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animereaderinsertwriter · 3 years ago

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Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Part I

A lamb in a den of lions, he thought, watching the newcomer as she settled in, ordering whiskey neat. A fool, for sure.

A fool she may be, perhaps, but even fools could be dangerous. Eren had known that the young woman was a Hunter from the moment she entered the bar (everyone else had, too) but something told Eren that she was hardly cut from the same cloth as the average Bane of Creatures. There was something in her movements— a predatory grace in her stride, perhaps, or a stiff, straight posture, with muscles tensed and ready for action— that betrayed her power to him; but for all that, she really was lovely, and the image of a rabbit caught in a patch of bramble came to mind whenever he looked at her.

Sitting in a corner, drinking his B-neg, he watched the woman as she sipped her drink, checking over her shoulder now and then. She was wary— as anyone with good sense would be— but she didn't appear frightened, and Eren's curiosity was piqued. It wasn't every day that someone so bold happened across his path, and it became harder and harder for him to resist the urge to approach her.

Eventually, Eren gave in to his curiosity— he never had been very good at or even particularly fond of restraining himself— and when he came silently up behind her, the newcomer didn't even notice his presence until he murmured a greeting close to her ear.

"Hello, little love," he said, and she startled in her seat. "Are you lost?"

She turned around then, her eyes big and bright in the dim lighting of the bar, but by the time she managed to look at the spot where Eren would have been, he was already seated on the barstool beside her. Eventually, though, her eyes found his, and when their gazes met, Eren was amused to find no fear in her visage.

"Far from it," she told him, turning her body towards him. "I am precisely where I mean to be."

Eren blinked, nonplussed.

"Curious," he said, leaning forward so that she could see the sharpness of his teeth as he spoke. "Do you fancy yourself a wolf among sheep, little Hunter? Did you really not think we would know you for what you are the moment you crossed the threshold of this place?"

Any normal, human ear would have missed the way her heart leapt in her chest, but Eren missed nothing. The fear he had hoped to inspire in her was present after all, but her face never moved from its impenetrable mask— an affectation that was somehow both soft and steely at once.

"That's not what I'm here for," she told him, widening the distance between her knees as she readjusted on the stool. "I'm here to discover the truth."

The truth— what an odd notion!— and yet Eren sensed no lie in her.

"You're a strange one," he told her, but forced himself to relax his posture to appear lazy, almost drunk. "Most Hunters— even ones so pretty as yourself— shoot first and worry about the truth later. What's your name?"

Her nose crinkled. "It's polite to give your own first."

Sharp, he thought, watching her closely. Names have power.

"Eren Jaeger."

"Eren Jaeger," she echoed, then extended her hand. "My name is (Y/N)."

That name sounded familiar to Eren— and though most names did after living a few centuries, this one seemed to hit closer to home. He knew that name, and knew it well…

"What's your surname?"

(Y/N)'s eyes flashed with an emotion that Eren didn't catch.

"Kirschtein," she replied, averting her eyes. "I'm Jean Kirschtein's great-great-great granddaughter."

And damn if Eren didn't want to laugh. Perhaps his nosiness into the posterity of his old acquaintances really was as bad of an idea as Armin always seemed to imply.

"I see," he said, and he truly, truly did. "Then you know who I am— what I am— and what I've done."

More than that, if she truly did know who he was, it was unlikely that she had come without a specific purpose in mind.

(Y/N) nodded, confirming his suspicions. "I was digging around in my family history and— well— I read what my grandfather wrote, and I just— I wanted the truth."

So wide-eyed, so innocent— so alive. Eren could see now her resemblance to Jean; if they were not similar in looks, she had his sharpness, his humanness… and, as he always had Jean, Eren envied her for it.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure you know that you don't get something for nothing," he told her, sipping his drink just to watch the expression on her face as he let the warm blood slide down his throat. "And that dealings with me can be dangerous."

"Jean Kirschtein loved you, Eren Jaeger," she told him fiercely and with such conviction that Eren nearly choked on his drink. "To take such a tone with me, to threaten me, the last living remnant of him, is the most disrespectful thing I've ever heard."

Eren was about to say that he didn't owe her, Jean Kirschtein, or anyone else any sort of respect, but she plowed on, unwilling to let him say his piece.

"You broke his heart a million ways by doing what you did, but— but he was your friend through all of it, no matter what side each of you were on," (Y/N) continued, passion aflame in her eyes. "I can't even imagine what inspired such a love, such a loyalty from him that he would forgive you for the horrors you caused. That's what I'm here to find out— what you have that a man such as him would find you redeemable."

The reproof in her words stung, but Eren was too old to argue. She could never understand what it was like back then.

"I understand more than you think," she snapped, and Eren actually flinched. "I understand that you hurt the woman my grandfather loved immeasurably, and that he forgave you for that even though he never even particularly liked you. I understand that you were ready to sacrifice the world for that selfsame woman, for Jean, and for all the others. I understand that you're a monster who loved and was loved back, but I want to know why."

How? Eren thought, shaken.

How had she known his thoughts? It was as though she had seen straight through to his innermost being.

Without speaking, she answered his question. (Y/N) took a hand and rolled up her left sleeve, presenting to him a scarred marking in the shape of a pentagram.

"My grandfather didn't settle down with just anyone," she told him, holding his gaze. "I come from a line of powerful witches, all of whom possessed strong claircognizance. Paired with my nature as an empath, you can assume I know what you're going to say before you say it."

Eren hummed, trying to appear less perturbed than he was.

"And yet you hunt Creatures for a living; strange, since you're practically one of us yourself."

(Y/N) glowered. "I hunt monsters that prey on my people, not Creatures. No innocent has died by my hand."

The unlike you went unsaid, but that didn't mean that Eren didn't hear it anyway.

"Don't get high-and-mighty with me, girl," he told her roughly. "Knowing is one thing, but experiencing what we experienced is another."

"I'm not here to judge you," she replied. "I told you, I'm here for truth, nothing more."

"And I told you that the truth doesn't come for free," he told her darkly. "You must give me something in return."

(Y/N) set her jaw.

"What would you have of me?"

It was a mean, base request. Eren was wicked for even thinking it, and vile for wanting it— but looking at the great-to-however-many-degrees granddaughter of a good man that he had once known, seeing the vitality that brought a flush to her cheeks and thumping to her heart, he knew he couldn't pass up this golden opportunity.

It had been so long since he'd had a Companion.

"Become my cupbearer for six moons," he told her, crossing his arms. "Starting with tonight, the moon becomes new; let me drink from you until six of these have passed, and along the way, you will learn what you want to know."

(Y/N) eyed him warily.

"Can you assure my physical safety?"

Eren grunted, almost amused. It was a bit late to be worrying about that.

"I think you know that I can."

"And will you let me continue in my duties as a Hunter?" she asked, her eyes searching his own as if she would find the answer to her question there inside the same eyes he'd had since he was nineteen. "Completely uninhibited?"

"That depends. Will you kill Creatures in the discharge of your duties?"

(Y/N) made a face. Eren had forgotten how expressive mortals could be, but he found that being reminded was not altogether unpleasant.

"You know I will," she replied, "But you have my word that any killing won't be unprovoked."

Eren supposed it was as close to a compromise as he could expect.

"As you wish it, so shall it be."

He turned away, signaling to the bartender for another drink, but a lightning-fast hand shot out to grab his wrist.

"Swear it," she demanded. "I need us to be Bound by it."

The meanness in Eren finally won over. He reached forward, grabbing (Y/N) by the neck, and the silver rings on her fingers burned him as she pulled at his hand to try and restore her breath. Eyes from all around the room were on the two of them— had been, since the very beginning— but it was only once the Hunter before him began to look appropriately humbled that he withdrew.

"Do not touch me without my permission," he said, "And I will return the favor."

(Y/N) looked at him then, but there was still no fear in her eyes. Anger, yes, but no fear.

She must be mad, or foolish one, he thought, considering her for a moment. I always have been partial to mad fools in general, but…

Something about her seemed different, and Eren didn't know what to do other than accept what she had to offer. Heavens knew he was getting the better end of the deal anyway.

"Swear it," she repeated, this time more quietly. "Give your word, and I will be your cupbearer."

Eren brought his hand up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. At his will, the nail tip of his forefinger sharpened, hardening into a point; he used it to draw an 'X' onto the skin just over where his heart rested inside his chest, cold and dead. Blood welled into the cut— precious little, compared to that of a human, but still enough to run down his chest in smudges— and it was by that blood that he swore. He spoke the terms of their agreement, then took the blood from his wound with the pad of his finger and marked the same spot over (Y/N)'s own heart.

"Satisfied?" he asked, their faces almost touching, and (Y/N) shivered.

"Yes."

Her warm, living breath fanned over his face with her reply, and Eren took the moment to close his eyes and appreciate the scent and sensation of it.

"You may think you're satisfied," he told her, pulling away, "But you don't know the meaning of the word."

She eyed him warily, but before she could speak, he added, "In six months' time, I'll ask you the same question, and it is then that you will truly know what it is to feel satisfied— satiated in every way."

"As you say."

It was a throwaway comment, nothing more than a dismissal, really; but Eren felt like it was the start of something truly remarkable.

#aot x y/n #aot x reader #aot #aot fanfiction #eren x reader #vampire!eren jaeger #aot smut

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slytherinsnekxvii · 4 years ago

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let's talk about lily evans. she's an interesting character—or rather, the case surrounding her character is quite interesting.

i honestly don't know if i can say i dislike her. by all means, she should be a fan favourite, and she is... but for some rather intriguing reasons.

for one thing, due to the fact she's hardly expanded on in the series, certain parts of the fandom have been forced to either take the few qualities that she displays canonically and amplify them to the extreme (eg. immediate righteous anger at the slightest hint of injustice in fic) or create an entirely new personality (eg. no, i didn't actually disapprove of your pranks, it was just sexual tension). of course, the option of creating a new personality is much more tempting when you can just add amplified canon traits on the side.

for another, her relationship with james sometimes seems likes it's being weaponized against snape and his fans. i've seen arguments that go like "haha, snape just wanted to fuck lily, but james got her in the end anyway, sucks to be you", and not only does it entirely reduce her to an object, it feels like they don't even care about the relationship, the dynamics or the characters. she's basically a plot device.

and thirdly, half of her characterisation in fic is to be a peter stand-in. we don't like the rat man, so let's take the pretty girl and put her in place of the guy who was canonically a member of the marauders, even up until he was named secret keeper. suddenly, she's a prankster and an enabler.

but, snek, you may say, all of that is fanon lily, tho. you just explained that people seem to like her because they just put any personality they want into her as long as she's at least vaguely a good person. you would be right.

let's look at canon lily. she's described as the brightest witch of her age, most everyone speaks favourably of her. in fact, the only people we see actively disliking/being upset with her are petunia, out of jealousy and the invasion of privacy concerning her letter, severus, who lashed out and used a slur that also applied to him in a moment of serious distress and apologised after, and well, pureblood supremacists by virtue of her being muggleborn. interestingly enough, even this dislike manages to develop everyone's character more than it does her own.

as a teenage girl myself, let's look at her actions as a teenage girl. not necessarily in chronological order because I'm writing this at 2am and my memory is already mediocre at best.

1. she's done well enough in school to be considered trustworthy and responsible enough to be a prefect.

okay, i can respect that. a good few of the prefects at my school were really just appointed based on how much the teachers liked you, but at hogwarts, there's so few of them that they must put at least a little effort into it, so i'll move on.

2. she does not press for details when informed that her best friend's life needed to be saved by someone who has been publicly tormenting him for years

now, see, there's no reason why she needs to play therapist. it's not her job, she's just a girl, and we know that snape wasn't supposed to talk about the incident, so he would've been stuck if she had asked for an explanation. however, i also feel like she doesn't seem particularly concerned about his wellbeing, and when he brings up his concerns about lupin, rather than ask for proof, she dismisses it. which, fair enough, i would hate to listen to someone talk about the same thing over and over and over, but, i also feel like the fixation on a theory like that would be cause for concern.

3. she dismisses the actions of a group known to play tricks that harm people and have specifically been tormenting her best friend on the basis that they don't use dark magic

first, i'm going to establish what i usually assume dark magic refers to. aside from jinxes, hexes and curses, i also include anything that produces an effect similar to any of the unforgivables (takes away your life, your free will or your ability to feel safe in your own body, such as when you're in excruciating pain), and magic that would require a sacrifice of some sort.

when snape tries to point out the danger in what the marauders do, she insists that they don't use dark magic. and they don't... but they do use illegal magic. she then argues against the company that snape keeps, which, again, to be fair, is justified considering mulciber's done something to mary macdonald... it's also not a particularly realistic ask. snape probably shares a dorm with these guys, and he's a poor half-blood so he's already on the outs. as far as he knows, any dissent will be met with him getting hexed in his sleep. but, i digress.

given that the marauders have been shown to be doing extremely dangerous with little regards to anyone's safety, and actively tormenting her best friend, i disagree with her choice here. on the other hand, she's made her own friends in gryffindor and perhaps she sees a nicer side of them that we don't get to. she's justified in her actions, but i still disagree.

4. she intervenes when her best friend is hung upside down by a spell of his own invention at the wands of the people who have tormenting him for years

she does object to the marauders' treatment of him, and she does try to get them to let him down. if i were in her position, i would absolutely do the same. i respect the decision to stand up for her friend.

5. she does not seriously attempt to help him or punish the marauders

i do not respect how she handled it. at any point, she could have drawn her wand. but, snek, you say, perhaps she didn't want to get involved physically. she wanted to follow the rules. in that case, at any point, she could taken points, assigned detention, or sent someone to get a member of staff. she does none of those things and i viscerally disagree. if we were ever friends and someone tried to hurt you, i can assure you that i would try to at least see to it that they'd be punished, even if it wasn't immediate or by my own hand. lily, however, chooses to argue rather than take action.

6. she smiles when severus gets hung upside down

chances are, it was more than likely an involuntary reaction, like laughing when your friend has fallen over. however, the fact that it was intentionally written in seems like it's mean to be an indicator that the friendship was already falling apart.

7. she comments on her best friend's poverty and uses a name that's been used to make fun of him after he calls her a slur that also applies to him

she was 100% within her rights to be upset by being called a slur. it is never okay to use slurs. the only situation in which a slur could possibly ever be appropriate would be if you were an oppressed group attempting to reclaim said slur which is not at all what snape was doing here. he was experiencing cruelty, being humiliated, publicly, for no reason beyond existing and he was in distress, choking on soap and upside down. it was damaging to his pride, especially when james suggests that he needs lily to fight his battles for him (paraphrasing) which is an emasculating statement to make, especially to a teenage boy. so, snape lashes out with the most hurtful word he could think of, which happened to be a slur that also applies to him. lily was 100% justified in being upset about this, and she retaliated in kind. she was very much allowed to say what she said. i understand that she was hurt and angry and i respect that, especially as i can't guarantee that i would not have been just as upset in that situation.

8. even when the threat of sexual harassment is made, she still does nothing

i get it, at this point, she's hurt, she's mad, she wants him to suffer since she's a teenage girl and teenage girls hold grudges like it's nobody's business, but... i definitely couldn't just stand by and watch it happen. she basically just let them go through with it.

9. she does not accept her best friend's apology for calling her a slur that also applies to him, effectively burying the friendship

she is, by no means, obligated to continue being friends with him. however, if i were in that position, and the apology was sincere, i would take the friend back.

10. she goes on to date and eventually marry the guy who bullied her former best friend for his entire school life

no. i disagree. but, snek, you say, james changed. no. he didn't. we know, that at this point, james was still going after snape behind lily's back. you can say that she didn't know, but that means that she would have allowed james to lie to her and that doesn't sit right with me bc a relationship built on lies is a relationship that is going to fall apart, especially when your partner has been disappointed by your actions before. you can say that she did know, and that proves that she simply didn't take her responsibilities as head girl seriously enough to stop the head boy from harassing people when she explicitly told him not to. the point is, no. there is no way that this would have worked out as a long term relationship. james is too comfortable lying to her. i can't even say she was justified. there is no circumstance where i personally see this as okay for anybody involved.

alright, so, essentially teenage lily was justified in (most of) her actions, even if i find them questionable.

adult lily dies at 21, while saving her son, but her death also helps save the wizarding world. good job. she, as expected, did what any good mother would.

and that's canon lily.

my thoughts: she's a perfect example of why writing tips are so adamant on making sure people try to show and not tell. we were told that lily is meant to be good and pure and lovely, but the author never bothered to actually prove that, so what we're left with a dissonance between what we see and what we know.

as a result, i still don't know if i truly dislike her. her actions are justified, but they don't match with what we've been told, and we don't have any other information to go off of. at best, i can say for certain that i disagree with many of her choices, despite understanding why she would have made them (except for marrying james potter, uggghh, the only good thing to come out of that was harry and the saving of the wizarding world by extension, ig).

thanks for reading all that, btw! hope it made sense :)

#meta #lily evans #lily evans potter #anti lily evans?#just to be sure #james potter #severus snape #harry potter #thoughts #my opinion #not sure what i should tag this as #im tired and have to get up for work in like #five hours lol #anti jily #im sorry but i really can't do jily

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elizabeethan · 4 years ago

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Never Nothing- 3/4

After being set up to take the fall for her boyfriend’s crime, Emma Swan is sentenced to community service, where she meets a handsome Brit who changes everything.

Season 1 AU

A/N: I’m committing to 4 parts, plus the possibility of a little epilogue. But the story will be done next week! Thoughts???

Thank you again and again and again and again to @the-darkdragonfly for being my beta and my best best friend.

