#or at least she aided the process in some way i’m unsure

[coffinwoodx]

i found not one not two but THREE whole little disco elysium fangames we eating good tonight lads

they’re like a choose your own adventure here are the links if anyone else wants to play <3

Requiem for the Apostle

Re-Hearsed

Sweeter Kind of Fire (18+)

(they’re all entirely text-based btw! very well written, evidently made with a lot of love)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

A Need of the Soul

Summary: Éomer is teaching Faramir how to speak Rohirric as a surprise for Éowyn. Come for Faramir being a sweet husband, stay for the emotional links to Boromir and Théodred. Oh, and for Éomer being a big horse dork.

Context: I pulled a JRR and wrote a whole story around a special word I like! More on that at the very bottom. You can read this without knowing any of my personal Rohan head canon, but just in case it’s helpful: In my world, Éomer is married to his childhood best friend, Mereliss. My Théodred (who you can read more about here or here if you’re interested) was a nurturing soul with a curious mind, and I may be obsessed with him. And damn it, my Éomer can absolutely read and write! (See here for why that’s the case in my HC.)

As soon as Éowyn left for the morning, Faramir pulled out his secret stack of papers, the ones he had started requesting from Éomer six months ago when he first decided to try learning Rohirric. He wanted to master the language as a surprise for Éowyn, ever conscious of how much she had sacrificed on his behalf when they married. Although he knew she loved Ithilien, he also knew that sometimes she still longed for the familiarity and comfort of home, for the people, places, and culture that were now many miles away. If he could bring some of Rohan to her in the form of her language, he hoped he could brighten her heart on those days when she looked most in need of a reminder of all that she missed.

With this goal in mind, he had thrown himself wholly into the pursuit, but the process was more difficult than he had hoped. The Rohirrim didn’t keep written records in their own language, nor did they have textbooks or primers made to learn from. All Faramir had were the pages that Éomer would write out and send to him every few weeks, using Westron to describe basic grammar rules and listing common Rohirric words and phrases by their definitions and rough pronunciations. Working from written materials to learn a language that was only taught orally was maddeningly difficult, and Faramir spent long hours alone at his desk laboring at the exercises Éomer sent, unsure if he was even getting close to the sounds he was attempting to produce.

At least he would be aided today by the presence of Éomer in person. The king of Rohan was coming to Gondor to take counsel with his allies on military matters, and he had agreed to make time for some lessons while his own wife, Mereliss, kept Éowyn occupied in furtherance of the surprise. With Éowyn gone now to meet her sister-in-law, Faramir looked down his lists of Rohirric words and tried to commit a few more to memory, repeating them slowly out loud to himself while he waited for Éomer.

“If someone back home heard you slur your way through those words like that, they might assume you were a drunkard.”

Faramir looked up to see Éomer smirking at him from the doorway, still dressed in his riding clothes and holding a small pack. “Well, if the performance of the student falls short, I think we have no option but to blame the instructor,” Faramir returned with a smirk of his own.

“A fair point, I will grant you.” Éomer strode in and tossed his things on an empty chair before pulling Faramir up into a strong embrace, thumping a fist on his brother-in-law’s back with enough enthusiasm to knock the breath out of him.

When they separated, Faramir smiled and held up his stack of papers. “I do appreciate all of this. It’s a lot of work for me, but for you, too, I’m sure.”

Éomer gave a dismissive wave. “I have the easy part. Besides, there’s some benefit to me in all of this, as well. I’ll certainly enjoy the show the next time you visit Edoras and all the ladies at court discover that you can actually understand their scandalous comments about how handsome they find you. Your admirer’s club is in for a big shock.”

They both laughed, though Éomer noted the flush of pink in Faramir’s ears and cheeks and that only made him laugh all the harder. “Don’t let them see you blush, you’ll only make it worse!” He plopped down into a chair and put his feet up, smiling.

As Faramir took a seat across from him, he felt a warm, familiar echo in his heart. The easy camaraderie, the good natured teasing balanced with true affection…it couldn’t help but bring Boromir to his mind. Faramir still missed his brother every single day and looked for reminders of him everywhere that he could. But he didn’t think it was a stretch to see clear elements of Boromir reflected in Éomer–in his strength and brashness, his earnest intensity, his fierce loyalty. They were both proud men of action with an unshakeable sense of duty and love for family. Éomer could never replace Boromir, and he was surely his own man, different in many ways from the brother Faramir lost. But it lifted Faramir’s spirits to once again have such a figure in his life.

Now his brother-in-law reached into his pack and pulled out more pages, covered from top to bottom in his own scrawly handwriting. “I’ve brought you some more to learn–words you’d hear often around Rohan and that any self-respecting Rohirrim would know.”

Faramir accepted the papers from him and skimmed his eyes down the first page, but a look of confusion slowly built on his face as he read. “Am I understanding this correctly? Why do you have twenty different words for ‘horse’?”

“I have not given you twenty words for ‘horse’! Each one of those means something very different.” Éomer grabbed the page back and pointed. “This one here, éotynde, this is an old, calm mare that would be suitable for a young child just learning to ride.” He pointed again. “And this one, éoweder, is a high spirited horse that has quickness and agility but is unpredictable and difficult to control. The others are equally unique. Do you not see?”

Faramir gently extracted the page back from Éomer’s grip, hoping to avoid a further explanation of each specific variant on the list. “I understand those distinctions, but are they really significant enough that I require a whole separate word for each one? We make do in Gondor with but one term. A horse is a horse.”

“A horse is a horse?” Éomer gaped at him, incredulous. “You think the language of the Rohirrim would put a courier horse, whose purpose is swiftness and endurance, in the same category with a farm horse, who sacrifices speed in favor of strength and power? They aren’t remotely the same thing, and a proper language wouldn’t treat them as such. If we went by your rules, we’d all be calling the blacksmith a baker because they both make things with heat!”

It was obvious from the truly scandalized look on his face that Éomer would never concede the point, so Faramir held up his hands in smiling capitulation. And if all these varieties of horse were important to Éomer, likely they would be to Éowyn as well, so Faramir would learn them as best he could. But he desired to speak to Éowyn of many things, and horses were nowhere near the top of the list. He shuffled through the papers one more time. “Have you finally given me anything that would be suitable to say to a beloved wife?”

Éomer shot him a look. “I am not the right person to consult for words of romance. And certainly not when the woman to be romanced is my own sister.”

Faramir laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s get back to your many words for ‘horse’ and I will ask Mereliss to help me with some more emotional thoughts later.”

Éomer sat back, satisfied. “I will have you sounding like a Rohirrim in no time. Now, do you know the word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses?”

**********

The next morning, Faramir spent two hours with Mereliss while Éomer and Éowyn went for a ride. When the siblings returned, Éomer sent Éowyn to Mereliss’s quarters and went himself to check on Faramir’s progress. He found his brother-in-law once again at his desk, bent over his work, and dropped casually into a nearby chair.

“Did you get all of the flowery and eloquent phrases you need?”

Faramir put down his pen and smiled. “Mereliss helped me to write a special toast to Éowyn for our upcoming anniversary. I knew what I wanted to say, and Mereliss made sure it will sound not just like a bunch of Westron bluntly converted into Rohirric words but rather something that was written by a native speaker. Something truly of Rohan. She has quite a talent for beautiful language and imagery.” He gave a sly smile. “Though she told me that you also have something of a poet’s heart when the two of you are alone in your own chambers.”

Éomer’s head snapped up, a tinge of dark red sweeping across his cheeks. “She told you what?”

Now it was Faramir’s turn to laugh at his brother-in-law’s furious blushing, so out of character for one who was otherwise always self assured and confident. Faramir had faithfully reported Mereliss’s remark, and it was clearly true that Éomer really did speak his softest thoughts to her or he would not be so flustered by the possibility that she had shared those thoughts. But Faramir had no need or desire to prolong Éomer’s self-consciousness.

“There is nothing to worry about. I know only that you are capable of words to enchant and delight your wife, which is no bad thing. But she didn’t reveal what those words are. She wouldn’t betray your privacy, and I would never ask her to.”

Éomer’s shoulders noticeably relaxed, and he laughed a little at his own embarrassment. “Well, your discussion of my clumsy attempts to please my wife aside, I am glad that she helped you. Westron is very useful, but there are some things that just cannot be said as effectively without our own words and expressions.”

“Indeed. She gave me a number of things that I quite like, ways to convey entire concepts with a single word that has no direct equivalent in any language that I know. Like sáwolthearf. Every language should have such a term.”

Sáwolthearf. The word sent a wave of fond remembrance through Éomer’s heart. It translated literally as ‘a need of the soul’ and was used in Rohan to mean someone who is necessary in order for another person to feel truly happy and complete. His late cousin Théodred, who had always been so free and generous in expressing his feelings, used to call his bride-to-be sáwolthearf, and Éomer could easily picture Eadlin practically glowing with love and pride whenever Théodred referred to her that way.

To hear Théodred’s words coming now from Faramir’s lips was no great shock to Éomer. On the contrary, it only intensified a feeling he had long had in the presence of his brother-in-law: a sense that he was not with Théodred himself, but with a kindred spirit of his cousin. Someone whose modesty, eagerness for knowledge, gentle heart and dreamer’s mind so thoroughly echoed Théodred’s own nature that Éomer felt immediately at ease in his company. Théodred had been many things to Éomer–a deeply loved cousin, but also much like an older brother and at times even a father figure–and he had carried Éomer through some of the most difficult moments he would ever experience. Éomer could never truly reconcile himself to Théodred’s loss, but having Faramir in his life helped to salve that wound.

Watching Faramir now—shuffling again through his notes and drafts, applying himself so diligently to such a difficult task and all for the purpose of simply making Éowyn smile—Éomer was struck by a profound feeling of gratitude, one that he felt should be voiced even if it was not normally in his nature to speak of his innermost feelings. He cleared his throat, and Faramir looked up.

“What you’re doing for my sister is very admirable. I know it will mean a lot to her, and for that reason it means a lot to me. Thank you, eyre-brothor.”

Faramir frowned slightly and looked back at his papers. “Eyre-brothor? I don’t think I’ve learned that yet.”

Éomer smiled. “It means ‘brother by choice.’ Write that one down.”

**********

[Language nerd notes:

“Sáwolthearf” is a real Old English word (though I modernized the thorn in the middle for readability–it’s actually “sáwolþearf”) and it really does mean “a need of the soul,” which I just think is incredibly beautiful.

I made up “eyre-brothor” by combining two other real Old English words, “eyre” (“a choice made of free will”) and “brothor” (“brother”, though once again I turned the thorn in broþor into a “th” to make it smoother to modern English-reading eyes).

“Éotynde” comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “tyende” (“teaching”) for a horse that’s calm enough to be good for beginners.

Éoweder comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “weder” (“weather”) because to be impressive but quick-changing, unpredictable and uncontrollable is to be like the weather.

And it’s not in the story, but Éomer’s word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses is an “éodrefa” from “eoh” (horse, again!) and “drefan,” which is “to stir things up or cause mischief”.]

[womenaremypriority]

I decided to vote for Kamala Harris. I was unsure if I was going to give an update on my thoughts (I actually voted a couple days ago) but decided to, especially with the insane things Trump keeps saying.

However, I still understand why someone would abstain from voting and don’t think it’s automatically a sign someone doesn’t care about Trump. I am going to give the argument/thought process behind not voting, and if you think “but what about ___?” Then keep in mind I decided to vote and probably already know: I’m just explaining the thought process. With regards to not voting because of Palestine. In my experience, it’s more of a “the Democrats need to learn supporting Israel will make them lose” than a sincere belief Trump would be better. A lot of people have portrayed that as “wanting to elect Trump to punish the democrats” but it’s not about punishing them for some interpersonal grudge or small slight, it’s about supporting Israel during a genocide (and if you aren’t someone who thinks Israel is doing wrong, I can’t convince you, I suppose). Thousands of peoples lives isn’t just one political issue out of many. If Trump loses, he’s not going to blame it on him supporting Israel(not that he’ll believe it at all) but if Harris loses, she might. Showing democrats that supporting Israel will cost them the election is the best way to actually change anything within the bounds of electoralism. I know someone said that it’s probably not a big enough issue, but it is- the majority of Americans, especially democrats, support a ceasefire. I can link my source below. This is far from meaning every one of those people will not vote because of it, and far from meaning the majority of those people support the US withdrawing any and all aid to Israel, but it’s still a big issue. Democrats aren’t stupid, they’re aware a lot of people are not happy about this. There are protests whether they go, multiple celebrities have spoken about it, and it was a major deal during the DNC. They know it’s important to many voters, and the ultimate way to show that is to withhold your vote. The point of protesting is to threaten further action. And some people have said “we just have to defeat Trump this election, he’s too dangerous”: but do you really think that the millions of people who’ve went batshit insane in the past 8 years will just go away? I’m not saying this in a “complain that I have to pay attention to politics and due to the bare minimum of voting for president every 4 years” way, because I’m well aware that there’s always going to be a threat with regards to politics, unless you live in a utopia. The point is that saying we just have to accept what we can with the democrats, because Trump is a fascist- that will be held over us for the next few elections. Meaning that the democrats can just do whatever, as long as they appear more progressive. That is not enough. They need to know that’s not enough.

I also live in a solidly republican state, so me voting for her won’t matter. It won’t mean anything if I vote for her, but it could potentially mean something if I voted third party, even if it doesn’t change the outcome, it would show that more people support a third way.

But, yes, I decided to vote for her anyway. I figured that even if the dems lose, they are not going to blame it on not being progressive enough. They’re just going to go further right. And Trump is basically promising mass violence towards Mexican immigrants (and 99% likely some Americans with Mexican parents). Democrats haven’t come out as hard against the idea of mass deportations as I wish, but Trump’s rhetoric is incredibly violent. Also, yes, obviously nationwide abortion rights, and the idea of Harris, a black women, defeating Trump, who is definitely a rapist. There’s also still at least one rapist on the Supreme Court, put there by Trump. There’s also a million other things I don’t have to outline.

That said, I understand why someone would think differently. Blaming someone for being unable to still vote for the democrats, instead of blaming them, is unfair. It is their fault for putting us in a hostage situation, for saying we have to accept genocide and imperialism in order to get basic rights and a lack of even more imperialism.

and yes I do support… more drastic action, generally, which is not meaningfully different from myself and women on here supporting more drastic action with regards to male violence. If you can understand “women should start killing all rapists” you can understand that, too. But that’s not the main point, anyway.

There are probably some people who thought me not voting was the right decision, and if that’s you, sorry, I suppose. Or if you’re someone who thinks it’s weird to see the other side but still decide to vote for her, then I don’t know what to say to that because it’s just 1) changing my mind but 2) still understanding multiple perspectives.

[channiebbang]

just listen, trust me.

synopsis: a misunderstanding drives jaemin away from the only person that he should've trusted. when reality slaps him in the face he feels miserable and tries to win his love back. or something of the sort lol

characters: Jaemin, Main Character, Jeno, and a bit of Haechan, Renjun, Chenle, Mark and Jisung.

pairing: boyfriend!jaemin x f.maincharacter

genre: angst angst angst and fluff

word count: 7k (fucking hell it's THAT long?) sorry lmao

warnings: none

author’s note: this took way too long to finish jfvamejgf but i really couldn't come up with a good enough ending. or more like i couldn't write down what i wanted to write lol but i finally finished it heheh i hope you like it and it satisfies the wait i made you go through lol 💛💛

the many things people told him echoed in his head. the dimmed lights of his studio room and the slow, low beat of the music not doing much to brighten up his mood.

she's being too friendly with that one friend of yours, don't you think?

he's warming up too much to her.

watch out, you wouldn't want someone to whisk her away from you, she is a bit naive, she could be affected too easily.

and it would all have fallen to deaf ears, because he was never one to let anyone talk about his personal life, only if one of his closest friends hadn't said something.

"jaem," jeno's voice made jaemin turn to his friend. jeno looked around to their other friends before figuring out they wouldn't let what he was going to say out of the circle.

"yeah," jaemin smiled at jeno, remnants of his laugher from what renjun was saying. jeno cleared his throat still unsure how to approach the topic.

as soon as the news reached his ears he had searched for his friend. he was unsure of the news but he figured jaemin could always ask y/n and they would solve things if it were to be lies. what jeno didn't know at the time was all the other stuff jaemin had heard.

"listen," jeno started, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips, "i.. people are saying some stuff and i-," he cleared his throat again, in nervousness, "i thought i should let you know. i don't think they are true at all! but... one can never be too sure, right?" he asked, voice unsure as his eyes darted to meet jaemin's. the latter's brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what the hell jeno was talking about and he was just about to ask when he continued.

"in case it's wrong then you guys can always just clear it out but i heard this from someone close and thought i would let you know either ways," jeno's hand scratched his neck in nervousness.

"just fucking say it, oh my god," chenle huffed, impatient with the suspense the older was building up.

"i swear to god, if you say something like a joke," haechan warned, mark snorting.

"i'm serious, just," jeno groaned, wondering why he had to be the one to break the news.

"just tell me, jeno," jaemin smiled and jeno felt the already heavy load on his shoulder get 20 kgs heavier. he took a deep breath. all in one go, he thought, just like a band aid.

"y/n is cheating on you."

and jaemin's world fell apart.

everyone could have been wrong but jeno? could jeno be wrong too?

silence. total silence followed as jaemin's smile fell and his eyes stared ahead to jeno but not really.

he thought about y/n, thought if he could picture her doing anything like than and the answer came right away, even before he finished his thought. no. just no. she could never. but they always said it's the people you least expect it from. but y/n? she could never... right?

"what the fuck are you talking about?" it was mark who had spoken, the defensive tone evident in voice as he did nothing to mask it and jeno looked away from jaemin's eyes to the eldest.

"y/n could never, she's not like that," renjun chuckled drily, in disbelief.

"jeno, are you sure about this?" haechan raised a hand in front of him to assess the grave situation.

"that's what i said. i heard this from someone who's reliable, i can't say who, though."

jaemin cleared his throat catching everyone's attention. he gulped the lump in his throat before he looked around the group.

"i'll handle this, don't worry."

that was all he said but even if he sounded calm and collected, his eyes said a different story, and his clenched jaw showed a different side of the coin. and as much as they wanted to believe he would handle it with care with y/n, they saw the storm coming even before he did. because jaemin's eyes were on fire, he was aflame. and that uncertainty he had before had just been consumed with jeno's confirmation. jaemin's tipping point was reached. as he turned to walk away a hand grasped his arm.

"jaemin," it was jisung, jaemin waited for him to go on.

"she would never do that." was all he said.

the ding of his phone's notification brought him back from the memory. he reached out to his phone deciding this could no longer be avoided. he was determined enough. with these thoughts running in his head he dialed y/n's number and pressed the phone to his ear.

"hello? jaem?" she answered, and he sighed because how could she sound so angelic, and how was he supposed to confront her when he felt his heart tighten just by her voice. he sucked up the weakness he felt for her when she called out his name again.

"hey, where are you?" he asked softly, but no matter how much he tried to conceal it, the coldness in his voice seeped through.

"i'm at the cafe near my apartment with kyunhae," she giggled and at the mention of the name jaemin saw red. what the fuck was she doing with him?

"when will you be done? i need to talk to you," he deadpanned, voice colder than y/n had ever heard and she felt at alert right away. why was he talking like that?

"jaem?" wonder laced her voice as she silently asked what was up but jaemin said nothing.

"it's urgent," he specified and y/n had asked him to pick her up right away, sensing something was wrong. and jaemin was left confused to stare at his phone again.

how long are you gonna pretend you care about me? why are you doing me this dirty? why are you faking caring about me?

with those thoughts he had gotten up, whisked his jacket from behind his bedroom door and out of the house he was.

as he drove through the streets he tried to think again, he tried to figure out again if she could really have cheated on him. he was desperate for it to be a lie but then again, jeno had confirmed it, hadn't he?

could the girl that held him so tightly when they slept, cheat on him? could the girl he grew to love so much do this to him? how could she even think about it when she cried during children's movies, had ice cream cravings out of nowhere, cried in his arms, clinging to him when he had almost fainted from low blood pressure, helped him stand back on his feet whenever he was sick, babying him through the whole process. how could she cheat on him when she kissed him so softly, as if he was the most precious thing she had, when she held him so close as he murmured sweet nothings in her ears, when she looked at him with so much love when he smiled, when right as he laughed he would look over at her and she would be staring at him. her excuse? she loved seeing him happy. how could the same person that confessed her love for him in between shallow breaths, gasps and whines as he made her feel good be the same person to cheat. how could she make him feel so loved and so important if it was all fake.

it took him a total of twenty minutes to reach the cafe. he parked the car outside as he texted y/n he was out front. he waited for her leaned against the side of his car.

the door to the entrance to the cafe opened and y/n walked out first, face turned behind her as she laughed with kyunhae. jaemin's hands balled into fists as he watched the interaction, the anger swam in his veins as he watched y/n collide her fist against his in a fist bump before calling out a text me later.

y/n turned out front to jaemin and the way her eyes seemed to genuinely spark up in bright stars as soon she saw him had his heart clenching in pain. how long have you been mastering this act? how can you look this genuine?

"hi, handsome," she gushed as she pressed her chest to his, arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. jaemin gulped, eyes trained to her relaxed expression, eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips as she hugged him standing on her tippy toes. his arms shoot out out of habit as they went to wrap around her waist before his hands hovered over her frame. he couldn't do it. he couldn't pretend everything was okay.

as y/n didn't feel jaemin hug her back she pulled away slowly, her eyes looking up at him as her arms slowly fell away from him.

"jaem?" she softly called him and his eyes met hers, cold as ever. her hand raised to rest on his cheek in affection but before she could touch his skin, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and stopped her in her tracks. y/n's brows furrowed in confusion.

"let's go," he simply said as he stepped away and opened the passenger seat door for her, y/n looked at him for a few seconds more as he looked to the side and waited for her to get in, so she did.

the silence was eating y/n alive as she fidgeted with her fingers, suspecting something was wrong. she raked her brain, wondering if she did or said anything wrong but it all came empty.

"jaem?" she tentatively called for him. jaemin waited for a few seconds before he hummed in acknowledgement, but even that small sound seemed cold, colder than he had ever been.

"is something wrong?" she softly asked, hand reaching out to grasp his and intertwining their fingers before resting it on her lap. but as soon as the back of his hand rested against her jeans clad thigh he shook off her hand to grasp the wheel again.

she sat frozen, eyes trained where their hands were, her hand still in her lap the same way he had shook it off. what did i do so bad? she wondered.

"i'm driving," came his excuse but she knew something else was up. he had never rejected her touch like this.

"if something is wrong please tell me, i'll help you," she shook off the hurt before turning to him and sending a small smile, eyes pleading, but jaemin stared ahead, silent.

a few minutes later jaemin parked the car in his apartment building garage before swiftly getting out and waiting for y/n. it took her a few seconds before she was out too. they made their way to the elevators. the elevator came, they got in, and it went up to jaemin and his friend's apartment floor. all in silence.

jaemin walked in first, leaving the door open for y/n. as she closed the door behind her she made eye contact with jisung. the boy smiled warmly at the girl and stepped towards her.

"oh! didn't know you were coming over, want some?" he raised the hot pot of ramen, seemingly on the way to his room, and y/n smiled shaking her head as she took her shoes off.

"i ate, but thank you," she smiled warmly and jisung threw her a thumbs up before walking to his room and closing the door.

y/n walked into the apartment looking around for which way jaemin went before her eyes fell on his seated figure in the living room. everyone seemed to be in their own rooms apart from mark, who stood in the kitchen.

"hey," he waved, a warm smile on his lips before his eyes shifted jaemin and his smile dimmed a bit, y/n waved back.

she shuffled towards jaemin, still confused as to what happened.

"jaemin?" she called for him, his head snapped her way before he slowly stood up.

"do you have anything to tell me?" he asked and y/n thought hard and careful if she had forgotten anything but came up with nothing so she timidly shook her head, hands picking at the border of her tshirt. the one that belonged to jaemin.

"did i forget anything?" she murmured, head low as she felt guilty for forgetting something that affected him so much.

"you have nothing to tell me?" he repeated, a scoff following and y/n looked back up at him, her brows furrowed.

"okay, let me ask you this," he said, hands resting on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling. mark watched, debating whether he should leave or not, but then choosing against it, someone had to try and do damage control.

"what is kyunhae to you?" at the new question y/n's brows furrowed even more.

"jaem what are you reaching at?" she asked, confusion eating her alive. jaemin's eyes sent daggers her way and she realized that she never wanted to have that gaze on her ever again.

"answer my question; what. is. kyunhae. to. you?" he asked again, emphasizing his words. the agitation clear in his voice as he ran a hand through his hair. mark stepped into the living room area.

"jaemin, chill," he tried to calm the younger and prevent him from saying anything he would regret later. this wasn't how he thought jaemin would handle things.

"why can't she just answer?!" jaemin exclaimed. the more she delayed her answer the more anger rose in him. her lips quivered seeing a jaemin she had never seen. he had never talked to her like that, with so much hartred.

"he's just a friend! that's all! why are you asking me that!" she answered, her voice a notch higher as she felt attacked. the way he talked to her made her feel defensive. she had never felt attacked by him and she was scared, she didn't know what happened, why he was acting like that. but no matter how naive she was she wasn't stupid.

she heard what people said about her, she knew things reached jaemin's ears in the past and she had done everything in her power to show him he was the only person she loved, only person she cared about. that he was her everything, her all. she had gifted him with a matching promise ring, to reassure him that she was his, always will be. she had told him not to listen to anyone, only her. she loved him, she really did. that's why she always told him when she would be out with kyunhae, she wanted him to know that whenever he needed it she will drop him and come running to jaemin. because jaemin was her priority. she had told him about meeting him today too but jaemin had forgotten it seems.

"then why the fuck do i hear different things?" he all but screamed and y/n stood frozen on her spot, scared. he had never raised his voice at her, much less in the process of accusing her of anything.

"i swear jaem," her voice came out in a trembled whisper as jaemin breathed heavily, "none of it is true, i swear," she pleaded, her eyes stinging in desperation. she needed him to believe her.

"you're lying," he shook his head, an empty chuckle leaving his lips as he threw his head back in disbelief and anger, "you've been lying for who knows how long," he muttered and y/n's brows furrowed, offended.

"i have never lied to you," she breathed out, before she remembered mark standing nearby. she took two quick steps towards him, taking a hold of his hand softly, "jaem, let's talk about it in your room, okay? let's solve this," she pleaded as she softly pulled his hand but jaemin snatched his arm away from her.

"no," he shook his head, "we're gonna do it here, so you can't lie to me anymore," his voice rose as he pointed around him and y/n's eyes blurred in frustration and hurt. how could he be like this.

"jaem what has gotten into you?" she asked, voice a tremble as the first tears threatened to spill, "please, i don't want to lose you, let's calm down and talk about this," she pleaded again.

"if you didn't want to lose me you should've thought about it before you cheated on me!"

y/n felt her heart break at his words, she felt like he had pushed her off of a building, she felt like the ground was snatched from under her feet and she was left falling into the void. the emotion swam in her expression.

"what's going on?"

mark's head snapped towards renjun and haechan's figures as they stepped out of their rooms and into the living room, eyes widened in alarm shifting from y/n to jaemin and then to mark.

mark shook his head. the three looked at y/n, her emotions set on her face and they knew right away they had the whole situation wrong. jaemin had it wrong.

she didn't look alarmed, caught in the act or guilty, she looked down right betrayed, hurt, and deceived.

"i did nothing of the sort, jaemin," her voice came out offended, disbelief swimming in her tone.

"jaem," haechan walked in front of his friend, partially blocking y/n's view, "that's enough, calm down," he muttered lowly, only jaemin hearing him. jaemin shook his head as he pushed haechan away softly.

"no, i need to know why," he insisted, "why would you do that to me? why not just tell me?" he asked again.

"i didn't do anything! i understand you heard it somewhere but hell, jaemin, at least ask me before you assume the worst!" she exclaimed her arms raising and dropping by her sides.

"and you're still fucking lying to me!" he raised his voice again in exasperation.

"i have no reason to lie to you! why are you saying all this to me? how could i ever do that to you, jaem?" her voice grew quiet at the end, just the thought of his implications finally sending the tears tumbling down her cheeks. jaemin scoffed.

"exactly, how could you do that to me?! all i ever did was treat you with care, i always put you first!" he countered again, the vein in his neck popping.

"jaem, you're not listening to me, please, just listen to me," she pleaded a sob escaping her lips as she stepped closer t him, her hands grasping his cheeks in desperation for him to look at her eyes, to believe her, "i love you, i would never ever do anything like that, please trust me, let them all be, just trust me."

but jaemin took a hold of her hands and let them fall in between them.

"what if it's someone close to me that told me," he scoffed stepping away.

"jaemin don't," renjun interfered, standing in front of y/n, blocking her completely from jaemin's eyes.

"just go home y/n," jaemin shook his head as his fingers ran trough his hair and he turned away.

"yah, you're exaggerating," mark called him out and jaemin threw him a glance.

"then why bring me here? why do this in front of everyone when you could've done that when you met me, why this whole thing?" she asked quietly. she didn't know what she felt, she didn't know who this person in front of her even was.

she understood jaemin, she really did. hearing so many things from so many people must've played with his head, she understood it. but fucking hell she wished he had talked to her about it, about all of it. she wished he didn't lash out on her, she wished he had just remembered who she was and how much she loved him. she was a person too, wasn't she? she could get hurt too, right?

when jaemin didn't answer she hurriedly turned around, making her way to the door. she fleetingly saw the youngest two silently standing in front of their door at the commotion but she paid no mind to that. all she wanted was to go away. y/n felt so lost, so betrayed; why didn't he believe her? why didn't he just ask her?

"y/n wait-" haechan tried to call back the girl but she was already out of the door, quickly walking to the elevator and pressing repeatedly on the button.

"fucking hell jaem, is this how you planned to handle it? really?" renjun scolded the black haired guy. jaemin sat on the couch, head in his hands and eyes brimming with tears. suspiciously all their phones dinged one after the other. chenle and jisung looking at each other in confusion as they were the only ones to notice.

mark ran out of the apartment slowly coming to a stop in beside of y/n. she kept her head down, tears dripping on the floor from the tip of her nose as she sniffled.

"y/n," mark took a hold of her elbow, "wait for a second, you can't leave alone. it's late, I'll take you home, hmm?" he tried to persuade her softly, careful not to be too loud. but she shook her head.

"thank you, but i need to be alone," she whispered, her shoulder shaking as she took in a harsh breath. mark's eyes softened.

"let me call you an uber, at least?" he offered again, hand caressing her hair in affection but she shook her head again.

"I'll be okay," she muttered as the doors to the elevator dinged and opened. y/n took a step forward before coming to a stop when another pair of shoes came into her view, she stepped aside muttering a sorry.

"oh, y/n..?" jeno's voice was surprised, his phone held on his hand and his eyes wide. he looked at mark, who held the most disappointed look on his face, brows furrowed. jeno looked back at y/n in confusion.

she looked up at his voice and the sight of her wet cheeks, red nose and swollen eyes sent an alarm to jeno. his eyes widened as he stammered.

