#months ago hunter coasted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohwynne · 9 months ago

Text

TIMING: The day after Wynne returned from Ireland, ~30 april PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Maine shoreline SUMMARY: Emilio and Wynne take a ride on his motorcycle and pause to look at the ocean. They talk. WARNINGS: Child loss, suicidal ideation, car accident (thought about), vomit (or well, dry heaving), child abuse (past).

Maybe there didn’t need to be a frame of reference. Maybe Wynne was just Wynne and Emilio was just Emilio and that was all either of them needed to claim.

After Wynne had ran away from home they’d been left to live in a state of constant uncertainty. They hadn’t been certain of where they’d sleep, of what they’d eat, of how they’d make it through yet another day of looking over their shoulder. It had taken months until they felt safe enough to settle in Wicked’s Rest and even then they had never felt safe in the uncertainty of what had transpired after they’d left.

Coming home now after running away once again, their circumstances were different. They knew where they’d sleep and eat, knew that there would be others looking over their shoulder with them. But the feeling remained the same. There was lead in their legs. There was a bone deep weariness in their system. There was the presence of the place, stuck behind their eyes as if the image had been scratched on their eyelids so they’d always see it whenever they blinked. The wheel was spinning, the judgment was called, the body was delivered, Elias was bleeding out.

Wynne felt like everything happened in a blur. The world was a haze, and not the kind they’d experienced after they’d first gotten together with Ariadne. It was the kind of haze that came rolling in like the fog sometimes, but this time it stayed. Like a strange natural phenomenon happening in their mind.

They wondered if Emilio had that fog too. It was hard to speak with him. It was hard to be anything — hard to feel like they hadn’t failed, hard to breathe around all the mutual guilt that filled up any room they were in. He’d picked them up from the airport a day ago and now they were trying to live again, with Nora once more disappeared and the world still spinning. Eventually he’d offered to go for a ride.

And so they got on the back of his motorcycle and wrapped their hands around Emilio’s waist and felt a little less like they were floating away from their body. They were floating too now, but along with the motorcycle as Maine’s coast flew by. After a while, they paused. Wynne pulled the helmet from their head and looked at him. They should say something now. They should speak up. The banshee would want them to say something, but they couldn’t. They cleared their throat and breathed in the salty sea air and stared at the waves. “You drive it better than your car.”

—

Parenthood, his sister told him once, was about sacrifice. It had been shortly after he and Juliana announced to the family that they were expecting, and while his mother had immediately zeroed in on his wife to plan out a training regime to ensure that what was growing inside her would never be a child instead of a weapon, Rosa had approached Emilio. She’d tugged him off to a corner, thrown an arm around him, said you look like you’re going to pass out. And he’d laughed, and she’d laughed, and he’d still been terrified but it felt a little lighter, then. He’d asked her, with a desperation building in his gut, if she had any advice.

He wasn’t sure, even now, if his sister was a good mother. She’d loved her son, he thought, but she’d loved him in the way a hunter loved. She’d loved him in a way that saw her locking him up in a shed with something that wanted to kill him, loved him in a way that wouldn’t let her open the door until morning. She loved him in the same way their mother had loved all of them, and Emilio still didn’t know what to call that. But she’d been softer than Elena. She’d spoken to Jaime like he was a person, sometimes, and Emilio hadn’t known very many parents. Rosa was a hunter and a mother, and so he’d asked her for advice.

He’d known she wouldn’t hesitate to give it to him. Rosa had taken her duty as the eldest Cortez child following Victor’s death very seriously. She was a dutiful daughter, the sharpest blade. She mothered Edgar and Emilio using the same style their actual mother did, albeit with duller edges. So Emilio asked her for advice, and she gave it to him. She told him that parenthood was about sacrifice. She looked over at where Jaime stood, speaking animatedly to Edgar, and she told him that his life wasn’t about him anymore.

Looking back, he knew he’d taken it in a different way than she’d meant for him to. When Rosa said parenthood was about sacrifice, what she meant was, sacrifice her. What she meant was, sacrifice the part of yourself who sees a child where you should see a knife. What she meant was, sacrifice your daughter for someone else’s, let her go so that a stranger will live. Emilio had sacrificed everything else instead. He’d sacrificed his marriage, his relationship with his mother, even his companionship with Rosa herself. If he’d done it the way she’d meant for him to, would things have ended differently? Would there be less blood on his hands?

He didn’t think it mattered. There was no world in which he wouldn’t have sacrificed everything for his daughter. There was no world in which he wouldn’t do the same even now, even though she was gone. He’d have burned the world down in a heartbeat, would have doomed humanity just to save her. Parenthood was about sacrifice.

But Emilio wasn’t a parent anymore.

His daughter was gone now, had been gone for nearly three years. (Soon, she’d have been dead for longer than she was alive. The thought made his stomach churn, made him want to pull out his fucking hair and shout to the heavens with the utter unfairness of it.) But, somehow, that sacrificial tendency remained. He had nothing left to sacrifice himself for, but it was still there. It was still swirling within him, still begging for an outlet.

There was something brutally funny about sitting with Wynne in silence, with this on his mind. Wynne, who had been forced into the position of sacrifice time and time again, and Emilio, who couldn’t stop choosing the role for himself. Wynne had never wanted to be on the altar with a knife to their throat, and they’d certainly never deserved it. But Emilio did. Parenthood was supposed to be about sacrifice, and even if Emilio wasn’t a parent anymore, that urge remained.

There was no altar for him, no blade. There was only a hole deep in his chest where he stuffed the parts of himself that weren’t helpful, only the way he refused to look at the corpses in the corner of the room and forced himself to stay in this moment instead of allowing his mind to retreat into another. Wynne was alive. Nora was alive. What wouldn’t Emilio sacrifice to keep it that way?

He suggested the bike because it was freeing, because it made him feel a little better and it wasn’t quite as unhealthy as the other things that made him feel better. He didn’t want Wynne to drown their sorrows in cheap whiskey, didn’t want them to find a stranger to fall into bed with or pick a fight with someone bigger and scarier than they were, and that didn’t leave a lot of therapeutic options for him. The bike was a Hail Mary, a desperate guess. It was hard to think with the wind whipping by you, and maybe Wynne could stand to think less.

He drove fast, but not reckless. Not with Wynne on the back of the bike. The helmet he’d gotten for them was snug on their head, the coast flying by beside them. He didn’t know where he was driving to, only that he was driving. He pulled over when the ache in his leg went from a thing in the back of his mind to a present throbbing, parked on the side of the road and tucked his helmet under his arm. Waves crashed against the shore nearby, and he stared out at them for a moment, quiet until Wynne spoke.

“I’m good at driving a car,” he replied, turning to look at them with an expression he hoped looked offended instead of empty. “What do you mean by this? I’m a good driver.” He wasn’t. They both knew he wasn’t. But this was what he would have said before, so this was what he said now, too. He needed to be a steady, constant presence, a foundation instead of an earthquake. Sacrifice. Wynne deserved to have someone do that for them instead of to them, for a change.

—

Sometimes, they thought of their life in three sections.

There had been the first one, the first ten years spent in idyllic childhood. Running around the estate, learning to swim, going fishing with their father and watching Iwan grow more and more into his skin just as they got older. They were the years of being and feeling alive, of knowing about the concept of death and witnessing it but it never coming knocking, not really. Their grandma had died somewhere in that section and they had cried, but it had also made sense in a way. There was something cyclical about life, something balanced about life and death. Things got old, they died, they were returned to the earth and they fed the earth in turn. So even in the presence of death, life had been about living.

The second section came after they’d turned ten. After they had watched Jac on the altar, after they had sat with him for just an hour or two as they processed with Siors had told them. In roughly a decade’s time, they would take his place and die as he would later that night. And so the second section lasted another decade and it was about preparing to die. It was about the metaphorical knife at their throat and making the most of what time they had left. Of trying to live around the fact that they were running out of time. It was about duty, about sacrifice, about honor.

There weren’t supposed to be any more sections after that — that was supposed to be it. But then Wynne had ran and introduced a new section in their life. The one that had been about surviving. It had been a little over one and a half year since it had become about that and it was perhaps the hardest thing of all to do. To survive, despite the death nipping at their heels. And even harder, to survive despite feeling it was unearned. To survive, knowing someone had to die in order for them to do so — and for that someone to be the younger sibling they’d vowed to protect.

They longed for the child they had been, that wild thing that had been preoccupied only with living. Sometimes they almost felt that child again, but they were never able to close their fingers around their wrist and pull them close to hold onto them. But sometimes. When the wind blew through their hair, when the salt of the sea coursed over their skin, when they lay with Ariadne while listening to music or when Van and them laughed so hard their stomach hurt — they felt like they were living rather than surviving.

They wondered what sections Emilio’s life was split into. If there had ever been a young, childlike version of him that had simply lived. From what they had learned about his mother, it seemed like maybe it had never been idyllic and if it had been, that maybe it had been a ruse just like their childhood. They knew for a fact there was a section before his daughter and wife had died and a section after. They wondered what life was about for him, now. Just survival, too?

It was hard, to feel the urge to survive while also feeling like it was unearned. They had a feeling Emilio understood this, too. But they didn’t say this. They implied he was bad at driving a car. They placed a hand on the motorbike, stared at the sea. They tried to joke but no laughter came. They were both trying, but it was hard to speak. There were too many things stuck in their chest.

“I mean …” They shrugged. They tried to smile but their lips had a mind of their own. “You are … not that great. But you get where you want to, so that’s important! That’s also how I drive.” They didn’t want to drive cars any more, not since their last ride. In their mind’s eye images of Regan and Elias on the backseat flashed through their head. They had checked the rearview mirror over and over again when they’d driven to Dublin from Saol Eile, nervously checking if there was someone coming for them or if either of their injured passengers were getting worse.

They felt the heat of the motorcycle underneath their fingertips. It almost grounded them. “It’s nice, though. The bike. I like it better than a car, and not just because of your driving. Just because … the wind. It’s so physical. You feel it everywhere. It’s …” They tried to find the right word. “Distracting. Or grounding. Both.”

—

Time was a funny thing. It was contradictory, the way it passed. Emilio didn’t quite understand it. There were days when he felt as though he existed in several times at once, days when he was simultaneously six years old in his mother’s shed and thirty-two in his bloody living room and thirty-four in a barn and a factory and now, too. There were days when he was all the people he had ever been crumpled into something twisted and wrong and there were days when he was no one at all. The hours crawled around him slowly and whizzed by faster than he could keep up with, and they did this all at once.

The last month, with first Nora planting herself in the heart of a dangerous situation and then Wynne following behind her, had passed especially strangely. There seemed to be days that didn’t exist at all, though he knew things had happened during them. He’d been a ghost existing outside of himself, an empty husk whose soul was an ocean away in the midst of something unknowable. He must have eaten, must have slept, must have left the house and done things, but it all felt hazy now. He met banshees who thought him a celebrity. He discarded worms in the woods with Jade. He bruised his knuckles on Zane’s father’s face. He witnessed Ophelia’s world crumple. He begged Nora to come home. He pleaded for Wynne to stay safe. He existed in a fugue state, not quite a person and not quite a thing. Trying to recall details felt like trying to remember a dream in the first few minutes after waking, when it was fresh but already distant.

Somehow, this felt distant, too. He wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure what it meant. Wynne and Nora were safe now, were alive, were back on the same land mass as him even if Nora had disappeared soon after their arrival. So why, then, did Emilio still feel as though he was an ocean away? Why couldn’t he get back to himself fully, why didn’t he feel like the ground beneath his feet was really there? He was still in that shed, in that living room, in that basement and that factory, and he shouldn’t have been. Wasn’t the door unlocked now? Why was it so hard to reach out and open it? Turning a knob shouldn’t have been a herculean task.

Wynne spoke, and he tried to force himself back into the present. They needed him to be solid, he thought. A person or a thing, one or the other, so long as he was here. They needed him to be here instead of a world away, and Emilio was trying. He really was. He dug his fingernails into his palm absently, tried to let the sensation of it remind him. This was what was real. This moment, this time. Wynne was here, and not in a basement with blood on their throat. Wynne was alive, and not dead and buried in Mexico or Ireland. Wynne was here. Emilio needed to be here, too.

He forced a smile, and somehow, it was the heaviest weight he’d ever lifted. Harder to hold than the ax his mother pushed into his hands at ten, the one that was bigger than he was at the time. More painful to grip than the blade of the knife Edgar thrust towards his chest in training, the one he barely caught in time. More suffocating than those words Rosa had smothered him with lifetimes ago, when she’d told him about sacrifices and waited for him to make one of his daughter.

“I’m good,” he repeated, insisting even though everything felt flatter than it should have. This was what he was supposed to do, and Emilio was nothing if not dutiful. “It isn’t my fault they make stupid rules for it. ‘Stop here’ ‘go slow’ ‘pass this.’ It doesn’t make sense, I think. You should just drive.” Getting to where you were going was more important than how you got there, wasn’t it?

(He didn’t remember crossing the border from Mexico, either. Even now, he couldn’t say whether he’d done it with Rhett or if it had been after they’d parted ways, couldn’t remember if his brother had dragged him, unconscious, to another country or if he’d sauntered through all on his own. The journey was always so hard to remember. The destination had to be the important part.)

He looked down at the bike, nodding absently. “Teddy got it for me,” he replied. “For…” Flora’s birthday. The thought ached. He couldn’t say it aloud, so he said something else instead. “A few months ago. I guess they were sick of me taking their car.” That wasn’t it, he knew. Teddy got them the bike because they loved him, but Emilio was bad at being loved even when he knew he was, even when he loved back with so much ferocity that it burned him. “I like it better than a car, too. Sometimes, you know, in the car, it feels…” Like the walls were closing in on him. Like there wasn’t enough space for his chest to expand all the way, like he was too big and the world was too tight. ��Small.”

—

Wynne wanted simplicity. It was the one thing they wanted desperately from life now. Simplicity. Where a ride with Emilio could be just that, a light evening activity to partake in together without having to search for words, without feeling their chest ache with the weight of it all. They wanted a world where they did not have to worry about Ariadne being murdered just for something outside of her control. A world where they could just all sit and heal and find relief in these respites.

Where teaching Emilio about his driving was so simple that the words didn’t feel like they were being forced from their chest. Could there be a reality, though, where Emilio and them were able to live in lightness? Was there room for such a thing? So much of their relationship had been built on ugly things. There had been the ustras in the woods, the tearful confession in the park, the barn, their visit to their home, the truth of Emilio’s family spilled between them, and now Ireland. Between those events there was the glue of the softer moments, of family meals and watching movies they both didn’t get, of walking Perro and celebrating the solstice.

