#not shown but maybe eventually drawn is him shaking the people that got the jump on them like a chew toy

[fatedroses]

tfw youre so mad about your healer getting hurt under your watch that you turn into a dragon and consequently cant turn back for a bit. (or alternatively, shrinryu if he was a light party platform instead of a full party one.)

[littlebitoffanfic]

The Warriors Smile

Fandom: Pocahontas Characters: Kocoum, Kekata, Nakoma, Pocahontas Relationship: Kocoum AN: So I remember seeing this request for Kocoum, but I cant seem to find the specific request. I remember it being about him not dying and the reader traveling with John and the reader falling in love with Kocoum and respecting his culture, but the details are foggy. Im not sure if this was what you had in mind, but I hope it satisfies you for now and if ive totally miss remembers the request or its not what you were looking for, just let me know 😊

  You didn’t like being on deck when it was such a storm. You were useful as a medic, but your training didn’t extend to battle the harsh sea. But after John had jumped overboard for Thomas, you came to make sure they weren’t injured. John saw your sour face when the men started talk of killing anyone you came across in the new world. After he came down from the crows nest, he tried to cheer you up, not knowing that you only stayed on deck to speak with him. “You look like you were the one who fell overboard.” He leaned against the banister, his face scrunched up in fake concern. “I wish you wouldn’t call them savages.” You mumbled to John, not having enough energy to fight with the rest of the crew. “But they are.” He looked at you perplexed. “Besides, everyone else on this ship calls them sav-“ “You’re not everyone else, John. And they look up to you. You cant have not noticed Thomas following you around like a shadow.” You saw the smirk pull at his lips meaning he knew what you were talking about. 

“He listens to you, too. Hes becoming pretty knowledgeable with medical stuff because he follows you around like a child.” John fires back, and he was right. But only because you warned Thomas that you might not always be around and he needed to know enough in case something happened to you. “Just, just remember. They’re humans too.” You huffed, wanting to move the subject back. “But they’re different.” John kicks off a boot to pour out some water. “They aren’t as different as you think, John. We’re different. Most people on this ship are different. Different eye colour, hair colour, height, weight, built.” You wave to the crew who weren’t paying any head as they secured the deck. “But i bet they have hearts that beat, lungs that breath and blood that runs red.” “Maybe I’ll find you a savage for you to find out.” John smirks at you as he tries to lighten the mood, but the moment he saw you weren’t impressed, he stopped. John could normally read you like a book. You had bother grown up together, and he pulled you along on his adventures many times. He got into fights and you patched him up. You had warned him that you were just a nurse, and one day you might not be able to patch him up. But he dismissed you as a ‘rambling wife’. Not that you were married, or anywhere near a relationship. In truth, you were sure you two would rip each others throats out if left alone too long. But people often assumed there was more than friendship. “I truly hope you are joking, John. No one deserves to die for simply being alive.” You shake your head, disappointed as you stand, rubbing your arms. You turn to disappear back into your quarters, hoping your words might have some weight with the man.

------time skip ---------------

 When John disappeared from the landing party, you found yourself wondering into the surrounding woods. You knew you would be chastised for it later, but you didn’t care. It was so beautiful. you wouldn’t go too far, venturing about 15 minutes away from the others until you found a clearing. The way the sun shone down on the forests was like something out of a fairy-tale. You were so lost in the beauty of it all that you almost didn’t notice the small chirping coming from the ground beside you. Glancing down, you saw a small bird. It had a yellowy orange chest, with a blue back and black markings. Crouching down, you wondered why a bird would be this close to the ground. It seemed dangerous. Unless something was wrong with him? The bird began to jump to you, but you saw its left leg wasn’t taking any pressure and it hobbles a little. “Shhh.” You picked up the small bird with ease and sat down with your legs crossed, your skirt making a small nest for the animal to sit in. “I think you have dislocated your leg, sir.” You mused, gently wrapping the bird in the towel and making sure you could still get to the leg . You grabbed some small bandages you used for fingers and smaller cuts and folded it in half so it was the length of the birds leg. You wrapped the small leg till you felt it had enough padding without hindering the bird too much and then tied it up. “All done. My fee will be in the mail.” You laugh to yourself, even though there was no one around to hear your little joke. You unwrap the bird, which tweets happily. “Lets get you somewhere high.” Getting to your feet, you hold the bird in your hands, leaving the towel and your medical supplies on the floor as you searched the surrounding trees till you found a branch about the hight of you eyes. Taking the bird over, you place it on the tree, but the branch wasn’t thick enough and you didn’t think it was high enough either. “Higher?” You ask, even though the bird has no say as you pick it up again, venturing to another tree which was higher up. The bird didn’t even move from your hand as you reached up to let it go onto the branch. It started tweeted, looking up to a near by tree. You followed its eyes and saw a small bundle of sticks and twigs nestled between two thick branches. The problem was that the nest was about 10 foot off the ground. You groaned, walking up to the tree and looking up at your new destination. There was a branch that you could grab onto, but you didn’t know if you had the upper body strength to pull yourself up and hold yourself with just one free hand. Moving the bird into one hand, you reached up and grabbed the branch. You managed to walk up the tree and pull yourself up till you were eye level with the branch you were holding, but your arm was shaking. You were almost parallel to the branch as you glanced down, seeing you were now a good 5 foot off the ground.  Before you could even reach out and attempt to put the bird up to its nest, your arm spasmed and you lost your grip. You didn’t even have a chance to yell as you fell, preparing yourself to crash on the ground. Until arms caught you. Your eyes had been scrunched shut, expecting pain, so your mind immediately thought John or one of the others had found you. Opening your eyes, you forgot how to breath. The man who had caught you was unbelievably handsome. Strong cheek bones and jaw line with dark brown, intelligent eyes that stared back at your own. You knew your surprise was painted on your face, but his was stoic, like a warrior. He had long hair with shaven sides, like a mohawk, but the hair fell to the left and down to his shoulder, and white feathers adorned the back of his head. The man lowered you to the ground gently. You both watched each others every movement, trying to work out if the other was dangerous or not. Just because you refused to call them savages didn’t mean you trusted them completely. You were on their land, their homes. They were within their rights to chase you off or punish you if they saw fit. The bird chirped in your hands. Apparently, you had tried to protect the bird from the fall rather than try held yourself. Great self-preservation skills. The man took a few steps back from you but before you could ask why, he ran at you. You let out a small yelp, turning away to try protect yourself. But then you heard a grunt. Looking through your hair, you saw he had ran right past you. And up the tree. He was holding himself on the branch, managing to get enough momentum to get past the lower branch and brace himself on it with a straight elbow on one hand. The sheer strength in his arm was shown by the muscles. He reached out to you, eyes darting to the bird. You instantly understood and went to him, placing the bird carefully in his outstretched hand. He rose it to the nest and the bird jumped happily into its home. You smiled widely, happy that the animal could recover from its injury in its home from a little while. Perhaps you could bring it some food later. The man looked back to you, and you caught his eyes. Despite your smile, his face stayed stoic. Taking a step back, you allowed the man space to jump back down, landing elegantly before straightening back up. He towered over you, and you suddenly felt rather intimidated by his presence as your eyes fell to the red markings on his chest. Two clawed paws. Like a bears or wolfs. You opening your mouth, about thank him when you heard voices calling your name. Whipping to look over your shoulder to where the voices came from, you started to panic. If they found this man, he was dead. Looking back to him, you saw his eyes darting to the sound as well, his stance strong. In fact, you could see that he was growing more hostile with every call. “you need to go.” You whispered, drawing his attention back to you. But his eyes showed confused. He couldn’t understand you. You tried make a shooing motion with your hands, but he only grew more perplexed. Eventually, you were drawn to more drastic measures. You placed your hands on his bare chest and pushed him back behind the tree. He stumbled slightly, before his stance became really aggressive. But he was out of sight now. You backed off, pressing your fingers to your lips as you silently begged him to stay hidden. And just in time. “[y/n]!? Where have you been?” Thomas called out to you and you flashed the man a small smile before walking back to your items. “Frolicking through the flowers, are we?” Ben laughed but ti quickly stopped. “Whats that on your hand, lass?” Looking down, you saw some of the red paint from the stranger had rubbed off onto your hand. “Oh, I found an injured bird.” You wiped the evidence on your skirt as you gathered up your things. “We better get you back.” Thomas looked to the sky, the sun lower in the sky. “Okay. I’ll follow.” You nod, throwing your bag over your shoulder. The two men retreated back into the woods, you following behind. But not before you could steal a glance back to the tree, seeing the stranger watching. You smiled at him before turning back. You heard the men grumbling about having to dig for gold. You would certainly make sure Ratcliff had a piece of your mind if he thought for a second you’d be digging. however, the moment you got back, all hell broke loose. Guns were firing, and crys that there was savages. Ducking behind a waggon, you saw them firing at some people in the trees, and they hit one. That might have been the end of it, but then you saw the man from the forest. He scooped up his fallen alley and carried him back into the wood as they all retreated. Stuck in a conflict, you stayed hidden as you thought. You owed him something. Not your life, but he had saved you from a broken hip or a concussion. And you knew they probably wouldn’t be able to treat a gun wound. You thought of the man, suffering in agony before dying with no understanding of what had hit him. So you did the unthinkable. Racing into the woods, you followed them, until they reach a village. You almost collapse when you see the colony of small huts. The crew would slaughter them as sure as day. A deep sickness filed your stomach as you press your hand over your mouth. You took an oath to help people, not hurt them. Holding the strap of your bag, you take a shaking breath. You could very well be walking into certain death, but that man needed your help. Taking a deep breath, you circled the outside of the village until you saw them taking the injured man into a hut. That must be either his home, or a medical place. You would bet the latter. Slipping inside, the group were too preoccupied with the wounded man to notice someone who wasn’t like them had entered. You felt like you had just entered a sleeping lions den. So you cleared your throat. Like lions, they turned and bore weapons at you as if they were fangs. “No, I want to help.” You held your hands up to show you meant no harm, but the men couldn’t understand you. You looked around, trying to figure out a way to show them you wanted to help him. Pulling the bag open, you pulled out the bandage you had. Showing it to them that it wasn’t a weapon, you began to wrap it around your arm. “Help.” You repeated, pointing to the gunshot wound. Their eyes narrowed, but none protest as you moved closer to the injured as you unravel the bandage from your arm. You would need it. You inspected the gunshot wound. There was no way he could survive this without medical help. But you would need the take the bullet out, clean the wound and sew him shut. You didn’t notice the chief looking to the man you had met not an hour ago. There was a silent understanding between them to let you be unless you caused any issues. And the shaman had said he didn’t know how to heal such wounds. “I need to take the bullet out.” You spoke, knowing they couldn’t understand everything you said. You rummaged to the bottom of your bag and found the spare bullets that the men had dropped. Pulling them out, you showed the man you assumed to be the leader one of the bullets between your thumb and pointing finger. You then mimicked how the men held the guns and made a quiet gun shot noise before showing them the bullet flying to his wound. Eyes widened as they realises what you were saying. “We need to take it out.” You pull out your bullet remover. It was a relatively new invention in the medical word, only about 50 years old but it was a key part of your tool kit. But you didn’t know it they would understand that. Your eyes flickered to the head healer, who looked to chief. A breeze came through the tent, making you shudder while the small group closed their eyes for a brief moment. When the chief opened his eyes, he nodded to the head healer who looked back to you. “Save him.” He told you, making your eyes widen at his English. But you nodded, and got to work. They let you work without question but with watchful eyes. You warned it would hurt, and apologised. But the man gritted his teeth and managed to stay still. Bullets were kind of a speciality of yours. It wasn’t something you were proud of, but it was a fact. the bullet was out with 5 minutes. But that didn’t mean it was over just yet. You sewed up the wound, trying to make it as neat as you could. “You’re doing really well. Im nearly done, I promise.” You glance to the injured man, and you could see the relief in his eyes. “Why did you come?” Their leader asked you. “To help. Im a medic. I took a vow to heal people where I could.” You answer truthfully as you wipe away the blood from around the wound and placing a gauge over it. “Your people caused this.” The chiefs words made you flinch. “My people are ignorant and arrogant. I am not like them. I don’t want a war or anyone to get hurt.” You shook your head, feeling the guilt in your stomach. “Why?” he knelt next to you, his eyes watching your face closely. “All blood is red. Its my job to heal that.” You look at him, hoping he might understand your reasoning more than you did. “We cannot let you leave.” The chief stated as he stood, but you had prepared for this. “if you don’t, they will come to find me.” You answer, looking up at him. “Then how do we know we can trust you?” he asked, his chin rising as he spoke to look down at you. “You cant.” You answered honestly, your eyes dropping. “But I can trade you supplies. Like these. To help if you do get into fights. I don’t have much, but it will help you.” The chief regarded you for a moment, his mind thinking over your deal. “Are they dangerous?” The leader asked you as you focused than you needed to on tying the bandage. Pressing your lips together in a straight line, you nodded once. “Leave by night fall. Do not return.” He spoke with authority and you nodded, thankful he was allowing your freedom. “Thank you.” You bowed your head to him out of respect as you packed your things. “We will fight this enemy, but we cannot do it alone. Kocoum-“ the chief was answered as the stranger from earlier stood and followed him. “Send messengers to every village in our nation. We will call on our brothers to help us fight.” He walked out the door, the stranger from earlier at his side as he addressed his people. “These white men are dangerous. No one is to go near them.” You sat back on your heels, unsure what to think. Had you condemned your friends? But these people had a right to know, to protect themselves, didn’t they? You were conflicted, torn between the right thing to do. The lead healer hummed a little, regarding you. You held out a spare gauge and bandage to him, which he took along with a bottle of anti-septic. “Its incredible, how calm he was.” You look at the man, who lay with his eyes closed as if in a trance. “I will speak on your healing once it is done.” He muses, but his eyes danced with some amusement as you smiled at him. He pushed a bowl of water to you so you could wash the blood off your hands. Just as you were drying your hands, the stranger from earlier stepped back in. Kocoum. “I hope to meet you again, child. But not in such circumstances.” The healer smiled, nodding to you before he continued his chant from earlier, signalling it was your time to leave. Kocoum snuck you out the back, and guided you through the forest in silence. You followed without question, occasionally falling behind a little but always catching up until you saw the wooden logs being hauled up to build a fortress. Placing a hand on Kocoums arm, you stopped him. “You shouldn’t go any further.” You told him, your eyes screaming apologies to him as you stepped in front. “But im glad we met again, even if the circumstances were awful.” Kocoum nodded, and you were sure if he was agreeing with you or simply acknowledging your words. “Goodbye.” You step away from him, and he gives you a small bow, before he moves behind a tree, hiding. When you emerge, it feels like the entire crew fauns over you, worried. But Ratcliffe suddenly appears, parting the crew like a sea as he regards you. “Where did you run off to?” he asks, his voice not showing any concern for your wellbeing but probably for your lack of labour. “The guns and fighting scared me. I ran to the woods for cover and got lost.” You lied. “And did you… find anything?” Ratcliffe prys, leaning down as if to intimidate you but you stood your ground. “No.” You shook your head, not breaking under his pressure. he huffed, demanding everyone gets back to word before retreating to his quarters. As the crew disperses, you steal a glance to the woods, unable to see Kocoum anymore.

  -------------time skip ------------

You told yourself that you were just going to feed the bird. That’s the only reason you were going back to that clearing. But you weren’t. That man had plagued your sleep, and you wanted to see him again. walking through the forest, you wondered if you were lost, until the clearing came into view. Digging into your bag, you grabbed the paper bag of bread pieces and seeds you had managed to get your hands on. Walking up to the tree, the bird appeared on the lower branch that you could reach, apparently recognising you and tweeting happily. You took a palm full of the food and held it up to the creature, who happily jumped onto your wrist to peck at the food. “Thank you.” A voice spoke from behind you, making you jump. But when you saw it was Kocoum, you relaxed. You had never heard him speak before. “How is he doing?” You ask, going back to your task of feeding the bird. You could just leave the seeds on the branch, but you wanted to be doing something. “He grows stronger every day.” Kocoum informs you. “That’s good. I cant imagine the fear he must have felt.” You muse, as the bird jumps onto your fingers, hopping across your hand to stand on your palm to peak at the food. You were grateful because you could lower your arms, which were hurting a little. “Why did you follow?” Kocoum suddenly asked as you turned and sat at the bottom of the tree. In truth, you knew it was risky. Any instinct you had told you to run away, but you were so interested by him that all you really wanted to do was talk. “I already told you. I don’t like seeing others suffer.” You move the seeds into one hand, freeing your right hand. With the back of your pointing finger, you stroke the birds head, smiling. “Plus, I own you for saving me from a nasty fall.” He didn’t laugh with you, but you didn’t mind. You were a stranger to him, an enemy even. Kocoum stayed standing, but backed away so he wasn’t looming over you. It suddenly dawned on you that you knew his name, yet he didn’t know your own. “Im [y/n].” you suddenly say, wanting to right that wrong. “Kocoum.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I know.” You smile, amused by the birds trust in you as you petted it. Looking up, you saw Kocoum was confused and, perhaps, suspicious. “I heard the others call you by that name.” Your explanation seemed to ease his suspicions, but not completely erase them. He sat with you for an hour or so, and you told him about your home. You didn’t want to ask about his own in case he thought you were going to relay information. When you noticed that your absents would soon be reported, you stood. Placing the bird back in the tree, you told Kocoum goodbye, but he followed you. At first, it made you a little uneasy, until you reached the edge of the forest and it dawned on you that he was making sure you got back safely. Before you could turn and thank him, he was gone. For the next few days, you found yourself running off to the clearing, and most times he was there. There was the occasion that he wasn’t, but he seemed to like your little meeting. You were both suspicious of each other, but it seemed to ease out as you both spoke. Well, you spoke and he listened. He would ask questions, and seemed interested in you, but didn’t seem like much of a talking. You joked about it, saying that it was fine because you could talk the ear off anyone, so you could easily make up for it. And, at the, he smiled. You nearly fainted. In the setting sun, in this beautiful clearing with this handsome man, he smiled at you. Your legs were jelly as you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Your voice like bird song.” Kocoum’s words would be the death of you, you were sure of it. Now a blushing mess, stumbling over your words, you knew it was time to head home. He accompanied you as always, and yet he stayed a little close than normal. Just before you reached the outskirts, he grabbed your hand. “Stay safe.” He whispered, and you could see the corner in his eyes. “You too.” You returned the concern before the two of you parted.

-------time skip ----------

Whatever was going on with John, you were worried. Pacing by your tent, you wondered where he had ran off to at such an hour. He should know better than to do this. You didn’t want to confide in anyone in case they told Ratcliffs and he got angry. In fact, you hadn’t seen Thomas around either recently. Stopping, you glance around. Something felt off. Suddenly, the calmness of the night was broken by screams. Grabbing your medical bag, you followed the others. Thomas came running, crying out for help, that John had been attacked and taken. You rushed to calm him but the others got there first, demanding to know what happened. “I kill one of them.” Thomas whispered, swaying back and forth before dropping his gun. “You- you did what?!” You nearly shriek, but managed to keep it down as the men gathered weapons. “I shot one. They took John because I killed one of their own.” He scrunched his eyes up, but when he opened them again, you were gone. Running into the forest, you felt yourself trembling as you raced to the tribe, treason be damned. Maybe you could help, or exchange something for John. You didn’t know. “[y/n]!” A voice called out, making you nearly fall over as you stopped, heart beating so loud as you saw a woman running through the forest to you. She stopped when she saw you had noticed her. “Kekata told me to find you. He said… you could help Kocoum.” She seemed unsure as she spoke, her eyes darting around. “He- He was the one shot?” You whisper in disbelief. And she nods. You followed her as she raced back to the hut where you had went to heal the first man. Sneaking around the outside of the village, you both managed to slip inside without notice. Kekata sat by Kocoum side, who was still. You were praying he was asleep. Passing Nakoma, you raced to his side. “It isn’t as the first one was.” Kekata spoke to you quickly, and you could hear the worry in his voice. “No, its in a more dangerous area.” You nodded, confirming his worries. A hand was placed on your shoulder, making you turn to Kekata. “I wanted to give Kocoum a fighting chance. But I do not expect a miracle from you.” his words sunk in as he stood, preparing to leave. You didn’t know what was going on. What was going to happen. “I do not trust the white men. But I trust you. you might save one life, but I suspect blood will still fall at sunrise. Stay here. This is my safe haven for you, for what you have done for us. A debt repaid. Do not come out of this hut. Do you understand me?” Kekata spoke with such urgency and hints of aggression that all you could do was nod. “If he wakes, sound the horn.” Kekata draws your attention away from Kocoum to look the elder. He was standing at the entrance, gesturing to the corner. You didn’t follow his direction, instead noticing Nakoma, who seemed confused and almost fearful that Kekata was leaving you alone with an injured Kocoum. “But I do not know if it will stop the war.” War. The word hit you like a bolt of lightning as the realising dawned on you. You knew what would happen now, but you couldn’t think about it. You just had to focus on saving Kocoum as the two left the hut with no further words. Putting on your calm façade, you told yourself it was just another patient. Your hands shook a little more than normal, and you paused before you went near the wound. But once you got to work, you were immersed. All the items you had given them were laid out to your side, along with your own and 2 bowls of water. Time seemed to drag, and you felt sick, but you pushed through. You heard things happening outside the hut, the warriors marching to battle, but blocked it out until there was silence. Working by candle light, you blinked away an odd tear and focused. Maybe, if Kocoum did wake, you could spare John too. Then its not a life for a life. Shaking away the grim thoughts, you worked through till you heard the morning chirping of birds. It was still mostly dark out. Once you were finished, you sat back. The cloth you had been using to clean the wound was bloody, and you didn’t want to use it any more. Ripping a piece of your shirt, you knew it was freshly cleaned this evening. The first bowl of water was more blood than water now, so you moved on to the fresh bowl and used the rag to carry water and run it over the wound to clean it. You went to the water and wet another tore bit of your shirt before coming up and sitting beside his head to clean his brow. Your eyes darted to the paint on his chest, but you didn’t dare touch it. It wasn’t your place to remove that sort of thing. You didn’t speak, not needing to offer any comforting words to anyone, but the silence was near unbearable as you waited for something to happen. For war to break out? For Kocoum to wake? You really couldn’t put your finger on it. After what felt like a millennium, you noticed his eyes were moving behind his eyelids. You held your breath, your lips pressed together in a harsh line as you tried to keep yourself calm. However, the moment his eyes fluttered open, you broke. Tears of relief streamed down your cheeks as you pressed a hand over your mouth to hid your sobbing. The fear which had had your body in a tight grasp eased the moment he woke, and you had done so well keeping yourself calm while you had been alone that you were overwhelmed. His eyes found you, and he began to sit up, despite the pain he must be feeling. Leaning on his left elbow and forearm, he pushed himself up into a sitting position before you could even talk. “Don’t sit up, it will be painf-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence as a large hand slipped behind your neck and he drew you to his lips. The moment his warm lips met your own, you were a goner. The nurse had left you, replaced with the girl who was screaming with excitement as he kissed you. The kiss was intense, but controlled and carful, just like Kocoum. He controlled every aspect and, if you had been standing, your knees would have been weak. It was so perfect, like a dream which you wished to never wake from. Some part of you was convinced you had falling asleep by his side and you were dreaming all this. You reached up to his face, your fingers gently grazing across his cheek before mirroring his own hold on you by slipping your hand around the back of his head to just above the base of his neck. with your other hand, you gently wrap your hand around his wrist, your thumb pressing against the veins, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. A small shiver ran through your body as you moved closer, running your hand along his arm and to his chest. Pressing an open palm above his heart, you could feel the steady beat. Pulling back, you felt the air flood into your lungs and the tent suddenly seemed to much bigger and brighter. You couldn’t help the red in your cheeks, or the smile on your lips as you look at the man who had stolen your heart from the very moment he had caught you. Much to your surprise, you saw a smile tug at his lips, his eyes dancing with a joy you had never seen before. No one had ever looked at you like that. He looked so happy, so full of life. Suddenly, what was happened beyond the tent hit you like a wave as you jolted back. “We have to tell them you’re alive.” You suddenly say, and you see the happiness be replaced with concern and confusion. “They think you’re dead. They are going to kill John in revenge but Ratcliffes marching to war with them.” You began to panic again as you turn to where Kekata had pointed before he left. In the corner was a horn. Moving from his side, you grabbed the horn. Turning back to Kocoum, you knew you couldn’t ask him. He was already moving way too much and you were terrified his stitches wouldn’t hold. Getting to your feet, you went to the mouth of the hut and looked up at the blue sky, praying it wouldn’t see red today. Taking a deep breath, you raised the horn to your mouth and blew. The sound was deafening but you pushed through for a solid 10 seconds before lowering it. You didn’t know what it would do, or who could hear it. Perhaps you were too late. Some leaf’s rustled as a wind ran through them in your direction, but what you felt was not the wind you knew. It was a small gust, and it seemed to run up your body, winding around your legs and waist before passing your head and fleeing, taking leaf’s with it. You stared in the direction it had went, and something told you that there was still a chance. You jumped when you felt a hand on your lower back, turning to see Kocoum standing behind you. “We need to go to them. They will need proof.” As he spoke, you knew he was right. “But, you are still healing.” You press a hand to his chest, desperate to keep the heart beating within it. “I will have time to heal when this is done.” Kocoum spoke with conviction, but you pressed firmly on his chest. “No, you could undo your stitches.” You shook your head, until a small figure appeared from beside the hut. Your eyes darted to her, nearly jumping at her sudden appearance before you recognised her as the girl from the night before, Nakoma. She looked at Kocoum as if he were a ghost, a hand pressed over her mouth before she stepped forward. “I’ll go. I’ll tell them you are alive.” She nods firmly, before turning on her heel and running off towards wherever the battle was going to happen. Hopefully, the horn was enough to cause a moment of doubt, and Nakoma would be the voice of reason. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late. You pushed your worries to the back of your mind and turned to Kocoum. “You need to rest. Please.” You take his hands in your own and guide him back into the hut and towards the mat. Despite his protests, you helped him lie back down as you chested the stitches and saw they were fine. Although, even if everything did turn out okay, you were sure you would have a battle trying to keep him still to heal. There was not much else to do, but wait.

