#i may very well end up needing a cane so i’ll follow in his footsteps and use it to beat people up 💗 i mean whag

[rainswept]

alright FINE i guess i'll elaborate. (you better be asleep by the time i send this.)

dazai and kaz are so similar and yet so different in a fascinating way. aside from the obvious parallels—ambiguous morality, unsettling auras, and terrifying intelligence—there are a few notable differences. kaz is fuelled by a deep desire to avenge his brother and tear down his enemies 'brick by brick', while dazai strives to live a good life and fulfill oda's last wish. they both live for the memory of someone dear to them, but one memory pushes them to vengeance, while the other pushes them to solace.

this is only slightly related, but i said before that akutagawa is a person who inherently lacks purpose, and honestly i would argue dazai is the same. (i wonder if that is why dazai treats him the way he does... if he sees a kindred spirit in him... if he resents the way akutagawa clings to him so desperately, because he knows that will never achieve him true wholeness, so he refuses to give it to him.) before, he cared very little about whether he lived or died; he had no morality nor values of his own. he was just a blank slate, covered in shadows and bloodstains that did nothing to hide its barrenness.

HOWEVER prior to oda's death, before he became mafia traitor dazai osamu, he was the youngest mafia executive in history. that is the dazai that i associate that quote with. of course, his bloodied reputation isn't wiped clean so easily, and of course it lingers like a noose around his neck even when he is a part of the agency. but back then, it is so much more powerful when he is actively cultivating an image of a ruthless monster.

when everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.

isn't that true? who knows if every atrocity tied to his name was even done by him, or some other creature that lurks in the dark. the only thing that truly matters is that people think of him as merciless, dangerous. his hands have brought so much destruction that he doesn't even have to kill someone to stop their heart, the suggestion is enough. for a creature that spills blood on a whim (he is very careful with who he kills; death is useful move, but he would be a fool to waste a pawn), whose empathy couldn't extend to another if he tried (his emotions are buried, but they are still there), what else would they expect?

what would a monster be, if not monstrous?

so. that's my elaboration. i feel like it is underwhelming, sorry. obligatory THIS IS ALL MY INTERPRETATION dazai is a very complex character but a lot of him is still a mystery in the story, and i am foaming at the mouth waiting for more of his past to be revealed.

ambiguous morality, unsettling auras, and terrifying intelligence

guys i think i have a type!!1111

this is only slightly related, but i said before that akutagawa is a person who inherently lacks purpose, and honestly i would argue dazai is the same.

aren’t we all? 🤨 what purpose does life have but what we give it? (and what purpose can be given by someone who has no desire to obtain one?)

if he resents the way akutagawa clings to him so desperately, because he knows that will never achieve him true wholeness, so he refuses to give it to him.)

GOD DAMN.

before, he cared very little about whether he lived or died; he had no morality nor values of his own. he was just a blank slate, covered in shadows and bloodstains that did nothing to hide its barrenness.

HELLO??/?/ poetr.y. killme neow

and of course it lingers like a noose around his neck even when he is a part of the agency.

noose. Dazai. oh my hod avery ur gonna be the dEATH OF MEEEEE

ok actually i need to stop quoting things because every single line in this was like a punch to the gut and i’d just end up screaming over every single one holy SHIT. pls tag me if u ever write a dazai fic (throws up)

(he is very careful with who he kills; death is useful move, but he would be a fool to waste a pawn), whose empathy couldn't extend to another if he tried (his emotions are buried, but they are still there)

ok i lied about stopping because GOOD GOD. AVERY??/?// IM GOIJGNTO DIE/ WHATTHHE HELL. THIS IS SOMGODO

UNDERWHELMING???? UNDERWHELMING????/?/ NUH UH. NUH UH. MASTERPIECE

[heliads]

Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part One)

When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.

series masterlist / part two

Jesper is almost one block away from the Crow Club when he senses that he isn’t alone.

Technically, he hasn’t been alone in a long time. There is no place to get away in Ketterdam, no alley left uninhabited or room without a listener. It’s certainly nothing like Novyi Zem, where you could find miles of farmland with nobody to talk to and nothing to do. No, the Barrel has never been somewhere to stay away from people.

This, however, is a different kind of presence. Jesper only notices it now, and he has no idea how long the Wraith has been following him. Sometimes he thinks she does it on purpose, walking behind him, footsteps silent as ever, just to see how long it takes him to figure out that she’s there. Jesper halts in his tracks, raising his voice to the hooded figure no doubt a pace or two behind him. “I know you’re there, Inej, and if I turn around just now you had better not do that thing where you wait two inches behind me just to make me jump.”

There is silence, as expected. Jesper turns in a slow semicircle, ready for the inevitable, yet he still stiffens just slightly to see Inej standing behind him. Jesper has been in the Barrel for a long time, and gotten used to the skulking and sneaking of the various goons. He fancies himself at least somewhat capable at figuring out when people are following him, but for some reason, he cannot do the same with Inej. Not at all.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You did the thing.” Jesper finishes lamely. Something almost like a smile tugs at Inej’s lips. “That’s not exactly my fault. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me for a while. I’ve practically been stomping my heels against the cobblestones.” Jesper groans. “You have not. You’ve been as silent as ever, and you know that.” Inej ignores this, jerking her chin behind her, back in the direction of the Slat. “Your Crow Club endeavor will have to wait. Kaz needs you.”

Kaz Brekker needs him. “What a surprise. I’m very useful, as it turns out. Couldn’t this wait a little longer, though? I’ve heard they’ve got a new dealer over at Makker’s Wheel.” Inej just turns around, starting to walk back towards the Slat. No matter how hard Jesper tries, he cannot hear a single footstep echo against the stones. “This is more important.” Jesper raises an eyebrow. “More important than earning the Dregs money by supporting a local establishment? He doesn’t need to worry, you know, I’ve got money.”

Jesper grimaces at the look of incredulity starting to color Inej’s eyes. “Alright, it’s not a lot of money. But it is at least enough to buy a round or two. Besides,” Jesper continues, eager to shift the conversation away from his less than prosperous gambling habits, “Why did Kaz send you? He could have just delivered a note.” Inej lifts a shoulder, even the slightest of shrugs a graceful movement. “I told you, this is important.”

Jesper is intrigued by this. “Whenever you say ‘important’ more than once, it’s always good. Is it another heist? Extortion? Maybe a good clash of rival gangs?” Inej rolls her eyes. “I’m not supposed to tell you anything. That was the whole point of me going.” Jesper sighs dramatically. “You could tell me a little bit. I wouldn’t even mention it to Kaz.”

Inej instead lets her eyes trail upwards, towards the ramshackle glory of the Slat which is visible down the block. “You’ll get your information soon enough.” Her voice grows quiet, quieter than usual. It’s practically impossible to hear over the clack of footsteps on stone as pigeons and gang members alike rush to finish their business before it grows too late and the thieves come running. “I will say one thing, though. While we’re still away from prying ears.”

Jesper leans closer, fascinated. “What is it?” Inej looks up at him, and Jesper realizes that she looks almost regretful. “Don’t be too upset.” Jesper waits for more, some explanation to this excruciatingly vague statement, but nothing happens. “Don’t be upset? What, is Kaz going to cane me to death?” Inej tilts her head to the side. “There’s a plan, and it will involve some things that you won’t be too fond of. That’s all I can say for now.”

Jesper wants to pry a little further, even if he senses that the Wraith will remain silent, but the door to the Slat is already in front of him, effectively stopping any conversation. The Dregs may be Kaz’s gang, but loyalties can always be changed. Jesper has wandered the canals long enough to know that all secrets should be kept to locked doors, and even allies can turn against you. Some conversations are best when they’re not shared at all.

Jesper looks around for Kaz in the main room of the Slat, but he doesn’t see the dark-haired boy anywhere. Instead, Inej inclines her head towards the rickety set of stairs at the back of the room. “He’ll be waiting for you in his office.” Jesper moves to ask her something, anything, about what else is waiting for him there, but before he can even open his mouth to speak Inej has disappeared. It’s fascinating- Jesper hadn’t even turned away or looked elsewhere, yet she had vanished right before his open eyes. He hadn’t seen her go, just witnessed her blink away into the shadows.

Jesper stares at the empty floorboards where Inej had once stood, then, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a particularly nerve-wracking round of cards, begins to ascend the flights of stairs. He pauses once outside the door to Kaz’s office, touching the hilts of his pearl handled revolvers for luck, then pushes open the door and steps inside.

Kaz is waiting for him, standing at his desk and running through a map spread out across the wooden surface. He looks up when he sees Jesper enter, straightening to nod once in greeting. Jesper’s eyes travel to Inej, who had somehow beat him up the stairs and is now perched, catlike, on Kaz’s windowsill.

Kaz doesn’t bother with pleasantries or questions about Jesper’s day, as per usual, just dives into an explanation. “There’s a mercher living down near the Financial District. He’s like the others- snotty, pretends to be pious, unseasonably rich for someone who just arrived at his title, but he’s strayed too far from his gilded walkways and tried to start restrictions on Fifth Harbor.”

Jesper lets out a snort. “Merchers. Always getting too big for their tie pins.” Kaz ignores this. “Under his new plan, we’d have to pay out reparations to him and also ease back on coaxing pigeons into our establishments. There’s no way in hell that would ever pass, but this mercher just happens to have some pretty significant blackmail on key members of the Merchant Council, and they’ll pass whatever bill he wants so long as he keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, we can’t kill him directly, but we can break into his mansion and steal his proof of the Council’s less savory transactions. Without the blackmail, the Council will never pass the bill, and we’ll be fine.”

Jesper raises an eyebrow. “As easy as that?” Kaz lifts a shoulder. “There’s a slight complication. This mercher, Joeri ter Steege, has a certain thing for oceanside views. He’s found himself a nice little inlet near the water’s edge, and access to his mansion is only available by boat. This means that any attempt to access his house would mean we would travel by water, and any boat could easily be sighted by guards that patrol the area.”

Jesper squints at Kaz. “What do you mean, only available by boat? If he’s living in an inlet, shouldn’t there be some dock connecting it to the mainland?” Inej flashes him a smile. “The merch has got himself a moat.” Jesper stares. “You’re kidding me. You’ve got to be kidding me. This merch is so extravagantly wealthy that he’s gone and got himself a moat? Ghezen’s hand, maybe I should become a banker. The things I could do.” Inej hides a laugh. “The moats you could build.”

Kaz’s hand tightens around his crow’s head cane. “Regardless of the merch’s terrible landscaping decisions, the fact remains that access will be practically impossible. To get across, we’d need a boat, and any boat would be sighted by guards. That’s why we need a Tidemaker.” Jesper’s smile starts to drop from his face. Suddenly, pieces are starting to fall into place. Inej’s warning. Kaz’s mention of a Tidemaker. Jesper shakes his head. “Don’t tell me you got the one Tidemaker I’m thinking of. Please say you brought in somebody else.”

Kaz opens his mouth to either condemn this or save Jesper’s skin, but then a voice rings out from the newly opened door and Jesper’s spirits sink into his boots. “Afraid not, Fahey. They’ve brought me.” Jesper turns around, finding himself face to face with a girl just walking into the office, hand loosely wrapped around the wooden doorframe. She tosses him a smile as if they’re old friends, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Jesper whirls back around to face Kaz. “You didn’t. You’re really trusting her? Y/N L/N?” Kaz shrugs. “She’s the best there is, unfortunately. We need to remain hidden, and she’s the only one who won’t rat us out or let us drown.” Y/N walks further into the room, letting the door close behind her. “I appreciate the vote in confidence, but don’t worry about me. I can get you in and out, no problem. Well, the only problem will be you, sharpshooter.”

Jesper feels the sudden need to grab one (or maybe both) of his revolvers and let fly with his bullets. Can a Tidemaker wash away a hail of ammunition? Jesper’s assuming not. Kaz taps his cane against the floor. “Let’s not reach to violence just yet, Jesper. Wait until after the extraction is over.” Jesper throws one last glare Y/N’s way. “Trust me, I’ll have no problem with that.” He can wait, after all.

The problem with Y/N L/N is this: she keeps finding a way to meddle with everything he does. First, Jesper was on a heist by himself, breaking into a stronghold of the Dime Lions to snatch up an encoded message left by Pekka Rollins. He was doing fine until a wave of water cascaded in through the windows, knocking him aside and thoroughly drenching the paper. It was useless now, both to Rollins and to Kaz. Y/N had only bothered to toss a wink across the room before leaving, allowing her wave to soak Jesper’s boots while she was at it.

The second time was during a shootout. She’d been hired to the other side, although Jesper hadn’t known it yet. Jesper was just about to fire upon the lousy goon who’d hired her when she’d used her powers again, this time specifically intending to ruin his guns. His precious pearl-handled revolvers, soaked through with water. It had taken him forever to get the saltwater out of every crack and groove in the metal, and during all of that time he’d vowed to himself that he’d be the one to darken her doorway and make Y/N regret ever stepping foot against him again.

Jesper had won the third time. This time, he was the unexpected guest, and she was seconds away from drowning an entire swath of gang members to protect a secret. She was just raising her hands to move the water into place when a gunshot sounded from out of nowhere and she was knocked sideways, hand already raising to the stain of red starting to bloom out from her arm. It wouldn’t kill her, unfortunately, but it was enough to give the gang members time to escape. Some of them were Dregs, after all, and Jesper had some friends to protect. That isn’t to say that he didn’t walk away with a smile, just that he had multiple motives.

Needless to say, he didn’t exactly have the best history with Y/N L/N. And now Kaz was asking him to have her back during a heist? It sounds like a joke. Unfortunately, Jesper has a sinking feeling that there’s no getting out of this. If he’s going to have to depend on Y/N for his life, things might not exactly go according to plan. He has no idea where Y/N’s loyalties lie, he reasons, but Jesper thinks there might be more to it than that.

The group meets up at the water’s edge. The canals bleed into the harbor here, and Jesper can just make out the lights of Joeri ter Steege’s mansion across the glittering black of the waves. He can also make out a slight tension in Kaz’s grip on his cane as he takes in the sight of the undulating water, but that isn’t for him to notice. Y/N melts out of the shadows, a blue lining on her coat the only indication that she might still cling to Ravkan traditions for Grisha. “Well?” She asks, walking past them as if not expecting an answer, “Are we ready?”

Y/N spreads her hands and the water of the harbor flickers and shifts on the surface. As Jesper watches, Y/N steps forward, and the water solidifies under her feet as if she’s walking on glass instead of the tides. She pushes her hands apart, and the area of solid water expands until it’s large enough to act as a bridge. She turns to the rest of the group. “We can walk from here. It’ll be faster than a boat, and far more quiet.” 

Kaz nods, beginning to walk after her on the bridge of water. Before his feet leave the ground, his mouth moves once. “No mourners.” Jesper nods. “No funerals.” They won’t be able to speak as freely at the mercher’s island, so this will do best. Jesper considers the unmoving waves one last time, then follows him. He’s half expecting Y/N to let the water liquify under his feet just a little bit, out of spite, but it holds. They continue along the harbor, and if Jesper turns his head he can see the bridge rippling back into normal water after they pass by it. It raises the hairs on the back of his neck to see his escape route disappear so quickly, but Jesper does his best to quiet the voice of warning. Kaz would never bring Y/N in if he thought she would betray them, and even if he did, Kaz would have another way out. That’s just the way Dirtyhands worked.

All the same, Jesper feels a little better when his heels land on solid ground once more. Kaz doesn’t have to say a word, just points at the roof. Jesper nods, remembering the plan. He and Y/N split away from Kaz and Inej, heading towards the roof for their line of entry. When Jesper had heard this part of the plan, he had complained viciously. Why should he have to go scale the building alone with Y/N? Why couldn’t Inej go instead? In the end, it hadn’t mattered- the plan needed them both there, so that’s where they would go.

Jesper doesn’t exactly have Inej’s skill in climbing, but ter Steege makes it easy. There are balconies and handholds practically everywhere, as if the merch is offering free mansion climbing lessons to anyone interested. Jesper supposes that one would be less concerned about robberies if you had a moat, but still. You have that much money, you might as well pretend to make it hard for light-fingered con artists.

Soon enough, Jesper and Y/N are standing on the roof, staring down at the fourth skylight from the left. This is where they’ll enter, once it reaches eleven bells and it’s time to move. Now, however, all they can do is wait as Kaz and Inej get into position. Jesper carefully sits down, letting his long legs prop up against the tiles of the roof. Y/N sits next to him, staring up at the sky. The moon is out tonight, the pale light illuminating her eyes and dusting her cheeks.

Distantly, Jesper realizes that he’s never seen her like this- letting her guard down for once. He’s not shooting at her, she’s not trying to drown him, it’s almost like a peace offering. Y/N must be having the same thoughts, because she turns to face him. The moonlight still stays on her face, as if unwilling to let go. Jesper has the sudden thought that he wouldn’t want to do the same either, if he had the opportunity to linger here, then shakes himself mentally.

Y/N’s voice is quiet, a whisper cutting through his thoughts and scattering them to the wind. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t been fighting when we first met each other? Would we have been friends like you and Kaz?” Jesper chuckles in spite of himself. “If you think Kaz Brekker makes friends, I’m starting to think that you’ve suffered a head injury.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “He trusts you. That’s rare.” Jesper shrugs, conceding this. He keeps speaking, though, even when he has just decided to remain silent. “I think we could have been close. We have similar interests.” Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Money? A good time?” Jesper flashes her a grin, easy as flipping a coin and landing it square in your palm. “Exactly. See? We already understand each other perfectly.”

Y/N lets out a short laugh at that, moonlight still teasing at the corner of her lips. Jesper’s eyes linger longer than they should. Curse his tendencies to start rivalries with the prettiest of enemies- it’s beginning to get him into trouble. Y/N’s head tilts towards the tides below, and then she stands. “It’s time. The bells are about to ring.” Jesper mourns the moment lost, then stands and takes his position by the skylight. He waits for the bells to begin to toll, then grabs his revolver, spinning it back and forth in his palm like a nervous tic before firing four times at the corners of the window, exactly where the locks will hold.

He doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s eyes track the spin of the gun, or the admirative tug of her lips into a half smile. However, now is no longer the time for schoolboy glances, and Jesper kneels at the window, carefully removing it from its frame. This is their entrance, and they would do well to hurry along.

The plan almost goes well. Almost. They manage to break into the mercher’s office, stealing the documents and meeting up with Kaz and Inej to get out, but just as they’re about to cross through the main atrium of the mansion, a loud dissonance of bells breaks out. An alarm. Jesper sees identical looks of panic reflected on every face- this was not supposed to happen. Not at all. They don’t hesitate, just run. Jesper’s lived in the Barrel long enough to remember this one lesson: when you can’t count on gangs or anyone to have your back, your feet always will. Just remember to keep moving.

They’re almost to the water’s edge when the shots ring out. Guards have followed them out of the building and fire even as their feet pound down the beach. Jesper’s revolvers are in his hands before another second can pass, bullets aimed with precision as he runs. They’re almost to the water when he hears a sound from behind him that draws all breath from his lungs. From here, it almost sounds like a cry of pain. It’s soft, as if someone’s trying not to draw attention, but Jesper hears it nonetheless.

He turns around and his stomach clenches with horror as he realizes he was right. Y/N is stumbling, clutching a terrible scarlet stain across her chest. It’s deep, too deep, and far too close to her heart to be safe. Y/N has time to fling her arms up, casting out the bridge of water once more, before she falls to the ground. All of a sudden, Jesper’s vision tunnels. He can only see two things: Y/N, hand limp over the spreading blood, and the guards, pistols still smoking.

Jesper’s shots ring out again and again. He can’t hear anything other than a buzzing in his ears, something that might be his pulse or just a sign that he’s gone mad. To be honest, Jesper’s not sure that he cares. Bullets careen through the air, curving around pillars and corners to reach their targets. His da would panic to see him, grab Jesper by his shoulders and tell him to be more careful. Anyone could know now, could see the way the bullets fly through the air as if guided by an invisible hand and figure out what that means, but Jesper doesn’t think about that for a second. All he can think about is revenge, and making sure that every single body falls to the ground.

Jesper’s haze leaves him, and he realizes that all of the guards are dead. All of them. Then his guns are back in their holsters, and he’s scrambling towards Y/N. When he picks her up, she feels cold. Too cold. Blood is staining his hands now, turning the long fingers red, but he barely notices at all. His heels flash down the beach, then onto the water, which is still solid. It must be killing her to keep this up, but she’s still doing it.

Jesper swore that it took far longer to make the trip over the harbor, but it feels like he’s barely taken a few steps before he’s on the other side and the water bridge is swallowed up by the tides once more. Kaz and Inej have just made it onto the other side, and their eyes widen at the crazed look on Jesper and the bloodied form of Y/N in his arms. Jesper doesn’t have time to consider this, and he shouts at them as he runs. “Get a healer! Get somebody- Nina, maybe. Anybody.”

Inej takes off into the streets, but Kaz remains, giving Jesper a particular look. “I remember you saying something about how Y/N was your rival. This is your chance, you know. The Barrel can be a ruthless place, and nobody would suspect you if she never made it back.” Jesper has the feeling that this is a test, some challenge placed before him to see how he’ll respond, but he can’t find it within himself to care. Jesper has always had an affinity for the odds, but this once, it’s not enough. “No. I’m getting her out. I need a Healer.”

Kaz steps back, allowing Jesper to pass, but not before he sees the appraising look in his eyes. Kaz nods once, briefly, and then Jesper is around the corner and sprinting headlong towards the Slat. A Healer is indeed waiting there, and holds out her arms to receive Y/N. For a second, Jesper’s arms clench around her body, unwilling to give her up, and then he forces his arms to relax and she’s gone, carried away into another room.

Jesper is left with the blood staining his shirt and the decision staining his conscience. If Y/N died, was it his fault? Should he care this much? He’s not sure that question can even be answered. The Healer comes out eventually, nodding at him. She’s not ready to have visitors, or at least she won’t be awake to see them, but that doesn’t stop Jesper from disappearing into her room the second the Healer leaves.

Jesper feels his throat close up when he sees her. Y/N is lying stiff and unmoving on a narrow bed, breath unnaturally slow and eyes closed. It’s strange- he’s seen her fiery and powerful, glowing as a Grisha does after they use their powers, but now she looks seconds from death. Jesper’s feet carry him woodenly over to the bed, and he stands there for a moment before reaching down and taking her hand. He doesn’t expect to feel anything at all, yet there’s a slight pressure and her eyelids flicker open.

“What, trying to finish the job?” A slight smile cracks Y/N’s lips, and Jesper feels like he could cry out in relief. Maybe it’s time he takes up Inej’s saints after all. “You’re alright?” She nods, although even this small movement appears to hurt. “As well as one can. I think I have someone to thank for that, though.” Jesper nods slowly. “Yeah, the Healer was great. We should keep her around just in case.”

Y/N laughs, the sound undamaged even as her blood still stains the bandages. “You’re impossible. I’m talking about you.” Jesper’s cheeks feel hot. “Oh.” Now this is unreal- usually he’s the one eliciting blushes, never the other way around. “I couldn’t just leave you there, you know.” She nods once, smiling, and then her eyelids seem too heavy to stay open and she starts to drift off to sleep once more. If Jesper happened to stay with her even after her eyes shut, and even if a kiss just happened to be pressed to her cheek, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

[in-my-feels-probably]

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Seven

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of. 

Chapter Seven

Now in Kribirsk, East Ravka, the Crows and Arken sat around a table in a pub, mindlessly eating and drinking, thinking about the past days events. Kaz had left them there, leaving Elham in charge of making sure everyone stayed put while he scoped the city out, finding out what he could.

Arken was grumbling, slamming a flyer onto the table. “The Little Palace winter fete. There’s just no way he can find a way to the Sun Summoner without Nina. Especially during this ridiculous party, the place will be crawling with Second Army.”

Kaz suddenly approached the table, in an immensely better mood than the rest of them, despite his disheveled look. “We’re in luck. There’s a good chance we can crack on. Now that we’re three days’ travel from the capital, the next play is finding a way inside the Little Palace. It turns out the Kribirsk archives house the Little Palace blueprints. But, they’re kept under lock and key. Far from the prying eyes of the masses.”

Elham scoffed. “As if that’s ever stopped you.”

Jesper had perked up, high fiving Elham. “Yes.”

Arken looked confused, suddenly uneasy around the group. “What does that mean?”

“Time for a heist!”

“Jesper, I don’t think you could sound any more excited. Excited to get that kruge, finally pay me back all you owe me?”

“Oh, but Elham, isn’t my company a good enough payment?”

She threw her head back laughing. “Oh, honey, you’d have to be around me the rest of your life to pay off your debt. Honestly, I don’t get it, Kaz pays you as much as he pays me, how is it that you’re always asking me for more kruge? I must say, though, the satisfaction of watching you lose almost makes it worthwhile.”

Jesper gasped. “Elham! Rude!”

“It’s my money you’re losing anyways. Now come on, let’s go say goodbye to the goat, and get this show on the road.”

---

Elham stood next to Arken, watching Jesper hand off the goat that he had dubbed Milo, to a barmaid, giving his tearful goodbye. She rolled her eyes, and called out a goodbye to Milo, turning her attention back to Kaz, who was giving Arken instructions. He handed him a wad of money.

