#she gradually loses her sense of self. eventually‚ after she turns‚ she manages to kill him

[hojiteaversion]

In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.

And it sucks, sometimes. She had other plans in life other than chase the undead in cemeteries, you know? But still, she has come a long way from the scared little Slayer she was. Nowadays, she's just sick of these 600+ year old immortal men who think she is substitute for therapy.

Little does she know: the stakes are higher than ever.

I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.

Vlad is mysterious, but he's kind. She's sure of it. He has assured her they will find the reason for the spots in her memory, and the wounds on her neck. She's not afraid with him. In truth, she's in a blissful daze… She can barely remember meeting him, or how she got here, or… who was waiting for her. Does she have anyone else?

She doesn't need anyone else. She has Vlad, and life is bliss.

Because I take things away from stupid, evil old men. It's what I do. I've always done it. They deserve to lose everything. And I deserve to have all their stuff.

Laia doesn't really remember her human life at this point. And does it matter? What is a human to her?

She likes watching them, though. She likes the blush blooming in their cheeks when they are in her presence. She likes the way they try to emulate her, to show her they are worthy of being near. She likes how they bare their necks, eager. She likes the horror sweetening their blood when they realize they will not survive her, because they are nothing.

Just like she was nothing to Vlad.

Just like he is nothing now.

[the-apocryphal-one]

Ebb and Flow

Summary: She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things. Astarion x Isaniel

Also check it out on AO3 here and ff.net here!

A/N: whelp, here I am. writing fic with my OCs. that never happens. but this cheeky little bastard left me no choice. I fell in love with him so quickly, I had to write how my character did (or is starting to...getting there...feeling feelings...look we're still in EA and I love slow-burn enemies to lovers).

Minor spoilers ahead!

-

A mix of old paranoia and carefully-honed insight tell Isaniel, from the moment she meets him, that Astarion is suspicious. The only reason she even approaches the grass is because the risk of leaving an intellect devourer on the loose is far greater than the risk of exposing her back to a stranger. One is a dangerous beast that could quickly kill her or innocents if left unchecked; the other, she believes, is just an elf she knows to be wary around. He cannot do anything she is not braced for.

She is wrong. He is far stealthier than she’d expected.

-

After she diffuses the situation and they agree to work together, Isaniel subtly flexes her left hand. His dagger had cut into her palm as she’d struggled to pull it away from her throat. It was deep enough to merit healing, and she knows it’ll scar. A lesson.

It’s not an easy thing, to watch your surroundings and look for other survivors and keep someone in your peripheral vision, but she manages.

-

That night, everyone at camp is wary, watching each other, gauging their trustworthiness. They’re all newly acquainted, a collection of cast-off captives with bombs in their heads. It’s simultaneously the most ironclad and the thinnest of bonds. But gradually, one by one, they drift off.

Isaniel tries not to. Decades of learning to embrace Eilistraee and lower her guard around others have vanished tonight. She sits, staring at Astarion across the fire, and he stares back. His eyes are somehow both jeering and flirtatious, the planes and shadows of his face even more beautiful in the firelight. They sit for hours, just watching each other, her quiet declaration that she wouldn’t turn her back on a stranger heavy between them.

But eventually, exhaustion creeps up on her and slips the trance over her head, and then it is morning.

His smugness is unbearable.

-

Isaniel considers herself a practical woman. You can’t not be and survive the Underdark. She will refuse to give up on a cure until her body physically starts to change, but she knows that the second it does, she wants the others to cut her down—the same way she’d cut them down if they began to transform.

So when Astarion asks how she wants him to kill her should she sprout tentacles, she’s not affronted. She sees it as professional courtesy.

After some thought, she decides on a knife. Poison is not gentle, nor quick. Neither is strangulation. A good, clean thrust to the heart or head, though, will be fast and painless. The best result for her and those around her.

His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he discusses her choice, and Isaniel remembers how quietly he’d snuck up on her. This is not just professional courtesy, she realizes. This is a man who intimately knows the art of death, and loves it. And at that realization, the walls that had started to cautiously lower, just a tad, jerk back into place.

When he finishes, she crosses her arms, cocks her head, smiles coolly. “And you? How shall I kill you?”

His teeth flash an almost unnatural white when he grins. “Oh darling, I’d love to see you try.”

-

The night they gain some leads, she finds him stargazing while doing the rounds of the camp. When she pauses to speak with him, it is surprisingly nice. His quip about “taking or leaving” her chin makes her lips twitch, despite herself. And she can’t help but approve of someone who can also appreciate the beauty of the night sky.

Her eyes seek out the moon instinctively. Her hand closes around her sword pendant for a brief moment. Eilistraee, watch over me.

For a brief heartbeat, an echo of a song floats through her mind. It’s the same music that stopped her dead in a marketplace in the Underdark, so beautiful and ethereal and divine it almost brought tears to her eyes. Isaniel would later learn that Eilistraee was always seeking to touch the hearts of the drow, and had been beyond grateful she’d listened. But at the moment, all she had known was that she could not rest until she’d found that music again. Hearing it again now is a promise.

The notes fade, but she doesn’t feel empty like she did that day in the Underdark. Her goddess is with her and loves her, and there is nothing more comforting in the world than that. Even Astarion seems not so bad in that moment, and they bask together in the companionable silence.

But then he wonders aloud what will happen in the future, and the illusion of safety breaks. She briefly mourns its departure; then, she straightens her shoulders and looks back at reality. And reality includes him.

She gives him a taste of his own medicine: “What? Would you miss me?” He laughs, rises, and compliments her. She accepts it, and in doing so deflects. He flirts, invades her personal space. Out of sheer stubbornness, she refuses to step back. To do so would be to admit that he has unnerved her. It’s not just his proximity; it’s this undercurrent of something.

The dance ends; he leaves. The tension drains out of her body.

-

When she emerges from a restless, unsuccessful trance and finds Astarion leaning over her, Isaniel lashes out. Her elbow catches him square in the jaw; he curses and stumbles back, and she almost attacks while he’s off-balance. But she’s a follower of Eilistraee, and somehow, she’s become the leader of their group. Both of those factors give her a responsibility to hear him out. So, she stomps down on those old, false instincts and lets him talk.

It’s almost a relief to find out he’s a vampire. The secret is out, and now she can deal with it. Really, Isaniel feels like a fool for not putting the pieces together. The sun doesn’t burn her eyes anymore, thanks to the tadpole—why shouldn’t a vampire be able to walk in it as well? But she’d just assumed that his red eyes were indicative of drow blood somewhere in his family, the fangs some form of genetic defect.

Astarion asks her to trust him. Incredulously, she counters that he tried to bite her. He retorts that they need each other. And then he begs for a sip of her blood.

Isaniel takes a deep breath. Looking around, she realizes that their brief scuffle woke the others up. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and assumes that they only watch because they’re too surprised to actually do anything. But that’s irrelevant right now. She turns her focus inwards and analyzes exactly how much they need Astarion.

He’s the best among them at picking a lock. His speed is blinding. He’s deadly with his daggers. And he moves so silently…

Losing him would be bad, she has to admit. So: keeping him means feeding him. And logically, it makes sense that a vampire would not find animal blood as nourishing. Oh, she knows he’s manipulative, she doubts he’s telling the whole truth with his “I’ve never fed on humans!” spiel—but she does believe him in that, at least.

She certainly can’t half-starve him, but she will not let him eat innocents. So…what other options are there? Letting him feed off their enemies? Plausible; but that is a question for the morning. Because Astarion is ultimately right: it really comes down to whether she can trust him.

Isaniel doesn’t know what surprises her more: that she does trust him, or that the events of this night haven’t cost him all of it.

Well, she trusts him to an extent. She gives him his share of night shifts, she relies on him in battle, and he has easy access to their food. But that’s trusting him not to kill them; keeping him, knowing what he is, requires trusting him to not lose control. It means trusting that if an emergency happens and he needs their blood, he won’t go into a frenzy and drain them dry.

A test, then. If he reverts to a creature of base instinct, if he cannot be reasoned with, if he tries to kill her, she will kill him. Better to discover the extent of his self-restraint now, while she’s alert and prepared to stop him, than later, when circumstances might not be so fortuitous.

So she sends up a quick prayer to Eilistraee, bares her neck, and lies down.

-

He gets caught up in the moment, but her command to stop brings him out of it easily enough. He lets her go, breathless and smiling, thanks her, and stalks off.

Isaniel can’t be angry at him; after all—and this is very hard to admit, even to herself—she almost got caught up in the moment too.

-

Sometimes she would catch him gazing at the sky, during the day, open wonder on his face. Now she knows why.

Isaniel can understand that. With her eyes no longer burning, she can drink in the tableau around her in a new way. There are shades of color she couldn’t quite discern before, and everything seems so much richer in the sun. How many drow have been able to do this? Very few, most likely.

It’s not enough to make her want to keep the parasite—it could never be enough—but it is something she can’t help but appreciate.

-

The day the sickness strikes, Isaniel gives the order to make camp where they stand, long before night falls. They’re all just too exhausted to keep traveling, even to search for a suitable place to rest.

That’s not the only thing they’re too exhausted for, as it turns out. Not one of them can muster the energy to scout for nearby threats, or camouflage, or stand guard. Even Lae’zel’s attempt at a “mercy kill” is sloppy. They’re all so pathetic a kobold could walk into their midst and kill them.

Between talking Lae’zel down and doing her customary rounds of their parody of a camp, Isaniel’s low energy reserves are completely barren. As she crawls into her bedroll, for some reason, her mind turns back to Astarion’s panic.

He’s usually so self-assured. Smiling in the face of anything. Ready with his rapier wit. The complete unraveling of his composure is…alarming.

But before she can think much more on that, a fresh wave of tremors hits her. She squeezes her eyes shut, curls into a ball, and prays.

-

The next morning, Isaniel wakes up with heartache—and fury.

How dare it? How dare that parasite approach her in the guise of her dead husband? How dare it speak with his voice, ignite her skin with his touch, dishonor his memory by wearing his face? The sickness of the previous night is completely forgotten; instead, she shakes with rage as she brushes her hair, checks her equipment, gears up. Her fingers itch to play her lute and vent it all out in jagged, discordant music—but no. Astarion’s pale form is up and about, but the others are still sleeping.

She pauses and subtly studies him. He looks much better now; his movements are fluid again, his step springy. Even his hair somehow seems extra fluffy.

He turns, catches her staring, and winks. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, damn them. Definitely back to normal.

At that, the memory of the dream rears its head. Her anger, which had started to simmer down, flares up anew. Isaniel scowls as she struggles with her sword belt, her normally dexterous fingers made clumsy by emotion. Curse that tadpole to the Hells—

“Well hello! Feeling better, are we?”

Astarions voice rings from right next to her, and she jumps. Eilistraee’s sword, how did she not realize he was a vampire sooner? No one can move that silently and swiftly and still be mortal.

