#now I don’t need to live in fear of root rot killing her

[keskeaa]

I’ve never had much of a green thumb, but I’m doing my best with this succulent. The she used to look more like a palm tree with how extended it was. I’m talking five inches tall. I learned that this means you gotta behead and replant it, as well as find a sunnier spot. I hope I didn’t just kill this baby who’s been with me since 2019, but so far It seems she’s doing really well! It used to be just a stump in the soil, and now I can’t (gently) pull it out due to all the roots it grew. I replanted in mid to late august so that’s pretty good progress! If I did it horribly wrong like I feared she would’ve withered by now.

The leaves are more of an experiment. I heard I could propagate them and in all honesty didn’t do much research on that. Judging by the control leaf (left side, in my fingers) I’m at least doing something right. If they get roots, I have a new pot ready and waiting for them.

[void-adjacent-particles]

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt.  It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have. 

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

[honkhonkrichard]

Theory: Stanley Uris was Murdered.

Tagging @vvanini I hope you can follow this okay it’s very word vomity lol

Okay So TW because this post will touch on Stan's death ad the methods behind it

I propose that Stan Uris was murdered. by IT. In his home on that fateful night. I think that Stan posed the biggest threat to IT and therefore IT felt the need to take him out before the battle even started.

Allow me to explain.

Okay, so, I need to lay out some basic "rules" or "facts" before I make my case. They are as follows.

- IT planted it's roots in Derry, and finds it difficult to leave, but still can at it’s own wil.  If you read the book (I honestly don't blame you if you haven't) You'd know that once the Losers kill IT for the final time, Derry (the Physical town) is obliterated. Buildings explode, sinkholes appear, things are flooded. The town is in ruins by the time that the Losers leave the sewers. The movies don't adapt this so If this is news to you thats fine. the bottom line is that destroying IT destroys Derry, like ripping a tree out of the ground with all it's roots. Because of this, we can make the claim that while it can Leave Derry (as it does every 27 years) it probably takes tremandous amount of power to do so, which is why IT only goes when the cycle is over. Why does this matter? Well, what if IT left Derry to get to Stan? The murders had stopped for about a week when they're all in the Jade of the Orient. Plenty of time for IT to cross from Maine to Georgia. Side Note: We KNOW IT leaevs Maine to elsewhere in the world because of King's extended universe all interconnecting. it's not far off at all to make the claim that IT is the same evil that haunts, say The Shining's Overlook Hotel, which is in Colarado.

- IT is omnipresent This is also a given, IT lives everywhere, and can fuck with time and space in godlike (or maybe eldritch like) ways. in IT: Chapter Two, when Mike claims "IT Doesn't know I know what I know" he's unfortunately wrong, because we know that IT can be in A) Multiple places at once, B) can manipulate anything on the drop of a hat (See: Stan being teleported away from everyone else in Chapter One, Everything about Neibolt, etc) and C) Knows everyone's deep fears. This is further proven by IT Saying things like "Beep Beep Richie" (although this is Horribly Horribly executed in the films, ugh.) and so on and so forth. On top of all of this, We can make the claim that IT can exist outside of Time as well, given that IT is immortal. SO, what's stopping IT from Knowing Mike was going to call them all back (Espically considering that IT TOLD Mike to do this?). Even if we keep IT's omnipresence to the location that IT inhabits (in this case Derry) IT would still have knowledge of where the losers are through Mike. And if you take the Lucky Seven/Chosen Seven route (oh my god I got theories on that too) you could argue IT knows where they are inherently due to their cosmic status.

- Stan is the "most Powerful" loser So, obviously all the Loser's are powerful, espically considering they're the ones who Defeat IT (Again going on to the Lucky/Chosen Seven theory). This next claim is going to be less focused on what the 2019/2017 Movies do because they are Bad Movies and that's a whole other rant. However, in the book, Stan is (to my knowledge feel free to correct me on any of this) the only loser to Actively ward off and 'defeat' IT on his own without running away. He uses his belief in this what is Real (birds) to ward off what is "not real" (IT). The other losers do manage to take down IT in their own Right, but Stan is ultimately the one to Really get IT. This is because Stan's character revolves around Belief and Willpower. These are, in some form or another, the ways to Defeat IT. the ritual of Chud is a battle of Wills. in the book, Bill takes IT down and Eddie does the final blow. In the Remake (ugh) the losers can defeat it Technically using the belief that IT isn't as powerful as it claims because IT's "just a clown" (Ihatethatfuckingendingsomuchugh). Stan being much more skeptical than the rest of the group in his ability to understand Reality vs IT's illusions is a powermove, and IT knows that ability doesn't go away as Stan grows up, but rather he gets more powerful. Stan is the Only loser out of the 6 who left that has any sort of knowledge about IT, where the other losers have nothing. Bev has nightmares, yes, but she still forgets them. We're told in his chapter (Chapter 3, Six Phone Calls (1985), Part One: Stanley Uris Takes a Bath) that he has some hazy knowledge of his place in the Lucky Seven, and even goes so far as to MENTION it sometimes, even if he doesn't quite remember or understand any of it, his knowledge of IT and Derry is worlds more prominent than that of the rest of the losers.

(page 52 of IT:  "Stanley, nothing's wrong with your life!"  "I don't mean from inside." he said. "From inside is fine. I'm talking about outside. Something that should be over and isn't. I wake up frmo these dreams and think, 'My whole pleasent life has been nothing but the eye of some storm I don't understand.' I'm afraid. But then it just... fades. The way dreams do." OR  page 45: He had been smiling a little. Now the smile faltered, and for a moment he seemed puzzled. His eyes had darkened, as if he looked inward, consulting some interior device which ticked and whirred correctly but which, ultimately he understood no more than the average man understands the workings of the watch on his wrist. "The turtle couldn't help us," he said suddenly. he said that quite clearly.)

So, Stan has some cosmic knowledge of IT and Maturin and his role in the battle against It. What does any of this have to do with his death? Well, let me point out some other things about Stan's death that always stuck out to me. - His death chapter is narrated by his wife, Patty, rather than himself. The other chapters - almost all the other chapters - are narrated by their respective Loser (the caviot for this is Ben, but Ben is also wasted out of his damn mind so its understandable.) - Stan's personality is few and far between in the book, but we know he has a weird little sense of humour and that he's incredibly logical. I think that this logical part of him would be able to understand that Suicide is Never Ever the answer, and that it would cause FAR more problems than it would solve. (the 2019 movie tries to reexplain his death and it's crap and i hate the letters i hate the letters so much im gonna explode) The other losers try to rationalize his death by saying "He would rather Die Clean than Live Dirty (Page 506, Chapter 10, The Reunion, part 3, 'Ben Hanscom Gets Skinny') but he had already BEEN Dirty when he defeated IT the first time, and I think he would've recognized that. - upon finding him, Patty (in her narration) notes that Stan's head is bent back over the edge of the bathtub, so from his sight she would have been upside down. If Stan DID kill himself, why would he be positioned like that? It's unnatural, like someone Posed him. - the cuts on his arms are two length wise cuts. I'm no expert but.. that's suspicious. That's weird. - IT is written in blood on the wall. Why? Why would Stan right THAT of all things? You know who DOES like to paint with blood? IT.

Alright, returning to my thesis statement, Stanley Uris was murdered. Do I think Stan genuinely was going to take a bath at 7pm (which we're told is weird for him)? Yes. I think that's absolutely a thing he could have done or planned to do. Do I think he slit his wrists and commited suicide so he wouldn't go back to Derry? No. Not even remotely.

Let me paint a New Picture.

It's May 28th, 2016, or 1985. Stanley Uris gets a call from Mike Hanlon. Stan is incredibly hesitant to go to, and says he needs time to think about it. Or tht he'll try. He can feel the starts of a Panic attack, and as he's remembering the circles of Hell he went through as a child, he tries to hold himself together. He doesn't want his darling wife to see his break, so he says "I think I'll take a bath" and nothing else before going upstairs. he hides in the bathroom. He closes and locks the door, because, well, he's panicking. Locking doors is one of The Small things he does. Is it usually the bathroom door? no, but still (OCD is a bitch, and even with medication, but this is a special case). He looks in the mirror and tries to breathe. This is fine. He can do this. They killed IT once before and they can do it again. He thinks about his younger self, the promises made, and how he could explain all of this Patty in time to catch a flight to Maine. It's terrifying, but if his friends are going to bite the dust, he wants to be there with them, wedding vows be Damned. Then he looks at his reflection again. A younger, rotted version of himself stares back at him. IT crawls through the mirror. Stan freaks out, obviously. This isn't real. This Can't be real. But IT utilizes this notion against him. It digs it's claws into his arms, and forces him to bleed out in the bathtub. IT then sets the scene nicely. Razorblades on the counter, a bloody signature on the wall, a horrible posture of Stan's neck. So on and So forth. and then IT returns to Derry. IT's a little weak, yeah, but Stan is dead. That's what matters. the Lucky Seven has now Officially broken, and the balance shifts in favour of the clown.

So that's the theory. feel free to correct me on anything or engage I have plenty of theories on this story and I like discussing this stuff :).

[remsmoonlight]

— title : battle scars

— word count : 2.1 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : during a quick run, you fall into some trouble with some walkers though daryl’s love language is spoken with actions and not words.

— warnings : mentions witnessing death, near death experiencing, extremely minor cursing, mentions of blood and gore

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested     　/     requests are open    *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

okay so i requested this a while ago to someone else and they said they’d write it but i never found it  and i forgot who i asked so i might of missed it, but maybe a walker grabs readers hair or something so she looks for something to tie it up with and daryl gives her his bandana and she just decides to claim it or some cute shit like that??? it’s okay if you don’t wanna♥️♥️

Shap rays penetrate effortlessly through the barred windows, the tatty scraps of cloth providing little protection against the blinding morning sunshine. You pull your arm to cover your eyes, not quite ready to be released from the grips of your slumber.. the nights before a run have always been the most troublesome. Your mind running through every which way the day could turn out, pleading to your mind to focus on the positive outcomes that are always on the table of possibility. Both the positivity and negativity keeping you awake into the late hours.

The only consolation being when you were gifted the image of a blanket of stars over the dark sky, free from any light pollution that was known among many.

“ time to get your ass up, sleepy head. “

You don’t need to remove the arm that lays heavily draped across your head to know who’s familiar drawl that belongs to. Daryl Dixon. His voice in being a quite distinct quality about him. Though there’s more than that you think humorously as a smirk that lazily snakes its way onto your lips.

“ yeah, yeah. I’m up. “ you respond to him as you find yourself focusing on his form in the doorway, clutching the bed linen that serves as a makeshift door in his grip. Your mind wonders if you’ve ever seen him in a state of inactivity that held no tension .

Members of the group continue to filter into the main hall at a leisurely pace, sleep still clinging to their backs in a losing battle.

Sitting off to the side, your gaze settles to the lone male. Daryl nods from you to the space across from him, a bowl laid across from him.

“ thanks for saving me some breakfast. “ you speak, breaking the silence as you pick up the spoon and lifting a heap of oats onto it. Knowing you would need the energy, of course, the world ending brought a new meaning to breakfast being the most important meal of the day.

“ yeh, don’t need ya collapsin’ on me now. “

Amusement tugged at both corners of your mouth as you peer at him, even after all the time had passed, he still doesn’t want to show how much he cares for the people in the group. Even the newcomers from the Woobury group. Of course, you know.. you see what it means to him see everyone safe, to avoid losing yet another member of his new found family to the rotting fingers of death. The finality of death landing heavier blows on his already bruised heart over again is not something he wishes to fall victim to.

“ you know you’ll never get rid of me, I’ll haunt you from my grave! “ you say, joy lighting up your features as you chuckle, momentarily forgetting your breakfast.

A silence embeds itself comfortably between the two of you, something that becomes less and less awkward every time you find yourself in the vicinity of the man. Human contact and communication had to be quickly developed and it wasn’t long before you became comfortable chatting with everyone as if you had known them for years, but Daryl isn’t completely like those members in your group. He speaks with his actions and it took you long enough to realise that, which is why you found no awkwardness sneaking itself around your throat to force words to fall from your lips unwillingly.

“ so, where are we going first? “

“ ‘saw there was a sports store a few miles out a few days ago. they’ll have some’a those bike chains for those fences. “

Nodding in response, you understand it’s nothing more than a simple task. Though, nothing is truly simple now, even something so minor can cost you your life. The first few days you had spent up at the quarry were plagued with nightmares, every day when you saw the sun begin to dim roused a deep fear that bled into your heart, opening a deep pit in the bottom of your stomach, thinking about the rotting corpses and the frenzied deaths of those you loved. The night time cradled your worst moments, to have to close your eyes and to only be left alone with your thoughts would haunt you endlessly.

Shaking your head to yourself, you rid yourself of that dark energy clouding above you. You have dedicated a lot of time and drive to make progress, it’s not something you yearn to be thrown away as if it were nothing.

“ are we going to pick anything else up, or is it just those? “

“ nah, no use gettin’ ourselves killed. “ he responds, focusing on eating breakfast.

You nod your head swiftly, you certainly can’t argue with that logic! Knowing others have lost their lives or have been horribly injured attempting to go the extra mile.

“ well, I won’t be disagreeing with that plan. quick and simple. “

“ sounds like.. “

He lifts his line of sight to stare at you as his sentence trails off into silence, a passing moment crawling along almost uninterrupted before the realisation of what he meant erupted in your mind. He’s talking about you!

“ that’s so rude! “ you say with wide eyes, creasing up and shaking with laughter.

“ I ain’t wrong. “

Even Daryl begins to ease up and chuckle to himself, a small part of him had been cowering in the corner thinking that his words may have been too offensive, even for you. But seeing the sparkle in your eyes as you find amusement is enough to banish it permanently.

The two of you leave the confines of the prison, your arms are locked around his midsection as you are settled behind him on the motorcycle. The speed of it hit a steady pace, the scenery around you nothing more than passing blurs merging into a melting pot of Earth tones.

Slowing to a stop, the two of you get off the bike and make your way into the abandoned store, your eyes scan it in its entirety. Confidence fills you in the thought that it is older than you and definitely had seen better days. Dirt and grime lined the structure from the bottom, sliding up the walls to the top of it. Your brows burrow in repulsion, though surely it can’t be as bad as the prison. Or how it used to be..

“ stay back. “

You watch as he bangs a hand against the grungy window, hardly anything could be seen through the layer of dirt that had made its home there. A visual picture certainly would not be helping either of you this time.

It took around two minutes for a series of slams against the windows to startle you, your heartbeat begins to speed up slightly at the suddenness of the noise. Even when you’re expecting the arrival of walkers, they still manage to catch you off guard. The two of you nod to one another, you move to open the door for four walkers to pile out. Your attention is kept to the two who made a beeline for your body. You step backwards with your knife now in your hand, hoping to create distance between the two of them for you to be able to stab one of them.

One of them grabs your shoulders, immediately your hand goes to shove one of its away from yours. Momentarily it loses grip and trips into you, luckily your hand with the knife is faster than you realise and you feel the resistance its skull and brain give you but you’re stronger and ensure it hits the mark. The change is instantaneous, the walker descends quickly, taking you with it. All your strength and fight is dedicated to pushing the dead weight off of you, your arms make progress as it falls next to you with a thud.

Scrambling to the space next to you to retrieve the knife still sleeping snugly within its head, your breath is ragged from the physical exhaustion and stress of the situation. Your eyes are wide with fear and it takes more strength than you realise to pull it out with a sickly squelch, a darkened liquid coats the once shining blade. Though you have little time to study its form before you feel fingers clawing at your hair, the surprise causes you to drop the knife and your hands to move towards the decaying ones who have secured their grip.

Screams erupt from your lips as your fingers move upwards, pushing what you guess is the walker’s snapping mouth that feels so close. Close enough that you’re unable to distinguish if the breaths you feel close to your neck is from the walker or your imagination. Never before had you felt like a prey animal before, you’re too close to death for your liking, you’d seen people turn from being bitten and to be seconds away fills you with dread. Your fight becomes less and less by the passing second, your body is too tired to fight itself and the walker at the same time, incapacitation is becoming your reality.. warning to confront you one step at a time.

One moment all you can hear are snarls and a warm pain that shoots through the roots of your hair, the next it feels like time has stopped. The grip that was once securely locked is now absent, you don’t know where to look.. all you know is you don’t want to look behind you.

“ y’alright? “

Your sight moves upwards, squinting as you take in the face in front of you. It’s Daryl.

“ uh, I -- “ your voice breaks at the end as you reply, shock overwhelming your body. You drop your head towards the ground in disturbance, refusing to allow your emotions to spiral, you focus on a spot on the ground.

Daryl moves towards you, his gaze checking you over, though begins to search through your hair to make sure the walker has not scratched or punctured your skin with its filthy teeth. Seeing you in that state with the walker so close to dimming your light pushed him, pushed him to fight harder than he has with a few walkers. He knew he could have sent a bolt through its skull, but rage filled his entire being as it drove him. Sending him in its direction and sending a blade through it with his entire force.

“ hey, it didn’t get ya. y’hear me? it didn’t get ya. “ he says, bringing your attention back to him. Though whether it was confirmation more for his benefit or yours, he can’t tell.

“ I never even.. I knew, I.. “

“ y’ain’t got your battle scar yet. “

“ not with you around, luckily. “ you reply with a shake of your head, a soft tone is all you can muster in that minute.

Even in spite of yourself and how you feel, a light chuckle coming from you dusts the air gently as if it never occurred. Shaking your head with a smile that barely registers you push yourself onto your knees and make a move to stand. He’s there to help you up, a tender force clutches your upper arm that you almost fail to associate with him.

The both of you share the same thought unknowingly, that your entire being feels nothing but sensitivity. Shock from enduring the ordeal leaving your body made from nothing more than glass that could shatter at a moment’s notice.

“ hey.. “

A bandana is dangling in front of your vision, confused, you take it into your fingers. Your touch feels the rough material as you run your fingertips across it. Like a light bulb, understanding lights your features up with the power of a thousand suns. Your hair is gathered over to one side, collected to form something of a braid now rests over your shoulder.. with the bandana keeping it together.

“ thank you, Daryl. “ gratitude coats your words, you are extremely thankful for his intervention “ this is mine now though.. “ you inform him, a hand moving to finger the material that now has a new home in your hair.

“ yeah, y’wish. “

“ I meant what I said though, thank you. if you weren't here I’d be one of them. “ a sigh from your mouth releases, a shudder crawling its way through yourself. The shake being easily visible.

“ that ain’t ever gonna happen, I ain’t gonna let it. “

A dull smile pulls at the corners of your lips, a sadness coating your expression at his words. Moving towards him gradually, your arms slide around his midsection. Knowing that those promises can’t always be fulfilled, but that’s Daryl a thought crosses the centre of your mind. He always wants to save everyone. You barely register the light weight of two palms on your back, but a warm light grows in size within you at the realisation.

“ you can let this bandana be mine though.. my good luck charm when you’re not around. “

“ fine. “ Daryl gives in, a hint of laughter in his response as he speaks to you.

[amethystpath-writes]

P3 A Sculpture and Fate

Part 2 here

******

Briella would have never imagined she’d be delighted at the sound of a gasp- they seemed to signify an ending, like when one was stabbed and left to bleed out between an alley of the market all alone. She’d seen it happen before- witnessed Death claim a soul in the dead of night. It’s what made running from her home so difficult. Because if Death were so accustomed to her village, and those surrounding it, why wouldn’t they love the woods just as much?

And anyways, Death wasn’t the only dreadful deity in existence, for gasps could also signify shock and fear- such as Briella’s first night in the woods when she spotted her first tuft of fur. She had thought it to be a rabbit, but of course, it was not. Anyone would have thought this was the fastest she ever ran in her life, after seeing a wolf- one starving and more aggressive because of the fact- but this was not the case. See, it wasn’t until weeks of living in an old cottage that Briella experienced the feeling of her lungs collapsing in on her, when she sought for a sword nowhere to be found.

