idea.

"Actually," Liam's voice erupted from the entrance, he tried to take the steps gracefully but wound up almost tripping on an untied shoelace. He was flush, probably ran here. "Most of the town knows.”

"The whole town?" This was getting out of hand. Does no one know the first rule of surviving as a supernatural is to keep their very existence secret? Moving here was definitely not the fresh start you needed. You were wracking your brain trying to think of the reason you chose to move to Beacon Hills. You were coming up empty.

"Prompt as usual Liam," Scott teased.

Liam gave him the closest thing to puppy eyes you had ever seen, then shrugged and said "Sorry. Overslept."

Scott made his way out of the bunker, giving you a sheepish wave, you noticed the circles under his eyes at that moment. He was probably more tired than he let on. Liam dug his fists into his jeans and walked towards you, a curious look in his eye. He stood close to you, his nose protruding away from his body. He looked like he was searching for something with his nose. Wait… Was he?

"Are you sniffing me?" You asked with a raised brow. Liam almost seemed to jump from embarrassment.

"Sorry. I was just trying to see if I could sense your..." He stumbled around trying to find the right word.

"My being a werewolf?" He nodded. You giggled a little. "Unlikely. When you don't shift for a prolonged amount of time, the gap between your werewolf and human side grows." You touched your neck wound. Soon you'd probably no longer be able to heal faster than normal people.

Liam noticed your wistful expression and cleared his throat, "So, what do you want to do? We could leave the bunker. I'm sure you're tired of being cooped up in here."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Sure, as long as I'm on guard duty and you don't get kidnapped by tree people."

Your mood suddenly picked up. You knew exactly what you wanted to do. "How do you feel about unpacking boxes?"

***

Derek and Peter were walking silently side by side somewhere in the woods. Derek had a permanent scowl on his face. Even his stride was faster and more purposeful than usual and Peter noticed.

"You've been awfully quiet," Peter remarked as he walked with less purpose and more leisure than his brooding nephew.

"Don't have anything to say."

Peter rolled his eyes, "So you dragged me out to the woods for some Uncle-Nephew bonding time? Gotta say, you're doing such a good job. Bonding requires actual, you know, bonding. We can start with some small talk."

Derek simply ignored Peter and continued walking on.

"Okay, I'll start. That Doctor, she's quite easy on the eyes. Not to mention, very damaged. All that emotional baggage of watching her poor boyfriend die. But hey, from all the sexual chemistry I noticed between you two of you --" Peter was cut off by a very annoyed Derek suddenly grabbing the collar of his V-neck shirt. "Ahhk, careful! This is Armani."

Peter stared into Derek's angry glare and everything fell into place. It was like a light bulb went off in his head. "Oh, that's why you've been more broody than usual. You like the good doctor, don't you?"

Derek let out a deep sigh and let go of Peter's collar. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He had played right into Peter's manipulative hands. He'd overreacted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"So that kiss was just what? A European handshake?" Peter teased like the smug bastard he was.

Derek's brows rose up in surprise, finally ending his permanent scowls reign on his face. "How did you?"

After a beat of letting his nephew stew about in his shocked disposition, Peter finally reminded him, "The dream state? You may not have seen me, but I saw everything too. And from what I saw, she could do with a few counts of therapy."

"Don't be an ass."

"Fine, then tell me where we're going!"

"The root cellar. Alyster mentioned a 'Mother Tree'. The root cellar is right below the Nemeton."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Last year’s news. Get to the part that makes me go 'Oh!'"

Derek rolled his eyes, "In the dream state I saw a symbol. A tattoo. I think I've seen it before, in the root cellar where Pai--" His eyes turned dark from the bitter taste of that particular memory. Peter's face was no longer smug, he decided it was better if he say nothing. But being accommodating wasn't his winning quality.

"So, Y/N… She a good kisser?"

"Peter!"

He shrugged, "What? I'm just making small talk."

Derek began walking again, "Well, stop."

Peter hurried after him, "Ah, the youth. No time for the little things anymore."

After what felt like hours, Derek and Peter finally stumbled upon familiar ground. Derek did most of the heavy lifting, trying to make a path to the collapsed root cellar. Peter stood over his shoulder barking orders on how to clear the rubble. "No not that one, move the other one, it's bigger."

"You're welcome to come down here and help!"

"I already am!"

Derek sighed what was probably his hundredth sigh of the day. After clearing a path, both Hale boys went under the unstable structure. Derek's eyes grew cold and dark when he spotted the blood stain that haunted the cellar. He pushed his feelings under the surface and tried to ignore it. Even Peter was dishevelled by it, but he too swallowed hard and tried to ignore it.

"Here," Derek said, his eyes were their wolfish blue to see better. His hand was tracing the weird carved symbol on a snaky root.

"Is that the--".

"Celtic five-fold knot? Yes." Derek said grimly.

"So what, you think Jennifer's behind all this? Because I can assure you, she's very dead."

Derek wrestled with the idea for a bit, but considered it impossible, "No, she used the knot as a way to channel the power from her 'sacrifices'." Derek spit out the words like venom. "I'm thinking the Order of Sagittarius use it for the same purpose. Somehow, when they kill someone, it's like they absorb their essence. I think all this is linked to a Nemeton. A much older one."

"That's a bit of a reach, don't you think?"

Derek smirked at Peter, "You got another explanation as to what Mother Tree means? Or how the head hunter somehow absorbed Alex's… essence? Or the fact they can disappear into trees apparently?"

"No…" Peter saw merit in Derek's train of thought, didn't mean he enjoyed him being right. "But this is a druid symbol and our friendly neighbourhood vet seems to be otherwise occupied."  

"Guess we'll have to do things the old fashioned way." He took his phone out of his pocket and waved it about. But first, Derek had to make a pit stop at the animal clinic. "Go ahead and fill the others in. There's something I need to do first."

***

You were absentmindedly leaning against the counter of your kitchen island. A hot cup of tea pressed between your palms. The steam formed curtains of white, blurring your vision. You kept moving the rim of the cup from side to side on your bottom lip -that feeling from earlier never left. You kept feeling like you forgot something. You had your keys and the stove wasn't on when you got home but the feeling refused to subside. In the background, you heard Liam and his friend, Mason -who he called to help with the unpacking of boxes- chatting.

"So then he tried to kiss me, and I didn't know what to do so I just turned my head and pretended to sneeze really loudly."

Your skin prickled a little when you heard Mason say kiss. What happened in the dream state? What were you forgetting?

"Didn't you tell him you're with Corey?"

"Well… not really. I said I was with someone, but long distance means I don't get to see Corey as much as I'd like. So, I'm always going solo to everything. Always." Mason said with a hint of dramatic flare. Liam let out a soft chuckle.

A knocking sound emanated from your doorway. The door was wide open to let the warm light of the golden hour into your living room. The knock was more a courtesy than a necessity.

"Hey, Derek. What are you doing here? Thought I'd be guarding Y/N till sundown?"

"Just here to drop something off," Derek answered. His voice was like a cooling breeze stirring you from thought. You felt hyper-aware all of a sudden. Like someone poured ice water down your back. And because the universe was always pulling rugs from under your feet, of course you were still wearing the dishevelled baggy clothes you had taken a nap in. You set your cup of tea down when Derek walked into your kitchen. He stopped for a second, studying your face like he was waiting for you to do or say something, but you didn't. Something about the way he held himself felt different. He seemed… almost self-conscious. It was jarring to see him look vulnerable, even if it only lasted for a few seconds.