Rated T

Read on Ao3

Read Part 1, Part 2

Read my Other Stuff

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx

~~~~

Deft fingers gently tickling her skin wake her in the morning, later than she’s used to since they don’t have to travel or work. She giggles softly as she starts to wake, his fingers traveling slowly along the bare expanse of her belly before his palm settles just below her belly button where her baby lives. “Morning,” he whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin softly and making her shiver.

“That tickles,” she remarks groggily. “Woke me up.”

“I was getting bored waiting for you.”

“You could’ve gotten up and grabbed me a coffee, then,” she chastises playfully, closing her eyes again and settling happily into the warmth of his arms.

“No caffeine.”

With a groan, Emma rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun. Haven’t you heard to decaf?”

He squeezes her and chuckles. “How’s the babe?”

She sighs at the question. It isn’t like she can ask, although nothing feels amiss after her fall. “Fine, I guess,” she shrugs.

Through a hum, he asks, “and how’s the mum?”

She scoffs. “I’m not a mom.”

“I think you’ve proved enough by now that you are. You were so brave last week,” he praises, and her heart clenches at his undying faith in her.

“I wasn’t brave,” she argues, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t stop crying once.”

“Emma,” he breathes out, squeezing her close to him and bracing himself against her until the anxious weight leaves her chest. “You’re the bravest person I know. You handled a terrifying situation beautifully. You put the safety of your child above the pain of fracturing your wrist in two places. How is that not brave?”

She lets a tear fall now, sniffling and relieved that he can’t see her face. “I was so scared, Killian. I’m still scared. I thought I was gonna…” she can’t finish her thought. She can’t put to words how close she thought she was to losing her baby.

“I know,” he whispers into her ear. His palm lands on her belly again and she feels a soft fluttering tickle that makes her furrow her brows. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I know it was hard for you, too,” she reflects, thinking back on his tearful eyes and the relief with which he sunk his fingers into his hair when they found out the baby was okay.

“Aye, it was,” he admits shyly. The mood becomes heavy and she jokes with him to bring levity to the conversation.

“It’s okay. Even people in freakishly realistic looking storybook illustrations get scared sometimes.” He laughs as she brings up their first morning here.

When he stands from bed, grabbing his clothes and heading towards the bathroom to change, she stops him. “What’s that?” she asks, gaze trained on the dresser drawer that was pulled slightly open. “Did you put stuff in there?”

He looks where her eyes were trained and shakes his head. “No,” he answers, stepping towards the dresser and pulling the ajar drawer open all the way. “What…?”

“What is it?”

Placing his clothes on the ground before his feet, he bends down as she struggles out of bed and he reaches into the drawer. “It’s… it’s a book,” he says, an oddly thoughtful look on his face. “Good find, love.”

He’s opening the book before she’s even next to him and staring at the pages intently. They’re littered with stories and drawings that depict tales of another life. Tales of kings and queens and curses and evil witches. Tales of heroes and magicians and… The Savior. A product of True Love. How charming. “They're fairytales,” she says by way of explanation, either to herself or to him. “Weird that it’s in the dresser…”

“They seem so familiar. Look at this.” He points to an image of the princess Snow White and says, “it looks like the nurse. And here,” he turns the page and points to Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother, “Ruby and Granny.”

“Killian,” she laughs, but he interrupts as he turns the page once more.

“A curse,” he says as if he’s read this story before. “There was a curse…”

Placing her hand on his forearm to stop him from turning the page again, she says, “they’re fairytales. There's always a curse.”

“And someone to break it,” he nods with certainty.

The fluttering continues and she takes her plaster-covered arm, although she’s unable to bend it at the elbow, and presses it against the back of his hand. “Did you feel that?” she asks urgently.

“What?”

“I thought I felt…” It stops, then starts up again, and she lets out a soft sob. “I think he’s moving around in there.”

He presses his hand a bit more firmly, although she’s pretty sure he won’t be able to feel anything from the outside. “I can’t… he’s too small.”

“I know,” she grins, turning to face him and laying uncomfortably on her firm, scratchy cast. She lifts her free hand to place it gently on his cheek. “Soon you will, though. He’s never done that before; I think he likes you.”

He grins too, and presses their foreheads together. “He bloody well better. He knows I’m the only one making sure you eat your folic acid.”

She snorts and tries to snuggle in closer to him, although it’s difficult with the ugly hunk of white plaster between them. “You’re ridiculous. And when did we decide it’s a boy?”

“I think you decided. I’ve just been going along with it to appease you.”

“Shut up,” she scoffs. “He’s hungry. I think it’s time for you to get us breakfast.”

“As you wish, milady.”

~~~~

The diner is bustling, a far cry from how it was the night they’d arrived. The snow has been plowed and the sidewalks sanded, luckily, and Granny’s seems to have reached it’s capacity.

“Who knew there were this many people living in this town,” Emma jokes once they finally find two seats next to each other at the counter.

“Aye,” he laughs. “Quite a bit busier than we’ve ever seen it.”

Emma isn’t sure if she’s paranoid or if everyone in the diner truly is staring at her, but she’s sure she feels many eyes on her as she orders her breakfast (pancakes, although Killian insists she get blueberries on the side). It feels strange sitting at the counter when they usually take a booth, but it’s the only spot available. When her plate is placed before her by a hesitant looking Ruby, she hears the sound of a throat clearing behind her.

“It’s 8:15,” she hears. “You're in my seat.”

Killian wipes his face with his napkin, stepping in for Emma who is too surprised to respond, and is met with the wide-eyed woman looking taken aback at the sight of him. “Sorry, Miss…”

“Mills. Mayor Mills,” she nods in his direction, then turns to Emma and says, “I always sit in that seat.”

Emma looks around herself and notes the stillness of the diner as the patrons silently watch the exchange take place. “I’m already sitting here…” she observes.

Killian pushes his tongue into the inside of his cheek and laughs silently, nodding his head and turning back to his food. Emma smirks slightly at him and does the same.

Mayor Mills sits beside her, glaring in a way that makes her blood want to run cold. “Who are you?” she asks Emma suspiciously.

She clears her throat. “I’m Emma. This is Killian. We’re staying here at Granny’s for a bit.”

The mayor looks like she wants to respond, pinching her brows together and opening her mouth, but she’s interrupted by an older gentleman behind them. “Emma,” he says, making her turn around in her seat. “What a lovely name.”

She swallows her bite anxiously and feels Killian tense beside her. “Thanks.” she can sense Mayor Mills glaring at the man threateningly.

“Don’t you have a shop to run?” she asks him rudely.

“Ah, of course you’re right, Regina.” he turns back to Emma and Killian and says, “enjoy your breakfast… Emma,” with a smirk before heading out the door.

The mayor sighs and purses her lips, calling Granny over and requesting a coffee and an order of her usual, apple pancakes. Once she’s ordered, she turns towards Emma again and asks, “why are you here?”

“You're not a very welcoming mayor,” Killian points out in accusation. “In fact, this isn’t a very welcoming town, with the exception of some of your citizens. We almost didn't find it.”

“And how did you?” she asks, more offended that he succeeded than at the prospect of her town being impossible to find.

Killian smirks, leaning over Emma to make eye contact with the mayor. “I’m quite clever.” She pinches her brows together again and accepts her plate of pancakes with a snarl. “By the way, you're lucky we don’t press charges. Emma slipped on some ice due to the sidewalk being untreated last week. Broke her arm, and could've put her child at risk.”

She clears her throat and takes a sip of coffee. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” she asks, ignoring Killian's accusation of her negligence.

Emma steps in and says, “I’m looking for my family.”

The Mayor, Regina, stills, choking on her coffee before gently placing the mug down. She clears her throat and says, “your family… I see.”

“I don’t know much about them, but you’re the mayor. Maybe you have some information on a baby who was found in the woods just outside of town here? 22 years ago? We checked with the local news, but they didn’t--”

Regina’s head snaps to the left, glaring at Emma in a way that she thinks could be deadly if she really puts her mind to it. Without answering, or finishing her breakfast, or even paying, she stands from her seat stiffly and hurries out of the diner.

~~~~

“This place is bizarre,” Emma complains as Killian maneuvers the streets once again. They had planned on relaxing today, after a complete bust at the newspaper the day before, but when Granny suggested that they visit the sheriff’s station for information on a random, abandoned baby, Emma was too anxious not to jump at the opportunity.

“Aye, I agree. The mayor is quite hostile.”

“Quite,” she agrees with a nod. “How weird was that whole conversation? The old guy?”

“Very weird. She looked familiar though, don’t you think?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head in denial. “I don't think so. Where do you think you’ve seen her?”

He shrugs. “She looks just exactly like the Queen in that book you found the other day. You don’t see it?”

With a groan and a roll to her eyes, Emma says, “not the book, Killian, they’re just stories. It’s a coincidence.” She can’t believe he’s actually starting to believe that the people in this town are the same as the characters in a storybook they found by chance. The town must be driving him mad.

He sighs, nodding his head thoughtfully and not looking altogether convinced. “I know, you're right. Something just seems… off.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a scoff. “Off is putting it lightly. Weird, creepy, slightly threatening...”

“Sorry, love,” he shakes his head in disappointment.

She shrugs. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Well, if you're having feelings of discomfort while we’re here… I mean, I promised I would keep the two of you safe.”

“Killian,” she breathes out, placing her hand over his as it rests on the gear shifter, his prosthetic holding the wheel steady expertly. “You are keeping us safe. Last week wasn’t your fault, and you handled it perfectly.”

He turns to glance at her briefly, smiling before focusing back on the roads before them. “I’m just glad you're alright. Both of you.”

She can’t stop the grin growing on her face at his admission. She knows that he loves her, that they're best friends. But the more time that passes, the more obvious he makes it that he loves her child as well. She can’t get the look of relief out of her mind because it’s exactly how she felt. The way he loves this baby… it’s as if he considers it his own flesh and blood. Realizing that is overwhelming and exciting all at once.

He pulls up to the front of the sheriff’s station and stops at the door, engaging the emergency brake and turning towards her. “Why don’t you head inside and I'll park the car,” he suggests.

She steps outside, carefully waddling like a penguin to avoid another fall, and makes her way into the small brick building. The bell above the door rings, notifying any staff of her arrival, but she’s surprised to see only one man sitting peacefully at a desk, facing away from her and towards a block of cells. She clears her throat, and calls, “good morning.”

He stiffens immediately, back going straight as he turns his head towards her and drops his jaw. After blinking several times, dumbfounded, he stands and spins around, showing off his badge and gun. “Morning, lass,” he starts, and she notices the accent immediately. “Graham Humbert. How can I be of service?”

Emma gives him a small, friendly smile and walks further into the room, tightening her coat around her to protect herself from the cold of the cinder-block and tile building. “I’m looking for some information. A baby was abandoned in the woods just outside of town many years ago, and I wanted to know if you had any reports on it.”

He hums thoughtfully, smirking and offering her his hand in an attempt to guide her towards his desk. She refuses, furrowing her brows, but walks towards the desk anyway and sits across from him as he sits and begins typing away.

“Do you know the year?”

“1983. October 23rd.”

He hums and nods. “Specific, I like it. Let’s see here…” he looks intently at the screen as the large monitor roars to life before he begins typing away. “October 23, 1983. Nothing for that date, but I have a report for the 24th. Yes, a baby was found in the woods by… by a child. A young boy.”

“A boy?” she asks, leaning in closer in interest.

He nods. “The boy was checked for head trauma after telling a wild story about himself and the baby coming here through a… a tree.”

“A tree?” she asks exasperatedly.

He nods again. “Both were sent into foster care, but that seems to be all we have. They must've moved into another state soon after.”

She groans, dropping her head into her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. It seems the trip as a whole was a complete waste. All she got was a broken arm and speculation that she was found by a boy with head trauma. It makes no sense-- how could they both get out there and he have no idea how?

Maybe Killian’s curse hunch is true after all. The more she learns, the less far-fetched it seems because there is absolutely no logical explanation for her existence at this point.

“Oh, one other thing, the items manifest. The boy was dressed like some sort of… I don't know, weird Oktoberfest costume, and the baby had a blanket with a name etched into it. Emma.”

She shoots her head up and stares at him, feeling her eyes beginning to water and her palms beginning to sweat. She knows that blanket; she has that blanket.

“Emma?” she hears Killian call from the entrance, and both she and the sheriff cock their heads to the side. “Are you in here-- Oh. There you are, Swan.”

“You're Emma?” the man asks. “This Emma?”

Killian’s by her side in an instant, resting his hand protectively on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, love?”

The sheriff stiffens in his seat and looks up at Killian before standing and offering his hand. “Sheriff Graham Humbert, pleasure.”

“Killian,” he says without taking the man’s hand. “What have you found?”

The sheriff sits back down and says, “not a ton, just that the baby left in the woods was found by a boy, who concocted a far-fetched tale of him and the baby coming here through a tree. And the baby was found with a blanket with a name on it… her name.”

Killian hums, looking down at her as she looks up at him and kissing her forehead before coming around the chair to look her in the eyes. “Darling, you knew already that you were the baby. What’s wrong?”

She shrugs. “I don't know, I guess it just confirms that that was me. That my parents really did leave me there. I don't know anything new, really.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Graham asks, awkwardly interrupting an intimate moment that she didn’t realize she and Killian were even having. “Go to the hospital; they might have birth records for that date.”

Killian escorts her outside, guiding her with his warm hand pressed protectively against the small of her back. He had already brought the car back around, and she could sense his hesitation to leave her alone in the station as she insisted he go. Normally she wouldn’t even think of making him bring the car to her, but after last week, she’s far too paranoid to walk over any expanse of ice ever again.

“I don’t like him,” Killian accuses as he pulls away.

“Killian,” she chastises, rolling her eyes. “He helped us.”

“He made you cry.”

“I’m almost 18 weeks pregnant with abandonment issues. Everything makes me cry.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “You don’t have issues,” he nearly spits. “You were abandoned. That makes you upset. That doesn’t mean you have issues.”

She smiles sadly and looks out the windshield. She isn’t sure what to make of his claim. All her life, the only consistency has been that she has issues. Foster parents, other kids, Neal… everyone always maintained one truth. One constant.

And here he is, barreling his way into her life and making her rethink everything she thought she knew about herself.

“Anyway, you don’t think he looks familiar?”

“Not this again,” she says, tossing her head back into the headrest. “If you say he’s a character in that damn book…”

He groans. “I know, I know. Sorry for bringing it up. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. Like that feeling that I’m forgetting something.”

She nods. “I know the feeling you're talking about, but it’s probably because we aren't at home. Once we get back to Phoenix, it’ll go away.”

He pinches his brows together at her words, as if the concept of returning home never occurred to him, and hums. “I don’t know…”

“Killian,” she demands, wanting to get his attention despite the fact that he’s busy driving. “This is crazy. The book means nothing; you’ve got to stop worrying about it.”

He nods, but she doesn’t believe for a second that he agrees with her.

~~~~

The hospital is abuzz when they arrive, much like Granny’s, and everyone looks so frazzled that Emma wonders if this is common for the small town or something new that the residents have never experienced. Based on the exhausted look on Mary Margaret’s face when they arrive at the nurse’s station, Emma guesses the latter.

“Hey, you two!” She calls when she sees them, then her face falls immediately, looking to Emma. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” Killian says, waving her off. “Just here looking for some information.”

“Oh,” she says happily, sitting up and fixing her pixie cut hair. “That I can help you with. What are you looking for?”

Emma gives her a kind smile and says, “records on a baby that may have been born here years ago. She was abandoned.” It feels strange to describe the abandoned baby as if it were someone else.

Mary Margaret turns to her computer and begins clicking. “Records were computerized just a few years back, so hopefully we can find something. If not, we may have to head over to the old file room. Do you have any identifying information on the baby?”

“A date of birth,” she nods. “October 23, 1983.”

Mary Margaret looks up at Emma in a snap, her eyes wide and curious. “That date… it sounds familiar.”

Emma’s cheeks heat and she feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back. “It’s my birthday,” she admits softly. “You probably saw it on my chart.”

She shakes her head and furrows her brow. “No, that’s not it… Sorry. Uh, there aren’t any records for that date.”

“What?” Killian asks, raising a brow. “You mean no births?”

“No. No records. Strangely enough, all of the electronic files begin on October 24th.”

Emma glances at Killian, who shrugs. He can’t make sense of it either, it seems. What are the odds that, the day after her birth and abandonment, the town suddenly came online?

“Can we look in the records room, then?”

Mary Margaret leads them down the hall and into an elevator, selecting the button for the basement. It’s finally quiet in the steel box, the closing doors shutting out the commotion of the hospital surrounding them. “What’s going on?” Emma asks, certain that the town can’t be this busy on a regular basis.

“Oh, with all the excitement? It’s the strangest thing. A coma patient escaped last night.”

They get off the elevator and she leads them into a dank, dimly lit basement, down the hall and to a locked door where she punches in a code. “Excuse me?” Emma asks, taken aback by her nonsensical explanation. “Escaped? Aren’t they, you know, in a coma?”

She nods sadly. “He’s, well… security footage shows him waking up and removing his IV before just… walking out the door. The guard on watch was asleep.”

There’s something about Mary Margaret‘s tone, something sad and helpless and strangely emotional over a patient who Emma can only assume has been asleep for quite a while. So she says, “you’re worried about him. You care for him..”

Another nod as she leads them towards the back of the room, the stacks of files twice as tall as Killian and rather intimidating. “I know it seems silly. He’s been in a coma for as long as I can remember. But I started to visit him on my lunch breaks when I first started working here, and as time went on, I guess…” she shrugs.

Emma nods, unable to empathize with the position Mary Margaret finds herself in, but somehow understanding how easily she was able to fall into the flow of trusting and opening up to someone. When she looks at Killian, the person she trusts most completely, he’s smiling at her. “We should look for him,” she says aloud to Mary Margaret while looking at Killian. His face falls.

“Emma, no.” He shakes his head resolutely.

“Oh, no, the search party already told me to stay here. I’m not even technically on the clock, but they said I should stay to distract myself. I guess I got a little emotional when we found out he was missing,” she admits with a blush.

“So, we won’t be with any kind of search party. We can find him.”

“Swan, he’s in the woods! It’s dangerous.”

“You��re good at finding stuff! You found Storybrooke on the map,” she tries, and is met with his shaking head.

“Finding a town on a map is a far cry from finding a comatose man in the woods in the middle of February.”

“You found me,” she says, trying to appeal to his more emotional side.

“Aye, well, I’ll always find you, love.”

Mary Margaret drops the box she had just taken off the stack, staring directly at Killian with tears in her eyes. “What did you say?”

Killian turns to face her at once, taken aback by her response and stepping forward to try and pick up the dropped box. “I just told Emma that I would always find her. Because I love her.” Her heart flutters and she feels another soft tickling in her belly as the tiny baby squirms around playfully. She knows what he means; that he loves her as a best friend does. But still, the words feel heavy between them.

“Charming,” she says suddenly. “That’s… that’s very charming.” Mary Margaret pinches her brows together and shakes her head. “I feel like I… like I know where to go. To find him.”

Emma’s eyes widen in excitement and she looks at Killian again, although she’s met with his rolling eyes. “Swan,” he says hesitantly, knowing what she wants to do.

“Let’s just get the records we came for and then we can take her to where she thinks this guy is! It’ll be fun, come on.”

“You shouldn’t be tromping through the woods after--”

“I have a broken arm. That doesn’t make me broken, right?”

He bows his head and shuts his eyes as Mary Margaret steps behind another stack, likely to give them a bit of space. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a sly smile. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Swan…”

She says in a low voice: “you’re the nut job who keeps thinking everyone here is a fairytale character. Can’t you let me have this one? We each get one crazy hunch a day.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smile he tries desperately to fight before taking the step to close the space between them and pulling her in for a quick hug. “Fine. But I'm only doing this because a perinatal nurse-queen is coming with us.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Yay!” they hear from behind the shelf before Mary Margaret steps out with a look of joy on her face. “Thank you both so much!”

They dig through box after box until they find the right year. When they reach the box that contains records from October, Emma's heart sinks. “I don’t know how that can be possible,” Mary Margaret remarks with her lips pursed thoughtfully. “How are there no records prior to that date?”

