#long before we de-infested my house

[roguemonsterfucker]

I've mentioned before that my house used to be infested with spiders and that exposure to spiders decreased my fear of them (at least, the species that lived in my house... some species still freak me out quite a bit).

While my house is no longer infested, there's still a few hanging around. There are spiders in every house, though mine probably still has more than the average because of the previous infestation. And really, I didn't fight the spiders to get rid of them. We just fixed the reason they were thriving so well in my house (long story). So we never removed the spiders, other than just general house cleaning.

It's a lot less than before. Every corner had at least one spider. I'd see them scurry across the floor. They'd be on my desk sometimes.

But in all the time I had an infestation... none ever actually crawled on me (that I noticed).

And yet just now. I had my hand on my computer mouse and felt a tickle. And there was a very scary little small spider between my fingers. 😬

I'm freaked out now. So that's fun.

Not a fan.

And it looked like a different species from my nice shy house spiders. 😭

Do not like. Not at all.

[gtbutterfly]

Jen and Gabby chapter 6

Finally got this one out. I've been sitting on it for a while, and I finally got it finished. I'm mostly happy with it, but I'm a bit worried its not as good as the previous chapters due to it taking so long. anyways. I hope you enjoy! criticism is appreciated.

CW: cages, dehumanization,

here's the previous part:

and here's the first part:

______________________________________________________________

It was impossible to tell what time it was. Tim and Gabby were surrounded by cold metal walls, there were no windows to the outside other than the door of metal bars, the only way in or out of their cage. The ceiling at a bright white light beaming down on them. It was blinding to look at. The ground was covered in metal bars that were painful to sit or lay on. The cage smelled like pet food, hair, and rat droppings, similar to the smell of the walls of houses Tim had borrowed from which had rat infestations. There weren’t any rats or mice here, though, just the lingering smell of them. They had been here at some point, something must have happened to them. Tim was afraid of what that something was. Maybe they were just moved. Maybe they’re gone. 

“What are we gonna do, Tim?” Gabby asked, looking around worried. “What are they going to do to us?” 

“I…I don’t know, Gabby,” Tim said, “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” he tried to reassure her.

“What is this place?” Gabby asked,

“A laboratory,” Tim said, “This is where humans do like, tests and stuff,”

“Are they going to do tests on us?” Gabby asked,

“Well, from what I heard, they usually do tests on animals, like mice and stuff,” Tim said. He was recalling most of his information from what he’d seen on TV while with Rebecca. He didn’t know if he was right or not.

“But there aren’t any mice here!” Gabby said,

“It sure smells like there are,” Tim muttered, “Look, everything is going to be fine,” Tim tried to comfort Gabby, “We’re going to get out of here, ok? They aren’t going to hurt us, I won’t let them,”

“Are you sure?” Gabby asked. Tim paused for a moment, before sighing.

“I’m not, but I hope I’m right,” he said, looking down.

“Why were you in that house I was in?” Gabby asked, “Did that human boy kidnap you too?” 

“No. well, he did, but, uh,” Tim stumbled over his words, “Look, me and your sister Jen were trying to save you, and then we were caught by that brat.”

“You and Jen were coming to save me?” Gabby asked,

“Yeah, Jen told me about you getting kidnapped and all, and I decided to help her,” Tim rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly, Gabby hugged Tim around his waist.

“Thank you,” Gabby said, hugging Tim tightly, “I thought no one was coming to save me,”

“Uh, you're welcome,” Tim said, “I mean, you shouldn’t really be thanking me, y’know, since we failed,”

“Where is Jen?” Gabby asked, “Why didn’t Danny have her?”

“Danny?” Tim asked,

“The human that kidnapped us,” Gabby said,

“Oh, uh…I don’t know where Jen is,” Tim said, looking down,

“Weren’t you caught together?” Gabby asked. Tim was silent for a moment. He didn’t know how to break it to her.

“When we were seen, the human picked me up, and Jen avoided it by using her needle,” Tim said,

“Oh, that's how she avoided being caught when I was taken!” Gabby said, smiling at the thought of her sister. “So she got away?”

“...he kicked her.” Tim said, “The human kicked her into a wall. She looked hurt. She didn’t get up. The human just left her in the room when he took me. That's the last I saw of her,” Gabby was silent for a moment. She was processing what she’d heard, trying to make sense of it.

“So she…Jen is……” tears started to swell in Gabby's eyes as she thought about the possibility of what happened to her sister,

“No, no, she’s not dead! She didn’t die, she was just hurt.” Tim said, seeing Gabby’s face turn to despair, “Jen’s alive, I’m sure of it. I know it,” 

“So, she's still in that room?” Gabby asked,

“Maybe,” Tim looked down, “maybe she’s recovered and escaped already. If she did, she’d probably be trying to find you still,”

“But, how would Jen ever find us?” Gabby asked worriedly, "We don't even know where we are, and even if Jen did, how would she get here?”

“I don’t know, but she'll figure something out,” Tim said. “She's your sister, she's smart like that. In the meantime, we should get out of here before the humans come back,”

“Yeah,” Gabby said. The two borrowers went to the edge of their cage, where the door made of metal bars was. They were high up, at least too high for borrowers like them to survive falling. The metal bars were too close for them to squeeze out of. Gabby looked at Tim. “Do you have any of your borrowing tools? Like a grappling hook, or needle?”

“No, the humans took them from me,” Tim said, looking down, and sighing.

“Then what are we going to do?” Gabby said, looking scared.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something, don’t worry,” Tim said, “we’ll just have to wait for now,”

“Oh,” Gabby said, worriedly. She paced around the cage, gripping her hair, before she sat down in a corner. “We’re never gonna get out of here…”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Tim said, “we’re not gonna be here forever, we’ll get eventually,”

“I’m sorry, it's just,” Gabby looked down, “what if I never see Jen again?”

“You will, don’t worry,” Tim rubbed Gabby's back, trying to comfort her.

“Are you sure? Or do you just hope so?” Gabby asked. Tim was silent for a moment.

“I’m sure enough,” he said, looking down.

Jen was still in Rebecca's car. She was too small to see out the windows properly, looking up all she could see was the sky and streetlights from above. It had stopped raining briefly, but the sky was still covered in clouds. They’ve been driving for a while, mostly in silence. Jen looked up at Rebecca. The human was staring at the road in front of them.

“How much longer?” Jen asked.

“Not long, we’ll be there soon,” Rebecca said, continuing to drive. The two shared a moment of silence before Rebecca spoke up again. “So, about what I said earlier, uh, about you being weak and helpless,” she paused.

“I’m not weak and helpless,” Jen said sternly.

“I know, I didn’t mean it that way,” Rebecca said, “I just, uh, I meant that… you're at a disadvantage…because of your size…and you could use some help,”

“Are you talking about me, or borrowers in general?” Jen asked.

“Uh, I dunno, both?” Rebecca said,

“The borrowers around this place are doing fine without help from humans,” Jen said. “And I only need help from you because of what the other humans did.”

“Yeah, I guess you guys are doing fine, but you're still dying of cats eating you, and hunger and such,” Rebecca said. “Imagine how much better things would be if you had our help, if humans knew about you,”

“They’d kidnap us and take us to a laboratory to do tests on?” Jen asked.

“Ok, I see your point, but not all humans are like that, honestly,” Rebecca said. “Most of us would probably treat you really well if you gave us a chance,”

“How would that even work? How would humans help tinies if they all knew about us?” Jen asked.

“Well, the government would make laws protecting you from being killed,” Rebecca said,

“Like they do for animals?” Jen asked,

“Well, yeah, kinda.” Rebecca looked down, “But you wouldn’t be seen as animals, you’d be seen as people…very small people,” 

“So what, everything else would be the same?” Jen asked.

“No, you wouldn’t have to steal to survive anymore,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know exactly how things would be, but I think it would work like how me and Tim live together. Y’know, every tiny would get their own human to take care of them,”

“Every human would have a tiny pet to own?” Jen asked.

“No, not like that,” Rebecca said,

“That sounds exactly like that,” Jen said, “all that would do is put humans in power over us and make us dependent on them. Not to mention that not all humans are like you,” 

“OK then, how would you do it?” Rebecca asked.

“...do what?” Jen looked up at her.

“How would you make a world where humans and tinies live together?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about that, it's a thing that would never happen,” Jen leaned against the back of the car seat.

“Ok, but just hypothetically,” Rebecca said,

“Fine, I guess…hmm,” Jen thought to herself for a second. “We’d all have our own...tiny houses, and tiny cars, and like, little communities of tinies with tiny jobs, and money we could use to buy food for ourselves,” Jen said, chuckling under her breath at the absurd thought. “And tiny schools that our kids can go to, and basically all the stuff you have but our size.”

“That sounds nice,” Rebecca said, smiling.

“It sounds ridiculous.” Jen sighed, “It would never happen, it's impossible.”

“Well, you never know. Maybe someday,” Rebecca said, as the car slowly came to a stop, and she changed the gear to park. “Ok, we’re here.”

Jen got up from the car seat and looked up at Rebecca.

“Lift me to the window,” Jen told her. Rebecca lifted Jen up from under her arms and placed the borrower in front of the windshield. They were facing the biomedical institute, a large concrete building. The front had various glass windows and lights coming from the inside. The rest of the building was brown and windowless. There were a few other cars in the parking lot they were in, all covered in water from the rain.

“So, what's the plan?” Rebecca asked,

“You bring me inside, I find Tim and Gabby, and then we come back to you.” Jen said, “You bring us back to the neighborhood, and let me and my sister go our way.”

“Really? You don’t need any help getting them out of there?” Rebecca asked, before sighing. “Or are you just still afraid of me,” 

“I’m not afraid, human.” Jen said, “All I need you for is getting me here, and bringing us back home and….I’m grateful you decided to help with that…”

“Aww, you're welcome, tiny,” Rebecca said. Jen sighed,

“But I don’t need your help with anything else. Just bring me inside, and wait here for us to get back.” Jen commanded.

“But what if something happens to you?” Rebecca asked, “I can’t just let you go in there alone, i mean, what if you don’t come back?” Jen paused for a moment to think. Finally, she turned towards the human and looked up at her.

“If I don’t come back by midnight, go in there yourself and look for Gabby and Tim,” she said, before looking down. “If you find them, but not me, take them back to the neighborhood…tell Tim to bring Gabby to Liam and Nora at the marketplace.”

“But Jen,” Rebecca said, “I’m not gonna leave you here, I’m not just going to assume that you're dead if I can’t find you. Please, let me come with you to look for them,”

“You're a human, you’d get us caught.” Jen said, “You can’t hide or get around undetected the same way I can,”

“Oh…oh yeah,” Rebecca rubbed the back of her neck.

“If you find Gabby and not me, tell her…” Jen thought for a moment, “Tell Tim to tell her…no, tell Tim to get him, Liam, and Nora to teach her borrowing. And that I’m proud of her.” Jen said, looking down. Rebecca was silent for a moment. She wanted to protest more, and say that Jen was going to find Gabby and come back alive, say that she should be going with her to help, but she knew there was no point in it,

“Ok, I will,” Rebecca said, “should I bring you inside now?” 

“...yes,” Jen said, “get me inside of there,”

“Ok, I’ve got it,” Tim said, turning from the bars of the cage he and Gabby were in.

“You do?” Gabby said as she sat on the metal floor, “What's the plan? How do we get out of here?”

“So the humans are going to take us out of here sometime, right?” Tim said, “We wait for that to happen, and when we see an opening to escape, we take it,”

“That's your plan?” Gabby asked, “We wait for the humans to come to do their evil tests on us, and if we have a way to escape then, we escape? What if there isn’t a way to escape then?”

“I don’t know, that's the best idea I have,” Tim said, “it was this, or pretending to be dead so they throw us out,”

“What was wrong with that plan?” Gabby asked,

“...you don’t want to know what humans do with dead things, Gabby,” Tim said, rubbing the back of his neck, “just listen, If there's a time when you think you can get away, run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back until you're out of the human’s sight, ok?”

“O-okay,” Gabby gulped in nervousness.

“It should be any minute now unless they're keeping us in here until morning,” Tim said,

“What time is it?” Gabby asked,

“I don’t know, it should still be night,” Tim said, looking out the bars. He sighed and looked back at Gabby. “You should get some rest. I keep looking out, in case they come in here.”

“But…w-what if they do something to us? What if….” Gabby held herself, worried. Tim put his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wake you up if anything happens. It's getting late, you should get some sleep.” Tim said, trying to comfort Gabby.

“Oh….okay….” she said, sitting down against the metal wall, and slowly laying down. Tim turned towards the bars again. He sighed, thinking to himself.

What are we going to do?

The vents of the lab were locked. Most vents that borrowers traveled through had to be manually unscrewed with a detached screwdriver bit, which Jen didn’t have. Rebecca had to get Jen inside by going through the front door and placing her on the ground by pretending to drop something while talking to the person at the front desk. Now Jen was traversing through the empty hallways, trying not to be seen. Most of the hallway lights were off, and there weren’t many humans in this building, so it wasn’t too much of a challenge to stay hidden. Every so often, there would be footsteps in the distance, and Jen would have to duck into an empty room with its door open, or under a chair, cleaning cart or behind a plant, or just stay in a dark shadow and hope she wasn’t seen while the human passed by. None of the people she saw looked like the man that was in the photo she’d seen at the house, the human she assumed took Gabby and Tim. There were some janitorial workers, and different scientists and employees leaving for the night, but none of them had the tinies on them. Jen even followed some to make sure, but that only got her more lost. The building was massive for a borrower, a two-story house was enough for a tiny person to spend their entire life in. This building was at least three stories, and there were dozens upon dozens of rooms that Gabby and Tim could’ve been in, most of which were closed. Jen knew her best bet for finding them was to find the human that took them here. So she kept moving through the hallways, running and hiding, and checking the humans that unknowingly walked past her. Eventually, she heard a conversation coming from some room. She stood outside the open door, hiding in the shadows of a potted plant while eavesdropping.

“You realize how rare these things are, yes? We can’t just do tests on them now, they’re not disposable like the rats are.”

“Yes, but we have two of them, a male and a female.”

“Isn’t the female of adolescence?”

“Correct, but that doesn’t mean we can’t wait for it to reach maturity or simply force it now.”

“I don’t think those are viable options, professor. Any other suggestions?”

“Well, lilliputians have been known to be social and gather in groups. We could tag one of them, and let it lead us to others.” 

“Which one would receive the tag?”

“The older one most likely, they would be more likely to lead us to where it and the other lilliputians meet. The younger one would more likely die.”

“So we attach a tracking tag to one of them, send it  back to the area it came from, and wait for it to lead us to the other Lilliputians, what do we do with the other one?”

“Keep it alive in case the older one fails to lead us to others. In the meantime, start examinations on them. Get DNA samples and measurements of their heights and weights.”

“Very well, sir,”

The scientist then left the room. Jen peered from behind the pot she was hiding behind and started following one of them. There was something familiar about one of the words the humans were saying, “lilliputian.” It sounded similar to a story Jen heard when she was younger. She didn’t remember many details about it. It was about where all tinies came from, an island far away from any humans called “lilliput.” She didn’t know anything else about the story, it was just a fairytale as far as she knew. It's not like it mattered, anyway. All that mattered now was following this human to find Gabby and Tim. Eventually, she followed them to a dark blue metal door. The scientist closed the door behind him, leaving Jen stuck outside. 

Gabby flinched awake at the sound of the metal door across the room tightly closing. She got up and peered out the bars of the cage, Tim did the same. A human had entered the room. They were going through some drawers, taking out gloves and supplies. 

“It's happening,” Tim said, “get ready, they’re about to do something,”

“What’s gonna happen?” Gabby asked, 

“I don’t know,” Tim said, 

“I’m scared,” Gabby backed away from the cage bars,

“It's going to be ok, stay calm, Gabby,” Tim tried comforting her again, “it's going to be fine,”

“What are they going to do to us?” Gabby said, panicking, “are they…

“It's going to be fine, Gabby, I’ll be with you,” Tim said, 

The scientist put rubber latex gloves on and walked towards the cage. Gabby fell silent as the human got closer. They opened the latch and grabbed Gabby from the enclosure. She squirmed and screamed as she was pulled outside. Tim tried to keep her from being taken away, but he was knocked over as he lost grip on Gabby’s arm. 

“Gabby!” Tim yelled as the door closed, and Gabby was taken away. The scientist ignored the tiny’s screams and dropped Gabby onto a glass scale. As she tried to stand up, the scientist grabbed her arm and pulled on it. Gabby yelped in pain. The scientist measured her arm, before pinning her to the desk and measuring her height. After they were done, they squeezed Gabby in their hand and threw her back into the cage. She hit the floor on her side, hurting her shoulder. Then, the large gloved hand grabbed Tim, taking him out of the cage this time. Gabby forced herself up and ran to the side of the cage to watch as Tim was taken away. But the scientist didn’t take him to the same desk they took Gabby. Tim was dropped into some kind of plastic container, with clear walls and a metal grid over the top. The scientist opened the door to the room and left. Tim and Gabby shared a final glance as he was taken out of the room.

It had been a couple of minutes, and Jen was still outside the metal door. It didn’t have any cracks under it, so she couldn’t crawl under it. There was a vent nearby that could lead into the room, but Jen had nothing to open it with. So she was stuck waiting until the door opened. When it did, the same scientist from before walked outside. Jen, who was on the side of the door, noticed they were holding something, some kind of plastic box or cage. That must be where they are, Jen thought to herself, as she stalked after the human. She stayed in the shadows of the side of the hallway, trying her best to keep up with the large human with her smaller legs. The scientist went into another room. This time, Jen managed to slip through the or before it closed and hide under a metal chair. The scientist placed the box on a desk at the end of the room, and took some sort of device out of their pocket. It took Jen a moment to recognize what it was, it was used by humans to communicate over long distances, not a phone, just a small speaker and microphone with an antenna. She heard of some borrowers using them before, but she’d never seen one herself. The scientist spoke into the device.

“The male subject is in the operation room…..” They said, “Yes, it's secure. It's still in the portable container, though.” the scientist paused while listening to the voice on the other side of the device, which Jen couldn’t hear. “Alright. So what time are we making the implant?” they asked. “Tomorrow morning, get it.” 

The scientist put the device back on their belt and left the room. Jen stepped out from her hiding place and ran to the desk where the box was placed. She swung her grappling hook and threw it up to the top of the desk. It scraped against the metal surface and fell back down. Frustratedly, Jen picked up the hook and threw it again, aiming for the container. She tugged on the string before climbing it up the massive desk. Her head, arms, and hands were wet with rainwater from earlier and sweat from now. This was it, she thought. This was the end. She would finally save Gabby. She would finally see her sister again. Her hands strained as she climbed, pushing herself to her limits to get to the top. Finally, she did. She pulled herself up to the top of the cold, metal desk, and looked forward to the plastic prison. It was a thin, clear plastic box with a metal top. There were air holes on the top and sides that were barely large enough for a tiny to stick their hand through. One of these holes caught the fishing hook Jen threw. Inside the container was Tim, standing to the wall watching Jen lift herself up.

“Jen? Jen, you..you’re here! You’re alive!” Tim said upon seeing her again.

“Tim!” Jen pulled herself onto the desk and ran up to the wall of the cage. “What did they do to you? Where’s Gabby?”

“Still in the other room,” Tim said,

“The other room?” Jen asked,

“The room that human took me from…” Tim said, 

“Is she ok? What did they do to her?” Jen asked,

“shes …shes ok…well, as ok as she could be in this situation,” Tim said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She missed you, Jen, a lot. You have to go get her,”

“We will,” Jen said, “let me get you out of this thing,” Jen took her fishing hook and threw it on top of the plastic cage before climbing on top of it. Tim watched.

“Jen, hurry! We don’t have a lot of time, maybe you should just come back for me,” Tim said,

“No, I’m not just leaving you here. Who knows what they’ll do to you while I’m gone,” Jen said, “besides, saving Gabby with you will be easier than saving you with Gabby,” she came to the side lock and pulled open a door from the top. She dropped the string down into the cage and held onto it for Tim to climb up. Once Tim got to the top, Jen pulled him out. They looked at each other for a moment.

“Um..thanks Jen,” Tim said. Jen suddenly hugged him. Tim was almost startled by Jen wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back. 

“I’m sorry, Tim,” Jen said, letting go of the hug. “This entire thing is my fault. I got you wrapped up in this, and I couldn’t protect Gabby in the first place.” she looked down. “I’m a terrible friend. And a terrible sister…”

“No, Jen,” Tim said, “your not either of those things. You’ve been doing nothing but trying to save your sister from these humans for the passed…how long has it been, two, three days! And you could’ve left me here to go save her, but you didn’t.” Tim put his hand on Jen’s shoulder. “You're a great friend. And an amazing sister.”

“...thanks, Tim…” Jen said, before sighing, “but I won't be a great sister until I save Gabby. Let's go.”

“Alright,” Tim said.

The two borrowers climbed down from the cage. Jen wrapped her hook around one of the air holes in the cage so they could climb down. Then, across the room, the massive metal door opened. The tiny’s hearts dropped. It was the same scientist from before, coming back into the room. They all froze as they saw each other. The scientist was holding a thicker plastic cage with a more secure lock. They looked down at Jen and Tim. The borrowers back away. Jens eyes furrowed. She drew her needle from her belt.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART ONE

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  None yet.  Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Here we are everyone. This fic has been a long time in the making, but I’m pretty dang happy with it so far! I made Josh extra lovable and squishy for you all. I hope you enjoy! This fic is edited by the amazing and gorgeous, @lantern-inthenight. And big thanks as always to @myownparadise96. I literally could not have found the motivation to do this fic without you. 

MASTERPOST 

taglist: @myownparadise96 @n1-party-anthem @valleyd0ll @bigblack-catattack @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @oblvions @hansonobsessed​ @satingrass-maidensfair​

The scenery in Michigan was vastly different than back home. You were used to and comfortable with the nearly unforgiving heat of the American South West, but the farther away you got from home, the more foreign everything seemed. The scrubland slowly started being replaced by emerald green grass and dense forests of towering pines. Once you hit Illinois, little farmsteads were scattered along every road you took, boasting fields thick with corn and beans. 

It was a bit over a full day’s worth of driving. You had originally thought you could just drive right through - after all, you were young and you had plenty of caffeine at the ready. In reality, you wound up digesting the trip over two days. 

You were a fortunate enough person that you had a reliable car, which made up for the fact that it wasn’t very pretty to look at. It didn’t exactly sip gas, but that had never even been a concern before this - it wasn’t very often that you left home, let alone make a trip across the country. But you were able to breathe a sigh of relief when you started seeing the exit signs for Ann Arbor. 

Your parents had been a bit judgemental about you picking a school so far away - they were even worse homebodies than you, and they knew that you being across the country meant they wouldn’t be seeing you until the school year was over - but there was no way you could turn down an opportunity like this one. You had worked your ass off to qualify for a scholarship, knowing full well that there was no way you could afford higher education otherwise. MU hadn’t been your very first choice but with one of the better programs in the country for your desired field, you just couldn’t turn it down. 

You had to pull over into a McDonald’s parking lot to pull up the address you were looking for and program it into your phone’s GPS before continuing further into the city. Your mother had been particularly wary about your living situation. See, she was a woman that adamantly liked to have a plan and then stick to it - she didn’t see any value in just letting things happen. “Go with the flow” wasn’t in her vocabulary, but you’d always romanticised the idea. Which was why, when you pulled up to the apartment that you were going to be living in for the next year, it was the first time you’d ever seen it. 

You had found the listing on the Facebook marketplace for the area, looked at a couple of pictures, and signed the lease agreement online - all without knowing what you were really in for. You’d been informed that you’d have a roommate when you’d contacted the landlord, but she hadn’t mentioned a thing about the person other than that. All she really said was “no pets, no smoking, and one month’s rent for the security deposit. You had told yourself that it didn’t really matter what the situation was as long as the other person wasn’t outwardly malicious and the place wasn’t infested with pests or anything, even though you knew it mattered a little. 

An audible sigh of relief left your lips when you pulled into the apartment parking lot and found that your new home looked well kept. The building had old, slide-up windows, but the brick siding was clean, and the shrubs that lined the property were trimmed and neat. You and your back seat stuffed to max capacity with house plants had made it - and with only a bit of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters for damages. 

After you got out of the car, you grabbed your very favorite potted cactus and found your way into the building, meandering down the dim hall until you came upon the door marked 6. You hadn’t been given a key yet, so you knocked with your free hand and waited until you heard someone shuffling around inside.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous - obviously, you were - but more than anything you were excited. Anxious, maybe? That seemed like the right word. 

The door opened to reveal a boy, around your age, hair a mess of curls on the top and shorn tighter to the sides of his head. You were immediately taken aback by the depth in his eyes, chocolatey and warm. 

“What’s up?” he asked casually, leaning against the door frame, a pair of old-school headphones dangling from his hand. 

You frowned at him slightly, suddenly terrified you’d gotten the wrong apartment number. You weren’t sure how you’d live with that embarrassment, especially if you had to live next door to him - you’d just be that stupid girl that didn’t even know where she lived.  “Oh, I think I’m your new roommate? This is number six, right?” You peered around the other side of the open door, just to confirm.

A beaming grin spread over his soft face, showing you his blindingly white teeth and the deepest pair of dimples you’d ever seen. “Oh, cool, yeah. Come on in.”

