#i lived all of those threats aside from being murdered but i came damn close several times.

[androphagy]

also, @impunkster-syndrome is wrongfully assuming that i sent those anons, which i didn't. when you make assumptions about people you don't know, you come off as even more disingenuous.

you said "i'm pretty sure androphagy sent those anons." as well as screenshotting my blog, accusing me of things that i haven't done but have actually happened to me, and you have a much larger following than i do.

i didn't. your supporting theory that i did was that i reblogged one of thicced-witch's posts. i don't care about you or what you do aside from the fact you interacted with me first after i had you blocked, to which i remembered you were pretending to be transfem and speaking over trans women. there was another blog you were having beef with that actually was celebrating who wasn't me OR thicced-witch. you did this as well to others where you assumed people were antisemitic based on the fact that you believed they were a bad person.

i would suggest going offline for more than a single day, stop making assumptions, and just talk directly to me instead of making up things that aren't true to bolster your reputation and status as the sole victim here. i have made it expressly clear that people can and should talk to me.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Perception is Key

Part Two to Hell on Earth

avengers x reader

series masterlist

masterlist

Summary; dread is all you feel as you take up temporary residence in New Asgard. Something big is coming, and you are not the only one that can feel it, but despite that, Thor tries to make you feel safe in his rebuilt kingdom, though all you see is it falling before your knees

Warnings; mentions of death, angst, secrecy

divider by @firefly-graphics

Death, it was a certain doom for all living mechanisms, even Asgard had been demolished by its inevitable demise. Yet here you were, nursing an off handed bottle of ale that came from the gods, whilst you breathed in the salt scent that regarded from the ocean that crashed by. New Asgard, the home of Thor and his brothers in arms, whilst his real sibling was killed by Thanos. It was a shame to see the brave deity in mourning, however, there was nothing that you could do about it. Nothing.

The concept of the end came to all, it was a daunting curse that teased its victims, and pried them into sculpting their own fears of it. But for all the people in the galaxy knew, death could be peaceful; you liked to think that you were the same. A wound cog that did not work for their purpose, a villain that could do some good. And whilst you had never threatened the end of the world, your hereditary abilities sure as hell did. It was another danger to humans and more, thus making you one in regard.

Killing was a route that you didn’t want to take, it was dark, and there was no way back for redemption. Murderers and the bad guys, if they wanted penance, would spend their whole lives trying to make amends for what they did, in exchange for a forgiveness that they would never be granted. And if you did such a thing, as regretting causing exhibitions of death, your father would send for you from the underworld, and have you dragged back down to his bleak halls.

Those heroes would rise, as the ones that you came to know and befriend were brought to bottomless pits of service for Hades, suffering for all eternity as they knelt before the god whom ruled hell. Mother could only prey that he would give up his display of the deceased, he used them like puppets, and it was not a friendly scenic for the next batch of Demi gods that they were planning. You were brilliantly strong, but they would be stronger, as not only would they have the army of warriors behind them, they would be invincible.

Their carriageway into ironic new life, was affecting to you, you could feel it as their existence seared through your veins. There was a war coming, and it was going to be a blood bath, there would be bodies littered on all the planets as they respected their appetites, and they would come for you. It wasn’t silly for you to fear them, they had been around before, it was a rebirth for the ages, a damning revolution that would drain all the breathing from the lungs of species, flushing their external beings into whisperings of blistered remains.

Zagreus and Macaria were coming, pursuing the punishment that was deemed worthy for your scoundrel self, you were nothing more than another revamped version of yourself, raised from the ashes, and taking your overdue time to age. You were supposed to be the cause for the world’s destruction, but they, they would tear every atom down piece by piece, because you were unable to complete your mission of birthright.

Humans, nor other vessels of aspiring and mundane inventions, had the impact of defence to protect themselves from more dominant species. They were simply specks with heart beats in the universe, thumping in their chests as they strived to usher their own planet under the hypocrisy of a dying climate.

“Heimdall once said that Hades had a vision, and he, a seer of all people, couldn’t see how far his faction of thought went. There was no end with his quarrel with the nattering of life, instead, it was competently endless, going on for light years upon light years, straggling the gods into the grand demise. To put it into other words, you are his vision.”

“Well I’m not sure that our Vision back at the compound would be too pleased if I coined his name.” But all joking aside, the air shifted every time that you brought lightness to your words. Continuing, you spoke to Thor, whom had brought you to his evolved demeanour of his homeland, and stole you from the consequences of the violent struggle that you had instinctively conquests upon James Buchanan Barnes. “However, on a more serious note, you are aware of my origin, and the truths that Hades is my father. You know of why he crafted me, but there will be a greater shadow than my foresworn self, and the others need to know of this oncoming riot.”

“We shall tell them, but first; eat.” The god of thunder intended for you to follow through with his kind hearted order, though a heated rumble shook the core of the earth, the energy trembling up your legs. They had been born, sooner than anticipated, and much closer to your break from the ruckus than you had wanted.

“I am not sure we have the time, you felt that cause of apocalyptic foreshadowing, I can tell by the fearful promise on your face. My father will not rest until he has me, a weapon in his hold returned, and to do so, he will tear apart this family, in literal terms, so that I can return to my biological home.”

“Eat.” Thor spoke once more, gulping down the terror that graced his long spanned veins. “If there is to be a fight on earth for the ages, destruction raining down on midguard, then you will need your strength. There is no need to deprive yourself of basic necessities, young warrior.”

Accepting the small loaf from his hand, you watched as the crumbs fled a trail through your palm. Even you appetite was frolicking trauma upon bacteria that swayed in the depths of the bread; the gathered yeast feared you, much like you feared yourself. “I’m going to have to return to the compound, as much as I hate to do so after what I had done, they have to know. And throughout our excursion of informative speech, then they shall have to know of my dreaded secret.”

But what if they already knew?

“A weapon like that...” Steve shook his head as he threw the classified papers onto the desk space he had reserved for his affiliated research. “We have to protect the earth, and if we have to do so from her, then we will have to stretch to any means necessary.” The captain gulped, not pleased as he divulged deeper into this situation with his friend.

Bucky remained shocked from the fleeting threats that had deranged from your form; it was like a curse adorned you, but it turned out, it was just you. Nothing had made you this way, instead, you were born a vigil monster, a daughter of a fraternising god.

“The daughter of Hades... I miss the old days where we believed in one god, and went to church every Sunday morning.” He wasn’t have supposed to have heard Barnes talking, but the figure did as he pressed himself against the wall, his hearing inclined to listen to more.

Peter’s eyes bulged as he was silently affirmed with the truth. He had a web stringing each digression together as he thought of your independence that you had been determined to keep. They were going to tell everyone, swaying their opinions from what they knew, rather than what they did not.

But that made you a legend, a mortal infliction of ancient religion; there must have been more to know. He had to be silent to ensure he didn’t trigger an alert to the super soldier’s enhanced hearing, as the boy that was pursed with a spider bite slipped away, portraying his fawning portrayal of being a vigilante.

His assumed destination that his quiet feet were carrying him too was the library. There’d surely be something useful in the walls of filled shelves, and if there wasn’t, then the internet was a useful friend. As he entered the subjective room for required reading, he saw the Falcon himself, Sam Wilson, seated at a small and solitary table.

Perhaps... no, it’d be wrong to turn him against his close friends... but possibly what was necessary. Peter allowed his doe eyes to scan the various sections. Mythology. Though, all avengers knew that there was some truth to every realistic evolution of belief, though it was usually only a little. But maybe, in your case, there would be more.

Tony had told him there had been an incident, and Peter had believed that Mr Stark was concealing a devise of perception from the rest of the aligned team. It was certainly wrong for him to delve against the ruin of the circumstances, but he was eager to do anyways. Whatever happened must’ve been lined coursing seriousness, and he was afflicted with firm interest to find out what.

Ah, he found something. Adjoined with the abilities he knew that you were capable of, he knew it must have been in regards to you, it just made sense. The spine spoke with integrity, daring anyone to read the biblical novel of fumed remark that raised hell on Earth.

The goddess of invoked, bringer of nightmares and madness, Melinoë.

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Imagine being the reincarnation of Dracula's long lost love: part 10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Dracula helped you out of the coffin and held you close in his arms, not wanting to ever let you go again.

"Vlad, I was so scared." You told him, pressing your face into his chest.

"Me too." He said, stroking your hair. So he was right after all. You were Maria. You had finally come back to him at last.

You still felt weak and held on to Dracula for support. Not only did you feel weak, but you felt... different. You didn't know what it was, but it was like all your senses were maxed out. It was so overwhelming. There was also this new scent that you discovered. It smelled delicious, but what was it? You wondered looking around trying to find the source.

"What did you mean that you remember everything?" Van Helsing asked, concerned for you.

You faced him, realizing just where that smell was coming from. Your eyes shined bright red, an intense hunger in them...hunger for blood. Normally you would have been repelled by such a thing, but right now you needed it more than ever. Van Helsing watched you nervously as you inched toward him.

"Y/N?" He said nervously backing away, but you did not answer. All you could think about was his blood, the taste of it on your lips. Dracula noticing your odd behavior, grabbed you by your shoulders and held you back. Why? He did not know. He had wanted to kill Van Helsing himself earlier. Perhaps he was trying to prevent you from doing something you would regret.

You squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but Dracula held you firmly in place. "Let me go!" You hissed at him, revealing for the first time your fresh new set of fangs. Van Helsing stared at you wide eyed. What had he done? You were no longer the sweet, brave, and kind Y/N, you were now a monster. He should never have let Dracula turn you. But then you would be dead...looking at you now, maybe it would have been better that way. He just lost it in a moment of grief.

"Calm down, darling." Dracula spoke in a soft voice, trying to soothe you. "You will feed soon, I promise."

Van Helsing glanced up at him. "What do you mean?" 

"She is in a very crucial time right now. She needs to feed." Dracula urgently explained to him.

"So what will you do, go kill another innocent person?" He asked, raising his voice.

"We have no choice."

Van Helsing sighed. "Then she can have some of mine."

"That is not necessary, Doctor Van Helsing." He refused.

"Yes it is. I won't have you or her killing anyone else. I'll run into town and get my supplies. I'll be back soon." He said, buttoning up his coat, turning to leave.

"Henry, take the coach if it's still there and take him home." Dracula ordered. Henry nodded and promptly followed Van Helsing out.

A few minutes later the tapping of horseshoes against the ground could be heard as they disappeared into the night leaving you and Dracula alone. You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh, then looked up at him.

"Is that what it's like for you all the time?" You asked, now realizing how difficult life was for him. How tempting it was to feed on human blood. Even now with no mortals around, you desired it. Dracula simply nodded. "It's horrible...I can't believe I wanted to...to..." You winced at the thought of hurting, maybe even killing Lawrence. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held you close.

"Come, let's wait for them upstairs." Dracula said, guiding you from the dungeons and up the stairs. When you reached the entry hall your mouth fell open in shock. This was the first time you had seen the castle in ruins. You felt a very intense anger. How dare the townspeople do this to your home, to Dracula's home!

"What do we do Vlad?" You ask, looking around. He squeezed your shoulder and replied, "We'll find some place else. Anywhere is home as long as I have you."

As you waited for Van Helsing to return, your mind wandered. You thought about how strange fate was. In your previous life you were married to Dracula and Van Helsing was his power hungry step-brother who killed you. In this life you were Van Helsing's friend who ultimately reunited you with your lover.

"What's wrong?" Dracula asked, noticing how quiet you had become.

"I was just thinking. What happened after...after I died all those years ago?" You asked. Dracula knew this question was inevitable now.

"Well, Van Helsing fled and joined the Turks. Soon after, we went to war and I was killed during one of the battles. As I lay there dying from my wounds, the devil appeared to me. I sold my soul and in return I would have my revenge on the Van Helsings." He told you.

"That's when you became one of the living dead?" You asked. He nodded. "But Lawrence doesn't know about any of that. He told me he wanted to get rid of you because he thought you were a threat to humanity."

"He's right. I am." He admitted. "I didn't care how many lives I took. How much blood I spilled. None of them mattered as long as I didn't have you. I was just as ruthless in life as I am in death."

"And now?"

He paused for a moment, thinking. "I don't know..."

Suddenly, from out of the wreckage you heard some rustling followed by a series of painful moans. Dracula pushed you behind him ready to attack whatever it was. From beneath the debris, a man crawled out. He was covered in dirt and blood, the smell instantly flooded your nostrils. "H-help me..." The man pleaded as he slowly pulled himself across the floor. Dracula looked over at you and saw the hunger return in your eyes and how you licked your lips, desperate for just a little taste. He didn't want to admit how turned on he was by this. He smiled and stepped aside, letting you pass. He wasn't about to let you miss out on your first meal.

Your eyes were fixed on the man before you, like a predator staring down it's prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

"I'll help you." You lied, your voice sounding menacing.

"Oh, thank you I-" He peered up at you and saw what you had become and let out a blood curdling scream. "Nonnnoo! Please!" He cried, cowering away, but you didn't hear him. You were focused on one thing. You grabbed him by his collar and lifted him off the ground making him eye-level with you. You hesitated for a moment. You knew you shouldnt. That this was bad, but he did try to kill you and your love after all. He deserved it. Your mouth was practically watering as the sound of his pulse pounded against your eardrums. Dracula stood behind you and whispered in your ear, "Do it." Before the man could utter another plea for mercy, you sunk your fangs deep into his neck. His blood dripped down your lips and chin as you sucked every last drop from his body. Dracula wanted you now more than ever. You moaned and threw your head back enjoying the taste of blood as it ran down your throat. Once you were finished, you tossed the corpse back into the rubble he crawled out of.

"How do you feel now?" Dracula asked, eyeing you lustfully. You grinned at him. "Much better, darling." You answered in a husky voice, running your finger under his chin. Unable to resist you a moment longer, he twirled you around and pressed you flush against him. Leaning down he licked some of the blood from your lips, then he roughly pressed his mouth on yours. He could still taste the blood as he slipped his tongue inside. It drove him mad. You couldn't help but let out a moan when he suddenly nipped your bottom lip as he pulled away. You both stared longingly into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity.

You went to kiss him again, but were interupted when Henry and Van Helsing returned.

"Y/N! What have you done?!" He exclaimed noticing the fresh blood around your lips, running towards you. He looked down at the man's lifeless body, a horrified expression on his face. "You killed him..."

"What of it?" Dracula sneered.

"Don't you understand? She killed an innocent man!" He yelled.

"He wasn't so innocent when he tried to kill us." You quickly pointed out.

"Y/N, why? I thought you were better than this." 

"I guess I'm not who you thought I was." You said coldly. Van Helsing felt his heart break again at how much you changed. He wanted to take you far away from here, far away from Dracula. To try to find a way to get his Y/N back. He'd rather you be dead than live out eternity like this...Van Helsing sighed. He had no other choice. He had to kill you and Dracula before it was too late.

"I guess not." He agreed. "There's nothing more I can do if this is the life you've chosen. I'm leaving for London tomorrow." Dracula eyed him suspiciously. Was he really willing to just leave you alone? To just ignore the fact that you might kill again. Did he really care for you that much?

"Will I ever see you again?" You asked, still wishing to remain friends. Even though his ancestor had murdered you in your past life you didn't hold it against Lawrence. He was different.

"No, I don't think so." He replied, looking away.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said sadly, but you understood.

"I am as well." Van Helsing said. You pulled away from Dracula and went over to your friend, pulling him into a hug. Why did you have to do that? He thought. It only made things more difficult for him. He knew the real you was still in there somewhere, but the vampire took her place leaving a shell of what you once were. You placed a quick peck on his cheek and backed away.

"Goodbye, Y/N." He said, knowing that this was the last time he was going to see you alive, knowing that when the sun came up it was up to him to end your damned existence. He turned and left without another word.

Dracula felt your distress and wrapped you in his arms in a comforting embrace. It was getting close to dawn now. He needed to find you a coffin before daylight broke. So, after he knew you were alright he left with Henry to the local cemetery to find you a coffin.

You wandered the castle ruins thinking about Lawrence. He had been your only friend in the world till now. No one else had stopped to give you a second thought, but he did. He was there for you when no one else was. At one point before you came to Transylvania, you thought you loved him, but he was too involved in his work. His work was his ultimate passion, and you knew you couldn't compete, so you never did. You sometimes wondered what it would be like if you had chosen a life with Van Helsing. Would you be a silly little domestic couple with a house and kids? It was an amusing thought, but neither of you were the type.

Finally, Dracula and Henry returned a little while later carrying a coffin. It wasnt anything fancy, but it would do. Perhaps later, you could get a better one. Sunlight started peeking in through the windows as they hurriedly carried it into the dungeons, placing your coffin beside Dracula's.

"Too bad they don't make couple's coffins." You joked.

"Maybe we could have one made." He teased, kissing your neck where he had bitten you, making you shudder. "I love you." You said softly running your fingers through his hair.

"I love you too." It was so pleasant to hear him utter those words. You wanted to hear him say it again and again.

"Sleep well, darling." You said with a yawn, as you lay down suddenly feeling tired. You took one last look at him before shutting the lid. This wasn't an ideal lifestyle, but you loved him and that's all that mattered.

The sun rose into the sky and the birds began to sing their morning song. It would have been a beautiful day if it not had been for the task that Van Helsing had set out to do. He crept back inside the castle, bag in hand, being careful not wanting to draw attention to himself. He stood in the doorway to the dungeons, contemplating his next move. His chest was heavy as the thought about driving a stake into your heart. But he had to do it. He slowly opened the door and walked inside, and down the flight of stairs to the room where Dracula's coffin had been earlier. Now he noticed, that there were two coffins lying side by side, one belonging to you.

He reached inside his bag and pulled out a hammer and a couple of stakes. Van Helsing strode over to your coffin and pulled open the lid. Inside, you lay looking peaceful and content, a small smile on your face. If only it didn't have to be this way...

He pressed the stake between your breasts and raised the hammer high into the air, ready to strike. But he couldn't. The longer he stared down into your beautiful face, the harder it became to do it. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn't look at you...But he just couldnt. Why was this so difficult?

Suddenly, a voice shouted out behind him startling him. "Hey! What are you doing?!" Henry shouted, running at him, tackling him to the ground.

"Stop!" Lawrence yelled, shoving Henry off of him. Not listening, Henry raised his fist and slammed it into the side of Van Helsing's face, quickly tearing the stake and hammer out of his grasp.

He shook his head, feeling dazed for a moment.

"How could you do that?! I thought you wanted her alive?!" Henry asked throwing away his weapons across the room.

"I did, but after seeing what she has become I couldnt let her live like that...but I can't do it. I can't release her from this curse....It's all my fault." Van Helsing sobbed, his head throbbing. This is why he never let anyone get close to him in the first place. He had only himself to blame for this. There had to be another way and he was going to find it by any means necessary.

[decennia]

Ok I just gave up catching up on my dash full stop because Clementine and George and Wildest Dreams got my brain like this:

I feel I desperately need to make an OC for George but he is YOUR precious lol

So instead while I'm here, give me and I mean GIVE all your George and Clementine headcanon

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WAS FINISHING UP SOME GIFS ✨

First things first, that image lives in my mind rent free.

Second things second, please create an OC for George holy shit please yes?! George has already been romantically (or at least sexually, because Sable is a hoe) linked to Ellis Grant from @chlobenet (nothing ever came of it, George developed an infatuation and was perpetually rebuffed by our Lord and Saviour Miss Grant), @perfectlystiles' Laurel Chase, and @randomestfandoms-ocs' Reese Masrani. It is my goal to accumulate enough George Cassidy romantic interests that I can make a Wives of Henry the Eighth edit, so literally go nuts. Everyone, Create An OC To Thirst Over George Cassidy Challenge!

The best thing about George and the other Corpsemen is that the only thing that makes them Jurassic World OCs is that they happen to be hired there. It is by no means their entire story, and although they've been around for literally three days (?!) I keep thinking of more and more things about them and I keep building their backstories to the point where dinosaurs are literally the least craziest thing they've experienced.

If I were to sum up Clem and George's relationship in a gif, though:

(This got hella out of hand so keep reading under the cut if you want to know more about George and Clementine.)

A brief history on George "Sable" Cassidy and Clementine "Calico" Roscoe:

He is known as "George" to his friends, and "Cassidy" to his enemies. "Sable" when he's on the job, and "hers" when they're alone.

But it wasn't always like that. I'm not going to bore you with the details about George's fatherless upbringing, or his reasons for joining the British military, or how he'd always been a bit of a troubled kid. Where his story really begins is when he directly disobeys orders and murders the military hostages who were responsible for the attack on his unit. He is dishonourably discharged, and is sent back to the U.K. to await trial for murder and treason.

He manages an escape and goes dark; during which time, Clementine Roscoe, an agent at Interpol, is assigned his case. Unfortunately, after a year of searching (one close call where he was literally within breathing distance of Roscoe ) and a thousand too many mistaken sightings after that, the case goes cold, and she is assigned another case, one which results in the death of her entire family.

Clementine resigns from her position after she is denied leave to pursue the murderers, and spends the next few years methodically hunting down and executing the list of people she knew to be responsible. It was enough to impress Malcolm Drake, who located and recruited her into the Corpse Corporals (aka Gucci Suicide Squad).

All this time, Cassidy had been residing in Southern Africa, making a hefty living as a poacher under ever-changing pseudonyms (I had to make y'all understand that Sable is a bad man but y'all be forgiving Tom for murder and incest so here we are but honestly did it even work because here I am, being fooled, alongside you 😭). He runs a pretty decent operation, also dabbling in the smuggling of weaponry, and he lives a comfortable life. That is, until he is betrayed by his business partners (a brother-sister duo, FCs Megan Fox and Aidan Turner? Idk, still debating) and pushed out of the business under threat of death.

He is rescued by Malcolm, who has managed to track him down, and in exchange for his life spared, he agrees to work for Malcolm. His reunion with Clem is incredibly tense, with both of them pulling their guns on each other and refusing to work together. Malcolm snaps some sense into them (that, and the sum of the payload which had so many 0's added to the end, you couldn't be sure what the number really was other than "a lot") and they swallow their pride and work together.

They would continue to work together as Calico and Sable for the years to come, and when I say it is a slow burn, I do mean THE SLOWEST OF THE SLOW. But there is definitely a fuck ton of sexual tension thrown in there for angst, and a couple of near brushes with death (hazard of the job, really).

George is a prolific man whore, and he's bisexual and proud. So Clem has gotten used to an endless slew of people of all genders cumming coming and going from his hotel room, especially during the long cons where the Corpsemen go deep undercover for months at a time (Hector doesn't come on those jobs, he's got a family to worry about. He taps out at a month, max, if he doesn't get to leave to see his family).

George Cassidy is not a man who is used to not getting what he wants, but Clementine Roscoe is the only exception to that rule. He has come to view her as "unobtainable," this irreverent forbidden thing that he must not ruin. By the time the heat of their mutual hate had dissipated, it had turned into a friendship, and although there was an undeniable electric tension between them, they have never done anything about it. But it has that "will definitely be the best sex of your life" kinda energy.

They fight quite a lot, and disagree on almost everything. Have they tried to kill each other? Oh, absolutely. But they're also professionals, and although Clementine and George may be going at it, it never bothers Malcolm, because he knows that Calico and Sable will put those differences aside and do the damn job.

Clem only involves herself in George's sex life when it comes to people who she considers friends. She has the warnings already mentally scripted, because the thing about George Cassidy is that he cares about no one but himself, and nothing but his holy trinity: blood, money, and sex. He's an emotionally devoid sociopath at the best of times, and at the worst, he's a well oiled and dangerous killing machine.

He is not a good man, Clementine knows, but sometimes, you don't want a good man.

I have a gifset in store involving the two of them, and I'm busy compiling a list of headcanons as we speak. If you want, I can tag you in it :)

But this is everything about their past and a bit of their present, so if you want to create an OC please do and tag me so I can write up a crossover and make some gifs 💕

(And before anyone comes for me, yes, I am aware of the fact that George "Sable" Cassidy is a very toxic and fucking despicable man, I created him, and I made him that way. I am not condoning his actions, nor would I want to be in a relationship with him in real life, but this is fiction. It is not meant to be taken seriously, if you don't like my hot mercenary boyfriend, then please unfollow me, because he is my current obsession, and I cannot promise that I will not be thirsting for him on my TL at any and all hours).

[reliciron]

Eternal Empire After Effects

In addition to that post I made a while back about how your characters deal with either the boost in Force sensitivity or the brand new sensitivity for your smugglers/troopers/agents/bounty hunters. I want to talk about the general fucked up-ness that the Commander has to deal with post-KotET.

Like DAMN. Bare minimum, they’ve had to deal with carbonite poisoning, the general mind games of Valkorian, and then they had their mind literally broken in the last chapter. At worst, they get all that, plus taking a lightsaber to the gut. To say nothing of having to fight an impossible war for a little over a year straight with everyone’s hopes and dreams riding around on their shoulders.

A lot of the posts I’ve seen about other people’s ocs has some form of lingering effects from everything. And I just want to talk about it for a minute, cause I live for filling in the scenes we don’t see. [Take this with a grain of salt, as I’ve never played a dark side character, so my perspective will be skewed.]

Long term physical effects:

They were poisoned slowly over the course of 5 years, you can’t tell me that one little dart thing can fix that, at least not right away. This could take the form of lingering nausea, migraines, dizziness. The symptoms of heavy metal poisoning would fit well here. And I hc my consular as having some permanent nerve pain from it.

The stab on Asylum is absolute bullshit in the game. Valkorian or no, there’s no way they’d be walking out. I think I posted a pic I took before, but the stab is easily close enough for the heat transfer to damage the spine. Bone cracks and warps with heat, so you can see the problem there. The wound is almost dead on for where the stomach sits and the lungs, liver, kidney, and intestines are all in range to get badly burnt (yeah I know, alien anatomy might be different, but we’re assuming its mostly the same).

We’ve seen what a lightsaber can do to a blast door in The Phantom Menace, take that and apply it to a person, and Arcann held that blade there a loooong time.

Yes, Valkorian saves them, but I think of it more as he kept them from dying, and not, he completely stopped the blade from cooking them from the inside out. So the three days Lana mentioned are horseshit. The Gravestone’s tiny ass med-bay is absolutely not equipped to handle an injury like this.

I always figured a better way was Valkorian kept them alive long enough for Lana to threaten her way onto an appropriate station and made the doctors fix them. Even so, getting what amounts to several organ transplants, implants to bypass possible spinal chord damage, replacement ribs and vertebra, and a whole lot of skin and muscle grafts will leave your Commander pretty messed up, even with magical Star Wars tech and Force magic. And their allotted recovery time seems to be the length of the base’s construction on Odessen, so there’s no way in hell they’re really done healing by the time they have to go back out into battle.

Specific injuries aside, a year is a long time to fight more or less constantly. At least during the base game you sort of had rests between chapters. They’re gonna rack up an impressive list of injuries, alongside wear and tear like their knees and feet having trouble from the constant running and jumping. And their elbows and shoulders will break down from hours upon hours of absorbing the recoil of a gun or the constant flurry and clash of a lightsaber.

Long term mental effects:

As ugly as the physical stuff is, the mental effects are just as bad. Depending on what class they are, having the goddamn Sith Emperor riding shotgun in their head will fuck them up big time.

Classes who faced off with him more-or-less directly, like the Knight, Consular, and Warrior, are going to have the worst time of it because they KNOW what this sort of thing leads to. The warrior has seen the dead eyed puppet on Voss and knows that could be them soon. The consular had to deal with the emperors children and the First Son. They’ve seen a prominent and powerful Jedi master absolutely crumple under the power of the emperor and he wasn’t even IN there. And Knights have already experienced the emperor’s control first hand.

