#i wonder how much it would cost to build an island in the middle?

[katherynefromphilly]

While looking up real estate values of houses in other places (as one does), I saw this patch of land for sale, right on a lake, with a lovely grassy plain down to the water, and instantly, and I do mean immediately, was like:

“I wonder how much it would cost to put a cafe there with windows all along the front?”

[atlanticcanada]

P.E.I. housing pinch major issue as parties campaign ahead of April 3 vote

A lack of affordable housing on Prince Edward Island has some questioning whether the province is running out of room for those who want to call it home, making dwindling real estate one of the major issues in the upcoming election.

Party leaders campaigning ahead of the April 3 vote have promised to tackle the lack of housing if they form the next government.

A December news release from Statistics Canada said P.E.I.'s rate of retaining immigrants five years after they arrive had jumped to 28 per cent in 2015 from 15.6 per cent in 2010, but it was still the worst among the provinces.

The population began to ramp up in 2015 but there was a dip in housing construction just before that, said Jim Sentance, an economics professor at the University of Prince Edward Island.

"New housing starts just dwindled down to a few hundred a year," he said.

A doctor coming into the province might not find it hard to find a house but someone in the lower- or middle-income group would, he said, with the lack of affordable housing a "fairly major issue" in the election.

"I think where the squeeze is on, I would suggest is more at the lower end," he said. "So more affordable housing."

Lack of housing brings with it other problems, such as difficulty in attracting and retaining people and students, said Cory Pater from the group P.E.I. Fight for Affordable Housing.

"A lot of people who come here move away almost immediately," Pater said.

A one-bedroom apartment in Charlottetown costs about $1,200 a month, he said. Rents increased about eight per cent from 2021 to 2022.

Green party Leader Peter Bevan-Baker said the lack of sufficient housing has made it difficult to attract workers in health care, construction and other fields.

He blames a lack of government planning. The reliance on the private sector to build more housing on P.E.I. is "misplaced," he said.

"We should have anticipated this and done something about it," he said in an interview. "We could have done much better when it comes to investing public dollars in building housing."

Sentance suggested the government should ease up a bit on bringing more people into the province until more units can be built.

An August news release from the P.E.I. government said the province's population is expected to grow about 13 per cent at a slow rate or about 41 per cent in a high-growth scenario over the next 20 years. Canada's population is projected to grow between 12 and 37 per cent over the same period.

Sentance said the government could afford to slow down the rate of population growth.

"At some point you have to wonder what's more important, growing the population or fixing the housing problem?"

Pater said he does not think a temporary easing up on immigration into the province would relieve much stress from the housing market because it's a problem that grew slowly and will take time to resolve.

In the short-term, he said the government could buy up housing units, hotels or other buildings to alleviate some of the pressure. His group is advocating for more public and co-operative housing that would keep rents low.

Progressive Conservative Party Leader Dennis King was not available for an interview.

A news release Wednesday from his campaign promised to launch a rent-to-own program that would help people buy a house with government financial options after renting for about two years.

Sharon Cameron, leader of the Liberal party, was also not available for an interview.

Bevan-Baker said a Green government would create a rent registry that would show what the previous tenant was paying and how much is being charged by the landlord when the property is leased out again.

He said rent caps are one way of controlling and regulating the marketplace, but they have to be done in tandem with a registry.

"Housing is both a basic human right and an investment opportunity," he said. "Government has the responsibility to ensure that the rights and needs of the more vulnerable community are properly protected."

This report by The Canadian Press was first published March 17, 2023.

By Hina Alam in Fredericton

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/9Thck82

[drabbles-mc]

Passing Through

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Request by @masterlistforimagines​: Okay so reader is passing through Santo Padre for some reason. Her car breaks down, and Bish is her mechanic. I’m thinking like super cute and flirty Bish

Warnings: language, alcohol, Bish being a flirt with a capital F

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I feel like I always let myself get carried away with requests from you. Like they almost always take on a life of their own once I start writing them. Thank you for loving me and continuing to send them to me regardless lmao. We get a few of our other MC boys in this fic too. Hope y’all enjoy! xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

Bishop Losa Taglist: @sincerelyasomebody​ @sadeyesgf​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @sillygoose6969​ @queenbeered​ @louisianalady​ @gemini0410​ @paintballkid711​ @sesamepancakes​ @chibsytelford​ @yourwonkywriter​ @arveeee​ @mayans-sauce​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @plentyoffandoms​ @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @themoonandthewicked​​ @garbinge​​ @bucky-iss-bae​​ @encounterthepast​​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​​ @rosieposie0624​​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​​ @mijop​​ @xladymacbethx​​ @blessedboo​​ @holl2712​​ @lakamaa12​​ @kkim120​​ @toni9​​ @shadow-of-wonder​​ (If you want to be tagged in fics for Bish or any of my other writing let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist!)

You’d been driving for practically 2 days straight. It was your own doing—you wanted to go all up and down the coast while you had the opportunity. You didn’t know the next time you would get a few weeks off. However, the first leg of your journey you took your sweet time and didn’t really plan things out, which left you in the tiniest bit of a time-crunch as things were coming to a close. It was impressive that your car had made it this far to begin with. It wasn’t exactly new, but it had always gotten the job done. You knew that this was a big ask, though, and the universe was finally coming to collect.

You sat on the hood, soaking up the sun while you waited for the tow truck to get there. Music was playing from the speaker of your phone as you recounted all of the adventures that you had had so far. If it hadn’t been such a good trip already, this mishap would’ve been far more upsetting. You were in too good of a headspace to be upset, though. Whatever the deal was with your car, you’d figure it out one way or another.

When you saw the tow truck approaching, you shut the music off and hopped down off the hood of your car. You stretched out, trying to gear yourself up for whatever the next leg of your journey was going to be. The truck parked in front of your car and one man hopped out of each side of the vehicle. You bit back a laugh at how different the two of them seemed.

“Are you Y/N?” one man approached you with a clipboard.

You took note of his hands but expressly tried not to stare. Besides, the smile he greeted you with was contagious it was difficult to focus on much else as you nodded, “Sure hope so. Otherwise someone else out there is having just as bad of luck as me.”

He nodded as he handed you the clipboard, “Just need you to fill out this form here for me, Miss.”

You smiled as you took the clipboard and pen from him, “I think I can handle that,” you continued to speak to him as you filled out the paperwork, “What’s your name?”

“Chucky.”

Your eyes flicked up from the paper as you smiled at him, “Nice to meet you, Chucky,” you nodded towards the man who was in the middle of hooking your car up to the tow truck, “Who’s your friend over there?”

“The one and only Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz.”

You laughed, “One and only, huh?” you handed the clipboard back to him, “Seems like you might know a lot of people who are one-of-a-kind.”

The drive back to the mechanic shop was much more comfortable than you thought it was going to be. Chucky never seemed to run out of things to talk about, which was refreshing. Coco was quiet for most of the ride, chiming in here and there but staying silent for the most part as Chucky drove. The two of them made you wonder what the rest of the people were like at the shop they were taking you to.

When you rolled into the lot, Chucky hopped out and motioned for you to do the same while Coco set about getting your car off the tow truck and into the shop. Part of you wanted to watch it all happen, but Chucky needed you to fill out the rest of the paperwork and answer a few more questions. When he asked you about a rental, you asked if you could see what the damage was on your car before answering that.

You walked over to where your car was being worked on. From the angle you were standing at, you couldn’t see exactly who it was that was working on your car. It was just a pair of legs sticking out from underneath your vehicle. You found a stool to sit on while you waited for whoever it was to resurface so you could ask what exactly was going on and if you were going to need to find a new car to get back home in.

After a few minutes, they rolled back out. He sat up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. You smiled, eyebrows raising slightly as you took in the sight of him. He wiped his hands off on the rag tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

“She yours?” he nodded towards the car.

You sighed, “Depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

He chuckled as he shook his head, “Nothing that we can’t fix.”

“Is it gonna cost me an arm and a leg?”

“It shouldn’t, no,” he stood up, leaning back against your car, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The simple pet name shouldn’t have made your face feel hot, but it did, “It’s Y/N. But you can keep calling me sweetheart if you like,” you paused, “You?”

He laughed at your response before holding out his hand, “Bishop.”

“Nice to meet you, Bishop,” it was hard to take your eyes off of his lips and beard. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts, “So, what exactly is wrong with my car? And can you fix it in the cheapest way possible? I just gotta make it back home.”

He smiled at you, “Back home?”

You nodded, “Yea. Had a couple weeks off between jobs and decided to take advantage of it. Probably should’ve used that time to go car shopping though, huh?”

He chuckled, “Maybe.”

You listened as he outlined what was wrong with your car and how he planned to fix it. You were focusing on what he was saying for the most part, but it was easy to get distracted as you watched the way the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed as he moved and shifted. You were practically salivating by the time that he finished talking.

“You got all that, sweetheart?” he asked with a laugh, knowing that you had definitely tuned out at a few different points as he spoke.

“I got the important parts,” you said, not trying to deny that you let your mind wander.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

“At least until you fix my car,” you laughed.

“Maybe I should take my time then.”

You smiled, crossing your arms over your chest, “I don’t know how professional that would be of you, Bishop.”

“First you want me to call you sweetheart, and now you want me to be professional?” he laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges, “You’ve gotta pick one or the other.”

You smiled, nodding, “Fair enough,” you paused, “How about this?” you saw the curiosity written all over his face as you continued, “I’ll budget an extra night or two in Santo Padre into my plans, that way you don’t gotta drag out fixing my car. Besides,” you smiled, “I can’t afford to pay for three days’ worth of labor.”

He smiled and nodded, “Alright. That sounds fair. In that case I could have you up and running by tonight.”

“Just in time for you to take me out for a drink?”

He smiled, “Yea. But I wouldn’t make you take your car for that.”

“Oh? You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head as he gestured towards the row of motorcycles, “I’ll take you out on the town in style.”

You laughed, “Can’t wait,” you stood up off the stool, “I guess I’ll let you get to work then. I know I can be a bit distracting.”

“You’re a welcome distraction,” he nodded towards the building behind you, “If you wanna get outta the heat you can go wait in the clubhouse. My guys will take care of you.”

“Wow,” you tucked your hands into your pockets, “feel like I’m getting the royal treatment.”

He smiled, “Because you are,” he walked over to his toolbox and started taking a few things out, “I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

You made your way over to the clubhouse. You glanced back over your shoulder and saw Bishop standing there, watching you walk away. You couldn’t help but to flash him a smile as you continued to make your way away from him.

When you pushed open the door to the clubhouse, suddenly everything began to make a lot more sense. You saw multiple men walking around with kuttes on, which explained why you got the feeling the place was a bit like the island of misfit toys. It took all kinds. However, despite the fact that it was home base for the local MC, it didn’t feel like an intimidating place to be. You felt perfectly comfortable as you approached the bar and took a seat.

“What can I get you?” the young man behind the bar offered you a sweet smile as he asked the question.

You clocked the prospect patch on his kutte as you looked him over, “Just water, please. Just trying to get outta the heat.”

“What brings you here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he noted as he handed you a bottle of water.

You sighed slightly, “Car broke down,” you took a sip of your water, “One of your guys is working on it now, though. Bishop?”

The man behind the bar looked surprised, and the man who was sitting a couple stools down from you couldn’t refrain from making a comment. He turned towards you, “Damn, Bish is working on your car?” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Been a minute since I seen Pres get his hands dirty out there. You know him?”

You shook your head, “Don’t know any of you guys, actually.”

He moved to the stool next to yours, holding out his hand, “I’m Angel,” he nodded towards the man behind the bar, “That knucklehead is EZ.”

You laughed as you shook his hand, giving a courteous nod to EZ, “Nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N.”

The three of you sat and chatted while you waited for Bishop to finish up your car. You laughed as you listened to the two of them banter back and forth. For as much as you wished that your car hadn’t broken down, there were a lot worse people to be spending your afternoon with, so you really couldn’t complain.

“So I met Chucky and Coco,” you said as you sipped on your water.

“The dynamic duo,” EZ said with a laugh as he cleaned the glasses behind the bar.

“Is that right?” you asked with a smile.

“Nah, we all love Chucky,” Angel said, “But him and Coco are on the same wavelength sometimes. Shit’s weird.”

You were listening to the two of them dive into another story when a different voice cut through the conversation, “These guys bothering you?”

You laughed as you turned around to face Bishop, “Not at all. They’ve been perfect gentlemen.”

He raised one eyebrow as he looked back and forth between EZ and Angel, “I find that hard to believe.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “What’s the verdict on my car, presidente?”

Angel and EZ biting back their laughter was audible. Bishop shot them a look but the serious expression only lasted for a moment as a smile broke out across his face, “So I see the three of you have been talking.”

“We have,” you leaned back against the smile, “I’ve also been informed that I have to be pretty high up on the totem pole in order for you to be the one to work on my car.”

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, “Something like that.”

“You decide to work on my car just because you thought I was cute, Bishop?”

“If I say yes are you gonna be mad?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Not at all.”

“Then…yes.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter at his response. And you also couldn’t help but to notice the surprised looks on the faces of EZ and Angel as they watched you and Bishop go back and forth. Something told you that the Bishop that you were talking to, wasn’t the Bishop that they were used to seeing. That in and of itself was very interesting to you.

“But in answer to your original question,” Bishop got the conversation back on track, “Your car should be good to go.”

“Perfect, thank you so much,” you hopped off the stool, “I’ll go square everything up with Chucky, then.”

Bishop shook his head, his hand catching you by the waist when you went to walk by him, “You’re all set.”

“Bishop,” you folded your arms across your chest, “I can’t just let you not charge me.”

He nodded slowly, “Alright. First round is on you tonight then. Deal?”

You nodded, knowing that that was as much as you were going to be able to get him to budge, “Deal.”

“Let me go clean up and change. I’m sure these two can keep you amused in the meantime.”

You laughed, nodding, “I think so.”

He let his fingers trail lightly across the small of your back as he walked away. This time it was your turn to watch him, biting down lightly on your bottom lip as you did. You stepped back and found your seat once more at the bar, not able to return your attention to the men in front of you until Bishop was completely out of sight.

“Seriously,” Angel said with a laugh, “who are you?” he shook his head, “Never seen Bish flex so hard around someone.”

You laughed, “It’s because he knows he’s on a time crunch. Can’t play the long-game.”

“Time crunch?” EZ spoke up.

You nodded, “Yea, I’m just passing through. Honestly, Santo Padre wasn’t even really a stop I was planning to make before my car shit the bed,” you chuckled with a shrug, “But now that I’m here I might as well make the most of it. Told Bishop I’d budget in some extra time here if he could make it worth my while.”

“Damn,” Angel shook his head with a smile, “you really put him on the spot like that, huh?”

“He certainly didn’t seem to mind,” you laughed.

“Yea, I’ll bet he didn’t,” there was a knowing smirk on Angel’s face as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

Before you could try to pry further into what he meant by that, Bishop reappeared in a fresh set of clothes and his kutte. You couldn’t hide the fact that you were gawking at him as he approached you. He smiled as he approached you, holding out a hand to help you hop down off the stool.

“Ready if you are.”

You nodded, “I was born ready,” you laughed as he draped an arm around your waist and guided you back towards the door to the clubhouse.

“Anywhere in particular you’re looking to go?”

You shook your head, “You’re calling the shots tonight, Pres.” You heard Angel let out a whistle from the bar at your statement and you couldn’t help but to laugh. You turned to look at Bishop as the two of you exited the clubhouse, “Your guys seem pretty happy for you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Yea, something like that.”

You let him guide you over to the bikes. You weren’t sure if you should mention to him that you had never ridden one before. But he must’ve seen the look of slight apprehension on your face because he gave you a reassuring smile as he handed you a spare helmet.

“It’s not that bad. Just hang onto me and you’ll be fine.”

You smiled at him as you clipped the helmet on, “That sounds like an easy direction to follow.”

He got onto his bike and helped you to do the same, giving you a moment to get situated. You draped your arms lightly around his waist, but the second the bike roared to life your hold on him instantly tightened, causing him to laugh. He checked one last time that you were good to go and once you said yes, he shot out of the compound. You were holding onto him so tight that you were afraid you were going to crack one of his ribs, but he didn’t say anything.

A few miles into the ride, you finally loosened your hold on Bishop a little, allowing him to breathe with ease. You could feel his body vibrating with laughter as you slowly found your comfort.

“You good, sweetheart?”

You laughed as you leaned against him, “All good.”

Of all the towns that you could’ve gotten stranded in for an afternoon, you were glad that it was Santo Padre. And if there was anyone worth switching up your travel plans for, you had a feeling that it was Bishop.

[catthegreat123]

From life to death, from the last to the first

In the beginning there was only yesterday, ruled by fifteen gods.

..

..

..

These gods grew in strength and even more with the want to create.

So the first Ą̸̡̨̛̭͎̲̪͔̜͖̰̱̜̘͇̹͚͓͍͚̼̗̦̯̬̞͔͓̣̘͖̥̘̱̩̯̃̋̏̉̔͋͋̒̀͛̑̽͒̌̄̐̀̇͊̍̓̊́̽͌̒͗̇̒̈̅͘̚͘͝͠͠͝ͅl̷̨̛̜̺͙̤̘͆͑̆̈̇̃̊̀̽͂̔̀͑̎͆̔̀̅̂͂̌̉͒͆͗̍̆̋͊̚̕̕̕͘ͅl̵̨̛̛̦͍̥̅̈̓͒̐̎̾̅͂̌̃̊͆̅̌̊̉̔́̆͊̓͐͆̀͒̀̓̅͛̒̋͛͆͘̕̚̚͘͠͠m̴̛̲̟̳̪̱̻̰̞̪̲̯̺̉̂̔̍͑̌̈́̓̽̉̾̀̌͐̍͑́͊̾͊̈́̇̈̏͌̅͊͘̕͝͝͝o̷̧̧̡̧̢͖̤̹̩̼͉̩̭̾̌̒̉̀̾̅̐́́̏̓͌̍̑̓́̈́͛̑͒̓͊̓̂̔̕͘͜͝͠͠ẗ̷̡̢̜̬̺̮͕̬͖̹͎̪͓͉̳̳̮͕́̈́͋̇̚̚͜h̷̛̥̖̬̜̘̼͎̣̟͚̯͙͉̱̥̦̥̭̀̌͑̈́͛̐͗̈́̕͜͝͝ͅe̶̢̢̢̛͇̰̟̦̦͎̟̪̱̭̘̹͕̫͈̜̮͈̰̞̬͊̒̄̈̉̋̋̅̔̉̅̊̈́̎̀͐̌͛͋͛͗̑͌̂̈̊̎̓̆͗̃͂̽̍̕̕̚͝͝͠͝͠͝ŗ̵̧̢̨̧̡͙̥̼̯̣̭͕̙͖̗͉̣͙̫̫̜͕͍̜̟̣̻̪̱̘͕̗̰̦̜̮̝͖̞̖͇͈̤͔̻͊̌̓̂͜ͅͅͅs̸̨̧͓͈̳̩͚̑͌̋̆̑͋̈́͂̈́̀̾̒͑͘̕ were created.

They breathed life into a distorted growing world, a vast landmass emerging in their wake. The fifteen gods who created land and sea.

The Ą̸̡̨̛̭͎̲̪͔̜͖̰̱̜̘͇̹͚͓͍͚̼̗̦̯̬̞͔͓̣̘͖̥̘̱̩̯̃̋̏̉̔͋͋̒̀͛̑̽͒̌̄̐̀̇͊̍̓̊́̽͌̒͗̇̒̈̅͘̚͘͝͠͠͝ͅl̷̨̛̜̺͙̤̘͆͑̆̈̇̃̊̀̽͂̔̀͑̎͆̔̀̅̂͂̌̉͒͆͗̍̆̋͊̚̕̕̕͘ͅl̵̨̛̛̦͍̥̅̈̓͒̐̎̾̅͂̌̃̊͆̅̌̊̉̔́̆͊̓͐͆̀͒̀̓̅͛̒̋͛͆͘̕̚̚͘͠͠m̴̛̲̟̳̪̱̻̰̞̪̲̯̺̉̂̔̍͑̌̈́̓̽̉̾̀̌͐̍͑́͊̾͊̈́̇̈̏͌̅͊͘̕͝͝͝o̷̧̧̡̧̢͖̤̹̩̼͉̩̭̾̌̒̉̀̾̅̐́́̏̓͌̍̑̓́̈́͛̑͒̓͊̓̂̔̕͘͜͝͠͠ẗ̷̡̢̜̬̺̮͕̬͖̹͎̪͓͉̳̳̮͕́̈́͋̇̚̚͜h̷̛̥̖̬̜̘̼͎̣̟͚̯͙͉̱̥̦̥̭̀̌͑̈́͛̐͗̈́̕͜͝͝ͅe̶̢̢̢̛͇̰̟̦̦͎̟̪̱̭̘̹͕̫͈̜̮͈̰̞̬͊̒̄̈̉̋̋̅̔̉̅̊̈́̎̀͐̌͛͋͛͗̑͌̂̈̊̎̓̆͗̃͂̽̍̕̕̚͝͝͠͝͠͝ŗ̵̧̢̨̧̡͙̥̼̯̣̭͕̙͖̗͉̣͙̫̫̜͕͍̜̟̣̻̪̱̘͕̗̰̦̜̮̝͖̞̖͇͈̤͔̻͊̌̓̂͜ͅͅͅs̸̨̧͓͈̳̩͚̑͌̋̆̑͋̈́͂̈́̀̾̒͑͘̕ had three for every of their species, the first mothers. They are false gods, worshipped for their power but just as dangerous and killable as a minawnii.

I feel the rocks shift, I watched my sisters leave for the shallow colors above me. I want to sleep, I do not care for yesterday it bores me, though I do quite like the island in the middle.

It’s so full of life and society builds around herds of thousands….that’s the only place I want to go. Maybe I will go one day…maybe…

I reached my head out of the sea, watching the sands of tomorrow calling for something to take me from this sea to the land beyond. I have hoped for eons for that, now yesterday is gone, Today is here.

I have watched things pass over me as the land becomes lush, huge white kangaroo-like beings. They have black pupils that have watched me…I will not care when they die..

As I beg on this watery fence a nycoton comes to me, oh how I owe them my life. I know now I should not have cared for another mortal again after this NYCOTON but I did, and it hurts me still.

They stared at me like a pitiful dog who just fell in the river, I am older than the lush grass beneath that creatures claws. Though I will never be able to tell them not in my garbled words, corrupted and vile.

The white beasts came and attacked the poor creature ripping them apart, they died taking me to that lake, forever I wonder how it would be if they never lifted me from that cursed stream.

They lifted me from those waves and took me to a lake, an oasis. The same white creatures stare at me forever more like I am a plague come to kill them. In the end I was I guess…

The days grew hotter and I watched the pond shrink as centuries passed it became sand, the dense fur of those white diesura made them leave I think. They looked panicked every time I rose my head from the water, tossing meat at me in fear.

They ran and the oasis was empty for a while I watched hungrily, and soon wardens came.

Huge creatures, hellions I believe they came in wondrous elegance casting order in an empty land. They were at war I think, they didn’t like a poisonous alternates, big as them or as toxic as a mola mola.

I watched as in fear a huge green portal ripped through the sky, I watched as these wardens, overseers, protecters.

They betrayed their own duty….

They chased the creatures they warred with to the sky killing those who ran. I saw a young sar’hingaro fly away in tears, given mercy and vengeance by the wardens, allowed to live forever alone in this evil land.

I decided this land must learn, I told stories and legends from yesterday to anyone who came near my pond, speaking of trees bigger than imaginable, and mushroom grass that fed you like berries.

They all listened to these tales, some stayed to hear more, despite the stories being limited to the tales and songs told to me by the winds.

These tales attracted many beings across the lands, some came to the oasis for the stories. But overtime it became that the creatures wanted to not be alone.

Many creatures were roaming the land, alone save for their family. This barren desert served a collection, the steps and gallops of these creatures led to the oasis becoming more desert like.

Under the wardens rule the land flourished, but I listened to the wind, and heard the cries of that sar from oh so long ago.

It was called grief, it was alone forevermore, all it’s people left in a wasteland save for this poor beast.

Grief, as what was it’s name, grows to vengeance, so I watched as the sky was painted green in its monstrous size.

I watched helpless, as the wardens queen, a huge boreal, followed by verdants, ardors, and hellions alike.

It was a slaughter, the beasts I played games with and wondered at snow the young creatures I watched dance under the moon,

Gone,

Fire painted the sand red as the sar named grief destroyed the land, blowing holes in the mountains.

I watched it felt as if my gills ripped themselves from my body and cried with me.

A black and white kendyll heard, it listened to my distorted garbles, incomprehensible but full of tangible emotion, I had not eaten in so long and I was sad.

The kendyll listened and left for a few days and brung me, a carcass of something too marred with bites and blood to tell. I stayed quiet, carnage wrote itself over this poor thing.

MEAT

I feasted like a starving dog that night.

I learned how to speak sonarian better because of that kendyll, she talked to me so much….it was nice. A friend…I hadn’t had that in many millenia they were something I wanted to be if I could walk these lands…

But all things die, some more brutally than most.

I woke up one day swimminb to the shallows looking for that kendyll who spoke to me so much bringing me food and warming a heart as cold as the trenches below. Only to find only her dead floating body , bobbing on the surface of the sea covered in poison, already starting to rot.

Yet again I felt my heart twist and feel heavy, yet again that horrible feeling you despicable mortals call….grief. I swam around the shallows looking for any sign it was a joke…it wasn’t…

I will keep hope I WILL you mortals are just….lost…

But after a week or so, her child came to me, tail between their legs filled with the same twisting sight in their own hearts. They ranted sadly about how unfair it was an so on and so forth, I listened my heart broke a little more…. More than a god could even stand….. funny..

I have been here since the world began but I just can let go of the fact that mortals are corrupt.

The young kendyll grew older, as all mortals grew, they shown like stars on their stripes, a beauty to rival the three moons above our own heads, but at a cost of their own mother. A sad price I don’t think any being would pay…

I came to the shallows again hoping to be given food by the sad kendyll but found their drowned body instead, another friend had died. Those useless mortals can’t stay ALIVE why can’t they just STAY.

Yet again I cried and cried, but I didn’t want them to be eaten by a hungry idiotic scavenger so I buried their body in the sandy waters where kelp still grows, green by my blessing.

The last these kendylls to bring me food was the sad ones niece. I never learned their name but they were excitable. They ruled when the rulers of the oasis were divided, and rules were strict and cruel.

She ranted to me about the unfair rules and made plans of rebellion, they never came true though…. She died of sadness after she found her eggs crushed, and wife dead.

So useless….

The ani’s lasted longest out of all the rulers of the oasis, probably more than in the rule of the cruel Jeff’s.

The Jeff’s I never saw, but was told to me by the gods. The Jeff’s who built castles out of lightning and rock. Bigger than mountains and crushed creatures big and small out of rage.

The ani’s grew to a empire across the oasis. They swam in my waters playing and giving me food, as every ruler did before.

They were cruel killing every carnivore that came, it was hypocritical in a sense, they kept me alive at the cost of many I will never know…..

….

Their foolishness though led them to die to a volcanic eruption. I do not miss them though, they were religious and hateful to other species.

The ones who had lived under other kings, queens, emperors and empresses.

The final true caretaker was a green kendyll, scarred and mute. He never spoke but he is the only one I knew by name. The kendyll’s name was luv, a weird one but land dwellers are like that.

He showed me things in the sand I will never see and I marveled at it despite my life eons longer than his.

He brung me food more than the others, quiet, always seeming regretful.

One day I watched as he looked around with insanity in his eyes, a need to kill.

I watched as he killed anyone in his path, it was a slaughter. He killed everything, the sands blood red. Bubbling with hate and white hot vengeance.

Luv roared words that could only be described as madness, and anger that was fueled by a broken mind.

He screamed and crashed in hatred killing the divided rulers and their people. When I looked out of the pool of water I saw blood everywhere. Many sought retribution.

He came back after a few weeks scarred beyond comprehension and filled with grief. I couldn’t bear to lose another “friend”. I tried to protect him but….Luv didn’t survive his grief of killing so many. I tried hard to protect him and heal him, but it was all for not.