Within an hour, Nakoma ran back. By the look on her face, it wasn’t good news. You held your breath, waiting for her verdict. Thankfully, the sound of the horn had reached Pocahontas in the forest as she ran to save John. Apparently, this was the one John had been sneaking off to see. She had manged to stop everything, even speaking sense to her father before Nakoma had appeared, telling everyone that Kocoum was alive. But then she grabbed your wrist. “Your leader, a shot hit John. Hes bleeding.” As she spoke, you felt sick to your stomach. Another bullet. Grabbing your bag, you stuffed your medical supplies in. “I’ll go. Will you stay and make sure he doesn’t move? His stitches are fresh and it could do damage.” You didn’t wait for her to respond before taking off in the direction she had came. Something guided you through the woods, until you appeared at the bottom of a hill. You saw your crew on the other side at the bottom of a sheer drop, and Kocoums tribe were on the hill. There was relief on everyone’s face from your crew at your appearance. But you were worried. You had patched John up a fair few times. Your worries were that this time, you couldn’t. Climbing the hill, the tribe parted for you as you came to John. “Another bullet, eh?” you dropped to your knees beside him. he was lying with his head on Pocahontas lap as she soothed him. “Yep, I’ve heard you’re pretty familiar with them.” He tried to laugh, but winces, holding his side where the blood was. When you saw the position of the hole in his shirt, your heart sank. Pulling away the material, your greatest fears were confirmed. “John, the entrance wound is right on top of the scar from before.” Your voice shook and, for the first time since you arrived, you felt useless. “What does that mean?” Pocahontas asked, unsure why that was an issue. “It means I cant help him here. He needs to go back to England and get it surgically removed by a doctor. I don’t have the tools or the ingredients to do it here and I’m totally useless-“ Tears welled in your eyes as you were overcame with emotions. But John interrupted you. “Hey, hey, hey. From what I heard, you’ve been very useful. Theres only so many times a sailor can patch up his ship before he has to put it to specialists, eh? And this ships taken a few waves or two over the years.” He chuckles, wincing yet again. But he soothed you immensely. “I’ll get your bandaged up, give you some stuff for the pain. Im sure Thomas will be by your side the entire way home.” You smile, reassuring both him and yourself.

-----------time skip --------------

You stood by the sea, waiting as John asked. He said she would come say goodbye, and Kocoum had agreed the same. “So, let me get this straight.” You sat, crossed legged by Johns side. “Me and you, two people who get mistaken as a couple all the time, each started a relationship with two members of a tribe who were due to be wed?” “Yeah, funny how things work out, eh.” John smirked. “Look.” Thomas, who had been standing on watch, pointed to the mist that lay thick on the forest floor this morning. You couldn’t see anything at first, until there was the silhouette of not just Pocahontas and Kocoum (you were partly annoyed that he was walking so soon), but also of at least 8 others. The crew held their breath, clutching their guns, until it was revealed the others were carrying baskets of food for the journey home. You couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. As Pocahontas came to John, you stood. But Thomas met her, taking off his hat out of respect. “Going back is his only chance. He’ll die if he stays here.” Thomas spoke with her, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. You watched the two with such amazement and respect. Powhatan and Nakoma approached. Powhatan pulled off his shawl and lay it over John. “You are always welcome here. Both of you.” He looked to you as well, making you smile with gratefulness before turning to speak only to John. “Thank you, my brother.” He smiled down at John before retreating. John said farewell to the animals, he then turn to Pocahontas. He cupped her cheek in an intimate way. He asked her to come, and she refused because she was needed by her village. But when he offered to stay, she said he needed to go. Their love would be broken by distance, and as she leaned in and kissed him, you took your leave to go see Kocoum. “Stay.” He took your hands in his own, holding them tightly against his chest as if he never wanted to let them go. You couldn’t help but smile, but you faltered in answering. Was it selfish to stay? John was leaving Pocahontas, with an open invitation back. What if something happened on the way home and they needed a medic? Were you abandoning your promise by staying here? But you were staying as a healer as well, so did that balance everything? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a hand clapping your back. “Sorry to interrupt.” John called over to you. the smirk on his face was not one you trusted. “You know, [y/n], I think that we need a new nurse. One whos not going to run off and heal the enemy. Not that you’re the enemy now.” He quickly added to Kocoum. “No, I think that you should be somewhere that’s peaceful, somewhere that you cant run into trouble. Like, oh say I don’t know, here? Just something to think about.” If he hadn’t been shot, you might have kicked him. Had everyone been eavesdropping this whole time? Looking back to Kocoum, you couldn’t help but beam at him. “I think that means I can stay.” You nod, bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement. Kocoum smiled, and you heard him let out a breath that he had been holding. Something small flutters to your side, and you turn your head to see an old friend. The bird, with the blue back, was hovering beside you, chipping before flying into the sky. Something told you that you would see the little guy again. You raced to say goodbye to the crew, and Thomas promised you that he would take care of John no matter what. You told him that you believed in him. John didn’t like long goodbyes, so gave you a handshake along with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, anyway.” You smile. “oh, I’ll be back as soon as I can stand.” He joked. “You know, I would roll my eyes, but Kocoum only got stiches a day ago, and he came to stay goodbye, so I have no doubt that you men are stupid enough to do that.” You returned, swatting his arm. But soon, it was time to part. The sadness you felt from seeing the ship sail into the distance was no unfelt, but as you felt the warmth of Kocoums body beside you, you couldn’t help but be excited for this next chapter of your life. You were welcomed in the village both as a healer and Kocoum’s wife, and quickly became known as the only one who could make the warrior smile.

[ferryboatpeak]

la I’ve been thinking about the hazoff loop fic all day... I WANT IT

OH BOY i can’t stop thinking about this fic either! hold on, let me catch up the rest of the class…

The premise of this hockey fic that you and @helenahjay got me to read is that the first time someone touches their soulmate they both go into a Loop in which they live that same day over and over again, Groundhog Day style, until they finally kiss and break the Loop. Couples use their Loop to get to know each other and get their first day absolutely perfect before they finally end it and launch the rest of their lives together. Obviously this setup is GLORIOUSLY PERFECT for hazoff. To wit:

Sometime in 2014 Harry goes to LA with 1D on some kind of business trip. Not to perform, but to meet with their American label people or marketing or something, blah blah blah. So Harry spends the day shaking hands and charming the world, meeting all sorts of new people, and that night someone from the label takes him to a party at the Azoffs’.

Harry knows who Irv is, knows Irv’s storied history, knows what Irv can do for him. This is the party that could change things for him. It’s important. And he nails it, of course. Charms Irv, charms Shelli, charms every aging rock star in the vicinity. Meets all sorts of people. Talks to Jeff, maybe incidentally, certainly inconsequentially. Maybe even cuts the conversation a little bit short because that’s Kendall Jenner across the room and he might just have a shot, the way tonight’s been going. The world’s opening up before him, and he feels invincible.

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s a little surprised to be alone in his own hotel bed. He can’t remember how the night ended; he hopes he didn’t fuck anything up. He hadn’t had that much to drink, he doesn’t think. He slouches into the bathroom, and on the way past the closet he notices last night’s shirt hanging neatly in exactly the position it was when his PA steamed it out after the flight.

Definitely not that drunk, he thinks, if he got his shirt hung up. He glances toward the chair, expecting to see his jeans draped over the back. They’re not there, and they’re not on the floor. They’re still in his suitcase, folded flat in a big ziploc bag with a post-it from Harry Lambert that says “Party Thursday. w/ YSL blouse, brown boots”

 Harry grabs for his phone. Yesterday’s date is today’s date. He’s in a Loop.

Initially he’s elated. Harry loves love, after all, and this is proof that true love is out there for him. He’s got a soulmate! He’s seen them! He’s touched them, somehow. Somewhere in all the handshakes and air kisses and bro hugs, he met his soulmate yesterday. They’re in LA, which is… weird. LA doesn’t feel like a place that belongs to him. Yet. Maybe it will.

But his excitement is mixed with irritation. He’s 20. (This is 2014, right?) It’s been a good few years of having a lot of no strings attached sex with a whole lot of people. He’s not quite ready for that to be over. And it doesn’t really have to be over yet, he reasons. He’s in LA. He can have some fun. Until his soulmate spots him, he can do anything he wants.

So he goes about his day just as he did yesterday. Coffee, workout, lunch, meetings. And then, the party. Harry lives it up at the Azoff party for quite a few loops. Always has to start by making the right impression on Irv and the rest of the industry presence, just in case he inadvertently snogs his soulmate and has to live with a day he can’t reset. But after that, he’s at his leisure in a room full of beautiful people, and he’s doing his best to sow his wild oats while he can. 

Kendall’s a good time and he strikes up a bit of a recurring friends with benefits arrangement with her, to the extent a friendship is possible when every day’s new to her. There’s definitely some xarry potential here too, although I’m not sure how angsty that part of the plot is. Maybe Xander’s an ideal hookup while Harry’s making the most of his Loop, or maybe Harry hopes for a few days that Xander might be his soulmate, and ends up disappointed.

Anyway, eventually there’s a day where Harry ends up talking to Jeff in greater depth, and likes him. Like Harry, Jeff’s got big dreams; unlike Harry, Jeff’s got plans. Jeff’s got a specific vision for where his career is going, and it’s incredibly compelling to Harry, who only has a big sprawling vague sense that he wants to perform, forever, and he wants to make music that makes him feel like the music he grew up with, and he has absolutely no concrete sense of how to make any of that happen.

Harry wakes up the next morning and calls someone from the label and asks them to get him Jeff’s number. He calls Jeff and asks if he can come by. Sure, Jeff says, any time you’d like (as he frantically recalendars to open up his morning). Harry shows up at CAA, and of course Harry’s welcome wherever he goes and especially in that setting, but there’s something particularly comfortable about being in Jeff’s office.

Harry’s tested Jeff and Jeff hasn’t given him any reason to think that he’s in a Loop, so Harry assumes that Jeff isn’t remembering any of this from day to day, which means that Harry fully opens up and says all kinds of candid stuff. Over multiple days, he tells Jeff everything, starts to put all kinds of things into words that he’s never expressed before: the things he wants to do, the ways he wants to make people feel, the fear that he’s not good enough dueling with the secret shameful sense that he is that good, or at least that he’s got some indefinable thing that his bandmates don’t.

Jeff listens, and asks thoughtful questions, and gradually helps Harry start to prune and direct and shape his unruly sprawl of ambition into a more focused five, ten, maybe fifty year plan. Harry decides that once all of this is over, he’d like to work with Jeff. And as they create the hazoff master plan, Harry starts to get more and more impatient to get on with it. With a clearer view of what his future might look like, he’s ready to end this Loop and start the rest of his life.

Which gets back to the issue of his soulmate. None of his suspected candidates have panned out. As Harry gets impatient, he gets more reckless, striding through the Azoff party announcing that he’s in a loop and he’s looking for anyone else who is. (This results in at least one person faking it in order to spend an evening with the full attention of Harry Styles.) He kisses absolutely everyone; he wastes loops doing dumbass stuff like stripping and jumping in the pool.

I have decided that a quirk of this verse is that the loop always resets at midnight, whether or not harry falls asleep. It takes him a few go-rounds to figure this out, after his initial assumption that he’s drank too much and forgotten how he got to bed. Does he confirm this conclusion by trying to slice his way past midnight with cocaine acuity? Possibly. Increasingly it wears on him that he never gets to see how the night ends. Maybe there’s even a day where he’s about to have a breakthrough but midnight cuts it off?

I do know for sure that there’s a day where he drinks too much at the party, or pretends to, and Jeff puts him to bed in a spare bedroom. (Or maybe even Jeff’s childhood bedroom?) He tugs Jeff down with him and convinces Jeff to stay until he falls asleep, because Jeff’s not going to remember this anyway, and Harry’s lonely and he just wants to fall asleep with somebody. He’s tired of relationships that only last a day. He’s tried to follow up with every single person he possibly could have touched on the first day of his Loop, and he still hasn’t found his soulmate. Why is his Loop going so wrong? He rubs his cheek against the shoulder of Jeff’s sportcoat. It would be easy if Jeff was his soulmate, wouldn’t it. At least he can find Jeff when all this is over. They’ll be friends, no matter who his soulmate is. They’ve got plans.

I don’t know how the reveal happens, whether Harry starts to suspect something or whether Jeff screws up or whether Jeff comes clean, but eventually it’s revealed that Jeff is in the Loop too. He’s kept quiet the whole time because he saw Harry at the start of the Loop, going after every pretty young model at the party (and/or every hulking lax bro), and he didn’t want to see the disappointment on Harry’s face when he realized his soulmate was Jeff. He just thought… if they got to know each other… eventually it would unfold naturally? (This was a terrible idea.) And then they started building this working relationship, and he’s loved that, and he’s been too scared that confessing would ruin everything, and it didn’t seem like there were any right words for it anyway.

Jeff is focused on explaining himself and trying to do damage control and he completely misses that this is exactly the wrong way to go about this conversation. What Harry needs to hear is that Jeff has been learning him all this time, drinking in every bit that Harry’s shown him, and every day of the Loop, every piece of Harry, has only drawn him in more and more. That love is a paltry word to describe how badly Jeff wants to wrap his entire being around Harry, body and soul. That he can’t believe how impossibly lucky it is that the universe has brought them together. And that of course he’ll live through it if Harry doesn’t feel the same way, but god, he’s all in, and he’s going to spend the rest of his life doing his best to make Harry happy, whether that’s as a colleague or a friend or a business partner, whatever Harry wants, Jeff will do it, Jeff will be it.

Jeff doesn’t say any of that.

And Harry feels utterly betrayed. He looks back in horror at all of the highly personal things he’s told Jeff with the expectation that Jeff wouldn’t remember. He can’t trust him, he can’t trust any of the plans they’ve made, how has Jeff just let him talk business at him for weeks and weeks when they were supposed to be falling in love? Above all else, Harry wants to be taken seriously, and Jeff’s proven that he doesn’t consider Harry to be a viable soulmate, let alone anything else.

Cue montage of Harry looping aimlessly through LA, trying to plot an alternate path forward. He knows he’s got to kiss Jeff eventually to end the loop, but he wants to have some idea of where he’s going after that. But of course none of the other managers or agents he talks to are Jeff; nobody else listens like Jeff does or understands what Harry wants the way Jeff does or seems like they’d be a true partner they way Jeff describes.

Anyway I’m not too clear on how Buttercup finally realizes that when Wesley was saying “as you wish” what he meant was “I love you,” but obviously that’s where this is headed. All I know is that at the end of the fic they watch the clock pass midnight and they finally get to end the night together.

[winters-uprise]

Love is Blind

Paring: Arthur Morgan x Male! Reader

Warnings: Blind! Reader, mention of slight animal abuse, grand theft of Arthur's heart

Notes: There's a serious lack of self insert mlm, so here my sweet children. Let boys love boys. Also don't imagine Arthur trying to describe a tree. "Well think of it as a big stick with u-uh smaller sticks pokin out the side.

And you scoffing, "I know what a damn tree is ok."

Also someone teach me how to add the 'read more' thing on mobile before I kill one of u guys

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

• "You need something you'll find it right here in this catalogue."

The catalogue thuds loudly against the grainy countertop. Arthur takes it from the shopkeeper and opens it, shaking off the dust. He absentmindedly scratches along the underside of his stubbled chin. He's gotta shave that soon, he thinks. "Alright, let's take a look."

The bell perched above the doorway rings and the manager instinctively turns to greet the arriving customer. He's pleasantly surprised with a familiar face, he smiles fondly. "Well Y/N. Finally came down to grace us with your presence have you?" He muses, his pen lightly taps against the clipboard in hand. "I got your things ready. Just need you to sign for 'em."

"Yes consider yourself blessed only for this week Louis," You huff at the old man, quickly writing off your signature anywhere. Arthur's attention is torn away from the heavy book at the sound of your gruff voice. And he jumps at the unexpected feel of warm wet huffing against his clothed leg. His brow quirks in amumsent, a slight tug on the edges of his lip. He promptly shuts the catalogue. His hand coming down to gently pat the furry beast.

"That's a real beautiful dog you got there." Arthur kneads those floppy ears, he loves 'em. It makes the dog whine, swiftly licking away at the corners of its mouth with a big slobbering tongue. You grab your bags, nodding in endearment to the stranger's comment. Your face only just peeking underneath the hat you adorned. The stranger he was curious, his voice had quite an alluring roughness to it. It was certainly- unique. You give a short tug to the leash wrapped securely around your wrist and utter a quick bashful thanks to the kind man on your way out.

"Take a look around before you go Y/N, might be something else in interest to you."

"Nah that's it for me today; pleasure doing business with ya."

• Louis gives the ticking clock yet another worrisome look, nostrils flaring as he sighs. Closing time was creeping and soon. Those residing in Valentine for as long as you have were kind folk and knew you well. Well enough to know you were a creature of habit. Yet there seemed to be no sign of you turning up today. The bell gives an alarming ding and his thoughts are interrupted; a feller. But his shoulders slump slightly in defeat, not you. There's a heavy clunk of boots as the mystery man steps in, eyes swiftly grazing along the shelves.

"Just need these 's all. Thought you'd be closed by now." A box of premium cigarettes are tossed upon the countertop by Arthur.

"I should soon," Louis starts, exasperatedly so, "But I fear somethings happened to a loyal customer of mine, blind fella. You seen him?"

Arthur shakes his head somberly, "No, sorry."

"How about this, your cigarettes are free. Just do me the courtesy of delivering these supplies to him." Louis yanks a loose sheet of paper from beneath the counter, hastily scribbling an address. He slides the torn note over to the Arthur. "You can take anything else you'd like as well."

Great.

• Shaking his head, Arthur gives an awkward knock upon the wooden door, his posture stiffening when he hears the shuffling of footsteps. It creaks as your face peeks behind the jarred doorway.

There's a very absent look to your E/C eyes he hadn't noticed before. He notes your fitted button downed shirt paired with slightly torn jeans, no hat this time 'round. His gaze might've lingered on the fine curve of your jaw far longer than they should've. The black bandanna he keeps on his neck is suddenly too tight. The man really is handsome.

"Got a delivery for you from the general store. Uh I-I know you ain't remember me but I brought you your things."

"'Course I remember you; I don't forget a voice like yours, my savior. Y'know I was down to my last bottle of Tequila? Who knows what would've happened if you hadn't shown when you did."

The name makes him chuckle, "Well shit, never been called that before. Maybe a son of a bitch at my best. But most peopel just settle for Arthur." fool, he thinks to himself.

"Y/N. Thank you Arthur."

Y/N, Arthur hums softly

• It's the next day, Arthur isn't quiet sure why he's back in Valentine -the place is plastered with mud- I guess the same way he isn't quiet sure why your name won't leave him alone.

His brows furrow at the sound of hysterical barking, it comes from behind the butcher's stall. A pang rumbles within his chest at recognizing the furry coat of your beloved pet. Pestering kids balling up what they could fit in their grubby hands, they pelted the yelping dog. His fists clench by his side. "Hey! You best leave that dog alone. Go on! Get!"

An urchin screams, stumbling his aimed throw "Shit, run! Run!" There's no need for a second warning.

"Come here you," Arthur whispers, coming to a crouch and giving his thighs a firm pat. He spares the dog some loose bread crumbs from his bag. "Shh, you're okay. I know you've been missed, come on now let's get you home."

• You sat on the cushioned loveseat, absolutely fuming. The little home was too silent for your liking and you cursed whomever took your seeing dog to damnation.

There's an unexpected knock. You open the door, cautiously, but it's yanked from your grasp as it's nudged open by the wet snout of your dog. You recognize her barking. "How?" Her paws dig firmly into your skin as she jumps at your front. You laugh and she almost topples you over. You stuff your nose into the fluff of her neck and breathe a sigh of relief. You had missed her dearly.

"Found him pretty far from home,"

Arthur

Arthur mutters, "You wanna go get a drink or something?"

• Arthur simply wants to enjoy the man’s company. It’s different being out here, away from the ruckus of camp, the constant nagging of Grimshaw. Together you strolled to a lush hill, overseeing a nearby river. Arthur takes off his hat and stretches his legs. He sighs, this is just real nice. You sat next to him, embracing the soft caress of the gentle breeze. Your heard tilts curiously to the side at the sound of rustling, Arthur digging further into his satchel.