"fuck, y/n, I'm so sorry- i didn't know-" jeno was at a loss of words as realization dawned on y/n and she smiled bitterly.

"it's okay," she simply said as she walked into the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

-

jaemin looked up as mark and jeno walked into the apartment, just at the same time as jisung and chenle stumbled out of their rooms, phone grasping in their hands.

"hyung, you gotta see this," chenle shoved his phone into jaemin's face. the latter took in a deep breath, taking the phone from the younger.

"jaem," jeno muttered, eyes remorseful, "i'm so sorry," he solemnly muttered out, and jaemin furrowed his brows in confusion before looking at the screen of chenle's phone.

under the instagram picture, written in bold letters, the words "SHE SAID YES" and the small line underneath "thank you y/n for helping me make it even more memorable" were mocking him. and as jaemin ran his fingers through his hair for the nth time that evening and gripped his roots in a vice like grip, his eyes scanned the picture. the picture of kyunhee and who he assumed was his fiancé now. jaemin felt like the biggest idiot in the planet.

-

so as y/n helped kyunhee with the preparations of his engagement party with the biggest smile she could muster up, the happiness she painted on didn't quite reach her eyes. jaemin had tried again and again to contact her but y/n made it a point to ignore all his texts and all his calls, only using her phone when extremely needed.

she helped her dear friend through the whole process, never missing a beat to tell him and the lucky girl how proud she was of them both.

kyunhee felt guilty taking her help, so much so that y/n had screamed at him to not give her the pity look. she had explained that she needed the distraction and after much thought he let her handle whatever she wanted.

he told himself if he ever came face to face with jaemin he would've made him taste his fist, but he knew they would resolve their misunderstanding. of course they would, they loved each other infinitly after all.

y/n was surprised when two days after the break up her mother came knocking on her door. at first she had thought jaemin had called her and as soon as she was about to send her mother away, the older woman had told, "i knew something wasn't right, i could feel it." and so y/n had her dearest mother at her apartment, making sure she got the energy she needed and she ate well.

jaemin on the other hand was lost. completely lost. he beat himself up for how he had talked to y/n, he scolded himself for not having talked it out. he regretted not listening to her when she was asking for him to listen.

he tried calling her a thousand times. he tried texting her from the boys' phones and every time he would let a dry laugh out when she would reply "tell jaem i don't want to speak." he knew his girl knew him too well and he felt worse every time because how did he let go of her? what an idiot.

so it was with a heavy heart and jaw clenched in embarrassment that jaemin was standing in front of a building, waiting for the one he misunderstood. truth be told, he was nervous, for what he still didn't know but he had a hunch.

"jaemin," a voice pulled him out of his thoughts and jaemin turned to his right to come face to face with a poker face kyunhee. he cleared his voice, holding out his hand for a handshake.

"hey, i hope i didn't mess up your schedule, i can only imagine how busy you are," jaemin smiled a tight lipped smile. kyunhee stared at him for a second before deciding to be cooperative for y/n's sake. he grasped jaemin's hand and gave it a firm shake before letting go.

"you technically did," he sighed, jaemin's brows furrowed, a confused sound leaving his lips, "mess up my schedule. i had an appointment i had to cancel," kyunhee said, arms crossing over his chest. jaemin blinked for a few seconds before muttering a soft sorry in embarrassment. silence fell upon the two guys. kyunhee's eyes stayed put on jaemin's wavering ones. he could practically see the wheels turning in the black haired guy.

"what the hell are you guys doing?" kyunhee sighed then. jaemin's eyes snapped on him, eyes wide in alarm.

"i-i'm very sorry for misunderstanding your intentions. i really am," jaemin blabbed, kyunhee rolled his eyes.

"why are you apologizing to me when the person you should apologize to is somewhere else?" kyunhee asked as a matter of fact.

"she doesn't want to talk to me," jaemin whispered, eyes looking away and jaw clenching. kyunhee scoffed catching jaemin's attention again.

"yeah no shit she doesn't," the newly engaged one spat out and jaemin let out a humorless snicker, head nodding.

"you acted like a total dick to her, i don't even know how she hasn't blocked you yet," kyunhee shot again and jaemin listened, for he knew he deserved it. the former's eyes softened for a second at jaemin's obvious miserable eyes, before hardening again.

"oi, dickhead," he called jaemin, foot kicking at his shin, jaemin ducked to hold his shin out of instinct, eyes snapping up in despair.

"oi! what was that for?" he called.

"i won't tell you to go to her place and beg for forgiveness, because quite frankly, that's not going to work," kyunhee deadpanned and jaemin nodded, hanging to his every word.

"give her time, jaemin, she's hurt," he continued.

jaemin stared at the floor at his feet as he thought. guilt enveloping him in its arms as usual these days. he took a deep breath again and looked up at his girlfriend's friend, he offered a small smile.

"thank you, really," jaemin muttered, genuine gratefulness in his voice, "for holding her up, i know it should've been me but i'm glad she has a friend like you, i'm really sorry again."

"it's okay, don't worry about it. just think about what kind of pose you need to hold when you're begging on your knees for her forgiveness," kyunhee bit back in a lighter tone, feeling weird about all the formality. jaemin snorted the real smile in a while, grateful kyunhee got rid of the heavy serious air around them.

"congratulations on your engagement, by the way," jaemin clapped the side of kyunhee's arm and the latter thanked him, before a thought hit him and his eyes squinted as he looked at jaemin.

"uhhh why are you looking at me like that?" the black haired one asked, an unsure tone to his voice.

"you know what? why don't you..."

-

"the place looks so pretty!" y/n turned to her mother with a proud smile as the older woman looked around the engagement party venue with sparkling eyes, "you did a great job, love," she turned to y/n and lovingly caressed her face.

"thank you, mom," y/n giggled, her hand grasping her mom's as they made their way through the crowd.

the venue was decorated in hues of white and lilacs, the stage at the front of it was decorated with fresh flowers and thin branches giving it a very fresh look.

her eyes lit up when she saw her dear friend and his fiancé in the distance.

"let's go say hi to kyunhee," she told her mother as they made their way towards the couple.

-

it was thirty minutes later, when y/n was enjoying her time with a few friends and their families that the murmurs started.

at first y/n didn't pay any attention to it because who cares if a handsome guy was at the party, she was already taken. well. not anymore, but that didn't change the fact that her heart lay where jaemin was.

so imagine her surprise when she turned around to look around the place and her eyes fell on none other than the handsome guy everyone was talking about. na jaemin.

as soon as their eyes met y/n's head snapped towards kyunhee a few meters away, talking to another guest, and the piece of shit had the audacity to smile at her and throw a wink before returning his eyes to the guest.

jaemin slowly came to a stop beside her, back as straight as a wooden plank, shoulders tense. he threw a tight lipped smile around the few people surrounding him as he greeted them.

"jaemin dear?" y/n's mother's eyes sparked up in adoration and y/n smiled softly at the scene as her mom engulfed a chuckling jaemin in her arms, hands grasping his face softly as she gushed over him.

"how long it has been, love, how are you?" she asked and jaemin chuckled before patting her back and stood back up straight to look at her.

"too long, sorry i couldn't come to say hi sooner, i was stuck with all the assignments i pushed back," he apologized, ever the gentleman and y/n's eyes stung a bit as she blinked.

"ahh you study so well, but don't neglect your health," she smiled again as she hugged him tighter and jaemin nodded hugging her back. what he didn't expect was the words the older woman whispered in his ear as she pulled away.

"make things right, love, fight for each other," and she gave him the most loving smile as she said something about enjoying the evening and walked to a group of ladies.

jaemin's eyes fell on y/n and she looked away as jaemin stepped up beside her as she pulled away from the small group, saying something about getting a glass of prosecco.

she threw him a side glance as she stopped at the table.

"why are you following me," at the sound of her voice jaemin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. his hand twitched to hold hers.

"i wanted some prosecco," he muttered and a small smile pulled at his lips when she blushed in embarrassment before nodding and moving away with the glass in her hand, jaemin doing the same. the two stood at the side in silence.

"y/n," jaemin called after a while and y/n hummed, her eyes trained to the live band, "i'm very sorry," he whispered. y/n stopped in the middle of taking a sip before detaching the glass from her lips.

"i don't want to talk about it, jaem," she muttered before taking the sip, finishing the content in the flute all in one go. jaemin's hand rested against the back of her waist in reflex.

"slow, you're gonna get dizzy," he muttered and y/n could hear the worry in his tone, and she hated it because how could he sound like that after all he had said.

there were a few things that put jaemin's worry at rest. that assured him that y/n was still is girl. he felt a small smile tug at his lips when she called him by his nickname, when she didn't push away his hand on her waist, his chest puffed out, and when she nodded at his words of worry he felt himself relax a bit.

"you're beautiful," he muttered loud enough for only y/n to hear as he took a sip of his prosecco, eyes set on her as she turned around with narrowed eyes, only to blush like crazy when her eyes met his. jaemin's eyes held an intimacy she couldn't hold right now. he let out a deep chuckle when her chest and neck set up in flames.

they stood there side by side as they watched the many couples dancing. jaemin's eyes would settle on her every few seconds, so much so that she could feel it every time.

"what are you two doing?" y/n's mother's voice made the couple's head snap to the side. y/n made sure a soft smile settled on her lips as her mother's friends followed her.

"who's this, y/n?" one of them asked, curious eyes settled onto jaemin, the latter giving a polite smile and a bow as he muttered his hellos. before y/n could answer, her mother chimed in.

"oh! this is jaemin, i told you about him! he's my daughter's boyfriend, such a gem, let me tell you. sweetest boy i ever met," she gushed, and y/n's panic stricken eyes met jaemin's smiling ones. her eyes narrowed at his pleased look.

"oh my, he's so gorgeous! you're absolutely stunning, dear!" one of the women smiled as she caressed his cheek and jaemin chuckled, muttering a thank you.

"well, what are you two doing here? go for a dance!" y/n's mother ushered as she pushed them to the clearing, where other couples were dancing.

y/n made to protest and push back but her words got swallowed up by the encouraging giggling of the older women as they stumbled upon the floor.

y/n looked at jaemin as he settled his prosecco flute on the tray of a passing waiter.

a few minutes later the two found themselves slowly swaying to the music. one of y/n's hands in jaemin's as his other hand rested against the middle of her back. his thumb brushed slowly in a comforting manner, so much so that y/n found herself stopping from leaning her head on his shoulder out of instict.

jaemin's eyes stayed on her features as hers looked anywhere but him. his heart hurt that she didn't want to even look at him, but he also understood. he had hurt her deeply, after all.

"y/n," he called, voice loud enough only for her to hear. she hummed in acknowledgment, "look at me," he tapped his thumb against her back and she reluctantly looked up at him.

"i'm sorry," he squeezed her hand, and she remained silent. she didn't know what to say. what do you say to sorry when you can't say it's okay? do you ignore it? do you say i heard you? do you just nod? what do you do?

people say sorry and expect everything to be fine, they say sorry when they know the answer is going to be it's okay. but, to y/n it wasn't okay, it couldn't be okay. she didn't know if it would be anytime soon or anything. all she knew was that she was hurt, extremely hurt. so she couldn't say it's okay.

she loved jaemin tremendously. so much so it was scary. she loved him so much her chest hurt sometimes, her lungs felt like giving out and her heart felt like squeezing the life out of it. it was painful how much she actually loved him. she felt like crying if she didn't ignore how much she actually loved him.

not because it was unhealthy, but because she knew she would give it all up for him. she couldn't dwell too much on the love she harbored for him, she just had to live with the knowledge that she loved him a lot. she knew if she tried to think about how much she loved him she would cry so much it would worry him. and she didn't know how she could ever explain that.

because how do you explain to someone you love them so much you want to cry because your heart hurts, it hurts so much because even your heart is too small to contain that much love. because you love everything about them, all of it. and you know how cheesy it is when people list out all the reasons why they love someone but your love is different; you can't pin point what exactly you love, you can't pin point what makes you happy about them, and you can't bring yourself to just find one physical attribute you love about them because that would be a lie, because that's not why you love them, and you can't say personality because as much as that's the closest thing as to why you love them, it's not quite there yet.

you just love them. the essence of what and who they are, with all their flaws and imperfections and all things perfect, it's just them entirely. it's their ability to smile when they're hurting, it's the way they make mistakes and they learn, the way they just are. and you can't explain it so you just accept it that when someone asks why you love them you'll just have to say a measly i love everything about them, and as cute as that sounds it's so basic and so underwhelming to what you actually feel but that's all that you're able to say.

so y/n stared at jaemin's eyes and her eyes stung and moistened up because she could feel her heart hurting, because she let herself actually feel how much she loved him. yes, he hurt her. yes, she was in pain. but the pain she felt from loving him was so much greater and so much more overwhelming.

jaemin was quick to softly push his hand on her back and encourage her to rest her head on his shoulder, knowing how much she hated crying in public. she gladly took the support, resting her forehead on his shoulder. he hushed her as his lips pressed against her hair.

"you hurt me," she said, and jaemin rested her hand clasped in his on his other shoulder, fingers squeezing hers, arm tightening around her back.

"i know, i'm so sorry, really, i'm so sorry, princess," he muttered, lips pressed to her hair.

"i felt like i lost everything," she started, voice trembling as she forced herself to not cry, "everything we build up, everything we went through, i felt like i lost all of it. i tried to care so much for you, i tried to show you how much i loved so hard, but i-" her voice choked, "-i felt like i lost it all, and you wouldn't even listen to me. i was so alone, i felt so alone," she continued, and jaemin's eyes stung as he listened to her, because that was all she needed; for him to listen to her.

he brought her hands behind his neck as he grasped her face in his hands and pulled her back to look her in the eyes. he sent her a soft smile as his thumbs caressed her cheeks.

"i'm so sorry i made you feel like that. i'm an absolute asshole,-" "yes you are," he chuckled as she interrupted him, "i will make it up to you. i swear, i will, please accept my apologies."

his lips downturned as she shook her head before his brows furrowed in confusion when she rested her head back on his shoulder and crossed her fingers at the back of his neck.

"make it up to me and maybe i will," she spoke softly and jaemin smiled fondly as he rest one arm around her waist and the other rose up to caress her head lovingly, and y/n's eyes closed at the action, a smile pulling at her lips.

"deal," he chuckled, before he smiled teasingly, "i'm surprised you didn't cry, you crybaby," he teased and she mutter a fuck you.

"why would i cry," she scoffed and jaemin laughed at her words.

after a beat of silence, "i read somewhere if you clench your butthole right when you're about to cry it stops the waterworks, guess it works."

and jaemin laughed loudly as she shook in his arms from her own laughter.

[ohworm-writes]

Worm?! lol. Hiii, I’m new here. Could I please request some head canons for sniper mask (from high rise invasion) with a (preferably) male s/o? (As long as you’re comfortable with it.) I haven’t found any for males sadly. Hope you have a good day! Thanks sm.

Tenkuu Shinpan/High-Rise Invasion: Sniper Mask Boyfriend Scenario

high-rise invasion/tenkuu shinpan masterlist

‼ Sniper Mask Relationship Headcanons with a Male S/o ‼

Featuring: Sniper Mask, Yuri Honjo, Mayuko Nise, Kuon Shinzaki

Warnings: gun mention, violence mention, cursing, blood mention

a/n - i wanted to add a lot of detail since you said there weren't any male readers, so i apologize that it took so long. i also have another sniper mask scenario that should come out soon! enjoy!

content below the cut!

coming to the high rise world was VERY unexpected for you

one second you're about to take a nap, right at the brink of sleep

the BOOM

you're on top of a building!

oh yeah, and there are murderers in masks right on your tail

not the afternoon you wanted, but it was the afternoon you got

you had been running from several masks, three of them right on your tail

you had been backed up near the edge of a building, the three of them circling yours you sat against the ground

when one of them slumped to the ground, dead

at first, you were confused, did he pass out maybe?

but then you saw blood and the other two dropping to the ground

no, yeah, they were all dead

you looked around for who could have done it

only to be met with another mask, a rifle at his side

you would have thought you were going to die if it weren't for the 3 girls by his side

why were 3 high school girls with one of the same kind of people that had tried to murder you?????

"Oh my god! Are you okay, sir?" A dark-haired girl ran forward and knelt down in front of you. You backed away from her, fear still coursing through you.

Your eyes landed on the masked man a few feet behind them, pointing a shaky finger towards him. "You! Why aren't you hurting us?" He stood up straight as all attention went to him, stuttering as the girl in front of you offered you a small smile.

"He won't hurt you, he'll only kill other masks, I promise!" You we're still skeptical of the group but decided it would be better than being stuck out here all alone. Silently, you took the girl's hand, letting her introduce you to the others.

When you were set in front of the masked man, he awkwardly gave his hand out for you to shake. "And this is Sniper Mask! He's scary, but-but, nice? Yeah, nice!" Yuri said, obviously unsure of her own words.

He extended his hand out for you to shake, and though you couldn't tell it, he was nervous beyond belief. He had just saved an extremely attractive guy and now he was no more than 2 feet in front of him!

"H-hey." Well, he fucked that up. You sighed, letting your shoulders slump as you took his hand, shaking it firmly. "Y/n, thanks for saving me Mr. Sniper Mask." You offered him a smile, to which his face instantly flushed, responding with nothing but a nod.

and that's where it began

at first, it was quiet between you and mr. mask

he didn't seem to make any moves to talk to you

hell, he didn't even seem to like being in the same room as you!

at least, that's from your perspective

from the other team, however...

"Kuon I-I don't. The command must of-" "Mr. Mask! You like Y/n! It's not the command, you do!" Kuon had been pestering Yuka for the past 30 minutes about her new idea. Obviously, it was nothing near the truth. It had to be the command malfunctioning.

"Admit it Mr. Mask! You're always looking at him and are fidgety whenever he's nearby!" Yuka sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush crawled up onto his face. "Kuon it's not that I can assure you, I don't-" "If you won't admit it, I'm going to tell him!"

With that, Kuon dashed out of the room to find you. It took Yuka a few seconds to realize what the girl meant before he came barreling down the hall after her. "Kuon! Wait-"

Kuon didn't end up actually telling you that Sniper Mask liked you per se

but she didddd say that he wanted to talk with you more

and when he came up to the two of you, he apologized profusely for Kuon's behavior and dragged her off

but, the ordeal did help him to realize that no, this wasn't the mask's doing

he did actually like you

and little did he know that the feeling was mutual!

oh good gods you fell for him quick

you didn't even know why you liked him, but dear gods you did

you were terrified to confess to him

he barely ever shows emotion, so what are the chances he would show them to you?

well, it took him a while to confess to you, and only after you got injured by a mask did he spill

you had gone out with Mayuko to go find some supplies when a mask holding a machete came running at you two

it had cut your arm pretty bad, but you would live

Mayuko helped you wrap it up with some gauze she had found

when the two of you got back, the others (excluding Sniper Mask at the time) were all over you

you assured them that you could patch up your own wound, so you made your way back to your own room

expecting to be alone, you were surprised when Sniper Mask stopped you right outside your room's door

You held your injured arm close to your stomach, groaning as a sharp pain went through it. Your room was just around the corner, and once you were inside you could patch it up and go to sleep. At least, that's what the plan was originally.

What you didn't expect was the silent being of Sniper Mask to be laying against the door, his head shooting up as he heard footsteps. He turned his head towards you, eyes shifting from yours to your arm, and back to you.

"What happened." He said, but it came out in a much deeper tone than you had anticipated. A small blush found its way onto your face, your words catching in your throat as he leaned off of the door, making his way closer to you.

He was only a foot away, your breath hitched as his hand came towards you. He paused for a second, looking back at you, before grabbing your uninsured hand in his gloved one. Despite the fabric, his hands still radiated heat.

"I'm fine." You stated, but it didn't seem to do anything as he dragged you down the hall and up a flight of stairs. You were going to ask where he was taking you, when he grabbed one of the door handles, twisting it open and leading you inside.

There was nothing particularly special about his room, besides the rifle on his bed, of course. He let go of your hand the second the two of you were in the room, pausing a second after, before going to get a first aid kid.

You sat down on his bed, leaving the rifle alone. Unconsciously, your hands intertwined themselves together, trying to recreate the warmth he did just a few seconds ago. When he came back over, he was quick to take off your makeshift bandages and wipe the wound down.

You hissed in pain, grabbing one of his hands in the process and squeezing it to try and relive it. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze of its own, quickly sanitizing it and dressing it with fresh bandages.

When he was done, you tried to let his hand go, but he squeezed it harder. You heard him let out a sigh, his face turning upwards as he looked at you. You couldn't see his eyes, but he was lost in yours.

Without thinking, he inched the bottom of his mask upwards with his free hand, just enough to reveal his mouth. Your heartbeat picked up, eyes widening as they flickered down to his lips.

In a second the lips you were staring at were pressed against your own. His lips were warm, the taste of coffee lingering from them. When he pulled away, you did nothing but look at him with adoration.

You cupped his face with one of your hands, your smile growing as he leans into the touch. "Y'know," he started, bringing his hand up to hold yours. "I've been meaning to ask you to become my boyfriend for a while."

"Is that so?" You asked him, earning a hum and a shrug in response. "Now seemed like a good time to ask." You chuckled softly at him, watching a smile form on his lips. "My answer is yes then, Sniper Mask."

it was hard to keep your relationship a secret from the girls

Kuon was glued to Yuma's side almost 24/7, so she caught on first

then it was a domino effect

the three of them were extremely happy for you two

they do tease you both from time to time though

Kuon is especially happy about the relationship

sure, she has a crush on Yuka, but she's happy to see the two of you together

he's very wary about it all at first

his group has been attacked before, and not to mention other masks that could hurt you

yes, he's a strong badass who could protect you no matter what

but it doesn't make him worry any less!

any time foreign masks come near, you better bet your ass they're gonna have a bullet hole (or two) in them

he loves to show off that you're his and vice versa

refers to you as "his boyfriend" a lot

also likes to say "i'm his boyfriend"

absolutely swoons if you call him "yours"

peppers your face with kisses any time he can

just giving you lots of kisses in general

likes to have you by his side most times

he always needs to make sure you're safe

you basically have your own bodyguard

usually sleeps with you on his chest and his arms wrapped around you

then again, he won't turn down being the little spoon~

genuinely fucking loves you and wants to make you know every second he can

[infinitewarden]

Osiris isn’t Savathun.

Great! Now that I have your attention:

Man you guys tire me out about Osiris. If you truly believe this is Osiris I don’t mean to sound like That Guy that’s like “you don’t know what you’re talking about” but... You don’t know what you’re talking about.

So.

Let’s talk about how much Osiris cares about the City and humanity and why the Osiris in Epilogue is not actually Osiris.

Alright. Let’s start off with context. I think it’s super important to see what we do know as Osiris’s views. From my heavy analyses of him since 2020 I can confidently say these are what he views as the most important things a person can do:

Keep promises

Speak their truths

Protect the City & Humanity

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

Now, I won’t be doing a breakdown of each one individually but I will be talking a great deal of how important honesty is to Osiris, the City, and his views of the Vex.

Speaking honestly and bluntly.

I don’t know how many of you were into Destiny before Beyond Light, so if you were unaware of this it’s not your fault. However I’ve seen a very strange change in tone when it comes to how people view Osiris. Before Season of Hunt people hated - and I mean hated - Osiris. Why? Because he was blunt. They viewed his bluntness as rudeness.

To see a sudden switch to him being secretive and scheming is... alarming, to say the least. (And to see people think that this is the norm is also alarming but in other ways.)

The Osiris before Hunt was not secretive and scheming. He sought knowledge openly. He sought, specifically, the truth. I must stress just how open he was about his plans. First I’ll give you a few in lore examples:

I admit, I found your questions divisive and disloyal, and I feared you might be capable of breaking our unity when the City's position had grown so tenuous. Why divert attention away from the Traveler, our only hope? And then it got worse, dabbling in thanatonautics, Ahamkara-lore, chasing after Xur and the tricks of the Nine. Launching expeditions into the Reef and beyond at a time when ships were irreplaceable. Your quest split Guardians along ideological lines. This was your greatest crime: Hunters chose to pursue your visions instead of protecting refugees, Titans assembled teams to chase the legendary Vault of Glass instead of striking the Fallen, and Warlocks turned away from the study of the Traveler in favor of  your  ultimate obsession... learning the exact nature of the Darkness. ... Perhaps what drives a Warlock to madness is truth.

Osiris.

"Do not romanticize this burden. We wield a weapon." The Speaker shakes his head. "The Light wields you, Osiris. You are what you make of it. A glorious extension of its majesty, in many directions." Osiris paces at cadence with his words. "Then it would do well to speak clearly. To better direct me." The Speaker cocks his head. "Without will? Then it would be no better than the Darkness." "I am asking only for guidance; it is a delicate game we are playing." Osiris's voice, distressed. Regal again, the Speaker motions to the stone garden. "Will you sit with me?"

13: Margins Part II.

And, while I don’t particularly like using the Fall of Osiris comic as a source, it does have very important lines on his viewpoints that I find relevant yet.

Fall of Osiris #1.

Hell he was open about his plans to fuck with time itself to bring Saint back.

Sagira narrowed her eye at the rogue Lightbearer and lowered herself to Osiris’s shoulder. “Why’s he here?” she asked quietly. “I asked him to consult on the engineering work,” Osiris replied, crossing his arms. “You sicko,” the other man declared, walking a circle around the Warlock, his eyes darting along every surface of the Sundial around them. ... “Just one more question, then. Why all the fuss?” “I owe him.” “I owe a lotta people, Warlock. You’re opening the gates of hell with a Vex key.” “When the Traveler brought me back, I had no friends. No family—” “No one had anything in the Dark Age.” “But Saint was always there. And I saw him grow from neophyte to demigod.”

The Sundial.

"You haven't left the Forest in years," Ikora said to Osiris, the only one to address him directly. "I need help," Osiris replied. "I know," Ikora responded, hands clasped behind her back. She stared intently at her former mentor. Back in her Crucible days, that uncompromising gaze was often the last thing her opponents saw. Aunor glanced sidelong at her superior. Harper coughed and looked down at his datapad. "Two years ago, Guardians entered the Infinite Forest," Osiris continued. "They aided me in defeating the Axis Mind Panoptes, preventing a Vex apocalypse from befalling this system. "In the process," he looked between each of them in turn, "Some Guardians reported a body they found in the Forest depths." Ikora sighed. "Saint-14 never came back from that last mission to Mercury. We finally knew why. I reacted to it the only way I knew how."

Desperate Times.

“I do not understand all of this code. This is Geppetto’s specialty,” Saint-14 says while standing bent over a wide desk covered in data tablets. Holographic images of the Lighthouse shimmer in the Hangar lights. “We could use the Crucible right now. Your trials. This will be very helpful. You mean to stay, yes?” “I will. Long enough to show you how to implement the simulation; but tonight, I must disembark,” Osiris says. “So soon?” Osiris tenses his jaw in forced silence. He twiddles with code. “I’m worried about what Vance found.” Saint places a heavy hand on Osiris’s chest. “Let go of your obsession. Do not leave chasing phantoms again.” “Phantoms… You think the Darkness is satisfied? This is just the first move. I need to know the next before it’s made.” “If there is something you fear, let me help you. We face this together.” Osiris’s mind drifts to the Dark anomalies. Saint doesn’t need another burden. “The safest place for you is the Tower, Saint. Time... tends to renege on its gifts.” “So, your mission is dangerous?” Osiris considers lying. “Potentially.”

Immolant I.

There are many more sources I could list on his bluntness and honesty but there’s honestly too much. What is important to extrapolate from all of it is this:

OSIRIS SPOKE THE TRUTH NO MATTER IF IT GOT HIM IN TROUBLE. IT IS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS HE GOT EXILED.

Protecting the City & Humanity

Idk where people get the idea that he’s abandoned the City and humanity. And I don’t understand where people think it’s “typical Osiris behavior” to choose to put the City in danger.

I want to make something very clear here:

Osiris was exiled. He did not abandon the City. And though others view him as abandoning it, that wasn’t his intention. He never intentionally abandoned it. Everything he did was in pursuit of a brighter future for humanity. Let’s look at one of his lines from the Sundial activity during Dawn.

“By the time I left the City, many believed my practices to be sacrilege. But my methods have prevented countless futures not unlike the one you walk now. When it is laid out before you, would you not sacrifice anything to see this future shut?”

The Sundial.

He left because he weighed his options and he saw that humanity would have better use of him if he left. He cares A great deal about the City. He cares almost too much about it. He would never give Lakshmi the technology to cause it harm, especially knowing that she’s unstable. And I’ve seen some people think he’s playing 5D chess? In what world would he ever choose to bring harm upon humanity for some sort of... agenda; which I’ve already cleared up earlier, he’s open about his plans.

Let’s look at more known lore about Osiris’s feelings of the City & humanity.

"You've wrapped your mind around an idea of your own making. I have always tolerated this fawning 'movement' of yours, but this is a step too far." Osiris seethed. Brother Vance was awestruck. He stared blankly at Osiris, unsure of what he could say to quell his anger and dissolve his frustration. "What I have discovered…" "…is dangerous enough to destroy every man, woman, and child in existence. You're meddling with forces outside your grasp," Osiris reprimanded. "I warn you here and now, remove yourself from this Lighthouse. Find a simple life. Start a family. Write music. Leave Mercury and this fool's errand behind."

Chapter 8: Idolatry.

Osiris was furious to find out Vance was experimenting in his name by endangering people for his goals. And he was especially mad that he would dive into such dangerous areas so much so that it had the potential to destroy humanity.

"It's truth." Osiris considers this. "Truth seems subjective these days," Osiris says, finally observing his entourage for the first time. Among them, a small group of men and women, stand two wayward Guardians—Warlocks, it appears—and a child. Their forlorn faces resonate with him. Castaways and believers. The weeks since his departure from the Last City have worn on him. He was used to working alone, knowing he could fall back to the City's resources should he need them. Now, adrift in the expanse of purpose, he finds himself longing for a place he could return to. A sanctuary.

Chapter 2: Postexilic.

Here’s a few lines from Season of Dawn:

“The Traveler, mutilated. Mercury, a desolate warzone. This is the bleak future the Cabal wants for us all. We do not know what has become of humanity here. I hope we will not find out.”

.

“There are many terrible futures, but I have not grown numb to seeing them. The future the Cabal wish for is a nightmare for humanity.”

.

“If the Traveler fled the system, there is a chance that the Darkness would ignore our region of the galaxy entirely. It would sacrifice our second awakening, our ability to wield the Light, but potentially continue our Golden Age. There are too many variables at risk, but it's a variant path worth investigating in the Infinite Forest.”

.

“This battered Mercury is a blueprint for our system. Lightless, bowed, and nothing more than fuel for an endless war. It must never come to pass.”

The Sundial.

There are many. Many. More lines I could put here about how much Osiris doesn’t want to see humanity suffering. And especially how he doesn’t want the City to be at risk. But I think you get the picture.

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

So. We all know Osiris as “the Vex guy.” His whole thing is on fighting the Vex. However it seems people think that he’d be okay with using them for grounds of a higher purpose? Or something? I don’t know, everyone I see rebuffing Osiris’s actions with Lakshmi don’t seem to be interested in explaining this one.