So that night he passed away.

As many centuries passed, empires and tyrants rose and fell like the suns above us all, the oasis changed. The sand would forevermore be red with rage and insanity and murder and disaster haunted every corner. I protected those who asked but was feared.

Kohiiki’s as old as me looked ghoulish and as ancient as I was I still hoped every little creature to every mammoth would live in peace one day.

One who shared my thoughts was a small vaumora not even three, who danced and played on the shallows of my large pond, always joyous when I spoke in my garbled mimicry of you land dwellers language.

The vaumora seemed to light up every bit of the red sands painted by blood for so long. Making even the worst of the inhabitants smile. But the little vaumora’s joy didn’t last, caught in the crossfire of a turf war, they died in flames.

I loved the oasis but I had seen it grow for what was three millennia now, crying over lost friends or watching coldy over corrupt rulers.

The last of these rulers to ever reign under my blessing and hopes was a group of jotunhel.

These seals were smart enough to protect and Ally with the worst but after so many generations the ideals changed. War painted the dunes, the plains, and redwoods. What was my last promise was gone, so I take my last goodbye.

I have watched the world change and tears of the last wardens. I hope while I leave to the dark abyss that I came from, immortal as I am. That your world changes to something better.

But I will not watch, my heart has been ripped from my gills to many times for that.

I want to come back, maybe when you have learned…

So goodbye to the oasis May we meet again at a time which is better.

:::::::

I have listened to the words of the wind for a long, long time. Watching the waves sing their hymns to me

My hope, despite being broken so many times may just be true. So I tell my sights back to the place a lot oh so long ago.

When I returned it was not the same place, scattered but at peace. It did have an overseer of sorts.

I really should have listened to those words and warnings the wind carried to me, through the depths of the ocean to the place this world rose from.

I placed to much hope in you creatures filled with greed and fear, to angry at each other to notice what had watched, like me fro an eternity.

:::::::

Aereis were old things, things that had been there since before the mountains were even molehills.

They always watched, some came but many hid and died in the ancient mountains of yesterday.

But for every species there was an allmother, the first of their kind, immortal and huge. There were three Aereis that were allmother’s, and one who watched a bit to closely. They were jealous of the allmother kohiiki who despite their title never had a single child.

A false god of sorts, she was jealous that they played, and spoke, and shared eternal knowledge to those from today and tomorrow. The Aereis waited, and waited for three millennia, and finally the Kohiiki allmother left, sad and hopeless.

The Aereis flew down casting order and life in to a broken kingdom teaching them of the world from before, when the volcano was a mountain in a sea. When the very oasis they stood on was nothing more than an island therochales congregated in massive herds of thousands.

The broken lands stood in confliction staring hatefully at the first predators, the ones who caused this wonderlands destruction.

From this hate the Aereis allmother molded the land into what she thought as perfect.

A land with no rules and only her false prophecies stolen from the great lmakosauridons from that long taken sleep and dreamed of better days.

::::::

I saw what had become of my waters filled with scratch marks, trying to get rid of what was the last words to this beloved place to me.

What changed?

I saw the Aereis, staring along the land like it was a junevile just out of the egg. What cruel fate was this?

I forged this land though my broken heart and it now belonged to a false god? They did not know who had forged these sands into something better, who watched it change and cry?

I looked for anything that remained, I may have been confined to the waters and held captive by the binds of the waves but the rain and wind told me songs and stories from tomorrow and today.

I listened to what happened, not of peace but of trickery and jealousy, and I raged.

I called every storm I could call hoping for change

I called for the greatest floods and the strongest hurricanes

The most evil gales that tore through mountains like paper

I called to every cloud and every drop of water to reek justice to what had been my hopes and dreams.

Dishonor to had been once was, but I am not cruel.

I called to the furies had sent to not harmed those who still remembered, those undeserving of the evils. Those who met justice would be given it in kind, I will reap just what they sought.

What was left of my land, stricken grew better, the red sands filled with blood no longer haunted the corrupt oasis. Trees grew tall and the island from yesterday grew back. But this cruelty still must meet justice.

I swam to the heart of this world and cried my regret, not thinking of the blood shed to a world that will never know. I will give something back to fix what had been lost.

I wanted to give the gift of a portal locked away. The wardens were long gone, I could not open it.

So I searched for some being who could. For decades a swam the endless waters, listened to the rains chatter and the winds excited symphonies.

I found what could’ve been, the tired ancient sar’hingaro from the days of the hellions, and it’s dying hope. I took what was needed, a soul for the freedom of a wastelands sorrows.

….

…

..

.

Finally my gift had been given, the world the wardens locked away in their unfit justice.

So few were left from that exile but they came back and I was happy.

I watched as my gift healed the blood that had built this tomorrow.

I am at peace now so I say this to my last hopes and dreams, I am ready to sleep I have rebuilt a world into something that yesterday had been, today had destroyed, and tomorrow was again.

It had been 20 long millennium and I am tired, so I sleep in the primordial rocks I came from with my two sisters. They will comfort me while I sleep, have been away from them for much to long…

From the ends of the earth and the reaches of the sky, my greatest treasure, I have told to you,

Till I awake again,

Leviathan

[onepiecereactions]

One piece scenario: Lovely Ace (English edition)

Title: Lovely Ace

Pairing: Ace/Marco (friendship)

Note: Humor, around 2 000 words.

Lovely Ace

A blue lightning tore the sky darkened by clouds of black ink. The First Division commander transformed into a flaming phoenix in a tenth of a second, soaring through the air, slicing through the air with phenomenal speed, and crashing down full force on his target. His foot, coated with haki forcefully smashed the ice giant. Shards flew to the point of impact, freeing Admiral Aokiji's arm. The admiral, despite a second of surprise linked to the strike force of the Emperor's second, quickly came back to his senses. At the same time, ten cannonballs flooded the ship of Whitebeard's second fleet. Several pirates, injured by the attack, screamed in pain. Behind the smoke created by the blast, Vice-Admiral Momonga appeared, running towards the Second Fleet Commander, already battling Vice-Admiral Smoker.

Marco saw in the distance the body of Vice-Admiral Momonga quickly coated with haki, including his weapon. The phoenix didn't have time to tell his brother about the surprise attack. This minute of inattention costed him a lot, Admiral Aokiji put haki on his hand, gripped the right ankle of the pheonix which was then push into the air. The blond barely had time to feel the bones of his phoenix freeze from the admiral's haki, when he slammed hard against the cliff. He internally cursed himself for that second of inattention that would cost him and his brothers a lot, and passed out.

3 hours later.

Vista grabbed the escargophone and waited for his father to answer, his body wet with sweat.

“Father, we had to change course and head south. He started. The slowness of his voice showed the fatigue the commander was feeling. He continued quickly, however.

“The First Division encountered two warships from Marineford when they were just a few miles from the island. On board were Vice-Admiral Smoker, Vice-Admiral Momonga, and Admiral Aokiji ... "

He paused for a moment when he heard his father grumble on the other end of the line.

“The second division was closely following the first so they were able to help them. The two divisions still suffered a lot of damage, we have a lot of injuries. Fortunately, the Third, Fifth and Eighth Divisions arrived at time. We managed to get them to turn back and leave. ". He finished.

« Perfect, thank you, son. How are Ace and Marco, go help them manage the ships if they are too tired. » He ordered in a deep voice.

Vista took a few seconds to respond.

"Ace is coming off with a few bruises, nothing too bad, he was still on fire after the battle. Vista paused to take his courage.

"What about Marco? How is Marco Vista? Why isn't he calling me? "

Vista managed to hear a hint of concern in his father's voice.

“Admiral Aokiji used his haki to freeze him while he was transformed. Apparently he would have smashed against the cliff. The layer of ice is extremely thin but robust, he is completely trapped in it. Ace became crazy and insisted on taking him himself to the island’s hospital where we docked. He didn't want to hear anything despite his own injuries. He took Marco with him about ten minutes ago. The other commanders and I decided to let him do it and make him promise not to try to melt the ice himself but to just take him to a doctor and ask for a specialist. » Explained the swordsman.

After a short moment of silence from the two pirates, the captain thanked his son and hung up.

20 minutes later, ten kilometers from the port.

The Second Fleet Commander's race was steady despite the fatigue his body was beginning to feel. Flashes of Marco's accident flooded the dark-haired man's mind, wondering a thousand questions at a time. After an hour of running through the rainforest, Marco frozen under his arm, Ace finally saw the town’s entrance. It was a more developed island than most of the New World islands. Big buildings framed the streets and gave way to well-maintained main roads where the majority of the inhabitants traveled by bicycle.

He continued his course and rushed down to the first street that came, looking for a sign or any other way to find his way. At the turn of the second street he ended on an huge boulevard full of life. A food market was set up in the central square where children and pets were running.

Ace rushed into the building on the corner of the street and ended his run in a tavern. He ran to the bartender, Marco still under his arm.

"My friend is seriously injured, do you know where I can find someone to treat him? I have been told about a hospital on the island? The commander asked hastily.

The bartender, surprised by the pirate's fury, remained silent for a moment, analyzing the situation.

Ace urged him to answer, while remembering Makino's conduct lessons.

“Well, it's more of a big clinic than a hospital. But I think you'll find someone good there, they're pretty versatile and know a lot about everything. It's a long building surrounded by trees ten minutes south of the boulevard where we are. On exiting, take the first right, continue straight for 7 minutes. When you see the first cherry trees, the clinic will be on the right. "

Ace thanked him warmly and rushed out of the tavern.

He arrived into the building ten minutes later, scaring those present.

« My friend needs medical treatment now, he's been frozen over an hour ago now. » He yelled in the hall.

He then saw a woman, the secretary, get up from her desk and run down the halls. Ace remained stoic for several minutes, catching his breath and trying to calm his mind. He then noticed the few people present, patiently waiting their turn in the waiting room. But he especially noticed the dogs, cats, and some sheep next to their owners.

" What… ? » Ace had no time to think any longer, a man in his fifties in a surgical gown and gloves rushed towards him. He was followed by another man carrying a stretcher. The man grabbed the frozen phoenix and put it carefully on the stretcher. He invited Ace to follow him as he walked through the halls of the clinic.

"What is the species of this bird, how old is it, and is there any medical history I should know? The vet asked quickly.

Ace waited for a moment, surprised by the turn of the situation.

"Uh, I… phoenix, from the phoenix devil fruit, in his thirties, and uh… uh… he's wearing glasses." The two caregivers stopped in the middle of the corridors.

" I beg your pardon ? "

“I am Ace, commander of the Whitebeard Second Fleet. And that's Marco,whitebeard’s vice-captain, he faced Admiral Aokiji who froze him a few hours ago. He then hit a cliff and… that’s all. "

The three men looked at each other dumbfounded. A question hung over: was there a need for a doctor or a veterinarian in this case?

The vet looked at Ace's head, completely lost, and huffed loudly.

"Okay, I guess that's going to be for us then. Levi, get him into the rehabilitation wing. You will leave him in the horses balneotherapy pool for two hours, at twenty degrees. Then you will put it in the chicken incubator, same temperature, until the end of the evening. You will evaluate its constants and its general condition every hour. If needed, I have the escargophone on duty, you can call me. » Ordered the vet to his young graduate colleague.

As the younger left with Marco's stretcher, Ace followed him, asking Levi if he was allowed to stay with Marco during treatment.

"Pet owners are not allowed to stay during treatment and are kindly requested to wait in the waiting room," Levi recited, as if it was the twentieth time of the day that he was repeating it.

The two men stared at each other for a moment.

"Ah yes, um, I think since it's not really a bird ... Arrgg, come if you want but don't touch anything and let me do my work."

Ace nodded and continued on his way behind Marco's stretcher.

The commander of the first fleet was installed according to veterinarian protocol. After an hour, Ace noticed that the ice was slowly melting, not breaking. He could even begin to see his brother's right foot (or the squeeze? The paw?). He informed Levi, who grabbed a device, read some information from it, reassured Ace, and pulled out an ID bracelet to fill out and put on Marco's healthy member.

"Just the usual protocol" Finished Levi before handing the bracelet to Ace.

Ace took it all over the place and tried to fill it in the most adequate way possible. In view of the final result, Ace burst out laughing but followed the instructions and put the bracelet on the phoenix.

The next day, around noon.

The door to the First fleet dining hall slammed open, letting Whitebeard's vice-captain pass through. He seemed slightly tense and pissed off.

He was greeted by his brothers with multiple hugs and sake proposals. However, this was not enough to calm the commander down. He seated alongside Namur who had remained with his fleet to help the First and Second fleets recover from the previous day's attack.

"I am reassured to see you on your feet Marco, you scared us a lot. Namur began quietly, offering a full plate to his blond brother.

"Did Ace manage to get you to the hospital? We tried to reach them in the evening to hear from you, but we never succeeded. They must have been overwhelmed "asked the fishman.

"Besides, where is Ace?" "

"If you haven't heard from me it's because lovely Ace didn't take me to the hospital but to a clinic. "

Namur, not knowing what to answer because not seeing the problem of private medical clinics, let him continue. He notices his brother's gaze darkening and his fists twitching on the table.

"This moron took me to an animal clinic." Marco finished.

The room then became silent, giving everyone time to integrate the information. Then, a shower of fat laughter appeared in the room.

Marco tried to stay calm as much as possible.

He noticed that Namur kept silence as much as possible and thanked him inwardly.

He finished his plate, swallowed a tall glass of sake, took a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and left, an escargophone in his hand.

"I will call father. If you want to get Ace back he is locked in the sheep pen in the veterinary clinic, in the south of the town after the forest. " Marco finished before slamming the door and disappearing from the room, still to the laughter of his brothers who were struggling to get over it.

Namur, taking advantage of Marco's absence, let out a laugh as he imagined his brother surrounded by sheep. He inspected the paper Marco had left on the table before leaving. He then recognized an identification bracelet, but unlike those he had seen before, he understood that this was only for animals.

He turned it over, read the second fleet commander's childish handwriting and couldn't help but burst out laughing.

“Name: Marco the phoenix.

Owner: Portgas D Ace.

Person to notify and number: Mr Edward Newgate, escargophone number XXCOCCXCCO. "

End.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter three: take this longing

“your body like a searchlight, my poverty revealed. i would like to try your charity until you cry, ‘now you must try my greed’. and everything depends upon how near you sleep to me.” -“take this longing”, leonard cohen

The sun had dipped behind the Los Angeles skyline and in turn, the entire area was bathed in a blanket of bluish violet darkness. It was moments like that there in the northeastern side of the city that Sam realized she had missed it all. She peered out the windshield at the winding dim lit freeway before them: all the jacaranda and oleander trees tucked behind the brick walls that lined the road around them. Somewhere near there was the old neighborhood in Alhambra where her parents used to live at before she was born.

Chuck took the next exit to one of the side streets down below, past a small row of low palm trees off to the right. Beyond the trees stood a mural painted upon a wall of pale bricks. Sam couldn't exactly tell what the mural bore but she made out the sight of a series of bright colors there in passing.

“Did you see that?” Greg asked her.

“I did, yeah,” she said.

They rolled up to a stoplight and Sam glanced about the intersection before them. The darkening freeway to the left, the stretch of road right in front of them and all the mission style houses up that way as well, and to the right, the four lane parkway that took them into the heart of town and closer to that old neighborhood. The faintest of memories in mind and yet a memory nonetheless.

“Oh, god, the memories that are coming back right now,” she admitted.

“That's right, this is your neck of the woods, isn't it?” Chuck said as he raised his attention to the rear view mirror; even in the dim light, Sam made out the sight of the little glimmer in his eye.

“All of Elsinore and this side of L.A. in particular,” she said. “My parents lived around here when they first got married. They also lived closer to the beach, too—down by San Pedro.”

“Love San Pedro,” Tiffany declared.

“Oh, yeah, it's all cool down that way. San Pedro, Long Beach, Rancho Palos Verdes—it's all the real nice part of L.A.”

Sam thought about a walk on the beach at some point. So much she wanted to do while she was back there in California, that is if she could do it. Bill wasn't willing to let her out for any reason whatsoever.

Hell of a time getting back to New York if she so wished to do so.

In the meantime, she thought of her parents. Or at least she thought about Esmé and what she planned on doing following the divorce. The fact that her parents were splitting up left her wondering where it all went wrong when she wasn't looking. Her mother became an author and her father had his own things to deal with and yet she had no idea about either one of them.

Much like with her secret about living with Bill had to be kept away from Joey at all costs, she knew that she need not tell a soul about the divorce as well. As far as she knew, Bill had no idea about it, and he didn't need to know about it, either.

Within time, they reached the center piece of Alhambra, the vast stretch of dark grass nestled in between a series of scraggly but still fully shrouded oak trees. The grass made a little hillside near the middle of it all. And right near the sidewalk stood the dark brown wooden city sign: Sam peered out Alex's window to the stone sidewalk out there as Chuck searched for a place to park.

“We're just gonna be seeing them in a little restaurant,” he announced to them. “It’s another little baby thrash band, too, so it’s a humble restaurant rather than the sunset strip.”

“They’re not Poison or Ratt, anyway,” Alex noted in a low voice.

“Don't really wanna walk too far, though,” Chuck continued, “you know?”

“Right, right,” Tiffany said.

“Especially after all of the running we just did,” Sam pointed out. “And the fact I fell on top of Greg.”

Alex laughed out loud at that and Greg bowed his head at that.

“I saw that!” Chuck declared. “That was actually pretty funny—no offense, Greg.”

“Greggy,” Sam said in recollection of Zelda's nickname of him.

“Greggy!” Tiffany chimed in.

Chuck then swerved towards the curb and they took the spot closest to the corner, right across the street from a small bar in a brick building with a pink and blue neon sign in the window.

“We're seeing them in there?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Nah, next door,” Chuck told her as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Mr. Skolnick here isn't twenty one yet—neither are they.”

“Really?” Sam muttered but Chuck never replied as he climbed out first, followed by Tiffany, and they leaned the seats forward so she, Alex, and Greg could climb out into the impending darkness.

Chuck and Tiffany led the way to the warmly lit restaurant next door: on the far side of the room stood a doorway into a separate floor for a band to play. Behind them stood a long table with Death Angel shirts.

“Here just in time,” Greg remarked right as the lights turned low. The five of them were only a select few in a small crowd but it didn't seem to bother either of them up on stage. All five of them had that smooth Pacific Islander skin that seemed to glow with a halo under the dingy lights. All five of them were slender and svelte and their instruments seemed far too big for them.

“Band of cousins,” Chuck told Sam. “Each and every one of them.”

“I was just gonna say,” she started, “they all look related to one another. Like they're brothers.”

“All literal kids when they started out a few years back,” he continued. “About around the same time as us, but kids, though. Literally kids—you think Alex is still just a baby when you first saw him and also right now. I think Andy, the drummer, was fourteen when they dropped their first album. That was like a month after we officially changed our name to Testament.”

“Wow!”

“Hello, Alhambra!” the bassist declared into the microphone with a bit of a high pitch squeak of a voice. “We are Death Angel.” Indeed, they struck Sam as a five piece band out of a high school up there on the stage. But she knew they carried with them a bit of prowess from her secondhand experience with Mark. He then ran up to the stage with a portable microphone in one hand, and those long black dreads streamed behind his head. His slender little body was wrapped up in a big black Slayer shirt and baggy black jeans that appeared to be falling off of his hips.

To think Aurora had an encounter with him right before her wedding. The more Sam thought about it, the more she wished for Aurora to have gone with him rather than that harebrained Emile. But as far as she knew, Aurora never touched him once and she only did it to rile her up, especially after her behavior in recent months. He gave those dreads a little toss back with a flick of his head and he showed a big beaming smile out to the audience.

“This is from our brand new album—it's the kind of album you listen to in the City of Angels, too,” Mark said into the microphone head. “It's called Frolic in the Park.”

“What a name,” Sam joked, to which Greg and Alex burst out laughing at that.

“Exactly!” Chuck declared.

“Hit it—”

For a band of kids, they reminded Sam of the Cherry Suicides, just by their relentless nature, their tightness, and the high scratchy shriek that Mark sang in. They weren't nearly as akin to punk rock and they lacked that gory aspect as well, but they were definitely up there; his thick black dreads reminded her of Joey. She needed to call him at some point.

“Man, they just pull, don't they!” Sam shouted.

“They do!” Greg shouted back.

Mark lashed his tongue and threw his dread locks back so that he resembled to a sea monster up there. Andy kicked his drum so hard in order to get the crowd clapping: given it wasn't a very big room, Sam could feel the thumping right through the floor. Chuck and Greg also stomped along with them.

“Let me hear you guys!” Mark bellowed into the microphone. “I wanna hear this room come alive! Make the Philippines proud, Alhambra!”

He raised his hands up over his head as they plunged into a good long guitar solo. Sam thought of the Cherry Suicides in Boston, when they became a thrash band themselves for a few moments. The whole series of claps lasted about five minutes before they returned to the original flow of the song.

Death Angel played one more before they parted the stage, and Sam, Alex, and Greg treated them to applause.

“Hey, kids, you want a shirt?” Tiffany offered the three of them.

“Can get a whole bunch of shirts, actually, Tiff,” Chuck told her from behind them, “they’re all like a buck-fifty.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Bill’s complaint about a bag of crackers. Cheese crackers that were the same price as a handful of T-shirts she could sleep in that night and the one afterwards. But at the same time, she still shook her head at the very notion. And he was about to lose what income he had left; but Marla had the right idea to pressure him into finding a better solution for himself. Sam thought back to what her mother had said about things growing treacherous and sticky when kids were involved.

Greg bowed into the men’s room in the restaurant while Chuck and Tiffany strode outside into the night. Sam turned to Alex.

“You want something to eat?” she volunteered as she tucked her small bag of shirts under her arm while she put her change away.

“Nah, I’m not very hungry believe it or not,” he said, “Chuck also told me that he and Tiffany are going next door to bar for a drink.” To which he then eyed her juggling her things only to put her wallet away. “Here, let me help you—“

He took the shirts so she could put the change inside her wallet, and then her wallet back into her purse. Once she had it back against her body, he handed the shirts back to her.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“Wanna take a walk outside?” he offered her.

“Take a walk on the wild side?” she retorted, and Alex laughed, a big hearty bout of laughter. But he led her out to the front door of the restaurant, where the night had fallen upon Los Angeles: a hazy orange glow emerged from the downtown area, such that Sam could only see the stars in the sky if she turned her attention to the north, over the mountains.

Alex led her to the corner next to the bar, and they both peeked inside: Chuck and Tiffany were in fact in there and at the bar in anticipation of their drinks.

“Did Greg say anything about being in there?” Sam asked him.

“Nah, he just said he was using the bathroom and then he’d meet us outside.” Alex took a glimpse over his shoulder right then.

“I’m not seeing him, though.” He stood there at the corner of the sidewalk and she awaited right next to him there. Once they glanced about both ways first, he took a step off of the curb and she walked side by side with him to the opposite sidewalk, right near the car. But Alex himself kept on going into the darkness: the sole light came from the glow of the city, the neon lights behind them, and the sole street lamps on the corners up ahead.

“Would you believe that before I joined Testament,” he started at one point, “I never really had been to the L.A. area?”

“Really?” She was stunned by that, to which he nodded his head, even in the darkness.

“Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area my whole life,” he told her. “Never really felt the need to leave until I decided I wanted to be in a band. Sometimes I made visits to New York City or out to Vegas, but never the City of Angels. It was weird telling Chuck that, too, because he was born in L.A.”

They reached the street corner and he ran his fingers through his hair once more. Even in the nondescript light, Sam made out the sight of his deep eyes as they glanced off to their right. She was once again alone with Alex, and what better place than an area she called home for such a long time.

“I will say this,” he began again as he strolled along the sidewalk with her right next to him.

“What's that?”

“I'm glad that you're out this way,” he admitted: whenever he looked over at her, the ambient glow of everything made him resemble to a little porcelain doll. “Ever since we got together on New Year's over in Ithaca, I went home thinking, 'I was really wrong about Samantha.'”

“I feel bad about you overhearing at that conversation I had had with Aurora, though,” she confessed. Meanwhile, the sidewalk deviated away from the grass and gave way to pillars of pure concrete.

“Why?” he asked her as he stepped down in the barren storm drain.

“You saw a side to me that I didn't really want you to see.” She followed his lead into the storm drain, away from the concrete and almost into the street.

“Why? She was your best friend and she pretty much left you behind at this point.”

“And she made your day all about her,” she added.

“And she made my birthday all about her, right,” he echoed her.

They kept on walking around the concrete until they reached the next edge of the sidewalk. Beyond that something dark emerged from behind the pillars.

“Bit of grass here,” he pointed out.

“Grass, the trees, and the hill,” Sam added, and she turned to him. No moon out that night but there was in fact plenty of ambient light from the city near there and the very town of Alhambra; despite the dim light, however, she could make out the sight of that gradual hill side not too far from the concrete's edge.

“Remember during Kirk and Rebecca's wedding when you and Zelda rolled down that one hillside together?” he recalled.

“Oh yeah!” Sam snapped her fingers at that. “And you and Joey ran down it together with your shirts off like you were a couple of athletic boys.”

“I dunno about him but my suit was getting a little heavy at that point,” he pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and a lopsided little grin. Through the darkness, she noticed his eyes pointed towards the other side of the grass. “Hey, there's the car.”

“Where?”

“Due north of us from here. Right over there.”

“Shall we frolic in the park?” she joked.

“At this time of night?” he pointed out.

“Yes.”

“There's no light, though, Samantha. We can't see the creatures and things that crawl about the grass beneath us.”

“Well, if we frolic about in the park, we gotta get closer at some point, though. So you can protect me from all the bad things that linger about down in the grass.”

“Well—you're technically married now,” he pointed out as they continued onward to the next corner. One more corner, and they were back at the restaurant and the bar, and of course the safety of the car.

“Yeah... but I don't have a ring, though,” Sam pointed out. “Sure, Bill made me sign some things but we don't have the things that make a marriage a marriage. Or at least so I think.”

“But you are technically married to Bill, though,” Alex insisted. “That means we can't fool around or do anything like that or anything that involves any kind of frolicking. Or at least that's what the Jew in me tells me.”

Sam giggled at that.

“Mr. Wandering Jew,” she joked.

“The Wandering Jew!” he recalled with a chuckle. “I think we gotta put a name on that at some point.”

“Who, you and me or you and Testament?”

“Testament! That could be a track for an album in the future. When I get back to my guitar, I'll throw around some licks and see what comes out of it at some point.”

“You are just—you are fascinating, Alex,” Sam remarked.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. There’s so much more to you than meets the eye, and I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface with you.”

“You really have, Samantha,” he told her, “you like barely made an etching on the surface of the little Skol-man.”

“By the way,” she began and a part of her shuddered at the phrase given she knew Bill likes to employ that onto her, “I know you're a guitarist for a heavy metal band—but are there any other genres you play?”

“Not really,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Most of my influences tend to be rock n' roll based. Most anyways. I saw Miles Davis in a concert on TV a while back, and ever since then, that's piqued my interest for the jazz world. I was raised by older parents compared to my peers. Where they grew up to things like Grateful Dead, I was exposed to like Sinatra and Dean Martin when I was growing up.”

“Who do you tend to be influenced by?”

“Well, my favorite band ever is the Beatles. I think anyone who knows what they're talking about when it comes to music they mention the Beatles at some point. They have to mention them, too, otherwise they have no credibility. The thing that got me into heavy metal was Kiss—I remember being eleven years old and literally begging my parents to take me to see Kiss. I actually cried to convince them.”

“Aw!”

“Yeah, my older brother Nate was like 'okay, Alex, if we can't get Mom and Dad to say yes, turn on the water works' and I did! So the Beatles got me into guitar, Kiss was what convinced me to go into metal—and then I found Van Halen and Eddie Van Halen, whom I think genuinely inspired me to be a lead guitarist. And then I started finding more and more guitar players like Randy Rhoads and Stevie Ray Vaughn. I also found a movie—you might find it the next time you go to a video store like near here or over in New York—that came out when I was nine years old, I think? I was nine going on ten. It's called 'American Hot Wax'—got people like Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Screamin' Jay Hawkins playing themselves!”