What a miracle it was, now, though, to hear a gasp- an intake of breath usually followed by such horrific connotations, but was, in this moment, only chased with delightful tears.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” Mum cried. Briella could tell how genuine her mother was- not just by the hug and breaking voice, but also her greasy hair and cold hands. This happened when Mum was stressed, when she felt hopeless- like the world was out to get her.

“I’m okay,” Briella assured in a soft voice. In truth, she was still shaken, and unconvinced this moment was even real. How was it possible to be home after she had been running for weeks, after she had been chased- sought out for simply existing? Being home, in her mother’s arms…it was impossible, wasn’t it?

“Your father…” Mum trailed off with a heavy sigh. Suddenly, sighs were a dreadful thing once again, something that arrived just before the Bearer of Bad News.

“He left to save me, didn’t he?”

Mum nodded, stepping away from her daughter. Looking at Briella now, all she could think was, Goodness, child, you are filthy. Of course, Mum wasn’t in much of a better state, but her personal hygiene was less of a concern given how her daughter was in the woods for weeks on end, living on her own, living with a murderer on her trail. She shook her head in the disbelief and shock of it all. “How are you here, Ella?”

In other words, how had Briella escaped Vince? Where was he? Was he dead? Did Briella kill him? Did he never find her? Should she still be running? So many questions packed into one, and all Briella could say was this: “Sir Vince brought me home.”

This, without doubt, only created more questions, but what did it matter? There would always be more questions, more fear as time passed by and Briella still wasn’t dead.

What an awful circumstance- to fear every day you are alive. Sure, Vince decided to not kill Briella, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind again. And it didn’t mean that possible change of mind wouldn’t be soon. Any breath could be Briella’s last…she almost wished she would have let Vince kill her.

“What do you mean he brought you home?” Mum demanded. “Are you sure you should be here?” She thought Briella was imagining circumstances, didn’t she? Thought her poor daughter was so deeply rooted into her own fear that she imagined everything working out when it didn’t.

Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe Briella imagined that encounter in the woods- when Vince shoved her face in the mud and told her to find a sword. When she searched for her father’s weapon in the rotting cottage and found it in Vince’s hand instead. When she convinced him to let her live by telling him a story- a rather short story at that. And finally, when Vince took her home, or at least within kingdom territory. Maybe it was Briella’s hopeful imagination- to save herself, or to be saved at all.

“Well, I will not go back into the woods,” Briella finally said, snapping herself out of her own thoughts. She added, “Unless it’s to being Father home.”

Mum shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.” For another time, Ella was drawn into a hug, squeezed as if her mother thought she’d slip into the woods again.

“If someone doesn’t go after him, then he will stay in there forever.” They both knew this- both knew Father would walk through every inch of the woods to find Briella. He’d kill himself if it brought him closer to her, brought him closer to saving his daughter’s life.

“But you don’t have to be the one to find him, Ella,” Mum scorned. “You should have never been in those woods.”

“I would have been killed if I’d never gone in them.” Briella swallowed at the thought, and at the thought thereafter. Vince handled himself well enough in the woods. “I’ll ask my knight to go after Father.”

Mum pushed away again. “Your knight?” she questioned, tone like a knife. “I don’t care what Fate says, that man- if you can call him one- is an abomination, one Death should have stolen-”

“Fate put us together!” Briella sucked in a breath before apologizing. “I don’t like him any more than you do, Mum, but…well, listen, Mum. Vince-” Sir Vince, she thought to herself- “is the only person worthy of those woods who would walk in for Father. He’ll brave the woods for a fellow knight.”

“He tried to kill you because Fate bounded him to you. Why would he care for a runaway soldier- one that is your father? He’s doomed,” Mum said about her husband.

“I’m not going to let him die in those woods. I’ll die finding him, or I’ll die making Vince find him.”

“Or,” Mum ventured, “you can avoid dying at all. Lay down for tonight and we’ll figure out what to do in the morning, yeah?” Her daughter nodded. They went to bed.

***

Briella didn’t sleep that night, but instead left to find Vince in the barracks. It was a feat to enter- a feat to make herself appear like a measly squire running late after his knight. But when she made it in, she found Vince almost immediately. His eyes found her, and Briella could almost swear her feet were on fire. She wanted to run out the way she came.

“A moment, men,” Vince had said to the other soldiers which sat at his table. They were playing a game of cards, but now had to wait as Vince took Briella’s elbow in his hands, squeezing with all his wrath. He led them outside, where the breeze managed to push Briella’s hood off. “Unfortunate to see you made it home.”

It was clear how much anger Vince was holding back. If he had been in his own home and Briella would have shown up like this, she had no doubt he would kill her then and there. Right now, however, his men were inside, and they probably weren’t fond of soulmates killing soulmates.

“I need your help.” Vince spun on a heel. Before Briella could think about what she was doing, she put a hand on his arm- his arm which she now realized was bare…his whole chest was bare. Her eyes went wide, but she cleared her throat and dropped her hand. “Please. My father, he’s- he went looking for me and I know he won’t come back until he finds me. He doesn’t know I’m alive, Vin- Sir Vince.”

“You seem to be so fond of Fate- maybe if he is meant to come back alive then he will.”

“It doesn’t work like that and you know it.”

“Maybe I know and simply don’t care.”

Briella protested. “You do care- I know you do. However little your heart is, I know there’s an even smaller part of it that is crippling at the thought of not helping me.”

Vince crossed his arms, his head tilting down in a manner which told Briella he didn’t care at all to be standing. “Not at all.”

Shaking her head, Briella huffed. “What is wrong with you?” She said it quietly enough that even she could barely hear herself, but Vince was a wolf- of course he heard her.

“I don’t like being told who I should love.”

“You are a soldier! You take commands every day!”

Vince’s clenched his fists since his arms were already crossed tightly. “Quiet,” he warned. It wasn’t he who would be in trouble for Briella being here. It would be her- for pretending to be someone else and sneaking into the barracks. He warned her…because he was protecting her. Did Vince even realize it?

“Those commands are different,” he said. “Those commands serve to save lives, to preserve the kingdom. This”- Vince raised his crossed arms, gesturing to Briella- “is a different field of command- one that shouldn’t exist.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “Have you ever even thought of getting to know me? Maybe you would like me.”

“I could never.”

“Because you won’t allow yourself to!” Briella whisper-shouted. She sighed and shook her head, crossed her arms like Vince had done from the beginning. “I already told you that I don’t expect you to love, or even like me, but will you at least let me admire you for the soldier you are and ask for your help? Will you help me, Sir Vince?”

He considered her for a moment, looking her up and down, as if he were expecting Fate to reveal herself in Briella’s eyes. Maybe Briella would simply fade away and her image would be overtaken by the evil deity.

Vince looked at the night sky and his shoulders fell into a relaxed state. He bit his cheek.

“Come back at sunrise. Your father wouldn’t have gotten far without a horse.”

Despite herself, Briella opened her arms and enveloped Vince in a hug. “Thank you,” she said, and repeated, with tears lining her eyes in a burst of relief she could never describe, “Thank you.” Then? Her arms slid away. “Wait, what do you mean ‘come back’? You want me to go into the woods with you?”

“Maybe a wolf will attack, and you’ll be out of my hair for good.”

Briella squinted her eyes, swearing she saw a hint of a smile on the brooding knight’s face. As quickly as she thought it appeared, a definite frown took its place. “Go home. If you show up at sunrise like you just woke up, then I’m not taking you.”

“Is that right?” Briella dared to continue. “Me being sleepy should sound convenient to you- means I’d have less ability to defend myself if you decided to try and kill me again.”

He peered at her, brows drawn together. “You couldn’t fend me off if you tried.”

“Combat isn’t always physical, soldier. I talked you out of killing me the first time, remember?”

She didn’t watch for his response, or even listen for it. Briella turned her back on him- perhaps a daring act- and began to walk away. “Until sunrise, Sir Vince.”

[mc-critical]

I remember not too long ago, I had read an analysis on Kösem and Ahmed’s relationship, namely its development and whether or not it was truly healthy. I remember the sudden development of Kösem’s feelings for Ahmed were ascribed to stockholm syndrome, which as you dissect it further, even later in the series after Ahmed has passed away, makes total sense. However it made me wonder, why stop at Kösem/Ahmed? Truthfully, I think stockholm syndrome, trauma response and survival instinct were the primary factors in all of the sultanas “love” or attachment to the sultans. Hürrem, Mahidevran, Aysë, Halime, Handan..all of them. Hürrem had initially thought her fiance was murdered when she came to the palace, and within what looked like a couple of months if even, she was shown to be totally head over heels for Suleyman. No one can simply discard their former love interest so quickly unless trauma was a catalyst..and even when Leo came back to the palace that whole time period where he was in such a close proximity to her visibly caused Hürrem so much pain mentally and emotionally. Or with Handan and Kösem going on to fall in love after their sultans had died..it makes me think of when Handan was confessing her love to Dervish and called being a member of the royal family “her prison.” None of these women were truly in love with their sultans, nor do I blame them for it. Love is what develops when there’s no consequences, no strings attached, which is entirely untrue in the harem’s enviornment. Even with Mahidevran’s arc way back when Hürrem was first introduced and she started to feel like she was losing Suleyman. It looked to me Mahidevran ultimately feared lonliness rather than losing Suleyman himself. Harem rules wouldn’t permit her to fall in love with someone else if Suleyman lost interest in her. He was pretty much her only confidant and the only person she had been intimate with and likely from a very young age, unhealthy attachment is bound to develop due to those curcumstances. We all feel so sorry for royal borne sultanas when they’re forced to marry men they don’t love..but this courtesy is seldom extended to their mothers. It’s all very sad when I think about it. How do you feel about this perspective?

(~Fun fact: I got yours and the last ask in the same day and they are both somehow related to Kösem and Ahmet!!~)

Anyway, I have also read that analysis and it's really nuanced and awesome, Joanna always does such an amazing job with her blog and these posts! <3 It gives an amazing perspective to the nature of Kösem and Ahmet and makes us think hard on whether there are more relationship cases in the franchise where Stockholm Syndrome can be applied and how many women there are in the harem that aren't so in love with their sultans.

I also fully believe that, just like motherhood, love in the harem can't not be toxic in a way, because the environment itself won't ever let healthy dynamics happen, thanks to its very roots. And while mothers of children still have the small chance to forge some kind of a relationship with genuine affection despite of the toxicity, we have a totally different situation with the sultans who are basically on the top of the system that brought them in this mess in the first place. It's not easy to let go of the people you loved and it's even harder to get to truly love a person you not only don't know at all, but one you know you're supposed to at least try to win over by sheer force.

Survival instinct plays a lot into this, because sooner or later you see that you don't have a choice. You do what you have to do or else you'll either rot in this palace with everyone always bossing you around or be done for. Something I see some viewers forget is the way Hürrem was ultimately "convinced" to try her luck out with Süleiman. She wanted to get out of this place and let it burn in hell until Nigar told her what it took to win the game. Keep in mind that she hadn't met Süleiman yet back then and that faint was merely an act she pulled to gain his attention and she gained some kind of an affection for him only after some time had passed. This sheer pragmatism could've turned into something more eventually, but the beggining was precisely this survival instinct that was kept intact throughout the entire relationship and the birth and living of Hürrem's children. I think she had let go of Leo by the time when she met him again, but that letting go pained her so much, as seen by all her breakdowns when she saw him and lost him completely. It's something she knew she had to do; notice how she kept telling him to leave for "his own good" and for "the good of both of them". There is this looming, prevailing fear that if they had escaped, the consequences would be severe and Hürrem had already planted roots in the dynasty: as if she gained attachment after attachment she felt the need to protect. She's now responsible for these children and can't leave them behind for her own possible desires to get out of the system. Ibrahim did threaten the children in front of Leo and Hürrem in the S01 finale and that's a big reason why she decided it would be for the best to lose him in this particular situation, no matter how much it hurt afterwards. Hürrem already had a set goal to fulfill in the dynasty and letting go of Leo became the only plausible option for her thematically and narratively. Everything these women do in the harem they do is to survive, adapting to their circumstances and forging some kind of relationships with their sultans is the peak of it. A healthy dynastic is far from one where you have to be opportunistic at every turn. Even the favored women have to be as careful as ever, because a mistake can cost everything. They have to make sure they always have his approval and be in his good graces, behaving like he wants them to behave, not the way they actually are. The goal they have set for themselves in the harem is tightly linked with their love for the sultan. He isn't only love, he's also power, prestige and reassuring. The Sultanate of Women are probably even the most affected by this, because they are the ones who want to break the boundaries of power and by doing that they have to put the leg work to make him happy and pleased. These relationships need so much work and decisiveness for their flourishment, with the women having to be mindful of the sultan's moods and unpredictable nature. (especially when you have an unpredictable, very short tempered sultan like Murat!)

But attachment is still attachment and that's where Stockholm syndrome comes from. They do their best to win him over, but with doing that for such a long time, they learn to feel something for him. There is so much toxicity in the dynamic, but they get used to it and normalize it in their heads. The concept of the harem itself succeeds to make their life revolve around it and it's not something they question anymore. I absolutely agree that it's not limited to only Kösem and Ahmet - everyone is somehow subjected to it, no exceptions. The relationships each woman of the franchise has with the sultan certainly differ from one another, depending on the different personalities and goals, but its unhealthy core remains the same: it's still a toxic, dependant relationship with a massive power imbalance and will always remain so in these castle walls and rules. The big attachment makes it even scarier for one to discover that they might be losing everything, that's why there is such a resistence from Mahidevran, Hürrem, Kösem, Ayşe, Farya etc. when the sultan accepts or outrightly begins to favor other women and I always roll my eyes when these women get accused of "behaving like that while knowing the rules of the harem" without it being understood from a narrative standpoint - even though they know the rules, it still hurts, because the attachment is ultimately more self-centered than anything: they want the sultan to be all theirs, to have him all for themselves, perhaps for a validation of their efforts to forge and preserve their relationships. When they lose favor, everything seems to be crumbling and falling apart and that is so difficult to accept, you can't face helplessness like that, you can't face vulnerability like that and I guess for that it took Mahidevran so long to get over Süleiman. As you said, she got destructively attached to the person that seemigly gave her so much for years. (she herself even said that she's like a little kid in front of him in the second episode) And her suddenly not being regarded in the same way by someone she thought was her family (I still adore that thematic note of her character and perhaps it's the reason why we didn't get any backstory from her.) was catastrophic to her emotional stability and it took her 46 (55, if we begin from her direct confession) episodes to accept that she has lost and even then she was still trying to achieve vengeance at the very least, by thinking of her rule of the harem as a battle she fought with Hürrem, a last helpless try to prevail over her. (E63: "I congratulate you, Hürrem, you won.") That's also why Hürrem almost killed herself when Firuze seemed to have taken away her Thursdays, without having any regard for the children. It's like a chain, of sorts, that women are stuck in, fighting to the end to be the ones next to him, to the point of wanting to end their own lives if they lose. If they lose, that's the end. If they lose the favoritism or the sultan himself dies, leaving them to rest in the hands of the enemy, that's the end.

That's why Mahidevran and Ayşe getting over Süleiman and Murat respectively and realizing that it was more or less an unhealthy dynamic is so important, because these character arcs help spread awareness of the toxicity of this grown attachment to the sultan and the struggle it takes for them to take account of said toxicity, because of their attachments. Ayşe had a rough path accepting that Murat was the way he is, trying almost until the end to make things right with him, both missing in the process and slowly uncovering his unpredictability. While this realization rendered her to do the inevitable in killing herself along with the kids, her letter to Murat indeed felt so eye opening in this regard, putting this whole deal into perspective. Mahidevran, conversely, also found out his true nature and detached herself from it, daring to openly call out a root of the attachment (E139: "He decides the fates of all of us.") and put the free choice of everyone into light and question. (E139: "God, apart from reason, gave people free will.") It's rare for someone to gain such awareness of the system and that's a valuable quality to have, but in a future where Mahidevran and Ayşe aren't as grossly mistreated, would all this be possible to happen? No, I don't think so. And even from the ones that aren't favourites who are more likely to find this out, there are still people out there that probably would stay trapped in the attachment forever. And favourites would be the least likely to figure stuff out, judging by the series' themes. (Hürrem, E134: "I am the soul of all the women in the world and my existence is hidden in the love of the conqueror of my heart." - this assertion is honestly self-explanatory.)

[Handan's arc also extends on the traumatic response one gives the system and I think this aspect applies to her the most. She's a person with no real attachments that is so traumatized by fighting, she didn't even expect the possibility to win over players like Halime and Safiye. She's trying to adapt to her new role as Valide, give "cruel" advice to Ahmet in order to ensure it and make impulsive decisions, dictated by the fear it would all come back to square 1 again, but when she met Derviş, it turned out that nothing about the system made her fit. Hence, she "adapts out" from it by finding true love and killing herself for that love, leaving everything behind.]

So no matter how much these women come to idealize it, no matter how much they begin to think it is actually love or a "fairytale", there still are so many signs that it's not quite like that and that prevent it from being that. That truly includes everyone in the harem, it can't be denied.