“I have a job for you. We need to hitch a ride east to the Little Palace. Make friends.”

Arken nervously chuckled. “But that’s the hardest job.”

Kaz tapped his cane to the back of Elham’s leg, signaling her to follow him. Over his shoulder, he called back to Arken. “You managed to win us over, didn’t you?”

Once out of earshot, making their way out the door, Elham muttered. “Hardly. He was our only option. I still don’t like him.”

“I’m not asking you to like him, I’m not overly fond of him myself. But he’s our only shot. We aren’t getting in the Little Palace without him.”

“Oh, come on Brekker, not with that attitude we aren’t. Now, what’s your big plan here, where are we going?”

He almost smirked. “You’re not going to like this.”

Kaz led them over to the alley Inej and Jesper were standing in. “Alright, Royal Archives heist, here’s the game plan. Watchmen are on guard around the clock. We want to get in and get out as quietly as possible. That means the hardware stays in the holster, Jesper.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Inej, the dome on the roof is directly above the repository where the blueprints to the Little Palace are kept.”

“Got it, that’s my way in.”

“I’ll set a trail of phosphorus that will lead you straight to the target. The repository is secured at all times behind a two-part lock mechanism. So Inej, you have to leave the way you came in. Two hours after sunset is when you’ll go in, Jesper. You’ll need to blend in.”

“Easy.”

“The lighting valves are on the second floor.”

Inej nodded. “I’ll take my cue once I see the lights go out, and then follow your trail straight to the blueprints.”

“The archivist has to pull them a number of times a day, so we can’t steal them or they’ll know something is up.”

“So? Make a copy.”

“But careful, if you're heavy handed, you'll bleed the ink.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Elham listened to the Crows talk back and forth, and then interrupted. “Well, I don’t. What am I supposed to be doing this whole time?”

The smirk crept back onto Kaz’s face.

“Well first, you’re coming with me to plant the phosphorus. I’m going to need you to keep the sarcastic comments to a minimum while we’re there, you are going to hate this part of the plan, though. I’m sure Jesper would love to hear them after we’re done. After we leave the archives office, I need you to distract the guards if Inej or Jesper get stuck...maybe take out one or two if necessary.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t distract anyone. Kill, yes, but that seems like a bad decision.”

“It’s a last resort. Now, do you speak Suli? Zemeni?”

“No, I grew up in Kerch, I only learned Ravkan before coming to Ketterdam.”

“Well, let’s hope you don’t come across any guards then, otherwise you’re going to have to fake it. Now let's go, everyone get into place. El, you’re with me.”

---

Kaz and Elham stepped out of the carriage in front of the archives building in town. Kaz was dressed in clothes he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in the Barrel. His usual hat was replaced by a beret, his black coat for colorful drapes. Elham, however, definitely got the shit end of the stick. She was wearing a knee length poofy dress, bright fabrics and Suli silk adorning it. She wore a matching drape around her neck, the same one Kaz was wearing.

Elham was grumbling, rolling her eyes. “What, I don’t get a hat too? Honestly, Kaz, I look ridiculous! Not as ridiculous as you, but still, you had to pick this?”

“You have to blend in, El.”

“Blend in? I look like a wedding cake! At least you get to wear something semi-normal.”

“You’re supposed to look like a foreign artist, El, one good enough to be working for the King. You couldn’t show up in your normal attire, could you?”

She huffed, smoothing down the folds and fabrics of her dress, and Kaz stifled a chuckle.

“Oh, this is funny to you? Is that why you brought me, just needed a good laugh? Bastard.”

“I brought you to play the part. You’re here for the guard. Men fall for plots like this much easier when there’s a woman in a dress around.”

“Well, if you’re wanting me to seduce someone, you seriously missed the mark. Should've let me pick the dress.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, sighing. “You’re here to be the distraction. He’s not going to pay much attention to me if he’s looking at you. I don’t need you to seduce him, hence this dress. Stop grumbling, let’s go.”

---

They stepped inside the office, and Kaz greeted the man at the desk. Elham looked around, uncomfortable after having to pass so many people on the way in looking like that.

“Good day to you, sir! My name is Ivanovski, the sculptor.”

Kaz turned and motioned to Elham, who stood awkwardly behind him. “This is my wife, she’s the artist, a very good one at that. She doesn’t speak any Ravkan, she’s Suli, but she wanted to come along and see the archive building, right, love?”

Elham stifled her shock, and gulped, turning to the man at the desk, who, as Kaz predicted, only had his eyes on her. Elham hesitated, before slightly bowing, and nodding her head towards the man.

The man seemed to lose his annoyed attitude, smiling at Elham. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Exotic, there seems to be a lot of pretty women at the capital this year, it must be the winter fete. You’re a lucky man, Ivanovski, aye?”

Elham fought the heat that rose to her cheeks, stepping from foot to foot, flustered. Kaz’s face had gone cold for a second, his jaw clenched. He quickly recovered when the man turned back to him.

“Yes! Yes, she’s very beautiful, I’m the luckiest. Actually, the winter fete is what we’re here for. I am in desperate need of your assistance.”

Elham tilted her head towards the floor, no longer able to look in Kaz’s direction. She pretended to fiddle with the ribbons of her dress, lost in thought, while listening to Kaz talk.

“I am working on a real showstopper for the winter fete. I need the dimensions to the Little Palace entrances. The grand piece may be too grand to fit through the door frame. The King will have my head if his statuary must be parked in the courtyard. Can’t leave my wife here alone, can I?”

The man sighed, looking at Elham, before heading into the archives room to retrieve the prints. “Damned fete. I have to pull the blueprints every day. Wait here.”

Elham watched Kaz reach into his pocket to pull out the phosphorus, and so she shuffled in front of the man, stepping closer to Kaz, a bright smile on her face. She nodded again in the man’s direction, and he smirked, turning to head through the door. Kaz dropped the phosphorus to the floor, using the end of his cane to sweep it under the man’s foot, and it stuck to his shoe as he walked through the door, leaving a trail for Inej to use later.

Once through the door and far enough away from earshot, Elham let the smile fall from her face, whipping around to face Kaz, who looked very pleased with himself.

“I hate you. I can’t believe you made me do this. That man stared at me the entire time, eyeing me. You’re lucky I took my knife off of my thigh for this dress, otherwise I would have been tempted to use it. You weren’t much help either.”

“That was the plan. Can’t say I didn’t want to stab him for having to listen to him speak like that, though, but it worked, didn’t it?”

The sound of footsteps slowly approached them, and Elham quickly moved back behind Kaz as the man walked back in, handing Kaz a piece of parchment.

“Ah, may the Sun Summoner bless you!”

“Oh, I’m not a believer.”

Kaz leaned closer to the man, like what he was saying was supposed to be a secret his wife couldn’t here couldn’t hear. He eyed Elham, before turning back to the man. “No, truth be told, neither am I.”

The man chuckled, leaning in as well. “Why would you, you’ve got enough to believe in standing right behind you.”

Elham saw Kaz go rigid, and she stepped closer to him, getting his and the man’s attention. Remembering she was supposed to not know the language, she spoke brokenly, sounding unsure. “Ready? We go?”

Kaz was relieved to be leaving, placing a fake smile on his face. “Yes, love, we go.”

Elham waved goodbye to the man, smiling. He waved back, eyeing her as she and Kaz walked back out of the building to the carriage.

---

An hour later, and Elham had changed back into her regular clothes, knife strapped back onto her thigh. Kaz had decided the dress was too risky if she were to get caught on the grounds, and opted for the pair to both wear guards uniforms. Still, Elham was to remain scoping for other guards or for Jesper and Inej in trouble. If she had to, she’d attempt talking her way out. The knife was still a last resort.

Kad had also decided to keep her within eye shot near him, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Elham was stealthy, but she was no Wraith. And truthfully, although Kaz would never admit it to himself, after today’s events, he wanted her close. He didn’t very much like her being the distraction.

They were heading to their positions, Inej already inside, Jesper soon to follow. Kaz and Elham were slowly patrolling, on opposite sides of the courtyard, making their way to the meeting point outside the exit Inej would come out of.

Thankfully, Elham didn’t run into any guards. She had seen one on the way around, and quickly ducked behind a wall, clutching her knife. Kaz had held his breath watching her, but he remained at the door Inej would come out of, releasing the breath when the guard walked away. Elham made her way up the courtyard to where Kaz was standing. She took her place by his side, and hoped that if any other guards came by and saw them from a distance, they would just assume the two had been placed on watch together as an extra security measure.

It was a waiting game at this point. Elham every once in a while glanced at the door, scanning the windows and balconies for any sign of trouble. She let her thoughts shift away from the heist, knowing Kaz would be alert.

She had felt something on this heist.

She always felt something around Kaz, but she so often pushed it away.

She thought about how long she had known Kaz, when he brought her in at 14. He had told her about the girl he met when he was a kid, who turned out to be just another part of Pekka Rollin’s scam on him and his brother. He at the time had thought she was the prettiest girl in the world. He refused to say much else about it, it taking years for Elham to piece together the story.

But when they were 14, and Elham had been part of the Dregs for a few months, he met another girl. Elham couldn’t even remember her name, but she remembered how she felt around her when she would see her on a rare occasion. Jealous. The girl could hold her own in a fight, she was confident around the other members of the gang, and she had gotten Kaz’s attention. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, she was a year older than them, and she showed interest in him too.

The one thing about her that was distinct in Elham’s memory was the girl's walk. She walked like she owned the very place she stood, exuding confidence. Like she knew something you didn’t. Elham by now had grown into herself, she could be confident as well if she wanted to, but it took some time. Imogen was long gone, a fleeting moment in their past, but she left enough impact for her to stick in Elham’s mind.

While lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Kaz’s gaze set on her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He grew frustrated, finally just asking in a hushed tone.

“What are you thinking about? You’ve got that little crease in your brow, like when you’re really concentrating on one of those books you leave in my office. You’re distracted, so spit it out.”

Elham hesitated, before speaking. She knew he wouldn’t let it go. “Do you remember that girl from when we were younger, who had a kind of sidle when she walked? She had smashed that bottle over that one guy’s head for getting too handsy?”

Kaz stiffened, unsure of where she was going with this. He cleared his throat. “Imogen.”

That was her name. It fit her, Elham decided.

“Why?��

“I don’t know, I was just thinking about her. You...you--”

Elham stuttered, and Kaz grew uneasy.

“What, Elham? I what?”

He had turned to face her completely now, and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze, like she wanted to shrink away.

“Today, when the man was looking at me, saying all of that stuff...you looked at me like I would see you look at her.”

Kaz said nothing, but he was fighting to keep the heat from rising to his cheeks, his posture becoming rigid.

“And I was just thinking about where I had seen that look on your face before, and it was when you’d look at her.”

Kaz stayed quiet for another minute, just staring at Elham, who was beginning to regret speaking up in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t--”

Kaz interrupted. “You know, you don’t walk like her.”

Elham’s face scrunched up, confused. “What?”

Kaz continued, eyes glancing over her. “She walked with confidence and her hips forward, but it was too cocky. She’s going to get herself killed, if she hasn’t already. You don’t walk like that. You walk with your knees slightly bent, like at any moment you could get into a fighting stance. And your weight pivots to whatever side you have your sword on. You walk like a Valkyrie.”

Elham knew she was blushing now, unable to hide it. She couldn’t think of a response, just staring back at him. She was growing and more insecure under his gaze, and he had picked up on it, of course he had, he always did.

He couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t thought about the earlier events of that day, the rage he felt watching the man eye Elham and talk about her like that. He felt a pit in his stomach watching her smile at the man, and fiddle with her dress. He had noticed Elham’s glances at him in the archives office, studying his face.

He couldn’t pretend like, even though he had picked one of the most outrageous outfits he could find for her to wear, that she hadn’t looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful, even with the cuts and bruises on her face from just the events of last week alone. But he had never seen her in a dress, even if it was that dress, and she was a sight to behold.

She was supposed to be the distraction for the guards, but she ended up distracting him. He hadn’t decided whether or not that was a terrible thing yet.

He looked at Elham a moment longer, sucked in a breath, and broke the silence.

“I remember Imogen. She was pretty. Would’ve been good in any gang. But she’s not here. She didn’t stick with me all those years, did she? She’s not my Valkyrie. That’s you, El.”

She felt tears prick at her eyes, and she gave him a nod, her voice shaky. “Yeah. That’s me.”

She stared a bit longer, and then broke their gaze when she heard the door open behind them, immediately getting into a stance ready to attack if need be. Inej walked through the door, Jesper following after her.

Elham cleared her throat. “Are you both alright?”

Inej nodded, sending her a smile, Jesper coming up next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulder.

“One step closer to paying you back, love.”

She laughed again. “I don’t know, Jesper, might not be enough. I may just have to settle for your company.”

“Come on, we have a heist to plan.” Kaz nodded at the Crows, motioning them to follow him off the property and back into town.

Elham took a deep breath, and Kaz turned to her, watching her collect herself, getting more comfortable again. He nodded his head towards the path once more, and she stepped in stride next to him, Jesper and Inej on the other side of her.

---

A/N - hi everyone, this is a longer chapter. i'm starting to put in some elements from the books, mostly involving kaz's backstory, i hope that's ok and not too confusing for those of you who haven't read it and have only seen the show. i'm a little unsure about how to feel about this chapter, so let me know your thoughts. feel free to comment or message me with anything, and thanks for the support!

[callboxkat]

Those Long, Lonely Nights (part 5/6)

Author’s note: This is a retelling of the story These Deep Dark Woods, but from Roman’s perspective. I recommend reading that story first, but this can also stand alone.

Summary: Roman, a knight, insists on accompanying his best friend Logan, a potion maker, when he decides to head into the notoriously dangerous woods bordering their home to find some rare herbs and minerals for his apothecary. They find much more than they bargained for when they encounter Remus, a bloodthirsty giant. Logince. Angst with a happy ending.

Fic Warnings:  food mention, blood, injuries, death mention, killing mention, gun mention, mild body horror (it’s Remus), disturbing imagery (it’s Remus), character death, temporary/believed character death, kidnapping, guilt, attempted self sacrifice, talk of giants, vampires and other monsters. Very unsympathetic villain Remus.

Word Count: 2329

Part 1 : Part 6 

Writing Masterpost!

...

Roman gasped and sat upright. Or at least, he tried to. Gentle but firm hands pushed him down as Roman realized he was moving, being carried on a stretcher. Blue sky shone above, rather than those endless trees.

“Sir Roman, it’s the guard, we’ve got you—“

“Logan,” Roman interrupted, “Where’s Logan; is he okay?”

“He’s here,” said a voice. Roman quickly tried again to sit up and turn to look, which... judging by how his stomach rolled and black rushed in from the edges of his vision, may have been a mistake.

…

He caught glimpses of blue sky and anonymous faces, snatches of conversation, but he couldn’t seem to properly hold on to reality until he realized he was being lowered onto a bed. Several sets of footsteps left the room, their owners murmuring quietly. A door shut. He opened his eyes.

“Please stay down,” said a voice. “You’ll be alright; you’re safe now. Just let me look you over.”

A woman stood at the bedside—a doctor, judging by her appearance. “Logan?” Roman asked.

Hands began gently examining him, feeling along his arms and legs. “He’s alive. They’re taking him for surgery. They’ll bring him here after.”

He’s alive.

“Surgery?”

“For his leg. They’re trying to save it.”

Roman swallowed. “Will he be okay?”

The doctor gave him a sympathetic look. “He’ll live. I saw his leg, though, and I won’t lie to you. If he does keep it, I’d be very surprised if he didn’t need a cane.”

Roman sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh.” Logan would not be happy about that. Even if a cane would make him look distinguished.

“For now, let’s focus on you. Does anything feel broken? What hurts? I see that bruise on your head, and your feet aren’t in great shape, either, but if there’s anything else. Like that blood on your side—is that yours?”

Roman swallowed, suddenly very aware of where his coat stuck to his side. He could still feel Logan’s head pressed there. “Ah... no. But I hurt my ribs,” he admitted.

“Okay. I’ll look at those after we get this head wound sorted.”

She reached up, and Roman belatedly noticed the ice pack that had been placed on his head as she took it away. “It looks like the swelling’s already gone down. Can you tell me your name?”

“Roman. Uh, Sir Roman.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sir Roman. My name is Valerie. And what day is today?”

Roman hesitated a little too long, but he was able to tell her.

“Okay. That’s good.” She held up one finger. “Follow this please?” She moved her finger from one side to the other, and Roman did his best to follow it. He had a feeling he didn’t do a great job, based on her expression.

In the end, Valerie told him he had a minor concussion, two likely cracked ribs, some bad cuts on his feet that had to be cleaned and in one case stitched, a badly sprained ankle, and a lot of bruising. She’d had to cut off the shirt of the uniform he’d been so proud of, but Roman found he didn’t care.

After Roman had been treated, some of the knights came in to find out what exactly had happened to him and Logan, and why they had gone so far into the woods alone in the first place. Roman had to admit that they were right, saying that he should have found more knights to accompany them once they had decided to go further from the settlement, or should have tried harder to stop Logan from going at all. Some of them seemed rather angry about it. Roman didn’t blame them.

It was late afternoon by the time they brought Logan back. When it became clear Roman had no intentions of staying horizontal, Valerie helped him to sit up against some pillows.

The people who brought Logan in carefully lay him on the second bed in the room. The apothecarist had been dressed in loose medical garb that didn’t suit him at all. His eyes were shut and shadowed, and his head and leg were thickly bandaged. He was still very pale. But his leg was still there, and Roman could see his chest gently rise and fall. The sight filled him with a dizzying relief.

One of the doctors, or nurses, or whoever they were who’d brought Logan back to him, stepped aside to quietly converse with Valerie.

Roman just watched the steady rhythm of Logan’s breathing, a part of him fearing it might stop if he looked away.

The other person stepped out, and Valerie turned to Logan, picking up a blanket and laying it over him. She left his injured leg exposed. After a glance in Roman’s direction, she also folded it down just enough that Roman could still see his chest move.

“How is he?” Roman asked, his eyes not leaving his friend.

“They saved his leg,” she replied, “though it’s almost certain he’ll need a cane. He also has a concussion.”

“But he’ll… you said he’ll live, right?”

Valerie gave him a reassuring look. “As long as nothing changes, he will.”

“When’ll he wake up?”

Valerie hummed. “He might wake up sometime tomorrow. They gave him a sedative for the surgery, and he needs time to rest and recover. He’s not in great shape.”

“…Okay.” ‘Might wake up tomorrow’ was certainly much better than ‘might wake up’. And they had saved his leg—also very good news. Logan would kill him if he found out someone had cut off his leg on Roman’s watch.

Logan still had his leg, and his life. At least Roman hadn’t entirely failed to protect him.

…

Logan slept through the entire next day. Roman also dozed for much of the time, admittedly exhausted and without much else to do. His day was broken up by small, plain meals, and when Valerie or one of the other doctors came to check on Logan and Roman. Each time, they’d look them over, give Logan and Roman some medicine, and if necessary, change their bandages. Roman was not a fan of the bitter taste of his painkillers, but they were better than putting up with the pain. It looked like Logan was receiving more medicines than Roman, which he supposed made sense. Roman didn’t ask what any of the potions were. Logan probably would have known.

Over the course of the day, Logan’s color seemed to improve, and Valerie seemed pleased by whatever she was looking for when she examined him. But, still, he stayed asleep. Roman was worried.

“He could wake up sometime tonight,” Valerie mused, her fingers pressed to Logan’s neck, “but I would not count on it.” She took her fingers away, then took a bottle from her coat and dabbed a liquid from within on Logan’s lips, letting a small amount trickle into his mouth. “He’ll likely be pretty out of it, if he does. Try not to overwhelm him. Just keep him calm, and call for a doctor if none of us is in the room.”

Roman wilted a little, but he nodded. He really, really wanted to talk to Logan—he needed to—but more than that, he needed Logan to be okay. And it wouldn’t exactly be worth it to talk to him if he wouldn’t remember it, or be present enough to really take part.

Roman was silent for a moment.

“When he’s well enough,” he asked hesitantly, “would you mind giving us a moment alone? I’d, um... really like to talk to him. Alone.” Sure, Valerie wasn’t always in this room, but she or another doctor seemed to always be just in the other room beyond, where Roman was sure they could hear anything said in this one.

Valerie looked confused for a moment, glancing between him and Logan, probably wondering what on earth he could want to speak about; but then realization flickered in her eyes. Roman felt mildly embarrassed, but Valerie just turned back to him and nodded, smiling kindly. “Of course. I’ll make sure you two get some time alone. But if anything seems wrong, you call me back right away. I’ll go far enough that you can talk in peace, but I will not leave the building.”

Roman did his best to pretend his face wasn’t flushed pink. “I will, I promise. Thank you.”

Valerie nodded, then went to change Logan’s bandages. Roman watched as she carefully unwound the gauze from Logan’s head, checked and cleaned the wound, and spread a salve over it before wrapping his head in fresh bandages. She then went to the foot of the bed and did the same for his leg. Roman didn’t watch that. He wasn’t squeamish; he was a knight, but... this was Logan. And he’d already seen what the giant had done to his leg.

“Will he be in much pain when he wakes?” Roman asked.

“We’ll give him a potion for that.” She glanced up at Roman, who continued to look away, since she wasn’t quite finished with Logan’s leg. “Don’t worry. He’ll be getting the good stuff.”

Roman chucked weakly.

Valerie finished tending to Logan, then turned to Roman, who was not exactly eager to have more of that salve put on his cut feet. It stung.

Finally, she was securing the last bandage in place.

“Okay, I’m just about finished here. Someone will be in in a couple of hours; but of course, if something happens, just call out. Do you need anything before I go? I could help you lay back down—might be more comfortable, for sleeping tonight.”

Roman glanced at Logan, who was still sleeping peacefully, then shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine like this. Thank you so much for all of your help.”

“It’s no problem. It’s my job.”

“Still. Thank you.”

Valerie nodded, gathered her things, and left.

Roman sighed, settled back against his pillows, and closed his eyes.

…

Even during the night, every hour or two, someone would come in to check on Roman and Logan. Roman was not exactly happy to have his sleep repeatedly disturbed. How was he supposed to get back to his normal, fabulous self if no one let him have his beauty sleep? But he was glad that they were keeping an eye on Logan, at least.

Then, there came one instance when he couldn’t have been less annoyed to be woken up.

He’d been dreaming, he thought, of shadowy forests and bloody faces and glowing, sickly green eyes, when a sound brought him back towards wakefulness. As Roman drifted out of sleep, he placed it as a quiet moan.

Roman frowned and opened his eyes, looking around. It was clearly still nighttime, and the room was dim, lit only by moonlight filtering through a thin white curtain over the window, and by a soft glow from under the door. Daybreak had to be an hour or two off, yet.

There was a shifting of fabric from his right, and suddenly Roman realized what—or rather, who—had woken him.

“Logan?” he asked softly, looking over at the other bed.

Logan’s head shifted, his eyelids fluttering, then opening halfway. He let out another, even softer groan.

Roman sat up straighter, trying not to wince as his ribs protested. “Logan,” he tried again. “You with me?”

After a pause, Logan’s eyes slid in his direction. Even in the dimness, Roman could see how drowsy he looked. His normally sharp blue eyes looked glazed. His eyebrows furrowed, and Roman realized he appeared to be growing more nervous and confused.

“Hey, it’s me, Roman. We’re home,” Roman whispered, hoping to reassure him. “They got us out. We’re okay. You’re in the hospital, but they’re going to have you all fixed up in no time.”

The words didn’t seem to register. Logan shifted again, looking agitated. He made a distressed sound.

Roman bit his lip. Time for plan B. He pushed aside his own blanket, and, taking a second to brace himself, pushed himself to his feet. He gritted his teeth, grimacing, then hobbled over to Logan’s bed.

The bed wasn’t very wide, but his favorite nerd was very skinny, so there was plenty of room for Roman to sit on the edge of the bed. He took Logan’s hand, hoping he wasn’t overstepping. The apothecarist usually wasn’t exactly cuddly.

“Hey,” Roman whispered, as Logan’s eyelids drooped, then opened again.

Logan mumbled something. Something about a potion? It didn’t make much sense. Maybe Logan thought he was at his apothecary, or that they were still out in the woods, gathering supplies. Valerie had said he’d be out of it.

Roman hesitated, nodded to himself, then carefully swung up one of his legs onto the bed, the one whose ankle was sprained. There wasn’t enough room for him to fully lay on the bed, but this was more comfortable.

He rubbed his thumb across the back of Logan’s hand in small circles, still nervous about whether Logan would be okay with this, but the injured apothecarist seemed to relax as Roman continued the gentle, repetitive motion. Roman’s heart swelled, and he swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat.

He’d nearly lost this. For a while there, he had thought he had. Even if Roman himself had somehow managed to escape, he would have never had the chance to tell Logan how he really felt. It would have been too late. Logan could have been gone forever, and Roman would have never known if things could be different.

“Roman?” came a weak, wavering voice.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. We’re in the hospital.”