He stepped aside, giving a dramatically flourished bow as a gesture for you to enter. You obliged, and even though this was your new house too, you paused and waited as he shut the door behind you. 

“Sorry, I was expecting you yesterday, so.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile and then extended his free hand to you. “Anyway, I’m Josh.” 

You shifted your cactus to one arm so you could shake his hand. “Y/N. Yeah, sorry, it took me longer than I expected to get here. Which is why my stuff apparently showed up before I did.”

You eyed around the apartment, spotting boxes of your things in piles. The original plan your parents had come up with was to have you rent a U-Haul, but since you’d never driven anything bigger than your Camry, you had quickly shot that idea down. After some expert negotiating, they had agreed to hire a moving company. You hadn’t had the balls to ask what a service like that had set them back - decided instead that it was better if you didn’t know. 

“Oh yeah,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It all showed up yesterday at like noon. One of the boxes was open a little, and I saw records so I looked through them to make sure you weren’t some kind of freak.”

It was more of a statement than a warning, and the smile he gave you showed not even a shred of an apology so you just smiled back. “Find anything you like?”

He turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen - connected to the living room by a huge square archway. “Your music taste is,” He paused, opening a cupboard and pulling down two mismatched glasses. “Eclectic.”

You laughed at him, bending to gently set your plant down on a side table. “That’s true.” 

“But I found plenty I could listen to, so I guess you’re okay. You want some juice?” he asked as he held up a paper carton of store brand orange juice

. 

“That would be lovely,” you agreed, standing stick straight the way you did when in the presence of new company. “My dad used to take me to a lot of thrift stores and we’d go home with a minimum of two records per trip.”

“I love thrifting,” he said simply, giving you an alarmingly serious look. “There are three here, I think. Every once in a while you can find something really worth keeping. I have kind of a ‘catch and release’ policy where if I don’t instantly know what I’m going to do with an item, I leave it there, but I think - like - a third of my wardrobe is from thrift stores.”

You listened, feeling oddly entranced by the way he was handing you thoughts as they came to him. There was something truly honest about it - a quality people back home didn’t seem to have. It was charming. 

He brought your glass of juice to you and then motioned to the rest of the apartment. “You want the grand tour of Casa De Joshua-” He gave you a pointed look and a cheesy grin. “And Y/N?” 

You breathed a laugh at him, nodding as you sipped. “Please.”

“Okay, try not to get lost - this is obviously the living room. I do most of my living here as the name would suggest. I found this couch on the side of the road - actually almost all of my furniture is adopted.” As he explained, he was gesturing to items like Vanna White.

The couch looked. Well-loved. You could tell just at a glance that it was probably past it’s prime when Josh had stumbled upon it, but it did look comfortable, and it wasn’t like you had a couch to offer, so you were happy with it. 

“I have this TV but it’s really only for movies and stuff because I’m twenty-two and I’d rather die than pay for cable. But there are literally hundreds of DVDs in the TV stand that you are welcome to peruse at your leisure,” he informed, his hands gesturing almost arbitrarily as he talked. 

You followed as he moved on through the archway. “This is the kitchen. All of the food lives here. There’s lots of stuff, but I try to just make two bigger meals per day. I don’t have a real ice tray so I’ve been using a chocolate mold- Well anyway, our ice will be in the shape of wiener dogs.”

You were shocked at the laugh that escaped you, genuine and uncontrolled. He grinned over at you, clearly also surprised - but pleased with himself for getting the reaction he was aiming for. 

“I think I can live with that.” 

“Good,” he agreed simply, giving you a new kind of smile - something sweeter. After a beat, he motioned down the hall with his eyes, letting you lead. “The bathroom is this way. The water takes like three or four minutes to get hot. I realized that I have a lot of products for some reason, but I condensed them all into this one area in the corner just in case my new roommate was a girl, and you are so that’s great. I’ll probably get a shelf.”

There was a proud quality to his voice like he felt gentlemanly for letting you have all the space you needed. For some reason, that made you feel warm and fuzzy. 

“And what if your new roommate had been a boy?” you inquired with a smirk. 

He put a finger on his chin, taking on a contemplative look for you. “Hmm. Then I guess I slowly would have moved my stuff back to the cabinet - probably just one thing per day so he wouldn’t notice. Unless he had a lot of makeup or something, then I’d just let him have it.” 

He grinned as you teasingly shook your head. 

“This way is the sleeping quarters. My room is there on the right and yours to the left.”

You stepped into your new room and let a sigh of relief. Two huge windows took up a lot of the far wall, framed underneath by large sills. The space was bright and roomier than you’d pictured. Your bed was set up in the very middle of the room, but you already knew exactly where you wanted it to go. For some reason, you had been concerned that you wouldn’t like the space, but it was kind of perfect. 

“This is great,” you breathed, turning to him and giving him a sly grin. “Wanna give me a hand moving my furniture around?”

He pretended to consider for a moment until you spoke again. 

“My mom sent money for pizza while I get stuff unpacked,” you said coyly. “If you needed any convincing.”

He laughed, showing you his teeth. “You drive a hard bargain. Okay, I’ll help as long as I get to look through your stuff while we move it.”

You gave him a questioning look, earning a one-shouldered shrug in return. He looked benign enough standing there, propped against the door frame with a goofy upturn to his lips, so you relented.  

“Deal,” you agreed.

You were positive you would not have been able to move stuff without his help. For being a slender boy, he seemed to easily be able to get things where they needed to be. He dutifully helped you shove your furniture into place - your bed against the window wall, your desk and vanity on the wall with your closet door. Then, bless his little heart, he helped you move it all again when you decided you didn’t like the arrangement (but not without some light griping). 

One by one, you brought in your boxes from the living room and you allowed him to poke through them, perched on your bed. He flipped through your books, thumbing pages of ones that piqued his interest - you could only imagine that he was already planning on borrowing some of them. He reacted similarly to your framed photos, as he unwrapped them from their packing paper.

When you got your record player set up, he put on a vinyl and started to hang your art prints on the wall where you instructed him to. The look of concentration on his face was rather endearing as he held a few nails between his teeth and hammered them into the wall, one by one. There was a time or two you were convinced that he was going to mutilate his thumb, but he didn’t, and when the last picture was hung, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

You called in a pizza, adorned with his requested toppings as you hung your clothes into your closet, your phone tucked against your ear and shoulder for maximum efficiency. 

Plants collected on your bed until there was no more room for them - after that, he started setting them on the floor as he brought them in from your car. He didn’t seem to be judging the sheer amount of them, even though he had every right to. 

“It’s going to look like a jungle in here,” he stated finally as he took a bite out of a slice of pizza that he was holding like a taco, his eyes raking over all of the foliage scattered around your room. Rather than sounding like he was teasing, his tone seemed excited. 

You grinned at him, starting to arrange them on the window sill and your bookshelf that had only ever served you as a plant shelf since you’d bought it. “Plants are my passion. Botany major,” you explained as you fluffed up your Monstera’s huge leaves. 

“Ooh.” He raised his eyebrows at you, pulling one of his legs up underneath him on your bed - now fitted with sheets. “I think that’s going to be nice. Give it some life in here.”

You grabbed another slice from the pizza box on your nightstand and tried to think of the right tone of voice to use to ask the next question. “How long have you lived here by yourself?”

He hummed, eyes flicking around distantly as he thought. “Well, I’ve lived here just over a year, and my first roommate dropped out and moved back home about...six months ago?”

“Have you been lonely? You seem like a social guy.” You gave him an empathetic look but he just shrugged at you. You hadn’t known him long enough to know for sure, but you suspected he was more affected than he was letting on. 

“I mean, a little lonely. But I got used to it for the most part.” He paused for a good couple of seconds before a smile spread across his lips. “And Penny’s kept me company.”

“Oh, does your girlfriend stay here too?” you prompted, trying to remember if you’d seen any feminine looking items lying around that weren’t yours.

“What? No,” he said under a chuckle and stood, gesturing for you to follow him across the hall. 

The second you walked through the doorway, you were met with the smell of incense sticks and linen. His room was dimmer than yours and kind of cramped with all of his mismatching furniture, but he had a huge bed - you thought it could easily fit three people in it. There were some clothes strewn about around a laundry hamper by the door and you tried to not be jealous that his closet seemed to be about twice the size of yours. 

He crossed the room to crouch in front of a coffee table that he seemed to be using as a catch-all. The varnish was worn off the top of it in rings because sitting on the coffee table was a globe of water and a calico colored goldfish swimming around aimlessly inside of it. 

“Ah, so this is Penny,” you giggled as you bent over next to him. When the fish spotted him, it rose to the surface of the water, opening its mouth in demand for food.

He grinned down at it. “Light of my life. We’re not allowed to have pets but I figured that a fish didn’t count.”

You hummed, admittedly a bit charmed by the whole situation. “But don’t goldfish require a lot of space?”

The smile fell from his face, adopting a level of concern you hadn’t yet seen from him as he peered over at you. “Do they?”

Immediately, you felt guilty for putting that look on his features. Your brain kick-started - trying to think of a way to make it right again. “I think so? Maybe we can find her a small tank? Put a few little plants in there for her?”

Josh nodded at you, stroking his fingers over the glass with a frown. “I’m a bad dad.”

“No, no!” you assured, putting your hand on his head but then removing it instantly when you realized that you didn’t really know him, he’d just already made you feel like you did. Either way, you figured it would be inappropriate to touch him. “You’re great. She looks really happy.”

“She’s great at begging for food, so don’t get tricked,” Josh instructed after a moment, seemingly able to put his concerns aside to jest you.

You nodded in agreement. “I’ll be ever vigilant,” you promised, making him smile again. 

He stood back up, so you did as well. 

“Well, I’ll give you some time to get comfortable in your room,” Josh said, sitting back on his bed. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“I promise I will,” you assured, tapping your hand on the doorframe on your way out. 

By the time the sun was set, your room was shockingly well put together. The emotional rollercoaster that was the album Rumors helped you keep on task, losing yourself in the music so it didn’t feel like work at all. You hadn’t been expecting it to come along so quickly, but you guessed that was because you hadn’t anticipated such a friendly roommate. The nesting had always been your favorite part, so you took your time to enjoy placing out all your knick-knacks and photos. 

You took a break to shower when you decided you were done for the day, reveling in the feeling of the water after such a long time in your car - He was absolutely right about how long it took to warm up from ice cold. When you got out and changed into your pajamas, Josh was sitting in the living room with a laptop across his legs. 

“You wanna chill?” he asked when he heard you padding down the hall, shutting the lid of it and setting it on a side table. “Or if you’re too tired, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. I’d love to talk.” You sat next to him, leaving a comfortable amount of room between you as you pulled your knees up to your chin. “Tell me more about yourself,” you requested, tugging a blanket from a beat-up wicker basket on the floor and wrapping it around your body.

“Hmm, okay,” he started. You wondered how long it had been since he had to introduce himself to someone new. “I’m from a tiny little town here in Michigan. I’m the oldest of four - two brothers and a sister. My brother, Jake, also attends MU and lives just off campus.”

You frowned at him. “Wait, why wouldn’t he live with you?” you asked through a disbelieving laugh. 

“He lived with me long enough,” Josh explained in a humored tone. “There are only so many people where I’m from and well - we wanted to meet new people, you know?” 

“I guess I should be grateful for that.” 

“Yeah, probably,” he teased and then paused to think. “I’m in performing arts - I’m actually putting on a production around Christmas with some elementary school kids.”

You suppressed the aww that was threatening to pass your lips. “You like kids?”

He beamed you a smile, shaking his head. “Love them. I want to have like ten of them someday.”

The thought of him surrounded by kids made you soften. You were genuinely shocked about how easy he was to talk to - how easy he was to like. You had never thought in a million years you’d get along with your roommate so well, let alone the first day meeting them. 

“I hope you get to,” you said as genuinely as you could muster, prompting him to give you a grateful smile. 

A yawn escaped you before you could hide it, and you quickly breathed an apology, but he just waved you off. 

“You must be exhausted from that drive,” he said, his voice soft. “You should get some sleep.”

You nodded in agreement and gave him a thankful smile. “Is it okay if I sleep out here?”

The look on his face was quizzical, forcing a laugh from you. “Why would you do that?” 

“I have this tradition where whenever I’m in a new place, I always sleep in the living room on the first night. It’s good luck.”   

“Whatever you say.” His lips pulled back into an unconvinced smirk. “Well, yeah, you live here now too, so you can sleep wherever you’d like.”

He disappeared into his room for only a moment before popping his head back out, fingers wrapped around the door frame.

 “Do you mind if I join you?” 

You tried not to look too taken aback by the question, but you could feel your cheeks flushing warm. You raked your eyes along the couch, entirely positive that there wasn’t enough space for the two of you to lay out on it together fully - at least, not without being pressed flush against one another. However, his face looked innocent and soft - not a single tint of mischief colored across his features.

“Yeah, that-. I guess that’s okay,” you agreed sheepishly with a shrug. “But I’m not sure we’ll both fit if I’m being honest.”

He frowned questioningly at you, his brows lacing together until he realized what you thought he meant. His face instantly turned a light shade of pink to match yours. “No, no,” he quickly assured in between a breathy laugh. “I’m not going to sleep with you - I’ll take the recliner.” 

“Oh, right.” You gave a nervous laugh of your own, cursing yourself out in your head for being so dull. 

You were still well embarrassed as you made a nest of blankets on the couch and he brought out a pillow for you when you realized yours were still tucked deep in your bag of bedding. When each of you was situated on your respective pieces of furniture, he flicked the light off with a comfortable sigh. 

It was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice taking on a tone that was far too smug for your liking. “You were awfully quick to agree to sleep next to me. You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” 

You knew he was teasing, but your heart rate still managed to pick up under the pressure. You had never been particularly good with awkward social situations; you rolled your eyes in the dark, thankful he couldn’t see how red you were. “No, Josh. I do not have a crush on you.”

“Okay,” he said through a melodic laugh, and you got the feeling that he’d gotten the reaction he was aiming for from you. “Should we be best friends though?”

You snorted a laugh of your own, wanting to be annoyed at how likable he was, but falling short. “You are the most peculiar person I’ve ever met, I think.” You curled up, clutching your blanket tight to your body. “But yes. We can be friends.”

“Okay, cool - I’ll order matching t-shirts for us.” You could hear the pleased grin he was wearing, making you feel warm and cozy. You pulled the worn blanket up to your chin.

“See to it that you do.” 

Author’s Note: okay, I hope you guys like it! please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or removed from it. I’m using the same taglist from my Jake!fic, so no hard feelings if you don’t want to be tagged!

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑆/𝑂 𝑃𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑂𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐴 𝑆𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

❈𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰❈

When Hongjoong heard your piercing scream coming from the bedroom, he immediately imagined the worse. He grabbed the first thing he could use as a weapon and sauntered over to your room.

"I'm coming baby don't worry! I'll get- what the fuck?"

He stopped and looked around, confused when he didn't see anyone attacking you. He looked at you who was cowering in fear, clutching a pillow tightly.

"Thr spider attacked me!" You pointed to the large critter that had landed on the page of the book you were currently reading.

Hongjoong stared back and forth between the spider and you before sighing loudly.

"And here I thought you were getting assaulted or kidnapped."

But he was actually grateful that wasn't the case.

❈𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪❈

Seonghwa felt really proud of himself. It had been so long since he had a proper day off to spend at home with you. And it had been so long since he cooked dinner. He mentally patted himself on the back for creating such a masterpiece. He carefully carried the plates to the table, trying hard to keep everything perfect.

"AAHHH!"

The sound of plates crashing was heard, all its contents splattering and staining the perfectly polished floor. Seonghwa ran into the living room, where you were currently standing on top of the coffee table.

"What's wrong?!" Seonghwa asked, looking at the terror in your eyes.

His gaze followed your trembling finger that pointed to a spider on the wall. Seonghwa squinted at it, then his face fell. He looked back at you with a judging face.

"Well aren't you going to kill it?" You demanded.

Seonghwa looked back at the mess that you caused him to make then back at the spider before taking a deep breath.

"Might as well get it over with before I lose my mind and kill someone else." He sighed as he rolled up a newspaper.

❈𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸❈

Yunho was speeding up the stairs when he heard you scream and the sound of something falling. He nearly tripped on his way up. So many things were racing through his mind.

What if someone broke in? What if you or the baby was hurt?

Oh god, he was terrified of anything happening to you two. He burst through the door, ready to attack when he was hit by a book in the face.

"Y/N! It's me! I'm here to protect you!" He groaned in pain and soothed the spot you hit.

"You let it get away!" You shouted.

"Who?!" Yunho asked.

"The spider! It was on the door and then you slammed it open and now I can't find it and now I'm even more scared cause I can't find it!" At this point you were speaking so fast Yunho barely understood you.

Once he caught your meaning, he slumped to his knees, worn out by his over worrying. But at least you and the baby sleeping in the next room were fine. He got up and smiled at you.

"Don't worry, I'll find it and get rid of it for you. Ok?"

❈𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰❈

Yeosang quickly grabbed his gun and began loading it up. You screamed like you were in a horror movie and that could only mean one thing: someone broke in and is trying to kidnap you.

Well not on my watch.

He quietly sneaked up to your bedroom door before kicking it open and aiming the gun.

"Wait! Stop Yeosang!" You exclaimed in panic when you saw him.

"All right! Where are they?! Which way did they run to?!" He began asking, looking everywhere.

You looked at him confused.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"The person who probably came to kidnap-"

He stopped when he realized how awfully calm you were.

"Ok never mind. What were you screaming about?" He decided it would be best to ask.

"Hmm? Oh! There was a spider on my bed!"

Yeosang stared at you.

"Ok.....and?"

"It's a black widow! Don't you know how dangerous they are?!" You cried out.

Yeosang just glared at you, trying not to lose his patience.

"Don't you know how dangerous I am with a gun? Seriously Y/N, don't do that ever again."

❈𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷❈

After the whole chaotic event of you screaming as if somebody was murdering you and San running to you, ready to break heads against the wall, now the both of you were on opposite ends of the room, staring at the spider in the middle of the room.

"Well? Anytime now." You finally broke the silence.

"Why me?" San groaned.

"Cause you're the man! The big, scary mafia man too!" You exclaimed.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared of spiders!" San reminded you.

"What kind of a mafia member gets scared of a tiny spider after witnessing and committing so many illegal crimes?" You questioned him.

"Uh the kind that's going to yeet out this room before the devil's spawn kills me. See you!"

With that, he quickly opened the door and zoomed out of there, leaving you in shock that he really just left you there.

"Choi San! You fucking coward! You had the guts to rescue me from getting kidnapped but you can't take care of one lousy spider?!" You screeched.

"If it's lousy, then you can take care of it perfectly fine!"

❈𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲❈

Hearing you scream, Mingi went into protective mode. He was ready to attack whoever hurt you and his demeanor said it all. Running into the room, he looked around and then at you.

"Baby what's wrong?" He asked you, bracing himself for the worst.

"There's a huge spider right-"

You didn't even get to finish your sentence cause the second Mingi saw the tarantula on the wall, he was the one screaming and running out the door just as fast as he came in. You were left there wondering what the hell just happened. Luckily for you, Yunho promised to come over that day and having let himself inside, he watched as Mingi ran past him to the backyard, flailing his arms around like a maniac.

"All right where is it?" Yunho asked once he found you.

"He told you?" You asked.

"He didn't have to. If there's anything I know that sets Mingi into a frenzy, it's bugs. Now where is it?"

Well at least someone was nice enough to help you get rid of your problem, since clearly Mingi was no help.

❈𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰❈

Wooyoung stared at you in disbelief.

"So let me get this straight, here I am, thinking something horrible is happening to you, only to come in here and find out you were screaming over a tiny bug?" Wooyoung asked you.

"It's not just a tiny bug! It's a freaking spider!" You exclaimed.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

"The tiny thing is probably more scared of you than you are of it. It's not going to hurt you." He said.

"They bite you know!" You reminded him.

"Well whoop de doo! You'll either become the next spider man or simply get a rash." Wooyoung sighed.

"And what if it kills me? Huh? What then Wooyoung?" You raised your eyebrow at him.

Wooyoung stood silent then smirked as he slowly stepped into the hallway.

"Then I guess I owe you an apology."

He quickly ran before the shoe you aimed at him hit his body, instead hitting the wall behind him.

"Jung Wooyoung! You're such a little shit! At least get me someone who can take care of this spider. Isn't there some type of mafia pest control?!"

❈𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸❈

The door literally fell to the floor from how hard Jongho kicked it open. He had his fists up in a fighting position, ready to start flying in any and all directions.

"All right! Who are we killing?!" Jongho looked over to you so you could signal his target.

You pointed to the corner of the desk. Jongho was confused at first and went to take a closer look. When he saw the spider, he let out a tiny yelp and went to run out the door, but not before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

"That's it baby! We're moving out!" He said as he ran outside the house.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just kill it?" You questioned him.

"Nope! Not a chance! I'm not getting close to that thing! I'll just get someone to get out the important stuff and bring them over to the new place. The old house was getting kinda boring anyway."

Jongho opened his car door and placed you gently inside the passenger seat before scurrying over and sitting on the driver's place.

"Fuck this spider infested house."

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

I remember one of my cats, he was a right bastard.

My sister rescued him from a house filled with cats, he was tiny, inbred and infested with fleas and worms.

He hissed at the other two cats we had at the time. But within a few hours we had him de-flead, de-wormed and he was running around happy and carefree.

Gave great cuddles until he got a big older, but stopped once he got big enough to hunt mice and birds.

Which is actually ironic, cause we had named him Hunter when we first got him, long before he had ever stopped growing.

Unfortunately my brother let him loose fully and he went feral, which is a damn shame. Cause that’s no life for a cat the live.

Damn

[takerfoxx]

Jurassic Park 4: Doki Idol Live Festival!

magic5ball submitted:

Remember how you asked me about my idea for a Jurassic Park sequel? Well, here you go:

The two velociraptors stood outside a pastel colored town house in Hokkaido prefecture, Japan. If any passerbys thought that was weird, they certainly didn’t show it. Probably because the raptors were wearing fedoras and fake mustaches, so they looked like humans. Also they had guns. Very cool, very intimidating mobster guns. A tommy gun and a sawed-off shotgun, respectively.

You needed guns, to survive Shinzo Abe’s little empire of vice and socialized medical care.

“So this is the place, huh?” muttered the velociraptor carrying the sawed-off shotgun. His thick Brooklyn accent hung in the air like concrete. “Kinda… frillier than I was expecting.”

“It better be.” Replied his companion, who sounded like your racist conservative uncle trying to impersonate that one cool guy from ‘The Godfather’ (You know, the one with the mustache who was played by Robert de Niro). “We hadda kill a whole lotta people to get this hellhole.”

Sawed-off shotgun licked his non-existent lizard lips

“But hey. That airplane stewardess tasted mighty fine goin-“

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, would ya stop thinkin’ with your stomach and help me with this f*ckin’ knob!” cried tommy gun, trying to work the doorknob best he could with his raptor claws, which, in all honesty, wasn’t much, because raptor claws are terrible at operating things meant for human fingers. Little did he know, the door was a ‘pull’, not a ‘push.

At least he didn’t have to wait long before someone unlocked the door from the other side: another velociraptor, this one a bit on the short side. And p!ssed. Very, very p!ssed. You could tell he was the cool one because he wore an eyepatch over one eye. An eyepatch with a Captain Underpants logo on it.

“Didn’t your parent’s ever teach you idiots about using the doorbell?! I was just about to enjoy lunch with my beautiful wife and you-!“

He paused, recognizing the two figures facing him.

“Well, well, well” Said tommy gun, cocking his weapon “If it isn’t SWEET JOHN HAMMOND’S BALLSACK WHAT THE F*CK AM I LOOKING AT?!”

For the cool raptor was dressed in a gothic Lolita maid outfit, complete with a bonnet and penny loafers. Under his arm he carried a human sized pillow depicting what appeared to be a blonde floozy with massive tits.

 “Oh this? This is Mami Tomoe, my beautiful wife.”

“WHAT THE F*CK!?!?” Tommy gun pulled out a flask off orange Fanta from his butthole and drank the whole thing in one go. He did NOT have time for this homosexual weeaboo nonsense! Still, he and shotgun hadn’t left a mountain of corpses the exact height and width as Mt. Fuji behind them. Too many to go back to Isla Nublar empty handed. Er, clawed. Because they were dinosaurs. Who have claws.

Shotgun took a deep breath. “What the Boss means to say is, ‘May we take refuge in this fine establishment?’”

Cool raptor opened his mouth to reveal a pistol he’d hidden there. And by hidden I mean replaced his tongue with it.

“You know, for all crap you guys used to give me in the past, I oughta pump you full of lead right here and now. Buuutttt… the lady of the house is present, and I’m not in the mood to create more work on her end. So come on in! You’re just in time for lunch.”

Lest they attract unneeded attention, the three dinosaurs hopped inside.

.   .   .

Lunch was omurice boba tea with a bottle of teriyaki sauce on the side. It was just boba tea, but the boba had been replaced by omurice because F-Bomb hated the flavor of boba, which he likened to rabbit crap. The teriyaki sauce was teriyaki sauce.

It was the most racist thing shotgun had ever eaten.

“Well, now that you jerks have gotten a taste of my sloppy seconds, I suppose some introductions are in order. You’ve already met my lovely wife” Cool raptor gestured to the body pillow seated next to him “So that leaves you two. Mami, meet A-Hole and D-Bag. A-Hole’s got the tommy gun, D-Bag is ridin’ her sawed off shotgun, as always. They’re old… acquaintances of mine.”