So anyways. Let’s talk about how Osiris views the Vex as true evil compared to other species.

“The Fallen are not so different from us. How hard would you fight if the Light were taken from you?” “Those stories ring false to me,” said Saint. “They are not a noble people. I’ve fought them, and so have you.” “I have not fought them all,” the Warlock replied, pulling his hands apart to create an intricate web of hovering cubes and points of light. “They are nothing, no threat—not like the Vex. Not like the Darkness.”

Vanguard Commander.

[u.2:06] Have you spoken to the House of Light, like I asked? [u.1:07] I would rather not speak with Fallen. [u.2:07] They may need our help. Their cause is just. [u.1:08] What happened to “trust no one?” [u.2:08] What happened to your sense of right and wrong, hero?

Maintenance Operations Log 30037.

The unenlightened wonder at my so-called "fixation" upon the Vex. They believe our gravest existential threat is the Hive, for those beings have made a pact with the Darkness itself via the medium of the Worm Gods (according to Toland, at least, and I see no reason to doubt him in this). But Darkness is not merely absence of Light. Darkness is an entity unto itself. Put simply, Darkness is not Nothing. But the Vex? The Vex seek neither Light nor Darkness. They seek Convergence, the reduction of all life to its simplest, most meaningless form. An entelechy of zeros and ones. "Evil" is a word for sentimentalists and fools. But, in the ontology of the sentimental, the Vex are more deserving of the term than the Hive. Given a choice between Darkness and Convergence, I would choose Darkness. It is a logical choice. Yet for this they banish me.

Kairos Function (Hunter).

This one is important because Osiris doesn’t subscribe to the idea of “good” and “evil”, and that he would go so far to say that the Vex are Evil shows just how much of a threat he views them as.

It’s just. Mind boggling to me that people think that Osiris would be okay with a Vex invasion. That Osiris would encourage Lakshmi to open up a rift to “send the Fallen away” (Despite being one of the earliest sympathizers!) Osiris isn’t ineffable, he’s just a man trying to do his best to help humanity. His actions aren’t difficult to understand, they have been written to be very clear and with understanding his motives.

Saying that it’s natural for him to be secretive and have contradicting opinions and actions is just. Wrong. It’s not him. It’s not how he’s supposed to be understood. Even in Curse of Osiris I don’t think his actions didn’t make any sense.

This is going to sound very mean but I want to be 100% clear: If you think that Osiris would actively choose to put the City in danger of the Vex, if you think that he would actively choose to stand calmly and watch as his lover was about to die to the very things he spent millions of lives to save... You don’t understand Osiris. Go back and reread his lore.

I leave you with this:

The Vanguard is dubious of our intent and ability, fearing corruption and displacement. They do not trust me. You were held in similar contempt for speaking your truth and empowering free thought. You know what it feels like to be chastised and labeled a traitor. We are mere steps away from a disintegration of our institutions, and they cannot see destruction staring them in the face. ... For so long, we have clung to the Light, denying the strength offered by the Dark. By using Stasis, we will end this war. We see this contest for what it truly is: a game, played by our adversaries. And we have been the pawns. We are pawns no more. This is not a battle I want to wage without you, although we may not have a choice in the matter. Wherever you may be, please come back to us.

To Osiris.

[amysteriousmessenger]

‘Love Bites’ Vampire!Saeran Choi Drabbles

Hello! This is one of my slightly belated pieces for @mysme-rbb, which I worked on with the very, very talented and sweet @amagicalduckling <3 Their art is so beautiful and I’m honoured to have been paired with them for some Saeran pieces! Please check out @amagicalduckling for more of their beautiful artwork, they are criminally underrated!!  Tw: mentions of blood, biting, vampirism, rough kissing Will be under the cut after Ray!

Vampire! Ray Drabble

Ray was melancholic by nature, you knew that, but you’d never had been able to guess why it if hadn’t been for that fateful night in the garden. He always did such a good job of hiding his fangs from you and brushing his hair over his ears so you couldn’t see their slightly pointed tips. He always kept his distance as best as he could, never coming too close into your personal space. You’d assumed it was out of respect and the nervousness of overstepping the boundaries, this idea was always aided by the fact that he usually looked a little bit strained whenever he was in your company.

The way you came to find out about Ray was because you had foolishly pricked your finger on a rose that he had been trying to show you outside. With the beautiful arrangements only being illuminated by moonlight, it had been difficult to see what you were doing, and you’d placed your finger directly onto the little spike and yelped in pain. As soon as you had pulled your hand back, to indicate what had caused you to cry out, Ray had immediately brought his own hand up to his mouth and feverishly covered it. You were confused and thought that perhaps Ray was sensitive to the sight of blood, but it was when he turned to run from you that you saw the white, iridescent fangs peering from behind his lips. You saw them, and he knew that you had. Ray ran at top speed away from you, leaving you with the drop of the blood slowly dripping down the side of your finger.

You felt a little lightheaded from the sight and had to stumble your way over to the bench, a… vampire? Surely, such things like that didn’t exist. They weren’t real. They were myths. Folklore. Children’s horror stories to tell before bed. And yet, as you considered Ray, really thought about him, you realised how quickly it all added up. He was so pale, sickly looking even at the best of times. You’d thought that the prominent blue veins on his neck and wrists was a result of his pasty complexion, but that was clearly not the truth of the matter. It also occurred to you that you never really saw him during the day, but he had always excused this fact as he must work arduously long hours and the only time he could find to get away and visit you was into the early hours of the night. While you supposed that there was at least some truth in that statement, it didn’t help the fact that it aligned with what you thought could be coming into fruition. Was he really a vampire? Had he been trying to hide it from you for all this time?  

And those fangs. Those could not be denied. They were the teeth of a predator, a hidden threat that he had tried so hard to keep a secret from you. So many questions raced through your head, and yet all you could worry about was where Ray was. He had left so quickly, clearly a bit distressed. You felt somewhat guilty for your own carelessness, but how were you to know? There was no way you would have guessed what was really happening here at Mint Eye. You had only been here to test a game, for crying out loud.

Suddenly, you felt anxious to be alone in the gardens at night, especially without Ray. Even if he was hiding something this serious from you, he was still the only person that you had gotten to make yourself friendly with. Well, in his case, more than a little bit friendly, but that was besides the point in that moment. You stood, trying to find your way through the maze of flowers and get back to your room but with little success. As you turned the corner, you spotted a figure at the other end of the path and it caused you to cry out in surprise, maybe slightly even in fear. It was Ray.

You’d never thought that the sight of Ray would ever frighten you, but as he stood there, pale and gaunt surrounded by the red flushes of rose petals, you had to wonder how you hadn’t realised it sooner. He looked guilty, and scared. So, so scared. You put your hands up to him slowly, asking if he was okay, but instead of receiving any sort of reply about his own wellbeing, Ray flurried out several apologies at you. He averted his gaze downwards, as though he felt as though he was no longer allowed to look at you directly for what he was. You stared at him as he spoke, focused on the slight protrusion of his sharp teeth over his lips. It was obvious that he had practiced speaking without making them visible, so you could only really see them if you were already looking for them.

‘Ray… It’s okay.’ You whispered, coming a little bit closer to him. He took a step back, moving his back up against the roses further so that he was surrounded by them. If it had been at any other moment, you would have taken the time to think about the fact he looked like a delicate portrait right then, the passion of the red surrounding his pale frame. But alas, you did not have that luxury.

‘It’s not! I scared you, oh how could I ever forgive myself! How could you ever forgive me for this! I should have been able to show more restraint… My savior was right, she’s always right…’ He replied almost frantically, to the point where you weren’t quite sure if he was talking to you or telling you his own inner monologue.

‘M-My Savior said that I’m not strong enough yet, which is why I find… you difficult to be around. I want to be around you always but- she says you’re too tempting for someone like me.’

‘Too tempting…?’ You asked, a slightly unsure as to what he meant. That was, until he gestured to your bleeding fingertip, and it suddenly made more sense to you. ‘I don’t mind if you… want to be around me. I want to be around you too.’ You added, attempting to phrase it in the same way that he did, since he was clearly skirting around using certain vocabulary. It made you realised that there was a good chance that Ray was unhappy about the fact he wanted you in such a way. If he allowed himself to get too close, he would inevitably bring you pain.

As you stepped closer to him, you watched as he reached his own leathered hand towards his mouth, anxiously biting onto the tips of the fabric. He wasn’t just chewing it, he was really biting it, to the point you were worried he might hurt himself.

You were suddenly moving quickly down the path towards him, ‘Ray! Please, stop that. It’s okay! I’m not scared of you.’

‘I’m scared that I might hurt you!’ He almost wailed. You knew that there was an obsessive nature to Ray, which walked hand in hand with his melancholy, but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you like this. For the most part, he was tender-hearted and sensitive. Of course, he had room in that heart for hate, but yet, so much more room for sensitivity.

‘You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.’

‘Please, be more careful with who you award your trust to. I don’t deserve it.’ He replied, but pulled his own glove away stiffly, since he didn’t want to worry you any further. At such a distance, he had nothing to distract himself from the pull he felt towards your blood.

‘If you want it, take it. I don’t want to see you be so strained over this. I don’t know what’s happening here at Magenta, but I know that you’re good. And kind.’ You were at his side, offering your hand to him. Initially, he tried to move his body away from your hand and cover his teeth again with his hand, but it was evident that he was growing more and more needy by the passing second. You tried to assure him that it was okay and reached out a slightly shaky hand to his cold cheek. ‘And I want to help you.’

After a few moments of tentative consideration, he took your offer. Ray watched your eyes as he held your finger in both of his hands, as though it was something fragile, delicate even. He hesitated before bringing it to his own lips, the thin line of dark red suddenly giving a burst of colour to his otherwise exceedingly white pallor. He gently took the blood that was already at the surface of your skin, closing his eyes as he did so, but you couldn’t decide whether it was out of shame or whether it was to savour the moment between the two of you. You gasped as you felt the sharpness of his teeth graze against your skin before he let the tip of them bite into your soft flesh, producing more of the red he was so desperately craving. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be, but your heart was still racing, nonetheless. When he was done, he pressed a single, sorry kiss into the palm of your hand and apologised for hurting you, adding that he was undeserving of your pain as he wiped the rest of the blood away with a handkerchief out of his pocket.

‘I’d rather be hurt a thousand times over than for you to have to suffer even once…’ He whispered into the darkness of the garden. Not that he would feel bold enough to tell you, but Ray undeniably saw the poetry in tasting your blood. He’s ashamed of what he is, but he relished in the fact that you were willing to share such a vital piece of yourself with him like this. He entirely made a mental plan to carry the handkerchief with him at all times, as a token and reminder of this newfound connection with you.

Vampire! Suit Saeran Drabble 

Meeting Saeran was an experience unto itself, let alone processing the surprise you received in how differently he treated you and himself. Saeran doesn’t hide what he is in the same way that Ray did, he acts proud of it. A shining example of what Mint Eye could offer to people with the Elixir, but only if they were strong enough to deserve it. He’s the strongest Believer and the strongest Vampire produced from the Elixir, The Savior said it herself. She called him her ‘One True Offspring’. When you had asked what that meant, since Ray had never mentioned anything like that to you, Saeran had angrily snapped that firstly, he shouldn’t have to answer your questions and secondly, it meant that he had been turned using The Savior’s own blood in the Elixir given to him. That meant that he was special, and better than anyone else there. He repeated that a lot, but you were never quite who if he was saying that to you or to himself but he clearly made an attempt to believe it, at least for his own sake.

Saeran carried himself around Magenta so differently to Ray, you heard his footsteps from down the corridor when he wanted you to know to anticipate him and yet you never heard him when he suddenly appeared behind you. He was most definitely choosing when to make his presence known and when he wanted to startle you from standing silently around a corner. Saeran certainly disproved to you the lore that Vampires needed to be invited into rooms in order to gain entrance, as he came in whenever he pleased. He never hid his fangs either or tried to cover his ears either with his unkempt hair, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention that could be brought to them by smirking at you or asking if ‘you like what you see, Princess?’ You could feel the anger in his voice, he was practically dripping with a rage that he did not know how to release properly. It weighed on his shoulders, and somehow seemed to push him in on himself to the point where he was constantly forcing himself to stand taller, to be louder so that he would not be entirely consumed by it. The atmosphere he carried was tense, to say the least. It seemed to make him paler. Saeran’s dark undereyes were no longer something a simple goodnight sleep could fix; they were almost bruises of their own. Purple, sunken.

While he was not lacking for blood in the same way that Ray had suffered without, it appeared that Saeran was overworking himself to the point that the added sustenance did little to actually aid him, so he kept on coming back for more and more each time. He appeared at any hour of the day or night, which suggested that he was no longer really sleeping, or if he was he was only sleeping for very short amounts of time, and it was really showing him his face. You were sure his appearance must have sat somewhere between Dorian Gray and his portrait, beautiful yet rotting. The way he felt on the inside was slowly, yet surely, manifesting itself. He was so capable of kindness, and yet he never allowed himself to admit to it. If Saeran didn’t have his cruelty, he didn’t have anything. He needed to hold onto it to hold himself together as the Persecutor.

His kisses were rougher too, leaving your lips feeling puffy, tender, and always breathless. He seemed to thrive on the fact he could make you feel so weak, as though it was precisely your weakness that gave him the strength he needed to carry on this strained life he led. He’d sneak up behind you frequently, with the confidence that Ray never quite found, and bury his face into the side of your neck, running rough kisses along it until you sigh against him from the touch, not even bothering to move your hair out of the way as he did so. Even as he kissed you like this, he’d taunt you for enjoying his touch so much in comparison to Ray, who barely ‘had the guts’ to touch you freely. Saeran would lift up your finger to show him the tiny bite impressions that Ray had originally left, only to have Saeran go over them more harshly with his own bite, before moving back up to your throat.

He dragged his fangs along the thin skin of your neck, so you knew it was coming, before promptly biting you. He doesn’t try to be delicate like Ray, and he’s more likely to take too much blood and leave you feeling woozy. He’ll take as much blood as he wants, really. Once you inevitably faint in his arms, he’d usually carry you back and placed you on the bed, but only so he can reprimand you for being such a burden to him. He’d never admit to anything else, especially not to feeling bad about pushing you to your limit.

‘Heh… Don’t look so happy with yourself, your blood tastes like shit anyway. I should go and find someone better, someone sweeter.’ He smirked before laughing, his eyes alive with a frantic excitement. He still had a small steak of blood running down his lips and onto his chin, which he promptly wiped away onto his black suit sleeve without releasing you from his unwavering gaze.

There were times when he’d suddenly stop laughing and looked at his blood-covered hand in disgust, before dragging that same gaze over towards you. He’d look at the redness on his hands and try to wipe it away, even after it dried and would not budge without soap and water. Saeran would still furiously rub his skin against the fabric of his clothes in a vain attempt to wipe his slate clean. You were never able to decipher what Saeran felt in the moment that he decided that ‘play time’ was over, but he never seemed happy about the outcome of the collision the two of you had found yourselves in, even when he was the one that instigated it. He’d half-assedly throw a bag of food from the kitchen at you, telling you that you ought to be grateful for having such a kind master for feeding you, before promptly turning on his heels to leave and slamming the door shut.

He was complicated, that was for sure.

 Vampire! GE Saeran Drabble 

Saeran had been through so much, and yet he was coming out stronger and stronger from it each day. He had a lot to process, about himself, the things that had happened to him and the things that he has done to other people, especially to you. Saeran had a difficult time accepting the he hurt you. He understands that he did it and he has accepted the fact that he did it, but somehow his heart never wanted to believe it. No matter how many times you told him he needed to forgive himself for it, Saeran knew that he never could.

He tried to make it up to you in every way that he could think of. He was so loving, so caring. He always served your food first, gave you extra helpings and always made dessert for afterwards. His food was always so well made, filled with all the vitamins and minerals that your body could have possibly needed and always tasted like he had been cooking his whole life. He’d even try to feed you the last few bites if you’d let him, just to make sure that you’d gotten enough food. It’s sweet, and he does it out of care, but there’s a part of Saeran that does it because he feels as though he needs to make amends to your body for the way he treated it.

He’s not keen on drinking your blood, he feels as though he’s taking advantage of you and doesn’t enjoy the fact that he has to hurt you to be able to do it. He’d looked into alternatives that he could try, such as blood banks or from animals, just any means of supply that didn’t involve hurting you. It didn’t work out very well and in the end it started to do him more harm than good, so he usually just tried to wait for as long as he can in between biting you. And even then, he waits for you to offer because he doesn’t want to pressure you into giving up so sacred for him, Saeran would much rather have himself suffer than to make you feel any sort of uneasy around him.

He was a lot more considerate and knowledgeable about the outside world nowadays, and would look into various ways of making it less painful for you: the most effective one to date being numbing creams. He’s not a fan of the chemical taste of the cream in his mouth, but he would happily deal with it if it was for your sake. While he did still have a preference for your neck, because it felt a little bit more romantic to him, Saeran would always give you the choice on where you wanted him to bite. He knows it’s not his body to dictate, and if anything, he actually wants you to put some more of your own rules in place about it. He’d be more than happy if you wanted him to do it somewhere less visible so that you could hide it from people. As long as you weren’t hiding your actual relationship with him, he wouldn’t mind. He’s very understanding of the fact that sometimes it is a little awkward to have marks like that in public and that you didn’t want to answer questions from strangers all of the time.

He was very gentle with it, making sure to apply the numbing cream beforehand and to avoid any particularly sensitive spots while never biting too deep. Saeran never took more than what was absolutely necessary either, even if you told him that it was okay to do it. You figured that he always remembered the time that Saeran would make you faint after taking too much blood, and that it must weigh on his consciousness heavily. Telling him to take more than the bottom-line wasn’t something you frequently told him to do though, since you already knew he was restraining himself and trying to put some boundaries in place for your own protection, so you didn’t want to push him. He cleaned the area after drinking from it and pressed a little patterned band-aid onto it and sealed it with a kiss, just for good measure. It really didn’t sit right with him that he had to hurt you like this so he tried to make amends for it wherever he could.

He always wiped his mouth before he kissed you, since he thought it would be rather cruel to make you taste the blood that you had just willingly offered up to him. You’d find the taste unpleasant anyway, even if Saeran enjoyed it. Saeran was rather poetic at the best of times, but it was especially true when he was feeling a little bit drunk off of your love (and blood). If you ever asked him what your blood tasted like, he’d write you a verbal essay on how sweet it is. It’s intoxicating to him and it always had been, even when he was both Ray and Saeran. The two of them were so confused by their sudden feelings and this undeniable pull towards you that neither could escape from. If you let him, he’ll probably even get a little bit cliché with how he feels like he’s reached some form of enlightenment by your blood being the thing that can kept him alive, along with how he can feel your love beating through his veins and giving him strength. Sometimes you can’t help but cringe at some of the things that Saeran says, but he means it in such a sweet way that you find it even more affectionate.

In times like this, Saeran was so adorable and kind-hearted. He generally felt a bit bad about himself, since he knows that he can’t ever become a human again as a result of his time in Mint Eye, so you have to make the extra effort to love him in this moment. You cupped his face with both of your hands and told him how precious he was to you and that he is, and always will be, the most important thing in your life.

Vampire! Unknown Drabble

There were no words that allowed you to accurately describe Unknown. He was exactly that. You never quite knew what he was thinking and for the most part he definitely relished in that fact. His actions were unpredictable, and he barely seemed to keep a routine for too long, lest someone figured it out and learned to predict his moves. Everyone walked on eggshells around him out of fear and uncertainty, and he seemed to enjoy it. He found it humorous, even. He enjoyed taking you by surprise in particular, it was his main form of entertainment. You were a toy for him to play with when he got bored.

He was sort of what you expected a modern-day vampire to be, look-wise and attitude-wise. His attire was certainly a change. It felt as though he was trying to actively reflect the anguish he felt within, but at the same time, it was an external threat. A threat that if you got too close to him, you’d be in danger of getting hurt yourself. The spikes were enough to ensure that, even if Unknown wasn’t. He reminded you of Saeran, but you could tell that there was a stark difference between the two of them. Unknown rarely displayed anger in the same way that Saeran did, it was certainly there, but it wasn’t as explosive. Sometimes it was cold, warped, and vindictive underneath layers of you weren’t sure what. Like Saeran, he made little attempt to hide his fangs or ears, but he didn’t necessarily show them off unless he was actively trying to taunt someone. It was more as though he didn’t care about them until they were of use to him. At which point, he’d smirk and release the sharpened canines: a spark of excitement in his eyes inviting you closer, to dare test him.

When he wanted to feed from you, he’d summon you to wherever he is rather than coming to see you himself. After all, you were a failed experiment who couldn’t even do your job of talking to the RFA correctly; being an assistant was the best job you’d be able to manage, so he told you that you ought to be grateful for it especially since Magenta wasn’t in the habit of keeping ‘useless’ things around for very long.

He was usually desperate when he called for you because of the long hours he forced his body to endure, even throughout the daytime when he’d naturally be sleeping. He entirely believed that because he’s strong, he wasn’t allowed to feel anything except for that strength, so he had to keep himself at the same standard of work every single day in order to maintain it. He’d burn the candle at both ends and then continue trying to light the wick. When you thought of him, there was always one particular instance that came to mind when he had no choice but to display an element of weakness to you, and it enraged him. He had been out on a recon mission for The Savior and had over-exerted himself in the process, sustaining an injury. He had crashed into your room afterwards, panting and holding onto his bleeding wound, drinking enough blood in one go that he’d made you  back onto your bed with light-headedness. He hadn’t done that since, and rarely pushed you past that point, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to dance with the limit of it. He’d say it was because he preferred to tease you with it, to savour what belonged to him, even though you knew it wasn’t his only reason for taking it slow.

How he bit you depended on what mood he was in, but his typical go-to is to have you sitting on his lap while he’s at his desk and facing him so that he can pull you towards him by your hips, making sure that your collarbones are already level with his mouth. He shouldn’t have to do any of the work, he wanted you already in position for him.

Unknown’s hands were roughly on your shoulders, both pulling you towards him and holding you steady. He bites first, kissed later. There’s little warning to feeling his teeth, except for the second or so beforehand where you feel his hot breath fan over you, just before you feel the sharp break of that skin underneath. Sometimes he’d hover for a few seconds longer than usual because he sought the thrill of you not knowing when the pain was coming. He has a preference for the neck and collarbones, not that he’d never explain why to you but, simply, he doesn’t think he should have to anyway. You’d have laughed at the cliché nature of it, but you’d rather he kept it to the same area instead of spreading it all over your body. That being said, he had bitten your thighs a couple of times when your neck had been a little too sore for him to drink from there, when the skin needed time to heal.

Unknown swapped between biting and kissing at your neck, making his way up towards your mouth to continue the blood-tinted kiss there. Each time you tasted the metallic tinge on your tongue, it left your breathless, but not as much as the bite he’d leave on your lower lip did. You wouldn’t admit it to Unknown, but those kisses were some of your favourites that you had shared with him.

Not only did he leave your skin with actual bites, but he made point of littering your throat with lovebites each time too. As though the real bites weren’t enough for him, Unknown always had to go one step further with his act of possession over you. It was a cocky game, in his own mind, he needed to show that you were his and that no other Believer was permitted to look at you in the same that that he did.

When he was done and needed the wipe the blood away from his face, he’d wipe it straight onto the back of his hand. He’d make no effort to properly clean it until he went to wash his hands, it didn’t seem to bother him.

 Vampire! Savior Saeran Drabble 

It’s ironic, to Saeran, that crosses and biblical imagery did nothing to inhibit a Vampire, especially considering how linked the two aesthetics were. They truly went hand in damned hand. Mint Eye had always been steeped in Catholicism, as it was the core religion of the previous Savior, but as Saeran was forced to take the throne, he had not made any changes to those principles. He had been taught to instil and swallow those same beliefs in himself as they had been handed to him, even if they were not truly his own. He had been prepared in such a way that he would be able to take over Mint Eye when he had truly reached the peak of his strength and was intended to forge a new way for the organisation.

You had been bathed, dressed, and summoned to the throne room, where many Believers and the Savior in question were already gathered. You’d heard whispers that you were going to be cleansed, but the atmosphere you found yourself in did not seem to fit the one you associated with a cleansing. However, The Savior had yet to conduct a ceremony of his own since taking the throne and you started to fear that, perhaps, you were to be the leading spectacle. You walked between the Believers, as you were told to kneel before Saeran.

He was so lifeless in comparison to the Saerans you had once encountered before him. He was so sad, empty. At the very least, Ray’s melancholy had an element of hope to it, but as The New Savior stood before you, there was little more than a shell of the man that you had come to know. Your interaction with him was limited, but it was so plainly obvious to you that he was just being used as a pawn, a pawn in disguise of the King. It seemed distinctly sacrilegious to have a vampire dressed in religious garments, but you supposed that Saeran had probably not received a choice in either of those matters.

Another Believer came up from behind you and asked for your wrist, which he then wiped over with disinfectant fluid before presenting it to The Savior. Saeran reached out his hand to grab your arm, pulling it towards him. He was silent as his teeth suddenly found their way into your wrist, but he barely took more than a small mouthful of blood. Even with your arm in his grasp, Saeran said nothing and continued to just plainly stare ahead into the masses, occasionally throwing glances in your direction.

‘Are you ready for the next initiation step?’ He asked. You could still see your blood in his mouth, the thin line of red providing a stark colour contrast to the rest of his chilly pallor.

‘Yes.’ You replied.

Once done, he turned and pushed the red Elixir bottle towards you, tilting it into your open mouth. It was lukewarm and overwhelmed all of your senses with the metallic taste of blood and chemicals. It burned. Tasting blood like this felt so wrong. You felt it fill your mouth and you forced it down your throat swallow, gasping for air as soon as it passed. Was that… his blood? In the same way that he had been given his Savior’s blood?

You were asked to stand as Saeran took another step towards you. You tried to watch his eyes, looking for any hint of the life that Ray and Saeran had once brought to them, but The Savior in front of you had clearly managed to subdue that hope. Or rather, he had been forced and conditioned to abandon it.

Almost sombrely, he pressed a small kiss against your lips; causing you to once again receive a fresh taste of blood. Except this time, it was the remnants of your own that had been left on his own tongue. There was little free affection in his kiss, and it appeared to be more about the process of the initiation rather than anything to do with kindness or tenderness. It only lasted for a second or so and was nothing intimate, ending almost as soon as it had begun. He pulled away first, placing the bottle that he had been previously holding back onto the throne room altar.

You were hugely aware of the fact that you were still being watched by an entire room of people and felt so exposed, so seen. It was uncomfortable to have to wait there for it to be over when you would have much rather have had this be a private affair: not that you had been warned in advance anyway.

He pressed his bloody lips against your forehead, leaving a red stain against your skin. Saeran then reached a cold hand towards your face, dragging his thumb across the bloody kissmark and smearing it into the shape of an eye. A baptism.

Vampire! SE Saeran Drabble

He was trying. Saeran was really trying. Being around people was difficult, well, everything was a little difficult for him. It was taking all of his energy to adjust and process things, so you rarely saw him during the day. He was always pretty low energy and spent the majority of his time asleep or alone, with you only ever really catching glimpses of him at night. You guessed that it was at least a good thing that he was catching up on the sleep that he had deprived himself of for so many years, even if it meant you rarely got to see him.

Saeran didn’t really talk to anyone anyway, only you and his brother. That is, whenever he can be bothered to talk to Saeyoung as he often complained that he’s too tired for conversation. He usually didn’t have the energy to talk to his brother that much because of how hyperactive the other was. Saeyoung understands that Saeran needs time, even if it hurt him to not be able to pull his brother close after all of those years apart. Irreparable damage had been done where they would need years to repair it. There were even a few tense moments where Saeran had thought that Saeyoung was taunting him, or not trusting him, by wearing his crucifix necklace. Of course, his brother tried to explain that that was not the case and that Saeran wasn’t affected by religious symbols anyway, but it still seemed to annoy him. Eventually, Saeyoung stopped wearing his necklace and kept it in a drawer next to his bed, feeling as though the faith he believed in was probably redundant now that he knew how it had been tainted by the people he trusted.

Saeyoung had offered to let Saeran drink his blood before, as a way of making reparations to his twin, but Saeran flat out denied it: saying it would be disgusting to drink from him. He also threw in the comment that Saeyoung’s blood would taste ‘like shit’ because of his diet anyway, which was entirely understandable. Neither of you could fault Saeran for that.

Saeran felt rather conflicted and tentative about drinking your blood, often feeling pangs of guilt for how he previously treated you as Unknown. He often waited right up until he was pretty desperate before letting on that he was in need, and you’d have to realise on your own that his tiredness was not just coming from social exhaustion. He probably wouldn’t ask, so you’d have to offer.

When it happened, it usually happened in the same way with Saeran turning you around so that your back was facing him and you couldn’t look at him. He already felt some sort of way about biting you in the first place so the last thing he wanted was to have to look into your eyes as he did it. He felt more comfortable like this, and he felt as though he could take his time rationalising it a bit more when he wasn’t being watched. ‘Don’t turn around.’ He said tiredly. He sighed, clearly feeling a little awkward but not wanting to rush into it. It would be in this moment where he thought about how roughly he used to do it to you and wonder where he had gotten that confidence from. Truly, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Saeran placed his hands onto your shoulders, pausing right above where he was going to bite for a few seconds, letting his hot breath fan over you until he finally broke the skin. He wasn’t as rough as he used to be, and it was quite obvious how much he had been restraining himself by how quickly he drank. ‘Sorry.’ He whispered under the wight of the guilt. He always sounded like he was crying when he did this, even if you didn’t see any tears fall. You placed your hand on top of his own just to let him know that it was okay. Saeran wasn’t one for words, so he appreciated the support even if he didn’t tell you that directly.

He sat behind you for a few moments while he calmed down, his thumbs ever so slightly rubbing circles into your shoulders; a rare sign of intimacy from him. He doesn’t kiss you in that moment for a number of reasons. He felt parasitic, and he didn’t want to tie that emotion to affection. And yet, undeniably because he doesn’t want you to see him for what he is. Saeran carries a lot of shame, especially when he’s feeling so vulnerable as he does when he’s in that state. He wiped the blood from his lips onto the back of his sleeve, but would change his jumper shortly afterwards because it made him feel dirty to even look at. Saeran didn’t want to sit with your blood on him, that was cruel to the both of you.

You’d often find that he’d leave you a little gift the next day but would claim to not have any knowledge of it. It was always a little thing that only he would think to bring you, such a small flower from the garden or one of his snacks out of the kitchen.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there. 

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought. 

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid. 

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind. 

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return. 

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did. 

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him. 

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.” 

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.” 

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.” 

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.” 

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite. 

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.” 

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’. 

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.” 

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?” 

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?” 

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?” 

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger. 

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.” 

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction. 

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?” 

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.” 

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?” 

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.” 

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?” 

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always. 

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever. 

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?” 

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher. 

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned. 

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.” 