There are records for December and November and part of October, but anything from before the 23rd is missing. There’s nothing for the entire remainder of the year, and no years prior. It’s as if nothing existed before the day Emma Swan was born and abandoned in the forest.

~~~~

She wants so badly to take his hand as he drives them through town towards the woods, but she knows how difficult that will make driving for him. He’s perfectly capable of driving with one real hand and one prosthetic, but she isn’t sure he could operate a manual with just his prosthetic.

But she’s hurting, and she wants him to comfort her like he always does. She wants to hold his hand to her chest and hug it close to her, if he isn’t able to hold her. She doesn't want to part from his side. She wants him to make her feel happy again.

Life didn’t exist before she was abandoned. It’s like this town was dropped here the day she was born and everyone living here had no idea. What does that mean for her parents?

It doesn't help that there are no records of her birth, either. She can’t prove that she was born in this town, only that she was found outside of it. In fact, the postcard that man gave her could be complete bullshit and mean nothing.

She wants a hug so badly. At least she can feel her baby dancing around and bringing her comfort. She wants to hold him.

Or her.

“Right here,” Mary Margaret finally says while they're about to drive over a bridge. “Pull off here, I want to check this out.”

She’s still in her pink scrubs when she tries to open the door, and Killian stops her. “I have a coat on,” he reasons. “Wait here with Emma, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

They sit in silence, watching as he surveys the area, adorably checking under the bridge and behind trees as if a grown man might be hiding there. He sinks below their line of vision and Emma sits back, trying hard to relax.

“Thanks for doing this,” Mary Margaret says. “Are you feeling any better?”

Emma sighs and says, “a little, but still pretty sore. The Tylenol has been helping though.”

“That’s good,” she nods.

After another moment of comfortable silence, Emma says, “I felt the baby move this morning,” with a soft smile. “He’s been dancing away ever since.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret coos. “What a beautiful feeling, congratulations! Your husband must’ve been excited, too.”

Emma coughs and turns towards where Mary Margaret sits in the back seat. “We aren’t married,” she clarifies. “We aren’t… we’re not together.”

She furrows her brow. “You’re not a couple? I thought… well, I saw how you were with each other.”

“We’re just really close friends. He isn’t the father.”

“Oh, I see.”

Another chunk of silence passes between them, but Emma never feels the need to fill it due to discomfort. Finally, out of curiosity, she asks, “do you have any children?”

Mary Margaret is quiet, not answering Emma’s question and instead staring straight ahead with a thoughtful, confused look on her face. “I… I don’t.”

“Oh, sorry if that was--”

“No, no, don’t worry. It’s a valid question to ask of a perinatal nurse.”

More silence.

“Is this your first? Child, I mean?”

“Yeah.”

Another beat.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find anything about your parents. I know that must be hard. My mother passed away when I was very young.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma says. “And yeah… I just felt like… I don’t know, it feels like they’re right here, you know? Like all I have to do is open my eyes and they’ll be here but…” she trails off. Her eyes are open, and her parents still abandoned her.

“Somehow, I know just what you mean.”

Emma sits back comfortably again, the car quiet.

“Killian seems very excited about your baby; more so than some fathers I've met. If you don’t mind me saying so, he’ll be a wonderful father figure.”

The only sound between them is the gurgling creek below.

“I know,” Emma says with a smile.

He’s hurrying up the hill after a few more moments of peaceful quiet, waving erratically as if to get their attention. Emma opens her door and Mary Margaret follows suit, both making their way towards him in haste. “I found him,” he says breathlessly. “He needs help.”

Mary Margaret seems to snap into nurse-mode instantly, grabbing her medical bag and rushing down the hill past Killian and Emma, turning back only to seek direction. Killian hurries to guide her, turning back frequently towards Emma to ensure that she’s faring safely through the snow and ice and rough terrain.

It appears as though Killian pulled the man from the half-frozen stream, his skin nearly blue and his clothes and hair soaking wet. Emma doesn't see his chest rise and fall. Mary Margaret is on her knees at his side in an instant, pressing two fingers to his neck and then commanding Killian to give up his coat to start to warm the man up. She begins chest compressions and breathing aid, desperately trying to wake the frozen man from near-death. “No, no, no, I found you!”

Emma nearly chews a hole through her bottom lip as she watches her new friend try and save a man she doesn't know yet somehow cares deeply for. Killian hugs her close, which she suspects is both to comfort her and to keep himself warm. It feels like an age before the man sputters against a rescue breath, water escaping from his mouth and nose as color almost immediately begins to flood back into his pale face.

Mary Margaret cries out when he wakes, pulling him close to herself for a hug that Emma suspects she wasn’t expecting, and the man hugs her back with ferocity. “You found me,” he mumbles into her hair.

She pulls away from him and looks deeply into his eyes, as if she recognizes him, and opens her mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.

“Mate,” Killian says after a moment. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

He passes out before he can answer.

~~~~

Graham Humbert interviews them the following day, suspicious about how the three of them could have found a random coma patient in such a random location in the woods. Emma has to admit, he doesn’t blame him; she’d be suspicious too. Following the interview, Emma, Killian, and Mary Margaret choose to go to Granny’s for some dinner.

“I really appreciate everything,” Mary Margaret says. “I know you came here for answers, and now you're being questioned by the police.”

Killian scoffs, waving her off. “Nonsense. He needed help. He’d be dead without you.”

“I’m just so worried about him,” she sighs. The man, identity still unknown, was brought back to the hospital, but has been out of his coma since last night and is making a miraculous recovery. Nonsensical, really. Magical. “I don’t even know why. I don't know him.”

“It’s certainly odd,” Killian agrees.

“I think it’s odd that he woke up all of a sudden and is completely fine,” Emma chimes in. “Shouldn’t his brain be mush after being asleep for that long?”

Mary Margaret shrugs and shakes her head, dumbfounded as well. “Every case is different. His is just… special, I guess.”

“Special is one word for it,” Emma mumbles.

“Very special indeed,” killian says to her softly. “He looks--”

“If you say he looks familiar, so help me,” she threatens, loudly enough for Mary Margaret to hear.

“What’s that?” she laughs at their banter.

“Killian just has some wild ideas about the townsfolk’s identities. We found a book the other day, and he somehow got it in his head that everyone here is a fairytale character.”

“Oh,” she says pleasantly, until her face drops and she looks Killian square in the eyes. “Fairytales?”

He looks at her just as seriously, as if the world has stopped turning, and Emma wants to scream at the two of them for egging each other on.

“Your grilled cheese,” Granny interrupts, placing a full plate before Emma as she grins and rubs her hands together hungrily. “Careful, if I serve you any more carbs this week, this one might have me shot,” she says, nodding her head towards Killian and drawing a laugh from Emma. His face remains unchanged; confused and pensive.

“And two house salads,” she declares. She looks like she's about to say something else whitty, but the old man they saw the other day walks in and stares blankly at her, in a way that’s unnervingly threatening, causing her to stand straight and walk towards him.

“What is up with this place,” Emma remarks under her breath, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. She has to admit, it’s almost better than Killian’s. Almost.

“That’s Mr. Gold,” Mary Margaret tells her. “He owns this place.”

“The diner?”

“The town.”

~~~~

“You need the rest of the day to relax,” he insists as they get back up to their room. “This week has been far too taxing.”

He’d just gotten through talking to Granny about extending their stay before lunch, and while she’s discouraged about not having any answers yet, she’s glad to have a semi-permanent place to stay.

“I know,” she agrees. “I just dont think I need a nap at,” she glances at her watch (one she purchased, thank you very much), “7:34 pm. I’m not a baby.”

He snorts, raising his brows wickedly. “I know for a fact that you're anything but a baby, love.”

She turns to face him, giving him an incredulous smile, then shaking her head. “You're a crazy person.”

“Scoundrel,” he corrects. “Now come, try to relax. Perhaps a nice bath?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I stink?”

With a laugh, he takes her hand and drags her closer to the edge of the mattress. “Never.”

Before she knows what’s happening, she’s tripping over her own feet, her balance still a bit off from her growing belly, and she’s falling straight into his arms. He catches her so easily, it’s almost as if a magnet was pulling them together and fusing them to one another. Once she’s settled in his arms, his prosthetic is planted firmly on her lower back and his right hand brushes some hair away from her eyes. “Alright?” he asks softly, gently lacing his fingers into her hair unnecessarily this time, scratching along her scalp in a way that makes her eyes flutter.

“Yeah,” she answers. “You caught me.”

“I’ll always catch you,” he promises, his tone so tender and soothing that she feels her pulse relaxing and quickening all at once. The baby wiggles away in her belly as he does almost every time she’s near Killian.

“I know,” Emma confirms. “Because you… because you love me,” she breathes. It isn’t a question. It’s a factual statement that he confirms with a nod, even though he doesn’t need to.

“I do.” his voice is filled with such surety and vigor that she knows she’d be foolish to ever question him.

Being entangled in his arms makes her breathing quicken, coming out of her mouth in short puffs of air that make the fringe dance in and out of his eyes. “And... I love you too,” she whispers.

He’s in her space instantly, and this feels different. The last time they exchanged these words, it was clear to both of them that they were expressions of deep, unyielding friendship. Now, though, it feels like more. She isn't sure what it means this time, but she does know that friendship might not be enough for her anymore.

The problem is that no one has ever been for her what Killian Jones has. There hasn’t been a single moment in all of the time they’ve spent together where he hasn’t believed in her, hasn’t shown her what she’s worth, hasn’t loved her.

She’s falling for him. It’s been so easy that she’s hardly noticed, aside from a few passing thoughts about his irresistible physique and god-like facial structure. (And don't get her started on the stubble.) but the feelings… those have been quietly sneaking up on her since the moment they met.

She feels herself leaning closer to him, her breath quickening along with her heartbeat and the squirming baby within her. He leans in, too, and she’s certain that his soft, pink lips will touch her own at any moment so long as she makes the first move. She knows he’ll have her make the first move.

She’s about to do it, too, until there’s a timid knock at the door that makes them spring apart.

He sighs, groans, even, and moves her hair from her face once more before walking around her and towards the heavy door. “Granny,” he greets with a slight air of irritation in his voice.

“Evening,” she responds nervously, wringing her hands together. “I just came to tell you, well, I just spoke with Mr. Gold.”

“Aye.”

“Well, you see, he owns the place. And he reminded me of a rule—”

“A rule?” he demands, and Emma’s brows furrow deeply.

She clears her throat. “Well, uh, there’s a rule that states I cannot allow guests to stay for longer than a week. Mr. Gold’s rule. ”

Killian scoffs and shakes his head, turning around towards Emma briefly, then back to Granny. “You’ve got to be kidding. You're kicking us out even though we want to try and give you more money?”

She shakes her head. “I’m real sorry about this. If it were up to me, you two could stay here as long as you like. I didn’t even realize it was a rule until he showed me the contract.”

With a heavy, heaving sigh, he shakes his head again angrily and says, “I know it’s not your fault, I’m sorry to get upset. I just hope Gold knows that he just put a pregnant woman on the streets. We’ll be out of your way after we pack.”

~~~~

“What are we gonna do?” she asks as they settle back in the car. Emma's in the driver’s seat this time, as Killian has claimed to be too angry to drive.

“I don't know, love, I’m sorry. We’ll figure something out, though.”

“That Mr. Gold is a monster,” she accuses.

“Aye, I know. Bloody snake.”

With a defeated sigh, she says, “we should just go home.”

He looks up at her, anger still ablaze in his eyes, and asks, “why would you want to do that?”

Dropping her head to the steering wheel, Emma says, “we haven’t found anything, Killian. This town doesn't want us here. All I’ve gotten is false hope, a broken arm, and a sore ass. Now we have nowhere to stay, what’s the point?”

“The point?” he asks seriously, turning his body to face her and taking her hand, forcing her head off of the wheel. “The point is that we’re here, Emma. It seemed impossible, didn’t it? A town that doesn’t exist, yet here we are. It seemed impossible to get any information about yourself but we got some. We just have to keep digging.”

“Digging,” she scoffs. “I don't know how much more digging I can take. In a week, all I’ve learned is that my parents didn't even bother to have me at a hospital, and the only person who might know something is a psychotic little boy who thinks we traveled here through a tree! How are those answers?”

“Emma--”

“I just,” she says through unexpected tears. “I just want my parents. I keep thinking they're so close and they're not. They're never…” she breaks off her thought as a sob chokes her, dropping her head into her hand.

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, the anger evaporated from his voice. His fingers grab hers instantly, pulling her across the center console until they meet and he can wrap both arms around her. “Sh,” he comforts. “It’s alright, my love. You’re alright, I’m here.”

“You're always here,” she cries again. “You're the only one who’s ever--”

“I know, love,” he whispers over another sob. “I know. You're alright.”

“You believe in me,” she says against the warm skin of his neck.

“I do,” he confirms. “I always have and I always will. I just wish for you to believe in yourself. For you to believe in everything that I know you’re capable of. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish, Emma, if you believe.”

Moments pass, her tears feeling more and more ridiculous the more they fall as he speaks nonsense into her hair. She isn’t sure what he means, exactly, but with his words come more fluttering, and for reasons she can’t explain, she does believe. She believes in something, and she wonders if that’s enough.

A gentle knocking befalls the passenger’s side window suddenly. They break apart and Emma hides her face, wiping at the tears as Killian turns to face the offender. When he sees who it is, he cranks the window down.

“You two okay? It’s cold to be sitting in the car.”

“Fine, Mary Margaret. Just… trying to figure some things out.”

She hums and nods her head. “Well, if you want to figure it out someplace warm, I have a spare room. It isn’t much, but i’m sure it’s a bit better than the one Mr. Gold no doubt threw you out of.”

They both turn their heads rapidly towards their new friend in shock, and emma sniffles before saying, “really?”

“Of course. Come on, it’s just down the street.”

~~~~

“There we are, Swan,” he says when he places her bag down on the floor of the second story in Mary Margaret’s loft. “A nice warm bed for you to lay your head.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles as she sits down. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and furrows his brow, sitting beside her and taking her good hand, running a soothing thumb over the healing scrapes on her palm. “Never apologize, love. None of this is your fault.”

“I should’ve trusted my gut and ignored that postcard. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than by your side, Emma. And I’m the one who pushed you to come. I should be apologizing to you.”

She shrugs. “I was ready for answers, though. I just didn’t expect to be this disappointed.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before she speaks.

“You know what’s weird, though?” she asks softly, leaning her head down to rest it against his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“As much as this place has sucked the life out of me, I kind of… I feel oddly comfortable right now. Mary Margaret has been a better friend than any I've ever had, aside from you.”

He hums and nods in agreement. “I know what you mean.”

She lets out a heaving sigh and throws herself back onto the bed, taking his hand and dragging him along with her until they're lying side by side and facing one another. “Maybe I’ll just give this place one more chance.”

“Aye?”

She nods. “I gave you a chance, and that’s worked out pretty well for me.”

With a grin and a soft chuckle, he says, “aye, for me as well.”

A softer sigh this time, the movement bringing them closer together to the point that their noses are nearly touching. “Maybe even the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she suggests timidly, but with a certain amount of certainty.

“Definitely.”

“Killian,” she breathes against his mouth.

“I love you,” he tells her with gentle resolution.

She closes the miniscule space between them and finally, finally presses her lips to his in a kiss that she thinks might change everything. He’s snaking his tongue out along her bottom lip before he stills, gripping to her arm tighter and stiffening against her mouth.

“What’s--” she breathes, but she’s interrupted by the confusion in his face and voice.

He pulls away from her and stares deeply into her eyes, his own azure globes wide and astounded. “Swan?”

~~~~

Several days ago...

She storms into the shop, indifferent as to whether she smashes the glass as the door slams against the wall behind her. The click of her heels signal her arrival after the bell clangs above her head, and she’s at the till and pointing a judgmental finger in an instant. “Who is she,” she demands with force and anger that can be felt throughout the store.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Mayor,” the shop owner responds. “I know nothing more than you do.”

The mayor huffs with irritation and slams her hand against the surface before her. “I saw what happened at the diner; you know something!” she insists.

“What’s wrong,” the man taunts. “Is your little facade finally starting to crack?”

She grinds her teeth and tightens her jaw. “You're awake,” she accuses.

The man chuckles. “Of course I’m awake. I’m standing right here.”

“She woke you up.”

With a soft, slightly demeaning smile, he says, “I think you’ll find that you woke me up, by asking the lass her name in the first place.”

The woman aha’s triumphantly, pointing another finger at the shop owner and laughing maniacally. “So you admit it; you are awake!”

The man chuckles and nods. “That's right, dearie.”

“How did this happen?”

“Why, the laws of magic, of course. Every curse can be broken.”

“Not this one,” she argues firmly.

“I implore you to remember that True Love’s Kiss can break any curse.”

She laughs again, this time in disbelief. “And this random child from Phoenix is going to break the strongest of all curses?”

He tsks and says, “not just a random child from Phoenix.”

The woman’s eyes narrow and she leans against the surface before her as threateningly as she can. “Who is she?” she asks again with venom in her voice.

“I think she’s exactly who you think she is. Tell me, dearie, exactly where and when was this random child found all those years ago? Where was the product of True Love when your curse was struck?”

“No,” she insists, shaking her head. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it is. The Savior is the only one who can break your Dark Curse.”

The mayor begins to pace in her anger. “She needs to believe in magic in order to break the curse. She grew up here, in the Land Without Magic; she’ll never believe.”

“Ah,” he says, raising a hand with flourish, “but The Savior carries the Heart of the Truest Believer.”

With a scoff, the mayor rolls her eyes. “What, someone can be the Product of True Love, the Savior, and have the Heart of the Truest Believer?”

“I didn’t say she has the heart, I said she carries it,” he chastises. Don't tell me you were too self absorbed to notice that the lass is with child.”

“A child,” she breathes in disbelief. “How can the child… unless both parents hail from a land of magic.”

The man nods and says, “precisely.”

“The pirate,” she realizes, shaking her head once more. “How did he get here? He wasn’t in the Enchanted Forest when the curse was cast.”

“Well, dearie, I can only assume that he was sent by someone who requires the Heart of the Truest Believer.”

The woman’s blood runs cold and a chill ripples down her spine. She can think of but one person who may require such a thing, and hopes beyond hope that she’s wrong.

“We have to get rid of them; they cannot break the curse.”

With a wiry, ominous smirk, the man responds, “I’ll see what I can do.”

#cs ff #never nothing #part 3 #Captain swan #captain swan fanfic #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #captain swan fluff #canon divergence #never nothing ff

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ultimatebethylficlist · 3 years ago

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Veteran Author of The Month: June 2021

The featured veteran author for June is also a co-admin right here at UBFL: SquishyCool (or @im-immortal )!

SquishyCool can be found on AO3 and FFN under the same penname.

When asked what got her into Bethyl and what the fandom means to her, she said:

I’ve been a hardcore TWD fan since the show began airing, but that’s because of my love for zombies. In all honesty, I didn’t really ship anyone for the first 3-4 seasons. I kind of shipped Daryl with Carol, but then it became clear that it was a platonic relationship and in all honesty, I just wanted to see them both get some action lmao. Then the prison fell... and in those first moments of “Still,” when we see Beth and Daryl running and running and finally collapsing on the ground, breathless and exhausted... the butterflies started. Something clicked and I immediately thought, “uh oh.” The rest is history, especially considering how “Still” and “Alone” played out. I can’t explain how or why I’m still so heavily invested, especially considering my last 2 fandoms only kept my attention for about 2-3 years each, but here I am. And I love it! I am so incredibly grateful for the Bethyl fandom because not only has it helped me improve my writing so much more than I ever could have imagined, but it has also introduced me to some of the most amazing people, including someone who I now consider one of my very best friends! It’s my happy place :)

For her personal fic rec list, she recommends:

In The Maw by ronsparkyspeirs

Way Down We Go by LeathernLaces

Surfacing by lindentree

Wild Things (The Moonshine Poet) by Abelina

The Gift by Feliz

The Man Who Can't Be Moved by burningupasun

New Experiences Series by wallflow3r

Whisper Softly to Me by taylorcatherine

Interstice by leftmywingshome

To Love Like a Man by Seraphique

Death, Death (i defy thee) by alamorn

In My Blood by Courtneyshortney82

Let the Good Times Roll by gutsforgarters

Resolved by Allatariel

the weight of these wings by peachthorns

all my spaces are filled with you by annabeth_writes

A Little Jailbreak with the Little Jailbait by wandering_gypsy_feet

between the beginning and the end by sheriffandsteel

SquishyCool’s Works & Personal Thoughts:

Dirty Fingernails and Dried Blood Summary: What happened during the months between "Still" and "Alone"? Beth uses the last pages of her diary to write down every detail of surviving with Daryl. Thoughts: My first Bethyl fanfic. It holds a special place in my heart for that reason, though it is pretty rough. If I could go back, I never would’ve done it entirely in first-person. But I do plan to finish it one day. There are some scenes I’m particularly proud of, and I still have a long note full of ideas and plot points.