“He.” Corrected D-Bag. “I’ve been using he/him pronouns six months now.”

“Well that’s an improvement. Now instead of bein’ the Boss’ side B!tch literally, you’re just his b!tch figuratively!”

“Well screw you too, F-Bomb!” laughed the boss. “An’ speakin’ of screwing, what’s with the fruity get up? You a prostitute now or something?”

 “Even better! This might surprise you, but I’ve got legitimate work now. This here’s my uniform, my uniform for MILF TIDDIES!”

A-Hole chugged his entire bottle of teriyaki sauce in one go, lest his mind implode from the sheer stupidity of that sentence.

“The Hell’s a milf tiddie!?”

“Only the best freakin’ maid café in Hoikaido, hookers!”

He gestured to a wall, covered in hundreds of photos of cute floozies dressed like they were attending a vampire’s funeral. Among them was a photo of F-Bomb in his drag, serving a deep fried hot dog to some elderly Japanese dude.

“As you can see, yours truly is serving Japan’s national desert to none other than 57th Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe!”

“Hold it up. Youse been hobnobbing it with politicians?!”

“I wish! You’re thinking of Shinzo Abe, 57th Prime Minister of Japan. This guy is his twin brother. Still pretty sweet though. We DID win a Grammy for that, after all.”

A-Holes eyes bulged out of his scaly raptor head.

“YOUSE WON A GRAMMY FOR THAT?!”

“Dang right! Milf Tiddies has won sixteen Grammys since I started working there!” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. A very special piece of paper, if the six holes punched into it were any indication. “Did you know that if you win ten Grammys in a row, they give you a free orphan? That’s how the wife and I got our glorious daughter, Lil’ Nagisa!”

F-Bomb pulled a faded photo out of his wallet. A photo showing himself, his pillow wife, and a smaller body pillow of a ten-year-old moeblob wearing a Green Bay Packers cheesehead helmet.

“So youse couldn’t even conceive your own kid?” Inquired D-Bag sexily. He was munching his omurice slowly, so F-Bomb knew he was being serious.

“Are you implying I have sex with my own wife, you sick freak?! I’m a weeaboo, not some degenerate anime fanboy! Get it straight!” He instinctively cocked the pistol in his throat. It was awesome as hell.

In response, D-Bag pumped his shotgun. Loudly.

“Permission to put the sick freak out of his misery, Boss?”

“Firstly, don’t call me Boss when we’re not having anal sex. Second, no can do, my spicy lover. We need F-Bomb alive.”

F-Bomb heard all of this even though A-Hole whispered it, but he pretended not to make A-Hole feel clever.

D-Bag mumbled about how the Boss was lucky he was so mind blowing in the sack, otherwise he would have left the relationship long ago. The sack in this case being a really kinky sex dungeon. Like really kinky. So kinky even Donald Trump wouldn’t go within a mile of it. D-Bag had almost died of autoerotic asphyxiation more times than I’ve gone to the bathroom in my lifetime. That’s why he was the smartest dinosaur out of the three of them. Now where was I again?

Anyway, F-Bomb interrogated

“Alright guys, what’s the deal? I know folks who come to this socialized medical care infested hellhole, and they don’t come here just to eat omurice boba tea. You WANT me for something.”

He cocked his mouth-pistol again. Sparks flew all over the carpet, which was made of alpaca fur so it didn’t catch fire.

A-Hole scandalously kept his cool.

“It’s about Isla Nublar.”

The second those words left A-Hole’s lips, F-Bomb escorted his wife out of the kitchen, but leaned her against the kitchen door, because that’s what she would have wanted.

“Well what about it? I told ya guys, I’m done with that dump.”

“They’re puttin’ the screws on us, F-Bomb. Making us pay for eating those tourists back in the nineties.”

“And what makes you think I care? Like I said, I’m done with that place. I got a wife and kid now.”

“But F-Bomb, doesn’t the Park mean ANYTHING to ya!? What about the time we ate that park ranger that called you a girl? ‘Better than sex’ I recall you saying.”

“Nice try, but I’m not exactly in the mood to get misgendered again. Don’t you guys got any ideas that don’t involve me?”

“As a matter of fact, yours truly had this really spectacular one!”

D-Bag did a hand gesture wherein he constantly crossed his dinosaur claws across his throat rapidly in quick succession. A-Hole, being very smart, knew this meant he should continue, loudly enough so that everyone in the prefecture could hear.

“It was called ‘Trump Ballz’. We’d harvest Donald Trump’s testicles, see, and sell them to the highest bidder, so they could do whatever people do with lopped off testicles. I’m not one to judge. It was a terrific idea. I know because when I told my best friend Donald Trump about it, he said, ‘A-Hole, this is an incredible idea. Absolutely terrific! This is probably the best idea in America! You are very smart, very intelligent dinosaur! I oughta buy you a prostitute!’ Of course, we didn’t realize that Trump’s ballz don’t grow back when you lop them off. Did you know that by the way? Human testicles don’t grow back-“

F-Bomb cocked the pistol inside his throat gain, getting the Boss to shut up. This was probably the most heroic thing anyone had ever done in the history of the universe. He also asked a question:

“SO WHAT THE HECK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!”

A-Hole vomited a severed arm and a pamphlet onto the table.

“EVERYTHING, ya WEEB trash!”

The pamphlet was for something called the Doki Idol Live Fest- DILF, for short. F-Bomb was no stranger to the DILF, but they had parted ways years ago. Six, to be exact, when he had buried Nico Yazawa’s still screaming corpse by the side of the highway. And neither was he stranger to the prize.

It looked like a beer and soda drinking baseball cap, but only to complete idiots who didn’t know crap about the Idol Life.

And F-Bomb wasn’t one of those people, er dinosaurs.

“THE MCGUFFIN OF SIN?!”

“Dam* straight! And like it or not, youse the only one with enough idol know-how to help us win it! Thing’s worth, like, a zillion dollars.”

A zillion in this case was equivalent to half a million. Still, isn’t that impressive?

F-Bomb stuck his nose in his omurice and snorted, a common intimidation tactic among velociraptors. I know because I read  it in the Scientific American.

“Sorry, guys, but even with that on the line, no can do. I’m DONE with the Idol Life, any I’m not letting you filthy casuals drag me back in.” He cocked the pistol in his throat. “NOW SCRAM!”

A-Hole and D-Bag jumped out a window, so they could get the jump on a feral dog humping its’ owner. Nobody realized they were dinosaurs because of their fake mustaches, so it looked like a pair of mobsters were eating a puppy.

When they were gone, F-Bomb pranced to the bathroom, which was filled with plush alpacas he had collected over the years. So many, in fact, the bathroom did not meet OSHA compliance. Which was why F-Bomb had made it an independent nation state, only to realize that OSHA didn’t apply to him anyway, since he lived in Japan.

He had felt really stupid after that, but at least he got his own country out of it.

Anyway, he vomited sixteen liters of blood into the sink, for F-Bomb had a secret: he was dying. Back when he was a fetus in an egg in a lab on some island in the Caribean, he’d become addicted to the illegal street drug known as WEEB, and frequent use had poisoned his lungs. The doctors had given him Socialized Medical Care and four more years to live. The WEEB had taken eighty years off his life. Socialized Medical Care had borrowed his lawnmower and never given it back.

But F-Bomb also had a dream: he and his wife were going to build their own maid café, and it would be even better than MILF Tiddies. He’d already picked a title: DILF Tiddies, and it was going to be the greatest food-selling establishment in the history of Japan. Omurice boba tea was going to go global. But he’d never get the funds on time, not on his meager salary. Unless…

His beautiful wife greeted him as he exited the bathroom.

“Get a pen and some razor blades, sweetgums. I’ve got a letter to send.”

.   .   .

The message arrived in the neck of a mailman’s severed head. This is the traditional way velociraptors send letters to each other. I read it in a book.

D-Bag didn’t see the letter, but the look on A-Hole’s face told him everything.

“What’d I tell ya, D-Bag? Like I always say, when you’re dino you’re dino all the way, till youse dead in the ground or youse come out as gay!”

“Yeah, we really need to update those lyrics.”

End Chapter 1

...I cannot for the life of me decide if this is the greatest thing I've ever seen or the worst, but it at the very least had me staring speechless at my computer screen for a long time.

[lunatic-fandom-space]

Comparing RWBY and YGO DM: The Handling and Evolution of Themes

Hey! Its been a hot minute since I last posted anything RWBY-related but Im laying in my bed right now and Im sick and bored so I guess we're doing this. Today I will do my best to analyze what I percieve to be the main themes and messages of both of these shows, or more specifically, how theyre handled narratively. Im mostly focusing on that part because, while these series do have similar themes and messaging, they are still a few things in which they are wildly different. And with that, lets start with this essay-post-thing!

1. Theres something we need to adress first

Okay so, before we can really talk about this, theres something I feel the need to clarify here: Neither of these stories was "planned from the beginning".

Now, I dont think a story being planned from the beginning or not nesscessarily makes the story any better or worse by default, however, it is still important to acknowledge because the way the story is planned is going to affect every facet of it. Things are not going to be foreshadowed properly, things are gonna be set up only for nothing to come of it, the story might drastically change directions, characters might act differently, etc, etc.

And, this is bit off-topic but, it's much better to just admit that the story was not planned than trying to pretend that it was. Like, there are a lot of reasons why I tend to be so forgiving towards YGO even though its not very good, but one of them is definitely the fact that, as far as Im aware atleast, the guy who wrote it isnt pretending to have had this big master plan all along and neither is the fandom. With RWBY on the other hand... yeaaaah, its kinda the opposite. From what Ive seen of RWBYs fandom, there seems to be this pretty popular narrative that everything was planned even though it clearly wasnt. Thats pretty bad and honestly lowers my opinion of the writers so much more than if they would just admit to not having a proper plan.

Like, I initially consumed YGO like this: Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters, Yu-Gi-Oh (aka Season 0), like, a quarter of the Yu-Gi-Oh manga (I still havent finished it)

In all three of these we have the character of Yami Yuugi, or just Yami. Broadly speaking, he is an ancient egyptian gamer spirit who lives in a magical puzzle that has not been solved for 3000 years until this highschooler named Yuugi Mutou comes along and solves it, thus setting him free and allowing him to possess Yuugi and have access to the vague magical powers of the puzzle.

In Duel Monsters he's perfectly fine most of time, morally speaking. There is an instance of him almost murdering a guy and its a bit unclear what exactly happens to those he mindcrushes but overall he's very much a pretty good guy. In Season 0 most of what he does is set up these games for bad people, where they will go insane no matter what they do. From how I understand this whole Shadow Game, Penalty Game stuff, if you lose a Shadow Game, you get violent and intense hallucinations and you will always cuz yknow, gamer spirit. But if you try to cheat, which most of the bad people do in this show, you get violent and intense hallucinations as a punishment.

Since the two anime are generally considered two different continuities, its perfectly fine that Yamis characterization is wildly different in both of them. But in the manga both of these characterizations appear, basically one after the other with no real arc or consequences, for that matter. Why is that? Simply put, someone thought it was a good idea to try to turn an episodic, very slice of life-y light-horror manga into a more traditional, more plot-driven battle shounen. From what Ive heard, it was apparently largely because of network interference or something, but the point is, it changed directions incredibly drastically with little planning and everyone knows this and I can understand that for the most part.

In RWBY we have the character of Blake Belladonna, who, in the first 3 volumes/seasons atleast, was this aloof, more toned down loner-type character with a pretty strong sense of justice. She's an in-universe marginilized racial minority and she clearly cares about racial injustice. The way its initially framed makes it seem like she had a very hard life and no stable support system, which is what eventually pushed her to join a Civil Rights group/Terrorist organization (good god, the Faunus subplot is so awful, I could write a whole essay about it but Im already de-railing rn so I'll just save that for later).

Then, in volumes 4-5 it turns out her father is actually like, the mayor or chief of this island-place called Menagerie and she grew up in this big mansion with multiple guards/servants. Oh and also, apparently "space is a commodity" on there, so theres that. She still retains large parts of her personality but she's kinda like, worse somehow I think. I cant really describe it in a meaningful way but I hope you get what Im saying anyway. Then in Volume 6 she confronted her emotional abuser Adam (sorry for not mentioning him sooner but yeah, he was like, her abusive boyfriend, which is something that a lot of people disagree with but I wont really say anything about it either way because I dont really feel any specific way) with her friend, Yang, and ended up killing him.

After all that, she pretty much lost the rest of her personality, as well as her arc about all the Faunus stuff. She just kinda became the meek, generically nice, recovering abuse victim. Why? Well, the actual reason is that they didnt plan out shit and are just kinda flying by the seat of their oversized clown-pants and if they and the fandom just admitted it, I would have less of an issue. I still wouldnt be as forgiving towards RWBY as I am towards YGO because the crux of the issue, for me, is just that I dont particulary like RWBY but also like. Do you really expect me to take MKEK seriously as writers after admitting to not have a timeline because iT wOuLd CaUsE pLoThOlEs?

However, since they want us to believe that everything was planned out from the beginning, the explaination would be.... Idk, they deliberately butchered one of their main characters?? Because.. they hate her?? Maybe????

So yeah, that was quite a detour however, I would like you to keep this mind going forward.

2. Themes of the Early Series'

First, what do mean by 'Early Series' for both of these shows respectively? Well, for YGO that would have to be Season 0 or if youre reading the manga, everything pre-Duelist Kingdom. Basically, the part of the series thats a episodic, very slice of life-y light-horror series.

For RWBY that would be the first three Volumes, also known as the Poser-Era. Back then it was just kinda an action series that took place at Anime Warrior Academy (also known as Beacon) with some pretty bare minimum worldbuilding, character-driven plots and developments but now its more of an epic high-fantasy story with more of an emphasis on plot as opposed to just action.

The themes and messages in Early YGO are kinda vague, very confusing to me and if you were to follow any of it literally that would be pretty bad. For now Im just gonna say the main themes are Friendship and Identity and mostly focus on the Identity aspect.

Now, it took me a little while to figure out RWBYs deal but I think the main themes for Volumes 1-3 are also Friendship and Heroism. Once again, I'll mostly focus on Heroism and touch on Friendship more briefly later.

I dont have much more to add to YGOs themes right now, so I'll briefly go over Heroism in RWBY.

In RWBYs setting there are these man-eating monsters called Grimm that have basically infected the planet. In order to deal with that, they have people called huntsmen and huntresses that kill them and protect people. Theyre trained at special academies like Beacon and go on missions there and stuff like that. Our four main characters, Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang, are training to become huntresses and one day they go on this mission to clean up a grimm infested city block with one of their teachers. Obviously, that takes a long time so they have to camp out in one of the empty houses. Weiss, Blake and Yang cant sleep because theyve been thinking about this question that their teacher asked them when they were fighting grimm: "Why do you want to become a huntress?"

They have a heart to heart and we find out about their motivations; Weiss wants to bring honour back to her family, Blake want to distance herself from the White Fang (that terrorist organization I mentioned earlier) and as an extension from Adam, Yang wants to have a life of adventure. They also talk about why Ruby wants to be a huntress and it turns out that she judt wants to help people. Unlike the others, she has no motivation besides that. We're meant to listen to that and look at her as a sort-of personification of Heroism: kind, but not naive, strong and most of all, selfless. The others on her team are not portayed as bad for not being like Ruby by any means but we are clearly meant to admire her the most out of all of them.

Okay, now comes the part Ive been looking forward to the most:

3. How did these themes evolve in the Modern Series'?

Alright, before we can really delve into the way they evolved in YGO I'll have to give you a brief summary of the character progression. At the start of DM, during the Duelist Kingdom arc, Yami Yuugi is just that; A darker Yuugi. Hes more confident, bolder, his voice is deeper, hes somehow taller, more ruthless, all that good stuff. Notably, he doesnt actually seem more skilled than Yuugi even at the start of this story, but he's still dependent on Yami. Yami on the other hand, has no identity of his own or even hints at one at this point. He's just The Other Yuugi.

Then during the Battle City arc, they find out that Yami was actually a pharao prior to being sealed in the puzzle, he just didnt know because of amnesia, I guess. So now they need to find out his real name and then send him to the afterlife because hes meant to be dead, but not before saving the world from being swallowed by darkness, which is also a thing they have to do now.

Then we finally get to the Memory World arc, where Yami, Yuugi and the rest of the gang astralproject to ancient egypt via puzzle magic. Yami is trying to figure out what the hell is going on and who all these familiar people are, while Yuugi & Co are trying their best to help him. Then some weird shit happens and it turns out that all of that is not just Yamis sealed away memories, but also a giant D&D Shadow Game that will destroy the world if Yami loses. So now theres Pharao!Yami who is still clueless on the metaphorical and literal playing field and Player!Yami, who is kinda controlling himself now? I guess?? Yamis opponent, The Spirit of The Ring, has something similar to that going on where hes both controlling and properly participating in the game. So Player!Yami is now fighting against Player!TSoTR, Pharao!Yami is now fighting against Thief King Bakura (who is like, the human, ancient egyptian version of the Ring Spirit) and Yuugi is now fighting against Yami Bakura (who is like, the human, modern japanese version of the Ring Spirit). Yuugi gets Yamis real name, he and the gang go over to Pharao!Yami and tell him his name, meanwhile Player!Yami is also somehow helping as well and they defeat the Ring Spirit, thus saving the world. Then they travel to modern Egypt, the Ceremonial Duel happens and Yuugi wins, sending Yami to the Afterlife where he can finally rest and that was the series!

I originally wanted to recount the stuff that was going on with the Ring Spirit and his host as well because they parallel eachother, but this summary is already far too long and I think youll get the point without me needing to explain any more.

My point here is, that the story went from being vaguely about Identity, maybe? to being very clearly about Self-Discovery and Learning to Be Independent. I think this is a very good way to evolve the messaging of your story. How does RWBY track on that?

Well, uh... its not great. I will acknowledge that they have tried to introduce new themes and ideas since, even though I wont really be talking about them in this post. But yeah, the whole Heroism thing really regressed.

Like, I didnt explicitly say it when I was explaining grimm earlier, but theyre not going away. The grimm have always been there and people who sign up to become huntsmen and huntresses are effectively signing up for a job that will never truly be done, no matter what they do. Characters like Ruby and even more minor ones like Phyrrah have shown us that that doesnt matter when youre a hero. No life isnt worth saving, no grimm isnt worth killing, no criminal isnt worth arresting. Then, in volume 6 they find out about Salem. Salem is the Big Bad of the show, shes immortal, controls the grimm and is supposed to be very powerful.

What do our heroes do? They give up. Sike! They were just mindcontrolled by monsters or some shit, of course they didnt give up their mission (which is to bring an Important Macguffin to a city called Atlas, sorry I didnt mention it)!

But then they arrive in Atlas (which is llike, a city thats floating over another city called Mantle) and yknow, they do some plot stuff thats not really important right now until the city gets invaded by Salem and this big grimm army she has.

What do our heroes do? Well, Ruby, Weiss, Blake and some side characters are chilling, drinking tea in a mansion and Yang and the B Team were actually trying to do something, but even those efforts seem incredibly minimal.

Oh wait, I also forgot to mention that Ironwood (a fairly minor, vaguely antagonistic character up until now) wanted to lift Atlas even higher to save Atleasian civilians from danger while leaving Mantle vulnerable to Salems invasion.

What would be the most heroic thing to do?

A) Let Ironwood lift Atlas, get as much support as they can down to Mantle and save as many Mantle civilians as they can from the invasion

B) Prevent Ironwood from lifting Atlas but then split up in order to protect both Atlas and Mantle civilians

C) Prevent Ironwood from lifting Atlas and then dont do anything else

Congrats! If you choose C, you think exactly like the writers!

And I just

This is so mindboggling to me, I feel like I shouldnt even have explain how this is bad. And like, it wouldve been so easy to actually make them seem herokc through their actions, to make it seem like they did try but no.

I have never seen a central theme be this botched, how in the world did they do that? Why did they think it was a good idea for Ruby "The Embodiment of Heroism" Rose to sit in a mansion doing nothing, no planning, no organizing just ..... God, how are they this bad? Like, this doesnt even have anything to do with it being planned in any way, this is just straight up incompetence

4. Very briefly touching on friendship

The friendship is awful and its not solely because they all have the same opinions. They barely interact with eachother outside their designated pairs which leads to it all feeling incredibly hollow. Theyre also practically indistingushable from one another now, which is a shame because it wasnt always like that. Like, I dont think the characters were that well-developed in earlier volumes but they were very well-characterized. But now we've gotten to a point where you can literally copy and paste one characters dialogue onto another and literally nothing changes, it really sucks.

5. Some closing words

Damn, this took way longer than I thought it would and now Im pretty exhausted. I have no idea how yall always write these but props to you! I feel like this ended up a bit rambly but overall, Im pretty proud.

Please let me know what you think of the points I brought up! Id also really appreciate some tips on how to get better at these longer posts because I am planning on writing more in the future (not the near future, probably but yknow).

Thats all I have to say for now, thanks for reading!

[talesofealdancynedom]

Corona Wintersleep, in fairy robes; Is she hiding to avoid her family, or just people annoying? You may not get an answer, because this is the comic relief episode.

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 5 -  Do Not Wait 5/10) part 4. Stories of Old

Maps

menton of death and/or casual drug use

After the Battle in Celticia, Meriam had some nice peaceful years with her family. Feon and Edmond gave her a lot to think about, including the value of her daughter, husband and nephew. She felt lucky to be queen, and use magic peacefully, and watch over the magic forest city she had made with the Raven Gate. The harvests where good, and Francia retreated from the east boarder for the winter. Anglia enjoyed finally being safe at every other boarder. Yet, Meriam lusted for more; she wanted another adventure, and more allies. She suspected Francia may be bribing the Eastern and Southern nations, to aid in conquest; or reap their land. It was almost too quiet this season. Then one day, at a court meeting, the scribe translator read a letter from the Far South: Hispania. Hispania was so far away from the rest of Ealden Cynedom, that people knew nothing about it. All except Meriam, who read about a specific type of mage in one of Feon’s journals, and that the main magic forest in Hispania, belonged to the Fairy Gate. The thought of undiscovered magical scenery, gave her wanderlust once more.

           The Letter said that Hispania had fallen into civil unrest, as families instead of governments, tried to acquire mages to rise to power. Currently there was no consolidated government, causing the balance around the Fairy Gate to fall into corrupt hands. The Far South of Hispania had no care for the politics of other lands, and instead wanted advice; They had heard marvelous stories about the mage queen of the Grand West. And one family decided to contact her.

But Meriam’s king husband, and the other court members, had no interest in the Far South. It was a month’s journey away, and provided no trade or threat. But these things are meaningless to a mage. Outside her window, the Raven Gate was visible in the square. Meriam could travel alone through the shadow veil, to the Fairy Gate, all by herself. Time and distance were malleable in the veil, and mages could use gates, like fey, to travel between magic forests. But Meriam needed to know if the Fairy Gate was open, because if it was, that meant there was a mage. The men around Meriam rolled their eyes, as she rose her hand to hear the rest of the message.

“Our mage is a fair lady, unlike her kin. There are white marks about her wrists, and a heart with a sword marked on her chest. She is a mage that can heal with compassion; If only she could love. Her name is Corona Wintersleapen. She was bred and possessed by her family for power, and then ran away to the peak of the city. Inside the mouth of the halved mountain, is a lush jungle of wonder around the iced Fairy Gate. Corona’s darkened heart needs to be healed, so the city can prosper. She must belong to no one, and stop harming anyone who attempts to reach her. The city needs to access, coexist, and expand into the enchanted jungle. We believe your queen’s power, and achievements, make her the best person for the job.” The Messenger said. The translator gave a brief summery.  Then there was a bump under the table. Meriam and the king looked under, and Eatheltwein, their nephew, was eavesdropping on the courts with his canary.

“Eatheltwein Cynedom, we talked about this. You should be studying literature, not joining our table. I know you wish to be included as you enter manhood, but this is not your time. Off with you.” The King demanded. Eatheltwein slinked off like a scared dog. Leaving the court embarrassed and the messenger, scribe, and translator very confused.

“I will quickly use the gates to settle this matter. I want to be on good terms with every kingdom. I cannot bring my men, as the pure magic of the shadow veil petrifies commoners in it’s deprivation of the senses. Not to mind the presence of the beast kings. I will go alone in my fairy robes, wielding the unbreakable sword and bow. Care for our daughter and Eathel well.” Meriam said. She stood up and left before anyone could stop her. It had been a long time since she had an adventure; it made her giddy. Meriam almost had a skip to her step as she went to her study; And then she noticed someone was following her…

           Meriam walked into the shadow veil, through the black marble Raven Gate in the square. She entered the serene setting of black, white and grey. As she walked though a rough forest trail, no birds sang, or wind blew. The light almost refracting as it spilled through the canopy. Meriam did not look behind her, nor her familiar Nithen; yet she still sensed she had a follower. The shadow veil was not deterring them... Then Meriam crossed into the plains full of unicorn, and carnivorous mares. Then hiked through the rough terrain of the wolf kingdom, with cats of luck and moonlight, that hid in the brush. Only magic had colour here; fey, fairy robes, magic tools, and the eyes of those who wield it. Nearly at her destination, Meriam crossed a bridge of ice into the Fairy Kingdom, where the frosted trees echoed with the laughter of children, and everything glittered like diamonds and snow. Yet, her pursuer still walked behind her. Is it even a person? Why didn’t the shadow veil deter them?   She thought. As Meriam stood at the foot of a stone circle, engraved with the table of fours, she decided to look behind her. Meriam was taken aback: Eatheltwein stood gleaming with joy, admiring all the fairies, and the soothing atmosphere. This meant two things: firstly, Eathel was now her responsibility, and was in a world of trouble. Secondly, in order to be content in the ether of all magic, he must be a mage. Noticing the confused glare of his aunt, Eatheltwein nervously waved hello.