“I certainly am,” he continues, without waiting for her answer. “This morning I find myself free of pain and with a new trick. A new power. Last night, the risk of transformation—it all feels like some terrible dream now.”

A dream…

Isaniel doesn’t know why she opens up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s around and she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it’s because his witty tongue actually does make her chuckle, despite herself. Maybe it’s because he draws her eyes like the moon draws the tide.

Regardless, she ends up spilling the contents of her dream, anger and pain leaking into her voice. Astarion doesn’t really say anything; he just listens, eyes bright with curiosity and intrigue. But just listening is enough; she can feel an invisible weight lifting off her with every word out of her mouth.

When she finishes speaking—with an exhale of relief—he asks if she enjoyed it. Her fists clench at the memory of that intruder’s touch on her skin. “No, it felt invasive. Uncomfortable.”

“We had the same dream, then. The worm’s trying to be…enticing.”

Had he also seen someone he’d loved? But that blank look, the flat voice…there’s more to it than that, she’s sure. Isaniel hesitates, then pushes him to share. He lent her an ear, in his typical flippant fashion, but an ear nonetheless. It’s only fair to return the favor.

The truth of what he really dreamed about surprises her. She finds herself blurting out, “Your old master? That doesn’t sound ‘enticing’.”

“It was not,” he says, voice raw and low. “I—we don’t need to talk about it.”

And—oh.

That flash in his eyes. That pain.

Her throat closes.

It was brief, but she saw it. She would never mistake it.

It’s the pain of someone who has been trapped in darkness for so long they don’t even know light exists. The pain of someone who lived with cruelty every minute of every hour of every day. The pain of someone who does not let themselves feel pain, does not even acknowledge they are in pain, because that would be weakness and wolves would descend on them if they admitted to that.

It was her pain, before Eilistraee.

Isaniel is not good at comforting people. She knows how to talk people into doing what she wants and how to keep their group more or less from killing each other. But put her in a room with a crying woman or a scared child, and she’s just lost. Emotions are messy and difficult to deal with.

But at this moment, she wants, more than anything, to brave them. To let him know he’s not alone.

She can’t think of anything to say, can’t figure out how to put this epiphany into words, so hesitantly, she reaches out a hand—

And he recoils like a snake. Then, he strikes like one, eyes and fangs flashing, venom flying from his mouth as he renounces her pity.

It’s not pity, she wants to say. It’s not pity, because I know how hard it is to survive an environment that wants more than anything to break you. To pity you would belittle your strength. It’s empathy and support.

But she’s so stunned that by the time she’s able to begin, “It’s not pity,” it’s too late; his retreating back is the only thing that hears her.

-

One of Isaniel’s first memories is of her mother killing her pet bat, then slapping her until she stopped crying.

It was as a lesson, of course: that love was something that would only be exploited. The sort of lesson that every drow child learned young. Other lessons included how to think creatively, hurt others, scheme, and be paranoid—Isaniel still remembers carefully pouring poisons and potions into large, hollow glass beads and stringing them into her jewelry.

The lessons that had really struck a chord with her, though, had been how to create. Her family had been artisans, and had held a relatively secure position as employees to a well-off merchant clan. The plotting hadn’t been as intense as among the nobles, but it was still dangerous. After all, there were rival artisans and rival merchant clans to watch out for or destroy, and Isaniel had done her share of participating in that.

But oh, she had truly loved art, beauty, music. Eilistraee used that to reach her, and through it Isaniel came to love Eilistraee in turn. But it took a long time. Secretly seeking information about that music, a flight from the Underdark, and decades of studying the teachings of Eilistraee, testing them, putting them in practice, before the scars the Underdark left on her had begun to heal. Decades in which she found companionship with others of her faith, met her husband, became a mother…lost her husband to the ravages of time…

And now, after such a long time away from the toxic mindset she grew up with, she has come face to face with someone who embraces it. And she is torn.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has grown and nourished, that is appalled in the face of Astarion’s casual cruelty towards others.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has also grown and nourished, that begs her be compassionate and forgiving.

There is a part of her, one that she has abandoned but clings to her like a ghost nonetheless, that screams at her to end the threat before he ends her.

There is a part of her, one that has been with her as long as she can recall, that sees his trauma, and remembers, and empathizes.

Their experiences are not the same. But the darkness is the same.

She does not know what to make of him. She does not know what she should believe or do about him. So she watches, and speaks with him, and tries to understand.

-

Their travels eventually take them to a swamp, and there, they find a Gur. A monster-hunter. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s foolish not to gauge his intentions, considering her company. So, in-between Astarion’s light insults, she inquires.

He says he’s hunting Astarion. Not to kill him, but to capture him.

Ice settles in Isaniel’s belly.

Capture him. And bring him to his “associates” in Baldur’s Gate. Back to Cazador. Back to the bastard who scarred him down to his very marrow. Back to chains and torment.

That’s not going to happen, she thinks vehemently.

Astarion is practically vibrating in place, his red eyes hard and uncompromising, his hands hovering close to his daggers. And yet, he still waits for her order. Out of genuine respect for her authority? Trust that she’ll neutralize the hunter? She’s not sure, but something about it is…a little touching.

She gives the word, and he lunges.

-

The battle with Auntie Ethel is tough, but manageably so. They all stay away from the cliff edges and destroy her illusionary copies as soon as they appear, they put out the fires near Mayrina and keep her out of harms’ way, and while the hag’s spells are powerful, they all somehow manage to avoid the worst of the damage.

But Auntie Ethel is one of those types. The type that likes to taunt and mock with a loud, clear voice that rings across the battlefield. And through some hag witchery, she knows how to hit where it hurts.

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

She’s not near him, but Isaniel can see Astarion’s flinch—then his strikes resume, much faster and more furious than before. Her own teeth grind with outrage and sympathy, and she redoubles her efforts, and soon the hag is brought down.

She is not feeling quite as sympathetic when, after bidding a crestfallen Mayrina farewell, Astarion blithely remarks that it was a pity the young mother-to-be couldn’t see the funny side in her husband being resurrected as a zombie.

-

And yet, he voiced his approval back when they helped Karlach.

It’s not like that outweighs it. Life isn’t a set of scales. Helping one woman doesn’t balance out being amused at another’s pain. The people Isaniel hurt back in the Underdark wouldn’t care or forget just because she helped someone else now. Words and actions have permanent, tangible impacts.

It’s not like she wants to “fix” Astarion, either. People can’t be “fixed”. They can be broken or damaged by others—but never returned to who they once were. They carry the scars and lesions on their heart, like Isaniel does. With time and support, they hopefully heal, but that’s only if they want to.

It’s more like—and she might be projecting a bit, or biased because of her past—remembering Karlach gives her hope that Cazador didn’t destroy Astarion’s humanity.

-

Maybe it was inevitable.

Isaniel weaves throughout the party, smiles freely, even dances and sings. It’s impossible not to—the tiefling’s joy is infectious, the gentle warmth of the wine is infusing her body, and the moon is full and smiling overhead. All of her problems will still be there tomorrow, but tonight is a night for forgetting, and celebrating, and living.

The back of her neck prickles, again. This time she doesn’t ignore it. This time, she turns, somehow already knowing what she’ll see.

Sure enough, there’s Astarion, lurking on the fringes of the party, a glass of wine in hand, eyes fixed on her. Under the moonlight, his hair is practically glowing, his skin silver-tinted. He looks like some ethereal king of night and winter, standing there silhouetted against the darkness. It’s striking.

Striking. Oh.

She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things.

A jostle jars her out of her thoughts; she’d stopped moving right in the midst of the dancers. She mutters an apology to the tiefling couple and hastily clears the floor. Glances up again.

Astarion is still watching her.

Before she consciously decides to do it, her feet take her towards him. She falters when her mind catches up to her body, almost turns and runs. There’s something in his eyes, something in the air, something between them that crackles with intensity and promise.

But it’s too late to run—he’s coming towards her, too. Her heart lodges itself in her throat. Stay strong, she tells herself.

Whether she wants that strength to resist the shifting currents in their relationship or to swim towards them, she does not know.

[aliceslantern]

Grow, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 13--Epilogue

Suddenly human and abandoned in the Keyblade Graveyard, Demyx struggles to survive and come to terms with what his life is. Only by chance is he saved from exposure, and brought to Radiant Garden to recover. Unsure of who he is and where to even begin, Demyx finds a kindred spirit in Ienzo, and before long finds perhaps he isn't the only one lost in this new life. But how can they move forward with so much holding them back?

Roughly canonverse, Zemyx, hurt/comfort. Started for Zemyx day (9/6). Updates Wednesdays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Edym and Ienzo continue to grow.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses.

The more time passed, the more trickling memories came back. The picture Edym got was never clear , exactly. More like brief flashes of insight. Fighting Heartless with his sister. Getting his ass kicked again and again.

Learning music.

It was their mother that taught him, that suggested maybe he shouldn’t follow in Elrena’s footsteps. Edym had always heard music in things, found himself gravitating towards it. Once it was well and truly in his life, it was like a hole had been filled.

But the more insight Edym had into Elrena, the angrier and more hurt he felt about how Larxene had treated Demyx. They’d both been amnesiac, but how or why had that relationship mutated to hatred? Had something else happened? Did she just feel that betrayed by him not joining her?

Would he ever know?

For a long while his life fell into a steady--mostly pleasant--rhythm. Work, gardening, time with Ienzo. It was all so painfully ordinary. Not that Edym minded that, at all. Waking up next to him was worth all the pain he’d gone through.

The others gradually got used to his presence, their relationship. The more Edym thought about it, the less he really wanted to find the place that was once home--especially if it meant leaving Ienzo. Maybe someday they would live in their own little house, with a cat or a dog. With or near friends. But for now… what they had was fine as it is. There was no need to rush into anything serious.

Edym and Ienzo… began to grow.

It was hard to leave behind that time in the Organization, especially because so much of Edym’s sense of self came from Demyx. And Ienzo had spent the majority of his childhood as a Nobody. Figuring out who they were and what humanity all meant was dazzling and confusing. The more his flickers of memories came back, the stranger Edym felt. He’d been soft, but he’d also been so young . He knew something awful had happened to their home, and, more likely, it had all happened a lot longer ago than anyone thought. But how, or why, Xemnas had found them was anyone’s guess.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do to help,” Even told him. “Aside from patiently waiting for those memories to come back… we can’t look into what happened to your world without knowing what it’s called.”

Edym knew this was true. It still put a sour seed in his chest. He thought of his sister, of Larxene. Harder still to grieve someone who was likely alive. But where was she? How would she feel seeing him again? Did she even care?

“I know it’s easier said than done,” Ienzo said softly, one night after they made love. “But you have to stop torturing yourself.”

“I know. I’m trying. I just…”

“Want closure.”