Derek looked around your newly unpacked kitchen, "Hmmm… I think an old friend of mine in high school used to live here once. The house looks different though."

You felt cheeky all of a sudden, "Couldn't lead with a simple Hello?"

He looked you dead in the eyes, "Simple isn't in my nature." There was a bit of fire in his words. In the background, you heard Mason whistle lowly and something that sounded like a smack followed by a disapproving "Ow!" Derek smirked at the whole situation.

"Tea?"

"No, thanks." He walked closer to you, out of the view of the boys in your living room. "I came to drop this by and tell you everything with the animal clinic has been sorted. Talked to the Sheriff about what happened." Derek handed you the family picture that had been on your desk before the attack. There was a crack in the glass and a tear in the photo from an arrowhead.

A smile crept onto your face as you took the photograph. Your fingers touched for a moment and you felt a jolt. In your peripheral you saw Derek wrestle with his own face muscles, he was trying to keep a straight face. Then an image of a frantic Derek trying to wake you snuck into your mind. And like an elastic band returning after being stretched, you finally knew what had been haranguing you all day. The kiss. Your heart began to race and a flush raced to your cheeks too. You shook the memory away and tried to act as nothing had changed. Only, everything had changed. Were you attracted to Derek?

“Th-Thank you,” your gratitude came out as little more than a whisper, but you knew his wolf hearing picked it up just fine. You looked up to his eye-line, “I…” The golden light made his green eyes appear mystical. His piercing gaze threatened to drown you in a sea of green.

The sound of Derek's phone ringing shifted the tense atmosphere in the room giving you a chance to take a breath. Derek’s mood shifted. On the other end of the line, you could hear Scott say, "We may have a small problem."

Great! So now, not only was an all-powerful group of supernatural hunters gunning for you but apparently, there was yet another thing to add to your growing list of problems. And not to mention the mixed feelings you were struggling to decipher about your kiss with Derek.

 Part 9 is HERE!

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As Always: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think so far! Don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and just a heads-up. I will try to update more often. Also, I just finished watching Teen Wolf completely, high-key offended Noah and Melissa didn’t end up together! lol. Broken tags crossed out.

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[contrariian-archive]

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE’S THE BLACK PARADE SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns/etc as needed

tws for death, cancer, alcohol & drugs

THE END.

‘ come one, come all to this tragic affair. ’ ‘ wipe off that makeup. ’ ‘ what’s in is despair. ’ ‘ so throw on the black dress. ’ ‘ you might wake up and notice you’re someone you’re not. ’ ‘ if you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see, you can find out first-hand what it’s like to be me. ’ ‘ kiss this goodbye. ’ ‘ i’d encourage your smiles. ’ ‘ i’ll expect you won’t cry. ’ ‘ another contusion. ’ ‘ here’s my resignation. ’ ‘ i’ll serve it in drag. ’ ‘ you’ve got front row seats to the penitence ball. ’ ‘ when i grow up, i want to be nothing at all. ’ ‘ save me! ’ ‘ you can’t take me. ’ ‘ get me the hell out of here. ’ ‘ i’m too young to die. ’ ‘ my dear, if you can hear me, just walk away. ’ ‘ just walk away. ’

DEAD!

‘ and if your heart stops beating, i’ll be here wondering: did you get what you deserve? ’ ‘ and if you get to heaven, i’ll be here waiting. ’ ‘ did you get what you deserve? ’ ‘ your heart can’t take this. ’ ‘ have you heard the news? ’ ‘ have you heard the news that you’re dead? ’ ‘ no one ever had much nice to say. ’ ‘ i think i never liked you anyway. ’ ‘ take me from the hospital bed. ’ ‘ wouldn’t it be grand? ’ ‘ it ain’t exactly what you planned. ’ ‘ wouldn’t it be great if we were dead? ’ ‘ i was tongue-tied and oh, so squeamish. ’ ‘ you never fell in love. ’ ‘ you’ve got maybe just two weeks to live. ’ ‘ is that the most the both of you can give? ’ ‘ if life ain’t just a joke, then why are we laughing? ’ ‘ if life ain’t just a joke, then why am i dead? ’

THIS IS HOW I DISAPPEAR

‘ drain all the blood and give the kids a show. ’ ‘ there’s things that i have done you never should ever know. ’ ‘ without you is how i disappear. ’ ‘ i’ll live my life alone forever now. ’ ‘ who walks among the famous living dead? ’ ‘ tell me if it’s so: that all the good girls go to heaven. ’ ‘ can you hear me cry out to you? ’ ‘ i’m just a ghost. ’ ‘ i’m just a ghost, so i can’t hurt you anymore. ’ ‘ and now you wanna see how far down i can sink?! ’ ‘ let me go! fuck! ’ ‘ i’m so far away from you. ’

THE SHARPEST LIVES

‘ it rains and it pours when you’re out on your own. ’ ‘ if i crash on the couch, can i sleep in my clothes? ’ ‘ i’ve spent the night dancing. ’ ‘ i’m drunk, i suppose. ’ ‘ if it looks like i’m laughing, i’m really just asking to leave this alone. ’ ‘ you’re the one that i need. ’ ‘ you’re the one that i need, i’m the one that you loathe. ’ ‘ i’m the one that you loathe. ’ ‘ you can watch me corrode like a beast in repose, cause i love all the poison. ’ ‘ i’ve really been on a bender and it shows. ’ ‘ why don’t you blow me a kiss? ’ ‘ give me a shot to remember. ’ ‘ you can take all the pain away from me. ’ ‘ your kiss, and i will surrender. ’ ‘ the sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead. ’ ‘ you can leave like the sane abandoned me. ’ ‘ there’s a place in the dark where the animals go. you can take off your skin in the cannibal glow. ’ ‘ juliet loves the beat and the blood it commands  —  drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, romeo. ’

WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE

‘ when i was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. ’ ‘ will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned? ’ ‘ will you defeat them: your demons and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? ’ ‘ one day i’ll leave you. ’ ‘ sometimes i get the feeling she’s watching over me. ’ ‘ i feel like i should go. ’ ‘ i’ve been through it all: the rise and fall, the bodies in the streets. ’ ‘ and when you’re gone, we want you all to know: we’ll carry on. ’ ‘ we’ll carry on. ’ ‘ though you’re dead and gone, believe me, your memory will carry on. ’ ‘ in my heart, i can’t contain it. ’ ‘ the world sends you reeling from decimated dreams. ’ ‘ your misery and hate will kill us all. ’ ‘ so paint it black, and take it back. ’ ‘ let’s shout it, loud and clear. defiant to the end, we hear the call. ’ ‘ though you’re broken and defeated, your weary widow marches on. ’ ‘ on and on, we carry through the fears. ’ ‘ i could not care at all. ’ ‘ do or die. ’ ‘ you’ll never make me. ’ ‘ go and try  —  you’ll never break me. ’ ‘ i won’t explain, or say i’m sorry. ’ ‘ i’m unashamed. i’m gonna show my scars. ’ ‘ give a cheer for all the broken. ’ ‘ i’m just a man! ’ ‘ i’m not a hero. ’