"What you doing?"

Arthur pulls out his sketch book "doodlin." He’s free to watch you now. Arthur struggles a bit with the shifting shadows from the tree above, smudging too much of his pencil trying to get it just right. Not usually does he have the urge to draw people.

You kindly ask Arthur to describe what he sketches. It's the fierce flow of the river, its bank littered with milkweed shrubs and loose boulders, a stag lingers and drinks from it -Arthur feels a warmth spread throughout his chest, he had lost hope of feeling such a thing again. He doesn't mention him drawing you alongside the scenery.

Eventually he’s happy with what he’s drawn and Arthur tilts his head back, eyes to the clear sky. The sun was starting to set. He closes his journal and shoves it back in his bag.

Arthur's hand stays firmly squeezed around your bicep as he guides you home. You can hear the insistent sniffing from your dog along the trackside. You already know your way home from here, you dont say anything though. The same way you wont say anything about Arthur watching you. You happily play at being naive.

"I had a good time Y/N." Arthur quips, "Probably the first in a long while. Mind if we do something like this again?"

"So did I." you playfully pinch his scratchy cheek and lean further into him, smiling smugly against his ear "Just don't keep me waiting too long, cowboy."

[forever-forgotten-angel]

Back to the Basics (Part 4)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (Final Part)

TRIGGER WARNING: THE FLASHBACK IN THIS CHAPTER GOES DEEP INTO MY VERSION OF VIRGIL DUCKING OUT WHICH I EQUATE TO BE A BIT LIKE A SUICIDE! IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, EITHER DON’T READ OR SKIP THAT PART OF THE CHAPTER, I WILL MARK WHERE IT IS OVER. STAY SAFE PLEASE! 

Warning: This is a Thomas Sanders/Virgil Sanders romantic fic so if you don’t like that then please skip over this story and have a wonderful day!

Summary: Basically just some mutual pining between my favorite sunshine boy and emo side with some fluff thrown in for flavor. Featuring Thomas attempting to court a selectively oblivious Virgil and the other sides being ‘helpful’ to said courting process.  

Hi people! Sorry this took so long! Work has been crazy. But this chapter is over 4,250 words long so hopefully that makes up for it a bit. Also who asked for the angst? No one! Excellent! Have some! I plan to have the last chapter out by the weekend and you all are welcome to hold me to that! Just don’t ask me to sleep lol. Hope you enjoy!

Ducking out had not been an easy decision for Virgil. Not even close. And to this day he thinks it was probably the most selfish decision he ever made.

He had stressed over it for months. What would happen to him when he detached from Thomas? Would he simply fade eventually? Would the others be forced to take on his responsibilities?

The truth was, as much as he'd like to be, he could not be sure of any of these things, hence why this was such a big decision.

For a long time, the thought would pass occasionally, but he would never even consider it. Thomas needed him, whether he liked him or not. And that on thought kept him going, no matter how the other sides or even Thomas himself treated him.

But as the videos started and he was told and shown more and more frequently how unneeded (and unwanted) he was, that thought that kept him going began to crumple and wear down until it was nothing but dust.

It all came to a head with their collaboration with Butch Hartman. If Virgil was honest, he wasn't exactly sure why that was what finally broke him. It wasn't that bad. Sure, he'd been cast as the villain, but what else was new? And yes, his cartoon self had been made to fly after he'd explicitly expressed his hatred for flying but to be fair, he thinks that's just because Thomas was flying too as the hero so logically the villain would fly as well. Plus, it was just an animation, he hadn't actually had to fly.

Maybe it was just that, for the first time he saw (in full color animation no less) exactly what Thomas thought of him. He was just the villain that needed to be locked away. Not even the sympathetic villain that you didn't like but still sympathized with  or the fun villain that you liked despite them being a bad guy.

No, he was the villain that you didn't like and didn't want sullying your town. The one that only made things worse. The unnecessary burden.

Virgil had been doubting himself for a good while but that night the doubts swirled in his head fiercer than ever. Did he really do any good for Thomas? Or did he just make him panic over stupid things? Was he really keeping Thomas safe? Or was he keeping him from doing what he wanted? Was he really just doing his job? Or had he stepped over a line in his twisted devotion to the host that he loved?

Did Thomas really need him?

These were the thoughts that plagued his mind as he tried to go to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, his brain refusing to shut off, until he finally drifted off in the early hours of the morning.

He was sitting in the commons, just listening to some music on the couch, when his headphones were ripped unceremoniously from his head.

"What the hell Princey?" He demanded of the glaring creative side who simply continued to glare. Virgil noticed a shiny glint out of the corner of his eye and gulped as he turned to see Roman's sword was drawn. He quickly schooled his face, trying not to show his apprehension.

"We've put up with you for long enough, Villain." The final word was spat harshly at Virgil, and seemed to have a near physical impact on him. The sword edged closer to him, blade just brushing his neck. "It's time for you to go."

He saw Logan enter the room out of the corner of his eye and sighed with relief. Surely, the logical side would put an end to this.

His relief was quickly replaces by dread as the tie-clad trait came close enough for Virgil to see the coldness in his eyes.

"Logan," He still tried cautiously, holding back a whimper as Roman's blade pressed a bit deeper into his neck drawing a few drops of. "Can you please tell Prin-" He cut the nickname off not wanting to antagonize the already furious prince. "Roman that he's being ridiculous and should put his sword away?"

The logical side raised an eyebrow, cold expression unchanged. "And why should I do that? After all, you're doing the same to me." Virgil gave him a slightly pleading look, his cool facade fading fast. "What do you mean?" Logan gave a long sigh. "It's a metaphor Anxiety. Are you not figuratively holding a sword to my throat as you cause Thomas to needlessly fret about every little thing overrunning his, well, Logic." The side gestured to himself as he came closer. Virgil felt his body start to tremble a bit.

"Patton!" He called out for the paternal side desperately. The self-proclaimed 'Dad' wouldn't stand for this, he couldn't.

The moral side trotted into the room, overlooking the situation. He gave Logan and Roman a critical look. "Now, I think you two are being a bit harsh." He motioned for the sword to be lowered which thankfully it was, Logic and Creativity stepping back as Morality stepped in front of him.

Patton began to softly dab on the small cut on his neck with a warm, wet cloth. "Thank you Patton." He said earnestly, forcing himself to meet the father figure's gaze. "Of course...but you know, they might be right."

Virgil felt his heart stutter. Patton hastened to explain. "I'm not saying this to hurt you! It's just, well, what do you really do besides make Thomas worry and miss out on life? I know you're just doing you job, but maybe some jobs...don't need doing. I'd miss you so much of course Kiddo, but maybe it would be better if you just...went away."

Virgil felt tears forming in his eyes and furiously fought against them. One or two slipped through his fight. "I thought you liked....I mean, I thought you thought I wasn't always the bad guy." Patton gave him a sad smile. "I don't. I think you're a good guy who got stuck with a bad purpose in life. That's why I know you'll have the strength to do this. Because you'll see it's for the best. You can see that...right Kiddo?"

"I...." Virgil looked down, blinking away the tears stinging his eyes. When he looked up again, he was no longer in the commons, and the others were nowhere to be found. Everything in front of him was blurry and fuzzy. He turned to look behind him and saw a deep, dark abyss that seemed to be calling for him.

"Don't you want what's best for me Virgil?" He whipped around at lightning speed as he heard his name coming from a voice he never thought would say it. It didn't sound as wonderful as he'd imagined it would, maybe because it was said in a harsh and hateful tone as opposed to the bright and kind tone he was familiar with.

From out of the blur came the clear figure of his beloved host. A hateful glare on his lovely face, directed right at Virgil.

"How do you-" "know your name? I know exactly who you are Virgil. I always have. And I hate you." Virgil wasn't bothering to fight his tears at this point, there was no use. "Why are you crying? As much as you hurt me, as much as you enjoy it. I know you hate me too."

Virgil shook his head wildly. "No! No! I don't like hurting you. I hate it. Thomas, I love you."

There was a long, torturous silence before laughter cut the air between host and trait. It wasn't the bubbly laugh that made Virgil's heart flutter and his lips unwillingly smile though, it was high, and cruel, and hollow. It’s completely devoid of the life that normally lit up Thomas' every feature.

"Love me? You love me?” This was said with a mixture of disgust, disdain, and disbelief which cut the anxious side to his very core. “That has to be the most pathetic thing I have ever heard. Just look at what you do to me. What you do to everyone. You call that love? If so, then I wish you did hate me.” Thomas spat the words at the sobbing side. Virgil shakily turned back to the abyss, unable to take the look of pure hatred coming from his beloved Thomas.

He felt Thomas come up directly behind him, his breath drifting across the back of Virgil’s neck tauntingly. He’d always wanted to have his host this close to him, but not like this. He’d could almost feel the movement of Thomas’ lips as he whispered the words that had been plaguing the anxious side’s mind since his first appearance in Thomas’ ‘Taking on Anxiety’ video. “Let’s just face facts,” There was a short pause. Virgil stood shaking, leaning over the edge towards the abyss as he waited for the worst to come. “I’m better off without you.” Virgil can’t say for sure if Thomas pushed him towards the abyss or if he jumped for it. Maybe it was a bit of both.

 Virgil bolted up in bed, sweating and shaking. He felt tears immediately form in his eyes. He tried to calm himself down. Following his four, seven, eight breathing pattern. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. But it could be.

He rubbed unconsciously at the spot on his neck where the shallow cut had been in his dream. Was he really going to stick around until his dream became reality? Was he going to keep hurting Thomas? The others?

Himself?

Wouldn’t it be easier for them and him for him to just…go. No more Anxiety to stop Thomas from doing what he wants in life. No more Anxiety to get in Logic’s way, to stifle Princey’s creativity, to bring Patton’s mood down.  No more insults he has to pretend don’t hurt. No more annoyance when he shows up to ruin everything, like he always does. Just no more.

Virgil remembers when he was first formed. He was only a base instinct back then, not even a full side. He was in the dark, and he was alone. Far too deep into Thomas’ subconscious for any side, dark or light, to reach. But he wasn’t truly alone, because in the dark there was a golden strand tied to him. A feeling deep inside of him. Someone he was connected to. He knew from the moment he felt it that he must always protect the other end of that bond. The only bit of world outside the dark that he knew.

His world.

He closed his eyes and sought out that golden strand. It had become integral to him now that he was a full side. Not something he had to see constantly to know it was there. It was just as beautiful as he remembered though. Softly glowing and flowing to a tune no one could hear. He admired it, his connection to the one he loves, for a few moments. Then he cut it.

And suddenly he was back in that darkness where he hadn’t been for years. Far too deep to reach. Except this time there was no golden strand of light. No connection. No world.

He was truly alone, and he was terrified.

For the first time in his existence, he couldn’t feel Thomas’ presence and the loss is worse than he ever could have imagined.

This is for Thomas. He reminds himself. This is what is best for him. This is what he needs.  He has to remember that.

It’s the only thing that keeps him sane.

Virgil couldn’t tell you how long he was in that darkness for even if it was to save Thomas’ life. Time meant nothing and was nothing. It could have been minutes or an eternity. It was all the same.

He expected it to be how he spent the rest of his life, alone in the dark. 

(END OF SUICIDE TRIGGER WARNING)

He didn’t expect the others to come after him. 

But they did. 

And they accepted him, Thomas accepted him. It was more than he ever could have hoped for and he felt the need to give them something in return so he had. His name. For a moment, he’d thought he’d made a huge mistake but then Thomas had said he thought it was an awesome name and the others had all liked it too.

Roman bringing up ‘the others’ hadn’t even been enough to dampen his good mood. He knew it would be an issue eventually, but for once he was willing to just let it go and enjoy this moment. It couldn’t possibly get any better.

But then Thomas thanked him, and called him a good guy, and he smiled. Directly. At. Virgil. A smile meant just for him. He didn’t trust himself not to blurt out his love if he opened his mouth right then so he’d just smiled back and gave his signature salute as he sunk out.

He couldn’t stop himself from hoping that it was only the first smile of many.

  Virgil is not having a very good day.

His anxiety is up for no discernable reason, and everything just seems off and wrong and he’s far too edgy.

To top it all of, he’d broken his favorite pair of headphones when he’d fallen asleep last night listening to music and slept on them wrong. So not only did he have broken headphones, he also had a sharp pain in his neck.

Sure, he'd just conjured up a new pair of headphones, but it wasn't the same as his favorite pair. He couldn't quite explain it. This of course only caused further irritation for him.   

He is sitting on his bed and trying to work through his breathing exercises while absentmindedly rubbing at his sore neck when he hears a soft knock on his door. He isn't particularly in the mood to deal with anyone right now but he also isn't particularly in the mood to be alone and if his mind could just make up it's damn mind that would be great.

"Come in." He calls out, hoping his visitor won't want anything too effort consuming from him. He's a bit surprised but happy to see his host enter his room with a soft smile on his face. "Hey Virgil, how's it going?" Virgil gives a noncommittal shrug. "Okay I guess. Did you need something?" Thomas shakes his head as he sits down on the edge of Virgil's bed. "Nothing in particular just thought I'd come hang with you if that's alright." Virgil feels a bit of his tension seep away as he gives Thomas a smile. He scoots over on the bed to make room for the YouTuber to sit beside him which Thomas instantly moves to do.

"Thanks. Your eyeshadow looks really good today by the way." He can't help but cast an odd glace at his companion. He doesn't think his eyeshadow looks any different from normal. "Really, it makes your eyes stand out. They look wonderful."

Virgil can feel a blush coloring his cheeks. He knows he and Thomas technically have the same eyes but he's always thought the host's were so much more beautiful. So warm and bright and passionate. Hearing the other compliment his is not something he really knows how to respond to. "Thank you...so do yours." He replies uncertainly, not quite meeting his host's gaze. "Thank you." Thomas laughs a little as he responds which is not helping Virgil's blush.

"So why hang out with me and not one of the others?" Virgil asks, as he tries to bring his face back to a normal temperature again. "I just wanted to hang out with you today. Besides, I don't know about the others but when I passed by Patton and Emile on the way here, they were in the middle of a staring contest over the last cookie. Whoever wins gets to give the other the cookie. It looked serious." Virgil can't help but laugh as his mind easily conjures up an image of the two bubbly men locked in battle. Thomas smiles at him, bringing his mind back to his room. "You have such a beautiful laugh. I wish you would laugh more often."

What. Is. HAPPENING?

His blush is back full force now as he ducks his head. He lets out a wince and reaches up to rub his neck, now aching worse from how he jerked it. "Are you okay?" Thomas asked, concern coloring his voice. "I just slept on my neck wrong." He lets his hand drop and tries not to let out an audible sigh of relief at the change in subject. "Oh, well here." His relief fades instantly to be replaced by a tangle of feelings as Thomas reaches behind him and gently starts rub the muscles in his neck, easing the soreness. His fingers are cool and soothing against Virgil's heated skin.

"Is this okay?" The host asks as he continues to work out the tension in the anxious side's neck. Not able to trust his voice at the moment, Virgil nodded quickly. As much as this was wreaking havoc on his racing heart, he wasn't willing to reject Thomas' touch. It felt far too good.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Thomas broke it. "I really like spending time with you Virgil. I think we should spend time together more often." Virgil's eyes go wide. "Y-yeah?" He curses the slight stutter in his voice. "Yeah, but like specifically. You know planned. At a certain time. Like maybe this Friday at around eight. Sound good?" Thomas sounds a bit nervous and Virgil can feel a flutter of nerves from his host.

He moves reluctantly away from his host and scrutinizes him. He can't fathom exactly what is going on. Was his host trying to set him up for something? He knew Thomas and the others liked to play pranks sometimes, and he enjoyed retaliating in kind, that must be it. But this seemed a bit too obvious. He’d thought his host had more subtlety than this.

“I really don’t think that would be a good idea for me.” He tests cautiously, wondering what excuse the YouTuber will come up with. To his surprise Thomas instead deflated, a look of pain crossing his face before quickly being replaced by a forced smile. “Okay. I understand. We’re still…we’re good right?” Virgil was confused and just wanted to get the hurt out of his host’s eyes. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” He hesitantly gives Thomas a hug and some of the hurt seems to dissipate, though not all of it. His smile becomes a bit more genuine as he hugs back. “Thanks Virgil, you are awesome. I’ll see you later okay?” Virgil nods with confusion as Thomas leaves his room, feeling and emptiness as the door shuts and he’s alone again. He doesn’t understand.

How did he mess up this time?

  Thomas is furiously trying not to cry.

Virgil had rejected him, there was no mistaking that. He shouldn’t be this upset. Virgil hadn’t been unkind to him. He’d even hugged him without seeming uncomfortable with him at all.

But it still hurt.

He explained this to the other sides after they found him and Patton had helped calm him down.

“I’m so sorry Kiddo, I really thought….” Patton didn’t finish his sentence, instead letting it hang in the air between them. An unsure Logan was rubbing circles into his back, and Thomas made sure to give him a grateful look to let him know he was doing a good job. Roman however had stood up, passionately pacing the floor.

“This makes no sense. Every sign pointed to a great and powerful romance. The sunshine and the night sky, a beautiful but mysterious love. How could it go so wrong? I must know." Roman was leaving the room before Thomas even had a chance to register his words. “No Roman! Don’t bug him about it! Leave him be, it’s his choice!” Roman called back to him while sashaying down the hallway. “Don’t worry, I’ll be subtle.”

Thomas groaned and put his head in his arms. “You think he’ll really be subtle?” Logan gave him a pitying glance. “Thomas, I love him, really. But he asked me out by having two dozen hot air balloons each with a letter spelling ‘Will you go out with me Logan?’ float in front of me while he serenaded me with a mariachi band for back up. And later he told me that he toned it down since he knew I wasn’t the biggest fan of dramatics.”

“Oh geez.”

  Roman stalked through the halls of the mind palace with purpose. Love was at stake here. He had to find their resident sliver of moonlight and figure out what had gone wrong in their plans to set him and Thomas up for an epic romance.

Turns out, finding Virgil wasn’t going to be too hard because he literally ran right into him. After catching the other side and righting them both on their feet he began his subtle inquisition. “Virgil, I wish to speak to you about what happened between you and Thomas that soiled your great lo-“ He was cut off by the anxious emo. “Did Thomas talk to you? Is he mad at me? He seemed mad. Or hurt. Or I don’t know. What did I do wrong? Should I have just played along?”

Roman frowned at what he was hearing. “Just played along, there is no playing along when it comes to this sort of thing Virgil. For-“ He was cut off again. “Well, I didn’t mean to ruin his prank, he was just being so obvious about it. I mean I would have expected that from you, but he’s usually way better than that.” Roman is indignant. “I will have you know that I am a master of subtle-wait what do you mean prank?”

“It was kind of obvious. He asked me to hang out with him, at a specific time. All planned out. And it’s been awhile since our last prank war. And you guys can actually get me now that you figured out my weakness. I still find glitter places sometimes.” Roman smiled at the memory of their first successful prank on Virgil before his frown returns. “Wait, you think that….but….you’re usually so good at picking up on things.” Virgil frowns. “What do you mean?” Roman bites his lip, unwilling to directly betray Thomas’ trust, Thomas deserved to confess to Virgil himself.

“Nothing. I’ll talk to Thomas Virgil. Don’t you worry.” Virgil gives him a smile. “Thanks Princey. I’m going to see if I can sneak Patton’s recipe for Thomas’ favorite cookies, mine won’t be as good as his but I thought they would sweeten my apology a bit.” Roman sighs, shaking his head and smiling. “Don’t let Patton hear you making a pun like that of your own accord, he may start crying from joy and hugging you and then you’ll never escape to make cookies.” Virgil laughed. “Too true. You better not tell him.” Roman mimed sealing his lips before opening his mouth again. “And You don’t need to apologize to Thomas, but have fun making the cookies, I’m sure he’ll love them anyway.” Virgil nods and heads towards the kitchen.

Time to go inform the rest of the matchmaking team that Virgil can apparently be just as much of a clueless moron as he accuses them of being sometimes.

  It’s late at night, long after Roman had returned and told his story. After a long discussion over what Thomas should do next that really got them absolutely nowhere. After the others had headed off to sleep for the night, wishing Thomas sweet dreams and good luck. After hours of just sitting here on his bed, still in his day clothes, marveling at how someone who can usually pick up on the smallest details so easily could possibly miss something so big.

And he hates that the hope is rekindled in his heart. He tries to squash it down. For all he knows, Virgil really doesn’t like him. But there’s still a chance. So the hope rises up against Thomas’ will.

But he can’t keep going on like this. Clearly it wasn’t working and it was only going to end up doing damage to himself or Virgil or both. It was time to face his anxiety (figuratively and literally) and put his feelings out in the open and hope for the best. Whatever became of that had to be better than this constant state of unknowing. And Virgil was too good and cared about him too much to let it come between them if he doesn’t like Thomas, he has to believe that.

Perhaps it’s time for him to take a leaf out of Roman’s book of ‘subtlety’ though maybe not quite so dramatic.

He thinks on it for a while. Scrapping many ideas before coming up with the perfect plan to confess his feelings. One with no room for misunderstanding. He looks around for his box with old stationary in it. He sifts through the various papers before finding one with a Halloween theme he is sure Virgil will like. He throws the box aside and sits back down on his bed, grabbing a book to write on from his nightstand.

It’s time to go back to the basics.

[joleen1234]

Heaven in Hiding - Part 5

I'm glad more and more people are getting interested in the story. :) Hope you like this part!

Masterlist

Negan stepped out of the RV and paused, taking the scene in. That smirk never leaving his face. This is what he lived for.

"Pissin our pants yet?" He asked as he started to walk toward them. I followed at a slight distance, my gun gripped in my right hand.

"Boy. Do I have a feeling we're gettin close. It gonna be pee pee pants city here real soon." I hung back a bit looking at the people in this group. This small group. How could that have fucked so much of our stuff up? My gaze stopped for a moment on a kid. Well, he was a teenager but still a kid. And I kept looking at them I noticed a sick looking woman. She was sweaty and red. You could tell she was in pain.

"So, which one of you pricks is the leader?" Negan asked.

"It's this one." Simon spoke out, pointing at a gruff looking guy in a brown coat. "He's the one." That terrified man was the leader? I thought it was the red head. He hadn't shown one ounce of fear yet. He sat up on his knees full of confidence. Unlike this one. He was hunched over and shaking with wide eyes. Negan was talking to the leader,Rick, giving him the full speech about the new world order and blah blah blah. As he did I couldn't help but wonder who he was going to take out. I knew he wouldn't kill the kid or the sick lady, probably not any of the women. He wasn't the type to kill women unless absolutely necessary. My money was on the redneck one since he's caused a lot of trouble for us.

