#it could have so easily veered off into ''woman is strong because a man hurt her'' but it did NOT. FOR A MOMENT.

[eerna]

not done talking about The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride yet. the way it begins making you think that the Ronin's desire for revenge is what is gonna turn him into an army killing machine. Mizu is the Ronin and she is presently killing an army so it makes sense, right. the Ronin is seeking revenge for his master while there are cuts to kid Mizu vowing to avenge her mother. it's so clear how the puppet tale parallels Mizu's life. and then they go SIKE YOU THOUGHT YOU KNEW WHERE WE WERE GOING WITH THIS AND YOU WILL BE PUNISHED WITH ONE OF THE COOLEST EPISODES OF TELEVISION YOU'VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE

[cinnamonrusts]

i’ll see you in the village -- 3

parts: 1 2

Chris closes in on your location and he prays to see that you’re alive and well. However, you’re on the opposite side of the secluded village and come face to face with the big honcho herself, plus some of her troublesome “children”. (chris redfield x f!reader)

                                                    ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

Chris's heart pounded in his chest as the squad’s van got closer and closer to the blip on the laptop’s map. He hoped that you would be okay - maybe staying in a home or met a friendly local... Your smile was all he could picture when he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in to calm down. However, when he opened them, the van veered off away from the main road where the rinky-dink cottages were scattered about and headed into the woods. “Where are you going?” he asked as he leaned into the cab. Night Howl was behind the wheel, “Following the ping, sir.” Chris swallowed hard, if you were alone in these dark woods -- something could’ve went wrong.

The vehicle bounced around on the uneven ground and Chris held on to the back of the seat to keep himself upright. His eyes never moved from the windshield and his keen senses were on alert for any sign of you. Lobo spoke up just as the ping reached its loudest pitch, “Says we’re here.” Chris opened the door with one quick yank and he jumped out of the van. He pulled out his flashlight and his gun from his belt as he observed his surroundings. The area was as quiet as death and there were no signs that you even there. Chris walked around the area for quite sometime as his team watched him from within the vehicle, they exchanged brief words in regard to if they should help or stop him. But decided to let him do this unless he was met with danger.

His desperation reached an all time high and he started to shout your name into the dark. “[Y/N]!” Chris continued to walk and shout until his boot kicked something that was laying on the road. He kneeled down and shined his flashlight at the item that caught his attention. Chris picked it up and realized that the crumbled pile in his palm was once a cell phone. Technology seemed to stay at a standstill in this area and was mostly untouched by the outside world -- so why was there a cellphone here? The only explanation was that it was your phone. His tired faced drained itself of color and his heartbeat quickened to an unmeasurable rate. He was silent but his mind was loud. If anything were to happen to you, he would tear this entire place apart and tear through anyone just to get to you. His fist closed around the broken phone and crushed it more. As he came to a stand, he breathed out through his nostrils loudly and let the plastic crumble from his fingers.

Lobo stepped out from the van to approach Chris with concern, “Everything alright, Alpha?” Redfield’s eyes were fixated on the trees before him and he was silent - not even a twinge in his face, he was blank. “They took her,” he finally spoke after an awkward amount of silence. His head turned toward Lobo, “I’m gonna get her back.” Lobo nodded, “But Alpha, don’t forget about the main objective... with Winters.” Chris grit his teeth before he barked, “YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT?!” He instantly felt regret and apologized for his outburst. His team was completely faithful to the man and followed him to the ends of the Earth. But, he was scared to lose anyone else... he’s lost too much already and if he lost you... he was unsure if he could handle that. Lobo patted his shoulder a couple times, “Don’t worry, Alpha. We got your back and we’ll find [Y/N].”

                                                    ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

The Duke listened to your story intently and when you finished, he erupted in laughter. Your face crinkled in surprise at his reaction, “Did I say something -- funny?” you ask, offended. The Duke continued to chuckle before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “If you’re going to tell me a tale, my lady, at least make it believable.” You scoff and thought briefly about how good you thought your story was but -- it didn’t fool this large man that sat before you. “Now, why don’t we start again, American?” The jig was up and you might as well just tell the truth. “How could you tell?” you ask and he chuckled once more. “Gypsies haven’t been around this area for nearly fifty years! And also, you lack of an accent from the area you claim to be from... it is rather funny, if you ask me!”

Your ego felt somewhat hurt by this stranger but that was besides the point. If he could easily see through your ruse, then maybe so would Miranda... “So...” you start to say before the wagon got slammed into from the side. You tumble around inside the cart as it flipped several times before it landed upside down. The Duke had been separated from you as the back part of the wagon broke free from the front part he was in, and the horse carried him away to safety but left you behind

.

You groan loudly as you roll to your side and try to push yourself up but couldn’t because of an excruciating pain in your leg. It is hard to focus because of the trauma that your head had taken from the crash plus the trip down the hill earlier. Once your vision cleared, you could see a rather large piece of wood protruding from your upper thigh. “Shit!” you curse as your shaky hands hesitated to pull it out. But it was too painful to even touch and your training kicked in, if you took it out, you would more than likely bleed out due to where it was located and you were far from help.

Loud noises shuffled around from outside of the wagon and you began to panic. Your hands shuffled through the broken pieces of wood that were scattered around in an attempt to find your pistol. The curtain at the back of the wagon lifted slowly just as you found your weapon, and you proceeded to shoot a warning shot. The curtain dropped and it was silent for a moment but your aim was still up. Suddenly, a large, black root slinked up under the curtain and yanked you out from your cover. You screamed loudly and desperately tried to aim for something to shoot at but you found yourself being held upside down. Stupidly, you emptied your clip into the air as you hoped it would hit the root. 

✧.*

A woman stepped out from the shadows to slap your pistol out of your hand and you instantly recognized her face once she stepped into the moonlight. Her blonde hair and attractive features... they-they matched Mother Miranda! It was Miranda! Shit. Now you were deep in it... You followed the root that had a tight grip around your ankle up to the hem of her dress. It was apparent that she had abilities similar to that of the mold and BOWs, even better. “There was word of a rat in our nest,” she hissed, her voice feminine and powerful. Miranda’s stare was cold as she walked closer to you; her face closes in on yours and you could feel her warm breath on your sweat stained skin. “And the snakes don’t care much for rats. American agent rats to be exact.”

The root lifted you higher into the air and you were dangled above her head. Miranda looked up to you, “I think I will let the others help me decide what to do with you.” she smiled before the root slammed you down into the ground and your vision faded black.

Miranda lifted you from the ground and held your unconscious body in her arms. Black feathers spread from her back and wrapped around the two of you, then disappeared in a swirl of black.

✧.*

An unknown amount of time passed before you came to. The sound of a few people talking caused you to stir, their loud voices rang in your ear and irritated the horrible headache you had. “I say we strip her down, cover her in honey, and throw her to the rats! A rat for a rat!” a man’s voice boomed with excitement and it was the first sentence you could make out while coming to. “Let me have her! She’ll be turned into the finest of wine!” a woman’s voice that was not Miranda’s yelled over the man’s.

When your eyes opened fully, three faces turned toward you. “Well, well, good morning, sleepy head!” the male grinned and lowered his sunglasses to get a better look at you. A dark haired woman across from him stood from her chair and her insane height towered over you, “She looks healthy and plump enough to craft an excellent bottle.” The man stood from his chair and pushed her a bit, “You always want to turn the women into wine. Boring!” 

The two of them began to bicker back and forth for several minutes until one of Miranda’s roots grabbed hold of your throat and reeled you in. “You two can fight over the child’s father. She - she will be mine to toy with, I’ve made up my mind,” the leader smiled a menacing grin which caused your blood to run cold. Inside you hoped that Chris would punch  through the door and save you from your predicament, but that chance was slim to none. “Begone my children, I have work to do.” They obeyed her wishes and left.

  ✧.*

She wrapped her wings around you once again and kept you restrained while she forced you into her laboratory that was beneath the village’s grounds. “I could kill you but that would be a waste.” she spoke as she strapped you to a table in the middle of the room. You wiggled violently as you tried to free yourself from your imprisonment but cried in pain at the open wound in your leg. “A strong American agent like yourself could be an interesting addition to our family... think of it as an eye for an eye.” she walked away to a shelf and reached for a large glass jar which had a sort of creature inside. “You’ll be the first outsider to receive a Cadou implant. And I am oh so curious to see how you adapt...” She reached into the jar, pulled out the pulsating parasite, and slowly approached you. 

Screams escaped your mouth as you thrashed around in another attempt to break loose but your restraints were so tight that they dug into your flesh. Miranda pushed your head down with force and pressed her palm into your forehead. The “Cadou” writhed around and long tentacles sprouted from within its fleshy mass and grabbed onto either side of your chest . Your last breath was a shriek of terror as it attached itself to your body and burrowed into your torso.

[sarah--goff]

Their Dark Materials: Chapter Eleven: As the World Falls Down

Jareth draped himself on the window ledge, overlooking the kingdom stretched out before him, collecting each crystal from one hand and blowing them into delicate bubbles one by one, watching them float into the distance towards you.

_*_

You expected to clatter to the earth beneath you, but you landed in strong arms and a kind, familiar face peering down at you.

“You” you mumbled, becoming more aware of your surroundings. The man guided you to stand gently against him, you felt drowsy with sleep. You rubbed your eyes groggily, beginning to recognise him at the back of your mind.

Something told you that you felt like you should be angry with him, deeply, but you couldn’t think why as you held eye-contact. You blinked at him trying to remember…something. The feel of his hands on you were clouding your thoughts.

You glanced away briefly to see if you could work out who he was by where you were.

The room was illuminated by crystal white lighting. A grand ballroom, everything champagne, salmon pinks and ice coloured, silky gold streamers and chandeliers hung from the grand ceiling it was all so breathtakingly beautiful. The masses below twirled in pairs in perfect, creepy unison.

_*_

Beside him, you gasped, covering your hand over your mouth, clearly recognising this scene well. You were standing upright by yourself now, stronger.

You laughed loudly clutching his shoulder looking from the balcony to the dancers below. Jareth watched your delight fondly, the way your eyes lit up, your smile.

_*_

“My dream” you smiled brightly under the chandelier’s crystal light “I’m in my wonderful dream!” you laughed looking down at yourself and yes there it was the dress. Your dress. Your hands flew to your hair, feeling it pinned up in places, the annoying strays were back, framing your face delicately.

You could have been Cinderella herself.

The man who caught you had vanished from your side.

You looked around you but he was nowhere. Your stomach dropped, where was he? You wanted him to come back so badly. How could he leave?

“How do you like games?” a rich voice murmured, entering your mind

You frowned “I’ve never been a fan” you answered back in your head.

Your heels clicked with every footstep down the grand staircase. When you got to the end you swept to the crowd immediately. You knew what you were looking for, who you were looking for. You just let your feet wander pushing and squirming through the crowd. You felt like a magnet was pulling you in.

Collecting the silky puffy dress in your hands, you turned this way and that just searching, desperately searching. You pushed through the masses, feeling an invisible force graze your shoulders, navigating you towards something.

You flickered your eyes from figure to figure trying to spot his face in the crowd of bizarre masks, the laughing and leering around you seemed to get louder.

You felt a soft hand graze your forearm, tug at your hair, a fleeting graze on your waist, but when you swivelled around every teasing contact the force was nowhere to be seen. Was he playing with you?

You lowered your eyes to the floor feeling hopeless but then flicked them up to see him striding towards you, almost parting the crowd like the Red Sea. It wasn't hard to see why, he stood out from them, like a beacon of light held to the shadows. He breezed past the leers and outstretched hands, eyes focusing on you only, despite the hundreds in the room.

He was so gorgeous, so benevolent. More so than you'd ever seen.  

Your heart was stammering in your chest as he got closer, under the trained eyes.

“Goblin King” you murmured so only he could hear, standing directly in front of him.

_*_

Jareth waited for you to run away, to recoil or curse him.

You did none of these, but instead said stood plainly before him.

“Dance with me,” he commanded taking you by the hand “pretend that everything else doesn’t exist for a while”

-*-

You looked between his poker face and the gloved hand entwined with yours. You nodded with a smile, shyly at first but then as you were whirled into his arms you began to relax, the butterflies subsiding. You slid your arm up to cup his shoulder seemingly on auto-pilot.

This is exactly how you'd dreamt it, for what felt like the thousandth time, but this was sacred.  

You could feel his voice’s vibrations as the Goblin King sang with the music, quietly at first and then a few words that were by your ear making your skin tingle then to singing aloud.

“wasn’t too much fun at all, but I’ll be there for you…”

You rested your head against the crook of his shoulder not caring how he would react anymore. It just felt right. You briefly closed your eyes, lulled by his gentle hold, so at peace in this moment. There was that woozy scent emanating from him again, like you had inhaled from the cloak earlier.

His chin came to rest on the crown of your head.

“You remember now, don’t you?” the Goblin King murmured into your hair “remember this dream I created for you, how happy I made you”

You nodded, eyes still closed, resting against him, because you did. You remembered waking up every morning missing this exact moment, the one, it seemed, you were throwing away.

“You needn't run from me” Jareth murmured, holding you as close and snug as possible by his arm around your back as if you might suddenly vanish from him again. His sudden confident tone change put you on edge.  

“I don’t -want to” you forced out letting your fingers fiddle with the ruffles on his collar, your hold on his shoulder with the other hand loosened.

You tried to put the fragmented pieces together in your mind. Why were you running? Was it from him or something else? There was a reason. You just needed to remember.

“I just…something to do with a book, and my…life…”

_*_

It was apparent that you could sense something was wrong. He felt you tense up against him.

You lifted your head from his shoulder to look at him, withdrawing from the embrace slightly. Your large round eyes…they swelled with anguish, you looked hurt.

_*_

The Goblin King looked like he wanted to say something but the grand clock behind his ear chimed the 6th hour. With every toll the fabrication of this world began to waver.

The time! How had so much time passed!

You let go of him immediately as if he burnt you and rushed to the clock.

You had to wake up, wherever you were you had to leave.

You could see your reflection in one of the walls it curved like you were inside a bubble. Wake up, Sloane, wake up! You willed yourself.

Your eyes glanced for something to smash the bubble with and landed on a chair. You picked it up, your arms were beginning to feel heavy and drowsy and smashed it again and again at the reflection, willing the pieces to tumble down.

_*_

The spell was broken.

The Goblin King kept his eyes ahead where he had just been looking at you. He was frozen to the spot, hands still out where they had been embracing you a second ago. They lowered slowly, his tranquil expression crushed.

_*_

You lifted the chair to swing again, one more should do it.

Jareth was beside you, you saw in the cracked reflection. You veered your head only slightly, unable to come face to face with him properly.

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. You chanted in your head.

The Goblin King lowered the chair in your hands, momentarily begging you with his expression to look in his direction.

The realism of his touch began to fade as he brushed his gloved hand against your cheek.

You lifted the chair without looking at him and swung once more, hearing the glass burst .

You fell.

_*_

You were floating, your hair sticking out behind you as well as the cloak , which acted like a parachute. You dare not touch the bubble walls. You had your arms up covering your face, scared it would suddenly pop .

When nothing happened you let your arms drop cautiously.

The bubble slows until it stops, the light emitting from it allowed you to see a dusty ground beneath you, thank god. You lightly kicked the bubble, bracing yourself. It popped easily and you landed lightly on your feet.

“Oof”.

_*_

You woke with a start, lying against something uncomfortable digging into your back. You groggily peered down at yourself, checking for injuries. You were seemingly okay and back in your own clothes, thank god. You tried to sit up loudly wincing at the pain in your shoulders and back.

Your eyes fluttered open.

“What was I doing?” you clambered down from the heap of junk you had been stiffly lying against.  You tied the cloak around your neck further, like it would act as protection.

“Ah! Get off my back!”

You leapt off, seeing the mound you had stood on shift as an ancient scruffy old woman turned promptly revealing a worn and pinched face

“why don’t ya look where you’re going young woman! Hmmm?”

“I…was looking” you mumbled dazed neither to her or yourself.