I DON’T LOVE YOU

‘ well, when you go, don’t ever think i’ll make you try to stay. ’ ‘ you’re still a good-for-nothing that i don’t know. ’ ‘ better get out while you can. ’ ‘ when you go, would you even turn to say “i don’t love you like i did yesterday?” ‘ sometimes, i cry so hard from all the pleading. ’ ‘ i’m so sick and tired of all the needless beating. ’ ‘ when they knock you down and out, that’s where you ought to stay. ’ ‘ so fix your eyes and get up. better get up while you still can. ’ ‘ would you have the guts to say “i don’t love you like i loved you yesterday?” ‘ ‘ i don’t love you like i loved you yesterday. ’

HOUSE OF WOLVES

‘ i know a thing about contrition, because i’ve got enough to spare. ’ ‘ well, come on, sing the praise. ’ ‘ let the spirit come on through you: we’ve got innocence for days. ’ ‘ i think i’m gonna burn in hell. ’ ‘ tell me i’m an angel. ’ ‘ tell me i’m a bad man, kick me like a stray. ’ ‘ ashes to ashes, we all fall down. ’ ‘ you better run like the devil, cause they’re never gonna leave you alone. ’ ‘ you better hide up in the alley, cause they’re never gonna find you a home. ’ ‘ i’ve been a bad motherfucker. ’

CANCER

‘ if you could, get me a drink of water. ’ ‘ bury me in all my favorite colors. ’ ‘ i will not kiss you. ’ ‘ the hardest part of this is leaving you. ’ ‘ turn away, cause i’m just awful to see. ’ ‘ know that i will never marry. ’ ‘ it just ain’t living. ’ ‘ if you say goodbye today, i’d ask you to be true. ’

MAMA

‘ we all go to hell. ’ ‘ i’m writing this letter and wishing you well. ’ ‘ we’re all gonna die. ’ ‘ stop asking me questions. ’ ‘ stop asking me questions — i’d hate to see you cry. ’ ‘ i’d hate to see you cry. ’ ‘ when we go, don’t blame us. ’ ‘ we let the fires just bathe us. ’ ‘ you made us oh-so famous. ’ ‘ we’ll never let you go. ’ ‘ and when you go, don’t return to me, my love. ’ ‘ we’re all full of lies. ’ ‘ we’re meant for the flies. ’ ‘ right now they’re building a coffin your size. ’ ‘ well, ____, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue! ’ ‘ you should have raised a baby girl. i should have been a better son. ’ ‘ they can amputate at once. ’ ‘ you should’ve been  — ’ ‘ i could have been a better son. ’ ‘ she said “you ain’t no son of mine.” ‘ ‘ you ain’t no son of mine. ’ ‘ for what you’ve done, they’re gonna find a place for you. ’ ‘ just mind your manners when you go. ’ ‘ it’s really quite pleasant, except for the smell. ’ ‘ if you would call me your sweetheart, i’d maybe then sing you a song. ’ ‘ there’s shit that i’ve done with this fuck of a gun. ’ ‘ you would cry out your eyes. ’ ‘ we’re damned, after all! ’ ‘ so raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die! ’

SLEEP

‘ there ain’t no way that i’m sorry for what i did. ’ ‘ how could you cry for me? ’ ‘ shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye. ’ ‘ just sleep. ’ ‘ the hardest part is letting go of your dreams. ’ ‘ a drink for the horror i’m in! ’ ‘ a drink for the good guys, and the bad guys, and the monsters i’ve been. ’ ‘ three cheers for tyranny! ’ ‘ cheers for unapologetic apathy. ’ ‘ there ain’t no way that i’m coming back again. ’ ‘ sometimes, i see flames. and sometimes, i see the people that i love dying, and it’s always... and i can’t... i can’t ever wake up. ’ ‘ wake up! ’

TEENAGERS

‘ they’re gonna clean up your looks with all the lies in the books to make a citizen out of you. ’ ‘ they sleep with a gun. ’ ‘ they keep an eye on you, so they can watch all the things you do. ’ ‘ the drugs never work! ’ ‘ they’ve got methods of keeping you clean. ’ ‘ they’re gonna rip up your heads, your aspirations to shreds. ’ ‘ you’re another cog in the murder machine. ’ ‘ all teenagers scare the living shit out of me. ’ ‘ they could care less as long as someone’ll bleed. ’ ‘ so darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose. ’ ‘ maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me. ’ ‘ you’re never gonna fit in much, kid. ’

DISENCHANTED

‘ i hate the ending, myself, but it started with an alright scene. ’ ‘ it was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing. ’ ‘ it was a lie when they smiled and said “you won’t feel a thing.” ‘ ‘ as we ran from the cops, we laughed so hard. ’ ‘ will it matter after i’m gone? ’ ‘ you never learned a goddamn thing. ’ ‘ you’re just a sad song with nothing to say. ’ ‘ i spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree. ’ ‘ we’ll show them what we all mean. ’ ‘ just go. run away. ’ ‘ but where did you run to? and where did you hide? ’

FAMOUS LAST WORDS

‘ i know that i can’t make you stay. ’ ‘ where’s your heart? ’ ‘ i know there’s nothing i can say to change that. ’ ‘ can i speak? ’ ‘ is it hard understanding i’m incomplete? ’ ‘ a life that’s so demanding, i get so weak. ’ ‘ a love that’s so demanding i can’t speak. ’ ‘ i am not afraid to keep on living. ’ ‘ i am not afraid to walk this world alone. ’ ‘ if you stay, i’ll be forgiven. ’ ‘ nothing you can say can stop me going home. ’

BLOOD

‘ they encourage your complete cooperation. ’ ‘ i can’t control myself because i don’t know how. ’ ‘ i’ll be here for a while. ’ ‘ they adore me so, but it’s really quite alarming cause i’m such an awful fuck. ’ ‘ i’m the kind of human wreckage that you love. ’

[deathwitch-wra]

Wolf’s Eyes: Part 1

Far off in an old farm house still kept warm with fire, a white haired woman kept her watch. Swirling a glass of wine in her hand as she browses through her scripts. The flame of the fire with in and under the mantle danced in her eyes. Appearing human, but to any who saw her, her eyes would show there was more than appearances let on. A heavy conflict, a lifetime worth of battle beneath the surface. With all the turmoil that had been brewed, there was always the lingering hope that fed and kept the battle going. "We're fine here, there are plenty that come through to feed on..." The woman sighed heavily. A darker voice familiar to the first. "Foolish woman, we need family like before. Don't you wish to see her once more? Besides, what good are a few savage animals in comparison to seeing the world with her? You know that woman just waited for a moments weakness to take what she can't manage on her own." The softer voice, "She wouldn't do that. She's my best friend..." The voice wavered. She had wanted to believe all she'd done was right but after so many years even her hope waned from time to time.