"You understand?" Negan asked Rick. He was silent. Negan leaned down and cupped his ear with his free hand. "What? No answer?" I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. He was such a sassy piece of shit sometimes. He pulled back and put his hand over his mouth, pulling it down his stubble. "You didn't think you were gonna get through this without being punished did you?" Negan asked. "I don't want to kill you people. I want you to work for me and you can't do that if your dead. Can you?" He asked pointing Lucille at Rick. "And you killed an ass load of my people. A lot more then I'm fucking comfortable with. So now. I'm going to bash the unholy hell out of one of you." And he started walking down the line with Lucille. Talking to the kid for a bit and making his way to the sick lady. "You look shitty. Maybe I should just put you out of your misery." He said and then a guy from down the line started screaming. I raised my gun toward him but Another savior got to him and pushed him to the ground. Negan lightly pushed my gun down and winked at me. "Get him back in line. Don't any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down. No exceptions. First ones free. It's an emotional moment. I get it." He said. I let out a loud sigh. As much as I trust Negan I still felt he was being too soft. He talked to Rick a bit and then stood back. "I gotta pick somebody. I simply cannot decide."

"I can." I spoke up glaring at the redneck. Negan chuckled and looked back at me.

"Come on now doll. Everyone has the honor to meet Lucille here. So let's not pick favorites." I rolled my eyes and let him do this thing. "I got an idea. Eenie,menie..." he started going down the line. This is how he was gonna pick someone? He could be so childish I swear.

He stopped at the red headed man. Negan said a little speech and held Lucille up high and then brought her down fast. That familiar crunch of her against a skull had me butting my bottom lip. The man sat back up.

"Suck. My. Nuts." The guy said. Negan chuckled and went again and again. Smashing his skull open until there was nothing but bone and red mush left. He glanced to me and smirked. He knew I was enjoying this. I looked away quickly to examine the others. They were crying quietly. Some were sobbing. Negan stopped pounding down and let Lucille hang there a moment, the glistening blood slowly dripping from her rusted metal.

"Look at this." Negan said with a laugh as he leaned back a bit. "You guys. Look at my dirty girl!" He said with a swing, splattering the blood onto some of them. He walked over to a woman and held Lucille up to her. "Lay your eyes on this." He paused for a moment then looked over to the now mutilated body of the guy. "Oh shit. Were you two together? That sucks." Negan was going off on another speech trying to force her to look at he lovers brain matter when out of the corner of my eye the redneck got up. As I pointed my gun he punched Negan across the face. I felt my blood boil as my arm went back and I pistol whipped him across the face as hard as I could. Two other saviors reached out and grabbed him as he stumbled back then Forced him to the ground. I could feel the blood drip to my fingers from the gun. I busted his lip open. I went to shot him when Negan walked over angrily.

"No!" He shouted pointing Lucille at him. He knelt down. "That shit is a no no! The whole thing! Not one fucking bit of that shit flies with me!" Dwight quickly walked up with a crossbow.

"You want me to do it?" He asked. Ready to fire. I growled.

"Excuse me." I said annoyed as I looked at him, my gun still pointed toward the rednecks head.

"No. Get him back in that line." Negan said, without a second going by they did as he said. "Now what did I fucking say? The first ones free after that I will shut. That. Shit. Down!!" He paused to suck his teeth. "I don't know what kind of lying assholes you've been dealing with but I'm a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you fine people to know me. So. Back to it." He said turn and hitting the guy closest to him. The one that jumped out of line first. I jumped a bit at the first blow. I wasn't expecting him to go after him that fast. The blood splatter like a beautiful painting as it hit the ground. Negan landed another hit but the guy sat up. His eye literally popping out of his head. Looking toward the sick girl. He was trying to say something but I couldn't understand him. He spoke to the group a bit more as the man sat up blubbering and dripping blood until Negan gave another blow,knocking him to the ground.  Again he brought the bat down onto his skull. Over and over until there was nothing but mush. I glanced around the group to see them broken. Their hope and spirit long gone by now as they watched yet another friend die. Although this one didn't have to. This ones death was on the rednecks hands. Negan stopped then looked to me. My eyes met his as he motioned for me to go toward the RV. I gave him a small nod and started back. He grabbed Rick from the ground and literally dragged him to the RV. I opened the door for him and he threw Rick in. After Negan got in I followed,slamming the door behind me. Negan threw Rick to the back,put the ax he took from him into the table and sat in the drivers seat. He looked back. "Come on Doll," he patted the passenger seat with his gloved hand. "I need a copilot." I rolled my eyes and walked over. Sitting down in a way I was still turned toward Rick. "Let's go for a ride." He said and turned the key. It took a few times but it eventually started.

"Wow. This is a piece of shit." I said looking over to Negan.

"Darling you took the words right out of my mouth." I looked back at Rick who was glancing between us. It looked like he was thinking. And I know what he was thinking.

"We aren't together if that's what you were thinking." I said turning around in my seat to face out the window. "I don't think I'd ever get with him."

"Ouch Prue. Words fucking hurt you know." He joked then looked through the rear row mirror. He started egging Rick on. Telling him to grab the ax and try to kill him. Even tho I was relaxed in the chair I was still at the ready. This guy couldn't be that much of a moron could he? I heard him move a bit then run full force. I got up in an instant and turned toward him my gun pointed directly between his eyes.

"Try me prick. I've been itching to kill someone all damn night." I said with my finger hovering over the trigger. "Now drop the fucking ax." I said looking him dead in the eyes. Rick studied me for a moment then dropped it. A drawn out whistle left Negans lips.

"You are on a roll tonight Prue! Damn." He complimented me as I picked the ax up and handed it to him. He smirked and hit it back into the table. I wound up my arm and punched Rick in the jaw, sending him to the ground. "You like that shit Rick? My girl here is a fucking badass ain't she? And I bet you were wondering why I had her tag along." I let out an annoyed sigh and sat back down in my seat. Putting my feet up on the dash as we drove away.

"Stop calling me that. I don't belong to anyone you jackass." I said crossing my arms.

"Is that right Doll?"

"I AM Negan after all." I said shooting him a smirk.

"God damn doll are you trying to get me hard?" He joked. I couldn't help but chuckle. He was such a typical man when it came to his dick. We got to the road pretty quickly and off we went. I glanced to Rick every now and then to make sure he was staying put. He was. After a punch like that he should stay down. I put my feet down and started going through the glove compartment and found two granola bars. I grabbed them and tapped Negan on the shoulder with one. He glanced over and took one. "Aren't you thoughtful."

"We didn't eat dinner yet. I'm starving." I said opening mine and taking a bite. He handed it back to me to open. I put mine in my mouth as I opened it for him. He took it and kept driving. They were stale as shit but still good enough to eat.

The RV slowed to a stop and Negan got up,yanked the axe from the table and held it firmly in his hand. He opened the door and killed a walked that had walked up. It fell to the ground and Negan promptly tossed the axe out the door.

"Hey Rick. Go get my axe." Another walker walked over and he hit it with the top of his bat. "I wanna be friends Rick." When Rick didn't answer I could see the discontent in Negans face. He scrunched his nose and lent over, holding the bloody Lucille in front of his face. "Get. My. Axe." Rick took a second but he got up. Negan roughly shoved him out the door and closed it. I got up and looked out the window.

"You think he'll be okay?" I asked him with my arms crossed.

"Ehh. He should be." I chuckled. "Havin fun Doll?" The smile on my face turned to a frown.

"You call me that to bug me don't you?" I asked annoyed. He sucked his teeth and gave me a crooked smile.

"You know it." I let out a sigh and leaned against the wall near the door.

"Wonder what they're thinking."

"Who?"

"Rest of his group. Kneeling there with their dead friends,saviors eyeing them up the whole time." I looked over at Negan who was smirking at me. "What?"

"Prue, darling I do think you might be more demented then I am. And holy shit. Is it hot." He said walking up to me. I looked up at him as he towered over me. My heart caught up in my throats as I tried to push my nerves and dare I say it, attraction, down. I found my eyes quickly glance at his lips then to his eyes. He started to lean down and Move his hand to my right cheek. It was like slow motion as his lips crashed onto mine.

At first I was a bit hesitant but I eventually gave into the kiss. Our lips locked together for a moment before a clang brought us back. He pulled away annoyed as he looked up. Rick must have thrown the axe to the roof to try to get away from the walkers. "We can continue this later." Negan said as he walked to where he heard the clang. "Bet you all thought you were gonna grow old together." Negan spoke. Sitting around the table at Sunday dinner. No. It don't work like that Rick. Not anymore," Negan went on as I looked at him. Replaying the kiss that just happened. It didn't mean anything right? I mean it's not like I didn't like it. I don't want to be the person Sleeping with her boss. Not to mention his wives. Ugh. I don't wanna get stuck in that freaky shit. "Bring me. My axe!" Negan shouted. I pulled my gun and held it up. He looked back at me and I smirked. I started shooting into the roof. Starting from the end Rick wasn't at. I heard him run and jump off. "Nice touch." Negan said.

"My trigger finger was itching." I said with a shrug as I walked toward the back and opened the window. Walkers were almost as Rick as his legs dangled helplessly into the horde. I aimed and started shooting heads. I felt Negan brush up against me as he helped shoot some walkers. He stopped and pushed my gun down.

"Clocks a tickin Rick." Negan said and closed the window. I followed him to the door. He locked it. "Honk the horn Doll." I shot him a glare as I walked over and honked twice. A few seconds passed and the door started to jiggle.

" Are we going to help?" I asked.

"You can." He said and flung the door open. I smirked taking the semiautomatic from his hands and spraying the horde of walkers. Careful to avoid Rick. They fell and Rick scrambled to his feet and ran toward the RV. He slammed the door behind him and fell to the ground,panting. Negan held his hand out and I sat down in the passenger seat. Rick got up and put the now bloody axe in Negans hand. Negan smiled big. "Attaboy!" He slammed the axe into the table yet again and sat in the driver seat. The RV started up on the first try and off we went.

"Wow it fucking reeks in here." I said waving my hand in front of my face. Negan chuckled.

"He is covered in walker guts." I glanced back at Rick. He was looking down and shaking a bit. It almost made me feel bad for him. Almost. I turned around and put my feet up.

About ten minutes passed and we parked. Negan turned the engine off and stood up. 

"We're here prick."

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

Tag List:

@scifi-bi

@thepockyfreak

[feynites]

Sharp and Shiny Circle AU

The latest (well, written) Aili x Uthvir AU! Co-written with @lillotte17, wherein Aili is a Circle Mage (of sorts) and the Nightmare is the tower’s resident haunt.

Aili is six when her magic first comes to her. Trapped and screaming in the dark of a small cave. Petrified and all alone. Her desperation manifests in an explosion of heat and flame that nearly kills her along with the scurrying beasts she had been trying to fend off. As luck would have it, the blast also manages to knock a fair amount of stone and earth loose from the mouth of the cavern where it had collapsed in on itself earlier when a deafening crash of thunder and lightning had sent the whole place quaking. It takes nearly twenty minutes of burrowing on her part, but she escapes, filthy and crying and slightly singed, but wholly alive.

Even if she is also somewhat scraped and bruised and terrified.

The storm that had caused her to seek shelter in the first place is still raging, though not quite as fiercely as before. She finds herself soaked through, and much farther from Clan Lavellan’s campsite than she had meant to wander, as night begins to fall in the forest. She makes attempts to find the hunting trails her mother had shown her. Halla tracks. Underbrush crushed flat by the wheels of their aravels. But everything looks the same to her eyes in the failing light of day.

Aili trudges aimlessly for a while; slathered in mud from her bare toes clear up to her knees, in what she thinks must be the direction she came from. She can hardly see anything anymore, and her teeth are chattering from the cold settling into her bones, and she wonders if she could maybe make the fire in her hands again. Just to keep warm, and help her find her way.

The first few tries yield no results, but after a while, she discovers that if she screws her face up and concentrates very hard, a half dozen or so tiny sparks will flare around her fingers. She can't quite seem to hold it, so she just keeps walking, and shooting out little puffs of fire every now and then to get a better sense of where she might be headed.

Eventually, she comes upon a road. Which is distressing. The Dalish do not typically use roads, unless the terrain offers no other safe means of travel. Roads mean human settlements. Bandits. Templars. Danger.

Aili crouches down by the foot of a tree and hides her face in her hands. Crying hard, and finally resolved to the fact that she is utterly, hopelessly lost.

Hours pass, until night has well and truly fallen, and there is nothing to see by except for the faintest pinpricks of starlight through the trees. She is stiff with cold, and her clothes are stiff with mud. Her stomach growls loud enough to rival a bear. And she finds that she is almost too exhausted to fall asleep.

Too exhausted to notice when the sound of creaking wooden wheels and a rattling cart being drawing closer to her on the road.

She jerks suddenly into wakefulness, thinking that perhaps it is the sound of an approaching aravel. Bounding to her feet with a joyful cry. A few more of her little sparks to come bursting out of her in excitement.

The horse shies and rears, making a terrible screeching whinny, that has her dashing back towards the side of the road again.

But it is too late.

A pair of figures get down from the cart. A short scrawny man, and a tall dark-skinned woman holding a lantern. They seem mostly interested in seeing to their horse, and making certain the creature does not turn their cart over, and Aili hopes against hope that if she stays very quiet, perhaps they will not think to look for her.

"Here now, Bess, what's got you all a flutter?" the man asks his horse, peering out into the darkness. He seems genuinely surprised when he catches sight of her, and Aili wonders if it would be worth it to try and run away. "Hello there, little one! What are you doing out here in the dark?"

"Raff, you don't suppose tha' flash of light came from her, do ya?" the woman beside him mutters in a deep sooty voice.

"Calm down, Vel, " Raff chides her, "It's jus' a little girl."

He turns back to Aili with a smile. As he walks a few steps closer, she can make out the pointed tips of his ears. Her shoulders relax slightly.

An elf.

Even if he is travelling with a human woman, surely one of her own people would not let anything too terrible happen to her.

"D'you drop your candle in the mud, sweetheart?" he asks her kindly.

Aili knots her fingers together, and shakes her head 'no'. Papae always told her to tell the truth, and Mamae said to respect her elders. And both of them told her not to leave the boundaries of the campsite on her own. They're going to be so mad at her…

The man makes a face, and the woman makes a sound of smug triumph.

"You can make lights with no candles or lanterns?" Raff checks, eyeing her up in a way that makes her wholly uncomfortable. She thinks that he does not want the answer to be 'yes', for some reason. She almost feels brave enough to lie to him about it, but before she can quite muster the courage, the fire poofs out around her fingertips again. He jumps away from her with a curse.

"Get back in the wagon before she sets the whole woods ablaze!" he hisses at his companion, taking her firmly by the elbow. The woman wrenches herself away from him, and gives him such a scathing look, that Aili doesn't imagine he could look more cowed if she had hit him.

"What kind of man are you?" Vel snaps in reply, "You really gonna leave some child out here by her lonesome to get et up by bears and wolves? Probably some poor little urchin cast out by them wild elves that camp in these parts. They toss em out when there're too many wot got magic, don't they? Don't even try to send them to the Circles for proper learnin'. Better off dead than with humans, or some tripe like that. Shameful is what it is."

The man gives her another assessing once-over, and Aili is not quite sure what they are talking about anymore. Wild elves? Magic? Do they think she is a Keeper?

When Raff steps over to her again, he seems wary, but also strangely sad.

"Are you hungry?" he wonders softly.

"Yes," Aili lisps out, too desperately famished to hide it.

"You come with me an' Vel, we'll get you taken care of," he tells her, reaching out to take her hand. "We'll get a nice warm meal in you, and clean you up good and proper, and in the morning, we'll make sure you end up where you belong."

"I wanna go home," Aili says in what is almost a sob, her fingers tightening around Raff's. He has very warm hands. Callused and rough, like her father's.

"It'll be home soon enough," he promises.   

~

It is not often that the Nightmare finds itself trapped, in any significant capacity.

Carelessness, it thinks. A lack of precaution. It is always a lack of precaution which leads to such things. The trick, of course, is knowing what precautions to take. It thought it had, but, time had proven that arrogant. The twisting layers of its realm had been cracked an age ago, when The Body, up above, had finally been destroyed. Blood and lyrium and torn pieces. It had rushed to try and gather what it could, before the memories were all torn away. It would be easier to forget, of course. Easier and more peaceful. But...

That is a luxury they offer to others. Not themselves.

Itself.

Regardless, past is past. The Nightmare had hurried to try and hold onto the pieces, and in so doing, had finally been dislodged from the nest it had built up across the centuries. Dragged closer to the currents of the Waking World, the place it was drawn to; the place most dangerous to it. It would need to build another nest, to go back to its waiting ways. Feeding, in the darkness, on fears and the foreboding dreams of a broken world. But with the memories it had scrambled to catch, the siren's lure of the Waking World had called that much more strongly to it.

Folly.

The mages which had tried to bind it had failed, in part. They had been easy to overwhelm. Their fears were dark, and deep, and in the throws of their terror and paranoia, they had turned on one another. Thoughts of betrayal became a reality, as the trio tore into one another. But their trap was less easily rent apart than their flesh. The Nightmare found itself restricted to a certain quarter of the Fade. Looming and lingering in it, in the shadows below a Circle. And in circles, it wandered. Never starving, of course, for the Circle of the Waking World knew no dearth of fears and dread. But it was too weak to simply break free. To return to its half-forgotten quest, of waiting and seeking safe ways to return.

So, it remained. Feasting on nightmares, growing and growing, as other, lesser demons clustered in its wake, seeking to prey upon the mages above. Seeking folly, for these demons were young, and did not understand the bite of blades, or the heavy weight of the world they sought. They had never known it.

The Nightmare had.

It remembered. Not perfectly. But enough.

It is there for a long time, before it meets Her.

Another mage. Elven. Small. She has been in the Circle for some years. Bad dreams, of spiders and shadows, and losing people. Being lost and trapped. Forgetting. Normal fears for any Circle mage. The Nightmare had not seen her fully until the Harrowing. That was when it saw most mages for the first time. Pulled into the Fade, trapped among the demons, with swords at their backs. It had made a habit of watching many Harrowings, but rarely interfered. Most of the mages of this Circle were humans. Round-eared, pale-faced, caught in fleeting years. They did not seem... right, for any opportunities beyond providing sustenance. The templars were always close, on the other side.

But this... She is different.

An elf, yes, darker and more fair than most of the others in this place, small and bright-eyed and steady as she walks into the dream. That alone would not be enough to capture its interest, and yet, the Nightmare finds itself drawn in. There is something about her face. It does not quite grasp what, but the fact that is drawn at all compels it, and brings it in further. It remembers... a woman of importance. Or women? Someone. She?

The Lady?

A beating heart. Heartbeat...?

The mage has one of those, certainly, though as with all others who come to be Harrowed, the continued beating of Her heart hangs on a thin thread.

The lesser demons move in. A demon of Anger is the most potent in this region, apart from the Nightmare, but it is still not much compared to them. Fear is the most potent resource in this place. The Nightmare is drawn into the dream as well, though. Unprecedented. The Harrowing trap is not strong enough to hold it, not like the ancient summoning, built into the lines of this Circle. But its own interest in Her is enough that they are swept up by the currents of summoning anyway.

They could leave. The Lady is dangerous, they know that. The mage does not seem to be much of a threat, but appearances are deceiving.

But...

They have seen mages killed by the lesser demons in these Harrowings. By the templars, too. Their deaths echoing through the Dreaming, as they are cut down before it is done. The fear they feel in those moments is potent. The Nightmare has built minions of it, a thousand spiders that lurk in the corners of the Circle, and gnaw at the walls of their prison. If She dies, then they will never know what has drawn themselves to her. That could be dangerous as well. A persistent mystery, perhaps bound to strike again, at a less opportune moment.

The Nightmare culls the lesser demons in the dream. Spirits drawn in of their own volition flee, before it can catch them. It calls spiders to close off the edges of the dream, and silences the summoning. Snuffs out most of the lights, until the dream is all but empty, save for shadows and the clicking of dozens of legs, crawling over stone floors. The little mage stands in the middle of a chamber, and hastily summons a light. She clutches her staff close. The Nightmare can feel her fear growing, rather than receding. Despite the fact that the lesser demons are all gone, now.

They move closer. Their wings stretch out from their back, nearly as dark as the darkness they have called, and their own many legs tap across the floor with a louder, less hurried clack-clack-clack.

The fear grows. What's coming, what's that, where did all the spirits go, why has it all gone dark, what's moving in the shadows...?

She brightens the light in her hand, and sets it onto the top of her staff. Bracing her feet apart. Her grip is white-knuckled, and her fear tastes familiar...

She does not like spiders.

The Nightmare does not know where the knowledge comes from. Not the usual place of knowing such things, although... perhaps it is? It is disorienting, for a moment. The light is brittle and too bright, and it cannot remember if it is hunting or seeking, or if it is afraid of this Lady, or if it is here to listen to the beating of her heart. It draws closer, and spreads the darkness. Swallows the light. The mage tries to make another, but they catch her before she can. Her skin crackles with magic, and her staff slams against their wing. Hard enough to hurt, but, as they touch her. the Nightmare almost knows... knows...

"Vhenan."

I don't want to die!

They let go of her.

The dream is starting to come undone. The templars are moving closer in the Waking side. The Nightmare considers for a moment, and then withdraws. With no demons to hold the Harrowing, the dream breaks, and the dreamer wakes.

~

The Circle never feels like home.

It is a cold, cramped place, with bars across the windows, and a lone flat courtyard with high stone walls. The only place Aili is permitted to be outdoors, where all the mages practice the approved fighting spells, and tend to herbs and flowers. And she occasionally slips her shoes off and wriggles her toes in the soft cool grass, and tries to recall the distant smell of forests.

She cries a lot in the early days of her captivity. Frightened of the faceless metal masks of the Templars. Of the flat-toned Tranquil with their blank expressions. Of the thought of never seeing her parents or her clan again. Of the dark spindle-legged monsters that chase her through her dreams.

Aili tries to explain to the First Enchanter that there has been some horrible mistake. She was naughty, but her parents would never simply abandon her. She tries to convince them that she is not a mage, tries to hide her powers as best she can, but her anxieties seem to bring it to the surface, manifesting in sparks of lightning and tiny spurts of flame.

There are very few elves in this particular Circle, and she is the only one not from an alienage. 'Everyone is equal here', they insist, but she find it is not true. A handful of the human mages are from noble houses, and they wear finer robes, have thicker blankets on their beds, and a few even get permission to visit with their families on special occasions. With Templar supervision, of course.

The elves have nothing, even if it is supposedly the same nothing that the common humans have. Most of them came from large families packed into tiny crumbling houses where there never seemed to be enough food to go around. The Circle is a blessing in that regard. Three meals a day, a bed you don't have to share with anyone, and a better education than any of them could possibly hope for.

Half of them don't even believe her when she told them she was Dalish. And after a while, she starts to doubt it herself. The snorts of the halla, the smell of leather and cookfires. The stories Hahren Theron taught them. Her mother's voice. Her father's eyes. All growing hazy in her mind like a passing dream.

The years roll by, and Aili grows. Trying to find her place. To balance who she is now, with who she feels she was born to be. There are not many books about her people, and the few she finds seem incongruous with the memories she has managed to keep hold of, but she holds fast to them regardless. She seeks the truth of their past, trying to align what she can remember with the skewed perspectives of human historians.

She hopes to be granted permission to leave this place someday. To continue her research into Elven histories and magic. To study the ruins that she has only ever seen in drawings.

To find her way back to her clan. Her family.