“'American Hot Wax',” she repeated, “I'm writing that down.”

“Please do! The last time I threw out that movie name to someone they forgot it in like three minutes and then I never saw them again.”

Sam stopped right on the sidewalk in search of that one piece of paper, the one with Chuck's and management's phone number written on one side, and a pen down inside of her purse. Alex stopped right before her with his head bowed a little bit before her. The neon from the bar across the street from there provided enough light for her to find it but she had to squint her eyes in order for her to adjust to the sight of the ink on the paper.

“Can you see?”

“Sort of.” She held the paper within the pink and blue glow of the neon and that proved to be enough for her.

“'American Hot Wax',” he repeated. “The story of Alan Freed, the disc jockey who introduced rock n' roll to the masses and even coined the term, too. It's a little obscure, though, I remember one of Nate's friends had a copy of it and I happened to watch along with them. So you might have to look around for it.”

“A little late movie night the next time I see Marla and Bel,” she said as she carefully wrote the words down.

“Do they still live in New York, by the way?” he asked her.

“Marla does—Belinda went up to Albany to work in a shop that specializes in stained glass.”

“Oh, wow, that's badass.”

“She tried to get me to take stained glass when we were in school but it went through twice.”

“Damn, that would've been awesome.”

“She showed me a few little tips and tricks on the whole world of glass. There’s just… so much I want to do. You know?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Absolutely.”

Alex then turned his attention to the sidewalk before them, to the car still parked there. Chuck and Tiffany were in that bar there while Greg appeared to be still in the restaurant.

“What shall we do next?” he asked her. “We kinda walked around in a big circle just now.”

Sam tucked the piece of paper and the pen both back into her purse, and she glanced up at the grass before them. They were close to the car and the sole light came from the neon across the street: he was too young to go inside there and she needn’t drink lest Bill ask her about it by the time she came back. As far as she knew no one would see them out there.

“We can lie here, though,” she suggested, and he giggled at that.

“Just lay on the grass?”

“Yeah, like star gaze. Just walking around here, I can tell that the sprinklers haven't come out yet, either. We're a ways out from the very center of L.A., so the light pollution isn't so bad out here in Alhambra.”

“Yeah, guess we sure can,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just don't get too close to me, though.”

“Why not?” Sam laughed.

“Because when you get too close to me,” he started with a little gyration of his head, “it warrants a kiss from you.”

“I won't kiss you,” she assured him. Alex sighed through his nose and he ran his fingers through the piece of black hair on the right side of his head. That little glimmer of gray atop the crown of his head appeared even lighter against the soft neon glow near there.

Sam tucked her new Death Angel shirt underneath her arm, and then she led him onto the soft dry grass in the midst of the trees. It wasn't in fact entirely dry: a light dew already began to fall over their heads. She guided Alex towards a spot on the grass, the driest spot as far as she could tell there. He had rolled up that single bag of T-shirts into a tight bundle and, once Sam stopped right in place, he dropped down to the ground and he set the bundle down on the grass behind him.

“Oh, I see what you're doing,” she declared as he lay down flat on the grass and his shirt lifted a little bit up his body. Even in the darkness, Sam made out the sight of that little sliver of pale skin between the bottom hem of his shirt and his jeans, about the width of her thumbnail, but a sweet little sliver of his tummy nonetheless. She bunched up the shirts in her bag as well, and she followed his suit and lay down next to him there on the grass. A couple of inches separated them from the other.

“I won't kiss you,” she assured him for the third time in a row.

He shifted his weight there on the grass and folded his hands upon his stomach, which in turn made the sliver between his shirt and his jeans a little bit bigger. He swallowed and his neck appeared much more shapely than before. She thought of drawing that shapely neck at some point. It was a fleeting thought, but that thought in fact swam right through her mind at that point. The shape of his side profile and the soft appearance of his black hair as it sprawled over his shoulders even down there on the ground.

Sam then cleared her throat and he rolled his head over the makeshift pillow for a glance over at her.

“So if you write a song called 'The Wandering Jew',” she said, “will you credit me for inspiration?”

“Of course,” he replied with a slight chuckle. “I mean it only makes sense to do just that.” He showed her a sweet little smile and then he rolled his head back to where he lay flat on the bundle of the other shirts. “The Perseids are coming up here soon. At least I think they are.”

“Perseid meteor shower?” she asked him.

“Yeah. They're right in the middle of August—at least I think they are. That's my memory of them from when I learned about them in school.”

He fetched up a big yawn and then he stretched his arms up over his head. Sam rolled her head over her makeshift pillow for a look at the side of his face: the way in which his side profile had such a fineness to it. The prominent but gentle point of his nose. The full sensual shape of his lips. The smoothness of his skin and his chin.

She never thought of Alex as being so lovely, but laying there next to her, she recognized another side to him that she hadn't seen before there. She inched closer to the side of his face, much to his surprise. He gaped at her and raised his eyebrows at her.

His little body enticed her and she wanted him, and she wanted to kiss that little pearl of gray upon his head, now a little tuft the size of her index finger. She set a hand on the side of his face and she lunged in closer to his face.

“Samantha!” he gasped. “What're you doing?”

“I want to kiss you,” she whispered into his face; she showed him her tongue.

“Don't,” Alex begged her in a soft whisper and with a shake of his head.

“I want to kiss you,” she insisted as she gazed into those deep eyes and at those sweet smooth lips, as smooth as butter.

“Samantha—Samantha, please—you're legally married and you have a boyfriend, too.”

“So?”

Alex froze right in place at that.

“So?” she repeated, and he cracked her a smile and he laughed at that. He brought a hand to his mouth in order to stifle his laughter given they lay together there outside of the bar. She lifted herself up and then rolled over him: she suspended herself over him. He was right underneath her; Sam brought her face closer to his so she could smell the soft cologne on the side of his neck.

Decadent, like a little treat for her and all for her, all for being such a bad girl.

A bad girl with a good boy.

His chest heaved from her being right above him. The tips of her dark hair dangled down towards his chest and she ran her tongue around her lips to get him going as well.

“Samantha, I—” He could hardly talk. “—I—” She pressed a finger to those lips.

“You're just—you're so sweet and intelligent and funny and refined and just—everything totally different from what I'm used to.”

Alex swallowed but he never moved a muscle.

“I want to come closer to you,” she begged him as she touched his chest. With that free hand, she unfastened the bottom lip there at the top of his shirt. “I want to come closer to you, Alex Skolnick.”

Or at least that was what she thought would happen had she inched even closer to him. Instead she fluttered her eyelashes to rid of the daydream, and she just lay there on her back next to him and every so often, she peered over at him and the soft and smooth side of his face.

“I should tell you,” she began for real that time, “you have the cutest little lips.”

He snickered at that.

“You do! They're really cute and shapely, and I like how they kind of peel back whenever you talk, too.”

“I'm a mishmash,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Like one of those rag dolls,” she added.

“One of those rag dolls they piece together of all the scraps they scrape up from like the bottom of the barrel.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted.

“These lips under this schnoz and with these eyes and with the little tuft on my head? Yeah, it's bottom of the barrel, Samantha.”

“You are not from the bottom of the barrel, Alex,” she persisted. “I assure you.”

“I'm like something that the world likes to keep a secret, and by the time it comes out, it's already been said and done.”

He sighed through his nose and Sam frowned at that. And then it hit her, especially with Joey and Marla not around, and neither of her parents knowing about Alex himself.

“Speaking of secrets,” she began, to which he rolled his head back over the roll of shirts on the ground. “Can you keep another one?”

“I'll lock secrets up in a vault and never let them out,” he said in a single breath, “especially after Louie told Marla about your living situation. Can't believe he did that.”

“My parents are getting divorced,” she told him straight up.

“Aw, really?” He gaped at her.

“Yeah.”

“Well, why am I sworn to secrecy about it?”

“My mom doesn't want me talking about it with anyone. But she doesn't know about you, though.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Really?” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah. So—could you?”

He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth.

“I'll put them in the proverbial vault, Samantha. Don't you worry about a thing.”

“Hey, kids!” Chuck called from across the street.

“I want you to be my secret, too,” she blurted out to him.

“Me?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Yes. From my parents, from Joey, from everyone. I want you to be my best kept secret.”

“Sam?” Tiffany called from across the street. “Alex?”

“I’ll explain later,” she vowed, and he nodded his head and they both clambered up to their feet. Alex fixed his black hair and Sam straightened her top.

“Oh there they are, babe,” Tiffany pointed out from the shadow under the neon lights.

“Had a little fun on the grass?” Chuck joked as they headed closer to them.

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out,” Sam retorted, and Chuck erupted into laughter. She glanced over at Alex and the shadow cast over his face.

“Gonna be hell of a time getting you back home,” he said in a low voice. “I just think about how that man treats you, too.”

“That’s an understatement. I don’t even want to go back there.”

“You wanna hang out with us!” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “Next time we’re down this way, I’ll make sure you get a spot with us in the hotel room. I’d hate for you to go back to him.”

“Aw, Alex, that’s so sweet of you,” Sam said with a smile on her face.

“There’s Mr. Christian,” Chuck declared.

“Looks like he’s got some food, too,” Alex added. Indeed, Greg returned to the car with a brown cardboard box in one hand. The two of them awaited Chuck’s unlocking the doors as well as the folding back of the seats.

“Still not hungry?” Sam asked him as she took a whiff of whatever was inside there as Greg walked past.

“That might change,” Alex confessed to her before he climbed into the back seat behind Tiffany first.

[weclassygirl]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐬

Word count: +4.1k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader 

Summary: “I wasn’t lying.”

Warnings: slowburn, mentions of kidnapping, angst,  i guess that’s it, i’ve never written warnings before so… I might have missed something or add something wrong

Author’s note: hello! i’m back with the second part! it’s a bit different from the atmosphere of the first part but i decided to slowly work the story, i know that this part may seem boring to some people but please bear with me, baby steps. As always give me your most brutal honest opinion so I can improve. English is not my first language so beware. 

dulce periculum series: 01 / ... / 03

Penthouse reference (x)

Gif credits (x)

The ride to the penthouse is rather slow, the New York traffic not helping. 

During your negotiations with John and the other two men you forgot about bruises blossoming all over your body. Now after leaving the hotel the pain started to show up even more. You could feel it in your lungs with every breath that you took, whenever you turned your head to the window you could feel the piercing pain going up your spine. 

Santino of course noticed it and already planned to have a doctor look over you and question more about the events that caused them. Right now he was sitting across from you in the leather seat of a car, just staring at your bruised face and the light that was reflecting in your eyes as you looked out of the window.

You were marvelling at the city that you've only seen in movies and read in books. Somehow it feels surreal for you to actually be here. 

You always wanted to travel, school trips are nothing compared to this. Whenever you went with your school to a large, foreign city there was never enough time to see it in its full glory. Now you have chance, hopefully. 

You can feel a pair of eyes on you. You turn in your seat to look at Santino. He studies your face, body language. His navy suit looking a bit disheveled but still sharp. The lights of the city bounce back on the pin settled on his tie.

"What?" you ask slowly.

"You've never been to New York, have you?" he phrases it like it's the most obvious thing. 

"Not all of us can afford travelling to some places." you turn your head to the window. Your breath leaves a faint fog on the glass. "I've visited some foreign cities, but it was always with a school trip so we didn't see much and didn't have the time to explore the whole beauty of them." 

The lights from the buildings illuminate your face with various of colors. You see small droplets falling on the glass before it starts heavily raining.

"What happens now?” you ask straight away. “I meant it when I said that I could go to the Bowery King. You didn't have to do this."

"You'd rather spend your time out there,” he points his hand to the window “seeking shelter from the rain in the company of the bowery, on those dirty streets? You're better than that, cara mia. Your set of skills proves it." he takes a pause, staring out the window himself. His hand rises up to his cufflinks, playing with them. "That is of course if you weren't lying about them." 

He looks up in your direction with an expression that some would fear. You try to not show that fear. 

"You doubt me? Why I'm hurt." you comment with a slight smile. 

He says nothing, his lips form a shape of that smirk that is so familiar to you.

"We can test your abilities later." he waves his hand. "For now you still owe me some explanation."

His voice has suddenly became more serious. But you wonder on the word he used, we. You don’t think much about it, instead you reply. 

"I've already told you why I saved you." 

"I don't mean that situation. I mean those." he points at your bruises. 

You try to quickly cover them but his gaze is faster. 

"I've been-" "-attacked in the alley while pursuing the thieves of your bag, yes. " he cuts you off with a bored tone. "You've mentioned. But there's more to it, isn't it?" he leans in closer. Hands clasped in front of him, his elbows on his knees. The suit creases at his shoulders.

"Those bruises are not from any theft, those marks on your neck look like you've been choked, almost to death I would say." he points with his head towards your neck and you immediately try to cover it with your hoodie. "Furthermore your wrists. Redness around them suggest that you've been tied up, more likely with a rope or handcuffs. I'd assume that you have a pretty adventurous sex life, but that yellow patch forming on your jaw says something else."

You cast your eyes at him, slightly widened. You take a quick look at your wrists and he was right. There are still red lines circling them. Your hand comes up to your jaw and you flinch at the contact.

You turn to him with a stone expression.

"You're suddenly Sherlock?" you scoff.

"Nothing more than a good observer, bella." 

His gaze is unrelenting. 

Demanding. 

Before you can answer the car comes to a stop. You look out of the window to see a fancy complex building. Two doorman standing in front of it. One of them comes up to the car with an umbrella, opening the doors. 

"Welcome back Mr. D'Antonio."

You feel the droplets of rain falling on your arm. You still stare at the Italian in front of you.

"Come on now, don't let the young man wait in the rain."

You turn away from Santino and step out of the car straight into the rain. You don't hide under the umbrella, instead you walk towards the building. 

Santino watches you with an amusement showing on his face as he exits the car. You're sure you can hear him say to the doorman.

"Ah, women, you never know what's going on inside their heads." 

The second doorman up front opens the door for you and you're immediately embraced with a warm air of the place your in. You climb up the stairs before you’re placed in the lobby of the hotel.

It’s relatively quiet, only few people still around, minding their own business. 

You examine the place around, you’re standing on a gorgeous brown marble floor that is filled with white lines, creating an intricate design. The walls of the lobby are light beige, which gives it an elegant look. There is a big opening in the ceiling, which is the sort of that golden light and to your sides are another sets of stairs which lead to a restaurant and a chilling area. Up ahead is the reception, behind it stands a man dressed in a dark suit. For a moment you wonder how much one night might cost here and you know that you wouldn't be able to afford it.

 You don't hear steps creeping up behind you, but you feel a warm hand being placed on your shoulder. You flinch at the touch.

"Not your everyday sight, I presume." Santino says glancing around. "Come on." he directs his head to the reception and points to it with his chin. 

You follow with slow steps still checking out the beautiful space. You place your hands on the reception desk as Santino says his name to the man in order to receive the keys. 

"Should I send the doctor to your room, Mr. D'Antonio?" The concierge asks. He reminds you a bit of Charon. 

"Yes." he answers shortly.

The man handles him the keys and the Italian takes them in his hands, he starts moving towards the elevators. You follow him once again, like a clinging shadow.

As you enter the elevator he presses the button for the top floor. You say nothing, you expected that he would own the most expensive suite. The ride up top is rather quick but it feels like it goes on forever. Neither of you utter a word, the only sound that can be heard is your breathing. It gets heavier every time you take a deep breath. Santino notices that barely visible movement. 

The elevator stops, followed by the soft sound of the bell and opening of the doors. You step out of it first with wary steps. This part of the hotel looks just like the lobby only more luxurious. If that's even possible. 

Santino moves to the big door at the end of the hallway. They hold some of the most beautiful designs you've ever seen. He turns the knob and gestures his hand to the apartment.

"Ladies first." he says glancing at you with those emerald eyes.

You hold his gaze before entering the room. 

Instantly you're met with a dark room before the Italian turns on the lights. You take in the white foyer that leads to the living room filled with windows. The first thing you can see while entering is the view of the New York. It's already evening, the sun has gone down, but looking at the city below you can see that the New York life has just began for the people. 

Santino moves his gaze in your direction. His eyes are filled with a curiosity as you gaze at the skyline of the city. Your eyes move to the dining room which has a door that lead to the kitchen. The kitchen itself is adorned with light brown cabinets and marble counters. In the middle of it is a white island with the same marble.

You don't notice the Italian behind you. Instead you wonder what have you gotten yourself into. This isn't your world, you have no place here. The only reason you're still alive is because you could be of use to the Italian. As far as you know. 

You know what happened after he was shot in the movie, but now with you saving him from that fate everything is possible.

The more you think about it the more you realize that you being in this world is not going to end well. 

"You sure have a lot of money to spend." you admit, trying to ease up the tension filling the room.

"This is nothing, no more than 25 million." he says it as if everyone spends that large amount of money on such things. You're turned away from him and you're thankful for that cause your eyes go wide. He probably knows that, smug bastard. 

Your short exchange is replaced by a soft bell heard throughout the penthouse and you feel the tension drop from your shoulders. 

Santino heads to the door to let in the man behind it, you follow him. That person being the doctor. Though you didn't realize that it would be the same one from John Wick movies. The doctor is silent, only greets the Italian with a small "good evening".

The three of you move to the dining room where the doctor starts to unpack his equipment. You take off your lightly wet hoodie, left only in a tank top. You sit in the chair waiting for the doctor to begin, he turns to you first. He moves his hand to your face to inspect your formed bruises and you immediately reach with your own hand and grab his wrist. He stops his movements and focuses on your eyes, the dark bags under them have already started to become more visible.

“Sorry.” you whisper and slowly put your hand down. Santino watches this small interaction with a familiarity. Just a few minutes ago you’ve reacted in the same manner to his touch when you first entered the hotel. He, of course, didn’t made it seem that he acknowledged it. “Please, continue.” you mutter after a second.

The doctor glances at your hands and sees the red circles around them. “What happened?” 

You look up at him. “Nothing, just an unfortunate event.” The man looks towards Santino, wondering if he had anything to do with it. The Italian stares at him with a warning in his eyes that seems to say Don’t ask any unnecessary questions, it’s not what you’re here for.  The doctor continues taking care over your injuries. 

“What’s your name?” he asks after a moment. You consider giving him a name, but keep on with the one you gave at the Continental. “Jade.” 

The doctor says nothing, just hums, taking in the information. Santino gives the man an ice pack, you didn’t notice his short disappearance. You put the bag on your jaw, while the old man inspects bruises on your arms, chest, stomach and some cuts on your arms. 

The whole process is quick, only a few looks at the state of the bruises, occasionally stitching up the opened cuts or fixing the poor work you’ve made stitching yourself up. 

When he finishes up he moves to Santino, but before he does that he gives you a bottle of painkillers. The old man starts taking care of the Italian’s face. The little cuts he earned at the museum started to dry, leaving scabs. His face doesn’t need that much attention like in your case, but still need to be taken care of so that it doesn’t get infected. He doesn’t give Santino any painkillers, not that he would even accept them. 

The doctor packs his stuff into a briefcase and leaves the dining room. His disappearance is followed by the soft click of the shut the door. 

The both of you are left alone, still sitting beside the table. None of you say anything. You still apply the ice pack to your bruises and Santino once again follows your movements. 

"I wasn't lying." you break the silence. Santino locks his eyes with yours. “I wasn’t lying when I said that some guys took my bag.”

“So what’s the cause of the bruises then?” he asks. 

You sigh, you can't tell him, you don't trust him, that's for sure. You just settle for a brief explanation.

"I was kidnapped before those guy took my bag." you tell him. "When they did that I was actually getting out of the pharmacy, my apartment didn't have any painkillers." you start playing with the bottle in your hand. Twirling it around, your eyes set on it. "I was sleeping for a few days and my body hurt all over so I decided to take some pills. But of course I didn't have any, so I went to the store." you finish, he doesn't need to know more, you don't know for what he might use it. 

"Your kidnappers gave you those bruises?" he asks delicately. "Yes." is all you say. You don't want to think of that time again, especially since it's still so vivid in your mind. You can feel the pain coursing in your body as it was flowing back in that basement. You feel tired, exhausted. The ice bag that Santino gave you has already started to melt. 

The Italian stands up from his seat and reaches out to you. You study his face. It’s covered in faint bruises and cuts, now tended to by the doctor. The soft light of the chandelier highlights the side of his face. 

You don’t take his hand this time, instead you move to the freezer and put the halfly melted ice back in. When you turn around he isn’t there. You move to the hallway and towards the living room and find him seating on one of the couches, spreaded out on it, one foot resting on his knee, his head turned in the direction of the New York skyline. 

You don’t sit beside him, just stand in the entrance looking at him. You wonder why he didn’t ask further or said something. Most people would have already pestered you with questions, but not him apparently, he respects your decision not to talk about it further. Maybe besides his father giving up his seat to Gianna, he was treating him even worse than you suspected. 

What if he went through something similar? 

What if him being the possible heir of the Camorra and the High Table seat made him a target?

You’re about to walk back in search for a bedroom, before his voice reaches you.

“Why didn’t you use your real name?” he asks suddenly, throwing you off your train of thoughts. You turn in his direction, his suit has creased a little, the light is faintly reflecting in his eyes.

You think over his question and sigh. “Names hold power,” he fixes his gaze on you, listening closely. “they can either get you out in the world or… destroy you.” 

“You think, giving your second name will change that?” you tilt your head at him and smile.

“You’re D’Antonio, your whole family is know all over this world, respected, feared. In mine no one knew it and sometimes I felt safe because of it.” you confess. “No one could point to me for something I’ve done, cause no one would know it was me. Giving your real name can be dangerous. As I said before, in this world even more so.”

The end of your speech is followed by quietness. You direct your eyes to the tiny bottle of painkillers in your hand. Santino understands, somehow whenever you say something he understands. 

“And do you wish to be seen as someone in this world?”

You sigh. Do you? You start walking into the living room. Slowly you move towards the window.

“I don’t know. I have no idea how long I’m gonna stay here or even if I’ll be able to go back to my world. But for now I’ll take any other world than mine.” you say coming closer to the window. The New York looks stunning this time of day. You see Santino standing up from his seat in the reflection of the window. He stands beside you, both of you overlooking the city ahead.

It’s a comfortable silence. It seems as it tells more than any words could. You’re both broken in your own ways, you know that. You accept that. 

“You saved me, don’t you think there may be some consequences to your actions, cara mia?” he side eyes you, his green eyes gleaming in the low light. 

There it is again. That name. How many girls had he called that? Did he ever or are you a special case? You scoff under your breath.

“You said a similar thing to John, when you visited him in his home with a marker.” he gazes down at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Repercussions.” you mock his statement from that night. 

He… chuckles, it’s not a full laugh but it’s always something. It’s a pleasant sound to ears. It’s soft, alive... warm even.

“I have a feeling that you will always amaze us with your knowledge of our lives, no matter how small.” he admits with a slight smile still playing on his lips. Slowly you begin to smile too, your jaw hurts but right now it doesn’t matter. It’s good to feel a bit of happiness, even if just for a moment. You can see both of your reflections in the window. You in your tank top, covered in bruises, he in his dark suit, small cuts on the face and few unruly strands of curly hair.

“Why did you save me? Truly.” he wonders. 

In their world people don’t save each other, their lives always comes first. Yet here you are, throwing yourself in front of the gun that was directed at him. In front of him of all people. 

“I meant what I said there, that I somehow understand you.” you point out. “I was working my ass off my whole life, before I got here I was living alone, had a job at a cheap coffee place, barely managed to make ends meet. My family didn’t really appreciate my hard work, always told me that I wouldn’t make it in the world, and sometimes I agreed with them.” 

Santino listens to your speech, he wants to know how could your story be connected to his life. Both of you are complete opposite. The prince of Camorra, who has everything and raised to one day rule as the head of the family, and you, a girl that struggled in her life just trying to make a living, no one knowing her name. 

“When John came to you at the museum you had that look in your eyes when you said that your father willed his seat to your sister.” you think of that scene, it was weird watching those emotions being portrayed on the screen, but you felt them in your bones. “I saw that look before, because I see it in the mirror everyday. It made me think that maybe there’s more to your story, more to discover since the only thing the audience knew was that you helped John with his Impossible Task.” you glance towards him, but his eyes are already boring into your own. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to, you know you’re right. 

He did live in the best conditions imaginable, but were they truly enough? He tried so hard to please his father, only for him to give the seat to his sister. You want to say something more, but the exhaustion is getting to you. Santino senses your tiredness and decides to speak up. 

“You should rest. Those bruises need to heal.” he points to you and slowly starts to leave the living room. You follow him and say “You should do that too. You avoided death, that’s gotta leave some kind of… mark, on the soul," he turns his head to you as he keeps walking towards the door. "and I think that running from a literal death’s emissary can be tiring.” 

As you finish your sentence, both of you stand in front of the white door, Santino turns the knob and you enter the white space. To your left is a big king sized bed, the front wall is made entirely of windows that overlook the city. To the both sides of the room are entrances to the balcony. The room is simple yet beautiful and elegant. 

You furrow your eyebrows and turn to Santino, who’s standing in the doorway.

“What about you? Where will you sleep?” you question.

“There’s another spare bedroom here, you take this one, you’re more injured than me.” he says. Of course there is. “There’s a hallway that leads to the bathroom through those doors.” he points to the door to your right. He begins to leave the room, but you quickly go after him. “Wait!”

He turns to you, the hallway is dim but you can still see the green reflecting in his eyes. 

“Thank you.” you simply say. He stares at you for a few seconds and just nods his head as if to say no problem. 

“Buona notte, Jade.” he says in his mother language, putting an emphasis on the name you gave at the Continental. You smile faintly.

“Goodnight, Santino.” you reply softly. 

He begins to turn away, heading for his own room, you still stand in the hallway looking at his back as he walks away. You decide to go back to your own room. 

Closing the door you take the pills that you were holding in your hands and put the bottle on the nightstand. You strip yourself of your clothes and walk towards the bathroom. The room itself is also striking white with a bathtub to your right and a vanity with a large mirror to your left. There’s a shower further into the small bathroom and a fresh towel and a robe hanging next to it. 

You quickly jump into the shower and turn it on. The warm water instantly slides down your body, easing the tensed muscles. You take about 20 minutes to wash your body, being careful with bruises and cuts. When you exit you put on the white cotton robe, drying your hair and brushing your hands through them

You stand in front of the mirror. Your face is bruised, you knew that, but you haven’t really looked at it properly since leaving the Continental.

The bruises have already started to turn yellow. Your neck is still adorned by faint hand prints, but not as heavily as at the beginning. The bags under your eyes are darker than usual. You decide to leave the bathroom, not wanting to look or even remember the cause of those bruises in the first place.

You push back the bed covers and get under them, the only light turned on is the one coming from the lamp on the nightstand beside your bed. You look towards the door, as if expecting Santino to walk through them. He doesn’t. 

You reach the light switch and pull on it before the white room is engulfed in darkness. You fall asleep with the faint hue coming from the lights of the city and a green eyes dancing in your mind.

[mrspillow]

Hello. Can I ask for a scenario for Zancrow Belvran and the fem!Reader (member of the Fairy Tail guild)? Zancrow decides to change and join the Fairy Tail in order to be closer to the fem!Reader. Please, if you don't mind.

It took me a bit longer than I expected but here it is!

I kind of started with writing how they met and I hope that it is okay for you, so please enjoy!

Benign (Zancrow x Reader)

“Let's just hope that I don’t have to take care of some serious wounds”, you stated with a small smile and got back to cutting the vegetables while your companion was already busy with the pot.

“Knowing Natsu that might become problematic”, she answered and both of you grinned simultaneously.

The weather was calm, and the hot sun was burning on the Tenrou Island, Fairy Tail’s holy ground, only blocked by the white tent of the camp. You were not here for the first time but still, the island managed to catch your breath every time you came here – and no, not as a competitor.