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

[robininthelabyrinth]

- [x] Post canon Jiang Cheng accidentally died and went back in time to his Gusu Days, de-aged. Plot twist, the him in this dimension died, like 3 months ago, in Caiyi Town. Everyone thinks he is a fierce corpse because everyone attended his funeral and all the ceremonies that followed. The Nie sabers dont want to hurt him though?! The talismans in calming vengeful and restless spirits dont work?! Chaos, utter chaos happens.Give Jiang Cheng some love AncientChina-20forever. I’m one of the 8 sibs

Nie Mingjue trusted Baxia more than he trusted himself, which was probably a stupid decision – according to sect lore, it was definitely a stupid decision – but when he raised his saber to strike down the fierce corpse that had risen up from the Jiang sect heir’s untimely grave, Baxia said Hey cool we get to kill people now? 

So he stopped.

(He said he trusted her, not that he listened to her. He wasn’t that stupid.)

Jiang Cheng was panting for breath, shaking in terror but too exhausted to continue running. Now that Nie Mingjue had a moment of calm to study him, he observed that his pupils were blown wide from the effort of escaping, but they were still there; his eyes were neither full white nor full black, and thus unlike those of most resentful spirits. His fingers were red and raw and the nails all broken, as if he’d had to dig himself out of his tomb or something, but they were a human length, not elongated.

“Are you alive?” Nie Mingjue asked him.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Like I’ve been trying to tell everyone, but no one believes me –”

“Your death was witnessed by many people,” Nie Mingjue told him. “No less than the two Jades of Lan testified regarding your heroism in preventing the Wen sect from using the Waterborne Abyss they unleashed as a pretext for conquering the Cloud Recesses.”

“The Wen sect?” Jiang Cheng said. “The Waterborne Abyss – what?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I do remember, that’s just not how it happened. The Wen sect didn’t come to burn the Cloud Recesses for another two years after the incident with the Waterborne Abyss –”

Nie Mingjue could feel his eyebrows going up – we’re back to not killing humans again aren’t we, Baxia grumbled, figuring out that she wasn’t getting blood today, stupid rules, do you know how many evil humans there are – and he frowned, considering the possibilities provoked by that sentence. “Did you get a glimpse of the future when you died?” he asked. “Or – something else?”

“I have no idea,” Jiang Cheng confessed, looking over his shoulder at where there were still shouts of anger from the ones who had been hunting him. “I can tell you, only – the others –”

They were still trying to kill him, he meant, and were being most unreasonable about it.

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, and drew Baxia again. “Hold her.”

“What?”

“Stop complaining, they’re almost here.”

Jiang Cheng took Baxia by the hilt – she growled at him lest he think too much of himself, and he twitched like a startled rabbit – and stood still as a statute. Nie Mingjue draped a spare set of robes over his shoulders to hide the glaring purple that screamed Jiang sect and turned towards the door, hands behind his back.

“Sect Leader Nie, Sect Leader Nie –” the pursuers chanted as they ran towards him, clutching calming talismans and other spiritual weapons in their hands, seeking his aid in pursuing the abomination that perverted the honorable Jiang Cheng’s body.

Not one of them looked in the direction of Baxia for more than a split second.

She had that effect on people, Nie Mingjue had found. 

After a while, Nie Mingjue chased them off, giving them incorrect directions in the hope they’d wear themselves out on their wild goose hunt, and maybe in the process find something useful to hunt on the mountain.

“I’ll take you to the Lotus Pier,” he told a still-frozen Jiang Cheng, and removed Baxia from his hands. “Do you require rest first?”

“Your sword is the scariest thing I have ever met,” Jiang Cheng said, voice dazed.

“Saber,” Nie Mingjue corrected. “My saber is the scariest thing you’ve ever met.”

“…right.”

“Your family will be happy to see you,” Nie Mingjue said. “They have not taken your death well.”

Jiang Cheng scrubbed his face. “I hadn’t even thought about that. Mother must be furious, and jiejie’s probably crying…who even knows how Wei Wuxian is taking it. Probably figuring out a way to blow things up to vent his feelings or something, what a disaster.”

Wei Wuxian had in fact lapsed into something not unlike a comatose state, capable of little more than eating and sleeping and responding to direct commands; he stirred only when Jiang Cheng’s name was mentioned, and even then the only change was that tears dripped down his face – he had been there when Jiang Cheng had sacrificed his life for him, for the Lan sect, for the world, and Nie Mingjue had been unsure if he would recover from the blow.

Madame Yu had been little better, though Jiang Cheng had correctly identified her primary emotional response as rage – Nie Mingjue thought that she didn’t know of any other ways to communicate, a situation he sympathized with – and Jiang Yanli was, in fact, inconsolable.

“Your father is upset as well,” Nie Mingjue said, because Jiang Cheng hadn’t mentioned him, and the surprise on Jiang Cheng’s face was – unexpected, hitting him like a jab to the gut that knocked out all his breath. “Did you not think he would be? You’re his son.”

“If I’m gone, Wei Wuxian can inherit the sect,” Jiang Cheng said as if a sentence like that made any sense at all. “He understands the motto better, Father likes him better –”

“Your father is a fool,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s the one who has mangled your sect motto beyond all recognition, not you – he allows his heart to guide him anywhere he wishes to go, without any burden, and that is not how righteous men live. If he thought you did not understand, it was his duty as a father to teach you; if he did not naturally love you, it was his duty as your kin to value you regardless. That he has failed in those duties is his failing, not yours.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth opened and closed, shocked by Nie Mingjue’s rudeness.

“He is a fool,” Nie Mingjue said again. “But even fools can be taught, even if only in the harshest of circumstances. Your father has declared war against the Wen sect, regardless of the recklessness of his actions, and says he will not rest until your memorial tablet is drenched with the blood of your killers; they say he aged twenty years in a day, that he visits your room and your grave every day, that he can barely look at the water around the Lotus Pier without flinching in memory of you –”

“None of that happened,” Jiang Cheng said desperately. “None of that –”

“My brother will be happy to see you as well,” Nie Mingjue continued. “He was rather distraught, to say the least. You should speak with him on the way to the Lotus Pier; he can help you come up with a coherent cover story.”

That this wasn’t the Jiang Cheng that had died, he already knew, but Nie Mingjue trusted Baxia when she said that this was a human, and anyway it seemed fairly clear that it was a Jiang Cheng, who loved his family, and that was good enough for him.

The Jiang sect’s declaration of war was messy, liable to lead to their destruction rather than anything else; the Wen sect would focus in on them and everyone else would stay out of it, thinking it some private affair. He was of course willing to help, but two Great Sects weren’t enough - they needed more than that. If they were to survive what happened next, if the entire cultivation world were to survive, they would need all their wits about them.

They were going to need Jiang Cheng.

[acahope311]

Silver Lining

Sleepover Request

luna-xial said: So so so I see you have requests open due to your sleepover (also Ohmygosh congratulations!!) and I was wanting to ask if you could do something with Kili for the fluff prompt list, #3??? ❤️❤️ (if not that’s okay, I just wanted to request something because your writing is so good 🥺❤️) (“(She/he/they) don’t compare to you. No one does.”)

A/N Wow! This one is a doozy. I loved writing this, Kili has always been one of my favorite characters, and the prompt lead to so many directions but I chose to do one where angst was not an option🥺 Thank you so much for sending this in @luna-xial and participating in the sleepover 🥰

*I wanted to thank @guardianofrivendell for double-checking my writing and making sure I knew the difference between "pinning" and "pining" LMFAO!*

Warnings: none? I guess self-doubt?

Erebor was bustling. What once was a dormant and abandoned mountain, a reminder of dwarven greed, now symbolized second chances, wealth, and life. Dwarves from the Blue Mountains were flocking to the mountain, some were those who never thought they would live to see the Lonely Mountain rise from the horizon, the rest were ambitious young dwarrows hoping to start anew. Men were also moving back to Dale, revitalizing the growing community in the shadow of the great mountain- of course, King Bard and his family oversaw the restoration of the city and personally welcomed the new arrivals. Whilst similarly in Erebor, Thorin himself rolled up his sleeves and took to reconstructing the home of his forefathers- his Company by his side. Which were quite a sight to see as thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a woman all lifted, chiseled, and swept away rubble, ash, and dirt. Little by little, the fruits of labor began to show and soon the rock-hewn walls seemed to sing the history of the mountain and once the mountain was unearthed, the new dwarves were settled in. You found you had more time to explore the mountain. The grand stone walls of Erebor encased your miniature frame. Funny enough, being a human woman you were head and shoulders taller than most dwarves, but the walls and statues made you shrink. As you quietly made your way through the halls, you’d occasionally run into a group of dwarrow, warm pleasantries were exchanged and small talk was exchanged. Once the mountain was more established and a trade agreement was founded, Thorin had appointed you as a live-in ambassador to Dale and Mirkwood, much to his chagrin. At first living in the mountain had a rocky start, Durin’s folk were always wary of strangers- especially from another race, but once you had proven yourself time and time again, you were welcomed with open arms. However, some still were reluctant to see you as an ally, making it a point to sometimes emphasize your foreignness. Yet you never held it against them but had always put it up to jealousy, for not only were you the woman who accompanied and aided in the quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain alongside Thorin Oakenshield, but you were very close to the Durin princes-- especially Kili. From the moment you and Kili met, the Company knew you were both trouble. Being both the youngest in the group meant mischief that even Fili had to take a step back to make sure you two were not in over your heads. At first, it was all fun and games, but somewhere along the line, you realized that he meant so much more to you than a friend; you loved him. You’d carried this torch with you throughout the whole quest and although you’d hoped it would extinguish, his sunlight smiles, friendly touches, and adoring eyes fanned the flames of your feelings- it didn’t help that he would always make time to end every night in conversation with you. As time went on, even Fili could see your pining and couldn’t help but smile fondly knowing that you and his brother held mutual feelings but were just too blinded by their infatuation for each other to realize the truth.

One day, at the training grounds when you and Fili were free from your duties, the golden prince set his plan into action. As he stood by the side, he seemed to be lost in thought- reliving an earlier conversation he had with his brother.

“Fi, what do I do?” Kili wailed, sitting in front of his brother as he patiently waited for him to comb his hair. Fili sighed, he knew that wail very well.

“Whatever do you mean, brother dear?” He said teasingly while pulling on a particularly tough knot. Resisting the tugs, Kili began to rant.

“You know what I mean. What do I do about y/n? I want to start the courting process, even Uncle thinks it’s a good idea, but I am so lost… I don’t even know if she returns my feelings.” Kili’s head droops a little at the thought of you not loving him the same way. Fili chuckles at his expense, the sound causing Kili to huff in faux indignation. “I’m glad you’re having a good laugh at my expense brother.”

“Forgive me nadad, but that is such a crazy notion. She loves you, I can see it in the way she lights up when you’re in the room, did you know that?” He says as he continues to untangle the knots in his raven hair.

“Truly?” Kili asks with a little more pep in his tone.

“Truly. You’d think Mahal himself walked into the room with the way her eyes brighten.” Fili smiles as he remembers how in an earlier discussion between you and him, your whole demeanor changed the moment his brother came into the room- like a plant being watered after a drought.

“Do not doubt, brother. She loves you fiercely.” With a reassuring pat on Kili’s shoulder, Fili stands and prepares himself for the day.

“But for Mahal’s sake, fix your hair. I’m sure even she wouldn’t want a prince with a rat’s nest for hair. Amad will shave you if you keep that up!” Fili said as he saw Kili ruffle his hard work.

“I know that! But I also know she’ll love me if I am as smooth as a newborn bairn. She said she loved my hair once on the quest, just before we all fell asleep.” He swooned at the memory. “You don’t understand Fi. I think she is the one, MY One. And I want to do right by her.” Kili’s eyes shone with determination. Speechless, Fili stares at his brother. Then laughs a hearty laugh, confusing Kili.

“What’s so funny?!” He asks, a bit embarrassed. Fili wipes the tears away as he controls his breathing.

“Nothing bad, it’s just that… You truly can find the good in anything! It wasn’t but a moment ago that you were wailing about her not loving you and now you’re declaring her your One.” Fili explains, again brushing his little brother’s hair.

“Oh… Brother, I only do that because of her. She always sees the positive side of everything- and I want to be like that to her. But I can’t do this on my own. Will you help me?” Kili asks timidly. Fili stops and looks directly at him,

“Of course.”

The sound of wood splintering brings Fili back to the present. You ended up breaking the wooden pole and looking sheepishly at him. Sighing fondly, he helps you find a replacement. Once a new one has taken its place, you resume your training while Fili observes.

“You know.” Fili inquired, breaking the silence. “You seem to be so skilled with the sword. Have you tried other weapons?” As you attack a wooden post, the question causes you to pause mid-swing. Pondering this, a small flush creeps onto your face. Suddenly shy, you look down.

“I have been wanting to learn how to shoot a bow…” You whisper as a certain dark-haired prince’s visage of letting loose a quiver of arrows flash in your mind. “I’d always admired how Kili could so quickly nock an arrow and aim with such precision in such a short amount of time. All with a smile, did you know that? That cheeky cub.” You said smiling unknowingly.

Fili smirked. “Now, why would you want to learn how to use a bow, y/n?” he asks- already knowing the answer. As you squirm uncomfortably under his questioning, the silence stretches out. After what seems to be a lifetime, you look up and answer with a determined gleam in your eye.

“Because I want to impress Kili.” You say softly, but resolutely. The answer stuns Fili into silence. After a heartbeat of silence, you continue.

“I know I am not of royal or noble descent. Nor am I rich- I’m not even a dwarf! But I do truly love your brother. I cannot offer much but I would like to start by offering the time to get to better understand his favorite weapon.” You pause, unsure whether you should continue, but you push on. “From what I understand, weaponry and skills are an important part of dwarven courtship, and I would like to take that chance… I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Your brother is worth that chance-- and if nothing comes from it, I at least can say that I tried. ” A loving look passes your face, reminding him of the times you all sat around the fire and listened to his brother’s stories- already he knew you had fallen hard. ‘She always sees the positive side of everything’, Kili’s voice resonates in his mind.

“But I am still a novice in this… So I may need your help?” You conclude, less confident than what you meant. Exhaling in relief, Fili smiles and turns around. At first, you are worried that you’d insulted him, but when he returns promptly with a bow and a quiver of arrows, your face breaks into a grin.

“I’d gladly teach you,” Fili says proudly as he hitches his belt. You nod and reach for the bow, but at the last minute, he pulls away.

“But I can think of a better teacher, right brother?” A chuckle resonates from the sidelines behind you. Turning around, you see Kili walking towards you, smiling. He reaches for the bow and arrows from Fili and knocks foreheads softly.

“Thank you.” Fili pulls away and nods, as he moves to the exit he passes by you and winks.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Silently, the golden prince leaves the training area- leaving you alone with Kili. Turning to him, you can't help but notice your heartbeat so fast that you're sure he can hear it. The silence grows as you both stare at each other until he clears his throat

"I know Fili may have said that I'd be a better teacher, but I will be honest… I don't think I am." He confesses as he subconsciously nocks an arrow and pierces the wooden post.

"I learned by example, but I will teach you everything I know and by the end of the day, you'd be the best archer in all of Erebor." He says sweetly. "Well… second best. After me of course." Correcting himself. You gasp at his cheekiness and punch his shoulder playfully.

"Alright, alright. Let's get this lesson started."

Several hours passed, and so had several arrows yet not one hit the target. You were out of breath, your arms shaking so much you could barely lift the bow. Kili looked over you, took in the sight of your sweaty form and shaking arms. He sat on the ground with a thump- the sound surprising you.

"Kili? Are you alright?" You asked worriedly, kneeling down next to him.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, not looking at you. Confused, you take his hand into yours and begin to rub his arm comfortingly.

"What do you mean? No need to apologize, you're a great teacher- I'm just a bad student hahaha!" You joke. However, Kili shakes his head.

"No, I'm a better teacher than this, it's just that I am distracted…" he admits, further confusing you. Kili continues, "I heard what you said with Fili." Shocked, you ask, "How much did you hear…?" You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

"All of it." Your shoulders droop in dismay. Ashamed, you begin to pull away, but his grip tightens.

"You don't need to be anything for me, y/n. I don't need a princess nor do I need a lady- I just need you." Kili's confession snaps your eyes to his.

"You don't mean that." You respond, barely a whisper. Your eyes fall on your lap once again, but Kili tilts your chin up so your eyes stare into his deep brown eyes.

"I do, amrâlimê. With every ounce of my being." He smiles the smile that can make even the darkest nights seem like morning. Still, clouds of doubt linger.

"I came from nothing, Kili… You are a prince, there are so many other dwarrowdams, clothed and draped with gems and gold- I cannot compare to that. You deserve-" Suddenly you're pulled forward and silenced as his lips meet yours. At first, Kili seems hesitant, giving you enough time to pull away, but to his relief, you begin to kiss him back. Your hand reaches up and caresses his cheek, while his free hand pulls you in closer, deepening the kiss. For a moment, the clouds break and all thoughts of doubt leave your mind, replaced by a feeling of wholeness-- as though you had found a half you'd never known you'd lost. Reluctantly, however, you both pull away to breathe but bring your foreheads together, basking in each other's presence- time begins to move again.

"My heart belongs to no one except to you, y/n. You are my One and I love you. Don't worry about them; they cannot compare to you. No one can." He breathes, cupping your face in both his hands. Unbeknownst to you, tears trail down your eyes.

"But-" He kisses you again, softly. Brushing away any second thoughts you'd have.

"No buts. Do you know why they don't compare? It's because, in the end, I know they will only want me for my title and gold. But you?" He wipes your tears away and smiles lovingly at you. "You love me for me. You'd seen me at my highs and lows. Moreover, you always show me the bright side of everything, ghivashel. They can keep their gems and golden gowns. For you are my silver lining." With that, Kili pulls you into a tight hug and all you can do is smile as the clouds of doubt break. Assuring you that come what may, no matter what clouds your thoughts, Kili's love for you is true, and will always show you the bright side- he is your silver lining.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Mountain Maiden

Anonymous requested a fantasy Shizuku fic. I took that to mean fantasy creature so I hope that was correct

sorry for the delay on this one, it took a lot of rewrites before I got to a place where I was happy with it

huldra!Shizuku

Warnings: blood, graphic depictions of violence, graphic imagery, gore, kidnapping

It was a nice day out, and since it was also your day off and you found yourself feeling a bit more adventurous, you had decided to take a mid-afternoon walk near the base of Mount Hulderheim. The walkway in the woods was surprisingly empty; you would have thought more people would have had the same idea of taking a walk on a day as nice as this one. Not that you could complain. It was nice to feel like you had the walkway to yourself.

At a certain point you took a break, sitting to the side of the path on a battered bench still covered in leaves and leaning your head back to watch the sky through the tree branches. As you sat there for a few minutes, and a peaceful silence surrounded the area, only interrupted by leaves as they were pushed around by a slight breeze.

A metal snapping sound and a soft yelp echoed through the forest and caught your attention, making you immediately stand up as you looked for the source of the sounds. They had come from further in the woods, beyond the small metal fencing that blocked off the areas that were too close to the mountain.

Unsure of what exactly those noises meant, you left the path and climbed over the small fence, ignoring the signs marked “do not enter” and those warning of falling rocks. You weren't normally one to ignore literal warning signs concerning the large mountain that overlooked the town where you lived, especially with how many from the sheriff's department warned about the dangers and the hefty fines that would come if you were caught, but you were certain that the yell you had heard had been human, and you needed to make sure that they were alright.

Weaving around numerous trees, you spotted a human shape in a nearby clearing. Though their back was turned to you, it looked like a woman. With short black hair and a long-sleeved black shirt, she was sitting in the clearing, focused on her leg that was bent in front of her. She heard when you approached, snapping her head back to face you, brown eyes staring at you through a pair of glasses.

“Are you alri- oh my god!”

You stumbled over your words as you realized that her foot had been caught in a bear trap, and she was currently trying to free herself by pulling on the metal jaws that held her. From where you stood, you could see some blood staining her jeans as well.

Doing your best to stay calm, you rushed over and knelt beside to her, your shaking hands pulled her surprisingly steady ones away from the jaws as you informed her “you can't get out of it that way, okay? We need to push down on the sides.”

You pointed to the large springs on either side of the trap.

“If we push down on those, it'll open.”

Looking at where you had pointed, the woman slowly nodded, her hands moving to the spring that was situated closest to her while you moved to the other one. She hadn't said anything yet, and you wondered if she was in shock.

The two of you pushed down on the springs, and slowly, the jaws opened, both of pushing until it had opened enough that she could slip her foot out.

“Wait a sec before you let-”

Before you could finish your sentence she had already let go, and without her weight on the spring, your strength wasn't enough to keep the jaws open and they snapped back shut with a loud clamor that rang through the forest, and this time you were the one who yelped as you instinctively jumped away.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, and you were certain you had just lost years off of your life.

“..... Sorry.”

The woman's soft voice brought you back, and you tried to calm yourself as she sheepishly looked down at the trap, seemingly realizing her mistake.

You shook your head.

“Don't worry about it. Let me see your leg, okay?”

She had been holding the area where the jaws of the trap had pierced her skin, and reluctantly pulled her hands away when you went over to inspect it, pulling up her pant leg as delicately as you could.

“The cuts don't seem too deep,” you said, “but I don't know how clean that trap is, so they might be infected.”

Pulling out a small pocketknife that you kept for emergencies, you cut a jagged strip off of the bottom of your shirt. The woman watched in silence as you wrapped the piece of cloth around her wound, pulling it tight to try and stop the bleeding. You instructed her to apply pressure around the wound, which she also did silently.

“There isn't much of a signal this close to the mountain, so I'm going to leave for a little so I can call an ambulance,” you said, “then we'll get you to a hospital and they should-”

“No.”

She interrupted you, and you blanked for a bit as you tried to recollect your thoughts, adrenaline still messing with your way of thinking.

“No?” you repeated.

“No ambulance. No hospital,” she said, then added “if you call them I'll leave.”

You weren't sure how to respond. There was no way you could just leave her like this; that wound needed more than your makeshift first aid, and you'd blame yourself for the rest of your life if she left while you were calling an ambulance and ended up needing an amputation or even dying because of an infection. Granted those were the absolute worst-case scenarios, but there was still a possibility it could get to that point.

She must have had a good reason for why she wouldn't go to a hospital. And even though you wanted to push her to go anyway, it would be better to try and work with her.

Taking in a deep breath to try and calm yourself further, you nodded at her.

“Okay. I won't involve a hospital,” you said, “but I'm not leaving you here like this. Will you come with me, and I'll fix you up at my house?

“I promise, no hospitals,” you added when the look in her eyes turned dubious, “I'm just worried, okay? This could turn into something really bad if we just leave it alone.”

She was quiet again, silently regarding you before turning her gaze to her wounded leg, her hands still wrapped around the fabric of your shirt that was slowly filling up with blood.

“Alright,” she said finally, “as long as that's all you're going to do.”

With a deep sigh of relief, you went to the side of her injury, her arm over your shoulder and yours around her waist as lifted her up, telling her to not put any weight on her foot as you began to lead her out of the clearing.

She had tensed slightly when your arm brushed against her back, but you barely noted it, putting all your focus into getting her out of those woods.

“If I check that again and I find that it's infected, I'm taking you to a doctor whether you want to or not,” you said to her, pointing to her newly bandaged leg.

“I think it'll be fine,” she said, “you seemed to know what you were doing.”

“Googling instructions on how to take care of an injury doesn't mean I know what I'm doing,” you answered, sighing as you began to put away the first aid kit. After frantically driving back to your home and getting her inside, you'd spent a good while looking up how to properly clean a wound and then how to bandage it, trying to hold yourself together whenever you felt like you had made a mistake. Now you were exhausted and you wanted nothing more than to collapse on your bed and pass out. But with your unexpected guest still being around and your obligation to make sure she got home safe, you probably wouldn't be doing that any time soon.

The woman in question had remained calm throughout all of it, and she now sat on your couch in one of your skirts that you had given her when you'd insisted that she change out of her bloody jeans. She was currently playing with the hem of the skirt as she looked around your living room.

As you set the first aid kit back on its shelf in the cabinet, a chill ran through you and you realized that you had yet to change out of your ruined shirt.

“I'll be back in a second. I need to change,” you called out to her. She responded with a short “okay” as you went off to your bedroom.

Maybe she was a bit too nonchalant about the whole situation. If it had been you who had gotten a foot in a bear trap, there probably would have been a lot more crying on your part. Then again, people processed trauma in different ways; maybe she was just someone who internalized everything.

At least for now it was over, and as you pulled a clean shirt over your head, you hoped you had done a good enough job on patching her up.

Tossing your old shirt into the trash bin as you passed by the kitchen, she was in the same spot you had left her, her eyes going back to you when she noticed your form in the doorway.

A thought then occurred to you.

“What's your name?” you asked.

“Shizuku. And yours?”

You answered with your name, and then asked her “you want something to drink? I've got soda.”

“Okay.”

After getting two cans out of the fridge and handing one to her, you sat down on the couch as well, taking a long swig out of the drink as you sank into the cushions. Shizuku sipped at her drink quietly.

“So I won't ask about the hospital thing,” you began, “but what were you doing in that area? People aren't supposed to go into that part of the forest.”

Shizuku shrugged.

“Just wandering, I guess. I didn't think anyone would put traps there.”

“That's probably something that should be reported,” you said, “but I'm not sure if we can do that without outing you for going in there.”

“Would it really be that bad?” she asked.

“The fines aren't worth it. That trail is usually pretty busy, so honestly, we're pretty lucky no one saw us.”

“Hmm.”

She took another sip at the soda while you looked back down at her leg.

“You're sure that everything feels okay with that?” you asked.

“Yeah,” she answered as she looked past you.

“Your flowers are dead.”

“Huh?”

Looking behind to where she pointed, you saw that the flowers you had set out a week ago were indeed dead, withered and dried out with the petals and bits of leaves that had fallen off surrounding the glass vase they sat in.

“Shoot. Let me clear that up,” you said as you got back up. Your body protested slightly after having gotten comfortable on the couch, but you forced yourself anyway, clearing up the mess and throwing the dead flowers into the trash.

“Will you need new ones?” Shizuku asked as you sat back down.

“At some point; I'm not going to worry about that now. Too exhausted,” you sighed.

Shizuku hummed, tapping her fingernails against the metal of the soda can.

“Seems like I've caused you a lot of problems. Sorry about that,” she said.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?” you asked, “helping someone out of a situation like that is the natural thing to do.”

She hummed again, still staring at the can. Maybe it was just how tired you were, but there was a certain tone to her voice that made it seem like she didn't agree.

“Anyway,” you continued, “it'd be best if you didn't go back to that area. If someone's setting up traps like that, who knows what else could be there.”

“There have never been traps there before,” she said, “those are something recent.”

“.... How often are you jumping that fence to get to that area?” you asked.

She shrugged.

“A lot.”

“.... Don't you think you should stop doing that? With what happened today?”

“It'll be fine. I'll be careful from now on.”

She downed the rest of her drink while you looked at her in disbelief. Shizuku must have had nerves of steel to not even be concerned about those traps. Or maybe she just had a really, really poor sense of self-preservation.

Shizuku set the now empty can on the coffee table.

“It's starting to get late. I should get going.”

She was right that it was getting late; the sun was setting, leaving the sky in various shades of orange and pink as the dark of night began to creep in. Had that much time passed since you had found her?

“Give me a sec. I'll drive you.”

“No, you don't need to,” she said, “I'll walk.”

“Your leg-”

“It's fine. I can walk on it,” she interrupted, “this may sound strange, but it would be an issue if you saw where I lived, so I need to go back alone.”

….. She was right in that it sounded strange, and you really didn't feel right just letting her walk back by herself. But the way she was speaking now was similar to how she was when she refused to go to a hospital, and by now you had a sense that you wouldn't be able to change her mind if that was what she decided.

“As long as you're certain about that, then okay,” you told her, “but if you change your mind halfway, you can come back and I'll help you out, alright?”

“That won't be necessary; I'll make it back,” she answered.

You stood up after she did, the both of you making your way to your front door and you opening it for her. She thanked you with a little nod of her head as she stepped out into the evening air.

“I'll come back tomorrow to give your skirt back,” she said as she looked back to you.

“There's no rush; just focus on healing up.”

You said that, and yet as she walked away, she seemed to have no trouble at all with her leg. There was no way your patch-up job had been that good, so maybe her injury wasn't as bad as you thought it was.

But even if the situation hadn't been as dire as you'd first thought, you were still worried about her.

“Shizuku,” you called out just as she reached the sidewalk. She paused, turning to look to you.

“If you do need anything – if you get hurt again or something, you can come to me. I don't mind helping you out.”

She stood there silently for a moment, taking in your words.

Then, for the first time since meeting her that afternoon, her lips curled upward in a small smile.

“Okay.”

As she had told you, Shizuku was standing at your front door when you returned from work the next day. She was holding something, though you couldn't see what, and she seemed to look a bit lost as she stood in front of your home, looking about and trying to peer through windows before she spotted you coming towards her.

“Back already?” you asked jokingly, “how's the leg?”

“It's fine,” she answered, then she held out to you what she had been holding: the skirt you had lent her yesterday, and a small bouquet of flowers.

“I wanted to return this, but I couldn't quite remember if this was where you lived or not,” Shizuku said.

“You weren't waiting long, were you?” you asked as you took the skirt she held out, briefly noting the flowers that were set on top were less like a bouquet and more like she had hastily pulled whatever she could find out of the ground as a gift for you. You just hoped she didn't take them from one of your neighbor's gardens.

“Not too long. I was just nervous about knocking on the door in case it wasn't your house,” she admitted.

“I get that. You want to come in? I'll take a look at your bandages,” you said, unlocking the front door and motioning for her to come inside.

“Okay.”

She took the same place on the couch that she had taken yesterday, waiting patiently for you as you set up the flowers she had brought and grabbed the first-aid kit. Sitting down in front of her, you prepared for the worst as you began to undo the bandages you had wrapped yesterday.

When the bandages came off, you were surprised at how clean the wound was. There was some bruising, but the places where the teeth of the trap had broken through to the skin were healing nicely.

“It looks like it isn't infected, so that's a relief,” you said, “and you're walking around fine?”

“I heal fast,” Shizuku answered as you began to re-wrap her leg with the fresh bandages.

“I wish I healed fast like that,” you said, laughing a bit as you continued “there was one time when I was in elementary school, I fell of the playground and landed on my ankle wrong. It didn't break, but I was limping for weeks afterwards.”

Shizuku stayed quiet, watching as you finished up bandaging her.

“Did you grow up here?” she asked.

“No. I moved here for my job, ah, about a year ago?” you answered, “I think it's been about a year. How about you? How long have you lived here?”

“A while.”

“Just 'a while'?”

She shrugged.

“I guess it's been years. I don't pay much attention to how long it's been.”

“I see,” you said, closing up the first-aid kit.

“Since you've lived here longer, maybe you could tell me about some good spots in this town that I've missed.”

“I wouldn't know anything about that. I usually stay home,” she said.

“Except when you're hopping over fences to restricted areas?”

“Yeah, except when I'm doing that.”

You laughed again.

“After what I saw yesterday, I think I'll be avoiding that area.”

Your tone became a bit more serious as you continued, “and I still really think you should stop doing that since it's clearly not safe.”

“I'll be okay,” she said, “what happened yesterday won't happen again.”

Damn. You really weren't going to convince her on that.