The darker voice, "Tell me of those long conversations. Why would a woman of her stature befriend you? Some one of your... assets? It just doesn't mix. An educated 'Lady' of the church. Why on Azeroth would she befriend a criminal marked by the crown? She only followed you long enough to take the babe." The white haired woman shook her head, "No! Sah wouldn't..." she fell quiet as tears filled her eyes. She missed her friend and missed her daughter all the more. As her head was turned the red eyes caught glimpse of the parchment and inks set out on the table. Scrolls of runes and clean parchments. There was the sound of a grin on the darker voice, "It wouldn't be difficult you know. To get her back. You've done just what the job requires for all but yourself. It's time to take care of your family. Unless you plan on leaving her with the evil nobility that your father left you with... If you're that weak then you made the wrong bond, doll." The thoughts continues to reel through the white haired woman's mind. The other was right. She held plenty of skill of a scribe. She'd forged plenty of documents, it'd not be difficult to forge the church's hand. A saving grace crossed reminding her why she had let the two go so long ago. But the grace and light was pushed back by the darkness that always came with the other's enforced presence. She had grown impossible to ignore and more and more impossible to keep out. The other sent images of her daughter in the hands of the white haired woman's step mother. Forced and mistreated. Prompted and heckled. A pebble in the shoe of the caregivers eyes. Shaking her head and blinking away the tears, she washed down the glass of wine, "I'll do it. But if this does not work we stop here." The darker voice grinned yet again, "Whatever you wish." And the white haired woman, Josalora, sat at her table and began to delicately use specialized inks and parchment to mimic an official crown and church order of custody.

It was not long after Sahirra had returned to Westguard with the Valterics that orders had come from the church that she was needed for duty in Stormwind. She'd offered to take Josylyn along with her but at the protest of the Lord and Lady insisting she remain due to previous threatening circumstances, the Noble Priestess allowed the girl to stay. Trusting the couple and their guards to call to protect the cherished package even more so if not the same as she had. Sahirra had in fact helped the girl's mother birth her, remained as supportive as she could be as her mother followed the winding path known to those who practiced darker things. And it was Sahirra that had whisked the girl off to safety after her own blood had crossed a line. Raising the child as her own, growing to love the girl as her own daughter. To any who saw them pass in the streets it wasn't natural to doubt that the girl was not the priestess' own blood. Fate was kind in that aspect. Dawning her gold and green robes she had arrived back in Stormwind. The priestess having been raised in it's service was still responsible for the debt of gratitude. When some one was needed else where for a time she'd be summoned. Serving time taking confessions, offering a shoulder and guidance of the light as well as any medical services the Cathedral might see need for. She remembered the times of war. A bloodied soldier was not a new sight. It came with the territory. Save whom you could, her mentor had guided her. "Hold the hands of those meant for better reach the light.." She repeated the words as she looked over her attire once more. She took up her libram from the small side table of the bed and made for the door. Another night's work, and how she had disliked the night shifts, either too quiet or too bustling to truly be any good. It had always struck her funny how the light could not manage it's er on the terms of waking men and women. Then again it was not her place to say, but to abide and aide. The journey back was it's usual, nothing outstanding. The men who wished to let their smile linger as they begged forgiveness, those who truly meant it and sought honest answers, and a few light bandaging of those incarcerated from a bar fight. Another night in Stormwind over a long weekend. In the later hours of the evening she took a break to find a bite of food. Discarding a soiled apron and unpinning her hair and washing the basins and beds. One she truly had a moment to breath she reached for an apple from an alter boy and made her way out to rest near the fountain. She took solace in the steady woosh of the water. And as she thought over her return little did she know that Dalaran was only a small beginning to an issue that was misguidedly thought to be handled.

White hair of the warlock was tousled in her face. It had been days of gathering supplies and the scrolls had turned out rather well. It would take much digging to learn the documents were forged. By that time she planned to have the deed finished. In and out, quickly as a fleeting sparrow. A grin curled wickedly at her lips as she looked over her handy work. It had been sometime she'd put this much effort into a job. Even though she was being pushed by her demon to convict a priestess of the light, there was some part of her true self that had missed these sort of dealings. A stray thought echoed, "Why had I ever stopped?" She chuckled. As she used her staff to press herself upward, she thought over just who else might be needed. In her time in and out of the guard shacks destroying documents or adding to orders, whatever her mistress had once bid. She looked down to the branded mark of the cog on her left palm with a fondness. Setting to her wardrobe preparing for a night on the city for the last of a recipe of the demon's destruction.

It was her last night of duty before being allowed to return to the Northern lands with her daughter. A young Alterac pup followed her steps into the Cathedral Square. It was a beautiful night, the moon shining brightly. In loving her work, but her daughter more nights like this were always bitter sweet on both parts. She held her libram in a hand as she whispered warm prayers of thanks for her blessings. She watched the water of the fountain and the children at play. Suddenly one of the matrons beckoned the children quickly to tuck in for the night. Sahirra thought it odd the woman's voice, but assumed it was because she was new... or was she? As she began to wonder, she heard a voice that brought her attention to the Cathedral stairs, "What do you mean I can't go in?!" A man shouted. A woman near the man's side looked at the row of the guards keeping people out, a paladin baring marks of General speaking stearnly to the gathering crowd, "This area is under quarantine. There have been a number of reported outbreaks of an infection. The Cathedral is needed space for treatment. See a medic at the designated areas if you believe to suffer the symptoms. I'd suggest you all return to your homes." The flame haired priestess neared the stairs looking over with concern. She'd been present in events like this and so she made her way slowly through the crowd so as not to add to the panic. A woman yelled in a worried tone, "My son is in there! Let us in!" Scanning the faces, it seemed mostly couples or younger citizens aiding parents, either for mass or what Sahirra had figured worried over those held within the walls. She remembered from her studies that the infections that passed through the city and camps usually hit smaller children and elderly or those who suffered a wakened state previously, the hardest. Sahirra made her way to one of the bishops she was able to spy near the side of the guards line. He was being aided by a few alcolytes at what she assumed, again, was one of the designated areas specified by the General. There were more and more people collecting at the stairs, demanding to know what was occurring. The priestess was quickly filled in and set to work. She had been informed that as of the moment the infection was not known to effect those of the light, though some who had claimed to hold the light, had fallen ill. The Bishop spoke that it was the Light's way to show truth of one's faith. The over heard ramblings of the church's leader's called as many as the Cathedral could hold and work effectively with the rising influx of ill filtering in through the guards. Among the warnings and bustling, the priestess was informed that with her entry she too was under a sort of quarantine as the extra hands were needed more where they were. Her heart sank realizing she'd not make it back as soon as she had planned. Through out the night, she made her way out for a breath of air and slip word to one of the guards to please deliver her status to the Valterics and a paladin known as Adlai Pheonixdown if nothing more than at least gave where his sister might be found at a clinic on the canals.

[beautifulramblingbrains]

The Dog - Chapter 6

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) UbbexOC Rating: This is Mature content with multiple trigger warnings on a range of subjects.

A/N: A big thank you to @murmelinchen as always. This chapter was surprisingly tough to write and a little longer. I hope you enjoy it. :)

First Chapter // 2nd Chapter // 3rd Chapter // 4th Chapter // 5th Chapter

Tags:   @pathybo@oddsnendsfanfics@sparklemichele@singingpeople@captstefanbrandt@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@emmysrandomthoughts@pokeasleepingsmaug@underthenorthstar @ariwolf14 @bcat1291@tomarisela @romanchronicles @colours-of-my-heart (If you want in or out of the tags just tell me, it’s all cool :))

Ubbe brought the horse to a stop on the outer circle of a fire directly in the middle of the camp where it was surrounded by people leisurely sitting and congregating around on logs to keep warm. Hvitserk and Hendrick got up, moving from the mass of bodies that greeted Ubbe. He slipped down from the saddle, leaving Avery upon the horse and stormed over to Hendrick. Avery didn't expect the vast shift in his attitude at all. She couldn't understand what they were saying, but by the way Ubbe was hitching up Hendrick by the scruff of his neck, his feet leaving the ground, it couldn't have been a happy reunion.