Not to say the others won’t have trouble with it, it’s just that the reasons will be a little less direct. The smuggler and bounty hunter are used to being their own people, not tied down to anything or accountable to anyone, and now there’s the threat that everything they have will be taken from them and there’s no amount of sneaking or shooting that will save them. Troopers built up their command from basically nothing and now they’re Republic heroes, but Valkorian now threatens the lives of everyone they’ve sworn to protect. The agent is easy, they’ve suffered mind control before, they’ve been slaves in their own body, and they’re terrified of it happening again. And inquisitors were literal slaves who clawed their way to the top, and they’d sooner die than be a slave again.

So just having that asshole there means constant stress for the whole of KotFE and KotET. Insomnia must be a given. How do you know you’ll wake up as YOU? That Valkorian won’t hollow you out in your sleep and walk around in your skin the next day? And for the Knight, Agent, and Inquisitor, I’d think panic attacks are probably a thing, even if they don’t let anyone see it.

The stab will definitely cause some trauma. Pretty sure any wound that gruesome would. And if they didn’t have nightmares before, they sure do now and I’m willing to bet that they might shy away from lightsabers for a while, which leaves an interesting dilemma considering they’re in a war with Force-users, and some of them are Force-users themselves.

Fighting a guerrilla war with an absurdly powerful adversary has to be incredibly taxing, especially for classes who’ve never had to command anything. Smugglers and Bounty Hunters are very screwed here, assuming they care about running the Alliance well. And the burden of saving the galaxy is a heavy one. I can definitely see classes who have saved the galaxy multiple times to be getting increasing bitter about always having to be the one to clean up the messes. Why are THEY the ones who always have to suffer? Why isn’t there ever a hero to save THEM when they need it?!

Agents get their own little special bit here with the bullshit that is Vaylin’s conditioning. They know exactly the kind of misery she’s going through, the powerlessness that one single phrase or word causes. I can understand that the writers couldn’t figure out or bother with a whole separate scene of the agent refusing to use the conditioning, cause then they’d have to figure out how to not have Vaylin murder them on the spot. But goddamn we could’ve at least seen them struggle with it! Maybe an extra few lines of them pleading with Vaylin because they desperately don’t want to use her control phrase. Ugh, at least behind the scenes an agent can have a break down about how they’ve become exactly like the intelligence officers who’d decided that they were too much of a liability to go without a leash they could pull. And now they’ve pulled an identical leash on Vaylin.

And then we have their mind being broken. That could be a post in and of itself. Valkorian came within a hair’s breadth of destroying them entirely, and they were so broken that they didn’t even know their own name. And in the space of 10 or so minutes, they scrape themselves together and fight a god. It’s very impressive (and I’ve got my own issues with that fight) but I don’t think you can pull yourself together that fast after being that messed up without some lingering issues.

Chronic insomnia and night terrors, full blown PTSD, panic disorders, severe anxiety; something THAT traumatic will absolutely leave marks.

And after that? They just keep going. Yeah, things calm down, but they’re still at the head of a very powerful faction now (if not ruling Zakuul), there’s no going back after this. And they’ve got a massive restoration project ahead of them as tensions continue to simmer between the Republic and Empire. The more dutiful characters must be near the end of their rope. There’s no rest, just the next fire to put out, and they continue to run themselves into the ground. And the more flighty characters are now forever shackled by the Alliance. There’s no flying off into the sunset for them. No more anonymity as a bounty hunter or smuggler. Their old life is over, whether the wanted it or not. And how can they really relax when there’s this many people looking at them for direction. They’ve become just like those asshole military leaders who they used to mock.

And for just about all of my characters, they hide it. No one can know that they’re falling apart at the seams. Either it’s about personal pride and acting unphased cause they’re just THAT good, or because they’re trying to be the leader the Alliance deserves and don’t want to disappoint or frighten them by showing just how badly they’re coping. Either way there will be a breaking point.

And even after it all comes out in the open, and they (hopefully) get the help they need. It’s never completely over. Chronic pain and fatigue, depression and anxiety, persistent insomnia; these things don’t just disappear, they’re an ongoing struggle that helps color their future actions.

I just… I really like considering things like this because it hits close to home. Seeing them struggle with some of the things I deal with makes them feel more like people. Cause god knows the writers aren’t gonna put this kind of stuff in there.

[aspiringprofessionalnerd]

Wei Wuxian and the Trauma of the Burial Mounds

Sorry folks I am officially In My Feels after therapy this week, and then I came online this afternoon to see that @hunxi-guilai has knocked it out of the park with their analysis again. I love to see that people are talking about the portrayal of WWX’s trauma on a larger level, and I wanted to add my two cents:

Pre-Resurrection

First of all, I want to acknowledge that WWX is far from the only person who experiences trauma throughout the course of CQL ahem Jiang Cheng . Even WWX endures various types of trauma throughout his first life. But what I’m so impressed (and gutted) by is the way in which the show establishes that it is WWX’s first stint in the Burial Mounds specifically that breaks him (or, at least, catalyses his breakdown). 

We know WWX has had a difficult childhood and teen years. He lost his parents at a young age and had to survive on the streets for an unspecified amount of time, facing physical and logistical hardships like running from dogs and battling starvation (no cultivation training yet, so no opportunity to train inedia) as well as the grief of losing his parents. Yet, remarkably, aside from his lingering fear of dogs, these incidents don’t seem to leave too many lasting physical or emotional scars. WWX is able to jump around and play with his adoptive brother on his first night at Lotus Pier, and when we see him in his teen years at Cloud Recesses Summer Camp he is a warm, bubbly individual with no reservations about physical contact (on the contrary, he’s more gung-ho about it than LWJ would like). He remains open to new experiences and new people, and even though he uses humour to obfuscate at times, the people close to WWX can still see through to his deeper intentions (take, for example, Yanli reminding Jiang Cheng that WWX is serious about the important things). Moreover, once the Jiang siblings and WWX return to Lotus Pier, we gain a greater appreciation for the past things WWX has survived, including years of verbal abuse some awkward family dynamics. Madam Yu’s words obviously hurt him, but even so he bounces back almost immediately and diverts his attention to comforting Jiang Cheng despite the fact that he is still recovering from Teenage Mutant Murder Turtle injuries himself. I think there is an important distinction to be made here: it’s not that criticism and harsh conditions just roll off of WWX. He DOES process and internalise them, but he keeps going and maintains his faith and openness in spite of having these negative experiences. Clearly, he is a remarkably resilient person. 

After the massacre at Lotus Pier and Jiang Cheng’s loss of his golden core, we see WWX wrestle with more complex emotions: grief, guilt, and concern. It’s obvious that Wei Wuxian is suffering acutely, but he’s still doing it in a way that’s very true to his character as we know it. He’s crying. He’s seeking physical comfort from Yanli. He’s proactive, looking to plan and problem-solve. Yes he balks a little at what JC’s core recovery will involve, but his overall reaction is primarily one of satisfaction and relief. 

We don’t see too much of WWX between the mountaintop ordeal and his dropping into the Burial Mounds, but I think we have enough material to say that he is still in command of his own mind and maintains his sense of agency. You can tell that our Wee Sweaty Boi has been through the wringer, but he’s still quite animated and even cheeky when facing off against Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu in the teahouse. That dog speech? Damn. Classic WWX. He might die, but he’s not going down without getting the last word. It’s only when they are all riding swords to the weirdest and most out of place glam rock score in the entire series wtf over the Burial Mounds that we see an inkling of genuine horror cross WWX’s face.

Take now, by contrast, WWX’s reactions and interactions post-Burial Mounds. His flinchy moments inspired such a visceral reaction in me. I’m a repeat trauma survivor as well, and when I saw the way that WWX jerked back from NHS’s hand, it was deeply uncomfortable to watch precisely because of how familiar it was. This is an instinctive, almost animalistic response to touch, and it’s a FEAR response. Moreover, this isn’t some rando about to bump into him; this is one of his best friends from childhood. This is the reaction of someone who has survived by believing that the only possible safe space he has is within the confines of his own body; if anyone touches that, it will shatter. Wei Wuxian’s logical mind can tell him that NHS is not a threat, but his trauma-brain can’t turn off the panic simply by knowing that. (And why should he trust his logical mind, anyway? As we get glimpses of in the first few moments of the Burial Mounds, it’s as much the voices of people he knows and loves as the voices of unnamed resentful souls that prey on him during those three months. The psychological trauma in the Burial Mounds was not just the introduction of external threats, but the convoluting of things WWX knew and loved into instruments of torture so that even once he returned to the world, he could not shake those negative associations.)

We get an equal-but-opposite illustration of WWX’s trauma in instances like his reunion with JC and LWJ or his soup session with Yanli. There’s a deadness behind the eyes, an uncanny stillness. Wei Wuxian is in survival mode, going through the motions of what ‘should’ be his return to normal life but wondering why it doesn’t feel right this time. Wei Wuxian had told himself in the Burial Mounds that all he needed to do was survive the Burial Mounds themselves and then everything would be alright: he would go back to Lotus Pier, JC would be healed, and he would make up a new version of the plan that had been shot to hell (I’m convinced that WWX DID originally have a plan for how to navigate life in Lotus Pier post-golden core; however, he never got to put that plan into place because he got dumped into the Burial Mounds before he could enact it). But Wei Wuxian returns, and what he’s told himself isn’t true, because in all his planning for returning to Yunmeng he didn’t account for the fact that what it took to get there would fundamentally alter him. As a result, Wei Wuxian doesn’t fit anymore--not because the world has changed, but because Wei Wuxian has changed. And he can’t talk about that with anyone.

Why not? Sure, in part it’s because he feels bound to keep the secret about Jiang Cheng, but I think there’s another aspect here that’s been significantly overlooked: namely, that Wei Wuxian is the ONLY person to survive the Burial Mounds in any kind of living cultural memory. The problem isn’t so much that he can’t tell people as it is an issue of no one being able to understand or relate to his experiences even if he did share them. After all, how do you convey to an outsider what it was like to survive for three months in a place where every single bit of torture was customised to draw on YOUR individual, personal fears and hurts? Significantly, this is also the point in the story where we see Wei Wuxian begin to answer questions by in turn asking, ‘Would you believe me if I told you...?’ The question is rhetorical: he doesn’t expect people to believe him (although it still hurts when they don’t), but even if they do believe, it’s still not enough because they don’t understand. IMO, the rest of WWX’s issues leading up to the cliff at Nightless City stem from him trying--and failing--to come to terms with the loneliness of that knowledge.

Post-Resurrection

After WWX comes back, we see a shift in him. He’s no longer focused on the fact that no one will understand him; he’s decided that having someone (namely LWJ) believe him is enough. This resolves many of the auxiliary issues that had been plaguing WWX before his death, but it does NOT resolve the original trauma of his first experience in the Burial Mounds. WWX continues to have nightmares, and what are they about? Not Lotus Pier. Not Qiongqi Way and his sense of guilt. Not Shijie getting stabbed right in front of his face. Not his final, distraught moments with LWJ and JC. Nope, his nightmares continue to revolve around falling into the Burial Mounds all those years ago: an experience for which even death and rebirth are insufficient to ease the pain. 

I’m convinced that even at the end of CQL Wei Wuxian still has a LOT of healing to do, and I think this healing is not something that can happen through Lan Zhan’s love alone. Thank goodness for fanfic and headcanons, eh?

**Gentle reader, this turned out to be more like 50 dollars than two cents. Thank you for reading to the end if you’re still with me!

TL;DR I believe Wei Wuxian’s turning point moment in the story is his dumping into the Burial Mounds. It’s easy to get swept up in how many terrible things happen to him AFTER that in the lead-up to Nightless City, but I genuinely think he could have endured the loss of his Jiang family, the censure of LWJ, and society turning against him if he had not been psychologically broken during his first three months there. The writers, directors, and Xiao Zhan give us a very raw, real version of what trauma looks like with their depiction of post-Burial Mounds WWX, and it is utterly harrowing.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.71

It should be illegal to be this tired. Lance felt as if he could sleep for a year, yet sleep had come easy the last two nights. They’d finally had their team briefing, now everyone in their group was on the same page. Everyone other than was smartly tucked up in bed... but Lance and Keith were still sitting in the conference room, staring at the boards that seemed to be mocking them all. Keith was agitated, convinced Krolia was going to shop up ahead of time. But with tonight being Wednesday night, Krolia only had Thursday to be ahead of schedule. Having taken Lance to see his Mami, Miriam’s advice to Keith on the matter of his mother was to talk to her. Which was perfectly reasonable advice, seeing he’d suggested the same thing. The problem now lay with Keith who working himself up so much that every waking moment was devoted to these murders like he had something to prove.

For the last hour they’d say in silence. Keith sitting with his head in his hands, Lance watching over him because Keith knew he was being snappy and was upset over snapping at him multiple times. Lance’s opinion had kind of shifted. He’d shifted from someone trying to make these crimes look amateurish to someone who didn’t care about the bodies being found and was probably a hunter, possibly trained by the Blades or an ex-Blade member. He had mentioned the idea of it being a hunter to Coran who’d conceded he’d thought much the same after finding trace elements in the victims blood, but it wasn’t one of the ones working for him, so he couldn’t pursue that line. That’s why Lance didn’t see it coming.

Hearing footsteps, he’d looked from Keith to the door

“Babe?”

Keith didn’t acknowledge the pet name, so deep in thought he nearly fell off the chair when a knock came at the door, shooting Lance a glare for not warning him. Opening the door, Coran smiled softly at the pair of them, before setting his face and showing a ridiculously tall man into the room. Keith gaped at the stranger, Lance caught up in being confused before a wave of scent hit. Vampire... but not... but not the same kind of scented ego that’d sent him into heat

“Keith, I believe you know Kolivan. Lance, this is Kolivan. Kolivan caught sight of our murder investigation and has come forward to admit that it was Blade related”

Now Lance was nearly falling off his chair. Keith pushing his chair back in clear anger, slamming his hands down on the desk with enough force that Lance whined involuntarily. Quick to cover his mouth, he felt like he had whiplash

“What the fuck?”

Lance agreed. What the fuck indeed? Kolivan cleared his throat, eyes on Keith like Lance didn’t exist

“Keith...”

“Why are you here? Where’s Krolia?!”

Okay... not the angry line of questioning Lance expected. Coming into the room, Coran closed the door behind Kolivan. Softly he spoke as he moved from behind Kolivan to stand beside him

“You’ll have to excuse us. We’re all shocked that the Blades neglected to inform us of this investigation”

“At the time it wasn’t pertinent...”

Excuse him?!

“... However the situation has moved beyond our control”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Perhaps we should sit? Discuss things like reasonable adults”

Coran was obviously pissed. He was always polite but this politeness carried an edge of barely curved anger.

Keith continued to stand as Kolivan and Coran sat. Lance went to reach for his boyfriend only to let his hand drop. Keith didn’t want to be touched. He could sense it. Almost as if telling Lance he wasn’t really welcome in the space anymore

“I can see from your... boards you made a few assumptions. Your assumptions over Honerva’s involvement are correct, however the murders were in fact performed by a Blade member, not by Lotor. We had an unfortunate incident, resulting in the death of one of our deep undercover agents in Platt”

Okay. Okay. Blade member death was not good. Shiro and Keith were Blade members... as was Krolia. Now was not the time to freak out over Keith’s safety. Nope. He wasn’t freaking out of it. Keith was right there... Nope... He wasn’t sitting there potentially pregnant with Keith’s kid freaking out, because he wasn’t pregnant. The condom just got stuck to his arse. Keith was fine. He was more than fine. He was damn fine. Oh fuck... He was internally panicking now.

“Perhaps you can tell us more about your investigation?”

Coran pried gently, Lance regretting not dragging Keith to bed earlier...

“Antok was acting under my orders. We believe Honerva has developed a blood powder that increases healing by overriding the bodies natural flow of quintessence. Normally not an issue. Unless you factor in that she has used fae blood. The side effects are unknown outside of a temporary lapse in sanity and a permanent darkening of ego. We believe Lotor knows of the distribution routes and came to redirect profit. Honerva has an interest in Platt given the harmony the city has seen between between your supernatural inhabitants and the people. My hand was forced today when I found two humans trailing both Keith and Lance’s movements. They were intercepted for interrogation. You’ll understand my shock at discovering they not only knew of werewolves, claiming to be the sister to a wolf, and friend to a vampire”

Oh, no.

“Um, Kolivan. What did you do with them?”

“They were clearly not hunters. After confiscating their devices and sedating them, they were brought here for Coran to deal with”

Coran fiddled with the end of his moustache. Lance felt his heart racing as fast as his thought. Pidge and Hunk were here. Pidge... Pidge who’s never be able to put her curiosity aside... was here. His Pidge. His Pidge that he’d missed like crazy. His hunk, who was still a golden ray of sunshine. Both of them here. Both of them here because they were snooping. Both of them were snooping because he’d scared Pidge. Here. They could be dead. How did they even know where they were? What we’re they doing following them? They hated him. He’d lied to their faces for years. Now they were here. Somewhere they didn’t know. Detained for simply being themselves. What did he say? How did he fit years of explanation into the 30 seconds of explanation time he’d get before Pidge demanded answers? They were so lucky they... what if Lotor knew about them now? Who had Pidge questioned? Had she used Keith’s name? Was Keith in trouble now because of him? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t... catch his breath. A breathing vampire... he was ridiculous. He was barely a vampire outside of the teeth, and the blood, and he could turn into a bat, and feel death... and oh god, how did he apologise?

*

Keith was ready to kill Kolivan. It was always the same bullshit with the Blades. He was pissed. He was so fucking pissed. Kolivan walked in and pissed all over their hard work. He knew Antok. He’d run on missions with him back when he was a new Blade and Shiro had other messes to clean up. The fact that Shiro didn’t know about the mission showed someone out there no longer trusted him, or Keith, as agents. How the fuck... How the fuck did not cooperating with Coran help deal with this faster? This was bullshit. He’d worked himself to near death and they couldn’t fucking trust him with an important mission. Instead he’d been lied to. Told Lance was a threat and kicked to bumfuck nowhere on what was supposed to be his first leading kill.

Quietly shaking with apocalyptic rage, his eyes widened at Lance’s voice. So angry he didn’t think about who those humans would be, only cursing them for being stupid mentally. You didn’t tell people this shit. You didn’t trust them. Wrong the vampire or werewolf and you’d be dead. Fast or slow, that was personal preference, as long as the point was made. Pidge... they’d warned her. She must have started her own investigations. That was likely, but they’d slipped up. She had to have investigated Lance, but her thirst for understanding meant she would have started searching wider. Like in a Platt. Like in Platt where Antok was leaving a message to Honerva that her brand of crazy wasn’t welcome here.

Keith jumped as a thud came from beside him, Coran calling Lance’s name as he collapsed. Keith was ashamed it took a moment to move to his boyfriend’s side. Lance morphing from his human form to bat, yet completely limp as Keith lifted him from hunter his shirt and jacket. Normally Lance had a nice scent, like vanilla or whatever body wash he was using. It was weird to say, but what Keith thought he smelt was distress

“Let me see, Number two”

Having rushed around the table to Lance, Coran held his hands out, Keith forced to hand his boyfriend over to him. Closing his eyes for a moment, Coran let out a soft sign of relief

“He’s still dead”

What? Lance was going to magically wake up living? Of course Lance was still dead. It came from him being a vampire

“Is he okay?”

“I’d say he fainted over news of Miss Katie and Hunk. They’re perfectly okay. Mild sedative, and will be right as rain in a couple of hours”

Coran sounded too happy. Lance had agonised over his two best friends and Coran knew that

“You know what they mean to him. Pidge was fucking lucky Kolivan got her and not someone like Sendak”

“Ah. Yes. Well. Yes. Most lucky”

Coran valued lives but him being awkward about it wasn’t calming Keith down

“They’re our friends! They could have been killed!”

“I understand that. I ensure you that no harm will come to them. I’m actually relieved to finally have a chance to talk to both of them over that day. It has been weighing heavily on my mind”

Keith bit down snapping, instead his shock kind of slipped out

“It has?”

“It hurt both you and Lance. They are valuable friends and I was trying not to meddle in your affairs, but I know it hurt you both”

“It hurt him...”

It hurt Lance a thousand times more than it’s hurt Keith. And Matt...

“It hurt you too. Perhaps this is for the best, yes?”

“I don’t know. Lance fainted...”

“Might I interrupt? Who is this vampire?”

Coran passed Lance back to him. Keith cradling him up against his chest. Coran spoke proudly

“This is Lance. Model vampire citizen. Turned very young, has kept his mind remarkably well. Always cheerful and very helpful. Extremely trusting. Proof that vampires are able to lead a normal life with safe access to blood. Three identities and this is the first slip in 36 years. Very hard worker is our Lance”

“He’s... unusual. Is he the vampire you were sent to target?”

Kolivan was prying. Keith felt he had no right to pry. All the Blades could fuck themselves on their ways out

“All the best people are unusual, so I have found. Keith, perhaps you’d like to take Lance to my office to rest?”

“I’ve got him. He’ll be okay up here. And someone owes us some fucking answers. How could you not approach Coran? This is his city. He works his arse off here and I know we’re all about secrecy, but do you know how much time was wasted because you couldn’t approach us? We wasted hours. Hours that could have been spent tracing this tainted quintessence blood powder shit. Blocking us out this investigation isn’t okay!”

Coran stroked the top of Lance’s head gently

“Number two, I appreciate your candour. You warm this old fae’s heart. Now, I need to talk with Kolivan. For both your sakes, you should take a moment. Lance will be most upset over fainting”

Him being upset probably lead to him fainting

“He does cry a lot... He says feeling his emotions helps keep him human”

“A lesson we could learn from. Honesty is the best policy”

Keith could tell the second half of Coran’s words were directed at Kolivan. Now his anger was fading, he had to admit he was pretty tired. But he couldn’t rest with Pidge and Hunk being detained...

“Are you sure Pidge and Hunk will be okay? Should we get Matt to stay with them? Lance will want someone with them...”

“You seem to care about Lance. Is there something there that we should be made aware of? From what I understand he is still under a 4 month probationary period. Of course allowing humans to discover his identity may complicate things. I expected more”

Kolivan had no right trying to pry again

“The discovery was due to cleansing magic. Not intentional on his behalf and that you’re insinuating something else is completely unacceptable. You haven’t the right to be prying into the dating lives of my employees”

Keith’s stomach dropped like he’d missed the bottom step. Coran had dobbed them into Kolivan. Krolia was tight with Kolivan. They’re worked together for decades now... His mother had time for Kolivan, but not for him. Kolivan was a hard man to get a read on. He didn’t personally train recruits, instead leading his own small faction. Keith could count maybe 6 times he’d been in the same room as the man with less than a dozen people there also. He wasn’t quite the right fit for Kolivan’s group, not when he had issues and distrust anyone other than Shiro. Kolivan’s way of training was leave it all behind, including their lives if the hunt called for it. Shiro was worried Keith’s anger would lead to just that. He’d nearly got himself killed, and Shiro had flipped his lid over it.

“I see. Perhaps it is best Keith does leave us for now. The Blades will be handling matters related to Honerva and Zarkon”

“Frosting Coran out is like chopping off your own leg. Coran knows this city and not to use his knowledge is stupid. I’ll take my chances with him”

He’d never talked to Kolivan this way. Kolivan’s barely disguised chuckle made him feel like a dumb punk. Why was it no one took him seriously, apart from Lance and maybe Shiro when he wasn’t being overprotective. Storming out the conference room only solidified the feeling, but it wasn’t the first time he’d stormed off.

[g--r-e--e-n]

On a Peaceful Night.

It was quiet.

Some might describe it as overly quiet, overwhelming silence raising upon both of you like a dusty blanket.

For you, however, it was a pleasant situation: Relaxing, perhaps even intimate.

It's not easy to get some peace and quiet here in the House of Lamentation. In all fairness, not even in the Devildom as a whole, with all those demons and their evil deeds.

But right were you were, the closest thing to a disturbance would be the distant noise of little raindrops throwing themselves at the window, looking for the warmth withing the bedroom. It was peaceful, and it was simply amazing.

You ran your fingers slowly and lazily along Lucifer's hair, feeling his warmth climbing up your arm. His heavy and tranquil breathing serenaded you, tempting you to accompany him in his sleep.

A soft yawn escaped from your lips, your lids feeling heavier by every minute passing. You tried your best to hold onto the world of the living, not wanting to lose the rare view in front of you:

The first-born, so almighty and proud, always drowning in paperwork, rarely allowed himself to seem weak. To seem as human as a demon can get.

He had tried to murder you, and at some point you had thought that he might actually achieve it. But soon you had managed to see his true nature underneath all those threats and smug smiles, alcohol always helping a bit to unveil the dork hidden behind the suit, hugging everything within a five feet radius and smiling like a child on Christmas.

You had seen how he cared ever so much about his brothers. How, despite his sharp tongue and questionable actions, he loved to brag about his cute little Mammon. How he worked himself to exhaustion so that they could keep on having a normal life. So that his beloved sister had a second chance.

Perhaps it was because he was so used to taking care of them that he forgot how to take care about himself.

But now you were there to spoil him a little bit.

Sure, you were nothing more than an exchange student. Another burden to his elongated list.

However, at times like this you dared to dream of being special. He was laying there, guard down. Almost fragile, purring softly under the soft caressing, lips barely apart, soft, inviting.

You came to let him now diner was ready, but you found this peaceful scenario and before you realized it you were completely hooked on it.

You had to shallow and look somewhere else. A part of you wanted to run back to your room to sleep once and for all. Another seemed glued to the black haired beauty and his warm breath.

I mean, chances are you'd disrupt his sleep by moving around, alright?

Yes, that's it. Not that you are deeply in love with Lucifer himself, fallen angel, biblical myth brought to life.

God, would you ever be able to enter a church again?

You soon realized the demon's eyebrows slightly coming together, his nose slowly wrinkling as he mumbled something you couldn't quite understand.

It was clear that he was having a bad dream, and you suddenly panicked. What should you do? Wake him up, knowing how we would go weeks without sleeping? Knowing how much he needed it? Or let him go through the pain, the guilt, the fear?

You sighted, slowly surrounding his figure with your own arms, pressing him ever so slightly to your chest, hoping to comfort him with your warmth.

It must've worked, as he slightly moved himself to fit more comfortably withing your embrace, you slowly and carefully shifting to find a position your back wouldn't regret tomorrow, a hard task for someone trying to cuddle over a desk filled with paperwork.

When you finally found yourself comfortable, you couldn't help but slightly blush at how close his face was, how his hair, colored like the void itself, tickled you ever so softly.

A smile crept up your lips and you were ready to sleep, trying your best to ignore what may just happen tomorrow morning, when he wakes up. Or what may happen when Mammon doesn't find you in the room that at this point you two might as well share. Or when Levi realizes you're not there to binge his new series. God, Asmo would probably know the moment you skip your beauty routine. Belphie and Satan might as well disown you. And poor Beel probably is concerned knowing you skipped dinner.

At which point did you adopt so many children? You lowly chuckle. It might be tiring but, in all fairness, it feels warm. You're now a part of this big, perhaps disfuncional family

"You know, at least I'm glad to see you are having a good time with this situation."

His voice, raspy showing how he just woke up, with that soft, almost alluring and dangerous tone to it, shocked you enough to let him go immediately, mumbling some senseless apologies you yourself couldn't understand.

At least his soft smile and gentle gaze didn't seem too threatening, and he barely moved to sit once again before his desk. Magnificent like an ivory statue.

As elegant as ever, he cleaned his throat, breaking the illusion and returning you to the real world, standing still now, barely away from the desk. You could guess the soft reddening of his pale cheeks, despite his best intent of seeming calm.

"You should go to your bedroom, it's already way past the curfew." He said softly, a hint of care barely sticking it's head from his harsh tone. Something seemed off with his words, as if he himself didn't quite believe it. As if that was something he didn't mean to say, but he couldn't help himself.

But what could he do? Beg for you to stay, throwing his pride aside?