It might be true that your magic in particular was not made for offense but the ability to heal wounds – those of others and yourself – made you a valued member of the guild (and often needed, considering Fairy Tail’s reputation)

And on occasions like this, you were more than happy to follow Makarov’s request and make sure that nobody died because of some magicians overdoing it in the heat of battle. And you loved helping your comrades in every way you could.

Suddenly, smoke made its way towards the sky, sneaking up near the horizon and Erza was the first one to notice it.

Concentrating on the thin line of black, she squinted her eyes, tracking each and every movement carefully.

“That’s not good”, she started, her voice full of concern for the approaching danger “I don’t think it’s coming from the others.”

Faster than you could process it, Erza dropped everything and changed the apron back to her armor. If you weren’t already alarmed by Erza’s behavior, you certainly were when you heard the faraway explosions.

Steps came closer and Mirajane came into view, the same certain look in her eyes when she made eye contact with Erza and nodded. Without another word, Mira stormed off into the woods, leaving you to hope she would be okay.

“You stay here, (Y/N)”, Erza didn’t bother asking for your opinion but you trusted her judgment enough to not question it in times like this “Everyone knows the camp is here and if there are injuries, I need you to stay here and take care of everybody, okay?”

You nodded silently and she only smiled back before she took off to who-knows-where and left you alone. It didn’t take long before you started to grow fidgety, trying to calm your nervous hands while playing with an (h/c) strand of your hair but it didn’t quite work. Every rustle coming from the trees, every whisper of the wind, and even the animals of the wood seemed like a potential threat to your heightened senses.

It was then, that flares shot out into the sky, burning bright and hot enough to smolder the leaves of some trees. Confused, you watched the red of the flames mix with a kind of black you had never seen before.

What the hell is that?

Making a few steps forward, you followed the flames until you found yourself running fast. Erza told you to stay in place and you knew that, but something drew you closer to whatever was happening there, and it gave you a bad feeling in your stomach. So much, that you could feel that someone needed help direly.

You ran until you could no longer see the flames in the sky and you realized how far away you had come from the camp where you were supposed to be, you weren’t sure if you would find the way back.

And then, for a good few seconds, you heard nothing but your breathing and your heart beating fast in your chest and you wondered if your intuition had failed you or if you had taken the wrong direction when your hearing picked up coughing so quiet that it would have been easy to miss. However, you didn’t miss it.

It did not take you long to reach a small clearing in the wood and immediately, you could feel rays of sunshine warm your face, making you forget the reason you came here for a moment but then you heard the cough again.

At first, only a mop of thick blond hair came into view and the longer you stared at the mass of hair, the more you realized that you didn’t know whoever was lying there, so you moved cautiously.

“Who is there?”, a hoarse voice croaked, and you stopped in your movements because you couldn’t hide any longer. The whole clearing seemed to get wrapped in a thick layer of silence when you finally managed to speak up.

“Please stay calm”, you responded, your voice quivering way too much for your taste “I’m only here to help if you let me.”

The person didn’t reply so you took it as a sign that you could get closer, even if it was slowly, but you couldn’t risk getting hurt yourself for healing it would cost you more strength and magic power than you could muster.

The closer you came, the more you could see of the mysterious person. It was a young man, around your age if you had to guess, with long blond spiky hair that you could even see from afar but more significant were the burns on his whole body like you had seen way too often (it took you, like, a second to know that those were coming from Natsu) and assuming from how intense they were, he got a pretty bad beating.

Your gaze trailed first down and then up to his upper body to take in the extent of these injuries when your eyes got stuck on the big black tattoo on his right shoulder. Your body froze for a second when deep red eyes med your (e/c) ones and you remembered what Levy and you were talking about just days ago.

Grimoire Heart, one of the most dangerous dark guilds the continent has ever known, had been the one that attacked Tenrou Island, the place that was like a second home to every member of Fairy Tail. You knew instinctively that someone wearing this guild sign meant not only trouble but a threat to the guild and your life.

And even if you knew that, you couldn’t help but feel his pain like it was your own.

“What are you staring at?”, he barked and tried to sit up, but lied back down while hissing very quickly “You like the view of your enemy on the ground, fairy?”

You didn’t answer his provoking but instead sat down beside him and held up your arms in a peaceful manner to show your good intentions. Soft green light started emitting from your hands as soon as you let them hoover over his body.

“Hey, are you mute? Don’t you dare touch me with those freaky hands of yours!”, the blond was nearly shouting and tried to crawl away, but it was no use with those wounds of his. Still, he started to exasperate you.

“Please”, you took a breath before you continued “just let me help you. You are hurt and with healing magic, I can make it better, but I need you to trust me for just a few seconds. Is that possible?”

For whatever reason, the young man seemed to stop struggling and stared at you to the point where you were growing uncomfortable.

“Why would you even do that?”, he suddenly asked, his voice dripping with spite and a tad of bitterness but his eyes seemed devoid of any emotion, just deep red staring straight into your soul “I am the enemy and you would be better off with just letting me rot to death.”

“I just want to help you so what does it matter if you are my enemy?”, you asked with furrowed brows “I am human and so are you and that is what is most important.”

He went quiet so you started working on his injuries, giving your all so he wouldn’t feel any pain, but you still could hear his labored breathing. It took you only some minutes, but he still wasn’t completely healed, now it would just need some time for him to be as good as new.

You leaned back to breathe in when he sat up slowly as not to open the wounds again. Sitting across from you, his eyes were fixated on your face entirely, taking in every feature he could discover, but he didn’t make any move at all.

“Zancrow”, he simply said, and it took you more time than it should to figure out that it seemed to be his name “What’s your name?”

“…huh?”, you mumbled and blinked a few times before you processed his question “Oh! I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.”

“You’re weird”, he replied shamelessly and crossed his arms in front of his chest before giving you a strange look before he sighed “But I guess you’re nice.”

 “Here we are”, you said and stopped walking forward to look at the old and creaky building in the middle of nowhere “Everything will be alright, Zancrow.”

You kind of said it to yourself, but also to calm the person to your left. The blonde seemed okay, but you knew that he was fiddling with it on the inside, mostly because of all the things that had happened. Remembering the day that both he and you managed to flee the Tenrou Island before hell had gone loose. And how he had knocked you unconscious so that you wouldn’t protest and dragged you off the island but you still regretted leaving your comrades there.

Automatically, your eyes went to his right shoulder where there had been his guild symbol, but just as you expected, it wasn’t there anymore, and that fact made you smile internally.

“This place smells strange”, he concluded after a short time and his resting scowl lifted for the blink of an eye and he moved closer to you so that his body was mere inches from yours “But it smells like you, so I’ll like it.”

You didn’t answer but a small blush crept onto your cheeks and you didn’t even try to conceal it, he knew it anyway.

“You don’t have to be scared, Fairy Tail is a guild where everyone can belong”, you mumbled under your breath and squeezed his hand lightly to reassure him “They will like you.”

“I am not scared”, he barked childishly but you only shook your head and laughed, so he continued more seriously “But I told you that I don’t want to be the way I was before anymore. Not just so that you would be proud of me but I want to return the favor you did me back then.”

You nodded and with a deep breath, you took a step forward, into the future.

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot, murder, DEATH IN DETAIL, gore

wc; 8k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!” The words ring through the air, lingering in your head long past their existence.

There’s a sixty second grace period, in which you're allowed to check your surroundings and see what you’re up against. The land, who you’re next to, and what you want to do after the gong sounds. Run away, or run towards the cornucopia? You have to decide quickly. The more daring tributes will head straight towards the cornucopia, and it could end in two ways. Success, or death.

Whoever designed the outfits were right to make the jacket and the shirt thin. You’ve only been above ground for ten seconds and you can already feel the sweat running down your back. It’s weird that it’s so hot already, especially since it’s only ten in the morning. Back home, it would be cooler and much more pleasant outside.

The cornucopia is made out of gold, stretching twenty feet into the air. The mouth is wide, and it thins out towards the back. The tail stretches higher than the mouth, curling in the air like the tail of a scorpion. Inside of the building is everything a tribute could ever wish for. Things that could carry you for days, maybe even weeks.

It’ll all make survival a whole lot easier. Spread out in front of the cornucopia are more goodies. Weapons, food, plastic, firestarters, backpacks, tents, everything you could ever need. The further it is away, the less important it becomes. In front of your feet lies a rope that looks to be six feet long. Not worth it.

To your left is Cass, her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail too. Her eyes are on yours, and the two of you share a nod. Like you’re challenging her to a race to see who will get there first. Her or you? You may be small, but you’ve always been quick. You think she’d have a better chance if she ran away.

Past her is the boy from Six, Amos. Next to Amos is Verda, and beside Verda is Eytelle. Eytelle and you share a knowing look. That as soon as the gong sounds, it’s towards the cornucopia or you’re a coward and forfeit the alliance. You’ve fought hard these past couple of days to get here, and lost a friend along the way. To give up now would be foolish. You’ll see her there.

You can’t see anyone important past Eytelle. To your right is the girl from Ten. She’s weak, small and feeble. You saw how awful she was inside of the Training Center, and she scored an average five. You wonder if it was all a hoax to make people think she was weak. However, you distinctly remember her failing to pick up the swords because of how heavy they were.

Swinging them made her fall. She’s not much of a threat besides the fact that she’s also looking to go to the cornucopia. You’ll have to keep your eyes on her when you get there. To die by her hands would be an embarrassment. 

You see Blaire next to her. He has a kind smile on his face, eyebrows a little raised as he cocks his head towards the woods. Are you going with him? You shake your head no, you’re staying with the careers. You’ve made that decision already, accepting their offer. He’s disappointed, you look past him to see Lennox is also staring. He gives you a hard nod, and you give yourself the last twenty seconds to become accustomed to your surroundings.

This year, the cornucopia sits on sand, something that will be so hard to run on if you’re not experienced. It’s going to spray up everywhere when you run, and it’s going to slow you down. You know you’re quick, but this will slow you down.

There seems to be trees all around you. Behind the cornucopia on the other side, there’s a dense forest. Some are palm, reaching higher into the sky than others. There’s bushes, batches of leaves attached to the ground that you think are wild and could possibly be poison ivy. You can’t be sure how big the arena is, you can only see so far and it’s always a toss up.

Far off to the right is a cliff that looks fairly daunting to climb. Beyond that, you can’t see anything. Behind you is forest too, but you think it’s peculiar that there’s sand all around. You crouch down on the metal plate, being careful not to fall off. You remember the year where a girl had fallen off the plate and it blew her into the sky.

You can see through the trees, now. The trees aren’t as crowded behind you, they’re spread apart. You think you can see water washing up and onto the sand. Yes, there it is, a vast blue body of water. You don’t think you’re in the middle of the ocean, maybe a lake instead. Out there is salt water, the smell is unmistakable. Which only means that somewhere on this island will be a freshwater pond with fairly safe drinking water.

If the arena is an island, it has to be big. The arena’s are hardly ever small, typically they’re gigantic and it takes hours to reach one side of it. There will be plenty of hiding spots here, which means a hard place to explore and find other tributes, unless they’re stupid and pick the obvious spots.

You stand again, realizing that you can’t see Allio or Trink at all. Which just means that they’re too far or they have to be on the other side of the cornucopia, somewhere with Finnick. It’s not your problem, especially not Finnick. They’ll find their way to you.

Your stomach lurches the second before the gone sounds. The race has begun.

You jump off of the metal plate, not liking the way your feet sink into the sand. You take off running, though. It’ll be easier to make the cornucopia yours if you’re one of the first there.

You’re careful to dodge any of the goodies that are laying around in the sand. You don’t want to accidentally get your foot caught in something, and trip and go flying. You dig your boots into the sand toes-first, and use the little divots as leverage to push yourself forward. One foot in front of the other, you know that there’s a spray of sand behind you.

You live fairly close to the coast in District Four. Their beaches aren’t the best, but they’re covered in sand and a pain in the ass to run in. Your brothers always had a way of doing it though, and you’re not sure how. But the more you run, the more you seem to realize you’ve got a pattern down, and focus on that to get you to the cornucopia.

You spare a glance on either side to see that the others are having trouble with the sand, just like you thought. You’re way ahead of the others, the only person that seems to be a runner-up is Lennox. Blaire has made a beeline towards the trees on the far side of the cornucopia. If Finnick were running to the cornucopia too, the both of you would be neck in neck.

Ten more feet and you reach the cornucopia first, out of breath, chest heaving. You reach for the nearest weapon, a sword displayed on the wall. It’s just barely on the inside of the mouth. All the other weapons are too far back into the cornucopia, all displayed just as nicely as this sword. Going back there would mean to trap yourself, though. You don’t bother.

The sword is odd in your hands, heavy. You don’t like it. You can’t throw a sword like you can throw a spear or knife. You turn around, expecting to see you have a few more seconds before the rest of the impact hits, but you’re met face to face with the girl from Ten. In her hands is a sword, which she carries easily. The bitch was faking it.

A loud sting of fear pierces your heart. It’s your first fight, quite possibly your first kill. Despite the fact that you’re a literal threat in front of her, she still seems unsure on what she wants to do. Hesitance at any point during this could cost you your life. You don’t let her decide what she wants to do, and instead you swing as hard and as fast as you can.

She barely blocks you. Realizing that she can’t run, she has no choice but to fight, and she puts up a fight. Every swing you make for an artery or a stab for anything, she deflects you and counters it. You stupidly think of all the times you watched the boys back home pretend to sword fight with sticks on the playground.

Some would use one, others would have two. You remember watching boys and girls throw rocks and tiny sticks, pretending them to be bombs and throwing knives. You never really participated in these faux fights, but there was one time when you did. You hated every moment of it, but you managed to barely make it out.

But that’s all pretend, and this is real life.

Around you, you can hear the panicked shouts and blood curdling screams of others dying. The squelching of blood makes your stomach hurl and you bite back the vomit that is very much rising in your throat. The more you swing the sword, the more tired you grow to be. The two of you are far from the cornucopia, now.

This girl, who has gotten a five on her training score is putting up a fight you’d never had expected from her. You struggle for a moment, trying to figure out a chink in her armor. To see if she favors a leg, or an arm or completely leaves parts of her open. She doesn’t. 

To go from running to fighting has you out of breath and tired.

Without thinking about it, and expecting her to catch it, you fake right but swing left. She misses it completely, and you find your sword lodged in the side of her neck. She coughs, blood spraying onto your white coat. She reaches for the blade, fingers aching to get it out. 

Her eyes are wide, and it’s clear that she’s panicked. She slowly falls to her knees, face twisting. You reach for the hilt again, pulling on it hard, too hard. You fall back, watching the sword come looks and blood spray out of her neck and into the air, landing in the beige-colored sand. 

She watches you, choking. You barely get to your feet, feeling bad for this girl that you’ve just murdered. She’ll never get to go home to her family, she’ll never get to cry and hug them again. But then again, this is her own fault. This girl thought that she’d come out of the bloodbath alive.

You grit your teeth, looking away and towards the rest of the battle as you slam the sword through the side of her skull. There is no canon, and there won’t be one until much later. The gamemakers wait to set them off until the bloodbath is over. It’s hard to keep track of the alive and the dead and it would be a mistake to miss a canon or accidentally put one out when no one had died.

You see Lennox, he’s preying over the boy from Ten, eyes wild and mouth bared to a grin. There’s already blood on his hands, you and him are even at the moment. But he’s going to break the score by killing Ten. You know it won’t be merciful. The moment that Lennox launches himself at Ten, you know that he’s out to make it entertaining.

Trink and Allio have joined you. Both fighting their own mini battles with tributes that you know are going to lose. You can see a few bodies already, but can’t tell who they are. You drag your feet on your way back to the cornucopia, vigilant and wary of anyone who might make a run at you.

You don’t see anyone. You’re quick with leaning your sword against a box, using your foot to keep it upright. You yank off the jacket and tie it around your waist instead. You’ve begun to feel the effects of the heat, and you’d rather not collapse in a useless heap in the already hot sand. On the same box sits a knife that you pick up and tuck into your belt as a safety precaution.

You watch as Ten falls at Lennox’s knees, a sinister smile across his face. A chill goes down your spine as you watch Lennox prepare to kill him execution-style. He raises his sword up, and when he’s gathered enough strength, you flinch at the sight of Ten’s head coming clear off. The head lands face-down in the sand, the body becoming a water fountain of hot, thick blood, before it too, falls in the sand. 

You swallow thickly, and Lennox moves on to his next target. It’s the boy that Trink is having a hard time fighting. From Five, you think. He’s putting up a good fight, and it’s making Trink look bad. You grab your sword, dragging it in the sand behind you as you gather with Lennox.

The boy seems to realize how much danger he is in, now. His eyes darting from Trink to Lennox. When he sees you between them, you think you see hope in his eyes. He must think that you’re there to save him, but you’re not. You’re just here to make his death a whole lot quicker, and that seems to dawn on him.

He’s backing up, away from you guys. Lennox and Trink attack him from the sides, already occupying most of his attention. With you added, he’s working overtime, and he’s fearful. His swings become less calculated and more last-minute and full of fear. All you can think about is how this would’ve been you.

Five deflects Lennox, and then you, and then back to Lennox. It opens up a wide window for Trink, she places her hand on Five’s shoulder. Before he can turn and kill her, she slams the sword through his side, and you watch it come out the other end. You lower your sword, and watch as she slams it in a few mores times.

You turn to survey, hoping that there isn’t much left to do. But there’s a tall tribute, double and a half your height, a scythe in his hands. He’s taller than Eytelle, taller than Laurel. A scream rises in your throat, you reach out to grab Lennox to get his attention, but come across nothing but air.

His dark eyes turn to you. You know who he is now, Horace. Thyme briefly talked about him to Blaire, Verda and Finnick. You didn’t listen to her much, you didn’t care for what she had to say. The only real part that you caught from her was the fact that he’s a butcher’s son, and she’s seen him carry hundred-pound deer like they’re the lightest thing in the world.

She said that her and her friends used to watch him carry much heavier things after school. She said she never saw something he couldn’t carry. 

He scored a ten in training. And you’ve got his attention.

You raise your sword, which seems so useless against his scythe. His is long, and all he’d have to do is extend his arm and he could kill you. One swing of the scythe and your head could come clean off, just like the boy from Ten. One bad move and you’re suddenly a dead body on your way home.

You keep backing up, not wanting him to come close. You don’t even know if you’re the real target, because earlier he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at Trink, but now the two of them are nowhere to be seen. You shuffle your feet back, burying your feet in the sand first.

You need to get around him, behind him somehow. Away from his line of sight, have him focus on someone else again. Not you. 

Before you can move to the right, wanting to make a half circle around him, your feet get caught on something behind you. You think it’s sand, but the moment you’ve fallen, you realize that it’s Five’s dead leg. You go to get up, but Horace has got his scythe too close. Scooting to the side would do nothing, you continue to back up, the sand is resistant.

This is how you die. A child that had played up a show for the Capitol. A girl who had said she would make it home, and made promises that she would along the way. All it would take is one swing to break all those promises.

You release the sword, no longer wanting it to drag you down. Despite this, you’ve still got the knife occasionally digging into your thigh, but never hard enough to break the skin. 

The knife.

You reach for it, pulling it out and holding it in your hand. He doesn’t seem to notice or care. You stop backing up. You can pretend. You’ve been pretending. The sweet girl, you beg; “Please, don’t.” but he doesn’t listen and continues to advance on you. You keep your eyes on the scythe, waiting for the chance and then he raises, clearly preparing to kill you.

You wait a second, and then lunge at his calf the moment he swings. You stab the knife into his calf, yanking it down. The spray of blood is hot against your face. You can hear him yell out, dropping the scythe and instead moving to grab you. You jump again, out of the way and towards the sword that lies only a few feet away.

It’s a race to weapons. You barely scramble to your feet, the sword is warm now because of the sun on the metal, and the blood on your hands makes it slippery between your fingers. You grip it tightly, and then turn to Horace, who still has his back to you, fingers reaching for his scythe.

You raise the sword above your head, feeling the ache in your shoulders at the heaviness of the sword. Just before Horace goes to fight back, you bring the sword down. Like a king to accolade a knight, except the sword lodges in the back of his head instead of a gentle tap against his shoulder.

Another canon. A second person’s life on your hands. You watch as Horace falls forward, and since your hand is still very gripped onto the sword, you’re thrown onto his body. On your knees, you’re face to face with the back of his split-open head. You grit your teeth, the smell of blood is metallic and fills your nose. Tears spring in your eyes, stomach lurching again.

You can’t hold back the gag, or the cough that comes after. In two seconds, you’ve lost your breakfast and the water you drank before you came inside. You’re shakily holding onto the sword, trying to keep yourself upright. There’s vomit in your nose, and tears running down your cheeks.

You struggle to breathe, not wanting a second round. You turn your head away and hum loudly, pulling the sword free of Horace’s head and stumbling back again. You fall onto your hands and knees, next to your knife. You wipe the blood onto your jeans, and then tuck it into your belt. After, you’re struggling to your feet and making your way back towards the others with your sword in hand.

You rub the tears, snot and vomit away. Watching as Trink smears blood across her cheek by accident. Her eyes find you, face twisting. She’s confused, you can tell. She looks around you to see Horace, and suddenly her face is breaking into a grin, “You--wow!”

There’s nothing to say. There’s no more fighting. You didn’t lose a single person in your pack. Everyone who’s dead are outsiders. You regroup inside of the cornucopia with the others.

“What’d she do?” Allio asks, looking over.

“She got that big guy from Eleven.” She claps her hand against your shoulder, “I didn’t even see it!”

There’s a look of jealousy in Allio’s eyes.

“I’m lucky to be alive.” you muse, taking a seat on a box. You take the neck of your shirt and use it to wipe the sweat from your forehead. To them it’s a joke, to you it’s real. You might have been his equal when it came to training score, but that was not going to be a fair fight.

At least your odds have increased, and maybe have gotten a few sponsors in the process. After all, you just killed a man that was bigger, stronger and older than you. He might have had brute strength, but you had outsmarted him. 

You watch and listen to what they have to say about the bloodbath. They say it was fairly easy, and they didn’t have to fight as much as they thought they would. All you can think about is the fact that you threw up a good amount of food that could have lasted you until this evening. Now, it’s just before noon.

At least they didn’t see you lose your breakfast right after killing Horace. You push yourself up from where you were sitting, and head out to check who and how many are dead. There will be canons later, and even a recap of who has died in the sky later tonight, but you can’t wait. You need something to occupy your mind.

Both from District Ten. The boys from Five, Six and Eleven. Both from Nine, Verda, and Cass. You stop above Verda’s body, staring down at the way she’s laid out. She’s not even five feet from her metal plate, and there’s a knife lodged in her forehead. She’s starfished, eyes open. You crouch down, whispering an apology while your back is turned to your friends.

You close her eyes, and then pull the knife out of her skull. It’s a throwing knife, which means that one lucky tribute had made it out with knives. Because no one has them spread out or around them as far as you can see. You note this, and shuffle pass Cass, whose neck is clearly broken.

“Nine dead.” you tell them when you get back to the cornucopia. 

“Nice.” Trink sounds excited.

Five in your alliance, ten out there somewhere. Two of them are Finnick and Blaire. For now, you think that they’re alive. There’s really no way to tell until the canons start blasting and whether or not their faces show up in the sky, indicating their deaths. 

You pack a backpack, preparing to air out of the cornucopia with your alliance. You kick a box open, expecting clothes and useless things but come across a first aid kit and some throwing knives. You pack all of it into your backpack, zip it up and then throw it over your shoulder.

There’s enough food in the backpack to carry you if you get lost or split from your group. There’s a sleeping bag--but you can’t imagine you’ll be needing it anytime soon with this heat--a canteen, some iodine tablets, and a few other useless things. Once the others are ready, you all head off towards the thicker part of the forest, since it’s where you all saw the most tributes fleeing.

The gamemakers waste little to no time picking up the bodies. You’re about a mile into the forest, all spread out in a line, looking for tributes when the canons start. And just as you suspected, it comes out to nine. There haven’t been any extra deaths for now. It’s just a matter of time when there will be.

“So, what would you call the arena this year?” you ask, not wanting to succumb to silence.

“Some sort of island.” Eytelle says.

It’s nice to know they think the same, at least it confirms your thoughts. However, it still makes you wonder if they know about the dangers of an island, just yet. It’s not just dense forest and plenty of trees, it has wild animals.

Allio snuffs, “I’d like to say it’s tropical, but it’s… not.” he says, swatting a branch out of his face, “It’s just your typical wilderness with some curve balls.”

“Tall trees aren’t really curve balls.” Trink says.

Lennox shakes his head, “I think he might be talking about the cliffs.”

And right on cue, all of you look over at the same time. Even through the thick branches of trees, you can see the cliffs. You’re not even that close, but it’s so very obvious how high up in the sky it is. Just leaves a question of whether or not there’s ocean beneath it, or plain ground. Both have a feeling of cement on impact from that kind of height.

“You guys want to take a climb?” Allio asks.

It’s your turn to laugh, “And let everyone know where we are? Do you want them to take from the cornucopia?”

“We’re away from it anyway, so what’s it matter?” Lennox asks, “They have to know because of the bodies being retrieved, right?”

“Maybe.” You say, “Or maybe they think we’re somewhere nearby and we’re going to go right back once they’re gone. And you’re telling me you want to hike up that? What a waste of daylight.”

“What are we even looking for?” Eytelle asks.

“Water.” Trink says just before you can.

And despite your best efforts, you all settle into silence. For about an hour, it’s just walking and keeping an eye out for any hidden tributes. You twist your ring in small circles, trying to keep yourself from biting your nails or anything else that might give off how nervous you are.

You’ve survived the bloodbath, which is possibly the worst part you’ll ever come across in here. Of course, now it’s left to the  unpredictability of other tributes, but you ran straight into the cornucopia and made it out alive. You fought two older troubles, one of them the size of a giant, and came out the winner.

It’s good news to Mags and Anchor, you think. Gets a lot of sponsors to line up after taking them down the way you did. However, you bet they saw your not-so-graceful demise after. Falling on top of Horace and losing your lunch… probably not one of your greatest moments. And honestly, you hope that if you do win, that’ll be cut out of the recap.

There’s no guarantee that it was even shown then, actually. You know that the gamemakers tend to switch the cameras when tributes are having private moments. Which includes an array of things, and you think one of those is puking. Either way, it shouldn’t have turned people away.

If they were to be face to face with something so gruesome and gory, knowing that they’re the ones that caused it, you can almost guarantee that they’d lose their breakfast too. Then they’d probably scream and cry and make it a lot more painful. 

Eventually, Eytelle thinks she’s found water. You all follow behind her, with Lennox taking up the back in case someone were to attack. You don’t really feel like standing guard at the back, anyway. After the two people you killed today, you know that you’ll be able to take the person down. But why would you want to?

If he wants to have blood and murder on his hands, then that’s his deal. With the careers, they’re always after the most kills, anyway. Makes their recap when they win interesting, and they end up getting praised for killing half of the arena. It’s not that way in Four, exactly, but it’s definitely that way in One and Two, since that’s the way they think.

District Four is a unique place. Teetering on the edge of being a ‘real’ career and just a plain district. Your poverty rate is higher than the ones in One and Two combined. It’s all because they’re favored a lot more than you guys, as always. And you wonder why that is.

What makes fish so good, huh? You’ve been around it your entire life, and to be honest it’s awful. The smell, the smell when it’s been baking in the sun all day, the smell when it’s been baking and it’s been around sweaty men. And of course, it’s the cheapest thing on the damn market because you have such a surplus of it.

Needless to say, you’ve eaten a lot of fish in your life. And you’re not really looking forward to eating more when you get home. In fact, you think you’ll take your ass down to the butchers and bakery and finally feel what it’s like to be a rich asshole. Just for one day, before you decide that it’s not worth it.

Eytelle was right about water. It’s a small pond, you crouch down and take off the backpack, pulling out the silver thermos and uncapping it. You disturb the water on the top, and then plunge the bottle in to get the water in the middle. The others don’t really do the same, and you can’t care. They’re going to be the ones drinking it.

They have the sense to drop iodine into the water. You all take a moment to take a break at the water. You strip off the white jacket and use the water to wash off the blood. When you’re done, you work on your arms and face.