The crowd of people scattered out of the way, and Hendrick hit a log and tumbled back. Ubbe bent down close to his face. "You were being followed!" Ubbe shouted at the top of his lungs. "Saxons followed you. Hidden in the trees just feet from where you sit drinking and eating, laughing with the loot in hand."

"They'd be stupid to approach!" Hendrick coughed out, being strangled under the hold of his collar. Hvitserk touched Ubbe's shoulder warily, trying to calm him.

Ubbe shook Hendrick, snapping his head back and forth. "I want you to check the area, now! And don't come back until you can barely walk." He let him go and sniffed, wiping his cuff across his nose, keeping his voice low. "They tried to trap us through the gap in the trees. I should kill you for your ignorance."

Hvitserk tugged on him, pulling him away. Hendrick got up and patted himself off, scowling, and kicked a flagon across the way to the dissatisfaction of a few bystanders.

"You're late, brother," Hvitserk said cautiously. "I was expecting you sooner. If I hadn't heard within the next day, I would have come searching for you." Ubbe hummed in response watching Avery get down to her feet, obviously searching for Benedict. "I have news." That caught his attention and he finally turned back to Hvitserk. "Ivar has sent large groups, some further south to raid East Anglia. We've had a plea from an Earl. And another group is on the way to meet us here."

"Why more?"

"It's said Ivar is taking Northumbria. We have them afraid. Each little Earl sat supposedly safe is shaking with fear and bickering over who rules what with a new King in Wessex to shake things up. I feel there is a change in the air. Something is coming." Ubbe's eyes softened at the sight of his younger brother's hopeful face. "What are your thoughts?"

"We raid everything within half a day's ride and prepare for our new arrivals." Ubbe breathed heavily through his nose, releasing his annoyances, and pointed back out towards the trees where he and Avery had come from. "Apart from that direction. There is nothing there."

Hvitserk bared a grin of pride. "I already have our next prospect."

"Ah, good man." Ubbe clapped him on the back. "Now get me some ale." He tried his hardest not to watch as Avery was restrained and then walked to a tent just off from the main fire with a guy leisurely drinking outside, weapon balancing on his leg, guessing that that was where they were keeping Benedict. Regardless of being shoved forward, she looked over her shoulder at him.

Their few days of travel together made him somewhat torn, assuming that there was a hardy, strong personality to the Christian woman's face. But before he could linger on that thought, a jug of ale was placed in his hand and he drowned it in an instant.

Avery was pushed into a cold tent with Benedict lying upon a thin sheet of material and an equally meager one over his legs. He looked pale, and if it were not for his snoring, she would assume he was dead. She quickly made her way to him and touched his forehead, checking how well he was.

"Father Benedict?" she whispered, only to have him jump out of his skin and grab her, flailing wildly. "Benedict, it's Avery!"

"You are... alive?" he asked in bewilderment. "I thought you were dead. I thought you'd left me here alone. I thought they were going to kill me but for some reason have kept me alive. It is God's way."

Avery couldn't find the strength to tell him that it was from a barbaric deal she made. "I went back to the Keep. There is nothing left. Everything is gone; the people, the children-"

"What did you do that for?" He ran a hand over the furs on her shoulders, then gripped them tightly, pulling it from her. "Oh, thank God for you, child. We must share these things so vital." He placed the furs on himself, around his neck, and she stared at him in surprise. But she let him have them because he was the man that took her in when she had nowhere else to go and when no one else would.

"Check my feet!" he barked, snapping her out of the thought.

Blinking a few times, she didn't quite know if she wanted to. She shuffled back, meekly pulling up the sheet. They were bright red and swollen, a crust of brown on the tip of each toe. If a pin would prick them, they would surely pop. "They have been feeding me some sort of medicine," he explained. "Has it worked?"

"I heard rumours that blackness meant loss or death. I didn't know-"

"They are heathens, child. Heathens!" For a man as undernourished as him, his jowls still swayed while he spoke. "They use all sorts of sorcery..." His voice drifted off as he fully looked over her, up and down, and raised a brow. "You have food?"

"I have nothing."

He nodded slowly. "We should sleep next to each other at night... for the warmth," he added. "We should sit together while in here in the day too." He flipped back the sheet and a foul smell emitted from him.

Avery wrinkled her nose. "Father, have they cleaned you since-"

"They have left me to rot," he spat, turning his head away from her while he seethed. "But, as you are so concerned, maybe you could ask them for a chance to wash; a rag or bucket of water will do. And I will need your help."

Avery wasn't going to detest the suggestion. She nodded and scooted away from him, towards the entrance of the tent and poked her head out, seeing the guard casually resting. This was definitely going to be a request lost in translation.

It was the laughter that had her mortified, but not for herself. Two strong men held each arm of Benedict's while he protested continuously. They stripped him from a distance with their swords after seeing the shit stained overshirt he was wearing.

They spoke quickly in their language, with large smiles full of teeth and jesting between each other. They took Benedict to the edge of a small pond, then let him go, watching his pale body fall face first into the freezing water. He splashed and spluttered while all Avery could do was watch. When he did manage to paddle his way to the edge, they pushed him back in with the tip of their boots.

It was becoming dark and the fires the Vikings had lit flickered at the top of the hill. It would have been peaceful if not for Benedict's struggle. But there was no way she could stand another minute inside the tent with the smell of what she could only describe as death invading her senses. So she stomached the torment of being idle eyes, trying to push away the sounds that always lingered in the back of her mind; the sounds her mother made. She pushed her hands together and prayed silently towards the stars.

Avery had refused to be anywhere near Benedict, opting to sleep on the other side of the tent. She was dreaming of flying above the fields she'd seen on her journeys. The scenery skimmed past beneath her, the grass was illuminous like it was in the midst of summer, the sky blue and cloudless. She saw a wild boar beneath her which lifted its head when she was right above it. Opening its jaws to roar at her, it groaned beastly instead. Its jaws were shaking and the sound emitting from the animal so vivid as if it was right in front of her.

She suddenly awoke, her eyes shot open, trying to push up but a sweaty palm clamped over her mouth. She let out a muffled scream when she finally realised that Benedict was crawling his way on top of her. He was heavy, clammy, but cold. It had been a few hours before she had drifted off after his dip, hearing him shiver to himself, groaning the whole while, muttering about needing more layers.

She hit out but he shushed her. "Avery, Avery, stop. I know this is entirely inappropriate but I am so damn cold." He was so heavy she felt she couldn't breathe.

So she bit him, hard, then yelled, pushing at him while he rolled away with pain. She scrambled and fell back through the tent's entrance and the guard shot up. He glanced between her horrified face and Benedict withering to himself with his hand in the air.

Avery pointed at Benedict. "He was-" She cut herself off, unable to voice what exactly he was doing. And telling a viking that he had invaded her personal space seemed pointless. He hadn't exactly harmed her. But something still felt wrong.

Of course, the guard didn't understand her.

"I'm not going back in there!" she shouted at him once he began pushing her back towards the tent's entrance. She knocked his arm away. "I said no!" He hit her, hard, straight across the cheek that had her stumble on her feet while he cursed under his breath. It left her with a brandished mark, a split in the skin.