Aili is awake when they come for her in the middle of the night. Taking her to be harrowed. Forcing her to dream. To face her demons.

She does not relish the thought.

In the twelve years she has spent trapped here, she has yet to have a pleasant night's rest. Even in her good dreams, there is always something lingering at the edges of her perception. Some dark spirit. Some old wound waiting to reopen. She is never lucid enough to quite make out the shape of it, but it always leaves her with a deep sense of unease. This place has seen too much pain, she thinks, and anyone who is sensitive to it is liable to be drawn in.   

It is worse than she had imagined.

The smaller demons and spirits are all chased off, and everything she can perceive about this corner of the Fade is shrouded in inky blackness. Thousands of skittering feet all scrabbling towards her. Indiscernible shadows that somehow shape themselves into one her oldest fears. And ocean of hungry chittering spiders. Massive dark wings. Sharp grasping claws.

Aili tries to keep her head. Be brave. Make light. Take no deals. Fight back. But nothing she does seems to hinder the creature that seems to have caught her at long last.

It lifts her in its strange conglomeration of arms and claws and long, spindly hands. She draws in a sharp breath, tries not to scream. Wondering if she is about to be possessed, or eaten, or destroyed entirely.

I don't want to die!     

The thought shakes throughout her entire being, and for half a second, the dream around her disappears.

Thick, heavy manacles around her wrists, binding her magic and limiting her movements. A filthy cell far beneath the earth. A sense of impending doom.

I don't want to die!

The words had burst from her in a flash of panic, despite all her efforts to hold them in. She had wanted to be brave. There are eyes in that room. Not hers. Dark and anguished, surrounded by lines written in blood.

She had not wanted them to see her in her moment of defeat.

Run! Leave! Escape this place!  

Unaccountably, the demon lets her go. And when it does the vision disappears. The dream fades, and she is pulled back into the waking world. Surrounded by anxious Templars with their blades drawn.

They spend a long time checking her over for signs of corruption, but they cannot seem to find anything amiss. So, they let her go. Let her return to her books and her studies, and her penchant for taking naps in odd places. A fully recognized Mage of the Circle.

Aili is glad for the scant freedoms that it brings, and she certainly had not wished to be slain, or have her connection to the Fade severed, but…

The dreams are getting worse.

She is too scared to tell anyone, for fear that they will take it as a sure sign that she had not left her Harrowing completely as herself, but the vague presence she had noticed when she was younger has grown closer. A dark shape standing at the edge of her sleep. Watching her silently.

And there is more.

Faces and voices of strangers which nearly bring her to tears. Scraps of songs that she has never heard, in a language she has never learned. Brief flashes of memories that are not her own. A shinning city. Hungry golden eyes. A palace in the woods. A figure in red.

She tries to sleep less. To only doze for an hour or so at a time. Drinking strong teas, and reading late into the night.

It makes her a bit…peculiar. Twitchy and jumpy, and even more prone to dropping things. A few of the children that she tutors seem concerned for her health, but thankfully none of the Templars seem to think she is acting suspicious.  

With all the unrest brewing in Kirkwall, it is hardly surprising that they have less attention to focus on a young mage suffering from sleep deprivation.  

She can only hope it stays that way.

~

The Nightmare watches the Lady, after she leaves the harrowing dream.

She reminds of them things. Of memories, buried and broken, and long thought by them to be lost. It is like a light, shining on pale words still imprinted upon weathered, torn pages. The closer they draw, they more clear things become. But so slowly. Bit by aching bit, and they must gather up the newly illuminated text of their memories. Must secret them away, to where they will not be lost again, nor confused for any others. Whether they are their own memories, or the Lady's, or the body's, or the old, bright and burning Glory's... that is harder for them to sort out, at times.

They are painful memories, and full of fear. Yet the Nightmare cannot escape the persistent, compelling impression that they must find more. That in finding more, they will find something important. Something they have been looking for, for... ages. For long enough that they cannot recollect the start of their search.

The Lady dreams of Arlathan, and of palaces long fallen to ruin, and other places which the Nightmare can also recollect. One night she dreams of a stable. Halla mill around a verdant pen, as She lies in the soft grass beside one of them, and turns a flower over and over in her hands. Staring at petals that look like glass, and a stem that curls into a delicate bracelet. A piece of jewellery that would once have been considered modest. But She smiles as she wraps it around her wrist, and the glass petals flutter. A gift. The Nightmare thinks...

It moves. Red rather than shadow. Blood in place of darkness. She looks up at them, and for a moment, She smiles.

"You're finally back! I thought..."

At the joy and welcome in her tone, something in the Nightmare twists. Such an unaccustomed reaction to their presence. It does not know what to do, and in the moment of confusion, the sky darkens, and its form slips back into a more customary shape. Thoroughly enough so that they cannot recollect the one which they had been holding before. The Lady's face pales, and the halla rear; the Nightmare calms the illusion of them by seizing control of them. White forms and carved horns warp into spindly spider shapes, dark and hard, but easy to command. They scurry off, but the Lady screams.

The pervasive sense of danger and deception, hidden threats suddenly leaping out, overcomes the dream. The Nightmare moves, trying to find the cause of the disruption. It gathers the Lady to them, and covers her light, so that they might hide. But the sense of dread only grows, until there seems no recourse but to break free of the dream and flee. So the Nightmare does, carrying the Lady through the Fade, down into the deeper recesses where its makeshift lair has accumulated. Far enough that the tether between her mind and body begins to tremble, and only then do they recollect, and stop themselves.

If they take her too far, she will break.

Shatter, they think. Pain, and ruin, and empty husks left behind.

The Lady struggles in their grasp. Their hold on her is like heavy shackles. They have seen her shackled before. They wanted to break them, but they couldn't... but these shackles are their own doing. They loosen their grip on her, but tighten it again when she nearly strikes out and escapes it. If they leave her here, others might find her. Others will hurt her. They cannot leave her here, but they must get her free. They carry her up, back towards the Waking. Far as they might go, and they find it is further than they expected. They have not ventured so close to the Veil in centuries. Have not tested it in far longer than that.

Yet, the prison which bound them seems to hold them more tightly in the Fade than it does at the Veil itself. They carry the Lady back to her body, and find themselves filling up the shadows of her room. The small square space, with its tiny cot, and worn oak wardrobe. Half-finished tea on the bedside table, and a book lying open on Her body's chest. Her dreaming mind slips from their grip and back into her body.

The Nightmare lingers, curious. Watching as she opens her eyes, and lets out a breath of relief. As she runs her hands down her face, and then sits up, and goes still.

Staring at the shadows.

She stares at them for a long moment, fear pounding into her heart. How did it get out of the Fade? Her hand reaches, slowly, for the staff beside her bed. Eyes still fixed towards the corner of the room. The Nightmare moves into the shadow in the opposite corner, and the Lady pauses.

And then she closes the last inch of distance between her hand and the staff, all in a rush, and aims a spell directly at it. Magic flaring, wind knocking over a chair as the book slides off of her book, and a lamp beside them flares to life. The Nightmare redirects the spell with a bat of its wings, and it breaks into dozens of light motes. The flash draws notice from the hall outside. The sound of heavy boots, and the feel of suppressing spells. The Nightmare withdraws, reflexively. Pressed further down into the Fade as the door to the bedroom opens, and two armoured figures rush inside.

~

For half a moment, Aili is profoundly relieved when the Templars burst through her door and crash into her room. After all, they are supposed to be specially trained to ward off demons, aren't they? Whatever has chased after her from the Fade, they will slay it, and she may at last be able to have peaceful dreams.

The hope is a fleeting one, as they close in on her. Angry faces and drawn blades. She flinches reflexively, and she can sense the creature in the shadows shift, as though aware of her concern.

A fear demon, then. But she has never read an account of one this large or powerful. It must have been laying beneath the tower for centuries, gorging itself on the terror of those held captive within.

But why has it chosen to plague her, specifically?

"Why were you casting battle magics in your room?" one of the Templars demands, leveling his sword at her chest. An older guard, Cedrick by name, firmly Andrastian, and steadily growing more brittle and temperamental as the lyrium vials he drinks regularly slowly eat away at his mind.

The other is Hester. Young. Rigid with commands, but reasonable with her mercy.

It is she that Aili chooses to fix her gaze on when she answers, her tone just shy of pleading.

"I fell asleep," she tries to explain, "I had a bad dream, and when I woke up there was…something. The demon must have followed me out of the Fade somehow, and when I saw it was in my room, I tried to kill it. Or at least drive it back into the Fade."

"There is…something here," Hester agrees after a moment, looking around the room with a frown. The demon seems to have withdrawn deep into the shadows, pooling beneath her dresser, and tucking itself into odd corners. Aili cannot see it outright, but she can tell that it has not left her chamber.

"Only one way for a demon to follow a mage out of a dream, " Cedrick grunts.

"I didn't summon it!" Aili insists with a hint of panic.

"Even if you did not mean to, you must have accepted some offer from the creature, if it was able to leave the Fade with you," Hester says, her voice filled with a vague sense of pity, "I have heard of mages who did not even realize they had been possessed, until it was too late. The demon had taken hold of their body and used them to commit atrocities without their knowledge."

"I'm not possessed, I'm me!" AIli swears fervently, unconsciously backing towards one of the shadowed corners. "Whatever this thing is, it's been following me for years! I don't feel any different than I always do when I wake up from a bad dream. Please, you have to believe me!"

"As if you'd just admit to it," Cedrick scoffs, "Listening to all those rumors about Kirkwall, were you? Thought a little rebellion sounded good, eh? We're a smaller Circle; summon a few demons to help you out, round up a few followers, and suddenly you're free as a bird, is that it?"

"No, I promise, I haven't done-" she begins as the pair of them slowly begin closing in on her.

"Even if what you say is true," Hester interrupts, "There is a demon following you. You've attracted it somehow, and that's a serious risk. We can't just let you endanger everyone else."

"I'm not dangerous!" she shouts, raising her hands and attempting to make a barrier. If she could just call the First Enchanter…

Cedrick makes a gesture with his hand, and Aili's shield shatters around her, slamming her back against the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of her lungs. She gasps, reaching for her stave, but even as she takes it in hand, Hester begins draining her of her mana. Her body grows sluggish, dizzy, as she sees Cedrick's sword arcing through the air, aimed for her throat.

A cold gust of wind rushes through the room from nowhere, there is a terrible screeching roar, and suddenly everything goes pitch black.  

~

It has been a long time since the Nightmare fought beings of flesh and blood. Bone and sinew.

But it remembers how.

The gruff one draws his blade on their Lady, and they know that he means to cut her down. That cannot be allowed to happen. The Nightmare's own fear is potent, intrinsic to its nature, and runs down to something even deeper in it. Something that is answered in magic, and a rush of power more potent than anything it has felt since being trapped here. Fueled by a memory of chains and blood and the thought that they did not save her then, but they will not watch the blade fall this time. The shadows break, and the windows of the little room do, too, and the sword is halted with a shriek by the black feathers of an extended wing.

The world feels so heavy.

But the templars are afraid, and blinded by their darkness.

They try to make the world heavier. The fight moves quickly, as they call prayers and the second one tries to strike down their Lady. The Nightmare pulls her away, drawing her into the darkness of itself, and unfurls spiked tendrils. Like jagged legs and blades combined, they burst through the templars' armour, and pin them, twitching, to the floor. Blood runs. Power in it, power to defy the heavy nature of the world, like liquid fire. The Nightmare ignites it, holding their Lady close as the templars breathe their last gasping breaths, and the door the room blows open. Red flames licking at black shadows.

It surges out into the hall. Into the tower, the Circle cage. But on this side of the Veil, it is full of gaps and openings. If only it can find them.

There is much fear, as it races through the halls in a rush of darkness. Even though it can taste it, though, the nature of it all is harder to parse. Slower. There are screams and more footsteps, blades drawn, staves lifted. The Nightmare cuts down two more templars, and uses the rivers of their blood to burn through the floors. A spell crackles against the edges of one of its wings, and it nearly cuts down the caster, too, but the Lady cries out.

"Don't!"

They stop. Escaping is what matters. They wind down through stairwells, seeking the path that will lead to an exit. Doors are locked and halls are barricaded, and there are places where the air drags and their magic does not come as quickly or strongly as they need it to. The power is still there, but the templars can push it back. The Nightmare targets them, in turn. If they would hide away its magic, then the Nightmare will take their blood, and use that instead. It takes five templars to burn through the stone of one of the outer walls.

Breaking out through the Circle, even in the heavy, woken world, is a profound relief.

The Nightmare's wings stretch outwards, and it veers away from the rooftops of the few nearby buildings. Arcing towards the calling shadows of forest and trees, with its Lady clutched tight to itself. Its shadows cannot hold the darkness well here, in the light of dawn. Their Lady draws in a gasp as they turn beneath the clouds. And then she releases a long breath, and the Nightmare glimpses her eyes wide as it carries them both into the canopy of the trees.

It does not stop, though. It is fear, and it is running, and so it goes and goes and goes. Traversing the heavy world as best it can, crossing over streams and clearings, and open fields, and yet more trees. It needs to hide, to rebuild, to find a place to nest, but somewhere far away. The hunters are coming. In one moment it sees templars, in another, it sees elves in pelts and armour, but the ends are the same. The hunters are coming to kill their Lady.

But at length, it finds it - a hollow cave, wedged between the roots of two old and weathered trees. Surrounded by overgrown ruins, and already occupied by some creature which has not returned in at least a day. Nothing fierce enough to worry the Nightmare, however. As it tries to enter, however, its Lady struggles in its clutches. The staff in her hands gleams, and the Nightmare drops her as the unexpected burst of magic burns them.

They let out a hiss, confused for a moment. Before recollecting that it is the purview of Ladies to cause them pain. And then they relent, withdrawing themselves, and watching uncertainly as their Lady rises to her feet.

They remember something of how to act, when they have displeased their Lady.

"...Apologies," the Nightmare manages, in a voice rough from disuse, and unaccustomed to speaking in so heavy a place. It echoes around them, called up by magic until they remember the shape of a mouth with which to speak, and create one to use instead. "My Lady."

~

Aili stares at the creature that has kidnapped her, heart pounding in her chest. Gripping her stave with both hands.

It almost defies description. Wings and arms and half a dozen legs and other appendages all shifting and reforming themselves at random. Dark as the deepest shadows with only the vaguest suggestion of a mouth. With sharp sharp teeth.

She's not certain what they were planning on doing once they got her into that cave, but she's willing to bet that it wouldn't be anything pleasant. It stares at her expectantly after its strange, gruff apology. Or at least, she thinks it does. It's hard to make out any eyes in the area she supposes must be its face.

Without a word, Aili turns on her heel and makes a mad dash into the woods.

She has no idea where she is, and even if she did, she wouldn't know where to seek aid. Most of the common folk would not be willing to pit themselves against a demon for a stranger, and any Templars she might meet would likely have the same reaction to her story as Hester and Cedrick. If they even bothered to wait for her to explain.

All she can do is run. Run and run, and hope that whatever interest the monster had in her is worth less to them than the exertion of pursuit.

She can hear it behind her.

A flurry of scrabbling legs racing after her through the underbrush. The sound of their large wings snapping low branches off passing trees. A strange whine of what almost seems like distress.

Aili does not look back. She does no turn her head to see how close it is to catching her. She doesn't want to know. All of her focus is put towards the effort to keep moving. Keep hold of her staff. Keep pumping her legs. Gain distance. Get away.

Her lungs burn. Her eyes sting with exhaustion and tears. Her feet ache, and even after this comparatively brief burst of exertion, she can feel blisters forming on her toes.

Her foot catches on a root, and she falls hard. Palms scraped and lip bloodied. Too tired to force her limbs to rise.

It has been so long since she slept.

The beast comes for her, and Aili presses her eyes shut. Bracing for death. For whatever end it might have in store for her.

Instead, she finds herself scooped back into their arms. She struggles weakly, but there is almost no strength left in her after her last bid for freedom. She is held firmly against the shifting blackness of their body as they turn unexpectedly, and head back the way they came. Back to the cave.

They do not attempt to enter right away, as they had before, circling the perimeter a few times. As though wanting to ensure that nothing has happened to it in their absence. They set her down near the entrance and venture a few feet inside. Inspecting.

"…Safe," they manage to burble at her a few minutes later, as though they are still not quite used to using their mouth, "My Lady. Here…it is safe. For now."

Aili looks them over again. Still deeply unsettled, but also somewhat curious in her exhaustion and mild delirium.

They have not actually…tried to kill her? At least, not yet. And, in fact, they had almost certainly saved her life back in the tower. Although, her life might not have needed saving if they had not been stalking her in her sleep.

Still.

"What…do you want with me?" she asks, not entirely certain it is a question she wants answered.  

~

The Nightmare pauses at the question.

What does it want?

The question is a trap, probably. Ladies can trap them, can ask questions that are riddles, that need right answers. But this Lady does not quite match with that image. Even though she tried to hurt them. She is huddled by the cave. There is blood on her lip, and mud on her robes, but her face makes them think of other things. Of heartbeats, that must keep beating or else suffering will follow. Of softer touches, and a different sort of fear.

They can almost remember...

"I want you safe," they say, because that much is true. Whatever else the Nightmare might still be wrestling with, they are certain that they will get no further in any of these affairs if something should happen to their Lady. Particularly if she should die, but also if she should come to any sort of harm.

The Lady sits up a little. She picks up her staff again, and despite their assurances, moves further away from the cave. The Nightmare ventures outwards too, and lets loose a hiss of protest. It has come into the Waking World, somewhat, and it never expected to do it... like this. However it has actually managed to do it. It is not entirely certain, But, it has, and it knows beyond a doubt that the Waking holds more dangers than the Dreaming does. Here, its minions are too far to call. Here, it has no nest, no spirits to devour, nor demons to enthrall. All is heavy and harsh and resistant to reshaping.

It is also vital and bright and solid in a way that they have missed for so long, they forgot how to articulate the longing. But they never lost it, either. The Lady moves further away, watching it. Her brows are furrowed, and she is frightened. Frightened of lurking dangers, of her own confusion at the situation, and of...

...Oh.

Caves.

Their Lady... does not like caves?

The Nightmare hesitates. Caves are good to fortify, but it could find a lair somewhere else. But not quickly. It must find a place to establish itself, to make certain things are safe. But if their Lady deems this one unacceptable, then there is little for it. They move the rest of the way out, letting their shape fold down into one of shadows, and wings, and a blackened, skeletal form.

Their Lady raises her staff.

The Nightmare waits, to see what she will do. What she might command. They hope she does not run again. It is dangerous, here. There are wild things about, and hunters looking for them.

After a long moment, their Lady lowers her staff a little, and leans some of her weight against it instead.

"Why would a demon want to keep me 'safe'?" she asks them.

The Nightmare hesitates, uncertain of the question. Is it a trap?

"I... do not know all demons," they finally settle on saying. Their voice is getting better, now. Their mouth more distinct, their shape more akin to the one of the Lady across from them. "But I must keep you safe. You are my Lady. I failed you, once before. I cannot fail you again."

Their Lady is still afraid, as her brow furrows, and she regards them silently again. This makes sense - the Waking World is dangerous. But the Nightmare is having troubles grasping what she is afraid of. Too many things at once, perhaps. Perhaps she is too uncertain of the situation to know what to be afraid of. They move a little closer, and fold their wings against themselves. Hoping to help offer some clarity. Immediate dangers are the greatest concern. But as the air around them darkens, their Lady raises her staff again, and they halt.

"The cave is safe," they say, again. "For now. I can defend it. But... if my Lady knows somewhere else to go, I will take her. So long as it is safe."

~

For all that she does not want to take shelter in the cave, or any other small space that might be easy to trap her in, Aili can concede that she does not have any other ideas about places to make camp.

Going back to the tower is clearly not an option, the Templars there would kill her on sight. She is surprised at her own sense of loss at the situation. She had always meant to leave, of course, but she had a few friends there. Colleagues. Students. The institution of the Circle had been oppressive and terrible, but the people… They were the closest thing she has had to a family for the larger portion of her life.

She didn't even get to say goodbye.

Aili frowns down at her muddied boots for a moment, sucking her bloodied lip into her mouth.

"If… If I left," she begins slowly, shifting her gaze to watch them, looking for potential signs of danger in their body language, "If I tried to go somewhere else…would you follow me?"

"Yes, my Lady," the demon answers easily, "I will come with you and make certain that it is safe. If I do not go, my Lady might be injured. If the place my Lady wishes to go is not safe, we should not stay there."

Aili sighs. She had suspected as much.

"This person…this 'lady' that I remind you of…did you possess her?" she wonders, tightening her grip on her stave again.

The question seems to confuse them.

"Possess… Yes. We were possessed," it mumbles after a few minutes of thought, "The Lady possessed us, and we were hers. Yours. The body was a gift from…someone. But we gave the other parts willingly."

Aili makes a face at them. What they claim doesn't make any sense; mages can't possess spirits. Can they? Perhaps, it means that the lady bound them?

"This lady bound you in a body and you had to obey her commands?" she asks. "You were a person before?"

The demon's expression falters. Its form ripples. Shuddering and becoming more amorphous for a few moments in apparent distress.

"No… Never a person," it admits with something that almost seems like shame, "I came to the body when the other fled. Shattered. We were permitted to…pretend. To survive."

Aili swallows hard. She honestly can't make heads or tails of most of their story, but it seems to strike a chord within her all the same. She feels strangely…sorry for it.

"Is there any way I could convince you that I am not your 'lady'?" Aili asks finally, sounding as tired as she feels.

The demon tilts its head at her. It looks vaguely elfish now, which is almost more unsettling than its other shape, in a way.

"But you are my Lady," it tells her flatly.

"And you expect the two of us to just spend eternity camped out in this little cave?" she wonders.

"No, that would be unwise," it replies, "A secure nest is important, but if we stay in one place too long, the hunters will come, and it will not be safe."

Hunters… Her mind turns to the blood the Templars took from her after her Harrowing. Her phylactery. No matter where she goes, there will always be the risk of someone coming for her. After all the knights that were killed during her escape, they will be out for revenge.

"I…didn't exactly get a chance to pack for this trip," Aili points out, "I don't have any spare clothes or supplies. I haven't held a bow since I was six, and hunting with magic tends to end up with things sort of…exploded. Or so I have been led to understand."

"I can hunt," the demon says with an air of confidence, "I can keep my Lady safe."

Aili lets loose a gusty sigh. Resigned to her fate. For now.

"Do you have a name?"

~

The question gives them pause, again. They have been called many things - mostly the things that they are, or have been. Sympathy. Fear. Demon. Doll. Pet. Hunter. Abomination. Nightmare.

But these things are not names. They have had a name, and they think they can remember the shape of it. The sound of it. It was theirs for a very long time, though, not in terms of years. A long time in terms of forming themselves. They had forgotten the name for a time, but it had been waiting for them in the ruins of the body that was destroyed. In the memories they scavenged, written in defiance. I will endure. They are still here; the promise has wavered, but not broken.

"...Uth...vir," they manage. "Uthvir."

Their Lady blinks at them.

"...Your name is Uthvir?" she asks. She seems surprised.

"You do not have to use it," the Nightmare assures her. "If it displeases you. I am called other things. Nightmare. Terror. Fear. Demon. Monster. My Lady once called me..."