You dry your hands on your pants. Then you pull off your shoes and dump out the sand and brush the rest out. Out there, there is no sand, it’s just plain grass and dirt. And it’ll be a lot less distracting and uncomfortable if you get rid of the sand all together.

You tie the laces as tight as you did last time, and then sit back and watch as the others finish cleaning themselves off. The blood on Trink’s face is mostly gone, but there’s now pink streaks down her cheeks. Lennox helps her clean it up.

The water is mostly still, sometimes there’s a ripple. You push yourself to your feet, “I’m gonna walk around the pond.”

“Yell if you need help.” Allio mutters, he’s working with a stuck zipper, “Goddamn.”

You pick up the sword, now realizing that you never traded it out for a spear. At this point, you shouldn’t even bother with a spear. You’ve got the hang of the weight, now. And it’s proved to be useful so far, so what’s the point in making you get used to a spear?

Around the pond are a few bushes, lots of trees. The further you walk, the more you can’t hear your friends. To be fair, they’re not even being that loud. If they were yelling like they were earlier, they’d probably be alerting the whole area of where you are. 

You hum to yourself, watching the way that the pond curves. You can’t find any hiding spots, so far. This would be a nice place to stay. Except for the fact that it’s so close to the cornucopia, and plenty of people are going to use it when they pass through. A dangerous spot, actually. It’s risky.

Nonetheless, you look over it anyway, and you’re satisfied to tell the others that the area should be clean, and you can continue walking. After a quick water break, you all head deeper into the woods, planning to stay the night out here.

It’s more of just wandering and useless talk as the sun begins to set. Allio manages to kill a boar, you’re set on the task of making a fire and the others are forced to argue out who’s staying up late tonight to watch over the others. You and Allio keep quiet, not wanting the attention turned to you guys.

It doesn’t work. Eventually, they’re asking what you and Allio think should happen. Allio says he doesn’t want to do it and thinks he shouldn’t be forced to, because of the boar. Eytelle agrees and says that she found the water, so really it’s just a debate between you, Lennox and Trink.

“If I take it, will I get a pass tomorrow?” You ask, knowing that you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow. But if they insist on walking back to the cornucopia, you’re sure that you can push through.

“Yes.” Trink says.

“Then I’ll do it.” You say, and it settles it easily.

You help cook chunks of the boar, and since you’ve volunteered, you get the first bite. It’s unseasoned, and terribly burnt and nowhere near what you’ve been eating the past couple of days inside of the Capitol, but it’s definitely a wake up call. Slowly but surely, the body is broken down, until it’s left to the more unflattering pieces.

When it’s agreed that none of you are hungry anymore, the pig is thrown away from where you all sit. Almost like a warning, that if you could take down a wild, vicious animal with tusks, then it’s a wonder what you all can do in a fight.

Conversation continues as the fire dies out. The warmth is being sucked away with it, and you watch as the others settle down in the grass. You pull on your jacket, thinking that just in case it does get cold, you’re prepared. You’d much rather be warm, than shiver through the entire night.

The anthem starts to play, and this is when you all look up to the sky to see the tributes faces. It starts with Verda, you can feel the pain begin in your chest. She wasn’t even your ally and you feel bad for her death. It’s all Finnick’s fault, with his damn plan on making you friends with everyone inside of the arena.

After Verda is the boys from Five, then Six. Cass shows up, then both from Nine and Ten, and Horace. Surprisingly, it looks like both of the Twelve tributes have survived. They’re young, twelve and thirteen you think you said. Hardly ever eaten and basically no survival skills. The only reason why they’re alive is because they didn’t run to the cornucopia.

The sky fades to black, and this is when everyone finally decides to call it a night. They all find their respective spots, prepared to spend the night on the ground.

Leaned up against a tree, you count the amount of animals you can hear. Birds, cicadas, you think there’s wolves, crickets. Trink rolls over, curling into a ball. She then uses the jacket as a blanket, draping it over her upper half, rather than just pulling it on. Guess it is cold.

The others don’t move as much. They seem to find a position and stay there for hours. It’s hard to find things to think of to keep you awake. You almost wish you had someone to keep you company. Even if you can’t talk, it would be nice to have another pair of eyes catching anything you might have missed.

It’s a good thing you slept well last night, otherwise you’re sure you’d be delusional and be seeing things. You stare down at the ring for a while, feeling yourself doze but not being able to bring yourself out. You’re just so damn tired.

It would be a shame to fall asleep now. Five careers all asleep around each other. Something would be able to sneak up on you, take out the tribute they want. You’d get in trouble for falling asleep and end up dead, yourself.

With a hefty sigh, you lean your head back up and open your eyes. They’re heavy, and you struggle to keep them open. You rub your eyes to wake yourself up more, and the moment you do, a long, low growl fills the air. You can feel your heart sputter and die in your chest.

You don’t want to move your hands. Moving your hands could set off whatever the creature is. You don’t have much of a choice, you think. You two can’t sit here together in some sort of sick stand off. It’s going to jump eventually. Maybe because Lennox rolls over or Eytelle breathes too loudly.

When you remove your hands from your face, you’re very careful. You can see what you missed before. Just opposite to you, a couple of feet back from Trink, is a tall creature with glowing eyes. You can’t seem to remember any animal that would fit the description. Then it dawns on you, and you can feel the blood drain from your face.

There is only one species that is so flexible to make fantasy come to life. And they’re no creature of nature.

They’re Capitol mutations.

You need a plan. If it’s only one, you think you and the others will be able to fight it. It might be tall, but there’s five of you and it should be possible for you all together to take it down.

Then, the eyes double. Going from one to two to four to eight. 

Fighting it out of the question.

As if you’re a snail, you move over to shake Allio. It takes him a moment, eyes opening and ready to ask you the matter. You press your fingers to your lips and motion upwards. He sits up, a harmony of snarls coming from the beasts. He looks just as pale as you feel.

He gets Lennox up next, and together they get Eytelle and Trink. Trink is by far the worst, with the way that one of them looks over her. She pushes herself backwards and towards you guys. Your fingers fumble in the darkness, finding your sword, slipping your backpack strap over a shoulder. 

The moment it’s free, you all have to run, “Cornucopia.” You whisper.

They seem to get it. There’s a silent, very silent countdown between you all. And then you’re on your feet and running. You’re the lead at first, arms swinging at your sides, backpack jostling at every step. But Trink turns out to be faster because she has no backpack, only her weapon.

Behind you, there’s screaming. Loud and clear, inspiring you to continue to go faster so you’re not the one at the butt end of the group. You’re sure that anyone nearby can hear, and they’re wondering if it’s a tribute getting murdered or something worse. If you were them, you’d be assuming the latter.

Eytelle seems to be at the end, and she’s behind. So long for being able to run faster because of her long legs. They’re no use now. You risk a single look behind you to check on her, and with the help of the moonlight seeping through the trees, you’re able to see what they are.

Pure terror.

When you reach back around, a branch whips at your face, feeling the sting linger and the blood begin to run. It’s not only you who has this problem, the others are struggling to get the branches out of their faces before they hit them.

They slap at your jacket, some get snagged but you keep on running and hope that the thorns come clear off and no rips are forced into the jacket. Most of the branches are low, shoulders and below. Your thighs hurt, you dance around the ones that will get tangled in your feet.

Suddenly, Eytelle is shrieking; “They’re bears!”

And you know. You caught a glimpse. Giant, brown grizzly bears with glowing eyes. They weight more than you, they’re bigger than you. It’s the Horace situation all over again. Except this time, they’re the Capitol’s pets and they won’t stop unless they kill one of you.

Eytelle is the closest, so you think she’ll be the one to die. It’s a sick thought on it’s own, but it worsens when you begin to hope that it’s her. Anyone but you. You can get through.

You slip between a pair of thin trees, the backpack getting caught. You get out of one of the straps, turn the backpack sideways and watch as Eytelle catches up. The backpack still isn’t free by the time she whizzes past you. You hold your breath, frozen in time as you watch all eight bears go past you and right after the others. Two bears to every one tribute.

The snapping of branches and screaming gets further. Once you’re sure that they’re not going to come back for you, you detangle the last of the backpack and take a breather. Sweat is dribbling down your forehead, tickling your skin in irritating ways. You catch a hold of your breath, waiting until you go to catch up with them.

You head right first, and then straight, keeping a distance between you and the path that they should have taken. The jacket is making you feel hot again, but with the cold air blowing through the trees, you can’t be bothered to pull it off. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re cold again.

Just as you begin to slow to a jog again, because you’re so obviously running on fumes at this point. A scream so raw, that you can feel the pain in your own throat, fills the air. It’s enough to make you hesitate on your next step, not wanting to walk in on whatever the hell is happening.

You watch where you step, making sure that there’s no branches or leaves that will crunch. It’s hard to see in the darkness, hard to be sure that every move you make won’t be the last or the cause of your demise. The screaming never stops, never fades into something quieter.

You find yourself getting closer, to your left is the bears. Straight ahead, another half mile it looks like, is the cornucopia. You think you could make it, if you run, not jog. You can’t see the others at all, and telling by the scream, one of them had been caught. The bears might just leave you alone, since they’ve gotten their midnight snack.

Peering through the trees, you’re able to see who it is. Stretched out on a sharp rock is Eytelle. Their hands dig into her limbs, her stomach as they tear her apart. She’s got her head thrown back, mouth open wide in a scream. You almost can’t believe that the animals haven’t shut her up yet. And then, you remember that it’s a show for the Capitol.

It doesn’t have to be, though. If you threw your knife, it would kill her now. Keep her from suffering too, and the others might even appreciate it. To know that you showed a girl you have hardly any knowledge of, mercy. She tries to yell for something, but it’s garbled out in tear-filled sobs that’s eventually interrupted by her own screaming.

Your fingers slip to your belt, pulling the knife out and preparing it in your hand. The distance between the two of you isn’t nearly as long as the spear-throw back inside of the Training Center. In fact, this one should be much easier. 

You wait and wait, looking for a perfect opportunity. Every time you think you have one, they’ll move in front of you. It’s all a game of anticipation. Unpredictable, until you find a pattern. They’re gamemaker controlled, of course. It’s a moving target to keep you on your feet.

The bear moves to the left again, and you throw your knife. You don’t even wait for the canon to go off--which it does--before you take off like a bat out of hell through the trees. You zip up the jacket to your chin, using your sleeves to block your face from the brutal hits of the thin branches that are bound to leave scars.

The roaring is much louder than the screaming. And their running is a lot more ground-shaking than it was the first time around. They’re all pounding against the floor, you can feel the rumble beneath your boots each time they make connection with the grass and dirt.

Before you know it, you can literally feel their hot breath down the back of your neck, feel the spit flying from their mouths during their snarls. One reach and they could grab you and tear you apart, just like they had done to Eytelle before you mercy-killed her. It hasn’t even broken dawn yet, and you’ve gotten your third kill.

You can see where the sand begins, dreading the moment you have to step onto it. In the depths of your chest, you have a feeling that the mutts won’t go further than the trees, and instead will sink right back to either mutilate Eytelle’s body or go back to the circle of hell where they came from.

Your calves and thighs burn, your cheeks flushed and itchy. All these quick breaths have got your mouth dry and throat sore. It’s only a little further, now. It’s right there, you can see it. Feel the free air on your nose. Ten steps, eight, six, four, three, two--

You’re thrown forward, flying over the first few feet of sand before you slam into it. Instantly, you know that something is wrong. And it doesn’t make itself known until you go to push yourself up, and your bag stings painfully. You yelp, tears gathering in your eyes as you give up the idea of saving yourself.

It hurts, even laying here in the sand does nothing but make you twitch. It’s warm, and it feels liquidy. You’re bleeding, and it has to be bad if you can’t even make out a lick of a cold breeze. You grit your teeth, blinking away your tears as you turn your head to the side, looking to the treeline. No bears, no mutts. It’s just you.

“Please.” you beg, you have to pick yourself up. 

The pain alone makes your vision turn black. You have to stop and take a break, using the cornucopia as a crutch to get to your feet. You don’t even know where the backpack or the sword is, anymore. All you can make out through your spotty vision is the vague sense of a campfire light that might be coming from inside of the cornucopia.

You want so badly to reach back and feel the damage, but the second you move your shoulders, you see white and black at the same time. Like heaven and hell clashing together at one, trying their hand at taking you to their paradise. You barely make it around the mouth, startling the hell out of your allies.

Lennox gets to his feet, arms outstretched to you as if you’re a toddler. It’s the same move that you had made to Alyssum when she had begun to walk. Urging her to come to you, and not your brothers. Who might as well be Allio and Trink at this moment.

You don’t want to give up the wall, but reach an arm out to him anyway. The moment you take a step, Lennox catches you.

“She’s gone.” you tell them, “I saved her.”

Two contradicting sentences, but they seem to catch on. You think they’re talking to you, or maybe it’s each other. The words begin to fade, and so does your sense of balance. The world is spinning, the slightest movement of your head has got dizziness stirring in your stomach.

You open your mouth, wanting to ask for help, but getting black vision instead.

[middleinthenight21]

One by one

summary:   After the defeat of the Teen Titans, Raven agrees to lead the League of Shadows alongside Damian, but she must face her own fears and earn a place among the assassins. AU JUSTICE LEAGUE DARK: APOKOLIPS WAR SPOILERS

Rated M (Blood, intense violence, sexual themes and strong languague)

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to DC COMICS

PREFACE

The pain seemed like a steel stake that merged with her soul, penetrating her bones and wounding the blood vessels, touching the correct points and it would take a long time to rip it from her veins. Raven had suffered for whole days, it hurt so much that tears are not enough, although she knows that she must be strong, she cannot avoid being overwhelmed.

Conner looks up, his eyes that once were merry and rogue are now two empty sockets. The surviving Titans are gathered at the entrance to the island, away from the bloodshed, but their minds travel to painful places.

The cost of this war was high; it had taken Kory, Garfield, Wally, Roy, all her friends, her family. She no longer has the energy to speak, smile and wish for a better tomorrow; nothing would be the same anymore.

Her mind flies like a butterfly to Richard Grayson, her mentor and one of the best men she had ever known, he was one of the fallen. If he were here, he would know how to turn off the silence of death. He would guide them as always and take them away from the pain as he could. She wants to see him one last time and say goodbye accordingly, share even a moment with her friends, she would tell Kory that she was like a mother to her and she would never forget her, she represented a beacon of light in the dark, but she knows the immense love Kory had for Dick and she does not want to see the suffering on their faces when she finds out about the death of her partner. One of her parts thinks that perhaps it is better that both were dead, it avoided that they will mourn the death of the other, at least death is a simple thing and they could rest.

If there is something called heaven, she is sure that her friends would be there, they got the simple part. Raven knows that she will not go to heaven, it is not made for the daughters of demons, but she would be happy because somewhere they would be happy and reunited, although she would never see them again.

She wonders because of all of them she is who survived, she did not deserve it. Others think the same.

Donna hugs her knees, looks like a little girl holding on to a stuffed animal. Her hair is covered in a layer of dirt and debris, her uniform has cuts and her shoulder is hurt. A stab so deep that it reveals the bone, they had washed her, and Raven wanted to heal her, but she didn't let her. The young Amazon did not complain but Raven saw the pain on her face and the sweat like a film on her forehead, perhaps it is better to focus on physical suffering.

The rain creeps off the fire, nobody moves. Their bodies are wet, and it doesn't bother them, it's as if discomfort and cold are nothing.

What will they do now? They do not return to the tower for days, which before represented hope and dreams, where lonely young people found a home now it is a killing field. She had heard the story of Icarus. The young man who made wings, attached them to his back with wax and flew very close to the sun. His wings were melted by the temperature and he collapsed, his body crashed to the ground.

Perhaps they were like Icarus, their glory days were short, and the heroes had sealed their own tomb when they invaded Apokolips. Even if they managed to recover, the world would never be the same, it would never be the same.

''Your heroes were scum, a bunch of arrogant idiots, daughter. If I had freed myself...''

Turn off your voice.

How do you learn to live with the impossible? Raven would take the pain of her friends, keep it, and suffer in solitude, if they smiled back at her. Watching Jump City is painful, it reminds her of her first home, when she lost her mother in the blink of an eye and was forced to live with that mistake. She would lay down her life for Kory, offer her remaining strength and magic to win back her friends.

How would she go on? How is it possible to recover from this?

"I'll go back to Themiscyra." says Donna. Her voice is a whisper, and the rain hits her body forming rivers of dirty water. She doesn't know if there are tears running down her cheeks or it's just the rain. "I'm leaving tonight."

They don't say anything.

The news hits Raven, despite everything, she still thinks she can stay. She does not want to lose a friend as valuable as the Amazon, but she also knows that they have to leave. They cannot stay, the tower is destroyed, there is no reason to return, and at any moment the parademons can return. It pains her to think that something she has worked so hard for was dissolving in her hands.

"Go soon…." Conner sighs. The boy does not move, he is like a statue and his eyes remain focused on the fire of the bonfire being extinguished by the rain and the smoke, a curtain that is dividing his friends. "At least you'll be in a safe place, Donna." the Amazon doesn't say anything.

He watches her and, wonders what it's like to have a home. A place he could take refuge, arms outstretched to hug, familiar faces wishing for the best and healing. Conner does not have a family. He is the result of an experiment and he does not think that he considers Lex Luthor as his father and they did not know where Superman was. Raven lost her mother and dimension years ago. They have no place to go.

If her mother and Azarath were alive, she might run into her arms, hug Arella, and cry until her eyes were dry, exposing her feelings and emotions like never before.

''You were always strong, daughter. If there is someone who can recover from anything, it is you.'' Arella told her this when she broke her leg after falling from a tree and she had to resist the magical procedures of the monks. She still remembers how her mother had caressed her forehead. Wiping away the sweat, her grunts and complaints, how she placed a kiss on her forehead gently.

''You are trusting, too proud and arrogant.'' the older monk murmured when she escaped from the lessons and appeared for the exams, emerging victorious. Raven thought the monk hated her when she forced him to find her among the temples. He grumbled and growled, but she saw the fun in his emotions and had been some kind of grumpy grandfather. When Trigon razed the dimension, she only found a broken skull, it was the only thing left of the monk.

They had left her dealing with her mistakes, blaming herself for what she did as a child; feeling helpless in hell and fighting her father. The Titans were no different, her mind wonders what would have been had she escaped from Trigon after he attacked Superman, if he hadn't listened to them and traveled between dimensions, maybe the end result wouldn't hurt as much.

Her mother visits her at night.

In her dreams she is never angry at what she did. The monk still looks for her and scolds her when she runs through the squares, all the monks and the bright skies are there. Now she adds other burdens on her back, Dick's mischievous gaze, Kory's softness, Garfield's silly jokes, as Jaime loved competition and spoke with love about his younger sister.

Shit, she would miss them so much.

She had had a home and lost it, when she let her guard down and became fond again, they took it from her in the worst possible way.

Now one of her friends was leaving her.

Her insides ache and she thinks she can vomit right now. She feels the anxiety devouring her guts, the pain showing up and the idea of being alone terrifies her too much. She is afraid of being alone in a ghost town.

Jump City is her second Azarath.

In her native dimension there were no decomposed and dismembered bodies. The smell of blood did not rise, and no cries were heard from afar. There was only fire and ashes, and the voice of her father manipulating the situation, insisting that it is the best she has, now only the deaf suffering remains.

"I'll be going too." Raven gasps. Feeling the weight of loneliness and swallows hard. "I need to see if the Kent’s are okay." Conner looks up, as if expecting someone to appear in the clouds. "He would want it." he murmurs.

She looks down, her hair is wet, and a drop of rainwater descends from her head to her forehead, it is the only thing she perceives. Raven does not have a family, they do not expect her return on a protected island and there is no house in the middle of the field, there is no one waiting for her.

Everything she owned was taken from him.

Perhaps only death, loneliness and pain would be her faithful companions. She imagines herself wandering among the rubble, observing in first person what was left of the city that they protected for years, trying to find herself between the disaster and the tears. She doesn't want that.

What will become of her now?

When Damian shows up, he has civilian clothes, his hands are broken and there is a thick layer of mud that stains his clothes, his nails are a mixture of earth and blood. His face is neutral, and his eyes are hard, there is a grimace that has not left his face and she thinks it may be something permanent.

He stares spitefully at the Superman symbol on Conner's chest.

Titus follows, the Great Dane trotting alongside his companion. The formality and discipline that characterized the dog seemed attenuated, as if he knew that the situation was not good and he did not want to cause problems. She looks him in the eye, he sits next to her, does not give her second glances, there is a backpack on his back and reality hits her, like a slap.

''I'm the only thing you have, witch.''

She had barely seen Damian since the fall of the Teen Titans. He stood next to Dick's body, as if he couldn't believe it and the pain was a tsunami for a few moments, until he looked up straight at the sky. Raven had watched him harden, build a breastplate for himself, and she hasn't felt so much anger coming from the young man since he came to the Titans.

He did not let the wound in his torso heal, he treated it by himself without anesthesia and when the pain came he preferred to find out inside, she felt that she was losing him, that the person who visited her in her room in the afternoons, who drank tea in porcelain cups and worried about her safety more than anyone, was no longer here. Raven thought she had punctured his walls, that they could look each other in the eye untethered, but she knows she will no longer be able to knock him down.

Her soul is in pieces, but she prefers that he leave. That he leaves in silence because at least they would not have a farewell and she would not cry to see his back without looking back. Damian would hurt less to leave her behind, he's strong and would fight to earn a place in the world, and Raven would be left in the ruins with nothing to hold on to, there would be nothing that mattered to her. No one would cry for her.

''Even your friends are leaving you. I am the only thing you have.''

What a miserable life.

"I'm leaving." Damian declares. It was direct and cold, and Raven hopes it will be. "I leave in the morning. "

Of course.

"Good luck." Donna hugs her knees tighter. She hides her head and they can see how she trembles and is collapsing. They do nothing to comfort her and Titus is the only one sitting next to her, but he does not make any movement, he is simply there. "They'll be fine, right?" She says in a broken voice.

The sobs seem just as useless and sad as the rain. Raven thinks Donna is expressing herself for the group, as no one else had shed a single tear and they kept their pain to themselves. For a few minutes their heads are too helpless to provide encouragement.

Conner grimaces at the girl. She can feel the suffering tearing his soul, his mouth trembles in what looks like a pout and his eyes are red, threatening to shed tears, but before this happens, he puts on his glasses. One of the lenses is broken and it is not very protective or effective.

He puts on his glasses as if that will remind him of who he is, but it's more than that. He uses it so they don't see him cry.

Damian remains motionless, clenching his fists and frowning. She can see the thoughts going through his head, like a whirlpool and he doesn't let her see his emotions, he is a ghost that Raven cannot chase.

They are all ghosts that will disappear in a few hours.

***

When Donna leaves, she is silent. The girl had been crying for hours until she sighed and got up, when she managed to regain her composure, she did not look back or say goodbye, but takes off when the sun hides among the mountains.

It is as if the star knew what was happening, since it disappears on the horizon along with her friend.

Raven is left remembering the moments she shared with Donna, knowing that perhaps she will never see her again.

***

"Be well." Conner grimaces. He was about to leave as he was worried about the Kent’s. He hadn't shared much with the couple, but they were kind of parents to Superboy and he tried to keep in touch. She would like to tell him that the old couple are fine, however this is hardly possible, "We had some good years." he keeps his eyes on the stars.  "But I'm done."

Raven remains silent, clasping her hands in her lap and ducking her head. Conner is about to leave and cannot feel worse because she knows that she is staying alone. She wants to be angry with them for not considering her in their plans. Leaving her with a wound in her heart so big that she does not know how to cure the pain, but she is not like them.

She has no one and everyone needs to recover, at least until the suffering was bearable. Now they are sore, tired and want to be anywhere but here.

She's not going to blame Conner for leaving.

She wasn't going to blame them for leaving her behind.

"Will you take care of yourself?"

She raises her head in surprise at the question. Conner is looking at her through his glasses.

"I can take care of myself." But her inner strength is faltering.

Silence is a monster, he does not respond, but sighs while staring at the tower and a pout forms on his mouth, it is a trembling line "Send my good wishes to Damian." The Son of Batman disappeared with Titus after Donna left, giving the excuse that the animal wanted to eat and something inside Raven cut off at the thought that he might go. That it might be the last time she would see him. Conner's feet floated a few inches off the ground, and he looked at Raven. "Find me if you need anything ... "

She nodded.

Her hands trembled at the sides of her body, as if she had no control. It pained her to think that she was being left alone, her memory returning to the battle, to the place where she was before the world became a field of deaths and tormented souls. She thinks of Darkseid, he had inflicted more damage on them than he thought. He is probably sitting on a throne with death as his servant, millions of lives in his hands, mocking the stupidity of those who faced him, keeping them alive was a punishment.

It would have been better if she died… Dying is easy.

But her death is not easy, it would not come from anywhere and Raven always knew that she would have a long existence. Right now, she just thinks it would be better to die in battle, at least she would take Trigon with her and...

''Let me out, daughter. I can...''

"Goodbye, Rae."

Conner disappeared into the heavy clouds laden with the promise of a thunderstorm. The superhero is so dramatic that he chose to leave when the mist covers the destroyed shoreline of Jump City, when pieces of the buildings still fall to the ground and there is a concrete explosion, like a bomb.

Even the sky is sad.

Raven closes her eyes by burying her head in her hands, struggling with the situation, with the silence that is a being that tries to eat her. It is ironic to her as she described herself as someone silent, a friend of private spaces and that old comfort of when you contemplate a landscape, now her qualities are defects.

No one would save her.

She does not have her friends to sustain herself in the midst of pain and despair, there is only death and abandonment.

A lump is installed in her throat and she cannot get rid of it.

''You are weak, you filthy witch. You are just like your mother.''

''I love you to the moon and back.'' says his mother. Her mind goes back to that time when she escaped from a lesson only to chase that little cat who was stealing her lunch and the monks had scolded her. She thought she would be angry and would approve of her being punished, but she watched her with love and caressed her cheeks. ''I don't care if they tell you that you are proud, confident and highlight your flaws. You are my girl, my little bird.''

''You are the most hopeful heroine I have ever met.'' Dick smiled at her and the sun illuminated his features. A sweet softness wrapped around him as Kory joined them, the alien taking her hand. ''Don't go, stay with the Teen Titans.'' observed Dick. ''We can help you choose clothes, remodel your room and accompany you to buy those little ducks that go in the bathtub.''

None of them are here, they are just voices that would be lost over time. Raven doesn't want to forget, she has no right to recover from this.

It would have been better to die.

An arm wraps around her shoulder, she doesn't need her powers to know that it’s Damian and she finds herself burying her head in his chest, clutching her fists to his clothes, as if he is going to disappear. She doesn't want him to leave, Raven wants his heart to return, she thinks he would be better elsewhere. Her intentions were never to win with Damian, and she would give in if that implied the safety of this boy. She just wants him to be happy.

Damian lost his brother. They did not know what had happened to Batman and Gotham fell a few days ago. He has nothing.

He pressed down on her body and she could feel his jaw pressed to her head. If she lost him, she would keep this moment forever, she clinging to his arms and he wrapping his arms around her when the sky opens and reveals the stars. She wants to memorize his scent, his strength and he is a point in a story that she did not reach to be narrated; If she had been braver, she would have confessed her feelings to him before, but her life is not made for fairy tales. They are built on a darker premise.

Titus groans and rests his head on her shoulder, runs his tongue over her face and it is a relief. She will miss the animal.

What hero has a happy story?

In another reality he could be hers, or at least enter her life in a different way, even if he rejects her, she would still have him and that would be enough.

She feels his mouth open and close, not knowing what to say. She knows what he will say.

"Don't cover it with sugar, Damian."

He is silent. Raven looks up, still refusing to give up his arms and is looking into his eyes, her green eyes are looking directly at her and she can't believe that this is her end.

She would remember the green tone of his eyes, not compared to wet grass, to the water of a river, but to jade. Damian has grown in recent years; his jaw has become square and must be shaved to get a beard away from his face. His skin color has become more olive, his bones ached when he had a rapid growth and his body developed muscles in the areas closer to that of grown man.