“Sorry Aunt Merry, the quest just sounded like a lot of fun. I’m tired of talking to trees in the court yard, and reading books about dead men. I Love you, and want to go on an adventure! Also, what is this place? It’s a bit odd isn’t it.” He smiled, looking around innocently.

           Realizing Eatheltwein was a mage, and that his canary was his familiar, Meriam decided to take the opportunity to teach him more magic. Something so powerful must be utilized wisely and safely. Eathel had developed a habit of sneaking into her magic study, and reading her mage journals, this whole time. His little familiar’s name was Viola, and she was quieter than Meriam’s kestrel familiar Nihten. Though a golden canary suited Eatheltwein well; he never shut up, and was very innocent, and showy. When the surprise faded, they all began to take the adventure as an opportunity to bond. With joy, they stepped through the Fairy Gate, and into the Mediterranean heat of Hispania. Eatheltwein coughed; he had come from right from a pleasant and crisp winter in Anglia.

The fairy gate was atop a large, forested, fey infested mountain. It was overlooking a city of white sandstone, painted vibrant colours. The tall houses had tall walls with small iron gates, and where like vibrantly painted stacked children’s blocks. The view in every clearing was spectacular. You could hear music, shouting, and singing echo up the mountain. It sounded like an undying fiesta. In Feon’s book, she said this place was called Torres de Calendulas; Meriam had no clue what that meant, she only knew there was a Meader mage wielding healing love magic here somewhere. If the message she received was accurate.

           Eathel’s company was pleasant. He helped search. There were no trails, just twisted trees with odd leaves, ripe fruit, and large colourful flowers. What odd tree children, they both thought; And so many pretty, shinny, colourful Phoenix’s, minor Roc’s, and cockatrices. There were also many nymphs in the trees, creeks, freshwater springs, and patches of sunlight they passed; yet no people. The magic forest was thick, and toughly filled with fey. The Fairy Gate itself was a wonder made of solid aquamarine, that looked like ice; Yet, it was nothing compared to its forest. As they searched, Meriam and Eatheltwein suddenly walked into a short Indigo cornfield. It gave way to a yard of colourful patches of perfectly square vegetable beds, making a garden in front of a perfectly square spackled house, with a blue roof. On the porch sat a man of tanned skin, and deep eye’s and hair. His hair was curled, and waved into a short low ponytail, and weaved with marigolds of various colours. He wore a loose cotton shirt with a deep neckline, and poofed sleeves, that were embroidered with pinstripes and wild patterns of vibrant colours which matched his tight pants. He was tuning a lute, and humming with the cicadas. Meriam had the most confused look on her face. Between the hallucinogenic fey, perfect garden, and this man’s outfit, she wondered if she had eaten something unusual before she left.

“Eatheltwein, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Meriam asked, in a mildly disturbed way.

“Oh my, It’s not just me! Thank the fjords! I thought I had eaten those mushrooms again…” Eatheltwein sighed. Meriam turned to look at him with a jerk; she made a gesture that suggested she had too many questions to actually ask them.

           Eatheltwein and Meriam were experiencing the special type of embarrassment that comes from walking into a stranger’s house, being offered a myriad of things, and not being sure what the socially acceptable thing to do is. The man talked in a monotone voice, with a slight cheer, and his face expressed no emotion, whilst still encapsulating a polite faux sense of enthusiasm. Like he might be in pain. He switched between old Anglian and old Hispanian, making him nearly incomprehensible. Meriam and Eathel were now eating what was probably chillies filled with cheese, and topped with a fried egg, inside a corn tortilla. The man starred at them with the same expression, while strumming is lute giddily. The unfamiliar notes not forming a coherent melody. They all made uncomfortable distressing prolonged eye-contact. Then the man started smiling. Meriam looked like she was in fear as the strings of melted cheese hung from her mouth and the iron skillet she shared with her nephew. Wait, it’s not iron… its copper?

“How is it dear visitors? I made it with my lady’s fine recipe; with golden goose eggs!” He said with a thick accent, and astrum of him lute. “She is a talented potion maker, and Heartmann mage.” He continued. The last part was in old Hispanian. Meriam started to cry. She had no idea what was going on. She had seen war, but this broke her.

“Aunty Merry, are you ok? I have concluded we actually may have shared some suspicious forest gatherings at the palace. But what luck! I love spending time with you. And to be in one of your adventures; This is fantastic! And this food, whatever it is, is disgusting in a way that makes me keep eating it.” Eatheltwein cheered. Meriam’s crying, now also contained a sort of gagging and laughter. Her mouth was still full of cheese. This was not her finest moment. Worse yet, this cabin bard, who was attending her fever dream, spoke in an incomprehensible fast language, and Meriam could not ask where the Meader mage, Corona, was. Then she recognized the word ‘Heortemann.’ She swallowed, and took some deep breathes, when she realized the walls were covered in paintings, potions, baking trays, and cookware. It was a gingerbread cottage, spackled like confetti cake. Eathel was now examining the large oven at the end of the cottage, and the stairs down to a cellar; Where Meriam began to hear laughter.

           Peering into the dim cellar, like two children looking into a well, Meriam and Ealtheltwein saw two large beautiful fairies, and a woman with platinum hair, amber eyes, white fairy kingdom fair robes, and a marking in black, of a sword in a heart upon her chest. The three cellar occupants looked unblinkingly at Eathel and Meriam.

“You brought mages my love! More friends for our party in our safe little garden!” the female fairy spoke. She matched the second fairy like a twin; though the other fairy was a boy. Their complexions were like ice, and their hair was silver, and eyes that were pale and lustered like aura quartz. Their wings were lilac and periwinkle, and shimmered like their eyes. They wore fairy robes, and had crowns of ice. They looked just like the Fairy King and Queen. Meriam was delighted; Royal Fairies. Fairies make sense! She almost started to tear again.

“Hello, you must be Corona Wintersleapen. Your people need you to stop attacking them, when they go near the magic forest. They fear your introverted nature is caused by your families neglect. But I think your just a mage, and people are mean.” Meriam said. “Also, your two royal friends are radiant, by the way.”

“Nada. I do not attack the people. They just get lost in the forest; the fey lead them back out again. It’s their fault for trying to cut down the tree children, instead of asking politely to be neighbors. If they were nicer, and stopped having children in hopes of bearing mages, their city could become entangled with this forest no problem. And I live happy in my little cottage, with all my true loves. I want nothing to do with tower folk.” Corona spoke. She sounded like a snooty child.

“Miss, this situation is so upsetting to common folk; they cower in fear-” Meriam said. Then she stopped. “Wait, you just don’t want to talk to commoners? It has nothing to do with your family or how close or far away they are?”

“Se” Corona chirped. “I even send them medicine, when the sickness passes time to time.”

“Wait, true love? With all four of you? That is a lot of love… Aunt Merry says you’re a mage that can heal with love; you must make everyone feel better with four times the hugs!” Eatheltwein smiled. “I love romantic stories! Is that why everything is copper and you have so many baking and brewing supplies? To heal people and befriend fairies?” Eathel gleamed. Meriam rolled her eyes.

“We are Earden Faries; royal fey! We came to look for our father, but my sister fell in love with this fine bard! And then I fell in love with this adorable lady! So, we stayed here, instead of returning home with no news of our father. Her shortbreads are wonderful!” the fairy prince said sweetly. Meriam went into seer mode; she covered Eatheltwein’s mouth, to start an interrogation:

“Why were you looking for your father: The Fairy Queen?” She asked.

“Oh, my love can sing that for you! It’s very sad. We taught him to sing it in every tongue.” The fairy princess said.

“I love songs and music! Why I would love a ballad form that fine lads lute!” Eathletwein said.

“No.” Meriam grimaced. “Just tell me. I want to record everything in grotesque detail.” she demanded. The man took his seat, and the fairies hugged his knees, and Corona curled up to keep brewing in the wine cellar. Then the unsettling bard took a deep breath, and started with one strum; and Meriam’s palm, met her face.

Upon the tallest mountain, in the southmost lands; A selfish king did ask a mage for a simple thing.

He held a knife to the mage’s kin, and then began to yell.

Summon me the Raven King; whose song will kill us all.

The armies of the bitter folk, come before my fort. Now have the biggest raven come, and make the men no more.

When the Raven King did come, from his shadowy throne; the Fairy Queen did run away, to stop the bird lord’s song.

Alas too late, the mage summoned him, and the Raven began to plea: “release my mage, my dearest friend and I may sing for thee.”

Forgotten was the darkness, of the king’s new oath; For when the Raven King began to chime, the king and mage began to fall.

The Fairy Queen, though light of foot, could not warn the peoples to flee;

And down came the fort and mountain, and all the fey and trees.

No one lived to tell the tale, of how a mountain halved; to quote the lives of all that died, or witness the beast king’s spell.

The Fairy King did cry, for the loss of her dead love. The Raven King forgiven, but the damage already done.

The lord of birds he cracked his voice, for death he saw as sin; and tells each mage of whom he sees, of what crimes he did commit.

Now that many years have past, and the Gate and Forest remade. The people here will never learn, but at last we’re safe.

           It doesn’t matter how talented a bard is, if the courts don’t care to listen. Meriam got up, broke his lute in a rage, and glared the man with malice.

“No. I am a Queen, a time controlling mage, a wife, and a Mother; I have seen battle, magic, murder, pain, and filth beyond imagination; AND I DON’T WANT TO BE SERENADED BY A HISPANION STALLION COLLECTING FARIES IN A FANTASY MUSHROOM SAMBA.” Meriam cursed. Her dark powerful voice even scared Eatheltwein, who cowered in the oven. The information was fun lore, and it explained the art on the walls. But it would not satisfy Hispania in terms of having good will towards this magic forest; or Anglia. Meriam pulled Eathel out of the oven, and Corona out of the cellar. She brought them to the table to sit, while the royal fairies swooned, and transmuted a new loot for their love, from a broken ladle.

           The most Meriam could do now, was inform Corona that common folk can’t talk to trees, so she would have to be a witch and negotiate the land partitioning between commoners and tree children. Corona hated the idea; that would require leaving the forest and talking to people.

“If you don’t want to talk to people, send your insufferable bard. He’s a special kind of peasant. Small people might find him charming.” Meriam scoffed.

“It’s only until the people who hate fey leave, and the rest accept living aside fairies and phoenixes. My aunt here, made the Raven Gate in the main square of the Capital of Anglia; a magic forest in the biggest city of the Grand West! And all the common people live well from what I’ve seen.” Eathel said with a smile. His sunny aura had begun to comfort and attract Corona. The idea involved her staying away from humans, having fey be safe, and still being able to be a magic healer, and baker, in the woods. The witch in a little cottage of a magic forest. Corona agreed, and offered Eatheltwein a spot in her bed with the bard and fairies. Then gestured at Meriam as well. She considered it, until her eyes met the bard’s; dead eyes. She didn’t trust him.

Meriam took Eathel aside, and warned him to stay away from sketchy offers like that, and they should get home before his uncle realizes he wasn’t becoming literate. Eathel was disappointed; he always wanted to make a pillow fort. Noticing Meriam was becoming short, Eatheltwein said they could tell him he was learning other kingly skills. Meriam argued creepy house, in creepy forest, with a creepy woman, who was asking if they wanted to be the fifth and sixth flower in her vase. Eathel gave up, as he didn’t understand; he was not full grown either. The two of them politely declined Corona’s offer. When she persisted, Eathel gave her his shirt as a distraction, and dashed into the tight twisted vibrant forest. Meriam followed behind, and they started looking for the Fairy Gate to get home.

           Meriam and Eatheltwein started to get trapped in the dense forest. The tree children were stubborn, and they had gone the wrong way. They were lost.

“Can we use our familiars to scout?” Eatheltwein asked.

“Too tight, we might lose them. We need a Mothkin.”

“Those giant fairy moths? that turn into human sized fairies that guide people?”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that, but yes. I don’t know the names of any in this forest, to call for one. By the way, saying a fey’s name, if it has given it too you out of fondness, is how to charm a fey to you. It’s rude to say, or share, a fey’s name; it’s a gift from their parents. Also, never summon them like edge lord Edmond.”

“The Wolf prince?”

“Yes. By the way, if he ever comes to you for peace, say yes, and don’t mention that I said that.”

“This place really got to you aunt Merry…” Eathel mused. He was ensnared in greater bean stalk, which was talking to him in tree euphemisms. Something about him being a treasure of the Grand West. Then, as he was being lifted by the tendrils, shortbread fell out of his pocket. Eatheltwein had taken it in the cabin, as the fairy recommended. Meriam picked them up; they were rum flavoured. She shrugged and put them on a nice plate from the palace, she summoned with chalk. Eathel was now having neon flowers and fruit nuzzled against him by the tree children. Now he was bothered. He was in need of a water closet.

It was a waiting game. They hoped some mothkin, whisp, or nymph, would come and help them for a cookie. Fairy logic is both the best and worst. Eventually the tree children parted way, slowly dropping Eatheltwein, and a night blue mothkin walked forward. She was deep blue and royal navy; wearing a sparkling velvet robe, long glassy hair, and soft eyed wings and antenna.

“The cookie is nice, but I could feel your desperation from across the creek. Sorry I took so long, you guys kept moving away.” She said calmly. “Oh! I remember you! Meriam Craweleoth?”

“Hello, my name is Eatheltwein Cynedom; what is your name?” Eathel said, hoping to get his first fey name. Meriam handed the cookies to the Mothkin, with a smile.

“Celscael. Most mages call me Chelsea. It’s nice to meet you Eatheltwein” Chelsea said, taking a bite and gesturing them to follow. The world will literally bend before a mothkin, between the start and finish of a journey. Meriam and Eatheltwein could see the warp of the trees and path as they followed; they didn’t even say where they were going, and Chelsea still led them to the Fairy Gate.

“Good tidings! Thank you for helping Corona; I can’t wait to make more friends when those lively dancing men move into the forest! This has got to be one of the better places mother has put me.” Chelsea said tenderly. Meriam smiled and waved goodbye, as did Eatheltwein to copy. They ran back to the gate and Shadow Veil without looking behind them, and walked into the square panting.

“Don’t take me on your next quest; I will be in the study becoming a good nobleman. Please Aunt Merry. PLEASE.” Eatheltwein said. He noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and hugged himself in embarrassment. He turned to Meriam; she was ecstatic.

“I am going to spend the next two days writing that all down! That was so Exciting! Odette will love to hear about this!” Meriam giddily chimed. Meriam was never this cheerful. Eathel looked at her blankly, and then he silently walked back to the palace alone.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Thirteen; Delirium.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning again in this chapter !!! Fever type dreams that get spooky and deathy

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                       ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Kylo was losing his mind.

 It’s been known to happen to vampires of certain ages. Possibly ones even older than him, if any such do exist. Alive so long they start to rot and fester in their own bodies.

 Brains blown and shattered apart from all the violence of things they’d done. Drifting and flaking apart like much too dried clay. The horror of the acts some vampires committed to feed. Not everyone could face or stomach it for so long. Drove them cackling into the worst sort of madness.

 He’s seen men fall apart too. Mortal men. He’s seen entire armies and countries of men perish. Losing their heads to the last breath, infected with illness, or pox or the plague.

 Deformed and rotting away already, before death had even come to them. Life clung on to them like some leeching disease. Decaying their bodies before their spirit had left their flesh.

 He’d seen scores of roguish men who’d dallied with pox ridden girls. Perishing with no control nor use of their bodies and no eyesight to help them. He’d seen many many men succumb to it for some cheap penny’s worth of indulgence with some infested whore up against a tavern or brothel wall. Those men end up as dribbling and demented fools. Turned into deformed madmen.

 It was hell. It was as close to any hell as he’d seen. The Black Death. He can remember that aswell. That rot.

 How it bittered the air of every rust red Italian street. He’d been in Italy, in when it first struck. The hacking wet of sloppy coughs until blood comes frothing up.

 Bloated bodies of peasants - men, women, children and infants - swelled green with festering flesh, dumped in the river, clogging up the Arno. Crows pecking at the bobbing corpses, ripping off flesh and eyeballs like wet peeling paper.

 So many bodies-

 Worse than ever, Kylo remembers the stench of plague. Rotting meat writhing with maggots, but candied with something of the human flesh, somehow. He’ll remember it for eternity. That cursed stench of putrefaction cloying the rivers and streets. It would stay seared into him for all his time still to come.

 He recalls how some walled themselves into their own homes. They stayed inside to fester. Or drink themselves to death. Or pray. The illness took all of them before too long - faith or no faith. He could hear the wails of the nearly dead bleed through the thick red walls.

 Blackened fingers, the fever and the boils, the salty sweat of rot and the reeking decay of death in every house. Everything the sick body excreted, be it sweat, spittle or breath, exuded an overpowering stench that he will never forget. 

Whole towns emptied. Abandoned. Their population now lay rotting in the swallowing of the soil. 

 The doctore de la peste roamed the streets with their unseeing round glassy-eyes. In their beaks packed with sweet dried roses, mint leaf and carnation petals. The sickle of it trailed behind them like smoke cutting through the gloom. The ripe perfumery of plague.

 By the end. The river was overrun with corpses. Couldn’t see the water for the rotting swill of flesh and bones. Rats scampering over them feeding. Gnawing. Birds plucking out what they liked to feed on.

 It’s enough of a sight to make a man want to put out his own eyes with a red hot poker after seeing such illness, pestilence and misery.

 It’s happening to him right as of now; in fact. Losing his mind. He’s certain.

 They could mark this, 1816, as the year that he relaxed his firm hold on his sanity. It only took a thousand and twenty seven years.

 It only took the sight of his sweet dove, in his bed, writhing and sweating with fever. Delirious and dangerously ill.

 She collapsed after dinner and he swept her upstairs right away. Mrs Jones sent a note for the local doctor. Sent their bravest rider out on Erland, into the storm by the safest road. Jomar fetches her a cold cloth from the anteroom. Kylo can’t leave her side. He won’t.

 He sits on the bed and watches over her diligently. When Jomar returns with a bowl of icy cold water, stands it on the bedside and wrings out the cloth. Kylo takes it from his offered hand without even casting an eye in his direction. He takes the sopping linen and pastes it across her clammy brow.

 She’s splayed back in his bed, weak and insensate. To hell with liberties. He took the gown and shawl off her himself, and bundled the white cotton and red velvet sheets over her. She sank back onto his pillows. Sprawled limp.

 Her lovely pale face sheened in sweat. Whole body shivering and her breathing was shallow. Brow creased and wrinkled up in pain.

 Kylo’s sitting near. Pulling sticky strands of hair off her cheeks. Hating the sight of her like this. He’s banked the fire and had extra blankets put on the bed. But he’s unsure. He’s never sat at a sick bed for a mortal before. Well- not like this. He’s attended a death bed. But here? He doesn’t know what to do. How to act.

 Her eyes are open but she doesn’t see him. He’s certain she can’t see him or anyone else in the room. She’s dazed. Lost to sense.

 And he’s frantic. He’s mopping her brow but he doesn’t know what good that might do. She keeps twisting her head away from him. Fingers twining into the sheets, fisting them in her hands. Gasping and shuddering breath. Her chest is moving up and down so fast it hurts him to see this.

 Mrs Jones timidly knocks on his bedchamber door. Kylo’s voice is strained when he answers the knock. She comes in. Her face pinched and the very sight of it hurts Kylo’s nonexistent heart.

 “The doctor can’t attend her, my Lord. He’s trapped a county over delivering a baby.” She says breathless and pink from running up the stairs. Her skirts still picked up in her hands.

 That was Kylo’s last hope. He dismisses her with a curt nod. Not ill tempered at her news. Merely overshadowed by this whole room. All this grave pressing silence and illness.

 The very air in here feels tense. Made dry and hot by the fire. Stale with human exertion. And Still. So still with anticipation and uncertainty.

 Jomar returns with another icy bowl of water, a fresh cool cloth. Kylo reaches and swaps it for the clammy warm one. She groans and tries to twist away.

 Kylo soothes her. “Dove. It’s alright it’s alright.” He hushes her as she fidgets and tosses around. Knees tugging under the blankets. Hands still fisting in the sheets. She’s whining. She’s pleading with him. The hysteria has gripped its nasty hold tight.

 “No... no. Ugh. Please. No.” She gasps. Head looming far back. Neck stretched out. Dewy, and by the darkened light of his room, her long supple neck and throat is now shimmering amber. Kylo’s hand take the cloth away and she sighs a lungful of a groan in response.

 “She’s not talking to you My Lord.” Jomar insists. “It is the fever.” He assures Kylo.

 His butler is now washing his hands in the water jug across on the dresser. Scrubbing soap and his nails with a harsh scratching brush that sizzles at his skin. He dunks his hands under the cloudy milk of the water and washes away the soap suds.

 “What do I do?” Kylo’s pleading to them both. To Jomar and Mrs Jones. He looks like a little dark haired boy. An infant. Helpless and terrified.

 Sat there, teetering on the edge of his bed, starry silver tears in his eyes. It might be the only time they’ve seen him truly weak or scared. Wracked with agony with something even he can’t control.

 Powerless to help the woman he loves.

 Mrs Jones knows of that look. She sees the russet sparkle in his Lordships eyes. And it aches her. Sees the pain in his creased brow and displayed in the openness of his face. He is used to having power over so many things - this is not part of his influence. It does not share in being intimidated by him as most things and people usually do.

 This vampires one weakness; terror for the frailty of mortality. That she could and might slip away to a place beyond his mighty reach.

 Jomar crosses back to the bed, takes her wrist and feels for her pulse. His clever kind hands were cool on her feverish skin. Still she shivers in his grasp. He fixes his gaze downwards as he holds her frail arm. Returning it gently to her side when he’s done.

 “Her heart rate is very fast.” He says with veiled emphasis. He then leans up and peers over her face, gently cupping it to see her eyes. “Her eyes are unfixed also.”

 “I think it may be an affliction on her lungs. A chill caught from the rainstorm.” He suggests to Kylo.

 “How do we treat her?” Kylo’s demanding with every note of his voice laced with hope.

 Jomar shares an anxious look with Mrs Jones. “We don’t. Your lordship.” Jomar tells him gravely.

 “We can only wait now for the fever to break. But we can do everything within our power to make her comfortable.” He insists to his Master and friend. Laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

 Lord Ren looks up at him. Lost in his gaze. His silver bangle catches the light. A darting glimmer. Like a silver scaled fish swimming in dark inky waters. His butlers hope and goodness always shone great through the darkest of times.

 Jomars bronzed eyes melt for him like crushing gold honey and warm cocoa. Tries to bolster him kindly for this devastating news.

 “Is there truly nothing I can do?” Kylo chokes out. His voice hadn’t the bravery to rise beyond a whisper. He just had to watch her suffer like this? Twisting and delirious and unconscious with fever.

 “I’m afraid so M’lord. In the meantime-“ Mrs Jones says. Crossing the wide dark room to the window. Batting away the crimson drapes. The battle axe she was is on the warpath. She’ll see this right. Kylo wouldn’t trust anyone else.

 “We might try to keep her cool. Fever burns you up something wicked. So I won’t have her stifled. Loose blankets are best. And we are to mop her brow and her neck every hour. On the hour.” She commands. Jomar nods in agreement.

 “I’ll see to some laudanum for her relief, from the medicine cupboard.” He insists. Bowing his head to Kylo before slipping away.

 Off out the door. Picks up the lit candle holder in his hand from the side. The long ivory taper of it flickers a warm marmalade in the dark of his Lordships crimson room. Kylo watches the glow of it, and him, disappear down the dark hall. Swallowed up into the blackness of the house.

 The treads of his boots crushed silent and dead on the rug in the corridor. The hazy fog of champagne yellow coated the walls of Hellford like thick gold dust. Shining off every polished wood door and dark floorboard. Grows fainter and fainter as he moves away.

 Kylo turns back to his dove. Takes the cloth away. Re-wets it. Puts it back on her brow. He takes it away again once the cool is gone. Replaces the cloth with his own cold hand. All of his fingers dwarfing most of her head. He slips around and cups the nape of her neck and she rolls her solid head onto the arch of his arm.

 She’s so warm it almost burns his hand. His chest aches to feel her that way.

 She protests at the cold. “Leave me.” She sobs. “Leave me alone...” She cries. Eyes shut. Denying him the alluring cloudy grey gaze of those eyes he admires so much.

 “I will do no such thing...” Kylo says lowly. Stroking wet tamped hair off her forehead. Looking at her flushed cheeks which burn hot. He presses the back of his hand to them. To soothe them. The crinkle in her brow lessens a little at his icy touch. The only time his coldness has ever come in handy.

 Mrs Jones grabs the bowl of water from next to him but before she scurries downstairs to replace it she offers. “Your Lordship, I can send for a maid to sit with her. If you need some rest.”

 “I will stay.” Kylo presses. “I won’t leave her side until this wretched thing breaks.” He insists with stony determination.