Vhenan

They do not say it, though. They feel a lurching moment of confusion, for surely their Lady never called them that. But also, She did, unquestionably. The Nightmare recedes, as their Lady watches them. They consider the situation again instead, shying away from the matters and the memories which they are struggling to parse. They will have to acquire things, to make certain their Lady is safe and well. Shelter and the nest are good, but bodies have needs that must be met. Food, warmth, weapons, books. Things of that nature. The Nightmare will have to acquire them, and if they cannot leave Her to do so, then She will have to come along.

So, rest must be had first.

"Uthvir sounds like an elven name," their Lady notes.

On her tongue, the syllables feel familiar. The Nightmare pauses, as an odd ripple passes through it. Uthvir.

They have not heard it spoken aloud in a very, very long time.

"It is elven," they admit.

Their Lady ventures a bare step closer.

"Did an elf give it to you?" She asks them.

"No," they say. Somehow, she feels dangerous, but not in the way of physical threats, or a looming strike. She is too bright and near, they think. Near to something that feels fragile, that could break with only a whisper. Something they are only tentatively grasping - something they are afraid will shatter, before they can fully understand it.

"Where did you get your name?" She presses.

"Myself."

"Do you speak elven?"

This question is easier. The Nightmare tilts its head, and realizes for the first time that they are not speaking elven. It had not consciously noted the shifting of languages. In the Fade, meaning is more important, and linguistics was never something it had felt inclined to take note of, before. Nor really even consider much of a subject. While there had been variations, there had only really been one prevalent language in the days before the Veil. Though it knew of others, eventually, and had managed to work the concept into its understanding, it had not stopped to truly consider all of the implications.

"I speak it," they confirm, discovering how to shift their voice back to the language they had first learned. And yet, cannot ever really recall learning.

Their Lady's expression turns towards one of startled happiness.

"That was elven!" she exclaims. "What did you say?"

"I said that I can speak it," they admit, switching back to common. For some reason, this makes their Lady let out a long breath, and close her eyes for a moment longer than a blink. She does not truly let down her guard, though. Which is good. They are still in the wilderness, though nothing dangerous is nearby now.

"I must make this place safe," the Nightmare asserts. It gestures towards the cave again, using four limbs and a wing for emphasis, even as it bows deferentially. "Please, my Lady, it will be safest in there. I will not go far. I will find you food." They can detect the persistent, low-grade fear of prey animals, near enough that they are within range of the cave. That will change, once they know the area is dangerous. They will have to take their Lady with them to venture out, past a certain point. But at least, for now, there will be sustenance, and safety.

"Please," they ask again.

They must keep her safe.

~

Aili glances over at the cave warily.

“You’re going to leave me in the cave…alone?” she wonders.

“I will not go far,” the demon promises, “I can put a barrier over the front of the entrance to ensure that nothing gets in.”

“It would also ensure that I could not get out,” Aili notes dryly.

“It is safe in the cave,” it blinks at her in confusion, “Why would my Lady need to get out?”

"Oh, I don't know, all sorts of reasons," Aili shrugs, "Fresh air, exercise… Maybe needing to go to the bathroom? Just to name a few."

The demon tilts its head at her and she sighs.

"I see humor is not something they teach people in the Fade," she huffs with a brief quirk of her lips, "Look…Uthivr…I am willing to…compromise. In this instance, anyway. I will go into the cave, like you want, but I will set the barriers, so I can get out if I want to."

"If…that is what my Lady wishes," Uthvir replies, sounding doubtful at the prospect.

"And my name is Aili, not 'my lady'," she asserts firmly, keeping a good amount of space between them as she edges her way just past the lip of the cavern entrance.

"…Aili," Uthvir repeats slowly, as though turning over the shape of her name in their mouth. It sends a strange trembling shiver down her spine. She clutches her staff tighter as they take a few steps closer to her. Looming. "My Lady Aili, please stay where it is safe. I will not be gone long."

So saying, they move farther back from the cave, and shift into some sort of monstrous black bird. They hover for a few moments, inspecting the area, and perhaps waiting to see if she will make another attempt to run. When she raises her barrier across the mouth of the cave, however, they seem to decide that it is safe enough to leave her to her own devices, and wheel around towards the surrounding trees.

She waits until they are out if sight before pulling her barrier down again.

Aili doubts she could make it very far if she made another run for it. She is still physically wrung out, and lost, and the demon seems to be capable of sensing her somehow. It is a notable list of detriments to her plans of escape.

But she also has no intention of standing around in a cold damp cave, of all places.

She wanders around the outside of what is potentially going to be her home for the next little while, checking around for any good hiding places in the crumbling ruins and large roots of old trees, in case her new 'friend' decides to turn mean, or she finds something worth secreting away. Perhaps she should make a private stockpile of rations, just to be prepared for when the opportunity to get away presents itself. It would probably help if she could remember a bit more about which varieties of plants were safe to eat.

Eventually, she starts gathering up twigs and branches to make a fire. She's not likely to have anything soft to sleep on tonight, so she might as well be warm if she can't be comfortable. Besides, she's not about to eat whatever wriggling thing they bring back for her without cooking it first.

The wood is damp, and it takes her a few tries to really get the fire going, and when it does, there is enough smoke to make her sputter and choke for five whole minutes. And yet, when it is finally done, and she can sit just inside the cave and be warmed by the heat of the fire she built herself, she feels…oddly proud of herself. Even if it is a bit…haphazard.

Aili curls into herself and lets her mind wander. Turning over the events of the previous night, and the day that had followed. She does not trust this demon. This Uthvir. Not by a long shot. But she can't quite shake the feeling that they don't want to harm her.

Whether or not they might harm her unintentionally is another matter entirely.

Still. If she can be clever and cautious, there is a potential for enormous intellectual gain to be had here. A demon fluent in ancient Elven! If only she could convince it to translate some of the texts that had been found scattered among the ruins of her people. Or better still, if she could get it to teach her how to read it. She has always felt that if she returned to her people, the Dalish, she should bring some sort of tribute. A token of her intentions and her loyalties, to prove that she had never forgotten them.

Her joints are stiff, and her muscles are sore, and she has not slept for a full night in so long. And the fire is warm, making her eyelids heavy. The light in the forest is fading. The wind whistling through branches, as though the trees are whispering to one another.

Stirring up old memories.

Halla out in their pen. The sails of aravels rustling in the breeze. A hunting horn. Her mother's hands, slender and callused, fletching arrows and humming to herself. The light scent of citrus and spices and leather. A warm kiss pressed into the curve of her neck.

…Uthvir.

~

Their Lady Aili needs food.

It has been a long time since they hunted for things of flesh. How much is enough? They do not remember. Their memories can offer feasts and halls. The food from the Circle kitchens, served in a long dining hall. The food on older tables. Vast spreads of venison and goat and rabbit, Beasts of Best Parts, and other foods, too. Not just hunting, but foraging as well. The Nightmare... Uthvir remembers this. When their name was theirs, and their duty at times was to fill tables. Their Lady must have feasts.

The forests are not as replete as they could be. It takes long and at first they catch only two nugs, but then they track and find a herd of wild goats. The one with the biggest horns they take, in a snap of talons and magic. A clean break to the neck, and a single bleat before silence. The rack of horns will look impressive, for their Lady. They shift forms and use black threads of themselves to tie up their kill, and remember more of the shape that walks with fresh prey carried on its shoulders. The scent of blood follows them.

But so does the heaviness of Waking. So does the scent of pine, and the curl of the wind. Leaves, and bark, and bushes. Wild trees. They find some berries, but they are only the kind that is good for birds. The bushes lead on towards others, however. Tangled shrubbery and trees, and near a clearing, closer - but still not close - to the dangerous flat farmlands, they spy fallen fruit on the ground. Worm-eaten, but only just. Uthvir looks up and sees several fruit still on the branches. Ripe.

Aili likes apples.

They... think?

Their hands hesitate for a moment. Something is whispering to them, memories and dream-things. Their Lady is calling for them - they have taken too long, she is impatient, perhaps. They reach with clawed, grasping limbs. Up into the tree, to where the fruit is. They pull down as many as seem fit, and then begin to make haste back to the sanctuary. The wind grows stronger as they speed through it. Their shape more formless, as they adjust, and try to hurry. Sprouting wings and scurrying legs, to climb over logs and flit across narrow animal trails. They move faster, sharper and more focused when they see the flickering of an unfamiliar light.

Enemies?!

Uthvir bursts into the clearing. Flames flicker, from a small space outside the cave.

Their Lady is lying down. Lying down and not in the cave, with no barriers. No protection. They call up shadows and seal away the whole clearing as best they can, tired and uncertain. Their catch is dropped. The flames flicker, and their Lady Aili curls up more tightly in on herself. But the movement permits them to calm, at least a little. She is still alive. They can hear her heartbeat, and her breaths. Warmth that is from her as well as from the flames.

Why fire? It draws attention... but, they remember. Banquet halls. Fires to prepare food.

Their Lady Aili fell asleep waiting for them. They took too long. Uthvir hesitates for another moment, unsure of what they should do now. The memories prod - prepare the kill. Keep Aili safe.

The cave is safer.

Uthvir moves to where their Lady is sleeping, and lifts her up into their grasp, to carry her there. A soft breath escapes her, and her arms wrap around them. It... reminds them. They have held her like this before. Their shape changes again, as it did when they were carrying their catch back to the clearing. An elf-like shape, the shape of the body they once had, solidifies. It is still imperfect, they think. But they cannot pinpoint the specifics; whether they have put sharpness or softness in the wrong places, whether they have too few or too many limbs. It suffices to carry their Lady Aili to the cave, but then they encounter a new problem.

Their Lady will not let go of their neck.

Uthvir attempts to put her down several times, but her grip is too thorough to break without disturbing her.

Safest is with me.

Perhaps their Lady is wise. The cave might be the safest location, but their grasp is still a more immediate refuge from danger. Uthvir carries her back out again, and gathers up their offerings, and brings it all back to the mouth of the cave. They set about cleaning their kills, extending new limbs to the task as they keep their arms around their Lady.

And, unbeknownst to them, they begin to hum.

~

Her dreams are washed in reds.

The dark auburn of her father's hair falling into his eyes as he bends down to inspect one of the halla's hooves. Brushing the stray curls away with the back of his hand as he speaks to the creature in a low steady voice. Sweat on his brow and dirt on his clothing. His face is harder to make out, but she can tell he is smiling. Content.

The leaves in the forest turning, as though the cool autumn air has ignited them into a great roaring fire around their clan's campsite. Her mother takes her hand and guides her through the twisting secret paths that only the hunters seem to see. Aili picks up the vivid leaves from where they have fallen, and brings them back to show her mother her treasures. Her mother's smile is a thin white curve, a sliver of waxing moon, as she takes the offerings in her hands. Turns them over carefully to show her the differences in their shapes. Telling her the names of the trees they came from. What uses their barks and roots might have. Which wood might be the best for crafting.

The scarlet robes of the senior enchanters. The emblems of flaming swords blazing on Templar armor. The red ripe apples hanging in the Circle's small garden.

And then there comes a figure swathed in bright crimsons. A warning, and a signature, of sorts. Small, but strong, she thinks. A contradiction of sharp and soft. Danger and safety. Love and violence. They are…very far away from her. Facing in another direction. Beyond reaching.

If she called out to them, would they turn? Would she see their face? Would she know them?

She distantly feels arms around her. Warmth and comfort. A familiar voice humming a familiar tune. It makes her ache, but it is a strange, pleasant sort of ache.

Her voice speaks words she does not understand. Something in her chest thrums briefly. A chord plucked by careful fingertips.

Vhenan?

The figure turns, but she finds herself blinded by a flash of golden light before she can see them. The vision breaks, and her body trembles. Dropped into a sudden darkness.

She can smell something burning. Flesh sizzling at contact with heat. Between her lungs. Along her wrists. Around the base of her neck. The taste of something metallic in her mouth.

The red of blood.

She feels warm and heavy. Drugged, perhaps. The arms that had been holding her are chains now. Pinning her in place so that no precious parts will be lost in her struggling. The blood must flow into the proper channels to fuel the magic needed. To serve, as she is meant to serve.

There are golden eyes. Cold and calculating. Picking her to pieces. Cutting and slicing and burrowing deep. Making and unmaking her over and over again for all of eternity.

The gaze shifts to other eyes in other rooms. Blue as a winter night. Icy and possessive. Furious.

You love me! You are mine. You were built for me. Every part of you is a celebration of my greatness. You love me and only me! Say it!

Hands move to her throat, grasping and clawing. Tightening the leash. Her vision blurs, and the world feels as though it is melting around her. Her whole body spasms, desperate for air.

She screams with all the strength left in her.

And wakes in the multitude of Uthvir's arms.

~

She wakes in violence.

The scream ripples through them, as does the flare of her magic. The lashing of limbs. Uthvir tenses and tries to react, to perceive the danger that they have missed, or the error that they have made. The fire spits and their Lady strikes them, pushing and struggling until they realize that it is their grip that she objects to. They let her go, and let their being flare backwards and out. Shape distorting as they fall into the fear of the moment, and can only tell that something dangerous is happening. The cook fire snuffs out, as they lift a barrier around the clearing.

Their Lady is moving. Running. What is chasing? They look for hunters, for predators. Danger, danger, no, no, no... something twists inside of them, and echoes through old, broken memories. Like a different sort of light, flaring before eyes that have not seen it in centuries. It hurts, in a way that no lashing nor spells so far have. It pulls at them from the inside and drags them down, as their Lady reaches the barrier and smacks her fists against it. The magic is sharp. It lashes back out.

For a moment, then, everything goes still as Aili is repelled through the air. As she hits the ground in a heap, with red on her hands.

Bleeding.

No.

Uthvir grasps her and pulls her, drags her into the cave, and ignores her struggles as they set a firm barrier before the entrance. Closing them both off into the darkness, and verifying the thrum of their Lady's pulse. They hold her until her struggles and her spells have stopped. Until the only sound they can hear is the ragged in and out of her breaths. The two of them, safe in the total darkness, as Uthvir's form aches from bruises and burns, and the scent of her blood grows no stronger.

When she has stopped moving, they grow another set of limbs, and begin to check her over. Feeling for damage. The skin of her hands is split, and she has bruises of her own. But only superficial. The fear in her is stronger than the pain. But they do not know what else to do for it; they have no safer place to take her, no better spells nor barriers to offer. They wrap themselves around her, and try to offer that shield, too. Yet, it only seems to make things worse. And after a time the fear breaks into sobs, and Aili's voice, shaken in the dark.

"Please, stop," she says. "Please, just let me go. I want to go home."

There is more to the words than just themselves. They ring deep, as Uthvir holds her. As they see caves and towers, the Circle and the darkness. Templars and demons. Chains, always chains, binding and constricting, holding fast against all strength. Too heavy to escape. Even when they are invisible. Cages of all kinds, and trapped, so trapped, I want to go home, Mamae, Papae, I want to go home please I'll be good I'll never wander off again I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to...

Understanding slots into place with all the fervency of their being. Fear. They know what she fears; they know why it is not working, now.

With a thought the barrier in front of the cave drops. Uthvir carries Aili out into the evening air again, as she cries, and then lowers her carefully down to the ground. If she runs, it will be dangerous. But they can follow. They will keep pace. It is the caging she fears; it is them, and that will not do. They are not chains. They did not mean to do this to her.

"I am sorry," they offer.

Aili sucks in several long breaths, and does not respond, at first.

After a moment, when they are sure she does not mean to immediately get up and run, they relight the campfire. No new dangers seem to have presented themselves, in the midst of their chaos. And the prevalence of fear in the air at least makes them strong, as they gather up their things again. The meat is not finished yet, but it is still on the spit that they managed to make. They consider Aili for a moment, and then scoop up some of the apples.

Very carefully, they extend a single limb, and set one onto the ground in front of her. It is too ripe, perhaps. But a moment more and their Lady's breaths have calmed. And then she reaches forwards, and carefully picks the offered fruit up. She does not wipe it off or bite it straight away. Her eyes stick to it, and though her unease does not suffuse the air, it feels as if it should.

"I am very tired," she says, at length. "I know you probably don't understand, but nightmares ruin my sleep. If you give me bad dreams, I won't get any rest, and I... I can't keep going without it."

Uthvir hesitates.

They do not want to refute her, but they have conjured no bad dreams for her.

On the other hand, they know how to prevent such things. They should have considered that; but it has been so long, and they had forgotten. Had not considered. The oversight is theirs - so perhaps it is still their fault, in that sense.

"No more bad dreams," they promise. They will safeguard her against them - as they should have done before.

~

Aili nearly begins crying again when they promise to let her sleep peacefully. It feels as though a millstone has been lifted from her shoulders. Potent, visceral relief. The Fade is never truly safe for mages, but at least she can be assured that nothing will be actively seeking to torment her dreams.    

"Thank you," she manages to scrape out, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Uthvir nods, and returns to their task of roasting whatever dead thing they have dragged back to the clearing. A goat or a sheep by the looks of it. And either a pair of nugs, or some very large rabbits.

Silence hangs between them for a time, as Aili observes them quietly, turning her apple over in her hands. She's covered in bruises and the scrapes across her palms still sting, but she doesn't have the energy to do much about it now. As she looks them over, she sees that Uthvir is not quite free of wounds themselves. Nothing serious, but still, it must be at least a little painful for them. And she caused it.

Aili sucks her bloodied lip back into her mouth, worrying it nervously. If they don't trust her, it will be likely be much harder to get away from them later on. She cannot really be held accountable for her reaction to a dream, especially not if they were the reason she was having it, but… The incident had seemed more like a misunderstanding than anything else. Perhaps Uthvir cannot help but cause bad dreams when they are near someone who is sleeping. It is their nature, after all.

She rolls the apple between her palms; thoughtful.

"I'm…sorry," she begins, not quite meeting their eyes, "I'm sorry I hurt you, I was just…afraid."

Uthvir tilts their head at her.

"I know," they reply, sounding a little nervous themselves, as though uncertain where this conversation might be heading, "My Lady Aili was afraid because I was careless and did not find the proper means of keeping you safe. You were right to punish me for it. I will do better in the future."

"N-no, that's not-" she stammers, shaking her head in a strong negative, "It was an accident! I wasn't trying to punish you, I just needed to get away from… From something. Someone. It…was not a happy dream."

"No more bad dreams," Uthvir reiterates. Aili nods in agreement.

"No more nightmares for me, and no more accidental singeing for you," she says, hesitantly extending a hand for them to take, "Sound like a fair deal?"

"Yes, my Lady," Uthvir agrees simply. They extend one long shadowy limb with something vaguely like a hand attached to the end. She does her best not to shudder when she takes it, but she does. She shakes it once and quickly lets them go.

She glances at the food they are cooking.

"You brought a lot back for just the two of us," she notes, trying for a more casual subject, "Do demons need to eat that much? I thought you subsisted on the energies of dreamers and weaker spirits. Although, I don't rightly know what a spirit thrives on when they aren't in the Fade anymore…"

The nightmare pauses, considering their meal.

"Is it too much?" they wonder after a moment, sounding unsure, "Do you not wish to eat, my Lady?"

"It's fine!" she assures them hastily, "I am very hungry, as it happens. I just… Well, I don't think I could manage to eat all of that on my own, that's all."

"You did not eat your apple," Uthvir points out slowly, "If that one is unsatisfactory, I brought others that might be more acceptable."

"Oh," Aili remarks eloquently, stopping to look down at the fruit in her hand, "I just forgot I had it, I guess. There's nothing wrong with this one though, really. I like apples."

"Your favorite," Uthvir hums, nodding once in agreement.

Aili blinks in surprise.

"…yes. They are."

Uthvir's form ripples slightly as they fix her with a look that she supposes is somewhat expectant, seeming oddly pleased with themselves.

She wipes off the apple on the cleanest corner her sleeve the that she can find, and takes a bite. It is a little soft, but the taste is still good. Sweet with just a hint of tartness.

She offers them a thin smile.

"Delicious."  

~

Lady Aili approves of the apples, which makes things much better.

Uthvir cooks their kills for her, as she finishes her apple, and then has another one, too. She seems dubious of the meat for a moment. Worried about the quality, which in turn makes them concerned that they may have prepared it incorrectly. They do not have seasonings, nor any sauces to serve it with. But roasting is good, they think? When Lady Aili ventures a bite, however, her worry ebbs. After a few moments she begins to eat ravenously, and then mentions thirst. Uthvir ventures far enough to find clean water, and brings it back to find their lady still devouring a haunch of goat. She glances at them uncertainly for a moment, before murmuring thanks at the drinking vessel they offer her. It is conjured. She examines it extensively before her thirst seems to override her interest in it, and then she drinks until there is no more left.

"Are you going to eat anything?" she asks them, afterwards. There is roasting grease on her face, and her voice and movements have grown more sluggish.

Uthvir considers.

They are supposed to eat with their Lady, they think. And they remember eating. But that was back when they had the body. The body has since been destroyed, and with it, the need for food. Except... they are in the Waking again, now. And there is something corporeal about them. The specifics elude them, but they can feel a change.

So... perhaps they should?

They leave the apples for Aili, because they are her favourites, and instead pick up a segment of goat. Meat and bones, juicy and burnt towards one end, where the heat had been uneven. They recollect eating, and what they witnessed from Lady Aili's own recent actions, and they make a mouth. Sharp teeth and an open maw splitting the void of their face. Lifting the bone and meat, they shove the entirety of it into the opening. It feels very heavy, and hot, and it crunches and cracks as their teeth gnash through it. Juices spill down something like a throat. Shards of bone settle in the approximate middle of their being, along with shredded meat. For a moment, they think that they have made a very bad decision. But then something in their being interacts with the food, and they feel it all begin to disintegrate.

As it does, the rest of them starts to feel just a little bit heavier, in turn.

That seems to keep in line with their memories. Somewhat.

Lady Aili's eyes are wide as she regards them, afterwards. There is a fixation in her that they can pick up on for several moments. Teeth and crunching and unease, but after a few moments it passes, and they do not follow it very well. A nebulous fear, perhaps. Those are very common, and often do not linger much beyond a single situation. They decide to do a sweep of the clearing again, just to be certain that things are safe. Lady Aili settles next to the fire, as they do.

By the time they have finished, she is asleep again.

Uthvir settles down next to her. Now, they must attend her - properly. As they should have done before. They rest a limb against her, and pull a barrier over the space around them. It is not so secure as the cave, but it will do. As Lady Aili's breaths fill up the silence, along with the steady crackling of the fire, they let some of themselves sink into her - and into the Dreaming, in turn. It is not possession. Nor is it a crossing of the Veil. It is only a pathway, through fear and a sleeping mind, and they would be easy to dislodge if she wished to be rid of them. But it is also the best way for them to call their minions on the other side of the Veil, and to ensure that her rest is undisturbed.

For their own part, it is a bit like dreaming, too.

Rooms with pelts and trophies, pieces of armour and weapons settled on racks by the walls. A wide bed and a private bath, and doors that lock and seal. Windows that can close out the world, so many safeties written in blood and rune and sigil, alarms and warnings and barriers. None will get in without permission, save one person, and if She comes then it will be warned of. Night has fallen. Moonlight is pooling on the floor, and the lamps glow softly. They sit at a desk. Papers and books around them. On the bed, Aili turns in her sleep, and lets out a sigh. She stretches her arms, and then pats the mattress next to herself.