It would be different if it were to do something, anything really. Lucifer loved his excuses, loved to hide himself behind hid grin. He's prideful, enough to be rather open around some of his feelings. But asking you bluntly to sleep like a child holding onto you?

It wasn't something passionate that could make him look like Romeo. It wasn't something interesting to look like some sort of book character. And therefore, his sleep deprived brain doesn't seem to be able to handle it.

As much as he wants you to stay, the words keep being stuck on his throat, his eyes silently pleading for your mercy, while you didn't seem to quite understand his hesitation and, barely throwing more apologies into the air, you were already about to rushingly disappear into the doorframe.

Both of you silently damned yourselves, feeling like fools dancing around your true intentions. One step and you were gone. One step and this night could disappear, as if it had never happened. Luckily, one of you seemed to be slowly getting himself together.

His hand, long and slender, soon reached you, his calm and cool smile making your heart flutter ever so slightly, your blushed cheeks giving him back some of his lost confidence.

"Or perhaps you were looking forward to staying here?"

You could see the plead hidden behind his question, voiced like some sort of soften order, some sweet mock at your heart rate. A second or two passed by, the cold breeze humming against the window, the storm outside worsening, making your body crave any sort of warmth, including the slight one covering Lucifer.

His hair was slightly messy from his little nap, framing his handsome face like the most refined of artworks, his vermillion eyes shining through the air like two rubies fixed on you, and only you.

Were you still sleeping? Was this all a dream? It must have been, for such beauty and peace outshined the moon itself.

Without muttering a single word, you turned around and hurried a tight hug that only seemed to pleasently surprise him for some seconds before he gladly returned your attention, a soft chuckle brushing against your neck.

You had found heaven on hell. Happiness within the most bizarre of situations.

His hands slowly caressed your lower back, before parting ever so slightly, your body still lingering in his tender embrace, a fugitive whine calling him back, feeling as if you were lacking a part of yourself, a warmth you were always meant to have.

"Let's take this to bed, shall we? It has been a long day, we could use some rest." He whispered in the softest of tones, indulging you with it's lovesick aftertaste.

You almost absent mindedly nod, allowing his arm to stay there as you both walked to bed, feeling like royalty next to this upright demon.

Soon enough you were lying next to him, head buried in his chest, comforting each other, his warn breath unveiling his silent trust. Nothing else to be done, for tonight was a night of comfort, a calm night to forget any mischief, to silently scream your trust at each other without making anything that could make the situation awkard in the slightest, much to Asmo's dismay, who may or not have been heavily involved in this seemingly accidental occurrence.

Sleep had soon claimed you, and you were about to fully give in to the dark and sweet relief when you felt a soft kiss against the top of your head that sent your heart flying to a different world, fingers sleepily running through your hair as in revenge for your past actions, a "thank you" that Lucifer did not need to mutter.

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Some Day One Day (Gwilym Lee x Reader)

Part 13 of The Queen Repertoire

WARNINGS: Insinuations of suicide and depression, moderate violence (bullying and abuse)

Notes: I may or may not have realized there was a lack of BORHAP boys in my works thus far and have vowed to make more with them. Starting with this piece of angst and fluff sprinkled with smut. Enjoy! 

Some day one day I will marry a prince.

That's what I used to tell myself, back when it was okay to dream of fairy tales. As I got older though that silly fantasy faded and in its place was something only I knew to be real.

Some day one day I hope to be alive.

I wasn't the happiest girl at my secondary school. No, that would be my older sister, Y/OS/ N. She was popular, and easily loved. She had a massive group of friends and lads wanting her to be theirs. One of said friends, whom she had fancied, was a lad named Gwilym.

Gwilym was different. Always the one in the crowd that looked like he didn't wish to be there. His eyes would wander as though lost in a daydream. He was also strikingly beautiful. Inside and out.

I only knew him from afar, and only managed an occasional hello before Y/OS/N would take over the conversation.

One day, my emotionally lowest day, Gwil and some of the other kids from school came over to hang with Y/OS/N. I was sixteen while they were seventeen. Earlier that day at school during lunch hour the group had caught Gwil zoning out. I know because I could hear them from table by the window. Apparently this time his eyes were set on me. Y/OS/N noticed this and became irate.

Later that day she cornered me in the girls lavatory and took scissors to my Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair; cutting it all off. “Gwil can't love you if you look like a boy now can he?”

“And you really think he'll love you for looking like a hag?” I blurted out through my tears. To this she drew her hand and slapped me across the face.

I went home early and mum took care of the rest of my hair to make it even, and I wound up with a pixie cut. I went into my room soon after, dug out a beanie, and  placed it on my head covering the damage. I suddenly heard the crowd of people come in.

Now I sat on my bed, chin on my knees, as mum yelled at Y/OS/N grounding her for what she did. She then told everyone to go home but unbeknownst to her Gwil had slipped passed them.

I didn't even know he'd come until he knocked at my door. “Y/N?”

“Gwil?”

“Yeah, um, may I come in?” I wiped the tears from my eyes and muttered okay. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

“Hello,” I muttered. He came over and sat down across from me on my bed.

“I heard what happened...it's disgusting of her,” he said sounding irate at my sister. “Why would she even think to...and to you of all people... what could you have possibly done to her to deserve such cruelty?”

I looked down. “I didn't do anything...I think it's mostly what you did that set her off.”

“What is it exactly did I do?”

I looked back up at him. “You looked at me.”

He sighed as the memory came back to him.

“She completely fancies you,” I said. “So much so I became a threat to her. I don't know why though...it's not like you―.”

He cut me off with his mouth. It sent a shock down my spine, but I couldn't deny how magical it felt.

After a while he pulled back and gasped at something over my shoulder. I look over and realized I'd left my bottle of antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and Naproxin (for my headache) out on my bedside table along side a letter addressed to my mum.

“Does it really surprise you?” I asked in a whisper. “That I would want to use them all at once? I'm exhausted Gwilym. Exhausted and I just want it all to stop. I want the pain to stop.”

“And it will, but not like this,” he said. He reached up and gently lifted the beanie off my head. He placed it aside and wiped away my tears with his fingers, taking my face in his hands. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much my whole being has been aching to be with you. I fell in love with you a long time ago.”

“But why me?” I asked.

“Because of the Blue Moon Night,” he said. Blue Moon Night was the title I gave to an old painting I made. It was a night time setting. Two figures sat beneath a giant tree, silhouetted by the light of the full moon. It was framed and hung up on the wall by my bedroom door. It was the only painting I couldn't give away or sell since it was my proudest accomplishment and I never wanted to lose it. I was thirteen when I made it and I remember finding Gwil had been watching me while I worked on the finishing touches. “Because when I saw it, and saw you, a part of me wanted to be in it. I saw us staring at the moon, and spending an endless amount of time together far easier than I could see my own future. It was then I knew I wanted you, and that I wouldn't ever feel like that with anyone else.”

I started crying again, and melted into him as he wrapped his arms around me After a while I sniffed back tears and pecked him on the cheek, trailing down until I reached his lips. We kissed as though we had forever. My hands explored him and his explored me, until, eventually mine started working on the buttons of his top.

After taking care of the last one I pushed the fabric off his shoulders. Gwil pulled back and tossed the fabric aside. I then leaned in and pressed my lips to the skin above his heart. I knew then it was something that would always be mine. The idea made my heart beat like mad. I pulled back and shrugged out of my top.

I had never been like this with anyone, so I was pretty nervous throughout...That is until Gwil was finally on top of me, bare naked, with his tip ghosting my entrance. My body trembled at the feeling, which worried Gwil.

“Are you okay?” I nodded, took a deep breath, and brought my mouth to his. A couple of kisses later he pushed himself in. I gasped and clung to him. He didn't hurt me though. Instead he gave us a moment to get used to the feeling of one another. Once we realized how brilliant we felt to each other he began to move.

I swear it's as if God had made us to be perfect for one another. Our bodies moved together in a perfect harmony I never knew was possible. Gwil kissed me, and placed his hand in mine giving it a squeeze as a wave of passion came over us.

It hit me first. I bit back a moan as my body tensed up tightening around him. Gwil followed his body trembling, a slightly loud moan escaping his lips, as he filled me with his warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered breathless.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

We laid there for the rest of the afternoon, just holding each other.

“How come you've never said anything before?” I asked. “I mean, for me it was obvious why...but you?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I guess I was just scared. I mean...how was I supposed to go on if...if it turned out differently?” I sighed and pecked him on the neck. I couldn't help but think how silly that fear sounded but... I figured every one must have that fear then. And in that moment the words to one of my favorite songs came into mind.

You never heard my song before the music was too loud But now i think you hear me well for now we both know how No star can light our way in this cloud of dark and fear But some day, one day...

“What's that?” Gwil asked. It was then I realized I'd been singing the words aloud.

“It's one of my favorite songs,” I said. “It's actually one of the things that's kept me going these last few years.”

“It's beautiful but rather sad don't you think?” he asked.

“That's because those were just the starting words,” I said looking up at him. “But it gets better.”

He leaned in and kissed me on my forehead just as Y/OS/N barged into my room. “Hey dumb-fuck mum says dinner's―WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Christ can't you bloody knock?!” I shrieked at her bringing the blanket up to cover us both. Gwil was already moving to get his boxers on though.

“Honestly you two I have just about had enough of―OH MY GOD!” Mum said as she gawked at us from behind Y/OS/N.

“MUM PLEASE!” I damned near shouted.

She then pulled Y/OS/N out and closed the door.

Gwil and I both got dressed, and laughing made our way downstairs.  

“I'm sorry you had to see that Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said to my mum before pecking me on the mouth and leaving for the night.

I turned to my mum and sighed. “How long am I grounded for?”

“We're you safe?” she asked. My face felt almost burning with embarrassment, but I nodded still. “In that case what is there to be grounded for?”

“WHAT?!” Y/OS/N shrieked. Mum then told her it was her night to do dishes after dinner.

The next day at school energy in the lunch hour shifted at her table. When Gwil stepped into the canteen her whole table went silent. Y/OS/N glared at me, and looked at him with whatever hope she had left. That hope was dashed, however, when Gwil came and sat with me, greeting me with a kiss.

Years later we had completely different lives. We married two years after leaving secondary school, and got our own flat. Y/OS/N hadn't been to the wedding and had actually cut ties with my family and I. Claimed she was tired of being treated so 'cruelly'.

Soon after we married Gwil got into acting, while I continued to paint and sell my work (with the occasional piece I simply can't give up). Life was brilliant.

Gwil wound up getting a big part on one of my favorite series, a detective series known as Midsomer Murders. I was happy for him but he seemed nervous about it. Mostly because it required him to travel quite a bit of distance across the country.

“What am supposed to do without you?” he asked. “Or you without me?”

“Gwil,” I sighed. “I promise you I'm going to be alright.” It was night time and we were sat by our fireplace. “You don't have to be like this.”

He sighed. “I'm sorry, love. It's just I remember how fragile you used to be, and I see and love how strong you've been these passed few years.”

“You make me sound like a damsel,” I frowned.

“That didn't quite come out right,” Gwil cringed. “What I'm trying to say is I was fragile too. Almost to the point of breaking but then we came together, and I have been a stronger and better man because of it. How am I supposed to keep that up if your not there?”

“It's easy Gwil,” I said. “You just have to remember what you're coming home to. This house, this life, me...” I grabbed his hand and placed it on my stomach. “And them.”

He looked at me wide eyed. “Oh my God...” he cried. “Oh my God, Y/N,” he smothered me in kisses, even placing one on my belly. “Hello little one. I love you so much already, and am so so excited to be your daddy.”

We then cuddled by the fire for another few minutes, and once again my favorite song came to mind.

Funny how the pages turn and hold us in between A misty castle waits for you and you shall be a queen Today the cloud it hangs over us and all is grey But some day, one day...

“What's that? Another favorite song?” Gwil asked.

“Actually it's the same one,” I said. “I told, Gwil, it only get's better.”

A few months later I gave birth to a baby girl. The first few months were hard but we persevered, and pushed on knowing it was worth it.

Our careers continued and our child continued to grow. I fell pregnant again and again, eventually adding a boy and another girl.  Our family became our everything and life was beautiful.

Eventually Gwil got another big role in an equally big film. Bohemian Rhapsody not only changed his life but changed mine as well. One day the kids and I decided to surprise him on set.

“Alright go to daddy,” I said letting my littlest go as soon as we spotted Gwil on the stage.

“Oh my god you are the cutest little thing,” Joe said as she stepped up to her daddy who turned around at the remark.

“Princess what..?” he said scooping her up before he looked up and saw us all. I approached him and greeted him with a kiss. “What are you all doing here?”

“We missed you,” I said. “Besides I wanted the kids to meet their new uncles and Granddad.”

“Oh well,” he turned to the other three lads. “Darling, this is Joe, Ben, and Rami. Everyone, this is my wife Y/N and our babies.”

It's amazing how three little kids could turn three grown men into butter. Joe, Ben, and Rami were practically melting at the sight.

“It's lovely to meet you all,” I said. “Gwil has told me so much about you.”

“You're not talking sh-stuff are you?” Joe said.

“Of course not,” Gwil said rolling his eyes.

“Now isn't this a lovely sight,” said a gentle voice coming up from behind the three young men. It belonged to a tall gray haired man who had me almost losing my mind.

“Brian, this my wife, Y/N and our kids,” Gwil introduced us.

“It is so amazing to meet you sir,” I said holding my hand out for him to shake. He took it and brought it to his lips.

“The pleasure's all mine, dear,” he said.

“BRIAN!” Gwil gawked at him.

“What? It's only fair since you've been flirting with Anita when she's here,” he said.

“Yeah but that was a sort of flirting by proxy,” he argued. “I was dressed head-to-toe in an original Brian May outfit and was donning the signature curls after all.”

“Fair point, son.”

“Anyway I've been a fan of yours for years,” I said. “I even sing your music to Gwil every now and then.”

“You do?” Gwil asked.

“Which song if you don't mind my asking?” Brian asked.

“Some Day One Day,” I said. Gwil smiled in realization.

“The song that brought us together,” he said.

“It's one of my favorites,” I told Brian. “It helped me through a lot, and honestly...these three wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you and your music.”

“I am beyond pleased to hear that,” Brian said. “And I know Freddie would be too.”

Later that night the three lads, and Lucy came around our house for a drink and a laugh. We'd invited Brian, Roger, and Adam too but they had other business needing tending to.

Our party went out into the backyard where Joe taught our oldest how to have fun with sparklers. As my two oldest kids ran around with their uncles and auntie Gwil and I stood under the tree and watched them as they smiled and played.

I looked up for a moment and realized the moon was full that night. Like my heart.

“Gwil,” I said.

“Hm?” He looked down at me.

“It's a blue moon night,” I said motioning up at the sky. Gwil looked up and laughed. “Looks like you got what you wanted.”

“Well not entirely,” Gwil said looking down at me. I looked up at him confused. “You've never finished that song.”

I laughed and cuddled into him.

When i was you and you were me and we were very young Together took us nearly there the rest may not be sung So still the cloud it hangs over us and we're alone But some day, one day... We'll come home

Taglist: @okaykathryn​ @fairestkillerqueenofall​ @onceuponadetectivedemigod​ @boherahpsody​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @ihatethespacebars​ @madsthegroupie​ @freddie-bulsara-queen​ @rose-de-jaune​ @xxkellsvixen19xx​ @valeriecarolinaw​ @5sos-wdw​ @hearttshapeddboxx​ @spicyarreagaa​ @fluffffffffffff​ @pleasingiswhatweaimfor​ @hatemylifesofuckingmuch​ @jollyavacado​ @painandpleasure86​ @haileynicoleseavey17​ @queenlover1997​ @rrogerrz​ @peachyywine​ @mrsmazzello​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @zwiezraczek​ @night-writer-writer​ @theborhapboysawakenedmywhatever​ @tinywildeace​

[countessrivers]

I’ve got to stop reading comments on basically any Jim fic, because it’s inevitably just people (the author often included) talking about how much they actually hate Jim and how he’s an irredeemable piece of shit who is way worse than all the actual murderers and abusers who feel 0 guilt over the people they hurt, because it just bums me out.

(Like, it’s wild to me that people equate Jim doing the occasional morally questionable thing, literally always in the service of protecting people/the city, and then afterwards feeling bad and conflicted about it, even as he tries to push on and make something good of it, with the kinds of people who murder dozens with no remorse, or commit cannibalism, or hold the city to ransom, or send serial killers after those that cross them, or manipulate and try to kill children, or abuse literally every single one of their romantic partners, all for their own personal gain. Fucking. Wild.)

Totally not word vomit:

Like, the stuff with Sofia in S4 was definitely a bad idea, one stemming from how desperate Jim is to help the city, how alone he feels, and Sofia’s manipulation is made that much easier by how depressed and hurt Jim is at that point. But he had good intentions - the reason was always about helping the people being victimised by the licences, and ensuring that the GCPD and the other systems within the city were doing their damn jobs and supporting/protecting the citizens. 

Jim didn’t know the full extent of what Sofia was up to. He thought they were partners, he trusted her, which was obviously a mistake, but just because we as the audience knows that in hindsight. Plus, that’s what Jim does, he trusts people, believes them when they say they have good intentions, wants them to be better, encourages and pushes them to be better. All he knew was that she’d opened an orphanage and was integrating herself with Oswald in order to help take down the Pax Penguina. For all that people claim he’s thinking with his dick, or that he slept his way to the Captaincy, Jim never asked for the promotion, is uncomfortable, if not disgusted by the whole thing (not to mention she only did it so she’d be able to hurt him later) and he decided to stop sleeping with her altogether once it happened, having realised that she was manipulating him. He cuts her off completely once it all comes out - even with the blackmail and the threat of exposure he tells her no, refuses to help her, or be with her, for which she punishes him. Sofia tried to control the GCPD via Jim the way Oswald did with Harvey, but he didn’t let her. The first thing he did upon becoming Captain was to pull the GCPD back in line and get them out from under Oswald’s thumb.

Because, real talk, while Harvey had his reasons, understandable reasons at that, he fucked up too. He failed in his duty as Captain. He’d done an excellent job before, but come season 4, he made major, consequential mistakes that arguably made him unfit to lead any longer. He took bribes, he let criminals walk free and serious crimes go uninvestigated, he failed to send anyone to Arkham during Crane’s attack, which was a major failure of duty - it was a police matter, lives were in danger, and as Captain, Harvey should have responded, ordered officers to go, regardless of what Oswald wanted, because that’s his job, because they’d been asked to help, and because he didn’t, Jim, the staff, the inmates, and even civilians had there been a breakout, could have easily been hurt, if not killed. He brushed off the assault of an officer within their own precinct by other cops, and his on-the-job judgement calls and refusal to listen/trust his partner led to multiple officers being injured.

The whole thing is tragic and the consequences damage Jim and Harvey’s relationship. It takes time to mend that relationship, and it changes how Jim sees things a little (I mean it basically makes him that bit more hopeless, which sucks, but he still doesn’t give up, and he kind of needs to be in that place for him to welcome Batman), but Jim still wasn’t wrong to take command, no matter how it came about. No one cares more about protecting Gotham than Jim, and as soon as he had that power, he started working to make things better. He took a shitty situation that he didn’t ask for, and tried to do some good with it.

Another thing that confuses me is how Jim is so often painted for refusing Oswald’s party invitation, because he has a damn good reason - he’s not just doing it to be mean to poor innocent Oswald. Because aside from an understandable desire not to get overly close with a known criminal, the invitation comes on the heels of the mess with Flass, where Jim went to Oswald for help, actively trying to keep it transactional (like a regular cop and CI) and clearly uncomfortable with the possibility of getting too close, and got burned. Oswald is the one who made it personal, who pushed the “friendship” angle, and at Jim’s insistence, promised that no one will get hurt. But he lied, straight up lied to Jim - an innocent woman was tortured, a family threatened, for way more than Jim ever asked for - and Jim found out. He’s horrified by what happened, probably angry at himself for trusting Oswald’s word, and so he tries to push him away, cut off contact. Even when he later goes to Oswald for help once again, he’s careful to keep it all business, offering a favour in order to keep that distance, and setting stricter parameters on what Oswald can do, in order to prevent a repeat of last time (as far as he’s aware).

Plus, Oswald isn’t the fragile wilting flower he’s so often portrayed as in fandom. In that scene he straight up gets threatening when Jim rejects him. Oh, he genuinely wants Jim there, gives him the biggest heart eyes on the regular, but in that moment, he lets his mask drop, lets Jim see it, issues a thinly veiled warning to Jim not to upset him, not to push him away, or he’ll regret it. And by the look on Jim’s face after, he clearly picks up on it. (Like, come the beginning of season 2, Oswald’s manipulating Jim into a situation where he knows he’ll have to kill to protect his own life, and in doing so, put himself under Oswald’s control. Oswald plans that, admits as much straight to Harvey.) 

Jim and Oswald’s relationship isn’t as one sided as people like to claim (usually as they trash Jim). From the get go Jim tries to keep his distance (and honestly, how can you blame him?) but he is always trying to keep it professional and business-like. He’s the one who offers up favours in exchange for favours, and he’s willing to do them, willing to offer Oswald something in exchange for his help. He just has limits to what his conscience will allow, what his ideals and empathy will allow, and for most of season 1, Oswald is still pushing the “friend” angle, which, again, Jim doesn’t want, doesn’t want to let himself want, for all that they share a connection, particularly the more he discovers just how dangerous Oswald is.

Also, Jim is a bad partner? Sure he has some communication issues, is self-destructive, his job will usually always come first, and he should probably see a therapist, but I really think that should be the other way around. Various kinds of abusive behaviour from 3/4 romantic partners, long before any eventual breakups, that escalated majorly into outright murder attempts? Yeah, Jim’s not the problem here.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 10: Smoke and Mirrors

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Taylor and Vera reunite just in time for a stand-off between hands, guns, and a little too much screaming. He’s really starting to think he’s not cut out for this ‘main character’ gig.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Taylor recognizes the restaurant when a waiter exits the kitchen with a large silver cart laden with all the materials for their specialty flaming bananas foster. Peeks as best he can, standing on the tips of his toes, to see the bustling front of the gilded establishment before one of Smoke’s henchmen catches him looking and shoves him forward with a grunt of warning.

As if he wasn’t seriously dejected at the fact that he’s already having to miss out on the promised onion rings.

“What — is Smoke gonna make us clean dishes as punishment?” Cal sneers. The comment earns him a smack to the back of the head but even with a werewolf growling in his face the other suited guard doesn’t even blink.

Four men in mobster-movie suits ushering five unusual-looking characters around the back walls of the five star restaurant should raise more than a few alarms but you wouldn’t know it based on the staff’s reactions.

How they purposefully look away and give their entourage a wide berth; some even moving aside to take the long way around to where they need to go.

If they were actually being held captive and against their will it wouldn’t be any use to try and beg for help. Every waiter, cook, and busser knows to keep their attentions on their jobs. Whether they’re bribed or threatened into silence is the only question but ends in the same answer.

They’re on their own.

The journey ends in a large chrome door. One of the guards reaches out but jumps back as a broad-shouldered woman exits with a wooden crate of vegetables.

Not a word passes between them. Part of the deal no doubt.

He holds the industrial freezer door open and jerks his head. “In.”

“Yeah… not gonna happen.” Ryder gives them a look of ‘really, like we’re that stupid’ but then again they did all agree to join Cadence for his not-so-friendly meeting with Lady Smoke… so they very well may be.

Well; no. Cadence agreed — which automatically implied Katherine would join him. And the startling revelation of Lady Smoke’s real name meant that Taylor was either going to go at their side or find a way to sneak in on his own — this was just easier and less likely to cause injury.

And where Taylor goes Ryder is never far behind. Cal, too, apparently.

Not that the Shift trio didn’t try to tag along — but they already looked like an ambush waiting to happen. Probably best not to actually be one.

“Funny you think you still got a choice.” But before Ryder can call his cocky bluff one of the armed men whips out his gun and smashes it into the Nighthunter’s shoulder without warning or hesitation.

Taylor throws away any consideration that those around them might be getting paid off. Only fear would keep any decent person from helping the way Ryder cries out and buckles to his knees.

His assailant stows away his gun almost too slowly — like he’s ready to use it again; but just ready but eager. “Get in the fuckin’ freezer. Or else.”

If he felt useless before Taylor’s glad he’s suddenly too cold to dwell on how he feels now.

He blindly grabs for the nearest thing — a potato of all things — and holds it against Nik’s throbbing injury while helping him up.

“Are you okay?”

“Aw, Rook, I didn’t know you cared.” teases Ryder; probably to hide the wince in his smile.

“Not funny.”

“Admit it; a little funny.”

The three mortals are already shivering when two of the guards step inside with them. The click of the freezer door locking them inside definitely doesn’t help matters.

“Step back —” says the apparent leader, actually shoves Katherine into Cadence who holds her close and looks ready to add ‘asshole bodyguard’ to the restaurant specials for the night, “— I said back!”

So they press themselves against the shelving on the walls and watch — with some interest, but mostly spite and murderous intent — as he reaches behind hanging garlands of herbs and grabs for something blindly.

With a metallic thunk the back wall — no, the back hidden fucking door — loosens enough to be pushed forward and open. Revealing a set of rickety and definitely code-violating wooden steps that lead down into a no-less frigid abyss.

Before the guard has the chance to bark another order Cadence steps forward with hands raised. “Let me guess; in?”

The guard’s upper lip curls. But all it takes is a flash of the vampire’s true face for him to back off and mutter under his frosty breath.

Down, down they go one at a time with their new friends at their backs. The only consolation being, what, that it’s slightly less cold? Sure he can’t see his breath anymore but that doesn’t mean he’s not already a Taylor-sicle.

Cal arrives at the bottom first; opens the door to some kind of back office. Like a security room, only… underground.

A similarly-suited woman looks up from a row of fuzzy monitors as they start to crowd inside. It’s not a space meant for this many bodies especially when one of them is a broad-shouldered wolf and the other is a vampire too-damn tall. Judging by the abandoned snack wrappers and the digital solitaire game on her screen this isn’t a post that ends up with many guests.

She leaps to her feet; chair rocketing backwards on rickety wheels to collide with a small space heater loudly. But after catching sight of their captors before she can reach for her holstered weapon — she relaxes.

“The hell, man,” she yanks her chair away from Cal’s mere vicinity. Might be in the wrong business if that’s how she reacts to a wolf, but it’s not his place to comment. “You were only supposed to bring the fighter.”

He pushes between Ryder and Taylor — and Taylor swears he hears something like “you try arguing with these crazy bastards” under the man’s breath — to the only other door at the far end of the post.

“Fuck off.”

“Hope for your sake she’s in a mood for company.”

“I said fuck off.”

Good to know witty workplace banter applies to all occupations; even those of the hired henchman variety.

“Now listen here,” it takes him a second to realize he’s talking to them, now; and beyond monosyllabic orders — it’s a Mardi Gras miracle, “none of you are guests here. So don’t touch nothin’, don’t even look at nothin’. One toe outta line and it won’t end pretty for you.”

He looks pointedly at Cadence then. “No wards to protect you now, bloodsucker.”

But if he hoped to instill some kind of fear he’ll have to try a bit harder. Afraid seems to be the last thing he is — especially when he casually, almost coyly tucks his hair behind his ears and looks at the mortal man over the top of his glasses.

“None to protect you, either.”

And hopefully those threats won’t really be held up because the moment the door opens to a luxurious — and warm, thank the heavens warm — casino floor Taylor looks at every single thing he can. Blatant disregard; living life on the edge.

But who could blame him?

It’s not the same glitz and glamor of Persephone’s main atrium but that doesn’t make the underground treasure any less glittering. Lady Smoke’s Den is swathed in rich violet velvets and polished golden trim; every gemstone in inky black bright enough to catch the reflection of whatever passes nearby.

From the black iron of the gambling tables to the uniform designs on the back of each deck of cards in play there’s no denying the wealth it takes to wind up down here. Where the underbelly of Persephone was filled with rusted metal and bloodstained concrete this place undoubtedly hosts the cream of the crop.