 He looks back to Iris. Cupping her cheek in his hand. Watching her breathing pant rapid. She leans into his touch.

 With no clear action before him, other than to comfort her. His mind, denied of a task, emptied of all things, now fear began to fill it.

 Mrs Jones says nothing. But she gives him a trembling look of affection that attempts at bolstering him. She takes the bowl and she too pads softly out the room. The creaking whine of the door being softly shut was the final announcement to their being availed of company.

 Kylo turns back to her. A terrible weight squeezing down on his chest. He’s sat at a fair number of deathbeds in his life. He’d watched some human friends fade away. But that was certain. War or disease took them from him.

 This is not certain and it’s killing him all over again.

 It’s that night on the battefield in the snow again and again again. Draegan finding him. Coming across Kylo as he lay dying. The burning dripping searing blood leaking down his side. His wound was by the abdomen. The worst way to die. It could take days. The white hot agony searing his bones in acid all over again. Scarlet snow. Scarlet wet snow everywhere.

 He can remember cool slender fingers cupping his neck. The whisper across his cheek like a kiss of the icy north wind. “You know you will not survive this.” He explained. Unsticking Kylo’s leather gloved hand from the wound that ran along the entire side of his stomach. Silver eyes, like precious moonstones, looking at the blood laying black and thick on his palm.

 To the very last. Kylo fought like a warrior. When he often had resolved, as a Viking soldier, of pondering his own death. He had envisioned a glorious end. Sword in hand cutting down his enemies until his very last breath.

 He never imagined in his wildest dream that death would smile handsomely at him first. Never believed he’d be side by side with the devil - and that he would love him with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

 Never thought he’d love again - until he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. He lusted for her first of all. That instant carnal attraction. But that had masked how she truly made Kylo’s soulless body ache to love her.

 She brought him to his knees. And now he’s choking on his grief.

 “Please don’t leave me, Little Dove.” He begs in a whisper as she writhes and sweats into his bedsheets. Gasping and dulled.

 “Don’t go to the one place I can’t follow.” He begs. Laying his big hand over where hers was limp and stretched out atop the velvet covers. His hand dwarfed hers utterly. But his touch was so gentle. Unsure.

 “I told you if anything happened to you. It would kill me.” He says. Looking at her earnest face. So dewy and flushed.

 “I meant my words. Iris, If I have to spend an eternity without loving you then, I-“ His throat claws up. Suffocating his words. He shakes his head.

 He brings her limp arm up. Back of her clammy hand pressed to his mouth. Nuzzles a kiss to her skin. Tastes the salt of her sweat. Tastes her agony. He’s certain it reflects his own.

 “I won’t leave you.” He vows solemnly. A silky whisper that he speaks into her skin. He always takes his vows seriously.

 Treads rattle louder in the hallway. Coming back to the room. Jomar enters again with the bottle of laudanum and a spoon to hand.

 Kylo will be the one to feed it to her. He gently cups her face and slips the silver spoon to her lips. An oddly intimate act. He feeds the opiate into her mouth, she twists her head and some of it runs down her chin. Kylo wipes it away with the cloth. Taking up the task of the lowliest maid. Seeing so tenderly to her in her illness.

 He’s calmed a little by the fact of the laudanum taking away any pain she might be feeling. Her breathing settles. As does his worry.

 He retires to the chair by the fireside across the room. The same deep wine red velvet as covers his bed. He pulls it close to the end of his huge four postered bed. Drapes hanging heavy down all four mahogany posts. Protecting the pale infirm form of her within. He’ll watch over her from his bedside. Cradled in the comfort of the chair.

 Some ineffectual matronly mama of the ton may argue that this was most improper. A single man watching over the bedside of an unmarried girl. Worst still- an unmarried girl on the brink of an engagement.

 Kylo snorts to himself. Wondering if the deuced snotty boy of a Sergeant would even care that his intended was gravely ill. Probably only cared that she had fallen ill in Kylo’s manor.

 It didn’t matter that she was unconscious and insensate. She was in the very room with a man who compromised her honour, and Hux’s. Making a fool of him. In in Lord Ren’s very own bed, no less.

 Well. Not that either of them were in any fit state to be compromising the hell out of each other. But he doubts strict society will see it that way. This was enough impropriety just being within touching distance.

 One thing that does prevail upon him a tiny shred of bright happiness in all this darkness. Is the fact that he knows how desperately fuming this whole situation would make Iris’s mother.

 Him protecting her. Rescuing her. Keeping her safe. He’s sure the old harpy would be frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog knowing where her daughter was. She’d likely spout out nastiness, how it was all a concoction for the dashing dark Lord Ren to seduce and spoil her eldest daughter. To ruin their hope of an advantageous marriage.

 Little did that termagant know, but it was far too late for that.

 Iris was worked her sweet steady way under his skin from every outing they’ve shared. Every look across a crowded ballroom. Every touch of their hands, gloved or not. Their dance. Their kiss. It was the inferno that brought their affection and regard for each other to a fever pitch.

 She trembles whenever he comes close. When their eyes meet he always feels the delighted shiver that runs the full length of her spine. The blush that prettily decorates her cheeks. Finer than any jewellery he could bestow on her gorgeous body.

 Funny how such a thing as her blush made him think of so many things.

 It made him want to whisk her away in the dead of night. Back to Bavaria. Install her there as the Lady of his castle. Sharing his land. Sharing his title. Lady Ren. He’d have her dresses tailored by the finest Dressmaker in Bavaria.

 Dust off the family jewels and then bedeck her in them. Head to toe. Nothing less would do for her. She’s suffered such a life of penury and scraping together to make her as bait to men for marriage. He’d see to ending that sad facet of her life. He’d let her choose what she wears. Whether or not she had to pay calls or deliver baskets to the infirm.

 He’d let her lounge in a boudoir parlour, reading books, and accomplish nothing in her day apart from having a sumptuous oiled bath if she so desires. He just wants to see her happy.

 He’d open the whole castle for her to explore room after room. Every tapestry. Every oil painting and marble statue. Every suit of armour he’d fought in over the years. Stood proud and polished silver on display. All of it he’d let her have.

 How he misses it... his home. Ranlor Castle.

 He misses the way the castle feels to step into. The scent of it. The edifying old thick stone halls of musty brick and how the smell of green and pine like the forest surrounding it, seeps in every window. Hanging upon the very air.

 He misses the warmth of the fur pelts on his bed on a stormy night. The sky flurrying with snow, wind howling at tiny lead crossed windows. He was so used to hearing the wolves cry out for the moon in the woods at night, as he fell asleep in his big soft bed. Missed the way flame and shadow danced up the thick exposed golden-bricked walls. It lulls him to sleep.

 The locals rightly call Ranlor the ‘devils rock.’ A dark superstition has long lingered over the land ever since Kylo had been in residence there.

 Named because of the way the - many - turrets either end of the castle rear out the landscape like two sharp pale fangs. Looking over all the local villages and tenants. The shadows of those turrets reach far and wide. Everything is eclipsed in it’s shade. Grisly things were said to happen too, in his woodlands. Strong men go missing and not even so much as their bare bones are ever recovered.

 Local folk legend blindly believes when the moon is full, that devils roam the woods. Black wolves turn into foul hungry demons with claws, ready to hunt upon the flesh of men. When the moon is its full eye of pearl in the sky, people are warned to stay off the forest. And stick to their homes. Bolt the doors and draw the shutters. Cower in their beds and listen to the wolves howls rise faintly over the snowy horizon. Piercing through the snow.

 Kylo’s work providing for his lands and Ranlor’s tenants so ably puts shame to most of the rumours.

 He is a generous Lord and master of the lands. Nothing is beyond his notice. He holds a ball for the local villages every year, near Yuletide season. Amidst the bitter winter. The staff bring in great log garlands made from the holly in the forest to decorate the hall. They serve brandy and punch and Kylo mixes among everyone to see how their year has been as his tenants.

 If families struggle, too many mouths to feed. He absolves their rent. Ensures they are kept stocked with food from the castles own kitchen to tide them over- He has no need for it after all. His servants eat handsomely too, Kylo makes sure of that.

 If bouts of illness flourish among his tenants and among those less fortunate than him, he puts up the money for the doctors bills. He takes care of his own. Even if they are not his kin. They are under his protection on his territory.

 He is remarked on being a very gallant and fair man. No one on his land would dare observe that he was frightening and cruel.

 Only if he is gotten on the wrong side of that is. If poachers steal from his lands and steal the food supplies belonging to his people. Or if he sees any drunken men take advantage where they shouldn’t with a passing maiden, outside the taverns. If a violent and ill tempered brute of a man who drinks his families wage away, so much as dares to raise a hand to his suffering wife or children- then does Kylo reveals his nasty side.

 He’s sure there are still gossips that believe the superstition of his home. In local taverns at night over pitchers of ale, some men lean in, to whisper and wonder and gossip if he is entirely as human as he seems.

 He rarely eats. Never drinks to excess. Had never taken a wife and he doesn’t dally with whores. He stalks the forest alone most nights. They sometimes remarked that he was not human. There was little humanity about him. But they never suspected for a moment that the bloodthirsty demon unleashed by the full moon, was in fact him.

 The reason some of the bones of missing men were never found? Because Kylo drains them of the blood and leaves the drained corpse for the hungry wolves to tear apart.

 Kylo ruminates on memories of home as he watches the firelight kiss across her pale form on the bed. Her breathing still shallow.

 “I’d so much like for you to see Ranlor. Little dove. You’d adore it.” He says. Speaking to her as if she were awake to hear him.

 He tells her about the forest. About the bitter winter gales that blow through. And how it thaws so prettily in spring. Woods full of blue hyacinths and pink scented stocks. Sugary and sickly perfume of them in the warm pine of sun-baked air.

 He tells her how she’d like the wildflowers and the baby roe deers and the lake when it’s warm enough to swim in. To dip into the fathomless sapphire ink of water. The graceful swans that dance across the blue waters surface.

 He tells her she’d like the local life. Much like here, people were humble and simple. Salt of the earth. People who make no pretence to be more than they are. How refreshing he finds that compared to all the Janus faced civility. Velvet draped over daggers, and dripping censure that falls from lord’s and ladies mouths, in a savage English country ballroom.

 He describes the villages nearby. On the road to Ranlor. The tall narrow houses built of walnut timber and smothered in white paint. Closely set together on cobbled grey streets. Some of the neighbouring villages were walled cities also. Keeps from medieval times. Set high up in the rocks.

 Quaint little hamlets were dotted along the Bavarian alps near his castle. He tells her of the nearest one to Ranlor.

 Brimming with taverns boasting the most excellent beer and joints of game, roasted on a spit, a flagon and a hunk of meat for no more than a half a gold florin. Cafes and shops there were, a florist also. He recalls the waxy punchy-coloured tulips and how they always always always caught his attention in the window. The striking eye-catching scarlet of them. He likes seeing it, as he often rides past on Erland. Or in his rattling big coach.

 There were coffee houses, bakeries and patisseries selling Austrian cakes and puddings. Butchers or other general stores selling the local cuisine of smoked or cured meats and sausages and cheeses.

 The spectacular wares always for show in the haberdashers window. Great voluminous hats with sprouting great feathers and dripping trimmings galore. Her silly sisters, he fancied, would adore to see such fine frippery. And most of all, there in that precious little village that somehow has found a warm place in his heartless chest, there are always vendors with their braziers, hawking roasted or candied nuts around the town square.

 He tells her how touched he was in her gesture of giving him a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, the day after they first met.

 He admits something to her then; of how he doesn’t often indulge in human food. But those he did eat. The buttery sweet burn of them reminded him of home. Lifting his nose to the bag to smell the smoky nutty scent sent him ricocheting right back to thoughts of that little Bavarian village. It touched him profoundly in more ways then he could say. She could barely spare the capital to buy them and she bestowed on him, such a gift.

 She bought it with her last penny and that truly astounded him. He was a veritable stranger to her then. He is so much more than that now. She’s so much more to him. And him, to her.

 Kylo will see out this lonely frightful night. He watches over her. Hopes the morning will bear better signs. Hopes that the tumultuous storm passes.

 It dies well enough. By the pale pink of a wet lilac and gold dawn, shining over the windowpane and into his chamber. Shrouding his sickbed in rosy gold, she is unfortunately in much the same state. Unchanged. Not progressing nor worsened.

 He sits and keeps a diligent eye on her. Had done all night. He requires little sleep. And so he talks to her. Mops her brow when she starts sweating again. Jomar and Mrs Jones flit in and out. Bringing provisions. And fresh cold water. More laudanum.

Mrs Jones brought him a plate of roasted meats and a glass of wine. It went untouched. She takes it away without saying a word. Gives the scraps to the hounds.

 Jomar checks on her every few hours. With his slight grasp of medical knowledge. They try sending for the doctor again. But he is still unavailable. Fixing broken bones from men caught up in last nights storm. Kylo curses the inflexible man every name under the sun.

 He doesn’t even retire from her side to take luncheon. Mrs jones had tried to tempt him with a grilled chop at breakfast. And still he refused. Tempted him with roast capons and a carafe of wine now, and still he declined. He’d gone longer without food before in his time. It wouldn’t hurt him. Three years he’d once gone without indulging.

 “You need to keep your strength up. My Lord. You’re no good to her if you starve away to skin and bone.” She chides as she carries out another bowl of water. Refreshing it.

 “Hardly likely.” Kylo’s insisting. Tugging at the rumpled linen of his shirt.

 Sleeves rolled and cuffed. Waistcoat he shrugged off some time in the night. Just in black braces, dull boots and dark breeches now. He’s sure he’ll be a malodorous wretch in need of a shave and wash. But he won’t leave her in this crisis. He won’t so much as go to splash cold water on his face. He’s not leaving this room.

 Hellhounds with glowing red eyes and slobbering gnashing teeth, couldn’t drag him away.

 Mrs Jones makes a move to put a matronly hand on her hip and chastise him some more. But there comes a groan from the bed.

 Kylo leaps from his chair and bolts across to her. “Dove?”

 He seeks for her hand. He listens to her breathe.

 It was now a shallow drag accompanied by a slight rattling wheeze when she breathed. The affliction had spread to her lungs. And he knows the opium will have suppressed her lungs as a result.

 A trickle of blood leaves her mouth and smears on the pillow. A wheezing hacking cough comes from her. It’s such a weak sound it hurts to hear it. He mops it away with the damp cloth. Smears at her pale cheek in its wake.

 “Oh no. God no. Iris...” He seeks louder. Trying to see if she responds. She’s limp as ever. Lost to him. Blood leaking from her lips.

 “Fetch Jomar.” He orders urgently to his housekeeper. She runs for the door and brings back the Butler. He checks her over and his face is grave.

 “Your lordship. Her temperature is rising and I believe it appears as if the infection is worsening.” He says softly.

 Kylo’s face falls. His throat bobs with worry.

 He knows she’s strong. She can temper the foul spitting words of her mother. She can temper this. She must. Or he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

 “Will she die?” Kylo asks outright. Face like steel. Eyes wet.

 “I’m not a doctor. My Lord. I cannot say. But she needs a miracle to fight this affliction that’s taken hold. It looks like consumption.” He tells honestly.

 Kylo nods. “I’ll call you both if you are needed again.” He dismisses them.

 They file out the room with sorrowful faces. Such a sweet girl. And their Master is clearly so cut up by seeing her in such a state.

 Kylo wraps his fingers around her hand.

 “Fight it little dove.” He urges her. She was shivering earlier. But now she’s stilled. Sweating and clammy. Burning up more than ever. She was getting worse.

 “Please. Please fight. You’re so strong Iris. My god, you don’t know how strong...” He begs as he cups her hand and one hand cradles the side of her face.

 “The first time I saw you, I saw your strength. Your resilience. You held your head high even though you didn’t want too. I felt your pain. I felt your back breaking under all that strain.”

 Her head stays limp on the pillow. Eyes blind to anything. Shut in unrest. He wishes more than anything that there was something he could do to aid her before this got even worse.

 She looks pallid. Ashen. More so than before. Sweating buckets and more blood leaks out her mouth. He wipes it away with the fresh handkerchief Jones left by the bed. He looks down in his hand and sees the sticky red staining the white cloth.

 Like a bloodied paw print in the snow. It doesn’t even call out to his hunger. He’s too beyond it. This is too perilous. Too serious to measure his animal instincts.

 Blood.

 The room grows cold. All warmth drops as if the sun had been snatched out the sky. Kylo feels the chill pinned along his skin as a ghost of a phantom breeze sweeps over him.

 His cool blood turns to prickling ice. The candles on the bedside flicker, the fire wanes. He knows what comes next. He hasn’t felt this in centuries. He hears the voice, as crisp and as sharp as frost in his head. The voice like silver coins and honey dances into his ear. Notes as fine as a dark deep concerto.

 “Your blood, My fierce one. Or have you forgotten. All life is in the blood.” Comes Draegan’s soothing mellow voice.

 The tone that was like feather down and silk to listen to the way he crooned. Every part of his manner was charming. The deep of his sharp eyes was piercing. Intoxicating.

 Kylo’s not been alongside mortals as Draegan had. He was a healer. Though he was a demon, he always conceded that there was no death without life. All life as such, is therefore to be treated as precious. Humans fascinated him. And he moved freely and happily among them. Whereas Kylo scorned most all of them.

 He strides from the bed to his unused escritoire across the room. Situated by the window for light. Not that he had any letters to write or close acquaintances to send them too. He considered leaving notes for Iris but there’s always a risk his letters would be discovered. He’s got a stack of them all written - tied up with a grey silk ribbon and hidden away.

 He rifles through his drawers until he finds it. A knife. A silver dagger with a weighted carved handle. He rounds the bed again, crosses to her and sits near her hip. He holds out his left hand and rips the knife across his index fingertip.

 Crimson beads up. He holds his hand aloft and watches it drip. Looks back to Iris and gently cups her face.

 “I know this won’t be pleasant. But it will help.” He tells. He doesn’t even feel the sting of pain. It’s nothing to him. Nothing to the pain of seeing her suffer like this.

 He gently holds her cheeks and rubs his bloodied fingers across her dry lips. Smearing crimson onto her tongue. She frowns and tries to move her head away, mumbling in distress. But Kylo doesn’t relent until he’s sure his ichor coats her tongue. Slips silken down her throat.

 He takes his hand away and rubs the blood from her mouth that spilled down her chin. Leaving her as pale as she was before. The rose of her cheeks still glares awfully bright.

 He bunches the cloth around his hand. He’ll heal up in no time. He wishes he could say the same for her. Only time will tell...

 He holds her hand. Strokes over her dainty little clammy knuckles. “Twice now he’s saved you.” He remarks to her.

 “If I didn’t know him any better....” He sighs, trails off in his words. The very breath gets punched from him. To what end could Draegan be saving her? Whatever for?

 One idea occurs - it’s because he’s felt all that she means to him.

 That tears agony at him like animals claws tearing down his chest. Shredding flesh. When he thought how he turned his back on him, and scorned his love. And here he was, centuries later, calling out to keep her safe. To protect her.

 Kylo lets himself feel shamed.

 Ashamed for the ways he bypassed his feelings for Draegan, and let anger fill him so completely up instead. Now he’s met Iris? He understands what he put Draegan through when he left. Because she might leave him now, and he thinks he might just wither away to ash, to nothing, for agony of loving her so much. Unable to help her through this pain.

 Though now, perhaps he’s given her the catalyst to help her fight what ails her. He can only wait. And pray.

 He paces the room. Paces and then sits. And then he’s treading worn holes in the floorboards again.

 Before he knows it, night falls again. He watches out the window as the sun bleeds into blue.

 Night washes a filmy indigo over the landscape. Trees turn to dark gnawed fingers of branches. The grass shimmers with evening dew and the pond out front in view of his window, turns to gloopy blue ink.

 He stands with his back to her. Surveying the view out the window. Arms folded behind his back. He’s listening to the fire crack and the wind groaning outside on the cold glass, splashing hard against the house. And suddenly she speaks. Gasps out. Cries out.

 “So cold.”

 He whips around fast. She’s twisting from side to side and he sees the fire sheen off her brow. She repeated herself “It’s so cold...” He hastens to the bedside and takes her hand again. “Iris?” He asks.

 She’s still dazed. Still delirious. Twisting her head on the bed.

 “Snow. And blood. Why is there....so much blood...” She frowns. Her face all contorted. Her palms knot her fingers into her pillow. She’s writhing again.

 Kylo looks down at her. Puzzled.

   ~

   Her reality had became quickly spliced with odd fevered dreams.

 Snippets of actuality broke through the haze. She felt herself fall after she stood up from the armchair after their intimate dinner. She dropped but her body didn’t hit the floor. She’s moving again. And those lovely strong arms of his, are around her.

 She’s burning. Was she on fire? That’s what it feels like. She’s dripping sweat and trying to claw at her dry throat. Loosen her strangling clothes. Get some blessed sweet cool air on her skin.

 A cold chest she’s cradled into again. Widest muscled chest she’s ever beheld. And she’s moving. Her eyes are shut, it’s all dark, yet she feels weightless. Being carried.

 Then it all goes soft. She’s laying on velvet as gentle hands guide away clothes from her body. She’s aching so much her bones ring with it.

 She tries moving but she feels cemented. Every word she tries to croak is difficult. Making speech is like trying to let thick hot syrup drip off her sticky tongue.

 There’s this pain in her lungs. A thousand knives stabbing in when her chest expands. Kind hands touch her arm and her head. Their warmth scorches her already blazing skin. She tries to wriggle away. But she’s too weak. Her body won’t comply to the requests of her mind.

 There’s feather and down at her back. It crinkles and crumples, and she’s relieved the bed is so cool. Something bittersweet is dropped down her throat. Trickling down her melting tongue. She barely feels the rest. She drifts in and out.

 And the thing is, she’s not entirely sure she’s alone. She hears voices. A voice. Dark, deep, like a granite walled cave.

 She can’t feel much. But she feels cold thick fingers wrap around hers. She knows who those might belong too.

 The fire in her blood doesn’t stop. It doesn’t wane. She feels like she’s drowning and she’s not even in the rain anymore. Prickles and knives and all manner of horrible sharp things stab at her chest. Spears, lances, thorns and needles.

 It feels like her lungs rattle with poison and shards of broken glass. She wants to cough but it’s too much for the infirm state she’s in.

 In between her swimming head and trying to crack open her heavy eyes. Between bleeding crimson and a blazing twitching flame she can make out very little.

 Time and sensation are lost to her. But she feels how someone diligently holds her, cups her face, cool on her cheek, feeds her spoonfuls of water so she doesn’t dehydrate. Dribbled water and laudanum - spiced with honey and saffron to cut the bitterness - down her neck with a cold silver spoon perched on her lips.

 The dreams are the worst. She dreams about rain. About rivers and heavy crushing things, tar, black and rotten, squirming on her chest. Crushing her.

 Of fangs ripping pale flesh off bleeding necks, how that haunts her. Wine red blood and she’s laying in a sticky hot pool of it. Unable to move.

 Foul black demons with claws and leathery black wings and red eyes, drooling maws with gnashing teeth rip at her nubile skin. She screams but no sound comes. They throw her screaming into hell and brimstone, and the flames lick higher around her.

 She’s dying. She must be dying. She can see it. Lying under a chiffon veil draping her body. Dried white flowers, rustling and dead sweet, are placed on her chest. Hands crossed over her chest. A figure in hooded cloaked black looms over her.

 She squirms. She tries to bat them away. Tries to twist out their reach of these monsters. She calls and begs them, but to no avail. Cold splashed on her again. On her brow and on the back of her neck. She sighs and gladly welcomes it.

 A low melodic buzz murmurs in her ears like a thousand bees zipping and bobbing about her head. She can’t understand what it is. But it’s somehow a nice sound to listen too.

 It causes a gentle hum to seep into her aching bones and calms her heavy head. It’s like a balm. Salve on a wound. She doesn’t realise that it’s Kylo talking to her.

 When the fire in the hearth across the room crackled and spit sparks up the chimney, it felt like splits opened in her skin, forming like cracks in stone, and insects crawled out. Black scurrying beetles, She started itching at her arms. Clawing. But nothing was there.

 The cold soothe of her harbinger of peace is there to hold her hands and stop her nails raking her flesh away.

 More voices move around her. Tumbling around the air in the room. Cracking and snapping like zapping silver lightning and thunder. The mumbling grows in volume. Slithering along her spine. One of her arms feels like it’s been left in ice water - it’s where he’s holding and kissing her. Begging her to fight it. Pleading with her.

 She’s so tired. So wrung out. She just wants all this pain and fevered madness to stop. She’s soaked through to the sheets and her skeleton grates with ringing hot agony whenever she dares to move. She’d cry if her brain would grant her that meagre request.

 Her lungs have worsened. She knows it. Filled and clogged with dry sand, and salt. Sluggish and wet like a briny beach. It rattles when she breathes, and something she can’t name dribbled out her mouth. Drooling onto the pillow. She doesn’t know that it’s blood.

 She only knows that she’d quite like to fall away to her fever dreams and never come back.

 Iris so wants the lingering darkness to take her.

 However, one tiny shred of her feels cheated; she would’ve so liked to kiss Lord Ren again. One last time. The nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. She’d have liked to have tasted his kiss and drown in his loving attentions just one more time. Just one.

 It didn’t seem like a lot to ask of fate. Seeing the crummy hand it had dealt her in her wretched little life, thus far.