"Vhenan?"

They move. Somehow they know she is calling for them, as they cross the room, and settle onto the bed beside her. The mattress dips. Aili turns again, and settles a hand onto them. Her eyes gleam in the moonlight.

"You're wearing armour, still," she murmurs. A glance down, and they see it is true. Hard coverings. Sharp spikes. They think that they are supposed to take it off - or at least some of it? - but they do not remember how. Aili does not seem to know, either. Her fingers fumble with latches and buckles for several minutes, trying to take off their gauntlets, and then moving to the more obvious prospect of their belt. But none of it will give way. She frowns a little, and then sighs at them.

"Not taking it off?" she asks.

"I forgot how," they admit.

"Hmm. Well, I guess we'll just have to manage," she says. And then she pulls them down to the bed. Lumping the blankets between them, and using a pillow to block off several spikes, until she can wrap her arms around them. Then she makes a sound of satisfaction. Uthvir brushes the points of their fingertips through some of her curls, and finds the arrangement pleasant. Warm. They linger in comfort until the light begins to shift, and the silver moonlight turns to a grey morning. As it does, the window grows larger. The bed beneath them becomes a grassy meadow, and the walls become a cluster of tree trunks, with long, sheltering branches.

They slip into the ground. Not horrifyingly; it just sort of happens. The grass folds around them, and they are still there. But they are no longer in Aili's arms. She looks around, puzzled for a moment. They worry over the unhappiness in her expression. There are no untoward spirits to chase off, however. And after a moment, her displeasure gives way to the dreaming, again. Her eyes land on some small flowers, growing in abundance around them. She begins to pick them, and starts weaving them together. Forming a crown, as she hums softly to herself.

By the time Lady Aili wakes, the flower crown is finished.

~

Aili wakes to the light of a new day to find that being well-fed and well-rested have worked wonders on her mood. She's a little stiff from sleeping on the ground, but the demon doesn't seem to have maimed or terrorized her at any point during the night, so it seems like a small grievance in the grand scheme of things. She can't remember the last time she saw a sunrise that wasn't through the barred windows of the tower.

Her situation is still a precarious one, to be sure, but the evidence seems to be mounting that her kidnapper has no plans for harming her. At least not immediately.

Uthvir is sitting close to her, but not so close as to be alarming, tending to their small fire with one set of limbs, while another puts the finishing touches on what seems to be some sort of floral wreath.

"Good morning," Aili greets them quietly, scooting a little closer to the fire in order to warm her hands. Her palms sting as she stretches her fingers, reminding her of her injuries from the evening before. She takes a moment to look them over before murmuring a healing spell and effectively seals the wounds shut.

While she is still looking downwards, she feels something settle lightly over her ears.

"Good morning, my Lady Aili," Uthvir returns, pulling their now empty hands away from her.

A quick brush of her fingers confirms that she has most definitely been adorned with the flower chain they had been working on earlier. It tickles a little, but there don't seem to be any thorns or bugs in it. It's strangely endearing, and she finds herself feeling more surprised than anything.

"You…made me a flower crown?" Aili wonders, adjusting it a bit so it sits a little further back on her head. "Why?"

Uthvir pauses, uncertain of what answer they should give perhaps.

"My lady dreamt of flowers, and I suppose…I thought you might want some when you awoke," they explain slowly, "I apologize if I presumed too much…"

"I'm not upset about the flowers," she assures them hastily, "Though looking in on my dreams is a bit…odd."

Uthvir blinks.

"But…my lady bade me to fend off bad dreams," they remind her hesitantly, "I cannot protect your sleep if I do not watch."

Aili sighs, she supposes that having them watch her dreams is better than having them meddle in them.

"Did you not sleep well, my Lady Aili?" they wonder.

"I did," she confesses, "Thank you for letting me rest."

"And…you are not displeased with the flowers?" they continue curiously.

"…No," Aili reassures them, smiling a little despite herself, "They're actually sort of…sweet. How do I look in my new fancy headdress?"

"My lady looks beautiful, as always," Uthvir replies easily, their form rippling slightly. In pleasure or amusement, it is difficult to say.

For her own part, Aili can't help but laugh, knowing full well that she's completely mussed and covered in mud and likely looks like she lost a fight with an especially crabby tree.  

"Well, then, you should have one, too," she decides, picking at a few scattered clover flowers and little daisies that happen to be blooming near her, "I haven't been good for much else out here."

"Lady Aili is skilled at many things," Uthvir states with a surprising amount of certainty, "It is best that I should hunt and gather. My lady should stay where it is most safe."

They begin cooking the nugs that did not get eaten the night before. She watches them silently for a while as she continues her task of braiding a multitude of tiny flowers together. Thinking over all that has happened.

"So…how long are we going to stay here?" Aili asks them.

"Until it is no longer safe to stay, my Lady," Uthvir hums in reply, picking up another one of the apples and moving it so that she can reach it easily, if she likes.

"And where will we go?" she presses, taking an absentminded bite out of the offered apple.

"Does my lady have a place she wishes to go?" Uthvir asks instead, turning slightly to look at her.

"Well…sort of," Aili hedges nervously, getting to her feet with her newly crafted flower crown in hand, "But I'm not sure how to get there."

"If it is safe, I will help my Lady Aili find where she wishes to be," Uthvir promises.

Aili reaches up on her tip toes trying to place the wreath of flowers over what she assumes must be their head. They are a little more firmly elf-shaped this morning, but it is still hard to tell. Uthvir bends slightly to accommodate her wishes, and she finally plops the garland around the vague shapes of their ears.

"I want to go back to my clan," she tells them quietly, "I want to go home."

~

Uthvir pauses, as Lady Aili explains that she wants to go home. Home is... what? It is not the Circle tower. It is a clan? They cannot fathom that concept, however. Clans are distant things. Stories and whispers, and dreams of their Lady's. Fogged over and old. Clans are old things. Home is an old thing, too, and for a moment they think of a dangerous place. A place full of hunters, and hiding, and fights. Always fights, to keep from becoming the weakest, to try to be the strongest and to serve their Lady.

"...Home?" they repeat, carefully. They know where the place is, in a sense. The palace. They know the parts of it that are in the Dreaming, and they think they could find it in the Waking World as well. Is the clan there? Are hunters there...?

It is far from here. They can tell that much.

"Yes, I want to go home," Lady Aili confirms, however, with a long sigh. She reaches up, and her fingers brush the flowers they have placed on her. Their own flowers feel heavy. But, pleasant, in a way. Like an anchoring weight. A gift, from Aili. They think they like gifts. To receive them and give them both. The flowers are a success, because that has happened in each case.

"I don't know where my clan is," their lady admits. "I was very young, when I got lost. Humans found me, and took me to the Circle. But I know I didn't travel that far. I didn't cross the sea. The wilderness is wide, but, if I could just find a campsite I could find... there are signs, sometimes. And the clans come back to the same places when it's safe to, because they have what we need. Even if no one was there, eventually, someone would come..."

Uthvir considers this.

"Does my Lady Aili's clan have Hunters?" they wonder.

They do not think they should take Lady Aili to the palace. It would not be safe.

Lady Aili blinks at them.

"Um... yes?" she says, as if she is not sure of the answer. Except that she seems to be. "Not like the Templars, though. They don't hunt mages. Or demons. They're just... like this kind of hunting." Moving her arm, she gestures towards what Uthvir has provided. "They hunt food and things for the clan. And they protect us, and sometimes find lost people. I'm sure some of them tried to find me, when I..."

Lady Aili swallows, and trails off. She stares into the fire.

Uthvir does, too, though they can see nothing particular within the flames.

"I will try to find the way," they offer. "But if they are too dangerous, then we will go."

Lady Aili looks surprised. She moves a little closer to them, and stares intently at their eyes. There are only two of them at the moment, so it is easy enough for her own pair to manage.

"You could find them?" she asks.

Uthvir inclines their head. They are a hunter. They find things, just as she described. And there are ways to find persons in the Dreaming, and in the Waking, too, though they are less versed in the latter state. With the Veil, it is much harder. But, not impossible, perhaps. They try to explain this. They are not certain that they do it correctly, as their Lady Aili seems hesitant over many things. She does not seem to know what they mean, when they speak of a palace, or the ways in which hunters and magic and old currents of belief can weave themselves together.

"There's a... palace in the Fade? Where you think you can find hunters?" she surmises, after several attempts.

Uthvir supposes that is the best explanation.

"It is a dangerous place," they say.

Lady Aili bites her lip.

"I couldn't ask you to go somewhere dangerous," she tells them. Then her brow furrows, and she taps one of her apples with the tip of her finger. "But if it's a place in the Fade, then there must be a correlating place on this side of the Veil? Right? What if we went there together?"

Uthvir shakes their head, and hisses in displeasure. Lady Aili pales, and the fire goes out.

"No," they say. "Much too dangerous."

"But-"

"No."

They cannot take her there. She will die. But if she commands them...

Lady Aili only raises her hands, however, in a gesture of placation.

"Alright, it was just a thought," she replies. "I guess we will have to find another way. If... you want to help me?"

Uthvir waits, to see if there is some trap or reprimand waiting to fall. But when Lady Aili only regards them for several minutes more, they tip themselves forward, in a bow of agreement.

"I will help, to find Lady Aili's home," they agree.

[lumifuer]

Mending the Broken (Part III)

Pairings: Dean x Reader Words: 1642 Warnings: Major character death, violence A/N: Wow, I decided to randomly update it after eleven months? Nice. 

Summary: Driven by rage and sorrow, Dean decided to track down the monster that took his lover away. 

⇒ PART I /// ⇒ PART II 

Time had ceased to exist. Dean wasn't able to tell if he was sitting in this chair for five minutes or five centuries. At some point, the tears simply stopped flowing and the world lost its colours.

She took them with her.

Dean was looking straight ahead but failed to distinguish the letters and signs shown on the monitor. He desperately needed to get up and do something, anything but his body refused to obey his will. Y/N's belongings were overwhelming him; he knew that there was a shirt which he had sawn himself after a particular hunting going wrong, a pair of comfortable, durable boots that she'd usually wear during most cases. He could swear that her smell was still painfully present in the air. His eyes involuntarily drifted to the bed. Was the pillow that she'd laid her head on every night soaked with tears? Did she allow the thoughts to flood her mind, drowning in the heartbreaking sensation of pain and longing that Dean has felt ever since he found out she was gone?

He bit his lip and abruptly looked away, feeling too weak withstand the ideas suggested by his brain. Clenching his fists, he got up from the chair, making it fall to the ground with a loud thud. He closed the laptop, grabbed it in his hand with an intention to throw it into the suitcase of hers when something caught his attention. On the right bedside table, he noticed Y/N's journal. He couldn't just leave it in this damn motel room, so he quickly picked it up. Something fell out from between the pages and after swirling in the air for a brief second landed on the floor. Dean put down both things on the mattress and bent down to take what turned out to be a photograph.

The lump in his throat got noticeably bigger, making him lose his breath and his vision became blurry again. Despite this, he recognized his face immediately, although he hadn't seen a smile this wide in the mirror for awhile. And maybe it would never return. The picture was folded in half as if Y/N couldn't bear looking at the person in the other part. With trembling hand, Dean bent it back in its place. He knew what to expect, but the image still made him exhale sharply, turning its sound into a sob. It's been so long since he had last seen her face. He traced the outline of her jaw as if he was trying to comfort her.

Then he suddenly felt a familiar touch on his shoulder.

"Dean," Cas' voice was filled with sorrow but firm at the same time, "we should get out of here."

The meaning behind angel's words was hidden. He was worried that staying in this grave any longer could have had a bad impact on his friend's mental condition. Dean understood and appreciated his concern. He put the picture back between the pages, making sure it wasn't folded in half anymore and packed everything into Y/N's duffel bag. With a barely noticeable nod of his head, he gave Castiel a sign that he was ready to go home.

He felt that he was leaving a piece of his heart in those four walls.

* * *

"Dean, don't be stupid," Sam was persistently following his older brother, trying to stop him from behaving self-destructive, "we should go back there together. Going alone is a suicide!"

Dean stopped in his tracks, almost causing Sam to bump into him.

"And what's wrong with that, Sammy?" he exclaimed. The words fell out of his mind with no supervision.

Sam exhaled and looked on the floor. He was expecting such an outburst, but it didn't mean that actually hearing this confession was any easier.

"You think that Y/N would want you to put your life at risk like that?" he tried to get to the logical side of his brother's brain but it seemed to be controlled by his emotions as well.

Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out the air with a heavy sigh, making him appear a thousand years old. He tried to say something but had troubles finding the right way to put words together so he simply gave up and waved his hand at his little brother.

His steps echoed in the dark hallway as Sam was helplessly watching him leave into the night with a bag full of weapons.

* * *

The Impala stopped at the edge of the forest located not so far from the hotel. Dean left the headlights on and got out of the car, taking the map he'd taken from Y/N room and placing it on the hood of the car. He traced the line drawn with a red marker, trying not to think that the tip of the finger of his love must have been touching the same place not so long ago. He was behaving like a numb machine, concentrated on one goal. What was to come after he was done with this case was simply a distraction.

Finally, he found the cave that the Wendigo was supposedly hiding in. He quickly folded the map and put it in his pocket, taking the bag from the passenger seat. He headed towards the path that would eventually lead him to the son of a bitch responsible for taking one of the most important people in his life from him.

The darkness enveloping the forest and the fact that he was on his own didn't work in his favour. His thoughts seemed to constantly break the leash, racing to the memories, feeling of guilt and hopelessness. He shook his head, afraid that all this pain would finally cause it to explode. He tried to focus on moving silently and observing the environment. In the end, Wendigo might have been out looking for another victim.

After thirty minutes of walking and fighting with himself, a strange sound reached Dean's ears. Distant and yet so close at the same time.  Like an eerie whisper right by his ear. Dean turned his head in search for its source but something felt incredibly wrong. He knew that voice.

His heart sank when the sudden realization came.

He dropped the flashlight that hit the rock and broke into a few pieces. He loosened the bag slider hysterically and started to blindly look for the flareguns while searching the darkness for the enemy at the same time. Each tree could serve as a possible shelter for the monster, especially with the adrenaline rush acting against Dean this time.

Finally, he felt the right object under his fingertips and firmly grabbed the gun, pulling it out. But the voice disappeared, the only thing to disturb the silence was his own accelerated breathing.

He turned towards the cave very slowly and when his eyes finally adjusted to the dark, he managed to see the outline of it, about twenty metres ahead of him. Dean scanned his surrounding for the last time and became to move towards the cave, carefully taking every step.

He was driven by utter hatred. Especially with the voice of reason that begun to tell its sickening story, putting all the elements together and forming one horrifying truth.

Dean was so focused on pushing those theories away that he didn't hear the rustle behind his back at first. When he turned around, it was already too late. Wendigo jumped at him, pinning him to the ground. The impact of the hit made Dean dizzy but he didn't let go of the flaregun. Though he wasn't given a chance to you use, his arm movement was blocked by the large claws. Winchester struggled to free himself but quickly grew weak. Just when he was about to give up completely, he remembered the reason behind this hunt. What has been taken away from him by this creature.

In the next second, all of his remaining energy was sent to his arm and he was able to break free. He aimed at the Wendigo, ignoring the unpleasant consequences of such a close shot but the monster abruptly backed away with a soul-piercing howl, not knowing that it had just worsened its situation. Dean pulled the trigger and a red fireball shot from the barrel hitting the monster in the chest. It burst into flames, hissing and shaking, desperately trying to put down the fire but failing.  Dean relished the view of a bony flesh falling to the ground.

He continued to watch his enemy for another few minutes, making sure that he wouldn't return to the world of the living. Instead, it began to turn into a pile of dust.

He killed it.

Then the weapon fell out of his hand and the dam that Dean had temporarily built in his mind broke down. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the tears to roll down his cheeks.

Her laptop was still turned on. The boots that she would always wear on cases were left on the floor in the hotel room and all of her guns were tucked under a pile of clothes in the bag. She didn't die during the hunting. This son of a bitch lured her out. Using Dean's voice.

She was ready to go back, allow him to forgive her. So much that she had left the room in the middle of the night in hopes that he'd found her. This conclusion broke Dean's heart but also filled his mind with peace.

He believed that time would come when they'd meet again. And they will be given a second chance.

Thank you for reading! 

[adorebughead]

For Better or Worse - Part 1

*Deep breath* ok, here we go! I went and wrote my first Bughead fanfic. Or, the first part at least. I’m so self conscious of my writing but hoping it’s ok! (Also sorry if this is maybe a bit long? Shall I shorten the next one?) Let me know what you think :)

*Update* Part two is here: https://adorebughead.tumblr.com/post/161871889720/for-better-or-worse-part-2 —————————————-

Betty Cooper had known since before she could even remember that she wanted to marry Archie Andrews. After their very first kiss she hadn’t a doubt her mind, and she had intended to carry that with her for the rest of her life. Of course, they were only children back then. Archie had distanced himself for many years during high school, keeping Betty as a close friend but never wanting to pursue anything more, but Betty had always known deep down that they were meant to be together and that eventually Archie would realise that too. At least, that was what she had thought up until she was sixteen.

During that school year, things had happened and things had changed; things that she had repressed ever since. She had never told Archie that she wasn’t really in love with him back then, she’d realised pretty early on that it was just the idea of him that she was so desperately drawn to, but it had been ten years since that night on her doorstep. She knew that she was in love with him for real this time. She was, most definitely. The boy with the red hair who had stolen her heart from the day they’d met. The boy that she was going to marry. Why wouldn’t she be?

Applying a thin layer of pale pink gloss across her lips, she stared vacantly at the person looking back at her. She didn’t want to think about the past today. She’d spent way too long stuck there, and now it was time to move forward. It was time to be Betty Andrews.

“Well,” she muttered. “You did it, Betty. You finally got what you always wanted.” She smiled, unable to look herself in the eyes as she smoothed down her perfectly slicked back ponytail. The very essence of Betty Cooper. The Betty Cooper that she had always supposed to have been. In fact, she’d been smiling almost non-stop for the past four years. After having graduated from college, she had spent the majority of her time keeping as busy as she possibly could. If she wasn’t writing for The Register, she was at home helping Polly look after the twins, or working part time at Pop’s for some extra cash. As life piled up on top of her, she couldn’t help but grow closer to Archie.

He had finally admitted his feelings for her at graduation just moments after everyone had thrown their caps in the air amidst a mixture of cheering and crying. He had taken her aside and hoped to sweep her off her feet like they’d always imagined when they were kids. She would’ve been lying if she’d have said she had felt nothing, but it was too soon back then. She wasn’t ready for anything. She still wasn’t sure if she was ready now, eight years on, and the smiling was starting to grow painful. The truth was that Archie had provided her with a sense of safety and comfort and familiarity, and she was twenty-six years old now. She couldn’t have waited around forever. She had taken four years to recover after what had happened, and then spent the following four with Archie, up until this very day. The day she never thought would come. Their wedding day. She forced herself to look back up, tightening her ponytail as she did so.

“Knock knock,” a familiar voice chimed as Betty turned her head to see her mother, Alice Cooper, stood in the doorway. “Are you almost ready, sweetheart?”

“Almost,” she replied, returning her gaze to her reflection and shifting slightly in her seat. She looked down at her engagement ring, soon to be paired with the wedding ring that she had wanted ever since she was a little girl. Everything was so perfect. Just like her. The perfect girl next door and the perfect boy next door joining together to make the perfect little family. This was how it was always supposed to be.

Alice’s smile faded slightly, sensing something was off. She approached her daughter and carefully put a hand on her shoulder. “Is everything ok?”

Betty looked down, feeling something familiar burning up inside of her, trying so desperately to contain it. She burrowed her fingernails into the exact same spot, the exact same scars, scars that nobody knew about. Nobody, except one. She pushed even harder, using all of her force to bury the memory. Almost instantly, and as if nothing had happened, she brought herself back.

“Of course,” she smiled. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Alice stared at her daughter for a moment, unable to see anything other than the image of herself all of those years ago waiting to marry Hal. For some reason, it brought on an overwhelming feeling of deja vu. Betty had always been good at hiding how she felt, but Alice knew that she had never been the same since what had happened all of those years ago; she knew it better than anyone. As she removed her hand, she considered stroking her hair but changed her mind at the last minute. Instead, she looked towards the ground and swallowed.

“He’s not here,” she said, keeping her voice low and cautious. Betty flinched, unable to catch her breath for a brief moment.

“Who?”

Alice didn’t move, keeping her eyes firmly on the floor, her voice now just a whisper.

“You know who.”

Without another word, Betty was standing up and smoothing down her dress as she brushed her cheek to wipe away the slightest remain of a tear. Alice had jumped at the sudden movement.

“I’m ready now,” she announced, looking up to meet her mother’s eyes for just a second. There was something there; a knowing. Breaking away, afraid of revealing too much, she looked over to see her father, Hal Cooper, who was now stood in the doorway with an expression of pride spread across his face.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled, holding out his arm for Betty to take.

She took it quite willingly, making a point not to look at her mother again as she did so. Observing the almost empty room, an intense feeling of loneliness began to pour over her. Just down the hall there were hundreds of people waiting for her, but the silence was deafening.

“Have you seen Veronica?”

His smile faltered. “Yes, she’s inside with the others,” he replied, refusing to look her in the eye. So much had happened. So much that nobody dared speak about anymore. It felt like everyone had been treading on thin ice for the past eight years, and that feeling seemed to never fully disappear, no matter how much they had all wanted it to.

“I’m so glad she came,” Betty replied. “Even after- you know…”

“Betty,” Hal snapped. “This isn’t the time or the place to rake up the past. Please.”

There were a few moments of silence as they proceeded to walk down the hallway, the muffled sound of chatter growing closer and closer. All of a sudden, Betty’s head was spinning. She had tried so hard not to think, but now everything that she had been blocking out was slowly creeping its way back in. She started to replay her mother’s words in her head over and over again and she couldn’t seem to stop. He’s not here. Why would he be? Had she really expected him to show? Had she wanted him to burst through at the last moment and tell her not to go through with it? Had she just wanted to see him? To scream at him? To kiss him one more time?

“Dad,” she cried, a little too loudly, bringing the both of them to an abrupt halt.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

“Can I just, have a moment?” She replied. “Just to go outside and take a breather?”

He studied his daughter’s face, searching for something that he couldn’t find. He sometimes felt as though he wasn’t even looking at his daughter at all, as though something in her had changed. Something he could never quite put his finger on.

“What? Why?”

She was rapidly struggling to breathe, that uncontrollable depth of darkness grabbing a hold of her chest. “I just- I just need a minute to myself. Could you say that I’d had a problem with my dress? That should buy me a few minutes.”

“Betty, I don’t-“

“Dad,” she clutched his arm tightly, panic and desperation soaking her words. “Please.”

Hesitantly, Hal looked towards the door just a few yards away where so many people were waiting. Almost the entire town of Riverdale had shown for this; one of the biggest events of the year. He couldn’t help but think of Archie behind those doors, stood in his tux waiting for his bride. He was there himself in this very church once before so many years ago. Worrying if she’d show. Worrying if she’d change her mind.