“Well. Yeah.” Don’t you ? He almost asked.

“I know. I wish I could… take that pain from you.”

“I just have this feeling that she’s alive, and I-- even if we just… hash things out, I don’t know.”

“I can’t say I relate totally,” Ienzo said. “But I know how it is to… lose people to the unknown.”

“Your parents?”

He nodded. “I scarcely have any memory of them anymore. My memories used to be so--achingly sharp.” He touched his brow. “Now, not so much. To take a page from Ansem’s book… if you’re meant to find each other again, you will. You have to trust in that.”

“You really believe that?”

He sighed, and smiled. “Call me crazy, but I do.” Ienzo kissed him. “Want some tea?”

---

Time passed. Edym kept waiting for the other shoe to drop--for things to get complicated and messy again. But they didn’t. Even eventually replaced the other kidney. He grew closer to the members of the restoration committee, became friends with them. When Scrooge offered him the opportunity to manage the post office instead of just work it, he took it. It felt nice to do something that had a positive impact, for once.

He was sweeping up one day after close when he heard the doorbell. They’d recently moved shop away from the strange little bazaar into their own building. “Sorry, we’re closed. Drop your mail in the box outside. I’ll handle it first thing.”

“Look at you, a cog in the machine.”

Edym froze. Very slowly, he turned.

“...Don’t look at me like that. Whose idea were the glasses? Almost makes you look not stupid.”

He made a strange noise. “How did you--when--I--”

Elrena looked tired, her skin sallow. “It’s a long and ultimately very boring story,” she said. She picked up a book of stamps, looked at it with something like distaste, and set it down. She was still wearing the black coat, he noticed. “Xigbar didn’t bite it, you know.”

He gripped at his elbow. “Yeah. I know. He almost killed me.”

“Really? I thought there was a--I don’t know. Rapport, or something, between you two. He was one of the only ones who could stand you.”

Edym blinked. Seeing her, he felt something a whole lot more complicated than he thought. Not relief. Not happiness. “So he found you and brought you here?”

“...Something like that. He said this was where you ended up.”

Edym shook his head slowly. “You wanted to see me?”

She smirked. “Call me sentimental, but yeah, I did. Was wicked weird when I found out. Lauriam just thought it was hilarious. Marluxia,” she clarified.

“So he’s around too.” Edym set the broom aside. “Well. Good for him, I guess.”

There was a pause. Elrena cleared her throat. “You’re going to snitch about Xigbar, aren’t you?”

“Probably. Yeah.”

“...Is it bad I kind of want you to?”

“More pot stirring?”

“More pot stirring.” She grinned. “It’s what I do best.”

“So what are you two doing with him, anyway?”

“Honestly? I’m not completely sure. But I’m helping Lauriam look for someone, and then after that… well. The World is our oyster.”

Without ceremony, Edym said, “Stelitzia.”

“Oh, you remembered that much?”

Woodenly, he nodded.

“Lauriam thought he remembered someone getting her killed. But considering that nobody in this fucking world seems to stay dead… well.” She shrugged.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

She dropped her eyes. “Like I said. All this talk of his sister… had me feeling sentimental. And that’s so not cool. I thought if I saw you it’d stop.”

“Did it?”

“Don’t know.”

Edym let out a slow breath. “How long are you in town?”

“Not long.” She took another few steps towards him. “If you want, you can come with us.”

He laughed. “No. No way in hell. Sorry.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Why would you want me anyway?”

“You could see her again.”

Edym put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to leave what I have here. I… I’m happy, you know? I feel like I’m… starting to finally do more good things than bad. My life is here. Whatever we had before, as kids. I don’t think it was a life.”

Her eyes darkened. “No,” she said in a low voice. “It wasn’t.”

“You could have a life here too,” he said. “Or… not here, anywhere you want. You don’t have to go along with Lauriam and Xigbar. You could choose.” He offered his hand, and for a breath thought she might take it.

Elrena smirked. Shook her head. “Nah,” she said. “I’ve got things to do. People to see.”

“And undermine?”

“With any luck.”

Edym nodded. His heart settled in his chest. “Just don’t get yourself killed again,” he said. “And slug Xigbar good for me, okay?”

“Maybe. He does always seem to be asking for it.”

There was a pause, longer than the last. “You’ll be okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I really will.”

“Well, okay. Then I’ll stop worrying.”

“You were worrying ?”

“Come on, Edym. We all know you’re not great at planning for the long term.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I should go. My ride’s waiting.” She headed towards the door.

“Wait--Elrena--”

She turned, her lips pursed.

“Why did our Nobodies hate each other so much? Cause I don’t think I hate you now.”

She thought about it for a moment, her teal eyes flashing. “The last time we saw each other, we fought,” she said. “Can’t tell you for my life about what.”

“About the cult,” he said, with clarity.

“The Dandelions,” she corrected.

“I didn’t want you to leave me.”

“And I didn’t want to have to baby my brother.” She shook her head. “Well. Turns out that never happened. You were stuck with me. Maybe I resented that.”

Edym nodded.

“And being a Nobody makes you angry for no reason anyway ,” she said, more lightly. “Does that answer your question?”

“I think so.”

“Then I should go.” For a second, it seemed like she might touch him.

“You have a phone?” he asked.

“What, one of those dumb things? What kinda budget do you think we’re working with?” A grin.

“...Right. Well.” He took a deep breath. “I guess… if I see you, I see you. And if I don’t…”

“Yep.” She put her hand on her hip. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You, either.”

“And hey. If I really need something, I’ll just write.” She winked. “Bye, Edym.”

“Bye, Elrena.”

When she left, she didn’t look back.

---

Edym sat heavily on the blanket. His joints hurt from a long day of work. It was his turn to bring the picnic, but instead of cooking, he’d been too tired, so he’d just gotten takeout from Ienzo’s favorite place. He hoped that would suffice.

“I know I’m late,” Ienzo called. “Even was being very--” He cut himself off, his eyes wide. He looked around the courtyard slowly. “When did you have the time--”

“I’ve been here almost all day.” His face flushed.

Ienzo walked around slowly, touching the new plants in their pots. The orchids. The lanterns Edym had hung around the peripherals of the property. He’d tried to repair some of the stonework in the floor, too, but accepted that he was a terrible mason. Ienzo turned to look at him. “Why did you--”

“We’ve been spending a lot of time here. I wanted to… make it nice.” He stood, wincing at the ache in his hips. “Aeleus helped me with this.” He reached over behind the old fountain to turn on the pump.

“This must’ve taken hours--days,” he said. He shook his head. “Edym, I--” He touched one of the orchids. “You even remembered these.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you. It is your birthday,” he pointed out.

Ienzo jerked.

“Did you forget?”

“I did entirely,” he admitted. “Time doesn’t pass in that cursed lab.” He wrinkled his nose. “Thank you.” He leaned in to kiss him. “Really. Thank you.”

He shrugged, the blush in his face getting hotter. “I… liked doing it. Let’s eat, okay?”

They did.

“...You know, you don’t have to work in that lab,” Edym said.

“It has been wearing on me lately,” Ienzo admitted. “But I have to be able to… do good work. Good things. It’s the only way I can sleep at night.”

Edym squeezed his hand. “No need for you to suffer doing something you hate.”

Ienzo shook his head. “I don’t hate it,” he said. “Knowing that I’m doing something worthwhile does feel good.”

“But it’s the coworkers that suck?”

Ienzo grimaced. “Quite. At least Even is at least partially distracted by the research work you’ve given him. He’s been criticizing my coding like his doesn’t look two or three languages behind.”

Edym chuckled.

Ienzo set down his bowl. “You know…” he began. “This life is no longer feeling quite so strange.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“I think so.” He put a hand to his chest. “I was worried that humanity would never feel quite right. Everything still overwhelms me. But… at least that sensation isn’t always negative anymore.”

Edym kissed him. They rested there together for a while longer.

“I mean, this whole mess only began because of my poor self-control,” Ienzo continued.

“ Hey. I don’t think we’re messy .”

“We’re a little messy,” Ienzo said.

“Well. I’m glad that it all happened. I feel like you’ve… helped me.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he said. He sighed. “Hopefully our next mistakes are equally fruitful.”

“Har har.”

Ienzo leaned back against him. For a while, neither of them said anything; they didn’t have to. “Shall we head back?” Ienzo asked. “I could use some--ah--stress relief.”

Edym smirked. “You got it.” He kissed him, longer this time. “Let’s go home.”

[victoodles]

Cruel World I’m Gone (Chapter 6)

back again with another chapter, edited by the fantastic @verai-marcel​! follow the series on AO3 and make sure you read part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Arthur has unconventional definitions of love. One he originally believed started with Mary. But after years of reflection and introspection, Arthur realized it ran deeper, began sooner.

He’s a young boy, with a father he loathes and silently mourning a mother he still thinks about fondly. A father who is a “no good bastard”, who taught him nothing but contempt and that wickedness could have a face.

Blood is thicker than water?

What a crock of shit.

They’re bitter memories, painful. But a sweetness tinges them, immortalized in the form of six pink flowers and a weathered portrait he still keeps beside his bed - even to this day. Sentimentality is a blessing and a curse.

Now he’s fourteen, on the cusp of manhood and something else entirely. He’s angry. Angry at a dead father who left him with nothing but the hat on his head and a measly mugshot. Angry at the world that couldn’t give a shit about him but still insists on taking, taking, and taking.

But mostly he’s alone, scared; he can snarl and bare his teeth all he likes but he’s still just a child. Arthur yearns for companionship, for a family that he never truly had growing up. For things he was wrongly denied.

It’s unorthodox, but eventually, he does find what he’s looking for. In the form of a younger Dutch and Hosea: the curious couple and their new unruly son.

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

And for twenty long years, he had a father - two in fact! They took him in off the streets, taught him how to read, write, shoot. Raised him from a boy to a man capable of finally taking back from this cruel world and then some.

From Hosea, he learned empathy, humanity. And from Dutch, loyalty, a code of honor.

Despite all his hypocrisies, Arthur can’t wash away and deny that he is who he is because of Dutch van der Linde.

Arthur tries to focus on the good years as much as he tries to forget the ugly, warped ending to that chapter of his life. It’s a continuous uphill struggle but that’s nothing new for him, just more difficult to deal with.

Thinking of some good years…

He’s traversing through his twenties now.

Arthur has had a tryst from time to time as a young man, reveling in the experiences of his first kiss and other means of getting handsy. He was awkward at first, as any boy is when they delve into the unknown fruits adolescence bears. Fumbling hands, a nervous flush dusting his cheeks, all bundled in a veil of naivety.

Hosea used to tell everyone, drunk around the campfire, the humiliating tales of a younger Arthur. His particular favorite being when Arthur came to him, on the verge of tears, thinking he now had to marry a local stable girl because he dared to kiss her behind dear old daddy’s barn.

But then there was Mary.