Whether that specific crop is of the poisonous variety, though? Well Ryder is still using a semi-frozen potato as an ice pack so that pretty much says all that needs to be said.

He came here to meet Lady Smoke — without a doubt in his mind she must be some relative of Vera; even in New Orleans their family name is too unique; too ethereal.

But by some twisted hand of fate he doesn’t even have to go that far. Not when he recognizes a sleek pair of black satin gloves nursing a cocktail at the black diamond-encrusted bar across the room.

Two steps forward but someone yanks him still by the back of his collar. Turns to see Cal’s eyebrows raised in incredulity.

“Just ‘cause this place doesn’t look as dangerous as the fights doesn’t mean it ain’t, Taylor,” but his hard, stern tone quickly melts into just plain concern, “come on — you know better than to wander ‘round a place like this.”

“I — I’m not.” Taylor keeps looking back to the bar; keeps his eyes on Vera’s turned back. Refuses to have a repeat of last night at Persephone’s — refuses to let her slip through his fingers again like… like smoke.

“Then what the hell’re you doin’ Rook?” Ryder joins in but it’s hard to take him seriously with his spud pack. Even he looks at it like it offends him — makes quick work of disposing it on a passing silver tray of empty champagne flutes. “You asked me to follow ya on blind faith but the more I’m doin’ that the closer an’ closer I’m gettin’ to taking an injury I ain’t comin’ back from.

“So no more wandering off — not until you come clean about what you and Lady Smoke have in common.”

It’s been fifteen whole seconds and he’s terrified he’s lost her. Or maybe that she was never there to begin with. But even with Ryder snapping his fingers in Taylor’s face to draw back his attention he risks a look — exhales in audible relief when he catches her face in profile as she smiles and makes casual, inaudible conversation with the bartender.

“Her.”

In a reversal of fortune — and while Nik looks up to find just who he’s talking about — Taylor pulls at the side of the leather coat and digs around for the Nighthunter’s phone. “Hey — what — watch the coat!” But he steps just out of arms’ reach protests aside.

Luckily Cal’s on his side; stops Ryder from yanking back what’s his as Taylor quickly dials and holds the phone up to his ear; turns to watch intently as the metallic dialing starts chiming.

Across the floor decked in a rug more expensive than his theater company’s entire yearly budget the tiny digital first keys of the AME theme begin playing. Loud enough to draw an unimpressed frown from the bartender and a look of horrible realization from Vera.

The three men watch as she fumbles around; digs through the inside pockets of her black leather blazer. She procures Taylor’s phone from the left side and looks at the screen of dancing lights like she’s never seen such a miraculous and terrible device before.

Taylor ends the call by flipping the phone closed with a little too much force. At the bartop, Vera’s relief is short lived as the music ends and the screen goes dark. But the shudder that rolls down her spine is large and all-consuming. Makes her look around practically petrified when her gaze finds home on Taylor and his definitely not impressed frown.

“So that’s the girl who has your phone, huh.” Ryder doesn’t have to say it; they both know. She was there. She was there that night, and she ran away, and whether or not the Vera he saw in Persephone’s betting crowd was real she’s very much real here and now.

“What’re the odds?” Cal gives a surprised little laugh. But it’s not his fault; he doesn’t know the whole story.

Taylor, though — he’s starting to think nothing in this town is ever by chance anymore.

“Really, really likely.”

And it’s good to feel like he has support as he marches straight the-fuck up with a werewolf and a Nighthunter at his back.

Where were Cade and Katherine? Okay — okay — one problem at a time.

Only now what’s he supposed to do? Because he kind of wants to slap her — but that isn’t happening. One of those things that’s supposed to stay in the back of the mind and no further.

He could shout; make a scene. But that would make all their pushing and shoving and freezer-standing for nothing. And eventually they will find Cadence and help him out. So… no to that, too.

And it’s all so complicated and hard and makes his stomach twist and turn so finally Taylor just thinks fuck it and says the first thing that comes to mind. Turns out to be something a little more heavy than he’d anticipated but no less important.

“You knew about all this,” he jabs his finger into her shoulder, “about… about everything —”

“Tay, I didn’t —”

“And even if you didn’t know exactly what was happening you had some frickin’ idea.” Now that Vera doesn’t argue against — though she’s only barely biting her tongue and he can see it.

“You did; you had more pieces of the puzzle than us. And knowing that you… you let Krissy and I jump over that wall and to our own damn deaths.”

There’s a startled noise from Cal but that’s all. Taylor can’t quite care in the presence of all the frustration building up; bubbling over.

There’s been a nagging voice in his subconscious threatening him not to cry but Vera’s choked out words make that impossible.

“Is — Is Cookie dead, then?”

Taylor finds himself torn between wiping the tears before they can fall down her cheeks and telling her every. gruesome. detail just to make her cry harder.

“No —” — Vera claps her silken palms over her mouth to stifle a soft sob — “— no she’s not dead. Not yet.”

But she is in a coma; or probably worse. She’s in a strange hospital room in a strange city and she’s suffering untold horrors from that awful grotesque creature’s wicked touch and her two best friends in the entire world are in the same city and still haven’t gone to see her.

They are officially the worst people in this world and the other, preternatural world that borders theirs on the head of a pin.

“I’ll take my phone back now.”

She offers it like an olive branch; maybe he gets a little satisfaction from yanking it from her and shoving it in his jeans.

Then, because he’s mad but he’s not cruel; “I’m glad you’re safe Vera, really.” He opens his arms slightly but waits for her permission for an embrace — remembers what Kristin had said about Vera liking her personal space.

Now though he’s not so certain it’s that simple. He knows a lot more than he did when they first met.

“A-hem.”

They pull apart. Ryder stands with his arms crossed and an expectant tap to his boot. “Are we mad at her or not?”

“We’re…” Taylor and Vera exchange looks and there’s no doubt in his mind that her remorse is genuine. “We’re getting over it.” We, he thinks with a laugh. But doesn’t dare mention it lest Ryder close up more than he already is in this place.

Like he is right now.

“Good. Then maybe you can give us a proper introduction.” He’s zeroed in on her gloves; Cal too, he notices. Whatever has them on edge its more than a simple case of being protective of him. As if they didn’t have enough problems — and enemies — already.

Taylor clears his throat awkwardly; gestures between the meeting of two worlds who seem not to want to meet. “Uhm, okay. Vera, this is Ryder, my, uh, my bodyguard — don’t ask,” thank god she doesn’t, “and this is Cal; he’s a friend. Cal, Ryder; this is —”

“Vera, yeah, we got that,” interrupts the hunter lowly, “though how you came to be so buddy-buddy with Lady Smoke’s kid is my problem at the moment.”

And while Taylor’s brain is still turning rusted gears and starting to smoke with the sheer what the fuckery of Ryder’s accusation — Cal pipes up; “Smoke’s runaway kid, if I’m gettin’ my stories straight.”

Is he getting his stories straight, the look Taylor gives Vera — eyes so wide the whites go all the way around and jaw on a broken repeated hinge of not-quite-open and not-quite-closed — asks.

But that’s nothing compared to the look of utter shame that darkens Vera’s expression; to the way she looks around for listening ears and prying eyes.

“Keep your voices down.”

Ryder sees her buttons and, in classic Ryder fashion, pushes. “Yeah you ain’t gettin’ outta talkin’ that easy.”

She looks around with worry etched into her forehead. Finally lands her eyes on an empty poker table about as far out of the way as possible in the intimate space; half-obscured by a black-tile fountain where water the color of lavender fields bubbles and streams in arcs around an indiscriminate figure. “Fine, fine. Just — not here.”

And the Vera he sees now is definitely not the same young woman he’d met previously. She takes charge easier — less of a babysitting role and more of a… a woman who knows what she wants and asks for it unabashedly. At her call the bartender summons an attendant with bright, catlike yellow eyes that narrow into slits when she’s told to set them up a game at Vera’s preferred table.

Just like at Persephone they stick out like sore thumbs — but unlike at Persephone it doesn’t seem to matter. The attendants are ready to turn their noses up and away but the sight of Vera — the sight of her gloves like some status symbol — has them smiling, crooning; offering hors d'oeuvres more expensive than Taylor’s rent and drinks of all kinds. Even ones Taylor can partake in much to his surprise.

So they may look like they’re engrossed in a game of poker but one would be surprised to discover naught but a clever ruse.

Or at least a ruse on his end. Taylor’s got no living clue what he’s doing. But the cards are nice.

"Was it really you I saw at Persephone last night, Tay?” asks Vera. His nod earns a low whistle. “I figured I was just seeing… well, that you were a spectre of some kind; a manifestation of my guilt in leavin’ you and Cookie high and dry. And you really knew nothing about the supernatural world before y’all were attacked?”

“Since Twilight doesn’t count, yeah — er, no. I didn’t know a thing.”

“When you go in, you go all in, huh?”

If she means it as a joke it doesn’t really come off that way. Just makes him look down at his fancy deck and shrug. “Not exactly by choice.”

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“For what, though,” pipes up Ryder after downing a long gulp of his beer, “are you sorry for bringin’ it up like a joke or for leavin’ him utterly defenseless?”

“Christ, Nik.”

“Am I wrong, Miss Reimonenq?”

Something tells him the glare exchanged across the cards isn’t the first, nor would it be the last between them.

But Vera takes him by surprise when she shakes her head dejectedly. “No, no you’re not.”

Like a nervous habit Vera tugs at the edges of her gloves; hikes them up higher over her elbows. Cal physically shifts his chair over as she does — like she’s hiding knives and guns in the skin-tight fabric.

“Okay,” Taylor tosses his cards — it was probably a shitty hand anyway — and looks between the locals one by one by one, “usually this is the part where something weird or coincidental happens and I don’t end up having to be the one to ask the stupid questions. But apparently not this time.

“So either someone starts telling me what the heck is up or I start doing dumb shit until my answers come to me freely. And Nik — you know I can do some dumb shit.”

Taylor only adds emphasis because of the hesitation clear in Nik’s frown. The way he looks at Vera as if to get her to do it instead of his usual bravado-riding explanation train.

But neither of them say anything. So Cal leans back and nurses his whiskey with his words.

“Lady Smoke ain’t your average mafia boss, Taylor.”

“Yeah, yeah I got that part. Your brother was in a cell, there were death fights. The guns aimed at us at the Shift. I was there.”

The wolf gives him a little smirk. “Thanks for the reminder. But it ain’t just guns and suits and shady deals with Smoke.”

“Underground casino notwithstanding?”

“Let him finish, Tay.” mumbles Vera; the look she gives Cal is a grateful one. Taylor holds his hands up — mimes zipping his lips.

“The Reimonenqs are an old Quarter family. Y’all’ve even got Laveau on your tree, right?” He nods to Vera. “Certainly been ‘round as long as the Pack, and the only ones older than that are the Lamrian folk.”

“— Local fae colony,” interrupts Nik lowly, “we’ll talk about it later. Just know it was here before the city was even settled.”

“So you’ve got roots here, is that a big thing?” Taylor asks — would rather hear it from her than yet another secondhand account of something else. He’s getting far too many of those.

When Vera finally answers her hands are folded in her lap. The picture of politeness if not for the shining fear in her eyes.

“What you need to understand, Tay, is that the Reimonenq name used’ta belong to all who practiced under the coven. Eventually the coven became jus’ family so it didn’t really matter, but you won’t find anyone born and bred here who doesn’t know the name — and fear it.

“And she’s used that her whole life — my whole life — to build this awful, cruel mockery of an empire.”

“‘She’ being Lady Smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Lady Smoke being your mother.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom; Lady Smoke. The big bad everyone talks about like she’s a boogieman story — the woman who sent what basically amounted to hitmen to kidnap our friend for standing up to her and keeping Cal’s brother from getting mauled.”

He’s not saying it to be cruel, though Vera winces at every injustice like she personally signed off on it. Taylor’s just… a little out of his element. More so than usual.

“How many times does the girl gotta tell you, Rook? Yes.” Ryder’s knee knocks against his under the table. It’s enough to draw him from his factual-overload stupor; only just.

“So she’s — what — a witch? Wait — does that make you a witch?”

Witches, werewolves, and vampires; oh my.

Before Vera can open her mouth to answer their game is brought to a halt by the arrival of a familiar suit-clad asshole. And he’s got friends. This time Taylor pays close attention and watches the pain Vera stomachs in order to put on a brave, almost commanding atmosphere.

“We’re a little busy here. And we’d like some privacy.”

The henchman’s upper lip curls at the sight of Ryder — a grimace he only barely tosses aside as he answers Vera; “You can finish up your game of Go-Fish later. Lady Smoke requests your presence, Miss Reimonenq. And the presence of your… guests.”

“She can’t just summon me. I’m not one of her lackeys.”

“That may be — but you are under Lady Smoke’s protection. Or did you forget what you agreed to when you broke onto the floor last night?”

Taylor’s teeth grit painfully. “Back off, you soggy cockwaffle.”

“Tay —” her touch on his arm is gentle; appreciative, if concerned, “— hon’… he’s not wrong, okay? No matter how much I wish he were.”

“So much for bein’ the runaway…” Cal mutters under his breath.

“Lady Smoke doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

And he probably can’t pull his bully-type shit with Vera, not without some serious consequences whether there’s family tension or not, so there’s no missing the sick sense of satisfaction he gets in yanking Taylor’s chair practically out from under him.

Lucky him that Taylor isn’t unfamiliar with childish bullying tactics. He just expected people to grow out of them once they left high school.

Unlike before their goon leads the way rather than corralling them at the back. Gives them the chance to talk in hushed and hurried whispers because they’re being led fast.

“Magic — real magic — is something we’re born with; a gift we can’t give back no matter how badly we want to.” Vera continues hastily; “Yes, I’m a witch. And I ain’t proud of it, not like my mother is. I’ve spent my whole life tryin’ to get away from her and our curse.”

“And that meant running away to New York.”

“I could have run farther but… I refused to let her dictate where I was going to be. How I was going to live my life.”

That’s something he can definitely understand — but Vera’s actions are singing a different tune than her words. “If you hate her so much then why are you here? Why’d you go to her?”

“Because —”

“Because whatever was huntin’ you guys that night scared ya enough to look to the most powerful woman in the city for help.”

Nik doesn’t interrupt with a question — sounds so sure of himself. But Taylor’s ready to hear Vera out, really he is, until she suddenly can’t look him in the eyes.

It had been a whole other side of her; but Taylor had chocked it up to fear. Fear could make people do crazy things — like hide in walled-off cemeteries.

Finally Vera chokes out wetly; “Yes.”

The suit stops them in front of a closed door.

Nik reaches out and grabs Vera — holds fast despite how she jerks away. Leans in to whisper something so quiet Taylor has to step in himself in order to hear it.

“You know what it was, don’t you?”

“I-I —” stammers Vera.

“What was it?”

“I don’t…”

“This ain’t just about you anymore. Now quick, before they —”

“In.”

It’s too late. Judging by Cal’s look of apology he tried his best to give them as much time as they could but the door’s open and they’re out of time.

“We’re not done.” Ryder growls into Vera’s ear; lets her go before the suit decides he doesn’t want to ask a second time. The touch he lands on Taylor’s middle back is far kinder, coaxes him forward and through the awaiting doorway.

He doesn’t have much of a choice but to follow. Still throws a look back to Vera as she wipes away the smallest tear and puts up all the walls she needs to follow them inside.

“You didn’t need to be so harsh.” Taylor hisses at him.

“Sometimes there ain’t much of a choice.”

There was this time, Taylor’s about to say, when the literal fog obscuring the room beyond clears as though it’s been waiting for their arrival to part. Lady Smoke’s a witch, he remembers.

So maybe it was.

The ambiance of the back room is the same as the front — the only difference being the smoke that clings to their ankles and obscures the rug at their feet.

Off to one side a large couch curves in a wide semi-circle. Relief washes over him at the sight of Cadence and Katherine sitting close together with drinks in their hands; the honey-amber of Katherine’s bourbon catches the light in a way the contents of Cadence’s tumbler doesn’t. He’s content not to think too hard about what’s inside.

But for all their supposed relaxation the pair are stiff — tense. Their ease and touching outer thighs more about keeping close for safety rather than enjoyment. Katherine’s smile isn’t her usual teasing; instead rather strained. A grimace wearing an ill-fitting mask.

At the other end of the room rests a large desk — the kind Taylor might imagine a CEO would buy never to use and only to show off. But the papers and folders spread in a kind of organized chaos across the finished wood tell a different story; one of a business that never stops working.

The woman in the high-backed leather chair behind it is Lady Smoke without a doubt. Not just because he can see the resemblance to Vera — a family chin, the creases in her forehead decades ahead of her daughter’s; a living vision of what’s to come — either.

She emanates power in the way Kristof did. Control, dominance by birthright without mistake. The aura of someone who was meant for powerful things from the moment they entered the world; where the only thing left up to choice was how they planned on using it.

The gloves are pretty much a dead giveaway, too. Black lacework on golden fabric. She matches the den outside the way the sun matches the solar system; she sits at its heart and lets the rest revolve around her because it has no choice.

An unnervingly familiar wheeze of a voice catches him off-guard; probably for the best with the way he was staring.

“Well well well, justice for Meerl!”

Meerl cuts a scrawny figure between them and Lady Smoke. Tap-tapping his long claw-like nails together with the same smarmy grin as last night — only this time with a harsh red line of purpling pressure around his skinny throat.

Beside Taylor, Ryder’s laugh is nothing short of utterly shameless. “Nice choker you got there, Meerl. It’s a great look on you, really.”

His laughter incites a bloated face of rage in the con-goblin. “You mock Meerl?!”

“Was I not bein’ obvious about it?”

“Pissy—pissface—pissant Nighthunter! Meerl will—!”

“He will do nothing until he is told.”

There’s a touch of gravel to Lady Smoke’s voice. She doesn’t shout because she doesn’t have to — because the moment her lips part the only thing that matters is what she has to say.

Especially to Meerl given the way he backs off, cowers like his nightmares are coming to life.

It must be a reputation thing, Taylor concludes. Because she’s definitely the more-badass-and-less-fictional version of Don Corleone — no doubt. But for nothing but a sentence to get that kind of reaction? It’s almost satirical.

“Meerl apologizes, Lady Smoke,” the urchin cowers with every word, “the Lady knows Meerl does nothing Meerl is not told to do.”

But he might as well be talking to thin air the way she addresses him. Not at all. Because he’s no longer important to her — for the moment at least. Not now that Vera steps up from behind Taylor while the door closes behind them.

Immediately Smoke’s face softens; a shine in her eye, what she probably thinks is tender warmth in her half-smile. What people who can’t love must think love looks like as an expression.

“Vera, baby girl, you —”

The nickname makes Vera cringe. “I told you not to call me that.” She’s probably the only person who could get away with interrupting the mob boss and leave alive.

“Vee —”

“No, mother; no names but my own.”

Smoke’s brow twitches but her frustration is well-corralled. “Very well, Vera.”

“Where do you get off on demandin’ to see me like this? Or makin’ your wardens bully my friends into coming with?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with the troublemakers at Persephone?”

There’s nothing familial about their exchange but Smoke still manages to make Vera feel like a scolded child. Ducked head and eyes searching for a spot on the carpet — but hindered by the fog.

“You know I don’t like non-answers, Vera.” Smoke presses, but Vera doesn’t yield. Earns them all a heavy sigh while Smoke leans forward and folds her hands together atop an open date book. “Lucky for you, girl, I know all I need to on account of how helpful our friend Meerl has been.

“See, he knew I’d take care of everything — but I can’t fix what I don’t know is broke. And would you believe he was the only one to tell me about the unfortunate situation of the fights before morning?”

The goblin practically preens — likely taking her words as praise.

“The Lady knows Meerl only wants what is best for the Lady’s business, of course.”

“Especially if it keeps his ugly hide from getting flayed alive?”

The haughtiness of Ryder’s tone doesn’t have an ounce of remorse. Not even when it drags the almost golden-yellow of Lady Smoke’s eyes to him. Resting with the full weight of her frustration just below the poised surface.

“You never cease to surprise, do you Mister Ryder?” she croons.

“‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about; predictable’s my middle name.”

“If that were the case you wouldn’t have been waist-deep in my affairs at Persephone.”

“And here I thought I was building a reputation for stickin’ my nose in other peoples business.”

“This ain’t just anyone’s business, though, is it?”

It hasn’t occurred to Taylor until just now that Kristof and the Jensen Pack may not be the only big-wigs in New Orleans that Ryder has crossed. Luckily it seems like a distant familiarity though. A mutual respect; and an unspoken threat on both sides to stay out of one another’s way.

And now Ryder’s gone and drawn first blood — er, well, metaphorically speaking.

Oh this could be bad. This could be very very bad.

Only the ice in her tone seems to have the opposite of the intended effect. Makes Ryder stand up straighter with his jaw clenched tight, his words a snarl that makes even Cal blink in surprise.

“If I’d a’known you were in the business of pimpin’ out kids for your cash fights, Smoke, I would’ve gotten involved a lot sooner. You can bet on that.”

The color drains out of Vera’s cheeks. Catches her torn between looking at her mother for any kind of denial and, finding none, unable to face the truth without feeling like she’s about to wretch.

“Momma, you didn’t…”

“Don’t you start that now, Vera.”

“But a kid?”

Smoke stands with her fingertips spread and pressed into her desk. Her sigh carries a visible weight in her shoulders. It’s heavy for sure but if it isn’t the burden of guilt then whatever she’s feeling means fuck-all to him.

“The Lowell boy was betting with money that wasn’t his. On top of that — he thought he could swindle my hard-earning regulars without consequence. Sometimes they have to learn young.

“You’d know that, baby girl, if you hadn’t left.”

Tears well up, misting over Vera’s eyes. But its an incredible feat of willpower that keeps her from shedding them — that lets her choke them down. Certainly not the first, and likely not the last.

“Don’t you dare play it off like you were trying to parent my kid brother.” Only then does Lady Smoke actually notice Cal. Cal with his face flush with fury and canines bared; Cal with his eyes as yellow as the gold the mob boss wraps herself in.

“Mister Ryder; I suggest you rein your feral friend in a tad.”

Nik throws his hands up. “No way.”

There’s a very well in the roll of her eyes. Has her walking around her desk with a lush black velvet cape trailing at her modest heels.

“You must be Cal.”

“What the hell gave you that idea?”

“Then I will tell you the same thing I told your fledgling con artist brother. It’s an old saying — perhaps you’ve heard of it. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

Smoke stands there, haughty and higher than them all — even as Cal roars “You callous bitch!” and makes for her ready to draw blood. And a lot of it.

Whatever witchy-mojo she has must be fucking powerful even if Taylor can’t feel it. All it takes is Smoke’s raised hand and even Nik holds his breath.

“You had posters,” the wolf seethes, “locked him in a cage like he was an animal!”

“Your brother had racked up quite a debt.”

“He’s just a boy!”

“Enough!”

When the gloves come off — literally in Lady Smoke’s case — all hell breaks loose.

Taylor looks around wildly, feels himself being pulled back on two sides — catches the first and likely only time Vera and Nik are of the same mind. Backing him up against a wall-length bookshelf so hard he knocks a few volumes on their sides.

For the first time since they arrived Cadence is sprung to action. Holds Cal back with a firm hand but keeps his distance from the witch and her exposed skin. The same look of cautious fear in his eyes as he had in the cage.

And at the couch, their drinks forgotten and seeping into the rich upholstery, Katherine aims a familiar-looking gun dead between Smoke’s eyes. Completely disregarding the also-familiar sister weapons now aimed at her from across the room.

Now would be the opportune moment for the main character to leap out in the middle of the fray and convince everyone to calm down; to shout “Nobody needs to get hurt tonight — we’re all on the same side!” or some other amount of crap that would be the bare minimum in getting everyone to see the bigger picture.

Ha — no thanks. No way is he getting mixed in with a vampire who tore a Minotaur to shreds, more guns than should legally be allowed in the same room, and whatever danger Smoke’s manicure ignites.

Nope. See, the best he can figure is there’s a reason Vera and Nik were so hasty to pull his only-a-threat-after-a-ton-of-spicy-food ass out of the crossfire. And that’s good enough for him.

Only when everyone’s stayed statuesque-still for the better part of a minute does Cadence pull back — away from Lady Smoke, eying her palms with the same look Vera’s giving the guns.

“Enough,” he repeats and is no less forceful, “enough of this, Tonya. You force me here, you force others — innocents — here, all for this flagrant abuse of your power? I settled the Lowell pup’s debt. You and I are even and he’s out of your cross-hairs.”

“So you’ve been saying, Smith,” — so why doesn’t she sound like she’s content to agree? — “but I don’t recall agreeing to your commerce de dettes. As it is not the place of they who owe to decide what is suitable payment.”

“You may be speaking of Dominic Lowell, but the same could be said for you.”

Smoke curls her fingers in the air; reminds Taylor of spider legs.

But Cadence has to be right or she’d have thrown back a snide retort instead of the silent treatment given.

Finally she speaks but her answer is strained. “We never outlined the terms and conditions of that particular contract.”

“Because I know better than to get something in writing with you. I may not know much but I certainly know that.”

“I cannot let this abide, Smith. Actions must be made; consequences for those who would publicly challenge the safety I provide this town —”

Maybe there’s more for her to say but she doesn’t get the chance. Not at the disgusted noise that comes off to Taylor’s right — nor the bewildered look Lady Smoke throws their way. Only when she throws up her pointed finger like a gun instead of a stern mother’s tool does Vera make the noise again.

“‘Safety,’” now she actually sounds the part of the witch, too, with her curled upper lip and fists trembling at her sides, “you’re gonna dare stand there in front’a me and call New Orleans safe? After what I told you was after me?!”

Taylor’s glad he’s between them when Ryder turns a murderous flush of violet.

“Now is not the time to air our family grievances, Vera.”

“You did know.” Taylor whispers. Loud enough for Vera to hear, to flinch and hug her arms around herself. Looking the same measure of scared and young and vulnerable as she did that night. “You—you do. Know; what it is. You know.”

She nods.

“Why didn’t you say?” When Ryder asked, when we locked eyes under Persephone, before Kristin and I jumped over the wall and to our deaths. “Why didn’t you help?”

“I didn’t wanna be right.”

Tonya raises her voice, tries to speak over her daughter. “Vera, this is not the way.”

“How the hell would you know, mom?!” she lashes out a sob, “You’re content to hide here and pretend everyone’s safe when they aren’t?!”

“You’re safe, baby girl, that’s all I care about.”

“Well I ain’t that selfish.”

It’s taking everything in her to not choke; lose her nerve. “If I’d known you spent all this time thinking it was after you, Taylor, I’d’ve told you sooner. I swear I didn’t mean for Cookie to get hurt — you neither. I thought when I split that you’d be safe.”

“Wait — back up. You think this thing is after you?” Nik interrupts, surprised.

“Not another word Vera Claire Reimonenq, so help me God.”

Ice-cold demeanor finally melted, some version of the real Tonya Reimonenq shines through in the crack in her voice. In the way she bites her bottom lip so hard it might burst like the vein in her temple might burst.

Taylor just doesn’t get why everyone is suddenly so freaked out about the way her hand is held aloft at Cadence’s neck. One deep bob of his Adam’s Apple away from choking the life out of the undead.

Katherine the opportunist takes the stunned pause to aim instead at Vera. Passes the barrel of the gun over Taylor’s chest and this is now officially too many times in the same week his life has flashed before his eyes and been less-than satisfying.

“Back. off. Smoke.” The huntress orders.

Cadence resists swallowing — painfully so.

Time to finally take the hint and get as scared as the rest of them it seems.

“You even think about pulling that trigger — you know what I’ll do to him.”

Katherine’s laugh is an unfeeling thing. Like a whole different woman stands before them — someone used to carrying the gun, to doing what needs to be done.