“huh?  huh? and where are ya going hmm?” you climbed around various heaps of junk, rocking horses, bicycles, furniture. Was this where you were supposed to be? Perhaps...

“I don’t remember “

“Ya can’t look where ya going if ya don’t know where ya going”

“I was searching for something” maybe it was in here- the thing you were searching for.

“Well look here! Hmmm!” her grubby hand raised to show you what she was clasping.  You accepted the small circular porcelain box into your hands.

You flicked the clasp off, watching the lid rise and reveal two dancers inside, twirling around and around together to the tinned melody of a song you felt you knew.

You held it curiously, mulling over the thought that you should know this object somehow.

“thank you” you held it to your chest, relaxing

“that’s what you were looking for wasn’t it, my dear?”

“…yes. I forgot” you smiled down at the trinket closing the lid.

“now why don’t ya come in here and see if there’s anything else ya’d like” she ducked down under the hoard and chuckled.

You whipped back the tent curtain tailing behind her.

A bedroom.

Your bedroom?

You whirled around, looking up and around admiringly before flopping on the bed.

You lie back for a minute, clutching the music box to your chest . And then sit up promptly.

“It was just a dream!” you looked around propping yourself up by your elbows.

It… wasn’t real. The Goblin King wasn’t real.  You'd read the silly book and fallen asleep! What an intense dream!

“I dreamed it all, Moore” you said sadly to the bird who was no doubt home by now, sitting in his scarf nest as usual.

“But it was so real, I dreamed that you were a man and you…I felt…” you sighed. "better see if Kari and Brian are home now" you’d completely forgotten do to the things Kari had said. Did you have assignments due? You thought you did. Great. Another 2am marathon.

You left the music box on your bed. You cross the room to open your bedroom door. "Is anyone ho-"

The wind catches the door, throwing it open. The Junk Yard was still outside, the sky bleached orange and scratched with angry, black clouds.

It was still here! The Labyrinth!

The Junk lady burst through the door “Better to stay in here, dear, yes! There’s nothing ya want out there, no! oh-ho-ho-no!” she gave a coo "Ooh now what have we got here?”

You shut the door behind her thudding against it.

“Oh look! Ya paints! Ya love your pretty paints don’t ya! Yes, yes there you go! Oooh!”

You took the paints she shoved into your hands, your mouth gaping open but no sound coming out.

“now then what else have we got, let’s see!”

The Junky Lady twisted around so that her heavy load of items strung to her back brushed the ceiling. Her nimble fingers snatching something from your desk “Oooh your pencil box- got lots of pencils and oohh-“

You slumped onto your stool.

“Here’s your camera! Ya know how much you like your camera – you never wanted that far away did ya? There is it! Okay! Now then what else!”

The hunch-back admired your lipstick handing it to you “now go on make yourself up like the very grown up lady you are!”

Kari’s words echoed in your head “maybe- we need –a chat, about growing up – for one “

You were struggling to hold all of the items in your hands, barely able to see your reflection in the vanity mirror.

“There was something else I was looking for” you murmured to yourself

She scoffed at you “don’t talk nonsense – it’s all here! Everything in the world you’ve ever cared about is all right here! Look here-”

A rectangular red object catches your eye , you clumsily grab the book, flipping over the pages , remember dammit! Remember what you forgot! You scanned the pages.

“Dangers untold, hardships unnumbered…I’ve fought my way here to the castle beyond the goblin city…to take back…the freedom you have stolen…” you raised your head staring directly at yourself in the mirror.

The Junk Lady narrowed her eyes from behind you. “What’s the matter dear, don’t you like your things?”

You looked down at yourself, covered in your objects, “it’s all junk!”

“Huh, uh well, w- what about this !” the junk lady waved it “this is not junk!”

You accepted the rectangular object pushed into your hand.

You held the Walkman, turning it over in your hands so that the polished plastic shimmered under the light. You knew it wasn’t yours. Because yours had busted.

“yes it is!” you threw it at the mirror and it splintered , the walls and ceiling collapsed and crumbled around you “I have to get to the castle!” you yelled, pulling down the walls so you could climb out back to the junkyard.

You climbed out standing on the piles of junk. You could see the entrance to the Goblin City and began to scurry towards it but your foot was sinking into the piles like sinking sand.

“Augh! Help! Help!"

Shit. You ran your hand through your hair. You’d need a miracle to get through here now. You tried to cling onto the surface and pull yourself up “Hoggle! Help! Someone help!” you sank quicker. “Hoggle !”

_*_

He threw his hands up dismissively, signifying he had firmly washed them of you.

Huh! Humans! Girls! Human girls! He passed the stone mumbling curses to himself.

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of your cries. “Hang on Sloane, I’m coming!” he turned on his heel to rush back the way he had came.

The Goblin King appeared in front of him. Hoggle gulped.

“Well, if it isn’t you” The Goblin King leant against the stone in front of him, hands behind his back “And, uh, where- are you- going?” he leaned forward emphasising each word.

Hoggle spluttered “uh, um, well I gave the little lady the slip like you told me to- I was uh, just checkin’ she hadn’t followed me back or nuttin’ ”

The Goblin King pushed himself off the rock. He bobbed his head “I see”  looked around the isolated scene airily “for one moment I thought you were running to help her but, uh, no, not after my warnings, that would be stupid” he tilted his head at Hoggle pointedly .

Hoggle waved his hand “oh-ho you bet it would! Me? Help her after your warnings?” he doubled over with an over-the-top uproar of laughter turning around only to come face to face with the Goblin King who crouched in front of him cynically “ooh!”

“Oh dear, poor Hoghead-”

“Hoggle”

“I’ve just noticed your lovely jewels are missing” the Goblin King held his shoulder with false empathy.

“Uh…Oh yes, so they are, my lovely jewels…missing- ” Hoggle laughed nervously pretending to search himself for his bag “I’ll have to find them “

“That you will, but I’m not finished with you yet, Hogspew you see, I have one more plan in mind for you” the king grinned mischievously.

“Wh-what? This ain’t to do with the girl is it- I quit!”

“Oh Higgle, I sincerely doubt it-” the King seized his ear causing Hoggle to cry out. “you’ll do it or so help me gods, I’ll tip you straight in the bog!” he hissed to the dwarf.

Hoggle tried to swerve the King “but she’s- bright, she’ll never- listen t’ me!” he pointed out, squirming under the burning grasp.

Between the wincing, Hoggle thought he had seen something flash across the king’s face, something he did not recognise on him. “That she is, Hattle, that she is, but she is also fair of heart, she will trust again”

He leaned forward to Hoggle his voice dangerously light. “You’ll do exactly as I say...”

[artificialqueens]

(I Can Still Recall) Our Last Summer - Chapter Five (Group Fic) - pureCAMP

A/N - deepest apologies for the shalaska drought :)))

jk, jk. this one is sharon/willam so it doesn’t count… and there are only two chapters left so hold ur breath!!

real talk, show some love and hang in there!! i have a half written update for in sickness and in health being worked on right now and a three part au shalaska in the works, as well as all my other fics on the go that will be updated once these next ones are done. i’m still here and i’m still going!! encouragement is. well. encouraged.

The dressing room had finally been restored to its usual state of peace and calm. Ironically enough, the usual peace that the dressing room could call normal was a state of absolute chaos, with clothing and makeup strewn all over the place, and three drunk girls giggling in front of mirrors. It was worth remembering that the so-called dressing room was actually a small room once used as a storage cupboard behind the stage, with a couple of mirrors and three screens to give them a little privacy in case someone walked in.

For the past few shows, the mood in the makeshift dressing room had been quite sombre. Sharon had been quieter, a little more closed off, her performances more lacklustre than usual. She hadn’t realized what an effect she’d had on the room, but now, in her cheerier mood, things had returned to normal.

Raja, who was still half-naked but with a full face of makeup on, was doing poor karaoke into a makeup brush as Jinkx looked on, fully dressed with half an eyebrow painted on and not much else. Somehow, at the sight of her friends being uplifted by her own better mood, Sharon felt brighter. She laughed at their antics, teasing her hair up with a comb and trying not to choke on the hairspray fumes.

“Jesus fuck, this place needs windows.” She coughed. “Does this look done?”

Raja stopped singing to inspect her friend’s hair. “Yeah, it’s done. Special effort tonight? Any reason? Dick, maybe?”

Sharon gasped, affronted. “Raja! I’m debuting a brand new look for a brand new song, if you must know. It’s a new era.”

Nodding, Jinkx swung around in her chair, now with a second eyebrow. “A new Sharon who won’t take anybody’s shit and doesn’t cry over boys.”

“Hear, hear!” Raja raised her wine glass, ignoring the fact that it was empty. “Tonight is gonna be great.”

If you insist, Sharon thought to herself, before she could stop it. Bad Sharon. You need a better mental attitude than that. 

It was going to be a good night. So what if she had been left reeling by Justin? He was gone now, probably married or safely tucked up in his fiancée’s arms. There was nothing Sharon could do about that besides feel heartbroken. She was strong - her friends had known it all along. Tonight was about her, and the girls, and not a single boy was going to mess up her life again. 

If anything, she had learnt from them… right? Justin, sweet, deceptive Justin, had taught her about trust and heartbreak. Jaremi had taught her that maybe no-strings-attached didn’t work for her, considering she still had to quell the urge to become affectionate towards him. Overall, it had been bad, but she was learning. 

Did that mean she was going to make the same mistake with Willam?

Maybe. 

He was attractive, after all - in a mischievous way, all floppy blonde hair and too-white teeth and cocked eyebrows. His demeanor was as if the world had been created just for him, and he could do whatever he liked with it. Sharon admired his confidence. Knowing he was at the taverna, waiting for them to come on stage, gave her a little thrill. 

Don’t do it again, Sharon. Don’t make the same mistake three times.

There was a pretty good turnout in the taverna that evening; Maria had clearly been around all day, hollering about the show. The residents of the island were fond of their few entertainment sources, especially The Supermodels. There hadn’t been any time to make posters as they normally would, but it seemed word of mouth had been enough. Every table was full, and some people were standing, holding their drinks and chatting as they eagerly awaited the show.

Sharon’s eyes found Willam immediately as they stepped on stage, assuming their usual positions. He was sat close to the old woman who had been with him at church, one arm lazily draped over the back of her chair. The excitement of performing a new song again, coupled with the adrenaline rush of feeling Willam’s gaze on her body, made Sharon feel utterly short of breath. Somehow she knew this would be one of her most explosive performances yet.

The music started. A few people gasped in excitement.

“Last night, I was taking a walk along the river, and I saw him together with a young girl…”

The inevitable nervousness dissipated as Sharon heard Jinkx joining in, her voice uniquely strong and powerful, followed by Raja’s deep, melodious harmony. Part of her wished that the three of them could stay on the island forever, making a living out of performing, forever remaining in the little safety bubble of music. It made her almost angry - yes, angry - that they would be leaving her too.

For once, she didn’t veer away from that thought, instead channelling her anger into the song. It was essentially a fuck you to how easily she had fallen, and how easy it was to do the same thing again (and again.) It was better to let it out now, on stage with people dancing and cheering, than to consign it into passive aggressive letters for the next few months.

Just this one last time, Sharon let herself wallow in her feelings as she sang. Justin had left her and it fucking hurt. Jaremi was just using her because she was letting him. Her own mother had slapped her time and time again, unable to stand her daughter’s failures. Her two best friends - her two only friends - would be gone in a matter of weeks, leaving her alone. It was all worth being angry over.

“You’ll think you’re in paradise…”

As the song drew to an end, Sharon found herself flooded with a mixture of emotions, her mood swinging suddenly from angry to relieved, grateful and beyond ecstatic. She clung to Jinkx and Raja, out of breath and sweaty, as the appreciative cheering and clapping rewarded them for their efforts.

“God, I love you two.” Sharon whispered, completely breathless. Jinkx kissed her cheek, and Raja pulled them into a tighter embrace.

The three of them stayed like that, holding onto one another as if they were going to collapse, until the collective euphoria from the music had died down. The patrons went back to their drinks and conversations, smiling at the girls as they went past, some offering kind words. At the first attractive man, Raja slipped away to flirt.

“Ah, your blonde is here.” Jinkx grinned, pointing over to Willam as though Sharon hadn’t noticed. “Go on, go secure your rebound boy. I’ll be here scouring for the lesbians, so I’ll be fine.”

She patted Sharon on the shoulder, her face a picture of playfulness. “Oh, her outfit is hideous. I bet she’s gay. See you later!”

The universe was practically forcing it to happen. There was definitely no getting away from Willam, that was for sure. It seemed written into the fucking stars. At least this time, Sharon reasoned with herself, she knew exactly what her mistake was. It was the universe’s fault that she was making it.

Willam patted the spare seat next to him. Coincidentally, he had ordered a drink for his great grandmother Pat, and she didn’t like it, but it just so happened to be Sharon’s favourite, so she just had to sit and drink it. It was just courtesy, after all. Goddamned universe, trying to be subtle.

“Sharon, I love you in this outfit. It’s very tight.” Was his opening line, as he pushed the drink towards her.

Thankfully, she caught it deftly before it could be swept off the table. “Thanks… It’s supposed to be.”

Pat laughed. “I like this one! I wish I could’ve worn these kind of things, back in my day. Very chic!”

“Oh, so you’re both fashionistas?” Sharon asked, sipping her drink. “Gotta love that. Anyway, I can’t stay long, but…” She grinned. “I’ll finish this first. I gotta make sure my ride home doesn’t leave me.”

Willam placed a hand on her thigh. Sharon tried not to shiver.

“You could always stay with me. Spend the night.”

Emboldened by the stage high, Sharon cackled with laughter. “Oh, you wish! Nah, I’m in deep shit. I majorly pissed off my mom.”

“The church bitch.” Pat said darkly. Her sinister tone caught both Sharon and Willam unawares, sending them both into a fit of laughter that somehow ended with the two of them leaning on each other for support. Willam was warm. She could feel muscles under his shirt. Shake it off, Sharon.

“Oh, everyone at that place fucking loves her, but I don’t.” Pat continued. “She’s a nasty bitch if I ever saw one.”

There was something strangely hilarious about such an old woman, shrivelled into her early nineties, being so catty. Sharon agreed wholeheartedly with every word that came out of her little puckered mouth. She had the same bright white smile as Willam, even at her age, which made her incredibly endearing.

“She always calls me by my proper name, too. Cow. I tell everyone I’m Pat, and she goes Patricia in her smug little voice that she has. Ghastly woman. I’m sorry you have her as a mother.”

Sharon raised her glass for a cheers. “I’m sorry I have her as a mother too,” She laughed, clinking glasses with Pat. Willam leant over and pushed Pat’s glass away from her, smile lines creasing at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe we should change your name to Trixie.”

Pat laughed. “Ha! I’m far too old for a young girl’s name like that. I bet your mother would call it a whore name. Maybe I will, out of spite.”

“I think you’ve had enough, Granny Pat. Two vodkas is your limit, we all know what happened at Christmas.”

He mimed some horrific dancing as Sharon finished her drink, trying not to splutter it everywhere. Pat, to her credit, was completely unembarrassed - if anything, there was a twinkle of amusement in her eye.

Sharon gathered the now-empty glasses towards the front of the table as Willam helped Pat up, wrapping an arm round her to lead her out. Between the two of them, it was easy to manoeuver an elderly lady towards the exit, and easier still to talk once they were outside. The pavilion outside the taverna and the shore below them both seemed deserted, the island residents either packed into the taverna, or tucked up into their beds. The sun was just starting to dip beneath the ocean.

“You sure you’re not coming with us?” Willam offered again. “I have several ulterior motives lined up, but I’m a respectful man, so sleeping is one of them.”

Sharon giggled. “I’m okay, honestly. I’m weirdly tired, I just want to go home and sleep for forever. But thank you.”

Willam saluted. “Any time, any time at all. See ya tomorrow, probably.”

He waited until Sharon had started to make her descent to the shore before he began helping Pat up to wherever her home was. Sharon could hear him singing, loudly parodying “Look into her angel thighs, one lick and you’re hypnotized…” for at least half of her journey down. She chuckled to herself, resigning herself to the fact that her next run-in with him would probably end the way most of her male encounters did these days - with a throaty gasp.