“Alright, alright,” you said, raising your hands in defeat.

Standing back up to put away the kit, you glanced over to the flowers she had brought.

“I didn't mention it earlier, but thank you for the flowers,” you said to her, “they're really pretty.”

That shy smile formed on her face, and she nodded at you.

“So,” you said once you had put away the kit, “you want to get something to eat?”

“Okay.”

She left again at the end of the evening, and she asked if she could come back the next day. Of course, you had said yes.

It became routine for her to show up at your home after you had gotten off work, always managing to arrive just after you came back. Afternoons and evenings with her were nice, filled with conversation, though more often then not you were the one doing most of the talking. At first you had thought you might be rude, but after a bit you realized that she was happy enough to listen to you talk and interject when she found it appropriate.

The subject of her life situation still worried you, however. But you tried not to dwell on it or bring it up since she didn't seem to like that. Instead, you made it apparent that you were available to talk if she wanted to. With how little she emoted, it was hard to tell if she knew that without outright telling her, but you hoped the message got across.

Days passed by peacefully and her injury had healed to the point that she didn't need the bandages anymore. There were barely any scars left over, which had surprised you, but you were just happy that she really was doing okay. But as time went on, you noticed her behavior change ever so slightly. Like she was nervous about something, or like she wanted to mention something, but as always she never said anything, assuring you that everything was as it should be.

You didn't push her, and just hoped that if something really was wrong, she would open up to you about it on her own.

You were laying face down on a tall cliff, the grass soft against your face while the sun beat down on your back. Below in the distance, you could see the town, the buildings and houses all looking smaller than your fingernail from where you lay. Mount Hulderheim was a beautiful place, you mused. The town council didn't realize what they were missing out on by not allowing people up here. Although maybe that was for the best; if they were to see how nice it was, they'd probably want to set the place up as a tourist attraction and the peaceful atmosphere would be lost. Just as well they keep forbidding anyone from coming.

Closing your eyes, you were content to keep laying there and bask in the sunlight. It wasn't often that you had the opportunity to relax like this, and you were going to make the most of it.

Then you were jolted by the feeling of sharp claws digging into your back, and you looked behind to see that a crow had landed on you, the claws on its feet carelessly breaking through the fabric of your shirt and marking up your back. It tilted its head, blinking as it looked at you and observing you in the same way you were observing it.

“Get off,” you mumbled, not wanting to immediately go to aggressive means to get it to leave. Not only were those claws still sharp, its beak was large and could probably do a lot to injure you if you weren't careful.

It squawked at you, then jumped around your back for a bit, making you hiss in pain at the way those claws kept scratching your flesh. It moved to your shoulder and looked at your back, tilting its head again.

“Get off,” you repeated, your voice raising.

It ignored you this time, blinking several times as it looked down your back.

Then it began to peck at you.

You cried out, tears forming at the pain you felt as the crow pecked at your back over and over again. Then you moved to get up and swat the damn thing.

Or at least you would have, had you been able to move.

Your arms and legs refused to work, laying stiff and heavy on the ground. You were barely able to twitch your fingers, much less reach back and get the crow away from you. There was nothing you could do as the crow continued to peck at your now-exposed skin and began to pull it off in small pieces.

Your shirt quickly became stained red with blood as it went after your flesh, picking off bits of skin and throwing them to the side only to go back for more. The remains of your shirt were decimated, and it went down your back until it reached your hips, and then returned up on your other side, pecking and pulling off your skin until it was gone, a bright red hole from below your shoulder-blades down to your waist showing off the muscles of your back that glistened as they were exposed to the sunlight.

And then the crow began to do the same to the muscles.

You watched, your mind hopelessly blank while the pain shot up through you, tears streaming down your face. You tried to move again, you really did. But it was no use; your body remained paralyzed. Beams of sun still hit your body, the peaceful atmosphere on the mountain staying the same even while this was happening to you.

When the sinews were pulled off and it reached bone, you started to scream.

You cried out for help. For someone, anyone, to save you.

But no one came. And as you looked back to your town, you could vaguely see the movements of the people there, so far away and unable to help you, completely oblivious to how you were being slowly picked to pieces.

A curtain of blood fell from the hole in your back and down your sides as you were surrounded by piles of skin, muscles, sinews and now pieces of your own spine and ribs, the bones breaking off from each other with sickening snaps before they were tossed aside like garbage.

Your voice grew hoarse and you couldn't keep screaming, accepting defeat and watching as the crow continued to work. How were you still conscious for this? How were you even still alive?

Your organs, intestines and whatever remained of your rib cage were all pulled out, joining the bloody piles by your sides. Finally, the crow stopped, perching on the edge of the hole it had created within you and twitching its head as though congratulating itself on a job well done.

Those black beady eyes looked back at you, for the first time since it started, opened its beak-

And a stream of black liquid began to fall out.

Like the faucet of a sink, the stream of the tar-like substance was steady and unending, falling from the beak of the crow and landing on and inside of you, slowly taking over the outside of your body as it filled up the hole that had just been created.

It began to engulf your shoulders, and then your neck, and then you were straining your head as best you could as the tar expanded. As you took one last gasp of breath, it took over your head completely, and when you were no longer able to hold your breath, you began to suffocate.

You woke with a start, drenched in sweat and you sat up in bed as your heart was pounding in your chest. One of your hands instantly went underneath your shirt to feel your back. What met you was the expanse of your own skin. No blood, no wounds from the beak of a crow, no massive gaping hole or an empty space where your insides should have been. You sighed in relief.

God what a fucked up dream.

You fell back onto the bed with a thump, a hand over your head as you tried to calm yourself down. It was a dream. Just a dream.

An incredibly messed-up dream which felt so real that your brain had been convinced that it was actually happening. That you really were up on that mountain getting your insides pecked out by a crow.

Anxiety swelled in you and you once again put a hand behind your back, checking once more just to make sure. Again, your skin was unmarred, and the muscles and bones beneath it were in the exact spots that they were supposed to be, confirming that it was, in fact, only a dream. Even if it felt more real than any other dream you'd ever had, there wasn't more to it than that.

Didn't mean you'd be getting back to sleep, though. You tossed and turned in your bed, but the images from your dream stayed in your mind even as you tried to will them away. At a certain point you'd needed to turn the light on because there were too many instances of you looking around your dark room and scaring yourself when you thought certain spots looked like the black tar that had engulfed you at the end.

No, you definitely wouldn't be getting back to sleep tonight.

Sitting up in bed, you pulled out your laptop and mindlessly browsed the internet, trying to find whatever distraction you could to take your mind off of that awful dream.

When daylight came and you took a look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, you were taken aback by how much you looked like literal death. You could only remember one other instance of you looking this bad, one time several years ago when you had gotten incredibly sick.

Not wanting to worry your coworkers and still feeling tired from your lack of sleep, you called in sick to your work, and your new plan for the day was to try and relax as best you could and recover. And probably avoid going outside as much as possible so there was little chance you would need to interact with people. Right now you just really wanted to be by yourself.

But when Shizuku dropped by unexpectedly later on, you let her in without any hesitation.

“You don't look very good,” she commented after a few minutes of being there.

“I had a messed up dream,” you said.

“What happened?”

“I don't want to talk about it; it's gross,” you answered.

Shizuku hummed a reply, but didn't push you further. When you asked if she wanted to watch a movie she nodded, staying as her typical quiet self.

Hours went by as you spent time with her, watching tv or having discussions on whatever topics your brain could come up with. Anything to distract yourself.

It was evening when the alcohol had been brought out, but you couldn't remember how or why you decided to try and get drunk.

“I didn't think you were the kind to drink,” Shizuku said.

“I don't, usually. I just feel like it tonight. But you don't have to drink if you don't want to.”

“I don't mind. But I'm just not sure if that's what you should be doing right now.”

You laughed a little as you assured her “it'll be fine. Once in a while doesn't hurt.”

The evening continued, and neither of you were drinking all that much, just little sips here and there. Eventually, she asked you again about your nightmare, and this time you told her. Only a little bit, but just mentioning any of it had you feeling sick again. As expected, Shizuku didn't seem to have much of a reaction after you told her.

“That's scary,” she said.

“Yeah, it was. And all I want right now is to forget about it.”

“That's understandable.”

It was hard to tell where the turning point was, but soon you began to feel more inebriated than you were anticipating. Your speech was getting a bit more slurred, your movements sluggish and your thoughts muddy. Shizuku seemed fine, though, and she seemed to be matching every drink you had taken. You should have stopped at that point. A small voice of reason was telling you to stop before you did something stupid, but it was fun just sitting there and talking with Shizuku like you two were the only people in the world.

You should have stopped. But you didn't.

“Your necklace... That's a Saint Peter's cross, right?” you asked, leaning in closer to her. You had seen that necklace dozens of times by now, but for whatever reason, it fascinated you.

“Yeah,” she answered.

You thought it looked like it was made of gold. But that seemed unlikely. It was probably some other metal just made to look gold.

“What's it made of?”

“Not sure.”

Her voice sounded close. Maybe a bit too close.

You looked up and found that your face was inches away from hers, having lost yourself while thinking about her necklace and leaning in further than would have ever been necessary without even realizing it.

Embarrassment hit you hard when you noticed that the cross was situated right at her chest and you'd just been staring right in that area and oh God she probably thought you were a pervert with the way you'd been staring.

Bits of words began to fall from your mouth as you tried to pull back, and just that action gave you some difficulty as your body's movements were still sluggish.

God you were such an idiot and now Shizuku wasn't going to like you and-

A hand at the back of your head pulled you forward and you found your lips pressed against hers.

The action left you stunned, and you remained frozen when she pulled away. She looked as she normally did, but there was a slight flush to her face, and when you made eye contact, she smiled at you. That small smile she would only give on occasion, and in that moment you realized how much you loved seeing it.

You pulled her into a kiss that time, your hands delicately cupping her face while she placed hers on your sides. She smelled like pine and tree bark, your addled brain was able to note.

The two of you moved slow; you kept your touches feather light as your hands trailed down her neck and onto her shoulders. Her grip was slightly firmer than yours but stayed on your sides, her fingers rubbing your skin through your shirt.

This moment felt so good and sweet and warm and you loved Shizuku so much and you didn't even care that your blinds were still open and the neighbors could probably see inside you didn't care and you wanted more.

Your tongue slipped out, pressing against her lips to entice her to do the same as your arms moved to circle around her back-

She pushed you away suddenly, breaking the kiss and holding you at arms length.

Fuck fuck fuck you messed up. You did something wrong and now Shizuku didn't like you.

“Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry,” you repeated again and again, once more trying to pull yourself away and save yourself from any further embarrassment.

“Wasn't trying to make you mad-”

“I'm not mad.”

Shizuku's calm voice quieted you. Her face was still flushed but she seemed as normal as ever.

“I'm not mad. It's just....” she trailed off, looking at the half-full glasses on the coffee table, “I don't think either of us can make good decisions right now.”

She turned you so your back was facing her, and she pulled you back so you were held against her chest. Your nerves calmed as you relaxed against her, reaching up to grasp one of the hands that held you.

She was mumbling something. Something about not having any time left and needing to go back. Your dream was a sign and you'd need to go with her. You didn't understand any of it, but just hearing her voice was comforting and made you feel safe, so you ignored it.

You fell asleep like that, laying against Shizuku and her arms wrapped around you.

The sun was beating down on your form as you sat on the edge of a cliff, once more looking down at the town from a distance.

It was a dream again, you realized. It had to be. You wouldn't come up here because it wasn't allowed, nor did you remember making any journey up the mountainside. So it was a dream, and you desperately wanted to wake up before a repeat of the last one could happen.

You shut your eyes tight and then opened them. Once. Twice, and a dozen more times, but the imagery in front of you stayed the same, and you began to feel panicked as you heard the cawing of a crow in the distance. Trying to move from the spot where you were sitting proved useless, as you were once again paralyzed. This time you couldn't even move your neck, and you were forced to look forward as you heard the crow coming closer and closer.

“Please no,” you whispered, rapidly opening and shutting your eyes over and over, trying to force yourself awake as you heard it crying from right behind you. Anything but that again.

The cawing of the crow stopped suddenly.

A brief moment of silence passed, your fear and anticipation through the roof as you waited to feel that beak digging into you again.

Two small feminine hands appeared from your periphery and covered your eyes.

“It's all right,” a voice whispered in your ear.

“Shizuku?” you asked. You tried once again to look behind, but your neck stayed stiff.

“It's all right,” she repeated.

A gust of wind blew past the two of you, coming from the side and making a mess of your hair. It caused a chill to run through you, your whole body rattling as the cold wind struck you from the inside, moving through the hole in your exposed back that you hadn't realized was already there.

The first thing you were aware of was the fact that you had a slight headache. Probably a hangover that would take you a few hours to recover from while you cursed yourself for being so stupid as to drink to that point. The second thing that came to mind was the scent of earth that surrounded you. Far more woodsy than that of your room, and definitely not normal.

As you slowly opened your eyes, your slight confusion turned into a mild panic: this wasn't your room, not even close.

You had been placed on a bed that seemed to have been built into the wall, a small wooden niche within a room where the walls looked as though they were a collection of surprisingly massive tree roots. Books and various pieces of clothing were scattered throughout the room amongst the wooden furniture, making the area quite cluttered. There were no windows, but you spotted a stairway that had been carved into the roots, the wooden steps leading upwards.

Ignoring your headache, you jumped to your feet, speed-walking through the room while you stepped around mess, trying not to trip. You tried your best to stay calm; something was obviously very, very wrong for you to wake up in such a strange place, but freaking out wouldn't help anything. Right now, you just needed to figure out where you were and go from there. Thinking back to what you remembered last didn't help much – Shizuku had come by, you were certain, but nothing else beyond that. Had you been kidnapped? Were you in danger? Was Shizuku safe? Or was she in the same situation as you?

You needed to find her and then get out of here.

Just as you'd made it to the first few steps, a searing pain ripped through your back, causing you to stumble and fall as you cried out. It felt like your back was on fire, rippling up and down your spine and eating into your muscles, leaving you sweating and like you were about to throw up. You grasped at the edge of a step, unable to do much else as the pain continued.

“You shouldn't get up.”

A voice above you spoke, and you looked up to find Shizuku standing on the upper steps, a medium-sized wooden bucket resting against her hip as she stared down at you.

“Sh-Shizuku,” you breathed, “help... It hurts.....”

“I know.”

Shizuku walked the rest of the way down the stairs, setting the bucket down on the floor before she knelt next to you, pulling one of your arms off of the steps and slinging it around her neck, her other hand going down to hold you by your waist. She hoisted you up that way with little effort. Despite the burning sensation you felt, small “thank you”s left your lips as you held onto her, your legs trembling as you tried to gain a good footing on the stairs, eager for her to carry you up.

But instead of going up the stairs, Shizuku turned both of you around and began to lead you back to the bed.

“W-wait! Shizuku, we need to leave!” you protested.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, 'why'? Someone kidnapped us! We need to figure out where we are and get help!”

“We don't need to do that,” Shizuku answered as she set you back on the bed. You let out a small hiss of pain as she did so, supporting yourself on shaking arms as she stood before you.

“We're on the mountain,” she told you, “and no one kidnapped us. I brought you here. This is my home.”

“..... What? What are you talking about? Why would you do this?” you asked, bewildered.

“Hmm. I think it'll be easier if I just show you.”

With her hands gripping the hem of her shirt, Shizuku turned her back to you and lifted the fabric up until it reached her shoulder-blades.

At that moment, the only thing that could be heard in that room was your labored breathing that only increased when you registered what you were seeing.

A hole.

There was an honest-to-God hole in the middle of her back.

The jagged edges resembled that of tree bark, brown and cracked and a clear roughness to it before it smoothed out into human skin. The edges stuck out slightly as well, peeling outward as though something had at one point busted through, leaving this as the unfortunate aftermath. But within the hole was nothing; no bones, no muscle, no organs or anything, just a smooth, empty space within her that looked like a hollowed out tree.

You couldn't get any words out. It made no sense. There was no way that Shizuku could be alive in the way she was, missing so many vital organs and even her spine, no one could be alive after losing all of that.

But the woman who turned her head to look back at you was definitely living, and even breathing despite her lack of lungs.

“See?”

She tilted her head at you in that way you had grown to love, and you found yourself trying to focus on that instead of the impossible situation that stood before you.

“.... I don't understand,” you finally whispered.

“I don't either, really,” Shizuku admitted with a sigh, pulling down her shirt as she turned to face you.

“I think I've been here a long time, but I don't remember how I got here. I forgot,” she said, “I don't know why it happens, but it looks like any woman that stays on this mountain for too long ends up this way.

“That's probably why the town blocked it off,” she mused, “I don't think they know why it happens or what to do about it, so it's probably easier for them to just forbid access to try and keep anyone else ending up like me or the others.”

“Others?” you asked, still not fully understanding what she was saying.

“Yeah. There used to be others up here, but it's just me now,” Shizuku explained.

“Wh-where did they go?”

Shizuku shrugged.

“Not sure. Maybe they found a way to break the curse, or maybe they just died.”

For the first time since you awoke, you perked up, ignoring the possibility of the other women being dead and just focusing on the first part.

“We could try to find them, Shizuku. If we can talk to one of them, maybe we can figure it out, too.”

Shizuku's eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“To break the curse, like you said! If we find one of them and they tell us how they did it, you won't have to be like this anymore. And then maybe the both of us could live together, you wouldn't have to be alone up here,” you insisted.

Her expression was blank as she stared at you wordlessly.

“I think you've misunderstood a few things,” she said after a moment.

“I don't know if it is possible to fix this; for all I know, those others are dead. But even if there was a way to change this, I wouldn't do it. I don't mind being this way. I like it up here. I think that's why the others didn't like me much: they wanted to leave and I was happy to stay here. And I thought I wouldn't mind when they all eventually left, but...”

She trailed off, sighing as she looked up in thought.

“The loneliness started to get to me,” she admitted, “you don't realize how much you need someone else with you until you're completely alone.”

Shizuku smiled shyly then, looking back at you.

“But now you're here. We can stay up here together.”

Your mind wanted to focus on the way she was smiling at you and how rare it was for her to show emotion like that. Anything that wasn't what you had seen and what she had said. But there was no way you could just go along with this like nothing was wrong.

“Shizuku,” you began, “I can't stay up here. I'm not like you.”

“Mm. And I think that's where you've misunderstood again,” she said, her small smile vanishing.

“I said it earlier: it happens to any woman who stays on the mountain. That pain you're feeling? That means it's started.”

She stepped to the side, grabbing a small hand mirror that had been sitting on a shelf before she sat down next to you. When she pulled your shirt up and over your head, you protested, but the words quickly died in your throat when you glanced at the mirror she had facing your back.

Your skin had hardened and cracked, outlined in pieces as though it was the bark of a tree, starting from the middle of your spine and spreading outward. The pain you had been experiencing was forgotten during Shizuku's explanation but reignited at the sight of that, the skin of your back burning and making you lurch forward, gripping the sheets as you were almost driven to tears. Shizuku held the mirror still, and when you looked back again you saw that the cracks had spread further.

“You should lay back down. It's a long process, and it's going to hurt,” Shizuku said, setting aside the mirror and gently pushing you until you were laying on your front. Unclipping your bra and pushing it out of the way, her hands lightly trailed down your spine, lingering near the middle, where the bits of skin had hardened completely and the edges were curling up, ready to break off.

She only left your side to retrieve the bucket she had left by the stairway, and after she had settled herself on the bed with you, Shizuku began to break the pieces off, tossing them into the bucket.

No blood came from your wounds, but you were in no state to think about that as you screamed against the mattress and Shizuku continued to pull the pieces off of you, what was once your skin resembling a pile of woodchips as they were thrown away.

Shizuku diligently worked, pausing once in a while to hold your hand, ruffle your hair, or to lean down and kiss you on the cheek as she reassured you that it would be okay.

By the time your bones were ready to be removed you had passed out.

[the-phantom-ender]

Oh!!

What about Dream?

(Thank you for enjoying my work!)

I am not a c!Dream apologist. But I am a c!Dream sympathizer. I don’t excuse his actions but I acknowledge that he is traumatized and hurting. I debated on if I wanted to write a prison visit or not, but I had an idea that stuck.

A quick note to the fact that this is more graphic than the others so far! It contains the described aftermath of torture and gore. Be careful! 

He did not go to the prison expecting to be let in. Foolish had fully expected Sam to entirely decline him. He expected to approach the warden, ask to be let into the prison, and immediately be told no. As far as he knew, the prison wasn’t allowing visitors. When a prisoner kills a man within the walls of the prison, they’re traditionally refused visitation rights. 

Much to his surprise… this was not what happened. He’d walked up to Sam, asked the question, and watched Sam’s eyes grow weary. Not a word more was shared between them as Foolish was led to the entrance of Pandora's Vault. No words were spoken between either of them other than direction and confirmation. 

This, admittedly, made the totem god a bit nervous. The expression Sam wore was not one of a hardened prison warden, but instead of someone who expected the worst. Foolish knew he was powerful, but he meant no harm. Sam knew this, he did, he’d told him just that. Still… the warden was scared of him. He’d seen divine intervention. Maybe he didn’t believe that Foolish was peaceful. 

He shook his head, reciting what was asked of him and signing his name in books, as required. Or, well, he signed “Foolish”. While it would have been more proper to sign his formal name, a god sharing their title was much more dangerous in text than it was verbally- and he was even hesitant to say it aloud. Everyone here knew him by the name, it was tied to him in this place, so there should be no issue with that. 

The first and only break from the call and response came when Foolish was standing on the platform before the lava lowered. Sam cleared his throat, getting his attention. His eyes were stormy despite a mostly blank expression. And then he passed the god his sword. Warden’s Will glinted, runes flicking in the light and displaying how utterly dangerous it was. Foolish was confused. Wasn’t the whole point to not have weapons in the cell? Nothing the prisoner could use to escape? 

“Wh-”

“If you’re here, I’m sure there’s a reason that will be aided by this weapon.”

“No.” Foolish said sternly, eyes narrowed,” I will go into the cell empty handed, as intended. He cannot kill me in a way that matters, I will be fine. Lower the lava, warden. Keep your blade.” 

He was shocked at his own bite. The god of Undying was not a violent man. In many ways, he was a pacifist. He had not and would not kill, maim, or otherwise permanently harm another person in this place. Much less the man in that cell. 

“Very well.” 

And so the lava lowered. 

“Don’t forget to move with the platform.” 

Foolish moved with the platform. The bubbling and overwhelmingly bright lava beneath him and to his sides was scorching. His golden form didn’t react to high temperatures like other golds might, but he was certainly very glad he’d left the golden blocks on him in storage. They would not be as lucky as the god in the heat. 

The move between behind and forwards seemed to take an eternity. And he certainly knew what eternity felt like. His heart drummed steadily in his chest. Part of him was… worried about this. Puffy had convinced him to go, just in case. If nothing else but for closure, if nothing more than for acknowledgement. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he stepped off the platform and to the other side.

…

It was not this.

He was still kept from direct entry as the lava closed behind him. How long it’d last, he was unsure. What he noticed immediately, though, was the fact that there was no real reaction from the man in the prison. In fact, he seemed to be… cowering. Curled up in a corner, breath quick. 

The room smelled of blood. Foolish had expected this, from Tommy’s death. Blood was difficult to get out of obsidian. The only issue with that was, well, the fact that it smelled much too fresh to be from Tommy’s death. 

The barrier keeping him from entering the cell lowered and he took a step inside.

“You’re not…” the voice was weak and strained, maybe from lack of use, maybe from shouting,” You’re not allowed to come twice in the same day. That was- that was the one rule, Quacki…”

Dream’s voice died in his throat as he turned. An emerald eye grew wide behind a ruined mask, from terror and a flash of relief and then terror but worse all at once. Foolish made no effort to approach the man for fear of scaring him worse. 

Torture. As a god, he was more than familiar with watching it, seeing it’s effects. That did nothing to keep him from feeling ill. He was not a violent man. Seeing the cruel effects of torment made this stance all the more firm. 

“Dream…” He started, voice softer than he knew it could be, and then to himself,” Is this why Sam tried to give me his sword? Did he expect me to mutilate a man who has no way to defend himself?” 

The prisoner’s body stiffened and his eyes rapidly scanned Foolish’s body. “The- the sword? You don’t- don’t come any closer! Don’t come an- don’t get closer!” 

Foolish backed up as much as he could, back firmly against a wall. He raised his arms in surrender and made sure to not make direct eye contact with Dream. He’d have to make a conscious effort not to move too much or too quickly, it seemed. Which was easier said than done for a shark. 

“I have no weapons on me. I refused the warden’s blade. I am here to speak to you.” A beat,” Papa Puffy wanted to… Captain Puffy says hi.” “I thought she disowned me.” 

“She… she did.” 

“Then- then why-” Dream broke into a fit of coughs, sputtering weakly into his arm. He drew his mouth away and a trail of blood followed. Internal bleeding? 

“I came here because fate willed it… She wasn’t entirely wrong to call us brothers, you know. The Protector and I are brothers in essence. And you are him, in a sense. A reincarnation of a being that isn’t dead.” Foolish sighed,” You’re no god, I hope you know that. But you are kin with gods.” 

“Why are you telling me this.” 

“You’re… the treatment you’re getting in this place has escalated. People plot to kill you. Do you have any idea how many want you dead?” -Dream scoffed at this- “They want knowledge from you. Can you provide them it?”

A beat.

“The Revive Book was not your property. Nor was it Schlatt’s. Misusing it will have consequences, Swan.” 

“That isn’t-"

“It’s better than the ugly duckling.” 

Foolish didn’t process that Dream had gotten closer to him until he was tugging at the god’s pant leg. The closer look at him showed how worse for wear the man was. Blood matted his hair, the eye hidden behind his mask was black and swollen, his lip was busted. He could tell by the way he breathed that he had at least one broken rib. All in all Dream looked… Pitiful. 

“Don’t let them kill me. I- don’t let th-”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Please,” he begged, collapsing in front of the deity. Foolish’s heart twisted in his chest. 

He sunk to the ground and ran a hand down the prisoner’s back. He couldn’t do much, but he could prevent death from a punctured lung. As his hand moved, he made as much a miracle as he could. A pained gasp from Dream told him that the rib had been moved back into place. Foolish brought his hand back up, healing the swollen eye and clearing some blood from the man’s hair. The heaviness of exhaustion loomed over him.

“I can’t promise to protect you forever. You are mortal, you will die one day. But today, I can make it so you can rest easier.”

[collecting-stories]

Exes - John B Routledge

Request: heyyy!! Can you write a John b fic like about the fall with ur prompt “here, take my sweater.“?? Maybe him and the reader are like best friends but don’t admit they really like each other and the readers ex bf or something shows up to the party and John b gets all protective and it’s chilly bc it’s autumn?? Or whatever u think lol im just such a sucker for the fall weather and I love ur writing!

A/N: Sorry I took so long with this! 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

John B slipped off his red hoodie, handing it off to you as you stepped closer to the bonfire, trying to warm yourself a little more. The tube top was cute but not warm and so far it seemed to be doing absolutely nothing to aid you in catching John B’s attention. Aside from alerting him that you were cold.  

“Here, take my sweatshirt,” John B said, pushing the hoodie into your hands. You slipped your arms through the still warm sweatshirt, gripping the ends in your hands as you zipped in up. He knew it sounded bad, even in his head, but he’d held off giving you his sweatshirt just because you looked so beautiful and he didn’t want to obscure that. Though watching you tuck yourself into his hoodie was pretty appealing too. It wasn’t the first time that you’d borrowed his clothes, more often then not when you went out on the boat together you would grab whatever Hawaiian shirt he’d discarded to swim and wear it. There was something especially enticing about you laying out on the HMS with his shirt on and he felt the same way now as you smiled at him, wearing his hoodie. It was a little possessive, if he was being honest.  

“Thanks,” you finally said, looking at out at the other people around the yard, “trust me to think it’s warmer than it is.”  

“We could go inside?” He offered, everyone had stayed outside for the most part and sneaking off inside the Chateau with you sounded perfect right about now.  

“You don’t mind?” You asked, the thought of getting John B alone immediately appealing. You were on cloud nine as it was, not having to share his attention with a bunch of other people like you usually did. John B had gravitated toward you when you got there and he seemed determined to stay, which was fine with you.  

He shook his head, “no. Party’s kinda lame tonight anyway.”  

You lead the way toward the front door of the Chateau, not a long walk from the bonfire that JJ had made earlier but one that removed the two of you from the cloak of the tree you’d been standing nearby. Out in the open, more people could see you, particularly your ex-boyfriend, who had shown up at John B’s house party for no other reason than knowing you would be there. You were wherever John B was, an argument that had defined a decent chunk of your relationship with your ex and was the main reason that the two of you broke it off.  

“Hey!”  

John B turned first, his hand immediately coming up to your back, pressing against his hoodie as you looked back toward the sound of someone calling your name. You were standing on the first step into John B’s porch, a few inches taller than him because he was still on the ground, and you recognized your ex walking toward the two of you.  

“Matt, hey.” To say there was bad blood between the two of you was an understatement. He had stayed away for the most part but every time you’d seen him out since the two of you broke up he had been an asshole. Kiara had yelled at him just last week when he called you a bitch in the parking lot of the Wreck. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a party, pretty sure anyone on the cut was invited.” Matt replied, glancing at John B for a moment before looking back at you.  

“Yeah well, it’s on my yard.” John B said, “and I definitely don’t want you here.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”  

“Is there something you wanted Matt?” You huffed, impatient. He had been fine in the beginning but now he was just an asshole whenever he got the chance.

“Just wanted to talk, should’ve known John B would be hanging around you like a lap dog.” Matt replied, glaring at your best friend. “You must be the most patient guy there is man, you just waiting for her while she puts out for everyone else huh?”

“What did you just say?” John B’s hand dropped from your back as he stepped closer to Matt. He was an inch or two taller than your ex-boyfriend and when he squared his shoulders and stood up straight, he seemed even taller and more intimidating.  

“JB,” you muttered, “let's just go inside.”

“Yeah JB,” Matt replied, “go ahead inside, maybe she’ll finally let you have a p-” he cut off mid-sentence when John B punched him directly in the face, right between his eyes.

You covered your mouth with your hands, eyes wide as Matt stumbled backward. John B looked like he was seconds from absolutely losing it. He was breathing heavy and staring at Matt, waiting for any sort of retaliation a little too eagerly. You grabbed John B’s arm just above the handkerchief on his wrist.  

“John B.” You repeated his name, catching his attention this time. Matt was just standing there, holding his bleeding nose, too shocked to do anything else. He had expected to piss John B off but not enough that he’d end up with a bloody nose. John B relaxed slightly, enough that he let you pull him inside the house, shutting the door behind you and dragging him to his bedroom. At least there you were guaranteed alone time.  

“That guy just...” John B groaned, raking his hands through his hair and pacing the small space on his bedroom. You stepped out of his way, unsure what to do. “God, I can’t fucking stand him!”  

“He’s just pissed about the breakup, he’ll get over it.” You reassured. The last thing you wanted was to spend anymore time on the subject of Matt. He was an asshole that didn’t deserve your attention and you didn’t want John B giving him any either.  