From the distance, Hvitserk was in the right position to see the commotion. He put his drink down and nudged an exhausted Ubbe, taking off first before Ubbe could get his senses together. He laid a hand on the guard's shoulder. "I don't know what she's saying but she attacked him, I think," the guard told him.

Now, Hvitserk hadn't paid close attention to learning languages, and a million different phrases passed through his mind. He could understand her saying 'please', but her accent was too strong. "Stop. What… is this?" he tried, and the young woman stared at him for a long moment. He could sense she was frightened, and held her cheek in pain.

Hvitserk looked at the guard. "You hit her?"

"Well, yeah. She was reeling off like a fox. I told her to get back inside..." He shrugged.

Ubbe had his thumbs in his belt when he approached and tilted a head at Avery. He looked to Hvitserk, then the guard. "I told her we wouldn't harm her or the holy man. Now look what you have done." He glared at him. "She's supposed to be helping us but that doesn't happen with fear." He sucked in a large breath. "She tell you what happened?"

"Her dialect is too strong, I don't understand what she's saying." Hvitserk kicked at the dirt. "I'll leave this to you."

"Do you agree with me?" Ubbe asked suddenly, his eyes burning holes through him. It had been an ongoing discussion Hvitserk couldn't solidly answer, and it made it more prominent now that Hvitserk stood near her, face to face.

"Using the Christian girl? I think it can work. It worked once. But for how long..." He grimaced slightly. "I also see she has a pretty face, Ubbe. So after this plan, I hope you know what to do with her. Otherwise, after, you leave her for the wolves. She probably has two to three Keeps or monasteries before word gets around." He meant it in earnest and nodded before taking his leave.

Ubbe studied Avery quietly for a moment. "Where are your furs?"

Avery peered to the ground, then motioned inside the tent. It had Ubbe kissing his teeth with a few steps that seemed to be in great disdain. He disappeared inside the tent and came back out after mere seconds, brandishing the furs Benedict had stolen.

"He said we should sleep next to each other for warmth. That we should keep each other warm. I didn't know he meant it. And he went through with it, but while I was trying to sleep," she spoke quickly, becoming muddled for a perfect reason why she shouldn't be put back inside there with him. It angered her that she had been so gullible. "He's afraid, I know. He's in pain. I looked up to him, but he's a coward. Please don't-"

"Avery, cowards are the most dangerous." He spared Benedict one last glance. "And I'm learning so are women."

"Good," she said weakly, crossing her arms protectively. Ubbe stood contemplating her for what seemed like a lifetime, making her anxious. "What?"

"I'm getting tired of saving you. I'm trying to see what use you are if you are continuously making trouble."

"Should I have just laid there for him and not say a word?"

Ubbe shrugged. "A normal slave would have. I expected you to at least 'kill him in his sleep'," he mocked, and she rolled her eyes at the quip. "A normal slave would also be in my bed," he continued, stunning her into silence. "And not even in this situation." Ubbe took a step forward but she didn't move. "What do you say?"

"I was right." Avery frowned, leaning back while he was smiling. "You are all animals wrapped in leathers."

"Ah, worth an ask, huh?"

"No, it really wasn't."

Ubbe rolled out his shoulders with a groan. "What do I do with you? What do you suggest? It's getting late and I'm tired. Tomorrow will be a busy day. We have friends joining us soon to make an unimaginable force for church men and little Christian women like yourself. But, instead I'm stuck here, looking for middle ground with you. And by the looks of it, a woman who bites the hand that feeds her."

"I'm not The Dog here-" She barely finished as he grabbed each side of her face, keeping her steadily in front of him, eye for eye. They both rocked under Ubbe's temper, his nostrils flaring while he tried to maintain control.

"It is enough now, Avery," he spoke slowly. "It is not a game. I am not making jokes with you. You have a quick tongue, I will say that. But it won't do you any good."

Having spent time with him and finding him not all that frightening, right now she was terrified. Because she saw things reflect back from his eyes; anger, pain, loss - it oozed off of him.

Ubbe's grip was enough to send the message, his stance a last act before he striked. She was beginning to realise he was right. Without him no one really cared. If she didn't try to be amicable, it would make things worse. Then perhaps Benedict's treatment would become hers, and it would all be her own doing.

"I'm tired too," was all she could say. And the moment she did, he relaxed his grasp, running a thumb underneath the nick on her skin.

"Let's clean this."

Ubbe had a tender touch. He'd cleaned her face himself by the large fire, alone as most had retreated to their tents. And it was a strange serenity she couldn't admit to herself. At first, she had sat in defeat, watching him dampen a rag, then it shifted to exhaustion, then a perfect still within her mind and body sat warm with the fires glowing, beneath a starry night.

"You have a lot of scars," she whispered over the fizzle and occasional pop from the flames.

"I've been in many battles."

"You aren't ashamed of them?"

Ubbe frowned. "Why would I be? It means I am brave. That I fight for my people… myself."

Avery peered to the ground. "Does it make it different if you don't receive them in battle? When you are the victim?"

His hand halted with the rag lifting to her face and he sighed. Ubbe knew she spoke about herself by the way her eyes shifted to anywhere but him. "It makes it no different. For healing, you are brave. Whether you heal here," he pointed to the scar near his eye, "Or here," he pointed to his heart.

Avery had unshed tears, turning her head away from him. "I would like to go to sleep now."

Ubbe silently nodded. She stood up before him, her dress rustling behind her when she ducked down into the tent appointed to Ubbe. Inside it was larger than she expected and far more civil than the small tent she had to share with Benedict. She took a place upon discarded furs which did not appear to be where Ubbe should sleep himself, and curled up into a foetal position.

Morning had passed and it was already midday when Avery was disturbed by someone entering the tent. She sat up, still groggy after a much needed rest. It was the old man from the cart, at least in his sixties, but by the looks of his physic still completely able. A large bucket sloshed when he made his way over, and he pointed to it once he had placed it in front of her. "Hreint."

"For me?" She gestured to herself for emphasis.

"Yes… yes." He seemed happy and smiled for the first time. "Heitt." Avery had no idea what he was saying, so he enacted it by pretending to touch it and hissing. "Heitt."

"Hot?"

"Yes… yes." He laughed a wheeze. "Me, Asger." He began humming, pretending to wash quite dramatically. He looked so strange Avery snorted suddenly after trying not to laugh the second he began.

"Thank you, Asger."

"Yes… yes." He disappeared out of the entrance in half a dance, leaving her still with a smile and shaking her head at what could easily pass as a dream.

Listening out for distant noises, she bit her lip considering the opportunity. Throwing off the furs around her, she stripped back her clothing and loosened the ties of the dress and pushed the arms to her elbows, revealing a cotton undershirt. There was a rag in the bucket and she made quick work, scrubbing the important areas, lastly dipping her feet. It was only when she began that an aroma kicked up from the steam - floral, a little mint - and she took a deep, content breath.

"Stulka, you are alone for the afternoon. Stay close-" Ubbe missed a step, halfway to his unmade bed. Upon an array of furs she stared up wide-eyed and caught, slowly covering her breasts. He made an exaggerated effort to turn away, giving her a view of just his broad shoulders. "Excuse me. I didn't think. I left my sword..." he rushed, almost flipping everything off his bed until he found it and revealing his weapons hiding spot.

"It's okay." She wrung out the rag and placed it on the side, tying her dress quickly. "You can turn around."