But were those moments enough, if they were always tainted by a rim of grief, of anger, of regret? There was so much of that between them, and though they would never direct those emotions towards him it made them wonder. If there was a chance for them, to just exist in simplicity. Or if there would always be something sitting on both their chest.

The sun was sinking into the ocean ahead of them. Wynne chuckled, and it felt like a performance. At least this time they weren’t made to spin a wheel while banshees looked at them. There were worse performances to give. “You’re not,” they said, trying to be as stubborn as Emilio was known to be, “Sometimes you have to stop, because if everyone just drove, then we would all get into accidents all the time.”

Maybe the issue wasn’t with them – Emilio and Wynne, that was – but rather with Wynne themself. Maybe there was no room for simplicity within them. Maybe it had been taken from them the moment they had turned ten and Siors had told them of their duty. And even if they had not died, they would always continue to live in the shadow of that forgone duty, of the consequences that had come with it. Every breath would always be taken because they’d ran away, because someone else had died in their stead. Maybe they should just be glad to breathe in the first place and not long for anything better. Maybe being alive was the best they got — and whether that was better than being dead and devoured than a demon they still doubted on their worst days.

And maybe there was no simplicity for Emilio, either. Not after they’d taken his child, his family, his entire life. Maybe their life in Maine was only to be half-lived, in spite of the deaths they’d lived behind. But they could still try, couldn’t they? Wynne would not be themself if they didn’t try.

“Teddy gives such good gifts,” they said, feeling a burst of fondness spread through them. Without trying, they would not have found either of them. “It’s really nice. I like … I like it. Not just because of your driving. Just in general.” Wynne was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “I think I get what you mean. It’s like in a car sometimes like the walls close in, or something. It’s so small and metal. It’s …” They shivered, thinking back to Regan and Elias in the backseat of the car. Of the bloodstains left in that rental. Of being afraid that they’d kill them all in a car crash because of how exhausted they were behind the wheel.

“I had to drive. When we got away. In Ireland, I mean. I drove us from that place to the hospital and then the airport. And I was so afraid, that I’d … that I’d get us in trouble. That someone would stop us. Or that …” They stared at the sun, sinking. “They’d find us. I don’t like it, driving. Cars. I don’t want to —” They shivered. “I like the bike.”

—

In the days and weeks and months after the massacre in Mexico, the world had felt like a faraway thing. Most of the time, it seemed as though Emilio existed somewhere outside of himself, like he was watching the world from afar. He watched himself stumble into the woods with his daughter’s blood soaking every inch of him, his leg dragging behind him like useless decoration. He watched Rhett find him, watched himself beg his brother to leave him behind to die, watched Rhett drag him back to his stupid van and force him to live instead. He watched Rhett leave a few short months later, watched himself disappear. He was a spectator to all of it, a faceless member of the audience witnessing atrocities committed by someone else’s hands even if those hands were still attached to him.

It went on like that for a while. He was someone else, he was himself, he was no one at all. The world moved around him and sometimes he even moved with it, but it was never a conscious thing. He lived life only in the sense that his lungs still drew breath and his heart still beat. He existed in the world, but he wasn’t a part of it. He wasn’t a part of it for a very long time.

And then came this town. This town, with these people who insisted on caring about the husk that was left of him no matter how many reasons he gave them not to. Rhett was gone, but he still couldn’t convince anyone to leave him in the woods, still had hands dragging him back to safety he didn’t deserve. Some days, he was here again. He was in the world, he was back to being a part of it. Wynne made him food and he ate it, Teddy told a joke and he laughed, Nora talked and he listened. There were days where he was something masquerading as a person.

And there were days when he wasn’t.

In some ways, he thought, those good days made the bad ones worse. At least before, when he’d existed in an endless barrage of grief and rage, it had been consistent. He’d ached, but it was a constant thing. And when it always hurt, the pain wasn’t so bad. You slotted it into the back of your mind, you got used to it. It became a part of you, like that useless limb you dragged along behind you even though it no longer worked properly or the raised skin of the nasty scar on your abdomen that always hurt a little no matter how long it had been since you pulled the blade from the skin. If pain was constant, it was more survivable. Your body adjusted to make room for it. It was when you had those sunny, pain-free days that things got bad. It wasn’t the aching that would kill you — it was the memory of what it felt like not to ache.

He’d been doing better, before. There had been a dark period with Lucio, where his revelations twisted a blade that had sat in Emilio’s gut for years now, but he’d been coming to terms with it. His mother wanting to kill him was not a thing he’d been surprised by. The massacre being his fault had fit with the narrative that already existed within his mind. It hurt, it ached, but he’d been dealing with it the same way he’d been dealing with the memory of Wynne in that barn, or Rhett in that factory. It had been survivable.

He wasn’t sure this was.

Since the moment Nora had announced that she was in Ireland, surrounded by banshees so much like the one that had cut his brother into pieces and sworn him to silence after the fact, Emilio had existed outside of himself. He watched Nora decide she belonged there, watched Wynne go to drag her home, watched both of them drop into shorter and shorter responses or no responses at all. He watched himself in his living room stare at a wall for three hours without moving, watched his hands shake as if they belonged to someone else. Even now, with Wynne safe and leaning against his bike, he watched himself like a faraway thing, like something on a television screen. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t sure he was anywhere.

But he needed to be. He needed to swallow it, needed to be a constant presence and a firm foundation. For Wynne, who still trembled. For Nora, who’d lost more than anyone deserved to lose. They both deserved something a little closer to a man than he knew how to be, but maybe he could try his hand at acting. Maybe, with enough commitment, he could pretend.

“Then maybe other people shouldn’t be allowed to drive. I’ve never gotten into an accident.” A small miracle, considering how distant he was most of the time. “I’m very good.” That had never been true of anything, had it? He wasn’t ‘very good’ at much of anything. Not a very good driver, not a very good husband, not a very good father, not a very good hunter, not a very good man. But bickering was something he was good at, and he could lean into the claim. He could pretend to be very good at something if it made Wynne look as though they were carrying a little less weight on their shoulders.

He hummed, looking to the bike again. “Think they know what I need before I do, sometimes.” He’d never really thought of a motorcycle, but the moment Teddy presented him with one, it felt natural. Wynne seemed to like it, too. “Maybe we get you one next.” Would they like that? Would it help at all? Emilio didn’t think it was the motorcycle that made his chest feel less tight the day Teddy presented it to him — it was Teddy who did that. And Teddy wasn’t here now, and Emilio had no idea how to be something like they were, something firm and good and comforting. The best he knew how to offer was halfhearted attempts at bickering. Who did that help?

He swallowed as Wynne spoke of Ireland, feeling as though he was watching them drive that car now in spite of the fact that he hadn’t been there at all. (And which was worse, he wondered? To be there or to not be there? To witness someone you loved suffer and die, or to show up just after the fact to find their bodies broken and spend the rest of your life wondering how different things might have been if you’d gotten there just a little bit sooner? He’d done both. He didn’t think either felt good.) “You did a good job,” he said quietly. “I — I know it doesn’t feel like it. I know everything is… heavy and wrong. But you did a good job. You saved them.” It was more than Emilio had ever done for anyone, wasn’t it? “I’m sorry that you had to. I’m sorry. But you did a good job.”

—

The sea was pushing and pulling and Wynne wasn’t sure if they wanted to do anything but to stare at it forever. It was rhythmic, the way the water kept running over the sand before retreating but never giving it enough time to dry. It always swept over the sand again before it could. Life felt like that, these days. Like wave after waving hitting them, barely leaving time to breathe let alone to dry up, to experience the sensation of not recuperating.

Though life at Moosehead had not been perfect – they knew that now, more and more and more, with startling and exhausting clarity – it had at least not felt like this. Life, then, had been a little wet all the time but not this drenching. Not this exhausting. It hadn’t felt like being constantly beat down and having to clamber up, being in constant fear of what was to come next. Back at that home, they had known what they were living towards. Life had been a clear line pointing forward and here? Here, there was a leg that stuck out from the earth, there was a fae friend in Ireland and a bugbear who was like a little sister who’d gone after her, there was Ariadne who kept being hurt and hunted for something she could not control. There was Emilio, always on the verge of getting hurt.

Wynne wanted the waves to stop pushing and pulling, the earth to stop spinning, to just exist in this moment where nothing bad was going to happen. Because they did feel like that was true. In this moment, with this motorcycle and this man, there was nothing bad that could happen. This was a protected moment in time. This was sacred. Something had to be.

“Really?” They didn’t mean to sound surprised at the revelation that Emilio had never gotten in an accident, but they did. “I mean … that’s good. Please keep it that way.” It would be a cruel joke of the universe, if Emilio were to die in a traffic accident. Not by vampires or self sabotage, not by something monstrous coming to call — but by a car crashing into his. It would be ironic, but it wasn’t entirely unrealistic.

That was the issue. No tragedy was unrealistic any more. The waves kept pushing, the beach remained wet.

They ripped their eyes away from it, started looking at something else in stead. The bike, because that was the topic of conversation. “They’re smart like that,” they said. “I’m glad you and them … you know.” Wynne smiled. It was genuine. “I don’t know. Maybe that could be cool. You would have to teach me, though. I don’t want to be a danger in traffic. Sometimes on my bicycle I already am a little messy. My head’s not always there.” They looked up at Emilio, now. “But we could ride together. I would like that.”

Their gaze drifted again, this time to look at nothing at all. The rental car hummed under their hands, their feet were struggling with the pedals and the shift stick was never in the right place. Wynne felt sick at the memory. They had been sick, then. Before Elias and them had gone into the hospital they’d vomited in a pair of bushes, heaving their empty stomach and getting rid of all the bile. As if they needed to be cleansed off the food they’d eaten in Saol Eile. They felt something shiver in them. Their stomach was turning and they were trying really hard not to dry heave again. Maybe they’d float away now. They closed their eyes for a second too long for it to be a blink and they opened them again to stare at nothing. “They cut off Regan’s wings because of me. I know I got them out, that Nora and I — that I may have saved Elias’ life, that — that I did good, at the end, even if it was all too late, not too late, but still too late. They cut off her wings, Emilio.”

They dry heaved now, body convulsing with more than a shiver. They didn’t want to be upset in front of the other, even if they knew he would not turn away, that he would not chastise them or take their chin in his hand. But they didn’t want to do it to him. They had to be better — they had always been better than this. But maybe with Emilio they didn’t have to be, maybe that was why they were trembling now and not fighting against it with all their heart. “It wasn’t good enough.”

—

He’d never cared much for the water. The thought struck him as he looked out to the ocean now, watching the way the waves lapped on the beach. When he was a kid — he didn’t remember how old now, but it must have been before the first night in the shed, must have been early — his mother taught him how to swim. She rowed him out into the lake near town and tossed him, with all her strength, away from the boat. The water rushed in, filling his nose, his mouth, his ears, his eyes, and Emilio hadn’t quite understood what drowning meant before but he’d learned it then. His lungs felt heavy, and the rest of him did, too. He thought he might have cried, thought it had probably been lucky that he was in the water when it happened because it meant the tears were obscured, meant he had plausible deniability. (He wondered if other children so young worried about whether or not they had plausible deniability. He pushed the thought away as quickly as it came.)

He didn’t remember getting out of the lake, didn’t remember what had clicked in his head and allowed him to thrash to shore, but he remembered looking at the water after. He remembered thinking that the lake was huge, that it was endless, but it wasn’t. Years later, when he passed by it, he realized it was hardly even large enough to be called a lake, that it was far closer to a pond. It was nothing like the ocean in front of him now, which seemed endlessly vast. If he’d grown up here, he wondered, would his mother have taught him to swim in the saltwater? How far would she have rowed him out before tossing him from the boat? He couldn’t imagine trying to make it to shore from the midst of something this vast.

It might have been funny, he thought, if he’d drowned learning to swim. It might have been funny the same way it might be funny now if he died in a motorcycle accident, if something so mundane and simple was what did him in. A man plagued by fairly literal demons dying the same way millions of people who knew nothing of vampires and the undead died every single day felt laughable, like a piece of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit with the rest. Would Wynne laugh, if he made the joke? He didn’t think so. He wouldn’t put them in such a position, not after what they’d been through.

“I’ll keep it that way,” he agreed, and it was an easy promise to make. He wouldn’t lie to Wynne, which meant he couldn’t promise them that he’d live forever. He couldn’t even promise them that he’d live another week, another day. But he could promise them that his death wouldn’t be a mundane thing. He could promise them that when he died, it would be bloody and painful and at someone else’s hand. He didn’t think it was much of a comfort, really. He didn’t think they’d find any relief in knowing that his death would be a murder and not an accident, but it was the only promise he could make and still keep.

He kept looking at the sea even as Wynne looked away from it, kept thinking of that kid in that pond with water in his lungs and tears in his eyes. He wondered, sometimes, about that kid. What he’d think of Emilio now, how he’d feel knowing how he was going to turn out. Would he be proud? Emilio couldn’t imagine it. That kid in that lake had wanted to be something worth loving. This man standing by the beach with a motorcycle and a kid staring at their reflection in the metal was anything but that.

“They’re one of the smartest people I know,” Emilio agreed, and what he meant was, they deserve a lot better than me. What he meant was, they’re smart about everything but this. What he meant was, I’m selfish for hanging on. Wynne was glad that he and Teddy were what they were, and all Emilio could think was that he was some kind of a con artist, convincing everyone that he was something he wasn’t and too selfish to correct them after the fact. “I’ll teach you. My head is… not always there, either. But I’m good at the bike, I think.” As good as he could be, as good as he was at anything that wasn’t carving a trail of death and destruction through the fucking world.

He felt them leave, even though their body remained. It was a subtle thing, a familiar one; the far-off look in their eyes, the way their breath shifted, the quiet uptick of their heart that he could feel and not see. How many times had he been in that position? How many journeys had his mind gone on that left the rest of him behind? He didn’t want Wynne to be a time traveler, but he had no way of pulling them back to the present. His fingers twitched, his leg ached. Guilt ate away at him. “Nothing that happened there is your fault,” he said lowly. He knew it was true, even if he knew just as certainly that Wynne wouldn’t be able to accept it. “What those people did, they did. It didn’t happen because of you, or because of Nora, or because of anyone but the ones who did it. You were — You were just trying to get everyone out alive. And you did that. You did that. You did good. I know it’s hard to believe, but you did. You got them out alive, kid.”