Three seconds of silence passed. Roman thought perhaps Logan had fallen back to sleep, but then his hand twitched in Roman’s, like a weak attempt to squeeze it. “You okay?” he mumbled.

A tear leaked down Roman’s cheek. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay. Just rest.”

[post-itpenny]

Magnetic

Decided to do some slasher writing. Continuing on with Chloe’s introduction and her first ever round of The Ringmaster’s carnival games. Poem excerpts from Christina Rossetti’s The Goblin Market. 

Goblin Games

“Morning and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

“Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy.”

A foolish, young couple wandered in like flies to fresh cut melon, swatted at just as quick too.

Pulled from each other’s fingertips tossed in cages. The Ringmaster was almost disappointed how short this round of the game was, but at least the tigers would be well fed tonight.

The rest that would follow were just as quickly disposed of, blindly lured in by some unknown temptation. They were all given the rules, though most didn’t listen. The Ringmaster valued a fair game though, so the rules were given the same.

The screams that filled the air after- delicious.

But here now was the last one, The Ringmaster mused her to be much like the injured child who could not keep up with the others so blindly following the pied piper.

But this one was aware of the danger, she was afraid. It was a curious thing when she entered anyway.

She stepped past the ticket booth, the Ringmaster gently ushering her inside.

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?”

There was a snap, the midway lighting up. “Welcome! Welcome my dear! How glorious you could join us here at the greatest show on Earth!”

A scream cut through the air, the girl flinched, but did not run.

How curious indeed.

“I do believe you’re the last guest of the evening. Allow me to introduce myself as Mr. Blair P. Gheist. May I say I am utterly delighted to have you joining us.” The Ringmaster greeted as he took the girl’s hand with a light peck to her knuckles.

“C-Chloe.”

He arched an eyebrow, most didn’t introduce themselves. “It’s wonderful of you to pay my humble circus a visit Miss Chloe. Tell me, what is it you most wish to experience tonight Hmm? The acrobatics? Perhaps our fine collection of some of the most exotic animals here on Earth?”

The girl pulled her hand away, her breathing rapid as she looked off in the distance towards the screams.

The Ringmaster watched her intently, gently hooking his finger under her chin and turning her head to face him.

“Perhaps a game?”

The girl- Chloe- slowly nodded. Stepping just out of his reach. The Ringmaster did not pursue, merely leaning on his cane with a devilish grin. “Do you enjoy games then? Normally I place the rule that winners are allowed to leave. But perhaps we could switch things up? If you win I will let them go, all of them.”

“Alive.”

Blair blinked, then smiled again. “But of course. Now my dear, allow me to explain the rules.”

She listened, she actually listened to everything that was explained. She asked questions to clarify, timidly of course but she still asked. She was without a doubt most deserving of a favorite game here at the circus-

Hide and Seek.

“Remember now,” The Ringmaster prompted, “all you have to do is not get caught for thirty minutes.” He glanced at her leg, “of course you get a head start-“

“I don’t need it, I’m fast enough.”

“I would hope you are Miss Chloe,” he responded, “you’re going to need it.” But I do need a chance to count so-“

He grinned, a hand curling over his eyes as he began to count out loud.

She took off running, navigating stalls and tents as The Ringmaster’s voice rang across the circus grounds. Chloe turned a corner. Around her now shadows loomed from the booths and stalls. Clowns with homicidal grins, acrobatics whose joints didn’t look quite right. She nearly crashed into a stagehand who took a casual swing at her with a sledgehammer.

Chloe backpedaled and ran another direction. Ducking into a tent.

She climbed around storage boxes and into a small nook away from the tent sides.

It had grown quiet.

Chloe forced her breathing to steady. Listening intently to the sound of approaching footsteps. They stopped outside the tent, only a moment before moving on.

She breathed a sigh of relief-

There was a loud “bang!” As Chloe was surrounded by an explosion of light.

She shrieked and covered her head, hearing an insane laugh as she pulled herself together and ran out of the tent.

Down the isles for the Midway Chloe ran. Never far behind her was The Ringmaster who always seemed to know what she would go.

She was interesting to watch run, despite the given limp from her prosthetic leg the girl was athletic. Blair casually jogging behind, normally he would just walk but this one didn’t just run blindly. She truly was doing everything in her power to win.

She skidded around a corner and misjudged her speed. Stumbling into a booth with a terrible crash.

The Ringmaster giggled, reaching out with a hand. “Terrific job so far my dear, but you could stand to practice the landing.”

Chloe panicked, backing into the debre, trapped as he grinned down at her. “You’ve done very well, there’s no need to panic my dear Chloe.”

“Stay away!”

“Shh, hush now. The game is almost over, and you have been splendid. Take a deep breath my dear, rest a moment.”

Without thinking Chloe did as she was told. Breath slowing down but still watching a The Ringmaster inched closer. “Most don’t make it this far, it’s admirable really.”

She gripped the strap of her guitar, calming down but still weary.

Blair offered an encouraging smile and inched closer. “Let me help you up, no strings attached.”

“The rules were Mr. Gheist, if you tag me game over. That counts right?”

Oh.

Oh this one was-

Blair grinned. “You paid attention!”

“So it’s an out yes?”

“An exception just this once, trust me. The game is almost over anyways”

She was tired, he could tell. But she couldn’t tell there was still twenty minutes on the clock.

He held out his and again, delighted as she raised her own, fingertips just inches away. She was tired and oblivious. Perhaps he cou-“

WHAM!

If all the things that The Ringmaster had experienced in his carnival games over the years, being hit in the face with a guitar had never been one of them. She stumbled back as he stuttered between curses of pain and a sick laughter. She ran away as fast as she could.

It was delightful.

“One may lead a horse to water,

Twenty cannot make him drink.”

A fighter- a clever and resourceful thing, a fighter. He needed something like that, and if she wasn’t too broken by the end then perhaps he would add her to the troup.

Tossing his top hat aside, he ran after her.

The spectators were whipped into a frenzy. No longer silent watchers, they screamed and laughed. Shoving Chloe if she got too close. Applauding when their boss sprinted by. Her movement was a strange loping one, her speed hindered by the leg. But she did not stop running no matter how much it hurt.

Chloe turned a corner, not realizing her mistake as she entered a building.

The Funhouse.

The entry room was dark, a relief from the bright lights of the Midway, a place to actually hide.

The lights flashed on, she blinked away the spots from her eyes at the sudden light. Screaming at the sight of a corpse flayed and pinned to the wall.

She turned around, The Ringmaster grinning wickedly at her with his hand on the switch, around them whirled to life the sounds of gears turning and music picking up.

He waited, she still had fourteen minutes on the clock. Would she try to dodge around him, or go in?

Would she simply fall to the floor and beg like some of her friends did earlier?

Chloe turned, diving through the small door underneath the Corpse.

Stumbling through dimly lit and tilting hallways, trying doors that led to nowhere. The music was loud and lights would flash. Walls damp with blood as she entered one room that could only be described as an explosion of gore. The smell hit her and she had to stop and vomit twice.

Chloe kept going.

He followed her, shimmying through tight hallways and climbing over obstacles. He pulled something from his pocket, tossing it over her head and down the hall. Covering his own eyes before it hit the ground.

She screeched at the small explosion. Blinded by the sudden light and running without any idea where she was going.

SMACK

She screamed again at the feeling of The Ringmaster’s cane slamming into her back, to her credit she did not falter however. She kept running.

She regained her eyesight to find herself surrounded by herself. A hall of mirrors that twisted and distorted the world. Everywhere she turned was a dead end. Slamming into mirrors as trying desperately to get through. It was so loud here, and their air had changed; now sweet smelling but heavy. Lights an array of colors. She struggled to think, she struggled to breathe.

He found her there, collapsed and hyperventilating.

Blair eyed her before pulling out his pocket watch.

Five minutes.

He sighed, readying his cane much like a club.

Chloe glanced over her shoulder, crawling away best she could. Her prosthetic refusing to cooperate.

He chuckled and hooked the fake leg. Pulling her back towards him.

Four minutes.

“Color me surprised Miss Chloe but most don’t last this long. I would tip my hat to you but I left it quite a ways back.”

Using his cane he flipped her over by the leg. She looked up at him, eyes wide and lungs struggling for air.

“G-g-game?”

Blair grinned, “not over yet I’m afraid. But you’ve been such a sport, I’ll allow your little friends to live if you give up.”

“B-b-b-” she paused and took a massive gulp of air, she was sobbing now.

“But you? Well you lose, you don’t leave.”

Three minutes.

“It’s time to close out the show dear, don’t you think?”

She was in hysterics, her body exhausted and her mind losing to the assault brought on by the hall of mirrors. Chloe flipped herself over and dragged herself across the floor.

Two minutes

The Ringmaster cackled as he hooked her leg again with his cane and dragged her back. He winced, the room was getting louder, it wasn’t supposed to do that.

She kicked out at him, trying to scramble to her feet, hands clamped over her ears and eyes screwed shut.

One Minute.

It would dawn on him later that the volume was due to the loud whispers that had joined the cacophony of music and random sound he had intended for room to hold. But at this moment even the Ringmaster struggled as his ears were assaulted.

Later on her would argue that he had been cheated.

Underneath the racket came the soft chime of The Ringmaster’s pocket watch.

The sounds stopped.

[izaswritings]

Title: tinman philosophies

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis:  Lost in the streets of Atlas, hunted by the Grimm, Oscar and Oz run into Ironwood. 

(Or: in which Oz is Angry, Oscar is determined, and Ironwood continues to make bad life choices. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.)

AO3 Link is here.

.

In the grips of invasion and evacuation, Atlas is a city of empty towers and emptier streets. The buildings rise tall and silver and shining, all the lights gone out and the doors locked tight, windows shuttered shut. It’s a ghost town of silver towers, and every sound echoes— every thud of their footsteps turned two-fold, every screech of the Grimm like screaming.

Oscar, to your left!

Oz’s shout comes with only a second to spare—at the last moment Oscar’s grip changes hands and the boy launches himself back, just barely missing being mauled by the teeth of the hulking gorilla-like winged Grimm circling around him. He finds his footing and sets his feet; the next time the Grimm lunges, Oscar is ready, and slams the cane into the Grimm’s throat with such viciousness the beast dissolves at once.

Oz, watching and wary, bites back an instinctual plea to switch places—the boy is fighting his own battles and is doing fine, and to ignore that would be a disservice to him—and says, instead, We are too enclosed here. We need to move.

Oscar inhales sharply, but begins retreating back further down the street. “But, the others—!”

If Oz were in control, this would be where their lips would thin. The others, indeed. Oscar is right to be worried. The timing is—horrific. Salem is attacking the city, these new Grimm are everywhere, and now this: Oz and Oscar lost in the streets, forcibly herded away from the others by the Grimm, driven back farther and farther from their allies.

It is an effective tactic for supposedly mindless Grimm, and a sickeningly familiar one. Salem. It must be. He doesn’t know if the Grimm are attempting it with everyone or if she has already, somehow, found Oz again—a thought that makes his very soul flicker with horror and remembered pain. The end result is still the same. They are lost here in the abandoned streets of Atlas, utterly surrounded and utterly alone.

Well, not entirely alone. High above, the Atlas military swarms, concerned with its own Grimm issues. Not that it would matter if they weren’t. In this moment, the Atlas military and their cloying presence is a hindrance instead of a help. Enemies on both sides, and if they aren’t careful, they’ll be caught right in the middle of the crossfire.

And so.

There is nothing we can do, Oz says, reluctant. Oscar, we need to go.

As if on cue, one of the Grimm swipes down again, wings flaring—Oscar spins out of the way with a sharp cry of frustration and a low sweep with the cane.

“I am so sick of getting lost!” he cries, and then he turns on his heel and sprints for it.

Despite absolutely everything, that comment almost makes Oz laugh. This does seem to be becoming a habit with you, doesn’t it?

“Not on purpose!” the boy hisses back, and nearly trips in his haste in rounding the corner. A howl makes the both of them glance back; the beasts are following, the streets tearing up under the wicked claws. Oscar swallows hard. “Any ideas?”

Hm. Oz peers through Oscar's eyes, and their vision catches on a narrow alleyway.  Hide.

Oscar casts a quick glance back, and his lips thin, grim. He turns sharply, shoulder scraping the wall in his haste, and slips in a narrow way between the buildings, back pressed hard against the smooth metal. Scraping and screaming echoes behind them; the Grimm, desperate to follow, raging at their backs. Oz reaches out. The cane—

“What?”

There’s too many to fight. We need to divert their attention. Our magic—

“Oh,” Oscar breathes, and then blinks. “No, wait, this is the worst time for a magic lesson—”

We are a little low on other options, Oscar—!

There is a strange sensation, like tipping forward, a moment caught in time before Oz trips into control, the sudden sense of being just about slapping him across the face. Feeling snaps into focus. He is—here, again. He is here.

He breathes, and the cold air is shocking. “Oscar?”

Worst time for a magic lesson, and you seem to have an idea, so—

He catches the tail end of the thought, the plan, and exhales hard. “Right.” He brings up their hand and the Long Memory with it, green sparking at their fingertips. Lightning shocks down their hand through the cane, burning, bright—it shoots over the heads of the Grimm, brilliant like a firework, a flare of violent green. The howling turns away, momentarily diverted. Oz grips the cane close, waiting. The howls fade away. He keeps their breaths even, heart calm. The Grimm don’t come back. For now, at least.

Oz folds their hands over the knob of the cane and taps it firmly on the ground, pleased with how well that had worked. Magic is a lovely lure. Draining, but effective. Still. “As clever as that was,” he admits, mild, “please, Oscar, a little more warning next time.”

Sorry. I panicked. And you already seemed to have an idea… why didn’t you just take control?

“The situation was not quite that dire, yet, and I simply didn’t expect…” He knows Oscar dislikes losing control, and understands it; after everything that has happened, Oz is more reluctant than ever to take over unless absolutely necessary. And for all that the Grimm were worrisome, he has seen the boy handle far worse situations. “I wanted it to be your choice, I suppose.”

I mean, I appreciate that… Oscar almost seems to sigh, halfway exasperated, tone dry. But seriously, the middle of running away is a really bad time for a magic lesson. Just saying.

Oz manages a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He moves back. “And, if you don’t mind—”

Oscar catches the trail end of the question and hums. He seems thoughtful, but not against it, and Oz relaxes. Sure. I need a moment to think, anyway. Though… There is an itch behind their eyes, Oscar peering through, wincing at the alley. Can we find a new hiding place?

“Certainly,” Oz says, and slips back further in the alley, keeping control as Oscar drifts back to consider their options. Oscar is right— as it is their hiding place is too enclosed, and though Oscar is small, if they get cornered here they won’t be able to fight at all. Even for Oscar, small for his age and slight besides, the alley is stifling.

Oz ignores the whisper of unease that comes with that, the whisper that always rises when he takes control—not mine, not right, too small, too—and watches the mouth of the alley instead, making sure the Grimm are fully diverted before slipping out into the other street-side. For a moment though, he almost stumbles; unaccustomed, for one awful instant of wrong, with being so short.

It is Oz’s own fault, in the end. The unease always comes with a new body, with every form that is not his own. It is a sense he will likely never escape—and in truth, Oz no longer knows what it is he’s even looking for. Who is the self that he is instinctively reaching towards? Ozma, the first? Ozpin, the last? He has been so many people, worn so many faces, that he no longer knows himself.

It is worse than usual, though; the months of being locked away have made being in control and being Oscarbrand-new all over again, and Oscar’s panic and the looming presence of Salem are not helping matters. For a moment their hands fumble with the cane, and their steps falter; in his stress and familiarity with the city, Oz expects to be taller and is thrown off by the warped perspective. Their shoulder knocks against a wall. It is—distinctly unlike him. Oz is frustrated purely on principle.

Oscar must sense something, unfortunately, because the boy’s attention is at once fixed on him. …Are you—

“Fine,” Oz murmurs, ignoring him, and steadies himself. He grips the cane tight, glancing up and down the street. There is no sign of the others. He bites back a sigh and closes their eyes, rubbing at the bridge of their nose, briefly and intensely missing his glasses. Right then. Now, for Miss Rose and the others, where would they…?

The Academy? That is where the plan is taking place.

Ah, yes. The plan. Roughshod as it is. Oz can’t help but wince at the reminder. For all that he’s agreed to follow Miss Rose’s lead, he can’t help but despair a little. Haphazard ideas full of chaotic mayhem and the luck of the draw—this is what he has resigned himself to. He supposes he’ll have to get used to it, though Oz is loathe to admit he likes it.

Still. It is sort of strange, in a funny way, to be a part of the plan instead of the lone voice making them. A word of advice, rather than the deciding factor. He… can’t really remember the last time he did that.

Oz isn’t exactly sure if he likes it, but, well. It’s certainly something new.

“Atlas Academy is a good place to start,” he agrees, and steps out fully into the street, surveying the sky, looking for the distinctive shadow of the school. “Still, getting up there without the others may be more trouble than you realize—”

“Hey!”

Oz snaps their mouth shut, breath catching in their throat. Oscar is suddenly still in the back of their mind. No. Wait. That cannot—

“Is someone out there?”

Oz snaps their head back, grip tight on the cane. For a moment he and Oscar are in complete agreement, the shock two-fold before it splits—Oscar, falling into dread; Oz, falling into an anger bitter with betrayal. Their fingers go white-knuckled on the cane.

What is he doing here? Oscar whispers, half-way between fearful and furious. He should be in the Academy—or even Mantle, especially now, when Salem is—why is he—

Oz thins their lips and adjusts their grip on the cane. He is too aware of the empty street stretching out around them, and the emotion they both are fighting with—and already he can hear the returning howl of Grimm. He’s not one to cuss, but in this moment, he has to bite back a curse.

“Oscar,” he says instead. “Please, let me—let me handle this. I may be able to…”

He trails off, unsure, faltering. Oscar is a flicker through their soul.

I… are you sure?

He can feel the boy’s hesitation, his reluctance. They have no time to waste; the others could be anywhere and very second delayed is a mark against them, because they have no seconds to spare. But they have both realized. The street is wide open, empty, gaping—unless they duck back into the alley, there is no avoiding this… and they cannot waste time hiding. They are already running behind.

“It is— at least worth a try.” He grimaces. “And if nothing else, as a distraction…”

…Alright.

“Thank you,” Oz says, quiet, and draws himself tall just in time to see James Ironwood turn the corner.

He looks—different, Oz realizes, almost at once. He doesn’t know why this bothers him so. He knows how the fall of Beacon has struck its toll on James, has recalled the memories even if Oz wasn’t really awake for those interactions personally. But for the first time he is seeing James clearly, and… he looks tired, Oz thinks. He looks drawn. His arm is still in a sling, and his eyes are lined heavy with exhaustion.

James doesn’t see them right away, though he looks ready for a fight—gun drawn and aiming for any Grimm that might leap out, eyes sharp and expression focused. When he sees Oz, for a moment he doesn’t seem to realize what or who it is he is looking at. His gun dips, relief on his face—and then realization sinks in.

His eyes widen. The gun lowers further. For a moment, James looks almost stricken. “...Impossible.”

Oscar almost seems to flinch. Oz keeps their grip tight on the cane. He watches the gun.

James is still staring, but slowly, the shock fades—he steps closer, gun still drawn but lowering. He looks them up and down, meets their eyes briefly and then looks away. “I see,” James says, almost to himself. His lips thin into something almost a grimace. “Or… maybe not so impossible. I suppose that’s my own fault for underestimating you.”

The words are not complimentary—they just are. Blank, impersonal, an observation. Oscar feels sick. Oz speaks, voice tight. “Yes,” he says. “That is one way of putting it, I suppose.”

James looks back at them, and at their words his expression hardens. He straightens, looking down at them, gun lowered to his side but still—noticeably—drawn. “Well. I assume you’re the one who sent up that flare?”

Oscar is a flicker of shock and dread realization. …Flare?

Oz closes their eyes, gritting their teeth hard. Gods. The magic. He should have known.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” James has straightened fully now; his composure regained, eyes hard. “Well.” He lifts up the gun, and trains it on their chest. “As it is. Drop the cane and stand down, Oscar, and maybe things can go differently this time around.”

Oz doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch at the threat. That James is threatening Oscar’s life again is not so much a surprise as it is bitter. Still—  he is taken off-guard by the wrong name, and understanding strikes him and Oscar at the same time.

He doesn’t know.

And really. How could James know? He has only just learned of Oscar’s survival—Oz is another story entirely. Which means…

Oscar is all reluctance, but still, the boy leans in, not quite taking control but brushing the edges of it. I—I can—

“No,” Oz says, to Oscar and Ironwood both, and draws himself up. The benefits of keeping his identity hidden are many, but this road has already been walked—both of them already know that James—Ironwood—has no patience for what Oscar has to say. And while in truth Oz is not much different, and in truth while it galls at him… if there is a chance his presence can change... something, anything… then Oz has to try.

Oscar stills, an unwilling participant—recognizing the idea and disliking it as much as he is grateful for it, for the boy is not keen on facing Ironwood again—and slowly draws back, letting Oz take the lead on this. Ironwood narrows his eyes. Oz links their hands behind their back, the Long Memory heavy in their grip, and adds, “Not quite right, I’m afraid.”

He can say this for Ironwood—he has always been quick on the uptake. Ironwood’s eyes widen, just barely, his shock a flash-flicker on his face. The weapon lowers, just barely. “…Oz?”

Oz doesn’t move. “Would that I could say it is nice to see you again, but…” Oz smiles. It isn’t kind. “Well.”

The gun dips further. Ironwood blinks fast. “You… you’re back.” He straightens. “You woke up? After all this time— why? When?”

Oz doesn’t answer. He feels very cold, suddenly, shock-still and frozen. He fixes Ironwood with an icy stare, and slowly the understanding blooms across Ironwood’s face.

“…So that’s how you survived the fall. I see.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Oz observes, frigid. He is hyper-aware of the empty street at their back, the Grimm drawing ever closer to their location. His anger and Oscar’s dread—no doubt, in this moment they are practically a beacon for the Grimm, and the knowledge grits at their teeth. Oz will have to play this very carefully.

For a moment, James looks tired. The dim lights of the city cast long shadows on his face. “Ah. You’re angry with me.”

“I do wonder why that is.” He is still holding the gun steady; Oz doesn’t dare move. The howls are growing closer. He tightens their grip on the Long Memory. Already, time is running short. He needs to buy time. He needs a chance to run. He needs—

He needs to get them back with the group. And yet. He is frozen in place, unable to pull himself away. The whole sorry tale is a tragedy in motion, and still he cannot let it go. Frustration burns low in their chest. And Oz cannot stop himself from asking, just once, low and sharp and furious: “James. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The brief moment of exhaustion falls away. Ironwood’s eyes harden, expression going tight with a building anger. The gun rises again, and this time his hand doesn’t shake. “I know exactly what I’m doing!” Ironwood snaps back. “I will say this one last time. Drop the cane and turn yourself in, and this can all go peacefully. I can and will use force if necessary.”

The howls of the Grimm are closing in. Oz is strangling his cane. “Peacefully,” he repeats. Something about that word sticks with him. It has been a long time since Oz was angry—a long time since he has felt a rage like this. Lionheart was one thing. Hazel another. This is something else entirely. “Peacefully?”

The Grimm swoop down, screaming.

The conversation dies, Ironwood snapping away from Oz in an instant, gun firing like a shot. Oz doesn’t even flinch; the bullet flashes by their cheek and he can hear the Grimm’s howl cut off. Their hand spasms on the cane, and at the last second he turns, scowling, to strike the next one—his blow is vicious, sharp, and the moment that Grimm dies he throws himself at the next.

There is no time now for anger, for all the heated and furious things clamoring behind their teeth; Oz bites back a snarl and takes this anger out on the Grimm, refusing to lose his head. The crack of his cane and the firing of the gun echoes down the empty streets; they fight not side by side but adjacent as the Grimm swoop down from above. They are too open, too exposed on this city street—there is no shelter here, and half-way through the battle Oz draws back from the Grimm and begins backing down the street.

Ironwood realizes what he is doing almost at once. His expression darkens. “Don’t—!”

Oz gives him a cold look, then turns and slips past the Grimm, down the street, already running.

“Oz!”

Oscar’s voice is thin. He seems shaken. He’s going to follow. I don’t know if we can lose him—

“I know,” Oz mutters back, and turns down another street, already looking for their next exit. He can hear a gunshot, distant, and the screech of Grimm, dying off. “But at the very least, I am not going to wait there for him to—”

More gunshots. Closer this time. Oz hisses through their teeth, turning, readying his cane— he is prepared for a bullet, and so the handcuffs take him by surprise, wrapping around their wrists and cane both, the momentum of the swing slamming them against the ground.

Ironwood steps up. His voice is cold. “I never took you for a coward.”

“Going for the non-lethal option now?” But inwardly Oz is furious. Sloppy. Sloppy. Just because he was waiting for the bullet doesn’t mean letting his guard down for everything else.

Ironwood doesn’t even grace that with a reply, dragging them up by the arm, almost dangling them. For all that one arm is out of commission, Ironwood’s grip is steady.

“I don’t have time for your games, Ozpin. Where are the others?”