[snusbandxknifewife]

So @the-chick-of-the-air mentioned something about wanting to know what Cardan said to Randalin and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since. This is my attempt at writing what went down during that conversation, I hope you all like it!

~~~~

As Cardan Greenbriar drags his advisor into a separate room, all hints of a spoiled faerie boy are gone, replaced completely by the grace and danger of a High King who has been faced with treason.

“What vile, worm-hearted god spoke in your ear and gave you even the faintest idea that it was appropriate to enter the room of your wounded queen?” He hisses in the larger man’s ear. “And how, pray tell, did it convince you to stoop low enough to then question her sovereignty?”

A colossal, thorn-covered vine sprouts from the stone floor by the chamber door, actively shattering a brick as it moves to slam the door shut.

Randalin visibly swallows. “Your Majesty, please—“

“I must admit, Randalin, I thought you wiser than that,” Cardan continues. “I thought that you, for all your sniveling and spinelessness, would have enough foresight to see that your little plan could’ve never succeeded.”

The delicate pink roses in their little porcelain pot, set on the windowsill to capture sunlight, wither and die. Where their rotting petals fall, nightshade rises.

“I would’ve thought you would know my wife would never back down from a challenge. Especially one put forward by such a cowardly and insignificant man as you.”

Randalin stands, rooted to the floor by brambles growing over his feet, their thorns digging aggressively into his leather shoes. He watches, unable to move, as the boy king walks to where a cask of wine has been left on a table.

Cardan forgoes a goblet, instead gripping the neck of the wine bottle between his lithe fingers and turning it up, his eyes never leaving his advisor as he takes a long drink. When he sets the cask back down, wine as red as blood drips from his lips and down his chin, staining his moon-pale skin the same way castoff stains a wall during a murder.

“I would’ve thought you would realize that, even if it had worked, I’d find out about your meddling.” His voice is deadly quiet, his eyes swirling like whirlpools. “And I surely would’ve thought you smart enough to realize I wouldn’t appreciate someone taking away the woman I worked so hard to get back.”

“Your Majesty—“

“Have you ever been in love, Randalin?” Cardan cuts him off, his head tilting to the side and causing a stray drop of wine to fall onto his undershirt. “Have you ever looked into the eyes of another and felt your heart stop? Known that, as long as you live, no one will command your thoughts as this person does now?”

He steps closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor and the brambles at Randalin’s feet tightening with each step.

“Have you ever been given love, against all odds, and lost it?” He whispers in the shell of his advisor’s ear, a growl low in his throat as he does. “And were you then given that love back, only to find that someone you’re meant to trust is trying to rip it away once more?”

“The people of Elfhame will never accept a human queen.” Randalin tries, his face reddening with pain as a thorn succeeds in working its way through his shoe and into his toe.

“The people of Elfhame can all be damned.” Cardan smiles wolfishly, stepping back so he can loom over his foolish council member. “The land has chosen her, and it is the land’s support that proves a ruler’s worth here in Faerie.”

“Just because she said she was healed with the land’s help doesn’t mean we can believe her. Humans are liars, Your Majesty.”

Cardan Greenbriar walks away and turns towards the window, towards the land he and his wife will rule over until they choose for it to be otherwise. Beyond the gentle swaying of the curtains, a robin flaps by and the stars twinkle with the light of a thousand little suns.

“If you do not believe your queen’s word, believe Grima Mog, for she saw it happen.” The High King announces as he continues to look out the window, leaving the council member sweating behind him. “Jude stuffed her gutted belly full of soil and Elfhame chose to heal her. Flowers grew from the ground where her blood fell. The land answers to her, as it does to me.”

Randalin’s eyes widen. A human, a mortal with magic gifted by the land—

“How many people do you think my wife has murdered, Randalin?” Cardan’s voice is soft, the tone of a boy in love talking about his partner’s knack for making flower crowns. Not the voice of a ruler discussing his queen’s violent tendencies.

“I’m well aware that Lady Jude is—“

“High Queen Jude.” Cardan corrects, his voice void of all softness once more. “She is High Queen Jude. If you refer to her as anything else ever again, you do so at your own peril.”

“Your Majesty, if you would let me finish—“

“I shall let you finish a sentence when you begin to speak something other than nonsense.” Cardan’s tar-black eyes have the same devilish coldness in them that they had when he ripped that faerie boy’s wings at a revel so many moons ago. “Now refer to your queen by her proper title, or face the consequences.”

Randalin lets out a sigh and grits his teeth. “I am well aware that High Queen Jude is a woman with violent tendencies, but I do not know just how many lives she has claimed.”

“Nor do I.” Cardan smiles the smile of a man besotted. “She has a talent for swordplay that is unrivaled. Any night she is in my bed is a night in which I do not fear assassination, for I know my wife could kill anyone in her sleep.”

“Even you, Your Majesty.” Randalin tries to impart wisdom into his king, tries to show the boy just how dangerous this mortal girl is for both him and the kingdom.

“Especially me.” Cardan smiles as he catches Randalin’s eye, completely aware of what the older man is trying to say and also completely aware of just how wrong he is. “But she has had many chances, and she has yet to take them. Death at the hands of a god so sweet would be a gift, indeed, and yet I seem incapable of receiving such blessings.”

The brambles are growing up Randalin’s legs, cutting into his thighs and wrapping around his wrists as his arms stay by his sides.

The young man in front of him has danger etched into every line of his very being. The High King standing in this study is not the High King of days past, nor is he the High King one would ever wish to meet. Cardan Greenbriar is poison personified, malice dripping from his fanged smile and echoing in the light tapping of his fingernails on his elbow.

For the first time since hearing a doomed prince’s prophecy, Randalin feels true dread gather in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you think me a violent man, Randalin?” Cardan, who has always taken after felines in both his look and his mannerisms, seems far less cat-like than usual. It’s like his fangs hide venom, his body readying, not to pounce, but to strike.

“I’d never insult my king by suggesting something so rude, Your Majesty.”

“But you insulted your queen by suggesting that she abdicate her throne.” Cardan’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and his smile grows cruel. “So do humor me this once.”

If the fae had warning sirens, they’d be blaring in Randalin’s head right this very moment.

“No, Your Majesty.” A bramble works it’s way under his doublet, drawing blood the entire way. “I think you do not have a taste for bloodshed. At the very least, not one as strong as the High Queen’s.”

Cardan smiles as the council member finally refers to Jude by her correct title.

He steps away from Randalin once more, walking over to the bookshelf by the desk and pulling a random leather bound volume out, fingers tracing over the lettering on the spine and longing for a more familiar title.

“You know, I’ve read my fair share of mortal stories in my day,” he announces, outwardly calm even as the thorns continue to torture his advisor. “The humans have a saying, a warning of sorts, about how even the devil runs when a good man goes to war.”

He opens the book to a random page, completely ignoring the words as his nails drag down the binding.

“Now, for all my distaste in violence, I wouldn’t call myself a good man,” he continues with a small quirk to his mouth, just a little upward tilt. “I am cruel, I am petty. I delight in the suffering of those who wrong me and I’ll settle for hurting those who are lesser, if I’m unable to harm someone I feel truly deserves it.”

His foot starts tapping, a quiet beat to him but a deafening war drum to Randalin. His ears pick up the sound of a racing heartbeat and his smile grows.

“I tortured even the woman I love for years, albeit not in the ways she likely would’ve preferred, but what good is torture if someone likes it?”

He snaps the book closed and Randalin jumps as best he can in his thorny prison.

“I suppose that makes me more dangerous in war than a good man would be,” he thinks aloud as he slowly turns his gaze back to where Randalin appears to be in the process of soiling his pants. “Surely if the devil runs when a good man goes to war, he would sprint when a man of questionable morals joins the fray, don’t you think?”

“Please, Your Majesty, my recommendations were only voiced out of a concern for the well-being of the kingdom.” Randalin, a man used to lording over those beneath him, sounds dangerously close to begging. “I did not mean to offend you!”

Cardan laughs, a joyless and wicked sound. “But you have offended me, Randalin,” his eyes are wild and his grin reckless. “You have questioned my ability to choose what is best for my kingdom and you have insulted the woman who occupies my every waking thought. You have even made the grievous mistake of disturbing my wife in one of her extremely rare moments of weakness, a moment where she undoubtedly needs all her time and energy to rest.”

The nightshade occupying the rose’s former home overgrows it’s pot and begins spilling down the side of the windowsill, flowers reaching towards Randalin like little fingers.

“Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness,” Randalin’s voice almost catches in his throat. “I won’t ever suggest that High Queen Jude abdicate again. I promise!”

“Good,” Cardan says as he steps within reach of Randalin.

Randalin lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing forward.

And it’s all a moment too soon, for the High King lashes out in the blink of an eye, his long fingers wrapping around the advisor’s throat and pushing his head back against the stone wall with an audible crack!

“Because I am the man of questionable morals, and this is war,” Cardan continues as Randalin’s spine screams in agony at the angle he’s been forced into. “I, Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, declare war!”

His fingers tighten around Randalin’s throat, his nails already leaving bloody half-moons in the older man’s skin as he presses his forehead to the council member’s.

“I declare war on everyone who opposes my wife’s right to rule beside me as my queen and my equal,” his eyes are wild, barely containing his rage. “It is a war that is unending, a war that is complete and total, a war that I have no qualms about getting violent during.”

Randalin tried to swallow, but he can’t as the king’s hand digs into his throat even harder.

“I, a man without a love for swordplay, will take up a blade. I, a man without a taste for bloodshed, will slit a thousand throats,” he continues, “if that is what it takes for my people to respect my wife.”

Randalin’s vision swims in black, his face beginning to turn an impressive shade of purple as blood starts to gush from bramble-inflicted wounds.

“And as for you,” Cardan is close enough to see tears gather in his advisor’s eyes. “You who was bold enough to openly question the High Queen, I reserve my greatest act of violence.”

The nightshade from the windowsill has reached Cardan’s feet. It begins to grow up his legs, over his waist and down his arms, forming a crown atop his head as Randalin watches in horror.

“I will skin you alive and bleed you dry, forcing you to watch the whole time,” he leans down to whisper in Randalin’s ear. “I will break your bones and tear your flesh, and when I’m done, I will find a way to erase every mention of you. No book in Elfhame will bear your name, even the stars will rearrange when I tell them to.”

“Please—“

“And then I promise I will use your hollowed our skull as my wine goblet for the rest of my days, just because I can.”

Randalin’s knees quake as his body gasps for air.

Cardan lets him go, watching in disgust as the man falls into a pile of blood-stained brambles with a sob.

“I promise this on my honor as High King, and on the vow I made with my Wife, Jude Duarte Greenbriar,” Cardan’s voice is the voice of an executioner. “So help me gods, I will rip the world apart for her.”

“Your Majesty, how can I atone?” Randalin is reduced to weeping, his hands covering his face as he cowers at his king’s feet.

“Never question the High Queen’s sovereignty again, and see that anyone else who dares to speak treason against her understands exactly how far I’m willing to go to support her right to rule beside me.”

The nightshade around Cardan disappears, withering back into the pot before dying and being replaced by pretty roses. The brambles around the room fade into nothingness, only a broken stone and a few blood smears left to remind anyone that they were ever there.

“And do hope that I don’t have to resort to violence again,” Cardan smiles that cruel little smile he wears so well. “Jude is so much more adept at wielding the hospitality of knives.”

~~~~

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of Creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 12

*Author’s note*

Well this took some time and planning about what chapter I wanted to do next but I finally took a route and went with it. So NEW CAST MEMBER IS ADDED TO THIS LIST!!! It took me forever to figure out two of my top choices until I decided on how to use them both in a way. So for those that might not know his face, you MIGHT have heard his voice over work so the chosen one to play the Devil, Lucifer Morningstar himself, I’ve chosen Troy Baker. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and until the next update :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@queensdivas​

@queen-paladin​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@kinole009x​

@queendeakyy​

@geek-and-proud​

@glitter-at-the-panic​

@wormzteef​

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 12,

The search for Archimedes

*Serafina’s POV*

It took who knows how long but I finally arrived at the edge of the desert over a gorge where the Nile river ran it’s course.  I got off my mare and stroked her nose.

“Time for you to return to the village. Thank you for your services Nefertiri.” She nickered lovingly and nipped at the ends of my hair. I stroked her powerful neck before she took off racing back to the village where we bought her and her mate. “Chile ehh? It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a Spanish speaking country but I hope I remember enough.”

I took a deep breath and focused my energy to shapeshift into a falcon so that I could take the long flight there.  Soon I felt myself shrinking, feathers began to slowly peek out from my skin till finally I was flying through the air.

‘Alright! Now to fly all the way to Chile.’ I then took off over the Nile which would soon lead me to the Mediterranean Sea and from there I would be over the Atlantic ocean once more.

It took practically an entire day plus a few extra hours but finally I saw the mixture of both jungle rainforest and urban towns of Chile.  I swooped down and managed to find a descent alleyway to hide away in to transform back into human form.  I let out a tired groan as I collapsed against some old boxes and bins.

“Guess I need to use any bird shapeshifting longer than a few hours. Man I hadn’t been this exhausted since the first time Freddie took over John and mine’s training.” I muttered to myself.  I heard the crash of a bin nearby and jumped but I relaxed once I saw it was just a street cat.  

It looked pretty well-fed for a street cat and it didn’t seem to be as intimidated by me as most street cats can be.

“Hey boy, you friendly?” I made a small sardine appear on the ground and that’s when the tomcat slowly got closer and closer to it. He cautiously looked up at me. “Don’t worry this is not a trick. You can eat it.” He sniffed the sardine and immediately began chowing down on it. “Good boy, good boy.”

After eating his fill, he walked closer to me.  I extended my hand and he gave me a sniff before rubbing his head against my hand and let out a soft purr.  His caution now completely disappeared as he was now wanting pets, rubbing up against me and marking my knee with his scent glands.

My eyes shifted red as I now tried to reach inside the cat’s mind so that he and I could communicate.

‘Can you hear me?’ I asked.

‘Whoa what…..oh it’s you. The lady who gave me the Sardine. How is this happening?’

‘Long story short, I’m not really human. Well all human, I’m a witch.’

‘Ahh la bruja.’

‘Sí. You know I’m surprised you can speak good English.’

‘My humans were originally from Phoenix, Arizona. They shipped me here over a year ago when they got tired of me.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ He stretched himself out and said.

‘It happens. You scratch the curtains one too many times and next thing you know, you get the boot.’

‘Well it’s not right for them to have done that to you.’

‘Well some humans are like that señorita. Now what can I help you with? By giving me my first real meal in a while I’m honored to be any help I can for you.’

‘I don’t know if you can help me señor gato.’

‘Puss. My name is Puss.’ He told me.

‘Okay Puss.’

‘And maybe I might be able to help. I’ve been practically everywhere from the city to the rainforest, just tell me what or who you’re looking for and I might be able to help you.’

‘I’m seeking the former 3rd apprentice of Merlin. Archimedes the Wise.’ At this, Puss stopped his rubbing and stood still.  He walked a couple feet away from me and he said.

‘Ahh now that. That is a dangerous path. Are you sure you wish to open that door señorita?’

‘Please Puss. I need to find him. I—’ I trailed off trying to think of what to say. I couldn’t blow my cover story, what if Puss knew Archimedes personally? It’d scare him and he’d go running off somewhere else. ‘He has secrets about my family bloodline. I deserve to know the truth.’

His tail curled around him and his ear twitched.  He stood up and walked back towards me before hopping up on my lap.

‘I’ve heard uhh—what is it called uhh—rumors? Yes rumors from the local parakeets that fly by here. About a strange man who lives deep within the forests. A man who has the power to cure any sickness that any animal has, heal any injury. But—human must beware.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘There have been stories of people venturing too deep within those woods. Once they go in, they’re never found the same way they came in. Speaking about visions of their past, others speaking of their sins, or even seeing their worst fears. The people in the village call it-- el bosque de la locura.’ The forest of Madness huh.

‘Do you know where it is?’

‘I’ll take you as far as I can. But after that you’re on your own.’

‘All I want is the forest and you can be on your way.’ I stood up and quickly changed my Arabic attire to fit the Chilean culture.  Puss lead me out of the alleyway and he hopped up onto my shoulder and told me just where to go.

After getting out of the village and hiking up a few steep hills, I felt that the air was starting to go thick, and the jungle was slowly going silent.

‘We’re getting close Serafina.’ Puss told me.  We walked along the wide earthy path, both my feet and his paws crinkling under the dried up grass patches we’d walk along till finally he stopped. ‘Lo siento, but this is as far as I’ll go.’

‘Understandable. Thank you Puss.’ He bowed before taking off.

‘Serafina wait!’ he said after running a few feet away.  I turned to face him and he gave me one final warning. ‘There’s said to be a path that the humans take. Stay on that path if you wish to remain sane. For once you leave it, you’ll never find it again.’

“Okay, thanks for the warning Puss.” He let out a meow before racing back to the village.  I turned back towards the trail and took a deep breath before exhaling softly and continued on.

Before I knew it, I had arrived at the Forest of Madness. Hundreds of trees stood together. The wood itself rotted and decayed; the leaves dry without any moisture.  But what struck me was the very magic seeping from this very forest. It felt—sick.  As if a disease were upon it.

Just ahead of me I saw the opening of the forest and there I saw the path of stone and brick.  The bricks were old and chipped away, and the stones almost buried underneath the dead leaves.

“Alright Serafina come on, you can do this. The fate of the world depends on finding him. You can’t turn back now.” I proceeded onward and entered the Forest of Madness.

Deeper and deeper into the woods I walked, soon enough any trace of the sun vanished from the winding branches above.  I kept my eyes downward on the path and carefully felt around the ground once a corner turn would appear.  Using my tracking abilities thanks to Brian, I was able to determine just where I had to go.

Of course it wasn’t easy.  For soon the magic in this forest was really starting to seep its way into my head.  First my vision started to go blurry.  Not in the blindness sense, but like—well you know how when you first wake up after a long nap and your vision gets that hazy overview, that’s what I was seeing right now.

Then I started hearing whispers on the wind, even though there wasn’t any wind at all.  No sunlight, no fresh air, not even the sound of birds or other animals.  

Just trees. Trees and trees and more trees! Merlin’s beard is there no end to this damned forest! SNAP OUT OF IT SERAFINA!!

This forest is playing with your mind. Just—focus on the…..path? Where is it? Where’d it go? The path it just—disappeared from underneath my feet.  No, no, no that’s not possible I did not leave the path once. I was-I was—I was standing right on the path! Did I move? I could’ve maybe—I don’t know! I need to find it, need to find it need to find the path again.

Trailing on ahead, the forest seemed to get even thicker and thicker as the trees seemed to come closer together.  As I walked on I heard a deep, thunderous voice say.

“He was never good from the start!” No it—it couldn’t be.  I raced over the high roots till I came what looked like a river.  But it was probably the nastiest looking river I had ever seen.  It was so black it practically looked like tar than water.  Dustings of dead leaves floated on top, looking like a river itself.  But a figure stood there.

A male figure with long black hair and wearing familiar robes that I knew very well.

“Father?”

“He’s a Deacon. He could get us all killed! Could get you killed!” but when he turned around I saw the most horrifying sight.  His eyes were whitened over like death, dried up blood coated his lips, scars from a knife aligned each of his cheeks, and seeping from his robes was blood.  I let out a scream and tried to push him away with my telekinesis but nothing came out.

I tried again but nothing.  My hands weren’t even glowing red like they normally do.  No it-it can’t be…..I’ve—I’ve lost my powers.  In a blur, my dad went right from the lake and tackled me right down to the ground.  His hands gripping my throat trying to strangle me.

“He was dangerous! His family DID THIS TO US!! And you left us to die!”

“I’m sorry……I didn’t—mean to leave!”

“Our whole family is gone! CAN YOU NOT SEE!?” suddenly I saw the vision of each of my family members dying.  Instead of just seeing the flashes like in my recent dream, I saw it full on.

I heard the high pitched, psychotic laughter of Bellatrix as she fired shot after shot of the Cruciatus curse at my aunt Molly and uncle Arthur until finally she called the Avada Kedavra curse to finally end their suffering.  Ronan stood over my cousin George who was already holding a dead Fred in his arms.

‘You could’ve saved us.’ My father’s voice echoed in my head. ‘But you abandoned us, like a frightened child.’ My cousins Ginny, Belle and Charlie were slaughtered by John’s uncle Lucius, Ronan’s cousin by actually setting them on fire (like the witches of the Salem witch trials).

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!” I screamed out as I held my arms out and soon all went quiet once more except for my harsh panting.

‘And soon they will follow suit.’ My father’s voice echoed hauntingly in the wind.  When I opened my eyes, every one of my family was gone.

I looked around frantically but no one was there.  The forest was once again dead silent.  I shook my head and slapped myself a few times.

“It wasn’t real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

‘Oh Serafina, this is just beginning.’ Another voice came out from the forest. I then heard a low growl coming from the trees and soon coming out were Thor and Seraffel.

However they didn’t look like them.  Their skin was cold and pale, their eyes pure white and they had spears sticking out of their chests.  Their dragon fangs and claws extended out as well as their wings (almost as if they were stuck in mid transformation).

Coming out from another part of the forest was Brian and Roger. Roger in his full Nokken form, an open, gaping wound bleeding from his abdomen, his hair now the famed sickly seaweed green instead of his luscious golden locks, and his hands dripping blood. While Brian looked deathly pale. In his Elvish armor, he held his sword out that was stained with blood, and his eyes pure soulless almost as if he were a zombie.

“I told you before of your visions.” Soon slithering out and walking beside him were Freddie and (Y/n).  (Y/n), like Brian, their skin looked decaying and cracking away, and dirt and ash covered their chapped skin.  Freddie had various scars across him.

One on his forehead that actually made blood seep down on either side of his nose, trailing down his eyes almost like he was crying out blood.  A long gash across his stomach and a puncture wound just an inch above where the gash was.

“Freddie?” I asked bewildered.

“Everything you see before you, is all too real.” They all soon surrounded me, cutting off any chance of escape.  “You will always be that frightened little witch that chose true love over her own family. And because of that, we have fallen as well.”

“No! I-I-I-I didn’t abandon you guys! Balthazar said I wasn’t abandoning you!”

“Well he lied. Just as all the Deacons do. Kill her.” He hissed.  Soon to make the first strike was (Y/n).  They used a spell on my but I quickly dodged out of the way.  But soon piling on top of me with sharp teeth and claws were my own sons and Roger.