-

Down at the docks, Sharon sat on the very edge of the pier, letting her feet dangle into the gentle waves. Jaremi’s boat was nowhere to be seen, but he was often late. Most likely he was wrapped up with some girl, having lost track of time. He would squeeze Sharon into his embrace, which she would gladly fall into, and then she would smell the girl’s perfume all over him.

The sex was as present as ever, but as Sharon grew more disconnected, Jaremi seemed to grow more distant. She suspected that Jaremi was bored of her, and the variety of perfumes he smelt of only served to prove her theory. She just pretended it didn’t sting, and stared out at the ocean until it was time to go home.

Sharon watched as the sun sunk lower and lower, feeling the air grow chilly around her. It wasn’t often that the island felt cold, and at such an inauspicious time she was thankless for the breeze. An hour passed, and she pulled her feet out of the now freezing water, curling into a ball and shivering a little.

She waited. The waves got rougher.

A second hour passed. Not a single wave went undisturbed by the motion of a boat.

Naively, or perhaps stupidly, Sharon clung to the hope that Jaremi just hadn’t realized the time. He knew that he always collected Sharon, to sail her home before going off to do whatever he did in the small hours of the night. She relied on him for that. It was their unspoken deal. He wouldn’t just leave her sit on the pier and freeze all night, would he?

Her teeth chattered. She kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, rubbing ineffectually at her frozen arms and legs to try and get a little bit of warmth.

Finally, after a few more minutes of waiting, a person appeared, traipsing along the sand. She didn’t recognise the woman other than knowing her as one of the locals, and it was a relief just to see another person after so long staring at sea and sky.

“Hi, sorry… Have you seen Jaremi? Carey, the explorer? I’ve been waiting for him all night.” She rubbed at her arms once again, and felt no improvement.

The woman frowned. “You mean no one told you?”

Sharon’s heart fell into the pit of her stomach. “What?”

“He’s gone.” She said bluntly. “Sailed off this morning, maybe three or four. Back to his travelling again.”

Though it was difficult, Sharon tried not to look as though she felt like she’d been hit by a bus. She swallowed the lump in her throat, ignoring how strained her voice sounded. “O-Oh. Okay. No problem.”

Huge problem.

The woman went on her way, offering a weakly sympathetic smile before getting further and further away along the beach. 

For another half an hour, Sharon simply sat and continued to watch the sea, reeling from the shock of his sudden departure. As it grew colder, she realized that something had to be done, lest she freeze in the night out on the dock. She tried to consider her options, now that she was essentially stranded.

There were no more boats running from the island to the mainland; it was too late now. There wouldn’t be another until six the following morning, and that was far too long to wait.

She could sleep in the little cabin on the shore, but that wasn’t ideal. It was a rough night, the sea beginning to churn angrily as it got colder. The cabins weren’t exactly built to be safe in that kind of weather, and she’d spend the night terrified and cold in the bed, fearing that the cabin might collapse on her. Of course, it didn’t help that her cabin was where she had lost her virginity to Justin, who was no longer keeping her safe…

The shack at the top of the island was the safest bet she had, but Sharon ruled that one out too. For some reason, she had been struck with a wave of exhaustion that had burrowed right into her bones. Even now, petrified and bitterly cold, she felt on the verge of falling asleep. It was unusual for her - normally she was a bit of an insomniac, able to stay awake for hours on end. She knew that tonight especially, given how tired she was, that she would never be able to drag herself up to the top.

That left… nothing. 

Whether it was the cold, the fear, or something else entirely, Sharon felt sick. Before she could even think, the urge became too overwhelming, and she leant over the edge of the pier to vomit - just as a hand tapped her shoulder.

When she was done, she sniffed in embarrassment and turned to see who had tapped her. To her surprise, Willam was stood behind her, his brow furrowed in concern and confusion. He looked as though he was being ripped apart by the extreme change in weather, his shirt whipping in the gale.

“Are you okay? It’s fucking freezing out here!” He shouted over the wind. Sharon hadn’t realized how ferociously it had picked up, but her hair was flapping wildly around her face. “I thought you said you had a ride?”

Wordlessly, Sharon took Willam’s outstretched hand and managed to pull herself up, shivering violently. He pulled her close, opening up his coat to try and squeeze her into it along with him. It was a sweet gesture, even if the coat was as cold as Sharon herself. She appreciated the kindness.

“I-I did!” Sharon tried, her throat hoarse. “Turns out he l-left this morning and didn’t t-tell me. I need to g-get home!”

Willam began stroking her hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort. Although the wind tore the words away before Sharon could hear them, just the soothing tone of his voice was enough to help calm her panic. Everything was going to be okay. Even if her mom was going to go insane, everything would be alright for now. Willam was going to help her.

“I have a boat, okay?” Willam said, louder so he could be heard. “We’ll get you home, it’s gonna be alright. Stay with me, you’re okay.”

-

Everything else was a blur. Sharon, hunched and shivering but now draped in Willam’s coat, focused on making sure she wasn’t going to be sick again as she was bundled around. A man she didn’t recognise was untying Willam’s boat, and Willam himself was gently leading her inside. She couldn’t seem to take any of it in.

Thank the fucking lord for the interior of the boat. It was much grander than Jaremi’s, and warmer - that was all Sharon cared about. She allowed herself to be tucked up, slowly given water to sip, and warmed in one of the beds. Willam didn’t leave her side for a moment.

As the boat began to sail out, Willam sat down and smiled softly. “Goddammit, Sharon. I’m not supposed to show you my soft side yet. You’re supposed to think I’m effortlessly cool and hilarious first. Then I seduce you, we fuck and then I show you my soft side. Then, of course, I find out you’re far too much for me to handle and our tragic love affair ends there.”

He smiled again as Sharon laughed. “But seriously. You can have anything you need from me, I’ve got you. You ever need a lift home, or somewhere to stay, I got your back. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Starting to feel better, Sharon handed Willam his coat back and shifted into a sitting position, her legs covered by a thick blanket. He took the coat and balled it up, throwing it as far as he could just to make her laugh again. Her stomach settled, Sharon obliged.

“You have a great laugh. I could fall in love with that laugh.”

“I’d be careful. I’m a minefield.” Sharon told him, grinning. “You heard the song tonight. You know I’ve got baggage.”

Willam nodded. “Is the asshole who left you here the asshole in the song?”

Sharon shook her head.

“Yikes. You really have been fucked over.” Willam cringed. “Anything I can do to help?”

Don’t do it, Sharon. Don’t cave. Don’t make the same fucking mistake again, you know it’s wrong. Don’t give in.

“Get your shirt off and get over here.”

Goddammit, universe.

-

When Sharon woke up, she felt warm. It was a comfortable, familiar kind of warm - the kind of warmth that comes from the body of a lover, cuddling up close. As her foggy vision began to sharpen, she zeroed in on the handsome face of Willam, just above her. She was nestled into his chest, still naked, apparently having grown fond of him in her slumber. Making no effort to move, she closed her eyes once again, willing sleep to find her.

“I know you’re awake.” Came Willam’s voice, gruff with sleep.

Sharon didn’t react. “That’s nice.”

He laughed, his bronze chest juddering up and down, and snaked an arm around her, shifting her even closer than before. Sharon sighed contentedly and let him.

“Didn’t you say your mom was gonna be super mad at you?”

“She always is,” Sharon dismissed sleepily. “It’s not like it matters.”

Contrary to her expectations, spending the night with Willam hadn’t made Sharon’s heart tighten with that familiar, aching lust. If anything, she just felt close to him - the same way she felt after spilling her emotions to Raja or Jinkx. He felt safe, trustworthy even. He didn’t set her on fire like Justin had.

Nobody else ever could.

“Alright…” Willam drawled lazily. “So if I hop into the shower, with the premium deluxe pressure and more than enough room for another person, she wouldn’t mind if you joined me?”

Sharon smiled. “She wouldn’t ever have to know…”

She sat up and began to laugh slightly. “What the fuck is premium deluxe pressure?”

“Come find out.”

-

For most of the following week, as Raja and Jinkx grew busier with preparing for their rapidly-encroaching departure, Sharon found herself spending her time with Willam and his charismatic grandma. It was nice to be around a family that just seemed normal - not overly wrapped up in themselves and their romance, as was the case with Raja’s parents. Pat was old and could move very little, but she swore and drank like a sailor, and it made for some interesting times. Willam, of course, helped.

It seemed more than anything that, despite their frequent rendez-vous, Willam was becoming a close friend. Their nature was more like a friendship than anything else - the sexual chemistry masked by their natural rapport. It was as if they’d been friends.

“It’s been a fucking nightmare trying to find support here, honestly.” Pat was saying, a glass of brandy sitting on the table before her. “Nobody wants to help a sweet little old lady these days.”

Willam snorted. “Sweet. Oh, what delusion.”

Sharon laughed. “Shut up! Let her be old and sad!”

Pat raised her glass in solidarity, her hands trembling but her resolve firm. Willam downed his as though it was a shot and shrugged.

“Why don’t you just die? Cheaper and easier for everyone involved, including you.” He suggested.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Pat replied dryly, sending them both into fits of laughter. “Not for me. I’ll pay a ton if it means someone will come and fuckin’ help me that isn’t you, Bill.”

For as much as they were joking, Sharon sympathised with the old lady. She loved the island more than anything else in her life - she couldn’t imagine life without it. A life unable to look out across its views, taking in the beach and the fresh sea-salt air; that wasn’t a life at all, really. She hoped somebody would be available to come and care for Pat.

As Willam got up, gathering their glasses and leaving the room, Pat turned on Sharon. There was a glimmer in her eye, a kindly smile on her face. Even though she had only met her just a week ago, Sharon felt insanely grateful for her presence in her tumultuous life.

“He’s off next week, I’m sure he told you. Chasing his fortune in LA. He’ll miss you, of course.”

Sharon nodded. “I’m sure I’ll miss him too.”

The conversation had happened the night before, as they lay naked on top of one another - although Sharon left that detail out of her mind when she was with Pat. Willam, never one to hide anything, had come clean about his time on the island.

“I had to make sure she was okay. We were hoping to find someone to care for her, but if she has to go into assisted living then that’s that.” He held Sharon close. “It’s a shame, though.”

“Yeah…” Sharon agreed, not sure what else to say. “She seems like such a free spirit.”

Willam emitted his seal-laugh, the one that always made Sharon crack up. “She likes free spirits, I know that for certain. But yeah - I’ll be leaving soon. Five days.”

He stretched. “You have five days to enjoy this luscious body of mine before I go back to LA. I’m an actor over there.”

At least she had a little bit of a warning. Unlike Justin, who she was sure might’ve stayed, or Jaremi, who had left without a second thought, Willam had given her time. He was the first to think that far ahead, she assumed.

Not wanting her message to be misconstrued, Sharon gently tugged the duvet covers, trying to preserve some of her modesty before she spoke. She had always found it difficult to articulate anything just after sex, so it took her a little while to think of what she wanted to say.

“Look… Willam… without sitting here and talking about all the different ways my heart has been broken recently, I just want to say this. My friends are leaving soon and I don’t want everything to fall apart and leave me here missing you. So… can we not do a goodbye?”

She chewed her lip. “I mean, I’ll say goodbye to you. We can hug and I’ll see you off and whatever, that’s fine. But I don’t want any of the promises to keep in touch or visit, none of that awkward hanging on to something that doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know if I meant anything to you, or how much. I just want it to be over when it’s over, and we both know that it’s gonna be over. Is that- is that okay?”

Sharon expected that meeting his eyes would be awkward. He would look at her like she was broken, some kind of delicate flower he needed to treat gently. In the worst case scenario, his eyes would be filled with pity.

She looked up. Willam was smiling - not kindly, not sympathetically - just normally. “Sure. No goodbyes here. Nada. None.”

“Alright. Okay. Good.”

Willam laughed. “You have a massive hickey right by your nipple. I can’t be serious anymore, that’s so funny. Look at it!”

It had gone better than she thought it would.

“I’ll be fine.” Sharon dismissed it. “I’m a big girl, I can cope without a boy.”

Pat clapped her wrinkled hands. “That’s it, sweetheart! Atta girl. A life without men in it does wonders for your complexion, anyway. You won’t get stress lines if you don’t have a walking stress, bugging you for orgasms every ten minutes.”

Sharon howled with laughter. She suspected that maybe Pat was right.

-

Sex and laughter. That was how Sharon summed up her final week with Willam.

They had sex, they laughed, they sang. It was a blur of mindless fun that meant nothing to either of them. The two of them had grown close, three including Pat, but Willam had to leave. It was okay. Sharon had had ample time to prepare to be properly alone, and she didn’t mind so much anymore.

At the dock was the last place she saw him. He was stood next to his boat, the very ship he had taken her on when she was cold and in need. It would be taking him to somewhere in the middle of Europe, where he would then catch a first class flight back to LA - with the same sunshine, but less paradisiacal whimsy. 

He was just standing there, looking pretty. Sharon crossed her arms.

“I guess this is goodbye?” Willam said, the cheeky grin on his face only highlighting just how clearly he remembered the post-coital promise he had made.

Sharon scowled. “Fuck off, Willam. I don’t do goodbyes. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl.”

Slowly becoming serious, Willam touched a bruise on his neck and softened. “Don’t I know it. So I’ll be seeing you?”

At Sharon’s raised eyebrow, he started to giggle. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I know. It’s over.”

“Yeah.” Sharon nodded. “Probably not. But for what it’s worth, have a nice life.”

He grinned. “You too. You deserve it. I mean that.”

Things were verging into dangerous territory. Sharon told him, in no uncertain terms, to shut up, and he did.

Then he was on the boat, waving.

Then he was gone.

[layce2015]

Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Chapter 10: Helping Credence, the Obscurius

The five of us walk along the rooftop of a building with a large lighted sign that said SQUIRE'S attached to it. Newt and I walk along the edge and see the Obscurus wrecking havoc across the city of New York. "Jeez....is that the Obscuriathing?" Jacob asked. Sirens sound as Newt and I stare and register the scale of the destruction.

"That's more powerful than any Obscurial we've ever heard of...." Newt mutter as we hear a loud explosion in the distance.

Newt turns to me and thrusts his case in my hands then starts digging in his pocket. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"If I don't come back, look after our creatures." He said then he pulls out his journal and hands it to me. "Everything that you need to know is in there." He said.

"What? No! I'm coming with you!" I said.

"No, absolutely not!" Newt argued.

"Are you mental? You're not facing that Obscurus on your own!" I shouted.

"I have to because..." But whatever his reason was I didn't know for I grabbed his coat collar and pulled him towards me and kissed him on the lips. He freezes, in shock, but then kisses back and I break the kiss.

"You are not facing the Obscurus alone. You barely escaped the one we dealt with in Sundan. I'm coming with you." I said, sternly. He looks into my eyes, seeing that I've made up my mind and nods at me. I smile and hand the case and journal to Tina. "Here, look after them for us." I said then the both of us jump off the roof and Disapparate.

****

We Apparate into Time Square and watch as Graves, of all people, standing at the end of the street talking to the Obscurus. "To survive so long, with this inside you, Credence, is a miracle. You are a miracle. Come with me--think of what we could achieve together." Graves shouted as the Obscurus moves closer to him. Then dark energy bursts out and knocks Graves to the ground, sending a shockwave around the square, and Newt and I dive behind a fallen car for cover.

"Newt! (Y/N)!" We hear a voice scream.

We look over and see Tina hiding behind another  burning vehicle close to us. "It's the Second Salem boy. He's the Obscurial." Newt said to her. "The one we saw in that death potion?" I asked him and he nods in response.

"He's not a child." Tina said.

"I know--but we saw him---his power must be so strong--he's somehow managed to survive. It's incredible." Newt said as the Obscurus screams. "Newt! (Y/N)! Save him." Tina said and she dashes out towards Graves as Newt and I Disapparate.