“He’s the one who fucking broke up with you!”  

John B had been there the night of the breakup, you’d come to the Chateau to tell him and somehow imagined some rom-com confession scene playing out but all he did was tell you he was sorry and that Matt was an ass. There was no long dreamt of kiss or declaration of love, just John B trying to be a good friend and not even realizing he was the reason you and Matt had broken it off in the first place.  

“Yeah well, I didn’t give him much of a choice,” you admitted.  

“What do you mean?” John B asked.  

You’d given a fairly basic explanation of the breakup last time. You didn’t divulge any details about what was said or why Matt thought the almost one year relationship the two of you were in needed to come to a screeching halt. And yeah, he was an aggressive asshole since the breakup and you knew he was still pissed that it had played out the way it did but you also knew you weren’t entirely innocent in the matter.  

“He broke up with me because he didn’t like how close we were.” You replied, taking a seat on John B’s bed. “He told me he thought I had feelings for you.”

“Why would he think that?”  

“Because he heard me tell Kiara that I did.” You’d been at a kegger on the beach when John B was flirting with some random touron and you told Kie, a little too tipsy to filter yourself, that you thought dating Matt would erase the feelings you had for John B but they didn’t.  

John B stopped pacing, standing there staring at you, wearing his sweatshirt, sitting on his bed, telling him that you had feelings for him. “You…what?”  

“I like you…I didn’t think you were interested and Matt asked me out so I said yes and it was okay but I always liked you and he knew it.” You replied.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John B asked, “I mean this whole time…this whole time I liked you and I didn’t think…I thought you were with Matt and happy and I didn’t wanna fuck that up for you.”  

“Guess we were both kinda stupid.” You admitted.  

“Yeah,” he nodded, head still processing the information, “yeah but not anymore.”  

-

Fixing my tags...if you wanna be tagged fill this out!

taglist: @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @mysterious-adventurer @minigranger 

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 56

Masterlist

A/N: We're so close to the end, guys!!! I can't believe this is almost done.

----

The dinner has been going on for over two hours already. It is a formal event, with everyone dressed in their finery, even though there are only four people in attendance.

Nakia’s chosen successor, a woman named Zarina, died in battle three weeks ago, and now that Nakia has chosen a new successor, tradition demands that she introduce the woman to her fellow queens. She announced her choice yesterday, and now, for the five following evenings, her and her chosen heir will dine with each of the other queens in turn. With Angolere being one of the most influential human countries alongside Scythia, it is Andromache the first dinner is held with. She was allowed to bring one companion, and as her own successor, Ania, is busy elsewhere, she chose Mor.

The dinner has been a tense affair so far, though more because of the nature of the meeting than because of the company. It’s meant as an opportunity for Andromache to get to know Elmira, Nakia’s successor, and so the conversation is more of an interrogation.

“And how do you feel about the treaty for after the war we are currently working on?” Andromache asks between bites of her dessert.

Elmira shifts a bit in her seat, whether from a show of nerves or restlessness, Andromache cannot tell. Either way, diplomacy isn’t her greatest strength, as Andromache has been quick to notice. It isn’t necessarily a problem – Scythia’s main role within the human realms is traditionally a military one – but it is of concern to Andromache, whose country is far more involved in foreign relations. She needs to know how well she will be able to work with Elmira, especially since the younger woman seemed rather brash even if she tries to hide it.

“I am unsure,” Elmira says. “There are many good things about it, but I’m other parts worry me. For example, I am in favour of the freed humans being granted territories of their own, but I worry about them being so far away from each other. Our countries all border each other, but these new countries, while relatively big, will be scattered throughout Fae territory. Should they be attacked, getting help to them will be difficult.”

Andromache nods. That has been a common cause of worry amongst the human leadership, and it makes sense for someone as involved in the military as Elmira to bring it up. “And what would you propose instead?”

Elmira hesitates. Very clearly swallows the reply she had on the tip of her tongue and instead says, “I have no viable alternative, I am afraid. It’s just something we will have to keep in mind, but I don’t like how this leaves us at the mercy of the Fae.”

“A valid concern,” Andromache says. “Ideally, human and Fae countries are supposed to grow together more closely over the next years through trade and diplomatic relations.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Elmira mutters. Nakia shoots her a disapproving look and she quickly adds, “I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad idea, just very optimistic? Don’t get me wrong, I have worked with Fae in the cavalry, and they aren’t all horrible, but it’s the Loyalists who worry me.”

“We’ll certainly have to remain on our guard,” Andromache concedes. Elmira makes good points, although Andromache probably wouldn’t take her along the Alliance meetings anytime soon. “What would you suggest as possible precautions we might take?”

From there on, the conversation continues in the same manner for about half an hour. Elmira does a good enough job. She raises many valid concerns, although she tends to miss out on nuances and the reasons why certain ideas are not viable, but she always listens when Andromache corrects her, which is the important thing here. Being wrong is no problem – insisting on an opinion after having been proven wrong would be.

As the dessert is being cleared away, Elmira takes her leave so that Andromache and Nakia can discuss the meeting in private. Mor is about to leave as well, but Nakia motions for her to remain seated.

“Stay,” she says. “I have another subject to discuss with Andromache, and your input might be needed.” Mor sits back down, and Nakia turns to Andromache. “What do you think?”

“She’s talented enough,” Andromache says. “A good leader, from what I hear, and she already seems to have more talent at military strategy than me.” Elmira spent the last few years of war leading one of the flanks of Nakia’s cavalry and made quite a name for herself doing it. “She’s a bit too brash, but given time, I’m sure she will grow out of it.”

Elmira is not necessarily the choice she would have expected Nakia to make – too wild, too young, for the other queen’s taste – but Andromache has no concerns that would be major enough to withhold consent.

“If you want to choose her, you have my blessing,” she says. “But Nakia, are you sure you want to leave your country to someone this young? She’s only twenty-five.”

“I don’t exactly plan on dying tomorrow,” Nakia replies dryly. “Besides, Elmira is fully qualified. She studied and served her time in the army.” She picks up a cup of tea and takes a sip before glancing at Andromache again. “And twenty-five is the age you were when the war began, Andromache.”

Andromache sighs. She knows this and certainly doesn’t want to imply that Elmira is incompetent, or that Nakia chose badly. It’s just that Elmira is so young. It might be that Andromache first met her when she was still a teenager, but she has a hard time imagining her as a ruler.

“The age Miryam is now,” Mor adds unhelpfully, making Andromache wince.

She generally tries to ignore the fact that Miryam is actually almost seven years younger than her. Miryam certainly doesn’t act like it, and thinking too hard about it only makes Andromache feel bad about… well, a few things, really.

“Now that you mentioned Miryam,” Nakia interjects, firmly shifting the subject away from her chosen successor’s age, “that was actually the other subject I wanted to discuss. You two wouldn’t happen to know what her plan for the Black Land is, would you?”

Andromache quietly shakes her head, Mor mirroring the movement. Miryam and Drakon announced their plan to march on the Black Land earlier today, causing no small amount of confusion in the council. It is no secret that Drakon won’t ever be able to muster enough soldiers to take the Black Land, yet they didn’t request aid from the Alliance, which was enough to raise alarms with Andromache.

“Great,” Nakia says. “And you have no idea why she’s refusing the Alliance’s help either, I assume?”

“I’m sure she has a plan,” Mor says.

“It doesn’t matter how good her plan is – she should still have enough soldiers with her, if only as back-up,” Nakia replies. “She spent nine years working for this. I simply don’t believe that she would start getting cocky and throw all caution to the wind this close to the end. There’s some reason behind this, and I want to know what it is.”

“You could ask her?” Mor suggest. Her tone is just light enough that Andromache can’t quite tell if she is being ironic or not. She decides to interpret it as irony and grins at her.

“Or we could try to track down a seer somewhere and see if they can tell us. Might be more likely to get us answers.”

Nakia snorts and Mor seems hesitant for a moment before smiling back at her.

Andromache grins as well, but quickly sobers up. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she says. “I wish I could come along.”

Truth is, she doesn’t know why she is this worried. Maybe she shouldn’t be. Miryam is acting strange, yes, but it’s hardly the first time, and so far, she always got herself out of any trouble she landed in. Maybe it’s some lingering guilt for letting Miryam deal with so many parts of politics (mainly the ones Andromache doesn’t want to deal with).

Or maybe it’s because Miryam and Jurian are painfully similar, and if this story ended badly for Jurian, there’s no saying the same won’t happen to Miryam.

“You are needed in Hybern,” Nakia says. “We can’t have you running around on the other side of the Continent, and we can’t spare anyone else, either. At least not anyone Miryam would listen to.”

“I could go,” Mor says.

“You?” Nakia raises an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Mor shrugs. “I’m not really needed anywhere, Miryam and I are friends and I’m powerful enough to be able to protect her. I could make sure nothing happens to her.”

Nakia shrugs. “Good idea. Why not.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mor,” Andromache agrees.

And it is a good idea.  Mor is a brilliant fighter, more than capable of protecting Miryam if necessary, and on top of that, she’s trained enough in Continental politics to be able to possibly figure out what reasons Miryam has for not wanting anyone from the Alliance with her.

Still, Andromache is a bit uneasy about this idea. Part of it is worry for Mor, but the other part… She hates to admit it, but she doesn’t feel like Mor if best-suited to this task. The problem, she thinks, is that Mor tends to be fooled quite easily by any act Miryam puts on.

She doesn’t blame Mor, really. Miryam is very good at pretending that everything is fine and she is perfectly in control – what happened with the wall spell effectively shattered that illusion for Andromache, but it’s still easy to fall for. And anyways, it probably won’t matter at all. Chances are everything will go well and she’s just fretting needlessly.

----

The timeline for their invasion ends up being far tighter than Miryam would have liked. The spell she plans to cast (hopes she won’t have to cast) needs to be cast at a full moon, so by the time the preparations are done, they have exactly eleven days left to get to the centre of the Black Land, or at least close to it. Either that or wait another month, possibly losing their advantage in the process.

It is a right timeframe, but Sinna says that it is manageable, assuming that Ravenia will withdraw her soldiers to protect her capital instead of trying to defend the outer towns – which is likely, since the majority of Ravenia’s army is still in Erithia and she will likely want to wait for them to return before risking battle. So eleven days before the full moon, Miryam, Drakon and two thirds of the Seraphim army leave their hideout in the mountains.

They reach the border of the Black Land a day later. Mor joins them just as they set up camp, dressed in ornate golden armour and with a bag slung over her back. When she spots Miryam and Drakon, she waves.

“Nice armour,” Drakon calls out to her. It is indeed. With the breastplate inlaid with gold and the shimmering swords Drakon gave to her for her birthday, she looks truly luminescent.

Mor grins broadly and hurries over. “Thanks. My uncle gave it to me.”

Miryam arches an eyebrow. “Your uncle not only allowed you to come along to this, but also gave you this fancy armour?” She laughs. “Are you sure he wasn’t replaced by some shapeshifter?”

“Yes, well…” Mor blushes. “I may have implied that I would report back to him on… you know. Things that might interest him.”

“Ah.” Miryam tugs a strand of hair back behind her ear, smile fading. “So you’re here as his spy.”

Mor blushes an even deeper shade of red. “Sorry. Yes, kind of. But if there are things you don’t want him to know, I won’t tell him.”

Miryam looks around to see if anyone is close enough to listen. Fortunately, no one seems to be in hearing distance. What is Mor thinking to address this subject out in the open? On the other hand, her uncle’s spymaster is one of her best friends, so maybe she doesn’t need to worry about being overheard.

“It’s no problem,” she says. “I doubt you’ll stumble upon any secrets I don’t want your uncle to know during this trip, but we can still talk it over once everything is done. Just to be sure.”

Mor nods, a relieved smile spreading over her face. Fortunately, that is also the end of this rather absurd conversation as Mor turns to Drakon and begins to ask about how things are going back in Erithia.

They cross the borders that night and things go smoothly for the first couple of days. Like Sinna estimated, Ravenia decided against defending her borders with the few soldiers she has left and withdrew her army to the capital. She probably hopes that Miryam will be busy working her way through the countryside long enough for her to bring up the rest of her army from Erithia.

Unfortunately for Ravenia, the local governments of her cities don’t seem particularly happy to be serving as a distraction for an enemy army. Undoubtedly, they know what they stand to lose if they fight, and that Miryam has a reputation for being extremely lenient with anyone who agrees to let their human slaves go.

Most of the villages they reach appear to be abandoned, the citizens likely fled from the approaching army, but when they reach the first city, it already has white flags hanging from its walls. The delegation the city sends to negotiate with her is all bows and pleasantries and they nearly fall over themselves in their haste to accept Miryam’s offer.

There are well over eight thousand slaves living in the city and every single one of them makes it out unharmed.

Miryam stands and watches as they walk out of the main gate in a huge group, crowded tightly together like they hope their numbers will offer security. They look so scared. Miryam certainly can’t blame them. They may have been told that they are being freed, may have heard of Miryam, but they still see an army of Fae soldiers waiting for them when most of them have no reason to associate Fae with anything other than death and suffering.

Miryam did her best to instruct the Seraphim soldiers on how to behave around the humans in advance – unthreatening, careful, polite and respectful being the key terms. Don’t touch people without permission, make sure to be clear that requests are requests and can be refused, keep your power in check. She has faith that the Seraphim will try their best, but she certainly doesn’t expect it to work out without problems.

As it turns out, she was right. For all that she tries to help, to calm people down and mediate, she can’t be everywhere at once and wherever she looks, things aren’t quite working out. She can’t even blame the Seraphim for not doing everything quite right, even if she occasionally feels like snapping at them for speaking too loudly or not keeping enough distance. The only humans they ever spent any amount of time around are the human soldiers fighting for the Alliance – Jurian’s soldiers, for the most part - and they are anything but scared of Fae. Besides, the Seraphim are soldiers in the middle of a war being made to deal with a group of terrified civilians, which would be difficult even under normal circumstances.

She really should have found a way to bring some humans along. But all the human armies were otherwise occupied and she didn’t want to put any civilians at risk by asking them to accompany her to a war front.

The only solution, Miryam and Drakon decide after the first hour made it painfully clear that their current approach isn’t working, is to mostly split the two groups. The army camp stays an army camp, and they set up a second camp for the humans next to it to mostly run itself. Miryam lets the humans select their own leaders, and then helps them with setting up a way to run their own camp – distributing food, sewing tents, digging latrines.

From there on, things get easier. Really, Miryam should have figured out this would be the better approach right away. Of course, these humans would prefer to be able to run their own camp and organize their own lives than to be helped by a bunch of faeries they neither know nor trust. Miryam would certainly have preferred it that way if she had been in their situation.

Things continue the same way as they march on. Each new group of humans integrates itself more easily, mostly because there are other humans to help them along. Miryam meets with the leaders the humans elected thrice daily to see if any problems come up, but there are hardly any, and if there is anything, the humans usually deal with it without needing any assistance.

Miryam spends most of her time in the human camp now (usually without Drakon, who doesn’t want to intrude on the humans). There is always some fire where she can sit, some people who are happy to accept her into their company. In the beginning, they treat her with a strange almost-reverence, which is more than a little uncomfortable, but things quickly get easier. She is one of them, after all, no different than they are. She isn’t special, she just happened to be the one lucky enough to get out.

While she is with them, it is easy to forget what is about to come. She is so happy, so relieved and so proud that there are times when she finds herself forgetting entirely where they are. Now, here with her people, it is so very easy to imagine the world they will build once Ravenia is defeated, and the idea that they might lose seems outlandish. Besides, everything is going well and with each day that passes without problems, it seems more and more like this luck will last forever.

Reality rears its ugly head on the seventh day when they meet the first resistance. They reached another city, this one called Rahine, set up their camp a mile or so away from the city walls and send a messenger to the city heads.

After a bit of back-and-forth, they decide to meet in the middle ground between the army and Rahine. No guards, four people from each side meeting in the exact middle. Miryam and Drakon choose Sinna and Mor to accompany them (the decision made partially because together, they should easily be able to fend off any attackers). Rahine sends four members of the city council, all of them High Fae and all glowering even before the meeting begins.

The introductions are done quickly enough, and Miryam recites the usual terms of surrender. The members of the enemy delegation let her continue before one of them shakes their heads.

“We have no interest in your offer. We will not surrender.”

Miryam knew it had to happen sometime. Still, her stomach twists. From the first day, she was scared of what would happen when the first city resisted – of the danger it would put the humans trapped in the city in, and of what she would have to do after the battle.

“Allow me to be entirely frank,” she says, “you don’t stand a chance and we all know it. We have more soldiers than your city has people, you cannot expect to win this. The terms I offer are beyond generous. You’d be mad not to take them.”

“Better to die than to surrender to mortal scum,” one of the councilmembers hisses at her, and, as if to emphasize her words, spits at her feet.

Miryam sighs. “If this is your problem, you are free to surrender to Drakon instead. Or surrender to Mor, if a faerie isn’t acceptable either and you will only accept defeat from a fellow High Fae. I don’t particularly care as long as my demands are fulfilled.”

This is completely ridiculous and unnecessary. It doesn’t matter that Miryam knew it would have to happen – some city was bound to test her resolve before they reached Lako, the Black Land’s capital. Still, Miryam hates this, hates that she already knows that this will only ever lead to hundreds of unnecessary deaths.

“No.”

Nothing she could say will change their minds, but still, Miryam gives it one last try. “You realize,” she says, “that you are the first city to fight back, and once we’ve defeated you – which, I guarantee you, we will – we’ll have to make an example out of you.”

“We will fight,” one of the councilmembers simply says.

Miryam nods, turning back towards their camp. “Then you will die.”

----

The battle is over, the outcome as predictable as the casualties were unnecessary. Drakon’s army lost less than two hundred soldiers. Enemy casualties are at least six times as high, plus several civilian deaths. The city leaders refused to surrender far too long, way after it was already clear that they didn’t stand a chance and it caused hundreds of people to die needlessly. Even worse, their insistence to fight a hopeless battle now forces Miryam and Drakon to make an example out of them.

They sit together with Sinna in a tent outside of the city where Drakon’s soldiers are just busy securing their position. The city council is already in custody and has been brought into the Erithian camp for safety, the captured enemy soldiers have been tied up and are kept under guard. Now, all that’s left to decide is what to do with the city.

“There’s a number of options,” Sinna says. She sounds casual, but Drakon knows her well enough to see the tension in her stance. She doesn’t like this either. “You could torch the city.” Drakon flinches, and she lifts her hands. “Without the people in it, obviously. Just the buildings. Or at least get the people out and allow the soldiers to loot for a few hours if that’s what you’d prefer. The soldiers would like that, I think. Of course, executions are always an option as well, but I thought you’d rather avoid that.”

Miryam doesn’t even turn from where she is standing at the tent’s entrance, staring over at the city. Drakon can’t tell if she is listening.

Sighing, Drakon turns back to Sinna. He knows what’s expected of him: To pick one of the options and do so quickly, without a fuss, the way a good general, a good leader would. Not to flinch from a hard choice. What would you suggest? That’s what he should ask, that’s the question that won’t make him seem like a child unable to make the necessary decisions to Sinna.

But it feels so wrong. There is no practical reason why this city needs to be destroyed – it’s just punishment, a political show of power. And Drakon doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason at all. If it was necessary to save the humans living in the city, he’d do it without hesitation, but they are already freed. They aren’t facing enemies there – this is a city full of terrified civilians that completely at their mercy, and Drakon doesn’t want to be unnecessarily cruel.

Still, wouldn’t some sort of punishment be fitting? These people are slave owners, they have committed such atrocities and never once faced consequences for them. They would deserve punishment. But because there are so many of them, there is no way they can ever be punished, no way any justice can ever be just.

There just isn’t a good option. Their ideal outcome would be that no one gets hurt. They leave with the freed humans, the Fae in the Black Land get to continue on with their lives, Ravenia gets exiled. But even that isn’t just. The Fae will just get away with everything they have done. How can that be justice?

The other option though… Well, Drakon tries to tell himself that if all goes well, no one will die. They will be uncomfortable, sure, but they won’t die. (Unless something goes wrong. Unless Ravenia decides to be unreasonable. Unless the spell Miryam has planned doesn’t work the way she intended.)

There is no perfect outcome, that much is sure. But randomly punishing the people living in Rahine certainly won’t make anything better.

“Is there no other way?” He asks.

Sinna sighs through her nose. “If there isn’t some sort of retaliation for this, nothing will stop the other cities from trying to resist as well. After all, why wouldn’t they? And while I am fully aware that this war isn’t about us, many of the soldiers do feel that this is some sort of revenge for them losing their homes.” She glances at Miryam who still doesn’t seem to be listening. “I know it isn’t, of course,” he says, “but that won’t keep them from growing dissatisfied if they don’t see their enemies punished in some way.”

He knew this was pointless, of course, but still he had to ask. Now he has his answer, though, and he can’t push further. Asking once is forgivable, but doing so again, knowing he’s risking more death and mutiny, would not be a show of mercy but of stupidity.

Only what is he supposed to do next.

“I can deal with it in your stead if you’d prefer,” Sinna says. “It will bother me far less than it would bother you.”

“No, I – “

“I’ll do it,” Miryam says from her place at the tent’s entrance, finally turning to face them. She presses her lips together, face grave. “This is my war. It’s only fair that I should deal with the fallout.”

-

They hold judgement the next day, on the battlefield between the camp and the city walls. The captured soldiers have been herded into a group at the camp’s border, the other prisoners – including the members of the city council – stand a good distance away, all of them chained up. The civilians have been ordered to watch, some standing on the walls, others down below. Drakon’s soldiers are positioned throughout, making sure that no one gets any stupid ideas. (The freed humans aren’t in attendance, although many of them are watching from their own camp, a safe distance away from their former masters.)

Drakon stands at the front of the assembled crowd, flanked by Miryam and Sinna. His role in what is to come is minor – all he has to do is watch without letting on how uneasy this entire situation makes him. It should be manageable.

Miryam waits until everyone is assembled, then steps forward.

“I will not bore any of you with unnecessary introductions,” she says, “as I assume everyone knows what happened yesterday, and why we are here today. Hundreds of people died needlessly,” she says. “I assume it goes without saying that there needs to be some sort of repercussion.”

Rahine’s civilians seem to get more nervous with each word. By the time Miryam comes to the word repercussion, many of them seem downright terrified and Drakon really wishes Miryam would make it clear that she doesn’t intend to kill any of them.

“But I realize, of course, that most of the people here did not have a say in this.” She smiles in a way that can only be interpreted as mocking. “I am sure that many of you were in fact fiercely against the choice your city council made and would have ended slavery years ago already if it had been up to you.” She pauses before continuing, serious this time. “And considering that we did manage to liberate the humans living in this city, and the large majority of them is unharmed, I have chosen to be lenient.

“The only people who will be punished are those who actually made the decision to resist.” She turns to face the members of the city council. “My lords and ladies,” she says. “I believe that decision was yours. I also believe that you made it knowing fully well that you stood no chance, and thereby deliberately caused any deaths that followed. Youare therefore sentenced to death.”

Drakon had told himself that he wouldn’t look at Rahine’s nobility as their death sentence is spoken, but he still finds his eyes straying towards them. They look so shocked. Some of them manage to keep their faces blank, but most seem caught somewhere between disbelief and terror.

Most of them, this much is obvious, didn’t so much as consider this outcome. Understandably so. While it is common in the aftermath of a successful invasion to punish cities or territories that resisted, that punishment doesn’t usually hit the nobility. It is the general population that suffers, while nobles are often offered a second chance by whoever defeated them.

Drakon finds Miryam’s approach far more just. That way, at least, the punishment hits the people who actually made the choice instead of the hundreds or thousands of people who weren’t given a voice at all. Horrifying as the entire situation is, this is the most merciful option by far.

Many of Rahine’s citizens don’t seem to agree. Muttering rises amongst the people on the walls, amongst the captured soldiers. Then, one voice rings out over the rest.

“This is unjust!” Someone shouts.

The muttering dies down, heads turning, eyes searching the crowd of captured soldiers for the speaker. Hustling ensues, then, a young man steps forward. He is trembling so hard it’s visible even from where Drakon is standing, but keeps his head high.

“This is war. We were fighting for our freedom,” he says. “You don’t get to name us murders, execute us and call it justice.”

Drakon looks over to Miryam to see how she reacts. She is watching the young soldier, not a hint of anger on her face. If anything, she looks vaguely curious.

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “You weren’t fighting for your freedom. You were fighting for your perceived right to own other people as property, to take away their freedom and their lives. You are murderers and deserve to be punished as such, and the fact that you don’t see that only goes to show that you refuse to acknowledge an entire group of people as people for your convenience.”

She tilts her head to the side ever so slightly. “I’m not surprised by this,” she says. “However, I still thought you might agree with my judgement, if not for the sake of what is right, then at least as some sort of retribution for what happened during the battle.” Stunned silence falls. Miryam lets a few moments pass before she abruptly turns to the chained members of the city council. “My lords,” she says with a mocking incline of her head. “Would one of you be so kind to inform these people of what terms I offered to you during our meeting yesterday?”

The lords remain silent for a moment. Most of them don’t even seem to hear her, too busy staring at the ground or looking around for some kind of help. But then, one of them lifts her head.

“You demanded we free all slaves living in and around our city,” she says. Drakon remembers her from the meeting – she was the one who spat at Miryam’s feet. “We were to allow them to take any goods they could carry as compensation and sign a contract to never own slaves again and to not offer Ravenia assistance against you.”

Miryam nods slowly. Around them, the enemy soldiers and defeated civilians begin to mutter amongst themselves. Drakon frowns slightly at them. Could they not have known what the terms for surrender were?”

“Yes,” Miryam says. “That would have been the terms.” She turns back to the soldier who first addressed her. “Far more pleasant, I think, then getting killed in battle. And you lost more than two thirds of your numbers, didn’t you?” She asks. “And over two hundred civilians on top of that. And yet, it looks to me like your city heads who sent you to die in a pointless battle, knowing you could not win, are all still alive. As are their families.”

The muttering grows louder, making it sound like Drakon is standing in the middle of an angry swarm of bees. Now, most of the people seem angrier with their own leaders than with Miryam.

“You don’t seriously mean for us to believe that you are doing this for our sakes,” the soldier says, but he sounds unsure.

“No, of course not,” Miryam says, voice hardening. “In fact, you may rest assured that I will never do anything for your sake, or that of any other slave owner. I do not wish to harm you, although that is more out of personal kindness than anything else, and you might want to thank the god of your choice for this. Still, I guarantee you that we wouldn’t be having this conversation, or any conversation at all, if you had harmed the humans living in your city.” She looks around the crowd. “You are alive because they are, and because I do not enjoy repaying suffering with suffering,” she says. “It’s simple as that.”

No one questions her this time. Drakon doesn’t know if it is because the people are angry enough at their leaders that they now agree to their deaths, or if they are scared that Miryam will have the next one to argue executed alongside them. Either way, chances are word of this will spread. If all goes well, the leaders of the next city they reach will think twice before refusing them.

The city leaders are brought up to the city walls, nooses tied around their necks. Drakon knows he should be watching – this is as much his order than it is Miryam’s – but he has little experience watching executions and isn’t sure if he’ll be able to hide his unease, so he instead keeps his eyes trained on a spot on the city walls slightly left from the soon-to-be-dead Fae.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Fae be pushed forward. The bodies twitch for a while. Drakon very stubbornly does not look. Soon enough, they fall still.

Miryam is silent for a moment longer. Then, she raises her voice into the ensuing silence. “You may take them down and see to it that they get a proper funeral,” she says and turns away without waiting to see if anyone will follow her order. Drakon follows after her.

As soon as they are in their tent, Miryam rushes over to the bowl of water that has been set out on the table. She sprinkles a bit of water in her face, then starts rubbing at her hands like she is trying to wash off some invisible stain.

“I hate this,” she finally says, voice small. “I hate having to act like this.” She spins around, water splattering to the ground, and shakes her head. Strands of hair are coming loose from her braid. “I don’t want to act so indifferent, so cruel. These people deserve it, they do, but I…” She shakes her head. “Just because they deserve death doesn’t mean I want to play executioner. But if I don’t, they’ll think me weak, and then, things will just get worse and even more people will die.”

“I know,” Drakon says softly. He is well aware that Miryam needs to show resolve now so that later, when they negotiate with Ravenia, she will take any threats Miryam makes seriously. “But it’s almost over. We’re so close to winning.”

“I know, but I’m scared,” Miryam says softly. “Of what Ravenia might do, of what I will have to do if she refuses to surrender.”

Drakon doesn’t have a response to that – it scares him as well – so he just takes her hand.

----

The next cities all surrender without a fight, so what Miryam did in Rahine must have been enough to convince the leadership of the next cities that surrendering is the smarter option. (Miryam is glad. If another city had resisted, she would have taken more drastic measures, and she is certainly glad to have avoided it.) The further they advance, the bigger their group becomes, and the bigger it becomes, the slower they travel. They started out with a few thousand Seraphim soldiers plus a few hundred people working around the army camp. By the time they approach Lako, they have almost ten times as many people, far more civilians than soldiers by now.

Even better, the further the march, the more things seem to calm down between the humans and the Seraphim. The faeries are beginning to learn what they can and cannot do, while the humans grow more confident with each day that passes without incidents, and before long, the first mixed groups are sitting together by the fire, still tense but talking.

They move as fast as the size of their group will allow. There are other cities and villages to either side of their path, but they never try to take those. Much as leaving the humans there behind pains Miryam, they need to get to the centre of the country as quickly as possible. Then, things will either work out or they won’t, and no amount of fighting they do in advance will change anything.

They make it just in time. Having marched through the night, they set camp half a day’s march away from Lako on the morning before the full moon. While her tent is being erected, Miryam finds a messenger and hands him a letter he is to deliver to Ravenia.

Miryam already wrote it long before they ever got to the Black Land, but the rules demand that she only sends her request for a meeting now that battle between their two armies seems imminent. While Miryam was simply taking city after city, it would have been up to Ravenia to initiate negotiations, but now, Miryam is free to take the initiative.

Ravenia’s answer arrives within three hours. As expected, she agrees to hold the meeting and invites Miryam and Drakon to the palace come sunset.

Miryam nearly sags with relief. Had Ravenia decided to only receive them tomorrow, she would have had a problem. Holding the meeting before the full moon is vital to Miryam’s plan. Well, perhaps not vital, but it will make things easier in the long run if the assembled Black Land nobility heard the offer she made Ravenia as well as the queen’s refusal. Besides, she really wants to at least offer a surrender before having to resort to more drastic measures to get what she wants, even if she doesn’t truly believe Ravenia will take it.

There isn’t much left to do in preparation for the meeting, so Miryam and Drakon invite Sinna, Nephelle and Mor to their tent for a late lunch. It’s a light lunch, mostly vegetables and some corn bread to go with them. Still, Miryam only picks at her food, eats a few bites but hardly tastes it.

“So,” Mor says. “This is it.” She sits cross-legged on her pillow, golden hair tumbling loose over her back, and is currently wolfing down her second helping.

“Looks like it.” Miryam pushes a piece of paprika from one side of the plate to the other.

“Now that we are here, are you finally going to tell us what you have planned for when the negotiations go wrong?” Sinna asks.