He has changed.

"I'll go back to the League of Assassins." he frowns. "I have already spoken to Lady Shiva."

She thought it would hurt, but she couldn't imagine how much, and her fingers were loosening. Her knowing it was coming indirectly is one thing, hearing it from his lips makes it a reality and loneliness crushes her heart.

Donna is gone.

Conner disappeared into the clouds a few hours ago.

Damian was leaving her now, too.

She had to have seen the signs, maybe it was her bad judgment that convinced her that there was a remote chance that he would stay, but what for? He has nothing to fight for, they cannot remain in the tower forever.

"Oh." escapes her lips.

Suddenly she's walking away, and it may be the last time she sees him.

She wonders if Damian has no doubts. He left the League of Assassins for years and Batman does not approve of Ra's Al Ghul lifestyle, only the one he had intended for his son and instilled other values in him, he would not think well of Damian upon returning. Raven does not know what to think, the barrier could deepen between the two, the league is full of criminals. Maybe going back to the league is the only thing he had as insurance in his life, there is no Nightwing, Batman or the Teen Titans.

One part of her justifies it, but the other is terrified to discover what he could become.

"Everyone is leaving." she murmurs. She tries to keep her tone neutral, but it breaks like a tuned guitar string.

Where would she go? She doesn't have a home, can't even look at the tower without feeling devastated, overwhelmed with pain, and wouldn't be able to make it through the city on her own. Her empathic abilities would end up driving her insane, there's too much pain, the city is kindled by suffering and from a distance she distinguishes its colors.

Damian looks down and she sees the fight in his mind, she almost wants to pass a hand to smooth the wrinkle that forms between his brows.

She would miss that wrinkle.

"Come with me. "

What?

He watches her, there is a shyness sparkle in his eyes and if he had not been so close, he may not even hear it, his proposal is so fast in a thick tone that it would be confusing, but Raven heard it clearly.

She is stunned by the offer.

"Come with me. Lead the League of Assassins by my side." He was looking her in the eye now. His katana in its case, and him in a hoodie. He looks casual, as if he had never witnessed death and pain with his own eyes. "You can do it. You are a good fighter."

Hope was shining within her, Damian wanted them to go together, but she is not an assassin; she has nothing to claim among the ranks of the league.

She can't imagine leading an organization made up of assassins, but where would she go? She has nothing and nobody. She had heard that her mother had a sister, but Arella never spoke directly of her family, limiting herself to just Raven and she doubts very much that they would have survived. She doesn't want to say goodbye to Damian Wayne and watch him go off into the unknown.

Say Yes! A voice inside shouts, it’s optimistic marked by blind love and the promise of a tomorrow, perhaps not a better one, but it is still a more decent future than one of solitude and corpses. She is surprised at how idealistic she can be, even with everything that happened, she still dreamed of this boy, she still sighed because he was offering her a different life, one that would allow her to see him every day. You are not an assassin.

They are his people, not yours, a wicked voice warned her, it is like a snake poisoned with truth, more damaging than her father's words.

''Do you think you will write the tale of the witch and the assassin, idiot girl? '' Trigon scoffs. ''Don't make me laugh, daughter. You are weak, you have always been equal to your mother who believed in demons that fall in love with humans and golden futures.''

Do you want to play the queen of assassins so much?

Raven ducks her head, refusing to look him in the eye. Her mind was in conflict, she wanted to quench her father's teasing and her racing heart believing that he would not leave her alone. She wished for them to build a future together, but she also knows that the place where they would go is not idyllic; It is not a paradise.

"We can be secure." he offers as if it were the last resort. Damian's tone is soft, but it is mixed with doubt and silent resignation, as if he were realizing that she would say no. "It is one of the safest places on the planet."

She strokes his uniform cape, as if to remind herself that this is real, and he is still here.

They look at each other in the eyes. Damian's breathing is heavy, time freezes and she knows that this moment can define what would be of her life in what they had left, she could change it for better or worse.

The person in front of you. The future in front of you.

For the first time in three days she looks at the tower, it is destroyed, holes and cracks damage the T and she realizes that he cannot stay. She cannot bear the idea of being alone, she could not compose herself; she doesn't want to go through another hell where she only has Trigon as a company, him feeding on her pain and weakness. Her father would feel no empathy for her, even if she died, he would still worry about himself.

Maybe it would not be perfect, but it is a future, and she does not want to lose him.

"I'm going to go." She clears her throat. "I'll go with you to the League of Assassins."

Damian nods.

***

She hadn't expected the trip to be this long, but Damian insists it would be days. Nanda Parbat is a fortress in Tibet, she is trying to locate it on the map, and she is half a world away, so they must take a trip on a plane waiting for them outside Jump City. She does not distinguish the face of the pilot, as he is covered by a mask that only leaves his eyes exposed and bows when he sees Damian.

Raven had looked out the window at the decimated city. She has not packed, did not want to rescue anything that was her home, but found a jewel that had belonged to Starfire; she said that it was the only thing she could bring from Tamaran, it is a violet stone that catches sunlight and reminds her of her friend. It had been lying a few meters from her shattered body, as if in her last moments she had clung to the stone.

It breaks her heart when she sees the jewel.

Titus rests his head on her lap and yawns. She smiles at the animal and strokes its head; he had been a loyal and brave dog not to be disturbed when seeing the chaos that the world had become. His soft fur is like the fibers of a carpet and it is warm, like a stuffed animal. He reminds her of good things, laughs in the park, the pet store that always smelled of food, and a box of puppies they gave away in the city center.

The pilot barely looks at her. She is surprised by the technology of the plane, although it is small. Damian sits in the passenger seat, as if he were the one directing it, gives the pilot instructions in another language and the man nods.

When the plane takes off, Raven cannot take her eyes off the city. She feels bad for leaving the corpses of her friends and not giving them a decent burial and leaving. They deserved better.

Watching Jump City hurts, however, she can't look away either.

She wonders what Kory, Garfield, or any of her friends would think if they found out what she was doing, would they get mad? Perhaps they were reproving her from heaven, they look at her with furious eyes and they would have a bad opinion of her decision to follow Damian to lead an organization that the heroes disapprove of.

Jump City, the city where memories had been formed and would remain here, the destroyed tower is a point on the small island from afar, it seems like a fallacy that a few weeks ago she would have lived in that tower with other thoughts hanging around her head. She stretches out her hand on the glass when the plane is about to take off, her fingers touch the point where the destroyed tower is positioned and murmurs a silent prayer to Uxia, the spirit that guides souls to eternal rest and is the protector of the martyrs, to direct her fallen friends to a better place than she is heading for.

"Goodbye." she whispers.

She wants to see their faces for the last time, that they are in a place full of light. Because people as wonderful as them deserve the best, if this life did not offer it to them, then let it be in the next ones.

Feeling eyes on her, Damian is watching her from the passenger seat and there is a grimace on his face, he disappears in the blink of an eye and presses buttons and continues giving orders with a firm voice.

Titus falls asleep on her lap.

The plane takes off and for a few moments she swears that there is a figure flying around the tower, but by then the plane has already crossed the mountains and she is observing the ocean.

Raven presses the jewel that belonged to her friend against her chest, praying that she had not been wrong and blinded by feelings.

''You are weak. You are running away like your mother, but don't worry, daughter; you'll ruin it anyway. You always do it.''

 *** 

@ravenfan1242 Thank you ❤❤❤

The fanfiction will have ten parts

Inspired by Batman Beyond and Games of Thrones 

See you in two weeks! 

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 33

Read on AO3 here

Dear Journal, 

I always hate starting these things. Never know what to do to signify another passage starting when the ending of the other was just on the other side of the page. Be it days or months, the one thing that never changes is how close my last entry was. I guess this is to document my thoughts so that when I’m an old man I can look back and reflect on how life used to be. Most of the time I just draw something awful and leave a caption so when my eyes can��t see right anymore I’ll know what I was attempting to preserve. If I make it that far I’ll have plenty of stories to tell. 

Anyways. 

I know the last time things seemed to be doing well. I got married to a woman who changed me. Dutch had a plan to get us out. John and Abigail were getting along just fine, even little Jack was learning to hunt rabbits and small critters. But it all changed so quickly, where do I even begin…

The bank. I know that damned job was where everything went wrong. Micah and Dutch never stopped talking about it the whole time we were in Guarma so I couldn’t forget any detail even if I tried. And I did try. The first week stuck in that humid hell I was too angry to speak and drank myself into a stupor that would rival Reverend Swanson; alcohol helped me ignore the pain in my chest where my heart used to be. Maybe that’s why he drank. To forget. Everyone tried to talk to me but I wasn’t in a place to listen. They tried to tell me everything would work out, that she was alright and we just had to focus on one thing at a time. But that was bullshit. I just kept seeing Hosea get shot and my wife being carted away, and I was stuck helpless to do anything against it. I’ve never before realized that was my worst fear; watching from the outside as people I love get hurt. 

The Pinkertons showed up too fast to not have known about it before but there was no way any of us would have ratted out the gang when we were so close to our goal, so close to leaving and putting behind us any thought of betrayal or being on the run any longer. I spent more than one night stuck on that island replaying it over and over but I couldn't make sense of it. 

I should have been faster. I shouldn't have let Dutch separate us. As soon as that snake Milton yelled I knew we were done for. 

I shouldn't call him that. I know I can come up with something worse. Technically he is my father in law, but he is the reason Hosea is dead and the woman I love is...gone. Who knows where he’s hidden her away. No wonder she never told me about that mess, I would have never believed someone so good and true was family with that vile man. 

She probably thought I’d hate her for keeping the secret, but the truth is I couldn’t care any less. Sometimes you don’t get lucky enough to pick your family. I know that better than anyone. 

Micah claims they planned it together, for her to distract her father long enough for us to escape, but I’m not too sure yet if I believe that. I saw the look in her eyes. Panic. Fear. Then that stubborn heroism that should have told me to drag her out with me no matter the cost. It was in the set of her mouth, and how her eyes narrowed enough to give away her thoughts. Just a few of the things I love so much about her. But in an instant she was gone. Locked eyes in the middle of the chaos was the only goodbye I got. 

Losing Hosea was hard, to say the least. He was more of a father to me than Dutch was in all the ways that mattered. He taught me to swim and fish and how to read the leaves and stars at night. He taught me that waiting is sometimes the best strategy, and to never go anywhere without a good strong lie as to why you’re there. He was kindness and compassion, but also cleverness and hard edges when he needed to be. I looked up to him more than I knew and his absence will leave a painful hole that cannot be filled. 

But my grief is nothing in comparison to Dutch’s. His...it’s like a pain he’s unwilling to admit is there. Like he’s afraid that acknowledging it will break the damn he’s built and everything will come crashing down. I worry what it means for him, for me, for all of us. Hosea was truly the angel sitting on Dutch’s shoulder. 

I somehow made it out of Guarma and that whole mess alive. A boat took me back and I had the unfortunate luck to land in Van Horn. I must be getting old, my bones seem to have absorbed some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling for nearly a month now. But I got myself a horse and should be back at Shady Belle tomorrow afternoon to whatever wreckage is left from my former life.

The thought of seeing my wife seemed to be the only thing getting me through the days since that cursed robbery. Her smile, the sound of her laugh, her soft hand in mine. I miss it, sometimes so much I am nearly brought to tears and in those moments I understand why Dutch doesn’t talk much about Hosea. Like watching the sunrise with burning eyes, sometimes the pain that comes with it makes you aware that it happened at all. 

Part of me knows that what’s waiting for me at Shady Belle isn’t good news, but I can’t think about that just yet. Hope is the comforting shadow beside me. 

I should have known better than to expect a good night’s sleep. My eyes were so blurry I mistook a tree for a man on the side of the road. Even my body knew that nothing is how it should have been. 

Shady Belle was empty. Well, worse than that. It had echoes of the gang being there, our last hurrah as we rode out to the gates of victory so blind to what was about to happen. Cans littered around where we ate together, scuff marks all across the dirt from our boots, even a small pair that must have been Jack’s. The worst though was a carving I found on one of the poles of the front porch of my initials in a heart that she must have drawn without me knowing. I tried to etch it into my notebook but found I couldn't stand there for more than a few moments without the familiar pain of missing her taking over my senses. Maybe one day I won’t feel like I’m being ripped apart by all of these emotions.

Inside was empty. Nothing remained of the time we spent in those walls. I couldn't bring myself to check the room I had shared with YN for the fear of being entirely overwhelmed again. Instead I found a letter from Sadie Adler, a woman of many surprises, waiting for me in the living room. She must have known I would come back. 

The quiet didn’t last too long before a couple of Pinkerton fools in the employment of Mr. Milton came around. From what I overheard they returned to Shady Belle every single day to see if we had returned but had no such luck. That meant two things; that the gang got away safely and the other’s from Guarma hadn’t come to the house. For a few moments at least my heart settled but that didn’t last long. These days it never did. 

I rode straight to Lakay even though I despise the damp, disgusting heat of the swamps. My eagerness to see people I knew won over my hatred for the area. Eventually I found my way to a small village, if you’d even call it that, of buildings set up along the river bank. Time and humidity had worn away at any pride these homes must have held, the moss clinging to anything that needed to be filled back in. It was silent save for one man in the farthest hut chopping away at some type of meat. 

Pearson for the first time in my life was a sight for sore eyes. Luckily Abigail was behind him and Sadie behind her so I was quickly welcomed with warm arms and a bowl of stew that was the finest I had ever tasted. There were questions, so many questions, but they held their tongues for the time being and let me settle into a bed for a few hours of sleep. Finally the exhaustion caught up with my body and I was overcome with aches and a cough, but that I ignored too. 

Tilly, Uncle, Lenny, Karen, Sean, Mary Beth, Strauss, Molly, Charles, and everyone else was safe and hidden away. We were safe for the time being. 

Micah and Javier arrived the next day with the same story. We all needed rest, but there were things to do. John had been captured and taken to Sisika. Abigail pulled me aside and asked about YN and I did my best to hide my pain, but she told me what happened after we got caught in the gunfire. She was taken somewhere north, or at least that’s where the wagon headed, and some man named Staten was her watcher. My blood nearly boiled, but Abigail calmed me down until the agony of losing her ripped me apart and I had to go sit on the dock before anyone else saw me. How am I to deal with this alone? I would give anything to have her back by my side again, father be hanged. 

Not two days later a rain storm kept us inside, and set up the dramatic entrance for Dutch’s grand return. Things all broke loose. Abigail was yelling about John again, Micah on about something else. The man didn’t even have a chance to sit down before he was bombarded again. We raised a glass to Mrs. Adler for saving the gang in Dutch’s absence, her and Charles were the only reasons things continued on. 

She found me staring at the water the next morning. I was sitting there, thinking of my wife, and Sadie must have known. She tried to talk about knowing loss and feeling my pain, but there’s no one in the world who knows what I’m going through. What we’re going through. My wife is somewhere I don’t know and I can do nothing about it. Every second of every day I feel like a failure for letting her down. I want to be there for Dutch as he needs the support, but I can’t help think that as time ticks on she’ll forget me and move on. Not sure what I’ll do if that happens. 

Bill Williamson is a right fool. That night he came busting into the sleep house going on about how hard we were to find, saying he asked everyone he could find, and I knew trouble couldn't be too far behind. Only someone truly hoping to meet death walks into a nest of vipers. I had just finished my glass of whiskey when I heard her voice. 

At first I thought I imagined it. There were plenty of times that the desperation in my mind had boiled long enough that her sweet tones called to me from somewhere just beyond my reach. At first I longed for them, for any gentle reminder that she was as real to me once as the glass currently in my hand. Then after a while they hurt to hear and the words got all jumbled together. Like she was farther away than ever. Like I needed reminding. 

But sitting inside that house I heard her clear as a bell. Not the words she spoke, it was far too loud inside for that, but I could tell it was her. My heart knew too and started pounding in time with the rain hitting the roof. Dutch saw me and asked why I had frozen in place but Abigail had heard it too. She stood and stared at me, wondering what was taking me so damn long to move but it was like my legs had grown twice their weight. I finally got myself up and pushed through the sudden silence around me to stand at the door. 

There she was again. She had to be real. But she sounded...off. Like something was wrong. 

Calling for me, for us, or anyone. I was so full of terror I couldn’t breathe. But someone touched my shoulder and I came back to life, opening the door and finding my dream standing before me. Wide eyed and desperate, much like myself, but there was a warning in her eyes I couldn’t decipher from so far away. Her hands were up in the air shaking like a leaf. Her head shook slightly. I was overcome by a need to preserve this moment of reunion and committed her to memory for once she was back in my arms and I could draw her in this here journal. Honestly I can’t describe how I felt knowing she was at least alive. My heart wanted me to run to her and throw caution to the wind, but my gut told me something worse was lingering in the shadows with an alligator grin. 

Just from looking at her I could tell Milton had damn near starved her for the dress she wore was much too large, hanging off her arms and shoulders. The blood was what cued me in. Rust red stains splattered the front and ice filled my veins at the realization of who’s ghosts she wore wrapped around her. That bastard Milton paraded her around in a costume like he was putting on a show, but I was done being a puppet.

Arthur Morgan was nobody’s fool. 

Arthur. 

His eyes were murderous but whether that was aimed at you or not remained unknown. The rapid thumping in your chest flooded into your ears as well but the words passing between you didn’t need to be spoken. You didn’t need to hear them to know what he would say. 

Seeing Arthur after all that time was a breath of fresh air in a world that had been a dusty haze for the past month. It was awful and wonderful at the same time to be standing so close yet unable to move any closer. Your soul ached to return to its rightful place. The stress of standing there with the weight of all that had happened could be seen as your hands shook and your shoulders tensed and your heart broke all over again.

More light passed onto the muddy ground as the door behind Arthur opened and a few cautious faces moved out. Dutch. Abigail. Bill. Lenny. Charles. Sadie. Anger and confusion colored their expressions. You hoped they all could understand. 

A strange feeling passed through you as you noticed Micah was nowhere to be found.

Arthur took in deep, heavy breaths as you held eye contact. Under any other circumstance standing beneath the stars in the dark of night would be almost romantic, especially with the twinkling fireflies blinking their messages all around you. But the rain and the tension crackling across the night like lightning changed that. In fact it changed everything. 

The rain covered the sound of wagons rolling in and the footsteps of Pinkerton agents as they crept around the perimeter to trap the Van der Linde gang from escaping. The lightning bugs hid the glints of metal from the guns being raised and taking aim. And you, the queen of the chessboard, were meant to hold the outlaw’s attention as the plan slid into place around you. Your father had been almost gleeful explaining it to you and it made you sick. 

“YN...what’s going on?”

Dutch held his hand out in front of his adopted brother but kept his eyes trained on you. 

“Don’t say anything, Arthur. We don’t know what this is.”

A voice hissed behind you. The horrible reminder that you were not there of your own accord. You were not there to be rushed to safety, to explain and convince those you loved that you have never walked out those bank doors if you thought any harm would have befallen them. 

“I…” The words faltered as they mingled with the falling rain. “I am here to...offer a deal on behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government, and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth.”

“A deal!” Dutch snorted. “And what would that be?”

Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of what had to come next. Only when your shoulders shook from the tension of holding them back did you look away from Arthur, praying to anyone who would listen for a way out of this. 

“You have nowhere left to run.” The words were plain but landed like a slap in the face. Milton had prepared a lengthy monologue and you fought to remember all of it. “My father has chased you relentlessly and ultimately you will submit. There is a price big enough on your heads that  bringing you in dead would still earn him a fortune. But there is dignity and pride in turning yourself over alive instead of ending up d-dead like that...fool Hosea Matthews.”

The hiss behind you continued as the people in front of you balked at your words. It hurt to know Milton was twisting the knife in but you held the weapon.  

“If you come without a fight, you will all be allowed to live. If not, I can’t -”

“Allowed!” Dutch responded. “What is this, there’s no honor in this choice. I will not be commanded like some dog after what your father did to Hosea!”

This time the words hurt you and you answered with a flinch. 

“Dutch, please,” you licked your lips, your eyes darting to Arthur. “You don’t have to fight! Everything will be alright, just listen to me -”

“Everything will be alright?” The leader repeated back. “I believe nothing of the sort. Mrs. Morgan, do you know what happens to folks like us who the law doesn’t see favorably? Who aren’t the shiny, golden children of society? They are hung like common street criminals and forgotten in the ashes of our history books. I refuse to fade away as an ink spot upon a page, I refuse to let others make my choices for me, and I refuse to listen to a bully who hides like a coward behind others! We demand to be more than that legacy fated for us by others. We demand our god given right that others only dream of, freedom!”

His speech was beautiful but it didn’t change the fact that mere feet behind you sat a Maxim gun, manned and ready to fire, if they didn’t listen to your pleas. Dutch’s pretty words did nothing to stir the rebellious spirit in your chest and instead caused more tears to run down your cheeks. The flare of his independence was bright, but that meant it couldn’t burn for much longer. 

You weren’t the only one affected by Dutch. Behind you the men lying in wait rustled out of the bushes and crept up with their guns drawn, each footstep stringing tension across your shoulders. 

“I was wrong about your father, YN.” Dutch drew in quick breaths at the sight of the ambush. “He’s not only a coward, but a fool too. You see, he’s underestimated us once again and that will lead to his demise. Now, boys! For Hosea!”

The world erupted in gunfire and smoke around you. At Dutch’s signal everyone hiding inside fired away at the agents planted around the swamp, yelling and filled with rage at the thought of revenging their beloved Hosea. Loss was a strong motivator, and as you clamped your hands over your ears you wondered how long the haze of distraction would last. The maxim gun fired continuous deafening rounds and all you could hear above the ringing in your ears were the screams of people you loved. Your knees sank into the mud as panic rippled across your skin. 

Milton shouted behind you, commanding his men like he was trying to storm the gates of hell. 

Dutch retreated into the cabin leading his rebel crew in a secret assault against the forces of perceived evil who had come to change his ways. 

Where did you fit into all of this? What was your place and how did you go about getting there? Was your only hope to run and hope it would find you? It only took a moment to come to you. There was only one anchor in this hurricane and it was the same one you returned to time and time again. 

Arthur Morgan. 

As Dutch retreated Arthur hesitated to leave you behind. His eyes darted through the dark to try and find you while he ducked for safety. Terror clenched your heart and you screamed for him to get out of the line of fire, you would find him. 

Forcing tension into your shaky limbs you knew you would regret it if you never even tried to get to him. The air above you was filled with shouts and raindrops and gunshots but nothing could distract you; this was your only shot and you would not throw it away. A door to your right swung open and light flooded the ground and you took off pumping your legs as hard as you could to cross the muddy ground getting closer and closer to your goal. 

Breathe. You had to get to him, you were so close. 

Behind you bodies hit the ground and you had no doubt that Arthur had taken most of them out. He had incredible aim in the worst of times, and this was definitely one of those. Even Dutch couldn’t rival him and after a few competitions no one else had bothered. 

“YN! Over here!” 

“Javier!” 

You had never been so happy to see the dark haired man in your life. He grabbed your arm and pulled you inside, yanking you down to the floor immediately to avoid another spray of bullets from the gatling gun. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to help!” You pleaded with him. “Someone needs to take out that gun, what can I do?”

“Stay down, Dutch has a plan!” 

You both ducked to the floor as a window shattered above you. 

“It better be quick, we can’t hold out for long!”

From outside one of the agents yelled above the chaos. “There’s too many of them, we have to retreat!”

“No!” Your father bellowed back. His voice was too close for comfort. “We do not back down, we have the power of the law on our side.”

“The power of the law ain’t fighting two of the best shots this side of the Mississippi, boss! We are!”

Javier let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and shook his head. “Mrs. Adler’s out there too now, won’t be long. Between her and Arthur I don’t think the Pinkerton’s stand a chance.” There was a pause as Javier eyed you warily. “Your father, that is.”

“Javier -”

But you couldn't finish your sentence as the back door flew open and someone called out to him. He nodded at you and crawled his way to the door to see why he was needed, leaving you alone to hide from the debris falling all around. As the door shut behind him, you caught a glimpse of red coat tails that looked awfully similar to what Micah usually wore. 

More men were dying outside, you could hear the yells of defeat as the maxim gun came to a stop but you were running out of time. Something inside of you said the clock was ticking and you needed to move. 

Breathe. In, out. Breathe.

“Where did she go?” Milton bellowed from outside. The bullets had stopped and the air felt deathly still. “Where did that bitch go?”

“Don’t you talk about my wife like that!” Your heart swelled at Arthur’s words. 

It sounded like he was in the barn next door. If you could sneak without being caught this was your chance for a getaway. Perhaps the only one. 

“Get out here now before I blow this whole place to hell! Turn yourselves in and die with nobility.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Block him out, he’s bluffing. A ball of nerves formed in your stomach like a hard thing weighing you down and you fell to the wall for support as you gathered the courage to move again. 

“Agent Milton, I believe this is where we part ways. You are alone and outnumbered, give it up.” Dutch answered. 

“Never, Van der Linde. I am tasked with bringing you and the others in…” his voice tapered off as soft clicks rang out and you imagined from your hiding spot behind the wall everyone aiming in his direction,

“How about this,” the dark haired man suggested. “You and I can make a little trade. Me and my friends here will walk out of here safely and you will not pursue us if we give you something you want.”

A bark of laughter responded. Milton was not pleased with the child's play that interrupted his duty. “And what would I get out of this deal?”

“Your life?” Dutch shot back. “A chance to live another day? No?” There was a pause as Dutch walked forwards and you dared a peek out of a nearby bullet hole to observe the scene. “Maybe something a little more valuable. Your daughter for instance?”

Two rough hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders and yanked you upwards and you let out a cry of disbelief. They hadn’t made any noise walking up, or perhaps you were too trained on listening to the conversation outside to notice. 

“Get your hands off of me!” You cried out at the same time Arthur yelled something from outside. 

“Shut up, Princess Pinkerton. And walk.” 

You should have known. Did the man who walked you down the aisle really have no regard for your life? Micah gave you a shove to move forward and you hesitated for only a moment. All you wanted was to help your family escape safely and to keep your father from enacting his twisted sense of justice. You wanted to feel safe and free, but there were too many obstacles holding you back. Was this really all your life would be?

With dirty hands you wiped your cheeks, squaring your shoulders and preparing to face him again. It wasn’t going to be easy. But there didn’t seem to be another choice. 

“Dutch what in the hell are you playing at?” 

Falling rain once again met your face as you walked out and took in the tense scene before you. Dutch, Arthur, Bill, and Charles all had their pistols focused on your father who in turn stared down his barrel at Dutch. The two men were everything the other despised, and you were caught in the middle. 

“My daughter?” Milton still seemed shocked to see you. As if he hadn’t been the one to bring his own child to a gunfight and had simply found you there. 

Arthur was held back by the iron grip of Charles as he habitually tried to come to you. The look of pure sorrow on his face broke your heart but there wasn’t enough time to think about yourself and how you felt. Soon he would be out of sight. 

“That’s right. Take her, and the two of you leave and never come back to chase us around the country. Me and my friends will never cause another day of trouble for you and we all leave with our lives. Isn’t that what we want, after all? To live and go our own ways?”

It felt like he had slapped you across the face with his words. The fact that you were the bargaining chip was not lost as you stared down the man with newfound hatred. 

“Don’t I get a say in any of this?” You snapped back. “Or am I unimportant enough to both of you that my value lies only in my silence?”

“Oh Mrs. Morgan,” Dutch chuckled darkly. “I have missed your temper. But today, my dear, is not the day to fight like it's your last. Be a good girl and run along with your father.”

Something in his tone made you hesitate, the hatred pausing for just a moment. Was there something else going on? Had he not abandoned you just quite yet? It was a glimmer of hope but that was all you could find so you held it close. He gave a slight nod in return.

“Fine. But I won’t forget this.” 

Dutch’s gun slowly moved to take aim at your head and you caught your breath at the sight. He was filled to the brim with frustration and rage. But somewhere in his eye was a calm collection as he formed a plan. 

“Now get out of here. Both of you. And don’t come back.”