 Time passes. She’s not sure if it’s seconds, or minutes. For all she knows she may only have been lying insensate for an hour. Or it may have been days. Weeks. She can’t focus. She could have been lying stretched out there for Methuselah’s lifetime. She’s none the wiser.

 Then something else happens, something unexpected. Something wet is pushed past her lips. Only it isn’t water. And it isn’t the bitter saffron alkaline of laudanum.

 She doesn’t recognise this taste; it’s salty sweet. Hot metallic, and a blend of sour-saccharine burst. She doesn’t recognise it. It’s not unpleasant. But it’s not what she’d describe as palatable.

 She tries to twist. But her head is thumping and those flames are curling at her toes again.

 And then some distinctly odd things begin to happen. Even more odd than demon dreams or the bugs crawling out crevices in her skin.

 Where she swallows, the substance dropped in her mouth starts rolling down her throat. Carving away the pain in its path.

 Before long it reaches her swollen lungs. Slowly. One by one, each knife and needle, shard of glass, spear and lance is dragged out of her. Pulled away. Tugged out her pinching flesh. Relaxing her ribs.

 Gradually, all her pain lessens. Stickiness in her lungs, grating of her shallow heavy bones. It all fades. Agony slowly dies like a starved candle flame.

 The unknown liquid rolls through her like milk and crushed honeycomb. Ambrosia nectar. It tastes like gold. Like sunshine warming her bare skin after feeling nothing for months, but cutting winter frost.

 Fever dreams start to come back in full force. And they feel more real than before.

 She opens her eyes and there’s suddenly snow. It’s cold. It’s so very cold she’s shivering. Standing there, looking around a milky snow blotted forest.

 The trees around her reach vast, thick and tall. Trunks wider than her body. She cranes her head and she can’t even judge the tops of them. It’s just foggy grey up above. Heavy snowfall closing in.

 But all around her there are splotches of dark seeping in the snow. Dark jagged shapes lay misshapen in the thick thick icy drift.

 She feels it all. The squishing shift of the powder beneath her feet. Cold little stings of flakes melt onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Turning to tears that rain dewdrops down her skin. Her breath spirits silver out her mouth.

 There’s no stars up in heaven. No moon. Not tonight. Nothing to cast over this glum gloom and darkness.

 Noises patter and clang in the distance. Metal scrapes and hollow clashes. She peers around her and that’s when she comes to realise what all those shapes are...

 Bodies.

 Laying dead and still in the snow. As far as her eye can see. Men lay broken and scattered across the forest floor. Clad in simple dark armour. All wearing the same crimson coat of arms: blood and death litters them. That is their uniform.

 Crimson is still shimmering down the bark. Splashed there from the slash of swords across parts of anatomy she didn’t want to think about. She cannot imagine how her brain can conjure up such carnage. Such mayhem and suffering.

 Seeing a thousand, or more, dead men, pulled and carved to pieces. Violently separated from limbs, or heads or legs. Bleeding into the snow. Slumped sat against trees or piled on each other. Some studded with arrows. Some not.

 Splayed where they’ve fallen. Viscera exposed, stubby limbs chopped in half. Throat slit. Holes punched in their chests and bloodied organs tumbled out. Some men held it in their arms like dirty washing. It’s an awful thing to witness. Such savagery.

 What kind of beast could cause this? Could leave men dying and dead in this horrific way?

 She scans around. Unable to fathom it. These poor souls. Mouths gaping. Eyes wide and staring, unseeing, at the clouded heavens. Like sticky pearls shimmering in the dark. Death hadn’t been long in taking them. The blood leaving them is still warm. She can feel the blaze of it under her feet. Melting the snow.

 She sees no movement in the trees. Save for the snow heading down from high above. Settling like natures own confetti on all these fallen soldiers. Weeping over them, yet nothing else can be done but show them to their graves.

 Then she does make out something.

 A tall, lean, and strong figure moves through the trees away from her. Strong trunks of long legs. Sinewed arms. Even in his dazzling armour. Slender. So slender and elegant for a man. Most men lumbered. This one practically glided.

 Though he is scarcely standing out amongst them. Silver and white. Clad in brilliantly kept armour. The only thing that stands clear is the crimson splattered across this soldiers body. Gleaming down his silver armour. He comes to a standstill.

 If he was the last man standing; she suddenly realises with horror exactly what that means in odes to all the death surrounding them.

 She moves slowly towards this destination. Somehow desperate for a look. In the dim, she steps carefully and slow over the slaughter of mangled bodies and crimson hot snow. He has his back to her. Now she can’t see his face.

 She crosses this battlefield. Comes closer and closer. As if stalking a cautious stag.

 He was devastating in his height. Lean but not a man to be mistaken as being powerless. A long bloodied sword drips from his left hand. Even in this suffocating slim darkness, the curtain of white hair spilling long down his back is entirely obvious. Like a silk curtain. It’s braided too. Twisted into intricate plaits. Fixed with silver cuffs and wound with jewellery.

 There are silver coiled serpent decorations wound around some of his braids. They gleam in the night like far off stars. He moves as devastating as a supernova.

 If his hair moves like silk, so does he. Movements so supple yet languid. Certain. A great degree of confidence.

 He turns his head. She hopes to catch a glance of his profile. Wanting to see if his face is as handsome as his hair, or his impressive built frame.

 She’s curious. Somehow this is familiar for her; this white haired stranger.

 He turned only a fraction. Not enough for to show her anything. Not his face. Not his eyes. Though it seemed he was looking in her direction. She’s been caught.

 She freezes entirely and a smooth voice dances like honey wine and satin across the butchered dead and the snow.

 “Go back to him. Little spark. He’s waiting for you.... this isn’t how we meet.” He tells her.

 She cannot contest. She can’t even fight. Or speak. White fog swallows her up. Clouds her eyes. The blood and the soldiers and the snow falls away. Like she’s being dropped out of a white haze and sent tumbling down to mushy blackness. Spat out of heaven.

 She falls. Jolts. Her heart leaps in her chest as adrenaline spikes through her body. She gasps...

 And then, miraculously, she finally wakes.

  ~

   She stumbles back to life with a rattling gasp. Kylo didn’t even hear it. It was nearly ten at night. He’s sat by the fire in his bedchamber, watching the logs within crackle and sinking and burning to amber and ash. Unaware that she’d opened her eyes until;

 “Kylo?” Comes a weak little voice from the bed. Her voice.

 He stands and turns so fast his head swims. “Dove?”

 He strides so quick for the bed it makes her dizzy. He frets about stupid things, like the fact he hasn’t washed and shaved. He’s been too occupied in his avowed duty of sitting and watching over her sickbed.

 He kneels by her side. Happily cups the cheek closest to him. Her eyes are clear, hooded, but clear. No longer shimmering bright with fever. And her cheeks have calmed. Less glaring red heat, now just a kiss of pink.

 He places his knuckles on her forehead and had never been more relieved to feel her cooled. She shuts her eyes and smiles. Appreciating his touch. Savouring it.

 “My god. I thought I’d lose you.” He insists quietly when she opens her eyes again. He takes her dear sweet hand and kisses it.

 She takes a lot of energy to swallow and unsticks her dry cracked lips to answer him. Smiling. “Might I trouble you for some water?” She croaks. Her voice a strained crackle bleeding out her throat.

 He pours it himself. Hands it to her. Helps her sit up a little and tip the glass to her parched rosebud lips. She takes dainty gulps of it. Drains the glass and has enough. It’s not overly cool, but Iris swears it’s the best thing she’s ever drunk.

 He mops her brow again when she’s finished. Wipes the wet coils of hair away off her brow. It feels awfully nice and even though it’s shockingly intimate. She relaxes back onto the damp pillows and lets him comfort her.

 “How long was I?-” She seeks.

 “Two days, little dove.” He tells her gently. Placing the linen cloth down where it belongs. She swallows again. Refinding her lost voice. “It’s almost eleven at night.” He answers.

 “I’m afraid I’ve been a dreadful imposition on you.” She starts. Picking nervously at the covers.

 Kylo’s smiling again. Yesterday everything had been so grim he thought he’d never crack a grin ever again.

 “Think nothing of it. I’m merely happy to see you so well recovered.” He says as he squeezes her hand tighter.

 She casts her eyes for a second over the way his chin is flecked in onyx stubble. The way shadows linger under his eyes like heavy saddle bags. His hair doesn’t look unkempt. But his shirt is rumpled and faded cologne lingers around him. He’s been worried about her, than his appearance.

 “You need rest and sustenance. Fevers leave you weak. So I’m told.” He reaches for the head of the bed and pulls the bell cord. The hidden crimson panel of fabric that called down to the kitchens.

 “I wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea.” She sighs weakly. Beaming gently. No self respecting English woman would dare seek after anything else so fortifying.

 “I imagine my housekeeper will furnish you with a banquet.” He suggests.

 “How do you feel?” He seeks. It hasn’t escaped her notice his hand still twines through her own. It feels awfully nice. Cold. But not repulsive. She felt his touch even in her fevered state. It’s calming.

 “Like I’ve been kicked by a horse.” She sleepily admits.

 “Jomar said the affliction was on your lungs from the sound of your breathing. Do you need anything for pain?” He asks.

 “I Thank you. I am well. I cannot deny the fever was.., draining. But, it was the vivid nature of the dreams I couldn’t stand. It all felt so, real.” She confesses.

 “Delirium can be an odd beast.” Kylo agrees. He’s suffered blood delirium before. And that was like his own skin trying to willingly crawl off his own bones. It was beyond dreadful.

 “The most odd one was... wandering through a forest. After a battle, I think it was. Horrible. Such death and slaughter. And then I saw this man through the trees. A tall man in silver armour...”

 Kylo’s eyes are glistening dark. She carries on.

 “He spoke out to me. I could never forget his voice it was-“ She searches for a word. “Melodic. Nearly. Utterly enchanting. And he had this hair, very long hair. It looked like white silk.” She explains.

 “What did he say to you?” Kylo’s asking. Knowing full well what she saw.

 “Told me that someone was waiting- And it... wasn’t how I would meet him?....” she declares. Finding the whole thing bizarre. Then again; what sense could be made out of perplexing dreams?

 She looks bewildered. But Kylo knows the truth in it. He knows the various demons and reasons behind her channeled thoughts. His blood had taken its toll too.

 “Dreams are confusing at the best of times.” He states in comfort. She nods in agreement. But she looks like she barely has the strength to hold up her own head.

 She clasps his hand back. Her fingers and little strength she possessed, held onto him. “I’m very glad you were here.”

 “I’m always there for you. Iris. And I always shall be.” He promises.

 “What I did, scampering out into the rain like that. It was so foolish of me. And I don’t like to think of myself as acting like a fool.” She starts.

 “I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. But I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t want to leave this earth - without kissing you one more time.” She explains.

 “I know I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t even think it.” She swallows weakly.

 Twines her fingers through his. Clutches onto him all the more. Showing him the depth of her affection that she had always smothered deep down. She doesn’t want to suffocate it anymore.

 Kylo sees the wet of tears in her eyes.

 “I’m very glad of your improprietous wishes. They well reflect my own.” He admits. Kissing the back of her hand. He wouldn’t throw himself and his passions upon her whilst she’s recovering in a sick bed. He’s not that much of a letch.

 The door creaks open across his chamber and Jomar is the one to answer his summons. Kylo twists around where he is knelt. And when his butler sees his smile, and the calm of his expression. He hears his sigh all the way across from the door.

 “Might Miss Ashton have a tray of tea and some of that broth Mrs Jones had cook prepare?” Kylo asks.

 Jomars smile lightened up the whole room. “I shall fill the kettle myself. Your Lordship.” He beams. It makes Iris smile wide too.

 “Thankyou. Mr Jomar. You’re very kind.” She rasps across to him. He nods a grateful smile.

 “Ever your attentive servant. Miss. You got his Lordship to crack a smile for the first time since the dark ages. I feel like we ought lay roses at your feet.” He insists.

 “Just the tea. For now.” Kylo reiterates.

 “And might I ask you keep an eye on Miss Ashton whilst I retire to my washroom for a moment?” He informs.

 “Yes of course. Your Lordship.” Jomar steps into the room and aside so Kylo may pass.

 He squeezes her hand in comfort before he slips away. Off to go shave and wash himself and redress in a clean pressed shirt. And new breeches and small clothes. He felt quite rumpled in his current dress.

 The kind butler lingers by the bed. Handing her some more water even though she hadn’t requested it. She needed it. He could tell.

 “You all like his Lordship a great deal...” She comments.

 Jomar can’t deny it.

 “We love him. Miss. Though he may be stubborn and pigheaded sometimes. And most think him to be arrogant or savage. We are, all of us, so very proud to serve his house and his title.” He insists with not so much as a hint of false note to his tone.

 “He depends on you a great deal. It’s nice to see a man and his butler on such friendly terms.” She states.

 “We do make fun of one another. But it is enjoyable in its own way. He teases me. I rib him. And demand a payrise if he steps too far over the line. I have to remind him of his place...” He jokes in detriment. It draws a laugh from her.

 “If I may speak candidly. Miss Ashton. And do censure me if it is above my place to say so; but he admires you a vast vast deal. In a way I have seldom seen of him.” He openly admits.

 Iris’ heart feels like it wants to burst. So crammed full of potent emotion. It made her chest glow warm.

 “I could never censure anyone for such a admission. Mr Jomar.” She gives him a wobbly smile so full of love. Moved by his plea.

 “And I feel you should also know he hasn’t left your side these past two days. Hasn’t left this room. He administered medicine. Water. All himself. He didn’t even take the time away to eat or bathe.”

 Her eyes water. “So you see? He really is the most stubborn man. I doubt he’d have let that illness take you either.”

 “Most stubborn.” She agrees. And she cries happily. Heart so bursting full at the seams, of love for him.

 Seeing how much his staff admire him. How he’s surrounded and inundated by people he warmly regards. How respect from either party cuts both ways.

 He’s the most honourable man she’s ever had the good fortune to meet. She can’t ever imagine how or why she had once considered Lord Ren a monster.

 For her heart is quite sold to him.

    ~  ~  🥀 ~  ~  

[dilrajwilhide1995]

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[al-mayriti]

CAYETANO - CAROLINA DURANTE

By request of the amazing @eskamtrash, today I’m gonna talk about probably the best thing that has happened to my country after Skam España and OT. The song is so amazing that after the lyrics of the song, I’m gonna put the translation of what they say in the subtitles in the video, bc they are priceless. 

I just wanna get into this so you can see how amazing it is, but first, you have to know this song is mocking a certain demography of Spain population we call “pijos”, think of them as kinda the British Tories: rich, daddy’s kids, really conservative, disguised (or not that disguised) fascists, that type of stuff. If you have watched Skam España, the guy that (spoiler) hit Lucas in the face was a “pijo”. Here are some “pijo” starter packs so you can get an idea of what to expect:

(the title is “Your name is Cayetano (hint hint) or Borja if...” and the things are: bulls and bullfighting; a group called “Taburete”; those shoes, we call them “náuticos”; I don’t know what that is; a university of Madrid called Ceu San Pablo; Ralph Lauren polos; Apple products; PP political party; the Pijo Look tm; that fucking wristband with the Spanish Flag holy shit)

(Title is “not from the right nor from the left , liberal” starter pack, the things are: Ciudadanos political party; Ibex 35 (the Spanish Dow Jones); the ABS newspaper; ForoCoches.com, an internet forum; I don’t know who that guy is; the sentence “each one pays what’s theirs”; The OK Diario newspaper, The Spanish flag with the phrase “proud of being Spaniard”, 13tv, a TV station; I don’t know drinks sorry; cocaine; the phrase “long live the king”; and an asshole called Álvaro Ojeda)

(title is “madrileño pijo starter pack”), and the things are: being a Real Madrid FC member; using a lot of hair gel; studying fucking Business and Law; iPhones; the fucking flag wristband again; being named Borja; that other type of pijo look TM; cocaine again (see a pattern?); the fascist political party VOX; those fucking shoes again; the university Francisco de Vitoria (or as we call it, the “Paquito”)

(title is “fascist in a party starter pack”: that’s the most basic pijo look tbh)

As someone who lives in one of the most pijo infested areas in all of Spain, I can confirm all said in these starter packs and in the song is real. Tbh, I even had the feeling I had been to the house of the Music Video when I was watching it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had filmed it near to where I live honestly.

Finally, before starting, last week’s song was really special to me, so if you haven’t seen it, here it is

So, Carolina Durante ( “Carolina During”????) is a relatively new band from Madrid, forming in 2017, and just starting to explode. They are kinda punk, and became famous with their song “Perdona (Ahora Sí que Sí)”, featuring the winner of OT 2017 and representative of Spain in Eurovision 2018, Amaia Romero, who’s dating the singer (the song even got to be in Skam España s2!!!) Right now they are working on their first album. The members are: Diego Ibáñez (singer), Martín Vallhonrat (bass), Juan Pedrayes (drums), and Mario del Valle (guitar). They are honestly amazing, and I like to think about them as the modern “Los Nikis”, an 80s band kinda like them, one day I’ll talk about their biggest hit, “El Imperio Contraataca”.

The song itself, “Cayetano”, is named like that for one of the most common and stereotypical names among the “pijos”, Cayetano / Cayetana, along with others like Borja, Mauro, Candela, Almudena, or María Jesús / María José. As I said, it talks about the pijos, and I think this song got me so bad because it talks about literally 90% of my classmates during school and high school, and I find that amazing.

So, let’s go with the lyrics, and below I’ll talk a bit about the music video and I’ll translate the subtitles!

Todos mis amigos se llaman Cayetano

All my friends are called Cayetano Zapatillas Pompeii, alguno tiene barco

Pompeii Sneakers (1), some of them have boats. Siempre tres botones desabrochados

Always three buttons undone Menudo pelazo, CEU San Pablo

Amazing hair, CEU San Pablo (2) Joder, como mola el verano

Fuck, how amazing the summer is Ibiza, Marbella, todos gaditanos

Ibiza, Marbella, we’re all from Cádiz (3) Ojo a mis amigas del voluntariado

Look out for my voluntary service friends  La finca en Segovia, el puestazo

The estate in Segovia, the great place (4)

Cayetano, Cayetano

Cayetano, Cayetano Todos mis amigos se llaman Cayetano

All of my friends are called Cayetano

Todos mis amigos se llaman Cayetano

All of my friends are called Cayetano No votan al PP, votan a Ciudadanos

They don’t vote for PP, they vote for Ciudadanos (5) Morat, Taburete, qué grupazos

Morat, Taburete, great groups (6) En sus conciertos cómo lo pasamos

In their concerts we go wild En las Big Four 100000 contactos

In the Big Four 100000 contacts (7) ¿Quieres entrar ahí? te recomendamos

Do yo want to get there? We recommend you Salir de fiesta, el reservado

Going out, to the reserved No pasa nada, está tó pagado

Don’t worry, it’s all paid

1. These are the shoes they are talking about

2. CEU San Pablo, along with the Francisco de Vitoria and Comillas, is the most “pijo” centric university. Needless to say, there are a lot of people who went to my school there. And also, fun fact, there’s a campus (I don’t know if it’s the only one) in my town, so yay 

3. Three typical pijo hotspot during summer, along with others like Dènia or Sanxenxo.

4. Segovia is the province directly north of Madrid. In the south for example, these kinds of estates are called “cortijos”, which has spawned the term “pijo cortijero”. This is a cortijo:

5. PP is a traditional right-wing party, while Ciudadanos is a new one, that claims to be liberal and in the center of the political spectrum, although it has repeatedly worked with PP and the new fascist party, VOX, and never with the left. Fun fact, PP, Ciudadanos and VOX are usually called the “trifachito” ( “the three little fascists”)

6. “Morat” and “Taburete” (specially the latter) are considered the favourite groups of the pijos (and its true tbh). If you want to here how they sound, listen to “Cómo te atreves a volver” from Morat and “Sirenas” from Taburete, their two greatest hits. I personally like some of their songs, but that’s it. Not a huge fan really.

7. I had to look this up but, according to Wikipedia, the “Big 4″ are the top biggest accounting firms in the world.

And now, onto the music video. It parodies one of those programs where they visit other people homes, mostly because they are eccentric, or really luxurious, or weird, etc etc, and the singer is basically showing them their house, the typical pijo house. Here is what the subtitles say throughout the video:

(intro with no subs): “Sorry for being late, guys, I was in an important meeting. Well, let’s go inside and I show you the little hut, no? Let’s go!”

(subs start):

“Well then... this would be the house of Carolina Durante, the group. We are here in an artistic retreat preparing the new album, the first one. And here... the afternoon snack [”merienda”]. Well, if it isn’t my friend Mariajo! [Mariajo is the short form of María José]. Come on, beautiful, everybody is over there. And this is the Hall, where the important visits come from”. (Cayetano trying to impress the girl) (Cayetana is oblivious)

“Santi [short form of Santiago] is like part of the family, he is one more. Right, Santi? And that, Santi? What’s that?” (Santi): I’m sorry sir. “This is fucking incredible. Fuck Santi... Fucking incredible. Well... come in, let’s go. Fuck, shit... Well, now silence, that Carolina Durante is rehearsing, let’s go”. (Amazing solo)

Cayetana: Play “Sirenas” [as I’ve said before, “Taburete”’s biggest hit].

“Well, here is when the visit ends. It was a pleasure, I hope you had a great time. See you soon”.

I hope you laughed and enjoyed it as much as I did, and hope you liked it!!!

[mattmercerisgod]

what's the headcannon

Okay but can you imagine being an NPC in the world of Vox Machina. Like, maybe you're an isolated farmer or something and you're whole town gets fucking vored by dragons, but since you live outside of the town you're safe. And you just watch as these dragons start to infest the empty town and the surrounding area, and you're scared to stay but don't have the means to leave. And one day, maybe years after the initial incident, you're out farming when a dragon swoops overhead and it spots you, and that's it, you're fucking dead, but then.

Then. A fucking tiny little white thing gets hurled at it, and it lands next to you and holy shit that's a person and there's more of them, one of them is on a broom and the other has wings holy shit you're all going to die. And then they beat the fucking dragon and turn to you to ask you if you wanted any of it's scales. And you just stare at them and kind of follow dumbly behind as they leave the town.

And because you're stupid and broke and because your house burned down in the chaos you follow them and get killed, maimed, or eaten too many times for your simplistic neutral good sensibilities to handle. And maybe it comes to a head at some point, or Vox Machina does something really fucking dumb, and you just can't take it anymore.

So you hightail it the fuck out of there like a sensible person and get to a town far away from them. And it's fine and dandy because the innkeeper is mildly sympathetic. It's great, really, until you're talking to the librarian and he just, stops. Blinks at you. walks away. and you ask around about his deal but all you learn is that he's new in town but so are you

The next evening the guy comes up to you at the tavern with a story, and he tells you how his sister fought valiantly with Vox Machina and got herself killed by a fucking succubus or something. And your heart goes out to the guy and you share stories and it turns out you both have a lot in common so you decide that hey, it's cheaper to share a room.

You both talk and decide to go to Emon to try and find work and maybe help with the rebuilding (but the gold definitely wouldn't hurt). You gather up your meagre belongings for the journey and start to make your way, both of you praying that you never again cross paths with Vox Machina again.

Somewhere along the line you become really close friends with the guy and trade stories over the fire about the mighty and disastrous Vox Machina. You laugh, and you cry, and you bond quite a bit.

And one morning you wake up to the guy laughing with a woman, and he introduces you to the woman with wonder in his eyes and it's his sister, she's been revived by the tiny white child, apparently she's a cleric and not just a living cannonball.

So you keep traveling towards Emon and you're a little hesitant about this new chick because due to recent events (read: Vox Machina) you've learned to be a little wary of people.

But one night you and her are on watch and the guy is asleep and you're staring at the fire all dramatic-like and she just slams a fist down on her open palm.

"I've got it," she goes and you look at her kinda funny because uh, what?

Some confused noise must escape you because she turns to you from the log she's sitting on and smiles.

"We should start a support group," she says with a swig of her flask. And okay, that's not technically the weirdest thing she's ever said, but uh, what?

"Support group?" you ask. "For what?"

She eyes you disbelievingly. "'For what,'" she mimics, rolling her eyes. "For surviving Vox Machina, that's what."

You roll your eyes and laugh, but for some reason the idea sticks. You're all deeply fucked up from Vox Machina (good though they might be, trauma isn't inherently evil so it really only makes sense that they'd cause some), why not be fucked up together?

Eventually you and your dude friend and his sister decide to go through the steps to make it official. The sister even becomes a liscensed psychologist. "I knew I got that degree for something," she'd say over a bottle of wine, laughing near-hysterically.

And finally, after far too much trekking, the three of you make it to Emon. And the place is a disaster, most people gone and the few remaining trying to rebuild and recover what they can.

You sigh, and make youway towards the inn. Along the way, the three of you stumble across a child trapped under a piece of a fallen building. She's screaming for help and you're not sure you want to lend it but then you see the blood pooling around her face and the "good" part of your classification kicks into gear. You and your two friends join forces and drag the child out of the rubble and to the nearest group of people. They're a group of search-and-rescuers, it turns out, and they hire you on the spot.

Can you image the look of horror on your own face as you pull out pieces of charred and crushed limbs or, Istus forbid, an entire corpse. The work itself is grueling, and along with the trauma it only takes you three a couple of days before you decide it just isn't worth it.