Mary, Mary, Mary.

Formerly known as Gillis, and soon to be Linton. A name no one dared to whisper around camp for years. In a life filled with killing, robbing, and running from the law, Mary was possibly the most complicated aspect of it.

She yearned for things Arthur couldn’t give or be. Wanted a man that Arthur couldn’t become despite his best efforts.

Loyalty is the only thing that matters…

A belief that cost him happiness time and time again.

It wasn’t just Mary at fault - Arthur couldn’t deliver on his promises either.

In the end, he tried. Tried to mold himself into someone worthy of her and her cantankerous father’s expectations of what a man should be. Tried to be one of those Saint Denis socialites with their coiffed hair and perfectly tailor suits. But despite all the gussying, primping and grooming, he was just a rugged outlaw playing at a gentleman. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

It took him a while to overcome his heartbreak, to realize she had her own heavy crosses to bear the same as he did. Roles to fill, people to placate despite the pining of the ever-fickle heart. Coming to terms with that wasn’t easy despite the ever apparent facts. And like many before him, Arthur shared his sorrows with the bottom of a bottle and buried them deeper between the legs of a stranger.

Eliza…

Her name still fills him with guilt, albeit it a dull ache now in contrast to the agonizing stabbing he once felt on his heart. She was just a girl trying to get by, barely on the cusp of twenty, who just happened upon Arthur in a disgustingly familiar drunken stupor as he wallowed in self-pity and the bitter taste of whiskey. She humored him, at least he thinks she did. Or it could’ve been a kindness, he can’t quite recall after all these years.

But she slept with him, let him indulge in his therapeutic carnal desires all the while he sputtered out another woman’s name. He was reckless, careless and he couldn’t give less of a damn at the time.

And as a result, it got her…

It got them…

He can’t dwell on it now, refuses to. The thoughts weigh heavy on him, crushing his ribs in a vice and stealing the breath he counts himself lucky to have from his lungs.

He tries to distract himself, instead focus on things more lighthearted to ease his troubled thoughts. He starts with something tangible, for instance, the small ring in his pocket that suddenly feels ten times heavier than the burdens he that weigh on his bad shoulders. And the girl he intends to give it to...

You.

He doesn’t think he can articulate how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t stop him from trying within the confines of a new leather-clad journal. No longer does he write harsh words of self-deprecation and hopelessness. They’re kinder, eloquent and beautiful. Soft lines that make out the shape of you adorned with hearts. He melds into your embrace all too easy now, and despite two decades of bloodshed and dodging Death’s scythe, he’s never felt safer than in your arms.

Arthur never thought life would deem him worthy of second chances. Dealing him a fortunate hand with a new life, new purpose, new love. Absolution was not a word his tongue was familiar with, yet here he stands on the porch to his - your home. The stains of his past don't follow him beyond the mountains and rolling hills.

The Van der Linde gang is gone - scattered, dead, or both. Arthur Morgan, Dutch’s right-hand gun has turned in his holsters and bandolier and has now found work as a simple carpenter in Annesburg. He spends his day building and expanding the ever-growing civilization he was trying to run from. A law-abiding everyday man. The irony isn’t lost on him. But it’s good work, honest work. The kind that only cares if you’re strong and able and doesn’t focus on the minute details of one’s extensive criminal record.

And he’s proud to say that after months of arduous labor, he managed to save enough for the ring that seems to be burning a hole in his pocket. It’s humble but elegant with a single diamond resting in the middle of a pale gold band.

Like her, Arthur idly muses with a smile.

Ideally, he would’ve loved to grace your finger with some luxurious rock as a grandiose display of his affection. A massive diamond that would glint perfectly in the light atop the rare platinum. It would’ve been all too easy to hold up some pompous jeweler, the routine and its step all but muscle memory at this point. But that’s not how one does when trying to leave behind the life of an outlaw and it wouldn’t be a proper way to start your marriage.

Marriage.

The concept alone has him frozen in front of his own home, trembling with excitement. He thought Mary would be his everything at one point - the future Mrs. Morgan. When she left he felt as if she took that possibility with her along with the shards of his fractured heart. There's a hint of fear in him as well, a nagging sense that history could repeat itself once more. Round and round the thoughts go in his head as he opens the door with a shaking hand, rattling painfully in his skull.

I’m not ready for this.

Dread surges through him, rough seas raging against his chest as his heart threatens to burst. He’s been shot at, beat, and tortured but this plunge he’s about to take might possibly be one of the scariest things he’s ever done.

Arthur somehow manages to get the door open, feet heavier than lead as he makes his way through the threshold. The sound of your singing from the garden out back restores his composure, lulling him into a serenity once more. He’s refocused, and the tremors that plague him gradually cease. There’s a reinvigorated sense of purpose, sparked to life once more, and he eagerly calls your name in response.

“Out here, Arthur!” You chirp back and Arthur wastes no time following the sound of your voice. He doesn’t realize how quickly he rushes to the backdoor until the afternoon sun is blinding him. When he regains his vision he finds you tending to your plants, a basket of freshly picked vegetables at your side and a tender smile on your lips.

Beautiful.

“Happy to see me, are we darling?” Your voice has a teasing lilt to it - he hadn’t realized he’d spoken that last sentiment aloud. A flush creeps up the back of Arthur’s neck, spreading up to his ears and painting them an embarrassing shade of red. He hopes you don’t notice in the sunlight but when your smile turns into a playful smirk, he knows there's no chance of hiding it now.

Arthur clears his throat, “Always am, sweet pea.”

Your impishness seems to have passed for the time being, your simper losing its bite as you turn your attention back to your gardening. “How was work today?” You ask idly as you go to work pulling another carrot from the dirt.

It was the same as any other day, building more housing for the miners in the ramshackle town of Annesburg. Who can think about something so mundane when there were bigger picture things for him to be concerned about? But still, he answers back with a simple, “Good.”

You titter at that. “How positively exciting, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur wishes he had more to offer in terms of a response but he’s too distracted by you. There’s dirt smudged on your cheeks and hands, skirt a wrinkled mess, and hair in a messy braid to keep out of the way of your gardening. Some might find you disheveled but he thinks you look absolutely lovely- as always.

A voice in the back of his mind whispers, She’s not her.

He finds himself imagining what you would look like in all white, waiting for him at the altar of a church. Maybe at the cathedral in Saint Denis where the colors of the impressive stained glass would shine down on you, casting you in an ethereal rainbow glow. In your hand is a bouquet of the finest flowers: lavender, honeysuckle, daisies. A gossamer of silk covers your face, that same breathtaking smile on your lips as Arthur makes his way towards you and-

“Arthur?” You snap him out of the daydreaming he inadvertently slipped into. “Are you alright?”

“I-” He struggles to find the right words, any words, but comes up short. You look at him expectantly but that only makes him more tongue-tied. Christ, he’s a grown man, this shouldn’t be so difficult.

“You…” You try to ease him into something resembling a response, bless your heart, but still, nothing.

So instead he opts for action.

Arthur gets down on one knee in the dirt with you, going for the ring he still has nestled in his jacket. Your eyes go wide at the gesture, and even wider when he silently presents the ring to you.

“I,” he begins again, voice a little stronger in its conviction. “I love you. More than you could ever know.” He takes your hand with his free one, running his fingers over your knuckles softly. Tears begin to well up in your eyes and you can’t help as they begin to trail down your cheeks.

Arthur continues, “You are my heart, my soul, my everything. Without you, Hell, I wouldn’t even be in front of you to ask this. When I’m with you, everything makes sense. And I’m ready, really ready to start over, good and proper. With you.”

It’s time to leave Arthur Morgan the outlaw, the man shackled by so many fears and doubts behind in the ashes of what once was. His rebirth comes in dreams of the future, hand in hand and growing old by the fireplace. 

Together.

“So I was wonderin’...what I’m trying to ask is you would-”

“Yes,” you whisper, unable to find your own voice now. You heart is hammering fiercely, galloping like a wild horse at the sheer intensity of Arthur’s proposal.

He can’t help but chuckle at your ardor, endearing (and relieving) as it may be. “You didn’t let me-”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes a thousand times yes you silly man!” you exclaim with no hesitation this time, throwing yourself on him and peppering him with kisses. “Yes,” you repeat over and over and over, as many times as you can to reaffirm you aren't dreaming. That this isn’t your own self-made mirage that could vanish at any moment.

Arthur is momentarily stunned and brings you as close to him as possible, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he finds his own tears starting to form. The same voice is back, no longer a whisper but a firm reassurance of, She isn’t her. She isn’t any of them.

And she never will be.

“Say it again.” 

Let it be real.

Your lips find his now, in between each kiss marked with a, “yes”.   

A single syllable has him enraptured, spellbound. Such a glorious admittance, the most heavenly sound he’s ever heard.

And as he slips the ring onto your finger, the both of you grinning madly, he thinks “I do” will sound even better.

[leilawhittaker]

how do bucky and leila get along? how does her presence affect the way steve and bucky interact during tws and cw?

Oh, I LOVE this question. So I’ve always seen Bucky and Leila as having a sort of antagonistic relationship at first, mostly because they’re lowkey fighting over who Steve loves more lmao. At this point, though, I see this toned down a bit on Bucky’s side due to Anya’s presence. 

Without Anya, Steve is basically Bucky’s only link to the present, and seeing him building a life with someone else, moving on from their shared past, makes him feel lost, like he has nothing to hold onto. 

With Anya, though, by the time Bucky meets Steve again as himself in CW (or rather, in Under Siege, which is my replacement plotline for cw--it still achieves the end goal of splitting up the avengers, but goes about it somewhat differently), he’s gotten attached to Anya, and they’ve sort of become each others’ anchors. So Bucky is less dependent on his relationship with Steve to ground him in the present.

 I was gonna put a read more here but tumblr won’t let me...rip your dash (UPDATE! Managed a rm!)

Still, I do think there is some tension between the two because of their respective relationships with Steve, which I’ll get into in a second. First, TWS: Leila’s presence doesn’t really change anything about Steve and Bucky’s interactions, simply because Steve and Leila for most of the movie aren’t on good terms. Not only are they not together, there’s actively some bad blood between them, and Steve in particular is very distrustful of her to the point of questioning whether she’s actually Hydra. (Leila replies by implying that he’s Hydra--”someone as self-righteous as you could justify just about anything to himself, don’t you think?”--although it’s more out of spite than any real suspicion.)

This dynamic continues up until the end of the arc, where Leila risks her life by giving up her healing ability to help stop project insight. (I’m still fuzzy on the details here, but that’s the basic premise for her redemption.) Between this, and Leila telling him about her past, it’s the turning point for their relationship; they become friends again, start growing closer, they help each other grow (for example: Leila is the one who talks Steve into telling Tony that Bucky killed his parents), until they eventually, finally, get together in AoU. 