With my son’s dagger like teeth mixed with Roger’s serrated ones biting into my skin, it made me cry out in pure agony.  It felt like they were pealing off my skin slowly with each bite and their claws, dug deep into my flesh like a knife to a roast.  I tried to fight them off of me, trying to shapeshift into a lioness or a bear but not even my shapeshifting magic was working.

All I could do was scream and try to just push them off of me but it did me no good.  Soon I felt a tackle behind me and I went forward down a steep, rocky drop.  It felt like eternity that I was rolling over jagged rocks or hard solid earth until I landed hard on my back.  I groaned as I tried to sit myself up.

“Yes! We’ve got her!” Freddie hissed from above as they all came sliding down the hill towards me.  Brian took the first leap with his sword held high, ready to strike me down. As quick as I could I got up and ran just as he came down and struck his sword downward.  Roger, Seraffel and Thor taking the chase. “You can’t hide from us! Where you go, we go!”

I felt Thor tackle me from behind, taking me straight down into the dirt.  I quickly turned and grabbed the spear and pushed it deeper into him which made him scream and recoil inward in pain.  I hated to see my baby boy hurt like that but I had no choice but to keep running.

But soon I was trapped by a closed off gorge.  Nothing but rocks and boulders blocked my only way out. I turned to see everyone of my family getting closer, Roger and Seraffel’s roars, Freddie’s hissing sent chills up my spine.

Without any other choice, I proceeded to climb up.  I climbed and climbed and climbed, I would even send a trail of rocks down towards them to try and deter them away. It only worked for a second till they would just wait at the bottom, almost as if they were wanting me to fall.

Exhausted, dizzy, and dehydrated I still tried my best to climb up the gorge.  It seemed like every second I would find myself slipping, almost about to fall god knows how many feet to the dangerous animals down below.  After an eternity, I was now dangling from the last few inches of finally being free, but a figure stood in my way between freedom and death.

The figure removed their black hood and I saw John standing above me.  His face expressionless as he stared down at me.

“John!” I pleaded.  I felt myself slipping from the edge. “My love, help me!” my feet kicking the side trying to stay up, rocks slipping down from underneath me.  John continued to look down at me expressionlessly, almost like he didn’t even care whether or not I died.

From his robes he took out his grandfather’s wand and said the two most dangerous, horrifying word I’d never thought I’d hear him say to me.

“Avada Kedavra.” The wand flashed green and I felt the spell hit me.  I felt every muscle and vein in my body slowly shut down as John crouched down in front of me and whispered, “The last of the Black family finally extinguished.”

My grip soon faltered and I felt myself falling to my death. I was frozen, the last thing I saw was my beloved John Deacon with the very wand he never wanted to inherit, and his eyes turning the same color as his grandfather’s.  One brown while the other a ghostly white.

*3rd Person POV*

Down below a flash of a figure came running across the forest. It leaped up the gorge before grabbed Serafina before she could impact hard onto one of the many rocks which would soon cause an avalanche of boulders, surely killing her that way.

He leaped from rock to rock till he reached the top of the gorge, looking down at the young witch who was now paralyzed by the magic of the forest.  He set her down and placed two fingers on her neck, checking to see if she still had a pulse. She did but it was faint.

He soon picked her up before racing off deeper into the forest. His body only a flashing blur with how fast he was moving.

*Serafina’s POV*

Darkness.  That’s all I remember.  Being in nothing but pure darkness.  It was also cold, and I felt scared……scratch that terrified.  But then out of nowhere I felt this—warmth.  Surrounding me and a voice that I—I couldn’t recognize or put my money on but it felt—familiar to me.

I don’t know how long it took but finally I was able to open my eyes and the first thing I saw was some light from candles surrounding me. As my eyes tried to focus, I saw some flowers being placed beside me and a voice said.

“Well, look whose coming back to sanity.” It was true.  I felt more aware of my surroundings.  The magic that once had been weighing me down had finally been lifted off of me.  I was no longer drowning in darkness or fear.  And that voice—I looked to the foot of my bed and the figure was lit by the candle’s glow.

A devilishly handsome man with short, combed over sandy blonde hair.  His piercing light blue eyes stared right at me as he did a cross between a light smirk and a genuine smile.  A light beard crowned across his face, making his appearance seem even more handsomer than if he were clean shaven.  He wore a fine suit with the jacket fully open and a couple of buttons from his white shirt unbuttoned, exposing a part of his chest.

And he was lounging, I mean really lounging on his seat with one foot crossed over his leg.  His right hand decorated with a couple of rings similar to John’s and over his left hand was the Ouroboros tattoo (the snake eating its own tail).

I adjusted myself as I felt myself lying on probably the softest bed I had ever been on in my entire life.  The smell of azaleas lingered in the air as well as the smell of a light lavender incense.

“Lucifer.”

“In the flesh and at your service my lady.” He said with a bow of his head, his hand going over his heart.  I looked around and asked him.

“How long—how long was I in that forest?” at that his face grew solemn as he leaned down to take my hand and he said gravely.

“3 years.” Hearing that made my heart stop.  My eyes grew wide in fear as I whispered in shock.

“What?” his solemn face stuck there for awhile till he grinned and chuckled, his shoulders shaking with his laughter.  At that I rolled my eyes and took my hand back.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh so now you finally cave in on my offer. I must say Serafina you sure do keep a Devil waiting. It’s been on the table for what? 600 years?”

“700 actually. Belfast 1226.”

“Ahh yes. Back when I had black hair and had a different face.”

“At least back then you were a Brit. Now what you’ve gone American now?”

“Most of my clients have been America, plus have you been to Los Angeles? The Devil’s City I love it!” always the prideful one. Along with greedy and lustful.  No wonder where Roger gets some of his sins from, he and Lucifer are practically cut from the same cloth (literally. Lucifer is like 50% responsible for the creation of Nokkens. Poseidon’s blood and Lucifer’s sins, that’s what created the sirens, nokks, kelpies, and merfolk).

My thoughts went back to the Forest of Madness.  The magic that was surrounding it, Freddie said my magic was even more powerful that John’s yet it easily corrupted me.

“That magic……over the woods.” Lucifer’s teasing face turned back to solemn as he leaned back in his chair, but his eyes were focused right on me. “What was that? I’ve…..I was—sickening yet……heartbreaking.”

“If you didn’t have the support system you have today, yours and his magic would be cut from the same cloth.”

“Archimedes?” he nodded softly.  I sighed heavily and continued, “Well……if you hadn’t shown up my mind would be just as twisted as my mother-in-law’s so……thank you.”

“Sorry what was that? I-I didn’t quite catch that last bit.” Lucifer teased as he leaned in closer putting his hand to the side of his ear. I shook my head and rolled my eyes but took his hand that had the Ouroboros tattoo and said as I looked him dead in the eye.

“Thank you. Lucifer Morningstar.” He smiled genuinely.

“You’re welcome.” He then cleared his throat as he once again lounged in his chair saying, “Besides; now this just means you owe me a favor.”

“You saved my life just so I could owe you a favor?”

“Well that and along with seeing that beautiful face of yours without that persistent husband and overprotective dragon sons of yours lingering over me.” His face then went sympathetic as he continued, “Oh sorry I……”

“Actually, we found them. My sons.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They were alive all this time. Sealed within that bloody urn John’s family tricked me to use.” I snarled the last part lowly as I sat myself up.

“You don’t say. So those boys of yours managed to stay sealed away at the hands of your in-laws?”

“That’s in the past now. All I care about is the fact that they’re alive and they’re back with John and I.”

“So why aren’t you with them now? In fact just what in the hell have you gotten yourselves into? Last I heard was that a wyvern came to attack you guys.”

“Well that part is true. But that’s when the boys came in and killed the wyvern along with Freddie.” At the mention of Freddie’s name I saw the corner of Lucifer’s lips curve into a smirk.

“That old son of a bitch always does like to show off his fighting skills, especially when it comes to the dragon species.”

“Stop it! I know what kind of fetish you’re thinking about so knock it off! He hasn’t once thought about you since the last time we met.” I warned him.

“Aww I’m hurt. Cause he’s all I think about.” He teased.

“Please Lucifer, you still believe that I’ll join in a threesome with you and Maz. And Maz wouldn’t touch you to stab you.” As I tried to stand up, Lucifer reached out to help me but I held my hand out telling him I didn’t need help.  After getting my bearings together, I slowly stood up.

Slightly wobbling but soon I found my footing.  I took a couple steps forward.

“In all seriousness Lucifer, how long was I in those woods? Clearly it hasn’t been a day if my legs are this wobbly.”

“2 weeks. And you were out for almost another whole week. Took almost every spell I knew to even get your mind back to sanity.” So it’s been 3 weeks since I last seen the others.  “Now you didn’t answer my question; why are you here? I’ve never seen you this far from John’s side for as long as I’ve known you. And the only reason for that is if—”

“Yes Lucifer. It’s time.” I told him.  His eyes narrowed.

“So, the human savior Fred spoke of has finally came into the picture.”

“Yes. And I also know the truth. The real truth about the fall of the 3 apprentices. Balthazar came to me in his true form and told me about Archimedes. I can only assume that since you’re here, you know where he is.”

“I might.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Don’t screw with me Lucifer!” he just looked at me. “I know about the Guardian of Creatures. About Wanda Arya Black.” His eyes widened for a brief second.  “You knew her too?”

“Not personally but Roger is very descriptive. When I first met you, I had to do a double take because you were exactly how he described Wanda to be. But I guess reincarnation can exist among the wizarding community.”

“Lucifer I need to find him. A Guardian of Creatures must ascend. I need to train under him.” He sighed deeply.

“He already knows you’re here. Now whether or not he knows what your purpose for being here is, I don’t know.”

“Can you take me to him?” he stood up from his chair.  He spoke not a word but walked out of the room. Without question I followed in his footsteps till we came out of house.

I noticed that is was at the peak hour of dawn where night was just about over but the sun had not yet risen.  We walked through the forest trail, I noticed that this part of the forest wasn’t coated with that spell that surrounded the rest of the forest, probably making this section the ‘Eye of the Forest of Madness’.  Like the eye of the storm where everything is calm and quiet before the second wave hits.

“Follow the trail North to where the Phoenix rises in the sky. There, you will find the Sorcerer you seek.” Lucifer told me as he pointed outward.

“But what if I get lost again? Lose the path and be driven mad again?” he turned towards me and walked up to me.  His hand came to the back of my head and in a flash his lips crashed onto mine.  My eyes widened and I pushed him off of me. “What the fuck Lucifer!?”

“You’ve now been given a protection spell from the Devil himself. No spell, not even by the great Sorcerer Supreme, can even touch you so long as you bare my seal.”

“You couldn’t have at least given me a pendant? Or spoke it verbally?”

“You and I could’ve had sex but I knew you’d say no to that.” I went to say something but he was right.  Damn him! “And come on don’t tell me you at least didn’t enjoy it a little bit.”

“Shut up!” I snapped at him turning my head away, and I hate to admit this but I did feel a blush coming across my cheeks.

“Yeah I see that blush Sera.” Lucifer teased with that smug cheeky grin on his face.

“I said shut up!” I snapped at him louder before taking off to where he told me to go.  The last thing I heard was his laughter ringing out.  Merlin’s beard he could be a real dick at times.

As I walked along the trail I soon came to the entrance of a cave.  Cautiously I entered in the cave and the first thing I was hit was an aura of ultimate power.

Another advantage of my telepathic powers is that I can sense the spiritual aura of another being.  The powerful the creature/being, the powerful the aura.  At times it’s overwhelming (like when I first got to see Freddie’s aura, and of course Lucifer’s) but overtime I’ve come to control of how it affects me.

This however—this was a magical aura I had never felt before. As I walked further into the cave, I noticed that there seemed to be drawings of some sorts.  I wonder if I can now…..I focused on trying to summon a light with my red aura.  But nothing came out.

“Worth a shot. Guess this whole place, even in the eye of this very forest is magic-proof.” Soon enough I saw a light at the end of the tunnel.  The sunrise was finally coming.

I raced towards it and soon I came to an extended ledge that stood over the rest of the forest.  For the first time in weeks I got to finally feel the rays of the sun hit my face and it felt like a wave of relief.  I inhaled the clean air as deeply as I could as I extended my arms out, letting the sun’s rays embrace me.

Soon my ears heard the sound of a bird.  It was unlike any muggle bird I’ve heard and it defiantly wasn’t a griffin or hippogriff.  It was like heard a song, but it sounded heartbreaking.  As the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, a figure soon emerged out of the sun itself.

It continued to let out a few more of it’s broken-hearted song-like cries as it came flying towards me, leaving a trail of fire in it’s wake.  No way it—it was a phoenix.

It now hovered above me and that power I felt just before I entered the cave, it was now stronger.  And it was coming from this phoenix.  But wait, I knew phoenix’s carried such great power but this—this wasn’t any ordinary phoenix.

It’s eyes stared directly at me and it may have been the after affect of falling under the forest’s spell, but I could swear I was hearing voices singing a song.  A choir of voices.  It was very faint and I couldn’t quite make out the words but I could hear their song.

The phoenix swooped down and landed before me. Another thing that made this phoenix—well different was that it actually came up to the height of my waist. Phoenixes are actually fairly normal sized birds, no different than the size of a falcon.

The phoenix continued to stare at me and it even took a step closer to me.  I backed my right foot away not surer what to do.  Without any weapons on hand or my powers, I was defenseless against a bird that can easily set itself on fire.  And speaking of which, the phoenix soon burst into flames, the fire shooting upward like a volcano.

I shielded myself as best as I could.  The wind and fire mixed together created such power but it was when all went quiet once more that I now stood in shocked awe.

In the place of the phoenix was the silhouette of a man in a familiar yellow wizard robe.  At his hip was a sword of Elvish made, only one blade would catch the light of the sun and make it shine like a star.  His hood was up over his face but just based off this power he was giving out; I had a hunch of just who this was.

His hands reached for his hood and he revealed his face. The very face that has not aged since he was last seen alive by any Wizard.  Those brown eyes looked at me in disbelief, his lips slightly parted as he gawked at me.

“Archimedes.” I spoke his name.

[ghoulsters]

Finally listened to this week's episodes!

I have a lot of thoughts and fears about our apocalypse boys.

(more below the cut)

185:

-Now, I know there was quite a bit of controversy surrounding this episode and im not really going to offer my two cents since am neither 1. a PoC or 2. a person who knows enough about the justice system and corrupt policing, or at least not enough to add any value to the conversation.

-all I will say is that Jonny is a fantastic writer, as always. I know it must've been hard to have to write about a topic that hits so close to home for him, especially when he had to be public about this after the fact.

-children continue to be small humans full of spite. I will be putting the one who threw the rock at Tina on my "fictional small children I do not like" list. the opposite of her would probably be greg from over the garden wall. and that's a rock fact.

-I would love to sympathize with jon with the whole "im a monster and other monsters recognize me as their own you'll have to get used to it martin" point, but it's just a reminder for me that jon is slowly becoming less human. he's practically accepted his role as the archivist and as an entity higher than the others. I know this probably won't mean much at this point, but it still scares me to see jon so comfortable and uncaring about the loss of his humanity.

-jon "big arse" sims

-I remember before this episode and during one of the Q&As Johnny talked about how avatars get "chosen" per se. He was trying to be vague about it but from we gathered is that an avatar doesn't have to kill to join a fear, but they can join a fear by a variety of methods. This episode solidifies that with this part:

"I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they’ve found themselves in, not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sought it out even, but far more didn’t. They just made the wrong choices for the right reasons. Or even the right choices. But ones that still led them here in the end."

Which, obviously we already could assume this based on people like Agnes, who were born into the role, or Oliver Banks, who gained the powers of his role, eventually embracing it. I do think if they don't turn the world back Martin will have to accept his own role in other people's suffering.

-fuck the inspector

-martin really said "the second someone insults my bf it's on sight" then abandoned the inspector to rot in prison. good for him.

-so jon HAS watched a movie before

-oh boy here we go into Martin’s domain

186

-everytime I get reminded of 170 I get super emotional, it sucker punches me in the feels. like, I related to it massively but it’s still one of the few episodes that really had that big of an impact on me.

-get this boy an umbrella !!

-martin 2: im here to deliver you an existential crisis

-I am glad that they touched on how jon and martin's relationship is so complicated yet so simple. these guys have to save the world but also communicate after squabbles and continue to love each other despite everything around them. it's good that martin has jon there for him but it's also good to have your own space. and that's just a good lesson about loving another person.

-felt on the friends being your therapist thing. im not one to talk to my loved ones about emotional issues because they'll just try to temporarily make me feel better instead of tackling the root of the issue. if everyone lives after the last episode of TMA they'll need a BOATLOAD of therapy.

-mmm, tea. don't like oolong though. more of a green tea person myself. also I find it hilarious that Also Martin carries a thermos of tea everywhere with him.

-”we love ‘that guy!’” same martin, same. 

-the talk about who might have to possibly die to save the world has me EMOTIONAL. I had to pause multiple times to collect myself. We all knew it would have to be talked about at some point but I wasn't ready for it to be this straight forward. just... please johnny...spare both of my boys. I know deep down this is a tragedy but my mind is still telling me this is a fluffy office rom-com.

-confirmation that martin dreams about kissing jon and beating the shit out of elias. king shit.

-martin was so willing to die if he needed which makes sense for how he's doing right now but makes me sad as fuck. someone give this man a HUG!!

-THE TIM PART NOOO

-That statement was heartbreaking and very relatable. We all put up some walls, big or small, to keep those closest to us from seeing our true selves. It's especially easy during this year to get lonely, to stop communicating with people if we feel we don't have the energy to. It's a terrifying thought that we could be forgotten after we die, that no one will ever think about us again. We just cease to exist.

"And… And if it comes down to it…

I’ll get John to destroy me like the others."

PAIN, PURE PAIN.

"Yeah. But… this time, it doesn’t feel like despair. It feels like resolve."

"Well, hopefully it won’t come to that."

FORESHADOWING?? AND PAIN.

anyway thanks for reading my silly little thoughts if you did

[sedge-and-sanctuary]

Sanctuary Pack Stories: The Herbalist [Part Four]

[The last part of this story!Eight and Dace finally find the expert herbalist they’ve been looking for, and ask him to help cure the illness that’s been ravaging The Sanctuary Pack]

In the cramped, low space of the den, the bear's bulk is only magnified; Dace is glad he went down first. She's not sure they could have squeezed past him to get out again, if he were sitting by the exit.

It’s a strange place; the roof a tangle of gnarled roots, many hung with drying plants, and the air is thick with the smell of them. Heady, almost overpowering. Strange piles of-- things, lay up against the walls; the skins of dead animals, bones, feathers, pinecones, seashells. Dace tries not to look too closely.

The Bear, of course, notices nothing unusual about his own den, and trundles his way straight back to start scraping at his herbs without another word. 

Eight peers around his shoulder as best she can without getting any closer, and Dace watches her with a kind of helpless fondness. Ever the herbalist.

The bear maybe senses Eight's curiosity; he turns and says- through a mouthful of leaves- "Keeps me awake, right? Hibernating time, I'd go right to sleep otherwise! I'll send you home with a clipping, you’ll propagate the stuff yourself. Yes, that’ll be nice.”

The bear doesn't seem to need a reply. He turns back to his work, humming a little; a deep, resonant sound, in the immense barrel of his chest.

Eight gives Dace a sideways look, ears twitching in amusement, and Dace feels her tail tap, once, involuntary. 

It's easier to be entertained by the bear here, with his back turned. If anything happens, the low ceiling will hamper the bear more than them, and they're closer to the exit than he is. Dace is pretty sure she could get both Eight and herself out before he'd catch them. And on flat ground like the prairie there's no question they could outrun him, once they were free of the den. Even tired, a wolf can outdistance a bear.