“And the payday of a lifetime goes down the drain, sure,” but her finger doesn’t stop caressing just shy of the pressure point, “but I’ll always find another. Don’t think the same can be said about a daughter, though.”

“Katherine —”

“Shut up, Nik. I let you do your stupid shit. My turn.”

Taylor’s one stupid heroically-inclined thought from stepping in front of Vera when she speaks up; “Stop it, momma. Just — stop it. Too many people been hurt already.

“Too many more’ll be, too, if we don’t try to get help.”

“You think they’ll help us? The whole city will turn their backs on us — make sure we’re the ones who suffer instead of them!”

“You don’t know that! You don’t know them!”

“Stop being so damn naive!”

Voices, tensions rising. Arms wavering with the weight of their weapons and sweat beading like the first of so many bullets down everyone’s backs; their brows.

It’s not the heroic, main character thing to say but that doesn’t stop Taylor from feeling really good about it when he finally shouts —

“Will someone please just say what the literal flippity fuck is out there?!”

“A bloodwraith!”

The way Vera covers her mouth he half expects to see blood dripping down her chin to stain her blouse. Her tongue bit off as divine — or supernatural — retribution for her admission.

Not that that’s the case. In fact he’s left feeling a little bit like he was denied some grand climax.

So he does what he always does — because this other, darker world seems to exist to make him look absolutely ridiculous in how little he knows — he looks to Nik for the textbook entry he’s missing.

“And a ‘bloodwraith’ would be…?”

“Trouble, Rook…”

Lady Smoke’s pulling her gloves back on. The gun hangs limp at Kathy’s side. Even the biggest bully of the henchmen looks ready to wet himself. There’s nothing reassuring about Cadence’s slow nod of realization — the way the natural enemies vampire and werewolf share a look of ‘well hell.’

Sometimes it’s not a rallying cry that gets opposing forces to work together. Sometimes fear is more than enough.

And the way Nik pulls him in close, hugs him with one strong arm like he’s already a dead man walking? That’s… uh… that’s pretty damn fearful.

“— It’s really, really big trouble.”

[nortromthesilencer]

Instruction Due (Compile)

Started with an ask for Rizzrack: “ What is the worst kind of tree? “

Rizzrack

“They’re all the worst! But if you really need to know the worst of the worst, then let me tell you about this particular one. I can’t say I recall the name of the lands I was in, some place in the mountains far north. So! I end up coming face to face with your typical acre of trees, and silly old me didn’t think anything else about it except that I needed it cut it all down of course! That’s what I do. I start cutting. I’m making my way through and all is going well but then, I see it. A big wall of bark. I look up. This is the biggest, tallest tree, I have ever seen. It must’ve been a mile high! Just this, one big tree surrounded by all these other trees. It made them look like pathetic weeds in comparison! Now, you might be wondering, ‘Rizzrack, how did you manage to cut this big tree down?’ I didn’t. I screamed and I got as far away as possible. Don’t give me that look, it caught me by surprise! I promise though, someday when I find myself in that area again, I”ll take care of it. No tree goes uncut!”

NortromtheSilencer

“The upper mountainous regions of the Rue Lands is home to some of the most ancient of redwoods, taller than any others I have ever seen. Imagine encountering not one, but hundreds of trees that height? O second thought, don’t. The ecological damage you would cause would be irreparable. In killing those threes you would kill hundreds if not thousands of species habitats, destroying any sense of homeostasis, and leaving them doomed to die along with any who live in the area and rely on hunting.”

“…”

“How does it feel to know that your goal will kill and doom many more than the trees ever have? When does this mad escapade go from you being a hero to the villain?”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack stammers, caught off guard by Nortrom’s sudden input and appearance. Oh boy, according to the small-keen, out of the two of them, Nortrom was definitely the nosier one. That’s saying something.

“Ugh, you clearly underestimate the destructive nature of trees. There’s plenty of other things this world can rely on other than those monsters I assure you. It’s called adapting! And science! Well, in your case I suppose magic. Ugh, anywho, trust me, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Besides, Silencer, if you really, truly believe me to be a villain, you’d put an end to me, wouldn’t you?” Rizzrack leans back within his suit and smirks. “Hah, thought so!”

NortromtheSilencer

“No, I see you as not realizing of the very destruction you are causing. For one who boasts about being in a race of scientifically minded and advanced beings, you know nothing about your own psychology or the ecosystem.”

He stares, rather null of expression, before adding one last note, “And if you do come to be a threat, you are correct: I will not hesitate to put you down.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack rolls his eyes in annoyance and makes a mock puppet with his hand, “yapping” with it as Nortrom speaks. He sighs, waiting for the man to finish a speech the Keen takes more effort to ignore than to listen to. Of course as usual, something catches his attention. He meets the Silencer’s stare with an offended look.

“Excuse me? If I DO become a threat?”

This implies something, doesn’t it? Yes! It implies that maybe he isn’t doing his job to the best of his ability. How could that be though? Have any villages, towns or cities been destroyed by trees lately? Well, no, but, it doesn’t mean that it won’t happen, and this Silencer.

Ugh! Snobby, smug, son of a-

“Birch, oak, elm, you name it, those are the real threats! Why can’t-why can’t you just get that? Oh, pfft why do I keep wasting my time trying to reason with you? It’s pointless.”

The Timbersuit gives a dismissive wave with a clawed hand as it turns to leave.

“Whatever. I’m done here. I’ve got more important things to do, like a thankless job.” The cockpit of the suit rotates around as it continues to walk away to reveal the operator sticking his tongue out in a childish manner. “Oh, and I’ll be looking forward to that day you try to stop me! With great anticipation!”

NortromtheSilencer

Arrogance was one of the few peeves Nortrom had no tolerance for, on top of ignorance. By displaying both, Rizzrack marked himself for the man’s ire. Soon the sounds around them, the rattling clunk of the Timbersaw as it trotted away, vanished into nothingness. Before one might register why this was, the Silencer took off in a blur of violet as he dashed full sprint, glaive manifesting into his hand and hooking straight into the armour of the timbersuit. It vibrated with a cyan hue, pure willpower radiating from matching eyes, glowing, angered, and using this as an anchor point the man forced himself upward and lept into the cockpit before Rizzrack. Given there was no sound, the jarring effect would be greatly magnified on most.

“You better listen up with those big ears of yours,” Nortrom grabbed Rizzrack by the collar of the shirt, hauling him from his seat and face to face. Only the SIlencer’s voice, rife with annoyance and anger, could be heard; All else was silent.

“You think you’re playing some high and mighty hero, saving people from the trees, when all you’re doing is committing eco-terrorism. In a bid to ‘save’ yourself, you instead condemn other creatures to extinction… Ever think about this the other way around? Ever think that those trees that killed your family, your people, your city– Ever think they were doing the same thing? You encroached on their space, cut and killed their kin, so now like you and your mad crusade against trees they lashed out and killed those responsible? The very same bullshit you keep spouting is the very same thing they thought, about the Keens rising up to kill all of them, and destroy their way of life? No, you can’t see further than your own fucking nose, can you? It would be too hard to admit you may have done the same fucking thing in reverse.”

His brows were knit, a stern scowl plastered across age defined featured and eyes glowing a violent blue as he held the silence around them. Nortrom snarled, one last point to make, “If I so much as hear of a single branch falling by your doing anywhere near any of Aeol Drias’ land or holdings, the trees won’t be the worst of your worries. I don’t want your havoc wreaking ways to destroy ANYTHING NEAR Aeol Drias, of so help me I will give you something much greater to fear than some damned plants. Do I make myself clear?”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack expected a reaction, but nothing like this.

The silence comes, blocking noise from penetrating deeper within one’s ears that finger tips could accomplish. His mouth opens to spit out words of indignation. but as the glaive digs itself into his suit, his teeth clench and he winces.

That hurt?

A silent gasp. Caught off guard by the unexpected pain, he recoils at the sudden approach of the man. Fearful, he throws his arms out in defense, and turns away. Bad idea. With no sound of steps to indicate how close he was, the sudden grab sends a jolt of terror through his heart. Any sounds of protest continue to go unheard. He turns his head back to face the man, terrified eyes meeting another pair that glow just as bright with anger as they do blue. The voice hits him as if it originates from within his own mind, and once again he feels within him something he hadn’t felt since he crossed the Harbinger.

Nortrom’s words come fast, but this time Rizzrack takes in every single one. With every word comes a jabbing pain into his very self, challenging every part of his existence that came to be since the day that life-changing event took place. His conscience fought against every statement, searching for reason that he can’t be at fault, that they weren’t deserving of such a fate, but the man  continues. Deeper and deeper his words cut him, and the one thought that Rizzrack pushed far into the back of his mind begins to take a step towards the light. He can’t defend himself any longer against his words.

He ceases his struggling within the man’s grip. Try as he might to stop them, tears well up in his eyes as the Silencer makes his final statement. Rizzrack is lost for an answer as a voice he’s repressed for so long speaks within him just as loud as the man. The world is a cruel place, filled with war, souls fighting for their causes and beliefs. Life is unfair. You’re no special.

A desire to avert his gaze tries to overcome him, but he keeps his eyes locked with Nortrom’s. He sees it. He sees it in the lines upon his face. This man before him knows conflict. He knows death, murder, pain. He’s fought his fair share of battles. Putting aside his own pride and selfishness for once, Rizzrack realizes that now about the Silencer.

The air is still held in quiet captivity, but despite his voice going unheard, the movement of his lips still deliver his answer clearly.

“What makes you right?”

NortromtheSilencer

There is a moment of realization in Rizzrack’s eyes, a twitch to his brow and motion carried by his expressions that show he was listening. Good. Even if his answer was just as haughty as the ones before, Nortrom allows the silence to settle, sound gradually returning as if nothing had ever occurred. He instead let his own silence linger, their stares matching, waiting, exemplifying his previous words and those soon to be.

And then…

“The same thing that makes you right, Rizzrack,” Nortrom lowers the Keen enough that his feet can touch the seat, giving him stability, “Nothing.” It’s all assumption by them both, as none can hear the thoughts of the trees, and the motivations of Augury but Augury itself.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack’s feet find their ground as his hands grasp over Nortrom’s which hold him still. Gaining balance, his fingers cautiously tug and pry at his grip as if delicately peeling a sticker from a surface. The small-Keen knows he’s bound to tick him off again some way or another in the future, but for now he just wants to be alone. He needs to think about some things, certain things he has a habit of pushing to the back of his mind, as uncomfortable as it makes him feel to do so.

Nothing.

It tumbles about his mind like a leaf in the breeze. Everything needs a reason, doesn’t it? There was a reason for the trees to attack, just as there was a reason he alone survived. What is the purpose of these things? What is his purpose?

His curiosity taps about, an urge growing within him to seek answers once more if only to satisfy himself and allow him to fabricate some new reason to base a purpose upon. For once he legitimately wants to know more about this man.

The small-Keen looks up at him, and in his heart is a flurry of feelings he just can’t quite figure out. What is it? Something bugs him. Something about the way Nortrom is, having a say in matters as if he knows what truly is going on. Rizzrack’s expression tightens as he begins to admit to himself that maybe this man is more intelligent than he gives him credit for.

As a Keen, it’s humiliating.

He finds himself looking up much longer than intended. He looks away,  finding himself growing more and more uncomfortable now in Nortrom’s presence. When has anyone ever spoken to him like this, challenging him, questioning him, but above all, taking him seriously?

He finally pulls himself away from his hold, leaning his hip against the back rest of the seat. Maybe these interactions need to stop, for the sake of his sanity.

Whatever’s left of it, according to the world.

Rizzrack keeps his gaze averted. Despite sound returning to it’s normal state, he finds himself stuck being silent. He can’t seem to find anything else to say now except for a few small words.

“Can you please get off my suit?”

NortromtheSilencer

Nortrom waits a few silent seconds longer before nodding and fully releasing the Keen from his grip. Fully expecting Rizzrack to attempt and cut him down the second he was near the blades, the Silencer acted fast, jumping with a forceful push against the cockpit as far as he possibly could while staying upright. A glance was cast at the machine, and there was a realization that his glaive was still embedded in the hull; Easy to remedy. Placing his left hand slightly away from him, the glaive vanished from where it had been and materialized back into grip as though nothing had occurred. Such a simple feat for the man that would make many common folk think he was much more powerful than in reality.

How strange it was, to think how far the war had corrupted innocence. Perhaps if a Keen came to him spouting off nonsense about trees coming to life and decimating a population, he would have laughed it off as psychosis. Now? That would be one of the least strange things he had seen or heard of. Of course he believed Rizzrack, there was no reason not to. It was this thought that brought Nortrom back to what was said, and while still annoyed he did feel a tinge of remorse…

“If you’re wishing to delve deeper into what may have transpired, while keeping an open mind to dissenting opinion, you may seek me out. Believe it or not, I don’t despise you Rizzrack.” Back turned, the man started to walk away.

Rizzrack

Nortrom’s kick-off sends the suit staggering back, and the small-Keen quickly fumbles for the controls to regain balance before it tips over. Another jolt in his heart from the fear of falling over, he finds himself quickly tiring of it. An exhausted sigh and shoulders slump forward as he glares at the embedded glaive until it returns to its owner. Nothing left to keep the two of them in each other’s vicinity. It would be better for him to head off anyways and calm his rattled nerves by making some repairs to the suit. An activity that may prove difficult with the strange hurricane of thoughts and feelings swirling about in his head.

So confusing. He didn’t like it, and in typical Rizzrack fashion, the best way to handle scary confusing things was to avoid it.

Stupid Silencer. Thinks he knows everything but he just doesn’t get it.

You stubborn creature.

Rizzrack’s head hangs low, the brim of his helmet shadowing the tears that welled in his eyes but his long face still easily tells of his hurt feelings. Finding no other reason to hang around any longer, his hands go for the controls but Nortrom’s words hold him still. He would have rolled his eyes and scoffed at the man, but he didn’t. Instead he only thinks about it, givesa loud exasperated sigh, then turns the suit about and walks it off.

“Let’s just forget this happened.”

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

The Bear and the Maiden Fair

12 Days of Sanditon: Roaring Fire/ Sleep in heavenly peace

Pairing: Esther Denham/Lord Babington

Synopsis: It was the middle of Winter when someone knocked on Esther's cabin in the middle of the woods. The humans of the village had persecuted her for Witchcraft years ago, who would come looking for her? It turned out it wasn't a who, but rather a what: a bear, all black and brown and covered with hair. OR: the one in which Lord Babington is a cursed bear looking for shelter. Fairytale inspired on Rosered and Rosewhite.

Available on AO3

It were times like these when Esther’s need for company was at its highest.

When the wind was howling so loudly not even the sound of the enchanted violin and piano could drown it out.

When her house creaked louder than the roaring fire crackled.

It was her third year out here in the woods, and by now she’d gotten used to the sounds of the woods, the nights used to scare her to a point where she couldn’t sleep until she was utterly exhausted. She’d grown up with scary stories about the woods: monster, goblins, fairies, wild beasts and murderers were known to plague the woods. Though she’d managed to convince herself that half of those threats were fairytales, she knew that the beastly and human predators in the woods were very real. She’d encountered a murdered body, and she’d had to run away from a pack of wolves as well. The stories didn’t keep her up at night anymore, but those memories certainly did.

On a rational level, she knew not to fear. Her house, and the small garden around it, were protected with at least six spells. No humans could get past it. And no animals meaning harm could either. Her spells left enough room for innocent animals to come up to her house.

She liked seeing bunnies hop through her garden, even if they stole her slaw, and she once had a deer walk in during summer. The deer seemingly sensed that it had nothing to fear from her. It had been the first substantial living thing she’d held in years. Prior to that, she’d only hugged and stroked some mice and rabbits, and the chickens. She’d also taken care of a bird with a broken wing once, but birds were hyperactive creatures, they disagreed with her own nature.

Perhaps she should try venturing to the town border and catch a cat. She would love to have a permanent pet. A cat would suit her just right, she’d had one prior to living here.

Wonder if she’s still alive, poor thing was left to Edward’s care.

She took the ladle out of the cauldron filled with water, and poured some hot water in her empty mug. With a flick of her hands, the pot with tea herbs came floating towards her. She added a good amount of leaves to the hot water and sent the pot back to where it came from.

She’d always been a mediocre witch, a taint on the Denham line according to her aunt.

If she only knew. I bet I can do more now, than she ever could. I simply needed the practice. Nothing like absolute boredom to finally take the time to learn magic.

After Edward had ratted out her and Clara, so that he would be the only one receiving Lady Denham’s inheritance, she’d managed to free herself with her magic by sheer luck. Since witchcraft was forbidden, and she’d quite hated being one, she’d always supressed that side of her. But, as she was locked away awaiting her witch trial, the combination of the panic and the wish to live, she’d called on some kind of instinctive magic which had destroyed her restraints. She’d fled, taking all of Lady Denham’s books on witchcraft, and all the clothes she could carry.

She’d been walking through the woods for two days by the time she stumbled upon the old woodsman cabin, it hadn’t been inhabited in a decade and had been barred shut to protect it from rogues and animals. With the same instinctive magic, she managed to get the layers of wood shielding the door and windows away. The house was sturdy and the furniture had still been present.

After mastering a couple of practical spells, she’d returned to the town in the dead of night to steal more of her belongings and some practical necessities. But she tried to keep her visits to a minimum. With every visit she risked exposing herself.

She stared at her three meagre bookshelves. She’d read everything at least twice, and some even more than twenty times.

‘If only there was a spell to magically produce an interesting book.’

She eyed the periwinkle blue and wine bottle green book on the second shelf.

She felt like reading a tale set in Winter. ‘Andersen or Grimm?’

She’d taken to talking to herself out loud as a means to kill the silence. She’d never gone without talking for a day. She just couldn’t bear it. She sang as she cleaned, she hummed as she made dinner, she mumbled as she practiced the hand movements for spells and she cursed herself for screwing up certain spells. In many ways, life in the woods had killed her awkwardness and shyness. In the village she’d always been quiet, rarely talking, and rarely making a decision, she’d left it all to Edward. She didn’t feel the same inhibitions in the woods, she found she enjoyed talking and singing, and she’d made every decision ever since. Now of course, you could ask the question how much of her shyness had actually gone away, since she never interacted with another human being since, Esther asked herself the exact same question from time to time, but there was no doubt to the fact that she felt more comfortable in her own skin.

‘Too moody, Grimm it is’, she decided. With a move of her pinky and index finger, the book started floating towards her.

However, it was surrendered to the gravitational forces when a knock on the door startled Esther. The book collided with the wood log table, and sent her cup of tea toppling over.

Impossible.

Knock knock.

Esther rose slowly.

Was someone actually knocking on the door? Humans couldn’t get past the fence. She took the poke from the fire.

The sound returned.

  It sounded blunter than a knock. Like something soft and heavy bumping against it.

A wounded animal perhaps?

Mindful to stay away from the windows, she moved towards the door.

She waited for the sound, three inches removed from the door.

Something knocked against the door again.

Whatever produced the noise wasn’t about to give up.

‘Come on Esther, it speaks volumes that not a single person has managed to get to your door in these three years. It has to be an animal, and a well intending one at that. Have some faith in your own spells. Damn it, are you a Denham witch or not?’

She took a deep breath and reached for the handle, slowly turning it over and opening the door a couple of inches.

Nothing could have prepared her for what was on the other side.

She shrieked, slamming the door shut as fast as she could.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  A bear.

A very big,

very brown,

very tall bear.

The bear scratched against the door, making a pitiful sound.

She wasn’t going to start feeling guilty for keeping out bears now, was she? Having a deer in her house was one thing, but a bear?

The bear seemed to make a sound close to moaning, a deep, bearly moan that was.

‘It’s not going to harm you, it’s gotten past your defences. It isn’t even scratching your door. Come on, it’s probably hurt. You can always immobilize it with a spell if anything happens… it’s still a bear though… A bear caught in a blizzard.’

She looked outside the window. It had been snowing for three consecutive days. She couldn’t see the ground or even the green of the trees anymore. All was white. It was freezing. And this bear was out in that horrible snow storm.

‘Aren’t they supposed to hibernate? They’re not made for walking around in the snow.’

That was it. She wouldn’t allow some silly unfounded fear of hers to lead to the potential death of an animal. She was intended to be a friend to the animal kingdom.

She opened her door again.

The bear was still there.

‘Alright, come in but please don’t kill me’, she squeaked as she pulled the door open as far as it could go.

The bear came in. Its coat was completely covered with clumps of snow, and it had visible difficulty walking.

She closed the door and looked at the creature. It was bigger than any living thing she’d seen before, yet it still fit inside her small home. He was higher than a table, and longer than she, but not by much, a foot at most.

It had to be close to freezing to death, with all that snow caked in its fur. He was very lucky to stumble upon her house. She doubted he would’ve made it much farther, judging by how skinny he was and how slow his movements were.

She pushed aside the log table and her comfortable chair.

‘Come lie in front of the fireplace, so that the snow might melt.’

The bear all but collapsed near the fire, a last soft sound escaping from its mouth.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 She stared in shock as her house became silent again. Her instruments had stopped the second she heard his knocking, and now that the bear had fallen down, there was only the sound of the wind and the fire.

Had he died?

‘Bear? Bear?’ She gently pushed him with her foot. Its eyes blinked.

Alright, he was alive.

‘Let’s get you warmed up.’

She took her brush, and started bristling his fur. The clumps of snow had hardened into ice. It was hard to get out, but she was determined to get the cold clumps off his body.

As she worked on his fur, she found her heartbeat calming down. The initial sight of him had scared her, but her fear slowly melted as he lay there on her carpet like an oversized cat, undergoing her ministrations.

‘I think I’m getting it all out. I wonder if you’re warm enough though. I would offer a human some hot food or a hot drink but I doubt you’d be able to consume that.’

Of course, the bear couldn’t answer since it was a bear. So Esther was left frustrated as she tried to figure out the next step.

Deciding that staring at him until she found out what he needed wasn’t useful either, she picked up her empty cup of water, filled it again, and sat down in her chair to continue her reading.

She didn’t know for how long she’d been reading, when suddenly the bear stood and turned, before lying down again. It was facing her now.

She frowned at the bear. Why did it do that?

Was it because its position had become uncomfortable? At least it was a sign the bear still had some life. It could be a sign that it was getting better after its dangerous adventure in the blizzard.

It wasn’t attacking her, that was a good sign at least.

Instead, it seemed interested in her. Its eyes were more alert now, and to her shock she noticed that his eyes were an odd shade of green with flecks of blue and grey.

Was that normal?

  ‘Hey there’, she said in an attempt at kindness.

She felt a lot sillier talking to this creature than she normally did while talking to an animal.

Nothing silly about it, it can’t understand you and it won’t judge you for speaking either, just like those mice and bunnies.

The bear blinked at her and she returned to her reading, going back to reading out loud.

By the time she’d finished her tale and looked back at the bear over the top of her book, it had closed its eyes.

‘Alright, you sleep by the fire’, she sighed before stretching and yawning.

The bear opened its eyes again, as if it understood that it was being addressed. No, that couldn’t be.

She was starting to get so desperate for company she actually started imagining the animals listening and reacting to her.

‘I’m going to go to bed. Don’t do the animal thing okay, I don’t want to clean bear dung from my floorboards. Try holding it until tomorrow morning.’

The bear’s head moved.

No, it couldn’t understand her, could it?

‘Goodnight.’

‘Nnnnaam.’

Esther had to laugh, its bear noise almost sounded like ‘night’, but that couldn’t be. She blew out all the candles. Only the light of the fire now illuminated the giant figure in front of the fire.

‘Okay, see you tomorrow.’

She opened the door to her bedroom and closed it after her. She shook her head with a smile. A bear in her house, which almost seemed to respond to her talking, it really couldn’t get much crazier than that. As she crawled into her bed, she wondered what happened once something stepped foot on her property. Animals with good intentions could, but what if they suddenly turned violent, would her protective spells make the animal disappear? Or would it be able to attack her since it had already passed the wards?

She eyed the door, her heartbeat picking up again. The bear hadn’t given her any reason to fear it, but it was still a wild animal. In the end she cast a light spell on her door so that only she could pass it, after that she fell into a peaceful sleep.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

   She had to admit her brain hadn’t been working when she woke up the next morning. Because she got out of bed like she did every day, and put on her wool stockings and warm morning gown, taking no trouble to brush her hair, before stepping out of her room.

But as she rubbed her eyes, she managed to get a glimpse of something moving in the corner of her eye.

That was the moment where she was snapped out of her sleep drunken state and started screaming.

The bear was just as sleepy and just as startled, but more so because of the scream than the sight of the woman. Just as she screamed in surprise, the bear was rendered mute by shock.

She’d slammed herself into the wall, staring at the bear as she caught her breath. The previous night came back to her, yet to see the bear in bright daylight, humongous, with sharp discernible teeth in its mouth, was enough to get her a bit scared again.

‘Oh, it’s you. I’d quite forgotten about you.’

A sound left the bear’s mouth.

‘I’m sorry, alright. My head doesn’t function in the morning.  You doing better?’

The bear seemed to nod again.

‘I’m going to have breakfast. I don’t know what to give you.’

The bear moaned.

It looked so skinny. It had to eat.

‘Oh if only I knew!’

The instinctive magic inside of her welled up again, making a book fall off of her shelves.

Esther  and the bear broke eye contact because of the sound.

‘What on earth? Oh.’

A book on animals, she’d forgotten she had it, it was one she rarely read. She’d brought it with her so she’d be able to look up all the creatures potentially living in the woods, to find out whether they’d eat her or not.

‘Let’s see what kind of bear you are.’

The bear  stood and walked to her. It seemed to want to look at the book.

Should she sit down so he could see?

As she wondered on what she should do, the bear decided for itself, and lifted itself on its legs.

She had so miscalculated its height. Its head almost touched the ceiling. She didn’t even reach its shoulders.

Her heart started beating.

She’d seen foxes, stags and horses and she’d been threatened by wolves. But the sheer size of this beast was like nothing she’d ever seen before. It dwarfed her.

‘Sit down, I’ll sit down with you. Just… Don’t stand.’

  The bear let itself plop down again, and lied down on the ground, making itself as small as possible. She sat down on her knees and laid the book on the floor. There were five bears in the book. He obviously wasn’t a white one, nor a panda or a black one.

He made a sound as a large paw with giant claws landed on a page.

Stiff with fear, she pushed his paw aside.

‘Alright. So you say you are this type of bear? Let’s see… It says you eat… Everything, potentially… Me.’

She didn’t want to give it ideas though. The bear made a sound, it didn’t sound enthusiastic.

‘Fish. Grasses and stuff, slim chance at that… Berries… If you can eat everything, I think you might be able to eat some porridge with berries like me. You’ll probably need more of it though.’

Luckily, she had a year’s supply of it, just like she had bowls and bowls filled with jams and dried berries. The one good thing of her garden, and a forest filled with wild berries during three seasons of the year.

The bear happily ate four plates of porridge with berries before he seemed to be satisfied.

‘Seems the cold froze your instincts as well, a bear eating human breakfast’, she laughed.

 There was no guideline for taking care of starved bears though, so Esther didn’t know what to do with the unexpected guest. It was December, and there was little to do in the winter season. She couldn’t exactly play boardgames with him.

Turned out she didn’t have to, for after breakfast, he went to the door and starting thumping his head against the door. She imagined that if he were a cat, he’d start clawing at the door, but the bear seemed to sense that his claws would destroy the door.

‘You need to go out? You can go. And, should you need to, you can come back here.’

  She opened the door and the bear walked past her, brushing against her legs as he did so. He didn’t look back as he walked into the woods. Esther remained standing in the portal for longer than she liked to admit. And if she sat down on a chair near the window to regularly check the woods, she wouldn’t tell.

‘This is so stupid, it’s a bear. It was already strange enough that he came by once, why would he return? They’re meant to steer away from humans.’