We end up race-Apparating as fast as we can across the tops of building in pursuit of the Obscurus. "Credence! Credence, we can help you." Newt said but the Obscurus dives towards us and we Disapparate just in time, before continuing to chase it across the rooftops.

As we run, spells explode around us, disintegrating the rooftops. A dozen Aurora appear, attacking the Obscurus from ahead and almost taking Neet and I out as we leap for cover, trying desperately to keep up. The Obscurus veers to avoid the spells, leaving black, snow like particles that drift across the rooftops as it retreats, screaming, and turns down another block. We watch as it rises up into the air and crashes into the ground, racing along a wide empty street.

Newt and I Apparate on top of a skyscraper watching the Obscurus rises up over the surrounding buildings and slams, spectacularly, into the ground just outs side a subway entrance. Then it goes quiet and we watch as the black mass shrinks and the small figure of the boy appears and he descends the steps into the subway.

Newt and I exchange a look for a moment. "You sure you're ready?" Newt asked me. I take his hand and intertwine my fingers with his. "As long as I've got you, I'm always ready." I said as he smiles at me and we Disapparate once again.

We Apparate into the subway, a long, mosaicked, Art Deco station tunnel that bears signs having been crossed by the Obscurus. We creep along the platform, trying to find the epicenter of the deep breathing sound that we can hear, as the Obscurus slides down the ceiling.

After a few moments, we reach the Obscurus in the shadows of a tunnel. Now much calmer it gently swirls in the air above the train tracks. Newt pulls me behind a pillar, takes a deep breath and speaks. "Credence....it's Credence, isn't it? We're here to help you." He said.

"Credence, we're not here to hurt you." I said and we move out from behind the pillar and step o to the tracks.

Within the mass of the Obscurus, I can make out a shadow of Credence, curled up and scared. "We met someone like you, Credence. A girl--a young girl who'd been imprisoned, she had been locked away and she'd been punished for her magic." Newt said, softly, as the Obscurus melts away, leaving only Credence, huddled on the train tracks, like a frightened child.

My heart breaks for the poor kid, I couldn't imagine what this kid has gone through. I let go of Newt's hand and crouch on the floor, never breaking eye contact with Credence. "Credence, can I come over to you? Can we come over?" I asked him, softly and in my best motherly tone. He looks up at me and gives a slight nod. I move forward very slowly but then a sharp burst of light blazes out from the darkness and a spell strikes, throwing me backward. "(Y/N)!" Newt shows and he gets blown back as well.

I look up and see Graves marching down the tunnel with intense purpose. Credence begins to run as Graves fires further spells at Newt and I, but we roll out of the way toward the tunnel's central pillars. Newt and I pull out our wands and fire back, but our efforts are easily deflected.

We continue our duel with Graves but then he casts a spell that ripples along the train tracks and down the tunnel, blasting Newt and I, throwing us high into the air. We land on our backs and Graves is about to cast another spell but I'm just a little bit faster and start fighting back by throwing more spells at him. Thank you mother for showing me how to duel! I thought as Graves and I duel. 

Suddenly, he sends multiple spells at me all at once and one of them, I didn't block, knocks me down and I start to squirm around the ground, in immense pain. "(Y/N)!" I hear Newt shout and I open my eyes and see that Graves, quickly, hits the same spell at Newt and the both of us writhe on the ground, unable to stop Graves. Newt and I scream out in pain as Graves continues shooting us with this spell and suddenly he stops.

Tears are in my eyes when I look up and see Credence, who has turn back into the Obscurus, rises up and blasting down the tunnel toward Graves, who is mesmerized by the sight in front of him. He falls to his knees beneath the vast black mass--pleading in wonder. "Credence." He said and the Obscurus lets out an unearthly scream and dives toward Graves, who Disapparates.

Newt crawls towards me, grabs my hand and we Disapparate as well as the Obscurus continues to blast around the tunnel. We Disapparate and Apparate around the tunnel, trying to avoid the Obscurus's path. The Obscurus flies out through the roof then moments later bursts through the subway roof. Newt, Graves and I were lying on the tracks, Newt pulling me close to him and I bury my face into his chest, as we cower beneath the Dark force. I shut my eyes and wrap my arms around Newt, waiting for our death when I hear someone shouting.

"CREDENCE NO!"

I look over and see Tina running onto the tracks. The Obscurus, inches from Graves's face, slowly rises back up, swirling more gently, staring at Tina, who looks back at him. "Don't do this--please." She begged. "Keep talking, Tina." I said as I see a shadow of Credence appear in the black mass, looking at Tina, desperate and afraid. "Keep talking to him--he'll listen to you. He's listening to you." Newt said to Tina.

"I know what that woman did to you....I know that you've suffered.....you need to stop this now....Newt, (y/n) and I will protect you...." Tina said as she slowly approaches Credence, tears in her eyes. She points at Graves and said. "This man--he is using you." Graves gets on his feet and said. "Don't listen to her, Credence. I want you to be free. It's all right."

 "That's it...." Tina said as the Obscurus starts to shrink.

Footsteps could be heard and Newt and I, now on our feet, look over and see huge group of Aurors advancing towards the Obscurus, their wands raised aggressively. "Shhh! Don't, you'll frighten him." Tina said to the Aurors. The Obscurus lets out a terrible moan and begins to swell again. Tina, Newt and I raise our arms, trying to protect Credence as Graves spins to face the Aurors.

"Wands down! Anyone harms him--they'll answer to me!" He shouts then he turns back to Credence.  "Credence..." He starts to say but then the Aurors begin pelting the Obscurus with spells. "NO!" Graves screams as the Obscurus is hit with a barrage of spells until finally it can take no more and implodes, the force sending us stumbling backwards.

All power subsides, only tatters of black matter are left--floating through the air like feathers. Newt and I get back on our feet, tears falling out of my eyes as I cry for the poor kid and Newt pulls me into an embrace as his face is racked with deep-felt grief. We didn't save him! I think, mournfully, as I cry into Newt's shoulder and he kisses the top of my head.

"You fools. Do you realize what you've done?" Graves asked and I pull away from Newt's shoulder and see Graves is on the platform, looking at the group of Aurors with seething rage.

[graceverse]

this sudden inexplicable madness

Rating: Not Rated Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage Category: F/M Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Relationship: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Characters:Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Gendry Waters, Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, Jaime Lannister, Arya Stark Additional Tags: underage-ish book and tv combination but au-ish, Language: English

Note:  Bit late. So sorry. I hope I can do all 31 days but oooh, work and RL hasn't been cooperating but I will try my very best. Thank you in advance for reading. Many thanks for the fabulous jonsa community, for all the love and inspiration!

“My sister.” There was a heavy thoughtful pause as everyone around the table waited with bated breath. “Well, she isn’t actually my sister; she’s more like a sister. I grew up with her and she took care of me when I was this small,” Tormund held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart, frowned and shook his head.  “Bit bigger than that,” he amended, looking cross eyed, “Wasn’t truly sure if she was of my blood and all that. Large woman though. Definitely. Nice big hefty breasts. Wide hips.  Not at all ugly, mind you. Hekla, we called her. ” Tormund answered, his face suddenly taking on a different shine, an old long ago memory touching him as he turned gentle and soft-eyed.

“Aye, I miss that woman. Used to scream at me all the fucking time. ‘ Ave not seen her since she got stolen by one of the men from ice river clan. Don't know what happened to her. ” Tormund was silent after a whole second, aggressively wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, as though trying to rid himself of the odd feelings that had surfaced after he answered Gendry’s query.

If Gendry had not been drinking too much, Jon suspected he would not have asked this utterly awkward question because honestly, Jon did not want to know details of anyone’s first kiss and not just any kiss, kisses from mothers and aunts did not count. Well, at least kisses that were familial and that had nothing to do with a painful-delicious stirring on their bodies. Gendry had been very exact.  And Jon could only guess why Gendry had asked in the first place. If Gendry had wanted to get some sound advice, this would not be the right venue or the right men to ask.

And even if Gendry had asked Davos – probably the only person Jon thought will give a decent enough guidance – it wouldn’t do Gendry any good. Gendry has his work cut out for him. Arya will not so easily relinquish her freedom. Not that Jon thought Gendry would hinder her, but still, at her age, Arya would be willfully against any sort of romance. She’d be more embarrassed at having tender feelings towards anyone.

Jon already felt a little sorry for Gendry but he was in an even worse situation. At least Gendry and Arya were not blood related. Jon despondently shook his head. He could not veer the conversation towards a different subject as everyone around the table had answered eagerly, sharing stories, murmuring and cursing names, depending on their experiences. The men had enthusiastically warmed up to the conversation, almost as though in a desperate attempt to try and forget that tomorrow will be another day of preparing for their battle against the army of the dead.

Mornings were spent relentlessly training, trying to effectively wield their dragonglass spears. Most of them were more adept at sword fighting and it was an entirely new skill using a spear; its length and weight was so very different from the swords that they were used to. But it was impossible to start making swords made of dragonglass. There was a severe shortage of blacksmiths at the castle and there were too many Lords and knights and soldiers that needed to be armed. A spear was more practical and easier to make.

Gendry had fashioned himself a hammer with dragonglass for its edges, testament to his cleverness at being a blacksmith. Even Arya had been envious. She wanted to fight with them but Jon had tasked her to lead the defense at Winterfell should they fail. She hated agreeing to this but there was no other choice. All able men will fight with him, the few that will remain and guard Winterfell needed a fierce warrior to lead them and Aryad had to concede that she did fit the description. She will protect Winterfell and Bran and Sansa. And if needed, if Jon turned into a wight, at least he was certain that Arya will be able to put a sword through him. She might not like it, she’ll hate him forever for it, but she was, before anything else, a wolf and a wolf will always protect her pack no matter what.

After their training, in the afternoon, they all had to sit down and listen to Free Folk’s story about the wights. They needed to know who they were up against and none of them have ever seen a dead man walking, had never fought someone who wasn’t afraid of any weapon, who didn’t bleed and didn’t get hurt, who will keep coming at you even after you’ve hacked off half of their body. Free Folks’ tales were gruesome, the stuff nightmares were made of – clawing bones skittering and scraping at the snow-covered land, jaws snapping as you stab them inside empty eye sockets, a torso dragging its way towards you – Free Folks liked telling these stories, liked the way the Southern kneelers shuddered at every horrifying detail of how they have constantly fought against the wights. In the end the Free Folks had to admit that they had not been able to defeat the dead, instead they had lost friends and family, children and wives and husbands and had to flee past The Wall. The only chance they all have at surviving the Night King and his army is if they fought together and even that wasn’t an assurance of success. The Night King now has a dragon wight.

Jon winced at the thought. Whatever advantage he had hoped they had with Dany’s dragons had significantly decreased and every one of them knew that. It was a daily struggle trying to tamp down their fear and desperation and Jon could not deny the men their right to drink themselves into stupor at night.

Sometimes, he wished he could do the same, but he was afraid what he might say or do once he gained the courage brought about by too much ale. There’s a certain room he’d be sure to visit. He wouldn’t even knock, he’d come barging in and wordlessly, desperately take her into his arms, crush her against his body, smother her with kisses. He would beg for her forgiveness, would demand that she look at him, would gently ask her if she could love him back, he would make her peak as he drink her in, lapping up her sweetness, pulling the auburn hair on her mound to make her whimper his name, beg him for more…

“Probably his sister too, eh, Snow?” Tormund asked, playfully elbowing him.

Jon snorted ale out of his nose, the burn instantly bringing tears into his eyes. He wiped his face and swallowed hard. What? Fuck. Had he said anything out loud? Did he moan her name?

Tormund looked at him in utter disgust and disappointment, grunting angrily. “Snow, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“What?” He asked in a strangled gravelly voice.

Davos peered at him from his cup and decided to rescue him from himself. “It’s quite common and not completely unheard of. Siblings grow up together, have built enough trust to try and,” Davos coughed delicately, “experiment...” he finished, his voice slightly fading as he arched his eyebrows at Jon.

Jon didn’t meet Davos’ enquiring gaze. Davos never got drunk, was always clear headed. He would remember everything that was said and done and while that was something Jon had encouraged and relied upon, tonight he wished Davos would conveniently forget about this. He felt his face was too open right now and Jon was certain that he would not be able to hide this ever growing feeling that had somehow taken root at his very core, slowly growing stronger regardless of how he constantly tried to fight against it. The tension between them didn't just suddenly spring up, it had always been there. Buried underneath layers upon layers of memories and years spent apart, thinking each one dead and lost and to have found her again, it stirred something inside Jon that was both familiar and terrifying. He couldn't understand it. It was like he had known these feelings for Sansa long before he had been able to hold her close and that it wasn't just him. Behind the calmness in her blue eyes, Jon could sometimes glimpse of a storm raging there, one that he could so easily drown in on. Jon felt as though he had lived thousands of lives: as a bastard boy, unloved by a woman with dark auburn hair, one as a sworn brother that lived on the edge of the world, another as a traitor, holding on to a dead girl with fair on her head, once as King and now as weary warrior ready to give up. And where was Sansa in all these lives he had lived in? Always in the shadows, fleeting and fluid, he was unable to take hold her her and pin her to him.

Jon shook his head, tried to clear his thoughts. “You’re forgetting I’m a bastard. Hardly allowed near Lord Starks’ precious daughters.”

A lie. One that Davos was quick to catch. And from where Gendry was seating, Jon could sense his stare. Gendry knew that he and Arya shared a strong bond and Jon wondered if perhaps Gendy was wondering if he shared any kisses with Arya when they were younger. Jon felt his lips twitching up. If he had tried, Arya would have laughed at him and then made him bleed. But Sansa…

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t even asking about your first kiss, you bloody idiot.” Tormund gave him another dirty look.

“Lord Snow is beneath this kind of talk.” The lazy drawl came from the farthest end of the table as Jamie Lannister very casually tilted his head and gave him an all-knowing smirk.

Jon tightly clenched his fist, glaring at The Kingslayer. He hated him with a force of a thousand winter storms and he wanted nothing than to throw him out of the castle. Always so sure of himself, so certain of his place in Winterfell. It galled Jon like nothing else. It had nothing to do with Jaimie swearing his life to Sansa and Sansa accepting him in front of everyone in the castle. The almost present urge to take off Jaime’s other hand wasn’t because Jon once caught him fingering the ends of Sansa’s hair. Of course not. No. He loathed Jaime for all those reasons and more.

“Don’t have to tell us who was your first kiss was, Kingslayer,” some knight from the Vale said, obviously too drunk to realize who he was talking too but Jaime didn’t seem to mind. He let out a long slow smile and shook his head in amusement.

“If you’re thinking of my sweet, sweet sister, then I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.” He chuckled lightly his eyes gleaming merrily, “and if you think I’ll give you the pleasure of sharing the information, like we’re friends, apologies good knight, for I will have to dissatisfy you once again. We are not friends. I do not engage in juvenile conversations such as this.” He paused, soaking in the tense silence that suddenly surrounded them. “But if you asked me who I first fucked, though…”

There was an uproarious laughter all around as everyone cheered and some even heartily clapped Jaime at the back. Tomorrow they will all regret these friendly gestures but nothing would dampen their good spirit. This was the only time they could laugh and forget the monsters they would soon have to face.  

Jaime very discreetly gave Jon a small salute and Jon wanted to tear his throat open, (also not because Jaime seemed to always know what to say to Sansa to make her smile, of course not) instead he abruptly stood up, silencing the table once again. “Forgive me my Lords, but I will have to excuse myself. I need to look at some of Sam’s weapon designs that we can use to bring down a dragon wight.”

His pronouncement immediately sobered everyone at their table and the men grunted in reply, slightly exasperated at being reminded of what they were about to face. Some sent Jon unmasked glares as they slouched into their chairs, staring into their cups in morbid, contemplative silence. Jon briefly felt guilty but he didn’t have any ready excuse and it was the only thing he could think of. It wasn’t a lie, anyway. He was supposed to meet Sam earlier. He did not have the time to try and soothe them, he had suddenly grown weary and he wanted nothing more than the solace of his room, Ghost’s calming silence.