Most Wanted Summary: After Beth’s mother and half-brother are murdered in a drug war, the godly veil on the Greene Family operation is lifted, and law enforcement comes down hard. In an effort to protect her family, Beth commits a heinous crime that could mean life in prison alongside them. Now everyone she’s ever trusted is in police custody and her only chance at freedom is to get as far away from Atlanta as she can... Thoughts: Well, this is a must-read if you like my writing. I hope to one day convert this into an original fiction and maybe get it published, but I need to finish it first LOL. I got the idea from ONE scene of “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt,” and from there, it exploded into a huge mystery thriller (with lots of romance and smut). I’m really really proud of it, and I’m scared I’ll fuck it up tbh, so I keep putting off continuing it. But I really need to get back to it because I really want people to see what I have planned! (Also, this fic is the reason @courtneyshortney82 started talking to me, so that alone is pretty historic lmao)

The Crow’s Song Summary: Beth and Daryl spend a few more days together in the funeral home and come to terms with all they've lost along the way. But soon, they must decide what comes next. Thoughts: This fic... this fucking fic. It took me a full year to write. I made numerous edits. I even got a little depressed while I was writing the last two chapters, and my bf didn’t know why until he read what I’d been writing lol. It’s honestly the Bethyl fic I’ve always wanted to write but just didn’t know how. I’m still really really proud of how it turned out.

Carnival Games Summary: Daryl is a traveling carnival worker and Beth is a barely legal farmer's daughter looking for a night of fun when the carnival comes to town. Thoughts: Omg this fic is so fun!! One of my first Bethyl fics, and one of my first Bethyl smut fics. Short, sweet, a little funny, and a lot hot. I am still impressed with myself on this one, especially considering how much my writing has improved since lol

Breathe. Please. Summary: Beth shows up at the Hilltop. Alive. Daryl can hardly believe his eyes. Until she's lying in his bed, an arm's reach away. And he can hear her inhaling... exhaling... inhaling... Thoughts: Another “fix-it” that I’m proud of. Tbh I didn’t think it was anything all that special, but a lot of readers have said it’s one of their favorites, and some say they reread it regularly, and nothing makes me happier than hearing that, so I am extremely proud.

picking @ scabs Summary: Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, being with them just isn't right. But what wouldn't you give for it to be right? Can someone like Daryl learn how to swallow his pride and stop repeating the same mistakes over and over? Can someone like Beth learn to fight off her demons and allow him to get close enough to hurt her again? How can they stay away from each other when it's all too easy to fall back into one another? Picking a scab will leave a scar, but they both have so many scars already... what's a few more? Thoughts: This fic is very, very personal for me. It’s like my “therapy” fic. I have poured some of my deepest feelings and struggles into its chapters, and the whole idea that got me to start it was that I wanted to find a way to navigate and cope with ending my 3-year long relationship with my emotionally/mentally/sometimes physically abusive ex. I still have a lot of fond memories from that relationship, but even more so, I have painful memories. Not to mention, going through your early 20s as a woman in the modern day is a fuckin’ trip, so this kind of explores that. It’s really self-indulgent, I think, but I’m really proud of the smut in it. And more than that, I’m proud of the response. I’ve had a few people message me or comment to say that they’ve felt all those things, or have experienced similar things, and it’s really just... relieving. I put my heart and soul out there, and what I got back was “you’re not alone.” So yeah, this fic is special. I wanna finish it soon, but I have to be in A Mood to do so.

In Toto Corde Summary: Despite a million reasons not to, Beth and Daryl fell in love. Then he made the ultimate sacrifice in order to keep all of his promises. Now, facing unimaginable consequences at the hands of witch hunters, Beth has no choice but to use her powers to bring Daryl back from the dead. "He won't be the same..." Thoughts: I LOVE THIS FIC. I love it so much that I had to rewrite it after like 4 or 5 years. And I already started on a sequel that I really hope I’m able to finish. Though it doesn’t have many hits, and I don’t think many people have read it at all, which I understand since it basically is entirely focused around Daryl being killed. But damn, I’m proud of this one, and it was really fucking fun to write because witch!Beth is just... the best.

risk it all (part 1 of in for a penny, in for a pound) Summary: Daryl Dixon has a pretty decent life, all things considered. He's got his own place. A good dog. A few friends. Even a girlfriend. He keeps himself out of trouble. Until he starts texting Beth Greene. And hell, if he ain't about to risk it all for this damn girl. Thoughts: This was supposed to be one short multichapter fic focused entirely on smut and social media. Then I got on a roll and it ended up being the beginning of a series! This fic is purely fun. Nothing too serious or heavy. I write it when I’m in a Good Mood because it’s my little happy place. I have plans for about 4 more fics before the series will be finished!

Don’t Make Me Haunt You Summary: So here's the thing: Merle Dixon is dead as fuck. And as it turns out, Beth Greene is the only one who can see or hear him. Which is weird considering she's never met or even heard of this guy, let alone anyone with the last name Dixon. That's her first problem... Thoughts: The reception to this fic has absolutely blown me away. I had no idea anyone would want to read about ghost!Merle haunting Beth and forcing her to solve his murder with the help of his grumpy brother. And it was all inspired by an episode of South Park lmao then I started really getting into it and now it’s just like, my super fun fic where I explore a range of emotions and all kinds of religious beliefs and different mythologies and I can build the world however I want and goddamn I just love writing this fic. Plus there’s a podfic for it! I can’t even begin to explain how much I love this fic and how proud I am of it :)

#bethyl fanfiction #veteran author of the month

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hungarianbee · 4 years ago

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Way of the Witcher: bits of lore

Disclaimer: Post contains spoilers to the Witcher games These things may be canon-typical, but the following trigger warnings apply if you want to check out the cards: gore, monster dismemberment, needles, body horror, insects and spiders

“In a world plagued by horrors and monstrosities humanity desperately needed a new type of weapon to turn back the tide. Created by ingenious Alzur, witchers — professional monster slayers of exceptional strength, speed, and agility were tasked to end the threat once and for all. Organized into different schools they honed their craft and passed their knowledge onto novices in training. Some of them were destined to become the legendary heroes and protectors of humanity. Others — the very thing they were supposed to fight…”

Since the gwent expansion was anounced I followed it with rapt attention; every bit of lore is a gem in my eyes. I decided to write down my thoughts of the cards and lore pieces revealed in a post. Share that knowledge around, amirite?

The post references Gwent cards which were leaked (2020 november-december). The theme is mutation and everything that comes with it; namely sweet-sweet lore of the lesser known witcher schools: the Bears, Cats, Vipers and Griffins.

Tucker in, under the cut there is 4.5k analysis of each card that came out.

We’re starting with a theme, then work our way throught the 4 schools (each contain the following: a leader, a mentor, an adept, a general witcher, a specific job, an item, a school relevant monster, 2 known witchers and a location), then go through a Witcher 1 throwback, Salamandra, and round it with a few new monsters and neutral cards.

While I describe most of the cards concisely and all the known witchers and locations are on my blog, you might want to look the cards in their (small) glory: [DO IT HERE]

Sounds good? Here we go!

Edit: [this source is better]

The theme is mutation - be it monsters created by transmutation, witchers or salamadra

If that is true, there are monster cards that seemingly stand out: the Succubus and the Phooca

If we are to believe that they do connect to the mutation theme, then

(1) we can conclude that Phoocas (a rare, and more dangerous form of Nekkers; they can pull your head off by sheer force, watch out) are a natural mutation of the original species,

(2) but we’re still left with the Succubi (an inherently demonic creature). They might have chosen it because of its appearance: succubi have horns and goat-like legs. (Note: in the graphic novel “House of Glass” the succubus character has wings, but lacks hooves. In that sense, she could be mutated.)

Breaking it down into factions/schools (some of the cards can be paired up; these cards are interpreted together):

School of the Viper: starting with the vipers, because they are my favourite

Viper Witcher Mentor & Viper Witcher Adept: the flavour text says that the Viper mentors are exceptionally cold and ruthless, and that’s underlined by the story the art tells: the mentor busies himself with sharpening a blade, and in the background we can see the adept attempting to kill his best friend goat, as was ordered. The mentor watches this from the corner of his eye. Young Vipers are to kill their pets (which they nurtured for years) before becoming a fully-fledged witcher. The latter could mean that the boy depicted on the card hasn’t even gone through the Trial of Grasses.

Viper Witcher: On the card we see an unknown Viper crouching over a royalty he killed. I feel like this type of card is meant to represent what we think a general Witcher of said school would be like. Apparently Vipers just like to slay the nobility *shrug*. The flavour text informs us, that Vipers call their two swords “fangs”, and that their style consists of fast and furious attack aimed to overwhelm the enemy.

Viper Witcher Alchemist: Every school has a specialty; Vipers are proficient in potion or poison making. The right side of the alchemist’s face seems to have healed burn marks; a blown up concoction might have caused it.

Ivar Evil-Eye: So far there’s little to know about Ivar. He was either the Master of the Viper Keep, or the founder himself (gwent suggests the latter). He’s described as heavily scarred (facial scars suggests burns and slash marks too), and each of them has a terrible story to tell.

Warritt the All-Seeing: Warritt is a (newly introduced) Viper with heavy disfiguration to the upper part of his face: his eyes are sealed shut (possibly by burn marks, though his hair remains intact). The art shows Warritt drawing a modified version of the Supirre sign in the air to help with his loss of sight. As the wiki says: “Supirre is a Sign used for eavesdropping. Drawn on a solid surface, it allows the people near this surface to listen nearby conversations which would be normally inaudible due to the distance or background noise.” It was only used in Sapkowsky’s second volume of the Hussite trilogy (not yet translated to English), which is entirely separate from the Witcher novels.

Kolgrim: Fate laughed at this Viper. As a kid he was swapped by a weeper, saved by a witcher, than rejected by his own mother who believed that the fake child was the real one. Later, as a grown witcher Ivar instructed him to find a lost weapon diagram. On his journey he was accused - ironically - in White Orchard of kidnapping a child. Invoking a Temerian law, Kolgrim was told to cleanse their crypt (as seen on the card) then he can go. The truth is revealed in Witcher 3 - Kolgrim was beheaded by the villagers before he could even step into the crypt. To add insult to injury: the child was eaten by a drowner. The gwent card therefore shows the optimistic outcome: that Kolgrim reached the crypt and passed in battle. And what’s up with a crypt full of wraiths anyway? White Orchard is shady, guys. (Lil’ trivia: Kolgrim’s eyes are yellow-green.)

Vypper: Basically an overgrown snake that likes damp marshes (they even fight the local kikimores for territory). They only relate to the mutation theme by their nature - they resemble the “school’s animal”.

Gorthur Gvaed: The Bloodgate Keep is located in the chasms of the Tir Tochair mountains. It’s built so high were you to look down from the bridge leading into the keep, you would only see fog (one could wonder how the vipers trained in these conditions). The bridge is made so that you’d have to cross the lookout tower - it might have served as a check in spot. The post itself is circled by the stone coils of a snake; the top is open and has a huge lit bonfire in the middle for warmth-keeping and possibly signaling. Unluckily, it didn’t stop the Usurper’s army from destroying the keep.

Coated Weapons: They leaned heavily into the alchemy and assassin side of the school. Vipers coat their blades with an acidic liquid, so they can kill a man with a nick of it.

School of the Cat:

Cat Witcher Mentor & Cat Witcher Adept: On the adept card we can see a young Cat walking the tightrope blindfolded (they start with close to the ground and slowly increase the distance with time); the mentor is looking up at him. Like the Vipers, Cat mentors are nonchalant about risking the kids as seen from the flavour text: “If you fall, it’s over. Your nine lives are up, kid.” Furthermore, the background of the Cat Witcher Adept card shows the not yet destroyed Stygga Citadel. The Cat Witcher Mentor is in the same scene and we can see lots of potatoes and cabbages; cats definitely eat their veggies.

Cat Witcher: The card shows a Cat in the heat of battle mid-jump; his hood is up, blood is flying everywhere. The flavour text emphasizes that cats are known for their mad bloodlust, not stopping killing even after the enemy capitulated.

Cat Witcher Saboteur: A Cat perches next to the window, a smoking bomb in hand, eavesdropping on nobles. A rope is hung from somewhere out of the pic, possibly for a quick exit. Vesemir comments that these are many-a deeds the cats did that taint the reputation of witchers.

Gezras of Leyda: Gezras is a not yet known redheaded Cat witcher. Following the pattern he seems to be the founder of the Cat School. His flavour text shows that even back then (when the mutagens made Cats emotionless) they were inclined to dislike humans: “Take a contract from Aen Seidhe over a dh’oine any day, as you’re far less likely to receive a knife between the ribs in place of coin.”

Brehen: Now this cat embodies the Cat madness. He’s known as the Cat of Iello because he massacred everyone there. He was consequently shunned by all the schools, and he was even convinced that Vesemir put a kill order on his head. He met Geralt later in the 1240s on his way to claim the bounty for the princess. Thinking that Geralt was there to rob him of his chance of the bounty, Brehen took a priestess as hostage (this is what we see on the gwent card). Geralt managed to convince him to put away the blade, and they parted without crossing blades. When meeting with the striga he scoffed into her face that “she won’t be his first royal”. But his luck ran out. The Temerians buried him and fabricated the story of a cowardly witcher stealing their coin. I’m halfway convinced we see Brehen in the netflix series.

Gaetan: This boy broke into the fandom like a bulldozer. After the folks in Honorton cheated him of his pay and tried to kill him, Gaetan flew into rage and killed everyone there except Millie, a girl who reminded him of his sister. That’s the scene we see on the card. And then Geralt robs/kills him.

Saber-Tooth Tiger (Stealth): Another huge animal/monster related to the school. It’s story is this: “The prized possession of royal menagerie, until a commando of Scoia’tael assaulted the exhibition, released the beast, and set it upon its cruel masters. Since that day, it has acquired a selective taste for human flesh.” Another cat turning against humans.

Stygga Castle: An outside view of what we already saw on the Cat Witcher Adept card. It’s located on a cliff, and the sun shines into it just right (so that the Cats can bask in the light). The walls form a circle where they shelter the inner grounds, and a bigger tower emerges in the middle. The Castle could be reached by the thin bridge connecting it to the mainland, or by the cliffs (if one is brave enough).

Making a Bomb: Cats seem to have a specialty in bombs. Guess where Lambert got his interest from *winkwink*

School of the Griffin: lots of pairs in this one

Griffin Witcher Mentor & Griffin Witcher Adept: Compared to the other schools, this pairing is tame - the adept is climbing a tree to retrieve a crossbow bolt. We can see the mentor in the background. On the mentor card the adept waves down with the retrieved crossbow bolt in hand. It shows a kind of comradeship that’s not present in the other 3 schools. The flavour text emphasizes the importance of knowledge. Students are afforded to choose their final Trial: recite the entire Liber Tenebrum (Book of Shadows; one of Keldar’s favourite books) or steal a griffin’s egg. Noone’s chosen the former.

Griffin Witcher: The witcher is shown shooting down a griffin. According to the flavour text they prefer hunting with silver-tipped arrowheads instead of swords.

Archgriffin & Griffin Witcher Ranger: On the Griffin Ranger card we see the witcher crouching over track marks. On the archgriffin card he found the albino (or very old) monster, who’s already killed someone (probably a lumberjack, judging by the axe). According to the flavour text, Griffin Witchers are trained to be professional trackers; nothing can stop them to reach their prey. Even though archgriffins are considered the embodiment of courage, loyalty and fighting spirit, the gwent card corrects the notion that the Griffin Witcher were named after the monster. In truth, they got the name in honour of their founder’s mentor, a knight named Gryphon.

Erland of Larvik: Continuing the trend, Erland is the founder of the Griffin School (one of the two that are confirmed 100%). He’s from the first generation of witcher, mutated by Alzur himself. After the Order began fracturing he had a confrontation with Arnaghan (who’ll be the founder of the bear school). Arnaghad almost killed one of his brothers, slashed Erland across the face then parted ways with the Order and left Morgraig Castle with his own group. Seeing that the the remaining witchers couldn’t go on like that, he grabbed his 13 best friend and left to Kaer Seren, where (after purging it from spectres) he founded the Griffin School which focused on magic, preparedness and flexibility. His teaching emphasized knightly values (mimicking his long-dead mentor, a knight named Gryphon) in hopes that it would make future witchers’ life easier. It didn’t.

Coen & Keldar: The cards are mainly connected by background. Coen is finished killing what appears to be an albino arachas (but it’s definitely an insectoid), while Keldar’s taking notes. We can rightly assume that he’s updating their bestiary, since he’s one of the teachers/mentors who focus on gathering and sharing knowledge. Coen’s flexibility shows in the flavour text: “There is no such thing as a fair fight. Every advantage and every opportunity that arises is used in combat.” Not very knightly, is it?

Kaer Seren: The “Star Keep” Erland and his friends fled to. It was used by the Order’s mages to mutate witchers (that’s why it was haunted by spectres). It’s located at the edge of the Dragon mountains by the sea between Poviss and Kovir. It’s said to possess the great library, which later mages tried to get for themselves. They messed up: by bringing down an avalanche on the Keep, that knowledge was destroyed. The keep was badly damaged and many witchers died.

Target Practice: The Griffin School’s specialty is their precise aim - they “can split an apple in two from a hundred paces”.

School of the Bear:

Bear Witcher Mentor & Bear Witcher Adept: The adept card shows that young witcher are taught to catch fish by hand (just like their school relevant animal). On the mentor card the elder witcher leads a group of younglings in the mountains; possibly out to teach tracking. The cards are connected by flavour text. The young Bear witcher-would-be’s need to complete the Trial of the Mountain, which consists of them climbing Mount Gorgon (also known as the Devil Mountain; it is the highest peak of the Amell range) to retrieve a runestone. The Trial often ends with the kids frozen to death. The Bear Mentor card’s flavour confirms it: “If you’re unsure of the way, just keep a lookout for markers - the frozen corpses of would-be witchers.” This sounds ominous - don’t they collect their fallen?

Bear Witcher: Bears are solitary hunters as seen in the flavour text: “life alone can be tough”. The witcher in the pic just dismembered what looks like a ghoul (with a tail?).

Bear Witcher Quartermaster: This one I like. The Quartermaster is an amputee (missing one of his arms, which was taken by a bear; must have won that fight one-handed), yet they still found a job for him where he can be useful. His flavour text suggest he likes Mahakam mead.

Arnaghad: The founder of the Bear School, he never felt kinship with his fellow witchers. After attacking a witcher named Rhys over a contract, wounding him deeply from shoulder to waist, he returned to Morgraig, attacked Erland then left with his possé to found the Bear School - Haern Caduch - in the Amell Mountains. Later he almost died in a betrayal, which resulted in another schism and the foundation of the Viper School.

Gerd: Gerd’s a legendary witcher who fled to Skellige after allying with a Usurper instead of his daughter, who later issued a warrant for his arrest. He has a busy time in Skellige: first slaying a dragon, befriending the Jarl Torgeir, killing a bunch of sirens, losing so many weapon diagrams you wouldn’t believe, losing half his pay and silver sword on gwent, escaping Nilfgaard and managing to slay a striga, killing some of his pursuers, only to be caught up in the siege of Torgeir’s castle, where he died in the ruins. On the card he’s showing Bear-typical strength: he’s tearing apart a siren with his bear hands.

Junod of Belhaven: Junod had a dubious background, but was thought to be the child of a brave dwarf and a giantess. He’s a huge man, with a big bushy beard and bald head. His sobriquet is false; he took it after Ivo, because he liked the ring of it. He was known as a strict haggler and a bit of a gambler. In 1243 he took a contract in hopes of cash (he wanted to forge the Grandmaster Ursine Armour). The subterranean monster was said to live in the caverns. Junod drew bear signs and wrote a warning on the wall (this is the scene we see on the card). He was however ill-prepared; the beast turned out to be a shaelmaar (a type of relic Gaetan slew once) that killed him in that very cavern.

Dire Bear: Once again related to the school in question, the Dire Bear is stuck with so much weaponry that it looks like a walking armory. Lots of witchers must have tried to slay it, yet it still kicks - just like Bear Witchers, it’s resilient till the very end.

Haern Caduch: Built into the side of the Amell Mountains, it’s the coldest environment of all the schools. As with the other schools, the Bears were forced out of it due to folk riots. It was left in disrepair to be buried under snow and ice (as seen on the card). It’s name could be translated as “Piercing Whiskers”.