Crap.

Oz is of a similar mind. So he’s realized, then.

Ironwood continues, “Team RWBY and JNR—and Qrow, too. I suppose you were helping them with his breakout. I can’t imagine you got up onto Atlas alone.”

Oz keeps one hand tight on the Long Memory, ignoring the way the cuffs cut into their wrist. “You’d be surprised,” he says, simply. There is no humor in the words. Something about seeing Ironwood face-to-face has sparked something in him; an anger, a low burn of fury that blurs at the edges of his mind. Their chest feels very tight. “As much as you like to pretend otherwise, General, you simply cannot know everything.”

Ironwood’s expression flickers, caught off-guard, and then his eyes widen, livid with anger. His hand tightens in their coat, and he shakes them, for one dizzying moment actually lifting them off the ground. Oz hates being small. This is giving him a headache.

“I know more than enough!” Ironwood shouts, furious.

Anxiety knots in their chest. It’s not his. Oz, we don’t have time for this!

Oz breathes in deep, pushing past the anger. Oscar is right. He switches tactics, biting back the fury, trying to project a calm he can’t quite feel. There is a fragility here, a thread frayed and almost snapped. He keeps their voice low. “Please, understand me,” Oz tries. “I—we are not your enemies, James. We want to save Atlas as much as you—”

Ironwood scoffs. “Oh, please.” The spell has broken; however much Ironwood might have been hearing before, he is utterly refusing to listen now. “You want to save Mantle.”

Oscar is a sudden flare of anger in the back of their mind, and Oz is fit to match. Their eyes narrow. “I was not aware those were two separate things,” he says, suddenly cold. “Salem—”

“None of you get it.” Ironwood turns away, dropping Oz back to the ground; Oz catches their feet and doesn’t stumble, not even when Ironwood starts to drag them by the arm down the street. Back to the airships, no doubt. Oz adjusts their grip on the cane. “Mantle is the trap! It’s her way in. I have said this, again and again, and still, all of you insist on holding on to foolish ideals over sense. I am making the only choice I can—I am saving what can be saved.”

“Mantle is not dead,” Oz snaps back, and their fingers clench at the cane. He is hyper-aware of the streets stretching on behind them their backs, open paths and more narrow alleys. Oscar is small. He could make it, maybe—  though whether it’s a path, or a dead-end, Oz doesn’t know. He gets the sickening sense he is going to have to risk it.

But first he needs to get them away.

“James, listen to yourself. This isn’t—”

“And who are you to lecture me?” Ironwood pushes them back, letting go at last, whirling on them. His face is calm, his eyes set, burning with a low fury and a terrible sort of surety. His hand waves in the air, gestures as sharp as a blow. “You. Weren’t. Here. You don’t get to come in now after all is said and done, and try to tell me what is right!”

“You’re quite right.” Oz watches him rant, hands white-knuckled on the cane. The cord of the handcuffs is strangling their wrists. “I was not here.” His voice darkens. “But you were not alone, James. You had a team—your team—Miss Rose, Mister Arc, Qrow. You had others to turn to. Oscar—”

“I didn’t want Oscar’s advice!”

“Well, you should have taken it!” Oz grips the Long Memory, temper finally frayed. His mind is awash in anger, two-fold and burning—his own horror, Oscar’s bitter disappointment. “Have you any idea how—how frustrating it is, to see a chance for a better future—a united Remnant—Mantle and Atlas come together… and then see it fall apart, utterly and completely, because the man in charge decided he couldn’t trust any word, any advice, any voice but his own?”

Oz—

Oz shakes their head, stepping forward. “My advice would have ruined this city,” he says, vicious and sure. “My advice would have played right into Salem’s hands. I can see that path so clearly it makes me sick.”

“I am fighting—”

“You are running.” Oz takes a breath, reigning himself in, eyes cold and voice hard. “And you are taking only what you feel is worth saving, and leaving all the rest to die.”

“Sacrifice is necessary,” Ironwood snaps back. “I thought you knew that. I will do what you won’t, Oz. I won’t fail as you did. I will sacrifice anything if it means—”

“Please,” Oz says, cutting him off. “Don’t make it sound all heroic.” There is venom in his voice, in him; Qrow had once said Oscar’s face was an open book, and in this moment all there is is fury. “You will sacrifice? At least let us be honest with what you are doing, General—you aren’t losing anything. The people left behind, however? They are going to die. They are going to lose everything. You are feeding them whole to the wolves and talking like you are the one being eaten, when in truth the teeth have barely skimmed your shoulder.”

“And once again, your advice continues to be everything but helpful!”

“Then perhaps you should have listened to Oscar when you had the chance.”

This hits where all else had failed. For a moment Ironwood falters, mid-step, his eyes wide. He takes a breath—

And in the distance, a voice calls out. “Oscar?”

Oz takes his chance.

He throws himself forward, cane swinging; Ironwood blocks the blow with his arm and thus is in no position to stop him when instead of following through with the attack, Oz ducks underneath his arm and sprints for the alleyways. He can hear Ironwood curse behind him, and Oz throws himself around the corner just as a gunshot rings out.

The voice again, closer. “Oscar!?”

This time he recognizes it: Blake Belladonna, calling from below. He races for the end of the street—cut off into a ledge, one of Atlas’s many-layered areas—like Mistral, only so much worse. He goes for the ledge, looking down; on the lower rung of the city he sees her standing, looking around, alone.

Blake Belladonna sees him too; she looks up, eyes wide. “Oscar—”

“Run!” he shouts at her. “Ironwood is here. We have to—”

“Not without you!”

These children, honestly. Oz backs away from the handrail. He can’t see the elevators, or any way down, and there’s no time to look. He has to jump for it. He can make the landing easy enough—

He turns just in time for Ironwood to slam into him, a sharp tackle that sends them both over the ledge.

No—!

“Oscar!”

They tip over the edge into free-fall.

Oz slams out their manacled hands, and a shield snaps into place, the magic a staggering drain. He hits the ground hard and the shield shatters; he slams against the stone shoulder-first and fights to breathe even as he scrambles to their feet. Ironwood has fallen with him, and been shielded as well—he is already standing, blood scouring the side of his face. His expression is dark with fury.

“You—”

Oz doesn’t give him time to speak. He has barely minutes left—already he can feel his strength waning, aura thin from the magic toll, and he throws himself forward, cane lashing for Ironwood’s face. He blocks the first strike; Oz’s second hits him flat against the throat.

Ironwood coughs, caught off-guard. He backs away rapidly, his one good hand clutching at his throat, eyes wild and expression pained. Oz backs away, sensing rather than seeing Blake Belladonna step up to stand by their side. She places a steadying hand at their shoulder, and takes a swift second to snap the handcuff cord with her blade, freeing their hands before lifting her weapon to point at Ironwood.

“Oz?” she says, almost a question.

There is blood trickling down the side of Oscar’s face, and Oz winces, expression tight. “For the moment. Do you know where the others are?”

“Yes.” She glances back at him. “And we’re not alone.” Oz stills, and someone else comes up behind them, standing by Blake with a drawn sword. Weiss Schnee, her eyes dark and expression set. She levels her blade in Ironwood’s direction, and glyphs behind to form at the edge of the blade.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warns Ironwood, and Blake Belladonna shifts her sword to a gun, aiming too. “I won’t miss.”

Ironwood climbs unsteadily to his feet, hand at his throat and face pale with rage and pain. Oz stares back, unsteady and aching, the cane clutched white-knuckled in their hands. He is furious. He is tired.

He already knows it’s useless.

Oz had wanted to stay in control for this—but he’s not even sure why, now. To face James himself, and see what he’d become? To convince the other? To argue? But all this has done is deaden him; all it has done is exhaust him. Nothing has been accomplished. Nothing changed. The line was crossed days ago, and all Oz is doing now is treading water.

We can’t save him. Oscar is quiet, firm—understanding. We can’t help him if he doesn’t want to be helped. And…

And Mantle. Atlas. Salem. All knocking at the doors of the kingdom—all so much more important than this last useless attempt to convince his once-friend to choose differently.

Oz closes their eyes, aching, tired, apologetic. Oscar opens them, and stands steady.

Ice crystallizes between them and Ironwood, Weiss Schnee, threatening a wall should Ironwood dare to approach. Ironwood is regaining his breath. Oscar looks at him for a long moment, and despite everything, something bids them to wait.

Ironwood stares across at them. Even in the glare of the city’s streetlamps, his eyes reflect no light. “You would do this?” he asks, very softly. His voice rasps in his throat, still recovering from the blow. “You would leave Atlas to fall?”

Oz has nothing to say. No real words left. It is Oscar who straightens, who turns to face the General. The boy who stands, calm where Oz was angry, and looks at Ironwood for a long, solemn moment.

“Atlas already fell, I think.” Oscar’s hand curls tight around the cane. “We’re the ones trying to save it.”

It is the last straw, it seems. Ironwood lunges, hand going for the gun—and a wall of jagged ice bursts up, blocking the bullet and buying them time to run.

Blake Belladonna pushes at their shoulder. “Go!” she says, and Oscar casts one last glance at their back and then turns and sprints, Weiss Schnee following at their heels. They’ve made it back with the others, and soon they’ll be back with the group as a whole. Soon the plan can start again—start anew.

Still. For a moment, Oscar falters. For a moment they look back. How quickly it all went wrong—how quickly they left it behind. But with the ice and darkness and rising smoke of the burning city, they cannot see Ironwood at all.

And Oz thinks—they couldn’t reach him even if they could. There is nothing more than they can do.

The General has made his choice, and they have made theirs.

It is time to move on, he whispers, quiet. Oscar closes his eyes.

And as one, they turn away.

[kosmosian-quills]

Long Live the Queen

I was inspired by the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt “Childs Play”. I know I’m probably too late to enter this one but it’s where the inspiration comes from XD

I’ve got @cirianne to thank for her advice on this scene. Honestly starting this scene was the worst but ilysm for your patience and feedback <3

“Princess.”

The stern voice brings my focus back to them, and my immediate task of pulling faces at my little sister is interrupted by our very unamused professor, his gaze irritated and intimidating.

“As entertaining as it may be to ignore my lecture, I do not appreciate you acting like children and insulting my intelligence by distracting your sister and yourself with juvenile tendencies.” He says, leaning over me with his arms folded, book still in one hand, and his cane in the other. “Even if you are not the heiress to the throne, you should at least be able to make conversations about the other nobilities in Europe.”

“But it’s all about old, dead people. Why do grown-ups want to talk about all these dead people anyway? They can’t come back to life and do anything now.”

“Knowing these things prevents you from embarrassing not just yourself, but your father. How do you think it looks if his daughters cannot talk about these things? You can’t expect any guests we have to educate you on things you should already know, Princess.”

I look down at the book in front of me, the same one he was reading out of and expecting us to follow along with. I nod at the professor, my cheeks burning red.

“Sorry, professor,” I reply, managing to snag a glance at Maria, and she looked as embarrassed as I did.

He unfolded his arms, and continued to read from the book in that same, boring, monotonous tone as before. It’s no wonder I started messing around with my sister earlier, because it’s all just so dull. Maria’s almost reckless attempts at entertaining us both are what gets us through these lectures.

He didn’t seem to notice how Maria was back to drawing little circles on her parchment in front of her, and that she was not paying any attention to him because of it. No doubt if the old man would look up and see what she was doing, this *insolence* would be reported to our father – his Majesty the King – in absolutely no time at all.

Well, as soon as father returns from his trip that is.

I make eye contact with Maria and she looks up at me, clearly not caring about learning today. I don’t want her to get in trouble, so I nod in the direction of the professor, silently imploring her to at least stop wasting parchment. Even if he didn’t realise she was not listening, having evidence of her distraction is just more grounds for getting her in more trouble later.

She does stop, though, and sits up in her creaky wooden seat.

It’s enough, she knows I don’t want her in trouble, but she knows she isn’t helping herself here.

Looking back at my book, reading the words on the old paper, I’m suddenly reminded of the monotony of these lectures. I can’t wait until we’re done here, so that me and Maria can go and play around in the rock pools at the edge of the castle. The hot summer makes it nice to play in. It’s not like we’ll be alone, there are plenty of guards around and of course our mistress comes too, if only to keep Maria from causing too much mischief. It’s a nice way to pass the time until father and Elżbieta return to join us for dinner.

But that daydream was shattered by the sounds of frantic footsteps outside, followed by sharp knocks on the heavy wooden door.

The door opened, and in stepped Sir Dusza, head of the Royal Guard himself, followed by a small group of his men, fully suited and not at all what we were expecting. Even Maria stopped fiddling around and sat up straight.

He didn’t look happy. He didn’t look at all pleased.

But then again, what was he doing? Why was he here? I don’t know of any event that requires him to escort us anywhere. Besides, I thought he was supposed to be with my father today, escorting him north…

“What is the meaning of this?” the professor asks, looking at the knights as they file in.

“Your highness,” he addresses me, bowing his head slightly, and instantly I know that something is wrong. He turns to the professor, briefly. “Forgive the intrusion, professor, but I have some news I need to impart upon the Princesses.”

I manage to catch a glimpse of the look on his face before the professor excuses himself from the room. Devoid of colour, pursed lips, and wide eyes.

“Sir, what is…?” I start to rise from my seat, and those words are all I can manage as I see the painful look in his eyes. He knows something’s not right, he knows that I know that much.

He clears his throat, kneels down to our level, and begins to speak.

“As you are aware, his Majesty the King - your father - and your sister were on their way north to meet with the lords there,” he speaks slowly, not actually making eye contact with me. Maria is still seated next to me, turned completely around, and he keeps looking at her too. “I am so very sorry, your highnesses, but the carriage was run off the road when the horses got scared...”

I don’t quite hear what he says after that, because all I can hear now is a dull ringing and my head feels so dizzy. The room around me feels like it’s spinning out of control, but Sir Dusza is still knelt before me, his head hung low, still speaking to us, but I’m not quite… not quite sure what he’s saying.

“No, no!” Maria is the only thing I can hear next. “Elka, no, no!”

It feels… it doesn’t feel real. It feels like he’s lying, like he’s joking. There’s no way this is true. Father – he isn’t, he can’t be –

“My sincerest condolences, your majesty.”

Those words, that little thing he ended on is what snaps me back to reality.

Your majesty.

It doesn’t feel real at all, it feels like a lie. It feels undeserved on all accounts. I was never meant to be addressed this way. It was always supposed to be Elżbieta, of the three of us. I’ve known my entire life that I would be your highness.

But this, it feels like I’ve stolen something precious from someone I love. It feels like I’ve taken something that never was mine, and never was *meant* to be mine.

Elżbieta – the one who spent those countless hours with father, learning his craft and doing everything to make her road to regency much smoother – is gone forever.

Leaving me to pick up the reigns from several miles behind her.

“There is much for you to do now, your majesty, to take the crown. I need you to come with me.”

I nod once, blinking and barely aware of the tears that streamed down my face. The knight before me stands tall, and stands aside, letting me make my way to the door of the classroom. I reach to my left and take a hold of Maria's hand, snivelling and crying the way she is.

I'm all she has left now, as she is all I have.

“Long live Queen Katarzyna.”

This statement from the head of the Royal Guard is immediately followed by all the guards echoing his words in unison.

Long live Queen Katarzyna!

A statement that, even now, still feels foreign and undeserved. For the longest time, it should have been Queen Elżbieta.

But that’s not what’s happening here, now.

Instead, my father’s country is in my hands. The hands that would have been playing childish games with my sister if I hadn’t heard this news.

Long live the Queen indeed. I’ll need all the time I can get, if only so I don’t bring my country to its knees whilst still in its infancy.

More than one Princess died today with the King, because now, only one remains beside its new Queen.

[mitterstorm]

Dance For Me

Chapter 2

*Thump*

 *Thump*

*Thump*

 Your heart beats faster.

 *Tu-tump*

 *Tu-tump*

 The footsteps of whatever is coming are getting louder and louder, maybe its the echo messing with your auditory perception. Whatever or whoever is making all that racket isn’t friendly; good thing you didn’t explore any further.

 <<The exit it’s not far away, just a few feet more and I’ll be safe>>

 You feel as a character of a scary movie: the last survivor or who dies at the end. What startles you the most is that it fits your current predicament.

Abandoned studio, old pal of my dead friend, mysterious letter, unexpected meet up, the idiot travels alone and enters the damn place with nothing more than her phone with no calls at her disposition. The icing of the cake? There’s probably a monster that’ll kill her if it lays eyes on a living being, which in this case just happens to be you.

Yay.

 <<Well fuck me, I won’t stay long to let it rip me to shreds>>

 You run faster at the sight of the door, raising your knees a little bit higher and putting more pressure in your tiptoes, it’ll hurt you later, however, these burst of adrenaline won’t let you feel it right away.

 *Tu-tump*

 You sweat drop with the increasing tumult, bust of wood and cracks in the walls, strong force and velocity are being used to create such destruction, you are already picturing the debris that will come out of these place.

 *Whomp!*

 Shit.

You finally reach the door!

 <<Now get out!>>

 You never thought opening a door would be such a hard task until now, under pressure and with a beast on your heels it feels like you were tied and the lock is coated with oil, fortunately for you it only took you two seconds and in five you were out of Joey’s Studio.

 Or that’s what you thought.

 You crash onto something and a sudden pain attacks your head and forehead, the impact knocks you down to the wooden ink-stained floor, with a bit of struggle you look up to see a fake paperboard background.

 Wait..what?!

 Before you can move something grabs your legs, then you feel another grip on your arms. Looking sideways you catch sight of hands.

“Let go let go! Let go of me!” You struggle trying to free yourself all in vain, when a final pair of hands clutches your hips and your waist you feel a pull, in the process you hit your head again, slipping away of it all.

A bunch of inky hands swallow you down, wrecking the wooden floor into pieces, slowly you are dragged down.

Silent snickers echo around, three little devils watching you descend into your demise.

What did you expect? You are in a toon studio, you shouldn’t have expected less!

It sure it’s cruel how our minds can be tricked so easily, you were fooled by them.

 You’ll be their new toy.

 Well, that is until he decides what to do with you, but surely you’ll be given. After all, the creatures that lurk around the studio are sure to tear you into shreds.

 They all despise humans.

 Especially the Ink Demon.

 “Alright, Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.”

The male made his way through the old workshop and felt himself going down memory lane, caught in the past with souvenirs from back on those days were the animation studio offered hopes and dreams to dreamers like him who envisioned their own fantasy world inside a blissful abode holding unlimited possibilities.

Echos of the creaking wooden floor with each step he took his wondering gaze taking every detail he could as if it was the first time.

He found another reminder of his prime.

“Hey, here’s my old desk. I’ve wasted so much time in this chair.”

Admiring the piece of carpentry before him slowly running his fingers down the material, then he walked away and gawked at the sight, his past workplace went by some renovations.

“Looks like they knocked out a wall or two after I left. Guess it took a few people to replace me.”

After admiring the view he went inside another room and found an old projector with a film tape still on running smoothly but it was blank, no images nor animations being shown, he turn it off.

Leaving the room he walked off into a new one passing a signboard that had written ‘Art Department’, ‘Ink Machine’, ‘Theater’ and ‘Break Room’. He glared at the wall suspiciously reading out-loud the following:

“’Dreams Come True’.” Not giving much thought into it and following swift along the corridor, he started hearing music coming from a room, curious he opened the door and turned off the radio emitting the catchy tune.

He kept walking and took a turn on the right then another and what he found took his breath away, he let out a whistle amazed by the machinery in front of him because what he sees excites him.

These man had no fear for the unknown and instead of escaping he approaches it, intrigued he went along with it.

“This lift could use a few dry cells.”

Unbeknownst to him, he was going to set free a greater evil.

His little devil darling will arise from the depths of the Ink Machine and he won’t receive the Creator with open arms, instead he’ll place his hands on his neck.

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

Two hours passed until you finally start regaining consciousness, you groan in pain, feeling the throbbing of your head and the ache in other parts of your body. Her back is bruised for sure and her right hand burns horribly.

“Ng......f-fu..ck..”

Talking hurts just like breathing does, it requires a lot of effort from you.

<<How am I alive? These agony justifies it...what happened up there? All I remember is hitting something...something hard..paperboard I think>>

Carefully she tries to move her left arm and hand, touching the floor below her. Wood and old at that. She’s still at the studio, she knew it was stupid to think otherwise, but she kept hoping for it to be differently. Coming here was a bad idea, now she knows that, even thought it makes her feel incredibly stupid, but who cares.

<<I need to get out of here or at least try>>

“You won’t go anywhere injured, you dumb bitch” She said to herself, her voice weak like a whisper. First she has to get up and look for something to patch her up or at least lean on like a cane, she ain’t stupid, she knows she’ll walk limping and that won’t help with her current predicament.

<<Here I go>>

Groaning she tries to get up or at the very least sit up, straining her back and legs by forcing them to lift her, she slips from one side when she tries to use her hands, hissing in pain she takes a look only to realize until now the state of her right hand.

<<How is it that I didn’t notice for fucks sake!>>

It must have occurred when the wooden planks snapped. A huge piece of wood broke through her hand’s skin, exactly in her life line; shock travels rapidly inside of her at the sight of the injury, her breath hitches a little when she unconsciously tries to lean on it again. Dried old blood and a bit of new blood were oozing out of the wound, the wooden stick proved to help retaining as much as it could, however with the pressure she applied trying to stand up, well it was starting to come out a little.

Fuck, she’s fucked if that gets infected and it’ll be one help of a pain when she takes it out.

“These sucks..agh..”

Now she has to get going, doesn’t matter how much it hurts, as long as she doesn’t hurt herself any further she’ll be okay. Probably.

<<I’m grateful for knowing a bit of this stuff, it’ll be useful right now>>

True, she ain’t a doctor, but she’s a nurse and knows a bit by seeing her colleagues (who are doctors) treat injuries and all that jazz, obviously she isn’t capable nor authorized of partaking in a surgery, but you know stuff thanks to being observant and curious.

You cry out in pain when you try getting up again, using one arm and securely folding your right arm on your abdomen, you only get as far as to lift your upper body and one of your knees bending. You unbutton a little bit your shirt to look at yourself.

Some scratches and a bruise near your ribs (fortunately no broken bones, not counting the metacarpals of your hand). You want to see your back, it should be covered in bruises and scratches or maybe something bigger than that, since it stings a lot.

*Huff*

Breathing it’s more difficult in this position, you have to stand up now.

<<Besides who knows if what attacked me is still around here>>

Groaning louder you push yourself until you are up, leaning on a wall, not trusting your strength or balance.

Limping, you start walking through the studio. You hate yourself for coming here, sure your clothes may be all dark, but ink stains aren’t welcome because of it and all the ink makes it difficult for you to move. There’s a lot of ink, but not enough to drown you, it doesn’t reach your knees and there are some clean spaces where the dark liquid doesn’t follow.

“..the electrical system is practically useless, it’s too dark...” You say to no one in particular.  

It’s a miracle the building is still standing after all these years, obviously these walls have been neglected after that accident, nonetheless, the place could be of use to someone else who has the money to make all the repairs and maintenance it deserves.

You weren’t avail to explore the first floor ‘cus you know...this happened, besides some pipes broke (probably the whole pipeline system needs fixing) and if the floor was stained then all the files and artwork should be in similar or worse conditions.

<<Did Henry leave with all of his work or he left some behind? I would have loved to see some of he’s old work..maybe he made some progress after all these time...>>

You hiss in pain, your back hurts and you have a headache, there’s no chance you’ll find some aspirins or whatever, maybe some bandages or even an old cloth to cover the wound.

<<That thing is down here and I don’t want an encounter when I’m in these state: injured and sick. I’ll have to keep going, at least until I mend the wound>>

Time to man up then, be a badass bitch and endure the pain.

After a few minutes you take notice of something.

<<This path has been cleared>>

You confirmed it when you walked down the stairs (you nearly fall and you were scared shitless when you saw practically all the room was flooded with ink) and found a valve, you did the following and turned it. Subsequently the room started to clear itself and you were able to pass through it easier.

Now you know that-

Was someone else here?

<<I mean Joey should be here, but I don’t know anymore, maybe I was right and he send that letter years ago>>

Yes, however, there’s something you are missing.

Why is it open?

The entrance wasn’t locked, no key sealing it away and that growl you heard. Who or what exactly lives here?

“I have to leave and quickly, I don’t want to find out.”

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

Bendy’s POV

The devil’s smile still intact and genuine now, he couldn’t help but smirk when the human fell into his trap. He wasn’t using his beast form anymore and was avail to stalk them from afar (of course, he used one of his portals so he could get there faster), it was a good idea to summon those three fellows.

Even thought years have passed there are still some things left from the ol’ days, that fake paperboard background was possible because of cartoon logic, it didn’t matter if the Butcher Gang wasn’t the same, corrupted by the ink. It was irrelevant, they were still part of the spectrum.

Piper, Fisher and Striker were trembling once they spotted him, these fear of them only serve to feed his sadistic side.

He’s able to smell their fear, since they are made of ink sweat is not a way for him perceive it, no, the key it’s the ink. Depending on the consistency he’s able to differentiate various emotions. Similar to physical and chemical reactions of a human body, it can’t compare to the real thing, however it comes in handy for him.