He turned and immediately took his leave, desperately trying to escape Gendry’s question.

“Who was your first kiss?”

Because Jon suddenly remembered. He remembered everything.  

*** 

Sansa had always been beautiful.

Ever since he died and was brought back to life, Jon’s memory had been tangled up, like threads that snagged and pulled. There were things he remembered clearly but some were like the faded tapestries in Winterfell, there were colors he could point out but everything else was a blur. If he tried to remember anything in particular, he couldn’t recall it correctly. It would start off with as something familiar, a smile, a laugh, red hair shining like fire, a brotherly hug and a dagger to his hear and then abruptly it would end with darkness or the blankness of white snow. His memories were incomplete. Muddled up with other memories, with dreams and nightmares and it was like patches of clothes that had been sewn together that did not make sense and did not fit together.

But when Gendry asked his question: “Who was your first kiss?”

Jon was slammed by the memory of her and spring and the scent of something fresh and citrusy and suddenly, everything about Sansa was so easy ­– too ­- easy to remember. As though a dam had burst inside of him and he was flooded by the memories he had thought he had forever lost.   

*** 

Sansa had always been beautiful.

He could remember that as clearly and as surely as he was of how he had discovered the direwolf puppies years and years ago. Jon could not remember Sansa being born though, he was only three years old at that time. He didn’t remember anything about Sansa except she had been a precious bundle that Lady Catleyn always lovingly carried around the castle. Jon’s first memory of her was her blue eyes. I had captivated him. Robb’s eyes were blue, but it was a darker shade. Sansa’s had been luminous, the blue of far-off snow-capped mountains that he could see on clear days. Or the blue of winter roses that grew on Winterfell’s glass house. Like the wings of a common blue butterfly that he’d see during a lazy summer afternoons, perched on the outside walls of Winterfell.

Jon remembered wanting Sansa to be his. Not the way he wanted her now, it was different then. Sansa being his meant that he was a true part of father’s family, not a boy born so far from the North, he should not have even been called “Snow”, not the boy who could not call Lady Catelyn, “mother”. If Sansa had been his sister, he would have been allowed to hold her hands the way Robb held hers as they walked around the castle’s premises.

Jon remembered being a broken hearted little boy who could only quietly trail behind Robb and Sansa, he could make the best flower crowns but it did not matter, Sansa only wore the ones Robb made, he had stronger legs than Robb and could easily carry Sansa on his back whenever they played deep into the forest and she got tired of walking back home, but she only sleepily snuggled into Robb’s back as they emerged from the trees.

Jon had always kept his distance. He felt it was what Lady Catelyn wanted and expected of him and Jon did everything to avoid slighting his father’s lady wife. In the end, he had to give up whatever affection he had felt towards his sister. He was not allowed to love her the way Robb did and it was the first time Jon truly felt that he was a bastard son.

Years passed and he and Sansa had grown up distant towards each other. They did not fight (as he and Robb sometimes did) but they did not spend time together either (as he and Arya and Bran and Rickon always did). She was never mean or cruel to him and he never cared for any of her girlish dreams and sorrows. Arya complained about it all the time though, so Jon was always aware of how Sansa would grow despondent every time she wasn’t able to sew something delicate and beautiful. Jon knew she fancied some Night’s Watch ranger, Arya thought at least that was an improvement from being fond of dead knights in silly songs. When King Robert arrived in Winterfell, Arya had gritted her teeth, savagely rolled her eyes at the very idea of wanting to be married to the idiot-looking, pale faced Prince of Nothing.

“Seven Kingdoms,” Jon had corrected her and Arya spat at the ground, looking extremely proud of herself as she looked down at her work. “And don’t ever do that in front of your Lady Mother.”

“Sansa is an idiot. I wish she’d stop being so foolish and annoying and that she wasn’t my sister at all!”

“You can’t mean that.” Jon had murmured gently, ruffling Arya’s hair, but deep down, Jon had wanted to tell her that he wished differently and that if he had the chance, he wanted nothing more than to be Sansa’s brother, to be allowed to feel indignant at their father’s choice for her betrothed, because surely their father did not think that Baratheon boy deserved Sansa? But he could not voice this out loud. He was meant to blend into the background, huddled in the dark corners of Winterfell, away from Sansa’s radiance.

 ***

Two days before they were set to leave Winterfell, Jon had packed his few belongings; he was headed to The Wall with his Uncle Benjen. He felt utterly torn about it: on one hand, it was something that he felt he needed to do, to forge his own path. There was nothing that was for him in Winterfell, it all belonged to Robb and though he did not begrudge Robb of that, he was saddened by the fact that he had to leave everything behind so that he could be a man that his father would be proud to have. It wasn't a difficult choice, really. It was, after all, a Stark that had had built The Wall and for thousands of years the Starks had supported and respected The Wall and those who had bravely chosen a life of Night's Watch. The Wall was part of the Stark’s legacy. Being sworn into the Brotherhood that protected the realm was something noble and at the very least, Jon hoped, would be filled with adventure.

If he stayed in Winterfell, he would be nothing but a bastard for all his life. At The Wall though, he could be more than just Ned Stark’s bastard son. He wasn't quite sure what he'd be able achieve, but he vowed he will never go back to Winterfell without accomplishing something significant. Maybe becoming the youngest ranger ever in history of The Wall, or something far greater than that. Jon day dreamed of coming back to Winterfell and being welcomed with cheers, affectionate hugs and even the proud hard thumping on his back or chest. A part of him wanted to come back here as an equal to Robb when he becomes the Lord of Winterfell. Did that make him seem petty and jealous? He didn't think so. But he still felt slightly guilty for wanting more and then angry for feeling like that he didn't deserve it, just because his mother was some unnamed woman that Lord Eddard Stark had not married. 

Jon had been filled with conflicting thoughts that he had failed to realize that he was not alone and that he was almost upon Sansa, who was kneeling beneath the weir tree, her long auburn hair brushing the fallen autumn leaves on the ground. She had her forehead pressed against the tree and Jon almost turned away, intending to let her have her privacy as she prayed to the old gods, when Sansa very slowly brought her hand to her eyes and Jon saw the tears shining on her face.

He swallowed hard. She had looked radiant at the feast; he could still see her smiling face as she sat at the dais, but the afternoon sun did wonderful things to her and radiant seemed like a sorry, inadequate way to describe her. There was a coppery shine to hair that made her look warm and something inside Jon’s chest painfully clenches.  Before he knew it, he had taken a step towards Sansa, gently calling out her name.

She looked up, startled, her watery blue eyes brimming with tears. “Sansa, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?’” Jon watched as Sansa shook her head, sniffed daintily, wiping the tears from her trembling chin. She looked so incredibly vulnerable, Jon felt his hands clenching into tight fits. “Did someone--” Jon stopped, dropped to his knees so he could inspect her for any wounds.  When it was apparent that she was uninjured, he looked back up to her, surprised to see her looking so intently at him. Jon immediately realized that this was the closest he had even been to her an as he tried to read her face, he noticed the dark curl of Sansa’s eyelashes, the small barely-there flecks of grey in her irises. He was suddenly breathless and unsure of what to say next. “Please tell me you aren’t hurt.”

“I- I’m fine, Jon. I’m not… It’s not like that.” She stammered prettily, a faint pink flush blooming from her cheeks.

“Would you like me to call Robb?” He asked. She would probably be more comfortable talking to him and Jon felt he’d be more comfortable too if he could escape her sad soft sighs as she shook her head and shifted away from the tree, sitting down on the ground as she very gingerly smoothed out her gowns.

“No. I—Robb would not be very helpful right now,” and before Jon could open his mouth, Sansa gave him the smallest of grins, “and definitely not Arya.”

Jon had to fight back the smirk threatening to spill from his lips. He was going to suggest Arya, but now that he had thought about it, it seemed incredibly silly of him. “Is there anyone you would like me to fetch for you? Or would you rather be alone? Do you want me to go? I didn’t mean to intrude or…”

“Stop, please. It’s fine. I just…” Sansa looked down at her clasped hands, as though trying to organize her thoughts. Finally she looked back up at him and slightly tilted her head, “you’re leaving Winterfell, too. To The Wall, with Uncle Benjen.”

“Aye, I am.” Arya or Robb had probably told her. She had never really shown any interest in him and this was quite new. Unexpected but not unwelcome. 

“Aren’t you scared?” Sansa asked, her blue eyes widening. “I – we have never been so far from Winterfell, and now all of a sudden we’re leaving and sometimes I… I can’t wait to go, I want to see the South and the King’s Landing and the Lords and the Ladies and Knights...”

“From the songs?” Jon asked, startled at his sudden boldness, at how easy it seemed to talk to her. He hadn’t tried and now he thought he had been both a coward and an idiot for misjudging Sansa. Because of course, it would be easy to talk to her. Just because Lady Catleyn looked down at him, didn’t mean Sansa would do the same. He was sorry to realize the time had had wasted being quiet and sullen, trying to avoid Sansa.

Sansa snorted and even her snort seemed so lady-like. So queenly. “Yes, from the silly songs.”

“They’re not all that silly. You like those songs; it’s alright to like them.” Jon felt Sansa thought that he would be like Arya and that he would make fun of her and her tenderness and her girlishness. He didn’t want her to suddenly leave, at least not without telling him what was bothering her. “I am scared.” He said finally when it looked like Sansa was not going to say anything else. “I’m scared I won’t be good enough at The Wall and it would shame father.”

Sansa looked away, suddenly shy. “You’re better at Robb in fighting.” It was a mumbled praise, but a praise nonetheless and Jon liked hearing her praise him, even when she quickly amended that Robb was better at swordfight and Theon with arrows. “You’ll never shame, father.”

Jon was sitting too close to her and he could see the edges of her sleeves fluttering at she trembled, trying to fight off her tears. “Not like me…”

“Sansa,” he couldn’t help it. He didn't want to see anyone upset. Girls most especially. They all seem so impossibly fragile and Sansa wasn't just any girl. She was his half-sister and if Robb wasn't around to comfort her, Jon was more than willing to do so. Strangely, it all was seemed so natural for him. He reached out to very quickly, but gently brush her knuckles, getting her attention but not enough to scare her away. “Why would you think that?”

Robb and Sansa spent most of their days being trained and groomed. Robb was to be the next Lord of Winterfell and Sansa’s future as a Lady of a great house by way of marriage was already certain. No doubt, their father and the King had spoken about joining their houses, why else should the king bring his whole family to Winterfell? It was never implicitly said, but everyone knew that Sansa would not be marrying some Northern Lord or minor Lord from the South. She was born to become a Queen. Sometimes, Jon would secretly watch her as she followed Lady Catleyn around the castle, gracefully waking behind Lady Stark, meek and demure when there were Lords and knights around; charming and sweet to the wives and children of the Northern Lords. Sansa always stood with her back straight, the elegant line of her neck accentuated by the stubborn lift of her chin every time she and Arya argued. Sometimes Jon would forget that she was just but a girl of eleven.  Of course, she still had childish whims, as Arya would often grumble about it, but the same could be said of Robb and him and even Arya too.

Sansa shook her head, nervously wringing her hands on her lap. “I know I have done everything mother and the septa’s have taught me. I can sing and dance and sew and write poetry... but I… what if… what if the prince isn’t pleased with me? What if they make father return to Winterfell because I… because I’m not as lovely as the other Southern ladies who…who… knows things that I don’t!”

Jon could feel his muscles tensing. “What do you mean? What sort of things?” He narrowed his eyes, feeling strangely protective and angry. “Did anyone tell you… did Joffrey…” that little prick. If he had said and or did something inappropriate with Sansa, he was going to tell Robb and they’re going to beat the shit out of him. He didn’t care if he was a prince.  

Sansa was shaking her head, “No. It’s…Joffrey didn’t…but what if he… what if he tried to…to-”

“To what?” Jon asked, unable to hide the snarl in his voice. “If he tried anything, I can teach you to punch him or something…” Jon voice faltered and slowly faded at the horrified look Sansa gave him. “You don’t want to hit him, of course.” Jon was dismayed. He would’ve loved giving Sansa lessons on how to inflict pain on anyone who would try to steal her innocence away.

“What? Jon! No!" Sansa looked utterly scandalized, "Why would I – don’t ever say something like that out loud, ever again!” She cautiously looked around them, suddenly fearful.

“Well, if he was forcing you to do anything that you don’t want to do, I don’t see why you can’t hit him.”

“Shush! I wasn’t… what I mean was,” Sansa looked at him exasperated, before closing her eyes and with a sigh and through gritted teeth mumbled something incoherent.

“Kick him?” Jon asked, confused.

“No! Gods! Kiss him! I said what if he tried to kiss me and I don’t know how?”

Jon felt his stomach squeezing painfully at the thought. “Do you… do you want to kiss him?” There was a mildly horrified tone in his voice and he watched as Sansa winced.

“I don’t know. I mean, I… what should I do? How… how do I kiss someone?”

And now Jon understood why Robb would not be the best person for Sansa to talk about this. Robb would probably have wrapped his fist around Joffrey’s neck by now. Arya would be in tears laughing and teasing Sansa and Theon will be… well, Theon, would probably volunteer to practice with… Jon gulped. Was that? Did Sansa want? – something inside Jon stopped functioning altogether and he couldn’t form a coherent thought because he was suddenly aware of inappropriately close he was sitting next to Sansa – his half-sister, for fuck’s sake! ­­ - and that if he took a deep breath (which he did) he could smell her clean, citrus-y scent.

Nothing in the castle smelled quite like her.

And yet, she really seemed deeply troubled by this fear and he wanted nothing more than to reassure that this wasn’t something she was supposed to be afraid of. But for her to kiss Joffrey – or any other man for that matter – how could Jon be certain that they would be kind and gentle with her, that they will not make her feel uncomfortable, or worst, hurt her?

“Have you—I mean, with…anyone?” Sansa’s brows were scrunched up as she struggled for words. She shifted her position, making small nervous gestures with her hands.

Jon felt his whole face heating up. “What? No. I haven’t. I mean… no.” He stated it as firmly as he could, wondering why exactly, but he just wanted it to be clear that he had never kissed anyone as well. And it shouldn’t worry Sansa. It would – it should not be that hard. Just lips against lips. There was nothing to worry about it.

“But how?” Sansa practically wailed and Jon wanted to shush her just as she had earlier.

There has to be a reason why he had found her and not Father or Lady Catelyn or Robb or Arya or thank the gods, Theon. There were more than a hundred people in the castle right now and yet here he was and he was Sansa and all Jon could think of was that he would be gentle with her. And it wouldn’t be like an actual kiss, wouldn’t it? He didn’t want to kiss her. Not…really.

Heart hammering inside his chest, blood pulsing inside his head, Jon very slowly took Sansa’s hand, giving her enough time to tell him no, to stop him, to snatch her hand back from him. She did none of those, instead she looked up at him, her blue eyes, bright and shining and when Jon shifted closer, her irises darkened. Jon swallowed hard. “Gently,” he answered, “he shouldn’t rush you or make you feel scared or when he sees you trembling, he’d squeeze your hands to let you know that you can always change your mind and not want to kiss him…”

Jon watched as Sansa nodded her head, her tongue suddenly darting out to wet her lips and Jon thought he might go to hell for this because now – now – he wanted to kiss her.

“And if I don’t change my mind?” Sansa’s voice had become softer, barely a whisper.

Jon suddenly found himself almost panting, unable to properly breathe. He felt like a steel band had wrapped around his heart, slowly tightening as he leaned ever closer. Mirroring Sansa’s action, he licked his parched lips, scrapping his teeth as his tongue retreated. He watched fascinated as Sansa's eyes followed the movement of his mouth. “He would keep his eyes opened, looking at how beautiful you are and how wonderful the light from the sunset makes your hair glow like rich copper and he would want to touch you but he wouldn’t because it’s your first time and he wouldn’t want to scare you off, so instead he would reach out to touch the ends of your hair...your hair is so soft…”

Jon had inched closer and now, if he dipped his head, he could easily capture Sansa’s lips. He wasn’t aware of anything anymore. It was just him and her and the sound of their mingled breathing. If he did this…it would not change anything. She would still head south, be married to a Lord or maybe yes, a prince and he would ride north, swear his oath and he would only have this memory of her and of this sudden inexplicable madness.