"I just wanted to tell you to stay close. Don't bother visiting Benedict. I don't know when I'll be back." Ubbe appeared like he may leave it at that until he stopped by the entrance, half holding the material open. "And, remind me to tell you about Freya when I return." Avery frowned and watched him disappear.

The distant noises outside got louder just when she finished getting dressed, something sizzling, and the smell drifted deliciously into the tent. The scent drew her away from safety. She lifted the flap that was her shield by the entrance and peeked through to the fire and the space around it beginning to fill up with men. The occasional clinking and grunt were from two jousting much further away. The low mumble grew, their language overpowering. A carcass roasting on a large spit made her mouth water.

She crept out, linking her fingers in front of her for courage. It was no use and she almost ran back inside because everyone turned to look at her with ferocious eyes and hungry snarls.

"...Hello."

Nobody replied. A man supervising the carcass chopped his axe down into it, carving a slab, then bit into it, chewing savagely. They were all watching and waiting for her next move. If she ran away to hide they would be smug, laughing. If she stayed, they appeared like they might put her on the spit and be feasting on her flesh next. Subtly - or not quite so - this felt like they were testing her.

But, they also didn't know anything about Avery. She sucked in a breath, kept her composure, and approached. Time seemed to stand still while the guys on the sitting logs checked her over, then reservedly made room for her. The chatter picked up again, and Avery finally breathed out once she sat down. Eyes flickering to and fro but much more comfortable since the pressure was laid off, she wiped her sweating palms inconspicuously across her skirt. Asger crept over, slipping in the slot beside her with a friendly smile, and gave her a piece of meat.

Ubbe roamed over the area in front. The three of them - him, Hvitserk and Hendrick - sat leisurely on their horses. Hendrick was now far quieter than he was before, a permanent scowl upon anything.

"We raid here next," said Ubbe finally. "We will also rest here after, greet the others who are joining us under a sturdy roof. Good work, brother. You were right. This is the best option for us."

Hvitserk grinned to himself. "Hey Hendrick, what are your thoughts? Or did you lose your brain through your feet working last night?"

"You and me were both in charge," he spat viciously.

"You were appointed by Ivar. But it is obvious you are not capable." One of the horses grunted, and Hvitserk checked Ubbe beside him who remained passive before continuing. "Now we are here, I think we can agree that it is Ubbe, then me now, after your failure, who leads this task."

Hendrick began to seethe in his saddle but didn't dare to disagree.

Ubbe tugged his reigns, twisting his horse back around as the other two followed. "And if word should reach Ivar with unfavourable stories, I know who I'm coming for," Ubbe said, glancing at Hvitserk in agreement. "I'm willing to let this issue lie. Ivar would have wanted me to kill you for an example."

Hendrick's face was red. "Why didn't you?" he snarled across.

"Because Hvitserk likes you."

Hendrick cursed at them, kicking his horse to move faster. When out of earshot, the brother's laughed.

"Mitt nafn... er Avery," she tried, sat with her legs crossed upon the sitting logs with Asger in front of her. "Hvao heitir pu?"

"Me, I am Asger," he spoke back in her language very jarringly, but happy. Her interest in their language was spiked, exhorbing everything he said.

"Again," said Avery, holding out her hand where he named from her fingernails to her elbow, counted her fingers and thumb, touched the grass, pointed to the sky. He finished with a strange song he sung quietly.

"You, Avery," he motioned to sing.

"No, no, no. Asger sing." And he did, loudly, making her laugh.

A crash from some type of pottery sounded and a horse stomped up to them. Asger jumped up and fled at the sight of Hendrick dropping down from the horse. He gripped Avery's arm, yanking her up and out of the calm bubble she'd created with Asger, and then took her place.

"Get me some food," he demanded. "And drink. Now!"

She stood in shock, then promptly went to the spit, being served meat that she took to him. He snatched it greedily from her. Avery searched out the flagon she'd seen earlier and brought it to him, ready to make her leave when done with the task. As she turned, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back again.

"I'm not finished with you. Sit." He was rough, dragging her down to sit next to him. Life carried on around them, like they dared not intervene. "You want to learn our language? What do you want to learn it for?" He took a large gulp, some spilling from the corners of his mouth, and ending with a contented sigh.

"I didn't see any harm-"

"Any harm?" Hendrick raised his eyebrows, his voice a little higher. "There are things not meant for you to hear."

"I can't learn a language in a day." Avery flinched back when he threw the empty flagon into the flames.

"You still think you're tough, don't you? So very quick to be smart tongued around those who will kill you." Hendrick grinned as she unsurely glanced away then back to him. "Oh, you thought you might live? I hate to bring bad news, but once The Dog is done with you, I will have you on your back. Or, maybe I will just take you from behind." He shrugged, biting into the meat. "Then I will put my hands around your throat and watch the life drain from you slowly. Maybe I will put my cock in your mouth after, less worry about teeth. Take it as a little compromise over the scar you have given me." He kept her eyes, seeing the burn of defiance shine from them. "Go ahead. Say what you want to. Make my day."

Avery knew better, remembering what Ubbe had said, and went to stand up instead. He grabbed her wrist, holding her in place when the voice she knew so well broke the hostility. Ubbe wasn't speaking to them but it was audible in the distance, enough time for Hendrick to smile toothily and make his leave. Avery rubbed her wrist and looked around to see Asger close by, the only person to hear what he had said but not understand a word of it.

"Hares!" Ubbe exclaimed, standing proudly with his hands on his hips, staring down at his catch. Five hares strung together were thumped onto the log beside her. "Not a lot of meat on them but they taste good. Cut here," he began drawing an invisible line half way on the back leg, then a triangle across the torso. "And here, and the skin will come off easier. I will show you the first one and then you can-"

Avery suddenly stood up and left halfway through his sentence, disappearing inside the tent.

Hvitserk's laughter was cheerful. "Perhaps she doesn't like hare, brother. Or, your catch was too disappointing for words!"

Ubbe growled under his breath, unsheathed his knife and began to work the skin off the hare that came off in one strip, then threw it at him.

They'd packed the cart to look like Avery had goods. She was to ride to the gate in the dark with the back filled with Viking men hidden underneath cover. She lead the trojan horse.

Ubbe had signalled for the remaining group to flank the cart, sneak towards the Keep they intended to obtain. Avery could only think about how many people would die now. No one could live if the Vikings were insistent on occupying it. And no matter how much she told herself not to think of it like that anymore, it crept back in. She wished she could zap some of the heathens powers of being selfish. But then she was conflicted with herself, that she was technically being selfish too; with the right to live, to abide by their rules, and do as they say then she may see another morning.

She'd also begun to question how much she cared for Benedict. After that night where he decided to take advantage with the notion of 'warmth', she wasn't quite as bothered for his well-being anymore. And Hendrick, she'd never wanted someone dead so longingly, that this Keep would be his last, and the good news would reach her ears that he was taken out - maybe he would suffer…

What was becoming of her in such a short space of time?

She hyked herself up to the front of the cart and held the reigns, feeling the sway as the occupants boarded. Ubbe with his confident stride approached, leaning forwards to speak up to her. "You know what to do," he said, more confirming, a spark in his eye for what was about to happen.

"I get them to open the gates. And pray that I might live..."

"You're doubting me?" His voice came off a little gruff, tilting his head and licking his lips. "I've proved that you are safe when you follow the rules." Avery had trailed off as he spoke, watching Hendrick approaching smuggly with a secret smile for her, and that, he didn't miss; a groan of understanding humming in his throat that he hoped she didn't hear.