She looked outside again.

‘Though I hope he won’t starve.’

The silence was getting to her again, so she made the piano play a cheerful tune.

Tea, she needed tea. Her cauldron of water was empty. She walked outside, humming to herself as she made the cauldron float behind her.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  It was in this instant, as she was picking up snow and throwing it in the floating cauldron, the ice biting in her hands, that she was once again startled by a sound.

But this time it was no growl, nor was it the wind howling in the trees. For the first time in three years, Esther Denham heard the voice of another living creature. She looked away from the snow, and her eyes connected to the figure of the bear. Two fish lay at its feet. He was completely soaked, and the water was starting to freeze as he was standing there.

‘What was that?’

The bear looked at her with his odd green eyes.

She had not just heard a voice say ‘Witch’.

‘For a second there, I thought you’d talked.’

‘I can talk?’

Esther would never be able to describe how strange it was to hear a human voice out of the very bear-like mouth of a giant bear.

‘You talk. You can’t. You’re a bear.’

‘You magic-ed. Cauldrons aren’t meant to float.’

  He had a point, she wasn’t exactly normal. But compared to a talking bear, she’d say she was…

‘I’m ordinary compared to you. Everyone’s heard tales of witches, I’ve yet to hear a story about talking bears.’

‘There’s one right in that book of you. Did not those bears talk to Goldilocks?’

‘You know fairytales? I’m not doing this. I’m not… I might be lonely but I am not crazy. I am not talking to a speaking bear knowledgeable on fairytales. I’m starting to imagine things… I’m dreaming. I must be. I’m not mad.’

Shaking her head, she took the kettle by its handle and walked in again, closing the door behind her with magic.

As she hung the kettle on its hook again, she heard a bang against the door.

‘Please. I’m cold’, the voice begged.

‘I’m going mad. I’m actually going mad.’

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 But the bear was wet. And it was freezing outside. And he was frail. Of those things she was sure. The question was whether she wanted to risk her sanity for the life of an omnivorous talking bear.

‘How can you talk?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why didn’t you talk yesterday?’

‘I didn’t know I could talk. I never tried it before. And I was tired, I never felt so weak before. I’d been walking through the snow for days. I thought I’d die until I found this cabin. Used my last strength to get here. I couldn’t move an inch once I fell down on your floor. I can’t thank you enough for helping me and feeding me. I know I look dangerous. I know food is scarce. I… I brought you a fish as a sign of thanks.’

‘But the lakes and rivers are frozen. How did you break through the ice?’

‘It wasn’t easy.’

‘Alright, fine. Let’s go along with this madness.’

She opened the door.

‘Get in before you freeze to death… again.’

‘Thank you so much. To take me in and help me, a bear. You’re extraordinary Miss – actually, what is your name?’

She hadn’t talked to another individual in years. But, she’d talked to him yesterday… he simply hadn’t talked back. Standing in front of another rational creature, she suddenly felt self-conscious. If he could talk, he could think and judge. He already knew enough to know that witchcraft was a weird thing. She doubted a bear would go to the village and inform the villagers of her existence. And though she shouldn’t care about how a bear felt about her, he was the first thing she’d had a real interaction with in years.

‘Esther. Esther Denham. Do you have a name?’

‘I think so. But it’s been so long. I don’t… remember.’

‘You don’t remember your own name?’

‘Never had to use it since… Didn’t even know I could speak.’

‘Since what?’

The bear opened his mouth, but instead of words, a roar came out.

  ‘Nice and clear.’

‘I can’t say, Miss Denham. Let’s just keep it on the fact that I have never talked, because I had no one to talk to. Any name I had, I forgot from a lack of use.’

He was what she had feared to become, before her need to break the silence took over, he was so accustomed to being a loner that he’d given up on all communication. Her heart went out to the creature.

‘What do you want me to call you?’

‘Just call me what I am. Bear’s fine.’

‘Alright, Mr. Bear.’

So she took him to the fire, and started brushing the ice out of his fur again. It felt a little weirder, knowing he was a thinking creature, but she got over it. She’d done so the day before, this changed nothing.

It was surprisingly easy to become friends after that. And she really enjoyed having someone to talk to. It helped that his voice was so pleasant as well. He turned out to be quite amusing. He loved to tell jokes, and dearly loved to laugh with everything, but never in a condescending or mocking manner.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  The days went by, and the bear stayed with her, lounging in front of the fire. At night, she read to him, and during the day hours, they talked about nothing and everything. He was a bear, who seemed to magically know about fairytales, she tried not to think on the oddity of it and tried to treat him as she would a human. They talked about everything except her old life.  That life was dead, and she still felt protective over it.

So she talked about all kinds of things she’d encountered in the woods. And he talked about what he’d seen. They talked about things in the house, about falling asleep outside in the forest, about what they’d have for dinner.

His voice became a companion to hers. And his presence a constant she could rely upon. She knew her feelings for him came too fast and were too deep. But after years of loneliness, her heart jumped at the opportunity to love another being. She continuously told herself she shouldn’t rely on his friendship. She begged her heart to remain rational. This was a bear, and humans and animals could never be actual friends. But he was too smart to be a pet. She knew that whatever was between them, was temporary. The winter months were ticking by, and in spring he’d be able to go outside again. They didn’t discuss it. Whenever spring or summer was mentioned, the conversation turned awkward. It was an unspoken promise to just treasure the time they had in each other’s company.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  It was the middle of January, when Esther walked closer to the village than she should’ve. She knew it was risky during daytime hours, but she needed the light to find certain herbs which only grew near the edge of the forest. She’d been suffering from a sore throat for weeks. The bear had taken to telling her stories so she could spare her throat.

‘So you live!’ A booming voice cried.

Before she could respond, two strong arms took her.

‘Good. I happen to have need of you, sister’, he crooned.

She still wondered how his voice could sound like honey even though his words meant no good.

‘Let me go, Edward. Or I swear I –  ’

‘What? You’ll report me? The town folks will surely help one like you. Have your braincells died after you left society? You’re an outcast. People want to hang you. The only thing they’ll assist you in, is your death. You just try crying out, no one will save you.’

He pushed her down in the snow.

‘So here’s the deal. I’ll let you go if you can tell me of my future. It’s one of the only things you were ever good at. Pity you can’t predict your own, would’ve spared you a lot of misery. I’m planning on investing in something. Is it going to be successful?’

‘Let. Me. Go. Please, Edward… You don’t have to do this.’

He pulled on her hear, shoving her face into the snow. The cold seeped through her dress. She’d already gotten goosebumps from her encounter with him, but the stinging pain of the snow now crept through her pores, making its way towards her bloodstream until it ran cold.

‘Are you deaf? Not used to hearing another voice anymore?  I asked AM I GOING TO BE SUCCESFUL?’

Tears rolled over her cheeks as he pushed his knee into her back.

She’d been stupid to love him once.

And she’d paid a mighty price for it.

But it turned out that she hadn’t paid enough.

She’d known coming back was a stupid plan.

A sore throat hardly seemed worth dying.

  A roar rippled through the trees, halting the movements of the person on top of her.

The snow underneath her cheek seemed to shake in anticipation.

The birds grew quiet.

All weighed disappeared from her back as a second roar reverberated through the forest.

She scrambled upright. Edward laid underneath a very large bear.

How could she have forgotten? He was out as well.

The bear went to stand on his two legs.

He’s going to kill him.

   On the one hand, she felt no pity for her step-brother, but on the other hand, she knew her brother had weapons on his person. He could hurt the bear as well.

She could lose him, even before the snow melted.

The only friend she’d had in years.

It was there, at the edge of the forest, with a raging heartbeat, hyperventilating and undercooled, that the nervous breakdown combined with her previous weakness, knocked her out cold.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  When she woke up, she was laying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, surrounded by softness.

Opening her eyes, all she could see was brown fur.

She repositioned herself, and the bear knew she was up.

‘Who was that?’

‘My step brother. When my aunt died, he betrayed me and my cousin, made it known we were witches. Court ordered us to undergo a witch test. I escaped and never returned.’

‘Why didn’t you use your magic to stop him? You use it for everything.’

She hadn’t even thought of it. The second he grabbed her, she became the weak teenage Esther again. Magic hadn’t even crossed her mind. She could’ve perfectly lifted his body with her magic. But instead, she’d been weak, and had surrendered in an instant.

‘I always relied on him. He always did all the thinking. I… I believe he just made me feel as small and stupid as I used to be.’

‘You don’t strike me as stupid.’

‘I was a bad witch and a bad person.’

‘You were… Evil?’

‘Oh, no… Nothing like that. It’s just… I hated being a witch, I hated the inheritance. I just wanted to have a normal life like my brother. So I never put any time in learning how to be a witch. But my aunt wanted to keep me close, and she had all the money. So we stuck around, and my brother promised me a normal life once she died. It was just him and me, you see, when our parents married each other, we became friends, and when they died, we became a team. He learned me everything, kept me safe… I never had to think, he always arranged everything. He was the only person I cared about on this earth. He got out the worst in me. I was silent, and mean, didn’t interact with anyone. But then, he betrayed my cousin and me so he’d get all the money. All his promises of giving me a normal life, getting away from the superstitious town, they were all lies. I only learned to use my power once I was on my own. I had to learn so much.’ She gently stroked his fur as she trailed off.

‘I think you were his prisoner for too long. He has abused the power he had over you in ways I can barely even guess at. But he’s not going to make a  victim out of you any longer. I will not allow it. I wish I would’ve killed him. But taking care of you was more important.’

‘What happened?’

‘You fainted. I bit him in the arm to warn him off. He fled the second I let him go, so I took you back home.’

‘You have more humanity than him.’

His green eyes kept looking at her, but the exhaustion of the day consumed her. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and she slipped away in a matter of minutes, feeling comforted by the wam embrace of her bear.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  It was the end of January. The rivers and lakes were free of ice, though the ground was still covered in snow.

The sky was bright and blue, without a cloud to be seen, when her bear walked into the woods, as he did each day. And after having lived with him for two months, Esther didn’t look out of the window to check in on him anymore.

Perhaps she should’ve. Because she’d sat down in her chair near the fire and started reading a book, and had been absolutely startled by nightfall.

He still hadn’t returned.

She tried to calm herself.

He always came back to her.

And surely, he’d say goodbye if he wasn’t planning on returning?

Something was very wrong. She threw on her cape and ventured out.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 She didn’t know where to start looking. But it didn’t matter, she’d keep on searching until she’d found him. She’d only been out in the dark a handful of times. The forest was a dangerous place to be after dark. But there was no room for anxiety in her head, it was too full of worry.

The first hour she looked in silence. She walked in the dark, because she was affright holding any light might make her eyes lazy in the dark. She needed to see. She tripped more times than she cared to count. Her dress was soaking wet from the snow.

She remained silent the first hour, not wanting to attack any predators. But as the moon rose, so did her worry.

So she cried out for him.

Cried and looked.

A fear wrapped itself around her heart.

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop herself.

What if he had gone?

What if something had happened?

She never asked him where he went to when he went out.

Not that she would’ve been able to find him. For all she knew, she could’ve been walking in circles the past two hours.

The cold was getting to her. Her fingers were so cold they hurt to move, and her body was shaking violently. Her breath was shallow, as it hurt to breathe in the icy air too deeply.

‘Esther!’

It was him. She blinked, looking around. The sound came from everywhere and nowhere in the dark forest.

‘Bear?’

‘Esther!’

The same pitiful roar she’d heard the day she met him came from the left of her.

She ran.

She ran and fell time and time again, but she didn’t care.

   ‘Keeping making noise, please!’

‘Esther!’

And when she tripped another time, she fell on a large soft mass.

She’d found him.

‘Bear!’

His paw was stuck in a bear trap.

‘Oh god.’

This explained.

She didn’t even have to focus. Her rage grew so large the trap simply exploded, but he didn’t stand up.

‘Bear? Mr. Bear?’

A soft moan left his snout.

She lifted him with her magic.

‘It’s time to come home.’

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  She was up all night, brewing healing potions and tonics, and cleaning his wounds. He floated in and out of conscience for hours, and he kept on shaking, God only knew how many hours he’d been stuck lying on the snowy ground.

Finally, at five in the morning, her bear appeared to be lucid and calm. He’d stopped shaking two hours prior, and his eyes weren’t glazed with pain anymore.

She’d fallen asleep against him, exhaustion consuming her the exact instant she knew him to be out of danger.

He stirred then, waking her up ever so gently.

She blinked, her brown doe eyes connecting with his. Between delirious dreams, and instances where reality, memory and dream blended together in his pain fuelled state, he’d seen fragments of memories of times long gone by. But most importantly, he’d remembered something he wanted to share with her as quickly as possible.

‘It’s James… My name is James.’

Esther blinked again. ‘Your name?’

‘I have a name. I remember.’

‘Oh.’ The meaning finally hit her through the layers of exhaustion.

She took his mighty large head in her hands and pressed her nose against his.

‘Hello, James. You had me worried there for a moment. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.’

‘For a second, I feared the exact same thing. Thank you for looking for me. I know you hate the dark. It was incredibly brave.’

‘I’m not brave. I was just worried. I’m still just as scared.’

He was too tired to tell her that that was exactly what bravery was. Sleep took them both again.

His paw didn’t heal easily, and she didn’t knew a lot about healing spells.

He had a hard time leaning on it. She brought his every meal to him, and helped him get outside when he needed to.

She’d taken to sitting with her back against him as they talked at night. It felt weird now, sitting in a chair away from him after they’d saved each other’s lives.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  But when March came around, the snow had gone, and his paw had healed enough. He would forever have difficulty walking, but he was strong again. And had recovered much of the weight he’d lost before he first came knocking on her door.

‘I thank you, sweet Esther, for all your good care. I wish I could stay with you, but I can’t. I have to move forward, now more than ever.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t tell you. I wish I could. But I can’t. Please, don’t think I’m leaving you. If I could… And should you wish, I’d stay.’

But leave he did, and nothing could chase the loneliness away.

It came back tenfold after he left, now that she was so used to having company again.

Not a day went by where she didn’t miss him.

She cried and cried, but to no avail.

James didn’t return.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 It was stupid, missing a wild animal. And she hated herself for being so dependent on other people. First Edward, now him. She had a penchant for choosing those who’d leave her.

She hated herself for missing him.

And she hated how each time she lost track of her thoughts, the piano started playing ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’.

She hated how she hummed the tune throughout the change of seasons.

A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair. The bear! The bear! Oh come they said, oh come to the fair! The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair!

But James had been good and well intending, he’d shown her more kindness than Edward ever had.

And she supposed she had to be grateful for the company he’d given her, and the time he saved her life. She’d always known their days were numbered.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Spring came and went, summer passed by, and before she blinked, the green leaves turned brown again. The trees, repulsed by their dying extremities, shed their leaves, adding a new layer to the forest floor.

Esther spent her days preparing her garden for winter, making jelly and jam and making treats for the birds with the seeds she got from her sunflowers.

After a busy summer, she started thinking more and more of her bear friend again. As the days got colder, she wondered whether he’d return to her. Some nights, when the wind rattled the wood rattled her home, she sometimes imagined a sound against the door. She’d already opened the door twice for only the cold wind to enter, leaving her chilled and saddened for at least the following hour. She tried not to think too much about him too much, but it was hard.

Especially since she had been feeling quite unsafe the past few weeks. She’d encountered Edward in the woods around the end of October. He’d gotten stuck in a tree with his cape. When he spotted Esther, he’d started begging and demanding her to help him.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

‘Now why would I do that? The last time I saw you, you threatened to have me killed.’

‘Because you were being unreasonable. I asked you to tell me my future and you refused.’

‘Because you betrayed my trust and sent the townfolk after me.’

‘That was years ago.’

‘I won’t help you, Edward.’

‘I wonder how far your house is from this place. Listen, Esther, I can and will get free on my own and I will tell them that you live in the woods unless you help me. This can be our little secret.’

‘Why should I trust you, after everything?’

‘Well, I haven’t told the others after our previous encounter, have I?

Esther took a step back.

‘I assure you, they’ll have no trouble hunting both you and the deer. It’s hunting season, Esther.’

‘Threatening again?’

‘Help me.’

She freed him with the help of her magic. He fell to the ground, staring at her in awe.

‘Do remember I am a witch, Edward. You have no idea what I’m capable of. There, I helped you. Now leave.’

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 They both left, though Esther walked in the wrong direction as a precaution. She really didn’t wish to lead Edward to her home, nor did she trust him.

As she was walking, she did start wondering what Edward had been doing in the woods again, and why the earth had been kicked up near to the spot he’d been standing. Her curiosity proofed to be too great so she went back to the place, wary of each sound and snapping branch. Only an arm’s deep into the earth, she found a heavy sack. She tried to pull it loose from the grasp of the earth, and at first it gave easily, but once the fabric was pulled taut, she became aware of the weight of the sack. It jingled and jangled. She had a physical reaction to each clank of metal, as if the sound would reach and alert Edward wherever he was.

Her rational thoughts found her through the layers of fear, and, remembering she was a witch, she levitated the bag out of the hole.

The bag was almost the size of her person. Deciding it would be safer to check its contents somewhere safe, she took it home, and was astounded to discovering it was filled to the brim with coin, gem and jewel. She could only guess as to how Edward had collected such treasure, but of one thing she was sure: it had to be stolen.

Feeling particularly vengeful, she decided to keep it.

‘You owed me anyways.’

It was enough money to buy herself a castle and start over. A life away from the dangers of the woods, away from the looming threat of the villagers, and away from Edward who would no doubt show no mercy for the theft of his wealth. She started planning and packing, and reduced her amount of walks to a minimum. She only left her protected garden and home for a fifteen minute dash to the river the catch some fish for supper every three days.

It proved still too much when she was tackled to the ground, five minutes removed from her home.

She started wondering if she was the only one who’d taken up residence in the woods, for Edward sure spent a lot of time in them as well.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

   ‘You thought you could steal from me and get away with it? Did you?’

‘Let me go.’

‘Let you go? Just let you go? After you stole from me? Oh no dear sister, I showed you mercy. Now I’ll show you my wrath. And don’t hope for a random bear to save you this time around. That kind of luck never comes around twice.’

He got up and kicked in her in the stomach. She bent  over, covering her stomach.

‘Where is my treasure.’

‘You stole it yourself.’

He kicked her again. ‘You don’t know that. And so what? It’s mine now.’

Another kick. ‘Where?’

Esther remained silent.

‘I won’t ask a third time. I’d hate to fuck up your pretty face.’

‘You don’t deserve a single penny from that treasure.’

He pulled her up by her hair and kicked her in the back this time. She cried out in pain as he dropped her to the floor again.

‘You can’t kill me. Then you’ll never find it.’

‘But I can make you suffer.’

‘Do as you please, but I won’t help you.’

‘You stupid little witch. I should have burned you the same day I outed you!’

A witch. She was a witch!

Why did she always forget that when she was around him?

She raised her hand, flexing her fingers to cast an incantation, but Edward gave her another kick before she had the chance to finish the movement.

‘You were always the weakest of them all, Esther. You think magic is going to help you?’

Another kick.

She wailed and formed her body into a ball to shield her most fragile areas.

‘You’re a failure. You can’t be normal. You can’t be a witch. You’re an awful thief. I think I might be doing you a favour by killing you. You’re utterly deluded if you think you can ever reach something.’

She had no doubt he had the capacity to kill her.

She couldn’t imagine herself escaping the situation.

Perhaps it was true. What had she done well on this earth? What had she done with her life? She didn’t even have anyone who’d miss her.

Hot tears heated her cheeks as she fought to find the strength to fight back. But the constant onslaught of kicks made it hard to focus on anything beside the pain.

 “But he’s not going to make a  victim out of you any longer. I will not allow it.”

But here he was, making a victim out of her again. And there she lay, undergoing his treatment. She wished she had the strength to fight back. To defend the life her friend had saved.

‘I’m sorry, James.’

‘What’s that?’

His kicks halted for a second, believing Esther to have said something that might be a plea or a location. Esther wasted no time letting go of her body and immediately made a gesture which threw him three feet away from her.

She tried to scramble to her feet, she honestly tried, but her body was so sore that her legs crumpled underneath her weight.

‘You’re going to fight? Bold of you. Didn’t knew you had some Denham spice after all.’

‘I hate you.’

‘Do you? I remember a time where you said quite the opposite.’ His words missed their mark, or rather, they hit the wrong one. It didn’t make her feel insecure or sad, it made her boil with rage.

Esther's beam of light blinded him.

‘I do.’

Her hands tingled with energy. She wanted to hurt him. Yet at the same time, she wondered if she was capable of murder.

Edward fell to his knees as the pure energy shot from her hands and connected with his chest.

   ‘You bitch!’ His scream deepened, the sound echoing through the woods and becoming inhuman… Esther stared in disbelief.

How did he… he didn’t. His scream had left his mouth at the same time a roar rippled through the woods.

Could it be?

Esther couldn’t stop herself from looking around.

A foolish mistake, honestly. She should have known. Edward yanked on her hair and pushed her into the dirt again.

They tackled each other, now both on their knees in the dirt. Esther kicking up the brown ground and Edward lashing out at her with his fists. They fell and rolled, kicked and pushed, and then.

‘James!’

A fist connected with her cheek.

As her face connected with the ground once more, she could just see the shimmer of a knife in Edward’s hands. Then everything faded to black.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 Her head pounded. Her muscles ached. Beside her face, a bear moaned pitifully. She could just notice a pair of green eyes beside her. She reached out, her hands connecting with the fur she would never forget the feel of. Her hands clenched shut around it. The bear was moving, and she was being pulled on top. She fell away again.

  She was aware of  moving. She could feel herself rising and falling. The sensation was not unfamiliar to the one of being on a horse years ago. The light went out.

 The ground was hard, and her head throbbed. Simply moving her finger hurt enough to cripple her. She tried to lift her body, but she didn’t think she’d managed to get even an inch above the ground, before her body ached so much it shut down again.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 It was pitch black when she opened her eyes again. It was the first time she didn’t have to fight to keep them open, though her body still hurt like hell. She’d never done her witch triall, but she could imagine how a highwayman felt after having been broken on the wheel.

‘Esther?’

J-J- James?’

Something moved beneath her. Had she been lying on the bear?

‘Thank God, I was so worried for you.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘How can I not?’

‘I survived this long on my own.’

‘It didn’t really look like you were surviving all that well.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have left me.’

‘I’m sorry… I just… I really wished I could have stayed. But I couldn’t.’

‘Why?’

Even saying the words hurt, as they required breath, and breathing wasn’t particularly enjoyable at the moment.

‘I can’t tell.’

‘Well try.’

‘I wanted to… to… break my curse.’

Esther’s eyebrows lifted.  She could feel her bear move underneath her.

‘I can tell it? I can? Esther, I tried to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t. Only bear noises came out. I don’t know how it’s possible now but I’m going to try. Can you listen right now?’

‘I might be in pain… And I’m not excluding the possibility I might faint somewhere in the foreseeable future… But if you don’t start talking now I’ll find the strength to beat the answer out of you.’

‘There is the Miss Denham I’m used to.’

She wished she had the strength to roll her eyes.

‘My ancestors once decided it was a good idea to curse the family treasure. Whoever stole it would be cursed with bad luck, and whoever lost it would be cursed as well, but they would be given the strength of a bear to get the treasure back… I never thought the curse would be… You know… Like it is. But when I was away from home, the treasure was stolen, and out of nowhere, I turned into a bear. I was chased and hunted. Turns out people don’t like bears a lot.’

Esther could hear the humour in his voice, and well-remembered how scared she’d been when she first met him.

‘I came to this region because I could simply sense that the thief lived in this area. But I could never find him. Then winter set in, and you saved me. When I left, it was only because each day, though I’d never particularly enjoyed being a bear, I found myself growing more and more agitated with my predicament. You made me want to search with a renewed vigour.’

Her mouth was dry, and the load of information only slowly penetrated the woolly interior of her head. But as the words seeped in, her heartbeat picked up.

He had a family.

The family had a treasure.

The treasure was stolen.

 He was cursed with the strength of a bear…

‘Why?’

‘Because each day I looked at you, I found myself wishing I could touch your face without my claws peeling your skin off. Needing to hold you in my arms instead of having you lean against my side… And having to kiss you or going mad.’

Esther didn’t know how one was supposed to react to being told they were loved by a bear, who actually turned out to be a cursed human, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to giggle.

But giggle she did.

‘This is ridiculous.’

Edward had killed her. Or he’d pushed her to the edge of death.

Her dying mind had probably gone delirious and imagined the return of James, and had started adding more and more fantastical elements so that she could die happily.

‘I should have known. After all, what am I to you but a strange talking bear?’

‘What happened to Edward?’

The bear grew quiet. Esther nodded. She could have guessed. She didn’t know how to feel about it, but it didn’t particularly sadden her. He’d tried to kill her thrice in six years.

‘I told you I might kill him. I apologise. I know it’s wrong.’

‘I think you may have killed the thief who stole your treasure.’

‘But then how will I ever find it? I’m cursed!’

James growled and gnarled and roared out of frustration and sadness.

If anything, it gave Esther time to process everything.

Her bear was back. Her bear, who had always been a friend instead of a pet, was human. And for some odd reason, he happened to be a wealthy lord who proclaimed to be in love with the odd poor witch of the woods.

And she held the key to his humanity in her bedroom!

‘I have it. I took it, that’s why he was attacking me… It’s in my bedroom. If you push my drawer away, you’ll find a set of stairs to a secret storage room. It’s there. You can take it back, it belongs to you.’

‘You took it?’

‘Edward owed me my inheritance, and I knew there was no way he had earned that much. I didn’t really think it through, but I figured I could use at least a part of it to get away and start my life over. It would also mean I was safe and away from Edward. But he got to me first. I’m sorry I stole your treasure.’

‘You stole from your brother, not from me. Even I would feel no remorse over stealing from a man like him.’

Esther nodded. The rollercoaster of emotions was draining all the energy she’d gathered from her sleep. She was starting to get drowsy again.

‘I’m glad I could assist you. You’ve always been kind to me. You deserve to get your treasure back.’

‘You’re a remarkably kind woman yourself… E- Es, you’re falling asleep again, aren’t you?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Is there a potion I could give you? To ease the pain?’

‘Amasfelaynes’, she breathed, as she curled up again. It would help the bruises heal, though it would make the pain a bit worse at first. But it was fine, she was sure she’d be able to sleep through it.

She felt a vial of glass connecting to her face, and weakly lifted her hand towards it. James had taken it between his sharp teeth. She honestly didn’t even bother opening her eyes anymore as she unscrewed the lid and downed its contents.

Sleep took her seconds after.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 When she woke up again, it was about noon, judging by the light inside her cabin. The fire was still crackling behind her. Her body ached, but it didn’t throb like it did the night before.

The potion had done its magic. She redistributed her weight to find a more comfortable position on the carpet, and became aware of an arm tensing around her middle.

She stiffened.

Calm down.

One breath.

Two breaths

Three breaths.

She was laying on the floor of her cabin in the woods. This much she understood. She’d fallen asleep there after James gave her her potion.

She pushed herself to look at her waist. And there it was: an arm dressed in a richly embroidered blue coat. On the end of the coat, a frilly end of a white sleeve could be distinguished, from which a very scarred wrist and a hand hung. The scars were ugly and purple, and there were visible depths in the skin. Whatever had happened to his writs, he was lucky it was still attached to his body.

A treasure.

James.

A curse.

The wrist! The paw!

She couldn’t help the shiver running down her spine.

Her dear bear had revealed to her he was supposed to be a man. No human should be able to get into her home. Therefore, the only humans who could have entered her home were she herself, and humans who walked passed the gate as something other than human.

The retrieval of his treasure must have restored his human form.

‘Because each day I looked at you, I found myself wishing I could touch your face without my claws peeling your skin off. Needing to hold you in my arms instead of having you lean against my side… And having to kiss you or going mad.’

He was human now.