Milton’s free arm shot out and gripped yours too tightly, his eyes still focused on the outlaws escaping of their own design before him. His men were all dead. There were two horses left to ride out and no wagon. He had truly and utterly lost but he refused to admit it. 

Arthur’s eyes were dark as you tried to meet his but he wouldn't look at you. The flush in his cheeks gave away how worked up he was and you wondered if it was all too much and he had found his breaking point. You wouldn't blame him if he didn’t want you anymore, things were just so damn complicated. It hurt but his happiness came first. 

Your father took a step backwards and dragged you with him and panic hit your stomach.

“Dutch…Dutch! Don’t let him do this,” the tears started no matter how much you tried to keep them in. “You don’t know what it’s like, please.”

The small group watched you with hard eyes of confusion and hesitation and you didn’t blame them. Sadie had a mean look to her, but that was probably from the heat of battle. Charles looked sad and your heart ached for your friend. Even Bill looked hesitant to send you off with Milton, but no one moved against Dutch. Something whispered to you this might be the last time you saw them. 

You fought every step of the way but eventually Milton got you on a horse and tied the reins to his with a length of rope. Any last drops of hope were drained out of you at the sight of the others breaking away hurriedly. It was just Dutch, Arthur, Sadie, and Micah left that you could make out through your tears as your world fell apart. 

“Stop crying, I can’t think,” Milton muttered harshly. 

“Everything I love has been taken away from me, by you! And now I’m stuck with you again I think I have the right to be upset.”

“You have no right to anything,” he replied. “You are nothing in the eyes of anyone and that’s all you will be.”

The horses started moving and you looked behind you one last time. Without the rain the evening appeared softer; the firebugs had come out to blink to one another and the moss swung lazily around the canopy. Dutch had finally lowered his weapon but you noticed Arthur was gone from the group, no doubt off to chuck your wedding ring into the bayou and let the memory of you fade with the small metal object as it sank into the murky riverbed.

If only you could touch him, feel him, let him know that nothing was his fault and every mistake had been tallied in your name. Arthur had scrubbed his slate clean in your eyes, it was time he saw that too. You missed him more with each step your horse took away. 

It was torture to to ride on with your father as emotions swirled all around you. He pushed the horses at a fast trot to leave the swamps as quickly as possible, paranoia creeping up on him like the sounds of crickets at his back. You could no longer hold back the sobs that shook your body. Sorrow at losing everyone again. Nerves about going back to being a prisoner. Utter and complete heartbreak at the thought of Arthur hating your every fiber. It was all too much. How could one person cope with this much feeling?

“I ever tell you why I joined the Pinkertons in the first place?”

Milton’s voice caught you off guard and interrupted your sorrow. 

“N-no, and I don’t care -”

“I joined,” he continued on. “Because I wanted to put order where there was only chaos. The Pinkertons were a respectable organization I could put myself behind, gain respect myself and do something worthwhile for society. We left Boston after your brother...died and I couldn’t stand the pain. My work eventually came second to drinking and I knew then that was my lowest point.”

“But you kept drinking, you still do,” the thought of stale whiskey making you shiver. 

“Since you ran off I haven't touched a drop. You see, in the past I myself was the chaos and I needed order to save me. Our family was broken but I couldn't look past my own pain to see that you both needed me instead of the shell of a man I was parading around as. Your mother is a good woman and pulled me up when I needed it. She packed us up and moved us out all on her own. I was simply a shell.” You had never heard your father talk like this and wondered what brought about the nostalgia. It was strange to hear about a time you dreamed so often of but in reality knew nothing about. He looked softer as he spoke. “I never wanted to be like that again. Yes, I still drank to forget but I was finally in control where I belonged. We had a good house, in a good town. I had a good wife and a good daughter. Only when that bastard Van der Linde moved in did you start to get reckless, going to town with that dark haired woman and forgetting where you came from. It didn’t take me long to realize you were the only thing left I had to steer away from chaos. My little girl.”

His honey-covered words were hiding something but you couldn’t figure out what it was. The way he spoke of chaos and control sounded religious; he truly meant to save others the same way he found for himself. You sat in silence for a moment before thinking of something to say. 

“I’m not your little girl anymore,” your voice remained steady. “To be honest I’m not sure I ever was. Growing up with a daddy who drinks and hits you takes away any kindness he offers and twists it into something evil.”

“You see what I mean?” Milton’s temper flared for a moment and he carefully brought it back in. “All of them, they turned you away from what’s right. They worship savagery.”

“These aren’t things that changed because I met them, they were always wrong! Do you really not see that?”

Milton hesitated before answering. “The life you lived there wasn’t...These people are just playing pretend. They have no sense of contributing to something larger than themselves and it’s so small minded, you were raised to know better than that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to contribute to something,” you muttered. “Maybe I just want to know what it is to not live bound to any rules other than what I need. I’ve seen your justice, father, and I don’t want any part of it.” 

Weariness slipped into your bones at the conversation. It was the longest you two had spoken in months, almost a year, and his blind passion did nothing to sway your feelings towards the Pinkertons. 

“I’m sure you’ll change your tune. Your mother is too.”

Your head shot up at that. “Mother knows what you’ve done? And she agrees?”

Before he had a chance to answer, a horse came thundering up the road behind you. Squinting through the evening fog you couldn’t make out the rider but had a feeling in your heart that it was someone you knew. They drew closer and with each passing second you grew more anxious. Your father pulled out his pistol and kicked the horses faster. 

“Milton!” A feeling of relief washed over you at the sound of the voice. “You ain’t going anywhere with her. Give it up!”

“Arthur!”

The hose below you let out a nervous whinny. It struggled against you pusining to turn with your legs and the yanking from the rope as your father pressed it to go faster than before. You were desperate to get to your husband but it was nearly impossible with no control and you wanted to cry out in frustration. 

“Get back, Mr. Morgan. We had a deal but I’m not surprised you snakes went back on it,” your father spit, looking back. “You’ll get nowhere with this stunt.”

“Stop, please stop!” You begged. Arthur was gaining closer with every second.

Milton spun around to check on the pursuer’s progress and the look on his face was murderous. Rage flushed his face and the pressure to flee made the veins in his forehead stand out at a horrifying attention. He paid you no attention as he kicked his horse again. 

With less than ten feet between you Arthur kept one hand tightly on the reins and held the other out to you, reaching as far as he could to try and bring you to him. As if on its own, your arm stretched to try and meet his fingertips. You held on to the saddle horn and tried to ignore the sounds of protest coming from your father that drove the horses on somehow. 

“Just a bit more, darlin’. I got you. Don’t be afraid!”

“I’m not, I’m not!” 

The sound was bordering hysterical. The distance between you was all you had to overcome and then you would be safe and home in Arthur’s arms again. Your heartbeat matched the echoing of hooves around you at the thought of making it to Arthur and simultaneously what would happen if you didn’t. 

His blue eyes held yours with no malice and your own fears melted away momentarily. For a month you had been kept apart, by Dutch, by your father. It was time to end all of that. 

Just as your hands brushed one another in their first reunion Milton screamed and whipped around to face the two of you. 

“Enough! I’ve had enough of this!” The pistol in his free hand raised to take aim at the moving target. “Leave us now or die!”

“No!” You screamed, moving in front of Arthur as best you could to shield him. “Father stop!”

“Milton put the gun down!” Arthur’s voice was low and hard, anxiety weaving its way through at the thought of either of you getting hurt. By now he had a firm grasp on your wrist and the pressure of his hand on you gave you strength. Your mind ran wild trying to think of a way to get out of this alive. 

But there simply wasn’t enough time. 

The missing heat from Arthur’s fingers registered at the same time as your scream ripped through the muggy air. You clawed at the empty space next to you and watched in horror as a red stain blossomed across Arthur’s shoulder beneath his hand. He looked up almost bewildered. 

“Arthur! Arthur no!” 

You twisted out of the saddle and fell to the ground with a hard thump. The impact hurt but you pushed it aside. You had to get to Arthur. 

Milton stayed silent but circled back around. You ignored him and ran, if you could get far enough you could both still get away. But hope slipped out of your grasp as he came closer. 

The shot hit him right in the shoulder and he was bleeding. A lot. Harsh, ragged breaths pulled in and out of Arthur’s chest as he applied shaky pressure to the wound and cursed in agony. You knew there was no way he could ride both of you in that state. 

“How could you!” You screamed at your approaching father. “That is my husband you just tried to kill!”

“Milton -”

“Enough of this foolishness!” Milton shouted, spit flying in his desperation and rage. “I will not have you acting like a child any longer. This ain’t over Morgan. You tell Van der Linde -”

“YN -”

“We’re not leaving him! He could die!” Milton gave you a pointed look. Anger bubbled up inside of you. “No, I refuse to go with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. If he dies no one will come after us and you will stay with me. If not,” your father shrugged. “I’ll kill him later.”

Just as you went to join Arthur, Milton grabbed your arm. You struggled and pulled to no avail. He was stronger and dragged you further and further from your husband who held himself up precociously, blood covering his chest. 

“I said enough!” Your father yanked you one last time and looked down at you with rage and a hint of pity in his eyes. “You clearly need to be reigned in more than I thought.”

A blinding pain exploded on your right temple and radiated down your neck. Arthur cried out but the sound was lost as your father brought the flat end of his pistol down, hammering it into your temple to knock you out. Unfortunately it worked; you couldn't fight him anymore and Arthur was all but dead if no one knew where he was to help him. 

Your last fleeting thought before losing consciousness was that this had to end. The chasing, the fighting, the pain of losing good people who didn’t deserve their fate. It was time to take back the control others had over you and set everything right that had toppled into chaos around you. In a twisted sense your father’s words about disorder and structure were true. Just not in the way he wanted. 

You were no one’s pawn and never would be again.

[scribbles97]

Being Home -- Part 7

It’s not just as straight forward as walking through the front door and saying hi.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Alternatively Read on AO3

Under the cut for Spoilers for The Long Reach Part 2!!!

He hadn’t pushed for her to come to him, and he hadn’t brought it up with any of the boys. His mother had assured him that the relationship between Tanusha and the Hood was out in the open now. Yet it felt like broaching the subject with her was somehow still wrong. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a shock or not that his own disappearance had lead to Kyrano becoming crazed by his brother’s actions, leading him down a spiralling path that nobody was sure he could ever get fully out of. 

Val told him that the younger woman still hadn’t forgiven her Uncle for her father’s ill health, something Jeff had had to question further about. Answers had been clipped, the look in Val’s eyes telling him that they weren’t questions for her to answer. 

They had always been close. Since the day the Hood had threatened her in front of him there had been a fierce need to protect the daughter he had never had. Kyrano was still very much her father, but Tanusha and Jeff’s relationship had been just as close and he had cherished it. The days where she had come to him, just because, and the nights where she had shared her hopes, dreams, and fears. He knew it was a privelige that she let him as close as she did, and his heart lurched at the thought that maybe things might have changed. That maybe, in leaving, he had let her down.

He wasn’t sure if Tanusha purposefully waited until he was feeling mentally better, or if it were a coincidence. He wondered if it were Virgil that had told her, after all it was the middle son whom he had confided in earlier in the week that his head was finally feeling clearer. Emotions that had felt fragile after reentry were settling, the tight feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the air pressure had finally eased enough to allow him to dare to breathe. For the first time in years he was starting to feel human again. 

Then the young, vulnerable girl he had unintentionally left behind had turned up. Green eyes scanning him as if he could break on her at any moment, wide and fearful. 

“Tanusha?” He murmured, pulling the reading glasses off and setting them on the table. 

She swallowed as she stepped into the room, taking a slow breath as she folded her arms and looked to the floor. 

“I’m sorry.”

He frowned, not following the statement for the briefest of moments. 

Then realisation hit.

“Kayo,” He tutted softly, pushing himself to his feet and wincing at the stiffness in his knees. Eyes tracked him as he crossed the room to her, limping as his left knee refused to wake up from having been sat for quite so long. 

If she thought his hands resting on her shoulders was simply a way for him to hold himself up, she would have been wrong. 

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

The way her lip trembled as she looked up to him told him everything he needed to know. Maybe the truth was out in the open, maybe his mother had told her a million times that she couldn’t blame herself, maybe he had come home safe. 

None of that mattered to the young woman stuck in the middle of it all. 

“You do not control your Uncle’s actions,” He murmured to her, “You couldn’t have known what he would do.”

Her eyes dropped as she shook her head, her arms wrapping around herself as she sniffed, “Pappa blamed himself. He went after him, and when he came back…” she trailed off, eyes screwing shut with the memory as she reaching up to scrub at her face with her fists. 

“Oh darling.” He sighed, arms pulling her into his chest and holding on tight. 

It was too little far too late. He should have told the boys from the outset despite her protests. Of course it would have created additional friction for her once he was gone. With the Hood to blame for it all he could only imagine what had gone through the young woman’s mind. 

“Uncle broke Pappa,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder, “and I couldn’t stop either of them.”

Jeff had been there before, stuck between the two brothers trying to stop one from tearing a lump out of the other. Despite being a calm man, Kyrano was as subborn as Jeff himself. He could guess how the man would have blamed himself for his brothers actions just as his daughter obviously had done. He would have become fixated, determined to stop the Hood from doing any more harm. 

Apparently at cost to himself. 

He wasn’t sure there were any words of comfort he could utter to help. What did you say to the woman that had lost everyone dear to her? 

“I hate him.” She murmured, “I hate my Uncle and I hope he rots.”

It wasn’t the kind of statement he would expect from her. Eight years was a long time to harbour feelings towards a man that had taken both her father and someone she saw as a father from her. 

Although he wouldn’t say it quite so explicitly, Jeff could appreciate the feeling. The Hood had once been a friend, but after all that he had done to both families, Jeff knew that the freindship had truly been forgotten. 

“Can I see him?” He asked her, frowning as he looked down, “Will your father take visitors?”

Pulling back, she smiled slightly, “I think he would like that.”

Jeff nodded, tucking her hair back behind her ear with a small smile of his own. The Hoods words from weeks earlier echoing in his ears. 

***

His mother had tried to insist they go inside, but Jeff was far more interested in ensuring the Hood made it safely to custody. It was only that Virgil had taken his side, reminded his grandmother that Jeff knew more of the Hood’s tricks than anyone, that had seen her give in. 

He didn’t mention that he was also hoping to catch Val before she left. Only to be disappointed when Scott informed him that Colonel Casey had already left the Island with the pair of siblings known as the Chaos Crew, leaving a young Captian and his team to recieve their special guest. 

As they had stepped back out onto the runway, Virgil under his arm, he had instantly spotted the man in question. Tall but stocky in build, and clearly laughing at whatever the woman stood with him was saying. 

“Is that--” He started, not sure if it was still the change in light that was messing with his eyes, or if Kayo really had grown up that much. 

Virgil hummed in question as he glanced across to him and then back to the GDF flier, “Oh, your eyes, uh, I should have got you some sunglasses or something.”

Shaking his head Jeff waved him off, “I can manage without for now, this is more important.”

Tutting, he felt rather than saw the disapproval in his son’s face as he focused on the daughter he had never had. Yes, it was definitely her, just grown from a girl into a young woman. The childish roundness of her cheeks gone, but the trademark ponytail remaining. 

As they neared he didn’t miss the way her face dropped at the sight of her Uncle. She had seemed to be quite happy talking to Rigby until the rest of them had arrived. Her glare was cold and aimed solely at the man Scott and Gordon were escorting towards the GDF carrier. 

“Captian Rigby,” Scott nodded, “I trust you’ll take good care of our uninvited guest here.”

Rigby grimaced as he took a grip on the Hood’s arm, “Don’t you worry, we have a nice cell in Solitary Confinement all ready and waiting for him.”

Jeff straightened, knowing that there was little that could easily hold him, “You had best check him for gadgets as well…”

He trailed off as the Captian’s eyes landed on him, the young man’s back straightening. 

“Colonel Tracy, Sir, an honour to finally meet you.” A glance towards his detainee and he added, “I only wish it were different circumstances.”

Watching the Hood, Jeff nodded, “There’ll be time for all that, Captain. Just be sure he doesn’t give you any trouble.”

He didn’t miss how the Hood rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, I’m still here you know?”

“I’d enjoy the company whilst you can,” Rigby commented, “It’s the last you’re going to get for a very long time.”

The Hood snorted, turning his gaze back on Jeff with that knowing smile the father had come to hate, “In that case, Jeff, do give my regards to my brother. That is if he is taking visitors now, I seem to recall him being somewhat deranged the last time I visited.”

“That’s enough.” Virgil growled, his whole body tensing alongside his father’s. 

“Get him out of here.” Kayo uttered. 

He knew there was an obvious question to be asked. When he had left Kyrano had been home, very much part of the family life. Yet, it was only the reminder from the man’s brother that had led Jeff to realise the absence of one of his closest friends. 

From the look on everyone’s face though, he could guess it wasn’t the time for such a question. Kyrano was no longer at home on the Island, and Jeff dreaded to think what that could mean for the other man’s health.

[natashaswinterwolf]

Day 7- Nimulot week St. Patrick’s Purgatory  from Draoight

                       Chapter Text    some humor

The two day’s ride ended up being three, the weather and terrain slowing the horses down. The mountains in the distance were already frosted with snow, and the horsemen could tell it would be descending into the valleys in a short while. Worrying about her people, Nimue wondered if it would be possible for her and Lance to perform the rite out in the open in the cold. Lancelot was up for anything where sex with Nimue was concerned but a turn in the weather forced them to seek shelter in one of the many caves that dotted the landscape.

Of course caves were places of magic and one could stand at the mouth of cave and stare out at forever. Lancelot and Merlin gathered firewood and Morrigan used magic to dry it out quickly. A nice fire chased the chill away, but it would eventually come back and they needed to be settled by then. And settled on this night meant a warm woman in your arms with a saddle pack under your head. For Lancelot and Nimue it was a familiar position. Morrigan and Merlin had to work on it.

During the night a family of wild cats entered the cave and made their beds near the cavern wall. A solitary fox actually bedded down near the fire. They all left before the fey awakened, but Lancelot knew they had been there.  

“We had visitors last night,” he told Nimue with a smile on his face as he repacked their saddle bags.

“What kind?”

“A fox and some cats.”

“I wish I had seen them,” she replied with a wistful smile. Once the horses were saddled, they rode out into the chilly morning. The ground crunched beneath their hooves, but within the hour they were topping a ridge and pausing to gaze out across a long narrow valley. In the distance frosted with snow a blue mountain range rose above it.

Merlin led them into the valley, Lancelot bringing up the rear. By midday they were standing at the edge of Lough Derg, and Merlin was horrified. “There’s a church on our island,” he said in amazement. “I thought you said there would be dobharcus and lake monsters. Instead we are going to be facing monks….no offense.”

“None taken,” Lancelot answered.

“I haven’t been here in a thousand years,” Morrigan replied defensively. “How was I to know they would build a church on THAT island.”

“What we need is there,” Merlin continued. “There is supposed to be a cave on the island and the shard we need is there.”  Looking around for a way to cross to the island, he said, “I would rather deal with dobharcus.” Spying a dock with a pair of curracgs tied to it, they walked over to see if anyone would take them to the island.

“I’ll stay with the horses,” Morrigan offered. “No monk is going to believe I’m one of them.” To Nimue, she said, “You’ll need to cover your hair.”

“Or I could stay with you and not upset the monks,” Nimue offered.

“Cowards,” Merlin snipped and looked up at Lancelot. “They have a point but you don’t.”

“I said nothing,” Lancelot spoke up in defense of himself.

“You don’t have to. Come on, let’s see how much it will cost to sail over to the island. And we have to leave our weapons here.”

Nimue and Morrigan watched the currach slide across the water towards the island. “He really was looking forward to seeing a dobharcu,” Morrigan remarked as she waved her fingers at Merlin.

“I think Lancelot was too,” Nimue added wishing now that she was going with them, although an island of monks did not appeal to her. And there probably wasn’t any room for her on the boat.

The currach beached and the oarsman said, “I’ll be back in three days.” And he shoved off.

“Three days?” Merlin muttered to himself. “I do not plan on being here three days.” Lancelot didn’t say anything; some monks were coming to welcome them.

“Brothers,” the elder of the two greeted them with extended hands. “Welcome to St. Patrick’s Purgatory. “I am Brother Aedan and this is Brother Daniel. You will find inner peace as you fast and pray for the next three days.”

Merlin grimaced at the thought of fasting for three days. “I am honored to meet you Brother Aedan, this is my son Bradan.” Appreciating his own joke, Merlin explained, “His mother had a love of fish.”

“The fishing is excellent here,” Brother Daniel included.

Merlin looked around, noting that everything was wrapped in winter brown…except. “Is that Crios Conchulainn growing there?” he asked and pointed at the lush blooming white flowers.

“We prefer to call it meadowsweet, but aye, isn’t it remarkable?” Brother Aedan replied and led them to the very shallow iron planter. “They bloom year round without any help from us. A true miracle from God.”

A miracle all right but not from God. Merlin recognized the bottom portion of the Dagda’s cauldron. He knelt down on one knee and ran his hands over it. He could feel the magic rolling off it. Glancing up at Lancelot, he said, “We have certainly come to the right place.”

Lancelot gazed thoughtfully at the piece of iron and knew without a doubt his soul was going to burn for all eternity, because they were about to rob a church. The brothers led them to the chapel where they could pray in peace as they were the only guests on the island. Kneeling at the alter in the candle lit church, the smell of honey filling the air, Merlin looked at Lancelot and whispered, “I didn’t realize it was that big. We won’t be able to just tuck it under our cloaks and run.”

“We’ll need our own currach,” Lancelot realized aloud.

Merlin thought hard. Where was Scuabatuinne, the Sweeper of the Waves? Who got it after Lugh was killed? If only he could contact Morrigan or better yet Nemglan. “Can you reach out to Nimue?”

“I have to be touching a green plant.”

“The flowers. If you can reach her, tell her to send Morrigan this way.” When Lancelot hesitated, Merlin said,  “Do it now before they go somewhere else.”

Lancelot made the sign of the cross and rose from his knees.

“I can’t believe I’m about to rob a church.”

“It was ours first,” Merlin reminded him. “Don’t be long.”

Going from Christian rites to pagan ritual was making Lancelot a little disorientated.  Keeping his head down and his hands clasped in prayer, he returned to the meadowsweet and ran his hand over them. Keeping it hidden as best he could, he reached out to Nimue. Several heart beats later she appeared to him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her background indicating she was indoors somewhere.

“We found it.”

“Where?”

Lancelot lowered his gaze to the flowers. “Merlin needs to see Morrigan. I have to go.”

Nimue watched him vanish and turned to her roommate in the hostel run by the Sisters of Eternal Grace, yes she and Morrigan were hanging out with nuns. “Seems that they found the piece they were looking for, but Merlin wants to see you.”

“I should fly over now,” Morrigan teased. “Give the monks a big thrill, but I’ll go tonight.”

Merlin was beginning to think she wasn’t coming when the large back raven settled on the dry lawn. Within seconds she was Morrigan cloaked all in black from head to toe. “It’s about time,” he greeted impatiently.

“You didn’t want me to come in the middle of six o’clock mass did you?” she retorted.

“I need you to find my currach.”

Morrigan looked at him as if he were crazy. “Do you have any idea where it might be?” she asked.

“Maybe Naas? I don’t know. Find Nemglan and ask him to send his birds out.”

“It might take a few days.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Merlin retorted. “I just hope they don’t try to baptize me before you get back.”

Morrigan looked up at the silent Lancelot. Such a tall sweet baby. Slipping her arms around his neck she kissed him. A little magic got his lips parted for a slip of the tongue. And then she released him. “That’s from Nimue,” she said and flew away.

Merlin snorted, “Nimue, my ass.”

Sleep depravation did not bother them; they were fey after all and sleep was not essential to their existence. And fasting, while annoying to a man used to several meals a day, did not weaken them, but the constant praying and pretending to pray was taking its toll on Merlin. Lancelot taught him a few lines to speak in the presence of the monks, who owed their lives to the fact that Lancelot had left his swords with Nimue and Merlin could not convince him to just strangle them.

On the third day without any sign of Nemglan or Morrigan, they stepped into the rented currach for the ride back to mainland. Merlin didn’t know how they were going to get back to the island, but he was not leaving without that piece of the cauldron. Half way to the shore, a large white cob flew by with a raven following. Nemglan! And he had something around his neck on a leather string. His currach! It had to be Sweeper of the Waves!

Merlin and Lancelot were dropped off at the pier, where they were met by Nimue. Did she ask her father how he was doing? Or did she throw her arms around Lancelot and not come up for air for several seconds?

“People are staring,” Merlin warned her. “I mean I can’t remember if he’s your brother or not.” Gazing out at the large swan floating by, he said, “You’re late.” The swan flapped his wings but settled back in the water. “I am going to get something to eat…please tell me there is food around here somewhere…and when it’s dark we’ll come back.”

The Sisters of Eternal Grace served hot oatmeal flavored with cream and honey. Merlin ate because he was starving. Morrigan joined him and together they watched Nimue and Lancelot try to flirt without anyone noticing.

“You realize everyone knows what you are doing,” Merlin remarked and stuffed a wooden spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Nimue moved her hand from Lancelot’s thigh and scowled at her father.

Morrigan turned to Merlin and asked with a smile, “Were we ever like that?”

“Like what?” he asked and shoveled more oatmeal into his mouth.

“Innocent.”

Merlin thought about it as his daughter scowled at him. “Never.”

Morrigan arched a fine black brow and finished her oatmeal. Humans ate horrible food. How were they ever capable of driving the sidhe underground?

Once it was good and dark, and they had their horses saddled and ready, they returned to the lake where Nemglan waited in swan form for them. Merlin took the leather thong from his neck and held the small palm sized object for the first time in centuries. “The Sweeper of the Waves,” he said in awe and started unfolding the currach.

Nimue and Lancelot watched in amazement as the small leather packet grew bigger with every unfold. This was real magic. Soon a full sized currach settled in the water. “Get in,” Merlin told Lancelot. “Nemglan we will need you.” The swan hissed and flapped his enormous wings to rise gracefully from the water. Morrigan shifted into a raven and joined him. Nimue wasn’t going to be left behind this time and jumped into the leather boat.

“Take us to the island,” Merlin said once he was settled. Without oar or wind the magical currach backed from the shore and slid smoothly across the water. Nimue grabbed Lancelot’s arm as they covered the distance without a ripple of water. Nemglan and Morrigan, still in bird forms, waited for them. Nemglan shifted into his very naked human form and helped pull the currach up to the bank. Nimue stayed in the Sweeper

The three men quietly approached the planter and studied it for a moment. “Save the flowers?” Nemglan asked Merlin.

“Leave them in the hole, maybe they won’t notice,” Merlin said. “Lancelot, use your dagger to loosen the dirt.”

Lancelot withdrew his dagger and jabbed it into the soil around the edge of the pot. Only the bottom part was the cauldron, but the planter had been added to. Once the flowers were free, the men could removed the extra part, put it in the hole and return the flowers to it. Merlin picked it up and carried it quickly back to the currach setting it in the middle of the boat. Lancelot hopped in and grabbed the edges Merlin climbed in last and with a thought sent the boat back across the waters.

They packed the large piece of iron on the pony mare while Nimue stroked her head. Then Merlin took the currach out the water, folded it back into a small package and slipped it into his pocket. Morrigan assumed her human form and mounted her white mare. Nemglan flew home.

Merlin paused a moment to decide which way they should go. The sea was pulling at him, beckoning him home.  Turning his horse towards the southwestern end of the valley, he urged his horse on. They would reach the coast by noon the next day.

[bcbdrums]

ExCUSE me ma'am... you're a damn fine author! *points with a stern finger* if you don't mind, could I get "When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More" pwease!! ^_^

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13576732/1/Actions

Link for FFn, but I’ll give it to you here anyway.  This is an AU.  Hope you enjoy!

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

Shego lay face down on the sofa as she cried, her arms folded above her head. She had barely moved in three days.

The first day, she stared at the TV in anxiety as the news of the alien invasion spread. The second day, she stared in numb shock as the explosion of the ship was broadcast globally. And now on the third day, she mourned.

Drakken had been on that ship.