Thanks to his ability, he can read those around him even better (thick ink is a sign of nervousness and fear, thin or boiling ink means anger, frustration and aggressiveness, slimy or jelly-like consistency means sickness or sadness, last runny means either normal or strong emotions similar to excitement or sadistic tendencies such as his) and it helps him with his lack of sight. The tar-like liquid that covers his pie-cutted eyes acts like wax, once fluid and with time it hardens. He can’t remove it at will and he tried scratching it with his claws, it hurt him horribly, he fell unconscious that day.

Ugh, just remembering makes him want to end that musicians life immediately, however, he has to wait. Lawrence is still of use to him.

<<No time for that, I have to keep these three at line>>

The demon snarled at the trio, they didn’t need to be said twice, they banished in seconds leaving behind ink splotches.

<<Good, they need to know who’s in charge around here, I don’t need them turning themselves against me>>

Of course, those lackeys helped him just in time to trap them on the lower levels. Him being one of the top dogs inside the studio (he shares part of it with Alice to keep her at bay, as long as she doesn’t interfere the truce stands) has another skill only he possess. He’s capable of controlling the ink to his desire; those hands and arms that pulled you down? It was him, not the Lost One’s.

Approaching smugly towards the hole on the floor he jumped down, landing graciously on the ground and immediately searched around the room, soon he found what he was looking for: the girl. He couldn’t see her, but could feel her. How you may ask, another gift, but he is not the only one able to use it, all ink creatures have it, the answer is ink.

Think of it as a tether, a connection or bond between the source and its off-springs. What separates them from normal ink is their conscious, their minds.

<<Joey said something similar to me once...what differentiates them from animals is their ability to think..even thought they don’t show it>>

Until Henry that is, the Inkarnate knew his creator Joey Drew was a man of science who dreamed walking on the red carpet, ambitious and headstrong, besides him other...individuals never truly showed any brains, so when he met Henry it changed his view on humans (not completely, but a little it’s already too much if you know how Bendy is).

He knows the girl won’t have many problems traversing through his home, Henry cleared the majority of the pathways and left a mess at some levels. Stein proved to be entertaining for him, not an easy prey like other inhabitants that were trapped by the ink, he hunted each and every last of them, their fates worse than death.

If he was bored and in the mood some were tortured, he experimented with them diverse methods to inflict pain and traumatize them.

Boredom it’s Eternity’s enemy, that’s what he believes at least. Not that he’s complaining, he has no desire to end his life, yet.

It would be a lie if he said the idea never popped on his mind, the demon isn’t suicidal, however his domain tends to be rather grim. Hollow would be an accurate description for the living here, insanity plays a big part too, it feeds the flame of vengeance inside him.

That little detail can be seen as a disadvantage too, hysteria brings such brutal ideas as suicide and ways to do so, it should be morbid for him feel excitement by holding those thoughts. But it isn’t.

He’s grateful, after years condemned of humdrum there’s some thrill for him.

Eerily watching how the woman’s chest went up and down, he took a look at the room and absorbed some of the ink, no he wasn’t trying to save her, no, just delaying fate.

"ﾚ乇ｲ'丂 丂乇乇 んのW ﾚの刀ム ｲん乇丂乇 の刀乇 ﾚﾑ丂ｲ丂."

Giving another glance to the female beneath him he noticed her injury.

<<That dog will find her, it’ll help them, just like Henry>>

There’s no need to worry, he’ll make it last as longs as he needs to, once he appeases his dullness they’ll be gone.

<<Alice has to know, the others too, especially Lawrence. I have to make it clear, those too disobey me, Samuel rarely does it, but when he does...I can’t believe he’s that foolish>>

Normally the devil let’s them do as they please with intruders, that was in the past, he grew bored and those lunatics never left something for him, they were too simple-minded for him. They didn’t enjoy the hunt or torment them until it breaks beyond repair.

He learned to savour his kills.

Although he can’t always relish their distress, those are dark days plagued by migraines, screams brought him suffering instead of pleasure. When the voices got too loud for him, weakening his self and succumbing into the abyss...

He dwells too much.

Time to change that.

Smiling in glee he opened another portal, shuffling at his own pace towards it, every time he set a foot in one it reminded him before his sentience.

Like a never ending cascade.

Too bad he couldn’t enjoy it anymore.

“I thought we had an agreement, name your business and leave.” Said automatically the witch while working on her stupid beauty products.

He’s not oblivious, the madwoman has been sacrificing a big bunch of their lot to fix her ugliness. Because of his abhor and apathy concerning the flunked angel he didn’t interfere, it kept her busy and in line, besides...who was he to judge? Obviously he’s the law, and overseer, the boss. However, he can’t fault them for their tainted nature.

"W乇 んﾑ√乇 ﾑ √ﾉ丂ﾉｲの尺." Its always like these with the Angel, he knows every inch of her like no one else, despite their hateful relationship it once held passion. The Demon possess so much knowledge about her: what makes her tick, what brings her euphoria, how to bath her in glee and ecstasy, why she’s so selfish, etc.

She’ll never admit it, but she still likes how he shows dominance, like now that he has her trapped, in a matter of seconds he had her pinned to a wall, looking down at her while she looks up to him, she was suppressing down her smile by replacing it with a scowl.

<<You don’t want me to know? Still prideful then>>

He feels a bit of disgust by being so near, but he can’t deny his want, they always felt this attraction to each other, since they were supposed to be a romantic couple in the show.

“Yes, I heard the racquet, what about it?” She crossed her arms faking anger at his interruption, however, the tether told him otherwise.

-Runny and rushed-

“Don’t be too rough with them.” As if he was burning her the Angel pushed him away, good thing he couldn’t see her if he has the ability then he would be aware of the slight trickling from Alice’s left side of her face were hideousness its more apparent, by-product of her imperfection.

Bendy knows this because she was like that before he lost his sight, yet he didn’t care, what’s on the outside won’t change what she’s on the inside, after all, they are monsters. Susie happens to be one of them, back in the days when she was a beauty her interior carried a decaying putrid soul, many were believed the lies assembled for them, luring those who once possessed such naivety.

The gal showed her discontent towards him by screaming.

“Why?! I thought we were done! There are no creators left and all the employees have been corrupted by the ink, you made that happen! So what’s left?!” Ah yes, screeching, another reason for their ‘break up’, he couldn’t take her moodiness and when she yelled at him? Ugh, he considered several times ending his suffering and tried shutting her up until his patience ran thin and he relied on violence.

Like now.

The hellish creature it’s choking the fallen angel, baring his teeth at her, a guttural sound coming from him. She expected this and already had her hands trying to loosen his grip, spitting venom from her eyes.

“It does not matter. Do as I say, I don’t want you nor any of your pets to kill them! Not yet at least.” He tighten up a little bit more his grasp on her, he feels a clot forming in her throat, their bodies are different from humans, but ink its their whole being. Blood, tissue, muscle, organs, veins, etc. He could get a feel of how her normal ink pressure is centered were his hands are strangling her.

If she was human his sensitive senses would give him the satisfaction of perceiving how her blood runs through her veins, her slowed down pulse and her hitched breath trapped on her longs trying to get in and out seeking more oxygen, until she starts coughing while trembling at the verge of death and he would-

“F-Fi-ne.”

He woke up from his delirium maelstrom, soon he released her and could only hear her desperate gasps for air (not that she needs it), cautious she rubs her neck and then expectantly looks up at him.

“Good.”

The little devil left her alone and carried on with his duty, now he’s missing Lawrence.

He wonders what his little admirer could be doing.  

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

Sammy’s POV

The maestro was attending his most precious possessions, what kept an ounce of sanity alive in him are his instruments, it’s unfair he’s not well stocked with supplies to restore them back to their glory, four decades ago they still held divine graciousness.

Unlike his soul what he created was pure not carrying any of his sins and embraced all his passion for what he did: music. Innovative melodies no one had heard before that came from the bottom of his heart and mind, his whole life recorded on simple notes he calls reflections.

Ah yes, his darker dreams transformed in golden faded mist were he gives his life a twirl. Dangerous emotions as the likes of anger, frustration, depression and loneliness banish in a second when his fingers travel along those riches.

He was cleaning them when he heard an uproar.

“Oh? What pray my Lord be the problem?” It’s unusual for his master to cause such ruckus, did something happened? Why wasn’t he informed? He’s supposed to know all the whereabouts of these place to keep it’s ruler safe!

Swiftly he set down the banjo and made his way through a satanic circle and went searching for the reason of his Lord’s discontent.

<<Maybe another tender sheep is trapped inside these hellhole>>

Soon he found what he’s been looking for.

You.

He just didn’t expect you to be so...breathtaking.

A limping beauty before him in the open,defenseless. The Prophet never found his master, instead he stumbled into a besom. Is it a gift from his savior? Did the devil accepted his apologies?!

How he envisioned that day! After that black sheep came to Bendy’s kingdom he gave him the cold shoulder, he even tried to murder him when he was only showing how grateful he is for all he has done for him. He didn’t understand..but he would never let past mistakes repeat themselves, he’ll change whatever brought displeasure to the boss.

For the better.

If he has been blessed as he believes then he’ll accept the Inkarnate’s present and treasure it just like his valuable instruments.

But if he’s wrong and the human is not a signal from the Dark One then he must continue with his duty as a guardian.

The old music director knows his ways and stalks you inside the ink, keeping himself hidden from you and in a short time he takes notice of your physical state.

He worries that if you are his then it’s his responsibility to aid your graciousness with how fragile you look Lawrence can’t stop the scenarios that play in his head, he’ll tend to your needs and nurse you back to health while protecting what’s his, teaching them what they’ll require to stay in here adoring their king.

And he won’t lie, fantasizing with a noble charmer like yourself...well, the liquid that keeps him alive runs faster than before, it excites him greatly.

Captivated he follows the Lamb he found without her noticing he’s even there.

Something he takes pride on.

His time will come, eventually he’ll have the pleasure of meeting you.

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

It keeps disturbing you looking at the big ass stick inside your hand protruding noticeably, but it helps as a constant reminder of being careful so you don’t bury it more, if you did it would cause serious damage.

That’s why you still have the piece of wood puncturing your hand, it wouldn’t have been a problem if the stick wasn’t that big or that far into you, hypothetically that were the case then you would have already taken it out and clean it with some water, soap or alcohol while covering the wound with a piece of your attire.

Your problem is the infection, whether you can prevent it or not is an issue and you don’t know where to find any alcohol to maintain around the wound clean, even if you somehow manage to do so it wouldn’t change anything because you are still running the risk of dying from gangrene.

<<I have to options get the fuck out of here or look for help>>

And no you can’t call 911, the impact destroyed your cellphone, you couldn’t even pick up the broken pieces of the screen because your back hurt too much and crouching made breathing a harder task. So as you can see your options are limited, besides you can’t even draw out the thing because you don’t have enough strength to do so with one hand.

You grunt in pain and irritation by remembering that little detail, you life is on the line and you don’t know exactly how much time you have left until the injury gets infected.

“I need to hurry.”

<<I can’t believe my luck, really, like this whole place has a serious leaking problem and Mr.Drew should get all the pipeline system checked. I haven’t passed a place without a splotch of ink or where the walls aren’t dripping ink! I don’t want to imagine a worse scenario than this for myself, injured, no communication or way to get help, no medical supplies and I’m risking my life by being out in the open because there’s a possibility a bloodthirsty monster is on the lookout for me!>>

Finally you reach a room with what appears to be a desk with a toolbox and a mug, there’s nothing else or that’s what you think until you notice a perplexing message written on the wall beside the desk.

“’The Creator Lied To Us’..what’s that supposed to mean?” You ask to no one after reading the message out-loud.

<<Is these about that article? Who wrote this?>>

Your theory is that one of Joey’s workers came back to the studio and vandalized the wall, that’s the more logical explanation you can think of.

<<After all they were overworked and abused, I would have done the same if I had the guts to do so>>

You didn’t put much thought into it and carried on with your task, another detail that comes to your awareness are some wooden planks blocking what appears to be an entry to a new part of the studio, however, finally a stroke of luck is given to you and you are still able to pass through them with no complications.

Slowly you walk across the corridor squinting your eyes at the little light that offered the room, scared of tripping over she lift her legs in order to not fall with one of the wooden planks trying to block her way, she feels scared and alone.

<<Never thought I would develop a fear of the dark at my adulthood>>

She reached a door, hesitant she drew her hand closer to the doorknob and with her shaken good hand she opens it a weak, fearful gasp leaves her.

“Wh-What’s...this?” Horrified she takes a step forward. Maybe her mind is playing games with her or her eyes are deceiving her perception of reality “I-it...it can’t......it can’t be!” A silent scream resides her inner walls.  

<<Am I really seeing this?>>

What appears to be a satanic circle drawn on the floor with black ink, candles adorning each side of the pentagon and two coffins near it.

You step into the it, just at the edge to look at it closer, but as your foot lands inside it you start feeling dizzy and fall into a deep slumber.

Old jumbled memories have been revealed once again.

 A machine.

 One wheelchair.

 Dark silhouette.

 ...what does it all mean?

 Madness. All went to hell thanks to Mr. Drew’s mindset, egocentric and greedy as many others. He used all the resources that were at his disposition: money, cleverness, social skills, manipulation, machinery and people. He took it all for his own desires, overriding any morals he had, if he even had them to begin with.

He doomed them all, himself counted. Crossing paths with death served him right, he died bearing resentment for never being able to accomplish his dream. Immortality. His decaying for made it evident, he needed a wheelchair because of how weak his body had become.

Too weak to fight back.

His own creations slaughter him. Buried deep in ink.

[kz-i-co]

One Reason (Pt. 4)

Summary: It was hard not seeing Hanbin for 2 months but he makes it up to you in just one night.

Pairing: Kim Hanbin (B.I)/ Reader

Genre: angst/light-smut/fluff

Words: 3.4k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

m.list ╫ ikon masterlist

-

"I know this will be hard but things will get better I promise." Hanbins father spoke as the drive was hitting its end.

"Rena wanted to meet you for the longest time. She wanted you apart of our wedding but your mother refused. She's never had a son before so she's really excited you're staying with us." He continued.

"And Lea is a sweet girl, she's a junior so I'm sure she can help you find your way around the school." He got no response from his son. "And you will be going to school."

Hanbin just sighed and leaned his head against the window watching all the different cars and landscapes pass by. The area was neater here, he thought.

"Why are we stopping here?" Hanbin finally spoke seeing that their first stop was the station.

"I need to get something from my office." He said. "Come on."

Hanbin got out of the car with his father slowly. He had his cane with him, but he was too embarrassed to use it. His father held onto his arm to help him walk inside. "Look son, I love you, you know that...."

"But I need to earn a little trust from you. It's been a long time since you've been under my supervision and from everything you have been through these past few weeks, I need to keep an eye on you, even when I'm not around. I'm very busy around here."

"What are you saying?" Hanbin asked and his father opened up his office.

He grabbed a bracelet, latching it onto his wrist. It was a silver steel jewelry with 'MXB2319' carved into it. "This is a witness protection bracelet. I want you to wear it for a few months. It has a tracker so I know where you are at all times."

"Really? So I'm under like house arrest?"

"No, it's just for your safety. I need to make sure you are going to school and coming straight home. Also if you are ever in danger there is a button right here, that will notify the police immediately." The cop spoke. "Look, Jaesun may be behind bars right now, but what if he has an alliance or family member that wants to track you down. We need to take precautions."

"No, you want to spy on me." Hanbin said with attitude.

"Not spying, like I said before....gaining trust." He led him back out the office.

"Hello sheriff." A young cop bowed.

"Hello deputy, this is my son Hanbin."

"Oh wow, you talk about your son all the time but I pictured someone way younger. You look good for your age Sheriff. It's nice to meet you Hanbin, I'm deputy Woosung."

Hanbin accepted his handshake. "Have you ever thought about following in your fathers footsteps?"

"No."

"Well, it's still too early to talk about that kind of stuff." He nervously laughed.

"Deputy Woosung, we got a 1055." His walkie went off.

"I'll see you later sheriff." Then he walked away.

"Come on, let's go meet your new family."

The drive was short from the station to the home. It was a nice home. Nothing too big nor small, perfect family home that Hanbin has never experienced before.

"We changed our guest bedroom to your room. If you need anything, like new clothes or school supplies, anything....just let me know." The only thing Hanbin had to pack was just a simple duffel bag. He didn't have much that was important to him back home.

"Rena, I'm home." The house had the scent of a nice warm meal that was only minutes away from being served.

The house was warm and cozy, Hanbin thought. The temperature was dropping day by day and it was nice he didn't have to worry about if the heat was working or not when he got home, or better yet, if Jaesun paid the bill on time.

"Welcome home honey." The women kissed her husband. "Hanbin. I've wanted to meet you for the longest time." She smiled. "I heard what happen, I am so sorry for what you went through." She mention his condition. He was beaten up pretty badly.

Hanbin just pursed his lips as a response. "I promise you will love it here.....Lea!" She called up the stairs.

~~~

"I don't know, I never met him.....I think he's 18.....the only picture my step dad has of him he was 11.....I don't know.....he gets in trouble a lot.....because I over heard my step dad talking about it.....yeah......I have to go my moms calling me......probably.....okay bye."

She ran down the stairs and saw everyone still gathered around the door.

"Lea this is Hanbin your step brother." Lea bowed sweetly at the mysterious boy. She had mixed emotions from the little glance she has gotten. He looked troubled and uneasy but she can see sadness behind his eyes. She couldn't help but feel sympathy from his bruised state but then again, she felt danger from the thought of him being a violent person who would constantly get into fights. She knew not to judge too quickly but he was moving into her home, it was a big change for everyone and she didn't know how to feel about it.

"Can you show him to the guest bedroom, that's where he will be staying." Lea nodded at her mother and began walking back upstairs. Hanbin was quiet. He felt uncomfortable with this whole situation.

"Thank you." He told his step sister and dropped his bag. He sat on the bed checking his phone. He re read your text that said, 'I miss you already'.

He clicked on your name which immediately dialed your number. You picked up on the second ring as soon as you saw it was him.

"Hello?" You answered with impatience in your voice.

"Hey."

"How are you?" You asked feeling your face flush.

You told yourself that this was going to be okay, that you could live off the phone calls and the weekends but just hearing his voice had your heart weaker and weaker. You wanted him to be there sleeping next to you side by side again, you wanted him to sneak in and out of your window again, you just wanted him here safe and sound. You knew this was for the better but it was hard facing the consequences.

"Too be honest, not good. I don't know if I can do this. Everything is so different." He said.

"Yeah, it will be hard to get used to but, it will get easier, how are they?"

"They are more welcoming then I thought and the house is really nice, but it's not the same."

"It sounds lovely, what could be so wrong?" You asked.

"You." He said making your body go numb. He rather live in his cold, beaten down apartment then his new beautiful home just so he can be with you. "And worst thing is I have this tracker bracelet on so I can't do anything without my father literally knowing where I am or what I'm doing."

"Did you ask about visitations?" You bit your lip almost afraid of the answer.

"I haven't asked but I don't care what he says. My friends should be able to visit me whenever."

"I hope so, I want to visit every weekend." You smiled painfully.

"Me to."

~~~

"Dinners about ready, Lea is Hanbin still in the guest room?" Rena asked her daughter.

"Yeah, He was talking on the phone."

"His mother?" Rena asked.

"No, probably his girlfriend." The cop sighed. He knew this was going to be a difficult time to spend apart.

"Aw, poor thing."

"He was living at her house for the past few weeks rather then living at home. She was in tears when we left." He felt guilty.

"She can visit right?" Rena asked setting the table.

"I'm trying to discipline him. He needs to take better care of himself and his grades. Being away from her for a little while might get him motivated to work harder."

"You really want to ruin his relationship?"

"I'm not ruining it. Just pausing it."

"Time apart is not good for a relationship. He probably already feels uncomfortable with the change. At least let him have something good come around every once in a while." She said.

"I'll see how he does with his attitude."

....

"So Hanbin you like your room, I hope it's okay, you can change it if you want. We can paint it or redecorate, just let me know." Rena smiled.

"Thank you, that won't be necessary."

"Lea said you were on the phone?" His father spoke next causing Hanbin to nod. "Was it (Y/N)?"

"Yeah."

"How she doing?"

"Can't tell." He played with his food.

"You'll see her again I'm sure, right Seungjin?" Rena said looking at her husband.

"Oh um.." He cleared his throat. "Of course....we can discuss it later."

"I picked up your uniform today so you'll be all set for tomorrow." His new step mother smiled.

"Uniform?" Hanbin questioned.

"Oh yes, Foris Prep is a private school, didn't your father tell you?"

"No, he didn't. I don't think I have the academics to go to a school like that." Hanbin looked down at his food.

"No worries, it will be fine." She reassured.

....

"Now listen Hanbin, I know this will be hard to get used to but you need to get back on track with your grades. You need to graduate and you don't have a lot of time left." His father looked at him as before entering his new room. "Your old school transferred your credits but you still have a lot of catching up to do."

"I got it." He rolled his eyes.

"I mean it son, that means you can't be getting distracted."

"What's that suppose to mean? (Y/N) can't visit?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm leaving then." He turned around.

"Hanbin wait."

"Stop pretending you give a damn about me. I rather live on the streets." He shut the door in his face startling Rena at the end of the hall.

"Hanbin I'm not done talking to you." He opened the door. "Two months, that's all I ask. Then it's spring break and I'll let you do what you want, I'll even provide you with funds."

"Just promise me you'll work hard and listen to me."

"Two months is a long time-"

"I'm sure she'll understand."

Hanbin stopped packing and sat down grabbing his phone. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to stop running and he didn't want to be a burden to anyone with his lack of money.

"Hello?" You answered the phone.

"Hey."

"Hi." He can tell you were smiling through the phone.

You sensed something was wrong from the silence making the atmosphere uneasy. "What's wrong?" You broke the silence.

"My dad said you aren't allowed to visit for two months."

"O-oh." You stuttered.

"I can leave (Y/N)."

"What?"

"My father has never been there for me, I'm not titled to stay here." You can sense the anger in his voice but he sounded calm.

"Look, I think this is the best thing for you." You disagreed.

"Why is everyone thinking what's best for me. This place is like a prison, how can I be happy here."

"I can find a job and find my own plac-"

"Hanbin Stop." You interrupted. "You can't be thinking like that. You need to finish school and go to college."

"College? With what money?" He laughed unamused.

"Well, there's ways for that. But you can't continue on this path that's only gonna give you disappointment."

"I didn't know trying to be with you was a disappointment."

"That's not what I meant." You snapped.

"Well staying here away from you is a disappointment.....y-you just wouldn't understand." He sighed. "I'll talk to you later." He rushed off.

You can feel the awkwardness in his voice. He didn't like what you had to say and now things were tense.

-

2 months later

It was Friday night on your first day of spring break and you were sulking in bed watching the notebook.

Ever since that phone call Hanbin has been distant. You figured he couldn't make contact because of his fathers rules but a reassuring phone call would be nice or even a simple text saying 'I love you' would at least tell you everything was okay but it surly wasn't.

"What are you doing here?" Your mother turned the light on.

"I'm trying to watch a movie." You threw the covers over Your now blinded eyesight.

"It's the first day of spring break and I need to tell you to go have fun?" You felt the bed sink and the sudden tugging of your duvet.

"I have no friends."

"Sure you do, you have what's her name."

"Yeah but she has other friends I'm not friends with so she's probably hanging with them." You pouted.

"I hate to tell you that I was a much wilder teenager."

"Well you were a teen in the 70's probably smoking some-"

"I'm not that old thank you very much." She sighed. "Please just get up and go have fun."

....

And that's what you did.

You have been so antisocial lately and all your friends you did had almost felt like strangers by this point.

You saw Bobby pushing Yunhyeong into the pool and you decided to give him a greet.

"Hey." You smiled.

"Oh hey (Y/N) I was wondering if I was gonna see you at a party again." He laughed.

"My mom made me."

"Your mom made you go to a party? Can she adopt me?" You giggled by his statement.

"I'm sure she would."

"Hey have you tried calling Hanbin at all? His phone said it's disconnected."

You shook your head trying not to show your sorrow.

"The last thing I got from him was a text 2 months ago saying his father was taking his phone until he can get his grades up."

"Last time we spoke we had a fight." You sighed.

He looked at you with sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"It's fi-" Your phone started ringing but it was an unknown number. You just let it rang since the number was unfamiliar. Too many scams in this day and age. Your phone buzzed once again signaling 1 unread voicemail.

You covered one ear to try to block out the loudness of the party but you quickly tried to make an exit anyway.

'Hey (Y/N) it's me. Please call me back.'

You quickly stopped the message and dialed the number back. Two rings was all it took for him to answer.

"Hey." You tried not to cry from hearing his beautiful voice that you sadly missed for two months.

"How are you?" His voice was soft.

"I'm good, how about you?"

"Good." You could sense a smile.

"I missed you." Your voice cracked.

"I missed you too (Y/N)....I love you."

"I love you." You we're on your way home and back to your house.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asked.

"Nothing."

"Mind if I pick you up?"