It was more than Emilio had done, wasn’t it? Wynne had struggled but, at the end of the day, they got everyone out in one piece. The situation had been an impossible one, but Regan and Nora and Elias were all still breathing. Emilio thought of Mexico, of the blood on the street and the bodies on the floor. Wynne got everyone out alive. Emilio couldn’t make the same claim of himself.

They shivered, and Emilio hesitated a moment before stiffly putting an arm around them. The motion felt strange and unnatural, like something he didn’t quite know how to do. He was fairly certain he was doing it wrong, somehow, but he tried anyway. He pulled them against his side, he held them in a way that was tight but not painful. “It was enough,” he said quietly. “You saved them, kid. You did that. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it was enough. It was more than anyone could have expected from you. You did good. I promise, you did good.”

—

The sea had become a steady companion in Wicked’s rest. Wynne had felt a pull to it before they’d moved to harborside, but once they’d started living there, their love for it had cemented. There was something cruel about that body of water, something violent and something that was metaphorically apt for their life at present. But it was also beautiful, wasn’t it? Sometimes it was calm and quiet, sometimes the moon shone down on it.

It was just one of the many facets in town they had started leaning on. Emilio was another, a fixture they now they weren’t afraid of relying on any more. He was there and he would be there, unless something were to stop him from doing so. And that was always an option and sometimes they felt themself drown in the possibility that all the fixtures in town might die – as death was inevitable and natural – before their time. But he was there and they were too and it was enough, for now. Them, the ocean, the bike, the night sky.

“Good,” they said. Good. Such a simple statement for something that mattered so much. But it didn’t need to be said out loud, that they did not want him to die, and Emilio did not want them to die either. And that might seem as natural as the green of grass, but to Wynne it wasn’t so self-explanatory that the people they loved wanted them alive. So many of their loved ones had been content to see them die at home, had admired and revered them for it, had drawn self-worth of their own impending sacrifice. Their dad had been so proud, had worn it on his chest like a medal that his child would be the community’s savior that time. They had been his favorite for their impending death. His chest puffed forward.

But Emilio wanted them to live, just as they wanted him to. He needed them to, even, or so they thought. It was presumptuous to draw parallel lines but Wynne knew that one loss dredged a person down into the sand, where it was hard to keep walking. He had lost his daughter and they weren’t like that — but there was similarity, was there not? Just as their mind kept traveling to their own dad.

Praising Teddy was easy, just like it was easy to speak about Emilio’s driving abilities or lack thereof. “They really are.” They smiled a little, glad that they were surrounded by these people, that these were now their new home. “Alright. That’d be nice. I would like to learn it. And I like … spending time with you, doing things.” And Emilio didn’t really seem to like doing most things, but this could be something they could do together. “You are good at the bike.”

Emilio was reassuring and calling them kid and they wanted to sink in it like it was an ocean, to be enveloped by his certainty that they had done right, to let it echo and reverberate inside of them until they knew nothing else. But they couldn’t, because they kept thinking of the drive in the car, of Regan looking pale, of the banshee announcing that her wings would be removed. Of how gray Elias had looked. Of their hands and knees covered in his blood. If that was what right looked like, what would it look like when they did bad? If this was the best they could do, then why did they try? They were quiet, fighting with their own conviction and Emilio’s certainty, two opposing foes that were equally matched.

It wasn’t until his arm found its way around their shoulder that they felt themself settle a little more. No longer were they afraid to open their mouth lest they vomit. They let themself be pulled against Emilio and for a moment it was all stiff, but then they leaned into him, their ear pressing against his ribcage, his heartbeat echoing through their skull. “Okay.” It was a concession of sorts. “I just … I wish I’d done better. I wish … no one got hurt. But okay.” He promised. He held them. They wanted to believe him and leave it at that, so they tried. “Okay.” They moved even more into him, bodies meeting in that clunky yet fitting embrace and they were quiet, but this time it didn’t feel like that oppressing silence from before.

—

They said good, and part of Emilio wondered if that word had any meaning anymore, if anything did. The syllable was a small and simple one, but it felt so unfathomably big in that moment. Was anything good anymore? Good seemed a thing that died years ago in Mexico and decayed into dust in Ireland. These days, Emilio strove for okay and barely managed to grasp it on his best days, shot for still breathing and hated himself for each gulp of oxygen drawn into his tired lungs.

Wynne said good, and he looked at them with a sharp pain in his chest and wondered if the word had any meaning to them, either, wondered if it ever had. What was good when you were a sacrifice the world kept trying to make over and over and over again? What did that syllable mean to someone whose parents had been content to slay them on an altar, someone whose shoddy… whatever he was to them kept failing to make any kind of a difference, time and time again? His eyes didn’t dart to the scarred skin on their throat where Zane’s teeth had broken skin, but it was a near thing. Born a sacrifice, made one again in that barn, a third time in Ireland… Each time, Emilio was a spectator. Each time, he was just as useful as he’d been in that living room in Mexico where the whole world came to an end.

He didn’t know how to say any of this, of course. Emilio was useless in everything that mattered, and that included talking. His mind could weave a thousand things together, but he couldn’t fit any of them on the tip of his tongue, couldn’t force the words out from behind his teeth. Nothing was good, but he didn’t know how to say that. He didn’t know how to rectify it. He only knew how to stand with his back to the sea, facing the world that was contained in a small vessel with curly hair. He knew how to listen, though he wasn’t even particularly good at that. Each word they said had to run through his mind, to be translated into something more understandable and digested slowly. He could nod his head, and he could hope it was enough while knowing it wasn’t. The only thing Emilio knew he was good at anymore was falling short.

He clung to the praise about Teddy, because at least that was a thing he still understood. He could shout from the proverbial rooftops about how good Theodore Jones was, because any idiot could state the obvious. Maybe the deeper words still had trouble finding their proper place in his mouth — love was a hard thing to say, even now — but the simple stuff was easy. Teddy was good in the same way Emilio wasn’t. There was a balance there, he often thought. Emilio tore the world into pieces that Teddy picked up with ease, because that was what Teddy did. Wynne knew it, just as he did.

They wanted him to teach them, and his throat felt tight as he nodded. He thought, inevitably, of the lessons he hadn’t taught, the ones he’d never get to now. It was all too easy to look at Wynne or at Nora and see who Flora might have been had Emilio been better at protecting her. She would have grown up and been better than he was, he thought. Maybe she would have had Wynne’s quiet helpfulness or Nora’s dry humor. She would have loved them both, he thought. She would have clung to the idea of having…

His mind wouldn’t let him complete the thought. Realizing he’d been quiet a beat too long, he nodded. “I like spending time with you, too.” He just wished he was better at it. He wished he could be here and only be here. One might assume that the ability to exist in two places at once was an enviable thing, but that would only be true if you could choose the places. Existing as Emilio did — half here, half Hell — was a punishment he knew he deserved, even if he didn’t know how to swallow it.

“I can teach you any time. We can do lessons.” Did he know how to do that? Didn’t you teach by imitating the way you’d been taught? He thought, again, of his mother in that lake, of the water rushing in and the desperate bid to return to shore. That wasn’t who he wanted to be, even if guilt flooded him each time he thought of it. Hadn’t his mother been admirable? Shouldn’t he strive to be the same? Why did the thought of imitating her make his mouth fill with bile?

What would Elena say to Wynne, if she were here now? Emilio tried to imagine it. He tried to picture his mother at this seaside, standing next to someone small and scared who had been through something terrible. Would Wynne’s humanity make Elena gentler? She’d always claimed that human lives were a sacred thing, the reason for hunters to do what they did. Theirs were the lives that the Cortezes had sacrificed themselves for for generations, but Emilio couldn’t recall a moment of Elena ever even truly interacting with any humans. She’d turned her nose up when Rosa had married one, scoffed when he’d left shortly after Jaime’s training began. She’d called him weak, called it expected even as Rosa sat on the sofa, trying not to cry. Would she call Wynne the same? Would she scoff at their efforts? The thought filled him with feelings more complicated than he knew how to unpack, so he pushed it away.

Elena wasn’t here, but Emilio was. And maybe he could try to make that mean something, even if only for a moment. Maybe it didn’t matter if his lungs ached with each breath so long as he was still trying to use that air to help people who deserved it more than him.

“I know,” he told them quietly. “I know you wish that. I wish that, too. But it wasn’t your fault. You did more than anyone ever could have asked for you to. And I’m proud. I’m proud of what you did, that you saved them. I’m proud of you.” Did it mean anything? He wasn’t sure. His mother’s pride had been an impossible thing to earn. Emilio wasn’t sure he’d ever claimed it for himself. He might have had Lucio’s, a time or two, but that felt tainted now. And it was probably presumptuous, in any case, to place himself in a position anything like what his mother or his uncle had been to him, anyway. Maybe the comparisons were a pointless thing. Maybe there didn’t need to be a frame of reference. Maybe Wynne was just Wynne and Emilio was just Emilio and that was all either of them needed to claim.

He pulled them tight against his side in a moment, like a clumsy replica of a hug painted by unsteady hands working off hazy memories. It was brief and unpracticed and less than what he thought they deserved, but you could only work with the tools you had available to you and Emilio’s toolbox had always been lacking in this department. “Come on,” he said quietly, nodding to the motorcycle. “Let’s go home.”

#threads.#emilio.#ocean tides.

7 notes · View notes

paarthurnax59 · 2 years ago

Text

"Never to Be" Part 2

images are not mine (Also,I know I suck at this, so bare with me)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader(unrequited), Reader X ???

Summary: Dean left you for Lisa and Ben after Sam fell into the pit, told you to never contact him again, among other cruel remarks on his part. Years later you moved on, starting your own life and finally meeting a man who truly loves and cares for you. What happens when your past comes back to invade your present and tries to jeopardize your future.

warnings: fluff, angst, meeting a cute stranger, rude customer. a little boring.😅

2012, April 2nd… Two years later

“Hey, order up!” One of the cooks of the café you worked called and you came rolling to grab the food and thanked him. With grace and speed, you dashed to your table with the cute couple were sitting at.

“Here you go! One New York melt patty and a Philly cheesesteak with onion rings!” You chirped as you placed the food on the table. The couple thanked you for bringing their order and walked back behind the counter. Soon, your coworker and roommate comes back from her table that had just left and placed her tips back into her apron pocket. “Hey, Babes! How was your last table?”

“The jerk kept on flirting with me in front of his wife, but he gave me a good tip as least.” She said as she patted her side where she kept all of her tips.

“At least there’s that.” You shrugged off as you looked over you notebook. Your roommate, katie, turn to leave and hop out of the kitchen.

It had been almost two years since Dean made you leave Kansas and head for the east coast. You kept on going until you got to the largest city in America.

New York City.

When you first set foot in this viscous concrete jungle, you had not idea about what you were going to do. You took on a few hunts here or there, hoping it would make you feel a little better. Unfortunately, without money, you had to resort to sleeping outside of what is now yours and Katie’s apartment building. She found you on the side of the road freezing to death in the middle of winter and offered you to staying her apartment. She then later told you about a job opening at the Big Apple Café you both now work at now. She said you could pay rent and work together.

That was around eighteen months ago, now you were starting course sat the community college to start a career in nursing. While you may not be much of a hunter now adays, you kept going to the gun range on your days off and shoot to keep your gun skills in check. Not to mention staying in shape and keeping your hand-to-hand combat skills at a high level. There was no way you were going to be a defenseless with what you know what’s out there. To protect you and Katie from monsters, you placed protection charms around the apartment with invisible paint. Despite Dean Winchester cutting all ties with you, the monsters would still know who you are. Taking precautions seemed like a safe bet and Katie would be less likely to ask questions.

As you looked through your notes, another waitress comes in the kitchen. You turned to the red- headed woman as she looked at you.

“(Name), you have a new table. He’s outside at table 12, and just so you know…He’s a real looker.” she cooed teasingly at you and rubbed your shoulder as you shrugged her off while rolling your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be out there.” You replied as you walk past her and out to the front of the café and looked to find a man with sandy blonde hair with a brown leather jacket. I looked like the man was looking down at the table. He then suddenly looked up and then back down again. Feeling curious, you walked up behind and then took a peek at what the man was doing. He was drawing from a view perspective picture of the building, and it was good. Whoever this man was, he had some real talent. Wanting to introduce yourself, you cleared your throat and then the man looked up at you.

“Hi, sorry to disturb you, sir. I know you must be busy.” You said in a sweet and gentle voice as he looked up at you.

“No, it’s okay. I was bored and wanted to do some sketching, doll. I didn’t mean to be so spaced out.” He said in a deep, smooth voice that would make any girl’s knees shake. When your coworker told you the new customer was a looker, she was most certainly not egging on. This man was gorgeous beyond belief. Clear, fair skin that would make a supermodel sneer in envy. baby blue eyes that light a like a light house. Soft, thick blonde hair that was slicked back in an old-fashioned style that he seemed way too young for. Broad shoulders that was being hidden underneath his leather jacket. There was also that smile. That gorgeous pearly white smile that was hidden behind pink plump lips. And the way he called you doll was just icing on top of the cake. If all angels had a natural human form, this adonis would be it. You stood there in silence for almost a minute when the said man lifted his hand and patted you on the shoulder, trying to get you attention. “Miss, are you okay?” He asked you again with a soft voice, making you shut out of your trance.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just looking at your drawings, they’re very good.” You said trying not to sound awkward and that weren’t gawking at him like some prepubescent girl in high school. Never in your life you had felt so embarrassed.

“Oh thanks. They are just doodles. I was just passing time and needed some fresh air, you know. Drawing and painting had been one the best things for me to just express myself.” He admitted with boyish charm that made your knees want to give out just hearing him speak.

‘Oh, God! (Name)! keep your head together! He’s not that cute! Remember the last time you fell for a man like this? He broke your heart in two and forced you to leave everything you knew behind! You will not do this to yourself again, so be professional!’

It’s true. After Dean had abandoned you, never had you looked at another man. Hence forward, you had backed off from dating anyone with the fear of your heart breaking again. You never realized how much influence Dean’s words and actions had you after coming to New York and starting a new life. Multiple men had given you not only large tips but also their phone numbers as well. Katie, being the pushy but caring friend that she is, tried to get you to go out with a few of the guys that had given you their numbers. Unfortunately, she was not super successful at trying to get you to go out with anyone. You heart was still hurting, and you believed it would forever remain that way.