Would that be so bad?

“Sansa…I…” Jon closed his eyes and he could feel Sansa trembling and he knew she could also feel his hand shaking. 

“Jon…” There was something about the way Sansa said his name: a gentleness that he had never heard before, it surprised him, it made him want to hear it said that way again. Over and over and over and maybe it was the knowledge that this would be the first and last time for him that made finally close the distance between them and it was just Sansa’s lips now and her sweet sigh of surprise and Jon would have pressed harder, would have lifted his hand to cup her face…but he was his father’s son and honor was so deeply ingrained within him that he pulled back.

The kiss didn’t last a whole second. It could not have.

But still, when he opened his eyes, Sansa was staring at him, her face so filled with tenderness it made everything inside of him ache but in a lovely bitter-sweet kind. “Like that,” he finally said, his voice sounding deep and so very solemn.

Sansa nodded her  head, the faint flush coloring her cheeks made her look lovelier and Jon was both thankful and regretful that this would be his last memory of Sansa. He was about to say something, to ease the tension that he felt would surely creep up on them, when Sansa suddenly lunged herself at him, hugging him tight. She thanked him, told him to please, please, take care of yourself and then softly, lips moving against his cheeks: “goodbye, Jon.”

Before he could say anything, Sansa scrambled up and ran towards Winterfell, leaving him with her warmth and her scent the memory of their kiss.

End note:  Ok. I don't know how that went from the first part to the second part. I feel like there's a disconnect somehow? Ugh. Please let me know what you guys think. The flashback part was a bit... weird. It feels weird to me. I don't know why though. Ugh!! I think I might go back to this and do some changes. But yes, thank you for reading!

[d-reamingwideawake]

another writing contest, different site. this time loosely around the lore there. I used a pair of my own OCs and got first place ~

sorryIdon’tposthereasoftenasIshouldIjustneverfeellikedrabblinganymoreIguess I guess this sort of counts as a drabble though. I miss my bby Sinaht ~

While Esta, the daughter of his clan leader, possessed knowledge in every corner you could name, Sinaht had been less inclined to pay attention in almost any given class as a child. Her ability with stratagem and negotiations in particular were rather astounding, sometimes even better than her father's--though maybe she'd been forced to study those harder with her social standing looming over her. There were times as they grew older that he wondered if the other elf somehow magically absorbed everything she learned, to simply pluck from the back of her mind when a given situation demanded it. However, that was absurd. Even with all the known magic upon their vast continent, and despite the advances made by their very own region, such magics didn't exist. Or maybe he'd missed that memo? It wouldn't surprise him. Esta wouldn't take such an easy, ill-earned path though, so the notion was again, in fact, quite absurd. It wasn't that he lacked capacity for learning, but simply that books and such didn't suit him. His affinity with magic was passable; he was a brown elf after all and earth magics came to their race rather easily. Esta was more adept with magic than he was, but then, she was better than most elves at various, countless things. Because she had to be. It was both admirable and very annoying to Sinaht, but she was a dear childhood friend nonetheless and he couldn't hate her for excelling flawlessly. Physical activities, though, are where Sinaht had always shined and thrived. During sparring matches he nearly always came out on top. The man could even win now and then against his mentor and strongest elf in the clan, Ryfon. He could win out bouts with Esta...sometimes. Sinaht was one of the most skillful warriors in his clan, yet this woman was the only elf he had trouble besting. He blamed it on her ability to think critically while she fought without it slowing her down. Whereas he often let his muscles and instinct take over, only on occasion needing to scheme in the middle of a fight to get the better of his opponent. It was certainly no surprise that with his rank and skill he was often found helping patrol the north-east borders of the Dark Forest now that he'd grown into his more adult years. He was by no means part of the specialized group that dealt with closer patrols, but all of the forest's edge couldn't be watched by a handful of elves alone, no matter how good they were. If Esta wasn't held up learning to be heiress to her father, he was sure she would be at his side showing off how much better she was at topping off the magic on the sigils in their area, or chasing off the creatures that sometimes strayed too close to the outer edges of the eerie cluster of trees. Of course he'd been told all the stories as a kid. Who in Sine hadn't? To this day it did little to faze him. But, during the previous autumn season, there was that one time he'd watched a man suddenly break from their group to wander through the trees until he couldn't be seen any longer. He hadn't said a word, just veered from the path. It hadn't taken long for a piercing scream to fill the air around them, only to as quickly be silenced. His body was never even recovered. The memory chilled him. That incident gave credit to the bedtime stories, certainly, but Sinaht firmly believed the strong-willed wouldn't so easily be lured into some monster's clutches. While that had been unfortunate, it led him to often wonder that the stories never did tell of what exactly the awful creature used to ensnare its prey. Could it be a sickly sweet song, much like a siren? Or a whisper that burrows deep inside the target's ear, coercing them into actions they cannot refuse? Or were those who fell prey to it simply too curious for their own good? The questions were endless. The morning's trek was uneventful thus far. The sigils were strong and the Dark Night was many months away, therefore the less-than-friendly creatures that dwelled within the dense forest likely wouldn't fight the magics that kept them at bay. The troupe of elfin warriors were thinking more about what they might have for lunch than what they might do if a wendigo were to approach them from the forest looking for a snack as well. Crack-krrrsshhhhpfff!! A loud crash came from deep inside the forest, putting the men on their guard in the blink of an eye. The complaints of hunger and boredom ceased as they watched and listened. He and the others had drawn their swords, or other weapon of choice, and stood, waiting. Sinaht's guess was that the noise was a tree sent falling to the ground. And by something large enough to do it. The Dark Forests trees were by no means small or frail. Deep, repetitive thumping could be heard rumbling from somewhere through the fog. It was impossible to tell from which direction, but it was getting closer, that was obvious to him. Then a gravelly howl sounded and they had barely enough time to scatter before what he recognized as a gnennaron burst through the tree line, speeding its way toward them, and toward the closest town to wreak havoc, no doubt. The creature was twice Sinaht's own height, and ten times as wide. Gnennarons were beefy things, and had armored skin too. But they had a single sweet spot if he could just...he lost his chance as it sped right by him, nearly squashing him in the process. It appeared spooked, not malicious like so many creatures did that resided inside the Dark Forest. From his memory, Sinaht vaguely recalled these massive quadrupeds as being one of the gentler residents of the forest; they preferred darkness to light, usually, as well as took quite a fancy to how large the trees were--good for back itching, as well as hiding from the harsh rays of the daytime sun. The sigils didn't effect them simply because they had no evil intents. What could have happened to make it so fearful? He glanced back toward the Dark Forest as if it might give him answers, then shuddered at the thought of the gnennaron being chased by something even bigger than it was. He returned his attention to the problem at hand once he assured himself that terrifying scenario wasn't the case. All he knew was that it needed to be stopped. And fast. Grabbing the attention of a stampeding well, anything, was difficult on its own, let alone one which was several times larger than the elves chasing after it and out of its usually much calmer mind. As he ran after the giant creature with deft footing, Sinaht summoned a bit of wind magic to carry his already long strides even farther and faster. It being his clan's specialty, the effort to multitask was minimal on that front. They surrounded it on its sides shortly, but were unable to slow it down as it charged across the fields that would soon give way to cobblestone walkways and buildings. Orders were being shouted by the elf in charge of their troupe to get ahead of it, and above if they could, to distract the beast. He snorted. Easy enough. At least the first part was. His robes billowed out behind him as he focused the wind under him to propel him through the air at greater speed. He held back the urge to guffaw with laughter when he heard an elf on the ground shout "no fair!" below him. The brown elf brandished his sword while balancing upon the clouds of swirling air beneath his feet. He didn't wish to harm the frightened beast, and if the men on the ground couldn't perform the necessary spell, or spells, to halt it, he might just have to. Sinaht frowned, tapping the blade upon his palm in thought as he flew backwards so as not to get run into. The gnennaron clearly didn't care that he was floating in front of its face. He motioned how useless he was up here down to the others. Steadying his sword between him and the giant creature, Sinaht took in a heavy breath, hoping it at the very least wouldn't try to take a bite out of him in its confusion. "Excuse me, my friend. I don't want to hurt you. I know you to be gentle. I've seen your kind grazing in the open fields upon late hours. You don't want to hurt anyone either, I am sure..." His head tilted to the side, wondering if even his kind tone might calm it down some. "Why are you so scared, you silly thing?" It howled at him in response. That guttural scream could be heard miles away. It shook him to his core being directly next to the source--and also deafened and...wettened...him a bit. He let out a whistle and gathered his wits back about him. He wiped away some of the slimy spittle that had exited the creature's mouth and gotten all over his new tunic. "Excuse you," he muttered. Sinaht lowered himself halfway to the ground and kept pace beside the beast, deciding to search for that sweet spot he'd missed as it ran past them closer to the forests border. He sheathed his sword and wrapped the fingers of one hand around an armored plate on the gnennaron's side while he used the other to search behind it's front leg where the armor was not present. In hindsight, he probably wouldn't have been able to reach this spot from the ground earlier even if the creature hadn't bulldozed passed them. Just as he thought he'd found the sweet spot that would make the gentle giant relax and, hopefully, pass out from the pinched nerve, a magic shield was erected not too far ahead of the stampeding beast-- 

Of which it slammed into with considerable force, concussing itself and collapsing heavily to the ground. Sinaht was barely able to whiz out from where he would have surely been crushed otherwise. He landed with a skid upon the ground, further sullying his clothes. "Could have warned a guy!" he shouted over his shoulder toward the rest of the troupe as he stood and wiped more of the gnennaron's spittle, now laced with dirt, from his person. A lilting laugh reached his long pointed ears, which twitched slightly in response. He whirled with surprise at the familiar voice that came next, "As if I had the time, Sinaht Immeril!" His green and gray eyes landed on Esta, looking bemused as she walked up to him with only a couple elves behind her who had helped erect that powerful barrier in no time at all. He wondered if the men with him had done anything useful at all! "Is that the tunic I gifted you this past seven-day?" she asked, mock-horror and outrage laced each word. The only reason he knew she wasn't actually angry with him was the mischievous look upon her face. Anyone who couldn't see it would surely think Sinaht was about to get his throat ripped out by the clan's heiress. "Look how disgusting you've gotten it, and so soon!" All he could do was give her a shrug. How was he supposed to know a gnennaron would charge out of the forest and bellow at him while he attempted to calm its panicked rampage? "It's a tunic, Esta. It can be washed," was all he could think to say. "Or so I hope," he added with a bit of chagrin. He felt daggers being stared into the back of his head for speaking to such an esteemed elf so casually but couldn't be bothered to care. "Poor thing," he mumbled, looking over to the unconscious beast. Her gaze followed his and she nodded her sympathies, the tunic forgotten. "How ever did this happen? They don't exactly have predators." "Can't say. It was inside the forest when we heard a crash, and then it was stampeding out. Better than anything else that could have come out of those dreary trees at us, I suppose," he added. "Thank you, by the way." "I hope I didn't hurt it too badly," she said quietly, reaching a hand out to pat its huge snout. A grunt sounded behind them as the elf leading the troupe approached. "I apologize for your intervention becoming necessary, ma'am," he intoned, glancing sharply at Sinaht. Having not known their shared childhood, he was annoyed with him. He was from their clan yet he didn't know the slightly older elf well. He fixed his eyes respectably on Esta once more, "We nearly had the spell ready, but the speed we had to travel to keep up with--" "It's no issue," Esta interrupted,holding up a hand. "I wanted to be here in the first place today but my father...well. You know," she said, cracking a smile at Sinaht and digressing from the topic that only he, out of all the others here, knew about in the first place. She waved off the pair of elves behind her to take leave for other duties. "Those of you in this troupe may help bring the beast back to the shade of the forest where it should awake and wander back inside with no harm done. You said a crash? Maybe a tree?" "That was my assumption," he affirmed, wondering where her mind had wandered and interested to find out. The look on his face invited her to share. "I think it may have had a tough itch upon its back to reach and toppled a tree in doing so! Spooked itself, poor creature!" Her laugh trilled as she motioned for them to gather their magic together to haul the gnennaron back toward the Dark Forest border before it might awaken and cause another fuss.

[fantasticalrealms]

Wings Over Avalon: Escape

Fictionpress Version

(updated 05.2019) First in a series of short stories about a group of dragons and how they come together to form an unlikely clan. This is the beginning of the story behind the future clan leader, Zaros.

No matter the standard by which you judged him, Zaros was young for his race. Young and pitiably small for his age. Yet, they had to respect him as second born of the clan leader. They didn’t though. They paid lip service when necessary and scorn when not. Mocked in hushed whispers and sideways glances, he often felt like an outsider in his own home. So, there he stood alone in the sun at the top of the world. To the north lay nothing but the frozen domain of ice and rocky crags that belonged to his clan and his clan alone.

His coloration matched the frigid expanse he now gazed down upon. Iridescent scales like the purest ice over skin as blue as the clear mid-day sky. The way the light refracted off his scales gave him a whiter appearance like the snow that laid before him. But, at his age, they did not afford him the same measure of protection they afforded others of his kind. They weren’t big enough to fully covered his skin, leaving vulnerable gaps in his armor that the older adolescent in the clan often exploited to hurt him. Prodding claws in the gaps to pierce the skin and torment him. From somewhere above him, a low rumbling voice called his name. With a resigned sigh, he took to the air.

“Go and scout out the town of Kaldrbekkr and report back here by night fall.” A voice boomed from within the depths of the dark cave. The voice belonged to a massive white dragon that sat majestic and foreboding over Zaros, not even half his size. The only light cast upon his massive figure was that which reflected off the treasures and bleached bones as light from the entrance poured over them. The cave’s dimness made the large beast seem more like a living extension of the wall then its own being.

“Yes Father.” Zaros replied grudgingly as he lifted his head slowly. He moved slowly as he turned to leave half expecting some additional word about being the clan leader’s son and the importance of not failing. No such comment came but a brisk grunt which, said it all in the place of words.  He stopped and stood just outside the opening of the cave and watched the loose snow waft gently in the breeze.

“Zaros! Father’s sending you out on a scouting expedition, isn’t he?” An older, female dragon wondered flying over and landing next to him.

“Clarina…” He sighed forlorn as he glanced over at his older sister. Clarina, the first born of the clan leader and inheritor of the power of her Ancient mother. She towered a full head and shoulders over Zaros, her scales fully covering her ice blue skin. She was old enough that the skin of her feet had started to turn dirty from walking on the rocky ground of their home. She commanded far more respect within the clan than Zaros could ever hope. Yet, she cared deeply for him and often defended him against his tormentors. Keeping him close to her side to keep them at bay.

“Then he is.” She replied with a gentle nod of understanding. “Come on I want to talk to you for a bit before you go.” She nudged him gently with a foreleg and he nodded with a slight smile. They both took a massive leap off the ledge and glided down toward the snowfields. “I am your older sister, you know, Zaros and I want you to know you can tell me anything.”

“What is there to tell?” He wondered lazily gliding a clawed toe over the icecap sending a flurry of frozen crystals into the air.

“You don’t really like the idea of raiding and pillaging, do you?” She pressed gently but with a forlorn tone in her own voice.

“Not at all. I dread it more than anything because I don’t want to see anything die. I don’t want to ruin the life of anything.” He replied in frustration. He knew all this would happen if he reported on what he found at Kaldrbekkr. He also knew what would happen to him if he didn’t.

“You have to bear with it for a little while longer just until Father passes on and I take the top position in the clan.” She soothed with a warm smile.

“Clarina, do you honestly think you alone can change the clan? If the Elders decide they don’t like what you’re doing they’ll dethrone and kill you. Just like Mother…” He gasped fearfully.

“Well then we must both wait until there is a prime opportunity to escape.” She went on resolutely. “There must be somewhere we can go and be free of all this.”

“I hope so… But when will that day come? Soon I hope…” He sighed as he looked up at the mountains off to his left.