She didn’t dare look at him. Behind her wouldn’t lay the bear whose hairy snout she’d become so accustomed to, but the face of a man she’d never seen before.

But she did know him.

And she had heard him.

She studied his hand, as it was the only thing she could look at without moving, and the only aspect she could analyse without starting to tremble.

The hand had long fingers, and though the palm was considerably larger than hers, it wasn’t too broad. As far as she could judge, he’d have a moderate waist.

Would he be as tall as his bear form? That would be very large.

As she was wondering about his looks, she didn’t notice that the figure behind her was slowly waking up.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  ‘Esther?’

‘James!’

She shrieked.

She was scared of him again. And scared of how their relation would continue after this moment. It was one thing to welcome a bear into her home, but another to be faced with a man who’d declared his desire for her before she’d even seen him.

‘Esther, please, don’t be scared.’

She wondered if he’d somehow look like his bearform.

There was only one way to find out.

But once she looked, there was no going back. Her bear friend would be gone.

Her life as she knew it would probably be over as well.

So much was about to happen. She wished she could lay on this floor with her eyes shut forever. The change was too sudden, too drastic.

Soft, warm hands took hold of hers.

‘Esther, please. I’m still… Me. Though I’ll probably be less hungry and hairy than before.’

She laughed at that, and opened her eyes.

They connected with a lovely pair of green eyes, found in a round face framed by hair and a beard the same dark chocolate shade as his fur had been.

He was… Not ugly.

Far from it actually.

She didn’t know how much time passed, gazing into his eyes, but she did know time had most definitely passed.

    ‘Now what?’

‘That’s entirely up to you.’

‘Me?’

‘You.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘What do you want, Miss Denham?’

‘Want in what way?’

‘Of life. You told me yesterday you wished to start your life anew to escape your brother’s clutches. Your brother is gone now. So I wish to give you the choice: do you wish to remain here, or move away and start over? You’ve helped me so many times, and saved my life. I’ll do everything in my power to help you achieve happiness in whatever way you want.’

Remain behind, in the woods she’d been chased to, and the woods she feared. Or start anew, away from it all, but without a single friend? What would she do all day? At least here she was busy struggling for her life.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I also have another offer.’

‘You do?’

‘You could… Marry me? You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. You’re witty, intelligent, beautiful, caring and so much more. I can’t imagine loving anyone as much as I do you. But I know you do not know me the way I do you, and it hardly seems fair. To you I am an entirely new person.’

‘You pretend as though I am the one who would fare badly if we were to wed. But you’re a fool if you can’t see I’m not worth having. I’m a witch and I don’t have a penny to my name.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You should.’

‘I don’t. So we’re both an awful prospect?’

‘Actually, you’re not that awful. I do know you. I’ve talked with you every day for over four months. We discussed everything. Now I just get a face to match with the voice.’

‘And how does the face match the voice?’

‘Well you still look positively as wild as your growls sound. But I assume your face looks as kind as your voice sounds.’

‘I never quite know whether you’re complimenting or insulting me’, he laughed. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

She shook her head.

‘You’re not meant to. I wouldn’t want you to feel too confident.’

‘Oh no, you must prevent that at all costs.’

And it was at this moment, when both couldn’t get the foolish smiles off their faces, that their hands started reaching for the other.

Lips connected, bodies entwined themselves and passion was discovered, elevating the friendship from the bear and the maiden fair, to passionate heights.

   ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

   If you’d ask his best man, Sidney Parker, he wouldn’t be able to explain anything. He only knew that one day, after an absence of a year and a half, Lord Babington came riding through the gates of his family home, with a woman in tow. Nobody knew where she came from, and nobody knew how they’d met, but Lord Babington announced they were to be wed. It could only be attested, by everyone who’d seen the wedding, that the groom looked positively bewitched by his new bride, and the bride was happier than any other.

[veliseraptor]

novum oriens, 2.1k, clint and natasha’s a+ parenting verse, this is the actual first installment chronologically other than the prequel, writing things in order? what’s that?

thanks to the anon who reminded me about the existence of this verse and brought me back to finish this large chunk of it I started to write ages ago and never finished filling in!

Clint liked to think he was pretty used to weird. He might not be as cool-headed and unflappable as Nat, but most people weren't, and he was pretty damn good at rolling with the punches.

That being said, there was 'weird' and then there was 'Thor showing up out of the blue with a kid at his heels.' Small kid, too, about waist-high, short black hair, his head swiveling around like he was trying to look at everything at once but still sticking close by Thor, who looked a lot more serious. "This is Midgard?" the kid said, sounding both curious and a little skeptical.

"Indeed it is," Thor said. "And my friend's home."

"It's--" the kid stopped abruptly, glanced at them, and then said politely, "very impressive." Clint pressed his lips together so he didn't snort. Tony looked like he was trying to decide between being amused and offended. Steve cleared his throat.

"It's good to see you again, Thor," he said, and then looked at the kid and opened his mouth. Thor interrupted before he could say anything - probably ask what his name was.

"Brother," he said to the kid, and Clint froze. "Would you..." He paused, and the kid gave him an arch look, a little half smile.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Thor?" he said, and for a moment Thor's expression was panicked, but the kid gave him a little shove. "It's all right." He turned to Tony and said, "where's the washroom?"

"Uh," Tony said. "Down the stairs, take a left and then another left. Second door on the right."

"Thank you," the kid said brightly, and departed. Clint stared after him, stomach in knots.

"Tell me you have another brother," Clint said, the moment it seemed like he was out of earshot. Thor's expression tightened, and Clint swore. "You're telling me that was - Loki?"

"Yes," Thor said.

"Loki who died?" Bruce said. Thor's expression tightened further.

"Yes."

"And you brought him here...why, exactly?" Natasha asked, an edge on her voice. Thor glanced toward the stairs.

"Because I need to ask you a favor," he said. "I need Loki to stay here with you."

Absolute, dead silence followed his pronouncement. Clint felt like he'd been clubbed in the head. "You're not serious," he said faintly. Thor looked grim, and perfectly serious.

"I am afraid that I am," he said. "I understand the difficulty, but..." He paused, and then said, "Loki's coming back. We can't discuss this with him here. He doesn't remember...what came before, and it is better that way."

"We need to talk about this," Steve said.

"In private," Thor said. "Is there something Loki might do while we...?"

"You want to turn him loose in my tower?" Tony said. Thor just looked at him, and Tony made a small noise. "Yeah, okay, okay, that's cool. Fine. If he breaks anything..."

Loki emerged from downstairs and Thor walked swiftly over to him. "My friends and I have some business to discuss, I am afraid," Thor said, and then added, when Loki (shit, Loki) opened his mouth, "Avengers business."

Loki huffed. "And what am I going to do?" he asked.

"Ever heard of the internet?" Tony said suddenly. Loki gave him a perplexed look, and Tony said, "you're gonna love it, I guarantee you. Guys - let me know where you decide to meet."

Thor ruffled Loki's hair, who gave him a scowl and a wrinkled noise as he shook it back into place, and Clint felt like he was going to choke on his own tongue. He looked quickly away and found himself meeting Natasha's sympathetic gaze. It's just a kid, he told himself, but of course that wasn't all he was. And it was hard not to feel like believing that made Loki harmless would be a very large mistake.

**

“I gave the kid a Starkpad and showed him how to use the internet, so that should keep him busy for a few hours,��� Tony said, dropping into a chair. Clint noticed that, the kid, like he was trying to avoid saying the name. “So…”

No one seemed to want to start talking, so Clint went ahead and dove into the breach. “Okay, I’ll say it,” he said. “Are you seriously talking about just dropping Loki with us and leaving?”

Thor’s gaze was on his hands. “I would not do so if I had other options.”

“You have an entire planet,” Clint said, maybe a little belligerent, so sue him.

Thor’s lips twisted. “Asgard is not safe for Loki. Not...as he is.”

Steve frowned. “People are targeting him? A kid?”

“Many feel as you do,” Thor said. “That it matters not his age, that it is...safer to put an end to his life now, while he is still young and vulnerable.” Clint’s stomach clenched a little but he shut that feeling down. Or tried. Thor lifted his gaze. “My friends. I know that you have no reason to bear anything but ill-will toward my brother, but understand - this is not the Loki you battled. He has no memory of those events, and is a child not just in body but in mind. I cannot keep him with me while I investigate this new threat - and I fear to leave him on Asgard, even among my friends, without my protection.”

Steve was openly grimacing. Natasha had her “trying-too-hard-to-be-blank” face on, which meant she was unhappy and wanted at least him to know it. Tony rubbed his forehead, but he looked as disquieted as Clint felt. “How do you know that this kid is really - all new, factory-fresh Loki?” He asked. “Not the old one messing with you to get your guard down?”

“I know,” Thor said, something cold in his voice.

“Right,” Tony said. “That’s reassuring.”

“Even if...potential threat aside, Thor,” Bruce said, and if Steve looked upset Bruce looked...a little green. Clint supposed child abuse might be a sore spot with him. “None of us are exactly what you’d call babysitters.”

“Hey,” Clint objected. “I’m good with kids.”

“Then that makes one of us,” Bruce said. Clint was relieved that he didn’t disagree out loud, at least. “But...we don’t exactly lead safe lives, either.”

“I know,” Thor said, “but with you is the safest place I know on this Realm. I do not think any would try to harm Loki, with you as his protectors.”

Oh, Jesus. Clint could see by the look on Steve’s face, and Bruce’s, and even Tony’s, that they were going to go for it. And what was he supposed to say? Yeah, I’m fine with letting a kid get murdered for crimes he’s possibly culpable for but doesn’t remember, sounds good.

“What happens when we have to do Avengers stuff?” Clint asked.

“He is not incapable of taking care of himself,” Thor said. “For short periods of time…”

“We could have some kind of rotation,” Steve said. Natasha drummed her fingers on the table.

“Hold on, Steve,” she said. Clint could’ve kissed her. “We haven’t even agreed to-”

She broke off, looking toward the door. Clint looked with her, and noticed that the door was open and standing in the doorway was the topic of their conversation. Looking at him more closely now, the best adjective to describe Loki in his current state was “weedy” - narrow and almost delicate looking, and maybe it was just that his eyes were wide but they seemed too big for his face. Clint guessed he was maybe ten, eleven years old, or at least the Aesir equivalent thereof.

His eyes flicked around the room and he cleared his throat awkwardly, gaze fixing on Thor. “I am sorry to interrupt,” he said, shoulders drawing up a little like he could sense the tension in the room. “I wished to ask if there were a library somewhere?”

Clint stared at him, eyes narrowed. He didn’t look like Loki, except in the superficial physical resemblance. Different mannerisms, different posture, and his voice sounded different - hesitant, the tone of a child around unfamiliar adults, expecting to be dismissed.

“What happened to the Starkpad I gave you?” Tony asked. Loki glanced at him, and then at Thor like he was looking for guidance.

“It is...interesting,” Loki said, carefully polite. “But it is a bit…simple?” Clint had to stifle a snort. Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he looked indignant. “It is very impressive, though,” Loki hastened to add, seemingly entirely earnest. “I did not know that Midgardians had worked out how to make such things.” Now Bruce looked like he was trying not to laugh. Tony huffed loudly, and Loki shot Thor what was unmistakably a nervous look.

“Right,” Steve said loudly. “Well...Thor, should you introduce us?”

Oh, right. Clint wondered idly if there was a chance he could duck out and avoid having to get introduced to Loki again, but Loki’s eyes had already lit up. “No need!” He said. “Thor has spoken much and highly of you. You are Iron Man,” he said to Tony. “The infinitely clever master forger and craftsman.” Clint couldn’t help but think, nice, kid. Tony looked like he was trying not to be pleased by the description.

“And you, Captain America,” Loki went on. “Courageous and true, defender of your people and a warrior without compare.” He turned to Bruce, hesitating only a moment. “Dr. Banner?” he said, not quite a question. “A man of science, but you also-” Another glance at Thor. “You fought my brother to a standstill,” he said, with a faint tone of awe.

Bruce’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

But now Loki had turned toward Clint, who tensed in spite of himself. Half expecting some kind of backhanded insult, but Loki’s expression was just one of slightly apprehensive excitement. “Hawkeye,” he said. “The marksman who has never missed his target. And Black Widow, whom others underestimate at their peril.”

He stopped his recitation and looked around the room, expectant and nervous. Thor stood and walked over, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and the way Loki looked up at him sort of stung: trusting, adoring. Clint remembered what it was like to look at your older brother like that, like they could fix the whole world, like everything would be fine as long as they were there.

“It’s nice to meet you, Loki,” Steve said, just as Loki’s smile started to falter. “We do have a conversation that we need to finish, though, so…”

Loki seemed to deflate, a little. “I’ll go,” he said without argument, and Thor gave him a hard look.

“No eavesdropping at the door,” he said. Loki’s eyes flicked guiltily away.

“I won’t.” He paused. “But we should leave soon, Thor. We do not want to return to Asgard after moonrise.”

“Yes, Loki,” Thor said without a hitch, and Clint winced. He ruffled his brother’s hair. Ruffled Loki’s hair, and if Loki scowled at him he didn’t protest, and slipped back out.

“You haven’t told him,” Bruce said.

Thor looked down. “I have not wanted to.”

Tony groaned. “He’s going to flip out, Thor.”

Thor frowned. “Why should he? It is not forever, and he will understand that.”

Will he? Clint thought. Will it even matter, or will the only thing that matters be that he’s being abandoned by his brother on a different planet with total strangers?

Bruce rubbed his forehead. “Kids don’t always get that stuff, Thor. Does he...does he know that Asgard is dangerous for him?”

Thor hesitated. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. “He knows.” There was a world of something there that Clint didn’t feel up to touching. “He does not know why. We have said...that there is a misunderstanding.”

Loki seemed like a smart kid. Clint would bet he wasn’t buying that one, and he wondered what kind of alternate explanations Loki might’ve come up with.

“Loki will understand,” Thor said staunchly. “I will explain. And you are friends.”

“That’s not going to be enough,” Tony said. “And I don’t really want to see the tantrum he throws when he realizes you’re leaving him behind.”

“Does that mean you agree to let him stay here?” Thor asked. Sly. Tony looked helplessly at Steve, who glanced at Clint.

Clint grimaced. “So it’s down to me? What about Nat?” Natasha didn’t volunteer to step in, and Clint squeezed his eyes closed and exhaled harshly. “Yeah. Okay. For you, Thor.”

Fuck, he was going to regret this.

[crestedcurls-blog]

Come Home To Me

A commission piece for the lovely @idiotcrusader

SFW, Reaper76, some violence in the beginning.  

6.6k words

Read it on AO3

Los Muertos was a plague on the small town of Dorado. They had intercepted several weapons shipments and had used them to terrorize tourists and extort protection money from local businesses among other crimes. Their spree of violence had gone unchecked by the officials who were spread too thin to deal with the threat. It required an outside set of skills.

The vigilant had moved quickly after the first reports came in, moving from his search in Canada for answers to the warm streets of Mexico. After renting out a small hotel room--paid in cash, under a false name--he began his search, following the movements of the criminals. There was one skirmish involving a little girl and a grenade, but nothing had come of. He was simply left with some new bruises and the girl’s voice, ringing in his ears: You’re one of those heroes, aren’t you?

He was no hero. Not anymore.

76 geared up for another assault. This time, he would be ready for them.  A shipment was being moved and he needed to get ahead of it before the weapons could be used to hurt more. Oh, how he claimed he didn’t care, that he worked solely for himself and his own interests, but that was a damn lie to himself. 76 cared about every person who his actions saved. Which is exactly why he was here, and why the weapons needed to be stopped.

Into the darkness he moved, using only the glow of the visor to define the world. Los Muertos was not a quiet gang and he could hear the laughter of the grunts loading the expensive tools of war into crates before moving them onto the transport. Rapid fire Spanish echoed down the alley, a joke before sharp, barking laughs. Serious tones took over, and something about the guns were mentioned--god, 76 wished he remembered more Spanish. Despite his itchiness to head into the firefight, his training stayed his hand, forcing him to remain down the alley, out of view.

After minutes passed, his patience was rewarded and 76 was able to gain a better understanding of what opposed him. A team of gangbangers, armed with heavy weapons and perhaps a little too much of whatever drug had hit the market recently. Without taking his eyes off the scene, he took stock of his weapons--a couple of biotic canisters, several extra pulse clips, and a Beretta strapped to the outside of his thigh.

This was doable.

His inventory stocked and prepared, 76 waited for another minute, listening to their movements. His restraint was rewarded in the form of one of the scouts stumbling slowly down the alley that hid 76--it was go time.

Soldier 76 moved all at once, appearing from the shadows to grab the scrawny man by the jaw and slam his face against the wall, hearing the bones in his jaw and cheeks crack under the pressure. 76 didn’t stop to listen to his screams, climbing up the nearby fire escape before the fallen criminal’s friends could investigate too closely.

Three of the gangbangers moved into the dark alley, toting oversized weapons that even an experienced 76 regarded as lethal. Once they were below him, 76 dropped from the rusty metal, already firing his pulse rifle. The three barely had time to make a noise before high-powered shots slammed into their bodies and they fell to the ground.

Bullets peppered the ground around his feet, hardly missing the worn boots as 76 threw himself to the side. At the entrance of the alley, a man stood with a large minigun, and it was already spinning up for another onslaught, sure to shred the little cover that the vigilant had managed. Quick thinking led Jack to the fallen man that had originally tested his luck, and the belt of grenades slung so casually around his chest.

Grab, pop, throw and go.

He didn’t even look at the bomb hit the ground, blowing up the man with the impressive weapon and another who had been approaching as backup of sorts, toting additional ammunition for the gun.

That left only two more lackies and the two big guys who seemed to be calling the shots at the moment; Unsurprisingly, they remained back by the shipment in order to protect their precious stolen goods.

Turning, 76 barely had time to raise his rifle again before a bullet sliced through the skin of his right shoulder, cutting it in two down to the bone. With a grunt and a gasp of pain, he raised the pulse rifle with his non-dominant hand, feeling the pull of skin and muscle,  and blindly sprayed the alley, connecting with the taller of the two lackies and dropping him beside his fallen friends. The clip was now empty and one arm was solidly out of commission, but he had managed to cut down the crew that much more.

As the final underling advanced down the death-ridden alley, looking nervous, 76 cast aside his precious rifle in favor of the pistol strapped to his thigh. A full clip and the practiced ability to reload with one hand made for a better close-quarters weapons. The brute had three bullets emptied into him, killing him instantly. Rapid Spanish filled the air, the remaining few gang members growing concerned for their friends who had met their fate in the narrow alley.

76 rounded the corner to a hail of curses and bullets. Languages were never really his thing--there was no need for a foreign language in the fields of Indiana--but 76 managed to pick up on a few of the phrases from his time with--No, no.  No distractions. His friend was gone, he wasn’t worth 76 losing his life over too.

Dodging behind a pile of trash and old broken boxes, 76 let a curse slip from him. Jesus, he was too old for this anymore. How long could this firefight go on before someone gave up? Before everyone was dead? Before even he was running on total empty? It had been days since he had slept soundly, and the meager meals he had managed made it difficult to feed his super-soldier metabolism. Could he really keep this up?

The next second found him rolling forward, spraying bullets as fast as his sidearm would fire. One nailed its target but the others missed widely. 76 cursed the injured arm for his failure.

Almost in slow motion, 76 watched the large rifle nestle against the shoulder of the brute, watched him take aim and fire. Then, pain, raw and visceral, exploded in his left shoulder. Two more of the shots connected with 76’s legs, one with his stomach.

Soldier 76 let out a scream as he hit the ground.

Despair began to replace that resilient, bitter flame of hope that he had managed to keep kindled since the explosion. Now, death lurking at the corners of his eyes in an inky black smog that threatened to choke him. Bitter and unyielding, the soldier stayed on his knees, trying and failing to rise to his feet once again. Sensors in the visor picked out the backs of the escaping targets as they sped off through the streets with the stolen weapons. He failed to protect himself or the streets. He had failed the mission, failed the objective. 76 had lost.

God damn it.

The old soldier felt a tear slip down his face. That little girl, the shopkeepers, the homeowners, they were all relying on him to clear this evil out, to extinguish the crime spree that put all of their lives at risk. And now he was bleeding out in several places. Instinct told him to reach for a dwindling biotic canister, but exhaustion stayed his hand. Maybe it was his time. Maybe he could finally rest, and be done with all of this bullshit. 76 had been fighting it for so long, but now he was stuck. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Even Reaper, his ultimate adversary, had vanished like the ghost he was. And now 76 couldn’t even defeat a small gang in Mexico.

Pathetic. He could hear the voice of his old commander from the army screaming at him in his ear. The mission’s not over until you get your guy.

“The mission was long over,” 76 argued with the dead man in his head. “I failed, and my family paid the price. Let me rest.”

The mission’s not over until you get your guy. Reaper’s still out there. Go finish this.

Maybe it was the voice of the man who changed his life, who had saved him from a life on a dusty farm that had 76 reaching tiredly for one of the biotic canisters. Maybe it was just angry old spite and a need to finish something, anything, before he dies. Maybe it was just because he was too lazy to let himself bleed out and ultimately too scared to pull the trigger himself. Hell, who knows if the serum would even let him die then? No, it was much better to remain on his feet, even for a bit longer.

But his hand never made it to the small canisters at his hip, interrupted instead by the sensation of a shotgun resting against the back of his head. 76 didn’t move any further, just froze as much as the injury in his arms would allow him to. Looks like Death had found him in more ways than one.

“Soldier 76.” That ruined voice rasped at him.

“Reaper.”

“Didn’t think I’d find you cleaning up the trash in Méjico.”

“I figured you needed a break from me chasing you. But I guess you ended up chasing me anyway.” 76 bit back a grunt as more blood leaked from him. It had struck him that the old CO was right, he didn’t want to die, not yet, not like this. One hand creeped further toward the the canisters, hoping that Reaper might take this small mercy for him. “Can I just--”

The shotgun pressed harder against his skull, grinding into the bone. “I don’t think so.”

76 began to grow angry with the arrangement. It wasn’t meant to be like this; they were meant to meet on fair fields, faced off in a duel to a death. Not Reaper preparing to murder him, execution style. Twisting to look up at him, 76’s lips twisted up in a scowl; not that Reaper could see behind that mask, but the emotion was still there, clear in his voice. “Either kill me or tell me what you want, asshole.”

Behind the porcelain mask of his own, Reaper’s face gathered into a snarl as well. How dare he talked to him like this, this disrespectful little sh--

76’s face blanched, the blood loss making itself known. Screw the gun to his forehead, he was going for the canisters. And to his surprise, Reaper held his trigger finger. The crimson hands cracked the tube and bathed both of them in a golden hue, beginning to erase many of the fresh wounds and repleting his energy some.

The vigilant now distracted by the sudden relief and with dark eyes obscured by the hooked visage of the owl mask, Reaper gazed over the body that seemed so familiar. Stolen intel had referenced the fact that 76 may be the hero of before, the golden boy immortalized in a permanent statue. Funny how permanence had no place anymore. But here, now… Reaper’s suspicion had been confirmed. This was him, this is the man he once protected and cared for, a partner he had once loved. Once upon a time...

The gun against his head seemed to waver for a second. 76 glanced sharply up at the man, confused as the deadly weapon slipped from his forehead and back into a cloud of smoke. What was even more concerning than was watching the shadowy form fall to his knees facing 76, bowing his head in what seemed like a sorrowful gesture.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” The rasp was less pronounced, the words more familiar this time.

76 pulled back sharply, confusion lacing his brow. That voice…

“G-gabe?” He reached out toward the man, hands wrapping around his shoulders--The texture was bizarre, solid, but wispy around the edges.. “Gabriel Reyes?”

The hooded form nodded. “It’s me, Jack.”

“You’re a-alive.” Jack managed out, wounds still making it hard to focus. “What… what happened to you?”

Alarmed at the blood that refused to cease, Gabe chose to dodge that question in favor of wrapping himself around Jack, supporting his battered body. “C’mon, Jack, let’s get you safe.”

                                                      …

Jack was set carefully on the bed of the dingy motel room. The former strike commander enjoyed the security of the streets, of being anonymous, but nothing could beat a hot shower and a semi-decent bed and for as long as he planned on staying in Dorado, having both was a advantage to his cause.

He had fallen asleep as Gabe carried him back. Perhaps the blood loss was greater than he thought, or the day’s emotions were just too strong. Either way, Jack dropped off shortly after Gabe had scooped him up in those all-too-familiar broad arms. At the sensation of being set down into the cool sheets of his hotel bed, Jack slowly cracked his faded blue eyes. From behind the red visor, Gabe was regarded with suspicious eyes as the wraith bustled around, pulling the first aid kit and a glass of water from the small bathroom.  

Jack tried yanking the kit from the figure and insisting on doing it himself. Gabe couldn’t be trusted, not yet, and Jack was always the better medic of the two. But that wasn’t obvious by looking at Jack; he was tired, drained, and the boring eyes of Gabe didn’t help the crooked stitches and the gentle stabs with the tools that were meant to help, not harm. Where was Mercy when you needed her?

“Let me help you, Jack.”

“I don’t need your damn help.”

But nothing deterred Gabe as he settled down next to a wounded Jack. Something about this felt more familiar than either one of them would have liked to admit, but neither one commented on the eerie similarity to the past years. Jack watched him carefully as Gabe pulled out a knife, designed to cut away the ruined fabric of his pants. While he was aware of what Gabe’s goals were, it didn’t make the sensation of his enemy brandishing a weapon over his form any easier.

Gabe ignored the way that Jack reached automatically for the comforting feeling of the now-missing sidearm. Jack’s weapons had been collected by the wraith, sitting in a pile in the corner to be cleaned and fixed up, and to avoid Jack shooting him. He’d get the weapons back, later. For now, Gabe set to the gruesome job of slowly cutting away the ruined material, revealing the two major holes in Jack’s legs. Blood still leaked weakly from the bullet wounds, forcing Gabe into action before he could help with the rest of the battered soldier.

With the help of a set of tweezers and some sterile thread, Gabe was able to remove the bullets and close the wounds. Jack’s face had gone ashen silently, as he faded in and out of consciousness. The super soldier never attempted to escape. Healing needed to happen and honestly? It was nice to have someone else taking care of him.

Once satisfied that the injuries in Jack’s legs would heal, Gabe moved up to unzip that gaudy leather jacket with 76 depicted on the broad shoulders. Internally, he reminded himself to tease Jack about the ridiculous call sign later, after the danger was removed. Jack’s eyes flashed open behind the visor, but the man was too weak to fight Gabe off; He’d just have to have faith that he was here to help, not to harm.

And slowly, the old soldier was patched together again. Once satisfied that Jack wasn’t going to bleed out from the major injuries, Gabe cracked one of the biotic canisters in order to clean up some of the smaller scratches and bruises while Jack napped. Reassured that the vigilante would survive the night, Gabriel got up, gathering a small spread of snacks for the two and booted up the old TV to play some old novella while Reaper attempt to rest.

“Gabe?” Came the weak voice from beside him as he settled back into the bed. “What happened to you?”

“I was in the explosion. That witch Moira had been playing around with some of these nanites. Gave ‘em to me before a major mission in Dubai. Been using them since, but after the explosion--” Gabe remembered it bitterly, body burned and crushed under a piece of the Overwatch logo. He recalled the blood pooling in his mouth, in his shoulder, pain sparking from every nerve. Gabe desperately screaming, trying to get his hands to turn to wisps in order to free himself. It was only as he felt the life fading from him that Gabe’s entire body had splintered into pieces and escaped the embrace of twisted metal and concrete. He had never been able to maintain the same body again, too ruined to get every piece back where it should be. Now he was just some grotesque husk of a man once was, an abomination of humanity and death.

Shaking himself, he returned to the conversation at hand. “I was scattered into pieces after something fell on me. I’ve been piecing myself back together since but… It hurts. And I can never maintain it for long. I can never really go back to the way I was.” Gabe finally managed out the truths that had locked themselves away in his head for so long. “What happened to you, after the explosion?”