Armor Up: As Bear’s are more likely to stand in the way of attack than dodge, they need to wear a heavy armour at all times.

Salamandra:

Roland Bleinheim & Gellert Bleinheim: Witcher 1 characters. They are thought to be brothers, leading the Salamandra organization. As drug lords one heads the fisstech operation in Vizima’s sewers (Roland), the other in the swamps (Gellert). The flavour text pretty much matches: both of them wondering what the other one is doing.

Salamandra Mage: The art itself was already leaked in China around 2 years back, and there were a few theories. One of them was that the man depicted is Zerrikanian, and I think that’s correct. Both the facial tattoo, darker skin, thinly braided hair and fire magic points in that direction. Azar Javed (a known Salamandra fire mage) happens to be a Zerrikanian escapee too.

Salamandra Lackey: A girl with the Salamandra-stapled mask runs from a city guard. The flavour text says the following: “Lackeys are expected to perform their first five jobs for no pay, demonstrating their passion for the gig.” The organization monitors from the beginning that only those remain who are extremely loyal to their cause.

Fallen Rayla: A little background for those who are unfamiliar with her: Rayla of Lyria was a veteran of the Nilgaardian Wars. She harbours anti-nonhuman sentiments after she was captured by Scoia’taels and severely maimed. The Rayla we see on the card is a mutant - in Witcher 1 she was supposedly shot down by Scoia’tael, and Salamandra found her close to death, subjected her to mutation. She was killed by Geralt.

Salamander: The card shows a bright blue spotted salamander. It has two tails and heads (possibly grown together?). The Salamander is a symbol of the organization. Metaphorically speaking it could mean, that Salamandra thought of itself as something untouchable: “best to avoid petting them, as the salamander, when threatened, secretes a deadly toxin”.

Failed Experiment: The card - ironically - thrives when it’s poisoned. The “experiment” only resembles a human in shape. It’s clutching the table ends, as if trying to escape still. It’s fair to assume that they later dissected it: “even failed experiments can serve a purpose”.

Salamandra Abomination: A step further from the failed experiment - we see the results of pushing science’s boundaries. Only the skull is left intact, everything else of the body is covered with insectoid-like growths.

Stolen Mutagens: Gruesome organ harvesting. The witcher heart (?) glows, which is either an artistic decision (probable) or the mages sent magic into the body, and the mutagens light up (like angiographia). Three types of mutagens can be harvested: red (strength), blue (magic) or green (resilience). I headcanon that the amount they inject of the three types can vary - that’s how you get strength inclined witchers like the wolves (red), or big ass mothers like the bears (green).

Salamandra Hideout: There are multiple hideouts in Witcher 1 (outskirt of Visima, crypt in sewers and one in the trade quarters). The one depicted here is the fisstech lab in the sewers. It shows a dimly lit, cobwebbed room. There’s an elevation where a body lays on the table. The elevation’s floor is gridded, so the blood and other fluids can freely flow down into the sewer water, where many bodies are already discarded recklessly.

Neutral:

Alzur & Viy & Koshchey: Alzur was a charismatic mage and spell inventor, who created many horrible monsters, like the koshchey (with the spell: Alzur’s Double Cross) and the Viy (a huge centipede-like insectoid). He was also the one who did the lion’s share of work with the witcher’s mutation.

Cosimo Malaspina: Cosimo was the teacher of Alzur. He was known for his knowledge in hybridization and genetic modification. Him and Alzur were the true creators of the witchers sect. On the gwent card, three man are shown prodding at a mutated body. Cosimo (the old dude) is in the middle, Alzur might be the one on the left and that leaves Idarran on the right. His flavour text paints him as cold and clinical, someone without empathy: “Children keep asking him for gifts. He doesn’t know why, but it really helps with finding subjects for his experiments.”

Idarran of Ulivo & Idr & Wererat: Idarran was one of the contributers of the witcher experiments. He’s an expert in hybridization and genetic modification, whose teacher was Alzur. He was a pale kid who lived in the canals of Vizima and experimented on rats at the age of 5. He found beauty in gruesome creations, like the Wererat (a human-sized rat on roids) and the Idr (a big centipede-like insectoid). He’s disdained by Geralt for his many monsters.

Triangle within a Triangle: It’s a magic spell used to introduce a series of mutations and to greatly increase the mass of a given body. That way they can create huge monstrosities, like the koshchey. Adepts often confuse it with a pentagram which can lead to infernal disasters.

Selective mutation: The card shows a close up of a young man’s eyes - one mutated (catlike) one human. His skin shows his high toxicity level, ashen with prominent veins. He’s held down as alchemists prepare to inject a yellow concoction into the human eye. It’s possible that after the success of witchers the mages tried to recreate the changes in smaller scale, then unmake it in turn, unsuccessfully.

Witcher Student: This is not really a card, but I included it anyway. The card’s ability is - ironically - doomed, and to add insult to injury, its flavour text is the following well-known fact: “Four out of ten boys survive… at most.” It’s also a point for black humour that the gwent commentators added: the Trial of Grasses card boosts this unit significantly.

Berengar: He’s a Wolf School Witcher who blamed his school for denying him a normal life and consequently abandoned them. In Witcher 1 Geralt can decide to kill or spare him. In a letter he admits that he was a coward because he betrayed Kaer Morhen and worked with Salamadra in hope that they can undo his mutation. His card references a questline in Witcher 1, where he tried to reason with the vodyanoi (~lovecraftian fish people) to spare the village’s prize-winning cow, named Strawberry. This is non-canon; in the game Geralt takes over the quest to do this instead.

Leo: Another Witcher 1 character. He was an orphan taken in by Vesemir. He was a kind-hearted but hot-headed man, who had all the training but not the mutations and the experience - he never killed a man. The flavour text of his gwent card kind of mocks his death: “He would have caught the arrow if he only had some heads-up.” He’s burned on a pyre and his cenotaph can be found south of Kaer Morhen.

Geralt: Quen: The last classical sign that wasn’t yet a card. In the art, Geralt is wearing the Manticore armour

Snowdrop: She’s a not yet seen character; impish looking female bard with light blond hair (flowers braided on the side) who plays a medieval version of the fiddle to a rooster. There’s a horseshoe hanging from the hem of his pants. She’s also seen in the gwent: journey #3 launch trailer. She’s narrating that she was saved by Alzur. Alzur told her about his plans of creating witchers to fight the beasts of the Continent, and she admired him so much she spread his story (”let me tell you about the greatest sorceress to ever lived”). Their story will unveil in the next week, I’ll probably update accordingly. It’s also interesting that Alzur says in the gwent intro (regarding witchers): “Bards will toil to do justice to their feats.” As if his own successes and experiences will be mirrored in his creations. Projecting much?

Monsters:

Viy & Idr: both of them are centipede-like insectoids conjured by infamous mages (see: Alzur and Idarran)

Wererat: same can be said about this one. Idarran experimented on Vizima’s sewer rats since the age of 5. This human sized abomination was the end result.

Succubus: We already discussed how the “Succubus” doesn’t fit the theme. Other interesting thing is the surrounding of her - in the background we can see a skull full of some kinda of dark liquid; she’s also holding a goblet. I’m not saying she’s drinking blood, but if she does, it would shed some questions as succubi don’t need to drink blood at all.

Phooca: As nekkers’ rare big brother, phoocas are ogroids that have the strength to rip a man’s head off with their bear hands. According to the wiki, in Celtic folklore they are regarded as shapeshifting fairies.

Koshchey: A witcher 1 boss, koshcheys are spider-like abominations summoned by mages. The woman standing her ground in the picture is Visenna (Geralt’s druid mom). In the story she’s the one to kill the first koshchey ever created.

Spontaneous Evolution: Under the Red Moon the wolf mutated into an amalgamation of eyes and teeth. Malaspina possibly added something to the mix that proved unstable. The card’s name is kind of ironic - this change is not spontaneous (it was induced) but could be related to evolution (it would imply that this form is somehow advantageous to the current environment and helps adaptation). (Note: in my opinion spontaneous generation would be a better term: it’s the thought that living creatures could arise from nonliving matter.)

Hybrid: the card shows a two-headed wolf or dog. Pretty straight-forward.

Chimera: A creature created my Cosimo Malaspina. He combines the genes of a fiend and griffin, then added a trace of insectoid and wyvern. It kind of looks like a furred wyvern with antlers. Interestingly the frightener (an insectoid; a rare result of magical experiment) is also called a chimera.

Dol Dhu Lokke: a new monster lair location. The depending on how you translate “lokke” the Elder can be read as “black valley place” or “alluring black valley”. It’s so dangerous - housing many-a horrors - that even a witcher thinks twice before going near it.

Interesting tidbits

Coen has hair, which is weird because so far he was described in all sources as bald.

There used to be a card that was also called Viper Witcher, which is now referred to as “Kingslayer”

The Bear Witcher’s face was drawn after one of CDPR’s employee.

The Koshchey’s card title has a typo: “Koschchey”.

Easter eggs (mainly in flavour text)

The Spontaneous Evolution card references The Powerpuff Girls intro: “Professor Malaspina accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction - compound X.”

The Bear Witcher card might reference a song of Baloo from the Jungle Book (The Bare Necessities): “Life alone on the road can be tough - be sure to bring all the bare necessities.”

#my shit #the witcher #gwent #witcher meta #witcher lore #i worked really hard on this #i hope it shows lol #if y'all have any thoughts i'd be happy to hear about them #cross my heart i don't bite

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senju-sekhmet · 4 years ago

Text

The Leash (Part 6)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~6800 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! -i reckon I don’t need the paste it again… but in short: this is a purely self-indulgent work which contains a lot of my own headcanons and whatnot. this chapter especially so! lots of talking and thinking - curious to see what you think!! THANKS FOR READING <3 Ikuro greeted him with a warm smile at the interrogation headquarters. "You produce results fast," he commented after Tobirama explained to him where his research had led him so far. They were sitting in the small office adjourning the holding cell block again. Tobirama could only muster a huff in response. "It is possible I'm being put under pressure by time." His tone was perfectly caustic again.

Ikuro, on the other hand, was entirely unfazed. Tobirama decided he appreciated that about the man; he never had been fond of fainthearted individuals.

"I suggest we start with the least valuable prisoner," Ikuro then turned more serious, placing his broad hand on the table. "There is, after all, a chance this might backfire."

Tobirama nodded. A sensible thought. "That would be Akio." Then, he frowned. "However you noted he's broken already. Our goal is to gain information, too. All we'd confirm would be the drug wasn't lethal. And ascertain the bodily effects of this drug." As he spoke the words, he found the sensible approach - the logical one - didn’t sit too well with him.

Ikuro hummed affirmatively. "What do you suggest, Tobirama?", easily catching the uncertainty.

Tobirama crossed his arms. Frankly he had to ponder the question. There was merit in trying it in those who knew about the leash - but the danger of permanently harming or even killing them was there, too. However did they really know anything about the leash? Would they even relinquish their knowledge?

Had he reason to believe his drug could be considered that dangerous to not… take this risk?

He had no time. You had no time. "Let's try the strongest of them."

Ikuro's pale eyes lit up and flashed his teeth in a grin which otherwise might’ve let a shiver run down Tobirama’s spine. "That would be Zenji. The … polite fellow in the middle holding cell. You met him when you first came here."

Tobirama couldn’t have stopped the roll of his eyes even if he wanted to. He gave an exasperated groan. "Great. I’m thrilled to meet him again." That man would test his patience. Tobirama would refuse to guarantee for his safety.

Luckily, he wasn’t made to make any such promises. Ikuro rose to his feet, Tobirama followed suit. Before they set for the cells though, Tobirama explained his plan. Ikuro only nodded in agreement. An eerie kind of calm was settling over him when they finally entered the Stone shinobi’s cell block. It was not an unfamiliar feeling; rather a welcome kind of dissociation that had been well practiced in the warring states era. They all had, at some point, committed atrocious acts. Tobirama never looked back, his logic had been sound.

Just like this time. And what would follow here might be another ugly entry in a list of infamous cruelties - but another necessary one.

As they walked, he could feel the glances of the other prisoners on him as he passed them - and he spared none of them a single glance.

Once they stood in front of the cell, the lanky man’s eyes lit up in way too much delight. "How's the lady?", Zenji gloated immediately.

Tobirama ignored the question. If that was how he’d play it - he was ready. The ire burning under his skin was causing him to tremble almost still. A discussion, the man knew, might easily lead to bloodshed. And being riled up into beating up a chained up man was below Tobirama’s dignity. Although thinking about it provided some needed relief.

"Why are you keeping them like this?", he inquired quietly, hissing through clenched teeth, wondering about the fact all the cells were adjourned - what they did here, the others could hear.

Ikuro considered Tobirama with a thoughtful glance. "Additional pressure. They hear what we're doing to each of them on top of their own, ah, sessions."

Tobirama had guessed that was the reason.

He still felt like bloody murder. Rage like this - born from revenge - was a low motive, and Tobirama frankly despised himself for this. The only thing that mattered was whether one acted on their emotions or not, he knew. Yet he just had to remind himself of the fact that within less than a week, you'd run out of the despised drug they had tethered you to. And that the man in front of him, Zenji, might know how to save your life.

All things were relative, after all.

Ikuro unlocked Zenji's cell. The man was chained up in the same fashion he had been before - no movement allowed except maybe a wiggle of his toes. The chains were suspended from the walls of the cell and over and over painted with various seals, a few of which Tobirama recognised. Chakra sealing seals mostly, as well as other, sinister uses.

They both stepped inside and Ikuro locked it again.

Zenji gave a haughty laugh. "Not gonna speak to me? Awh, come on. Maybe I'll give you a hint about the leash if you do." He wriggled his eyebrows almost suggestively.

The blood was rushing in Tobirama's ear. His muscles were taut like a bow's string and it took every ounce of his willpower not to at least verbally jump at this man. Don’t, he chanted inwardly, don’t. Briefly, he closed his eyes and shook his head slightly as if to clear the berserk haze that wanted to settle over him.

Surprisingly, it worked somewhat.

Ikuro stepped to Zenji's side. "You're getting a treat, Zenji." A second later, his big hand had grabbed the back of his skull by his hair.

Tobirama stepped closer, procuring the vial from his pocket.

Zenji laughed haughtily. "Ah, ah," his eyes were trained on the vial. "Trying to recreate the leash?"

Tobirama stood right in front of him then, glare icy while the rage inside burned ever hotter. His expression was perfectly neutral, he didn't even bat an eyelash. "I'm going to tether you to the leash, eventually." His voice was nonchalant despite the rage that wanted to eat him up.

Zenji's eyes widened momentarily. Was there a hint of fear in them? But it was gone as soon as Tobirama thought he'd seen it. "You're gonna fail," the Stone shinobi spat, his smugness becoming caustic swiftly. "You can't ever hope to do that."

Tobirama tilted his head to the side, eyebrows rising slowly. "Why is that?", he asked, lazily, disinterested. Perhaps there was merit in trying to engage in a conversation with him, after all.

Zenji tried to whip his head from Ikuro's grasp, who just pulled harder at his scalp. "As if you'd be able to recreate it like that. You're fucking running out of leash and Y/n is gonna fucking die." His voice was dripping with hatred and no small amount of pleasure.

For just a second, Tobirama imagined ripping his throat out with his bare hands if just to ease the fury that was burning through every fiber of his body now; the gory picture helping momentarily not to act on it. Or at least verbally lash out. Still, he knew he’d despise himself for it - such an act was beneath him. The man was key to finding out how to save you. He had to keep telling himself in order to keep the white-hot rage crawling under his skin only. How he managed to retain his poker face was beyond him. Maybe the gruesome image did help.

He drew his lips into a condescending sneer. "I'm one of Konoha's most distinguished scientists. Don't think for a second I couldn't recreate anything your village came up with." His voice was dripping with arrogance.

Zenji was retorting with a sneer of his own. Ikuro's lips were drawn in a fine smile. "You're fucking desperate is what you are," he snickered, "That drug is impossible to recreate. Too complicated."

Tobirama gave only a lazy sigh and topped it off with an annoyed roll of his eyes. "Yes, I suppose for the likes of you that might be true." He leaned in a little. "I'm not you , though. Eventually, I will. And in the meanwhile, I'm going to test every single one of my experiments on you. You know," he mustered the man then a little as if he was nothing more than an object. "I'm wondering if you're actually afraid."

Zenji's eyelid twitched and he threw himself into the restraints binding him. Ikuro's grip was unrelenting, but he frowned slightly. "Afraid? Afraid?! You can't even risk me!", his voice was shrill and his face became contorted by fury.

Interesting. Ikuro thought so too - his pale eyes had narrowed and stared at Tobirama intently.

Tobirama remained impassive, just swishing the vial back and forth with a leisure movement of his wrist. The truth was he was far from that. He wondered if beating on this man until he spilled the beans really wasn't an option. But he was so close. Zenji had already made a mistake, and Tobirama had caught onto it, of course. Still, he needed confirmation. "I don't see why." He knew better than to keep up with this kind of verbal wrestling. That would only yield power to the prisoner.

Still, the hint had been obvious.

Zenji clenched his jaw tightly now. He, too, seemed to have realised his mistake.

A shrill voice floated over the corridor. The loony witch from the far end, Tobirama figured. "Zenji, you fucking idiot!"

She did sound coherently pissed now.

Unluckily for Zenji, that was the confirmation he needed. Time to take a shot at the obvious target. Tobirama leaned back, genuinely smug now. Both eyebrows arched up, his tone as sweet as sugar. "You're the only one left who knows how to create the leash, hm?"

Zenji apparently decided to break through the figurative front then - his lips drew in a condescending sneer again. "Alright, smart science boy. Assuming you brought all of the remaining leash with you to this godforsaken village," he began in a tone that made Tobirama's neck hair stand up. "Your precious lady has had about seven days to live, give or take, since we got here."

Tobirama already wanted to beat his face into a pulp now - how he spoke of your life in a simple calculation; an unfortunately very correct one - it was maddening. His heartbeat thundered through his skull as his world was incinerated in white-hot ire; he could barely feel the pain in his jaw from how hard he bit down on his teeth.

Zenji continued. "Now I kinda lost feeling for time in this fucking cell, but it couldn't have been more than two. So how about this, Tobirama Senju - all I have to do is last a few more days and then my knowledge will be meaningless because-" he leaned forward, wearing a huge, fat grin, "- Y/n's gonna have left this world, screaming and writhing in agony."

Tobirama's heartbeat was through the roof now. His fists clenched so hard, the vial might break in them but he did not move an inch.

"Unless,... you put her out of her misery beforehand."

For the fraction of a second, eerie silence filled the cell.

Tobirama's fist shot out before Ikuro could even do so much as realise what was about to happen. A sickening crunch echoed through the cell as it made contact with Zenji's lower jaw, who howled in pain in response.

"Tobirama!" Ikuro cautioned, pale eyes ablaze now. The situation was getting out of hand.

Tobirama almost didn't even register the warning. All he heard was the rhythm beating inside him as a fine tremor of fury shook him. His scarlet stare held him pinned, eyes ablaze - if looks could kill, Zenji would be dead now.

This man. How dared he.

How dared he to insinuate- To even think Tobirama would- That he couldn’t-

Zenji spat blood before Tobirama's feet. "I'm gonna fucking relish telling you it all once she's dead," he repeated, blood trickling down his chin, but mien filled with hatred. "You're never gonna crack how the leash is made in five days!" He drew his lips into an ugly grin, marred by the blood blood of his split lip.

Tobirama's fist balled again to deliver another blow to his face, but Ikuro cleared his throat authoritatively. In an instant, Tobirama's free hand had grasped around Zenji's broken mandibular bone and forced it forward with a lot more pressure than necessary. He made sure to put extra force on the side he had punched, just to be safe. If Ikuro had cautioned him not to worsen the prisoner’s injury, Tobirama did not hear it. He didn’t care, either. Zenji should be grateful Tobirama didn’t punch him again.