“Yeah, I hear ya. I do a little drawing myself sometimes, but there not that good.” You said thinking back to the times that you kept a sketch diary and Sam had made compliments on how good of an artist you were. You remember as a child you used to make drawings for everyone. Your parents, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, Rufus, Jo and even John, Dean and Sam’s father. You drew him a picture of the Impala one time and was very impressed on how you talented you were. After he died, you found out he kept it in his journal. You ounce made one for Dean, a very special one of him and the rest of his family from a photo he had from when he was four years old. At first, you thought Dean would be happy about it, but instead he was livid at you for touching his stuff and took the drawing and crumbled it all up in front of you. You cried the whole night in your room and never told anyone what had happened. After that, you never draw anything for him again.

“Well, I beg to differ, doll. Sometimes I don’t think my drawings are that good, but people still like them anyway.” The blonde-haired man said and stuck his hand out to you. “Names Steve Rogers, doll face.” He greeted and you took his large hand into yours and shook it.

“(Full name), it’s nice to meet you.” You as you let go of the man’s hand and he smiled showing off his perfect smile.

“(Name), what a pretty name.” He said before a man called to you from behind.

“Hey, toots! Stop flirting with pretty boy there, get me some more coffee!” the customer in the Yankee ball cap yelled rudely to you, making your face turn a bright red out of embarrassment. Steve, feeling annoyed by the man behind you, turned his baby blue eyes to him.

“Is that how you talk to a lady, pal? If you wanted her attention, you could at least ask politely and wait for her to serve you. I don’t know how they do things in the twenty-first century, but back where I am from, we have something called manners. Don't speak to her unless you are ready to show some respect and ask nicely, Am I clear?” He sternly spoke as he looked at the man directly in the eye and he immediately turned away from the both of you with fear in his eyes as Steve staired down at him.

“Thank you for that.” Acknowledging the handsome man’s actions as you looked back him.

“No problem, honey. Do you get that often?” Steve asked you with raised eyebrow to you with a caring look on his perfect face. As you look down, your head nod with a frown.

“Yeah, but I mean it’s New York. People are just looking to stomp on you whenever they get the chance. This town isn’t known for it to being the most friendly or polite.” You said as you fiddled with your notebook. “Besides, I have been through worse. I can handle it.” Steve’s caring stare became more distressed by what you had admitted to him. His face read that he wanted to know about what you had gone through. The blonde-haired man sighed and nodded without saying anything else. “So, is there anything that I can get for you?”

“Oh! Umm…what would you recommend?” He asked realized that he was so emersed in your conversation that he almost lost his appetite. You thought for a moment of what he would like and decided on what to recommend for lunch.

“The Brooklyn burger is good. One of our most popular things on the menu.” You suggested to Steve and he nodded with a smile.

“Brooklyn Burger it is then. Can I get a beer with that as well?” He asked and you nodded and walked away to get his order started. When you got into the kitchen to get Steve’s lunch order ready, Katie ran to you in a franctic state as she grabbed your arms.

“(Name)! I can’t believe how lucky you are! I’m so jealous that you got to have him at your table!” She shouted excitedly shaking you in a crazy fashion.

“Who? Steve? The guy that was outside?” You asked feeling confused as you looked out the kitchen doors. Katie scoffed while she rolled her eyes and pulled out one for her textbooks from school and opened a page from the World War 11 era. She pointed at the Photo of Captain America and examined the photo of him without his mask closely and your eyes grew wide astonishment. The resemblance was That was him, Steve Rogers the man that you were talking to just now. You were just serving Captain America and you had no idea. Stepping back, you were shocked and amazed a the fact that he was alive this whole time.

“How is he here now? I thought he died back in 1944 when he crashed that plane into the ice?!” You exclaimed with frantic excitement.

“S.H.E.I.L.D apparently found the plane he was in and found him alive frozen in time in the Artic. They found him almost a year ago. As it turned it out, the serum he was given had kept him alive in that ice. How crazy is that?!” She questioned and you continued to stare at the picture of Steve in her textbook, mauling over the information she had given you.

“Yeah, crazy.” You muttered as you placed your hands on the page with Steve’s face on it and stroked the picture. Never in your wildest dreams you have ever meet Captain America.

Please like comment and share! thanks for reading!

Part 3

#steve x reader #supernatural #the avengers #angst #dean winchester #steve rogers fluff #captain america fluff #marvel

134 notes · View notes

damienanddragons · 9 months ago

Text

Fireside Thoughts

Cassim sat by the fire, prodding at the embers with a long stick. The sun had set a few hours ago, and he had volunteered to take the first watch while the other two slept.

He glanced over at them. Shimley didn’t snore much, which surprised him, and neither did Uttara, which did not. According to both of them, he snored something fierce, but he had no way of verifying their claims, so he didn’t let it bother him.

There were other things that did instead.

He turned his attention back to the fire, a grim expression settling on his face. It had been seven years since he’d last seen his family; seven years since he’d seen the face of his wife and son, who had been five when he’d left. Did his son even remember him? Did his wife tell him stories about him, or did she speak of him with only malice? Did she speak of him at all?

The hand not preoccupied with bothering the flames came up to brush against the amulet he wore. It was a gift from his father, from just before he and his wife had emigrated from Zakhara to the Sword Coast.

“May your life be an average one with no surprises.”

He snorted. A nice blessing, even if it hadn’t turned out to be prophetic in the least.

Part of him wondered if things would have been better if they had stayed in Zakhara. Logically, he knew the answer was no; there was little there for them. At the very least, the Sword Coast offered them a chance to have their own lives outside of their families.

A noise off in the distance made him snap his head up. He donned his Dark Vision goggles and scanned the area, but found nothing. Satisfied that there wasn’t anything out there that would harm his party, he removed them and returned to his brooding.

The Hand of Midas… A treasure he had heard about through whispers and rumors, a legend that was supposed to be a cautionary tale to would-be treasure hunters, a reminder to keep their greed in check. Yet it had done just the opposite for Cassim, spurring him on longer and longer trips to find evidence that it was real, that he could (and would) possess it.

But what if it was all a mistake? What if he had been led on a wild goose chase, led away from the people he loved the most for no good reason?

He tossed the stick into the fire with more force than what was necessary and sighed. Here he was, with more gold and treasure in the past month than he’d seen in the past seven years, but no amount of loot was enough to quiet the voice in his head that insisted he was wrong.

He pulled out a gold piece and turned it over in his hand. Even in the meager light, it shone brilliantly, its worth clear to anyone with working eyes. His pack was full of them, making him (and the rest of his party, for that matter) a valuable target for any would-be bandits.

(Not that any of them would stand a chance; if the three of them could take down a fire giant, they could certainly handle a few highway robbers.)

He thought back to Lyndon and Drizzad'ya, and their offer to help. Maybe it was a mistake to trust two people that were essentially strangers, but they had helped each other with the goblin keep, so maybe…

He sighed again, shoulders slumping. There were so many what-ifs, so many maybes, so many unanswerable questions.

I wish I could go back. I would have never left them.

Was that really true, though? Guilt gnawed at him as he looked at the gold piece, at his fellow party members. He had earned so much gold, had done so much to help people (and was just as surprised to be the one helping others, if he was being honest).

Was it worth it, though? Was it worth leaving his family behind and not seeing them for years?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that particular question.

#cassim #my writing

8 notes · View notes

stalkedbytrains · 9 months ago

Text

Assassin's Monthly: In For a Kill

I ran into her, the Queen of the Kill, while I was doing some research for an article on one of the East Coast’s best gun smiths (Assassin’s Monthly 786, “Mon Chérie Fusil”). At first she wasn’t immediately recognizable. Her punk aesthetic had worn a bit, the boots were no longer thigh high beasts of leather but moderately fancy knee high ones. She’d changed out the leather jackets and the ripped jeans for more comfortable clothing, more expensive. Her scars and tattoos were showing their age, but her eyes were as bright and green and attentive as ever.

Her hair, her hair was the same, if a little faded. Still cut the same though, same as it always was.

It was her for sure. The Queen of the Kill.

The woman behind the name was something of a mystery.

Despite never hiding her identity or her name, few people actually know it. And she was one of the few people to ever leave the amateur assassin ranks and make waves on the professional assassin lists.

She cemented her title as the top ranked amateur for several years after she assassinated a sitting US Senator and presidential front runner.

From there the rank amateur would be thrust into the world of professional assassins, trading in her place at #1 for amateur hitmen to #3856 on the world wide Assassin’s Monthly professional ranking list.

By the time the next month rolled around, the Queen of the Kill not only had a name for herself among professionals (and several enemies) but also had her first AM cover (Assassin’s Monthly 402, “Queen of the Kill”) and rose up the ranks by two thousand spots all the way to #1098.

The career of the Queen has been a wild ride. Having achieved and lost #1 status forty-seven separate times over the years, she’s taken the top spot from such noteworthy assassins as One Shot, Stan Weebeldorf, The Bell Tower, and Hunter 12.

Now, thirty-two years later, the Queen has entered semi-retirement. She’s still got the chops for the game, judging by the number of times she easily could have killed me during the initial interview.

Assassin’s Monthly: Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me today.

Queen of the Kill: Yeah. I mean I’ve got to keep myself entertained somehow. Your magazine only comes out once a month so I’ve got some spare time.

AM: If you don’t mind I’d like to talk about how you got started.

QK: If you’re sure. I’m sure it’s not as interesting as everyone makes it out to be.

AM: That’s just it, no one talks about it. I don’t even know if there is anyone alive from your time on the amateur lists. We know almost nothing about you before you killed Senator Clark Mathers.

QK: Well before that it was… chaotic, and fun. I was basically… what’s less than a mercenary?

AM: A thug?

QK: Not quite that low. I mean I had skill at least. I was a freelance gun, I guess? Part mercenary, part bodyguard, part assassin. Sure I killed people, but I also protected people who could pay, I ran guns, gold, drugs. I stole from people. Helped in a couple of prison escapes.

AM: Sounds exciting. How long ago was this?

QK: This was… almost forty years ago. I was just a kid really. Barely sixteen. All I had was a gun in one hand and a tenuous lease on an apartment barely big enough for a single bed. So I did what I could to make the money I needed to survive. It was chaotic and exciting and I don’t really miss those days, the days were I wasn’t entirely sure if I would ever live to see the next day. Or if I had enough money to eat.

AM: We’re all terribly curious about how you wound up assassinating Senator Mathers.

QK: Well it’s a complicated, and long, story that I’m not entirely sure I want to go all in on. I had just started my own little, tiny outfit. I was dating someone pretty seriously at the time. He was a rich kid, nice enough, wanted a taste of danger, and at the time I was the most dangerous one around. We’d gotten a deal to run some guns and when the job was a success we were brought in on a larger job. During the course of that job the Senator betrayed me, I got shot a couple of times and survived. From there it was a series of escalation. We’d try to fuck him over, he’d hire hit squads to kill us. And I finally got the last laugh when I took him out during his presidential rally.

AM: Was it true there was a tank involved at one point?

QK: It wasn’t so much of a tank as it was an armored personnel carrier, but yeah.

AM: What happened to the person you were seeing?

QK: He couldn’t handle the danger and the darkness… (she shrugs) I guess he couldn’t handle the evil.

AM: Are you saying that you think you’re evil?

QK: Me? No. I don’t think I’m much of anything. He thought it was evil. So he walked out before I killed Dickbutt.

AM: So he left you before you assassinated the Senator?

QK: Yup.

AM: Have you heard from him since?

QK: No. I never lied to him about what I was. He couldn’t handle it so he walked away. Although I know he’s dead. I think he was one of the people killed in Stan’s rise.

AM: Stan Weebledorf killed your ex?

QK: Yeah.

AM: How does that make you feel?

QK: (she shrugs again and looks away) It doesn’t really make me feel much of anything. I always liked Stan, he was a decent enough guy.

AM: Would you mind talking about your induction into the professional assassin ranks?

QK: That was a weird day.

AM: Weird how?

QK: Well I’m laying low, as low as I could possibly get. Sure I killed Dickbutt for revenge, but there were plenty of people who were willing to pay to have him killed, so I signed up, killed the guy and took my money and ran. You can’t just kill a Senator and get away with it. I was in this shitty little apartment in Northern Canada when all of a sudden there’s a magazine on my desk. There I am on the cover of Assassin’s Monthly, a magazine I never know existed, and I was paranoid as hell. I still never did figure out how you guys deliver or manage to rank everyone. It’s impressive.

AM: I’m afraid I don’t know how we do it either.

QK: A mystery for another day then. Anyways, I find this magazine and I have to read it, I have to know if I’m being followed or what. Then I find out that I’ve been voted into the professional assassin league or whatever and my rating was like bottom of the barrel. I was a little insulted.

AM: Insulted?

QK: This was the first I’d ever heard about assassins and ranks and whatnot. But to find out I was like #4000 was insulting. I was better than that! I wanted to get back out there and get my number out, but then I remembered I was still wanted. So I cooled my heels and waiting for a bit.

AM: It wasn’t long before you were back and making a name for yourself.

QK: I’m very good at what I do.

AM: Have you had any formal training?

QK: Nope. I was too busy surviving to make it to classes.

AM: No family to help or speak of?

QK: (she’s silent for a long moment) No.

AM: I have a few more questions to ask if you don’t mind.

QK: (she looks over at the French gunsmith still working on a series of rifles) I’ve got some time.

AM: Can we talk about your feud with The Bell Tower?

QK: That lunatic? What do you want to know? I thought your magazine covered most of it already.

AM: We covered it from the outside. I’d like to know what happened from your perspective.

QK: (sighs) Well we were both hired to kill people in the same office. Different people, different hires, same location. Shit happens sometimes. I was prepping my scene. My plan was to find this asshole I was hired to kill and push him off a building. He goes to the roof to smoke a couple of times a day. I’d spent a couple of hours weakening the safety fence to look like normal wear and tear and disabling all the necessary cameras. I was good to go, just had to wait for my guy to take a break when all of a sudden this lunatic comes in a shoots up the place. I find out later it was Bell Tower, like if that isn’t the name of a fucking sociopath. He kills thirteen people, injures dozens of others, fucking shoots me in the chest. Of course I return fire, because I’m a spiteful bitch. That was the last time I ever went on a job without protection. Anyways, turns out Bell Tower killed his hit and mine, and also fucking shot me so I was not happy. Also fuck that guy’s work ethic.

AM: His work ethic?