"I'd prefer tonight." You giggled wiping your tears.

"I'm glad you said that." What? "I'll see you soon." Then he hung up.

You quickly rushed home to see your parents in bed already. They left the stair light on for you and as soon as you were about to rush upstairs a light shined through the windows and you quickly rushed to the door seeing Hanbin leave his car.

Your lip trembled as you rushed into giving him a long lasting hug.

"I'm so sorry for what I said....you were right." You looked at him. "My dad isn't so bad.....but he's a dick most of the time." You smiled embracing him in a tender kiss.

"Since It's spring break, we should do something." He continued.

"Like what?"

"I don't know go camping, to the beach....anything. But let's start by packing your bags." He lead you inside your own home and up to your bedroom. "Maybe you can stay with me for a week. If your mom allows it of course."

"Fine, we'll ask her tomorrow but for now you're sleeping over tonight." You embraced him into a passionate kiss once again until it got heated enough he was dragging you to your bed.

"Your parents asleep?" He asked.

"Yeah." You straddled on top and leaned down, immediately kissing his neck as he pushed your shirt up, causing butterflies already. You missed this. You missed him.

He held onto your hips as you rocked against him. You moved up kissing him once again, desperately while you smoothly took his shirt off in the process. He continued further as he unzipped your jeans, dragging them down causing you to flip so you were laying comfortably on your back.

You couldn't help but giggle as he struggle getting your tight jeans off. He looked at you with an amused smile loving every second being with you. He dragged his own jeans off before making himself comfortable underneath the warm covers.

You continued dragging your shirt off leaving you both in nothing but your underwear. You let your head sink further in the soft material of your pillow as he began sucking down your collar bone as he gently message your breast that was still covered by your black lace bra. You let the pleasure already take hold, drifting you into cloud 9.

You softly moaned his name just letting it slip out naturally. You loved how slow and soft he was being but on the other hand it was driving you crazy from how bad you wanted him. You knew he was affecting you by just the simple smirk that appeared on his face. You couldn't help but squirm under his touch from just dragging the thin lace panties off, finding their way to the floor.

"Just take it off already." You moaned louder then you wanted causing him to look at you with surprise.

"Will you be quiet if I do?" He smirked once again.

"I'm trying." You whined and you felt him unclip the last piece of clothing you were wearing.

"I haven't even done anything yet." He laughed and started moving down under your covers giving you a sharp sting in your stomach.

You felt him pepper soft small kisses up your inner thigh making its way to your needed area. You bit your lip as he took action. You held onto your pillow tightly as the pleasure began. He began to work faster causing you to moan out.

You covered your mouth trying to not let anymore slip. You couldn't help but squirm under his touch. As you were about to explode he stopped suddenly causing you extreme anger.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this. It's too loud." He smirked.

"I don't care." You mood was telling you otherwise. "Finish." You whined.

"Okay, but if we get caught, I'm gonna say you forced me."

"No offense but that won't make any difference." You giggled.

If your parents ever caught you with a boy in this way, he should probably run for his life.

He leaned down disappearing once again and began pleasuring you, building up the tension once again. You couldn't help but gyrate your hips in motion as he swirled his tongue through your folds that he had to pin you down with his hands.

"Hanb-." You had no choice but to be vocal. It was all too much to handle. You bit your lip as you felt his fingers started thrusting inside you.

"Fffuu." You moaned. You felt a craze sensation building up until it had you feeling paralyzed. He pulled away and started kissing up your torso once again until he kissed back to your lips.

"You okay." He saw the paleness in your face.

"Yeah." You relaxed. "Can we-." You started but he was already shaking his head.

"We can't." He whispered with an amusing smile. "Your first time needs to be special."

"But this is special. I haven't seen you in 2 months." You whined.

He mocked your pout causing you to roll your eyes. Oh how you missed him.

"Trust me....it's too risky." He finally said.

"Fine. But before you leave me again."

"Deal." You cuddles into him as you decided to sleep it off. He was nice and warm and you never felt more comfortable.

[death-himself]

Could You Meet Me Beyond the Grave?—Chapter 3

thank lord jebus for giving me the willpower to pump out a new chapter of this

this chapter switches between first and third person a little bit but ya know what? that’s fine. It was kinda needed for it to work the way I wanted it to so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

previous next (AO3 Link)

Summary: Virgil nearly gets caught, and now must deal with the results of his actions

Pairings: Eventual LAMP/CALM, Remile, QPR RED

Word Count: 2,294

Warnings: Referenced Eye Trauma (welcome back to the Willow AU), Kidnapping, Deceit being an anti-villain (I’ve decided on that term for him now because idk he’s either that or morally grey depending on your view on life)

(anything else you need tagged lemme know)

Roman slowly stirred his drink, the ice clinking against the sides of the glass. He then groaned, letting his head fall to the table. "How long is he gonna make us wait?"

"It's been five minutes, Roman."

"It feels like it's been forever!" Patton giggled, patting Roman on the head. "Give him time, he said he'll be here!"

"He says that all the time now." Roman grumbled. "I mean come on, Patton! He tells us he'll be here and then ten minutes after he's supposed to be here he says he can't come! He continuously gets our hopes up then just pummels them into the ground!" Patton hesitated, looking out at the streets hopefully. "Just...give him time—"

"We've given him a whole month! Every date we talk about, he's always like "Oh I'll be there, I'll finally grace you with my likely very handsome face" and then he's a no-show! I mean, come on! He, he keeps...ghosting us! That's the word! He's a professional ghost!"

"Roman, what are you even—"

"You've gotta agree with me, Lo! He's being weird." Logan rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his coffee to establish dominance. "He has been acting particularly odd recently, I can't disagree with that, Roman. However, we have always known him as a rather strange person. He does tend to procrastinate and worry about things until it's too late for him to make a proper decision. This is our fourth date since Virgil began doing this, so—"

"So he has to show up today!" Patton interjected. "I mean, one more time would be just crazy, right?" Roman thought it over for a moment, before sighing and nodding his head. "You have a point, darling. I suppose I can wait a bit longer." Logan opened his mouth to speak, before sighing and sitting back in his chair in resignation.

They sat in silence for a moment, before they heard a yelp from outside. Patton furrowed his eyebrows, listening curiously. "Hey! Watch where you're—" The person seemed to freeze, then only a few seconds later a second person screamed in terror, and a man ran past the cafe window as fast as humanly possible, horror painted across his face. The three stared wide-eyed as he passed, before Roman turned to Logan. "What do you think that was about?" Logan hummed, taking a sip from his coffee. "I haven't the slightest idea."

"Hey guys, is it just me, or did that first guy sound kinda like Vee?" Roman's eyebrows raised, before he shrugged. "Virgil making someone scream in fear? It does match his aesthetic. But no, that...probably wasn't him." Patton shrugged, resting his chin on his hand as they continued to wait.

A lecture from Dee was the last thing I wanted at the moment. Granted, I never wanted lectures from Dee, but this time was especially irritating. "You can't just run off like that hopelessly chasing after your soulmates, Virgil! You nearly got caught this time!"

"Dee, I—"

"Go to your room! This whole situation is ridiculous!"

"Are you seriously sending me to my room? I'm not a child and you're not my mom. I'll go to my room if I want to." I shoved my hands into my pockets, standing up and making my way to the stairs. I heard Dee's frustrated groan as I stormed up, shoving my door open and slamming it shut. I collapsed onto my bed, running a hand down my face. I knew I had screwed up, but it's not like I was gonna admit that to Dee.

There was a knock at my door, followed quickly by it opening, Emile's scent drifting into the room. "Dee's been pretty uptight recently, huh?"

"Ever since I started trying to meet them."

"He is a bit...controlling. I've been suspecting it's just overprotectiveness taken to the extreme, I mean...he does care a lot about you." There was a short silence as we both collected our thoughts. Emile sighed. "What exactly happened this time?"

"I...tried to meet up with them at this cafe in the middle of town. Then there was this one...asshole who kicked at my leg and made me lose my balance. I just barely stopped myself from falling on my face. Then I turned to him with a full speech on how much I hated him for doing that when I realized that my scarf had slipped down my neck and my sunglasses had slipped down my nose. All my exposed muscles and missing eyes and shit were, well...exposed. He must've seen them 'cause I heard him scream and run off. Then Dee grabbed me and dragged me back here." Emile had moved to sit next to me on the bed. I rubbed one of the blankets between my fingers, the motion soothing in a way. "We're lucky he was probably the only one who saw. No one's gonna believe one guy saying that he saw a man with his skin torn open and no eyes. At least that's what Remy said when we were fighting."

Emile sighed, gently rubbing circles into my hand with his thumb. "Why don't you get some rest, Lapis? If you want, I could have Remy come give you some of his sleeping gas." I wrinkled my nose. "Fuck no! That stuff smells awful! Plus, he always uses way too much on me, I can just tell." Emile hummed in agreement, giving my hand a small squeeze before he stood up. "Well, try to get some sleep anyway, Vee."

"Thanks, Em." I muttered, sighing as I heard my door close and his footsteps walk away. I lied down in bed, picked up a marker, and began writing my fourth apology letter to my soulmates onto my arms.

Emile walked downstairs, smelling Dee and Remy on the couch. "Vee's not doing too well, Dee."

"I know." Dee groaned. "It's just...I don't know what to do about him!" Emile sat down on his left, Remy on his right, preparing himself for the rant that Dee had definitely been in need of for a long time. "I understand why he'd be so insistent on meeting them; I, admittedly, wanted to meet you two more than anything when I first found out about you. Virgil can attest to that. But...all the danger he's putting himself in, and he doesn't even know—"

Dee slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Remy gently tapped Dee's leg. "Doesn't know what, babe?" Dee slowly uncovered his mouth, his hands trembling slightly. "N-Nothing, Remy."

"Aw come on, you can tell us!" Emile said with a smile. Dee took a deep breath, carefully taking his hat off and cradling it to his chest. "His soulmates aren't becoming Willows."

"What?"

"Think about it Emile! The three of us died at the same biological age because we're soulmates! Virgil's biologically 19! His soulmates are 28! They're going to die and pass on into whatever kind of afterlife there is while Virgil will be stuck here with us! And when he finds out about that, he's going to be absolutely heartbroken! That is exactly why he can never find out!"

"How do you know soulmates have to be the same age to be Willows? I mean, we don't really know if someone'll be a Willow until they—"

"I've been around for 200 years, Emile. I've seen this before, with other Willows. I've noticed the pattern. Soulmates who both become Willows are always the same biological age when they die. Those that aren't the same age," Dee sighed, "they do exactly what Virgil's doing now, and they always either get killed or heartbroken." Emile pointed his head to the ground, lips pressed together in thought.

"Why don't we give Virgil's soulmates a try? You know, as humans?"

Remy snorted. "You kiddin', Emy? What kinda human falls in love with people who eat humans? Who aren't cannibals or murderers? I mean, come on babe, it took us months to get used to Dee, and we were Willows when we met him."

"If Virgil goes with them he may have to re-integrate into human society." Dee mumbled, eyes wide with the realization. "He'd have to leave the tower for good if he does somehow end up living with his soulmates. They're human, they still have to live normal human lives." Emile felt the fear radiating off Dee as he continued mumbling to himself. He slowly put a hand on Dee's back, rubbing steady circles in hopes of calming him down. "Is there any way we could make them into Willows?"

Dee shook his head. "Willows are born from suffering; they'd have to be put through quite a lot to become like us. It might be too late anyway." Emile suddenly felt his emotions alter completely, Dee going silent as he thought. Remy seemed to tell something was different as well, as he asked, "You okay, Dee-Dee?" Dee was silent for a bit longer, before taking a deep breath, saying, "I'm fine. I just...need to take a walk. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, he grabbed his scarf, sunglasses, and cane, then exited the tower. Emile strained his ears as he listened to him leave, not liking the aura he had been giving off.

It had been roughly forty minutes since Dee had taken Virgil out of the city. As per usual, his soulmates' date would last roughly two to four hours, and Virgil would have finished his apology by now. Still plenty of time to put his plan into action. While it was definitely one of the worst plans he had made, it was worth a shot. He just hoped Virgil would never realize what he was doing. And if he did find out, Dee hoped he'd realize he was doing it for him.

He felt his skin itch and tingle as he shape-shifted into Virgil. He had never understood why they had gotten these powers when they became Willows, but they had definitely helped him in the past, and would definitely help him now.

Dee entered the city, subconsciously making himself smaller as he navigated through the crowds of people, forcing himself not to take in their scents as he headed to his destination. He found the place he had grabbed Virgil and pulled him to safety, then continued walking a bit further.

Roman stared glumly out the window, feeling Patton writing out a response to Virgil's apology. "How many times is he gonna do this?" He mumbled. Logan sighed, paying for their food and standing up. "Perhaps we should just head home? We could, possibly, stop by that new dog park if either of you happen to be interested?" Patton perked up immediately, smiling at Logan, trying his best not to show just how upset he was. "Sounds great, Lolo!" Roman chuckled at his enthusiasm, not taking his eyes away from the window.

That's when he saw a familiar black and purple hoodie, dyed purple hair, and white cane. Roman jerked upright, staring wide-eyed as the man walked past so casually. "That's Virgil!" He whispered.

"What?"

"From when I bumped into him at the store! It's him!" Roman stood up, grabbing Logan and Patton by the hands as he pulled them all out of the cafe. "He's not getting away this time." Once out of the store, he jogged over and grabbed "Virgil" by the shoulder. "Virgil" jumped, before spinning around.

"What is your problem? You give us an apology saying you couldn't come, and now here you are! Why didn't you just—"

"Hey, hey, Roman! I'm sorry, okay?" Dee disguised as Virgil shouted, putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm not really supposed to be here anyway, but...I wanted to show you something. I...need to show you something." He purposely made his voice softer, so as to gain their sympathy.

"Oh, sure thing Vee! What is it?" Patton asked.

"Follow me." Logan furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"I have this part of the city memorized, L. Don't worry about it." Logan seemed perfectly ready to ask a few more questions, but held off, instead watching with suspicion. Dee led the three humans to the edge of the city, then to the edge of a forest. "So...where are we going?" Roman asked hesitantly.

"You'll see." Logan, walking behind everyone else, fished a blue pen from his pocket. He wrote a simple question on his arm: “Virgil, what are you up to right now?” The first odd thing about it was that Roman and Patton had instinctively checked their arms, feeling the familiar itch as Logan wrote. So why didn't Virgil check? After a few more minutes of walking, "Virgil" stopped, turning around to face them. "We're here." Logan felt writing forming on his arm. He glanced down to see Virgil's purple handwriting. Where was Virgil's pen?

Dee took his time memorizing their scents, figuring out as much as he could about them, before allowing himself to stop. He let go of his disguise, shifting back into his normal self as Logan said "That's not Virgil" just a few seconds too late. He sensed Roman come closer, blocking a punch to his face and ducking as Roman tried to make a second blow. He grabbed Roman by the head, slamming it against a tree. Roman went limp, falling to the ground. Patton screamed, being quickly muffled as Dee charged both him and Logan, knocking them down to the ground and choking them until they went unconscious. He took a deep breath, tying the three up and sneaking them back into the tower, dropping them into the most secure room in the building. Anything for Virgil's sake.

[aweebwrites]

Papa Wu

(For you anon!)

_________________

Wu kept a hand folded behind his back, walking along the path to his long time friends' home. It had been years since his last visit and he had the urge to visit them. Ray and Maya have always been great people and it grieved him that he waited so long. But he had recently acquired a small boy he was now raising, Morro. He was a very spirited and gifted boy indeed. A smile lifted his face as he throught of the child he now called son. Said son who got distracted by a dragon fly hovering near by.

"Don't run off son." He called after him and Morro who was no more than 7 years old nodded at his new father.

"I won't!" He called back, watching the insect fly around.

Wu smiled then stopped in front of the shop and frowned once he saw no-one there. Most of the armor and weapons Ray had made was gone as well. There was hardly anything left.

Wu frowned, alarm bells going off. He looked around keenly, making sure there was no threats outside before making his way to the back of the shop where their home was. He stopped by the door and placed his hand by the lock, his golden power sparking and creating a key. He turned it, opening the door slowly and peering into the room. It appeared to be in a sort of order.

There were pieces of metal stuck away in a corner and clothes peaking out from between the cushions of their couch. He walked in, Nin-Jō held defensively as he scanned the room he heard footsteps in the next and made his way there. Once he was in the room- prepared for an attack, he discovered that there was no-one there to attack him.

"Who 're you?" The young boy with spiky hair asked Wu, his eyes narrowed at him as who appears to be his sister ate the last of what appears to be dried apricots.

"I..." Wu found himself at a loss for words.

These children. They looked so much like Maya and Ray. There was no doubt in his mind.

"Papa?" Wu turned around to see Morro walk up to him. "What are you doing?" He asked him, holding onto his hand like he always does when he felt unsure or frightened.

"Who's he?" The young girl asked, tilting her head at Morro.

"He is my son." Wu explained to her. "Your mother and father were friends of mine. Have you seen them?" He asked both children quietly, having a strong feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

The young girl's eyes filled with tears that quickly fell down her cheeks and so did the boy's. He however tried to keep a brave face.

"Mom n' dad left with people 'long time ago. They aren't coming back." He says as tears rolled down his freckled cheeks despite his fighting it.

Wu's heart shattered. What has happened to his friends? More importantly, how long have these two been on their own?

"Papa... Are you going to take them in too?" Morro asked, looking up at him with large deep green eyes.

"Yes." Wu says then walked over to the two and knelt before them. "I will do my best to find your parents but until then, would you like to live with me and my son? We would take care of you from now on." He offered the small children.

"My papa can teach you how to fight!" Morro added, excited to have company his age.

Both siblings looked at each other before nodding. He was friends with their father after all and he said he would try and find them. They walked over into Wu's opened arms while Morro bounced on his heels excitedly. He had friends!

_________

Morro decided having friends wasn't as fun when his papa made him take naps with them. He was a big kid! He didn't need naps or sippy cups (even though he asked for it) or bedtimes! They were lucky they were fun to play with! Right now, he and Kai were sword fighting with the wooden canes, grinning as they ran around the training yard.

"Be careful not to hurt your brother Morro." Wu says as Nya napped on his shoulder.

He's only had them for a year but he knew he would do anything for them. Sadly, he hasn't been able to find out what happened to their parents or who took them but in their honour, he would take care of their children.

"Ok papa!" Morro called out, as he chased down Kai who was laughing madly as he ran away.

"I am the master samurai! You cannot defeat me!" Kai yelled, running still.

"I can't if you keep running so fast!" Morro panted out, getting tired.

"That's the point!" Kai laughed and Morro growled, growing frustrated.

"Stop!" He yelled at Kai, reaching out for him.

There was a moment of shock when a strong gust of wind, swept Kai off his feet and up in the air. He fell with a thud, face first and Wu felt his heart leap out of his chest as he tugged over to the now crying boy, waking Nya on the way.

"Kai." He says, lifting him up with one hand and his eyes widened at the blood starting to run down the right side of his eye.

"Wha- wha happen to Kai?" Nay asked, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I'm sorry Papa! I didn't mean to!" Morro hiccuped and Wu took calming breaths as all three of them cried.

"Don't worry. Kai will be ok. Let's go inside to clean him up." Wu says as Morro walked in behind him, rubbing his eyes as he sobbed still.

_____________

After that day, Kai had a scar cut into his eyebrow that Morro felt guilty about every time. He also discovered he had control over the wind and while Kai and Nya found it infinitely cool, Morro was always wary of it. He could hurt someone again. He was happy to train his papa to control it better but only when Nya and Kai were safely out of range. He wouldn't use it when they trained together too.

"Where're you going pops?" Kai asked as he watched Morro and Nya spar, waiting for one of them to lose so he could spar with them.

They were all teenagers now with Morro being the eldest at 16, Kai being 15 and Nya at 13.

"I'm going to find allies. New friends even. Then a new chapter to your training will begin." He told them, slipping his rice hat on.

"Does this have to do with the prophecy of your brother papa?" Nya asked as they all turned to him.

"Yes. I fear my brother is taking action." Wu spoke quietly and they all shared a worried look. "Worry not. We won't let him succeed." He says and all three siblings grinned.

"Heck no we won't!" Kai whooped and Wu chuckled.

"I will be back soon. Nya, you're in charge." Wu says, heading towards the gate.

"Nya?" Both Kai and Morro sputtered as Nya smirked.

"Do not deny it. She's the most levelheaded of all of you." He says, opening the gates and they made to protest then pause.

"Don't worry papa! I'll keep this place in one piece!" She called out and Wu smiled back at them before closing the gates behind himself.

"I don't know about you two but I've been eyeing the cookie jar all day." Nya says, running inside and Kai and Morro looked at each other.

"Well if you're taking I want one too!" Kai yelled, running after her.

"I'm the oldest so I should get two!" Morro yelled, following behind.

___________

"You guys know your dad is crazy to think I can get through this entire course while he drinks that itty bitty cup of tea... Right?" Cole says after Sensei Wu went inside.

"Pops wouldn't give us a task he didn't think we could handle." Kai says as he cracked his knuckles, about to give it a shot.

He, Nya and Morro were used to the course but not at the speed that their father was requesting.

"You can do it bro!" Nya cheered and Kai grinned at her and a smirking Morro before darting ahead.

He jumped, kicked, flipped and twisted his way through but knew once he made it to the end that he was too slow.

"Dammit. Too slow." Kai sighed, walking past Cole who was watching him in shock.

"All you need is practise brother." Morro says, patting his shoulder.

'There's no hope for me.' Cole thought, looking at the course miserably.

____________

"You are all well versed in the course." Zane complimented, watching Nya run through next. "How long have you a been living with Sensei Wu?" He asked them.

"10 years. Nya and Kai have been with him for 9." Morro told him, watching Nya almost trip tersely.

"So you truly are adopted?" He questions.

"Yes. We were." Morro says, distractedly.

He relaxed once she cleared the course.

"Faster!" She yelled in outrage and Morro chuckled.

Zane watched them curiously.

They may as well be blood siblings.

___________

"Um- hi..." Jay says nervously as Nya drank some water after struggling through the training course.

"No." Morro says flatly and Jay yelped once he was blown back, rolling to a stop at Zane and Cole's feet.

"Try anything with our sister and I'll break your face." Kai says with a growl, standing before her protectively.

"Guys, please." Nya says and Jay looked hopeful as he stood. "I can break his face on my own if I need to thank you very much." She huffed and Jay's smile fell and broke.

"You're right sis." Morro smirked, wrapping an arm around her neck.

__________________

"Kai, master of fire. It burns bright in you." He says, tapping his son, the red ninja on his shoulder with his staff. "Jay is blue, master of lightning." He says, doing the same for the blue ninja.

"That's not all I'm the master of." Jay says from behind his mask. "I do a little inventing, dabble in model building, a touch of cooking, a little poetry-"

"More like mouth of lightning." Cole says with an exasperated sigh.

"Black ninja is Cole who summons rock, master of Earth." Wu says, tapping his shoulder with his staff. "White ninja is Zane, master of ice." Master Wu says, tapping his shoulder with the staff as well. "And seer with sixth sense." He added and Zane bows.

"You 4 are the chosen ones who will protect the five weapons of spinjitzu from Lord Garmadon." Wu says and while Zane, Cole and Jay seemed happy about that, Kai couldn't imagine being some chosen one without his brother and sister by his side.

Wu turned to a disappointed Morro and Nya before using hus Spinjitzu again to change their clothes.

"Emerald ninja is Morro, master of wind. A trickster but loyal, an ally." He says and Morro bowed with a smirk on his face, a glaive in hand.

"Maroon ninja is Nya, master of water. You will be able to control as small as a single drop to as large as the sea." He told her and she grinned proudly, twirling her sais.

She hadn't unlocked her powers like Morro did but she was getting there.

"They will be your support but no less apart of the team. Each and every one of you are intune with elemental properties." He told them all, awing them. "Come! It is time! We must find the first weapon." Wu says then tapped his staff against the ground.

"Woah, hold on a minute. You said you were going to teach us spinjitzu." Cole says, stepping forward.

"Yeah pops, I'm certainly not doing any spinjitzu over here." Kai says with a frown.

"Spinjitzu is already inside each and every one of you. The door will only be unlocked when the key is ready to be found." Wu says and they all looked at him. "Come! My feet are tired. We will take the horse carriage." He says, turning back into the monastery.

_________________

"I won't lie, I'm a little jealous you guys get epic golden weapons and we don't." Nya says, lifting an orb of soda from her bottle without taking her hands off of the controls.

"Eh, they're pretty cool." Kai shrugged, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"What I'm jealous about is that they get dragons. Dragons!" Morro emphasized then stole the orb of soda, using his wind and slurped it down.

"We're the ones who should be jealous. You guys actually have powers." Cole huffed, grabbing a slice of pizza.

"If we have em, I bet you guys do too." Morro shrugged, decimating all the enemy players.

"Huh?" "What?" "Aw man!" "Papa!" "Pops!" All 6 ninja exclaimed once the television was suddenly turned off.

"Just because Lord Garmadon escaped through a vortex doesn't mean that he won't return one day for the Golden Weapons of Spinjitzu!" He snapped at them, irritated as they lazed around- even his three children who knew better!