But none of that exists in TWS yet; whatever friendship they had pre-C:SW has basically been shattered, and they haven’t started repairing it. So Leila’s just not a big enough factor in Steve’s life at that point in time to impact how he relates to Bucky. That doesn’t come in until Under Siege, whether Steve and Leila are together.

I think that at that point Leila in particular has a lot of insecurity over Steve’s past life--part of her feels like she’s a consolation prize, that Steve’s life with her and the Avengers is just some fluke and he was really meant to stay in the 1940s and have a life there. And having Bucky around just compounds that for her. She’s scared that Steve’s going to realize that Leila isn’t good enough compared to what he could have had, and that he’d rather be alone than be with her. 

(It’s funny because Steve, meanwhile, by this point is pretty convinced that him going into the ice was destiny, or God’s will, or something, specifically because it brought him to Leila, and Bucky re-entering his life really only makes him more sure of that. I like Steggy a lot but I think Leila forces growth in Steve that Peggy never really did, and I think Steve is aware of that. All he’s ever wanted was to be a good man. Peggy helped him believe he could, but Leila makes him better. 

Obligatory Taylor Swift lyric: “Look in my eyes, they will tell you the truth / the girl in my story has always been you” from the Lover remix ft. Shawn Mendes)

So that’s Leila side of things that makes her vaguely cold towards Bucky. Then on Bucky’s side, it’s toned down like I said due to Anya’s presence in his life, but he still feels a sort of discrepancy about how Leila factors into his relationship with Steve--like, if Steve’s managed to move on so much, does he actually really love Bucky? (Platonically or otherwise, your choice.) Bucky knows it’s irrational but it’s a neurosis he has trouble shaking. Bucky and Steve were the most important people in each other’s lives for a long time; Bucky only broke free of Hydra because of Steve. And yeah, he’s happy that Steve found someone to ground him, that he found happiness, but it’s still hard. 

(It’s funny because Bucky has this part of him that thinks Steve stopped caring when in actuality a lot of how Leila and Steve got close in the first place was through Leila helping Steve look for Bucky. They probably wouldn’t have grown as close as they did if Steve didn’t care as much about Bucky as he does.)

Bucky could probably muscle through it if Leila wasn’t like, weirdly cold to him though, because he doesn’t know why. It never even occurs to him that //Leila// could be jealous of //him//. This tension causes them to start snarking at each other, while Steve tries to keep the peace between them, because this is the love of his life and his best friend and he wants them to get along so why won’t they just cooperate. It’s frustrating for him. 

Eventually this tension is somewhat resolved when they’re forced into hiding. A big part of it has to do with Anya. It’s a weird trait for a spy/assassin to have, but Anya’s very good at resolving tension and keeping the peace, and she’s hard not to like. She and Leila end up striking up a friendship, and from there she manages to mediate between Leila and Bucky, and they eventually reach a sort of understanding. 

I think, eventually, Leila and Bucky manage some semblance of friendship, although neither would ever admit it. They bond over having been brainwashed and feeling guilty over things they’ve done, and they have similar senses of humor as well. They keep snarking back and forth, but the malice behind it kind of disappears. 

This all happens very gradually and Steve isn’t sure how it happens or what to make of it, but he is grateful, although he still wishes they’d bicker less.  

(Plot point: I could see this mutual tension getting to the point where Bucky says something to Leila that’s way over the line, and Steve sticks up for her, which causes Bucky to storm off. Steve would also stick up for Bucky if it was Leila that went over the line, but I don’t think she would, not out of principle or anything but because she’s just that terrified of losing Steve. Bucky, for all his insecurity, knows that he and Steve will always be in each others lives, even if their roles change; whereas there’s still a part of Leila that thinks that Steve’s going to realize he can do better and leave her.

This plot point could be the catalyst for Bucky and Leila finally finding some peace, though, because there was a point where Leila did lash out like that, and she can definitely understand where it comes from, and I think, weirdly, whatever Bucky said to her ended up humanizing him to her a lot.)

By the time IW rolls around, they’re on good enough terms that Leila mourns him when he gets snapped. And by the time Steve and Leila get married after Endgame, she trusts him enough to let him be present for the wedding--the actual wedding ceremony, that is, not the reception. Plenty of people are invited to the reception; the actual ceremony itself is, at Leila’s demand, extremely small, consisting of Steve and Leila, the priest, Sam and Bucky on Steve’s side, and Tony and Anya on Leila’s. (And possibly Isabella; I’m still deciding.)

Anyways. As for how Leila impacts Steve and Bucky’s relationship in Under Siege: I think Steve’s attention is kind of split between them, whereas in cw he was pretty hyperfocused on Bucky, in US he’s also focused on trying to figure out what’s going on with Leila and why she’s acting so cold. I think there’s also already some tension between Leila and Steve bc the accords, while not as big of a factor, do exist, and while Steve is steadfastly against them under any circumstances, Leila has suggested that if the plan to sidestep them doesn’t work, they should try to negotiate a better deal out of them (not accepting them as they are, but trying to work with them). 

(I think these responses come down to this: on Steve’s side, I think the Hydra thing left him with a lot of moral injury, and that’s why he’s hesitant to operate under another organization--he’s not even thrilled about the Avengers answering to SWORD, and only really agrees to it because he trusts Leila, who helped build it. 

Part of Leila takes that personally, she feels like Steve not trusting SWORD means he doesn’t trust her, and part of her thinks that maybe he’s right not to. Leila herself has a lot of moral injury, because of the things she’s done but also stemming back to her childhood and how she was talked to and about, and ideas she internalized--and part of her still thinks she’s not capable of doing good. 

On Leila’s side, I think she’s just desperate to keep the team together because she doesn’t quite know what she’d do without it. I don’t think she’s aware that that’s her motivation, but it is a big part of it. It also goes back to the moral injury thing--Leila finds solace in the Avengers because she feels like working as a team, she’s able to do good, and she’s scared she won’t be able to be a good person without them.)

So Steve’s attention is somewhat split between her and Bucky during US, which only leads to more insecurity on Bucky’s part. 

I think? This answered your question although I know I rambled a lot lol sorry. 

Tl;dr:

-Bucky and Leila are initially threatened by each other’s relationship with Steve so they have a relatively cold, snarky relationship

-Eventually this comes to a head when Bucky crosses a line, and it weirdly makes Leila see him in a new, more sympathetic light, which helps them find some common ground. 

-Anya also plays a role in them developing a better relationship. 

-Leila doesn’t really change Steve and Bucky’s dynamic in tws, because she and Steve aren’t on good terms at that point. 

-In Under Siege (the replacement arc for Civil War), the big change is that Steve’s attention, instead of being hyperfocused on Bucky as in CW, is split between the two of them, which only causes more jealousy from both of them.

[elendeare]

The Meeting of Fendithas and Claragosa

          After slaying Altrethir, Fendithas fled aimlessly into Azsuna in grief. He needed to get away. He couldn’t bear to look at what he’d done. Having found a spot to sit and mope, an hour passes before a rather unhappy dragon of the Blue Dragonflight discovers a shal’dorei a little too close to the pond of Senegos. Her lack of trust for his kind presents conflict, but then slowly takes a turn.

She’d heard the cries from the innocent whelplings, how they pleaded and screamed for aid. The once-noble and sophisticated elves of Suramar went beyond mad with an overwhelming lust for magic when cut off from their font of power; they would result to feeding on the young dragons, ones who couldn’t put up a fight. They were weak and they were cowards for doing so.

Still, it was rare to see one of those elves who wasn’t completely withered, or in the beginning phase of withering at all, within Azsuna. It would be a mere matter of time before his mind began descending into madness, though. She had to eliminate the threat before it was too late.

The dragon swooped down from the sky with a solid thud, marching straight up to the elf with her wings up and outstretched. Her voice practically boomed at him in anger. "Give me a reason not to incinerate you where you pathetically sit."

The man weakly stood up; having heard of the events within Azsuna, he replied sternly, "I've no interest in you nor your whelplings, dragon. My state of mind is not lost, unlike my withered brethren." Though as he spoke, the arcanist could feel the Nightwell's power slowly draining from his being. Certainly, it was the combination of his intense grief mixed with the cut-off from the font of power that caused him to tremble. A strong puff of air left the dragon’s nostrils as she scoffed, “I do not trust you or your any of kind. Blood stains your robes and your sword.”

Fendithas would tentatively reply, “The blood that soaks my clothing is of my kin. That which stains my blade is from shal’dorei who wish to see Suramar burn.”

She felt just the slightest tug at her heart strings, yet her expression hardly shifted. The dragon opened her mouth to speak again but the man spoke before she could; “My hand was forced. In self-defense, I killed my own brother. The man who had been at my side since childhood, the only person to never abandon me. I killed him. If that puts me at the same level as the whelp-slaying withered in your eyes, then I await your judgement, great dragon.”

The dragon heard the strain of his voice, noticing the darker purple tint around his eyes. Even now, in his state of grief, the man seemed to have given up. Oh, but those pesky nightborne were always scheming. Beings that lived for thousands of years were crafty and manipulative. It could all be a mere act.

She let out another huff before taking a few slow steps closer, leaning down to get rather close to him with her head, before taking a couple of deep sniffs. Fendithas shut his eyes, tensing, as if preparing for the worst. But the blood... smelled of fel. Corruption. It was unlike the blood of a blue dragon, let alone a whelpling. She backed away, eyes narrowed still in suspicion. “Elisande has brought destruction and devastation upon her people, and her city.” She stated. Fendithas shook his head, “The Legion is wholly at fault.”

“You express sympathy for your queen of poor choices?”

“I express my sympathy for my former queen who did not have a choice.”

The dragon let out a quiet growl. “... Then instead of giving up, you should make your brother’s death mean something, by putting in some effort to drive the Legion back.” She grumbled, “Save your city.” The arcanist was a bit surprised at the reply, swallowing dryly before responding. “The Rebellion will not take me. I have-”

“How do you know?” The dragon interrupted, her wings drooping to relax against her back. “I know, because they’ve sent assassins to kill me.” He paused. “Well, to try to kill me.” The dragon hummed lowly in thought. “Prove to them that you have had a change of heart.”

“That is much easier said than done, I fear.”

“So you will do nothing, then? Will you sit and sulk, wishing to change someone’s actions of the past? Will you become one of the withered who will eventually feast upon my siblings? Or will you go to the First Arcanist with the body of your brother, proving to her that you are serious about your change?” She paused. “What do you have to lose at this point, elf?”

Fendithas’ jaw clenched as his whole body tensed as she spoke. Her words held truth, yet in this state, it was beyond difficult to muster the courage and motivation to do as she said. His gaze had fallen to the lush grass below, slowly backing away and against the tree behind him. Gradually he would sink to the ground against it, burying his face in one of his gloved hands. As he sobbed quietly, the dragon adjusted into a more crouched position, shifting into a smaller elven form. Despite her size, she would still manage to pack a punch, should the stranger try to double-cross her.