QK: Look, I’m not one of those sanctimonious assassins that only kills the target and doesn’t harm anyone else. Cause there is no one who is totally innocent. But I don’t just massacre people. That is for dime store nut jobs and racists. I’ve killed a few civilians before, shot through one to kill a man once. But Bell Tower and that crazy bomber friend of his… the fuck was his name?

AM: Olympus?

QK: Yeah, that quack. The two of them figured their lunatic tactics made it harder to tell who was really the target. But it was also carpet bombing a building to kill one guy. It’s a waste, it’s messy, and it’s unnecessary.

AM: So you’re saying that you’ll kill whoever you need to, target or civilian, so long as it is necessary?

QK: Pretty much yeah.

AM: How did the feud end?

QK: Well I’d been stealing his kills for a couple weeks, because the asshole shot me. Your magazine does an article about the fight and the next thing I know that lunatic and his friend blow three floors of a building I’m staked out in trying to get a good sniper position.

AM: How did you survive?

QK: Dumb fucking luck. But I did survive so I set up a fake identity and hired Bell Tower to kill me. When he showed up I killed him.

AM: There’s been a lot of speculation over that fight. What happened?

QK: It wasn’t really a fight. That asshole shot me and blew me up. The second he got close enough for me to shoot him, I shot him until he stopped moving. Then I walked away. It was totally worth all the sanctions your organization levied against me. The whole, no targeting other assassins and planting fake jobs and stuff. I didn’t even know there were rules against that stuff. But I’m still glad I did it.

AM: One last question: how does it feel to be the assassin with the most cover stories?

QK: Really? Are you sure I’m the one with the most covers? I could have sworn that was One Shot.

AM: Well if we put this article here on the cover you will be. One Shot retired last year. For good.

QK: Huh. Interesting. I wasn’t aware I was that famous. Although it is nice to know that two ladies are in the top spots. Too many bald guys in this game.

AM: You know One Shot? You know their gender?

QK: Eh, maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

Chérie: I’m done!

QK: About time Sugary, can we go back to my place for that coffee I promised?

Chérie: Of course.

QK: If you’ll excuse me.

AM: Of course, thank you for your time.

#writeblr #original fiction #my fiction #assassin's monthly #queen of the kill

12 notes · View notes

its-aighost · 2 months ago

Text

A Monster Hunter X TGCF crossover Rant that has been stuck in my head for the past several months!!!!

THIS might CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR MXTX'S WORK HEAVEN OFFICIAL'S BLESSING!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

So, for like, a while now, I have been going over a AU idea for Heaven Official's Blessing but Monster Hunter, cause I have problems.

(To TGCF fan's who have no idea what monster hunter is, it's a video game series where you hunt Giant Monsters (DUH) but there is also a bunch of lore for the world and every single monster also has their own lore as well!!!)

So, this is the actual rant.

Xie Lian; he is a Prince of a Fallen Kingdom Called Xianle, which was destroyed by an Elder Dragon many years ago. Instead of a Silk Band, Ruoye is a pure white Palamute who accompanies Xie Lian where ever he goes. Xie Lian's main weapon (Even if he can just use his fists) is a long sword!!! He is only just re entering the Hunter's Guild

Hua Cheng; To explain my Hua Cheng idea, I also need to explain the side game called Monster Hunter Stories. Basically, monster hunter but a turn based rpg where you ride monsters. Hua Cheng would be a rider. His Monster? A Silver Rathalos named Eming!!! uwu. He would also be a Dual Blades main, and his dual blades when set on his back would be a uniquely made so they look like silver butterfly wings. (Wraith Butterflies could just be implemented as a type of in world insect.)

Feng Xin and Mu Qing; used to be Xie Lian's subordinates and friends till Xianle fell. Personal reasons for leaving. Both High Ranking Hunter's of the Guild. Feng Xin is a Bow Main with a Palico (lil talking cat side kicks in the games) named Nan Feng. Mu Qing is a dual blade main whose Palico is named Fu Yao.

The Four Ghost Kings; The Calamities

In this AU they are actually Rider's who don't register Under the Guild and have actually been known to go against the guild for a slew of reasons. Already brought up Hua Cheng so

Black Water He Xuan; a Rider who rules an island off the coast, and rides an Ivory Legiacrus. A recluse who doesn't mess with the guild as long as they stay out of his territory. (No one knows what he looks like)(uwu') idk what weapon he would actually wield.

Green Ghost (green worm) Qi Rong: Monster is a Deviljho. Instead of being a man eating Ghost King, in this AU he feeds his victims to his giant Deviljho! He doesn't wield a weapon cause he doesn't see the point. Just lets his monster and subordinates do all the work.

Bai Wuxiang (White No Face) This one makes me wonder, as I 100 percent see him riding an Elder Dragon. For the Au, it might be a unique to the story one or, It would be the elder Dragon Blackveil Vaal Hazak. This being the elder dragon that destroyed the kingdom of Xianle. I choose Blackveil Vaal Hazak for two reasons. White color palate and the concept of the effluvium which is like a sickness thing that finds and kills its prey. (Fitting) he is also a Wyverian instead of a human (Monster Hunters version of elves (kind of???)) Uses a Long Sword.

The Elemental Master's:

Unlike the 'Calamities' the Elemental Master's are Rider's who work for the Guild.

Water Master Shi Wudu; this one was hard, as i either want his monster to be Mizutsune or Shogun Ceanataur. His weapon would be a sword and shield because he basic.... also the Mizutsune Sw&S is a fan.

Wind Master Shi Qingxuan; (using She/her terms) Insect Glaive. It just fits. Don't ask. She wields an insect glaive. Her monster is either a Paolumu (More a joke then reality) or a Legiana (Cause pretty) Either way, it be a flying Wyvern cause wind.

(Thunder Master is irrelevant as always... cry...)

Earth Master Ming Yi. (He/him pronouns) Uses a Hunting Horn, but terribly, and his monster a Duramboros that doesn't listen to him. (If you know, you know)

Other Character's of Importance; Hunter's Guild:

Ling Wen is the Quest Maiden that isn't respected enough.

Pei Ming; Flirtatious bastard who is a very high ranking Hunter. He either uses a Longsword or a Charge Blade. (Pei Xiu definitely Charge Blade.)

Quan Yizhen: Hammer.

Lang Qianqiu; Great Sword User and is definitely a Palico enthusiast.

Not Hunter's Guild;

Banyue; A Rider who is an outcast of her village and rides a Nargacuga

Xuan Ji; and ex hunter whose weapon of choice was a heavy bowgun. Works for Qi Rong to get back at Pei Ming.

Guild Master Jun Wu; a wyverian who has worked as the Guild Master of the area for a very long time. Has a soft spot for Xie Lian even if he is the one who had him removed from the Guild years ago. (owo')

State Preceptor Mei Nianqing; Xianle's State Preceptor and a Wyverian. Went missing after Xianle's fall.

Locals:

Puqi Village is where Xie Lian get's posted as a Hunter after his return to the Guild The area surrounding the village is a plains biome.

Tiantang; the Massive Capital City where the Hunter's Guild Base is located for the region. (Tiantang just means heaven... aka its just the heavenly capital)

I think that cover's most of my mental ramblings on this particular Au idea....

(I also have thoughts for MDZS Monster Hunter Crossover but it's not as fleshed out as this was.)

#monster hunter #monhun #AU #rambling #crossover au #crossover #mxtx #mxtx tgcf #tian guan ci fu #xie lian #hua cheng

5 notes · View notes

aardvark-123 · 2 years ago

Text

~Excessively Twee Skyrim Headcanons: Winterhold Edition~

There are about twenty thousand people left in Winterhold. Thousands left after the Great Collapse, namely those who could afford to move out, and who dared to make the long journey through bear, bandit, wolf, troll, ice wraith, draugr and avalanche country. Winterhold was bled dry of the rich, the brave and the foolish, leaving hunters, fisherfolk, farmers and the College's mages behind.

The people of Winterhold don't really bother with money any more. Travellers come and spend the stuff on occasion, but for the most part people do what work they're good at, help each other when they can and share what they can spare. Winterhold may not be a busy or fancy city, but its people care for one-another and no-one is left on their own.

The College of Winterhold is of course the mammoth in the room; part of Winterhold, yet standing aloof from it, feared and distrusted by many. The College is often blamed for the Great Collapse, and a few of its mages have begun to resent the people of Winterhold, enough to leave the gate barred against a possible angry mob.

While there is a deep, painful rift in Winterhold's history, there are still people who reach out across it. Mages are still known to blow storms away from the coast, heal the sick and wounded, teach magic tricks to anyone who'll listen and drink the night away in the Frozen Hearth. A lot of people welcome them into the town, are glad of their help, and lend a hand at the College where one's needed.

Jarl Korir would love to be a "proper" jarl: rich, powerful, feared and adored. He'll settle, however, for "nominally in charge of a city where no-one is starving, homeless, a religious extremist, or hell-bent on conquering the world with dark magic and legions of undead". He keeps Winterhold's treasury (both piggy banks) safe for whenever the city needs a public service, and has been known to help shovel snow off the roads in late summer.

Winterhold is snowy for ten months of the year, and spends the remaining two full of slushy mud. Yes, the main roads have cobblestones, but the mud has a way of flowing down from the hills and sliding inexorably around the city. They say that the second most important possession anyone in Winterhold owns is a sturdy pair of boots.

The soil around Winterhold can barely grow a scraggly snowberry bush or a tuft of brown grass, and it's mainly through sheer determination and fervent prayers to Kyne and Azura that the first there farmers managed to grow crops. The Clever-Men of old learned how to sing vigour into Winterhold's crops and pull the frost out of their foots, but for the most part, people ate fish and seaweed and caught scurvy.

Hang on, I said 'excessively twee', didn't I? This needs a dash of my speciality, girl power and earnest silliness. For the honour of High Hrothgar!

Eight years ago, Colette Marence worked out how brew potions of Resist Frost and Fortify Stamina Regeneration for plants. Watering cans turned into vessels of enchanted rain, and soon leeks, carrots, apple trees and even tomatoes were blooming in Winterhold's fields.

Faralda has a lot of energy, which she pours into her work as the College of Winterhold's Destruction master. What she does in the game- standing guard outside the gate for hours at a time- does not do justice to the "real" Faralda at all. She has been known to somersault backwards over a stray bear whilst pelting it with fireballs, punch a dragon in the snout with her knuckles wreathed in lightning, and even teach Winterhold's handful of rebellious teenagers how to dance.

Enthir is friendly to everyone, and has worked out how to weave an irresistible sales pitch or a threatening demand for money into a polite greeting and a slap on the back. He is vulnerable, however, to being shaken roughly by the shoulders and told "GO AWAY, YOU CRETIN!".

The College's students and faculty can be a wild, unpredictable bunch, yet Mirabelle Ervine has managed to keep the worst of their behaviour in check for years. How, you might ask? Does she whip wayward mages, send atronachs to drag them to prison, torture them with lightning or hold their loved ones to ransom? No, in fact she has a sad, almost tender way of saying she's disappointed in you that can be utterly heartbreaking. She also has fireballs.

Tolfdir is a natural-born teacher; he wants to guide the next generation of wizards to greatness, and knows the basics of all the schools of magic. He also enjoys learning, and hopes to instill that passion in at least a few of the apprentices. Mirabelle was like that too, and she often misses teaching when the busy life of a deputy arch-mage is getting her down.

Nirya and Faralda are constantly trying to one-up each other, whether in displays of ferocious magic power or tense pie-eating contests. They tried to race around the courtyard once, only to crash into each other and get concussed. They tried to climb up the statue of Azura once, only to be batted away with a rolled-up newspaper by Aranea Ienith. They tried to have a pillow fight once, only to end up having a nap together. They have successfully slain at least one Legendary Dragon.

Phinis Gestor uses a zombie to carry his shopping, just to make people stare.

#the Elder Scrolls #larks #Skyrim #headcanons

36 notes · View notes

nessieart · 2 years ago

Text

Teeth pt. 5

|| Golden Glow ||

WC: 3.1k

AN: pacing? What's pacing?

Warnings: Canon level violence, Cursing, no y/n used, made up fantasy stuff most likely.

<<Previous || First || Next>>

It was another long day at the cafe where you’ve been working the last two months. The heavy cottage door creaked as you opened it, you kicked your shoes off after you shut the front door behind you and placed your keys in the bowl by the door. You sighed, head thudding back on the door as you closed your eyes. It’s been 3 months since you left New York. Three months since you’ve seen or heard from Peter or Tony. Which was your decision, you couldn’t risk leading those Hunters to the two people you cared about most.

“Is that you, sweet girl?” The old man called from across the cabin.

“Yeah, it’s me, Artie,” you replied, coming further into the cabin to find him sitting at the small kitchen table. You lean over and kiss him on the head. He pats your hand when you rest it on his shoulder.

Arthur was in his mid 80s now, though he wouldn’t let you know it. His hair was silver and cropped short, the glasses he wore on his wrinkled face seemed too small to even be of use. He preferred flannel shirts and old, worn out denim jeans. When he was in the house, he wore slippers, but his old boots sat near the back door caked in dirt and ready to be worn. Artie didn’t ask for help, he was too proud, but you never asked permission to do stuff for him. You didn’t mind, he was your little brother, after all. Though he may say otherwise, you love that you get to spend time with him.

Two months ago you showed up at your youngest brother’s doorstep, desperate and worn out. He took you in without a second thought, it’s been a long 20 years after all. When you arrived you told him about New York, and the people you met there. You even told him about finding a mate in a human. Arthur was happy for you, he may have laughed out loud when you told him the human in question was Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, and superhero by day; Iron Man. He sobered real fast when he saw that you weren’t joking.

Artie told you that his two kids had moved away. His daughter was like the rest of your family, a shifter, who lives in Montana. His son is human with 4 kids of his own, which all live in California. Artie says that he sees his children and grandchildren a few times a year, though not as often as he likes.

“It’s almost Christmas, honey, what do you plan on doing for the rest of the year?” Artie eyed you over his spectacles that rested on the tip of his nose. Holidays were the time of year that his family would come to visit him, you didn’t want him to have to explain to them what you were doing here. You didn’t want to alarm them with thoughts of possible Hunters on your scent.

You sigh, plopping down in the chair across the small table from Artie, “I don’t know, honestly.” You rest your head in your hand, leaning on the table. “Maybe go for a run down the coast. Do a little sightseeing maybe,” you chuckled.

Artie hummed, “Maybe see that boy of yours? You did say he lived in California, right?”