"But Sensei-"

"No buts Zane. I did not come to argue. Lord Garmadon has returned and was spotted approaching Jamanakai Village." He told them and they all flared up in panic.

Just like that, the six of them struggled to prepare for the mission, their weapons spread all over as they fell over each other. They managed to grab them then rush out to the dragon stables to mount their dragons. Nya rode with Kai while Morro rode with Jay for the sole purpose of intimidating him not to flirt with his sister. Jay gave a nervous yet terrified laugh before they all took air after some fumbling.

Despite it all, they were all eager to fight Garmadon again.

____________

They didn't get Lord Garmadon, rather Lloyd Garmadon, his son. Kai, Nya and Morro would blame how they treated Lloyd on both their irritation and their inability to look past their personal feelings. But when Lloyd began releasing the serpentine, they all agreed on one thing: it was their fault. So when they finally cornered Lloyd on the roof of Darkly's, the first thing they did was apologize, confusing the poor boy.

He did eventually warm up to them since anytime the other ninja tried to call him a brat or a variant of such, they were met by three powerful forces of protection. Lloyd wasn't used to being defended- or even protected- but he grew used to it quickly.

Especially when they snuck him candy and comics.

Kai was the one who showed him cool ninja moves, Nya eas the one making sure he was always fed (and always had some form of sweets to offer, even if it's the healthier kind when he's had too much) and Morro would always read comics and play video games with him.

To Nya, Morro and Kai, he was the little brother they didn't know they needed.

"Guess who's dropping in on Mega Monster Amusement Park today?" Nya says on she popped her head in to see Lloyd busy playing a video game against Kai while Morro tutored him on how to defeat Kai.

"Papa wouldn't let us just drop in out of nowhere with Serpentine causing a menace." Morro pointed out as Kai let Lloyd win.

"No. Not unless there's serpentine on the loose." Nya grinned then placed her hand on her hip. "We should have enough time for a ride or two after we kick serpentine butt..." She pointed out and Lloyd beamed.

"Can we?! Can we please?!" He asked eagerly.

"I don't see why not." Kai says with a smirk, setting his controller aside.

"To the mechs?" Morro questioned Nya.

"To the mechs." She grinned.

________________

Part 2

________________

(So! First things first: Nya and Morro automatically believe that one of the og4 will be the green ninja so thry don't even get their hopes up. Also, there is zero hesitation from Kai to save Lloyd in the volcano. Whole everyone else is fighting over thr title, Nya and Morro are building mechs since they don't have fancy golden weapons that double as vehicles. Nya is way better at it than he is though. He specialises in vehicles. I swear these fics feel so short and it's maddening. I hope you guys like it anyway!)

[welcometothemaraudersspam]

harry styles

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The soft sounds of the far away waves sent relief washing over her, clutching onto her walking stick tighter at the sound of footsteps nearing her. Angelica stepped further to the side in case the person behind her needed to get by, her curls bouncing on her face from the sudden gust of wind that blew over her. Much to her dismay the footsteps didn't stop, they seemed to linger behind the small girl. Pushing her dark sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose, taking large steps down the familiar sidewalk. Her body was slightly tense at the now mocking footsteps, trying to ignore the uncertainty climbing up her chest. Angelica swiveled on her heels, standing in front of whatever it may be that was following her, the footsteps came to an abrupt stop not too far from her. She tightened her grip on her walking stick, preparing to unsheathe the sword within it in case the figure wanted to try anything on the girl. Angelica ignored blobs of moving shapes and dark spots in front of her eyes, something she had grown quite used to and tried to peer at him through the smallest little amount of light her eyes let her see.

"Look, I don't know if you've noticed but if you wanted to try to rob me you could have easily done so. Don't have much except for my phone, and my lovely walking stick but it's rather odd having you follow me around like a lost puppy," Angelica spoke out loud, her voice coming out clear in the cool night the figure standing before her seemed surprised to hear those words come from her mouth. Harry eyed the girl in front of him, her curls coming to rest a little above her shoulders hiding that perfect neck of hers that he had seen in the bakery. When he walked in to taste whatever it may have been that smelled so nicely, he never expected it to be the sweet girl with the gorgeous curls. His mouth nearly watered when he followed her down the sidewalk in the empty time of night, her scent intoxicating him, the smell of cinnamon and honey lingered around her body and he couldn't stop himself from wanting to take a nibble. His ring cladded hands came out of his pockets, crossing his arms across his chest at the sight of the unwavering girl before him. Harry was confused at the use of the stick, wanting to know why a little human was carrying around such a large piece of wood.

"Why do you carry a stick around? Looks rather stupid. On the other hand...I don't remember reading about this, is this new to your species?" His thick accent sent her body into a whirlwind of different emotions, confused at his use of words. Species? Is this dude Russian or something? Angelica was very lost, taking a step towards the odd man ignoring the ever growing tension.

"I'm blind. You know what that is right? I can't see you, or anything in this world. Only small amounts of light, but nothing more. That's why I carry around a stick, thank you very much" She explained, taking another step towards him catching scent of a small hint of mint coming from the husky voiced guy. Angelica noticed the guy hadn't made any advances on her quite yet, but she didn't let her guard down.

"You can't see me? Hmm... this is relatively new," Before she could utter anything, a small gust of wind came rushing onto her flushed skin, the sensation of a pair of large hands grabbing her arms caught her attention. The mint she had gotten a whiff of was significantly stronger, his warm breath fanning over her exposed neck the young girl closed her eyes out of fear. Untwisting the lid off her sword carefully, letting the wooden lid fall onto the concrete the soft sound of clanging filled the silence. Harry noticed the glinting metal the second the cover came off the wood, stepping away from her as far he could to get the stinging sensation coursing through his body to stop. She stood in a defensive stance holding the sword expertly in her hands, turning her face all sorts of directions at the sound of any small sound in the night. Angelica clenched her jaw at the sound of a small twig snap sent her sword swinging in the direction, the heavy metal swishing through the air.

"Love... don't be foolish. Let me have a bite and I'll consider letting you live-"

"How comforting!"

"Little human-"

"Don’t call me little human you inconsiderate shrimp!" Angelica growled, her grip tightening on the sword as she turned to where she last heard his voice. Her feet sent her walking towards the shuffling footsteps, breaking into a full sprint as he ran further away from her. She knew every little tree, twig and rock in this forest so she had no trouble getting around the plush area. Holding her hand out a small vibrating coming from her hands, the sound of her wooden cover rapidly cutting through the air filled the silence in the forest, clutching the cover back onto her sword standing in an open clearing waiting for the mysterious British boy to appear once again.

"What are you doing out here, doll? Don't you know of all the dangers laying in these woods? Tsk tsk... might have to teach you a lesson," Another voice rumbled from behind her, having a similar voice to the other guy but she quickly noticed that they were not the same person. As quick as she could let out a small breath, the cold man had a tight grip on her moving her body away from the glinting silver pulling her as close to him as humanly possible. The feeling of her walking stick being tossed aside onto the plush grass sent shivers down her spine, feeling more defenseless than she had earlier. She felt his hair tickling her jaw as he leaned close to her bare neck much like the man before him had done, taking a large whiff of her intoxicating scent. Silence overcame her as she waited for his next move, tensing almost immediately as the warm sensation of his tongue licking at a small area of her neck. Liam growled softly, enjoying the taste of her intoxicating scent on his warm tongue. One of his hands was wrapped around her waist, while the other was supporting her head exposing her neck. Bringing her warm body against his stone cold body once more, ignoring the way her body tensed when her body came in contact with his.

"Bloody hell... you taste amazing, doll." Angelica closed her eyes, trying to regulate her heavy breathing. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to her neck directly over where he left a wet spot on her neck, sinking his awaiting teeth into her neck. The taste of blood made it's way to his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of the never ending crimson liquid trickling from her neck. She tasted super sweet with a small tang but he couldn't get enough of it, trying to take the biggest drink from her as he could. Angelica put two and two together, cursing herself for bumping into a vampire of all people, trying to blink away the stinging sensation making it's way all over her body. Writhing slightly in his hold feeling herself growing weaker the longer he spent sucking on her neck, his hands tightening around her making the young girl whimper.

"Liam. Drop her this instant," The familiar sound of the British guys voice made its away into her ears, his voice sounding rather far away. Liam withdrew his teeth from her soft flesh, letting her body crumple to the floor. Angelica winced softly at the feeling of the rough ground come in contact with her body, trying to regain her consciousness from the slight dazed state she was currently in. Her hands felt around the ground for her walking stick, making her way around her surroundings ignoring the footsteps from the two guys above her, the tip of her pinkie brushing against the humming wood tugging the familiar weapon into her embrace.

"She was mine... "

"You were nowhere around, sir. Your scent was nowhere on her, so I figured-"

"Well you thought wrong. Go before I do something I regret," Almost as quick as he had appeared, Liam disappeared into the night sky leaving only the crumpled girl on the ground and the menacing vampire looming over her. She heaved herself off the floor, pushing through the dizziness that tried to wash over her.

"I apologize for Liam, love. He has no control. He's still new to the pack, so please let me apologize on his behalf," Angelica almost lashed out on the guy but held herself back, knowing she wouldn't be any better than the guy who decided to sink his teeth into her neck. She felt herself nodding softly, clutching her cane tightly knowing it was best to keep her distance to matter how much her body yearned to be in his bubble once again.

“Could I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything, love”

“Could you help me get back home?” Angelica hated herself for asking, but her sense of direction was all messed up after getting thrown every which way. Her hands tensed up as the boy was at her side in an instant, his hand resting on the small of her back as all she felt was the harsh wind slapping against her face.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

send requests! i’m always up for writing anything, just send me a quick little inbox and i’ll make sure to write it as quickly as possible. and if you have any suggestions or criticism, feel free to make it :))

[lamentalia]

Amelia - Chapter 5 - Part 1

(Thank you @flamaflavio for the Italian help! :D If I somehow messed it up in copy-pasting and clipping the beginning and ending off, please let me know... lol) ★

Consciousness returns to Amelia slowly. She is achy and heavy and shrouded in something soft and warm. Something cool brushes her face and it spurs a memory from long ago of a time when Mama was still alive; when she would sit by Amelia and Mattie’s bed while they were sick.

Amelia misses hearing her voice so much, it hurts.

An unfamiliar, floral smell pulls her out of her reverie and she opens her eyes to find a kind looking face smiling down at her.

“Ah, she is awake!”

Amelia blinks up at the unfamiliar face and, she can’t help but notice, the very large bust beside her. She stares, at a total loss for how to react. Aside from her mother, she’s never met another molly cat before. Her hair is short and pale and her ears are small and roundish, covered in long, white fur, that is not unlike Amelia’s.

“Tell me dear, how do you feel?” the cat asks in an unfamiliar, lilting accent, as she fussily adjusts and smooths Amelia’s covers. Which leads Amelia to her next discovery: she is in a bed. In a room? With… Oh! A window! The interior of the room is constructed primarily from wood but the window-side wall appears to be of the same Two-Cane’s stone that her house is made of. Finally, she can see that there is a third cat in the room standing behind the first and its another female cat with a sharp gaze. Her hair is much longer but her coloring is quite similar to the smiling cat’s. Amelia feels uncharacteristically shy in their presence.

“Oh, of course! You must be confused.” The kindly molly continues easily when Amelia fails to answer. “My name is Yekaterina and this is my sister, Natayla. We take care of you since you arrived. You were in such terrible condition!”

“I have been making sure you are safe, Katyusha.” Natalya says as though offended that her intentions have been misconstrued as kindness.

“Do not be silly, Natasha, we are all safe here.” Says, er, Katyusha? Natalya’s (Natasha’s?) expression goes slightly flat at her sister’s assurance. Her ears, which had been held back up to this point, flicker in annoyance as the tension she’d created melts away slightly. Apparently her meaning hadn’t been understood. Amelia chooses to let it go, too, as she’s a little too spacey to be buying needless fights right now. The kind-faced cat picks up a cup of water from a side table and offers it to Amelia, who sits up and takes it gratefully, downing it in one go.

“Thanks,” Amelia says after catching most of her breath. “… Yekata— um..”

“Oh, call me Katya, dear. Here everyone does.”

“Thank you, Katya…” And because she feels awkward without addressing the other cat in the room, even if she’s not here to be friendly, Amelia says, “Thank you, Natalya.”

Natalya looks away disinterestedly but Katya smiles.

“I’m Amelia. Um… Where am I?”

“Amelia. It is nice to meet you.” Katya says warmly. “We call this place ‘Sanctuary.’ It is very safe place, hiding south of Ransen. Tell me, how did you come to be in river?”

Amelia’s memory is such a haze right now, she can hardly make sense of anything. River? Did something like that happen? Why in the world is she south of Ransen? When was she in a riv—

—SLAM—

Amelia and Katya both flinch at the sound of a slamming door coming from somewhere outside the room. She can hear indistinct, muffled shouts and stomping footsteps growing closer. Katya huffs quietly and Amelia glances at her, looking to measure the possibility of approaching danger through her expression. Apparently there is none. Katya smiles wryly, shaking her head. Natalya merely rolls her eyes.

The door to the room rattles. The voice has quieted into a ranting hiss as it swings open to reveal a cat backing into the room, carrying something large and heavy in both arms.

“— uscire per dieci cazzo di minuti senza che questo posto vada a puttane! Non posso credere che abbia lasciato—”

That is definitely not a language Amelia understands.

After taking a step or two into the room the new cat cuts off mid-tirade and freezes when he looks up from the pile of things in his arms to lock eyes with Amelia. For a long moment no one moves or says anything. He looks startled, donning an expression that probably matches the one Amelia’s wearing. The sharp change in his demeanor would probably have made Amelia laugh if she weren’t so out of it. As it happens, all she can do is stare blankly at the intruder.

“You’re awake.” He says, lamely. Amelia blinks, watching him step slowly backward to stand in front of the door frame. His eyes swim around the room for half of a moment as he stands there trying not to look flustered. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay by the door.”

“Okay?” Amelia responds, not entirely sure why she would be worried. She’d been startled, yes, but after years of sizing up opponents, she can see that this cat is clearly more defense than offense. Amelia glances back to Katya when she hears quiet giggling. She’s hiding a smile behind her hand politely and attempting to stifle her laughing. The tom’s face flushes and he clears his throat before continuing.

“I found these up river.” He holds up the lump in his arms and Amelia realizes that he’s carrying her coat and her pack! “They had your scent so I brought them for you. I’ll uh… put them here.”

He sets Amelia’s belongings on a chair placed near the door. It sure is nice of him to bring her stuff in.

“Oh! Wow. Thank you.” Amelia says. Huh… Why didn’t she have them on her in the first place?

“Amelia, this is Lovino.”Katya says cheerfully gesturing to Lovino and then back to Amelia. “He found you this morning in nearby river and brought you here. Lovi, she is Amelia.”

“I was in a river…?” Amelia says distractedly. Ah, right, they had just been talking about that.

“Well, Amelia, you were soaking wet and freezing cold when I found you lying beside it. I thought you must have been in it for a while.” Lovino explains. “How are you doing?”

That’s… a good question. She hasn’t quite worked that out yet. Amelia urges her stalling thoughts to focus on her body signals. Aside from full body aches and what feels like several, stinging scratches and bruises, she can feel a twisted ankle and a sharp pain in her back. It’s weird that she can’t remember how she got this way…

“Well… I’ve been better. I should be fine after I get some rest. Um… Thank you for taking me in.” Amelia rubs her eyes, willing the fog to lift from her mind. She vaguely remembers being very cold. Remembers his voice; low and melodic, worried and urgent. Amelia takes a closer look at her rescuer. He is probably close to Mattie’s height, shoulders not quite as broad, but he looks older and more filled out. She can see a shortish tail waving curiously behind his legs and he’s got a persistent furrow in his brow and a cautious air about him. By the sound of it, this stranger may have saved her life.

“Wow… I really owe you one, huh?” She murmurs, coming to realize the gravity of the situation.

Lovino repels the thought with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head and Amelia finds herself moved by the gesture.

“You owe nothing, and you’re welcome to stay here.” He says, turning to leave. He nods to the other two. “Thanks for tending to her, Katya, ...Natalya. Dinner will be ready soon.”

And with that he slips out, closing the door behind him. Amelia returns her thoughts to retracing her memories… She and Mattie had… left home. Right. Then they… got caught up in that business with the village cats…

Amelia’s dawning horror comes with a flood of vivid, terrible memories. Of awful cats attacking, of that creepy nightmare with the snake, and—

“Shit! Katya,” Amelia turns to her abruptly, forgetting about the injured muscles in her back for a moment. She winces while Katya stares at her, mouth open. It seems Amelia hadn’t noticed that she’d been talking. Oops. “Oh, sorry! But uh. My brother, Mattie. How is he? Is he in another room around here?”

“Your… brother?” Katya says, raising her eyebrows and looking back to Natalya in confusion. A weird expression flashes across Natalya’s face before settling back into disinterest and she responds.

“You are the only one Lovino brought here. He did not mention seeing anyone else.”

It looks like Natalya is going to continue but Amelia has gotten out of bed, onto her feet and she’s out the door before she can realize that she’s really not all that stable on them right now.

“Lovino!” She calls down the hallway outside while stumbling into the wall on her right. Lovino is farther up but he seems to have heard her; he’s turned back toward her looking halfway incredulous. Amelia slides ahead a few steps using the wall for support. Damned ankle.

“Woah! Hey, stop!” Lovino says dashing back to her. He takes hold of her shoulders to help steady her before she can fall on her face. “You need to lay down or you’re going to make that worse.”

“Did you see anyone else out there when you found me?” Amelia grabs onto his arms, both for balance and to ensure that he’s listening to her carefully. “Was there any sign of a tom cat?”

Maybe she sounds a little desperate or scared because Lovino stops trying to nudge her back into the room and looks her directly in the eyes, deadly serious.

“Did he hurt you? Are you being followed?”

Amelia blinks in surprise before shaking her head.

“What? No! No. He’s my brother. I was traveling with him but we were attacked and that’s kind of the last thing… I remember…” She trails off at the telling lack of recognition in Lovino’s expression. Amelia’s breath speeds up and her chest tightens painfully. She always knows where Mattie is. She has always known where she could find him when she needed to. And now she can’t. She feels lightheaded.

“Lovi, over here!” Amelia hears from somewhere. Another pair of arms supports her left side while Lovino takes over her right. Other murmuring voices trickle in around her and she vaguely registers that several faces have poked out of the doors that line the hallway. It’s making her feel awfully claustrophobic. The tightness in her chest continues tightening.

“Calm down, Amelia.” Lovino says maneuvering her back through the door of the bedroom. “Breathe. Sit and tell us what happened.”

★ TBC ★ Comments and critique are always welcome! :D Thanks for reading! Edit: wow it took me a long time to realize I mis-labeled this as chapter 4. It is most definitely chapter 5. Fixed.

[vesperlionheart]

Scarecrow Dragon II

[Part 1 posted here]

Shisui thought himself a more upstanding Uchiha than most, but maybe that was wrong too. Sure, he wasn’t quite the saint Itachi was, but the rest of the family was a horde of terror so if he was just a little bit of a brat, it wasn’t too terrible. At least he wasn’t Sasuke. At least he still knew how to feel remorse for the terrible things he did.

“What is it this time?” Itachi sighed, straightening his robes. They were neatly pressed and straightened just like his long ebony hair. In contrast Shisui’s hair was short and wild while his the high-waisted breeches and loosely-tucked white shirt showed off their own wrinkles.

“Why would you think something is wrong again?” Shisui grumbled, biting his thumb absently and looking away.

Itachi’s dark eyes rolled skyward and he sighed. “Because you’re gnawing again and it’s you, Shisui. You’re a terrible liar.”

“I might have cursed someone.”

“With what?”

“A dragon’s vengeance.”

There was the silence before a storm while Itachi processed his words, and Shisui braced for what would come next.

“You did what?!” Itachi rarely roared but when he did it made even his older cousin shrink.

“It was in the heat of the moment, I was upset, I wasn’t thinking!” Shisui wailed, holding up both palms. “I didn’t consider the consequences.”

“You never do.”

“I feel bad about it, okay? I’m not-I’m trying to do better. I’m regretting it, okay?”

Itachi deflated from his angrier stance and shook his head. “Why would you do such a thing? What could have possessed you to pull up such deep magics?” He sounded more tired than worried.

“I’m not sure what the exact details of it are, but I saw it in a vision,” Shisui murmured as his eyes bled red and started to spin. “I saw in my vision of the future, the agony I’m destined to suffer at the hands of this man and I-I was scared!” Shisui’s eyes snapped back to black and he turned off the wall’s ledge overlooking the property below. “I’ve never had such an upsetting vision about myself before. I didn’t even know I could get that upset!”

The younger cousin approached Shisui and leaned his elbows on the ledge, looking out at the misty valley. “Did you not stop to consider that maybe the path you took to avoid fate is the one fate took to find you?”

Shisui’s blank look had Itachi exasperated once more.

“I don’t understand you riddles, cousin,” Shisui admitted.

“And yet you claim to be an Uchiha. Maybe cursing this poor soul is the thing that leads to your unfortunate fate. Go and undo your wrong.”

“But what if that’s what causes me the agony?”

“It may very well, but the guilt eats at you even now, and you know what you did was wrong. You may not be able to undo your mistake so easily, but you should still try.” Itachi pushed up off the wall and swept the long trail of his cloak around him as he turned away. “I’ll inform them of your absence at the council.”

Shisui sighed, nodding and tipping backwards. He saw the world turn upside down as his ankles came next. The ground was far below him, edged in mist that broke apart when his wings snapped open. The rest of his winding body followed as he took off for the far lands.

He traveled by night, risking less as he flew far. By day he meandered into taverns in towns and soaked up the stories and possible sightings of a cursed man who had been touched by Uchiha magic. Itachi always said he had a way with people.

Eventually he found a lead that took him too the ragged cliffs that made up the outskirts of a cultivated land. It would have been so easy to fly in, but night was hours off still, and he didn’t mind a little hiking.

At least that’s what he thought before a stray foothold fell away and his ankle followed it down. He fell with a short cry and landed on his ribs, bruising them. It would heal in an hour or so, but it was still painful as long as he held onto his human form. He was ready to just screw it all and fly out when he heard footsteps. The crook of a shepherd’s cane came into view, and then her face.

“You took like you’re in trouble there, mister,” she called down, swinging her staff around so the curved end was in reach. “You need a hand?”

He felt like he couldn’t breath and knew that didn’t have anything to do with the bruises. He swallowed and then felt like laughing. “I’m Shisui!” he called up, smiling bright.

She couldn’t help but look perplexed down at his giddy expression as she shook her cane again. “That’s neat, mister, but my arm is going to get tired soon so you want to come up now rather than later?”

Shisui reached for the crook of her staff, bracing against the ledge to help him up again. “What’s your name, miss?”

She heaved and then pulled him up, over the edge and out of the crack he had fallen into.After he had stumbled onto his own feet she stood up straighter and rested her staff against her side. “You can call me Sakura. Folks around her know me by that name at least. You lost or something, mister?”

“You can call me Shisui,” he said around another bright smile.

Sakura wrinkled her nose at being asked to address someone so familiar. “You lost, mister Shisui?”

“A little, but I’m finding my way around. Where’s the nearest homestead. They said a  shepherdess might be able to help me with my problem. Were they referring to you?”

“Depends,” she drawled, looking him over in a way that made Shisui shiver and tremble.

All his animal instincts were telling her to wrap his wings around her and carry her off to den with before another dragon suitor could take interest. She sparked with rare magic and was too precious to behold now that he was able to see her as clearly as she saw him. She was utterly perfect in a way few things in the world ever are. Clearly mate material if ever there was a thing.

“I’m looking for a-to break a curse.”

“And you think I’m a magic woman?” she laughed. “Honey, I can treat warts and rashes with remedies men might not understand, but I’m not a common witch.”

“Nothing so simple,” he teased, feeling brave in spite of the way his heart hammered. “But yes, you are a gift from the stars, are you not? A sorceress perhaps?”

Sakura’s laughter went still in her throat and her eyes flashed with green magic. Her hand grabbed the staff a bit more firmly and the runes hides in the wood all flashed with the same green light.

“What do you want?” she asked again. “No one knows that much ever comes to me without finding trouble.”

“No trouble,  just…wanted to maybe talk about some theories.” Shisui scrambled trying to remember why he wanted to find her in the first place. All of that was secondary to wooing her away. “I’m also…I also have the magic-am magic!”

“Oh?” She didn’t look convinced.

His heart hammered. “Ye-yeah, wait, watch this.”

He turned facing away from her in the direction of the cliff. He inhaled and held the breath until it caught fire in his lungs, then roared a fireball into the sky. With nothing to burn it blazed and died like a supersede sunrise.

Shisui turned to watch her and the last flicking red light from his fireball played across her face, making the flecks of gold in her eyes flare. His heart felt pinned in a trap that squeezed when he saw that look on her face. She looked impressed.

“Wow.” She nodded, seemingly impressed. “I haven’t seen one of those in forever. A fire mage?”