“If he was an individual who wanted to see Suramar burned, as you claimed, then you did the right thing. That’s one less threat to your city, and to your people.” Her voice was softer, higher-pitched, but gentle. “Carry on with that. Save your city. There’s no sense in stopping, now that you’ve started.” She knelt to his level, slowly reaching to touch the back of his hand with her fingers. Her fingertips glowed a soft blue as she channeled mana into the elf, restoring some of his lost energy. He blinked a few times as the dim glow of his eyes slowly brightened.

“None of the assassins succeeded in taking you out. You mustered the courage to eliminate the threat that was your own family.” She withdrew her hand, figuring that was enough before she herself would be drained. “You’re strong.” The dragon then stood, brushing off the front of her robes. Fendithas would follow suit, staggering just a little as he stood and smoothed his hair.

“What is your name?” She asked, her tone a bit more demanding and less gentle than before. The man collected his sword, “Fendithas.”

“Your full name, elf.”

He swallowed dryly again, sheathing his blade at his hip; “Arcanist Fendithas Valran, firstborn of Falaern Valran.”

The dragon gave a small smirk, “Good. That’s how you’re going to introduce yourself to the First Arcanist.” She said with a wink, canting her head lightly to the side. “I am Claragosa. I shall remember you, as I’m certain this won’t be the last time we meet.” She took a good few steps back before beginning to crouch; her body glowed and she shifted into the larger form of the blue dragon from before. Not another word was spoken between the two as she took off in flight, heading in the direction of Senegos’ pond.

Fendithas watched quietly. Part of him couldn’t believe he was still alive after the encounter; the Blue Dragonflight had every right to be angry with the shal’dorei. The desperation for mana and magic that the withered starved for was found within those dragons. Needless to say that, in their craze and drive to madness, they’d stop at nothing to satisfy that hunger, even if it meant feeding on helpless whelplings. It was a tragic fate, but one brought upon the shal’dorei by the Legion.

He wondered if the Blue Dragonflight would ever help the Rebellion drive demons out from his city.

[ask-glados]

GLaDOS Liveplay [Part 3]

We start off chapter 3 and GLaDOS isn’t here to offer any comments in the elevator room because she’s busy fixing the reactor core. There’s some misbehaving panels that need to be recalibrated, but the reactor core is a more pressing issue for her at the moment.

When you get on the Aerial Faith Plate here, your trajectory doesn’t reach all the way to the ceiling because Wheatley has hacked into the panels and raised the ceiling up to talk to you and let you know that he’s okay. He’s been trying to hack into other panels in the other test chambers to talk to you, and you can see him peeking in at several points, but GLaDOS was always there, watching through her cameras, and he didn’t want to talk to you where GLaDOS could see and hear him. He finally finds a good, private spot to hack the panels and talk to you here, and he’s able to move the panels without GLaDOS noticing because she’s away at the moment.

The Aerial Faith Plate senses that a weight was launched but no sensors were tripped on its landing pad. (The landing pad is usually indicated by the glowing circle symbol that shows where you’ll land, though that symbol isn’t always there, so I assume the sensor must just be on the other side of whatever panel it launches you to.) So, the panel sends a distress signal to GLaDOS and she comes back from fixing the core.

She returns with a sigh to her tone. She’s been working hard on fixing the reactor core, and she might not even be finished with that yet, only to get a notification that you somehow broke an Aerial Faith Plate. She isn’t aware of Wheatley’s presence, so she probably thinks you’re just doing this on purpose to annoy her.

She doesn’t even have an insult for you here, she just kinda sighs and tries to fix it for you.

The plate still doesn’t work because Wheatley has raised the ceiling, but GLaDOS doesn’t know that, and she can’t figure out why it’s not working, so she just assumes it’s the maximum carrying capacity of the plate and uses that as an opportunity to make more fat jokes.

Eventually, she just resorts to lowering the ceiling, not realizing that the height of the ceiling was actually the whole issue to begin with.

And naturally, she follows up on that fat joke just because she’s annoyed at you for breaking that Aerial Faith Plate.

We see more rogue panels playing around in the next chamber

GLaDOS, please. You’re attached to the ceiling. You literally cannot “go” anywhere.

Anyway, it’s unclear if she is just completely lying here, or if she actually has cameras up on the surface that she’s checking. A deer WOULD make sense given the rural landscape that you see above Aperture at the end of the game, but who knows with her. She could just be making it up. Also, it’s interesting how she says “yesterday,” as if a day has already passed, which I feel like it hasn’t. I think she’s just trying to mess with Chell’s perception of time, since there’s no way to tell what time of day it is, given how GLaDOS simulates daylight at all hours.

Given how she’s going to be looking for replacement test subjects after she fixes the facility up and kills Chell, and how desperate she is to find human test subjects in CO-OP after Atlas and P-Body fail to satisfy her testing itch, she’s probably lying here — about both the deer and the humans. Because she would’ve jumped at the chance to get some more human test subjects, and she doesn’t want to keep Chell around that long, because Chell’s too dangerous.

Yeah, I think she’s just trying to rub in the fact that you want to be free and go to the surface and that you’re never going to get to do that, because she plans to kill you soon.

Ah, yes, the beautiful blue hard-light bridges that inspired my GLaDOS hologram headcanon, which is made out of the same technology, but modified to be less hot, in full color, and three-dimensional~ :3 (shameless self-promotion pfft)

GLaDOS refers to herself as someone who is “only trying to help them.” She genuinely believes that she is helping out mankind and the world of science by testing humans. She thinks any human should feel privileged to have been a part of something greater than themselves like this. She also thinks that she herself is on a whole other level than the human species, and that being killed and mistreated can’t possibly apply to her. She is the authority and others are supposed to serve and respect her.

Aperture doesn’t do business with the outside world anymore, and Aperture appears to have become self-sufficient, so money should be irrelevant. So, either GLaDOS is making this all up, or she’s actually still following money protocols that were programmed into her back when money was still relevant to Aperture.

GLaDOS is still repairing the place, so there are still some messed up panels, but it’s gradually looking better and better.

She’s still bitter about you breaking that Aerial Faith Plate, lol. She passive aggressively grumbles about how she is going to have to repair the door now too, because no one else is going to. She really does feel like she does a lot of work around here which no one takes the time to appreciate or give her credit for. She also hisses at you to not touch anything while she’s gone, lest you break something else like how you broke the Aerial Faith Plate.

And once again, the cause of the malfunction is actually Wheatley behind the scenes, which GLaDOS still hasn’t realized.

She’s been working hard, and she’s losing patience with all the malfunctions happening around the facility, so she just straight-up kills the door mainframe AI and replaces it with a new one. Apparently, even the doors have AI cores in them.

More snark.

You can see the shed from the end of the game here in the Hard-Light Bridges demonstration of how sunlight is pumped down from the surface to create hard-light.

As you go through these first few chapters of the game, the Aperture logo in the loading screen goes from a dirty, unlit one to a clean and glowing logo. It’s a neat little detail to reflect how GLaDOS is tidying everything up.

This elevator room is in much worse condition than the gradually improving states of the others you’ve been going through because it’s the old turret test chamber from Portal 1.

This elevator room is broken, so you drop below onto the catwalks to enter the next test chamber.

Again, she makes reference to “yesterday.” It’s only been a few hours. Come on, GLaDOS, you weren’t even awake yesterday. She’s just trying to confuse you about the passage of time to make you believe that it could have been your birthday yesterday. It probably wasn’t your birthday, she’s just making that up as an excuse to give you a “surprise.”

This part is really cool. As you enter the next test chamber, you get to see how the test chambers are assembled down below, which involves panels coming along a conveyor belt from the factory down to the testing track, where mechanical arms put them into place.

There she goes bragging about her immortality again, and of course, she’s following up on the birthday thing as an excuse to give you a surprise. I’m guessing this so-called “medical procedure/experiment” basically just refers to filling you with neurotoxin and killing you.

Now she’s trying to make you feel self-conscious about your outfit. She’s just being really petty now, looking for any ammo that can possibly be used to upset a human.

She’s lying, obviously. She doesn’t have any humans in cryogenic storage. All the ones in the Relaxation Center are dead. Of course, in CO-OP, she manages to find some humans in cryogenic storage hidden in Old Aperture, but she doesn’t know about that right now. She’s just going back to preying on the whole “Chell is an orphan” thing again, trying to make Chell feel hopeful about meeting her parents so that she can crush Chell’s hopes and dreams when the surprise turns out to be fake.

Can’t forget to include the singing turrets. :)

Rattmann’s painting here depicts how Aperture’s immoral practices led to karma, where they created something even more morally reprehensible than themselves: GLaDOS, which led to their demise. They didn’t value human life when it came to how they treated test subjects, and GLaDOS just took it a step further by not valuing human life in general, which included them.

An interesting fun fact here! GLaDOS was actually supposed to hum “Happy Birthday” here to go along with her whole ‘birthday surprise’ theme, but back when this game came out in 2011, “Happy Birthday” was still copyrighted, and you had to pay lots of money in royalties if you wanted to use it in any form. However, thanks to a lawsuit in 2016, the song is no longer copyrighted! Hurray! #Petition to have Valve put GLaDOS humming “Happy Birthday” back in Portal 2? XD

For once, GLaDOS is taking a jab at someone who isn’t Chell. I guess she’s just flaunting her superiority and power at this point.

It sounds like she was just pretending to be distracted by other things like Nobel prize winners, trying to make Chell think she’d forgotten about her and her birthday surprise, in an attempt to make Chell more anxious and apprehensive about getting her surprise.

That concludes chapter 3 and part 3 of this GLaDOS Liveplay! Again, I really hope you’re enjoying this! :D

[julia-highstorms]

Too Little Too Late (Jax x MC)

Summary: As a clanless vampire, Jax’s days are numbered before he turns into a feral... And the ending might be coming sooner than later.

Note: My first (and probaly last) Jax Matsuo's fanfic. I just miss him so much psjfspofhsa. Bittersweet and angsty.

There are some songs that inspired and helped me write this fanfic:

Too Little Too Late - Metric

Time Is Running Out - Muse

Goner - twenty one pilots

Run - The Maine

Never Enough - The Hunna

Not Today - Imagine Dragons

I Can't Be With You - The Cranberries

Pairing: Jax x MC (Victoria)

Rating: M (mature and NSFW-ish)

Word count: 3250

Tagging some Jax's stans I know @jax-matsuos​ @walkerismychoice​ @never-ending-choices​

Victoria paced around the spacious guest suite at the Raines building. It had been weeks since she last saw or heard anything from Jax. The last time they met was right after that first meeting with Senator Vega when somehow Adrian managed to get his vote to turn Lily a clan vampire.

A privilege Jax and the other clanless vampires did not get. And would never get.