So you leave quietly, simply telling your boss of your resignation on the last day. You all go together, for good measure. But your boss doesn't yell or demand payment or anything. He just sighs and invites the three of you for a drink. He tells you about his family, a little girl and a little boy and his blind wife, who didn't make it. He drones about his neighbors and the butcher who's son ran away for dreams of heroics. You all listen because it's the polite thing to do and your friend only falls asleep a little throughout the story.

Then he gets to the darker bits. He tells you about a woman who came through who said the dragons were sent by a dark and sinister group. A group called Vox Machina.

The sister laughs before you can respond. She chuckles and giggles and heaves. Then, when she wipes the tears from her eyes, she looks your (ex-) boss right in the face and tells him no.

"Vox Machina did a lot of shit to the world. Did a lot of shit to me, too. But this?" She gestures over to a fallen schoolhouse. "I bet my life they didn't do this."

You find yourself nodding. "They were fighting dragons at my village. Don't know what'd make them do this."

The man looks unsure of himself. He looks young, despite the lines of worry and fear driven into his face and he looks so, so lost.

"Hey," you start to say, because you're stupid. "Why don't you come with us?"

He sighs. "I have a dog. Used to be my wife's service dog, that Clover. I can't leave her here, but she's only got three legs."

Your friend perks up. "I love dogs. We can take her... And you, of course."

And that's how you, your friend, your friend's sister, your ex-boss, and his dog named Clover decide to go to Whitestone.

"Why Whitestone?" you ask when your boss suggests it.

"It's where those bumbling buffoons are based," he goes, and he can only mean Vox Machina. "We'll learn the truth and have more people to join," he says, because obviously you've let him in on the support group. (Clover is an honorary member and a therapy animal.)

So you trek there and only almost die getting there twice (which is a new low-record).

Whitestone is...perfect. It's strong, firmly built, tall but not loomy, and it rinds you of the town you used to live by. Of the town you used to live in.

And there are dozens of new members. The librarians have there own Vox Machina support club that your friend gladly joins, the guard has one too, and you take in at least ten new members every day for the first week. Long story, short story, Vox Machina are pretty good at fucking people up.

Your old boss, for his part, finds his answers in the form of a young blonde boy who sighs at the questions of Vox Machina's morals. He sighs and lays his head against the doorframe, looking far too tired for his age.

"I.. My father used to be a butcher, down in Emon," he starts and you all pause. None of you have told anyone about your work in Emon or the story about the heroic butcher's son. Because of this, you listen, and you hear the horrors of Anna Ripley and the betrayal of the young blonde soldier.

That night, Kynan Leore becomes a member.

It's only a week later that the people tell you. One of the lower-class merchants who lost an eye in the protests of the Briarwoods, looks at your flyer for the group and shakes her head.

"It's not that it ain't a great idea, hon. Bit you gotta know it ain't smart, making a club for that when the ruler of Whitestone is who she is."

Shit. You ask her and learn with slowly dawning horror the identity of one Lady Cassandra, sister to Percival de Rolo, the gunslinger of Vox Machina. Fuck. You are unbelievably screwed.

You talk to your crew and you all contemplate leaving but eventually you decide to stay. Still, you live in fear of the day you meet Cassandra Johanna von Mussel Klossowski de Rolo and you avoid anywhere near the castle grounds like it's got Vox Machina in it - which, considering the Lady de Rolo's family, it just might.

Eventually, it all comes to a head.

Maybe it's because an employee of the castle wants to meet but can only do so on the job, but for whatever reason, you have to go to the castle and no one else can make it. So you go, hesitant and beyond terrified of the Lady of the House of Whitestone, and you talk to the servant and maybe they join and you see Kynan Leore on the way out and you start up a conversation and then he looks behind you and pales a little and

"Kynan. Is this one of the people you were telling me about?" someone, definitely female, asks, and Kynan looks so apologetic and you're suddenly certain that this is Cassandra de Rolo, and that's it, you're all dead, you survived the dragons but you can't survive the vehement sister.

You turn around slowly.

It is Cassandra de Rolo, and she's...actually younger than you'd thought. Far younger, but just as terrifying. She leads you firmly to a seat and you, Kynan, and her all sit down for a cup of tea.

You're shaking in your boots. This isn't a game, like it might've been in the beginning. You could get killed for your group, and you can't help but feel that'd be a stupid way to die.

Eventually, after much hesitation, the Ruler of Whitestone lowers her cup, looks you dead in the eye, and sighs a long sigh.

"I hate to ask this," she starts, and this is it, you're done for, and oh fuck your friends are gonna be so mad, Clover's gonna kick your ass so hard with all three of her legs oh fuck

"But, I heard about you all from Kynan, and... Well, are you still accepting new members?"

And yes, yes you are.

[reliquiaen]

@p-o-n-i   Omg have you actually played the game?!! If you have, how is it?    

tl;dr: YOU ARE DAMN RIGHT I PLAYED IT AND LOVED IT???? it gets my vote for game of the year okay it’s 12/10, will play again many times and recommend to everyone i know. i have already talked at least two people into if not buying and playing it themselves at LEAST watching a playthrough of it okay this game is fantastic.

long rambling review (but it could’ve been much longer ur welcome), enjoy:

(not perfect, we could have some poc up in here thanks)

that’s like. my only nitpick though. listen. LISTEN. these kids are amazing and wonderful i would DIE for them. amicia de rune? badass. dorky. absolutely useless for someone who learns how to survive in a world out to kill her all on her own. she’s trying SO HARD to be a good big sister and i LOVE that. hugo de rune? precious cinnamon roll boy. i will protect him with my life. Pure™ Adorable™ the only boy i love with my whole entire heart. just let him play with frogs and butterflies forever thanks. arthur and melie? i mean cmon. what’s not to love about them? arthur makes things BLOW UP. pair of idiots and i support them. lucas? absolute nerd lad. gets SO excited about books alright he’s super relatable.

good story, we get plot twists and information with amicia and it’s all portioned out at just the right rate that you’re there going huh what’s happening but you’re not excluded from the narrative so you feel lost and frustrated. A+ character development for all of them. they none of them know each other at the start and they’re like well okay i guess it’s safety in numbers? and then they start to hang out more and it’s so nice to watch them move from strangers to friends like just. a lot of the really good interactions are a bit spoilery so i won’t mention any just trust me okay. melie turns into this ride or die kinda pal and it’s awesome. lucas has been adopted he’s now an honourary de rune no i’m not accepting criticism.

villains with solid logic behind their actions? got you covered. (also nicholas has some SUPER COOL armour like dang son he was asked what he wanted to wear to abduct children and he said THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES he’s a go hard kinda guy and i respect that) it’s character focused, narrative driven and you CAN play quite a significant portion of the game without killing anyone. that gets harder/impossible towards the end but by that point i was out here like listen fuck you french bastards you lay ONE STINKING HAND on my precious brother and i will FUCK YOU UP SO HARD. JUST TRY IT PAL. so it wasn’t so bad really like i felt justified and alright about making a 15 yr old kill a bunch of dudes bc fuck them. (you will end up emotionally invested in hugo well before the end i mean this kid is now in control of your emotions there’s no escaping that good luck also you can play hide and seek with him askjdf;alskjdg)

there are also some really cool little puzzles/optional ways to play certain sections re: murder hoboing your way through the french inquisition and it’s awesome. like DO you have amicia kill these dudes just bc? does she sacrifice all of her humanity and become just like them? does she have it in her to show mercy to these assholes who DID murder their way through her house and family? WHAT TOLL DOES THIS HAVE ON ACTUAL CHILD AMICIA DE RUNE AND HER INFANT BROTHER? CONSIDER THE TRAUMA. it’s good. so good ;u;

there are a bunch of collectibles, but they’re not like assassin’s creed feather collectibles, these are. omg these are so good. one of them provides actual useful resources, another appears in the castle and they all come with cute lil comments from amicia about who would like them and why she’s picking them up. some she DOESNT pick up thank god, but have lil bits of info about the world and what’s going on (which is mad good) and the other characters often have smth to add (the book at the end and melie’s all ‘they have a MANUAL for this shit’ god i love that girl sm). and then there’s the flowers. omg the flowers. ;u; hugo puts them in amicia’s hair and it’s the PUREST animation i’ve EVER seen. just. a single clip of them picking up a flower right there that’s it that alone wins best game award for me like omg.

one warning: the dog does die. and so do A LOT of other animals. including an entire field of slaughtered pigs??? it’s a bit gross. no sorry it’s A LOT gross. but it’s omg so worth it. i’m a squeamish person but man. MAN. SO WORTH IT. i should be here talking about how grotesque some places are (walls made of rat slime and skeletons?? ick RATNADO?) but listen. it’s FINE. it’s like. you get these really picturesque french landscapes and gorgeous overgrown ruins and then there are areas a lot like that but with slime slapped over the top and also intestines. pack some tissues, brace your stomachs and go explore rat infested France!

[zrtranscripts]

Season 8, Mission 17: Red Right Hand

Worth Dyeing For?

~

AMELIA SPENS: Janine, you do look dreadful.

JANINE DE LUCA: I'm perfectly able to participate in this mission, Miss Spens. The nanite control box was smashed, and the scientists on Dearg aren't answering our messages. But in the absence of a cure, I refuse to surrender to my illness.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh goodness, I wasn't suggesting you retire to bed. We need you on this mission. I was merely suggesting a little concealer might be in order? No one suits that "just climbed out of my death bed" pallor.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: For goodness sake, lass, have a little tact!

JANINE DE LUCA: You needn't concern yourself with Miss Spens' manner, Chief Macallan. Five and I are quite used to it.

AMELIA SPENS: And it's not lass, if you don't mind. It's Prime Minister.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: We don't recognize the authority of the British government here!

AMELIA SPENS: But I'm sure you recognize the authority of a fully-armed nuclear submarine parked off your coast. Besides, you lot are in no position to complain after the mess you've made of the mainland. There are red fungus infestations on beaches all down the west coast.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: That's got nae to do with us.

AMELIA SPENS: The fungal seed pods were carried on currents from this island and they left here on the day your people arrived, Janine. We burned most of them out before they could get a foothold, but Bangor was swamped before we knew it. [sighs] If I hadn't kept a burn cube aside for a special occasion, we could have lost the whole of Wales! And you lost the Edda, the only thing that might help us understand how to fight the fungus.

JANINE DE LUCA: We believe Jones may have had some help from someone on the island. That may be who has the Edda now.

AMELIA SPENS: And tracking down that someone will be my next priority. But first, we must discover the source of the red fungus. My sub has released a dye north of Mor Island into the same current that carried the seed pods to the mainland. If we follow the dye on the tide, we can locate the origin.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: I can see it. A bright green stain on the waves.

AMELIA SPENS: What are we waiting for? Let's go.

~

DUNCAN MACALLAN: The green dye doesn't seem to be putting into land. It's following the curve of the shore. This could be a long run.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm sorry, are we inconveniencing you, Chief? Did you have something better to do with your day than save the entire United Kingdom? Maybe there's some minor theft or trespass that needs investigating?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: You were the one who wanted me to come on this run, if you remember.

AMELIA SPENS: For your local knowledge, not your stimulating conversation. You should take a leaf out of Five's book. Never a wasted word.

JANINE DE LUCA: Chief Macallan, did you tell anyone else where we were going?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: No. Uh, why would I?

JANINE DE LUCA: Because there's a figure on the moorland to our left, watching us. Miss Spens, my eyesight is not what it was. Can you describe what you see?

AMELIA SPENS: I can't make out much. The gray of their coat blends into the sky and the rocks behind them. I can see a broad purple stripe down the front. They have their hood pulled up to cover their face.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Oh my Lord. A skincoat!

AMELIA SPENS: I beg your pardon?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: That's what they call the coat they're wearing. I haven't seen them for a long time. They were fishermen's coats originally, oiled with caraway to keep out the water. That's what gives them that pale green color.

JANINE DE LUCA: And the purple stripe?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, well, that's something else. The skincoat came to be a badge of office, you see, for those chosen to guard the island and its ways, the role of the coats passed down through families. It was all done away with when we appointed a modern police force.

AMELIA SPENS: Modern-ish.

JANINE DE LUCA: So what does it mean that someone's wearing one today, and watching us?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Ach, I'd hoped it was just talk. Every since your torpedo uncovered the old sculpture, Prime Minister, some people have been saying it's a sign, a calling back to the old ways.

AMELIA SPENS: Why do the old ways always sound so sinister?

JANINE DE LUCA: It needn't necessarily be – oh. The person in the skincoat, they're gone. I didn't see them leave. Did you, Five?

AMELIA SPENS: Well, if they want to dress up in silly clothes and lurk about looking spooky, that's all very well. But we've got more important things to worry about. The leading edge of the dye is drawing ahead of us. We can't let it out of sight. Chop chop!

~

AMELIA SPENS: The dye's leading us around another dreary, rock-strewn headland. How delightful. It escapes me why anyone would choose to live here.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: This place is in our blood. We've tended it for centuries and it's kept us safe. At least until you outsiders came along. No offense, Janine. But we did fine when we kept to ourselves and our old ways.

AMELIA SPENS: You kept yourself safe by sending your murderers off to kill people on the mainland.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, well, Jones never fitted in here.

AMELIA SPENS: And yet he seems obsessed with the island and its traditions.

JANINE DE LUCA: He was quite fixated on this king of the rocks ceremony of yours.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: "When gale blows and the moon shines, then gather at the silver pools. Swing around the rocks that stand. Give fruit to the sea to bless the land."

AMELIA SPENS: What?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: It's a rhyme about the king of the rocks. Bairns here learn it at their mother's breast. It explains how to do the ceremony. Gather at the rock pools on the night of the full moon. Pull the three standing stones upright if they've toppled, and dance around them. Then throw fruit from the cliffs into the ocean. In some ways, the king of the rocks is Mor Island. It's no wonder Jones was obsessed. It was the only piece of home he could keep with him.

JANINE DE LUCA: That, and the Edda.

AMELIA SPENS: I've had a team of the very best Norse scholars searching for sources on the missing fragment that Jones stole. We found a line drawing of the outside of the document. It's bound in white lamb leather embedded with rubies. Not the sort of thing that someone could hide in plain sight.

JANINE DE LUCA: I gather your men are conducting house to house searches?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Which isnae going down too well.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm supremely uninterested in the islanders' delicate sensibilities. The Edda and the fungus, these are the only things that matter.

JANINE DE LUCA: We're one step closer to locating the fungus. The stream of dye is moving shoreward at last. Quick, we mustn't lose sight of it.

~

AMELIA SPENS: You were right, Janine. The dye-stained waters are near to making landfall. We're very close to the source of the red fungus, and once my men have located the Edda, I can leave you people in peace. Not to say tedium.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: What about Janine's cure? I thought she was a friend of yours.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Janine will be just fine. The scientists will find a way to fix that nanite machine for her, or Five here will perform some last-minute death-defying rescue. You don't know the residents of Abel the way I do, Chief. They're annoyingly resilient.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Is that a note of respect I hear?

AMELIA SPENS: Heaven forfend.

JANINE DE LUCA: Look! The dye is heading for that cave mouth.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: There's a disturbance in the water near the shore, can you see? It's churning like crazy!

[water splashes, zombies growl]

JANINE DE LUCA: Zombies, two of them. Probably stragglers from Jones' invasion force.

AMELIA SPENS: We can't let them cut us off from the cave mouth. It will be a month before we can conduct this experiment again.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then we will need to run.

~

[zombies growl]

DUNCAN MACALLAN: The zoms are still on our tail.

AMELIA SPENS: Can't you do something about them, Five? Lead them off down a side tunnel or something?

JANINE DE LUCA: These caves are a maze, Miss Spens. Five could become entirely lost.

AMELIA SPENS: But on the plus side, so could the zoms. Oh, they look awful covered in that green dye, as if someone's toy soldiers came to life and then started rotting.

JANINE DE LUCA: Look up on that ledge. It's very high, but isn't that a skincoat, Chief Macallan?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye.

AMELIA SPENS: Just standing there watching us. You! What do you think you're doing?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Gone again. Just faded back into the wall. Oh, this is troubling. The skincoats did keep justice here, but their idea of justice was often rough. Torture, and hunting men across the islands. I dinna like that someone wants to bring those traditions back.

JANINE DE LUCA: How did they get here before us? Ours was the most direct route, and we've been keeping a good pace!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: There could be more than one. Traditionally, there were nine skincoats. Nine guardians for the island.

JANINE DE LUCA: We've bigger things to worry about. The dye-filled stream is heading westward into that side tunnel. We must follow before we lose it.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: And before the zoms catch us!

~

AMELIA SPENS: I can't hear the zombies. Have we lost them?

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps they find these caverns as confusing as we do. Wait. I do recognize this cave. It's where you located Jones' original camp, Five.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: And look, we've reached our destination. The green dye is sinking into a borehole in the center, but I don't see any signs of your red fungus, Prime Minister.

JANINE DE LUCA: Five, help me to quarter the area. We must conduct a thorough search.

AMELIA SPENS: No need. Look up!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: At the cave roof? There's nothing up there but island pomegranates.

AMELIA SPENS: Those aren't pomegranates, they're seed pods. Can't you see the way the four leaves are folded open?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, I suppose. So what?

AMELIA SPENS: So that is the source of the fungal infection, you moron. There were pictures of those things in the Edda. The fungal spores were held inside.

JANINE DE LUCA: Five, didn't you say that Jones had a fire burning here when you found him? Perhaps the heat caused the pods to ripen.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Oh. I suppose that explains why the Dearg scientists were so interested in them. They took some away for study years ago. I remember it because we all laughed at them in their hazmat suits, acting like the wee small things were dangerous when we'd had them on the island as long as anyone could remember.

JANINE DE LUCA: Do you mean to say these fungal pods are found in more than one location on the island?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: They're scattered about in the caves. No one paid them any mind.

AMELIA SPENS: And the scientists from Dearg were studying them years ago, before the zombie apocalypse?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, I think so.

AMELIA SPENS: Janine, your cure has become a lot more of a priority. Or should I say cover story. You need to go to Dearg immediately.

JANINE DE LUCA: They may not let us in. They've been refusing to respond to our comms requests.

AMELIA SPENS: Then you'll just have to find a way in without their help. We need to know what they're doing with the pods and why, and we must find out where the rest are located! [sighs] I suppose I'll be staying on this godforsaken rock longer than anticipated, or at least in my stateroom on the Undaunted. If we can't find and eradicate all the red fungus, the mainland will never be safe.

~

[blizzweirdo]

No Omen, No Country’s Cause Ch. 6

All right! So now we’re back from our flashback just in time to see the Umojan Navy rally to help the new Terran Republic and Tarsonis against the UED and Stukov’s forces. However, something’s not quite right, and the Umojan Navy must learn the truth behind Stukov’s actions.

As always, this chapter is also available on FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad.

If you submitted a name, look for it in this chapter! I think I added four or five from both public and private submissions. Thanks for your help!

Also, I lied... It’s not that late. Welcome to the longest chapter thus far.

NOVA LISBOA, UMOJA 16:42 UCST (10:42 DCST)

     On stage, Figaro had just learned the court's plan for his wife Susanna and was beginning the first lines of "Se Voul Ballare." It was the first act of Il Nozze de Figaro and the first production of it at the Pasteur Opera House since the End War. Admiral Renata Marín was pleased to be there, having begged box-seat tickets off her commanding officer, Fleet Admiral Thierry Augustin, a donor. Her partner, Lieutenant General Wynand Vermaak, was less than enthusiastic and already nodding off to sleep. She should have known better than to bring him here; Marín knew he wouldn't enjoy it. It had been enough of a battle to get him into a suit, and he still chose to wear his motorcycle boots with it. She had to admit that she was more comfortable in the grey and teal of the Umojan Protectorate Navy's uniforms than in a black formal dress and heels, but she prided herself on her ability to adapt—and she had fell in love with opera in the academy. She and Vermaak had known each other since then, and she had changed a lot over the years. But he had not. He was still the same steady, dependable if slightly incorrigible, self. His cleanly-shaven head bobbed again, and then he was asleep, snoring quietly. Thank god this is a private box, she thought.

     An usher appeared at the door, asked her for her name, and then handed her a datapad. She looked at him quizzically, but he just shrugged. Taking it in her hand, she stood and moved to the corner of the box so that the other opera patrons would not be bothered by the bright screen. On it was a message to her: "LARGE SCALE ATTACK ON TARSONIS IMMINENT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ADM. MARÍN AND LT. GEN. VERMAAK OF CORE FLEET RENDEZVOUS IMMEDIATELY WITH FLEET ADM. AUGUSTIN OF EDGE FLEET AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS." For a few seconds, Marín stood there, stunned. She refreshed the datapad, making sure she hadn't misread it or that it was a mistake. She walked to Vermaak and shook him awake. Vermaak turned to her sleepily.

     "Oh, was I sleeping?"

     "Get up."

     "Don't be angry... You know I don't like this. I'm not bothering anyone. We don't have to..."

     "No, Wynand. We have to go." She pressed the datapad into his ruddy, calloused hands. He read it dazedly, his grey eyes hardening as he comprehended what it said. Without a word, both of them exited into the atrium of the opera house. Through the atrium's three-story tall windows, Marín watched as a shuttle landed in the abstract sculpture garden outside. The scream of its engines reverberated through the atrium and into the concert hall. Men and women in formal wear began trickling out of the hall, concern registering on their faces as they checked their own electronic devices. Marín picked up her skirt and sprinted down the stairs as the shuttle touched down, her heels loudly clicking on the marble floor. Vermaak was close behind her. It was one of the UPN Uhuru's shuttles. That's our ride.

     The glass doors moved aside for them as they exited the garden. They both stood next to the shuttle as it hovered close to the ground, blasting air at both of them. Marín was glad she already had a hold on her skirt, but couldn't control her long, black hair. Vermaak looked nonplussed. Now there's an advantage of being bald. The shuttle door opened, and the navigator yelled at her over the din.

     "This shuttle is just for you, Admiral. There's another shuttle from the Liberté circling to pick up Vermaak. Gen. Oyaleni wants to speak with him before the rendezvous."

     Marín turned to Vermaak and lightly touched his arm, mouthing a kiss to him. He smiled faintly and nodded to her. She boarded the shuttle and strapped herself in as the hatch closed. It would a dangerous mission—possibly the start of a war. But she felt herself strangely relieved to be alone and away from Vermaak. Maybe they had been spending too much time together.

     "We're ten minutes out, ma'am," the pilot said as she settled into a seat in the back.

     "Good, because if what my orders said are true, we need to be at the rendezvous now." Wasting no time, the pilot took off; in minutes they were already climbing high above the city.

     "Do you know who is attacking?" Marín yelled over the sound of the shuttle's takeoff thrusters.

     "No, Admiral. I can turn on the news if you like," the navigator said.

     "Whatever they say is probably wrong at this point... I'll wait."

     "Yes, ma'am."

     Marín watched as Umoja's horizon curved then disappeared through the forward viewport, replaced by the blackness of space. The shuttle turned sharply upwards and to its starboard. The Uhuru gleamed in the distance, parked above Umoja's planetary defense platform. The shuttle's main engines spun up, and it lurched towards the Uhuru. As the Uhuru grew larger, her thoughts turned to who could be attacking Tarsonis. The zerg were the most likely culprit, but Zagara had professed peace so an attack would be out of character. Is it the Kel-Morians making a play for the Terran Republic's territory while it's vulnerable? Nothing quite made sense.

     The Uhuru's port hangar yawned before the shuttle as it glided inside and set down. Her XO, Commander Anders Ahlberg, was waiting for her as she stepped off the shuttle. Marín removed her heels as she walked across the flight deck. They were just going to slow her down. Ahlberg matched her stride and handed her a datapad.

     "Is this the briefing, Ahlberg?"

     "Yes, Admiral,"

     "Can you give me the highlights?" Marín said, impatiently thumbing through it.

     "Oh, you're not going to believe this. Earth is back."

     "What? Earth?"

     "A UED fleet dropped out of FTL above Tarsonis... They ordered their surrender, and of course they didn't take that well..."

     "I'd imagine not..."

     "And so they've started an invasion. They've sicced the zerg on them—and the infested."

     "Infested? How?"

     "Vice Admiral Stukov? Ring any bells? UED guy... He's been hiding out here since their first invasion. Never heard of him, but they've got a dossier on him in there. Hadn't had a chance to look at it."

     "All right. Thanks... I'm going to the bridge, but I need you here. I want all of our banshees, liberators, dropships—everything—ready by the rendezvous. Tell the bridge I'm on the way up."

     "Yes, ma'am!" Ahlberg turned on his heel and jogged back inside the hangar. It would be quite a job for him and take time. Marín commanded fifty ships in the core side fleet which protected the Umojan Protectorate's territory towards the galactic core. There were twice as many marine detachments. She hoped that Vermaak had radioed ahead to them. Marín continued towards the door. As it door opened, her chief engineer, Dani Jansa, stepped through. As usual, her coveralls and elaborate blonde braids were coated in grime.

     "Lookin' good, Admiral," she said playfully.

     "And you look like you got dragged behind a dropship."

     "That's pretty much what happened!" Both of them continued on, their jobs elsewhere. Hopefully they could sit down to a drink at some point, as they both kept swearing they were going to do. Camaraderie among her crew was important, but she had been setting a bad example as of late. It was something she needed to amend. But that's not happening soon. As the lift rose towards the bridge, Marín read through the reports. Most of it seemed like standard UED tactics if on an immense scale. But the infested attack was worrisome. She thumbed through to the dossier on Stukov as the door opened onto the bridge.