So she lets herself relax, a little, and enjoy the warmth of the den-- with all three of them packed in, their body heat makes it practically cozy, and it's good to rest for a second, after their long march.

At last, the bear turns, and Dace ducks her head again, submissively. Eight follows her lead.

"Well, none of that," the bear says. "No time to waste. Which one of you is the healer?"

A brief pause. And then--

"I am." Eight's voice comes out soft.

The bear nods his great, broad head, and reaches forward to sniff her.

Eight flinches back a little, and Dace half-rises, heart hammering-- although what she could actually do if the bear chose to attack Eight directly, she has no idea. Distract him? Buy time for her to get away? Her instincts pay no attention to the impossibility of fighting-- her blood goes hot, and saliva floods her mouth to wet down her teeth.

But the bear only pulls back after a moment, nodding to himself. "Yes, you smell like it indeed! Carrionflower, I think? Yes.” He doesn’t pause long enough for Eight to answer. ”Well, and what's wrong then?"

Eight hesitates-- but only for a second. "We're-- not quite sure? Sir. I've never seen- and my mentor never taught me about it, either- so I don't know what it is."

The bear snorts; a waft of hot breath, smelling of herbs and meat. "Well, are you a healer or aren't you? Haven't you tried anything?"

Eight straightens. "Yes, of course!" She sounds almost indignant. "Goldenseal and Kava for their coughing, and it helps a little, but they don't get better. Bed rest, food, water, and I dose them with pineapple leaf when I can get it, too, which is rarely.”

She rattles off the list with growing confidence, voice firm and clear, and Dace has to stop her tail from wagging. When did you get so rotting smart? 

The bear nods. "Good, Good. A cough then? Other symptoms?"

"Hardened pawpads and nose, fatigue, fever, loss of appetite, and then they sort of-- waste away." Her voice only wavers on the last point, and Dace can't blame her. 

Dane lost, Seven sick, and who knew who else, since they'd left?

"Yes." The bear has gone very serious, sitting back and frowning deeply. "And it's contagious?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Distemper, I think. Nasty, but it's treatable." The bear pauses for a long moment, his deep, whistling breaths the only sound.

Eight looks at Dace, uncertain, and Dace nods at her. Well done, she wants to add, but holds her tongue.

The bear speaks, at last, picking up as if he hadn't gone silent at all. "And do you know to craft medicines, or just give the raw plant?"

"Both, depending on the need." Eight pauses. "Is that-- alright? Should I not--"

"No, no, that's all well." The bear waves a paw in dismissal, and Dace has to stop herself from backing away-- even an incidental swipe from those massive claws could kill a wolf, or at least maim one. "This one, you will have to craft-- stew it in water, equal parts Mullein and Goldenseal, half as much Guaiacum."

"We have no Guaiacum."

"Hm. I will send you with some. I don't suppose you live anywhere tropical?"

"No, we’re-- no. Up in the mountains."

The bear huffs. "Well, you won't be able to grow more, then, and a shame, because it is very tasty on venison." He shrugs. "Well, you know where to find me-- and the birds are sometimes good for it, if you ask them before they migrate. I don't suppose you speak with birds very much?"

Eight looks at Dace, lost.

"We eat them, mostly, sir." Dace says. "So they avoid us."

But it's an idea. Dace wonders if they couldn't leave some seed out, in the spring, and make a truce-- the migratory birds surely have a better sense of the land then they do, and they could bring all sorts of things back, and-- Dace cuts the thought off, frowning. 

Of course, she won't be with the pack, by spring. A brief pain in her chest, something like a phantom limb-- she hasn’t managed to shake the instinct, all these long months as a loner, to think first of the pack.

The bear shrugs. “Well enough, well enough. A thought for later, then. I will get your bundles, never fear."

And he turns from them, without another word, and sets to his herbs.

After a moment Eight pads up next to him to watch, and the bear sidles over to make space, giving instructions in his low, rumbling voice.

Dace watches them- watches Eight, truthfully. She is very confident at her work, asking questions Dace wouldn't even think of, let alone know the answer to.

With no one looking at her, Dace lets herself feel- just for a second- that horrible, looming grief that's been biting at her heels all this long journey, like a wolf after a wounded buck, harrying.

It might be the last time she sees Eight at her work.

 Dace has a brief, bright flash of memory-- Eight gangly with adolescence, trotting after Saturn to go foraging in the bright, warm sun of early autumn. The smell of herbs on her fur when she returned, bursting with new knowledge. Talking into the night about their training until the other adolescents got up to tell them off, for keeping everyone awake.

Dace's head droops. She should try and enjoy the time she has left, she knows. But their imminent parting looms, and just for now- just for a second- she lets herself mope.

When Eight turns back with her mouth full of hides- the precious herbs bundled safely within- Dace has straightened up again, and can speak without her voice going all gloomy. "Ready to go?"

"Yesh," Eight says, muffled by the bundle, and drops it, ears flattening back, embarrassed. Dace's chest gives a helpless squeeze.

"Yes," Eight says, more clearly, and turns to the bear. "Thank you very much!"

"Yes," the bear says, and yawns enormously, teeth flashing. "Glad to help. I will take a nap, now."

And he turns without another word, curling up to sleep.

Eight looks at him, for a second, and then shrugs at Dace. Dace shakes her head. No explaining bears, really. She crouches to pick up the bundle.

"Oh-- thanks!" Eight steps back to let her take it. "We can take turns?"

Dace nods, grateful for the excuse not to talk. She follows after Eight, lost in thought.

[rocket-remmy]

Dissolve Me

Content: Heavy Suicidal Ideation, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse mention

Remmy’s hands shook as they sat in front of their TV in the room they stayed in at Morgan’s place. They hadn’t left the room in three days. Not to eat, not to shower, not to do anything. Even Morgan and Deirdre were taking Moose out to walk him. They didn’t want to move, they felt rooted. Glued to the floor, the bed, as if they had sat there for centuries and hardened in place, statuesque. They could recall another time they’d felt this way. It was the one time Remmy couldn’t remember how to put the TV back together.

It was nearing 5:30pm and their father would be home any minute. He would kick open the door and stumble into the house to the kitchen, grab his beer, then settle onto his armchair and flick on the TV.

Except that the TV wasn’t working. Remmy’s hands trembled as they tried to remember which wire went where and why the people who had built this originally hadn’t color coded the wires like the person who built their microwave. They heard his car pulling up, the garage opening. Their hands shook more. They screwed on the knob and shoved the wires into whatever place they would fit and threw the back cover back on, stumbling out of the living room and into the kitchen. Up to the table, where their homework for the night laid open waiting for them.. When the already drunk man stumbled in, Remmy didn’t look up, holding their pencil as tightly as possible. He didn’t acknowledge them either, like usual-- just grabbed his drink and stumbled out of the kitchen into the living room, sinking into his chair. Remmy watched out of the side of their eye, biting their lip nervously. Waiting. Just waiting. He picked up the remote and Remmy slid nervously from their chair, ready. He clicked the power button and-- nothing happened. They winced, started skirting from the kitchen as discreetly as possible-- maybe he wouldn’t notice. He clicked again and still nothing. Again and again and again, until his head swiveled towards the kitchen, ready to yell, only to find Remmy retreating towards the stairs.

“REMMINGTON!” he roared, flying up from his chair with a speed they hadn’t thought possible for such an old, drunk man. Remmy yelped and leapt for the hallway, running down it as fast as possible. Heard him lumbering after them, roaring still. Remmy slid across the floor, scrambling at the wall to right themself before using the leverage to fling their body forward and into their bedroom, slamming the door shut. Locked it and pressed their back against it, eyes screwed tightly shut. He slammed just as hard into the door and Remmy felt it give just ever so slightly. Their quiet tears streaked down their face as he pounded against the door.

He pounded until the door needed to be replaced the next day and his fists cut through wood and met skin. And he pounded until Remmy couldn’t cry anymore and even then he didn’t stop.

The next time Remmy took apart the TV they made sure to put it back together right.

The wires were easier to remember on TVs nowadays. There was less to remember, and Remmy plucked away at disassembling it like a methodical robot. Their eye was unseeing, unfocused, arms going through the motions even as they shook. 

They were trying not to let their mind slip away from them again, to go back to those dark places, those dark memories. But they couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help but remember every person who had hurt them, wondering where they’d gone wrong in life. Wondering why it chose to always hurt them, when all they wanted was to help. To be kind. To be soft. The world was always so painfully hard on them, to them. They just wanted to know why. They couldn’t figure out why.

Why had their father taken out his anger, his sorrow, on them? Why had their friends isolated them and made them the brunt of their pain? Why had their lieutenant yelled at them, made them the one responsible for that kid’s death? Why had Remmy pulled the trigger? Why had Remmy gone into that house? Why had Remmy gotten bitten? Why had Remmy woken up?

If they’d never woken up, they wouldn’t have had to go through any of the pain White Crest had dragged them through. They never would have had to make friends with Alain only to watch him turn on a dime and raise his sword. They never would have fallen into the trap of the Ring, and ended up caged and broken. They never would have had to watch their best friend die, only to have her curse and blame them for trying to save her. 

They never would have met Lydia.

And those people, those people they thought about, they had all taken something from Remmy. Left them empty and alone. So, what, then, had Lydia taken from them?

Perhaps she had taken everything.

She had given them safety when others gave them fear. She had given them softness where others had been hard. She gave them patience where others had given them intolerance.

And she had taken it all away.

She had hurt them more than most everyone else in their life, because she had given them hope first.

A tear fell from their cheek onto the screen of the TV in their lap. And that’s when they noticed a face that was not their own staring back at them.

“Murderer,” she said, and hands lifted themself through the glass and she pulled the rest of her abdomen through. Remmy stared, but didn’t move. Hands went around their throat and tightened. Nothing happened, they didn’t need to breathe. “You have taken the lives of others, and now I will take yours.”

Remmy stared at her with empty eyes. “I’m sorry,” they finally squeaked out, “I-I never wanted to hurt anyone...” they rasped.

The woman paused, then, and looked at them with a curious stare, even with her cold eyes and her rotting skin. “You are ashamed,” she said to them. Remmy felt their body slackening in her grip, not for lack of oxygen. Perhaps it was time to just give up. People continued to hurt them, to use them, to destroy them. And they’d let the world make them hard, if even for just a moment-- and blood had stained their hands. More than once. Jax, Ben, the man in their scope. The once pulled trigger had started their descent. They’d let the anger and the violence that festered make a monster out of them. And it was their fault. It was always their fault.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” Remmy replied, feeling their voice crack, tears welling in their eyes like dams in the winter, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

The woman’s grip tightened, despite their words. Her eyes, though empty, seemed distraught. . The woman’s hands grew so tight around Remmy’s neck, that they felt their windpipe collapsing, bending under her pressure. “You are a murderer, there is no escaping that.” 

Remmy didn’t know what to say. “I am,” they answered, “I am. I did it. I killed people. I hurt them. And if I-- if I could give my life for those I’ve taken, I would. If I could give every part of me to bring back the people I killed, I would. Even Jax. I would change what happened if I could, I didn’t want to kill him. He was horrible and he tortured me but I-- I didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t deserve to die. Killing him just made me what he wanted me to be, a killer, and I-- I never wanted that, I never wanted to be that.”

The woman stayed still for a long moment, watching Remmy’s tears as they fell down their cheeks and onto their hands. “Why is it different now? Why do you not beg for your life? Beg me to spare you?”

Remmy felt their lip quiver. Their heart wrenched. They missed Lydia like they missed air. The warmth of her arms when she hugged them, the soothing tone of her voice, the strength of her grip as she held their hand. Remmy couldn’t help but let out a loud sob. “Because I’m so tired of being hurt,” they cried, “I’m so tired of hurting people.” Their hands tightened on their lap, and if their skin could pale anymore, it would have turned their knuckles white. “I should’ve died years ago,” they sobbed, “I wanted to die with them. I don’t want this pain anymore. Please,” they begged, “make it stop. Make it stop.”

If death was due here, then Remmy was prepared to accept that. Perhaps they even wanted it more than they admitted to. They just wanted it to end. Maybe it would just end.

But the opposite happened. The woman loosened her grip and stared at them, before finally letting go. “I do not need to kill you,” she said finally, sinking slowly back into the TV, “you will change, or your guilt will consume you. Either way,” it was just her eyes now, staring up at them from out of the TV, “I win.” And then she was gone.

Remmy dove forward as if trying to grasp her, to hold onto her, pull her back up through and demand her to finish it. To not leave them here alone and suffering. Their whole body shook. “Come back!” they shouted, clawing at the TV screen, “come back!”

Their hands curled into fists and they pounded on the screen, stretching fingers out and scratching them down the vinyl. “Come back, please! Finish it,” they begged. “Please, I need you! I need you to finish it!” They raised their fists and smashed the screen, threw the rest of it aside. Collapsed onto the floor, curling in a ball, black bloody fists pressing against their chest, shards of glass stuck in their palms. 

“Please...I need you, Lydia,” they sobbed, rocking back and forth, “I needed you so bad.” 

[always5hineee]

The Final Bell - Chapter 1: Ringing Ears

Chapter warnings: Mild Language

Word count: 2216

Story is also available under Taffysamg on Quotev and Wattpad. 

To see the full chapter list, go to the “Final Bell” Tab on my page.

-----

       The pain was practically unbearable. Y/N had barely opened her eyes when it hit, sinking into every cell of her body and taking over her mind. There wasn't a bone in her that didn't feel broken. Her lungs struggled to pull in air and her skin stung. As her vision swam, she tried to pull herself up. The best she could do was barely make her way into a sitting position.

       The air around her was arid, the sky a sickening shade of yellow. Everything was dusty and reeked of old meat, and the wind blew dirt into her eyes. Shielding her face, she swallowed a few times, disgusted as she tried to clear her throat. Once she could finally make out her surroundings, she started putting the pieces together.

       She was lying on an asphalt bed- the center of the street. Every pane of glass in the windows of the buildings around her was shattered, bricks tumbling out of the foundations. There wasn't another person in sight, but there were occasional smoldering fires that indicated a recent presence. She almost laughed, thinking to herself how her family used to warn her against running into the road.

       Wait... her family! They were probably worried sick- or worse, were they alive? Why had this happened? The last thing she remembered... Think... Think... At first, she recalled a few weeks ago. Tensions were high between practically every country on Earth. People were beginning to question if there would be a third world war in the near future. Of course, this wasn't necessarily uncommon, so she hadn't been too worried about it.

       It kept coming back to her as she remembered a later news broadcast... more recent... China had just created a biological experiment. By tweaking a version of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, they believed they had created a perfect biological weapon that they were now threatening other countries with. It had worked, for a time at least. People began allying with them, convinced by the promise that the disease was perfectly controllable. That is, until the U.S. got involved.

       America began to defend the idea that biological weapons were a war crime, and they were more than prepared to crack down on this rule. By using disease as a weapon, one was dragging civilians into the mix. A fight was closer than ever. Y/N racked her brain for the rest of the details. Obviously, based on her surroundings, something had happened, but... what? Finally, she decided to figure out where she was and try and make her way back home. She was bound to remember eventually, right?

       As she stood up, she hissed through her teeth, bones cracking. Obviously she had been there for a while. Looking herself over, though, she was just bruised. She began to walk down the street, recognizing various buildings. Soon enough, she found herself in a familiar area. It was at least a 30 minute walk to her house, but she began without hesitation. The monotony of the journey gave her some more time to think, in which she recalled a bit more.

       China had launched what they believed was their complete bioweapon. Obviously, they chose to use it on the United States, their main contender. It wasn't long before things got out of hand, and with some of the biggest airports in the world, the states quickly spread the disease. Some countries retaliated with bombs, others with full-on military attacks. This wasn't the worst of it, though. Eventually, practically the whole planet was infected.

       The bio-weapon was meant to kill people, of course. Less people, less bodies in your fighting force, less money-makers, less of a chance of winning a war. The thing is, it didn't kill people. At first, this may seem alright. It most definitely was not.

       See, this virus was originally derived from Creutzfeldt-Jakob, also known as Mad Cow Disease. To make it dangerous to humans, it was also spliced with some tendencies aligning with rabies. What resulted was a viral, blood-transmitted disease that caused deteriorating brain function, fear of water and sensitivity to bright lights, abnormal digestion and nutritional needs, and a rotting body. It turned people into zombies.

       A zombie apocalypse- that's it, that's what she was missing. Now she had to watch out for these "zombies". Her gut twisted. Y/N couldn't even remember what they looked like, but the little pieces of information that she had retained were already scaring her half to death. Not only that, but she was terrified of what she might find should she return home. Still, there was little other option. She had to check on her family, and maybe get some clean clothes if she were lucky.

       The walk was taking her South, closer to areas where people were living. So, too, she began to see people. Much to her dismay, not a single one of them was alive. Thankfully, she didn't know anyone who she laid eyes on, but it didn't stop her from feeling disgusted as she saw scattered limbs and tattered corpses. It was hard to tell what exactly had killed them, especially as she was trying to avoid looking at them. Twice on her way, she found herself throwing up in the street. The only reason she didn't after that was the lack of food in her stomach.

       It wasn't long before she became thirsty. Every store in the area had smashed windows and splintered doors, so she didn't even bother checking inside. Even if there was anything inside, (which was doubtful), she'd feel bad stealing. Stupid, she knew, but it didn't change the fact that she wasn't going to go rotting around in abandon facilities.

       About five minutes away from her house, she heard something in the distance. It sounded like... church bells? More specifically, one very large church bell. It was getting louder the longer it rang, echoing through the empty area. She tried to ignore it, but it was starting to annoy her. It wouldn't be long before she was home, so she continued tuning it out. That was, until she was knocked to the ground.

       Sputtering as dirt flung into her mouth, she scrambled to get up.

       "What the hell!" She shouted, looking around trying to figure out what had happened. Lying a few feet away, rubbing his head in pain, was a man. He was maybe just below six feet tall, limber, and covered head to toe in what looked like leather and camouflage. A various assortment of blades were seated in his belt. A black cloth bag had slid a short distance away from him, filled to the brim with some unknown articles.

       "Don't yell at me, you're the one who walked out right in front of me." He grumbled, quickly jumping to his feet.

       "Wait-" he continued. "Fuck! We need to get out of here!"

       "I don't even know who-"

       "Now!" He leaned down, grabbing her wrist and harshly jerking her to her feet. Before she could yell at him any further, he began running in the direction she had been coming from. Because of his height, he was much faster, so it wasn't long before she fell behind and wrenched her hand out of his grip.

       "You can't just drag me wherever you're going! I don't know who you are, or what you're doing, or what's going on! I need to go see my family! Go to my house!"

       "Look, I'll explain later, stop being difficult and come on-" She stamped her foot.

       "Absolutely not."

       "Did you not hear the bell, woman? What's wrong with you!"

       "I don't even know what the bell is! You're going to answer me, or I'll be on my way!" Sighing angrily, he bent down to make direct eye contact with her.

       "My name is Jaehyun. I am running. And the bell is an indication as to when an area has been overrun."

       "Overrun? By what?" She asked. Before he could answer, though, she heard a growl behind her. Spinning around, her eyes widened. Coming out of alleys and tripping down the street were tens, if not hundreds, of people. They all moved in relative synchronization, making their way down the street. They weren't normal, though.

       Their flesh was a strange, purpleish-red color, and their eyes were milky and glossed over. Zombies. Unlike the zombies in movies, though, these guys could move. Fast. In fact, they were quickly approaching, evidently targeting the two standing in the road.

       "By those! Now let's go!" Evidently distressed, Jaehyun began to run, with or without his new acquaintance. Panicking, she followed, trying to keep up. The creatures were slowly but surely falling behind. She glanced back occasionally, watching their movements. They occasionally collapsed, whether from their rotting bodies or their lousy depth perception of the obstacles in front of them. If one of their own fell in front of them, they would quickly be trampled.