You shake your head vehemently, “no, Artie, absolutely not!” You go to reach for the collar around your neck, but it’s not there.

A few weeks after running from New York, you were in Appalachia country, you tore the tracking chip from the collar and smashed it with a rock. You kept the collar however.

Artie reaches across the table to place his hand over yours, and says your name softly, “You should go to him,” he gives you a pleading look. “I love you honey, but you need to go see your mate. You ‘member how mama and papa used to get when they were away from each other for too long.” Artie may not be a shifter like the rest of the family, but he understood what it meant to have a mate. He swore when he met his late wife she was the one for him, ‘could feel it in his bones’, he had said. And you know exactly what that’s like.

“But we aren’t mated or together, Artie! It happened so fast. And then I left.” This isn’t the first time you’ve had this argument, and it probably won’t be your last. “It was hardly anything, and,” you sigh and thump your forehead on the table. Artie places his hand on your head and smooths your hair back.

“You won’t know anything until you try, honey,” he says quietly. “Call that job of yours and tell them you’ll be away for the rest of the year. Or quit!” He chuckles when you lift your head to glare at him, “Sleep on it, and then leave in the morning.” he points a finger at you. Artie gets up from the table and gives you a kiss on the forehead before he heads to his room for the night.

“I haven’t made up my mind yet, old man!” You shout at him.

He’s laughing as he closes his bedroom door, “Of course you have!” Artie’s door shuts with a click and you heave a sigh and put your head back on the table.

-*-

When you wake in the morning there’s a backpack on the floor at the foot of the couch where you’ve been sleeping. It’s full of clothes that used to belong to his daughter, you realize. An old flannel is draped over the back of the couch for you as well as a note pinned to it.

Sweet girl, I’ll be in town by the time you wake. I packed a few things for you in my old army pack, take it with you, and no buts! Here’s one of my favorite shirts, I want you to have it. I know you don’t get cold, but it’ll make me feel better while you travel south.

I hope you find everything you’re looking for in California. I’m so proud of you, and I hope you write when you get to your destination.

Love your favorite brother, Artie.

PS. No, I won't be getting a cellular phone. So please stop asking me.

There’s a wet laugh that leaves you after finishing the note. You hate to leave him, but he is right. You have to do this.

Putting the flannel on Artie left you, you grab the backpack and sling it over your shoulders and put your shoes on by the door. You leave the keys in the bowl by the door when you exit, making sure to lock the door with the spare key under the rock next to the steps.

Artie’s cabin was way back in the woods off any main road, he had said he liked his privacy, but you knew it was to keep his family safe. He and his wife may not be supernatural, but there were people in his life and family that were, and he wanted to keep those people and their secrets safe.

About 20 miles outside of town you flagged down a big semi truck to hitch a ride down the coast. The burly, middle aged man with a thick beard had stopped and asked where you were headed. You had told him Los Angeles, gushing about how you've never seen the Hollywood sign before. His name was Robert, but everyone called him Big Bobby, and said you should too.

Big Bob was driving all the way to San Diego, so he had no issue dropping you off in LA along the way.

It was a long 15 hour drive with Big Bob. He liked to talk a lot. He told you how he first started trucking, how his wife works at a truck dispatch office and that's how they met. You had stopped only a few times during the drive, so he could refuel and stretch his legs. Gas station food along the interstate wasn't as bad as you thought it'd be.

You bid farewell to Big Bob a few miles outside of LA. You've been in Southern California enough to know where you were going.

-*-

It was early afternoon when you arrived at Malibu Point. You had to stop and ask for directions a few times. The tour bus drivers that came through were more than happy to help, pointing you in the right direction.

It may be a week away from Christmas, but the weather was warm and sunny. Those California Poppies lined the road side as you made your way up the road. It made you smile.

10880, this was it. You took a deep breath as you prepared yourself to see Tony again. You hope he's home at the very least, and not back in New York.

As you made the long trek up the drive, you could see a few cars in the driveway. Well, at least someone was home. Once you reach the front doors, you notice it is all glass, and you can see into the lavish mansion that belongs to Tony.

As you go to raise a hesitant hand to knock, a sound cuts you off.

Hello, Miss. JARVIS says your name. You suppress a squeak, and place your hand over your heart.

“For all that is holy, JARVIS, you need a bell or something,” you say once your heart rate has returned to normal.

My apologies, Miss. He sounds amused, can AI even smirk? What can I do for you?

You twist your fingers together, why were you so nervous? You made it this far, right? “I, uh, is Tony here? I know I left suddenly a few months ago but, I, um,”

I informed Sir that you are waiting outside, JARVIS cuts off your rambling with a gentle tone. You sighed in relief, and stepped back off the entryway.

“Thanks, JARVIS.” You begin to pace back and forth, waiting for Tony to emerge from the mansion.

“Can I help you with something?” You hear behind you, when you whip around you’re met with a tall, attractive, strawberry blonde woman. She raises one perfect eyebrow at you as you gape at her.

“Uh, I. I’m looking for Tony Stark,” you say, and give her your name, trying to stand a little taller. Gods, how did she walk in those heels?

“I’m sorry,” she supplies, she seems to not register that you've said your name, “but Mr. Stark is a very busy man, he doesn’t have time for,” she pauses and gives you a once over before she meets your eyes again, “fans.”

You shake your head, coming a little closer, this woman was a good head taller than you, even without those heels on. “No, you don’t understand, I met him a few months ago in New York, I-I know him.”

The woman’s expression turns serious, a small scowl on her lips, “Listen, a one night stand doesn’t give you the right to just show up here at our house. If it’s money you’re looking for,” she pauses again to look down at your stomach, “then you’re out of luck. Please show yourself off the property before I call the police.”

One night stand? What? “Our…house…?” You say quietly. Your pulse kicks up, and you start breathing heavily. No. This isn’t right. “I-I came all this way,” you gasp between words. You look to the left at the communication system where JARVIS spoke to you earlier.

“JARVIS, please,” you plead. You feel your coyote want to burst through, she wants to rip this woman’s throat out. Stop. You go to pace away, your hands coming up to your hair and tugging at the roots. Stop. You’re vaguely aware that she’s talking on the phone to someone, probably the police she threatened you with a few minutes ago. Stop.

“STOP!” You don’t realize you shouted until the woman backs away when you turn towards her, the phone slips from her ear and behind her you can see someone running towards the front doors. You’re still breathing heavily when Tony bursts through the doors to stand in front of the woman, placing himself between you both.

Tony looks like he hasn’t gotten a single good nights’ sleep in weeks, maybe months. The dark circles under his eyes are prominent, his hair is disheveled, and his clothes look like he’s been wearing them for a few days. His hand is raised to the side to block you and the woman from each other, and you notice he’s closer towards her than he is to you. You want to reach out for him, but you stop yourself.

“Poppy,” Tony says quietly, like he can’t believe you’re standing there. Your sole focus is on Tony, and you don’t notice the woman go stiff behind him, she inhales sharply. Tony’s look is pleading, “calm down, please.”

Calm down? What does he mean? Then you realize your claws are out, and your fangs have extended, and you’re sure your eyes are glowing. You stumble backwards a few steps, putting your hand over your mouth.

“Tony…?” The woman behind him says, he turns his head a little but doesn’t take his eyes off you. “You-you said you were looking for -“

“Not now, Pep,” Tony cuts her off. He goes to take a step towards you, hands coming up in defense. His head tilts to the side, “I thought you were dead, Poppy.”

The tracker, of course. You take the collar out of your back pocket and toss it on the ground between you two. Tony stops his advance and looks down, sighing a little when he sees the rip where his tracker used to be. He takes another step towards you and you back up. A look of hurt flashes behind his eyes.

“Who is that?” You ask quietly, pointing to the woman who was still near the front door. Tony shakes his head slightly, a pleading look for you not to ask that question. “Tony.”

Tony motions behind him, “That’s Pepper Potts,” like you should know who it is just by the name. You don’t.

“His girlfriend,” she says. And you’re sure you stopped breathing. Girlfriend. You should have known.

You shake your head, backing away again as Tony tries to reach you. You feel your heart shatter inside your chest, a whine leaves your throat. Your arms go to hug yourself, and while you’re distracted Tony reaches for your elbow, you can feel the tingling of his touch all the way to your toes. When you look up at him he smiles a little, a sigh leaving his lips, like touching you solved all his problems.

You glare at him, a growl leaving your lips and you push him. Hard. He’s shoved a few feet away from you, stumbles and lands at the feet of Pepper, she bends over to help him up.

“What gives you the right!?” You shout at him, there’s tears in your eyes, “You’re rejecting me?”

Tony can’t look you in the eye as he stands back up, he brings a hand to his chest where you pushed him, he’s sure it’ll bruise. And he’s sure he deserves it.

“Tony and I have been together for 2 years,” Pepper says, “so take yourself and your stuff and get off our property.” She’s standing firm as she holds onto Tony’s elbow, he still won’t look at you.

You clench your fists and a snarl leaves your mouth, before you have the chance to do anything you hear sirens down the road. You wrap your pack and flannel around you tightly, and prepare to shift.

"Please, don't leave," Tony says softly, he's still rubbing at his chest. "I'm sorry."

You tense, and look over at Tony, he's finally looking at you. Instead of shifting you pivot on your feet and take off down the driveway. You can't be caught by the police. The full moon's a week away and you aren't sure how long they'd keep you. And you can't risk it.

-*-

It takes you a few hours to reach central Hollywood, you lost sight of the police a while back, the sirens fading as you made your way further east.

It's evening and there's tourists and people chatting and taking photos, but you don't pay them any mind.

Your head is down as you walk down the sidewalk, avoiding people as they pass you, there's a star under your foot. Looking up you see a familiar figure coming out of the Grauman's Chinese Theater plaza.

You tilt your head, "Happy?"

You make your way towards him as someone bumps into him, they say a few words before they're trading punches, Happy lands one to the man's face he's fighting, and when the man straightens back upright, there's a strange glow across his features and the cut on his nose is healed.

Huh..

Happy goes to throw another punch but the man catches his arm, you hear a crunch and Happy is tossed a good 15 to 20 feet across the plaza.

"Happy!!" You make a run for him, ducking under the man when he tries to grab you and skid to a stop next to Happy behind a kiosk. "Are you ok?" You check him over as he sits up. He looks over your shoulder and you hear someone call for help. As you glance behind, you see a man begin to glow bright orange, Happy pulls you behind the kiosk and covers your body with his. Your eyes go wide as an explosion goes off and you're both tossed away from each other from the concussive blast.

There's ringing in your ears and blood in your eyes when you go to roll over on your stomach. You scan the area for Happy, he's beat up, dirty, and bloody, laying on his back. He looks at you and there's a small smile on his lips, and then he's pointing at something you can't see through the fire and smoke.

Suddenly a man - the one Happy was in a fight with - in a battered up and singed suit walks out of the wreckage, he looks like he's molten as he walks away from the explosion site.

You crawl your way over to Happy, the lesser of your injuries already starting to heal. "You big dumb, idiot," you say to him when you reach him, "I heal fast, what were you thinking?" You don't realize you're crying until his hand comes to your cheek and he wipes a tear away.

His voice is rough, and hoarse when he speaks to you, "Cause… you're …Poppy," he wheezes out, and then he falls unconscious.

You're leaning on him, resting your forehead on his chest when you hear the faint siren calls of fire trucks, police and ambulances.

"I'll stay with you, don't you worry."

-*-

Next>>

AN: thank you for reading if you've made it this far! it means a lot to me!! Likes, comments, Reblogs are so nice! <3

#Tony Stark x Reader #Tony Stark x Shifter!Reader #tony stark #mcu fanfiction #Shifter!Reader #Teeth part 5

29 notes · View notes

blueiscoool · 2 years ago

Photo

Record-Breaking Footprint Found on England's ‘Dinosaur Coast’

More than 3 feet long, the footprint was made by a meat-eating theropod dinosaur almost 166 million years ago from the Jurassic Period.

The brooding landscape of the English county of Yorkshire has perhaps been best known as the home of the gothic novels “Wuthering Heights” and “Jane Eyre” by the Brontë sisters.

But long before they put pen to paper, giant carnivorous dinosaurs roamed the area that locals refer to as “God’s own country” and one left a footprint that experts Thursday confirmed was the largest ever discovered in Yorkshire.

More than 3 feet long, the footprint was made by a meat-eating theropod dinosaur almost 166 million years ago from the Jurassic Period, according to the authors of a study published in the Proceedings of the Yorkshire Geological Society journal.

They added that they thought the dinosaur was squatting or resting when it left the three-toed footprint in the Cleveland Basin area, which is now the east coast of Yorkshire.

The footprint was serendipitously discovered in April 2021 by local archaeologist Marie Woods, while she walked along a stretch of coastline known as the Dinosaur Coast.

“As an archaeologist, I know the importance of recording objects and exploring the potential for recovery,” she said via email Thursday. “This was no exception, even though it’s not my field of expertise.”

“I contacted various local people and sent photographs and the location to see if they had come across the print before me, they all said no,” said Woods, who is also a co-author of the study.

Shortly afterward, she contacted her friend Dean Lomax, a paleontologist at The University of Manchester and a fellow author of the study.

“By studying the angle of the footprint, its shape, and the impressions of the claws, the fossil provides insights into the behavior of this individual from around 166 million years ago,” Lomax said in a statement.

“Features of the footprint may even suggest that this large predator was squatting down before standing up,” he added. “It’s fun to think this dinosaur might well have been strolling along a muddy coastal plain one lazy Sunday afternoon in the Jurassic.”

While the area is well-know for dinosaur footprints, few are found in such well preserved condition, the study said. It is one of only six similar footprints to have been recorded in the area, the first being found in 1934, it added.

A popular destination for paleontologists and fossil enthusiasts, it is considered one of the best places in the world to find footprints from the giant creatures.

After it was determined the footprint was at risk of being exposed to extensive damage by the tide or landslips, it was quickly recovered from the shoreline by a team of experienced fossil collectors.

During that time, it emerged that the footprint had been spotted five months earlier in November 2020 by a local fossil hunter and a co-author of the new study, Rob Taylor. Bit it was not fully exposed when he found it.

The footprint has been donated to a local museum for conservation purposes.

By Aina J. Khan.

#Record-Breaking Footprint Found on England's ‘Dinosaur Coast’#dinosaur #theropod dinosaur #fossil #paleontologist #archeology #archeolgst #ancient artifacts #history #history news #ancient history #jurassic period

38 notes · View notes

mangonatural · 1 year ago

Text

Rules: Make a 24 hour poll with the names of your WIPs, let it run, then work for 10 minutes for every vote the winner receives.