     "Admiral on the bridge," Lieutenant Commander Achille Barre said as she exited the lift. She waved her hand at him, dismissing his formality.

     "No time for that, Barre. We're en route?"

     "Engaging FTL now."

     "Good. Barre, put me on speaker—don't do the visual feed though... I'd rather the whole ship not see me in this dress..."

     "Feed is live."

     "Everyone. As you've heard from news reports, Tarsonis is under attack and this is not a drill. What you haven't heard is that an old threat has returned to the Koprulu sector—the United Earth Directorate. In accordance with our recent treaty with the new Terran Republic, we are obliged to render whatever aid and defense we can. The core fleet will be joining the edge side fleet at the Tyrador system. From there, we will coordinate with Terran Republic forces and receive our orders. I'll keep everyone posted. We've trained for this, people. Let's go keep our sector safe."

     Marín motioned Barre to cut the comm. He gave Marín a "so-so" hand gesture. "I'd give that about a five on the pep talk scale. Needs more bullshit."

     "If the only criticism is 'needs more bullshit,' I'll take it," Marín said, walking towards her office just off the bridge. "I'm going to finish this briefing. If anyone calls, I'll take it in my office." Barre gave her a thumbs up.

     Inside her office, Marín put her shoes under her desk and sat down to finish reading. Terran Republic ghosts on the ground had sent back troubling images and reports. Massive Earth-built carriers supporting space-to-ground aircraft and battlecruisers had overwhelmed the system and locked down Tarsonis. Several command centers had been constructed, cementing their foothold on the planet and cutting Tarsonis City off from aid. And the zerg are attacking—and the infested. What a nightmare. She began reading the dossier attached to the briefing. As someone who had fought in the End War and had defended Umojan territory against the UED when they first arrived, she knew his name and remembered watching his funeral when the UED broadcast it via comm buoy. The dossier cited his participation in the End War and listed him as "infested," but that moniker didn't make sense to her. The infested are mindless zombies. How could any of them be in "control" of the others? And if he participated in the End War with the Dominion, why is he not on our side now? Is he even sentient or rational? The damage and casualty reports were horrific. Infestations were destroying buildings. Soldiers were falling only to rise again as the infested to fight for the UED. Most distressingly, the Umojan fleet was only a fraction of the size of the incoming UED armada and the Terran Republic had been caught with its pants down. They had suffered heavy losses in the End War and against the Queen of Blades; their forces had never been fully rebuilt. Also, Raynor was MIA and Horner was busy trying to hold the new Terran Republic together while also commanding the Republic's military. The new Republic was not in any state to repel an invasion.

     Barre stuck his head into Marín's office. "We're at the rendezvous." Marín gathered her dress and returned to the bridge.

     "Hail the Vrede." The Vrede responded immediately, the chrubic face of Fleet Admiral Augustin appearing on the screen.

     "Renata! Good. Get over here. We have a lot to discuss. Where is the Liberté? I need to speak to Oyaleni and Vermaak as well."

     "He left just after I did. I'm sure they'll be here soon."

     "Okay," he said dubiously, "but this is a horrible time to keep us waiting. We need to proceed with the utmost care and alacrity. See you momentarily. Oh, and... Nice dress. Shame about the opera... Ta ta! Augustin out."

     "Message the flight deck, Barre. Get me a shuttle ready."

     "Don't you want to change?" Marín was already in the elevator.

     "No time!"

     Marín boarded the shuttle and made her way to the Vrede. When she arrived on the bridge, Augustin and Valerian Mengsk were already discussing their plans for repelling the invaders. Marín was somewhat taken aback that Valerian was there—and in all his princely finery. She, like most Umojans, had a distrust of the entire Mengsk clan despite their government's original backing of them. They had been burned by it, and despite Valerian being originally an Umojan citizen, they did not hesitate to effectively end Valerian's reign by releasing further documents about Moebius's experiments. They were relieved that the Mengsk dynasty would not continue. But now he was here. Marín could not help but think that this would end up being a renewed bid for control.

     "...And the Republic and Moebius fleets will remain under my command until—or if—Horner rejoins the fleet."

     "Where's Admiral Horner?" Marín said, eyeing Valerian. Augustin rounded on her.

     "Ah, yes. Adm. Marín, I'm sure you know Valerian Mengsk?"

     "Yes... Of course," she said. Valerian extended his hand to her. She took it cautiously.

     "Pleasure to meet you, Admiral. I hope you don't mind if I reviewed your personnel file on the way here... Your record is quite impressive."

     "Thanks, I don't mind... After all, your 'record' is pretty public,'" Augustin coughed to stifle a laugh and Valerian frowned slightly at the comment but regained his composure.

     "You look... as if you were interrupted?" Valerian said, eyeing her dress.

     "I was at the opera..."

     "Ah yes, Il Nozze de Figaro was playing, wasn't it?"

     "Yes, yes it was."

     "Shame. They perform it so seldom... The Pasteur Opera House has one of the best companies I've had the pleasure to listen to... Though I might be partial to it... My family donated a great deal to the building's construction... There is a focus on culture there that is not present on Korhal or Tarsonis... We'll have to chat about opera later, if you're a fan."

     "Sure... Once all this is over, perhaps..." Marín said, unconvincingly. Valerian, to her, had always been a man of contradictions, but that he enjoyed opera puzzled her. Opera normally dealt with epic themes and abstract concepts like freedom and loyalty and what happens when power is abused. It seemed strange to her that he would enjoy it without seemingly internalizing any of its messages.

     "Valerian is here because Horner is trapped in Tarsonis City," Augustin said, quickly changing the subject, "For now, he's currently in charge of the Moebius and Republic fleets, but we're working on a plan for Horner's extraction—along with as many civilians as we can evacuate."

     "What is our plan of attack?"

     "There isn't one," Valerian said softly, "We're greatly outmatched. Our position will be defensive. We want to get as many people out and hold the UED off until they escape."

     "We're just going to let Tarsonis fall?" Marín said incredulously.

     "There's no other choice, Adm. Marín," Valerian said, "But we do have a defensive plan."

     "Which we'll discuss when Gen. Oyaleni and Lt. Gen Vermaak finally arrive..." Marín nodded, her eyes drifting towards the holographic table in the middle of the bridge which depicted the UED's troop movements in real-time three dimensionally above it. She walked to it, and then used her hands to manipulate the display and zoom in on the planet's surface. There, she watched a flurry of red dots—the infested—flooding the streets. But there was something odd about it—something that bothered her.

     "His involvement surprises me," Valerian said, walking quietly towards her, his cape flowing behind him. Who wears a cape? Marín thought.

     "Whose?"

     "Vice Adm. Stukov. Raynor thought highly of him... Or at least had a begrudging respect."

     "But he's zerg... And UED. Doesn't sound that surprising to me."

     "No, I suppose not... His alliance may have only been to Kerrigan. Without her in play, his loyalty may have defaulted to the UED. This is unfortunate... He is resourceful and... hard to predict. His assistance of the UED is already evident... The UED knows more than they should about the landscape of the city—and its weaknesses."

     "So wait, I thought he was infested? Aren't the infested mindless zombies? You're talking about him like he's still a man."

     "Stukov... Is a special case. He's... not going to be easy to push back..."

     "Yes," Augustin broke in, "and we've been discussing who would be best suited to do that. Renata, I think that person is you."

     "Wherever you think I would best serve," she said absently, still looking at the holographic map.

     "That's my girl," Augustin said jovially. "Stukov is attacking the heart of the city, limiting our access to a building where Horner is pinned down. There is an underground bunker and an access tunnel that leads to a nearby police headquarters—with a helipad. If you and Vermaak can push Stukov back and deal with the infestation, we should be able to get everyone in there out. The core fleet will be our shield, deflecting attacks from the evac and blocking ships from entering Tarsonis's atmosphere over Tarsonis City."

     "My fleets and the edge fleet will try to take out as much of the UED fleet as we can before we have to retreat," Valerian said. Marín nodded. It was what she expected, she supposed, but the doomed defense of Tarsonis agitated her. She did not like going into a fight she knew she could not win. All they could do was mitigate the damage. Still, maybe there was something she could do without obeying orders. She studied the map again. Maybe... If I could neutralize this "Stukov" and take him out as a random element... It wasn't what she had been directed to do, but she decided if she had the opportunity to kill or capture him, she would take it.

     Vermaak and Oyaleni finally arrived. "So good of you to join us," Augustin said sarcastically. Marín looked at him. He had changed, maybe even showered. Oyaleni looked somewhat pissed off like she had been kept waiting. So that's what took so long, Marín thought. "Gen. Jane Oyaleni, Lt. Gen. Vermaak, this is Valerian Mengsk..."

     "Mengsk," Oyaleni said, barely acknowledging him.

     "I know who he is," Vermaak said curtly.

     "Vermaak and Oyaleni will be assisting us in deflecting attention away from the evacuation and defending us on the ground."

     "Just tell us who to shoot," Vermaak said.

     "Charming," Valerian said with a tight-lipped smile.

     "Like I was telling Marín just now, Moebius, the Republic, and the edge side fleet will engage the UED. The core fleet will protect the evac and Tarsonis City while pushing Stukov's forces back away from Horner's position with Vermaak's marines. Oyaleni will deal with the larger threat of UED forces on the ground... Is that clear?"

     "Simple enough," Oyaleni said.

     "Good. We've wasted enough time. Vermaak, Marín, you're Dismissed. General Oyaleni, may I speak with you further?" Oyaleni, a woman of few words, crossed her broad arms and stood near Augustin, tapping her dark fingers on her sleeves as she eyed Valerian. No Umojan trusts Valerian, Marín thought.

     Marín and Vermaak boarded the lift from the bridge to make their way back to the hangar. As soon as the doors closed, Vermaak looked Marín up and down.

     "What are you still doing in that dress?" Vermaak said. Marín turned to him, annoyed.

     "What are you doing showing up thirty minutes after everyone else?"

     "Didn't want to look like a twit in a suit."

     "One, Valerian always wears a cape. You wouldn't have been the only 'twit' in the room. Two, are you calling me a twit?"

     "You look a bit crazy, yeah."

     "I look like I care, Wynand."

     "Fine," Vermaak said, sighing. "I knew if I showed up dressed like I was, Augustin would put two and two together about us."

     "You don't think that he has? It's been three years and we've known each since the academy. And the they didn't bother giving us separate orders because they knew we'd be together."

     "It looks unprofessional."

     "I know you want succeed Oyaleni..."

     "Why wouldn't I?"

     "I don't care if you do, Wynand, but I don't know what about our relationship would keep you from it." Except that she did. She had a reputation, and it was not necessarily a good one. Of the two of them, despite his vulture-riding swagger, she was the more controversial. Marín was considered by some to be too eager and maybe a bit too clever for her own good. People talked about her. Some respected her, others didn't; their feelings were either hot or cold. It was not that way for Vermaak. Most people had no opinion or not much of one. He was good at gliding just under the radar and not upsetting anyone. If it was widely known that they were partners, his reputation might be slightly sullied. But it wouldn't matter that much.

     As the two of them boarded the shuttle back to Uhuru, their conversation turned to more pressing matters: the coordination of Horner's evac and how to deal with the infested horde.

     "The infested... Don't have much experience with them," Vermaak said gruffly. He rubbed his hands together slowly, lost in thought.

     "No, we don't... Occasionally we'd see them, but we'd stay the hell away. Nuke 'n go if we could."

     "Can't do that here."

     "We can keep them at arm's length though... Siege tanks?" Vermaak considered this with his usual careful slowness.

     "Yep. Keep the line from getting too close."

     "Banshees too. From what I saw, Stukov has sacrificed air for ground speed."

     "May not be a choice. Are there any starports nearby?"

     "That's a thought. No one to infest. He could build spires, but the city may be too densely packed to raise them.

     "Right."

     "You know, your usual cautiousness is going to come in very handy right now." Marín knew she had said something wrong when Vermaak's eyes narrowed at her and his brow knitted together.

     "My what?" He absently put his hand on his thigh, on the edge of where she knew his bionic prosthesis began under his fatigues.

     "I mean in comparison to me... You know how I am. Pushing back slowly—that's the only way. Losing troops to the infested will just feed Stukov's war machine." Vermaak nodded in agreement, his anger diffused momentarily, but then he turned to her again, suspicious.

     "You're planning something, aren't you?"

     "What? No."

     "I can tell... You're going to do something stupid. What is it?"

     "It's not stupid..."

     "Renata..."

     Marín sighed. "Stukov needs to be taken out. If I see a chance, I'm going to take it."

     "How do you think you're going to find him? How do you think you're going to kill him?"

     "I'll... Figure that out later. Like I said, if I get the chance."

     "Don't get yourself hurt... or killed..."

     "I haven't yet..."

     "Not all of us have been so lucky..." He rapped on his leg, making a hollow, metallic sound. "This could have been much worse."

     "I know, I'm sorry..."

     "Sorry? It's not your fault. Just... be careful. Don't do something brash."

     "I... I won't."

     The shuttle landed softly in the Uhuru's hangar and the shuttle's door opened. Vermaak stood, taking her by both hands.

     "I hope you mean that."

     He leaned down and kissed her.

     "See you later, eh?"

     "Yeah, I'll send Oyaleni my notes. Be careful."

     "I always am. That's double for you."

     Vermaak disappeared out of the shuttle and into the hangar bay. She could already hear the doppler effect of his booming voice as he barked orders to his marines while he marched deeper into the hangar. Marín got up and made her way to the bridge and into her office. At her desk, she drafted her orders but stopped, looking again at Stukov's troop movements one more time. There was something odd about them, something she couldn't put her finger on. She keyed up Republic archive battle footage of Stukov from during the UED invasion. It was the first time she'd had the occasion to use it since the treaty. What she saw there did not match what was happening now in the city of Tarsonis. If anything, Stukov had always been very aggressive, arrogant even, and had intricate strategies meant to confuse his enemies. Here, he kept the line and advanced incrementally, attacking only in defense. She had no idea what that meant.

     In any case, she had a plan. She would recommend what she and Vermaak discussed to Oyaleni: no ground troops except siege tanks and, she added, firebats. The siege tanks to push back the infested, and the firebats to clear the infestation. They would have to keep from losing their own troops and rely heavily on her for air support. She would assign as many liberators and banshees as she could spare. But, the sheer number of troops Stukov had been able to raise would be hard to churn through. Secretly though, she thought they could rout him—if she could figure out where his command center was. Over eager... Sticking my neck out again, she thought. But we'd all be safer if he was gone.

     She drafted the battle plan on a map and sent it with annotations to her captains and Oyaleni. And now all she had left to do was address the fleet again. She stepped back onto the bridge. "Open a channel, Barre."

     "Aye, ma'am." A chime let Marín know she was on air.

     "Good evening... Or morning depending on where you've come from in the sector... I wish I had better news to tell everyone, but with the zerg and UED fleet attacking Tarsonis now, when it is most vulnerable after years of war, there is no hope that we will 'win' this battle. What we must focus on is protecting the citizens of the Terran Republic in their evacuation from Tarsonis. Aside from that mission is another important one—to help the Terran Republic in its rescue of its current leader, Adm. Matthew Horner. In doing so, we will go up against the zerg and the infested under the command of Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov, an infested human and UED military leader. This will necessarily be a mission that we will have to undertake very carefully. Your orders are being sent now. Keep abreast of them and keep your eyes open. We need to do as much damage as we can to the UED fleet while we are here, but stay focused and don't take any unnecessary risks. See you all on the flip side. Good luck."

     This was the part that always filled Marín with guilt: giving orders that meant someone was not coming back. Protocol stated that she should not leave the Uhuru and lead from afar, but she found that unconscionable.

     "Put me through to Dani, Barre." Barre patched her though.

     "Hey Dani, is my wraith ready?

     "Ready and waiting, boss lady."

     "Be there in five."

     When Mitchell reached the hangar, the deck shook beneath her feet. Banshees, liberators, and medivac shuttles were all waiting to launch, their engines on, roaring with noise and shimmering with heat. A warning klaxon sounded as the hangar launch port shield snapped on and the hangar's immense door began to open. Her wraith was waiting for her on the only wraith launch rack still in use on the Uhuru. Unlike the other vessels, the wraith, unable to stand on its own, had to be catapulted out of the hangar on a jet-powered rack. Marín pulled herself into the cockpit, lowered the cockpit canopy and put on her helmet and breathing apparatus. The canopy sealed shut, dampening the noise of the hangar, but she could still feel the vibrations of the ships on deck through the seat. The hangar bay door was fully open now, and aircraft were launching in groups out into the void of space. She engaged the rack; it lurched the craft forward, putting her in line with everyone else. A few minutes later, it was finally her turn.

     "Hit me, chief."

     "Aw, yeah."

     She felt the jet on the back of the launch rack ignite. The rack sped forward, throwing her wraith out of the hangar. Suddenly, all was quiet as the vacuum enveloped her. Below, she could see the bluish glow of Tarsonis and in the distance the UED fleet. She engaged her cloak, and above her a squadron of banshees did the same. Behind them, the Uhuru, four squadrons of banshees, a squadron of liberators, and what battlecruisers could be spared to attack Stukov, began turning planetside.

     "Squadron leader Gavran, this is Marín. I'm here as an extra pair of eyes. Support our firebats and siege tanks. Keep the infested at bay and push them back so our battlecruisers and medivac units can assist with evac."

     "Roger, Admiral. Good to know we've got you over our shoulder."

     The squadron moved past her and down. She went in the same direction but skimmed the upper atmosphere, keeping the battlefield below her. She wanted to get a peek behind enemy lines. The ground moved swiftly by as the city thinned to suburbs and then to an industrial area.

     She called Vermaak to assess his progress.

     "Wynand, how's it look?"

     "We're pushing back. Progress is slow but looks like we can get a bird in for Horner in about thirty minutes."

     "You hear that, Gavran?"

     "Yep, we'll be waiting to escort."

     She flew quickly over a large train depot and trainyard full of empty train cars. Something caught her eye. She turned around quickly—and immediately she wished she hadn't. A massive horde of infested sat waiting, stuffed in train cars and obscured by a train depot. They were just kilometers from the city. What is he waiting for?

     Marín hailed Valerian.

     "Valerian, this is Marín. We have a window in thirty minutes to get Horner out, but I've got eyes on a phalanx of infested hiding in a train depot outside the city. Radio Vermaak." She didn't want Vermaak to know she was out in her wraith, "I think a massive push is imminent."

     "Can we stop it?"

     "No, but I don't know why he hasn't attacked yet... He's just... waiting. Does he know Horner's there?"

     "I don't know. Possibly."

     "Even so, I think he would have flattened the place by now. I'm going fly in and investigate."

     "Wait, you're in play?"

     "Nice chat, Valerian. I'll see you at the debrief later." She cut the comm, not wanting what would inevitably have been a lecture.

     In the distance, Marín spotted a spire. Mutalisks stood by it, obviously on stand-by. An overlord lumbered into view; she gave it a wide berth. Everything was ready, but everything was waiting. What is he doing? It was then she saw it: a battlecruiser—or what was left of one—lurking in low orbit, flying just low enough to confuse the fleet's scanners. The charge on her wraith's cloaking device was low, but she thought she could make it in for a closer look. She burned towards the battlecruiser. Studying it, she could plainly see it was one of the old model UED battlecruisers, dark and brutal in its design. He's in there, she thought, watching.

     Marín's cloak began to break up. She flew higher into space and away from the infested battlecruiser and the UED fleet to seek shelter behind the Umojan line. Around her, a battle between the UED fleet and Augustin's forces raged. Marín was in no position to join in the fray. She cut her engines and drifted, taking cover in the debris of the fight and letting her cloak recharge. As she observed the skirmish, the UED fleet appeared so large that it almost blotted out the light of the Tarsonis system's star. Her ship turned, listing in space. Below her, she saw Stukov's battlecruiser begin to move away from the city and behind his line. As her cloak finished recharging, she fired up her engines and reengaged it, steering her ship back down and towards him. She opened her comm and turned the band to a universal frequency.

     "To anyone on this frequency, this is Adm. Marín of the Umojan fleet. I've found Stukov. I'm radioing rendezvous coordinates now. Anyone with air-to-air that can break off from the main battle—Republic, Moebius, or Umojan—please converge on those coordinates. We're going to end at least part of this conflict." There was a clamber of replies on the open channel. From what she could tell, around eight liberators—five Umojan, three from the Republic—that would be joining her. The Moebius fleet remained slient. Figures. They must only kowtow to Valerian. She changed her comm frequency to that of the Republic fleet.

     "Is Horner out?"

     "Transport just lifted off. He should be back on the Hyperion in five," the Bucephalus's comm officer said.

     "Good to hear."

     Below her as she passed the edge of the city, she saw the earth heave beneath her. To her horror, two massive utralisks—larger than any she had seen before and armored—burst from the ground.

     "What the fuck?" she inadvertently yelled into the comm.

     "Ma'am?" The comm officer replied, shaken.

     "Ultralisks inbound on the city. Our line..." she cut the comm and whipped her wraith around and flew towards the train depot. The infested were streaming out of it. A flock of mutalisks screamed by her, almost ramming her. She changed back to the universal comm frequency.

     "Infested, ultralisks, and air units are mobilizing. All ground troops be on alert! This is the real attack, everyone. Vermaak?"

     "We're moving out," Vermaak said hurriedly, forgetting to turn off his comm. In the background, she could hear him screaming orders to his marines in his husky voice.

     "Evac isn't finished. What should we do?" Capt. Gavran cut in.

     "You've done what you can! Get the hell out of there!"

     Marín sped up, gunning towards the rendezvous. Now that she had seen how powerful Stukov could potentially be, it was even more imperative that they put him down. Something still nagged at her. It seemed to her that he had waited until Horner was out and until the bulk of the civilians had been evacuated. His movements made no sense, she reasoned, unless he was consciously trying to avoid civilian casualties and was allowing Horner to escape. There may have still been some underlying loyalty left, or there may have been unforeseen variables in play. Despite that, taking him out was still a benefit. To Marín, letting him live was not an option.

     The squad of liberators joined her.

     "Aw yeah, let's kick that zerg motherfucker right in the cu-." a Republic captain began.

     "Uhhh, you realize that Admiral Marín is on this frequency..." one of the Umojan captains said, speaking over him.

     "Uh, nope. No, I did not. Sorry ma'am."

     "I've heard worse. Let's get to it." The liberators surged forward, swooping in to follow the infested battlecruiser, but Stukov saw them, and the battlecruiser began rising in the atmosphere to leave orbit. Running back to the fleet, Marín thought. One of the liberators came within firing range, but before it could get a bead on him, a tendril snaked out of the battlecruiser and lanced through both of the liberator's engines. The tendril flicked the liberator into space where it cartwheeled away from Tarsonis's gravity well. "Sit tight, Captain. I'm ordering you a medivac. Use your thrusters to stabilize your pitch..." Marín called in a medivac, and the remaining liberators, led by Marín, continued their pursuit of Stukov. "Get in close around him but stay out of range of those... tentacles. Head him off. We can't let him jump to FTL." Suddenly, the battlecruiser fell several thousand feet and flew right under them, burning some of the infestation off of its hull in the process. He rose again and veered away from the UED fleet. "Follow him!" Marín and the liberators gave chase. The liberators, quicker in atmospheric conditions, easily outpaced Stukov, who had still managed put the planet between him and the UED fleet. They stopped in front of him, turning to face him. Marín followed behind the battlecruiser, still cloaked but cutting off his escape.

     The battlecruiser came to a stop. For a breathless moment, the liberators stared him down. Slowly, the battlecruiser came about to face Marín's cloaked ship. She thought for a moment Stukov would make another run into the atmosphere, but his battlecruiser stayed stationery save the long zerg tentacles waving beneath it. What is he doing? Does he...

     "Time to give him what's coming to him... Permission to fire, Admiral?"

     "Negative, Capt. Baker."

     "What?" one of the Republic liberator captains broke in again, "The dude just pulled his pants down and showed us his ass. Let's lube him up and fuck 'em then put him to bed."

     "Vasiliy, goddamn it," one of the other Republic liberator pilots said quietly into the comm. Ignoring them, Marín dropped her cloak and nudged her thruster forward towards Stukov's battlecruiser. A din of shocked exclamations erupted over the comm, telling her not to get any closer.

     "He's been able to see me the whole time. Calm down." She changed her comm's band and broadcast a ship-to-ship automated call, introducing herself, her rank, and her command. Moments went by, and she received a message on the same frequency—but text only. The message read, "Urgent meeting requested. Meet in 3 hrs at the coordinates encrypted in this message. Come alone and unarmed." Stukov's ship began moving again, turning towards the liberators. Distortion, caused by the battlecruiser's FTL drive, made the space around it seem to bulge and bend.

     "He's firing up his FTL..." Capt. Baker said over the comm.

     "Get out of the way. Let him go."

     "What?" Vasiliy said incredulously.

     "You heard me." The liberators reluctantly moved away from the battlecruiser, and it jumped away to FTL.

     Augustin called Marín. "Adm. Marín. I was given word that you had cornered Stukov. Have you been able to neutralize him?"

     "No, sir... But I've made contact."

     "Contact?"

     "I'll explain later. We're done here."

     "Then for heaven's sake, get back to the Uhuru. We're overwhelmed as it is and we need to fall back."

     "Yes, sir."

Just what have I gotten myself into...