The prisoner howled in pain as he was barely able to resist his mouth being forced open simply due to the injury, Ikuro supporting by tilting his head back now. "Time for your medicine," Tobirama announced in an ice cold tone as he poured the contents of the vial into Zenji's mouth.

In an attempt to gag or wheeze it right back out he already tried to constrict his pharyngeal muscles, but Tobirama had seized his cricoid and pressed down harshly enough to force him to swallow - or else he'd suffocate.

Which he did, just a moment later.

For good measure, Tobirama kept the pressure up a few seconds longer, however.

When he released him, Zenji wheezed. "Fuck you," he spat, but his pupils began to dilatate already.

"Start," Tobirama commanded Ikuro in a pressed tone, shaking from fury still, who nodded and rested his hand on Zenji's head in order to assault the man's mind.

Tobirama meanwhile went for his throat to monitor his body with his chakra - sadly, he really did need to keep him alive. Which was difficult, as his focus was still clouded by the rage - the maddening fury he’d chastise himself for later.

The effects of his drug were - initially - comparable to the leash. The sensory overload of the brain worked the exact same way he had witnessed in you after indigestion - though now, it mingled with Ikuro's chakra, who was smothering him in what probably was a genjutsu or some other kind of mental assault. Tobirama couldn't help but marvel the expert level with which the man proceeded, comparing it to the brute force he had used on Akio. There was something to be learned here in the ways he didn't just smother him but let his chakra seep through every little crack of Zenji's mind, delivering mental stabs whenever he felt a crack in his mental fortress while coating him in a constant onslaught of pressure; a thick blanket of neverending slices at Zenji’s mind that made Tobirama shudder. It was much like watching a snake kill its prey - winding around the struggling victim tighter and tighter; the hopeless struggle of the despondent creature seemed to still as it starts to realise its demise while the snake viciously enjoys every drip of agony it can milk from it until finally, the unfortunate soul can no longer breathe.

Zenji's chakra on the other hand was sluggish - but not as subdued as Tobirama had hoped. The effect was there and the man definitely should feel his control over his chakra being significantly hampered, but it wasn't the same as Tobirama had seen in you. Stunted, yes, but not as frozen.

He was on the right path, after all.

Still, the screams Ikuro elicited from Zenji were music to Tobirama's ears. Just like the fact that physically, the man was fine. Tobirama flat out refused to heal the broken jaw, however. He didn't know how long the session lasted, but somewhere along the line, Zenji hat stilled. His head had tilted forward, the body limp.

"Enough," Ikuro announced finally, frowning.

Tobirama gave the man another brief once-over to make sure he was fine - besides the abused mind - then he removed his hand from his throat. His head felt dizzy. The ache in his heart was as agonizing as ever now that the rage had subsided. Ikuro clicked his tongue and waved his hand for Tobirama to follow. They headed back to the office. This time, he didn't feel the gazes of the other prisoners on his back.

Interesting.

Once in the office, Ikuro crossed his arms. "I don't think I need to explain-"

Tobirama cut him short with a wave of his hand. He didn't have time for a lecture. "I lost my composure. It won't happen again."

Ikuro stared back for a moment longer, then he walked to the desk. "Should I get the impression you're too emotionally biased to interrogate this man, someone else will have to conduct your experiments here."

"Understood." Like hell Tobirama would allow for that to happen.

Ikuro nodded, then folded his hands in front of him. "This was an interesting session nonetheless."

Tobirama crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Well, I'm glad you perceived it as such." He didn't cut back on the sarcasm.

Ikuro exhaled a sigh. "We have ascertained that Zenji is the only one who knows how to create the leash. And when I tried to pry open his mind, I found your little experiment made him a lot more susceptible to my methods." A fine smile formed on his lips.

Tobirama frowned slightly. The compliment felt sour still - he remembered how this was what you had suffered, and how it hadn't been near what the leash could do. In fact, by the end of the session Zenji's chakra control had been almost normal again.

No withdrawal effect, either.

"I did not break him still," Ikuro continued, "But I could take brief glimpses at the leash's creation, if I upped the pressure a lot."

That comment alone sent a jolt down Tobirama’s spine and he took a quick step forward. "Tell me."

"I'll show you," Ikuro held Tobirama's gaze with unwavering determination, and Tobirama stared back into the pale, turquoise eyes.

Then suddenly, he felt an image being pushed onto him - a genjutsu. Almost instinctively, he wanted to release it simply for the intrusion it caused - then he remembered what this was for. It was quite delicate anyway - fragments, loose images and echoes of sensations. Zenji's, Tobirama realised. He was holding a bottle filled with a clear substance. His chakra did something - a process that Tobirama could only guess at because every time he - Ikuro - tried to look closer, it was as if someone shoved him away. Still, there were some leads. Ways in which his chakra threaded through the liquid. Tiny - but something to go with - pieces of a puzzle. Where he still was missing about most parts of. It hinted at the utmost delicate process that seemed to be the creation of the leash - but it was proof. Proof that it truly was something of a chakra weaving process that created the leash.

"Release." Ikuro announced.

Tobirama's head was swimming again. A hand raked through his hair.

This was a lead. He should feel excited. Hopeful. Eager to work on it. Yet his mind wouldn't push past the crushing sense of dissatisfaction with this experiment, his outburst - and worst of all, Zenji's promise.

I'm gonna fucking relish telling you it all once she's dead.

Five days. He just had five days left and all he had was a vague lead and an experiment with a lukewarm result at least. Time - he was running out of time . His heart was thundering in his chest as his breaths came deeper than usual. He closed his eyes briefly.

If only he had more time.

Giving up was not an option. He'd just work harder. He'd sacrifice who knew what to make this work.

He breathed in deeply to try and alleviate the budding agony and dread inside him. It didn't work well. The pain stabbed at his heart, the sorrow had gripped him again. Tobirama was sure that if he closed his eyes, he'd see your face - in sheer agony.

Unless,... you put her out of her misery beforehand.

He swallowed the lump down his throat. It felt dry. The emotions that were swirling inside him were tiring him out; much like the days before, it was all too much. First the rage, and now the looming sense of doom and this utter despair he felt he couldn’t escape. He didn’t want to feel more, he couldn’t he was spent, but he did nonetheless, like a wound that couldn’t, wouldn’t stop bleeding. He was taking deep breaths against - against all this.

His gaze wandered to the clock.

Damn. You should have been awake for quite some time now.

"I will be back as soon as I have synthesised my next experiment. This is a start." He bowed curtly to thank Ikuro, who nodded in reply. "I need to go. See you soon."

Then, the world around him lurched as he teleported straight to your room.

________

Your nightmare had been exceptionally vivid this time.

Not just a horrible patchwork of memories from the past few weeks but a concise, terribly real scenario. Every single bit of the memory had felt like as though you were back in the dreadful hideout for sure. The screams echoed off the wall as they carved your flesh like a sculpture, the pain a thousand times worse due to this damn drug. By the time it had ended, your tormentor had cut you apart.

But you wouldn't die.

You never died.

The agony just never ended.

It all faded into a memory of pain supplied by your abused body. Eventually, the world was black. Then you slept. And when you woke, it still was dark.

With a sigh, you removed the blindfold from your eyes. Everything stayed dark. You forced yourself to take even breaths.

This had been the third time you had taken the leash since you had been rescued.

How many more would follow?

Your breathing picked up.

Dark. It was all too dark.

Your eyes wandered to where you knew the window was, curtain drawn closed. You really had to tell Tobirama to keep that open if you now started to become afraid of darkness so much. Then again, that might lead to more questions. Questions you didn’t want to answer. For now, the pain in your whole body was a dull echo, but you knew that’d change drastically again when you moved. No matter. You had to. The world was closing in around you and and your heart was hammering against your ribs so harshly you thought it might jump out.

Yelping past clenched teeth you dragged your haggard form to the window again, staggering through the darkness, not even bothering with the nightstand lamp this time. You didn’t need to. You whimpered deplorably from the aches that now flared through all of you, echoes of the torment that stabbed and burned.

You still felt so weak. It was dumb to think you had recovered much already - and without your own chakra, no less - but still. You absolutely detested this weakness.

This helplessness.

You grasped the curtain for support as much as you had to to pull it open. You had to fumble for it with a shaking hand, the other grasped the window sill below.

“J-j-just o-open…”, you stuttered as you ripped aimlessly at it.

Your breaths were coming so fast now your sight was blackening, your limbs feeling fuzzy. The panic was driving tears into your eyes and wrenching sobs from you.

Was this how you’d start every day, now?

Bright sunlight flooded the room finally. Instantly, both your hands clung to the sill then for support while you doused in the sight of the village. The very obvious signals your body was giving you to rest again were ignored in favour of relishing in this moment.

Safe. You were safe.

You sniffled as the tears dried down and the fright ebbed down. Somewhat. You wanted to stay like this longer, but you knew you really shouldn’t. Besides, the more you calmed, the more unbearable the pain became in all of you. Plus, if Tobirama caught you now, he’d be livid. He hated repeating himself. It wasn’t as though he was wrong, anyway.

You opted for sitting on the bed again and looking out of the window from there. A small comfort.

“Okay,” you murmured to yourself in preparation of the way back. With a deep breath you let go of the window sill and turned around.

A moment later your shaky foothold tipped, the ankle twisted - and with an agonised yelp that nearly had been a loud scream, you fell to the floor. Instinctively you broke the fall correctly, your training ensured that. Even in this deplorable state.

But the pain was searing. It damn near was equal to the torment - or at least it felt like that. You curled into a fetal position on yourself as your mouth was open in a silent scream.

You didn’t want anyone to get in now.

Tears were flowing freely over your cheeks. You kept silent. Silence had been a lesson well-practiced - though of course the Stone shinobi had made you scream so much your voice still was hoarse, that had been after a lot of silence.

You’d endure this, too.

Even so, lying on the cold floor - it felt just like after all the times they’d tortured you and then shoved you back into that dark pit. Helplessly on the ground with the agony fresh on your mind and weakened by the leash, by all the misery you were in. Unable to move from sheer pain alone, really-

Your chest was closing in again.

The room was becoming darker.

No, no, no. Not now. It’d be fine eventually - right? Wait, what if it wasn’t? Shit, where did that come from now? You mustn’t think like that. But here you were. Alone. On a cold floor. In pain- Bleeding?

No- You were sure if you opened your eyes now, they’d open to nothing but darkness. “N-no…”, you whimpered miserably, your arms covering your face as you curled up even tighter.

Cold.

Everything was cold, you are alone - There is nobody here, they’ll come again, and again for you.

…

“What the hell?! ”

You had no idea how long you had been laying there when the familiar, furious voice ripped through your consciousness like a horn’s blow. The world was slowing down again. You suddenly became aware of the fact you had been wheezing erratically. Trembling. The tears - an odd tear would run over your cheek. But you had stilled perfectly. You heard fast steps approaching. You tensed.

They stopped in front of you. Clothes rustled.

“Y/n?” - the voice was different now - panicked. Softer.

Slowly, you opened your eyes to see Tobirama’s black clothes in front of you. He was crouching. His hand was on your shoulder, you realised. A warm touch.

Your breathing levelled out.

You were safe.

You had just fallen down. Silly.

“I fell,” you admitted defeatedly, your gaze seeking his face hesitantly. This was embarrassing enough as it was, but Tobirama - he looked perfectly anguished himself. His scarlet eyes mustered you up and down, there was urgency in his expression. You sighed and began to heave your chest off the ground with your arms, ignoring the pain again.

“You shouldn’t have-,” he began in a scolding tone, but the moment you moved, it became stern. ”No, don’t do that.” The worry was mellowing it down still.

His arm snuck around your shoulder to heft you up from the floor. You became utterly stiff from the pain that shot through you as you were moved, but you uttered no more than a hiss past your clenched teeth. Your arm moved to rest around his waist for support, but the way you fisted the fabric of his black shirt was telltale, nonetheless.

Which Tobirama picked up on easily. “Just one step,” he muttered tersely. Frankly with the force he put in his grip he might as well carry you, but you appreciated the fact he granted you this shred of dignity. You took the step as gracefully as possible, which was simple given how Tobirama shouldered near all of your weight. You whimpered as you sat down the ankle you had fallen over on the floor.

“Easy,” Tobirama supplied immediately, holding you closer, his free hand securing your waist tightly.

His arm released you only momentarily as you leaned forward to spin and sit on the bed, but his palm lingered on your shoulder the whole time. He grasped your legs gingerly to help swing them into bed again when you turned to lie down.

You stared up at the ceiling once you had pulled the blanket over you. The trembles had ceased; your breathing was normal again.

You were safe.

Tobirama didn’t waste time, either. “What have you been doing?”, his tone was as strict as it was accusing. The mellowing worry had turned down a notch now that you were in bed again it seems.

You felt bold when you turned your gaze to meet his again. He was frowning, the scarlet eyes were ablaze. “I did say you could knock next time,” you answered in a small voice.

The answer was prompt. “So you’d have time to get back into bed, you mean?”, strict was becoming angered rapidly.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d have made that in time.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, the face scrunched in a frown and the eyelids narrowed to slits. No, he was pissed off. You sighed.

Your scathing comment didn’t even make him bat an eyelash. “Yn/!” If anything, the quip had angered him more, if that outburst was anything to go by. “You must rest,” he began sternly. “Most likely that stunt has ripped at your healing wounds and inflicted damage - setting you back. Not to mention you need to recover more strength first.” He extended a hand as he argued, frustration leaking into his voice.

“I know, Tobirama,” you snapped back. Both of your aching arms rose to your face to cover it. “I am painfully aware.”

He fell silent for a moment, the comment earned you a low huff from him. “So then why do I see you anywhere but your bed whenever I come around?”, again, his tone was unfazed. More stern, in fact. You knew your comments were riling him up.

Because I feel like I’m suffocating when I’m alone in the dark and that fucking window is the only thing that convinces me I’m free.

“I’m going a little crazy here,” you supplied, figuring that wasn’t even a lie. “I’m either drugged, becoming delirious or flat out in pain, as you know.” That much definitely wasn’t a lie.

It made Tobirama balk a little. Peeking past your hands you saw his shoulders droop, his arms at his side now. Weird. You had expected something along the lines of ‘it’ll be over soon’ or ‘pull yourself together’ - not in an ignorant or diminutive way, but rather something to remind you this was temporary. That all you had to do was be stronger for a little while. Tobirama wasn’t great at comfort to begin with, so he’d stick with the logical aspects of the situation, naturally.

“Tobirama?”, you inquired then, when he didn’t speak up again.

“I know,” he then answered, the anger fading somewhat. His mien remained firm, but he took a seat on the edge of your bed now to level out the height difference somewhat. Because that hadn’t escaped your notice either. “It is a difficult situation, but you must rest. I don’t want you going on walks now. At all.” His gaze lifted up to your eyes again - the frown still present.

Your hands dropped to your side again. Now was your turn to avoid his gaze. “I just wanted to pull the curtains back, Tobirama,” you explained in a quiet voice, your ironic undertone vanished. “I had to look outside.”

You heard him take a sharp breath and then - “Y/n, you mustn’t-”, then he abruptly paused. For a few moments, the room was completely silent. "Is… that why you were crying?", he asked suddenly, his voice dropping the strictness, completely soft again.

You didn’t answer him, but you closed your eyes. You had to, they were becoming wet again.

“Y/n…”, Tobirama whispered brokenly, his hand reaching for yours at his side. His grip was tight, his thumb ran smoothing circles over your skin. You exhaled a little gasp when you felt his chakra graze over your network in the way you were so familiar with, so warm and welcome.

“I’ll try not to get up again,” you murmured after a moment of quiet comfort. “Maybe just leave the curtain open.” You sighed. It wasn’t as though you didn’t understand his objections to you moving around - your ankle was testament to that - but the panic was just so much worse.

Tobirama didn’t reply to that directly but simply kept caressing you both outwardly and inwardly. “Alright.” He finally spoke. “Perhaps… I can try to be here earlier, too.”

You opened your eyes again to find his gaze was cast down at your body again, his eyebrows furrowed in worry again. You never had seen Tobirama in this much distress since these last few days. “You don’t have to. You’re busy,” your voice was becoming more somber again.

“We talked about that already.” Back to the firm tone, shutting the discussion down, it seems. Tobirama hated discussing in the first place, and with your time basically dictated by a vile drug that he had to administer regularly there wasn’t even much arguing ground on your behalf. You rolled your eyes.

His hand released yours and was pushing the blanket aside then, “I’ll see what I can do for you now,” he mumbled, then, already focused as he turned himself to face your side more.

You gave a low sigh. “I’d say save your concentration and chakra, but-”

Tobirama’s voice instantly was terse again. “Y/n.”

You rolled your eyes. “Exactly.” You resigned and helped by pulling up the gown somewhat as he placed both palms on your abdomen again. You felt his chakra’s presence intensify as he began and couldn’t help but gaze at his face while he first examined you and then went to heal - his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Over time, that became more dismayed. Of course.

Much like the last time, the procedure took its pretty time simply for how intricate the work was - how little chakra he could actually use in terms of overloading you still, and when he did, he’d have to put it to its best use. The thoroughly comfortable feeling was settling in soon however as the aches dulled and you began to relax under his treatment. You’d never deny this wasn’t good, no. Especially when he directed his attention to your ankle, the sensation was warming, itchy almost in how the joint began to ache less in tune with the healing warmth swirling inside of it.

After quite a while he retreated with a finishing brush over your network, which you let warmly hum in response. As much as you could, anyway. It’d never not feel alien to you how your chakra was there - inside you - and yet not ready at your disposal. When Tobirama drew his hands back, his face remained scrunched up.

“As I said,” and here he was again, scolding, naturally. “There was quite some damage to your wounds. And you sprained your ankle.” He crossed his legs and rested both arms on the edge of the bed. “I’ve repaired quite a lot of it. Y/n, you’re barely-”

You wanted to prop your head up your palm and rest on your side, but you were positive he’d yell at you. You opted for quipping again. “-healed and need to rest.”

His frown deepened. “I can also just physically stitch you up if the sight of those ripping serves as a better reminder for you. Because that’s what you’re doing, internally.”

Ouch. He fought back. “No, thank you.” You deflated and sighed. “I’m trying.”

That served to mellow him down significantly again and his shoulders slumped somewhat. He didn’t speak up again though, but his gaze had fallen to the floor, seemingly lost in ponder.

You simply eyed him for a moment before you tilted your head slightly. “Well, I ruined the mood, didn’t I?”, you attempted a little laugh, but Tobirama could only shrug his shoulders in what you think might’ve been an ironic motion. You frowned. “What’s wrong, Tobirama?”

His gaze lifted to gaze at you from the side, cautiously now. It didn’t sit well with you. “Just stay in bed, Y/n.”

You arched up an eyebrow. That was not what truly had been on his mind now. The lack of sternness in his voice proved that. “I know I should,” you began, “but that is not what is on your mind.” His nostrils flared slightly. “Tell me, Tobirama. Is everything getting too much for you? You don’t need to take care of me, too. That’s why I am here.” It still baffled you how much he did in the first place, yet-

“No,” he firmly cut you short. His arms crossed in front of his chest as he slightly leaned back. “I’m fine taking care of you and researching this leash.” You believed that much with how much conviction he spoke it.

“Then what is it, Tobirama?”, you demanded now. “Because I have the fleeting notion it’s to do with me.” And you didn’t like that at all.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “It’ll be fine, Y/n. Don’t worry about that. Just rest and get better.”