Thank you for the tag, @angelcasendgame!!!!! I am not sure I will be able to work on anything very soon just because life came after me again, and turns out I'm gonna be moving over the next month or so, but I really do hope I can find time!!

None of these have names yet lol. I put the SPN ones first, but technically I've been trying to break my writer's block by returning to The Great Gatsby (It's all Nick/Gatsby btw, just realized that might not be immediately evident) with limited success. It's always come easier for me. But all of this is stuff I do actively want to work on.

Ohh I don't know who to tag. I'm sure everyone in this circle has been tagged already, and most of the people I talk to regularly enough to know about their projects have more or less left Tumblr... I do absolutely want to pass this your way though, @antique-ro-man!! (It's Wes, btw!) I also wanna tag @heyfagbutt! And then anyone else who sees this and wants to participate, I also encourage it!! This is such a cool idea :D !!

Long, rambling explanations down here ��⬇

I think the name is pretty explanatory? The gist of it is they go after the same guy and become pseudo-enemies but they keep bumping into each other like this and decide to work together after a while 👍 this is a really bad hook LMAO. Anyway, I'm trying to build on the idea that they work REALLY well together when they do it intentionally but fail comically when they don't.

Pretty much what it says on the tin as well. No Supernatural AU. Dean goes to a community college to get a certification to help with his work elsewhere, but Cas, a figure drawing model, catches him drawing (which Dean's been doing on and off as a hobby) and tries to get him to sign up for the arts program.

I technically only have a summary of this, and I'm not entirely sure if I will write it all out, but I do want to at least put more time into the development before I dedicate to giving up on it bc of scope lol. I just have SUCH a soft spot for fake relationship AUs. Also, I just found out that while I have FINALLY aged into independent FAFSA eligibility, I am once again tax bracketed out. Anyway, financial abuse is real and I want to project my suffering onto Dean. Also immigrant Cas, but I haven't decided where I want him to be from yet. I think this has a lot of potential for some pretty hefty character redesigns too so it's also compelling to me from that angle. I guess I could also write it for TGG, but I did initially think of it for Destiel, so.

I don't know how to explain this one very well except that I had unhelpfully written "poolboy au" in my notes and then proceeded to forget what the hell I meant. This fic was an attempt to resurrect that but ended up being a funky modern West Coast re-imagining where Gatsby can't even "make it" as much as he wants to, and Nick can't find a place to live except for a less-than-legally rented pool house. It's not meant to be a full rewrite or anything though.

Uhhh yeah, I'm keeping the details private for this one ahaha but that's just because it wasn't supposed to be a big deal and I told a friend she would see what it was when it was done...like oh god probably a month ago at this point... My original scope for this was quite small, but research for it, indecision, and a nasty case of writer's block that I've had for nearly a year now have kept development a bit slow. Hopefully, I'll finish it before the year comes to a close.

I also don't know how to explain this one well other than "after being rejected by Daisy (Canon Divergent), Gatsby attempts to buy his way into a bewildered Nick's heart. Though the fic is from Nick's POV, Gatsby's just had his worldview shattered and is in a bit of denial, but instead of pursuing Daisy harder, he channels all of that energy into Nick (though he's not really sure why he's doing it at first). I wasn't sure what to put up at the top because I absolutely don't want my code name for this public at least until it's done LMAO.

#new post #tag game #spn #cause i'm gonna kick this over to my main too bc of the tgg #but i SAID i was gonna quarantine the spn stuff here so .#sorry i feel soo much more rambly than normal #did you know that some property managers will approve you in fewer than 2 hours after you submit your application?#can't stop thinking about that

6 notes · View notes

endlessreruns · 2 years ago

Text

(Skyler Gisondo) [The Pretender]. Please welcome [Felix Berkowitz (he/they)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [24]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [Town]. You may see them around working as a [Storytime Reader].

- Name: Felix Asa Berkowitz

- NickNames: N/A

- Face Claim: Skyler Gisondo

- Age: 24 (Updated age 25)

- Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man ; he/they

- Orientation: ?

- Town Visitor

- Neither Hunter or Gatherer

- Occupation: Storytime Reader

Languages Spoken: English, Yiddish, Russian, and some Japanese

---

- Born to a socialite/hotel heiress mother and father that came from generational wealth (a blend of new and old money)

- Father was also a producer out on the East Coast, something he did for fun and not because he actually needed a job.

- Grew up in Los Angeles however once he was old enough began spending summers and alternating holidays with his dad.

- Younger half-brother to Cyan

- Didn't have that many real friends growing up. As a child his mom once paid people to come to his birthday. As he got older the people that were his friends only really did so because of his being rich and who his dad is.

- Loves his mom because she's his mom, but over time didn't have the best relationship with her.

- As Cy began dealing with his own shit, the relationship between the two became damaged

- When he was 14 Felix went to live with his dad during the school year. This was in major part so he wouldn't have to be around Cyan, as before they both had lived with their mom during the school year.

- Finished out his school years on the East Coast

- At 19 had a play he wrote put up off Broadway, sure there was some nepotism at play with it, but the play actually received decent reviews, especially for someone his age and it being their first one

- His dad's side of the family knows the Beauregarde's, so growing up when he was at his dad's would often go to parties and such that they were at

- When they were 21 an engagement/marriage was arranged between him and Saffron Beauregarde despite them not really knowing each other, and it being a thing neither of them actually wanted, and rather was forced upon them.

- However, Felix told himself he would make the best of it

- Went to look for Saffron after he found out she'd ran away

- Wound up in Huntsville about 2 months ago, unaware when he did that not only was Saffron here, but his half-brother as well.

- Lived at the commune for the first couple weeks, before moving into town, finding that the commune life was not for him

- has a dog named "Elphie" full name: The Elephant in the Room

#huntsvilleintro #intro: felix

5 notes · View notes

gobodegoblin · 8 months ago

Text

Aynai was born nearly 17 years ago. Her mother was a hunter who lived on Urtak Island in Drahke’beg Undereyar, and her father was a slutty merchant who couldn’t resist bedding someone who could snap his neck. Unfortunately for Nurek of Guinjek, he had managed to impregnate the muscled hunter from Urtak Island. Later that same year, in the early months of winter, Huntress Oinap Raz Toderk gave birth to Aynai Rel Oinap in the comfort of her house near the coast; this new-born girl was bathed in water and dipped in wine by the Shamen, granted protection and good luck by the spirits of the island.

Nurek of Guinjek would not learn he had a daughter till she was 3 years old, and he happened to stop by that island while on a trading expedition from Engal. Needless to say, he was rather shocked.

Am I doing well?

#writing #OC #Vlot'ya #my writing

31 notes · View notes

arjaandsimoni · 2 years ago

Text

Flying Free

Downtown Cincinnati

Stephanie and Arja walked out of the cinema onto the streets of Cincinnati, the Indian girl finishing off her coke before tossing it in the garbage. “Huh, those movies were a lot different from the games.” she shrugged, “Nice to actually see it early though. Normally I have to use a VPN or wait months for them to reach India.” she grinned.

“Yeaaaaaah, you think they’d be better at getting them out now. I mean the freakin’ internet exists.” replied Stephanie, shrugging her shoulders as they walked through the city. She was still watching for the naga (first rule of being a hunter: if you don’t find a body DON’T ASSUME ITS DEAD) but so far the coast was clear. She’d had a bit of a freak out moment when they heard a hissing noise earlier, but it turned out someone had driven over a busted bottle and blew a hole in their tire.

The two had met up earlier that morning and gone out to see Sonic the Hedgehog 2 and now were basically two kids in the city looking for anything to occupy their time.

“So… I did some research online about Hanuman after last night…” she nodded, “He’s really your ancestor?” asked Stephanie.

Arja grinned at her, “Yep! Dad’s mortal, but my mom is like me. They met years ago when he was an explorer in India. He found a path that led to the supernatural world reflection of our homeland and almost got killed by a rakshasa, but my mom rescued him and the two just sorta hit it off. Few years later I’m there and dad retires from exploring and gets into his family’s business of politics and such. His family act as diplomats for India but are also one of the noble houses in Jaipur.” she nodded.

“Oh, neat. Clan Fullmoon is a bit different… we don’t have a divine ancestor, it’s more of a long-standing pact with one…” replied Stephanie, and she went on to explain.

Centuries ago, before the rise of the Roman Empire, back even before the Iron Age, Ireland was not a very good place to live. The Fair Folk preyed on humanity with reckless abandon and dark forces lurked around every corner, but the worst of it all were the werewolves.

These days packs of werewolves were much more civilized. They stayed to the virgin forests and wild areas of the world or learned to blend in with humanity, but in the old times they were wild and vicious beings, true monsters who saw humans as just another form of prey no different from wild deer or boar.

The legend went that a village, the name lost in the distant past, was slaughtered by one of the wolf packs, only two people able to escape from it: Aidan and Deirdre, two young lovers recently wed to each other who hid under the rubble of their collapsed home while the werewolves killed and ate their friends and family.

As they fled their souls cried out for vengeance and justice against the monsters who’d destroyed their lives, and Morrigan heard their plea. The Maven herself appeared before them and offered them a pact. They pledge themselves and all their descendants to her, and she would grant them power so that they would never again need fear the predations of the dark creatures of the night.

Aidan took on her aspect as a Goddess of War, becoming stronger than any man in Ireland. He became able to beat a werewolf to death with his bare hands if need be, his skin toughening like hard leather and gaining stamina enough to run through the woods for three days and nights without tiring.

Deirdre took on her aspect as the Queen of Ravens, gaining the power to transform and become capable of flight as well as to command storms and winds. While her husband fought their enemies directly she would harry them with gale force winds, swirling tornados, and bright crashing lighting clouds.

Eventually Deirdre became pregnant, and they discovered that their child had inherited the Maven’s gifts as well. They had a son, then a daughter, both of whom had the same powers as their father and mother respectively, and eventually those children grew, wed, and had children of their own, and the line continued on and on to the present day.

“… and as the family got bigger we became famous among old Ireland for hunting down rogue werewolf packs. We got a reputation as ‘Those Who Hunt By The Light of the Full Moon.’ Bit of a mouthful in Gaelic though so it eventually got shortened to just ‘Clan Fullmoon.’” she nodded. “I dunno how true it is that Deirdre could actually make entire lightning storms and such though, none of the Clan I’ve ever met could pull THAT off. Most I can do is localized windstorm and those ‘mine’ things you saw me use on that naga the other night, also fly. I can’t actually fly fly, I’m just using my magic to lift myself up in my bird form by catching my own wind under my wings.” she nodded.

“Yeah, see, that sounds exactly like the garuda I know back home! Only difference is they’re all Indian like me, and their wings are green, not black.” replied Arja. “Its just so wild, how is it your family and their people have the same things?” she scratched at her hair a bit.

Stephanie shrugged, “Heck if I know. Sometimes stuff is just weird. My big brother Nelen has been all over and he’s seen all sorts of crazy things. Heck he helped us stop this crazy faerie woman from taking my cousin last spring. She was this little girl looking thing that could summon toy-monsters.”

Arja raised her eyebrow at her, “… seriously?” she asked, “So what, like a fanged Playstation?”

“No no, like older-style toys. Like teddy bears the size of real bears and stuff.” she clarified.

“… riiiiiight.” chuckled the Indian girl. “Must’ve been a crazy fight.”

Stephanie nodded, thinking back to how that fight ended and what she saw her brother unleash to defeat Isolde, “… yes… yes it most certainly was…” she muttered. “… hey wanna get ice cream?” she asked.

“Yogurt for me, but sure!” grinned Arja.

Meanwhile back in Edgewood

Catherine was making lunch with the news playing in the background.

As she finished up her pasta on the stove she paused, hearing the newscaster’s voice.

“In other news, Monsters at the Levy? Covington has had a lot of bizarre stories lately but this one takes the cake. Eyewitnesses state they saw some sort of ‘giant snake thing’ fighting a…” the newscaster stopped to check the notes, “… ‘golden monkey and two bird kids…’ We only have a small photo from someone’s camera, and its hard to see but you can make out… well… SOMEthing…” he said.

She felt a chill go down her spine, turning to look at the small television on her counter next to the stove.

Sure enough, it looked grainy as hell, the camera must have been shaking badly… but there was no mistaking that flame-red hair.

“Monsters at the riverfront? I dunno Tom, that looks like a job for Superman if you ask me.” chuckled his co-host.

“Yeah Tina, probably just some publicity stunt for a movie but I’ll say this. Hollywood has our attention.” he grinned.

Behind her, her phone began to ring… the caller ID showing a number with Ireland’s country code…

Back in Cincinnati

Arja and Stephanie were at Fountain Square, sitting next to the fountain itself.

The fountain was a popular tourist destination and hangout for locals as well. There was usually a band playing there on the stage and the spray from the fountain gave a pleasingly cool mist even in the hotter summer months. The two had finished off their treats by now and were just enjoying the rest of their day. “So…” said Stephanie, “How long are you and your dad gonna be in town?” she asked.

“Oh, yanno… a day or two, maybe. He likes to take his time on these trips when he can. He was an explorer back in the day so he always enjoys just, well, exploring. Looking around. Believe it or not he’s a big nut for smaller markets… um… I think they’re called Flea Markets in this country?” she tried, Arja looking up in thought at that.

Stephanie giggled, “No way, really?! He’s like some bigshot in India isn’t he?”

“Hey! He got into exploration to find rare and unusual relics and those places always have antiques and such for sale. He’s found some really neat stuff just browsing around those.” Arja laughed back, “Really, our house back home is kinda half-museum.”

Stephanie smirked, “Sounds like something my brother would like. He’s always got this messenger bag with him filled with all sorts of crazy stuff. He did some sort of spell on it so the inside is huge, like truck sized.”

Arja grinned, then paused as her phone buzzed. She looked at the front and sighed, “Uuuuugh…” she huffed, looking upwards, “Dad says one of the bigwigs from that Proctor and whatsits company invited us to dinner. I gotta go play the meek little Indian girl for his business buddies…” she huffed, “He knows I hate it so he’ll make it up to me but… uuuuugh…” she rolled her eyes.

Stephanie’s smile faltered a bit, “Well… its your parents, what can ya do?” she shrugged.