She had considered going after him. But...she remembered what those aliens could do. They probably would have killed her at their last encounter if it hadn't been for her quick thinking and the extraterrestrial woman's gullibility.

But her fear in the present had cost her her boss. And as she cried every tear she had within her, she was realizing she had lost more.

He wasn't just her boss... And 'friend' didn't seem to describe it either. He was just...Drakken. Her Drakken. Her...everything.

He had been. But now he was dead.

She cried until her body's energy was fully spent, and then continued to lay face down, her chest occasionally heaving with silent sobs. The loss was greater and more painful than anything she had experienced. And what was worse...no one even knew. The TV talked of celebrity losses, and property damage, but no one talked about the little people. The average citizens who couldn't turn the eye of the drama-devouring public, but who were everything to those they knew. Ignored and forgotten.

Shego finally rolled onto her side and turned her bleary eyes toward the TV. Not in any interest, but simply because she needed to breathe. Although...she wasn't sure what she was living for, anymore.

"...And the United Nations will honor Kim Possible and Dr. Drakken for saving the world from the alien invasion..."

Shego sat up with a start. She stared at the TV and the image of the teen waving shyly next to...

It was him!

She stood up and jumped right in front of the TV as she stared at his yellow petal-framed face as he looked just as awkward next to the red-head, and the blond-haired buffoon as well. They boy wore a space suit of all things, and Kim a torn and tattered graduation robe.

Shego ran for the hover car.

---------

Hours later found her parking the hover car at the United Nations building in New York City, running past security officers who shouted at her. But she didn't care. She had to see that he was real.

She followed the very obvious signs that led to a banquet hall, and once she arrived outside the open grand ballroom doors she finally paused. She stood out like a sore thumb, disheveled and disgusting outside the hall where the wealthy were gathered in formal wear.

But then she saw him, a large gold medal gleaming on his chest. She didn't care what she looked like. She ran into the room, security rounding a corner behind her.

He looked up. He saw her coming with her arms outstretched. He stepped away from the suits he was chatting with and reached for her.

"Drak—"

She stopped and drew her arms back. He paused, his brow twisting in confusion as his arms stretched a little farther toward her.

She almost took back a step as she realized what she'd almost done. Her fingers began running through her tangled hair as she stared at him, too many emotions swarming her and preventing all coherent though. She knew they were being stared at.

"Shego?" he asked in that too-familiar voice. And she was so glad to hear it! But she wasn't ready for his concerned eyes, or all of the people staring at them.

"I...uh...saw you on TV," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she felt. "S-saved the world, huh?"

Drakken's arms dropped and he fidgeted awkwardly. "Y-yes, apparently so."

"I, uh..."

Shego's struggle to form thought was interrupted as a gaggle of security officers rushed into the banquet hall.

"There she is!" she heard one cry.

She glanced at the men, and then back to Drakken.

"Don't think I'm welcome here," she said, the hint of a familiar and comfortable smirk coming to her lips.

"Wait!" Drakken cried, and the officers who were mere feet away slowed to a confused stop. "She's with me!"

Shego felt an unnatural flush to her cheeks, and she continued pulling at the knots of her hair.

"Very chivalrous of you Doc, but I'm not dressed for this party."

Drakken reached into his coat pocket and removed a small white key-card. He handed it to her.

"Here. My hotel room key. You can...freshen up."

Most of the concern had faded from Drakken's eyes, but he was still looking at her in perplexity. Shego took the key.

"Thanks," she said, turning on her heel and walking briskly out of the room with her head down.

---------

Shego paced the large and lavish hotel room, waiting for Drakken. She had opted not to return to the banquet for several reasons, lack of appropriate attire being one of them. But she also had no real idea what was going on.

She hadn't paid attention to anything after she saw the Lorwardian ship destroyed. She had only cried over his loss and wondered where to go next and came up with nothing. It was apparent of course, that somehow he had escaped and alongside Kim Possible, of all people, helped to save the world—of all things!

She simply didn't have enough information to rejoin the party that was apparently all for Drakken. Not to mention, her suit needed laundering.

With nothing to do for hours, she had availed herself of the shower in his penthouse suite and wore an incredibly fluffy and comfortable robe as she paced the thick carpet of the main room. As time ticked by, she found herself hoping that the party would in fact go on late into the night. Because she had no idea what she would say to him when he returned.

But as chance would have it, a knock sounded on the door that very moment. Shego looked through the peephole and found Drakken standing awkwardly but with a smile in the hallway, staring down at the medal that hung from his neck. She opened the door.

"Oh, there you are," Drakken said. He noted the bathrobe she wore with a slightly anxious expression as he stepped past her into the room. "Why didn't you come back to the banquet?"

"Nothing to wear," she said with a shrug. "Sorry, I should have thought about your room key."

Drakken stopped in the middle of the floor and turned back to her as she locked the door.

"Shego you're looking very pale and...very tired. Are you all right?"

She shrugged again as she hugged herself and walked past him and back toward the bedroom she'd used for her shower. He followed.

"Did you have to fight a lot of the Lorwardian invasion robots?" he asked in concern.

Shego heard his voice stop following her, and she turned around to see he'd paused in the doorway of the bedroom and not followed her in. She took a deep breath.

"What happened after they took you from the island?" she asked lowly.

He was looking even more confused and concerned. But as he began answering the question his brow darkened.

"I was restrained and put in a cell, and then they captured Kim Possible too. We were locked up together until my flower destroyed their security system."

Shego looked up. "Wait. Those marigold petals around your face have a use?"

Drakken shook his head. "Oh, no. It's this."

Shego recoiled as a green vine slithered up from somewhere behind Drakken's head, topped with a pink flower.

"It has superior strength and the ability to resist most destructive forces. It was key in the defeat of the Lorwardians," he said, puffing up slightly with pride.

"How were they defeated?" Shego asked, leaning back on her hands on the bed.

"I used my super hypollinator to surround all of the invading robots and entrap them. Kim Possible helped, and then the buff—...her...boyfriend, has these strange blue monkey powers and he destroyed Warmonga and...there was a larger fellow. Didn't catch his name."

Shego blinked. "That dork has powers now too?"

Drakken frowned slightly. "Apparently."

"He...killed them?" Shego asked in surprise.

"No, he launched them at super-sonic speed into their ship. When it exploded, the robots stopped functioning world wide."

Shego looked down. She'd had that explosion playing in repeat in her mind for nearly two days.

"How did you escape the ship?" she asked.

Drakken's frown deepened as he stepped into the room and moved to sit in the lounge chair near the balcony. The vine that had emerged from somewhere near his neck made a slow retreat until it vanished.

"James Possible, of all people, and the buff—...I...still don't know his name."

"Stoppable."

"Ah, yes. Stoppable. They flew up on one of...James's spaceships and we escaped that way. But Warmonga pursued us, which was how we ended up fighting them...back on Earth."

Shego sat forward again and set her hands in her lap. It didn't explain everything, but it filled in the most important details.

"What about you? What happened when you fought them?" Drakken asked.

Shego hung her head. She began running her fingers through her still-damp hair as she bit down on the bile that was threatening to rise in her throat.

"Shego? Did you hear me?"

She swallowed painfully. She knew she could lie, but...she was in too much pain to make the effort. Because it wouldn't solve the deeper problem of the way her heart had soared when she saw him alive, the rush she felt when she saw him through the crowd in the hall, or the way she had reached forward to...to kiss him.

Yes, she had a much deeper problem that a lie wasn't going to solve.

"Did you get hurt? Is that why you look so...so worn out?"

He was approaching her. Tears were coming hot to her eyes, and she hung her head lower to let her hair fall around her face so he couldn't see them.

"No, I...I didn't fight them, Doc. I stayed at the lair and...just hid from everything."

The confession didn't help, and her chest only tightened in pain at the sound of the horrible words. Drakken had stopped his approach when she spoke and now stood a few feet away from her. She didn't dare look up at his face.

"Oh. That's...what I would have done, had I not been captured," he said lightly.

Shego's eyes narrowed, and she wiped the tears away on the back of her hand before turning her harsh gaze up to him.

"I watched the ship explode on TV! I thought—" she took a steadying breath. "I thought you were dead."

Drakken's expression clouded slightly, but he continued looking at her in concern and confusion.

Shego scowled and stood up to face him, coming so close that he took a step back in surprise.

"Don't you get it? I didn't come after you! I saw them take you and just...let them go. And after the ship exploded I thought..."

Drakken blinked at her as he slowly absorbed her words. She turned away quickly as the tears came again. She didn't want him to see her any worse than she already was.

Behind her, she heard Drakken slowly step back to the chair and sit. She let herself fall heavily to sit on the bed as she wiped her eyes again.

After a long minute, she heard Drakken clear his throat. "If that was...an apology, I accept it. At least it's a little progress..." he muttered.

Shego turned and looked at him in confusion. "What?"

He was looking down at his lap, where he was folding and unfolding his hands.

"Last time, you gloated."

Shego blinked and tried to put together his meaning. And then it hit her.

When Warmonga had nearly destroyed them before, Shego had allied herself with Kim Possible to stop the alien—for her own selfish reasons—and then simply left when the job was done. She hadn't come back for over a week, and after she finally had and found Drakken slowly rebuilding the lair, alone, she had jumped straight into mocking and insulting him. Her reason being that he had gotten her put into prison for months, and he deserved a tongue-lashing over the failed plan.

He had seemed to ignore her at the time, though she knew he had been irritated by his grunts of acknowledgement. But he'd never said a word.

Obviously, the memory had stuck with him.

"I almost died then, too."

Shego started and sat upright. "What?"

"When she threw me through the roof. I almost drowned. If the tide hadn't carried me back..."

Shego thought back to the incident and barely remembered it happening. All she remembered clearly were Drakken's words declaring the alien better than her, and later the alien about to kill Kim Possible.

"So you've had my near-death on your conscience twice now," Drakken said in conclusion. Shego's brow furrowed at the slight smirk on his face.

"You think...this is funny?"

"No," he shook his head. "But you are. You're not as evil as you think you are."

His smirk had grown, and Shego found it infuriating.

"I'm plenty evil Doc, but that's not the point. You could have died and I didn't do anything about it!"

Drakken's smirk faded and she shook his head. "You did exactly what everyone would expect you to do. I don't see the problem."

Shego opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. She had done exactly what everyone would expect of her. Which meant...

He had no idea that her feelings for him ran deeper than evil side-kick. And she was only just realizing it herself.

And it probably also meant...that his feelings for her ran no deeper than those of a boss.

She faced away from him and hung her head again. What had she even been thinking, flying halfway across the country to run across a crowded room, looking like something the cat dragged in, to... To...

Her intent had been to kiss him. Not when her feet had started moving through the banquet hall, but when when she was within a few feet of him and had begun reaching out.

Her feelings were far, far deeper than side-kick.

"Shego?"

She heard him call her name in concern and realized she was sniffling audibly.

"I'm tired Doc, let me get some sleep," she said in excuse.

"This is my room," he said. "Did...you take a shower in here?"

Shego looked up at the open bathroom door, where her suit, boots, and gloves lay on the floor.

"Oh...sorry." She quickly moved and grabbed her things, and when she turned back toward the bedroom's door she found him standing beside it. "Do you want me to...? Sorry, I should leave."

"Shego. What's wrong with you?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. She had flown all that way for nothing.

"I'm just tired, I haven't slept in three days," she said.

"Neither have I," Drakken said. "But I have an excuse."

Shego looked up at him. He seemed a bit frustrated now, but he was still concerned. Maybe...there was slightly something more to their relationship on his end, than just being her boss? Probably friendship. Whatever he felt, she had a feeling her nights would continue in sleeplessness until she knew one way or the other.

Shego took a breath...and then frowned. She wasn't a talker, like him. She had always been a person of action.

She dropped her collected clothing and then stepped up in front of him, and before he could react she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. His hands flew to her shoulders and gripped them tightly and began pushing her away. She held on tight to his neck and made the kiss last more than the split second he was after before letting him push her away.

"Shego!" he cried. His expression was unreadable as he looked at her. She set her hands on his biceps, which was as far as she could reach after he'd pushed her.

"I thought you were dead. I thought...I'd lost you."

Drakken's eyes had darkened in a mix of annoyance and fear in the seconds before she spoke. But they lightened and slowly morphed into awe and confusion as he absorbed her words.

"You're not just feeling guilty," he said slowly. "You...care about me?"

She slowly nodded. "...Yes."

He lightly pursed his lips. "Interesting way of showing it all these years."

Shego rolled her eyes. "I didn't know I... I just... Ugh!"

She released him and stepped away, throwing her hands up as she grunted in annoyance—not with him, but with herself. It wasn't at all fair, her kissing him like that. But at least...now she knew.

He hadn't been at all interested when she'd been the subject of behavior modification two years prior and had thrown herself at him for a full day, and he wasn't interested now while she was fully herself. Even if she hadn't slept in three days and was admittedly more impulsive.

She started picking up her clothes from the floor again. "I'll just...go. You go on and...be that hero they've turned you into," she said, gesturing at the medal that still hung heavily over his chest.

Her clothes in her arms, she turned toward the door again. When she felt brave enough to look up at his face, he was staring down at the medal and holding it in one palm.

"'Scuse me, Dr. D."

She tried to move past him. He let go of the medal and grabbed her shoulders. The awed look in his eyes had grown and had mixed with hope.

"Wait! When you say 'care about me' you mean...you... What...what do you mean?"

Shego felt very trapped with his hands boxing her in while her arms were full of dirty clothes. She shrugged in response.

"Let me go," she said quietly, glancing away.

He let go. She looked up at him again as she stepped past him toward the open door...and then stopped. She turned back as she realized his gaze had become wholly familiar—uncertain, waiting for her instruction, but still ready to make a choice if she failed to give him one.

"What about you?" she asked with a sigh. "Why don't you... Why don't you care about me?"

His brow shot upward. "I do!"

"So you show it by ignoring me unless you need something," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips. He started toward her with purpose and she dropped her clothes, her arms opening to him. But he stopped when he was inches from her, searching her eyes. His confidence had faded instantly and left only the wide-eyed uncertainty she was accustomed to on him whenever their talk went further than his flavor-of-the-week schemes.

With far less nerve than before, Shego put her arms around his neck and drew close to him. He swallowed nervously, but didn't stop her. His hands fell comfortably on her waist as he took a breath.

"When you say...you care about me, do you only mean that...you're glad I'm not dead so I can write your next paycheck? Or that you're glad because you...you actually...think I have value as a human being? Or..."

Shego rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead to his.

"Quiet," she said, and then she kissed him.

He kissed her back. All of the stress and pain she'd been carrying began melting off of her as he met her touch with seeming hunger. His arms went around her back and pulled her flush against him as his lips caressed hers, and she relaxed so deeply into the embrace that she sagged against him.

Breathless, she pulled away and dropped her face onto his shoulder. His fingers alternated squeezing and rubbing her back as she caught her breath, and then she was startled when she felt him take a step back without releasing her. She was forced to move with him or fall, and as he took a second and third step back she opened her eyes and saw he was drawing her back into the bedroom.

She met his lips almost carelessly as she reveled simply in the new joy of being in his arms. But for all of his usual talk, he obviously had been holding back from saying a lot as his kiss grew more passionate, and for the second time in mere minutes she felt weak at the knees.

He continued pulling her toward the bedroom, and she tugged on the fabric at his shoulders for additional support as she followed and nibbled at his lower lip. He suddenly pulled away and looked at her worriedly.

"I'm sorry," his voice sounded in a breathless whisper. "Are you sure you—"

She didn't let him finish as her lips attacked his fiercely, and she pushed him the last two steps into the room and slammed the door shut behind them.

[blandacheadcanons]

Let’s talk about AC: Odyssey

Overall, the game was a 7/10. I liked it, primarily because it’s shiny new content and because i get to play as a woman for the whole game (and Kassandra hnngggnng) but there were some issues which, for me, undercut the emotion of the whole thing, especially the ending.

spoilers and bitching below, proceed at your own risk

An ADHD dream and nightmare

in general, the way i played Black Flag, Origins, and Odyssey was tantamount to “Okay, gotta go to - squirrel!”

Now, that problem (not really much of a problem but y’know) starts with me. I have ADHD, so I’m already prone to being unfocused in my game play. But it doesn’t help that the map is littered with side missions, collectibles, and shiny things.

That, on it’s own, is not much of an issue. So it’s a bloated game; that just means there’s more to love. and I do love this game. however, the overwhelming amount of side missions and the fact that you’re practically required to play them in order to level up enough, means that the game loses its focus.

in Black Flag, this was somewhat remedied by the fact you’re never really under-leveled, so much as under-prepared. In Origins, it was offset by the intensely emotional story and clear motivations. In Odyssey, neither of those things were present.

Breaking the game

Throughout its life as a series, Assassin’s Creed has done something few other games have done: justified the fact that it’s a video game. We, the player, play as Desmond/Layla/whomever, who is playing through the memories of the historical character. The Animus can essentially take a puzzle and build the edges and group the pieces by color, but it still needs a human to put the pieces in place. the puzzle - the memory - itself cannot be changed.

Now, in Odyssey, there is no more justification. Yes, I’m talking about the choice mechanic.

This aspect of the game just... breaks everything we know about the series. the way the animus works. the way we play the game. the lore went from decently put together to flat out incoherent.

I love Kassandra. and I love that she’s the canon character. but if female leads for some reason come at the cost of consistent story-telling, i’ll take the consistent lore.

Way too big

traveling takes for-fucking-ever. Look, Ubisoft, I know people loved the naval portions of your games. but that’s not an excuse to make everything fucking HUGE and spread out over a dozen islands. If you must have such a huge game, give us fast travel to an island right away. restrict it however else you like, but for FUCKS SAKE.

Clash of the Titans (and the original premise for this series)

from AC1 to AC: Black Flag, each game has been defined by its historical setting. It was the Crusade Game, the Renaissance Game, the Victorian Game...

Origins began to lay the framework for a more mythology-based portion of the series.

Well, Origins walked so that Odyssey could fly by it on a motorcycle. Throughout the game, i wasn’t about the historical figures i would meet. I was wondering where and how the mythology would be making an appearance.

On its own, this is not a bad thing. It also makes sense, given that Ubisoft seems to be shifting to the Isu for plot in the wake of Juno’s death.

It is, however, still rather jarring. It also doesn’t look like we’ll be getting more of the historical thing because AC: Ragnorak is looking like the next game.

I love mythology as much as the next person, but...I don’t even know what to say.

The Ending

the aforementioned lack of focus and emotional intensity led to a...lackluster ending. I went for the best ending where Kassandra saves Alexios and the family is reunited.

Alexios’s heel-face turn seemed so sudden. Like he’s furious up until he touches Leonidas’s spear, and he suddenly sees the light? I’m not saying that it can’t happen, but in a game brimming with mythology and magic, this was the thing that strained my suspension of disbelief.

And this was right after Kleon shot him in the back, too. but is it ever brought up? is his faith in the cult shaken by the fact that one of his “family” just tried to kill him? does Kassandra use it as evidence that the cult is using him?

nope. not once. not even a little bit.

And these are just some nitpicks, but for me, both Alexios’s subpar voice acting and Kassandra’s quiver disappearing (idk if that was a common thing or just my game) undercut the emotion of the scene.

cutscenes are not the time for errors like this, people!

too short

As much as I complain about a bloated game, the main storyline was way too short. If you play only the main story line, you’ll probably have uncovered about half the map. maybe less. Why do i care about the map? I don’t. But i do care about an underdeveloped story.

Maybe there was more plot that ended up on the cutting room floor, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether the game was slashed to ribbons or wasn’t there in the first place. We got a game that was too short.

The lack of length also exacerbates the tone problem. Had we had a longer story with more Deimos/PC interaction where cracks appear in Deimos’s armor, and he maybe even does something uncharacteristically charitable (out of more than pure shock), i could then buy his behavior on Taygetos as a last-ditch effort to maintain his self image in the face of his shifting world view.

If we’d had cutscenes like Syndicate where we could see a few moments from Alexios’s perspective, I could understand how that world view shifts and how the cult treats him.

but instead, we get an exponential graph of Alexios’s development. and it’s a damn shame.

Loss of Identity

for every AC game, there’s a million video essays laying out the problems with it. And in every one of those essays, there’s a line to the effect of “this game doesn’t feel like an Assassin’s Creed game.”

Previously, i was always of the school of thought that were was no “feel” of an AC game. the nature of the games is to change, in big ways and small ways, between games. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

But now, if you had me play this game and then AC1 and told me they were in the same series, i would never fucking believe you. The already thin common threads between games has been completely broken, even more so by going back in time. Origins had a similar problem, but it at least referenced the rest of the series with the hidden blade and the establishment of the Assassin Order. the only things “Assassin’s Creed” about Odyssey are the Isu and the title.

Other Nitpicks

Layla does not get out of the Animus nearly enough. I know most people hate the modern day line, but i like the break from all the historical action.

not calling Deimos Alexios/Kassandra in the subtitles. I know it was probably easier on the devs but just imagine the feels if the name changed when Deimos was being more vulnerable/letting his compassion show.

Kassandra can full-on see Atlantis and a Sphinx and still be amazed by every mythological creature that crosses her path.

people move way too much in dialogue cutscenes

animation and cgi are becoming so real that it’s creepy again

i appreciate the move to Actual Eagle’s Vision, but leave it in these games. I don’t want to get to the middle ages and be seeing out of a raven within a century of Atair’s Color Coding Eagle Vision. That’s not how evolution works.

While cool, the introduction of literally magical armor and weapons further proves that this isn’t a historical series anymore.

There is barely a stealth mechanic in this game, and when it’s used, it’s just used to pick people off before we’re noticed, not to avoid being noticed.

in a world where there are mercenaries and those mercenaries have to kill each other either for money or just to move up in rankings, mercenaries killing each other should not be illegal. if i try to fight one more mercenary and end up getting killed by the swarm of soldiers that just pony up out of no where, i swear to God...

why are soldiers acting as cops anyway doesn’t Athens have real, actual cops or equivalent

I think Ubisoft finally remembered they were rated M in Origins and Odyssey but it honestly just makes it harder to play around my parents

That’s as much as i can think of off the top of my head if i can think of more i’ll add it

[jancmalandra]

Moominpapa Steps Up

On not taking yourself so seriously

Bright and early Sunday morning, Moominpapa, Moomintroll, Snufkin, Tayberry, and Moomin all packed their backpacks with their towels, bedrolls, blankets and pillows. They each brought their fishing poles. They divided the cooking equipment and their favorite picnic food between them. The group set off for the cave on the beach marching merrily to the tune Snufkin played on his harmonica. They reached the cave and set up their bedding and then chose a nice nearby spot on the beach to set up a fire pit.

Moomin had discovered an old fashioned black bathing dress and swimming cap in the third floor costume wardrobe two years ago and fell in love with it and now they always wore it when they went to the beach. Moomin, Tayberry, and their father and grandfather immediately wanted to get in a little swimming before breakfast to refresh themselves and work up an appetite.

As they swam, Snufkin cast his line into the surf and watched them all with a big smile on his face. After twenty minutes Moominpapa, Moomintroll and the children rejoined him on the beach. He had caught one fish for each of them. As they waited for their fishes to roast and ate them on the spits, Moominpapa began his story.

"From what I've told you of how my life began and my adventures with the crew of The Oshun Oxtra, especially of how I came to found a colony in the Autarch's palatial estate, you might have come to some incorrect conclusions. Specifically, you might have thought that Mama and I married when we were too young for it. Between the time when The Muddler married his Fuzzy bride, The Joxter left with The Mymble, and Hodgkins became The Autarch's Court Inventor and the time I met Mama, there was a span of six years that I spent living an even more lawless and wild life than The Joxter! I've been avoiding telling these stories out of fear of looking silly, but I've finally realized that that is inevitable for anyone trying to live an adventurous life. Once Mama returns I'll publish them once and for all! They're much too good to be left untold!"

"The colony I had started grew in numbers all on its own as various odd vagabonds came our way one way or the other. We only met together for picnics and parties. With Hodgkins living out his dreams in the Autarch's Garden Of Surprises, I could think of no way of continuing to fulfill my own dreams of having adventurous voyages. I found myself unable to hibernate the Winter after the three of us in the crew of the Oshun Oxtra went our separate ways and decided to relieve my frustration by making constant improvements on the first house that I had built on my own. By the time Spring came around it had become the Moominhouse that you all know today."

"I spent early Spring that year surf fishing every morning and looking out at the ocean forlornly. As much as I loved the home I had built, it was already beginning to feel like a prison. Then, one morning I saw the most extraordinary sight out on the ocean; Hattifatteners, tens of thousands of them, in their tiny boats rowing past my beach. I was instantly inspired to follow them no matter the cost. I thought that if they could set out on the open sea in tiny canoes, an enterprising young Moomin such as myself should be able to do much better!"

"It took me a week of determined effort to build a sailboat about the size of The Adventure. Come to think of it, I never did think of a name for my vessel or bothered giving it a proper launching. I was far too eager to get started. It's a wonder that things turned out as well as they did!! I packed up all the camping equipment, food and other supplies that I could lay my paws on in my boat and headed out to sea in pursuit of the Hattifatteners!"

"I immediately experienced the dangers of sailing on the open ocean when my boat got caught up in a powerful current. It dragged my boat along through both storms and windless days at an amazing pace! I caught up to the Hattifatteners in less than a month. I saw all of their boats beached on a very large island and made land myself and followed them inland."

"The island's owner was the most remarkable Moomin, apart from myself, that I've ever met. In the middle of the jungle that covered most of the island he had built a rambling Moominhouse out of parts of sunken ships he had discovered on the reef that surrounded the island. He called himself Colonel Higgins, although I was always sure that wasn't actually his name. He dressed in British Army fatigues and a pith helmet and wore a monocle and had a very impressive mustache which he would constantly groom with a small comb. He cut quite an impressive figure, especially to a young, impressionable Moomin such as I was at the time! He told me all about the Hattifatteners and their life of constant wandering as he showed me around his island. He had turned his island into a personal wildlife preserve for his own hunting pleasure. It was he who gave me my blunderbuss and taught me how to live in the wilderness, hunt, and shoot over the next two weeks."

"Now, before anyone gets too worried, I should be clear that neither one of us could shoot for anything. We would always scare our prey and every other living thing on the island away with our first shot. We always wound up fishing for our dinners, and the island provided plenty of fresh fruit on top of that."

"Colonel Higgins explained to me that Hattifatteners always waited on islands for a really spectacular thunderstorm to recharge themselves for the next part of their voyage and to leave their seeds behind. He and I watched them set up their lightening rod and gather around it as a very large storm approached. You never forget the first time that you see Hattifatteners being struck by lightning, as you all well know."

Moominpapa and his family moved from one beach activity to the next all day. Every time that they came to a resting point, Moominpapa would continue his story. Finally, they were all gathered in the cave under their covers for the night and Moominpapa finished his story for the day by the light of an oil lantern.

"The following morning, the weather cleared and the Hattifatteners began piling into their tiny boats and leaving the island. I explained to Colonel Higgins that I felt compelled to follow them. He understood completely, being an adventurer himself, and bid me a very fond farewell. He resupplied me with fresh fruit and dedication to a life of adventure."

"For two years I followed the Hattifatteners from island to island and lived a completely untamed existence. I learned all that there is to know about sailing and surviving at sea by trial and error, and I wouldn't have it any other way now that I think about it."

"At the end of September of my second year at sea, I and the Hattifatteners washed up on an entirely different island altogether, and I began a very different chapter of my life. The island I had found was Manhattan."

At this everyone else in the cave gasped in surprise and pressed Moominpapa to continue his story.

"I'll tell you what.", said Moominpapa, who was really enjoying himself, "We'll go back to Moominhouse in the morning. Every night before we go to bed, I'll tell the next part of the story, IF you all have done your part in taking care of Moominhouse. I'll be finished by Friday, when we'll spend the morning preparing a proper welcome home celebration for Mama, Snork Maiden, and Little My."

Everyone else agreed somewhat reluctantly to Moominpapa's conditions, and then he blew out the lantern and they all did their best to fall asleep despite their eager anticipation for the rest of the story.

To Be Continued