Jack laughed, a bitter, soulless laugh that hurt his stomach. “Everything. I was a mess. I just ran, Gabe. I just fucking ran. Been surviving, running, since. Trying to figure out what happened, but it’s just not there yet. I’m missing something and I have no idea what.”

Gabe nodded; he knew the feeling. Thankfully, Jack hadn’t mentioned anything about Gabe’s own viglianting, about the masked figure only known as Reaper. Gabe was scared to go back, scared to show what was left of the once powerful Blackwatch commander. He had signed on with Talon, if only to have O’Deorain there to maintenance the nanites. Since joining, Gabe had hidden behind the mask and cloak to prevent his identity from getting out. Anonymity was his protection.

Glancing over at him, the former Blackwatch Commander opened his mouth, just to close it again. A smear of red on Jack had caught his eye, something missed earlier. The large gash began just above his eyebrow and disappeared downward in a slant over his nose. “Jack, your face--!” Gabe reached out, claws moving slowly to Jack’s face, but the vigilant jerked away before he could touch him.

“Don’t touch it.” His voice was grim as he shifted away on the bed, carefully. Shit. That broken glass behind the boxes; he was too preoccupied by the gunshots at the time, the pain hadn’t registered. And now Gabe wanted to take the mask.

Jack had never told anyone about the poor eyesight that plagued him after the explosion; the smoke and bits of glass had shredded his corneas, rendering him completely blind at the time. The sight had returned somewhat, over the years, but everything remained blurry, colorful shapes.  The only thing that helped was the red visor, stolen from a locker in a long-forgotten Overwatch base. It had been made for him years ago, in case of a hands-free mission, but now provided his aid in day-to-day activities. Very rarely did the man go without it anymore, and never in the presence of others. Especially not Gabe.

Gabe sat up, brow furrowing under his own mask. Self-esteem issues plagued him too--a face that never seemed to be solid greeted him when he lifted up his own mask. It was a mockery of what he once was--handsome, with a strong jawline and a broad nose ever-so-crooked from the years of abuse that he endured in the military. Now, it was a mish-mash of a dead man reanimated, a travesty of who he was before.

It took concentration to keep his face together. Tiny wisps of inky black smoke billowed from it, the nanites keeping him alive burning off and regenerating at rates faster than he could keep track off. Without focusing, his face could be engulfed by the inky smoke, ruining his features and turning him into stuff of nightmares. A fair amount of mirrors had been broken over the new look. And so, the man devised his own disguise. A harbinger of death, someone to seek out the guilty and enact as judge, juror and executioner. It was a mission to hell paved with good intentions. After a while, Gabe lost sight of who was the good guy and who was the bad. And now he was just the Reaper, angry and lost, wandering the streets in search of a clue to his past life and what happened to Overwatch.

Gabe sucked in a breath, watching Jack carefully through the slits in the porcelain mask. It was obvious that the idea of being without his mask in front of Gabe made him uncomfortable, so it was up to Gabe change that. Clawed gloves rested over Jack’s hands, gently guiding them to his own white mask. Trust starts somewhere, and Gabe was willing to extend that olive branch.

“Are you sure?” Was Jack… concerned?

The pointed chin dipped down in a nod. It was time. Together, the old partners removed the owlish mask and set it aside.

At first, the space behind the mask was blank, a wall of inky darkness that resembled nothing that Jack had ever seen. After a couple of beats, though, Gabe’s face slowly began to solidify in the darkness. Smoke dripped from mounding nostrils as the blackness hardened to form tired eyes and a sagged face. Gabe released Jack’s hand, resisting the urge to hide himself from view.

Jack resisted the urge to pull back. The face was seemingly intact, but whatever lurked behind it was a smoky mess, wisping out from behind the hood to create a ghost-like effect. It was as monstrous as it was familiar--a hard jaw, peeking out from the elements, the half-curve of his lips into an amused smile, a richness deep within the man’s eyes. Jack had been in love with him since their days in the SEP but it was only after their promotions that his desperate pinnings had been realized.

In the back of his head, Jack remembered the first time they kissed; in his office, after Gabe had gotten back from a particularly dangerous mission. After weeks spent in the infirmary, Gabe had shown up with that infuriating half-smile and Jack found himself pinning him up against the wall, taking his lips angrily, hands roaming an injured body. It was only after a few minutes of kissing that they had broken apart, gasping and laughing.

Gabe had loved him.

In a way, Jack still loved him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, huh.” Gabe interrupted Jack’s thoughts with a bitter laugh, running rampant of those hours spent in his office together. “Kids call me a monster. Maybe I am.”

Jack reached out with one hand, almost nervously. Red leather brushed against Gabe’s face as the long fingers of the super soldier curled around his jaw, resting his thumb on his nose and gently rubbing it. Though the mask could help him view, this was a better way to see. Gabe was alive. Hidden by his own visor, Jack began to weep, tears filling ruined eyes and dripping down a hooked nose to collect somewhere below his view.

“Easy, Jackie, I’ll put it back on. I know.” Gabe had cried, too, when he first saw himself. Or at least tried to. He couldn’t distinguish between tears and smoke anymore.

“N-no. Leave it off.” Came the command, thick in his throat. “I love it like this, love you like this.” His thumb rubbed carefully over Gabe’s face, mapping it out--as if it was impossible for Jack to have forgotten it in the first place. Jack spent the next minutes taking in his face, the scars and changes it had underwent since they had last seen each other, so many years ago.

After the moment had past and Gabe had shifted under Jack’s hands--clearly uncomfortable at the attention--Jack removed his hand. It was time for Jack to reciprocate the man’s trust and allow him to work on the gash that laced his own face.

With a similar nod, Jack indicated that he was ready for the removal of the visor. The claws came up to rest against the red glass, ready to catch it, as Jack reached back to undo the clasp that attached it to his face. With a click, it came undone and rested in Gabe’s hand for a moment, before he pulled it away from 76’s face and set it to the side of them, next to his own mask.

Milky blue eyes didn’t look up at Gabe. His face had been ruined by the explosion, debris burying itself in the soft flesh of his head and neck. Jack still remembering the metal pole that swung down, slicing his face in two as he pulled desperately at the rubble pinning him to the ground. Blood had blinded him, spilled into his mouth, choked him out. He had panicked, screaming and sobbing, but the oppressive darkness refused to respond, didn’t help him. Just miles and miles of crushed concrete, blood, that damn blue jacket…

He shook himself, bringing himself from the nightmares of the past that had left him with years of claustrophobia and blindness. Without the visor, Jack only had vague, colorful shapes to define his world; to go without it was a nightmare, but Gabe was right, he needed to clean the wound. Yet another scar slashed into his face--so handsome, in his youth--that would need to be cleaned up. Usually, he’d do it himself, cleaning the blood from his gear and stitching up the ruined skin by feel alone; But this time, smooth hands came up to brush against his face, making him jump nervously.

“Be calm, Jack. I’m not going to hurt you.” Gabe had removed his clawed gloves, revealing hands that certainly looked like his, but were too frighteningly flawless to be his. The nanites had forgotten the calluses and scars from years spent fighting, leaving only cold, too-soft skin. Knuckles brushed against Jack’s cheekbone, remembering the exact moment when he fell in love with his SEP partner.

It was just after they were deemed successes by the SEP scientists. Gabe and Jack had been deployed on a mission somewhere in South Asia to take care of a small group of insurgents who had been kidnapping and executing the local people there. Jack had volunteered to be some kind of distraction while Gabe had snuck around the back to successfully free some of the kidnapped. But before long, they had caught onto the trick and grabbed the nearest person, a girl no older than fifteen, and placed a gun to her head. Jack had volunteered himself, traded his life for the girl’s, and it was in that moment that Gabe got the satisfaction of putting a bullet through the insurgent’s head. It was also in that moment that he realized he was falling stupidly in love with the wide-eyed golden boy from Indiana of all places.

Gabe retrieved the first aid pack, practiced fingers wiping away the dried blood and removing the contaminants from the gash. The needle was strung and the ruined skin was pulled back together.

So far, Gabe hadn’t guessed the man’s weakness, but Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t soon. Jack was a twitchy mess, jumping slightly every time the creeping hands brushed against his face. Between his inability to see more than a cloudy shape near his eyes, and the fact that Gabe was Reaper, the current bane of his existence, Jack wanted nothing more than to sink through the bed and disappear. The pain of the needle barely registered; the old soldier was too distracted by his thoughts to even think about the minor prick against war-leathered skin.

Azure eyes finally looked up at Gabe shortly after he finished with the stitches. There was a pause as Gabe’s gaze devoured the man’s face, taking in each scar and bump, seeing the stories of the years between the explosion and now, the pain and weariness lurking just behind a carefully-constructed wall. But his eyes--there was something wrong. They weren’t the bright blue that took away Gabe’s breath as a young commander, the ones who burned memories in his brain of tired nights looking blankly over war plans, of weeks spent on the battlefield, serious and angry, of the time spent together when Gabe tried to teach Jack how to dance and then they were laughing and falling over each other, rough lips embracing each other in the early hours of the morning where nothing could touch them for those ten minutes--

“What happened to you?” Gabe finally managed out, around the torrent of memories that washed over him.

“War. What else?” Jack had been rasping like that since the explosion, doing everything he could to hide his identity. Today, he’s just Soldier: 76. He couldn’t go back to Jack Morrison even if he wanted. “Things have changed since we last saw each other.” Quietly, he prayed that Gabe didn’t see the way he tried to lean away, to hide his face.

“Jackie.” Gabe caught his chin and pulled his face back toward him. “Are you--the explosion… Are you blind, Jack?”

There was a long pause. Jack closed his eyes and released a long breath. If he didn’t talk about it, if he didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t true, it didn’t happen. But here came Gabe, destroying those foundations. Shit.

He didn’t realize, the one small tear that leaked from his ruined eyes. Jack hadn’t cried since the explosion, since extracting himself and turning his back on everything that he helped to build since he was a young adult. The crystalline drop fell from him, falling onto the blanket below. More followed it, just silently slipping from the closed eyes.

Gabe sat and watched the display for a couple of seconds before gently scooting forward and wrapping his hands around the man’s jaw and cheek. Jack didn’t fight him for the first time since they met. Ghostly hands, dripping in smoke, brushed over his nose, wiping away the tears, catching Jack as he leaned forward into the man’s hands. And just like that, Jack lost himself in the arms of the man he once loved, quietly crying with their foreheads pressed together.

They stayed like that, two old soldiers pressed together, holding each other through the horrors of the world once again. They were the seawall in the storm, standing strong together, finding faith within each other, weathering everything the world had to beat them down with. Nothing could touch either of them now.

Jack was the one to pull away and carefully wipe the rest of tears away. Cloudy eyes opened again and he could almost detect a smile where Gabe’s lips should be.

“I missed you, Jack Francis Morrison.”

Jack snorted at the use of his middle name. Gabe was the only one, aside from the legal documentation, who knew his full name. A name that he had left behind in Indiana, on a farm in the middle of dusty nowhere, where he wanted nothing more than to escape. Now, the only thing he wanted was to go home, but he wasn’t sure where home even was anymore.

“Ya know, Gabe, you never told me what your middle name was.” Jack laughed a bit, moving past the tender moments of before.

“Don’t have one.” The man shrugged, laughing with him. “Parents never gave me one.”

Jack slowly fell silent, the laughter disappearing from his face as the stitches pulled uncomfortably. “I’m not totally blind. Can see alright with the mask, but when I take it off…” A hand waved in front of his face. “It’s all gone. Just blurry shapes and colors.”

Gabe sat quietly next to him, introspecting, before slowly taking the vigilant’s hands. Jack tensed but didn’t pull away, moving forward with Gabe. Gabe carefully placed Jack’s hands on his chest before letting go, allowing Jack to feel him, to feel the sensation of his body disintegrating and repairing constantly. It took effort for him to maintain the shape of Gabriel; the nanites wanted to simply fall apart into a ghost-like matter, but for now, Gabe would keep the energy up to allow the man to feel him, feel what happened to him.

Jack pulled back a bit, shocked to find the man’s body thrumming beneath his hands. Jack had been with Gabe long enough to understand the full extent of what the super soldier bodies could do, but this was… too much. Frighteningly too much. It felt like there was a buzz of a current, throbbing beneath his touch.

“I’m a monster, Jack.”

“You’re my monster, Gabe.” A wry smirk touched scarred lips. “I still can’t believe you lived.”

“I wasn’t supposed to. It was everything that Moira did, that witch. Suppose I could thank her, but this life isn’t worth thanking her over.”  

The pair fell silent, thinking about what could have been, where they were in life now, and what’s to happen next. Jack would need more help than this, and his face still had to heal before he could go back out there. Gabe wasn’t welcome back with Overwatch, he figured, so the world awaited; after all those who caused the fall of Overwatch were still out there, and they still needed to be punished for what happened.

There was a sound next to him--Jack had fallen asleep. The day’s trauma had finally caught up with him. His body, though super, had faced enough trauma that just the act of relaxing was enough to push him over the edge into unconsciousness.

Gabe laughed in his smoky way and settled in next to him. The old ghost didn’t need to sleep anymore, but it was nice to play the illusion.

                                                         …

Gabe was up before him, having never gone to sleep. Not to be fooled by Jack’s tricks, though, he snatched the mask up from the bedside table, to prevent him from stealing out and leaving while Gabe was making some kind of food.

Minutes later, the sound of panic pulled him from the hot plate where eggs were cooking. Jack was on his feet, hands darting wildly around for his mask, for his only sense of vision that he had left anymore, that was clutched loosely in Gabe’s left hand. Unknowing of where he was in those few seconds, Jack snatched up his rifle from where it had been left, and pointed it squarely at Gabe.

“Where is it?!” There was a mess of red in Gabe’s hand, that could have been the mask. He considered diving for it, but Gabe would react too fast. If only Jack could see.

“Easy Jackie, easy. It’s right here.” Gabe lifted the mask, with the other hand outstretched slowly reaching for the barrel of the impressive weapon. Once he managed to point it toward the ground, Gabe handed Jack the mask back. Even the sensation of snapping the mask back into place relaxed the man some; Gabe was thrown into sharp relief against the light, and Jack felt himself soothed. The gun was replaced on the bed and Jack slowly moved forward, investigating what Gabe was making.

“Why’d you take it?” He asked warily, following the ghost-like shape into the other room.

“I didn’t want you to leave on me; we have to talk about what happens next, after all. And you’re notoriously slippery, Jack.”

“Ha! I always was the sneakier of the two of us.” The joke was light, a stress reliever of sorts.

At that, Gabe laughed out loud. “I was the one leading a covert strike team under cover of darkness and media blackout, and you had a goddamn statue. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The pair sat down to the eggs that would soon go cold. Neither one of them needed to eat much. For Jack, it meant going without the mask for even longer in order to eat, and that was out of the question for now. His sight was too important for that. But for now, the pair just sat over the quaint breakfast and continued their conversation, desperately yearning for some semblance of normalcy in a world wracked by war and anger.

“What happens next, Jack?” Gabe asked, sipping quietly at his coffee. Unlike Jack, Gabe didn’t mind going without his mask, so long he managed to avoid any reflective surfaces. Watching himself constantly disintegrate and regenerante was not his idea of a good time.

“I don’t know, honestly. Overwatch wants me back, wants us all back. Talon’s been getting too close, and Winston’s already faced them down twice. But at the same time, I don’t know if I can give up all of this.” Jack waved vaguely at the air around him, talking about his current profession of faceless heroism. If he were to step back into the eye of the world--even illegally, as the current Overwatch state was--Jack would be forced back into control, forced to take the helm of a sinking ship. That is, of course, if he revealed his identity. For now, Jack Morrison was enjoying the freedom that being dead gave to him. The thought of losing it scared the hell out of him.

“Heh, yeah. The monkey was always faster than I took him for.” Gabe mumbled softly with a small smirk. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He got in my way, everytime. If he just let me get past him, let me in, I would have taken the information I needed and been on my way.” At Jack’s questioning look, Gabe took another sip of his coffee. “I work independently of Talon. Sure, I work for them occasionally, as a contractor of sorts. Help them get what they need, while they help repair me when the nanites can’t. It’s a trade of power. they don’t have anything on me that I don’t want them to have.”

Jack nodded, quiet for a moment. He was thankful for the return of the mask, so his expression remained anonymous. “I want to go home, Gabi.”

“Me too, Jackie. I miss them.”

“I wonder if they’d accept a couple of old soldiers.”

“Something tells me they’ll take all the help they can get, even from a dead man and a ghost.”

                                                          …

And so they had began their journey back north, to where Overwatch was starting their roots again in the scorched Earth of where the former organization used to tower. Stops came along the way--raids on Talon bases, sidetracked days where they’d hunt down small cells of terrorists and gangs, helping the odd family in crisis, but they always trekked north. Something about it seemed so right; sleeping by day, moving under the cover of darkness at night, but being together and whole and right again.

There’s a Greek myth that humans used to come in pairs, with four arms and legs. Fearing their power, Zeus split these humans in two, dooming them to travel the world, constantly searching for their other half, their soulmate. And though Jack was no longer a religious man, he could understand the myth. He had found his other half.

Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes were whole again.

[zsweber-studios]

Bane of the Waves

So, I’m working on a new D&D character, and I decided to write a short little backstory for him. If you’re interested in reading this little narrative I cooked up for him, go ahead and Keep Reading!

A cold wind whipped around the large, dark ship, causing the sails to rattle and thump against the masts. Off in the distance, the rumbling of thunder rolled across the roiling ocean, and a lone lightning bolt cracked and wove through the dark clouds looming on the horizon. A storm was coming, a nasty squall that could sink even the sturdiest of sea-faring vessels.

It was the sort of storm that would make Scourge grin in that cocky, confident manner. It sent shivers down his spine, and awakened a part of him that was more alive, more awakened than the rest of him. He was a part of the storm, and always had been, for as long back as he could remember.

Today, though, there was no confident grin. His eyes didn’t flash with eager excitement, and he didn’t rush to the forepeak and holler out into the wind, letting the storm know that Captain Scourge Maelstrom was sailing today, and was taking it’s challenge to drag him to his watery grave with all the bold brashness the pirate captain had to offer.

No, today, the blue-skinned tiefling simply glared from his position at the end of the gangplank.

Across from him stood a tall high elf dressed in an outfit of fine silks and mithril plates and chain armor. Upon his left breast was an insignia--the symbol of the Kingdom of Romali, the land Scourge had once called home. Below it was another symbol, signifying him as the chief admiral of the Romalian Navy.

The admiral smirked over at Scourge and raised a delicate eyebrow. “Scourge Maelstr--”

“That’s Captain Scourge Maelstrom from you, traitor,” a voice suddenly called out. Scourge’s golden eyes flashed over towards where it came from, and saw his first mate Cyril Waylan glaring over at the admiral, even as two of the admirals guards held halberds near his throat.

The admiral frowned but started again. “Captain Scourge Maelstrom, you are hereby placed under arrest by the Kingdom of Romali for your reckless lawbreaking and senseless acts of piracy, murder, and terrorism within the waters of the Sterling Sea. Furthermore, because of these acts, we are to punish you post-haste with the death sentence.”

Cries and shouts suddenly rose from the other crew members who, like Cyril, were being held back by the guards and sailors the admiral had brought with him. A few even tried to break loose from the barricade and make a rush at the admiral, but a quick shake of his head stilled them--if only for a moment.

Smirking, the admiral drew a hand crossbow from his belt and pointed it in Scourge’s direction. “Any last words, Captain?”

Scourge glared over at the admiral, his golden eyes narrowed. “Just a few, Treves, you damn traitor. You can send me to my grave, fine--but let my crew go on in peace.”

Treves’ smirk only grew. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Captain. My orders were precise--to see you killed, and the threat of the Sea Devil finally put to rest.”

“What threat?” Scourge snarled. “We have been helping you for the past five years! We kept our end of the bargain--we would only attack ships coming in from Tiber, and lend aid to any Romalian ships we came across. You’re the ones backing out of the deal!”

“Ah, yes, but the new monarch wants to try and form a peace treaty with the rulers of Tiber, and the first part of that is making sure their ships are no longer in danger in our waters.” Treves shrugged noncommittally and sighed. “Really, Scourge, this is nothing personal--it’s just good business.”

The tiefling pirate captain scowled, and suddenly pulled himself up to his full, imposing height. Though he wasn’t the tallest of men even on his own ship, between his dark blue skin and his bright golden eyes, he was every last bit the intimidating, terrifying sea devil he was referred to in hushed whispers in taverns and pubs all along the Sterling Sea coastline.

“Then I only have one last thing to say,” Scourge said firmly. “My friends and fellow sea devils, it has been an honor to serve beside you.”

Then, turning his gaze to the admiral across him, he lifted his hands to his chest, cupping the bronze pendant that hung upon a chain around his neck. His eyes narrowed, and he snarled. “And as for you--kiss my ass you self-serving bastard.”

Treves narrowed his eyes in turn, and without another word pulled back on the hand crossbow’s trigger.

There was a gasp from the crew members, shouts of dismay and disbelief, but Scourge was deaf to it all. He simply closed his eyes, leaned back, and let the crossbow bolt knock him back off the ship that had served as his home for twenty long years.

Twenty years earlier, Kit Reylar, the boy who would one day earn the name Scourge Maelstrom, arose from his bunk in the cabin after several hours of restless attempts at sleep. It was his first night since sneaking on to avoid the local militia, and in the process accidentally making himself a stowaway.

Unsurprisingly, Kit had been found out within the first few hours after setting sail. What had surprised him was how, rather than throwing him overboard, or even just killing him and being done with it, the captain had simply welcomed him aboard, and even offered to let him sleep with the other crew members in the cabin. It was all rather...surreal.

Which was probably why Kit found it so hard to sleep that first night. He kept expecting the captain to turn around and grab him by the scruff of his neck and throw him overboard. He was a mountain of a man, after all, and more than just a touch frightening. Besides that, Kit also didn’t know how to feel about trying to sleep while the ship swayed and shifted with the rolling waves.

So, with soft footfalls earned from years of living on the streets and trying not to get caught stealing from local businesses, Kit slipped out of the cabin and up onto the deck, hoping for some solitude to get away and think.

Unfortunately, solitude was not what he would find on the deck, as no sooner had he stepped up onto the topside of the ship than did he notice the dark silhouette of the captain standing by the railing on the starboard side, staring up at the shimmering starlit sky above. Even with his back to Kit, the captain looked terrifyingly intimidating and absolutely merciless.

Nervously, the young tiefling took a step back, only to hear the captain suddenly chuckle.

“I know yer there, darkling, so y’might as well come on out.”

Captain Alvor “Hackjaw” MacGregor turned to grin at Kit, though it came across as more like a snarl, as all his smiles usually did. As his name so eloquently suggested, his otherwise handsome face was marred by an enormous scar that ran across the lower-left side of his face, forcing his face into an eternal scowl.

Marred smile aside, the captain gestured calmly and rather kindly for Kit to come stand beside him, and after a moment of quiet contemplation the young tiefling did as he was asked. Passing the boy another snarl-smile, the captain looked up at the starry night sky and sighed.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Out here, at night, when the seas are calm and the skies are clear...it’s truly the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

The grizzled captain sighed a long, low sigh, and Kit glanced over at him before nodding. “Y-yes, uh, Captain. It’s very nice.”

The captain chuckled and glanced over at the young tielfing. “Still trying to get a handle on those sea legs of your’s, eh boy?”

Kit flushed and looked down in embarrassment. “A little bit, yes Captain. It makes it kind of hard to sleep.”

The captain nodded, slowly reaching up to stroke a strange bronze pendant he had hanging around his neck. “That it does, at least for the first few nights. If you think that’s bad, then just wait until we’re in rougher waters, when the ship is being tossed about, and the storms are rolling in.”

Just hearing the captains words brought a greenish tint to Kit’s face, and he gripped the guardrail along the starboard side a bit tighter. “Gods above and below, Captain, that...that sounds terrible.”

“It does, a bit,” the captain nodded slowly. “But, it does get better. And soon the roughest of waves are nothing more than a mother’s arms rocking you to sleep.”

After a moment of quiet contemplation, the captain suddenly reached up behind his neck and pulled that pendent off, before extending one of his large, oven-mitt sized hands in Kit’s direction, pendent held in its grasp. Kit stared at the hand, before questioningly raising his gaze back up at the captain.

“Take it, boy,” the captain said, gently grasping one of Kit’s wrists and lifting his hand up to his own and placing the pendent in Kit’s palm.

Kit stared questioningly at the captain again, before turning his gaze to the pendent in his hand. It was made of a dull bronze metal, and though it looked very old it was polished and clearly well kept. The pendent itself was shaped like a circle, with what looked like waves on the bottom half of the pendent’s face, and a lightning bolt striking the waves on the top half.

“That there’s a gift from my old mentor,” the captain suddenly said, “It’s a holy symbol--a sigil of Soria, goddess of the seas and storms. He gave it to me when I first sailing with him, a sort of good luck charm that could keep me safe.”

And then he smiled down at Kit and placed one of those large hands on the young tiefling’s shoulder. “I think it’s time it got passed on to a new owner. Someone in more need of some good luck than this salty old sailor.”

Kit stared at the pendent in surprise, before looking up at the captain and smiling weakly. “Thank you, Captain,” he finally said, slipping the pendent over his head. Then, with another quick smile, the boy turned and walked back down to the cabin, suddenly feeling a bit less tense, and much more tired than he’d been just a few minutes before.

“Think nothing of it, my boy,” the captain said with a smile as he walked away, turning his gaze back to the starry sky above.

Scourge woke slowly, a dull pain in his chest and a heavy pounding in his head. He was wet, and tired, but he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position and blinked his eyes open slowly.

He was sitting on a beach, the foamy sea water gently lapping against his soaked clothes and sending shivers down his spine. He groaned, and slowly shifted, feeling his joints pop and snap in a very satisfying manner. He didn’t know just how long he’d been laying there, in the sand, but it’d certainly been long enough for his body to be more than a little sore.

It took a minute after sitting up for Scourge to realize what was now blaringly obvious--he wasn’t dead. The tiefling shot up to his feet at that realization, and nearly tore open his shirt to glance at his chest where he knew he’d felt the crossbow bolt sink into his heart.

There, where he’d been shot, was a pale blue scar, but little else other than a dull ache. He stared at the scar in shock, and a soft, “how?” slipped past his lips.

As it did, a faint cool breeze drifted down the beach, sweeping past him and making the pendent that was still hanging from his neck to dance and spin around. He stared down at it in surprise before staring up at the horizon. A smile spread across his face, and Scourge dropped to his knees in reverence and humility.

He had worshiped the goddess of the seas and storms in his own quiet manner ever since Captain Hackjaw had gifted him with the pendent that sleepless night. He had sung her praises with every victory they gained, cried out for her mercy in every storm they braved, and offered small offerings from the side of the ship as a thanks for watching out for him and his crew.

Never in all his lives would he have expected her to actually speak to him, in any manner at all.

“Soria...thank you, my lady,” he murmured, bowing his head towards the sea.

His reverence only lasted a few minutes, however, before he was drawn to his feet by another thought. He might be alive, but his crew most certainly were dead. The Sea Devil itself was likely sitting at the bottom of the ocean now, if Treves and his men had any say in it. Just thinking of it made the former pirate captain’s blood boil, and he glared furiously off in the horizon.

Oh yes, he would get his revenge, but in good time. For now, though, he glanced down just a bit to stare into the azure blue waters ahead of him.

“My lady, thank you for saving me...but where do I go from here?”

There was a pause, and then another soft breeze blew across Scourge’s face--this time, in another direction, along the beach and up towards the woods behind him. The tiefling glanced towards the trees with a frown, before turning back to the sea and nodding once.

And with that, Scourge set off.