Letting out a sigh, she looked down to the smartphone in her hand. Jax’s number was glowing in the screen. She bit her lip, unsure if she should call him or not.

But she wanted to see him so bad. She was missing him like hell.

Which was nonsense.  She knew it was insane how quickly in love she fell for him. It didnʼt make any sense, they met, like, just a couple of times, and yet... there she was.

She couldn’t stop but remember that “Truth or Dare” game she had with Lily, Adrian and Kamilah on their way to the Awakening Ball, almost a month ago. She chose “Truth” and Lily asked her if she was in love. Victoria thought for a second before answering that she was, to Adrian and Lily’s surprise (but she didn’t tell them who this person was, obviously).

Yep, that was it. She was in love with Jax Matsuo.

And Victoria felt that the sentiment was reciprocate.
She knew Jax wanted her as much as she wanted him. They were drawn to each other since the very beginning, when he saved her from The Baronʼs men.

And she knew he was close, but it was never close enough.

Making up her mind, she pressed the “call” button.

Jax collapsed in a chair, panting. The glow from his eyes faded as his fangs receded.

“You should rest.” – Arnold said, panting too, as another vampire cleaned up the room, dusting away the ash.

“As you should too.” – Jax answered.

They had just killed one of his people, who became a feral. It was no easy job killing them, since they lost all their consciousness and were incredibly strong and swift, just like any other vampire, but acting only by instinct. The ferals were like killing machines.

The process of becoming a feral wasn’t a pretty business. You start by losing consciousness. The thirst for blood greatly increases and you gradually lose control of yourself until you become a completely shallow beast.

They had already lost six of them just that month. Thankfully, he was able to kill them before they attacked someone or the others. The bite of a feral vampire was incredibly infectious and, if they bit any of the regular vampires, there would be more than a feral to deal with at a time.

…But the worst part was that he probably was the next one. To turn into a feral.

Jax noticed that something was off a couple of weeks ago. It started with losing memory lapses here and there. Sometimes the thirsty for blood was so much that it hurt. It felt like the blood was never enough.

He was losing himself. Just like many others he saw before. His time was ending.

He knew he was becoming a feral.

Jax felt his heart sunk. Although he was always very aware that this would happen sooner or later, he had this tiny and ridiculous hope that he would somehow be able to avoid it. Not because of the clans, but maybe a cure for this would be found before his time was up. Or maybe he would be dead before turning one.

And this hope only grew up after he met her. Victoria.

He... he wished he could walk through the city with her, the sun high in the sky.

Just when he was thinking about her, his cellphone started vibrating in his pocket. It was a number he didn’t have, but he knew right away whom it was from. He quickly accepted the call.

“Yes?” – he answered, his heart suddenly beating fast.

“Uh… hey.” – she said from the other end. – “It’s… Victoria.” – her voice was soft and she didn’t sound like she was in danger. Just a little anxious.

“Hey.” – he answered, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. – “You okay?”

“Y-yeah… I… uh…” – the line became silent for a moment. He could hear her taking deep calming breaths. “…Can we meet? Like now?”

“I don’t see why not. I see you in ten, outside the Raines building.”

“Okay.”

He ended the call, still smiling. Arnold was looking at him with a disapproving look in his eyes, his arms crossed.

“What?” – Jax asked as he stood up, innocently.

“Do you really think it is a good idea to meet the human girl?”

“No. I know it is not. But I’ve never had good ideas anyway.”

Arnold shook his head as Jax got out of their safehouse.

At least one last time, he would see her before it was too late.

Victoria stepped out of the Raines HQ to the cool night. She looked around to the almost empty street and her heart skipped a beat when she immediately recognized the lone figure in the alley across the street. Jax was casually leaning against a wall, looking handsome as hell, a grin in his face. She approached him, unable to hold back a smile.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“It’s my pleasure.” – he looked around and tilted his head to the direction of the park down the street. – “Feeling up to a stroll through the Central Park?”

“I’m always up to it.” – her smile widened as she interlaced her arm with his. – “So… I was actually surprised that I didn’t see you sooner.” – she said softly, choosing her words with caution as they walked through the park.

He let out a sigh.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy these days.” – Victoria looked back at him, her eyes shining with curiosity. – “Some of my people… had become ferals. I had to take care of them.” – a silence fell between them. – “…I didn’t know you would miss me following you.” – he said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, I was getting used to you.” – she admitted as they stepped into a bridge. They both leaned back against the bridge’s railing, in silence.

Victoria looked up to the dark New York sky, summoning all her courage, before she turned to him, her heart beating fast. Jax’s eyes were already on her face.

“I missed you, Jax.” – she whispered, feeling her cheeks burning. – “I wanted to see you so bad, but...”

Without saying anything, he took a step towards her. She felt a chill running down her spine when he rested one of his hands on her neck. She saw his eyes slowly turning red, glowing in the dark, before he leaned in and kissed her deeply.

Her body immediately reacted to his touch and she threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. His arms were already in her waist, holding her tight.

If having him feeding off her was delirious, kissing him was even better. Her whole body felt electrified. She moaned against his lips, wanting more of him.

He wanted more too. She was so damn intoxicating. She smelled so good.

Tilting her head back, Victoria let out a gasp when his lips descended to her neck, his tongue tracing her jugular vein. The sensation of his fangs brushing against her skin sent shivers throughout her body.

He wanted her so bad. He wanted her body. Her flesh and blood. Her life.

The yearning for her was so much that he felt dizzy. He didn’t know anymore if it was lust, desire or simply and pure hunger. The urge to feed off her was too much.

He suddenly pulled back, getting away from her, panting hard. He had to grasp the railing to steady himself.

“Jax?” – she said, the confusion in her eyes, her throat still sore because of the kiss. –“Whatʼs happening? Do you need to... feed?” – she tried to reach for him, but he dodged her touch. He could see the hurt in her eyes and this killed him a little. – “Jax...?” – she called him one last time.

After a few deep and calming breaths, Jax felt like his old self again, the glow of his eyes fading away and the fangs receding.

He had to tell her. He hadn’t told anyone about this. Not even Arnold. But he had to tell Victoria. Now.

“I-Iʼm becoming one, Victoria. My time is ending.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, realization hitting her hard.

“...A feral?” – he nodded. Tears started to roll down her beautiful face. – “No... NO! THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WE CAN DO!”

“Victoria... itʼs too late.”

“NO! I WONʼT LET YOU BECOME ONE, JAX!” – she shouted stubbornly. – “I wonʼt...” – he hesitantly approached her again and pulled her in a hug. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. – “There must be a way... Maybe Adrian can help you...!”

“I donʼt want anything from the Clans.” – he scowled.

“But Jax!” – she pulled away from him, searching for his eyes. – “Maybe they have a solution!” – he shook his head. She glared back at him, anger in her eyes.

He knew that it would be a discussion none of them would ever win. He would never trust any of the Clans, and Victoria was loyal and very grateful to Adrian Raines. Victoria knew it too, and let out a heavy sigh, hugging him tight again.

“…I canʼt lose you, Jax.” – she muttered.

“I fear it is a little too late for me, Victoria.” – she felt his hands running up and down her back.

“I-I love you, Jax.” – he felt his heart aching inside his chest.

“And I love you, Victoria.”

They stayed like that until they lost track of the time. She eventually broke up the silence:

“How... how long do we have?” – he let out a sigh.

“I donʼt know.”

“Then... letʼs make the most of it, okay?” – she said, a sad grin in her lips.

They agreed it was better if she had let him enter by the balcony. It would definitely not be a good idea if he entered by the main doors of the Raines building.

Victoria ran towards the balcony’s glass doors as soon as the elevator reached the floor. Jax was already there.

“Nice place you got here.” – he said after letting out a low whistle as he entered the suite. – “Adrian is really taking good care of you, isn’t him?”

“Jax… I really don’t want to talk about my boss tonight.” – she said softly, her eyes shining with desire.

He smiled at her before she shoved him into the bed, kissing him passionately as if her life depended on it, her arms skillfully taking off his jacket. They quickly discarded the rest of their clothes.

“You’re so gorgeous…” – he muttered as he pulled her into his lap.

“You’re not bad yourself.” – she answered grinning at him, before letting out a gasp when she felt his lips and fangs tracing her collarbone and his hands holding her tight.

His hands wandered throughout her body as if he was trying to memorize each curve of her. His touch was delicate, but it sent shivers through her spine. Jax was an incredible lover, passionate and tender at the same time. Her moans soon filled the room and he growled low, waves of pleasure running throughout their bodies as they moved together in perfect sync.

She didnʼt want it to stop. Never.

And Victoria knew that, when it stopped, it would be the end. The end for them. For Jax.

Jax kissed her tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

She never wanted him to let go.

After what it seemed to be hours in each other’s arms, he eventually stood up.

“Are you already going?” – Victoria asked as she watched him getting dressed, feeling her heart breaking a little.

“Yes. It’s not safe to you be near me. Not anymore. Besides, it is almost sun rising.”

“Am I going to see you again?”

“I donʼt know.” – he confessed. – “The turning into a feral vary from each vampire to each vampire. It could take weeks, even months. Or just a single day.”

“I donʼt want you to go.” – he had just put his jacket on when he felt her arms around his waist, the warmth of her body on his back.

He felt that uncontrollably urge again and quickly got out of her embrace.

“Me too, Victoria. But I already am a goner. I know Adrian Raines will take good care of you. As he’s already been.” – he said, his back still turned to her. He took deep breaths, trying to compose himself.

When his heart was finally beating in a normal pace, he turned to her, a small smile on his lips. She tried to smile back, but her eyes were watering. She knew he was leaving, forever.

“Here, let me help you.” – he offered and helped her get dressed.

“Do you... do you want something to eat? I don’t know, I could fetch a breakfast for us...” – she asked when she was finally fully dressed.

“No, Iʼm good.” – he answered, a small smile still on his lips. – “I really need to go.” – she nodded and accompanied him into the balcony.

They looked deeply into each other’s eyes, none of them wanting to move first. When the first sunshine threatened to show up, he gently pulled her in and their lips met easily. She was so sweet. So intoxicating. So damn addictive. So dangerous to be around.

Jax felt something warm against his face. Victoria was crying. He hesitantly pulled out, his thumbs wiping off her tears.

“Goodbye, Victoria.” – he whispered in a crooked voice.

And with that, he disappeared into the night. Her legs gave in and Victoria broke down, her face buried in her hands, sobbing hard on the floor.

Back into the safehouse, his people greeted him. Lula showed him a drawing she has made. He asked for Arnold, who was talking with other vampires in another room.

Jax walked over to a cabinet and poured himself a drink out of a tall brown bottle. By the time Arnold arrived, he had already drunk everything.

“You wanted to see me, boss?” – Arnold asked, entering the room. Jax admired the empty glass in his hand.

“Yes.”

“Well, shoot.”