“Of a sort, yeah,” Shisui chuckled. “But I’d appreciate if the others weren’t privy to my abilities here. Some people can still be…traditional.”

“I understand,” Sakura answered with a knowing look. “Trust me, I know the feeling. Come on, I’ll show you back to my place. You can discuss in detail what it is you think you might need my help with.”

“You don’t need to tend to the herd?”

“No, that’s what sheepdogs are for.”

Sakura put two fingers between her lips and whistled high and then low. A pair of dark dog shaped figures bounded over the hills and barked at the ankles of the toddling sheep scattered across the hills.

Shisui squinted and saw the reason for the shadows so thick over the dogs wasn’t anything to do with the overcast sky. Both dogs were made of soil and stone and bones left discarded in the earth. Some of the bones looked like the blonde to larger creatures than dogs, but somehow they all fit.  One of the runes on her staff glowed white and then green, flickering like a lantern lit by flames.

“You seem well loved enough in this valley,” Shisui began, feeling desperate to keep her talking, to hear her voice, to maintain her attentions.

“It came after a good long while of trail and effort, and I’m hoping I can keep it that way. It’s nice here.”

“Ah, you think so? It’s a little dreary and foggy I think.”

Sakura chuckled, glancing back over her shoulder. “I like it like that.”

Shisui’s heart pinched again.

“What else you like about it here?” he asked, and listened as she told him.

He was ready to forget about his search for the cursed cast off Obito had taken in years ago and try to make a real effort to court the sorceress for himself. He had been alive for decades upon decades and then decades more and while the world around him changed, he didn’t. He was ready to change though. He just needed the right motivation. Maybe they could start a family. Their kids would be little magical wonders.

“It sounds like you’ve traveled,” he guessed.

Sakura shrugged. “Here and there, until they don’t want you anymore. That’s how it is.”

She stopped on a hill and he stood next to her, looking down to a small little house nestled in the low point between two hills, at the end of a trail leading down to the main road. Coming up from the valley below, heading towards her quaint little cottage a figure walked.

“It looks like you have another visitor.”

 Shisui sighed, hoping she would send him away and instead invite only him into her home to talk of magic and curses and what her life might look like with him in it.

He turned to face her and his easy smile fell away. The gold in her eyes was dazzling as a smile stretched her lips. Something like dread began to form in his heart. She looked too lovely at that stranger. 

 “No, that’s my husband.”

And then he recognized the figure.

Shisui felt his heart fall apart inside his chest as she ran down the hill. Kakashi  saw her and jogged up, laughing at the way she jumped off and landed in his arms. He spun her once and then let her feet touch the ground so he might lean in and kiss her.

It was sweet, so sweet it made Shisui want to die. It was the most human he felt in his life and he hated it, because there was nothing he could do as all the mysteries fit together into one truth. 

Kakashi, the man he cursed years ago, was wed to Sakura, and Shisui was never more upset to be right in his life.

[feelsgoodink]

Bad Blood Pt. 4 ( Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor! Reader )

HERE’S PART FOUR! 

Trigger Warning; Those who are sensitive to topics of sexual nature (ITS NOT SMUT), and creepy people and such, please do not read if you believe this will be triggering for you. If you need to talk, I am here for you! 

PART ONE; https://feelsgoodink.tumblr.com/post/176256889814/bad-blood-pt-2-draco-malfoy-x-gryffindor

PART TWO; https://feelsgoodink.tumblr.com/post/176256889814/bad-blood-pt-2-draco-malfoy-x-gryffindor

PART THREE; https://feelsgoodink.tumblr.com/post/176278233439/bad-blood-pt-3-draco-malfoy-x-gryffindor

PART FIVE; https://feelsgoodink.tumblr.com/post/176363836809/bad-blood-pt-5-draco-malfoy-x-gryffindor

How, of all the things to miss, did Draco not get the fact that you happened to be the first cousin of Ron Weasley? How, admidst all the conversations that he leaned into listen in on, did he not once hear that simple little detail? Draco's eyebrows furrowed as Ron spoke, his vision slightly blurry as afterall, he was just punched in the face. 

Harry was silent, though if his eyes could curse, Draco would be withering in pain on the floor. The boy with glasses only watched as Malfoy stood back up and straightened up his shoulders. Malfoy was well aware how much he did actually deserve that punch, and what would fighting back do, really? He could, if he wanted too, pull out his wand right now and send Harry and Ron flying a couple feet across the hall, but what could would it do? He knew in the end, in all ways, that he was the one in the wrong. 

Draco yawned. "I don't have the time nor the patience to deal with either of you right now, so if you value your mouth not being full of slugs, then I'd advise you to leave me alone." He spoke with a quivering confidence, it was so fake that it was thick like it was trying to dissolve on his tongue like a lodgend. 

Once again, he turned to walk back into the common room, to cover his head under his covers and potentially scream into his pillow until his throat was hoarse, but just as he considered how he would spend his night tonight, a hand on his shoulder turned him around. 

Although far less gentle, it reminded him of the hand that was moments ago on his bicep, her hand- your hand. His heart began to thump. He whipped around toward it. "What part of leave me alone do you not understand, Potter!? And it's typical for you Weasley's to be so bloody perservere, I promise I can put a stop to that!" He lashed out. 

Harry and Ron said nothing, but Potter's head shook slowly. Malfoy scoffed and finally walked off, to his common room. 

~

Delicately, Hermione applied a rag onto your face in soft strokes, wiping away the make-up that you had been wearing. You kept expecting her to say something, get angry, or defensive. To ask you, "What the bloody hell were you thinking?", or to trash Malfoy's very name and everything he stood for. 

But she didn't, because she knew that wasn't what you needed in this moment. 

You had stopped crying, for right now, as you sat up feeling the warm, moist cloth against your face. You were so thankful for her, for Hermione. She was truly your best friend, just as Harry and Ron were. 

You were afraid, for them, for what they were doing at the moment, what was going on, and why they had not returned to the common room. Or maybe they had, and they were just furious with you. Your eyes were clouding up again.

"How mad are Ron and Harry? I bet they'll never look at me the same..." You asked her, her lips pursed and she shook her head. 

"Ronald and Harry aren't mad at you. But.. Well, I tried to convince them not too.." She trailed off. 

Your heart sank below sea level. "Convince them not to what, Hermione?"

"I'll give that bloody bastard a piece of my mind if he even looks at her again, I don't care if I get detention." A loud, angry voice entered the room, another grunted in agreeance. 

"What happened?" Hermione asked. You looked down and quickly covered your bottom half with a blanket. 

"I socked him in the mouth, just like he deserved. Coward, didn't even fight back." Ron rubbed his knuckles. "Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Harry asked you. 

"Did he seem...sad?" You asked. Ron rolled his eyes. 

"Bloody-"

Hermione shot him a glare. He silenced himself. 

"We're going to go to sleep, it's really late. Try and get some sleep, (Y/N/N)" Harry called you by your nickname, before walking off toward the male wing of the common room. Ron followed him with reluctance. 

~

For Draco, the hallways might as well of been a plank, the entrance to Hogwarts could just as well been an unforgiving ocean that he would have to hurl himself into. Hundreds of eyes followed him, as the pressure of a walking cane pushed a pressure point on his back, making him walk straight ahead, unstopping. 

Not giving a care for any single student that wondered what was happening, was Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, the very man that enstilled fear into his blue eyes and also the man who Malfoy aspired to be. 

Obviously, he was not his father. 

'I heard he did it just to make Harry Potter jealous', one whisper passed through an ear. Another detested that. "I think she forced herself onto him, did you see how scared he was?" Every theory was getting worse and worse, and not one of them could he dispute. 

Crabb and Goyle watched with crossed arms and blank expressions, Pansy appeared appalled, Blaise Zabini was almost disinterested. Aside from the Slytherins, crowding the hallway were concerned Hufflepuffs, intrigued Ravenclaws, and frankly still shocked Gryffindors.

 Draco let his eyes fall into them, in which he saw looking at him with furious stares, Fred & George Weasley. Neville Longbottom was whispering something to Finn, right before they were broken apart by three figures. Before that turned to four, Draco turned away. 

"What's going on?" Mumbled Hermione, squeezing in beside Ron, listening to be clued in. You stepped in front, needing only to see for yourself, not to just be told what was happening. 

He looked awful, his lips were still stained, his cheeks were red and the purple under his eyes was worse, had he not slept? You watched him, watched as he simply watched the floor in silence, and in his last moments, he looked up at you. 

His eyes were pleading, as if he was trying to say something but the words wouldn't come out, but his gaze was solemn, and apoligetic. You began to raise your hand, but with one glance path him you met the breath-constricting glare of Lucius. It was obvious he was digging harder into Malfoy's back. 

Draco grit his teeth. The nagging irritation of his fathers cane forcing him forward caused his shoulders to rise as he averted his eyes once more. His skin was cold, but spots where he felt eyes on him were burning like hot coals. Why, he asked himself, did he look back up? What did he intend to get from that? 

All he knew was from the hours he had spent the night before tossing and turning and slamming his head into his pillow was that he had made too many mistakes, and not a single damn one of them was worth it. What should he have done? He should of brought you somewhere quiet and told you that he had to lie to keep his father from suspecting something, he should of let go of his own pride and just owned up to it, so many things would of been better than what he had done. 

But it was too late. Far too late. So, for the time being, he got one last look at your admittedly beautiful face, and he left Hogwarts with his father. 

People dispersed to their classes. Whispers continued to collect themselves together like dust, gossip among both ghosts and students alike. The paintings looked at you different, warily, judging. Every moment in class was followed eyes on your back. 

A week passed. No sign of Malfoy. Another week went by, another day that his seat at the slytherin table was empty. Another day that he wasn't in class. By the third week, not much had changed, other than that the taunts had gotten worse.

Rumours had circulated that you were simply attention-seeking, and easy, and that it didn't matter who asked, you'd give into them, and so- some had seen it fit to make that their task. 

On the first night of the fourth week of Draco Malfoy's disappearance, you were walking back to your common room from detention, in which you had served by helping Hagrid tend to some of the magical creatures, you could hear footsteps trailing not far behind you. 

You had previously thought that you were completely alone, you folded your arms and blew hot breath into the cold wind. The halls were hauntingly empty, as it was so late. The footsteps got closer. They acquired a voice.

"So (Y/L/N), you have a thing for Slytherins', then?" Your head whipped around and your hair blew in the wind like a fleeting fire. 

Slytherin Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint. 

"Leave me alone." You grumbled, turning away and trying to speed up your pace. 

"Oh come on, love. I may not be as rich as Malfoy, but I promise I can show you a good time- only this time, we won't get caught." He grabbed your left hand and you froze, terrified. 

"I said leave me alone, Marcus." You shouted. His ugly smile formed a greedy, coniving grin. "Quit playing like you aren't the easiest girl in Gryffindor." He demanded. "Everyone knows you'd do anything for attention." 

You would rather be hit with a death curse than to stand her a minute longer with him. Angrily, frightened, your voice broke. "Please just stop, and leave me alone." You tried your hardest to pull your arm away from him. 

His grip tightened. 

"Let me go, Marcus!" You said louder. "Let. Me. Go!" He sneered. 

"Bitch." He cursed.

 He raised his wand, about to mutter some words, a spell, before he froze to the command of

"Immobulous!" 

Frantically, heart racing, you pried his fingers from your arm and you watched as he couldn't move. Too afraid to stick around any longer, you made a run to your common room, not giving thought to turn back.

  In the dark, a few feet away from the scene, stood a blonde boy who hadn't been in the halls for several days, nearly over a month. One thing he had realized, however, is that things had gotten worse. And it was time to fix them.

[duraxxor]

Wasteland

[[ This is a tale that transpired during the Siege of Lordaeron. Warning: This story contains potentially gruesome violence. Viewer Discretion is advised. ]]

Tirisfal Glades. Many historical events have taken place across these hollowed lands. Even in the cases of an individual such as myself. From the very first meeting of the Sanguine Sorceress to the passing visits towards the Gravekeeper Anna, I’ve had many new beginnings take place in the undying heart of these lands. One could even say I would call this a safe haven in my case. However, what I did not expect to see was the plagues of war infect the very lands. Brill has been decimated and seized by the Alliance who would call this territory their own. Yet, I had only continued my visit for one purpose: To find and seek out one of my eyes by the name of Benjamin Lewinters. 

As many know, he plays a key role in guidance upon the living remnants of my family while I tend to my duties in Panzer. He is a Forsaken and a gentleman at that. Many times I had found myself being covered during my lordship. However, never did I expect to find myself being the savior of this man deep within the bowels of the Undercity. While the Dark Lady had chosen to primarily have her troops up top, there was an opening for those SI:7 dogs. Unfortunately for them, I decided to leave them as nothing more than a trail of corpses until I found Benji needing a hand... or foot rather.

  “ It’s about time you got here... Milord... “ The Forsaken sputtered with a chuckling fit while sitting up on the ground. Those hollowed eye sockets stared at the masked vigilante. Most would be terrified by the presence of the leather-bound reaper. Yet, Benji saw through this visage and regarded Dura as the Lord he served. 

Duraxxor reached forth, wrapping a supportive arm around his robed body. “ It seems I have the tendency to miss the beginning of every battle now. Are you injured? “ Already, the limping posture was noted with the Forsaken finally able to stand as straight as his body would allow. 

“ Caught me by surprise, lad. They busted up my foot pretty good... “ Benjamin examined his left leg, noting the severed flesh and bone that had been torn asunder, leaving nothing more than a boney nub as support. 

“ Lean, old friend. We will have to improvise. “ Duraxxor croaked with the mechanisms that altered his voice in secrecy. Quickly, he searched the surrounding corpses of their boots. At long last, he found what was declared right in his eyes. A few sickening crackles as flesh and bone severed from the force of a blade, the Forsaken found that the former Lord Daevara had obtained a makeshift foot. Field dressing and quick stitchwork followed while the explosions and quakes of battle rumbled above their heads, causing debris that was small and large to fall in the bowels of the Underbelly. “ There. Do you have it prepared? “

Benjamin lightly tapped and stamped his temporary fix upon the molded, stone flooring as a test of leverage and support. “ Yes sir. I have secured one of the experimental plague bats that you requested. Now that I am able to walk and concentrate... I’ll teleport us to where you had originally instructed to meet at. “ 

Benjamin may have had his quirks, but I remember a time where the man was very much alive. He was one of very few of the humankind that I shared a diplomatic respect for back in my high elven days. In life and undeath, he shared an affinity with the arcane that disciplined his personality in a unique way. I watched as particles of the chaotic magics began to wrap tightly around our forms in the channeled cast of a teleporting spell. Our destination was the hills between Brill and Agamand Hills. What we would see, however, would be something we would least expect. 

Benjamin materialized along with his ally within those pale slopes. Though his attention had originally been to check on the gargoyle-like monstrosity behind them, his hollowed eyes basked in the ruins of what was once Brill in the distance. “ My home... they... desecrated it... “ The gravely voice was hindered by shock that even one such as a Forsaken could feel. 

After a thorough examination and a brief calming administered to the spooked beast, Duraxxor brought his sights to the fields of battle in the distance. Fire and Ice littered the field from the various firepower the Alliance forces had unleashed upon Lordaeron. Even he could tell that the battle was lost by the situation. Alliance forces were swarming the breached wall in formation. “ Benjamin... “

“... Daevara… do not worry about my grief... “ He responded with a guttural croak. “... It was only a matter of time... The Dark Lady... she was the one and only who put the torch to Teldrassil… it was only a matter of time before the Alliance would march on Capital City. “ The undead gentleman turned, gazing upon the masked visage of the undead elf. “ I have a few things that I need to speak with you about before we depart... time is precious. “ 

The plague bat released a light shriek at the time that Duraxxor set his sights on Benjamin’s face. “ Go ahead, Master Lewinters. “ 

The forsaken choked up a laugh at the sudden title. “ Your son grows, as well as your daughter... not a single day passes that those children don’t miss you in their life. However, with recent events, Lady Maraschiano may not continue to live in Silvermoon City with Xanthariel and Lord Silverfury. “ Benjamin settled onto his wooden cane with both hands, one palm upon the other. “ Your father has returned from the dead. Though he is a quiet and peculiar knight, he had taken on the mantle of acting as your son’s mentor and bodyguard. “ 

My father. A man I had never met, only seen in pictures. I had heard many tales of his assistance in the Troll Wars. He had always been a man of honor. To hear Benjamin say that he was alive and mentoring my son was truly interesting news. Yet, in the pit of my black heart, I could not find myself to care for a reunion with the man that created me. 

“ Interesting... will that be all? “ Duraxxor replied after brief consideration.

“ No... no I... have nothing else to report. I have no idea what the young lord nor his sister plan to do in the coming tides of war. “ Benjamin cast his gaze towards the deprived grass before asking him a question. “ Why do you continue to hide your existence, lad? “

Duraxxor took a few steps towards Benjamin, his eyes slowly fixated on the man’s face. Another thoughtful moment passed before the Forsaken found the Faceless’ gloved talons placed on the boney shoulder. “ Without me in the picture, Benjamin, they have room to grow. They have the motivation to fight the Daevara’s age old enemy. If I were to reveal myself to them now, then the element of surprise would be cast aside. None of us are ready for that yet. “ Dura slowly pulled the man towards Undercity’s latest experiment and handed him the reins. “ Besides... I have a cause I still serve in the shadows. “ For a brief moment, Benjamin’s eyes could see a remnant of the former Lord’s face through the veil of shadows. “ Now then... I need you take the plague-bat and deliver it to a woman off the coast of Silverpine whose hair is a crimson flame. Her name is Tiramina Quel’Renori and she will take the creature off of your hands. “ 

The forsaken protested whilst tightly handling the reins of the beast. “ You’re not going? You can’t tell me you are going to fight for a lost c- “ Suddenly, Benjamin and Duraxxor both found themselves looking back towards the shattered walls of Lordaeron. Explosions thundered across the landscape. However, in the midst of this firepower, the source wasn’t coming from the Alliance attack force. “ No... it cannot be! “ 

“ Windrunner… “ Dura muttered under his breath as he bore witness to the revelation that plagued both his mind and Capital City. Hazardous green gas radiated from deep within the depths of the Forsaken homeland. This blight expelled through the frontlines, reapplying an even more potent disease upon the land. “ Get out of here, Lewinters… I have something I must do before I leave Tirisfal… “ That being said, the Faceless’ disappeared as a swirling mist of black smog.

“ Durax-xor… “ The Forsaken was too late to stop him from his swift movements. His mind knew that he had a duty to fulfill and he would see it through to the end. With grief and sorrow, Benjamin took flight onto the mighty monstrosity and flew southwest. Looking back, he saw the image of Brill at it’s finest moments, slowly twist into the horrific sight of plague smog that crept towards it’s burning ruins. 

Hours after the Second Fall of Lordaeron… 

I was too late. They had already done what I would’ve never expected. The Gravekeeper Anna had suffered from the massacre that followed with the sacking of Brill. All that remained was a freshly dug grave, a tea cup set upon it in tribute, and the rune-scribed shovel that belonged to the Gravekeep herself. Despite disbelief, the Void that inhabited my tainted flesh made it a point to show the cruel truth of it all...  

“You aren’t going to keep it, arrrre you?” A female Kaldorei asked with disgust as she nodded at the head that he seemingly claimed as a prize. “No, Sisssster.” The twin let the head fall dishonorably to the ground, triggering images of the remnants that lied just below his feet. “ L-l-let it be an example to every monster here that would try r-r-rising again, that Elune means to keep them in their grave at last-last-last...” The maddening whispers added a watered down to the voice of the killer. Though many could not see it, Duraxxor could easily smell the blood of the Gravekeep still stain the gravesite. This act was recent, but not nearly as recent as the visitor’s footsteps that had honorably given Anna a proper burial. The second image revealed a masquerade who had offered the teacup, she delicately placed said offering upon the renewed gravesite. She had even so much as shed a tear of sorrow for the Forsaken. “ R-r-rest well, my friend-friend-Friend! “ The echoes of the woman’s word picked up violently all of the sudden, likely a reaction to the calm rage that settled within Duraxxor’s body.

“ Don’t move, filth... “ The kneeling Faceless found himself greeted by the one who had beheaded Anna. His blade was drawn to the back and at the ready, eager to coat it with Duraxxor’s blood. Even the sister had come along, arrows pulled back and at the ready. “ I allowed one of the Horde scum to get away with this visitation... however, you wreak of death. Tell me, before I kill you, why would you mourn the loss of such a disgusting filth? “

“ … Did you do this? “ The masked mourner asked quietly. “ Did you do this, Arestes? “ Not a single muscle moved on his leather-bound form. 

“ I ask the questions here... wait, how do you know my name? “ The male sibling blinked with unease, taking his eyes off Duraxxor for only one second. That second would cost him his chance to strike the kill, dazed by the evaporation of the mourning creature. “ Where did you- “

“ Areste- Ack! “ The female sibling found herself struck in the side of her skull by the flat side of Anna’s shovel. The mortal wound bringing the woman to fall upon the ground with the inability to control her body’s movements. Though the wound was threatening by many degrees, Alethia wasn’t his target. 

Arestes quivered with fear and rage all in one standing as he watched his sister become dismantled by this stranger. “ Alethia! You... bastard! “ His eyes had instinctively set on the reaper, charging headlong into this assailant. Despite his speed, however, Duraxxor’s reflexes had him lift his left boot upward and kicked the Kaldorei into the dirt. No words were offered when he followed up with a downward swipe of that rune-scribed shovel directly into Arestes’ right knee. The man cried out from the shattering of bone. 

“ Arestes… N-no! “ The sister cried out in her struggle to aid her sibling while he suffered his own torturous pain. Her blood continuing to pool from her own wound, bringing her sight to blur at the vision of the man who placed that same boot firmly on the center of his chest. 

“ Why do I mourn, you ask? Why do you kill one who has nothing to do with your war? “ Duraxxor stared down at the man that was shedding tears from the intense pain in his leg. The crimson bead in his right eye socket offered pent-up rage behind the visage of a grim reaper. “ Your sister will not die by my hand today. However, you will not have that mercy... “ The Faceless tightened his grip on the bloodied rune-shovel as he watched the night elves struggle at his feet.

Arestes spat out blood in a cough, attempting to speak. “ Your Warchief… burned down... my home... she took everything... everything away from us... You... AAHHHH! “ Once more, the brother had been struck by the shovel, aimed directly at his right arm that had made an attempt to grasp his blade. His pool of blood began to increase in it’s vile radius. The sister breathed shallowly while weeping over her body’s inability to move when she needed it most. She forced to watch her brother slowly be destroyed by this monster.

Daevara lowered himself to offer this opponent one final glance into the eye sockets that bore into him. This closeness would also reveal a set of teeth behind the ventilations, smiling back in quite the devious manner to most. “ Windrunner may have made the decision to burn everything you loved... but the woman you murdered had no say in that matter. You ravaged this land and destroyed one of the most innocent beings in this graveyard. You gave her no choice but to fight to protect them. Not the Warchief, not the Horde, but the land and those who were lost.  I had served under that banner you carry for many decades, almost centuries... thousands of years and none of you have changed. But where was your precious Alliance when my homeland was sacked? Where were your kind when my ancestors migrated because your kind cast them aside for their beliefs? So much history yet the Alliance continue to believe they rule over all of Azeroth. “ 

Truly Duraxxor’s words crippled the man, breaking all of the logic and reasonings for their vengeful intent. Though, blood loss and shock may have played a role in the breaking of this soldier’s mentality. However, one thing would never been desecrated by the sadistic creature’s words. “... For the Alliance... “ The man muttered from bloodied lips, spitting blood onto the skeletal reaper’s face. 

The grin behind that soiled mask sharpened into a crescent smirk. “ I was hoping you would say that... This is for Anna... “ Without a second thought, Duraxxor brought the shovel into the air. The sister’s protests were barely understandable by a series of cries and likely to be no’s, forced to bear witness as this monstrous entity brought that runic shovel down onto her brother’s cranium. The sound of skull crunched along with the spouts of blood that scattered across the graveyard one strike after the other. Twenty-seven consecutive strikes had turned the remnants of Arestes Duskriver into the byproduct of a slaughterhouse. There was nothing left of the Kaldorei’s face to even identify him visually. 

Alethia shivered, hiccupping from the inability to speak. She had watched the entire process while teetering to pass out. The scent of her brother’s brain matter and life blood only making the pitiful creature sick to her stomach. And just when she thought he couldn’t be any more cruel, he stepped over and placed his talons upon her cheek, forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. “ Remember this... Death claims us all... One day... it too shall claim you... “ That being said, Duraxxor wasted no time and leaving the scene while holding onto the Gravekeeper’s shovel. Alliance forces were treading within the area and he needed not to engage all of them. Though, it was clear that he had left a blemish upon the weary Kaldorei’s mind. 

[[ Mentions large or small:  @gravekeeper-anna @sanguinesorceress @storykeeper-wra @viviannamaraschiano @destiny-of-daevara @daughter-of-daevara @horridlittlepoppet ]] 

[[ A special thanks to @gravekeeper-anna / @safrona-shadowsun for allowing me to incorporate her characters into my story. Thank you so much! ]]