       "Stop looking and keep running!" He reprimanded her. Looking forward, she saw that they were headed in the direction of a car- a black van. As they approached, she could tell there were more people inside, but the only face she could make out was the man in the driver's seat. The rest were concealed by the tinted windows. Slinging both the passenger and the back door open, Jaehyun pointed.

       "Get in." She hesitated.

       "I don't know if-" Aggravated he stepped up into the passenger seat.

       "Or don't, run for all I care." That was the only convincing she needed. She jumped into the van, shutting the door behind her. Hey, if these guys didn't kill her, the zombies would.

       "Drive-" He said to the man at the wheel, who quickly shifted into Drive and stepped on the gas. She glanced around the car, mostly keeping her eyes to the floor. There were two people in the seats behind her, plus Jaehyun and the driver. The man controlling the car was much shorter. He had blonde hair, but his roots were over an inch long, indicating that he hadn't dyed it in quite a long time. He turned to the only person she now knew.  

       "Who's your friend?" Jaehyun looked back to her, then to the man driving.

       "I don't know, I found her on my way back."

       "And you didn't even ask her what her name was?" He responded.

       "What's your name?" She jumped as she felt someone directly behind her lean forward, asking the question. She turned quickly, coming face to face with one of the boys in the backseat. He was shorter than Jaehyun, but definitely taller than the man in the driver's seat. He hd a big smile across her face, which was strange considering the situation.

       "I, uh... Y/N?" He laughed, sitting back again.

       "You don't seem too sure, Y/N!"

       "I..."

       "Chill out, just messing with you. Stop being so jumpy! I'm Mark, that-" He pointed at the man driving. "Is Taeil. That's Jaehyun-" She already knew that one. And in the back is Jungwoo." She looked to the man that Mark had mentioned last. He seemed fairly passive, straight hair falling slightly into his face. He nodded, as if to acknowledge her stare, but said nothing.

       "So, what brings you into our car, Y/N?" Mark asked. Evidently he was the most talkative out of all the boys.

       "Jaehyun brought me." She muttered.

       "Well, duh, we figured that out. I mean why are you out there by yourself? And why get so close to the zombies?"

       "I just... woke up. I was passed out in the street, I don't actually remember much." She admitted. "I was trying to get home when I ran into him."

       "Literally." Jaehyun groaned, examining his forehead in the cloudy car mirror.

       "Sorry." She said.

       "Don't worry about it, he probably deserved it." Mark consoled her. "Anyway, we have a camp set up about 15 miles from here, so it shouldn't be long before we get there. If Taeil would stop driving like a grandmother."

       "The speed limit is 55." The blonde man shot back.

       "It's the apocalypse. There aren't any police. What is wrong with you." He didn't respond, but didn't speed up, either. Mark just rolled his eyes. "If they keep up that pace, they'll reach the camp in, say... three hours? That should give us time to move out. Honestly, it's unlikely they make a direct beeline, but can't be too safe, right?"

       "That would mean they have a 12 minute mile." Y/N looked at him, astounded.

       "Yeah? So what?"

       "I thought zombies were supposed to be slow." He looked at her blankly for a moment.

       "You're kidding, right? It's a miracle you've made it this long."

       "Yeah, she didn't even run at the bell." Jaehyun added.

       "I didn't even know there was a bell!" She defended herself, slouching, annoyed.

       "It's fine, we'll show you the ropes." Mark said, pointing through the windshield. "See? We're nearly there!" Peering through the windshield, she found that he was right. Just on the edge of the horizon, there were several cars and tents. She could even just barely make out the forms of a few people walking around. She took a deep breath as they approached, her situation beginning to dawn on her. She was still dirty and terrified, but maybe it would be okay. At least, she hoped so...

Go to Chapter 2

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 29

She wanted to cry, she could feel the emotion swelling up in her, but she was so tired she just whimpered and shook, burying her face into her mother’s cloak. Long thin arms wrapped around her and held her tightly with a surprising amount of strength.

Please never let go...

“My baby,” Oira sobbed into her daughter's shoulder as she hugged her tightly. “My precious girl. Oh, how badly I’ve wished to hold you again...”

“Where did you go?” Nenani cried, unaware of her hands as they began to glow and pulse. “Where...where did you...where were you all this time...?”

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she said thickly. “I didn’t and then I couldn’t risk coming back. I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

For several long moments, it was all they did. Holding onto one another as though it were keeping the sky anchored to the ground. When at last they broke apart, Nenani looked into her mother’s eyes. They were older. Sadder. World wary. But they were still her mother’s eyes. Oira huffed a wet teary laugh and ran her fingers through Nenani’s hair and rubbing her forehead.

“I saw it all,” she said quietly. “I saw the dragon fall from the sky...in flames.”

Nenani but her lip and looked away. “I...I don’t know what happened.”

“You bloomed,” Oira said with a pained look. She was trying to smile as though she knew she should be happy, but it only brought her pain. “I had hoped that my seal would hold longer, but...I am glad it broke. He would have you by now if it hadn’t. Though he will be wondering where his pet has gone soon. We don’t have much time, we have to circle back and get Haiyer. But we must be quiet.”

“Haiyer? Who is Haiyer?”

Her mother smiled, a genuine smile with no sadness. “You will see.” Her mother took her hand and together they began to walk and Nenani’s hands dimmed and the glow died away.

“Mama?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“What about Keral?”

Her mother looked at her. “Who?”

“Keral. The ranger.”

Her mother’s grip on her hand tightened. “You don’t have to worry about him. He’ll be chasing his own tail for a while yet.”

“But...he’ll worry where I went.”

“Good. We’ll be miles away by the time he’s noticed.”

Nenani stopped and looked at her mother in bewilderment. “What? But Mama, he’s...”

There was a loud crash from far off into the woods, back the way they had come and she heard Keral call for her, his voice loud. “Nenani! Where are ya, lass?”

“Oh, there! Mama, that’s Keral,” Nenani said, pulling back towards where she head the ranger calling. But her mother suddenly grabbed her wrist, painfully, and yanked her back and began to run again.

“We must go, my sweet,” Oira said, real panic in her voice. “Quickly! Or he will find us.”

“What?” Nenani asked, suddenly understanding. Her mother thought Keral meant to harm them. “No! Mama, he’s my friend!”

“Friend? Nenani,” Oira said, looking at her child as though she were insane. “He is a Vhasshalan Ranger. A blue coat. They eat people!”

She tried to pull her hand free. “Not him! He saved me.”

“I saved you,” her mother said to her sternly. “From him!”

“Mama no! He’s nice! Really!” Keral’s calls for her echoed through the forest and she struggled against her mother’s grip and her fervent pulling. When she could not free herself, she turned her head towards the sound of Keral’s voice and yelled. “Keral! Keral, I’m here!”

Oria looked at her daughter in horror. “What? Stop that, you stupid girl. He will find us!”

“He won’t eat us!” she told her mother. “He’s a good person!”

“You don’t know what he’s done,” Oira cried out, her voice shaking with fear. “What those blue coats have done to our people.”

She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw hate and fear and she met them with her own stubborn insistent glare. “Not. Keral.”

Her mother seemed at a loss as to what to do, clearly not expecting to fight her own child. However, the sound of fast approaching footfalls and the crashing of trees drew both their attentions and Oria grabbed her daughter and forced Nenani behind her.  Keral came barreling through the woods, his face hard and angry and looked very much like his brother in that moment. But there was a savage gleam to his eyes that made Nenani understand why the blue coats were so feared by humans.

The ranger stopped several dozen yards from them, eyeing the human woman shielding Nenani with a severe sneer. “I think ye have somethin’ a’ mine, woman.”

Oira glared up at him, her hands flexing into fists. “I think you need to leave, giant...”

“Not without the lass,” he said, one hand pressing to his breast pocket.

“You’ll have to take her from my corpse!” Oira said and she lifted her arms and Nenani watched as her mother’s fingers began to glow and from them came a swirl of bright angry fire. Keral looked at the human woman and there was fear in his eyes. Not like when he had faced Nenani’s flames. He knew she would never deliberately hurt him. But her mother...her mother meant to hurt him. Kill him.

Nenani broke free of her mother and ran towards the ranger, yelling. “NO! MAMA DON’T!”

She felt the heat of Oira’s fire as it flew towards Keral and Nenani raised her arms as though she could grab it. No, no, no, no, no, no! Nenani felt her own fire pull from the well of fear from inside her and just as Oira’s fire would have consumed Keral, a wall of yellow heat swept up and devoured it in a terrifying display. Red and orange flames danced and swirled into the air before breaking apart and dissolving into sparks and embers that floated harmlessly down around them like rain.

Nenani ran to stand in front of the stunned ranger, her arms spread out as though her little frame were enough to shield a being so much larger than herself. “MAMA NO! Please listen! He really is my friend! He doesn’t eat people!”

She heard Keral move above her and looking up, she saw him kneel down behind her, one hand still pressed to his breast pocket. He was smiling, but he was clearly shaken. He rubbed her back with his knuckle. “Thank ya fer that, lass.”

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Oira yelled, her hands still glowing. “Get away from him, Nenani!”

“Mama, please listen!”

“NO! All of this...all of what I have done was for this not to happen!” her mother was crying, hot angry tears. “Everything! So you would be safe! From monsters like him!”

Nenani wanted to go to her mother, but she feared leaving Keral open to her anger. “Mama, please...”

Her mother laid her face into her hands and shook back and forth in anguish. “We did not know if you would take after me and I didn’t want to risk the chance that word would reach to others that a new Mage had been born. I was afraid they would come to kill you or take you away.” She took a shuddering breath. “So I put a seal on you so that if you did ever bloom, it would stay inside and eventually it would die. A smothered flame. You would never know the heartache that it would bring and you would be safe! From Vhasshal and from Aidus.”

Above her, Keral laughed humorlessly. “Why would she need protection from Vhasshal?”

Her glowing hands pulsed and burst into open flames. Her mother stared at Keral with pure hate. “How could you look at me and ask me that question? How many humans’ lives have you ended? How many have you eaten? How many of my people are dead because of you?!”

Keral stood, sneering down at the human woman. “Yes, I’ve killed. It was war. I’m sure none of you lot were gonna be losin’ any sleep over my rotting carcass. But I never have and never will eat a human. I know plenty who have. Far too many who enjoy it too.” He grabbed the edge of his blue ranger’s coat and pulled at it. “But I took this post to reign in that disgusting act and I won’t stand here and pretend I’ve been perfect at it, but I’ve spent the last decade picking up the fuckin’ pieces of what’s left of yer people and findin’ them some place to go. Far more of ye little fucks are alive than dead because of me.”

“You mean rounding us up and herding us all away from our homes!”

“Safer than lettin’ ye stay to wait fer the real fuckers to come around who really would eat ya and gladly too,” Keral growled. His eyes narrows and his mouth quirked into a knowing grin. “And I’m bettin’ you were one of ‘em, weren’t ya?” he jerked his head towards Nenani. “If yer really this one’s Mum, then most certainly. First few groups of refugees we ever came across we sent to the Southlands. As far from our country as we could get ‘em. Been thinkin’ she was one of ‘em fer a while and now I’m thinking even more that I’m absolutely sure ya were. Because I remember a snippy red haired lass who gave me hell chasin’ her down. And then she had the fucking brilliant idea to abandon her wee babe in the woods thinking I wouldn’t find her.”

“I was trying to protect her!” Oira shouted, the accusation stinging her pride. “There were blue coat everywhere. I was trying to draw you monsters away from her!”

Keral laughed sardonically. “Oh aye. And a right fine job ya did too,” Keral snapped back, gesturing down to Nenani. “She was waddling around callin’ fer ya all out in the open like. Yer lucky a wolf didn’t snap her up before I found her.”

“And then you threatened to eat her!” Oira screamed back. “How is that any better?”

“I wouldn’t have hurt a hair on wee head!” Keral replied, his voice loud and thunderous.

“Don’t lie to me, I remember! You dangled her over your fucking mouth you sick son-of-a-bitch!”

Nenani blinked, a strange swell of memory filtering through the haze. She remembered her mother pushing her into the roots of a large tree and telling her to be quiet. That she loved her. And then she was gone and Nenani had waiting for such a long time for her to come back. But she didn’t. She was all alone. So she had left the protection of the tree and started to wander around, calling for her parents, but she couldn’t find them. And then Keral had found her. He picked her up and...took her. He spoke softly to her when she started to cry. She remembered other rangers corralling a group of terrified humans together and then Keral held her out to them all, asking in an angry gruff voice, “Alright, which one a’ ye little fucks is the genius? Who’s lil’un is this?”

No one had answered, they could only stare and tremble, surely believing they were all going to die. And Keral growled. “No takers then?” Again, no one answered and Keral had grinned at them all, flashing his teeth in a deliberate display. “Ah, well...if no one wants her then...”

Suddenly he held her above his head and she was looking down into his open mouth as he dangled the small girl over it and she screamed, wailing and calling for her mother.  

“SHE’S MINE!” cried a voice from the throngs of the crowd and a woman pressed through and fell to her knees. “PLEASE! Let her go!”

“Mama!” she remembered screaming and feeling so afraid. The memory of that night faded and the sound of Keral’s shouting brought her back to the present.

“I was bluffin’ ya mad fucking cow!” Keral yelled back, exasperated. “Only a fuckin’ monster would do that! And as much as ye may think me one, I ain’t so deprived as to actually eat anyone. Least of all a wee babe. But ye left a lil’ girl all on her own without a lick a’ protection!” He reached into the large pocket of his coat and pulled something out. “And now I find ya again after all these years and yer out here doin’ the same damn thing!”

Keral opened his palm to reveal a small boy, weeping and curled into a ball. Her mother’s looked at the boy with wide wild eyes and the flame of her hands whirled around, agitated and angry like the fur of a bristling cat. “RELEASE HIM NOW!”

Keral didn’t flinched, his fingers closing around the little boy marginally. “I ain’t gonna hurt yer pup, girl. Now douse them flames. Yer scarin’ ‘im.”

“I’m scaring him?”

Keral snorted and shook his head. Bending down, he lowered his hand to let the little boy go, but the child did not move, too scared to even look around and could only shake and whimper pathetically. With a huff, Keral plucked the boy up with his fingers and sat him on his feet, nudging him towards Oira with a soft push of his finger. “Go on then, pup. Yer worryin’ yer Mum there.”

Nenani watched, numb, as the small boy chanced a glance up to Keral and fresh new tears falling from his cheeks, before he then turned to rush towards his mother. Oria flicked her hands and the flames died just as she bent down to scoop the small child into her arms and pull him tightly to her. “Haiyer! Oh, sweetie, you were supposed to stay hidden!”

“I got scared!” the little boy wailed. He had dark hair like her father and his eyes too. Haiyer, she thought dimly. That had been her grandfather’s name hadn’t it? Oria looked up to her daughter and seeing in her eyes confusion and want and so many questions. “I didn’t want you two to meet like this. I had hoped...nevermind. It’s done now.”  

Nenani didn’t move or say anything as her kther smiled that sad smile again and held her hand out to her. “Nenani, come to me. Please.”

She didn’t move at first, but she felt something brush her back and Keral’s voice washed over her as he said to her quietly, “Go on, sweetling.”

Nenani slowly walked towards her mother, not taking her eyes off the small boy. Her chest felt heavy and there was prickling behind her eyes. She slipped her hand into her mother’s and Oira gently kissed it before guiding it to the little boy’s chest. “Nenani. This is Haiyer. You’re brother.”

Haiyer turned to look at Nenani, blinking at her with large wet eyes. “...Nenani?”

“Yes,” her mother said to him sweetly. “This is your sister. Do you remember me telling you about her?”

Little Hayier pulled his hands from around his mother’s neck and turned to Nenani and wrapped them around her as though it were the most natural thing to do and Nenani stiffened under his soft little hands. “Hello sister.”

Nenani burst into tears as she wrapped her arms around the little boy, pressing her face to his hair. “H-hello...”

…………………………………………………………

“So where were you taking her then?” Oira asked Keral as he eased himself down to sit against the truck of a particularly large tree. Nenani sat in the dirt with Haiyer and together they were stacking the small rocks and twigs. Haiyer was very young. No older than five, maybe four, and wore a tunic clearly meant for an adult, but had been shorted at the bottom and the collar crudely sewn so it would sit on his small shoulders. He didn’t have any shoes either and it seemed awfully cold for a little boy t be wandering out without shoes.

Though Oira and Keral were no long shouting at one another, Nenani still felt the uncomfortable aura all around and she tried to keep her attention on her brother – Gods above she had a brother! - she would send nervous glances to the adults. Haiyer couldn’t relax either, but she assumed it was more to do with Keral’s presence than anything. He would repeatedly look over his shoulder towards where Keral was sitting and fidget nervously as though trying to decide if he should run away back to his mother or continue playing with Nenani. Keral didn’t seem to notice, or so Nenani thought. The fourth time the little boy turned to look at the ranger though, Keral was staring back and making a face. Haiyer jumped, giving a small cry of alarm and ran to hide behind Nenani.

“Now who’s the one scaring him?” Oira demanded, bristling.

Nenani grabbed up their stones and sticks and turned around, drawing Hiayer’s focus from Keral to her and the rocks and she showed him a bluish colored rock she had found, telling him to hold onto it. “It’s magic,” she whispered to him. Haiyer’s eyes lit up and he nodded back conspiratorially.

“What? I just looked at ‘im,” Keral replied in defense of himself and shrugged.

“Beleive me. It’s enough,”  Oria answered curtly and in clear displeasure. She looked over to where both her children were playing. “Now again. Where were you taking my daughter?”

“Back to Vhasshal,” He said simply. “Not safe fer her out here. Or you and the boy fer that matter. Lad doesn’t even have shoes fer fuck sakes.”

Oira glared at the ranger. “He grew out of his old one and it isn’t as though there’s a cobbler shop just down the way.” She rolled her eyes. “You giants all think the same. Just because we’re smaller than you that we constantly need your aide. It’s insulting.”

“Heh, well sorry fer bruisin’ yer pride, lass, but it don’t make it any less true,” Keral shot back. “’Specially now with how the world is. Ain’t many of ye left.”

“And whose doing was that?”

Keral leveled a warning eye to her. “If ye wanna play in that particular mud puddle, lass, I can fight pretty damn dirty. Or we can talk like the adults we supposedly are and set a good example fer ye lil’uns over there.”  

“Fine,” she said, grinding her teeth. “But still. Why the hell would Vhasshal be any safer for her then out here?”

Keral scoffed. “Woman, she’s been livin’ there with us fer almost three months.”

Oira looked scandalized and her fingers began to glow. “You’ve been keeping my daughter prisoner for three months?!”

“Oi! Douse that fire, girl! She ain’t been no prisoner,” Keral growled, waving his hand as though it would blow out the woman’s smoldering fingers. “My brother’s been takin’ care a’ her since she showed up on our doorstep in a fruit basket. Alone. By herself. Startin’ to see a pattern yet? Because I sure fuckin’ am.”

“What?” the woman asked, seeming to have a hard time following the ranger’s story. “What do you mean she ‘showed up in a fruit basket’?”

“Just as I said. Last day of the King’s weddin’ feast and that one there pops out of a basket a’...” He looked to Nenanai. “Oi, lass. What basket were ya stowin’ away in again?”

“Persimmons,” Nenani replied. “It was a basket of persimmons.”

“Aye, that’s right,” Keral nodded with a laugh. “Persimmons.”

Oira rounded on Nenani, incredulous and angry. “Wha...why were you in a persimmon basket, Nenani?”

“I got hungry and tried to just take one before the Beastmen noticed, but I fell in by accident and then I got stuck.”

“Where was Halden?” Oira demanded.

“...he died,” Nenani replied softly.