Arja nodded, “Yeah… I’d better head back to our hotel. Thanks for hanging out today.” she grinned, leaning in and kissing Stephanie on the cheek, then hopping up and heading off into the crowd, following the GPS on her phone.

Stephanie’s eyes went huge at the kiss, her face flushed. “Sure… no problem…” she muttered, staring into the fountain’s spray as Arja took off. “Anytime…” she added.

A bit later she got onto a metro bus back to Kentucky, mumbling, “My pleasure Arja, we can do it again tomorrow…”

When she transferred from the metro to the TANK (Transit Authority of Northern Kentucky) bus she was whispering, “Anytime…” over and over under her breath, she hadn’t blinked in a while either.

By the time the bus squeaked to a halt in Edgewood the shock had mostly worn off, the girl grinning wide enough to impress her brother’s cat as she got off. She stood at the stop as it rolled away, then bunched up a bit and stomped her feet excitedly, “Ehehehehehehehe!” she squealed, then did a sort of twirl and whistled out a complex melody as all the nearby flowers suddenly got caught in a gale, the petals breaking free and swirling up into the sky.

"She kissed me she kissed me she kissed me she kissed me!” she giggled uncontrollably. If Isolde were here she’d be getting a contact buzz just by being in the same post code as those emotions, the girl practically dancing back home. “She’s just so AMAZING! She’s so cool and confident and powerful and she’s not afraid to stare down a huge monster like that and we actually can do stuff together and aaaaaaaaaaah!” she shook herself, ignoring the weird looks from passerby.

“Though…” she paused, “I suppose that could mean something different in India? Is India like France? Is a kiss on the cheek there just, like, their way of shaking hands?” she thought aloud, glancing up as she tapped her chin.

She blinked, then got out her phone, then looked it up. “… nooooo, huh… public displays of affection are banned there? Yikes…”

“Soooo, that means it means a lot… more there than it does here? I mean we were in public…” she blinked slowly, the blush returning to her cheeks, then she squealed excitedly, “EEEEEEEE!” she grinned, practically skipping up the path to her house. “Oh maaaaaaaaan nothing can ruin this day!” she giggled excitedly.

Then she got inside and the door slammed shut behind her.

Catherine Fullmoon was standing there, her face like the wrath of a vengeful deity.

“Stephanie. We need to TALK.” she said in a tone that suggested ‘I am calm now, but I am holding onto it by my goddamn TEETH.’

Moments later, in the kitchen

She slapped the picture down that she’d printed off her computer, pointing to the blurry image of a girl in the sky. It was nighttime so her wings weren’t really visible, but there was no mistaking that hair.

“YOU… YOU… FOOLISH LITTLE… YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS ALL SET TO DEMAND I SURRENDER YOU TO HIM! I HAD TO BEG HIM FOR LENIENCY!” she screamed, her face red.

Stephanie stared at the image. Dammit, how did she miss that? Okay yeah so there was a giant snake monster but she should have known better!

“I… w-well what was I supposed to do then?! Run to Steve's house and drag Roger down to the riverfront?” she demanded, looking up at her mother. “I was right THERE! I can do SOMETHING when that happens!” she shouted.

“Stephanie, I know… believe me I damn well KNOW! But Dad was… I’d never heard him so furious. He had photographic PROOF that you were violating his ban on magic use! As Patriarch he could have executed you!” she shouted, “Do you want to wind up like your brother?! On the run from my father and his crazy goon squad?!”

“Well why not?! He seems to be doing okay!” she shot back.

The Wulfshead Pub

Nelen looked up from his drink, then frowned and dug a finger into his ear, “My ears are burning…” he muttered.

Loren smirked, “ ‘s wut ye get fer usin’ yer demon ta clean ‘em cous…”

Nelen gave her an annoyed look, “I only did that once… and it was a really stubborn bit of wax.” he grumbled.

Behind them Dawn was doing karaoke again, a spirited rendition of ‘I Fought the Law and the Law Won.’

Edgewood

Catherine glared at her daughter, “I try and I try and I try… Stephanie. Its over.” she nodded, pointing to the fireplace.

She looked past her, then shrieked at what she saw. Catherine had found her hideout in the woods and cleaned it out. Her witch’s kit, the silver dagger, the shillelagh with the cold iron head, all of it was in it and the fire was roaring bright. “MOM! THAT’S MY… DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO FIND THOSE THINGS?! I HAD TO MAKE THE STAFF MYSELF!” she screamed.

“I DON’T CARE STEPHANIE! ITS DONE, ITS OVER! NO MORE FLYING AROUND TOWN! NO MORE HUNTING! NOTHING! YOU ARE GOING TO GO TO SCHOOL AND LIVE YOUR LIVE AS A MUNDANE GIRL AND IF I EVEN SEE A BLACK FEATHER IN YOUR ROOM YOU’RE GOING TO BE GROUNDED UNTIL YOU LEAVE FOR COLLEGE!” she roared back.

Stephanie’s mouth opened and closed, then she turned and bolted up the stairs to her room. A moment later the door slammed shut.

Catherine shook her head, “Dammit girl, I know exactly what you mean, I know how hard it is to pretend I can’t see that happening… but I don’t want my mad father to kill you for it.” she sighed.

Stephanie was curled up on the floor of her room, her face pressed into her legs as she sobbed into her knees. She hated this, she hated having to do this. She wanted to use her magic, she wanted to fly, she wanted to fight back those things that threatened people. She wanted to SO damn bad… but…

… and then her phone rang.

Stephanie looked at the number, then answered it, “A-arja?” she asked.

“Heeeeeey, so… change of plans. My dad got called back to India…” she said apologetically, “Look I’m really really sorry, I would’ve loved to get to know you more but, yanno, can’t stay behind while he goes back home…”

She froze, the girl’s mouth moving but nothing coming out.

“… Stephanie? Are you there?” she asked, “Um… look, if this was about that kiss… just… l-look, you’re really great and stuff, I mean that was amazing how you just leapt in and helped me and my dad and all and… well… kiiiiinda got a weakness for that, not gonna lie… but… yeah… sorry, hope I didn’t get your hopes up. I mean… we’re not even from the same country… but… if we were…” she coughed awkwardly, “Um… anyways, I gotta go, we’re actually at the airport now. I’ll text when I can 'kay?” she said, then the phone clicked off…

Stephanie sat there, staring at the wall, a ringing in her ears. Her mother had wrecked her plans and outright forbidden her to use magic, her grandfather may try to kill her if she did, and this girl… this amazing girl… this girl whose kiss had made her feel like she could fly to the moon and back… was leaving… for another country…

Everyone has their breaking points, and hers had just been hit with a hammer.

She lept to her feet and kicked off her shoes, running to the window and pulling on it, then looking down when it refused to budge. Her mother was serious. She’d nailed the window shut!

Stephanie’s eye twitched, “No… no no no no no no NO!” she snarled, leaping back. A second later there was a tremendous crash and Catherine jumped up from the chair in the living room she’d been sulking in just in time to see her daughter’s bedroom window crashing into the backyard, with most of the wall still attached!

“STEPHANIE! STEPHANIE DON’T YOU DARE!” she shouted, running up the stairs and pushing open the door… and finding only an empty room with a destroyed wall, and her daughter gone.

The Skies Over Northern Kentucky

Its safe to say that Stephanie Fullmoon wasn’t really thinking very clearly at the moment. Her wings flapped as she whistled up a hurricane’s worth of wind, propelling herself towards Covington like a bullet. She could have done this in any number of locations nearer to her home, but she knew her mother wouldn’t use magic and she wanted some distance before she could get the car started and try to come after her.

She had to go, she had to get out, she had to find her… she said Jaipur right?! She heard her say it, and she knew... well… she heard Dawn say it and Nelen say it. She knew the passphrase even if she didn’t know what it meant!

The forests were a blur under her as the skyline of Cincinnati loomed ahead, the girl angling down and aiming for an alleyway, landing in it and looking around, her head pounding. “Alright alright… um… how’d it go… dammit…” she stammered, then put her hand on the wall. “I think it was like this… and…” she tried saying the words… then again… then once more… and finally on the fourth try the door to the Wulfshead Club materialized before her!

She shoved the door open and stumbled inside, then looked up at a loud grinding sound. Standing next to the door was a massive clay golem wearing a teeshirt, it's head turning to focus it's fiery gaze on Stephanie.

“S-sorry! Thought this was the Dairy Queen!” she said, spinning the dials frantically on the door until it read Jaipur India, then shoving it back open and rushing through into a throng of people in a city halfway across the world.

Loren watched as the door shut, then raised her eyebrow, “… nae, couldnae been…” she shook her head, then looked up as Nelen came back from the men’s room, rubbing hand sanitizer on his fingers (he couldn’t very well wash his hands around Merihim’s seal after all.)

“Sorry about that Loren, miss anything?” he asked.

Loren shrugged, “Eh, jus’ a doppelganger or somethin’ cous. Already buggered off.” she replied, downing her drink. Dawn meanwhile was keeping up the karaoke, singing ‘Run to the Hills’ by Iron Maiden.

Jaipur, India

Now that she was actually here the fire in her head was finally beginning to dissipate… and Stephanie realized how badly she’d screwed up. If a single grainy photograph had convinced Franklin she was violating his magic taboo having blasted the wall off her bedroom would definitely prove it.

Also, from the sounds and sights around her she forgot one maaaaaaaaaajor problem… she wasn’t Indian.

She stood out like a crow in a snowfield, and nothing she was hearing from anyone around her made even the slightest bit of sense. Everyone around her was speaking in Hindi, Stephanie could only listen in bewilderment.

Also she had no money, no extra clothes, thank GODS she at least thought to grab her PHONE…

She paused, then grinned. “My phone!” she gasped, then took out the phone and opened it up. Still mostly charged, but gods only knew how long that’d hold out. She got her phone but no charger! She opened the messenger app, then texted Arja.

‘So, rando Q… what’s your home address in Jaipur?’

After about three minutes, Arja responded.

‘Y?’

Stephanie winced, then replied…

‘I wanna send u something. It’s a surprise! ;)’

She technically wasn’t lying, this would probably surprise the heck out of her.

A moment later her phone buzzed.

‘Aww, u don’t gotta do that… but if u insist…’ and then there was a mailing address behind it.

Stephanie quickly copied it, opened the map app, and pasted it in, then activated the GPS and the directions and let out a woosh of relief. It wasn’t far.

‘Thanks! I hope u like it! :D’

She took a breath, then looked up. “… I am so screwed it is beyond belief…” she muttered.

Late That Evening

Rajesh’s private jet landed in Jaipur. He and Arja disembarked and took a car back to their home, a rather nice mansion house in the hills above the city.

As they rode along Rajesh called ahead, “Iravati my wild lotus flower…” he smiled, “Arja and I just landed and will be home soon my dear. Pity we could not stay longer but it will be wonderful to see you again.” he chuckled.

Arja rolled her eyes, but he was always like that when he talked to her mother. He called Arja his ‘little ruby lotus’ whenever he could get away with it and it always made her blush. Parents…

“Hm? Really? Someone has been hanging around the mansion? Some westerner?” he asked.

Arja blinked at that, looking over, who the heck could that be?

“She… claims to know Arja you say? Red hair?” he asked.

Arja’s eyes widened, then she looked at her own phone. Sending her a surprise, wanting to know her address. “… no way…” she muttered, then looked up as the car drew near the gates. Two of Rajesh’s security team were standing there… and a very familiar redhead was between them.

A bit later, inside the house

Stephanie sat on the bed in Arja’s room. Rajesh was suspicious of how a young girl could beat them there in a private jet, but Arja had said, in no uncertain terms, that anyone who didn’t want to look like they jumped into a Naan oven had better leave Stephanie alone until they figured out what the hell was going on.

Given that Arja was known for a bad temper and fire breath by the staff, they didn’t argue.

“… and...” she hiccuped a bit, “… and she burned it, all my gear, and said I had to just… stop using magic, at all. I just got so angry I couldn’t see straight, and then you called and said you were leaving and…” she gasped, her eyes red, “I… I just… something in my head just stopped working right and I blew the wall off my room and flew back to Covington and came here and now I can’t go home because my grandfather will kill me!” she sobbed, burying her head in her hands.

Arja sat next to her on the bed, the young Indian girl breathing a bit heavy herself after that, “Hey hey, its alright... we can let you stay here until we figure something out. There’s plenty of room.” she nodded, “Don’t worry about it.”

At the door however Rajesh coughed meaningfully, “Arja, my little ru-“ he paused as Arja gave him a look, “… daughter… she is not even from India. She ran away from home. I sympathize, I truly do. If her grandfather really is as she says I do not wish to simply turn her over to him, but this could cause serious problems. Her mother could report this as kidnapping or…” he started, then faltered at her expression.

Arja held up a finger, “Stephanie, gimme a second, I need to discuss something with my father.” she nodded, then walked up to him and pushed him out of the room by his waist, then back against the wall. Then she shapeshifted into her monkey form and climbed up the wall with her hands and legs at his sides until her head was level with his.

“I just had to listen to a girl I really like tell me how her insane granddad is ready to KILL her for helping us back in America and how she literally fled all the way here because of it. You know those business things you take me to? Where I wear my saree and all that heavy jewelry and play your ‘oh so sweet and innocent daughter’ and stuff? If you send her home I am NEVER doing that again. Next dinner party I’m embracing mom’s side of the family and will totally let loose. Get me?” she growled, “She stays, or I become the living embodiment of the ‘reject humanity, return to monke’ meme right infront of those pompous, arrogant, ‘oh look at the cute little brown kid’ assholes you parade me infront of.”

Rajesh sighed, then smiled at her a bit, “… you are so much like your mother sometimes.” he chuckled. “Very well my dear… she may stay until we figure out some way to return her home safely and ensure she remains so.” he nodded.

Arja growled meaningfully, her tail thrashing behind her, then nodded slowly, “Good.” she nodded, then she hopped down and shifted back into her human form, going back in her room and flopping down next to Stephanie.

“He said you can stay until we find a way to get you home that makes SURE you won’t be in any danger and stuff.” she nodded, then grinned, “What he meant was ‘she can stay so my daughter won’t go fire monkey and scare the shit out of a bunch of rich white idiots next time I need her to behave.’”

Stephanie looked at her and gave a weak smile, wiping her eyes, then Arja pulled her into a tight hug.

They’d only known each other a few days, but the same could be said for any pairing of people early on. Only time would tell what would become of it. Friendship… or perhaps something much deeper.

#supernatural adventures #modern fantasy #fiction #lgbtq

2 notes · View notes