Miryam shakes her head, even knowing that she isn’t being entirely reasonable. But she is nervous enough already, and having to talk her plan through with people who might not agree, possibly getting into an argument over it, will only make it worse. Besides, there is always the risk of being overheard.

Sinna must be thinking about that as well, because she rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Miryam returns to pushing her food around on her plate, leaving Mor, Nephelle and Drakon to hold the conversation, the latter evidently distracted as well.

After half an hour, Miryam gives up on her attempt to eat anything and pushes her plate towards Sinna who already finished her food. “Want mine?” She asks.

“Sure.” Sinna quickly switches their plates and starts wolfing down Miryam’s food as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come along when you go to the meeting?” Mor asks. She had been eying Miryam’s uneaten food, worry drawing lines onto her face, and now looks up at Miryam.

“All the guards in the world won’t be able to protect us if Ravenia decides to attack us in the middle of her palace,” Miryam says. The words draw even deeper lines onto Mor’s face and she is quick to add, “She won’t, though. She’s far too attached to her particular brand of honour.”

Drakon nods. “We met with her before, and she never did anything.”

That settles the matter. Mor refills everyone’s glasses, then sits back down in her chair.

Sinna, Nephelle and Mor leave two hours before sunset, leaving Miryam and Drakon to get ready alone. They do so in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Miryam assumed she would be shaking with fear, but somehow, she is strangely calm, almost distant. She spent so long working towards this moment – it finally being there feels just as unreal as the idea of marching straight into Ravenia’s palace.

Drakon is quicker to finish dressing up, but his clothes are less complicated. Miryam chose a human dress, long-cut and with lots of layers, and she ends up needing his help to get into it. She vastly prefers the more modest human fashion to the revealing dresses the Fae tend to favour, although she usually wore Fae fashion to any political meetings. No longer, though. She is past the point of needing to play by their rules, and today, she doesn’t want to dress up as a faerie.

With half an hour to spare until sunset, they leave their tent. Both Seraphim and humans stop to stare as they walk towards the edge of the wards surrounding the camp. It seems like word of where they are going has already gotten around. Miryam takes Drakon’s arm and he winnows them both away.

They reappear one of the inner courtyards of Ravenia’s palace, one of the only places you can winnow into and reserved for foreign dignitaries. There are guards standing all around, hands on their weapons, but they make no move to intercept them. Still, just being back here is enough to make Miryam’s earlier calm evaporate. She grips Drakon’s arm a tad harder and can feel him tense as well.

One of the guards steps forward, their face obscured by a helmet, and inclines their head. “You may proceed to the throne room,” he says. No address. Chances are he isn’t sure which of them to address first, or how to address Miryam at all. “Her majesty says you know the way.”

Miryam gives him a curt nod and brushes past him towards the door leading into the palace. Ravenia likely meant to insult her by not sending an escort to bring her to the throne room, but she actually did her a favour. At least this allows Miryam a few moments to catch her footing before she faces the throne room.

The hallways they walk through are deserted, not a single Fae or human to be seen. Miryam glances over at Drakon who is walking next to her, wishing she could have kept holding his arm. She badly wants to say something to him, but she doesn’t doubt for one moment that they are being watched.

They pass the door leading down to the dungeon and Drakon’s steps falter. He pulls his wings closer to his body as he stares at the door. Miryam decides that she doesn’t particularly care if anyone watches and puts a light hand on his arm. Drakon tears his eyes away from the door.

“It’s fine,” he whispers, straightening. Miryam nods and they continue on towards the throne room.

There are two guards posted in front of the huge double doors. They do not stop Miryam and Drakon, merely reach for the doors, moving in perfect unison, and pushing them open.

Nervousness quickly shifting to fear, Miryam has to force herself to keep walking, to not pause in the doorway and take in the throne room she hasn’t seen in almost nine years. Back straight, pace unhurried, she walks through the doors and into the throne room, Drakon following half a step behind her.

She resists the urge to look around the throne room as she makes toward the dais, instead keeping her eyes trained on Ravenia. From what she can see from the corner of her eye, though, the room hasn’t changed much since she has last been here. The murals and carvings on walls and pillars are still the same, as are the courtiers. Fashion seems to have changed a bit, moving towards looser clothes, but the faces are familiar. Everything is just like she remembers.

She wishes it wasn’t. Maybe if everything looked different, this would be easier.

With each step she takes, her body seizes up further. Every instinct is screaming at her to cower, to duck her shoulders and bow her head. She manages to keep her back straight, but her posture ends up far too rigid and she doesn’t dare relax for fear of losing control of her body. Even her power seems to have disappeared, like it’s hiding from the woman sitting on the throne at the other side of the throne room.

This was a mistake. On neutral ground, she might be able to face Ravenia, but this is the heart of Ravenia’s territory. Here, Miryam doesn’t know how to be anything but a terrified slave girl.

She stops in front of the throne, just below the dais. Ravenia is lounging on her throne, absent-mindedly picking up dates from a plate a human slave holds out to her. All the while, though, her dark eyes remain focused on Miryam.

Drakon, who stopped half a step behind her, shifts a bit closer to her, either sensing her discomfort or feeling uncomfortable himself. His presence calms Miryam a bit – at least enough that she no longer feels like bolting.

“Go on, then,” Ravenia finally says, sounding almost bored. She crosses her legs at the ankle and rests her chin on her hand as if to show the entire world that she finds Miryam and Drakon only marginally more interesting than two bugs crawling at her feet. “Say what you have come to say.”

Miryam swallows. Her eyes travel away from Ravenia and towards the group of human children standing behind her throne. (Ti, the human boy they met when they were freeing Drakon, isn’t among them. Miryam didn’t expect him to be – she knows how quickly Ravenias slaves tend to die – but it still stings.)  All of them have their heads bowed, eyes downcast. Miryam could easily imagine herself standing there in their place.

The silence drags on too long. Miryam knows it is up to her to say something now, but the words won’t form. Behind her, the court begins to whisper, clearly wondering why she isn’t saying anything. She has to say something, but she just can’t –

“We’re here to accept your surrender,” Drakon says. Miryam makes to turn around to him, then stops herself.

Ravenia’s mouth twists into a smile and she lets out a soft laugh, her court quickly falling in. “Have you, now?”

It should have been Miryam answering Ravenia’s challenge, Miryam stating their demands. Damnit, this is not the time for her to start messing up. She breathes in. Breathes out and looks around the room, searching for something that might steady her.

What she finds is dozens of humans watching her. They are standing by the walls of the throne room, all of them dressed in servants’ clothes. And all of them are staring at Miryam, eyes wide and shining with hope.

They believe in her. They trust that she’s going to free them.

For them, Miryam can be brave.

Slowly, she looks back at Ravenia. “The terms the Alliance offers to you are favourable,” she says, actually managing to keep her voice even. “You will free every single slave living in your country and sign a contract that the Black Land will never again practice slavery. Every human will receive a certain amount of money or other goods as compensation, and a proportional part of the Black Land will be given to the humans to live in under sovereign human rulership. As for you…” Miryam falters, choking on the next words.

You will be allowed to live. Those are the terms she is to offer to Ravenia. She will be exiled, never to return to the Continent, but she will live, and this, Miryam isn’t sure she can bear.

She wants Ravenia to die. She wants her to die the way Clythia did, painful and slowly, and then, she wants her body burned, the ashes strewn into the wind, the bones dumped into the ocean. For what Ravenia has done, to her and so many others, she deserves that and worse. And Miryam cannot bear the idea that she will instead spend her time in exile on some pleasant little island, tended to by servants, while Miryam wakes up screaming every night for the rest of her life.

But this isn’t about revenge. It isn’t about Miryam at all. The reason she is here is to free her people, to get them out of this alive. That is the only thing that matters, the only goal she can consider. What does it matter if she will spend the rest of her life feeling Ravenia’s shadow looming as long as she manages that?

“You will abdicate,” Miryam continues. The words burn in her throat. “And you will be sent to exile. You will never again step foot on the Continent, but you will be allowed to live.”

If Ravenia is smart, she will take the offer. For a war like this, it’s highly unusual to allow the leader of the losing side to live. The only reason the exile is being offered is that Miryam knows that Ravenia would never take a deal that includes her own death.

“And you expect me to take this offer?” Ravenia asks lightly, as if she is amused by the mere idea. It seems her strategy for this meeting is to make it abundantly clear to the entire world that she doesn’t care what Miryam has to say, doesn’t take her seriously at all.

Not smart, then.

Some courtier behind Miryam snickers. She ignores it. Let them laugh. Should Ravenia refuse the surrender Miryam is offering, their laughter will die soon enough.

Today, they might mock Miryam, might laugh at the foolish mortal who dares challenge their leader. A few days from now, it will be Ravenia they think a fool for not taking the offer when she had the chance. Miryam gives them five days at most until they hate Ravenia for being too proud to surrender.

“You should,” Miryam says. “You won’t get a better one.” Slowly, she starts walking towards Ravenia. The guards standing in front of the throne tense but make no move to stop her. “You’ve lost, Ravenia,” she says softly. “I have beaten you at every turn. My Alliance has defeated your Loyalists, more of your allies surrender to me every day, your High Witcher is dead at my hands. I told you that you would lose, that you could only ever lose, that I would win against you, and I have. I also told you I would destroy you. I suggest you take my offer now, or I can guarantee you, I will do that as well.”

Now, no one is snickering anymore. Ravenia is still lounging on her throne, but her posture no longer seems relaxed. It’s more like she is frozen in place. After a moment, she stirs.

“A nice little speech,” she says. “I might even be impressed, if only you had the soldiers to back it up.” She offers a small smile. “Really, Miryam, if you were going to sell yourself for an army, you should have picked someone who at least has enough soldiers to pose a threat to me.”

Drakon tenses, but Miryam ignores the jab. It is a cheap attempt to get a rise out of her and as far as she is concerned, it isn’t worth a reply. Does Ravenia really think unfitting slavery-allusions will be enough to get her to snap.

“What makes you think I need an army at all?” She asks instead.

Now, Ravenia laughs outright. “You grossly overestimate how scared I am of you,” she says.

Miryam shrugs. Let her laugh. “This is over, Ravenia. You cannot be too blind to see it. Just take the offer while you still can.”

Not quite daring to breathe, she stares at Ravenia. Say no. The thought comes unbidden but all the stronger for it. Come on. Give me an excuse.

A heartbeat later, Miryam’s mind catches up and guilt rises, strong enough to drown out the anger. What is she thinking? She knows what will have to happen if Ravenia refuses, the lives that will be at risk and the ones that will be lost. No revenge in the world can ever be worth this. She didn’t mean that. She didn’t.

Ravenia rises. Slowly, she walks over the dais towards Miryam until there’s only a few feet separating them. Miryam resists the urge to take a step back and instead stares unflinchingly back at her.

“There seems to be some confusion on your part, so let me be entirely clear,” Ravenia says. Her voice is soft, but in the silent room, she might as well have shouted for how loud her voice rings. She takes another step towards Miryam who remains standing where she is – whether out of bravery or fear, she can’t say. “I will kill every single human under my rule before I let a single one of them walk free.”

“Is that your answer?” Miryam asks. Her voice is a tad breathless; her heart is thundering in her chest.

“Yes.” The word snaps through the room like a whip.

Miryam nods. “Then what comes next is on you.” With that, she turns around and walks back to Drakon. He nods to her and together, they walk back through the throne room. At the door, Miryam pauses and turns back to face the assembled crowd.

“Remember,” she says to no one in particular, “that I made the offer. Some of you might wish to reconsider your stance soon enough.”

----

The moon is full tonight. It hangs high in the sky as a silver orb, not a cloud to be seen, casting its cold light down on the sand below. It is the only one to watch as Miryam and Drakon walk away from the noise and activity of the army camp and out into the desert surrounding it. They’ve ordered their guards to stay behind, ignoring their complaints. For what’s about to come, it’s better if they are alone.

Miryam could have gone entirely alone, of course, but she wasn’t quite brave enough for it. She doesn’t want to be alone for this. Besides, should she lose control, Drakon is probably the only one who stands a chance of talking her down.

Miryam turns to him now. “You know what you’re going to do if things go badly?” She asks.

“I think it works best if I improvise,” Drakon says. The ghost of a smile flickers across his face. “A pity there aren’t any mountain goats around.”

Miryam laughs shakily. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find some antelopes.” She stops and looks around. They have reached a small river, branching off the bigger Klei river that supplies the entire Black Land with water. “Here, I think,” she says and lets the bag she packed slide off her shoulder.

She brought all of her spellcasting supplies, candles and bones, gemstones and salt. She takes care when setting up the circle, checking the position for each piece twice and drawing the symbols with steady hands. It takes twice as long as usual, and by the time she is done, her left arm is entirely stained in blood. Miryam double-checks everything one last time, then turns to Drakon. He has been sitting in the sand outside of the circle, watching, but now, he rises.

“Ready?” He asks.

Miryam nods, unable to speak. He nods back.

“You’ll manage,” he says. “I know you will.”

Miryam nods again. She has to manage. There is no other plan to fall back on.

A whispered word activates the circle. The flames flicker to life all at once, the gemstones start glowing. The moon has reached its zenith now, and Miryam can almost taste the power in the air.

She closes her eyes and thinks back to the throne room. Then, she pushed the memories away, locked them up. Now, she asks them in. For the first time, she truly allows herself to remember, remember each moment of pain and despair and suffering, all the death and blood. It hurts. It hurts so badly that she feels she might fall apart, but pain is fuel, as is the anger that comes next.

So Miryam lets herself burn, hotter and brighter. Only when she is so full of pain and anger that she feels she might combust right there, she opens her eyes and begins to speak.

The beginning of the spell is unusual. Normally, you start with a demand, some kind of declaration for what you want. This time, though, Miryam begins with a story. She begins with a feeling.

The strings quiver around her, shaken by the force of her emotions, waiting for her to tell them why she calls upon them. She bids them to listen. The story she tells isn’t a pleasant one. She speaks of death, of suffering and pain. Of injustice and slavery. Blood drips from her hand into the sand as she speaks, swallowed up far more quickly than natural; the words burn her throat.

Around her, the strings grow restless. Tell us what you want, they seem to ask, confused, but it isn’t them Miryam is talking to.

Under Miryam’s feet, a tremor seems to run through the ground. More and more strings manifest, glowing in the air around her, and Miryam feels like something is rising around her, watching, waiting. The power in the air increases until it feels like tons of stone are pressing down on her, until a frantic energy runs through her body.

Miryam barely dares to breathe. It’s working. It is truly working. She has called – and the land is answering.

The Fae might claim this land, this world, belongs to them, but it doesn’t. Maybe it belongs to the humans, or maybe it belongs to no one at all, but either way, it has a memory. And this land is drenched in human blood, its earth bursting with their suffering, the sand full of skeletons of humans. Their anger lingers, as does their pain, a restless energy that has never been let loose.

It remembers. It recognizes the story Miryam tells. And it answers.

She could have sworn there are eyes watching her. It is a comforting thought – that all these humans who came before her are here, watching her, helping her. Maybe finally getting their revenge.

The strings are still waiting, impatient. There are more of them than Miryam has ever seen, the air so full that Miryam can no longer make out her surroundings. Miryam pauses for a moment to look around, to take in the power thrumming through the air, the anger and pain cursing through her, echoed by the land.

Miryam draws her knife from her belt and runs it over her arm, causing fresh blood to well up. It drips into the sand, red on gold, and the earth that is so drenched in human blood already rumbles in answer. Miryam can’t tell if it’s truly the spirits of dead humans answering or the land itself, but whatever it is, it is angry. It has had enough.

When Miryam finally makes her demand, the strings jump to do her bidding. They move into place more easily than ever before. All it takes is for Miryam to nudge them and they move into the right direction, the land still rumbling under her feet.

It’s so easy. Miryam doesn’t need to turn the land against the Fae because it already hates them. Its anger overshadows even her own, the sum of millions of people, millennia of suffering. All she needs to do is point its anger into the right direction, tell it what to do, weave helpless fury into a plan.

The power around her surges. Miryam is vaguely aware that there is blood running out her nose, out of her eyes and ears. Power is thrumming through her, drenched in pain and anger and a revenge that never happened.

Again, blood runs down Miryam’s hand and drips into the sand. This time, it isn’t swallowed by the earth. Instead, more blood seems to well up from there, like a great wound is bleeding under Miryam’s feet. It runs over the sand in a small stream until it reaches the river below.

The water turns red. It spreads far more quickly than blood normally should. Miryam blinks once and the stream is entirely red, like the earth is spitting out all the blood it had to soak up over the years. It runs down the small river, turning it red as it goes, until it reaches the river Klei. From there, it continues to spread.

By the time the circle around Miryam flickers out and she slides to the ground, Drakon rushing over to catch her, every stream and river in the Black Land is already running red with blood.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[codynaomiswireart]

Gauze in the Wound - Part 24

“‘In sterquiliniis invenitur’ – in filth it will be found. This is perhaps the prime ‘alchemical’ dictum. What you need most is always to be found where you least wish to look. … In rejecting our errors, we gain short-term security – but throw away our identity with the process that allows us to transcend our weaknesses and tolerate our painfully limited lives. …In participating in the process, the alchemists identified with the exploratory hero, and turned themselves unconsciously…into ‘that which redeems.’ This identification was complicated by the fact the the alchemist also considered himself as partaking of the state of matter – as belonging in the ‘state necessitating redemption.’ This basically meant that the alchemist viewed himself, at least in part, as occupying the same category as ‘matter’ (as well as being that which could become ‘gold,’ and which could aid in the transformation). … The alchemist was an unredeemed, suffering man, in search of an inexpressible ideal.”

~ Jordan Peterson, Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief

“‘But I am not your judge. We must go to your true judges now. I am to bring you there.’ ‘My judges?' ‘Why, yes, child. The gods have been accused by you. Now’s their turn.’ ‘I cannot hope for mercy.’ ‘Infinite hopes – and fears – may both be yours. Be sure that, whatever else you get, you will not get justice.’ ‘Are the gods not just?’ ‘Oh no, child. What would become of us if they were?’”

~ The Fox and Queen Oruel, Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis

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

“Cursed short arms!” the un-man grumbled, reaching to pull himself up the rocky slope. What had begun as such a delight in wearing the boy’s form was now becoming annoying as he climbed his way up the mountain. While Zhan Tiri did have some of his additional strength to assist him, even that couldn’t make up for the smaller stature he now donned. But it would be worth it soon. Soon he would be back in his original body, and then he could really get to work!

“And as for the boy,” he thought aloud as he pulled himself up. “He’ll still be useful until I can get the actual Moonstone for myself. If he behaves, I might even let him join me as a disciple! Now wouldn’t that be nice – the Heir of Demanitus as my servant! Ha ha! Come to think of it, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any competent servants.”

The un-man scowled now, thinking of his previous pawns. “Curse them,” he spat, gripping another rock. “Inept fools. And Gothel! That traitorous, vain, sniveling coward! Stuck around just long enough to get her hands on the incantation, and then what did she do? She went and hoarded the Sundrop for herself! Fah! I should’ve figured. She was always the worst of my followers. Tromus may still be of some use I suppose. And Sugracha…Well…” the demon grinned wickedly. “She had her chance…and I’ve made use of what was left.”

Zhan Tiri gave another grunt of exertion as he finally reached the top of the rocky gorge he’d been scaling. The land had changed a bit since he’d last been there. The trails leading up to Janus Point had become rough and overgrown now. He could remember the days when it was well-worn from those who traveled there to engage in dark rituals. Now it was all a deserted wasteland – nearly forgotten like a bad dream by those living in the kingdom below.

“But not for long,” he thought as he adjusted the mirror strapped to his shoulders, continuing his hike. “Soon, their nightmare will rise again!”

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

Varian blinked, his brain trying to catch up with what had just happened, like suddenly waking up from a dream. He felt like he couldn’t move. Part of him didn’t want to move. A part of him wanted all time to freeze here like this. He almost didn’t care if it might all be an illusion fed into his brain.

Xavier was here. Ruddiger was here. His friends were here. Xavier said it would be all right now.

But-

Varian nearly shoved Xavier away, as panic began to bubble up from the depths of his mind as his train of thought went from a standstill to rushing a million miles an hour.

“Wha-What are you doing here!?” Varian asked Xavier, looking up wide-eyed at the blacksmith, the boy’s fists clutching in desperation at the man’s shirt.

Xavier only smiled reassuringly at Varian. “It’s all right Varian. We figured it out. You’re going to be all right. We’ve come to get you out of here!”

Varian continued to stare at him, shaking his head in disbelief.

Noticing his apprentice’s demeanor, Xavier laid his hands on Varian’s shoulders, trying to steady him. “Easy Varian, easy. It’s all right. I’m here now. Really! You’re going to be ok.” Xavier then looked to study the vines that bound Varian’s wrists and ankles, holding one of them in his grasp as Ruddiger also gave them a sniff. The raccoon’s fur stood on end, and he hissed as he detected the dark magic pulsing within the glowing tendrils. Xavier’s brow furrowed, and he began reaching into one of his pockets.

“Wait, what’re you doing?” Varian asked.

“Don’t worry Varian,” Xavier said, pulling a small folding knife from his pocket. “I’ll cut you free, and then we can-” “NO!” Varian screamed, grabbing Xavier’s wrist to stop him before he could make the first incision. “No no! If-if you tamper with the vines, he might notice you’re here and-” Varian’s voice cut out, he swallowed hard, and Xavier could feel the boy clutch even tighter at the fabric of his shirt. “‘He?’” Xavier repeated, becoming still. “Who is ‘he’? Varian, what’s going on? Who did this to you?” But Varian’s expression began to take on a faraway look again, and Xavier could see Varian was struggling to breathe. “Z-…Zhan Tiri-” Varian just managed to choke out. And then, the boy began to hyperventilate, grabbing Xavier again, and shouting. “Wh-why are you here!? You need to stop him! You’re just wasting time with me! Why did you just let him-!? He could be…I-I can’t! Why did you come here!? No! No no no! He’s going to get away-!”

“Varian!”

Varian stopped shouting, but now only shook his head as he buried his face in his arms. “Varian!” Xavier tried again, trying to snap Varian out of whatever attack he was experiencing. But the boy only continued to quiver and breathe in quick, shallow breaths.

Just like that one day…

Xavier was unsure about what was going on, and Varian mentioning Zhan Tiri had not escaped him, but this much he knew – Varian needed help now, and he had to bring him back around before they could do anything else.

“Varian,” Xavier said again, this time in a much calmer tone, and giving Varian’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Varian, look at me, please.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment Xavier thought Varian wouldn’t comply. But soon enough, Varian managed to bring his face up to look Xavier in the eye, the boy’s expression utterly pained.

“It’s all right,” the blacksmith said. And again, like before, Varian opened his mouth to protest such a notion.

“N-no! No no, it’s not all right!” Varian cried, curling in on himself again. “Don’t lie to me! Can’t you see that we’re-!?” But Varian then felt himself being pulled into another hug, his mentor’s strong arms wrapped around him protectively. “Shh, it’s all right, Varian. It’s all right,” Xavier repeated again, as if the soul-crushing reality had no bearing on them in the present moment. Which of course was ridiculous, Varian thought. But in that moment, Xavier sounded so confident, that Varian almost believed him. “It’s all right.”

Xavier then pulled away again, steadying Varian’s shoulders. “I need you to breathe with me now, ok?” But Varian shook his head. “No! I can’t-! We- He’s going to-!” “Breathe in,” Xavier continued on, gently but insistently. When Varian didn’t respond at first, he tried again. “Breathe in…” Varian then also felt Ruddiger nuzzle into his side, and the little creature looked up at Varian with sad but encouraging eyes. “Please!” he seemed to be saying.

Finally, Varian felt his resistance start to give way, and though faltering at first, Varian managed to get in a slower inhale.

“Good,” Xavier said, a tone of relief entering his voice. “Now, breathe out…” And Varian did, though shakily. “Good. Again, breathe in… Hold… Breathe out…”

This went on for another few repetitions, and Varian did try to mirror what Xavier was telling him to do. But constantly Varian had thoughts flit in and out of his mind that caused his breath to hitch when they hit him. “We’re running out of time! I’m trapped here and I can’t get out! Why did Xavier come for me!? Zhan Tiri’s going to use me to come back, and it’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s-”

“It’s all my fault…” Before Varian could think to stop himself, his voice betrayed his thoughts, and he could feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes at his quivering words.

“No, it isn’t, Varian,” Xavier tried reassuringly. “C’mon, stay with me now. It’s going to be all right. I’m sure whatever’s going on, we can-”

But Varian shook his head. “No! It’s-it’s not going to be all right!” he cried, and through his sobs he began to tell Xavier everything; everything about Zhan Tiri slipping through the warp in time and space the other night, to meeting Zhan Tiri in the depths of his psyche, to how Zhan Tiri tricked him into believing he was really Lord Demanitus, and how – worst of all – Varian had believed him when he talked about them using the Moonstone’s power to go back in time and undo all of the bad things that had befallen Varian, and all the bad things that he himself had done.

Varian wanted to blame Zhan Tiri for all of this. He had been a liar, after all. Was it Varian’s fault that he had been deceived? Didn’t that make it better? Weren’t his motivations good in the end? That is, to go back and set things the way they should’ve been?

…But no. Varian knew the truth. Zhan Tiri wouldn’t have been able to entice Varian into his plans if Varian wasn’t already vulnerable to it. True, there were circumstances that were beyond his control. Perhaps it wasn’t all his fault. But some of it definitely was, and it also didn’t help that he had been so bitter towards everyone, driving away those who wanted to help him. If only he hadn’t been so desperate to run away from what had already been stamped into his history, perhaps he wouldn’t be in this even bigger mess now.

If he had only hung on instead of let go the other day when Rapunzel had appeared. Not that it was really her, probably. But if he didn’t give in to his anger…his hatred…

“…I’ve ruined everything…” was all Varian could say as he came to the end of his account, and he sat back with his shoulders drooped, and hands dropping from Xavier’s shirt into his own lap. Varian was so tired – physically and emotionally. He could feel the weight of all he had done pressing down on his already tired shoulders, and sling itself round his chest like lead-heavy snakes. And he was so useless now, too. Zhan Tiri had a hold of him. Even if he wanted to use his powers against Zhan Tiri now, the vines clinging to him would only channel it for Zhan Tiri’s own use. And in here, in this dark place, he had no access to alchemy or tools or anything else he might be able to fight back with.

“…You have to go.”

“What?” Xavier asked, clearly surprised by Varian’s words. Miserably, Varian looked up at Xavier through his bangs.

“You need to get out of here. Both of you.” Here Varian turned also to Ruddiger, who looked up at the boy with bewildered eyes. “Y-you’re just wasting time here. Zhan Tiri isn’t going to Old Corona. That was another lie to throw you off his plans. He’s going to Janus Point to-” Varian swallowed. “He’s…he’s going to try to use my magic to bring himself back – all the way back – where the veil is thin. You have to catch up to him before he can-”

“We’ve already tried, Varian.” “What?” Varian asked, looking at Xavier in astonishment.

Xavier frowned. “Varian, after Zhan Tiri made sure he got passed the guards, he used your magic to trap us here in Molson’s Grove with a great wall of black rocks. We can’t go anywhere.” “No…” Varian whispered, hugging himself. Yes, he had felt Zhan Tiri call upon his powers a couple of times earlier that evening, but he had no idea (and dreaded to think of) what the warlock had used them for. “That is,” Xavier said, once again setting his hands on Varian’s shoulders. “We can’t go anywhere without you. We need you to take down that wall, Varian.”

“B-but I can’t!” Varian shouted, grasping one of the vines in his hands and holding it up, as if Xavier needed a visual aid to get the situation through to him. “Look Xavier! I’m trapped here! And-and without my doppelgänger I won’t be able to get out!”

“That’s why Ruddiger is here,” Xavier explained, and Ruddiger immediately pricked up at the sound of his name. “The dark mirror has no affect on him, and he brought you back from the dream depths before. I have a hunch that he can also help to get you out of here, bypassing the need for a doppelgänger swap!”

Varian stared at Xavier, then at Ruddiger. Could Xavier be right? Could such a trick really work!?

“But first,” Xavier began again, reaching once more for his pocket knife.

“N-no!” Varian tried again to stop the blacksmith, grabbing at his wrist. “What if that makes him know you’re here!? What if he-?”

Varian then stopped, Xavier turning to look at him with an expression that Varian had never seen on the blacksmith before. Or, at least, not this intense. Varian had seen something similar to it when Xavier had been in battle before – a steeliness and determination that would make most anyone flinch if it were directed at them. But this time…

“We have to try, Varian. No matter what it takes, I won’t leave you here like this. I won’t let Zhan Tiri do this to you!”

Before Varian could say anything else to this, Xavier firmly but gently pried Varian’s hands from his wrist, and brought his hand down to lay the first strike on the eerie, glowing vines.

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

Zhan Tiri staggered, feeling as if a dart had just suddenly been lodged into his chest. Had he stumbled into something in the dark and not seen it? Was there a hunter or a bandit nearby that had taken a shot at him?

But as Zhan Tiri looked down to examine where the pain came from, he found no arrow or dart sticking out of his avatar. Although, he did see beneath his clothing the dim glow of green, indicating that some sort of injury had been done to him, even if only a small one. “How in the-? Aaah!” the warlock cried, feeling the incision hit deeper. What was going on!?

With haste, the demon pressed his fingers against his temples, and focused his concentration along the vines that extended out his back and into the mirror. There, he of course saw the alchemist – disheveled, weak and distressed, as he should be – but he also saw-

“Aah!” the un-man cried again, a third blow nearly causing his legs to buckle from underneath him, and breaking his concentration for a second. “No,” he hissed to himself harshly. “Why that meddling old-!”

Thinking quickly, the un-man again sent his consciousness down the string of vines, and conjuring a few more from his back in the process. It may take a lot out of him in his current form, but he was too close now! He could not afford to lose this chance!

“I’ll make you pay for this,” the demon growled as he launched his counter-attack.

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

Varian’s eyes widened in horror as Xavier delivered that first blow to the vine. As the steel of Xavier’s knife struck the glowing tendril, sparks spewed up from where he had managed to make an incision in the thick skin. However, Varian also noticed something else as Xavier braced himself for another blow. The knife had begun to glow green as well, and Varian managed to catch sight of what looked like steam rising from its handle. He could also see Xavier setting his teeth to keep himself from dropping the weapon as he began to feel the pain.

“NO!” Varian screamed, trying to catch Xavier’s wrist again to stop him. “Stop! Stop! It’s hurting you!”

But Xavier only responded with holding Varian back with his free arm, and bringing his hand down for another cut, grimacing as the knife glowed even brighter.

Varian remembered what Xavier had said – about when he had crushed Mila’s hand all those years ago. It was an injury that caused her to give up blacksmithing for good.

Was Xavier really about to-!?