Oira’s anger drained from her face as she studied her child and sighed. “He...what about the others? Surly someone took you in? Casper or Juno maybe?”

Nenani shook her head. “No. They...they didn’t want me around. They said I was bad luck or cursed.”

A horrified understanding crept across her mother’s face and a wave of anguish took over.

Keral added, “One a’ my brother’s lads caught her runnin’ round the back kitchen yard.”

“His name is Yale,” Nenani told her mother, trying to cheer her up. It made her heart hurt to see her so sad. “He’s really nice, Mama.”

Oira did not say anything as she walked over to Nenani and crouched down behind her to wrap her thin arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. “They didn’t hurt you?” Oira asked quietly, seeming distressed and confused. Nenani shook her head and feeling her mother begin to shake, Nenani became concerned.

“Mama? Mama, are you alright?”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said, pressing her face into Nenani’s hair. “I’m sorry for not being there to protect you. I...I never thought Halden would...and then the others. Oh, baby you must have been so scared...”

At hearing her mother’s quiet weeping, Nenani could not hold back herself and just let the warmth of her mother’s touch coax out her own tears. She had never blamed her mother for not being there as she always thought she was dead and it would be so easy now to hate her for never having never come back. For those years she spent alone and just desperately trying to stay alive...but she was so happy she had her mother back that she didn’t care anymore.

Haiyer looked at them, joining in their collective weeping and crawled over to hug Nenani. All three of them stayed that way and said nothing. Keral watched them silently, a warm smile on his lips and when Nenani looked his way, he gave her a wink.

  “I’m glad...I’m glad there are still kind Vhasshalans left,” Oira said, pulling away. Nenani laid back so her head rested in her mother’s lap and seeming to not want to be left out, Haiyer got up and waddled over to his mother other side and laid his head down as well. She lightly stroked both of her children’s heads, an aching smile on her face. “Very glad...”

“Farris said he was gonna put me into the stew when Yale brought me to him,” Nenani said. “But it was a joke.”

“It’s just how Farris scares off thieves,” Keral added when he saw the look on the woman’s face. “Not so much nowadays, but he use to get humans comin’ in and stealing from the stores pretty often and there were still a lot of folks working in the castle who wouldn’t think twice about snatching a wayward human up. So he started puttin’ some fear into ‘em whenever he caught one. Threatened he’d eat ‘im and what not so they’d stay away. Then either let ‘em go or send ‘em to the Hill Tribes.”

“What are the Hill tribes?”

“After all the killin’ was over, the King put aside some land fer the refugees to set up as their own place within Vhasshal’s borders where his mandate and guards could protect them.”

“I don’t understand. What mandate?”

“Warren’s mandate,” Keral replied. “First thing he did when he was crowed was to declare it illegal to eat humans by punishment of death.”

“Warren...you mean the youngest Prince?” she asked, her interest piqued. “Why is he King? What of his brothers?”

Keral nodded. “Only son left. All the rest are dead. The war claimed ‘em along with a whole lot of other folks. His sister’s passed too. Birthing Fever.”

A pained looked fell over Oira’s face and she nodded. “I see. So his father is dead then as well, I take it.”

“Aye. A knife or two through the back’ll do that.”

“What?” she asked in real alarm and looked into Keral’s face. “When?”

“Been a while now. Nine years?” Keral replied, his face hard as he idly scratched his chin. “The man went mad with blood lust. The war had to end and it weren’t gonna do that while he still breathed. He wasn’t gonna stop until every human on the continent was dead.”

“So. He...he was assassinated?”

“He was. Funny that ye didn’t know that, lass.” Oira was silent for a very long time and Nenani observed her, she seemed to be thinking about something very hard. Her eyes flickered to Nenani and then to Haiyer and to Keral. Whatever was in her head, it seemed to trouble her greatly.

“Giant,” she said at last. She did not meet his eye.

“Name’s Keral, woman.”

“Fine. Keral,” she amended and turned her head up to regard the ranger with a serious and almost desperate expression. “Do you swear that Nenani is safe there? In Vhasshal? On your honor, do you swear it?”

Keral shifted and leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees and regarding the human woman with a serious expression of his own. “I do. My brother loves that lil’ girl,” he said with a jerk of his head towards Nenani. “And I guarantee he’s in pieces thinkin’ that dragon she burnt up had went on and killed her.”  

She took a deep breath and said, “I...I have a request for you, then.”

Keral quirked one eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Alright then.”

“Will you take Haiyer with you?”

The ranger looked surprised and then suspicious. “The lass I’m takin’ regardless. But why ye want the lad to go?”

“He’d be safer. Like you say, the wilds aren’t any place for a little boy. And winter will be here soon.”

Keral did not say anything for a few seconds and then said, “Yer not tellin’ me eveythin’ lass. Just a bit ago you were spiting fire at the idea of takin’ yer girl. Almost roasted my arse fer it. What inspired ye to change yer mind all a’ sudden?”

“Because I believe my daughter,” she replied. “… and because she reminded me that there was a time when your people and mine were friends. Before the war. And those people still do exist. In exchange for taking them...I will tell you a story.”

“Oh? And what story is that?”

“One only two people alive know.”

“Which is…?”

Oira sighed and took a long deep breath before she continued. “...if you agree to take my children to Vhasshal and swear that they will be safe there,” she said, a fire burning in her eyes as she looked to the Ranger. “Then I will tell you the truth of Crown Prince Thadeus’s death...”

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Extinction (Sebastian Stan x You)

Character: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Summary: The world was suffering from a zombie apocalypse. You fell off the train, everybody thought you were dead but turns out you survived from the fall and came back to try and heal your angered, broken heart but with vengeance.

Warning: This probably sucks? Other than that, none. XD

Words: 2,940

A/N: Inspired by the movie Resident Evil. (Love that movie so bad!) But the whole story isn't based on it. I made my own plot. I just took some characters from the game. 😊 I didn't even know how I ended up typing this? Feedbacks are very much appreciated! Aaaaaaaaaah! I’ve made a zombie apocalypse one for Chris Evans as well. Entitled ‘Barely Alive’ and it currently has two parts. Link is right under this author’s note. 

BARELY ALIVE (CHRIS EVANS X YOU) (1ST PART)

Disclaimer: GIF and pictures used are not mine, only the edits are and the whole book of course.  

Everybody was huffing once they've stepped foot on the train, each one completely exhausted from the zombie-human chase that has happened with your group of people who was safe from the infection. The faces of the other group who had been in the train looked relieved that there was still survivors, people who were the same as them, and deep down in your hearts all of you know there were more. Faith was all you were holding on to, the faith to live and stay alive.

There's nothing wrong in having faith, it makes each person stronger. You know everybody who was stepping on the same train as you were strong individuals, people who are striving to stay alive with the world crumbling apart because of the apocalypse.

"This is our train," A shaggy, greasy, long haired man spat, those dark hues filled with fear, overthinking that your group plans on taking the train away from them. You stepped back apprehensively, avoiding the man's rude attitude as Chris (Evans) decided to handle the whole situation since you weren't good at talking to ill-mannered people.

"We won't take your train, we just needed a lift to Arcadia,"  He calmly spoke to the man, hoping he would cooperate and understand the situation at hand. The man still looked agitated by your entrance, his spot was suddenly taken when the leader of their group named Jill stepped in front of him, standing tall and intimidating. Her face slightly tainted by the mixture of dirt, sweat and blood, eyes holding no emotions. "We're headed there, you guys got lucky this time," She slightly smiled, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. You were quick to read the sadness behind those eyes of hers, it was the hint of grief that some of their people have been taken by the infected.

Your eyes scanned your small group of people, Robert's there..Jeremy, Anthony, Paul, Elizabeth, Aaron, Scarlett, basically the whole Marvel cast with their families and the DC cast included. You were the only person whose family was taken away from the Umbrella Corporation. A stranger in a group of famous people, and the only normal human who had survived. You didn't know why your family were the only one who was taken when the others were given as a bait for the dead and only were the only one who had survived from their harsh abduction.

Those dazzling blue eyes you've grown to love landed on yours, a look that says he was relieved you were still standing before him, alive and kicking with no wounds nor scratches. You were all lucky enough to have outrun them this time. Sebastian was quick to engulf you in his arms, hugging you off your feet as you knotted your arms around his neck, hiding your face in between his shoulder, feeling tears forming in your eyes. You were scared for your life and what future does it hold for you both and for everyone. "Shhh," Your lover sweetly hushed, giving your back gentle caresses. You heard him sniff and instantly you knew he was feeling the same way as you.

"We'll survive this apocalypse, we just gotta stick together, Y/N." Everybody was now hugging their loved ones. frightened for what was about to come. Sebastian unwrapped his arms around you, taking your face in his pretty, large hands. It felt soft and slight calloused all together, his eyes looked down on you lovingly, pupils blown in affection, "I love you, we'll stick together until the end..and I'll love you till my last breath, please don't think about giving up,"

Everybody was hugging each other, except from one person who despised you the most when you came into Sebastian's life..Her name was Valentine/Meredith. She was Sebastian's ex-girlfriend, he loves you more than anything in the world, he did everything he didn't do for her, he became the best lover that Y/N dreamed of. A dream that was once wished by Valentine/Meredith. The expected jealousy was bubbled up inside of her, resulting it to turn bigger, rotting  till she couldn't handle anymore.

She did rot. Even though she wasn't a Zombie, the jealousy inside of her began to rot till she did the most malintent thing she ever done in her life.

"N-No! S-Stop!" You groaned and choked around the hand that was tightly wrapped around your neck. Your hands wrapped on the edges of the opened train door, grasping for dear life. You could hear the high-pitched whistle of the air, tempting to try and suck you out of the train.

Your face was beginning to turn paler as each second passes by, lungs starting to desperately heave for some air. Yet, the stranger who had your neck around his large hand appeared to plan on choking till you could see the other side of the world. Death.

"It was you! You and your psychopathic family started this apocalypse!" He shouted, brown eyes glowing with ire.

"T-Those are lies!!!" Your voice croaked, desperately trying to unlatch the stranger's hand--lets name him Will since you've heard Jill talk to the bulky, bald man a while ago-- He didn't stop though, he was triggered to tighten his hold. Sucking the air out of your lungs, "I-I have nothing to do with my father's scientific profession! I know nothing!!"

"LIES! Valentine/Meredith told me every secret you held! Your family was taken by the Umbrella Corporation! You're fucking connected to those son of a bitches!" He spat aloud. You desperately scanned your surroundings. Nobody was around, it was just you, him and an empty train.

Y/N just had to take a piss when suddenly she was pulled by the huge guy who gripped her by the hair so hard, locking them up in the other side of a train where people weren't around. Sebastian was in a group meeting with the others, talking about some plans when your bladder decided to burst in the wrong time.

You couldn't help stop nature.

"You're the fucking antidote that they needed! Your blood is the medicine and answer to this nightmare!" His fingers began to tighten more, leaving no air to enter your throat, making your face turn paler and bluer as each damned second passed by. Your vision was beginning to turn hazy and everything was spinning around.

"The Umbrella corporation will come back and get you! We can't afford another death in our group and even with yours! You're the one who deserves to die! You deserve to get found and get experimented!"

Half of your feet were dangling on the edge of the train. Your heart accelerating as fast as how the train was going. The heavy, harsh wind slapping your face, telling you that you were about to die any moment. Will was forcefully pushing you back, his eyes glowing with feral anger. Only one train of thought running in his mind. He needed the kill.

"S-Somebody! Help! Sebastian!" You desperately breathed, clawing at his hands harsher, but it seemed too feeble to unlatch as you were slowly getting vincible, your strength slowly faltering.

Your bulging eyes hastily searched for any person who could help you. Will was a pretty large person and you..you were small, frail and stiff. Fighting him off would just be a waste of energy because you know you were no match with him.

However, that tiny faith in you screamed to fight him. Use those techniques you see in the movies. There was no harm in trying, and so you did.

Will was a big guy, but he's surely an idiot for bringing you close and breathing in your face because the world just turned upside down and  you've immediately gotten the upper hand when you reached up and roughly pressed his eyes, emitting a guttural scream from the large man. He released your throat, clutching onto his stingy eyes as he moved aside and you've gotten the chance to run, sprinting on the way to the door in haste.

All the pieces of your heart fell apart when a very unbelievable scene unfolded behind the clear train door. An imaginary hand crawling up to your chest, giving it a tight squeeze, making the ache unbearable to handle.

Why? Because Sebastian was fucking kissing Valentine/Meredith.

The pain in your throat came back, but it wasn't because you were being choked again. You could feel your heart sting so bad as Sebastian stood in front of her, his back on you and Valentine's/Meredith's face that you wanted to stab a million times. She was a bitch indeed.

You tightened your palms in either side of you, forgetting the fact that you were in the middle of getting choked to death and thrown outside the train. Your heart was palpitating with different kinds of reason. Anger, pain, jealousy and fear.

Your hand was about to grab the lock, yet you were left banging a hand on the clear door once you felt Will's hand painfully pulling at your roots, yelling a scream that caught everyone's attention at the other side of the door.

Sebastian was utterly frozen in spot when the woman who he held no feelings stood on her tiptoes and pressed a disgusting kiss on his lips, having no shame that everybody was around but were busy talking except from one of his friend named Mackie who clearly bulged his eyes out when she maliciously kissed him in front of them.

She was a damn, hard headed vixen who didn't care about her dignity and had no shame.

Unfortunately, you didn't see Sebastian push her off, reacting with such hostility that made her regret what she did. "What the fuck, Valentine/Meredith?! What the hell's wrong with you?!"

Then he heard a heart stopping scream.

A scream that came from you.

He was fast to turn around, scared of what happened to the love of his life. Yet, he was too late.

Y/N had already fell off the train.

It was that exact moment he knew that his heart would never forgive himself because you were gone.

Just like that, and he won't ever forget to cry every night, mourning for his dying heart.

                                        ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

6 months after:

"You sure there's still survivors in here?" Claire Redfield asked in a hushed whisper, an American special police officer who was the leader of your group. The sweet-smelling, woody scent of pine trees breezed around all four of you as you stood below a huge, beige Meditteranean house that looked untouched and placid. The house looking clear from the infected.

The four of you decided to check the house, Leon claiming that he saw somebody run from behind the back garden. You didn't know what got into you, but you automatically stood up from your seat of the bus and volunteered to come. Claire didn't hesitate for you to join with them since she knew how trained you are. She knew how tough you got from all the training and sparring you did with her. You weren't the softy that everyone knew before, you were trained to fight and be strong for the better of your future, putting aside those tears and feelings on the ground.

You've changed, you're trying to change and it was for the better. You hoped in the back of your mind.

There were still a lot of survivors inside the bus, currently waiting for what was about to come and anticipating who or what was inside the mansion. All of you stood still as you nervously stand on the porch. Leon was picking on the lock of the door knob, a tiny, faded click signalling everyone that he finally had it open.

"Positive, Claire." You whispered, keeping the gun back in your holster, hiding behind Leon. He wrenched the door knob opened, Eerie silence welcomed you, alerting everyone's senses. You took light steps while parading in, your boots sounding so quiet and theirs as well.

"How sure are you, Y/N?"

You kept your mouth shut, you didn't know how you were sure. It was what your heart could feel, and in the vague point of your mind, a tiny voice was yelling that there was someone in there and despite of your fragmented heart, you hoped it was someone you knew. Someone you loved, and a certain person who broke your heart. Leaving nothing but anger inside your shattered soul.

You fixed your crouching postures once your team stopped inside a circle of a marbled, black floor. The ceiling was too high to reach, a very lavish chandelier dangling on top of your heads. Your hearts skipped a beat when you heard faded foot steps echoing around.

"I am strangling you alive when we're compromised, Y/N!" Leon whisper-yelled. Leaving Claire's question unanswered. You felt a ball stuck in your throat as your eyes skimmed around the mansion, your heart skipping a beat from nervousness, anticipating for what or who was living inside the place.

Everybody heard an ear-wrecking creak, your eyes roamed from left to right, the sound continuously perceptible. "Something's going to fall," Leon uttered, senses on full alert. The creaking sound stopping just as all your breaths did and with a quick clang, everybody knew it was the chandelier falling.

Everybody ducked, rolled and maneuvered away from the circle, leaving you alone and distracted by the hushed whispers echoing inside a certain room from the second floor, seeing a silhouette disappearing in the shadows. Your hands were trembling, breath stopping and eyes focused on the falling chandelier above you. Is that how it all ends for you? To get killed by a huge chandelier falling on your head?

"Y/N!" Your team screamed for your name, your feet were rooted on the ground, trying to accept the fate of your death. Your foot trembled once you took a step back, was it all too late?

Then, you felt a body harshly pushing you away. Your body landing on the floor with a loud and painful thud, your head hitting the floor, the world spun around you like a whirlpool. Darkness hugging you for a moment or so until you realized a warm body was hovering above you, coughing out the dust that was flying all around.

With a blink of an eye, you were met with the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen, the eyes of the man you had ever loved with all your heart, and the only man who have crushed your heart into pieces from the moment your life changed when you fell on that train all the way to Arcadia.

"Y/N??"

His Steele blue eyes turned duller, losing it's glimmer. Earning dark eye bags underneath his feature that you loved the most. The color of his face lost a ton, making him look less happy with his life.

The man above you was like a different man and you were in shock. Completely flabbergasted with your mouth ajar, you've longed for him, for his touch and the warmth radiating off him whenever you both were together.

Yet, everything felt different with the pain inside of your soul. You hardly closed your mouth, spitting out a name that seemed difficult to verbally say for you as he was finally up close and personal for the first time after the accident happened.

You were choking in your own words, mouth keeping a straight line, blinking in the tight feeling forming inside your chest. It was too painful to look at him because all you could recall was the memories with him, coming at you one by one.

"Sebastian?"

It's that exact moment you knew you were dying inside. As much as how he did when he thought he would never get to see you again.

STEVE? LMAO 😥😘 FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! LIKE AND REBLOG OR COMMENT IF YA WANT MOREEEEE, TATER TOTS! WHO MISSED ME?!

[theateared]

I Will Forgive You. ❜

 Summary:  I can’t allow you to win this particular game of chess, Edgar. Warnings:  None.

     ❝ This has gone on long enough, Edgar. ❞

     The lye was sprawled out on the wooden bench closest to the preacher’s podium, wholly inelegant as he stared up at the church ceiling.   ❝ I do agree.  The  damp  in this building has been building up for millennia--  might I suggest a deep-clean? ❞

     ❝ This isn’t a JOKE. ❞

     Raku had not once raised his voice to him  before, and the sheer volume of it boomed like thunder.  The sacred walls surrounding them echoed his disdain clearly, an uncharacteristic hint of malice oozing like pus from his sharp rebuke.  It prompted the lye to sit up slowly, an air of sobriety returning to him as he stared up at the floating deity with a hint of wonder.

     He was a tiny thing, barely reaching the lye’s knee with his ears stood to attention, but the way he hovered over the podium made him look like a Goliath.  Though he hadn’t finished yet, Edgar felt a pit of dread open up in his stomach.