Anger started to flare in you. To be bedridden and get basically yelled at for drawing curtains back was one thing. But to actively be kept in the dark was another one. However you’d still try reason first before you went to demanding things because open confrontation only got you so far. “I’m injured, Tobirama. Not mentally capacitated. You might as well tell me, because I caught on the fact something is weighing on you and at the very least I’ll now worry as to why that is. Even if you tell me not to. So, please.”

Tobirama straightened and squared his shoulders a little. "Honestly, the only thing you have to worry about is your own recovery." He was getting more terse again.

You were onto something. You narrowed your eyes. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'll just get up after, scream until someone gets around and demand to speak to Hashirama." You had every intention of going through with that. You'd have to be fast though - weakness would settle in soon.

Tobirama clenched his teeth, his head whipped around to you to stare at you downright menacingly. "You will do no such thing."

"I absolutely will, unless you tell me."

Tobirama’s eyes closed slowly. He shifted back to his original position. When he opened them again, his scarlet pupils darted to the side to pin you with an intense stare, his mien was grave now. Your pulse picked up. Instinctively you braced yourself by heaving your chest up with both your elbows. Thanks to his recent treatment, the pain was dull, for now. Tobirama didn’t even protest when you moved. It just served to make you more tense.

“Creating more of the leash is proving to be a difficult task I’ve not yet accomplished,” he finally churned out, slowly, against his will, almost.

You gulped. Wait. That meant- “How much is left?”, you asked before you could even comprehend what you just said.

Tobirama closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He didn’t want to tell you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know anymore. “Five and a half days at our current rate.”

Around you, the world seemed to lurch like when he teleported you with the hiraishin seal. Your ears felt stuffy, your vision became a tunnel focusing on the face of your beloved and yet gazing right through him as darkness threatened. You felt numb.

Five and a half days.

Right now, you had five and a half days left to live.

And you wouldn’t pass peacefully, that much you had experienced before.

Your elbows gave out as you limply crashed back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Breathing was becoming harder as the figurative weight of the news was bearing down on your chest. Before you knew it, you were wheezing again. Ugly sobs were breaking past your lips and a wet sensation rolled down the sides of your face. Tears, you realised.

Faintly you realised Tobirama shifted. A hand took yours in it firmly, another on your shoulder. He was talking, but you didn’t hear anything. Not right away, anyhow. It was only when you felt his chakra again that you became more grounded again, but even then, it still was hard not to burst all over again.

“Y/n,” he pleaded, over and over again. Your blurry vision shifted to focus on his face, closer to yours now. It looked as agonized as you felt. There was a tremble in his deep voice. Your breathing levelled out slowly. Your free hand slowly reached for the one he had put on your shoulder as you sought his gaze again.

“Tell me more,” you urged, gulping.

“I’m not sure if-”, he hesitated.

“I want to know everything, dammit!”, you almost shouted.

Tobirama’s eyes closed, he winced as though you had physically slapped him.

And then proceeded to tell you - everything. What this leash was - besides what you knew it did to you - what he knew so far. The problem he faced. Instantly, you realised the task he faced was not just ‘difficult’. It was near impossible to achieve in such a short timespan.

“I’m doing all I can, I swear,” he finished, and the sincerity of the statement had the timbre of his voice shaking. His scarlet eyes were glistening - the hand you put on his on your shoulder reached for his face. No, you’d never question his resolve to save you. Neither his determination to keep you from any harm - his secrecy had just been another facet of that.

An eerie calm gripped you.

“I know,” you whispered, stoic. A sad smile stretched your lips. “If there’s anyone in Konoha who can figure it out, it’s you.” You believed that with every fiber of your being.

Tobirama frowned, tilting his head slightly. His breath shook.

“You need more time,” you added, your thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“There isn’t any, Y/n,” he answered, broken.

“Not if we proceed like this,” you agreed, somber. You couldn’t believe your next words, but here you were. You knew exactly what you needed to do - duty, if you will, albeit calling it that was odd considering it was your own survival that was on the line. Still. You were the one making the sacrifice.

“You start giving me what you have of the leash at the greatest possible interval.”

Tobirama’s face fell completely, the words hitting him almost like you had slapped his cheek.

“What?!”

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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lunarreaper-ut · 3 years ago

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Not Undertale related

I re-read the document with info on that Left 4 Dead alternate universe I made and I decided I’d share it here despite it not at all being Undertale related. I’ll put it under the cut if you’re interested! Warning, it’s long as hecc! And I mean... HECCIN long

Imagine the L4D universe after the remaining humans and military regained their foothold to fight the infected, and save themselves. Imagine they were aware of Carriers. Imagine this world wouldn’t just kill off the Carriers, and would treat them like humans (For the most part at least). They would create settlements completely divided, Carriers to their district, uninfected to theirs. The military would have a large amount of influence in these cities. The Carrier district would essentially be slums, or at least extremely poor. They would need to become self-sufficient, as the rest of humanity didn’t care for them or even wished for them to die out. These districts would be encased in walls. Some Carriers would say it’s better than being dead. Others would disagree.

Now, imagine Carriers went beyond simply being asymptomatic. What if Carriers did mutate? Rather than being simple common infected Carriers, what if (Based on the way the virus mutates depending on certain circumstances), the conditions for the virus to mutate into a specific special infected (Boomer, Smoker, Hunter, etc.) were met, but the Carrier didn’t turn? A new advanced special infected. Still retaining their sentience, still technically human, but much stronger. The military wouldn’t just leave them alone, they’d use them. This would implement Project Carrier. Any special infected Carriers would be rounded up and enlisted in the military. The better they did, the better the Carrier district did. They would, not only receive personal benefits, but would help the Carrier district receive better supplies. Medical supplies, food (as I imagine the Carrier districts would often be low on food), even improved living conditions. Carrier Soldiers would also be used in medical research to create a vaccine to combat the virus.

Despite this, Carrier Soldiers were seen as traitors to their kind, infected that needed to be killed by others, and experiments to the military. They’d be under constant surveillance to ensure they didn’t step out of line. Special infected were already smart enough to outsmart an unprepared soldier (Not that the military would admit that), and a Carrier Soldier was just a mutated human. If they weren’t kept on a tight leash, they could easily overthrow the military with enough careful planning. Thankfully, there were very few special infected Carriers.

This brings in all the technical stuff that I might get wrong.

The percentages of special infected to regular infected have been confirmed by in-game lore:

Special infected percentages are very low, the highest being 9% (The Hunter), (with Witches being unlisted due to either exceedingly low numbers or inability to safely study), which would mean that most special infected Carriers (Hereby called Special Carriers or SCs), would be Hunters most commonly. Of course I’ll write down theoretical abilities for each type of SC. Unfortunately there’s no information I could find that stated how many survivors were actually Carriers. Of course the in-game playable characters, but that would only amount to 8 (12 if you count the characters exclusive from the L4D survivors) out of all of the encountered NPCs, which of course I could use as a base if it weren’t for “The Sacrifice” comic, which showed the survivors heading to Millhaven and seeing a large amount of bodies being burned. It’s implied that these bodies were Carriers, but it’s also possible that they were simply people who died in millhaven or even common infected that were killed. This skews the numbers a fair bit, so I will use the original 8 survivors and NPCs listed in the wiki.

Rounding numbers up, Uninfected survivors would make up about 87% of the population while Carriers would be 13%. Based on the comics, Carriers are primarily male and the only female survivors would be the daughters of male Carriers. Since there are only 2 female survivors out of the 8, that would make a 25% chance of a female Carrier. This will become important later. Maybe.

Since we have a rough percentage of how many survivors would be Carriers, how many of them statistically would be SCs? Well thanks to more math, I have that answer. Using the two previous charts, I was able to make this fancy new chart.

Again, due to a lack of data, Witch Carriers can’t be calculated accurately. However. We know that there is a rough percentage of 25% of Carriers being female, (Well, we don’t know that but let's assume it’s true). It can also be observed that some of the special infected seem to be gender restricted. Hunters, Smokers, Chargers, Jockeys, and Tanks all seem to be male restricted with Spitters being female restricted. (The Boomer is the only exception to this rule). If we subtract half of the percentage of Boomers (To make it simple) and the percentage of Spitters, we get a 24.1% of presumably Common female Carriers.

This is where it comes mostly up to assumptions and hypotheses.

We know that the Witches are just as, if not rarer, than Tanks which make up only 3% of all infected, and only roughly 8% of all Special Infected. We only see the Tank about 1-2 times (though 2 is rare on Expert) per level in L4D, and the Witch, (Excluding the Sugar Mill), has the same spawn-rate. This would make their rarity at least equal to that of the Tank. This would make both the Tank and the Witch roughly 4% of the Special Infected population, and 0.7% of all Infected. Now normally I’d assume that it would be easy enough to put the percentage of Witch Carriers into the chart, but the problem arises with the percentage of female Carriers, which, as you recall, is only 25% with 0.9% already being accounted for as Spitters and Boomers. It’s highly likely that the majority of the remaining 24.1% are Common Carriers, due to the circumstances required to become a Special Infected. Becoming a Witch infected is highly assumed to be a result of an altered mental state, (Loss of sanity or Depression), which is far different from the other infected. All the other infected seem to have a physical condition met in order to become said Special Infected, (Health problems, excess of certain chemicals, etc.).

Now of course you could say, “Well everyone just went through the apocalypse, wouldn’t they all be hella depressed?”, and I would say “Yeah probably.”. However, there is a difference between feeling depressed and clinical depression. It would be a bit far-fetched to assume that all Witches were diagnosed as clinically depressed, but I believe it would make more sense due to the fact that every person can experience depression, but not every person is clinically depressed. Otherwise, I believe there would be a much higher rate of Witch infected if the cause was simply depression on it’s own.

A study in 2016 showed that about 10.4% of women were found to have depression. (Yeah outdated, I’m sure the number is higher now, but we’re using this one). This can be applied to our charts, however there is no way to tell how much of this percentage lies within the Carrier community. Majority of this percentage is certainly within the Uninfected community, purely based on the low percentage of women within the Carrier community. Only 3.25% of women would be Carriers in this scenario, leaving over 96% of women uninfected. Because of this, statistically, we can assume next to none of the Carrier women are clinically depressed. To keep things simple, I’m going to go with the assumption that less than 0.1% of Carriers become Witch Carriers.

Now that we have all of the statistics out of the way, what exactly would these SCs be like? How extensive are the mutations? I have theories! I’ll continue that in the next post though, since this is already long as hecc... Their abilities are a lot more interesting, so stay tuned!

#Not undertale #Still interesting though!#To me at least...#Maybe that's because it's my au #Left 4 Dead #l4d #Alternate universe #Luna's rambles #Luna's writing #Project Carrier

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sleepmusicland-1 · 3 years ago

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Gone Chapter 4

Ella POV:

For 4 months now I was already in New Orleans, the De La Crux circle was more dangerous than I would have thought. They acted in secret, used the other circles to get their way and, above all, they acted against Mikaelsons. Something that had already cost many witches his life.

Something that had amazed me was that no one, neither Isabella nor her members in the circle seemed to have been touched by the fact that someone had died. Murdered, only by whom was not clear.

For exactly 2 months I lived in a small apartment, on the edge of the French Quater, why the witches left me alone, although I supposedly played such an important role that their ancestors had torn me out of my life, was a mystery to me.

But one thing I could do undisturbed, both on the Internet and in the library, looking for information about what an Earth angel was and what my gift had to do with it, because since I was here, I kept encountering deceased souls and could also feel the presence of other people, vampires, werewolves and witches, I knew exactly who was near me. Even though I did not know these people, I knew when it was a human being and when it was not.

The scent of old books struck me as I entered the library, Getrud, an 80-year-old who had made her love of books her profession, greeted me with a cheerful "good morning" and informed immediately afterwards how my day had been so far.

I had to get used to communicating with someone in my mother tongue, because when I was still living in my own world, I had only spoken Dutch, simply because there was no one with whom I could have German spoken and then I often had to speak English, because the companies I had worked for often had English as the only official language.

But Gertrud was simply happy that she could talk to someone in her mother tongue and so I had learned early on that she knew about the supernatural and was one of the few people who had never gotten between the fronts. Because no one bothered to ask the librarian what she knew and she knew a lot. But in my search for the meaning of the earth angel, she could not help me either.

Gertrud wished me "good luck" before she turned to her work, although more and more people no longer borrow books, the library was still received by a sponsor. She had told me this right when I first came here, and she was so proud of her library, the treasures that were just waiting to be discovered in it.

"Thank you", I thanked her and entered the library myself.

The room itself was large, on both sides’ shelves upon shelves, full of books of all kinds, the smell of old books, dust and for me knowledge was in the air. Ever since Isabella decided to find out more about Earth's Angels before she wanted to start the ominous training, which I still did not know what the training meant, it gave me time to find out how I got here and how to get back to my old life, because I was not satisfied with one that Isabella claimed I could not go back.

I did not believe her, I would tell myself about the same thing in her place, in order to prevent people from trying to get back home.

I had just walked between two books shelves as my neck hairs lined up, the tingling that normally crept from my neck over my back started this time on my stone leg and goose bumps told me that I was no longer alone, but it was not a spirit, it was a supernatural being.

How did I know it was supernatural beings and not a spirit? I had no idea; it was as if my gut feeling had improved so much since I was here that I had developed a radar for supernatural beings and spirits.

Said supernatural being in this was Marcel Gerard, one of Isabella's allies, and even though he did not know where I came from and what I seemed to be, he had not even tried to get to know me better, as if it was enough for him that Isabella had said that I was important for her plan, whatever that plan was.

Because she had not told me that, I was supposedly the key to making an old prophecy come true, but how exactly she planned to prevent it was a mystery to me.

"Ella, right?" he spoke to me and seemed to let his charm play, maybe even worked for other women, but I was not like other women, like cliché, that sounded too. As an asexual person, it was not easy anyway.

"Yes?" I answered questioningly and did not expect an honest answer, but only an excuse why he was here.

"Someone wants to get to know you and he has a few questions, questions that Isabella does not want to answer", he answered me, immediately my neck hairs lined up, this someone wanted information from me. Maybe he even wanted to know where I came from.

And I could not say that I came from another world, where this was a series. That sounded stupid even to my ears, even if in my case, it was reality.

"Who is this someone?" I asked, I would certainly not go anywhere to meet some mysterious person who had questions that Isabella did not want to answer.

"Ever heard of Elijah Mikaelson?" Marcel informed himself and I somehow managed not to let my heartbeat beat treacherously faster than I heard Elijah's name. I still couldn't believe that the version I had seen on the show wasn't the same one I had come to know for a moment months ago. "Don't tell me anything, I'm not very good at remembering names," I answered him and that wasn't a lie. It took me several weeks from time to time until I could assign the names of the respective persons to their face and remember it.

"Don't worry, he just wants to ask a few questions, nothing more if you would please follow me?" Marcel asked me in a tone that did not tolerate any contradiction.

Elijah POV:

Marcellus took the young woman I had met in the cemetery a few months ago to the arranged meeting place, an old, abandoned church, where I could be surethatnone of the witches would eardrop on us.

I watched her body language, she appeared consciously confident and did not let herself be intimidated by her surroundings, she looked around and when her gaze fell on me, she seemed to recognize me again.

"What do they want?" she informed after the reason why she was here, no greeting, she got straight to the point. "Normally one greets his interlocutor" I answered her, where I did not miss that Marcellus was amused, since she did not adhere to the customs.

"Normally you don't get ordered to a conversation like they did," she contradicted me and slapped her arms on top of each other.

Either Isabella had not told her who she was dealing with, or she was one of those people who did not let themselves be intimidated by vampires, which in my eyes was not only incredibly stupid, but also dangerous.

"On the one hand, I would like to know where they come from, because they are not American," I answered her and she looked at me with her head tilted to the left, „The country where I lived or the country where I was born? Even then they don't get the answer they seem to be looking for, because my nationality is and will always be, Dutchwoman", she answered me, she was born in a different country than where she lived now? Where did it come from? What had Isabella done? The slight undertone of bitterness had not escaped me.

"May I guess that they were born in Germany?" I informed myself and Ella looked at me, "Because I have such a strong German accent?" she indirectly confirmed my suspicion that she had been born in Germany, to which Marcellus replied that he had German heard her talking to a few German tourists and that she had no accent, which made him suspect that it was either her mother tongue, or that she had lived in Germany.

And with that, she now knew that I had let her observe, but I did not know a detail of Marcellus's connection to Isabella at the time.

"Because I speak accent-free German, am I automatically born in Germany?" she asked and looked at me from Marcellus.

"This is actually the only explanation, because according to my contacts, they do not have a social insurance number, nor other documents to confirm their identity," I replied to her statement and observed her reaction, her heartbeat was calm, no signs that she was surprised by my statement or the fact that there was no documentation about the woman in front of me.

"The only explanation? I can think of ten other possibilities", she contradicted me, I was honestly amazed at how often she contradicted me and showed no fear.

"But why am I here? Why am I being executed here?" she added, and it amazed me how good her pronunciation was, because she had indirectly confirmed that English was not her mother tongue.

But I did not let this be noticed, a sign of weakness and your counterpart took advantage of it for their own goals. "I want to know what exactly Isabella is up to, especially because when I first found her near the Bone Mausoleum, the mausoleum that is only used for the witches of New Orleans when it is very important," I explained to her the reason why I had ordered her and commissioned Marcellus to bring her here.

"And I should know why? Ask Isabella herself, I'm not a witch and I have no idea what the meaning of whatever mausoleums have, which as you yourself have already noted, I don't come from here, so how am I supposed to know what exactly any mausoleum has for a meaning", Ella answered me and for the first time I noticed that she was wearing a chain, she was wearing several pendants on a black string, but I could not see which pendants they were.

For the moment I pushed my observation aside, there were more important things, especially because Ella really did not seem to know what Isabella had used the bone mausoleum for.

"Can I leave now? Or do they want to know more?" Ella hinged slightly annoyed, her attitude had changed, instead of standing bored leaning against one of the old banks, she stood upright, and her attitude revealed that she perceived something, we were no longer alone.

Could it be that she was paranormally gifted? That would be the only explanation, because their attitude had changed and not only, I noticed the change, Marcellus had also noticed the change.

A click echoed deafeningly loudly through the old, abandoned building, for vampire ears it sounded noticeably clear and loud in the ears, for people ears it was not audible.

I would learn more about the mysterious woman very soon and discover an old secret...

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #the originals #Gone fanfiction #elijah mikaelson x oc #chapter 4

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marril96 · 4 years ago

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Out of the Woods

Chapter 4: A Witch Scorned

Characters: reader, Sam, Dean, Rowena

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: An explosive argument leads to you running away and puts Rowena in danger.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

Rowena's hands were bound by heavy chains that hung from the ceiling. Her blouse and dress pants were torn, ripped in places, fabric and thread hanging loose.

Injuries marred every exposed piece of her flesh. A cut stretched across her cheek, another one across her chest. Blood drenched her blouse, staining the white fabric the color of rust. Her face was red and purple with bruises. Eyes framed by dark crescents. Lower lip swollen, blood dripping down its split corner.

She was exhausted. Week. The chains were the only thing keeping her on her shaky feet.

It's okay, baby, you thought, as if she could hear you, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill free. It's gonna be okay. You were here now, and you weren't going to let anything happen to her.

The worst had passed.

Whatever happened from here on, she wouldn't be hurt. You'd walked away from her once; you weren't going to make the same mistake again.

The man beside Rowena, the monster, glared at you, Sam, and Dean with hatred more intense than anything you'd ever seen before. He was older, around Bobby's age, but appeared fit, strong. His right hand cradled a knife, the left one balled into a tight, angry fist.

Useless for you were angrier. And hell hath no fury like a witch on a vengeance mission.

"Hunters," the man said appreciatively, his intense expression softening into one of friendship. "It was only a matter of time before you tracked me down."