“Ok,” he whispered, “but be quick.”

“I will.”

Welcoming the sound of the slight rustling of the trees, Betty steadied herself against a balcony entangled with bloodshot roses as she inhaled the smell of petrichor. She glanced back to make sure her dad was out of sight, before closing her eyes. She exhaled deeply, shaking her head and clutching her temple. She had done so well up until this point. What was wrong with her? Why was this happening now?

She took a few moments to gather her thoughts before releasing a subdued sigh and pulling herself back together in the best way that she knew how; it was second nature by this point. It was time to snap back to reality, whether she liked it or not. Turning on her heel, she started towards the door but Hal wasn’t there. The doorway was empty, in fact, which she couldn’t help but think was a little bit odd. It had definitely been longer than the minute she had been promised.

“Dad?” she called out, beginning to feel uneasy at the silence that followed as a shiver crept its way down her spine. She hated herself for it, but in that moment she wondered if she would be able run away without anyone seeing her. The thought of it made her stomach flip as she turned again only ever so slightly.

That was when she saw it.

A silhouette, a shell, an image she had only ever dreamed about for the past eight years. A person that was no longer real to her, but merely a figment of her imagination. A reminder of another life, just a small trick of light in everything that she did and everywhere that she went. She froze dead in her tracks, unable to catch her breath for even a second. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

He was on the other side of the terrace, far enough away that she was at a comfortable distance, but close enough that they were breathing each other in with every passing second. He looked up then, his eyes burning directly into hers. The darkness, the sorrow, the longing. Ten years and not a thing had changed about the way he looked at her. Her lip quivered. His voice cracked. Suddenly, she was sixteen again.

“Hey there, Juliet.”

[joshpup]

To Love or Not To Love // Pt. 1

Intro // Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt. 4 // Pt. 5 // Pt. 6 // Pt. 7 // Pt. 8 // Pt. 9 // Pt. 10 // Pt. 11 // Pt. 12 // Pt. 13 // Pt. 14 // Pt. 15 // Pt. 16 // Pt. 17 Word Count: 3,127 Genre: Svt Mafia Au Member: Mingyu TW: Angst, Violence, there will be fluff eventually i promise. idk im bad at tw, let me know if i should add some in

It was finally your day off. You got to sleep in and wake up after the sun had risen. Waking up on your own time and without an alarm clock was the best feeling. You rolled out of bed and checked your phone and noticed your manager had texted you. You groaned a bit, but after opening the text you felt a little better. She simply needed you to pick up something at the shop real quick. You figured you would go and get your favorite drink as well, being there for a few minutes today wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, you wouldn’t work there if you hated it so much.

You quickly got dressed, happy that it wasn’t into your work clothes and grabbed your bag as you headed out the door. The weather was great, the perfect temperature; not too hot, not too cold. You smiled to yourself, a certain bounce in your step that isn’t usually there when you walk this path to work.

The small bell on the door tinkled when you pushed it open, and you waved at your friend working behind the counter. As expected, no customers were in the shop, like every other day, except Mr. well-dressed was in his usual seat. You looked for Mingyu but he was nowhere to be seen. You shrugged your shoulders and didn’t think much of it. He had probably just gotten caught up in something, he didn’t usually come at a consistent time.

You slipped into the back room and picked up the thing your manager had asked you to get, realizing that it was a small bonus from the few times you had worked extra. You smiled and slipped the check into your bag before returning to the front to order your drink. You had only taken a few step out of the back room when you were immediately overwhelmed. People were rushing in, dressed in all black and brandishing weapons. Your coworkers screamed as they were held at gunpoint. Behind you, you heard a chair scrape against the grown before clattering to the floor. Two dressed in black rushed towards you, while a few more rushed past you and towards Mr. Well-dressed. You tried to crane your neck to get a better look as to what they wanted from him so badly. There weren’t here to rob the store, or they would have already gone for the cash in the register. Before you knew it, the blinds were pulled and the doors locked. You, your coworkers and the few poor customers that had wandered in while you were in the back where dragged into the backroom. Your phones were taken and hands bound with zip ties. Two stayed behind with you and the rest, making sure you didn’t go anywhere let alone move from where you sat, while the rest disappeared down the hall. Mr.Well-dressed was nowhere to be seen. Where they here for him? Did the police know? Or had these people planned something so well that they managed to hid this from the outside world? You didn’t know, but you were surprisingly calm for such a terrifying experience. It was almost as if the fact you were being held at gunpoint hadn’t quite set in yet. To your left, a young woman stifled her sobs, and to your right, your friend and coworker sat pressed up against you, shaking slightly, but otherwise in tack.

One of the people dressed in black shifted their weight from foot to foot.

“Hey…weren’t we supposed to blindfold them too? Just in case?” a strong, deep voice questioned quietly. The shorter of the two let out a small gasp and nodded, quickly digging into his pocket and pulling out a few strips of cloth. You watched as the walked towards you and the others. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t escape. You were already as pressed up against the wall as possible, and your hands were tied behind your back. You could try to fight against them once they got close enough, but was it worth the risk of getting killed? You decided it was best to just sit still, maybe they would leave and you could figure out how to escape then… after all, zipties aren’t that hard to break free of. They were already dumb enough to forget to blindfold you and the rest of the hostages. It was possible.

You vision was gone know, you had to rely solely on sound now. You could sort of see out of the blindfold, but only down to the ground, so if someone stood right in front of you, you might be able to tell, but outside of that, you couldn’t see anything.

Suddenly shouting filled the halls. Had the police shown up? Everything had gotten significantly darker, you could tell, even though your eyes were covered. You heard the two “guards” say something to each other, then footsteps racing out of the room, the door slamming behind them. There was a moment of silence in the room, only faint shouts through the door could be heard.

“Are they gone?” You asked, barely whispering.

“Yah…they did a real shit job tying on these blindfolds.” your manager stated. You wiggled yourself around, pulling yourself off the wall and somehow contorting your body to curl up in a small enough ball you could pull your arms over your legs, bringing your hands in front of you. Good thing you had always worried about someone kidnapping you after work, otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered to learn such helpful knowledge for circumstances like these. You pulled your blindfold down from your eyes, letting it hang limply around your neck, then examined the zip tie binding your hands. This was the easiest escape trick you had learned, as escaping goes. You braced yourself for the small moment of pain, puffed out your stomach, then quickly pulled your arms against it, popping the zip tie off with a small snap.  

“Whats going on?” the lady to your left questioned.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to try and find a phone or something so i can call the police.” you spoke quietly as you pulled down everyone’s blindfolds.

“I can’t get off the zip ties yet, but i’ll come back as quickly as possible okay. Just stay quiet.”

You rushed over to the door as quietly and quickly as possible and opened it just a crack, looking around for other people. Everything was dark, the power went out. The usually lit, back hallway was now dark and eerie, filled with a dark, blue light. Shouting voices could be heard throughout the shop, some stifled behind walls, other loud and echoing through the hallway. You inched the door open more and slipped out, closing it behind you so that attention wasn’t drawn to the other hostages.

Slowly, you moved your way down the dark hallways, making your way towards the front of the shop, heading for the emergency button behind the counter. You heard voices coming towards you and panicked, quickly throwing yourself into the nearest door, which led to a small mop closet. You watched through the crack in the door as three, black clothed people fast walked down the hall and into the side room at the end, no doubt where they had taken Mr. Well-dressed. You waited for a minute before climbing out of the closet and making your way down the dark hallway, a little quicker than last time. All you had to do was round the corner and you would be in the front, only a few feet away from the panic button. You were almost there.

You finally made it to the corner and turned, not bothering to check and see if anyone was around the other side. As you took a step, a loud noise echoed through the small shop, making your ears ring. A gun had been fired. At who? By who? You had jumped at the loud noise, jumped right into the arms of one of the blacked clothed person who had caused all of this. Fear flooded your body as the person’s strong grip held your arm and didn’t let go as your thrashed around to try and break free. You paused for a second to look up into the person face, only to see there was no mask this time. In fact, you knew this face.

“Mingyu?” You asked in disbelief. His hand shoot up to his face.

“Shit, I forgot my mask.” he mumbled to himself.

“What? I…Mingyu what are you doing here?” you questioned in a whisper. Mingyu glanced around the empty hall, still holding on tightly to your wrist.

“If you go back to the room and stay there and act as if you’ve never saw me you’ll be safe.” he stated, pulling you along behind him.

“What the heck Mingyu?!” you called as he dragged you along, not bothering to whisper anymore.

“Mingyu! Where the heck are you?” A frustrated voice called down the hall. Mingyu froze for a second, then yanked you towards the direction of the room you had previously been held in.

“Go back to the room or you’ll be in some serious trouble.” Mingyu growled, much different from the usual kind and gentle Mingyu you knew from the shop. He rushed off down the hall where the voice had called for him, not looking back to check if you had headed back to the room. Now you may be stubborn, or just down right dumb, but you had no intentions of going back. You fought your curiosity to trail after Mingyu and see what was happening and instead set off to find a phone, or at least one of the panic buttons so you could inform the police. You were still shocked by how calmly you were handling the whole situation. For all you know, after that gun shot that had sounded, someone could be dead, but here you are still lurking around in the open trying to find a way to escape (or at least insure the safety of your fellow captives).

The shop really wasn’t that big, so it wasn’t hard to quickly make it back to the front of the store. If you could just make it to the panic button next to the register that would be enough. You peeked your head around the corner, and your breath caught in your throat. At least three hooded figure stood around the open tables that filled the front of the shop. Tables lay on their sides and chairs were scattered all over the place. The blinds being pulled over the large shop windows only made everything more eerie. The panic and terror that originally should have filled you was now flooding into your body, making your heartbeat to increase and sweat to form all over your body. It was quiet, only the murmur of voices from wherever Mingyu was and the footsteps caused by the hooded men in front of you as the mindlessly guarded the store. You asked yourself whether they were guarding to make sure no one came in, or not one left, but this thought soon vanished as there were more important things to happen. You could have sworn everyone in the room could hear your heart, pounding in your ears and making everything all that much more stressful.

All you had to do was cross the small stretch that was out in the open before you could hid behind the counter and crawl over to the panic button. One of the three guards was usually facing the counter, meaning they would totally see you, but they often switched, leaving a few seconds that you could use to your advantage. You could really feel the panic bubble up in you now, but you didn’t have time for that. Not only were you in danger, but your coworkers and customers, this was no time to get scared. You checked behind your shoulder to make sure Mingyu, or anyone for that fact, hadn’t started towards you. You turned your attention back to the three hooded figures and see if they had any sort of pattern. It didn’t take long to understand there was absolutely no pattern to the weird aimless wandering the three people did, and you were just going to have to hope for the best. You tried your best to keep your heart beat from making you deaf and made a mad, quiet, dash towards the counter.

Everything turned to slow motion. Just as you took your first two steps, you saw one of the hooded people turn around and look directly at you. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. It was too late, you had to go for it. You ignored the person when everything finally clicked and they realized you shouldn’t be there in the dark. You wish the slow motion feeling would shake off but it didn’t. Each step felt as if time was slipping through your fingers. Three figures came pounding towards you as you reached out your hand to smash the small red button under the counter next to the register. Just as you managed to press the button in, a hand grabbed the back of your shirt and ripped you back. You were sent sprawling backwards and the breath was knocked out of you. You knew here was your death, a gun already being pointed at you, but it didn’t matter, because you hit the button, the police know now. The others will be safe.

“Those kids were supposed to be watching them!” the one pointing the gun at you growled to the other two.

“Did she just..?” the skinny boy on your right asked, looking over at the register.

“How did you escape?” the guy to the left demanded.

“I just left, and Mingyu didn’t stop me in the halls really so…” you stuttered, not sure what to do with yourself, or why you even answered in the first place.

“Jun, she knows Mingyu!” the skinny boy exclaimed.

“Don’t say my name idiot!” the guy, basically holding your life in his hands, spat. The two guards winced at Jun’s harsh tone and looked down at you. Your breath was finally coming back to you, but you didn’t feel any better than before.

“She knows who we are man, she’s seen Mingyu…” the guy on the left breathed.

“Are you going to do it?” he finally asked after a moment of silence.

“Boss said we can’t kill anyone.” said the guy on the right.

“Yah, but thanks to you Minghao she knows not only Mingyu but my name. Its our only choice.” Jun said.

You watched as the three of them bickered about your life and whether they should take it or not. The panic you had been working so hard to suppress was finally coming to you, and it was so intense you felt as if you were going to vomit at any moment. The three of them continued to bicker with each other, and you wondered if it was a good idea to try and escape. You mulled the idea over and over again in your head but the thought was giving you more anxiety then you already had and therefore making your brain turn to mush. Just when you thought you should try to inch away from the three guys, Jun turned his attention back to you. You froze, unsure of what to do under his strong, harsh gaze.

“We’ll just have to shot you, there is no other option. Boss will understand, I suppose.” Jun said, a bit of a sneer showing through his eyes, as his face was still covered by a mask.

“Please…please don’t!” you begged as he took a step closer to you. Minghao and the other guy behind Jun didn’t show any signs of stopping him. This was the end for you. At least you were able to hit panic alarm, so it wasn’t a complete waste risking your life. With each step Jun took towards you, you slowly inched back, although you knew it would be of no help. Jun’s fingers slowly moved over the gun, barely visible to you in the dark blue light that surrounded you, but you could still see it. You can still see your death coming towards you.

“Jun! What are you doing?” A voice practically yelled from across the room. Jun and the other two boys slowly turned around to see who was speaking. You didn’t dare move, you didn’t think you could move for that fact. Your legs had gone completely numb, along with your brain and basically the rest of your senses. It was as if your body has undergone so much stress it had simply shut down.

With just a few long strides the person who had called out to Jun crossed the room, and as he got closer, through the dim light you could make out the unmasked face to be no other the Mingyu. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more upset.

“Jun, the boss said not to kill anyone.” Mingyu said, walking between you and Jun, blocking you from the cruel gaze that never seemed to leave Jun’s eyes.

“Well, Mingyu if she hadn’t figured out who you were i wouldn’t have too!” Jun spat.

“If we kill her the police will get even more involved. We don’t need to deaths for them to find once we’re done here.”

“T-two?” you breathed, stress level going up even more, if that was even possible at this point.

“He has a point…” Minghao added. Jun let the gun fall to his side, pulling his gaze from Mingyu and resting it somewhere off to the side.

“What are we going to do with the girl then?” the only nameless person in the room questioned. There was a moment of silence. You prayed to every god you could think of and wished every wish possibly that by some miracle they would just let you go. It couldn’t be that easy though.

“I’ll take care of her.” Mingyu declared.

“You just said we can’t kill her.” Minghao said.

“Not like that, I’m going to take her home with us. We just can’t have her talking about us right? So I’ll just take her back with us.” Mingyu stated matter-of-factly.

“So you’re basically just going to kidnap her aren’t you?” Jun questioned. You had reached your peak of stress. Everything was too much. Before you knew what was happening the corner of your eyes started to fill with blackness before dizziness engulfed you and with a thump, you had passed out cold on the floor, oblivious to the mess that wragged on around you.

Next...

[49scribes-archive]

Monster [Archive]

{–allenwalkerhatesyou–}

Just the word was enough to make Allen flip. He didn't say a thing just walked up to the culprit, pulled his fist back and flung it into his face. "If you ever say something like that about Lavi again, punching you is the nicest thing I'll do!"

{–49scribes–}

                                    🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Lavi couldn’t say he was even half as affected by the words as Allen was. They were nothing new to his ears. He’d come to realize, after many years, and many Names, to expect no record complete until he’d heard “monster” and worse at some point in time.

It didn’t phase him. Not anymore. Eventually he’d learned to laugh, because how ridiculous was that? To be called a monster by ones bigger, fiercer, uglier than himself. And then he’d learned to be quiet, because it wasn’t even worth the humor of it.

They were nothing but words, fueled by charged emotions, fired off the minds of those little smarter than sheep.

So why care? Why even laugh.

Its nothing but drops of rain off the gloss of duck feathers.

So its easy, to just disconnect, when the name-calling and the ugly words start, and just let them come, and roll off. Rain drops off duck feathers.

What snaps him out of such disconnect, brings out a reaction he otherwise lacked – surprise – is Allen hooking the person with a fist, hearing the person’s teeth snap and their words cut silent.

It leaves him blinking, as dumbfounded as the person who got hit.

And in a moment, its over, and he has a hand on the wrist of the hand Allen used to punch with, keeping him from lashing out further. The look in his single eye isn’t angry, but stern, warning Allen to back down.

❝  It isn’t worth it. People say what they want to. Let it go.  ❞

{–allenwalkerhatesyou–}

Though his best friend may have been colder and more conditioned to hearing that phrase than Allen was, it still lit a fire deep inside the pint-sized exorcist and Allen wasn’t standing for it. Though his fist made one direct landing, Lavi had soon put a stop to Allen’s violent outburst or else he’d have beaten the culprit to a pulp. Fists still clenched at his sides, he turned to the Bookman apprentice. Tears of frustration ran down his face, over his scar as he yanked his arm back, freed from his companion’s tight clutches. “Lavi, I’ve told you before. I’m a small man, I can’t just ignore what’s in front of me.” Allen said, rehashing a prior statement made when he was new to The Black Order. ‘Monster’…. That word made Allen’s blood boil as he heard it over and over again in his life time. People could beat him, call him names, imprison him, try to kill him, anything, except hurt his friends, both physically and emotionally. And though Lavi was good at harboring his emotional baggage on his own, Allen wasn’t. He was a natural empathetic, if his friends were hurting, so was he. Silver locks flew back and forth as Allen shook his head, “It just isn’t right, Lavi…and you and I both know it!”

{–49scribes–}

                                    🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Lavi hummed, tempering his reactions back. It didn’t matter. Allen’s feelings, though touching, weren’t necessary to him, and so he had to show as much. None of it mattered. They were words and reactions, and he’d learned to tune them out thoroughly.

❝  What is right?  ❞ He tilted his head, radiating indifference. ❝  What is wrong? You tell me.  ❞

Idly burying his hands in his pocket, his head lazily turned, as if surveying a great expanse of horizon. Entirely unnecessary, also, as there was nothing there to see that he hadn’t already, especially with his trained eye, honed on even the smallest of details.

More than anything, it was to draw the other’s eye into following, in taking the time to look and think, and to cool his head.

❝  To be so willing as to jump so fast to defend is admirable, surely. For some it takes a great deal of courage, for others its just natural and to hold back is the greater courage.  ❞

He fixed his eye back on Allen, some three years his younger and still, to him, naive in many ways, and would still be so even when he came to be of Lavi’s own age. As far as he was concerned, emotions were indeed naive. Touching, sure, and sometimes so powerful as to make great change, but that change was not always guaranteed to be good. In the grand scheme of things, it muddled as much as it mended.

❝  You think that you’re being noble, but it wounds me none, so why bother? You throw a punch… they throw a punch… you throw one back. That’s how all pointless fighting starts. Sometimes its better to just do nothing and let it be.  ❞

{–allenwalkerhatesyou–}

Though the lecture came off as archaic nonsense, Allen soon came to realize Lavi’s entire point. Violence was pointless when you don’t even know what you’re fighting for. It was more a warning to Allen that he needed to cool his head and wait and analyze the situation, then make his move. They were two different men entirely, like elements of Fire and Snow. Lavi operated on theory, observation, and calculations, leaving his emotions out of it entirely, skills he fine-tuned through his time as a Bookman Apprentice. Allen on the other hand, followed his heart. He was swayed by his emotions and listened more to his heart than his head, which would most likely lead to his demise one day. Though Allen was ever fast to jump in and try and be the hero no matter how much he had to fight, Lavi found it stupid and felt it better to just turn the other cheek and walk away. And Allen hated that this time he had to agree. Violence only begets violence. What may seem like a noble deed of defense is just meaningless fighting. Lavi could just shake it off and walk away without it bothering him, why couldn’t Allen? And all it was was a petty insult, just a word that only had meaning if you took it that way and let it get to you. ‘Monster’ Why had such a simple word drawn such an emotional reaction from Allen? Because Allen had heard that word his entire life. Misfit, Monster, Freak, Creep, harassed and demonized his entire life, Allen had learned to turn a sympathetic ear towards those who faced the same demeaning treatment, whereas Lavi had shown he’d learned to do the opposite, numb yourself to it, detach from emotions and close your heart off completely.Allen actually found the trait admirable and longed to be able to do the same himself, Lord knows his heart had already been through enough. Sighing in defeat, he lowered his head, his voice low, yet harsh, he turned and walked away. “I still don’t get how you can be so cold… I’d give anything to be able to detach like you do. Tell me, Lavi. What’s your secret? How do you still consider yourself human and block your heart off at the same time?”

{–49scribes–}

                                    🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Lavi idly followed the younger Exorcist as he began walking, hands still shoved in his pocket, blissfully unaffected. He’d just let Allen walk off his anger, not necessarily illegitimate in its nature but unneeded. What he’d said was true; words didn’t matter. That’s all they were. He’d heard monster and worse before, but he’d seen things no words could compare to as well.

Why care about what people said, when what people could do was so much more horrifying? People said cruel things they didn’t mean, or that they meant to be kind, and certainly, some used words to lie and cheat, to lessen how bad things really were. Fighting though was different. A fist taken too far or a bullet in a lethal place couldn’t just be walked away from or simply apologized for. A limb lost to canon fire couldn’t just grow back.

People could recover from things that are spoken. He did it all the time, learned to not even listen. It was unimportant, when there were worse things.

Still, the words Allen speaks, while done so out of frustration and misplaced heroism, catch Lavi somewhat by surprise, maybe only because they come from Allen’s lips.

‘How do you still consider yourself human and block your heart off at the same time?’

A small smile breaks across his lips, not so much the pleasant smile he dawns when he’s having too much fun, when he forgets just a little bit about what he’s here for, when he’s entirely absorbed in a newest prank or game. No, the smile that he wears is a little bit humored, a little bit bitter, and just a touch condescending.

Human? There are times, even having grown, learned, changed in ways no previous Name has, that the word, moreover, the very concept of humanity makes him sick to his stomach, disgusted with them in their entirety, again, because of what they can do to each other and everything around them. For a long time, maybe still a little bit now, he’s considered himself something else other than human. Something better than humans are.

Its hard to pin down an easy explanation without saying too much of what he isn’t supposed to, even if Bookman isn’t here to smack him for running his mouth too much. Again, he hums idly, thinking.

❝  Trial and error, I suppose?  ❞ Not entirely truth, not entirely false. Its easy, when he’s spent so long on the sidelines, never being involved before now. Watching foolish people kill each other for pointless “causes”. ❝  You just tell yourself it doesn’t matter enough times, and eventually I guess it becomes true. The world is comprised of many different kinds of people, so to deny that someone you don’t agree with is human is a faulty way of thinking. Its Othering, but it doesn’t make them less like you just because you don’t like what you see.  ❞

The irony isn’t lost on him, but where Allen sees justification in othering people outside himself, Lavi has always made himself the “other”. He realizes (now, at least) that its hypocritical, but an opposite method for the same outcome.