“XAVIER, PLEASE! STOP!” Varian cried again, but Xavier brought the knife down for yet another strike, his hand itself now also starting to look green. If he kept this up for much longer, and if he tried to cut all of the vines this way…

In desperation, Varian tried to summon some of the magic inside of him. He had to try to do something to help Xavier before the man permanently crippled himself on his behalf. But as Varian felt the magic well up inside of him, he also felt it leave him, like water down a drain. Instead of the black rocks doing as Varian wanted, they sprang up to form a kind of cage around Xavier, with even more vines snaking their way between them to grab at the blacksmith, causing Xavier to drop his knife. Varian tried to make a lunge for the fallen blade, but was suddenly jerked back as the tendrils holding him dragged him away across the floor. Ruddiger then made his attempt for the knife, but flinched back as his snout got close to the heat rising from it. He then had to scurry and dodge as another vine tried a grab at him, and began chasing him around the chamber.

“You fools!” a voice boomed around the chamber, causing Varian to flinch at the sound of it, for Zhan Tiri of course would use his own voice. “Did you really think you could stop me now? I won’t go down so easily!”

Xavier looked frightened only for a moment as the situation sank in. But then, the man summoned again that steely determination from before, and resumed struggling against his bonds. This only caused Zhan Tiri to chuckle at the blacksmith’s futile efforts.

“Ah, so this is the best that Demanitus could leave behind for his vanguard, eh?” the demon’s voice said mockingly. “An old codger who barely understands the great mysteries he proports to love, and an impulsive child with a ruined life. If only you both weren’t so annoying, I could hardly have asked for better conditions!”

At these words, Xavier looked over at Varian, noticing that the boy had ceased struggling to get out of his own bonds, and now lay there limply on the floor again, like when Xavier first found him here.

“Varian!” Xavier shouted, but Varian didn’t appear to hear him. “Varian, don’t listen to him! Don’t give up!”

“Oh yes, that’s right old man,” Zhan Tiri interjected again, a smile in his voice. “Keep leading the boy on with false hopes, as usual.”

Xavier glared at the cursed mirror’s gateway.

“Honestly, do you really wish to tell the boy that he can come back from all this? From all he has done? Even if you were to get out of here, even if you were to defeat me, what would be left for him? He belongs to me now!”

“There’s still his father!” Xavier said. “We still have to free him!”

There was a long pause after this, only to be followed by another smiling tone from the demon as he said, “You really are cruel, aren’t you master blacksmith? Why can’t you just admit to the boy that his father must be dead now?”

Xavier couldn’t see Varian’s face from the way the boy was laying, but he did see Varian’s side seize up at these words, his breath stopping.

“You don’t know that!” Xavier retorted back.

“But if he were?” Zhan Tiri continued. “If he were dead, there would be no one left for the boy. He feels it himself – after all he’s done, no one else would be there for him. Nobody else would love him. It would be a shame to even associate with him on any level! Well, aside from his jailor of course. And if his father were somehow still alive, what would he say once he was free? He certainly wouldn’t be proud of the boy, now would he?”

At these words, Varian finally did move, but only to curl himself into a tight ball, the guilt of everything clearly crushing him into the ground. Ruddiger tried to get to him from where he had taken shelter in a basket in the corner, but the vine that had stalked him kept him at bay.

Xavier looked between the dark mirror and where Varian lay. Varian really was believing what the un-man was saying! Xavier knew that if Varian only thought about things for just a moment – really thought about them – all of this darkness would be dispelled. Of course Quirin really loved Varian! He had sacrificed himself for his son, after all! And as for the others? Varian may not realize it, but despite those out there who would write him off as hopeless and irredeemable, there were also those who were willing to give him another chance should he but ask for it and take it. But Xavier knew that doubts coupled with grief and guilt could be a terribly oppressive force. Life could not be expected to always be solved by purely rational means. Certainly not irrational, but sometimes merely thinking and rationalizing weren’t enough.

…Sometimes, you had to act.

“I would be there.”

Another pause followed Xavier’s words.

“What?” the demon asked, but Xavier ignored him.

“Varian,” Xavier called his name again, and Varian just managed to look up at him from his circle of torment.

“Varian, listen to me – you are still my apprentice. No matter what happens, you can always come home to me, all right? And-”

Now here Xavier said one of the last things that anyone in that room expected him to say, and if Varian had heard him say it months or even a few weeks ago, he would’ve been deeply offended by it. But as things were now…

“And I forgive you, Varian.”

Varian appeared to be thrown for a few full seconds, his brain also trying to catch up with what he just heard. “What?” the alchemist asked in a small voice.

“I forgive you, Varian,” Xavier repeated. “For any wrong you have done to me, it’s over now. It doesn’t need to cling to you anymore. You can let it go.”

Varian blinked at his mentor, then grimaced, shaking his head. “No! Y-you don’t mean that!”

“I do Varian.”

“No you don’t!” Varian almost screamed. “Stop lying to me! How could you just say things like that!?”

“Exactly!” Zhan Tiri chimed in. “He’s just saying whatever it takes to sway you into doing whatever he wants you to do! Especially with how he is now, how could anyone say that it’s over when he’s here like this?”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Xavier asked, his eyes scanning the vines and black rock cage around him as if they were somehow not that bad. “Oh Varian, I’ve been held by far worse chains and prisons than these.”

“…Wha-what are you talking about?” Varian asked hoarsely.

“Do you remember, Varian? When I told you about Mila? What I had done then, the guilt that I had felt – those were some of the worst things to have ever held me in bondage. Worse than the Saporians, and worse than even Zhan Tiri’s now. Granted,” Xavier said through gritted teeth as Zhan Tiri threateningly tightened his grip, “they are quite terrible. But while we may physically be held captive here, our hearts need not be, Varian. Mila set mine free, as well as her own, all those years ago. How could I not do the same for you?”

For a flickering moment, it looked like the light almost came back into Varian’s eyes. Could it be possible? Could he…could he really be forgiven for the things he’d done? Could he really, in another sense, “go back?”

But his thoughts were interrupted with another eery chuckle from the un-man. “Oh, my my my, what nonscensical fluff we are witnessing this evening.” The demon scoffed at Xavier. “Oh please, master blacksmith! Do you really mean to continue to insult the boy’s intelligence, or tempt him with pie-in-the-sky thinking? And even if it were true. If ‘your hearts could be free’ as you so pathetically claim, what good does that do, hmm? Hmm? Would the boy not still be in the same circumstances as he is now?”

A dreadful pause followed, and Varian lost all hope again. Of course Zhan Tiri was right. Even if in this moment Varian somehow believed Xavier’s words, he was still in the same situation as before. He was still imprisoned. He was still an outcast, a criminal, all but an orphan. Nothing would really change for him.

“So was Mila,” Xavier now continued, earning another surprised look up from Varian. “So was I. Granted, you could claim our circumstances were on a smaller scale, but the loss was still real. It affected both of our lives in a deep way. When Mila decided to forgive me, her outward circumstances did not change. She never-” Xavier swallowed the lump in his throat at the memory. “She never practiced her smithing craft again. But her willingness to forgive set her free from remaining trapped in that moment. She did something new instead. It wasn’t in her plans. Her loss wasn’t fair. But she made her choice. She chose for change on the inside, and that allowed for change on the outside. It changed her life, and it changed mine. She let go of her anger and bitterness, and was able to strive for good – to wish for another’s good, and for her own good, even in the given circumstances. She didn’t wait to feel good about me or about herself before she did that. And she- Gah! Mmph!”

Varian’s eyes widened in fright as Xavier’s mouth was suddenly gagged with more glowing green vines that sprouted up. “Ugh, that’s enough of that,” Zhan Tiri’s voice came again, trying to sound bored with the situation. …But Varian could tell by the urgency of Zhan Tiri’s action, that it was more than mere annoyance that prompted him just now. “You really do talk a lot for such an old man. I’m surprised you aren’t winded by now. But, no matter. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve wasted enough time with this nonsense, and the boy and I have important business to attend-”

“N-no.”

Varian could feel Xavier and Zhan Tiri’s attention turn to him as he weakly said the word.

“‘No?’” Zhan Tiri repeated mockingly. “No? What do you mean, no?”

Varian struggled to sit up, bracing himself up with his hands. “I…I said, ‘no.’ Y-you’re not going to use me for your plans. I refuse to- Aaah!” Varian crumpled, as he again felt the squeezing sensation around his heart, and his hair began to dimly glow.

“Have you forgotten, child?” the demon purred in his ear as Xavier watched on in horror. “I still have my foothold in your heart. You willingly gave it to me. You cannot refuse me now.”

“No!” Varian hissed through gritted teeth. “I-I can! I won’t let you!” “Won’t let me do what?” the un-man cried, now truly exasperated. “Won’t let me get revenge on those who wronged us both? Won’t let me make sure that the scales of justice are balanced in our favor? Would your father really want you to leave unpunished those whose acts led to his demise?”

…This was where the demon made his crucial mistake.

It was like when Varian faced the Seporian spy back in the forests of Equis; when he tried to use Varian’s father’s fate as a point of leverage.

“Dad…” Varian thought to himself, feeling his heart break all over again as he thought about him. He knew Quirin wouldn’t have wanted this. Whatever Varian may have thought of himself, his dad gave up everything to keep him alive. Even if Quirin himself were somehow still alive, he had no idea in the moment what was going to happen when he pushed Varian away from the explosion of amber. He didn’t know whether or not he would come through all right. And if the worst turned out to be true, would Varian let his father’s sacrifice for him be in vain? That is, would he lose sight of what was good and give up the real fight?

And what about Xavier? Whatever doubts Zhan Tiri had sown about the purity of the man’s intentions for Varian, the boy couldn’t deny that Xavier gave up a lot for him. Varian’s eyes landed briefly on the blacksmith’s burnt hand. That and hearing the emotion in the smithy’s voice at the idea of someone not being able to forge again, it was enough to let Varian know that Xavier was making all efforts short of giving up his own life as well to help him. Though, under the current circumstances, that opition may not be far off either.

…And Varian would not let that happen.

“No!” Varian cried again, and once more trying to summon his powers, the rocks around Xavier starting to glow in tandem with his hair. “I won’t be your puppet in your plans! I won’t listen to you any more! I won’t-”

Varian then gasped, feeling Zhan Tiri tighten his grip harder around him, and feeling his magic begin to siphon back out of him again while Xavier struggled to try to reach him. “No!” Varian though in desperation, and began to push back against the force pulling at him, the two now grappling together in his heart. “No! You won’t let you take me! I’ll fight you-!”

“You’re too late boy!” the voice now thundered in his mind, and repeated again, “Your father is dead! Your enemies have gotten away with it! And nobody is left to love you! You feel that anger, that bitterness, that grief in your heart! Let it out! Show them all! Embrace the power that you have been given!”

Varian could feel his heart being torn in two. He couldn’t keep this up. He was losing the fight. He couldn’t do this on his own!

“NO! PLEASE!” Varian found himself crying out, to anyone or anything that may be listening. “PLEASE! DAD! XAVIER! RUDDIGER! SOMEONE! HELP ME!”

At these words, Varian felt the tear in his heart rend all the way through. He gave a sharp cry, his eyes rolled to the back of head, and then he was enveloped in utter blackness.

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

…..

……….

……

“Varian…”

Varian gasped, his eyes snapping open at the sound of his name. He expected when he opened his eyes to see the dark mirror chamber around him, and to feel his body aching from the tight vines and the grip of Zhan Tiri’s binding spell. But, to his utter astonishment, Varian felt and saw none of these things. Instead, he felt only shallow, cool water around him, and saw above him a sky ablaze with stars, giant planets, and the dancing stream of the Aurora Borealis.

“Wait…I’m back here!?” Varian thought in utter surprise, quickly sitting up and looking around him. Once again, he found himself on the smooth waters of the celestial plain from his dreams. Immediately, Varian thought to look for the white stag, or Ruddiger. Perhaps one of them was somehow here with him. But though Varian turned to look all around him, and strained his eyes to see as far as they could toward the distant horizon, no other figure was in sight on that vast, flat land.

“What do I do now?” Varian wondered aloud, remembering how difficult it was for him to go anywhere the last time. What was he supposed to do this time? Should he try to wake up? He needed a guide back to the waking world last time, but perhaps he could manage it now?

In any case, Varian knew had to try something. He had to try to get back!

Tentatively, Varian moved to push himself up onto his feet. As he stood, Varian tried to decide on which direction he should go. As he was pondering this, Varian suddenly caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. Varian’s head whipped round, fully expecting to see Ruddiger coming to his aid at last. But instead-

“Aaah!” Varian yelped, staggering backwards. What he saw was a face! A face floating a few yards away, looking at him. As Varian watched, the full figure of a person materialized in front of him, and other figures also came into view in the same manner, all glowing with silver light. Varian never gave much thought to ghosts, and for a moment he hoped that he was just seeing things. But when he dared to look away, then look again, blink, and rub his eyes, and the vision didn’t go away, he felt himself begin to panic. His courage failing him, Varian fled in the other direction away from the frightening apparitions. But to his horror, more figures began materializing there as well!

Varian then turned to his right, and began running, but he was soon blocked in again by more figures looming in out of thin air. All of them were facing towards him in a large circle, and soon Varian was completely hemmed in by the large crowd.

And what a large crowd it was indeed! There had to be dozens of them, perhaps hundreds! Men, women, and children. Who were they!? What was going on!?

One of them stepped forward to approach Varian, and out of reflex the boy held up his arms to shield himself. But alas, this only caused him further dread, for as Varian went through the motion, he saw a terrible phenomenon before him.

His arms were see-through! He was a ghost!

Varian stared in horror as his eyes followed his arms and he looked down at his body. Despite the ghost-like behavior of the figures only moments before, somehow the tables had turned. Or, perhaps, a readjusting of Varian’s senses had taken place. He now had the haunting idea that perhaps the figures were not the ghosts here, but he was. Did they materialize to his senses just now, or was it vice versa? Had they been in full existence there already, and he had been the one who materialized to their level of reality?

Before Varian could consider more this frightening prospect, he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as he felt the touch of the figure that had stepped towards him. He had been so caught up in his fear that he hadn’t noticed the figure draw so near to him! The touch of the man who approached was firm, but warm, and as Varian’s eyes snapped up to look the person in the face, he was startled to find that…he actually recognized him! Though he had never seen him in person, Varian had seen a small portrait of him in his father’s belongings.

The man…looked like his grandfather!

“Wait, what!? No!” Varian thought to himself, his voice failing him to say anything as he stared agape at the man. “No no! It’s-it’s not possible! He can’t be-! He’s not even-!”

Another realization then hit Varian like a thunderclap, and he looked again at the other faces around him. In some he could see the resemblance to either of his parents. Others were total strangers to him. But this much he somehow knew – these were his past relations! All of them! In one way or another, they were related to him. He was seeing his family tree extending back years into the past! Varian had never met any of his relatives outside of his parents, and he hadn’t really given much thought about them in recent years. But now…?

Being an alchemist, Varian had heard of those who believed that they could manufacture human life in a lab. Get the right ingredients, have the right conditions, and boom! You’ve created life. Varian never really found such experiments appealing. He was more for the practical, applicable sciences like mechanics and chemistry. Sure, he’d dabbled a bit in biology (as he did to know how to create Ruddiger’s transformation serum), but otherwise he didn’t really give much thought into what went into making a person, artificial or otherwise.

But now, in seeing the legions of past relatives around him, Varian saw brief but poignant glimpses of all the blood, sweat and tears that had gone into assuring his existence throughout the centuries prior. All of the sacrifices that were made so that he could get the chance to walk the earth. All of that went into making him.

“Oh no-,” Varian found himself whimpering aloud, his voice finally returning to him if only for a moment, and he quickly pulled himself away from the figure of his grandfather. Varian buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the feeling of transparency that he now felt (both figuratively and literally). Did they know? Did they all know? And was this how it was to end for him? Was he dead, and this was his final judgment?? Surely, they all must be ashamed of him, and must be wondering if it was worth all the struggle to produce him at the present end of the family line. What a disgrace he must be to them.

“G-go away!” Varian cried as he felt another hand try to touch his shoulder. “Get back! L-leave me alone!”

“But you need help, dearie,” a feminie voice replied from somewhere in the crowd, and Varian flinched at the sound, for it wasn’t so unlike the sound of all the singing he had heard the other night; when he had heard the stars after his powers had awoken inside of him.

“N-no, I don’t!” Varian lied in a cracked voice, wishing for once that the dark, deep ocean underneath him would swallow him up, if only to get away from the unbearable eyes all watching him. But those around him didn’t seem at all fazed.

“Easy Varian, easy,” came a deep, masculine voice, sounding not so unlike the comforting voice of Xavier, and Varian again felt a gentle hand laid on his shoulder. Quivering, Varian finally dared to look up again, meeting several faces this time as the spirits crowded round him. “Don’t be afraid. You’re welcome here!”

Varian blinked, looking about him again. He was so very confused. “Wh-where are we? I don’t understand! Am I-?” Varian swallowed hard. “Am I dead?”

“No, Varian. You’re not dead.”

At the sound of this next voice, the crowd around Varian parted a little, allowing one of the figures to pass through to the front. Though Varian was surprised, as the figure that came forward was not a solid silver like the others around them, but appeared to be a translucent ghost like himself. The figure was hooded, and also carried a small, sleeping monkey upon its shoulder.

“Oh no,” Varian thought as the figure came closer, and he caught sight of the little primate companion. “We’re not going THAT far back in the family line, are we?”

Fortunately, it was not the little creature who addressed Varian, but the hooded figure as he pulled his cowl back and revealed his face. “It’s good to finally meet you, Varian,” he said, kneeling down so he was eye-level with the boy. “I only wish it could be under better circumstances.”

Varian’s eyes studied the man’s face. There seemed to be something of a resemblance to his father in the man’s features. Or, at least, in the features Varian could still see, for nearly half of the man’s face was covered with metal plating.

“Who are you?” Varian asked.

“I am Lord Demanitus,” the man replied. “And this,” here he indicated the monkey. “Is Vigor, my familiar. Do not worry Varian. We are here to help you.”

[procrastinatorimagines]

Okay Part 7

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Matt Casey x Halstead!Reader

Warning/s: fire, attempted murder

Word Count: 3,033

Summary: After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007 // @louiselikeswriting // @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na // @sesamepancakes​

By the time you woke up your head was pounding and your mouth was dry, your ankles and wrists chafing against the ropes that tied you to a beam in the room you were in, where ever that was. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but as your eyes slowly focused in on your surroundings you noticed a small window on the opposite side of the room you were in, the night sky partially visible through a crack in the newspaper that had been used to cover it up.

This was bad, very bad, you thought, panicking as you tried to desperately to free yourself from your restraints, which actually seemed to do more harm than good. Taking a very shaky breath you tried to focus, breathing in and out of your nose slowly...

This had happened before, it had all happened exactly like this before. Only, this time, you weren’t alone in the dark.

When your vision began to focus and the roaring in your ears subsided slightly, you saw a figure out the corner of your eyes, looking to see Lily. Your breath immediately caught in your throat; she was as pale as a ghost, eyes red and face wet with tears and snot. 

“Lily,” you whispered, drawing her eyes to you from where they had been fixed in the distance. She looked to you, shaking uncontrollably, but you saw it then, something in her eyes. Hope? Did she think you were going to help her? 

You were, you were supposed to help her, that’s why you came here in the first place. Breath Y/N, you told yourself, focus, think, you needed to stay under control for her sake. “Hey Lily, where’s Paul? Where’s your dad?” You asked her as calmly as you could, not wanting to alarm her anymore than she was, if that was even possible.

She opened her mouth to reply when the door to the basement banged open, making you both jump as a man stormed down the stairs. He was erratic, mumbling to himself as he waved around a gun, pacing as he reached the bottom of the stairs and ignoring you both completely. 

“No supposed to happen like this... all her fault...” you caught him say, “all your fault, all Jennifer’s fault!” He aimed the gun at Lily, raising his voice as she flinched back as far as she could while restrained. 

“Hey!” You snapped at him, unsure of where such a steady and powerful voice came from inside of you as Paul jumped, apparently only just realising that you were also in the room. “Do not point that gun at her,” you demanded, catching him off guard as he looked between the weapon and his daughter, a moment’s pause gone as quickly as it came as he turned it to you instead. Far from ideal, but the better alternative.

“Listen to me, I’m a firefighter, okay and my brother Jay he’s a cop, he could help-” you began, rambling slightly, not really thinking about what you were saying as you tried to convince him to put the gun down.

Mention Jay seemed to be a bad idea, you realised it the second the words were out of your mouth, Paul’s grip tightening on the gun as he eyes flared with panic. “Cop, cop, no, no cops...” he repeated, very much appearing to have had some kind of mental break. Could he even be reasoned with?

Looking around as he began pacing again, more on edge than before, you noticed the canisters of kerosene along the wall by the stairs; he was going to burn this place down, with you and Lily in it.

“Shut up! Just shut up and let me think!” Paul yelled at a still crying Lily, and outburst that only made her cry harder.

“That’s enough, she’s a kid for god’s sake, your kid,” you tried, grating your teeth and hating how powerless you felt. You’d failed her hadn’t you? 

“We were happy before she came, she isn’t even mine, she ruined everything...” he told you, his logic making absolutely no sense to you. Still, you had to try and get on his level if you had any chance of de-escalating the situation. You’d learned that much from Jay at least.

“Okay, but how is that Lily’s fault? She did do anything, you don’t have to do this, it’s not too late,” you took a shaky breath as his eyes flicked towards the cannisters, only half listening to what you were saying. His mind had been made up when he lit that first fire, maybe even before then, it was like reasoning with a brick wall.

“Yes, yes it is,” he said with way too much conviction.

“No, wait, let’s talk about this,” you tried desperately, pulling on your restraints in vain as he wandered towards the cannisters, gun now slack at his side. 

That was when you caught it, a sharp pain in your hand as you winced, moving your hands slower to feel a now wet nail sticking out of the beam you were tied to. Your hand was bleeding, but you could barely feel it, shifting slightly so that the nail was rubbing against your restraints. Stall, a voice in your head screamed, stall.

“Talk? So you can buy time until your boyfriend can come save you?” Paul laughed in a vaguely unhinged sort of way, thankfully not noticing the confusion on your face as he continued, “is that who you were calling? Because it didn’t say - what was that name? Jay? - on your phone screen.”

You schooled your features as much as you could before he could turn around and wait for your answer. Matt. You’d called Matt. He’d know, he’d know you were in trouble, right? You hoped he would, he had to suspect you wouldn’t have gone straight home, and that that call was strange. 

Stall. You worked through the aching in your wrist, the nail catching your flesh more than once as you powered through, working the rope with everything you had.

“No, I mean, yes, my boyfriend, but he has nothing to do with this, I swear-” you hoped that sounded convincing. You’d already made the mistake of mentioning your cop brother, but if you told him you’d had a fire captain o nthe other end of the line you didn’t know how he’d react. You had to put all your faith in Casey right now, hoping to hear sirens at any moment.

“Daddy...” Lily sobbed, voice small and strained, raw from the crying as she tried to get her dad to look at her, but even when he glanced in her direction, he never met her eye. Your heart was breaking even more than you thought was possibly, stabbing pains shooting through you like the nail in your hand, but you persevered, your sheer anger and stubborn determination numbing the pain and quietening your own panic and fear.

“I have to do this, have to do this now,” he seemed to decide, nodding to himself as he put the gun in his waist band, your eyes draw to him as you worked at the rope, you were so, so close... But not close enough.

Paul took a couple of cannisters at a time, opening the caps and dumping them all over the floor, your feet jerking back as the strong smelling liquid splashed near you. “No, no, please you don’t have to do this,” you begged him.

“It’s done, I’ll finally have justice,” Paul said, your nostrils flaring in rage as you tugged harder at the ropes, your blood on them making them harder to keep steady.  Bastard, you growled to yourself

Paul turned without another word, taking the final cannister and pouring it up the stairs behind him. He took a packet of matches out of his pocket once he reached the top, the first attempt at striking it snapping the match.

Your mind was tugging you back to that other basement then, your senses slipping there too as your vision doubled and the all too familiar smell of kerosene filled your lungs. You’d cheated death once, and now he was coming to collect...

“Daddy please!” Lily cried out, cutting through you like a knife, hauling you back to the present as you willed yourself to focus, scrunching your hand into a fist. You dug your nails into the large cut on your palm, the pain keeping you tethered to reality as the second match flared to life. 

Then, well, then everything happened so fast you could barely process it. Your hands snapped free of the ropes just as the match fell from Paul’s finger tips, the top of the stairs lighting immediately as you clamoured towards Lily, ignoring the pain as you forced her restraints free. 

You looked to the already fast approaching fire as Lily stood, grabbing your leg with her arm and hugging you tightly. You didn’t have long, you knew, the poorly ventilated room already filling with smoke. 

There was only one this for it, you realised, what Casey would probably call your Halstead instinct kicking is as you threw off your jacket. “Lily, Lily look at me,” you said hurriedly, crouching down and wrapping her in it so it was over as much of her body and head as you could make it, her terrified eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to pick you up okay? Whatever you do, keep your head in my shoulder and do not let go, okay?”

She nodded quickly, sensing the urgency as you drew her into your arms, her small ones wrapping around you. There were no good option, but Lily had the best chance this way, and she mattered more. 

Here goes everything, you allowed yourself a split second to prepare yourself, and then you ran.

The stairs were still standing, for now, but they wouldn’t be for long, the fire dancing down the railing and walls as you pushed yourself, step by step, you ran up the stairs. 

Paul hadn’t bothered to shut the basement door, why would he? So you bolted for it with everything you had, you body absolutely screaming at you in fear and pain as you maintained an iron grip on the child in your arms.

And then you were out on the otherside, stumbling but forcing yourself to keep steady as you oriented yourself, the fire still all around you. You put Lily down quickly, patting her down as well as yourself, making sure you weren’t on fire. 

You needed a door, or a window, you didn’t really care. Taking Lily’s hand you looked to her. “We’re going to run, okay?” She nodded, taking your hand with a vice like grip.

A noise to your left drew your attention, making your way down the hall, barely staying up right as the burning in your legs flared up your body. You looked down as you felt your feet nearly slip on a substance, more accelerant?

This had taken place over a matter of seconds, a minute at most, and Paul was still here. You found him in the main hall, pouring the final drops of a kerosene by the entrance. There was a moment, when your eyes locked, both of you realised the other one was right in front of you before either of you sprung into action. 

You’d dropped Lily’s hand at the same time as Paul had dropped the cannister, his hand reaching back for the gun you knew was in the back of his waistband. He was fast, but damn if you weren’t faster. 

The fire had reached up from the basement and into the hall, you wouldn’t have long before it connected with the kerosene currently soaking your shoes, and then this place would go up like an inferno. 

Paul had just pulled out his gun, drawing it around his side, when you reached him, catching his wrist before he could point it and slamming his hand back into the wall. He shoved you back, definitely having the upper hand in terms of strength. “You shouldn’t be here, this is all wrong,” he told you, taking a swing at you with his gun still in hand.

You ducked, the swing wide and uncontrolled as you threw a sharp punch in his gut, building on your momentum and his loss of balance to aim another tap into his throat, kicking him back straight afterwards into the opposite wall. 

“That might be the first thing we agree on,” you snarled, moving quickly as he tried to hit you again, his gun hand twisting around, a suprised cry of pain escaping his lips as you expertly flung him over your shoulder, wrist so twisted he lost his grip on the gun. 

Sure, he was stronger, but you were a Halstead. 

He hit his head on the wooden floor and went down, Lily’s cry drawing your attention as you noticed the smoke filling the hall. 

You kicked the gun away and released Paul, who didn’t appear to be getting up any time soon, rushing back to Lily and yanking her arm, dragging her away from where the fire was fast approaching you.

That’s when you heard it, that glorious sound that made you feel like your chest was cracking open in relief. Sirens. There were sirens approaching. 

Pulling Lily forward you both scrambled towards the exit, the fire reaching the kerosene on the hallway rug as it flared to life with new found direction, hungry to consume everything in it’s path. 

The front door was right there, you could make it. Throwing open the front door you practically pushed Lily out, nearly tripping as her feet met the concete, breath in fresh air. 

Police cars were coming down the street, as well as fire engines and an amulance. 51. 51 was here, and so was your brother you guessed. 

Fresh air hit your face as you took a breath of freedom, and then you paused. Something tugging at you deep inside. Looking back over your shoulder you saw Paul, still lying on the floor as the fire quickly approached, devouring everything in its path. 

It would be too late, you knew, by the time 51 had arrived and put on their gear, the fire would have consumed him. The fire that he’d let consume the lives of two other innocent people, the fire he’d tried to turn on his daughter repeatedly, the fire he’d tried to use to end you, too. 

Every fibre of your being was screaming at you to leave him, but you knew, you knew you couldn’t. So you ran back into the burning building, hearing Lily scream as you reached Paul, grabbing him under his shoulders and hauling his with as much strength as you could manage. 

You’d gotten him outside onto the porch as truck pulled up, Stella barely stopping, let alone putting it in park, before Casey jumped out the door, barrelling towards you with a sense of pure urgency,

“Y/N!” He yelled, practically crashing into you as you dropped Paul, who was just beginning to stir. His hands found your upper arms, looking you over and breathing heavily.

“I’m okay,” you tried to tell him, your breath ragged as he led you away from the burning house, two other firefighters and a paramedic coming to take Paul, along with three officers. 

“I was so worried, I thought...” he trailed off, unlistening, one hand going to the side of your head, still worried. 

“Casey... Matt, I’m fine, I’m alive,” you grabbed the hand on your face, giving it a squeeze as you saw relief wash through him. 

“Y/N!” A small voice called, Lily rushing towards you both and she wrapped you in a big hug, buring her face in you as Casey took a step back.

“I’m okay Lily, we’re both okay,” you knelt down, ignoring the pain in your legs as you wrapped her in a big hug, picking her up as Foster signaled you to bring her over to treat. 

Boden was already giving orders to truck, seeing that Casey was too preoccupied as he followed you and Lily to ambo 61, the air getting clearer as you passed the small girl over to your friend. Foster gave your hand a squeeze, nodding to you as you nodded back. 

As soon as she was out of your arms you nearly collapsed, Casey steadying you as you sit on the edge of the ambulance, signalling Sylvie to come check on you.

“Oh my god Y/N,” she gasped, grabbing her med back.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, but she shook her head.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said with an authority you weren’t going to argue with as exhaustion washed over you.

“How is she?” Casey asked Sylvie, eyes not leaving you.

“She needs to get to med, she has a potential concussion, serious burns on her legs and she definitely needs stiches on these,” Syvlie said, wrapping up your hands as you winced, coming down from the addrenaline that must have kicked in as you started to feel everything.

Casey opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted. “I’m riding with her,” a voice cut in, Jay, appearing at your side. Casey took a respectful step back as Jay gave you a hug so tight you couldn’t breath, “I’ll let Will know you’re coming in, god Y/N, we were so worried, what the hell were you thinking?” Jay breathed.

“Sorry, I’ll try not to get kidnapped... again,” you replied, but he didn’t seem to appreciate your attempt at humour. 

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Casey told you with a smile, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to walk away.

“Hey Casey,” you called, pausing in his steps as he looked back at you, “we got him.”

Casey smiled, eyes full of pride, “you got him Y/N,” he told you, nodding to you before heading back to truck, something unsaid hanging in the air. 

Sylvie made you get into the ambo, Jay by your side the whole ride. 

You’d got him, Lily was safe, it was finally over.