"I'm ready," she said eventually. With his hesitancy to move she finally looked at him, and Ubbe was prompted to climb up the cart beside her, taking cover directly behind, and completely hidden by the stack of cloth and furs once he ducked down.

"The God's favour us on this day," he whispered. "That is one thing I don't doubt." His fingers were hooked over the divide of the seat and lingered by her back; the heat from a woman, a feeling he longed for. With battle incoming his senses were alive. "Go."

The cart jolted into motion, a steady pace, out into the open of the dark night while Avery tracked the stars hovering above her. They weren't far from the gateway when Avery inconspicuously whispered back to Ubbe, "I prayed that you may live too…"

It was the next day the convoy of Vikings Ubbe had mentioned arrived. The once prim, beautiful fortress Avery had driven the cart to on the whispers of hope to stay alive, crawled with them now. It was not a pulled together bunch of animalistic raiders, but an army of them. A growing army.

Avery had had the grace of sleeping in a room similar to Benedict's in the new Keep they'd taken, but not much until the early morning by the time the rest of the domestic following of Ubbe's raiders had arrived and set up. When they rose, it was into the afternoon, and along came the others.

If Avery didn't feel the chill in the air, she would think she was living some decrepit nightmare. For when the evening struck, the Vikings celebrated their reunion, and loudly. The main hall may have been ripped to pieces in a battle - not that she could call it that - hours before, but in its place a temporary festivity had started. She watched from a distance, keeping herself tucked away from sight, the drinks being poured between them all, the food passed and thrown in jest.

Animals in leathers, she thought.

Many times she had jumped from testosterone filled brawls. And now there were women dressed for battle that made Avery stare a little too long, more than she really wanted to. The women stood their own ground, nothing like she had ever seen before.

Whoever ran the late joiners, sat leisurely draped across a chair with a decorated back and large coils at the arms usually meant for the Head of the Keep or a visiting Earl on occasion. He was older, and drunk, and had brought slave girls much to the delight of the men.

Avery probably could have snuck back to the quarters and curled upon her borrowed furs for the night. However, she was too fearful to be left alone, and with the amount of bodies and random faces, not everybody could be accounted for. So she stood, back against the wall under the shadows of a wooden balcony that ran parallel along the room and lead off to the sleeping quarters, watching the people around her.

Her sights fell upon the guy who had initially helped her with Benedict and the guard, the one who had spoken softly, trying to speak her mothering tongue. Though he was surrounded by beautifully - and in her opinion, strangely braided haired women with dark makeup - his interests only laid on one. One he would subtly watch from across the room, frowning down into his drink like he was trying to gather the courage and failing.

At least, she thought, that there is a piece of them still human.

Like there was a piece of her, something raw, deep down inside as she touched the long drape of her dress, then studied the form of the women held above slaves - equals. A longing of being worthy.

"If you wanted a new dress we now have plenty."

Avery snatched her hand away from her thigh and put them behind her back, shaking her head at Ubbe. "No." She sounded rude and continued, "...But perhaps soon." He seemed more casual, the strings of his shirt loosened and without the boggy leathers he wore to battle the previous night. An alcohol blush lightly dashed his neck and cheeks, and from a long rest, he was brighter than usual.

He held up a mug for her to take and she did, smelling it first before sipping it. The sweetness made her jaw ache and she couldn't help pulling a face. Through it all, she saw the way the slave girls, the prettiest and in fine wears for status, watched him. It drew unwanted attention to her safe place.

"You think it's wrong to celebrate like this?" he asked after a moment.

"I was actually watching the slaves." She looked anywhere but him, an undesired shyness. "And why I am not forced to do what they are doing."

"You've done more than many of them can. They are taken by the fact their work lies between their legs after they serve their drinks. Especially since they are here, following men ready for battle."

Avery scoffed incredulously.

"What? You don't think it's true?"

She frowned into her cup, uncomfortable with his unabashed use of words and ran a finger along the brim absent-mindedly. "I don't know."

"Believe it or not, most enjoy it. They embrace it even." He shrugged and nursed his drink. "It's not seen as a sin." He tilted back on his heels and looked down upon her confidently. "You're in a Viking's world now, Avery from Northumbria."

Avery drank more, almost finishing her cup, and looked him up and down when it didn't seem like he was going to leave anytime soon. He was invested in their conversation, however strange. "You're okay with the slave girls work then, ooh bear, The Dog?" her voice rang prettily, a slight sense of muse.

"I'm not against it if she's willing. Especially after battle."

"Well." She leant back against the wall clumsily, the alcohol from the drink tingling. "Warn me before I stumble upon something tonight." Ubbe smirked at her defence, lowering his chin slightly. "And don't say I'm a slave again, if so. It's insulting."

"Stulka, I'm not here to insult you. What would be the point?"

"Like all my answers with anything to do with you, I don't know." Over his shoulder a blonde slave girl approached and offered to refill their drinks. She bowed her head deeply to Ubbe, sickenly submissive with all the intentions to capture his attention. Avery couldn't believe her eyes. "She's willing," she motioned with her cup.

Ubbe grinned in amusement, watching the slave leave before getting closer. "You're not hungry or cold anymore?"

"No. I'm well." She began to slowly straighten with his proximity, flinching when he reached out to the scabbed over cut on her cheek.

"I won't hurt you." His thumb was featherlight, and if she didn't see it she wouldn't believe he'd touched her at all. It only left her with an unquiet stomach, peering down to the ground. "Nobody bothers you?"

A hint of suspicion drifted along his question. But regardless of what he meant, Avery scoffed and shook her head, opting to play with her skirt in distraction before meeting his eyes. "No, ooh bear," she tried.

"Avery, stay with me tonight."

She smiled in bewilderment. "We sleep in the same room already, and I'm here with you-"

"No. Lie with me… tonight." He bit his bottom lip, trying to rephrase his bluntness. "I feel every conversation I've had with you is like continuously going into battle. After last night, I have thought about nothing since."

He waited for her to answer and all she could do was stare back dumbfoundedly. "...What?"

This was more than unexpected. While she thought nothing of his attention other than a mere convenience, his had grown wildly. Her pulse began to race, her cheeks burning. Was this how men in their culture courted a woman? They openly asked to lay with a random woman they desired?

Ubbe must have sensed her panic and stepped impossibly closer. "I saw you at the farm. I saw you in my tent. And I'm not sorry."

Avery still couldn't find words. She felt her mouth hanging open in shock, the wall behind her now as support more than anything. "No," she said, finding her voice. "No, I will not."

"A shame." Ubbe downed the rest of his drink, he looked her up and down for a moment, contemplating his next words. He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "A shame you can't see past your innocent conditioning your church men give you," he almost growled. "You can't see what you are missing. We don't shame others for wanting pleasure, Avery."

She gulped and firmly she reinforced, "I said no."

To her surprise he smiled. "Fine." It came out soft and he stepped away from her. "But maybe one day, once your head clears, you will want to, huh?"

"I don't-"

"Know?" he finished for her with an air of disappointment. "Let me know when you do. I'm good at many things other than just swinging a sword and raiding." Ubbe left without another word, clapping someone on the shoulder he passed in the crowd and joined the table with what she assumed was his brother, leaving her mind reeling.