Sam and Dean, yeah. But you… "Guess again," you spat, eyes flashing purple. An open threat. A promise that he wasn't going to get away with what he'd done. That you didn't forgive — not when it came to the woman you loved.

He stiffened at your display of power, but quickly regained his composure. Was that disgust on his face? Contempt? "And a witch." He looked at Sam and Dean like a grandfather disappointed in his grandchildren's life choices. "Is that what hunters today are doing? Partnering up with witches?"

"Sometimes we sleep with them," Dean said cheekily, prompting everyone in the cabin (even Rowena, in her weakened state) to glare at him.

"Well," the man mused, "one must have their fun, I suppose. We're all human, after all."

You begged to differ that he belonged in that category.

"That witch is with us," Sam said, gesturing to Rowena. "So let her go."

"Is that so?"

"She's an ally."

The man spat, disgusted. "So you're the friends she threatened me with." Rowena smirked, a wordless I-told-you-so. "Here I was, expecting a Coven."

"Oh, there is a Coven," you said.

Rowena coughed. Gathering the last remnants of her strength, she uttered, "It takes three for a Coven, love."

You grit your teeth. Typical. She'd been tortured for hours, had god knows what done to her, and that was the first thing she decided to say to you?

You cleared your throat. "There's a dyad."

"Scary," the man deadpanned.

"You should be scared."

He really should. You didn't look like much — couldn't do much — but you were a capable witch. You could hurt him. You could kill him, and you wouldn't have to lift a finger. The perks of having a pro as your mentor.

"You witches and your empty threats. And here I thought you were formidable."

You were, when people didn't sneak up on you from behind. Like he surely must have done to Rowena and those witches he'd murdered.

"At least we're not cowards," you retorted because what did it matter, anyway? He was surrounded. A dead man walking.

"You mean, like when you killed my son?" His eyes bore into yours, pierced right through to your soul. "When you spewed out that Latin shit and ordered my wife to cut her own throat? When you ripped my grandson's heart out and used it as an ingredient for a potion?"

The words sent chills down your spine. A horrid story it was. Utterly tragic.

But you hadn't done anything like that; you never had, and never would. And neither had Rowena.

"That wasn't us."

"It was a witch."

"Still not us."

You'd suffered at the hands of humans. Had shed numerous tears. Not once had you wanted to exterminate the entire species.

The man was sick. Deranged. A rabid animal too far gone, that needed to be put down.

"Your kind is evil."

You had to scoff. "Yours is worse."

He ignored your remark. Held his knife up, the blood-coated blade glinting under the fluorescent light. "You are abominations of nature."

"Put down the knife!" Sam barked.

The man just chuckled.

"Put it down!" Dean yelled.

"Here I thought my fellow humans would agree." The hunter's shoulders sagged. Face fell. "Guess not."

"Stay away from her or—"

"Or what?!" he snarled, red in the face. "You can't do anything to me! You've already taken everything!"

He pulled at Rowena's hair, eliciting a yelp from her dry lips. Bared her neck for you to see. Brushed his blade against the soft, bruised flesh.

They said there was nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose.

They were wrong.

"Impetus bestiarum!" you screamed, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to you, red-rimmed eyes dripping blood. Veins popping over his cheeks. "Cut your own throat—" and say hello to your wife, you thought bitterly "—you son of a bitch!"

He stared at you as if in contemplation, though you knew it was a done deal. There was nothing for him to think about. Nothing for him to consider. He was under your command; your servant, your slave. Your fucing belonging. And he was going to do what you told him to.

And he did.

The knife glided across his skin, the sharp blade digging in, burrowing itself deep. Blood gushed, thick and fast as a downpour. The man gurgled. Struggled for breath. The knife slipped from his fingers, landing with a clank that echoed in the silence of the cabin.

He made a step towards you; a single, desperate step before collapsing at Rowena's feet. Motionless. Dead.

A breath you'd been holding finally seeped out. Relief flooded your veins, tension dissipating from your shoulders.

It was over.

The monster had been defeated.

Your girl was safe.

"Remind me not to piss you off," Dean commented.

You responded with a small, proud chuckle.

Rowena's eyes, wounded, broken, met yours. She smiled, flinching as the gesture pulled at her split lip. "That's my girl."

Your heart bloomed with joy. You were at her side in an instant, fingers brushing against hers. A silent promise of safety, of protection. You were here, her tormentor was dead, and she was okay. She was going to be okay.

"I was wrong earlier," you said, pressing your forehead to hers, gently as to not agitate her wounds. Tears you'd been holding back spilled down your face. "You're not a shitty girlfriend. You're the best. You'll always be the best."

No matter how difficult she was. No matter how hard you fought, how loudly you screamed in each other's face. She was one of a kind. Special. Perfect. You wouldn't trade her for the world.

"As will you," Rowena said softly. "I knew you would come for me."

"I don't like people taking what's mine."

"My wee savage."

"I learned from the best."

She pulled at the chains weakly. "Would you be so kind as to undo these? I could use a wee rest."

"Of course."

You would take her home. Take care of her. Love her in actions as well as words.

And everything would be right in the world again.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @hellbentredhead @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @mintymarshmellows @midnight-lestrange @osterhagen @impala-1979 @gracib16 @feelsandotps

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #sam winchester #dean winchester #rowena x reader #rowena macleod x reader #my fics #fanfiction

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smilexdrarry · 4 years ago

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So I decided to make this a fanfic of the other thing I wrote which is now the prologue and this will be chapter 1 called ‘the truth’ the fanfic is called ‘The Risk Of Loving (you)’ I hope you like this! Let me know what you think!!

"Harry we were going to tell you!" Hermione said frantically, after she made sure Malfoy was ear shot away.

"Why?" Harry said, he was still in shock so he only managed a word.

"I think it's best if Malfoy explains it, he told us at least multiple times but I still don't understand it." George said.

"I don't understand why he needs to explain anything to me! He's on their side! This is— this is — !"

"Mate, calm down." Ron said, taking a tentative step forward.

"Calm down? Calm down?! I thought you of all people would be pretty upset about this!" Harry spat, standing up to face Ron, red in the cheeks with fury.

"I still am Harry! The whole thing is ridiculous if you ask me! I never— we — all of us never wanted Malfoy involved in any of this but as we found out he was already involved a long time ago." Ron yelled, he also burned red, his freckles standing out.

"What? What the hell does that mean 'already involved' he's got nothing to do with us!" Harry shouted.

"He's got something to do with you though." Ron said crossing his arms, puffing out his chest, and huffing in annoyance.

"Why does no one tell me anything! God!" He kicked the side of the bed and again and again.

"Anger issues much." Fred whispered into George's ear.

"Harry please..." Hermione pleaded with him putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off and glared at her, his eyes burning with rage.

"NO!" Harry screamed, "NO ONE TELLS ME SHIT AND THEN I FIND OUT THE MALFOY! MALFOY, HERMIONE! IS PART OF THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX! HE'S NOT EVEN OLD ENOUGH, HE'S NOT ON OUR SIDE!"

Hermione had tears in her eyes as he screamed. Harry was breathing hard, he just wanted answers.

"Potter." Said a gruff voice and everyone turned their heads to see Draco standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

"What?" Harry spat at him.

"We need to talk."

"Clearly." Harry said cracking his neck, his hands in fists.

Draco closed his eyes as he held the bridge of his nose between his fingers, his head tilted back. "Could the rest of you go downstairs. I would like to talk to Harry alone." He looked at them all, then jutted his head to the door as he stepped to the side to let them pass, they each gave Harry reassuring glances as they left.

Once all were out Draco closed the door with his back, his eyes not leaving Harry's.

"How do I know this isn't a trick?" Harry said, going for his wand.

"Don't be ridiculous Potter, sit and I'll tell you everything." Draco put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the desk Ginny was sitting at only moments ago.

Harry looked skeptical but sat on the bed, his eyes never leaving Draco's

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this sooner, and this is going to be hard to hear."

"We'll spit it out, I really need answers right about now."

"I know you do, so let me talk."

Draco let out a sigh before he began to speak. "My father is a bad man, as you already know, a death eater." The way he said it was like poison had reached the back of this throat, and this took Harry aback. "He never had time to actually raise me like a father should, anyways my mother raised me and right might I add she taught me to love and care the opposite of what my father wanted for me."

"That's absurd."

Draco laughed, "I know right, my father is a crazy man."

"That's not what I-"

"Anyway once my mother knew my father was going to rejoin the Dark Lord again once he returned, she took me from my father and taught me the right way of things, while my father taught me to hate my mother taught me to love. She protected me from him and his beliefs, the ways of a 'true pureblood' my father would say as he sat me down and prepared me for the rid of muggle born witches and wizards and muggle lovers of the world. But what he did not know was that I was already prepared to fight, and not his beliefs but my mothers."

He paused to study Harry, tilting his head he asked, "are you getting it so far?"

"I don't believe a word you're saying to me right now." Harry said stubbornly.

"God, grow up Potter." Draco groaned and pushed his hair back with his hands.

"Pfft whatever you're the same age as me."

At this, Draco snorted and he slapped his hand over his mouth to keep his laughs at bay. His body shook as he silently laughed.

"What's so funny?" Harry sneered.

"Oh nothing," he said finishing the last of his laughs, "just that I am older then you."

"Yeah like by a month." Harry rolled his eyes, this was getting odd...he still didn't know why Malfoy was here; he didn't finish telling his story, he thought maybe he should just hear him out.

Draco smiled, "more like 4 years difference."

Harry's eyes winded and his stomach did a weird flip, "no you're not."

"Oh but I am, I'm 18, born in 1977." Draco looked full of himself.

"B-but you don't look 18!" Harry exclaimed, looking Malfoy up and down to make sure he still saw 15 year old Malfoy.

"Oh right, forgot about that." Draco took out his wand and glided it down the length of his body and next thing he knew Draco looked four years older, his face had thinned and became more fine and sharper and he was also taller, his biceps also could be seen through the white long sleeve shirt he was wearing.

Harry just started, gaping at him the second time that night.

"Ok Potter this is creepy, stop staring." Draco flushed, shifting uncomfortably on the desk.

Oh god his voice was deeper too.

"H-how I-I b-but w-what? no wait, I don't understand but- hold on- school and- did you — ?"

"Potter Potter Potter, let me explain since you seem to be in too much shock to talk, let me and you just sit and listen, I still want to eat dinner you know, you probably need some too, you're way too skinny, anyway where was I..."

Harry's mind was racing, this had to be some kind of joke, or a dream, yes, he was still at the Dursley's, locked in his room waiting or them to come back, dreaming about Draco Malfoy at age 18 ripped as fuck. Ok Harry shut up, he thought.

Harry didn't really know what else to do, words completely useless know because he couldn't even get out a proper sentence. So he just listened.

"I'm on the good side, to get that out simply but I go undercover when I work with my father and the other death eaters. And of course my father knows none of this. My job is simple, to watch over you, and report back everything I learn and hear back to headquarters."

"I was homeschooled till I was 14, my mom did this on purpose so I could show up at school with you at the same time when you were 11, My mother wanted me to be in the same year as you to look over you, so I performed a transfiguration spell and appeared younger for all those years. Of course I had to keep up the act, so I acted like a brat and hated muggle born witches and wizards and muggle born lovers. Of course I despised this every second."

"I apologized to Granger, she appreciated it. So anyway Dumbledore and the other teachers knew about me, another thing that helped me stay safe at school. Dumbledore taught me all I ever needed to know about important defense skills, Snape taught me potions that could heal anything, McGonagall taught me how to transfigure myself and other things, I learnt this all when I was young so I could use it when the Dark Lord returned, because we all new he would eventually, and I could fight by your side."

"Dumbledore thought that it would be best if I revealed all of this information to you now since you're older and this is my first year in the order."

"I wished to tell you all of this sooner, I always wished to tell you, but it was out of my hands. But now you know, damn, I have been waiting to tell you this forever, it feels good to get it off my chest."

Draco rubbed his face with one of his hands and breathed out deeply.

"I-I don't know what to say, that's a lot to take in." Harry gulped and leaned back on his hands.

"I thought it would be, and I'm sorry for that. But would you at least walk down to dinner with me, you're dreadfully skinny." Draco walked over to where Harry sat and held out his hand to help him up.

"I'm not skinny." Harry growled and slapped his hand out of the way and walked right past Draco slamming the door behind him, it sprang back open though and when it did, the lock had broken.

"You're a strong Potter," Draco said, examining the door that leaned awkwardly, "that's good, I mean I already knew you were strong. You're the strongest person I know actually."

Harry started, looking at Draco as though he were a new species, I mean for all Harry knew he was. He learned in about less then ten minutes that his school enemy was actually 18 and was actually looking after him all these years. What was happening? This is just absurd, absolutely crazy.

"Have you meet Voldemort yet?" Harry found himself saying, he was simply too curious, he waited all summer for any news about Voldemort but got nothing. And after what he just learned about Draco...going undercover...well he was bound to have already met him and at the very least knew something about him and his location, plans, etc...

Draco's head turned sharply around, startled by the question. "No, I have not but I am expecting to be next summer. And if you're wondering if I have any news about him...I haven't got the slightest idea."

"But you're part of the order aren't you not? You're bound to know something, specialty since you're going undercover if I have my facts right and if I don't have brain damage right about now."

"You're right Potter, I do know somethings but I'm pretty sure I would be killed by Mrs. Weasley if I said anything...and besides I am really not supposed to tell you."

"Ah." Harry said, clearly annoyed, "let's go down then."

"Yes, right, of course." Draco agreed and let Harry go first down the stairs. "And I promise you your brain is completely fine, this is real."

"My head is still pounding, this is crazy." Harry said to him as they walked down to the kitchen.

"I know it is and I promise to tell you more later." Draco smiled and opened the kitchen door for him.

Inside sat Ron, Hermione, Fred and George, Bill, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Lupin, Tonks, Mundungus...and Sirius.

"Sirius!" Harry said, Sirius got up from where he was sitting and hugged Harry. "It's good to see you, Harry, have a seat. I bet you have a lot of questions."

"I suppose you told him then?" Hermione then spoke to Draco who was standing next to Harry and Sirius, she was clearly curious of what happened in the other room.

"Yes, I did." Draco responded, fumbling with the cuff of his sleeve, nervous habit Harry thought.

Every head turned to look at Draco and by the looks of it Harry was the only who still seemed to be questioning his own head, because they all smiled at him except Ron and the Twins and Ginny...ok maybe not everyone.

"Harry, you alright?" Ron asked, a worried exasperation on his face.

"Yeah, just a bit of shock, that's all." Harry nervously glanced at Draco then back at Ron.

"A bit?!" Ron strangled, "mate I kept pinching myself all day to make sure I heard him clearly."

Draco rolled his eyes and sat down next to Hermione and Harry sat down next to Ron across from them.

"Well my head is still throbbing." Harry rubbed the top of his head to create the effect that it was actually pounding while Mrs. Weasley put a dish of food in front of him.

"I would assume that's another side effect when you find out the news that Malfoy is 4 years older than us." Ron said, taking a bit of food.

"Here you go Draco dear." Mrs. Weasley said, putting a dish in front of Malfoy.

"Looks good, thank you Mrs. Weasley." Draco said, giving her a smile.

"Please, it's Molly, how many times do I have to tell you this Draco?"

"Right sorry, thank you Molly."

Ron looked like he was going to barf, "I'm never going to get used to this...never."

"Sirius," Harry began, putting down his fork, "is all what Malfoy said to me true? Because I still can't wrap my mind around it."

"You still don't believe me then." Draco chuckled, shaking his head.

Harry turned his head to him sharply, gritting his teeth, "no, not necessarily." He turned back to Sirius.

"It is Harry, all of what he said is true, it is very complicated and there are a lot of things that you don't understand."

Harry's hand gripped his cup of water out of annoyance, "well then tell me what I don't understand, just why exactly is he the one to look- look," Harry struggled, "to look after me?!"

"It's clear to me he didn't do shit over the years when we were at Hogwarts and now he is claiming he was there to look over me?!" He then rounded on lupin, "did you know about this?"

Lupin seemed to struggle with an answer for a moment, Harry looked murderous.

"I did know about Draco, Harry, you need to know he worked with all the teachers, he didn't-"

"Lupin if you don't mind could I explain?" Lupin nodded and Draco then looked at Harry, "look even though I said my job was to look after you, it wasn't like I could actually help you with anything, there was too many people, and things could of been way to suspicious, I did know Mad-eye was Bartemius at the time — "

"What?!" Harry yelled, making everyone jump.

"Potter please let me talk, I was the one who told Dumbledore that Mad-eye was crouch when I did find out it was him- and I only did when I went to visit my father during Christmas break, I overheard him talking and I knew I had to tell Dumbledore immediately so I went back to school. Once I did tell him he wanted to keep everything on the down low and not reveal him yet, he said it would cause complications."

"He knew the whole time- he could of saved Cedric —"

Harry choked out the name and everyone looked at him sadly.

"It just didn't work out like that Harry, and I'm dreadful sorry."

Harry's head shot up, his eyes red, "don't you dare be sorry Malfoy." He growled.

Draco looked up pointedly, "my job was really when The Dark lord would return. And know that he is back, I'm prepared and ready to fight. I was trained for this, I was trained to protect you Harry Potter."

Everyone was completely silent after that. They all looked between Harry and Draco trying to figure out this passing of understanding that went between them. Harry's lips felt dry all of a sudden and he parted them a little in shock. This wasn't supposed to be happening, this was utterly insane, why was he even believing this in the first place? Nothing seemed to add up...but it did. This was something that happened in movies not in real life.

But in the mist and haze of all what Draco was saying he seemed to believe it. But why? Wasn't that always the question: why?

Harry had to pull himself together, he took a very shaky breath and spoke quietly, he felt light headed, "trained? You were trained to protect me?"

"He took the unbreakable vow Potter." Every head turned towards the door, Severus Snape stood there looking right at Harry in a way Harry had never seen Snape look at him before.

"Snape! Shouldn't you be back with my father, he is expecting you." Draco said urgently, standing up from his seat so fast that his chair fell back.

"Sit down, Draco, everything is fine. I came back to make sure Potter was settled. I assumed hearing the news of you would be quite a shock to the young boy." Snape said with that dead, drawling, voice of his.

"I see." Draco said picking his chair back up and sitting down.

"Wait- what's an unbreakable vow?" Harry asked looking around and his eyes landed on Hermione, who looked like she knew exactly what it was because she looked at Draco with watery eyes.

"Draco y-you couldn't have?" Hermione said her mouth opening and closing not seeming to know what else to say. All others in the room seem to know what it was too. Mr and Mrs. Weasly exchanged worried looks, Fred and George whispered things to each other in hushed voices. The other adults either looked at Snape pointedly or the ground.

Draco looked at Harry, and talked to him like he was the only one in the room, "The unbreakable vow is a binding magical contract cast between two people, if broken by one of them, will result in the imminent death. I took the contract with Dumbledore, a promise to keep you safe, always. I took it about a week ago, all the training I went through was to make the contract in the future, it um... left scars." Draco took his left arm, that was the arm he kept fixing his cuff of his sleeve, and he pulled it back to reveal a unique scarring that laced began in the middle of his hand to his forearm.

"You did that... for me?" Harry asked in a small voice, he was dizzy now and everything looked blurry.

"Of course potter... Potter?!"

Harry had fallen out of his chair and his eyes seemed to close then slowly open again, when was the last time he ate? He heard voices all around him, they seemed to fade in and out.

"Oh dear, is he alright Ron?" Mrs. Weasley's voice.

"Yeah, I think so he's..." Ron's voice faded and Harry's eyes closed then opened again, and when they did he saw the face of Draco Malfoy keeling down over him.

"I think he just fainted...I got him..." Harry felt the weight of his body leave the floor. His eyes blinked one last time before they fell close, the last trace of Draco's face fading.

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