“Well I’ll go then. Don’t worry Zaros… I’ll think of something all right?” He nodded slowly and she veered off and headed back towards the white dragon lair. He was now where he felt most alive, gliding over the plains of grain and hay of the southern reaches of their territory alone. Here his mind was blank and free. Rid of his title and responsibilities, expectations, everything. Then Kaldrbekkr appeared on the horizon and his gentle joy was broke instantly. He slid down just outside the village amongst some trees then crept up to its edge quietly. Beyond, there was a group of children running along the outskirts, a distraught looking young girl out in front.

“Orphan! Orphan! Ariala is an orphan! She used to be a princess but now she’s an orphan!” The others chanted as they chased after her mercilessly. She tripped and fell face first into the dirt and they descended upon her. The sight reminded Zaros all too keenly of the fate he often faced. It sparked an anger in him he couldn’t control and he charged for the clearing beyond the trees. He took to the air and a moment later he was swooping down over the village towards the children.

“Dragon!” A terrified woman screeched. The exclamation was followed by other screeches and screams as people rushed to their homes. By the time he meandered down the only being left in sight was the girl named Ariala. He swooped down and landed next to her carefully. The dirt she had been driven into had dulled her shiny black hair. Her bright blue eyes were hidden behind fresh purple bruises. Her once white and light blue dress was brown and tattered.

“Are you all right?” He wondered gently as he pulled her up with a clawed foot. She just looked at him frightened and nodded slowly. “Don’t ever let them make fun of you again. Don’t be scared of them anymore. You have a strong heart and a strong spirit. You stick up for yourself. All right, you understand?” The little girl eased and nodded again slowly. “I’ll be back and if they ever do it again you tell me.”

“Wha… What’s your name?” She wondered meekly eyes drifting up to meet his.

“Zaros.” He replied taking a few steps away in preparation to leave.

“You have a strong sounding name but you’re little for a dragon.” She pointed out naively.

“That’s right!” One man shouted flinging his door open. “He’s only a kid! We can take him easy and collect a reward for his head!”

“Yeah!” Roared the crowd as they poured out of their hiding places and surrounded the pair. Zaros growled as a rock hit him in the head from behind. More rocks followed and his growling intensified greatly. He let out a might roar and frosty air rushed from his mouth. Ariala ran out in front of him and sprawled her arms out defensively.

“Don’t hurt them, Zaros! They don’t understand that you’re a good dragon! They’re just ignorant!” She shouted and he took a shocked step back.

“She’s defending these people who betrayed her? But why?” He wondered in confusion eyes darting around searching for an answer that could not be seen.

“You’re the ignorant one stupid girl! If there’s only one then he’s a scout! If we let him go he’ll send his clan on us!” An angry voice shouted and a second later she was pelted with a rock. “If you’re going to stand in the way you can die with him!” The children picked up rocks and started throwing them at her. Before the rocks had completely left their hands Zaros leapt forward and wrapped a foreleg around her protectively.

“If he was going to hurt us he wouldn’t have saved me from your bullying children! Stop being so stupid!” She shouted cowering behind his leg.

“Ariala… Hush you’re wasting your energy and words on them. We’re all a little ignorant here but one thing that is clear is neither of us is welcome here.” He stood up straight and kept a watchful eye on the villagers as they prepared to attack with bigger weapons. He scooped her up quickly and helped her on his back before leaping into the air and taking off towards the far away mountains.

“Where are we going?” She wondered as she rested against his spines and they flew over the fields on their journey.

“I don’t know yet but somewhere you can be safe.” He replied easily as they glided along.

“This is so much fun! Wee!” She exclaimed throwing her arms out and mimicking him. “Say Zaros… Why did you save me?” She wondered as her carefree tone faded and she lay down against his head.

“Because I’m always teased and beat up.” He replied in a sad voice. “I didn’t like it then or now.” There was a long silence before he glanced back at her. “Why did you decide to trust me?”

“You have clear pure eyes. If someone knows what they’re looking for they can see your soul. You have a pretty soul… It sparkles.” She replied in a quiet, sleepy tone. “Thank you… For saving me.” She mused hugging his head gently. Soon he felt her breathing even out against him as she slept. What she had said to him about his eyes was still plastered in his mind. Had she really just said that as a child? Or could she really see his soul through his eyes? He flew on aimlessly for hours until he came across a mountain on the edge of his clan’s territory he had never seen before. Suddenly his wings started feeling heavier and heavier. As flight became harder he flipped Ariala off his back and held her tight against his chest. “What’s going on?” She wondered fearfully as he spun around on his back.

“Just hold on!” He shouted in reply just before they slammed into the ground below. He could feel the trees breaking over his iron hard scales with more force than he had expected. He could feel himself fading to darkness as they came to a stop.

“Zaros wake up!” Ariala urged as she nudged him, his eyes slowly starting to close. “I’m going to go get help.” She went on shoving his leg off and sliding down.

“No… Wait… It’s dangerous…” He muttered weakly as he tried to roll over. It was no use, he heard her footsteps running away as his eyes sank completely closed. When he awoke he was laying on a smooth, cold, black marble floor on top of a huge inlaid gold seal. He snapped up quickly and looked around defensively. He was in a huge stone room of black granite and marble. Torches burned every few feet on the wall around the circular room. Thick black columns supported the ceiling, which was high enough for him to hop up and fly around a bit comfortably. The dark tone of the room didn’t sit well with Zaros. Behind him sat two massive polished wooden doors and he charged them in hopes of breaking out.

“Stupid humans.” He smirked just before he hit a barrier and bounced back. He looked on in disbelief as the air in front of the door rippled gently. He pounded at the barrier over and over again until he finally slid to stop panting. His face mirrored the defeated feelings welling up inside until he thought of small, weak Ariala in this dark place already hurt and scared. A low growl gurgled from his throat as his pale blue eyes began to glow fiercely. Cold air seethed from his mouth and began to freeze the air around it. “Hold on Ariala! I’m coming!” He shouted as the blue glow of his eyes flowed over his whole body. He charged the doors one last time as he let out a mighty roar. He slipped easily through the barrier and slammed into the doors. He leaned back and slammed into them again before they gave way and he fell through. Two guards stumbled away in shock at the sight.

“Where’s Ariala?! Where’s the girl I was with?!” He growled angrily, one of the guards pointed feverishly down the hall behind him. “Thank you.” He replied before running as fast as he could in the indicated direction.

“Interesting…” A young man in a long slate blue robe with brown hair mused as he looked at the hole calmly and carefully. “Interesting indeed…”

“Didn’t you put a barrier spell on the doors, Merlin?!” The other guard inquired exasperated.

“I did indeed. It seems our little friend is a special case. I should like to talk to him further.” Merlin replied walking on calmly down the hall. “All this commotion on top of the whole king business. I still say they should let me use my sword idea… No matter plenty of time to convince them…” He babbled on to himself as he ventured down the hall.

“If he ever gets put in charge of anything I’ll be very afraid for all of us…” One of the guards sighed shaking his head.

Zaros pounded his way mindlessly through the compound until his keen nose picked up on Ariala’s scent. He followed it to another huge set of double wooden doors. He approached this set of doors warily this time. He walked up to them carefully to check for another barrier. He found none and just as he was about to try to open the doors they flung open. “Zaros!” Ariala shouted happily as she sailed out and wrapped her arms against his chest, far too small to properly hug him. “I’m so glad they didn’t hurt you like they promised!”

“I’m glad you’re all right. It really would have made me mad if I got pelted by all those rocks only for you to die.” He mused nuzzling her with his head.

“You saved her? Most interesting indeed. I knew there was something different about you.” The man named Merlin said walking up and patting him on the side. Zaros looked at him contemptuously and made a low growl. Merlin quickly snapped his hand back and clutched it gingerly. “Sorry there, large fellow.” He soothed quickly. From within the room Ariala had come a long, hearty, friendly laugh echoed.

“Merlin my good man. You must make a stranger a friend before you can treat him as thus.” The voice went on after its laugh was complete. “Come in stranger and let me make you a friend by explaining everything.” Zaros spied an old man with silver hair and a prodigious beard sitting at the far end of a long wooden table. Chairs lined either side and huge torches reflected light off the gold embroidery on the wine purple tapestry.

“Oh yes that would probably be a good idea.” Merlin said nodding and warily moving around Zaros to get in the grand hall.

“Come on Zaros!” Ariala urged tugging on one of his legs. “It’s ok.” Zaros nodded slowly and followed her in.

“We’ve been watching you for a long time, Zaros, Prince of the White Dragons. I have something I’d like to propose to you.” The man went on as Zaros made himself comfortable on the floor at the end of the table.

“How do you know who I am?” Zaros gasped trying to hide his shock.

“We are wizards and we have our ways, fair dragon. How barbaric of me.” He commented standing up. “My name is Marabus, Chancellor of the Northern Order of White Mages and Wizards.” He bowed to the dragon, which threw Zaros just a bit. “This is my assistant and pupil, Merlin.” Merlin dashed up quickly and bowed.

“You’re the one who placed the barrier on the doors of the room I was in.” The dragon questioned looking at the young wizard.

“I am! How did you ever guess?” He mused with almost childish delight.

“You have the same feeling energy as the barrier.” Zaros replied simply.

“You’re an Ancient are you not?” Marabus wondered a bit in shock.

“A what?” He wondered back confused.

“An Ancient dragon! Do you really think so Marabus?!” Merlin exclaimed excitedly. Zaros looked on confused as the two wizards conferred with each other. Suddenly, Ariala nudged him and he bent down to listen to her.

“They think you’re from a stronger race of dragons.” She explained quietly. “The Ancient dragons possessed incredible powers before they became greedy and lazy. There aren’t many Ancient dragons left anymore.” Zaros nodded in silent understanding and sat there wondering if it were true. “Is it just me or does that Merlin feel stronger than Marabus?” She wondered breaking his train of thought.

“He does… How could you tell?” The dragon responded in awe.

“He has a bigger aura.” She replied simply.

“You can read auras also? What else can you do?” He pressed smiling. The two mages directed their attention back to the pair as they bubbled on.

“Yes I believe you’re right. I believe he is an Ancient dragon but she’s no ordinary girl.” Merlin whispered and Marabus simply nodded slowly with a contemplative look on his face.

“Zaros!” Marabus boomed over their talking; the two snapped their attention back to him. “About my proposal to you. I believe we could come to some sort of agreement.”

“Tell me what you have in mind.” Zaros responded a bit defensively.

“In the not so distant future we will become directly involved with a problem of sorts. You see we’ll become directly responsible for maintaining the succession to the throne of a country to the south. Now this is of no concern to you outside of the fact that the king we institute will decide how much your head is worth in his land. However, I realize that you’re different from most dragons in your ideology and how you’d like to live. So, if you will aide us in this task of ours we will provide you with anything within our means to grant. A haven where you won’t have to follow orders you despise perhaps?” The old wizard explained sitting down again.

“What would I have to do?” He wondered glancing down at Ariala.

“You keep all the humans in your clan’s domain alive. Or as many as possible at least until we have this whole thing settled and we’ll give you anything you want within our power and reason.” Marabus explained looking at the dragon genuinely.

“I’ll see what I can do about it. In return, you have to keep Ariala and train her.” Zaros responded without a moment’s thought. “And if you don’t take good care of her… I will kill you.” He added menacingly moving a foreleg in front of her protectively.

“Zaros…” She whispered hugging his leg. Merlin looked warily at Marabus but Marabus didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

“Done.”

 “Clarina I need a favor from you and if you help me it may be the end of our problems.” Zaros said meekly as he walked carefully up to his sister.

“If I can do it I will.” She responded with a smile and Zaros eased in relief. They were alone on the rocky crags above the lair and the wind kicked up fiercely on the side of the desolate shelf. He walked up to her slowly and when he stopped, he gripped the cold rock with his toes.

“I made a deal with a wizard. If we can keep as many people alive as possible in our domain until he sends for us, we’re guaranteed a safe place to live on our own.” He finally blurted out.

“All right.” She responded simply, unquestioningly as she turned her gaze back to the setting sun. “It’s about time we stop talking about wanting to change things and do something.” She added quietly and resolutely.

“Why are we like this Clarina? Why are we different?” He wondered sitting down and watching the sun with her.

“We possess strong Ancient blood and love from our Mother. That’s why Father is afraid of us. Mother gave us power that can become far stronger than his own.” She replied in a deeply contemplative voice.

“Well now’s our chance to make her proud.”

And so that’s what they did. They went to every town, farm, and settlement their clan was about to raid and warned it the night before. Many lives were saved this way though there were always the stubborn few that believed it was a trap and stayed. This went on for over a year with no suspicion cast until a dragon just a bit older than Clarina confronted them. They stood on their usual vantage point over the lair watching the setting sun. “Lady Clarina, Lord Zaros. A word please.” He requested as he hovered in front of them.

“Of course, Xanas.” Clarina replied catching the gravity in his voice. “What is it?” She wondered as she watched him land next to them.

“I know what you two are doing. I’ve watched you leave at night and I’ve followed you. I admire the stand you’re making and have sought to aide you. When the issue was brought up of people not being in the places raided, I claimed to have seen a mage fleeing several of the sites on our arrival. They believed this. Because of it though, the next raid is to be chosen in utmost secrecy and will be attacked soon after it is chosen. Should I learn of it before then I will inform you.” He explained keeping his head bowed. Clarina simply nodded and smiled.

“Prove your loyalty Xanas…” She replied gravely after a few minutes of silent deliberation. He reached into a pouch around his neck and pulled out an iron claw on a chain from it. A dragon’s hard nails are slow to dull and even slower to grow. As he handed it to her she knew his loyalty was sealed in the rite of the blood claw. Should he betray them now, she had the right to kill him no questions asked. She took the claw and affixed it around her slender neck and nodded.

“Thank you Xanas. Leave us now.” She replied turning her attention back to the setting sun.

“As you wish, my Lady.” He bowed then hopped off the ledge and floated away.

Zaros slept on the ledge that night and was peaceful. He dreamed of Ariala who he hadn’t seen in months. His sister shaking him brought his peaceful dreams to an abrupt end.

“Wake up! Come on! We have to hurry! They’re going to leave to attack at dawn!” She hissed right in his ear. He came to with a start and followed her off the ledge and into the darkened distance. “Today is the day I make my stand, Zaros. I don’t expect you to follow me or stand beside me but this is my path.” She went on as they approached a town on the horizon.

“Clarina, what are you talking about?” Zaros wondered confused as he looked at her fearfully.

“When we get there start yelling a warning. The more people we can get out of there the better.” Was all she said.

“Dragons are coming! Get out of here!” They yelled in unison as they swooped down over the town. Slowly, people heard the yelling and came out to see what was going on. “Get out of here!”

“Zaros keep warning the villagers. I’m going to go see if I have to buy us some more time.” Clarina shouted before she sailed around and headed back in the direction they had come. She perched on the wall around the settlement and stood waiting as chunks of rock and sod fell off and hit the ground. Zaros obeyed and kept shouting. Every once in a while, he’d look back and see her sitting there like a sentinel. It was during one of these glances that he was pelted with something hot in his neck. He looked down and saw what was once a flaming arrow smoldering in his neck, lodged between his undersized scales. He landed in the town square and struggled to pull it out but broke it off instead. Another one sailed through the air and hit him on the other side of the neck. The marksmanship was flawless the way targeted the gaps.

“I try to save you and this is what I get?! Escape idiots! I’m not your enemy!” He howled twisting around trying to pull either arrow out. A little boy slowly came up to him and put a hand on one of his rear legs gently. Zaros stopped thrashing and looked at him curiously. He walked up and grabbed at the end of the unbroken arrow.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” He said before he started to pull as hard as he could on the arrow. Suddenly, there was a flood of children and young adults all around him pulling at the arrows.

“Why are you doing this?” He wondered aloud as he felt warm soothing hands all around him.