                                                                                                Is this my day of Reckoning?                                                                                 Has the unending dark reached for me?                                                                                       I didn’t even kiss Grace goodbye--

     ❝ I brought you back from the dead for one  very  specific reason, ❞   the God continued.  In the dim light of the church, he appeared different.  Menacing despite his small stature;  eyes a familiar shade of black and red, fingers looking all too sharp as he stared down at him.   ❝ You’re breaking the rules, Edgar.  You’re destroying the natural order.  Do you know what happens when you do that? ❞

     ❝ No. ❞

     ❝ The universe gets angry.  It never forgets. ❞   He moved closer then, floating form seeming weightless as he came to rest in front of him.  Small black hands settled on either side of the lye’s face, cool skin burning tenderly as he gazed into his eyes.   ❝ You can’t do this. ❞

     Edgar scoffed quietly:   ❝ So, what, you’re going to kill me? ❞

     In a soft voice, Raku continued:   ❝ You aren’t supposed to be here like this.  Don’t you see that? ❞   He paused a moment, tucking hair behind his ear gently.   ❝ You did things.  Terrible things.  And you need to be held accountable for that.  And rest assured--  I will forgive you.  I always will.  Even after all this time, even after all the other  countless  people  you’ve killed, and maimed, and tortured , I will forgive you. ❞

     ❝ ... ❞   For a lone moment, the lye looked relieved.  It dissipated in a second as a noise began to build in his throat.  It was low and suave at first, a mere rumble in the dark, before he suddenly  EXPLODED  with laughter, reaching out to wrap a gloved hand in the collar of the deity’s robe, dragging him close--  too close, his nose pressed taut against his, wide grin unrelenting as his frenzied gaze bore into his.

      Without his mouth moving at all:   ❝ You’ll forgive me?  WHAT A SAINT! ❞   He pushed him a short distance away then, standing up from his place on the bench, arms spread wide and long above his head.   ❝ EVERYBODY  MAKE  WAY  FOR THE BENEVOLENT OVERLORD!  PLEASE, HOLD YOUR  PRAYERS  UNTIL AFTER THE SHOW! ❞   Even in a place with no light, he was able to manipulate his shadow into forming a small crowd of people;  people that looked equally as enthused as he did, willowy arms waving frantically, gap-smiles jagged and squirming as if locked in silent cheers.

     This isn’t good...  you’re  stronger.  Much  stronger.

     ❝ Edgar... ❞

     ❝ NO!  HAHAHA! ❞   He snapped his fingers then, the crowd dissipating in a puff of smoke.  As soon as he had started, he had stopped.  Manic joy was replaced by fury in a heartbeat, disposition now solemn and serious.   ❝ You’ll  forgive me,  will you?  Quaint.  Cute.  Very  drole-- ❞

     ❝ Edgar-- ❞

     ❝ I  won’t  forgive you, ❞   he hissed, a clawed finger jabbed in his direction.  God or not, Edgar  refused  to cower.  He wasn’t so foolish to think that he could take Raku in a fight--  and hell, despite his inflammatory behaviour, he was truly trying to avoid one--   but he wouldn’t see himself behaving as a simpering fool either.  I do not  bend.  You do not  own  me.   ❝ For all you’ve  DONE  to me?  Perhaps  YOU  should repent too!  You refused to end my suffering.  You let me travel down this dark path, turn INTO this monster--  you could have saved me.  But what did you do instead?  You left me to rot.  You heard my prayers, and you  IGNORED  THEM! ❞

     ❝ That isn’t--  I can’t stop people-- ❞

     ❝ BULLSHIT. ❞   The expletive felt foreign and hot in his mouth, like a ball of molten lava, and he hurled it at the deity with such tenacious resentment that he swore he saw steam when he exhaled.  In a calmer tone:   ❝ You’re God.  You can do anything. ❞

     ❝ I couldn’t save your wife and child.  Peoples’ actions are out of my hands-- ❞

     ❝ THEN YOU COULD HAVE LET ME DIE, TOO. ❞

     The words were unexpected  -  and as such, Raku  flinched.  The whole time, he’d assumed that Edgar expected to live out his perfect life, that he was angry because his slice of heaven had been taken away by somebody else, and his saviour hadn’t been able to intervene...  this was a  different  side of him, one rooted in emotion, one that was aimless and grieving, lost.

     ❝ ... if there was no way for you to intervene, if that is  TRULY  the case, then all I wanted was to go with them.  Even if I’d have had to live through the terrible things that he did to them both, it ultimately wouldn’t have mattered, because I wouldn’t have been alive to grieve over it.  Do you have  ANY  IDEA  how much I  hate  myself  for not being there?  For choosing  WORK  over going home for dinner that night?  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE--?! ❞

     For a moment, the God swore he saw a hint of  something  in the corners of his eyes, something wet and all too human, but when he blinked it was gone, replaced with iron-clad rage once more.

     ❝ Of  course  you don’t.  That’s why you’ll never understand me.  That’s why you’ll continue to villainise me--  continue to demand an apology that you don’t deserve. ❞  Edgar’s smile had vanished, and it made him feel even more eerie;  frightening, even to a God.  In a defeated voice, exhausted and worn:   ❝ ... do with me as you will.  I know that I can’t stop you.  I’m powerful.  I’m the Alpha of my creed.  I’ve achieved great things, stricken fear into so many hearts... but I’m not God.  I just hope, when you vanquish me, when you rid Huron’s soil of my pitiful existence, you recall how much pain you inflicted on me.  How much suffering you put me through.  That you created  this animal that I have become, and that you’re no less guilty of impurity than I am. ❞

     His hands slid into his pockets, back turned to his maker.  There’s nothing left to say.  If it cannot change my fate, then so be it.  At least I said my piece.  

     ❝ ... be ready soon, ❞   Raku said quietly.  Edgar heard, but he did not respond.

     I can no longer keep this a secret from Grace.  Or my creed.  At the very least, I should say goodbye to them.  To her especially--

                                                                     --------    I’m sorry, Gracie.  I’m going to die.

[wingedquill]

over the mossy roots

@geraltwhumpweek

TITLE: over the mossy roots

SHIP: Gen

PROMPT DAY: Day 1: Ostracism

  MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: Child abuse (of the magical mind manipulation variety), Hurt/No Comfort, Unhappy Ending

SUMMARY: Ciri has been running too hard for too long. When Visenna stumbles across her in the woods, it's no wonder her mind welcomes in the warm, comforting feeling of her magic. It's no wonder she bends to her suggestions, becomes the perfect daughter Visenna has dreamed of since she was forced to get rid of her last child. And, when Geralt finds them, it's no wonder he's horrified.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is the second part to a lil series I’m working on where Geralt has inherited some of his mother’s druid magic. You can find the whole series on AO3 here

Ciri is so tired of being wary. Of looking at every stranger like they wish to rip her heart out.

It’s a necessity to keep her alive, she knows that. If even the familiar is dangerous—she still dreams of Mousesack twisting into a monster—then the unfamiliar is even more so. The Nilfgaardians wouldn’t even need to disguise themselves, they could just send a soldier to pose as one of the dozens of well-meaning women that have tried to adopt her.

And yet, part of her—a very large part of her—is begging the rest of her to just take the offer. To let herself be someone’s daughter again, to live in a simple, warm house, and take whatever name her new mother might want to give. To stop running, to stop looking for a man she suspects doesn’t want her. To be safe.

Right now, she’s huddled in her makeshift camp in the forest, shivering as the wind skitters across her back on icy feet. Her fingers are growing numb, but she can’t risk a fire—not so close to the nearest town. So she keeps them clenched into fists in Dara’s gloves, tucked under her armpits. Hopefully that’ll be enough to stave off frostbite.

Something growls.

She snaps her head up, staring intently into the undergrowth. Four pairs of yellow eyes stare back at her.

Shit.

She should have built that fire after all.

She stumbles to her feet and takes one step backward, then another, not breaking eye contact with the wolves. She fears that, if she does, they will take the opportunity to attack.

Breathe. Stay calm. Don’t let them smell your fear.

Sweat pricks at the back of her neck as, pools in her gloves. One of the wolves slinks forward, slipping from the undergrowth, followed by his fellows. He’s a monstrous thing, gray fur stuck through with twigs and burrs, the fur around his mouth already matted with blood. He’s just eaten then, but he’s clearly still hungry, drool dripping out of his mouth as he stalks towards Ciri.

He snarls and Ciri trips over a tree root, jolting her wrists as she tries to catch herself on the muddy, mossy earth. The wolf seems oddly satisfied as it moves towards her, like it can taste her panic in the air. Easy prey.

She reaches inside her, tugging at the part of her soul that tore a rift in the Earth, that fell the boys that tried to hurt her, but it feels stifled, buried deep beneath something else. Something stronger.

“That’s enough, dearies,” a voice says. It’s a woman’s voice, clear and calm, and that something else shifts over Ciri, rolling across her mind like a warm wave. Her limbs feel heavy, fuzzy with sleep, the aches of five months on the run sliding away from her as easily as a shed coat.

The woman moves forward, into Ciri’s line of sight. She walks through the forest as if it’s her court, and it bends to her like a loyal subject. Roots moving away from her feet, clearing the path between her and the wolves. The wolves that are no longer, snarling, bloodthirsty beasts, but docile puppies, whining and wagging their tails as she kneels down before them.

She’s never seen this kind of magic before. Nature magic, yes, from the women of Brokilon, from Mousesack. But never something this warm and weighty.

“Hush now,” the woman says, stroking the lead wolf’s nose. “Hush.”

The wolf goes to the ground, closing his eyes with a huff as sleep rushes over him. His pack follows suit, and soon, the woman is surrounded by snoring wolves.

The woman turns her head over her shoulder, locking eyes with Ciri.

“They’ll sleep for a while,” she says. “Would you like to pet one?”

The warmth slips through and around her brain, enveloping her in a feeling of safety so full and complete that she thinks she’ll cry. She doesn’t trust herself to speak so she just nods, slipping forward to crouch down next to the lead wolf, the one with the bloody muzzle.

She wonders if he ate some other little girl without a druid to protect her.

“These ones aren’t scared of people,” the woman murmurs as Ciri rests her hand on the wolf’s head. It’s softer than she imagined it would be. “They see them as prey.”

Ciri knows what happens to wild animals that aren’t scared of people.

“Are you going to kill them?” she asks.

“Oh no. It’s not their fault they’re hungry. Not their fault they were born with the taste for blood.” She keeps stroking the wolf’s head. A glow forms at her fingertips, the sickly yellow of half-rotted flowers.

“This will keep both them and the humans safe,” she explains as the glow covers the wolf from nose to lazily-flopping tail. Ciri feels like she’s being lectured by one of her tutors. “It’ll cause them pain to be within fifty feet of a person. They’ll turn and run when they feel the pain, and while it might hurt them a bit, it’ll cause less death and suffering overall. Does that make sense?”

Ciri nods.

“Good,” the woman says. She moves her hand to the next wolf. “I’ll teach you how to do this someday. You should be able to. I can sense your power. It is strong, but misguided at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” The nearly-forgotten wariness is back, shoving insistently through the artificial safety.

The woman smiles, but there is sadness in her eyes. She brings her free hand up, stroking her fingers through Ciri’s hair, and Ciri can’t stop herself from flinching. She half expects the yellow glow to cover her too, a punishment for her chaos.

“When you’re in danger, your first instinct is to lash out,” the woman says. “To kill. There is no need for this.”

They tried to kill me first, Ciri wants to protest, to defend herself. But her tongue feels very heavy in her mouth.

“I’ll take care of you,” the woman says, and then her arms are around Ciri, hoisting her into the air. Panic coils in Ciri’s throat, but it is quickly soothed away by safe, safe, safe. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a child in my house.”

“But I have to find—”

Who does she need to find again?

“You just need a place to rest,” the woman says. “To grow. To become something wonderful.”

She’s forgetting something. Something important, slipping further and further away from her brain as safety, warmth, home, comfort, quiet, quiet, QUIET, slips in.

The woman turns her head to look at the place that Ciri had fallen.

“I am Visenna,” she says. “But you will call me Ma. And you…”

“I’m C—”

“I will call you Moss,” she says decisively, shifting Ciri—Moss—Ciri, her name is Ciri, she won’t forget that too, she can’t forget that too—so that her weight rests against her hip.

“Why are you doing this?” Ciri manages to ask as the warmth floods her brain. She knows she won’t be able to hold out against it much longer.

“I told you,” Visenna says, running a finger over Ciri’s cheek, almost lovingly. “It’s been so long since I had a child.”

Ciri sleeps.

***

Moss wakes up.

She stretches lazily, staring at the first rays of sun as they play over her bedroom wall. Something is lingering in her brain, a dream of a forest, a star, a pair of flashing golden eyes. She shakes her head, blinking back the last bits of sleep and readying herself to start the day. Ma said she could start learning taming magic today, start coaxing restless piglets into contented slumber. She can’t wait.

She climbs out of bed and heads into the kitchen, where Ma is already up and slicing up thick slices of bread.

“Morning, Ma,” she yawns, snatching an apple out of the bowl on the table.

“Good morning, Moss,” Ma says, dropping a kiss onto Moss’s hair. Her touch is soft and gentle, her voice is soft and gentle, her magic is soft and gentle. And part of Moss thinks that that isn’t quite right, that her Ma is supposed to be burning violet eyes and fire and fierce protectiveness.

But that isn’t right.

She’s lived here all her life.

Must just be the remnants of a dream.

***

She’s happy.

***

She’s safe.

***

But some days she feels like she’s not supposed to be happy and safe. She’s supposed to be grieving something, something greater than a single person’s death, something huge and all-encompassing. She’s supposed to be terrified of something equally vast. Something coming for her.

She’s just a simple druid. She has made no enemies, has lost no family, has no reason to be sad and scared in this warm, bright forest.

And yet she is.

***

Ma teaches her how to coax the flowers out of the earth, how to calm piglets and wolves alike, how to soothe away small storms, how to encourage trees to grow into useful shapes—houses and walls and the like. She cultivates a gentle kind of power, and the urge to scream, to run, to get away(and why does she feel that anyway, in her own home?) lessens day by day.

***

There’s a knock at their door.

A man standing there, all shining white hair and fierce yellow eyes. He balks at the sight of Ma, staring at her like she’s a monster, like she’s dangerous. Moss bristles in indignation, glaring at the man as she comes to stand by Ma’s side.

(Part of her hollers in triumph, that someone else recognizes Ma for who she is.)

“Can I help you, sir witcher?” Ma asks, looping an arm around Moss’s shoulders. There’s frost threaded through her voice. She noticed the man’s stare too.

“I’m here for Ciri,” he growls and Moss—

That name sparks something in her, clamps down on her heart until it hurts, until she’s biting down on her fist to stifle a sob. Ma gently steers Moss—that isn’t your name, and that isn’t your mother, wake up—behind her, putting herself between her and the man.

A wave of warm safety rushes over Moss and she leans into it with a sigh, letting go of the fear that had flooded her system at the sound of a name that she’s quickly forgetting. The man shakes his head like he’s shooing away a fly.

“Stop that,” he says.

“You’re strong,” Ma laughs. There’s no humor in it. “Even for a witcher.”

“I always have been,” the man says. His voice is shaking, no matter how tough he tries to sound. “Give up the girl.”

“I have more than mind magic you know.” She steps forward, but the man doesn’t flinch.

“So do I,” he says evenly. It’s not just his voice that’s shaking now. Fine tremors run up and down his body, making him tremble all over except for his right hand, which rests steady against the hilt of his sword.

“You won’t take my child,” Ma says. “I’ll die before I let that happen.”

And the man laughs. It’s bitter. Wounded.

“That’s a new tune for you,” he says. His knuckles are turning white. “How long will you want to keep her then,Visenna?” He spits Ma’s name like it’s poison. “A year? Five years? Until she gets a mind of her own?”

Around them, the trees that make up the framework of their house creak in warning. Ma stretches out her arms, trying to cover as much of the space in front of Moss as she can.

Run. Go to him. He’s here to save you.

SafetyWarmthQuietQuietQUIET

She stays still. This feels more like a dreams than her dream had.

“You’re breaking her,” the man says. He sounds close to tears. “You’re shattering her mind, surely you must realize that—”

“I’m helping her,” Ma insists. “Her chaos is destructive. Dangerous—”

“As is mine,” The trees shake more violently. Three of them break free of their contorted (wrong, wrong, they shouldn’t growlike that) positions and curl inwards, branches snapping threateningly.

Ma stretches her fingers up and the trees fall still. Her shoulders heave as she takes in the man.

“So what will you do with her when her chaos escapes your shackles?” The man storms forward. Branch after branch peels away from the ceiling. “Take her off to market? Leave her alone by the side of the road?”

Leaves spin around them like a gathering storm and Moss doesn’t even know how to counter this kind of power. More than that, she doesn’t know if she wantsto counter this kind of power. Because Ma isn’t denying the man’s accusations.

“Aspen,” she breathes instead.

“Not my name anymore.”

The branches descend.

Moss thinks, for a moment, that she’s about to watch Ma die. Fear and relief burn through her, so intermingled she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Her head burns like something is tearing apart her brain piece by piece. Just when their home is about to pierce through Ma’s heart, she waves her hand and they freeze in the air.

She’s trembling, clearly straining against the man’s power, but she holds fast.

“You want me dead,” she whispers.

“I kill monsters,” the man says. He draws his sword. There’s pain on his face, stark and stricken, flashing in his eyes and twisting down his mouth. “And I’m sorry that you are one, but you are.”

“I’m not the one trying to pull apart a mother and her daughter,” Ma says, and she twists her right hand in a familiar pattern.

“No,” Moss says, as her hand glows sickly yellow. She’s seen this spell used before, on countless wolves and bears and kikimora. The thought of using it on a person is just—it’s unimaginable. Unthinkably cruel. “No!”

QUIET.

Her mouth snaps shut and she falls to her knees, the pain peaking in her head. The man growls and charges forward, swinging his sword at Ma’s head. She ducks under the swing and darts past him, brushing her hand across her chest as she goes.

The glow spreads over his skin, eating up every inch of him, and he drops to the ground with a scream, his limbs jerking uncontrollably. He curls in on himself, the scream still piercing the air, writhing and gasping like a dying fish.

“Wh—Wha—?” he chokes, reaching for his fallen sword. Ma takes a step closer to him and his hand curls into a useless claw. His question cuts off as he chokes on air, curling even tighter as agony racks through him. Moss can practically see the pain shuddering through him, wave after wave, his muscles twisting and jerking against it.

Her mother did this.

Her mother cursed a human being to feel pain whenever he goes near another person.

Her mother has effectively cut this man off from the rest of the world.

Moss is going to be sick. She’s sure of it.

“I had to,” Ma—no, Visenna, this woman doesn’t deserve the title of mother—says, cupping the man’s cheek in her hand. He wails as soon as she touches him, jerking backwards in a feeble attempt to get away from the pain. “You’re dangerous. You’d murder your own mother. You can’t be trusted around people.”

“Wha—?”

“Fifty feet,” Visenna says, getting to her feet. Her voice is clinical. Instructive. “That’s how close you can get to humans, before the burning starts. It’ll keep you and me safe, both. And keep others safe from you as well.”

“Y—You—” He’s trembling, and Moss isn’t sure if it’s from pain or fear. She wants to go to him, comfort him, but that will only make it worse.

“I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But we wouldn’t be here if you’d just listened to me, all those years ago.”

She sighs, regretfully but not mournfully, like she’s discovered one of her plants—not even her favorite plant—is infested with aphids.

“Be well, Aspen,” she says, ignoring his earlier insistence that that isn’t his name. Ignoring the fact that he could hardly expect to be well with this kind of curse, that killing him would have been kinder.

She turns around to pick up Moss, and for the first time in a long time, Moss struggles against her grip.

“No!” she screams, as Visenna hoists her into the air and carries her towards the door. “No, no, you have to undo it, you can’t just leave him like this, you fucking—”

“Language,” Visenna says idly as a wave of safetywarmthquietquietquiet rushes over her. She fights it with everything she has, thrashing against it like a fish caught in a net. But Visenna has always been stronger than her, will always be stronger than her, and she can feel her mind slipping out of her control.

And then, another command. One that she dimly realizes she’s felt before.

Forget.

The man lies on the floor of their house, shaking and shuddering as the pain pours through him.

Forget.

He tilts his head and meets Moss’s gaze with panicked golden eyes.

FORGET.

And she remembers. The White Wolf. Geralt of Rivia. Her destiny.

FORGET. SLEEP.

Ciri closes her eyes.

***

Moss wakes up.