“We threw rocks at you and tried to kill you but you came back to try to save us!” The little boy cried as the arrow gave a little and dark blue blood trickled out. It took Zaros a minute to realize this was Kaldrbekkr. His eyes darted around as adults came and joined the children. Even a priest and nun, rare in this part of the world, all came and helped to free the arrows. The unbroken arrow finally tore free and Zaros let out a terrifying howl of pain.

“We can’t get a good grip on the broken one.” The priest said with a defeated tone as he looked down at his bleeding hands.

“Leave it and escape! You’ve wasted enough time on me!” Zaros groaned as an old woman pressed her apron to the bleeding wound.

“Aaahhh… Shut up, you! If we’re going to start a job we mean to finish it!” She snapped and Zaros looked at her a bit bewildered.

“You should listen to the lady there, big guy.” A huge muscle clad smith billowed before spitting on his hands. He grabbed the handles of his iron-working tongs and clasped them tight on the broken arrow. “Now with my sure grip we can give this bugger the shake. You just relax.” The smith went on with a sly smile. Zaros grinned and nodded before looking straight ahead and relaxing. “All right everyone gimme some support here. One, two, three… Pull!” The crowd let loose a collective cry and out the arrow came a moment later. A bright light caught Zaros’s attention and he noticed a small tear resting on his cheek. He gently brushed it onto a claw and everyone looked at the gently glowing crystal in awe. He handed it to the priest slowly.

“Run. Escape. Hide. Something! Go now!” He yelled desperately.

“Sister Catherine lead them to the second cellar. That should be big enough and deep enough to keep them safe. Everyone go now I’ll be on in a moment.” He urged everyone on and they obeyed. He clutched the tear in one hand and took his rosary off with the other. “Now I don’t care if you don’t believe in this you take it and go on. It will make me feel better.” He went on clasping the rosary to Zaros’s leg. “May you be blessed.”

“I promise to protect your church.” Zaros said solemnly.

“You just go on… I think we have enough protection.” With that the priest patted his leg and ran off towards the parish across the square. Zaros spun around and took to the air. Clarina let out a massive roar as she leapt from the wall and flew off toward the coming dawn and their coming clan.

“Today is the day I fight!” She growled as she sped away from him. The words seemed to hit him with a force and he plummeted to the ground. He turned his head back toward the church and for an instant swore he saw a being of light with wings spread wide sitting on the steeple. He blinked and it was gone; he felt stronger though as he leapt back into the air.

“I made a promise!” He roared as he cleared the wall and flew on to the dawn. Ahead he saw a fight going on and knew it had begun. There were only six dragons in his view but no doubt they were Elites.

“Xanas! Attack her! End this foolishness now!” He heard his Father roar.

“What’s wrong Sir? Too good to attack your own daughter? Or too scared?” Xanas replied with a tone and gaze of contempt. His Father tackled the younger dragon and drove him hard into the ground then charged Clarina who was pinned down by two Elites. She was bleeding all over and from the way her rear leg was bent, it was broken. Something inside Zaros snapped and the next thing he knew he was laying on the ground next to his Father. The scales on his Father’s side were cracked and broken in spot. Before Zaros could realize what had happened, the two Elites holding Clarina were charging him. His eyes gained a fierce blue glow as he dodged to the side and kicked one in the head. The force caused the dragon to sail into the other. Both went flying through the air for several yards before crashing to the ground.

“That… That’s the same look she had before I killed her…” His Father gasped fearfully as he trembled.

“Why did you kill her Father?” Zaros wondered as he walked slowly and ominously towards him. Xanas passed behind him carefully and went to Clarina’s side.

“She went insane and started attacking everyone and killed two of our own.” The larger dragon responded trying to gain his feet beneath him.

“What did you do to make her angry Father? This has only happened to me twice and both times I’ve been mad.” Zaros went on as he stopped just feet away from the still trembling clan leader. He stared at his Father intensely.

“You have to understand the position I was in, Zaros. Every third child of an Ancient inherits its heart. I couldn’t risk there being a mutiny if it were like…” He stuttered in response.

“If it were like her? If it were like us? So, you killed her before she could give birth?” Zaros fumed before raging forward and flipping his Father on his back. “Your own flesh and blood!” He screamed ripping the claws of both forelegs into the flesh of the older dragon. “You make me sick! You aren’t worth my morals against killing but death is too good for you!” He screamed before storming off and sliding a foreleg under one of his sister’s and gently pulling her up. Xanas did likewise and together they flew off towards the mountains. As they flew away the wounded clan leader looked on in horror at their retreating forms.

“He can't possibly be... But then who was the first born. Or, the second?”

 “Why are we going to the mountains?” Clarina wondered fearfully as they went on, consciousness failing her.

“I have friends here it’s all right.” Soon the foreboding black tower appeared on the side of a mountain. In the opening to the front gate stood a small figure in white and light blue. Zaros eased as they flew over her and she waved. They landed on the balcony and were met by Marabus and Merlin.

“Hello Zaros. We’ve been expecting you.” Marabus replied with a grave smile. From behind him an army of servants came with fresh white linen to bandage up Clarina. “I only wish your visit could have been on better terms.”

Chapter Two

[harrison-abbott]

Uncle Paul Short Story

UNCLE PAUL

 I

 I’m packing the boxes away in my new flat. We’ve just moved in. My flatmate isn’t here yet, so it’s me alone trying to build a new place to stay. It’s good to change, and I’m looking forward to the new semester. My phone then rings in my pocket – it’s an unrecognised number.

    “Hello?” I answer.

    “Hello, there, I’m not sure if I’ve got the right number … Is this Polly?”

    “It is, yes.”

    “Hi Polly, it’s your Aunt Dell calling. I have some things to ask you … If that’s okay?”

    I don’t recognise the woman’s voice; I know that I’ve met my ‘Aunt’ Dell maybe twice in my life. By her staggering, nervous tone I anticipate that what she’s going to ask me won’t be fruitful.

    “Do you know that your Uncle Paul died?” She says.

    “Uncle Paul? … He died? How?”

    “He had a heart attack, last night.”

    “I’m so sorry … for your loss …” and I wonder if this sounds callous, because it seems like I care less about my own Uncle than a woman who has been his wife for barely three years – and it’s more callous because that’s exactly how it is. But Dell sounds broken, and I’m ready to listen.

    “I’m so sorry for calling you,” she says, “but I know that you study in the same city as John worked. And I just didn’t have any one else to ask of a favour …”

    “That’s okay, just ask away?”

    “I feel stupid for asking you – because I know that your Mother and your Uncle didn’t get on … But would you be able to come and help me move some things out of his flat? Just moving a few things of his into the car. It will only take a little while, and I’ll give you some money; I know what it’s like to be a poor student – haha!”

    “Eh, yes, sure I can do that … When can I come help?”

    “This evening? Around 6?”

    I look at the time: it’s 15:50.

    “Do you remember where he lives?” Dell says. I say no, I never visited him at his house. She gives me the address and I write it down on my hand. I’m about to ask if I’ll just give her a call if I get lost, but she hurriedly bids farewell and hangs up. Remaining standing in the flat, I marvel at how lives can change so instantly.

   II

      As I’m sitting in the tram on the way to Uncle Paul’s house, I think about him, and the family. Wow, I never would’ve thought Paul would die; he seemed too huge and rollicking for death. Everybody always seemed scared of him, but I wasn’t – at least not in my student years. They were scared because he was loud, clever, and used his acerbic tongue to hurt a lot of people. As he did with my Mother – and Dell was right – my Mother and Paul had some underlying feud not many people could understand. They’d barely spoken to each other for about a decade; my memories of Paul were fragmentary, from childhood Christmases, where something dramatic always seemed to happen. After a time, the infamous John disappeared.

   So when I moved to this city here to study, I was aware that Paul worked here as well. I knew that he lived alone; he’d had to move here to find work, thus had left Dell living elsewhere, but they were still together. He lectured at the other University – not my one. I never expected to see him; I just figured he wouldn’t want to see the daughter of his sister, who he seemed to hate. Until one random afternoon he called me up. Don’t even know how he got my number. Suddenly here was this man, who’d always been mythical in my mind, outpouring all these words. A real powerful talker; the phone-call lasted 25 minutes and I enjoyed it. He invited me out to dinner, and I accepted.

    We sat down to order in the restaurant and the first thing he did was mock me because I’m a vegetarian. Then when I asked for just water as a drink, he laughed out loud – not even because he was amused, he was just being mean. I was mildly offended, but not really. As soon as I started talking about books and music with him, he warmed to me. We knew all the same material; he respected my taste. Now and then he’d say something inflammatory about my mother or my brother, and I’d just ignore it because I didn’t have a response. I could see how intelligent he was, and also how rude he could be: those were the two main sides with Paul.

    He gave me a lift home afterwards. Soon as we got in the car he put on a CD of the blues-rock band Little Feat. He blasted the volume up and we zoomed down the main street with this music blaring. I would remember the song from then on, and it sounded terrific. I remembered his chain-cigarette-smoking, too, and his bizarre road-rage. I mean, the streets that week-day evening were silent, yet he’d get angry at the slightest thing. I was trying to direct him to where I lived and he’d be shaky, crazy over nothing. I finally said, “Okay just pull over here,” and he violently veered the car to the roadside. With a gruff handshake, we said bye. And I haven’t seen him since then: three years ago. And now he’s dead.

III

      I get off the tram and set toward Paul’s neighbourhood. It’s a fair hazy evening. I find the house easily – it’s modest and motionless; I wonder what Dell’s doing inside, or if she’s even there. As I say, I barely know her, and don’t know how she’ll react when I see her …

    Ringing the doorbell, she appears a second later (she’s obviously been waiting), and when I see her face there’s a controlled pain in her face. She tries to smile and she hugs me with a certain warmth. Once again I give my condolences. She’s small and thanks me but I can tell nothing’s going to comfort her for a long time.

    Inside the house, she makes me a cup of tea, and stands, watching me drink it, making conversation. I can tell she wants me to drink it fast so we can get to work with the packing, so I do, and ask her what the job is.

    “Oh, right, yeah. So we have to move a few boxes from his study … Because I knew they were important to him. Some of his writings. That okay?”

    “Yes let’s do it.”

    Paul’s office is a half of what you’d expect for a university lecturer. A litany of books hang by handsome shelves; stacks of papers ram a desk with shiny wood. The other half is almost childish, or forgotten, somehow; two defunct PCs sit in the corner; cigarette ends are stuffed myriad into ashtrays; unwashed glasses of wine, mugs of coffee linger wherever. He also has a great collection of music with hundreds of CDs.

    “I know he would have wanted the things from his desk … All of these papers,” Dell says, “So can you help me with these? And there are his journals on the shelves up there; I’m so small I can’t reach them – haha.”

    “No problem, let’s go.”

    I take my shoes off and use a chair to stand up and get the shelf journals. There are so many of them, and John has been an author within them so often; some from the 80s, 90s in faded yellow jackets. I put them in one of the cardboard boxes Dell has brought. They’re quite small – the boxes – and in fact there are only two. Dell fills the other one with the things from Paul’s desk. I begin to realise that Dell hasn’t needed any ‘manpower’ with asking me to come here and work boxes. It’s that her husband’s just died last night, and she needs somebody to be here with her. I’m guessing that they called her from the hospital and she came last night, and stayed over here in the house. Then the house must’ve been unbearable without Paul’s presence. She was close enough to him to know he would’ve wanted his journals and papers preserved. But not strong enough, after his departure, to move them away by herself.

    “Wow,” I say to her from the chair-top, “I didn’t know Paul published all this material.”

    “Yes, he was a very clever man …”

    I’d meant it as a compliment, but obviously it didn’t work. Dell hangs her head, with that same wince in her brows. I wonder what she’s thinking; about her own life? Or what she’s going to do next? She’s old herself, in her 60s – if indeed that’s old. Doesn’t have kids herself, I don’t even know if she has other family. Paul was married twice before Dell, and those women, alongside the children he bore with them, didn’t speak to him after separation. Maybe Dell’s just sad, and I shouldn’t judge. But I can’t think of anything else to say, and we pack the things up in silence.

    After I’ve finished moving the journals, I offer to help Dell at the desk, but she waves me away. I’m then left hovering in the room, so I wander towards the music collection, for something to occupy me. Looking over all Paul’s music, I witness the same joy and intrigue over each album I know: that wealth of art. There are collections here I’ve always wanted to own, and with horror I find myself thinking well if Paul’s dead now I can surely take them for me? but the thought vanishes with shame.

    The CDs are lined alphabetically, and I come to the letter L; tracing my finger through the spines I find an album called ‘Sailin’ Shoes’ by Little Feat. It’s the same album Paul put on when I was riding home with him years earlier. I stand looking at the spine, and I want to pull it out and just hold it, but I don’t.

    Dell proclaims that she’s finished packing. I elect to take the boxes down stairs: “No, no, Dell! Let me lift the boxes – I’m strong.” She smiles and accepts; the boxes are of course massively heavy but I pretend they aren’t. Dell leads me outside and opens the boot of her car, thanking me all the time.

    We stand awkwardly after I’ve put the second box in, with she fidgeting, holding her car-keys.

    “Thanks for your help, really – did you leave anything inside the house?”

    She’s wanting to head off, I catch on, so I say I have my coat inside; she waits by the front door and when I return, locks it. What will become of the rest of the house, who will come for the rest of the stuff? I’m unsure. Dell opens her car door and says she has to shoot. There is a brisk hug and cold kiss on the cheek. I tell her “see you soon” but I know that’s as likely as I’ll see Paul again soon. Dell whips into her car, then drives off. I wave foolishly on the pavement. I wonder whether she could’ve offered me a lift, but then, what exactly would I say to her during the car-ride …

    I make my way back to the main street to get the tram.

 IV

      It’s early evening as I ride back home. I text my flatmate with the day’s story; I want to talk to somebody about it, but she’s not answering. I don’t text my mother about it for obvious reasons; there’s a shame there in knowing that her brother has died before she knows.

     The soothing metallic sound of the tram is all there is, and I think about Paul. About his life. Why was he so mean, when he could be so intelligent?

    His father – my grandfather – used to beat him when he was a boy. Him and my grandmother, and my mother, too, but not so much my mother. He beat up Paul almost every day, I’m told. It usually happened in the mornings, for some reason, or at the dinner table: grandpa would just thrash him for the slightest thing. Mother would talk about it sometimes, very rarely. I asked her what she would do when the beatings took place, and she said she would go outside the house and scream. A little girl and she had that much moxie, or rather only terror and indignance. Then when the beatings kept going she went down to the local church finally and told the Minister about it. This was the 1950s wherein the dark secrets of urban households were overlooked or merely acknowledged. The Minister came to the house and spoke to grandfather about it. But I’m told it didn’t stop – the violence – until one day when Paul was 15 he fought back against his father. He was big by then, and I didn’t see the fight but apparently grandfather didn’t go near Paul again, at least not in that way.

    Then Paul became this renowned academic man. But lots of people wondered why he could be so unpleasant, many were afflicted by his meanness.

 V

      The flat is even more silent when I enter it. I put the radio on because it’s eerie and my mind needs company. Should probably unpack the rest of the boxes away before my flatmate gets back tomorrow. I enjoy the energy of unloading the stuff, putting it away: gives me something to focus on. But I find I’m getting angrier as I’m doing it, flustered: I keep dropping things. Then when I’m moving the plates into the kitchen cupboard, I drop one of them and it smashes on the floor.

    It’s time to do something else. I go into my room and open the window and look out across the city; the flat’s quite high up and it’s a glorious view. At my desk I stick some music on the laptop, but it’s not loud enough: I unpacked my speakers earlier. I find them and set them up. Then with the new volume, I think which song I’m going to play … And there it is: Little Feat of course! ‘Sailin’ Shoes’ – I press play and I jump up, whilst the theatre of noise relays.

    I watch out the window at the sky and how the sun’s ending light works against the dreary high-rise flats. This song is so good: Paul will never hear this song again. There’s a sound frankness of that. There is no ‘but’, or, ‘oh but he was a great man’: Paul’s gone and that’s it. He died in this ugly city, wherein the sky and things like music have only temporal distractions. That’s what Paul sought for his whole life, and what he never found