Jax looked up to the other vampire, a sad smile on his lips.

“My time is coming, Arnold. I’ll turn into a feral sooner or later.” – Arnold looked surprised at him. – “And I know it is unfair, but youʼre the only one I trust enough to do this. Iʼll need you to look after the rest of us. The clanless.”

“Of course.” – he nodded cautiously, trying to control his shock.

“…And I wonʼt let myself become one of those monsters. Kill me before I turn one.” –and he gave his katanas to Arnold.

The other vampire was taken a back for a moment, before accepting the swords. – “...If you say so, boss.”

“Glad to know that I can count on you until the end.” – Jax smirked.

“…And what about the human girl?”

“She knows about this.” – Jax shrugged, looking away.

Arnold nodded, knowing that there was nothing else to say or to do. Just wait.

The ending came eventually.

It was getting harder and harder to control his thirsty. His hunger. Jax even had a breakdown, almost killing some of his people. Thankfully, Arnold was prepared and they managed to hold him down.

“Get them out of here!” – Arnold shouted as one of his assistants rushed the rest of the clanless to the other room. Lula looked one last time to Jax being held against the floor, his eyes glowing red and his fangs out.

Jax struggled against the other vampires grip, trying to free himself.

Eventually, he came to his senses.

“You scared us, boss.” – Arnold greeted him.

“What are you doing?” – Jax simply asked. – “Why haven’t you killed me already?” – the vampires holding him shared an uncertain look. – “I told you, Arnold. To kill me before I completely lose it. And hurt, or worse, kill someone.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” – the other vampire tried to protest, but Jax had made up his mind.

“Just do it.” – he ordered.

He knew that it was his last relapse of conscience. Arnold hesitantly grabbed one of his katanas.

Jax looked up to the ceiling before closing his eyes, ready for his fate.

For the last time, he thought about her. Victoriaʼs beautiful face. The delicious taste of her blood, the sweet scent of her skin, the softness of her lips, the sound of her voice. Her.

Goodbye, Victoria.

He wished he had more time... But it was already too late anyway.

And then, Arnold laid down the katana right into Jax neck with a single and swift move. His body immediately exploded into a cloud of ash. Arnold even shedded a tear.

It had been a couple of months since she last saw or heard about him. Things were pretty chaotic in the vampire world, as always.

It was a Saturday night, and she was pacing through the suite again, looking for a midnight snack. Working for vampires really adjusted her internal clock. Victoria had just found a bag of chips when she heard a couple of taps in one of the windows. She

suddenly felt a chill, sensing that something was not right.

She ran towards the sound and pushed open the curtains, to find Arnold there, in the balcony. Her heart stopped for a single second. She knew why he was there.

Somehow, she managed to open the glass door and stepped out to the balcony. It was a windy night. The vampire greeted her with a single tilt of his head.

“Did he suffer?” – Victoria asked, taking deep breaths, her throat suddenly dry.

“It was swift.” – Arnold shrugged and she saw that he carried Jaxʼs katanas on his back. So now he probably was the new Clanless Leader. – “He asked me to do it before he lost himself completely, ya know?” – she nodded, feeling the tears in her eyes. “He didnʼt want to become a feral.”

“Y-yes... he told me.” – her mind immediately jumped back to that night.

When he told her about his numbered days. The first and last time they ever made love. The delicate touch of his fingers tracing her skin, the electric sensation of his fangs against her neck, the passion and desire in his red eyes, the burning kisses he left throughout her body. Her tears that wouldn’t stop falling. His black hair dark as the night, his arms around her waist, his body rocking against her, that delirious sensation of him. Him. Jax.

He was gone. Forever.

“Yeah, I guess he wanted me to let you now. That it was all good in the end. Good as it can be.” – Arnold said. Victoria nodded again to him, Jaxʼs last words to her before vanishing into the night, repeating in her mind like a mantra.

“Goodbye, Victoria.”

Arnold was actually impressed with that human girl. He could see the tears watering in her eyes, but she would not let him see her cry. The vampire turned around, saying nothing more. It was not necessary.

When he was long gone, Victoria cried until there were no tears left to cry.

Goodbye, Jax.

It was too little too late anyway.

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 57. In which hope is lost and found

Read the full fic on AO3.

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After the Inquisitor left to find Clarel, Cullen organized a contingent to follow behind her and keep the path open in case she needed to retreat. He briefly, selfishly, thought of leading the troops himself but immediately buried the thought alongside all his other unnecessary, overprotective impulses.

His soldiers needed him here. They needed his direction and his presence. So, he tightened the strip of cloth around the gash in his leg and settled for sending Captain Rylen instead.

"Do whatever it takes to ensure her success," Cullen ordered. "Understand?"

Rylen's ice-blue eyes reflected grim determination as he gripped Cullen's forearm in a firm handshake. "Of course. You can count on me."

Cullen gritted his teeth. "You can't let the soldiers lose hope or squander any advantage... even if..." The words stuck to his mouth like glue, but he pushed them out anyway. "...even if the Inquisitor falls."

Rylen squeezed Cullen's arm. "It won't come to that... but if it does, I know what to do."

Cullen nodded and let the captain go. He'd done all he could for Evana. He would have to trust that she and her companions would do their part to remain safe.

They'd cleared the gates some time ago, and he'd placed a unit there, including Iron Bull, to hold the area. Wave after wave swept inside and headed off on their pre-determined routes based on the plans Leliana had obtained of the fortress. Dorian, Vivienne and Sera had each chosen a wave and followed along. Cullen had then sent Blackwall to the battlements with another contingent of soldiers to hold the area.

Now, as he led a large group further into the immense fortress, he marveled at the glut of demons and mages swarming the soldiers. The stones were slick with blood from both sides, but still their enemies poured from every crevice like vermin.

He had a moment's reprieve when they came across several groups of Warden warriors actually fighting against the demons. A handful of restrained mages lined the wall behind the warriors.

"Commander Cullen of the Inquisition," he barked out before any of his soldiers could engage with the Wardens. "I take it you have surrendered?"

"In a manner of speaking, ser. The Inquisitor told us to fall back, but we were attacked by our own mages when we allowed Inquisition soldiers to pass by unchallenged. We may have also given your people a few tips on ambushes waiting for them ahead. We've been fighting demons and mages ever since."

Despite a deep desire to cut them down for their stupidity, Cullen let them be. "Just keep the demons from getting past this point. You may attempt to restrain and save your mages if you wish. We have templars among us who can silence them for now... but I'm not sure how you'll break Corypheus' hold on them."

"Yes, ser. Thank you, ser," the man said before glancing worriedly at the line of shrieking, dead-eyed mages struggling against their bonds. "And neither are we."

Cullen pushed deeper into the fortress and eventually met up with another unit sweeping the area. As they moved together toward the main hall and courtyard at the center of the fortress, the screaming, shouting and clashing of armor and weapons grew more intense.

Suddenly, screams of a different kind cut through the din, and a dark, winged shadow loomed overhead before letting out an ear-splitting roar. Corypheus' archdemon swooped past them, and Cullen's lip curled up in a snarl of pure hatred. His shoulders tensed in readiness even as harrowing memories flashed through his mind.

Haven burning. Soldiers screaming in pain and terror. Evana's final look in the Chantry. Evana nearly dead in his arms.

A putrid wind from the archdemon's wings whipped past them, causing them to choke. The dragon did not engage, however, and landed on a tower close to the main hall - the place he assumed Evana would be right now. Cullen sent up a brief plea to the Maker to protect her before shaking off the sense of dread creeping up his spine and turning to his troops.

"The archdemon is not our concern. We need to clear this fortress. The Inquisitor and her companions will deal with the Wardens and the dragon." Fear ate at his confidence, but he forced steel into his tone. "She has fought several dragons before and come out unscathed. She will triumph."

The soldiers seemed to perk up at this new information, their expressions reflecting their newly found resolve. Cullen took a last look at the massive beast still perched on the tower and then led them forward.

The soldiers fought with renewed vigor, but their enemy pushed back. Hard. Each step forward brought more demons, more magic, more chaos, more shrieking, more death and moans of pain. They waded through veritable pools of blood at choke points, the bodies piled high, and though Cullen kept his eyes forward, the sights and sounds churned in the depths of his mind, stirring up feelings he'd buried long ago.

Not now, Maker, please, not now...

He tried to shake off the burgeoning panic, but everywhere he turned, he could see it. Hear it. The narrow stairs, the imposing walls, the demonic laughter, the dead eyes, the mages in thrall, the desperate voices begging for mercy, for a swift death...

Something whispered past the barrier. Cullen shuddered but did not give up his chant. He'd never been so glad of those hours spent memorizing the words of the Maker.

He cut through another demon and then pressed a fist to his forehead, fighting desperately against the sensation of drowning, suffocating, in the unwanted thoughts. He wasn't there. He was at Adamant.

A shade came at him, and he lashed out at it as his vision tunneled...

The hiss of scraping claws over stone reached his ears. He recited the words louder, trying to drown out the evidence of his tormentor's attention. This demon had fixated on him in particular, and nothing he said or did seemed to dissuade it. So, he wove the chant into shield around his mind and his heart, praying the mages would kill him before the demon drove him to complete madness.

The air would not come. His chest constricted. The walls closed in on him, trapping him as he slashed wildly at the shade. Somehow, he managed to kill it. He backed away from the fighting, desperate to regain control. But instead the darkness claimed him...

A voice, her voice, whispered in his ear and then slithered inside, into his head, until he could barely distinguish his own thoughts from that insidious voice. His late-night fantasies of touching her, tasting her - thoughts indulged only under cover of darkness - became distorted replicas of themselves. Familiar and yet wrong, as if looking at a reflected picture of one's self, the images shifted subtly.

Over and over again until his fantasies turned to nightmares. Until he could no longer knew what was real.

He fought it. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. When he no longer had the strength to stand, he pushed aside the severed limbs and mutilated bodies of his friends while his stomach lurched and emptied time and again. Kneeling in the congealing, rotting gore, he shut out the shrieks of horror and agony echoing from the chambers above with the sound of his own hoarse voice. Repeating the chant. Over and over and over.

Hungry. Thirsty. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to die. More afraid they'd let him live...

A blast of ice brought Cullen back to the present with a start. The suffocating darkness lifted and the Circle tower fell away to reveal a wide rampart stretching out before him. Vaguely, he recognized the tattered black rags and hovering body as a despair demon, but before he could fully shake off the heavy weight of his memories, the demon shot another blast of ice at him, this time freezing him in place. Helpless against the cold, he fixated on the shadowed and hideous maw screeching at him through a haze of ice and the long claw-like fingers grabbing for him.

A strange calm settled over him when the edge of the demon's claw sliced through his neck. Although a shallow cut, he could feel the heat of his own blood melting the thin sheen of frost coating his skin. The demon would rip his throat out, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt a deep sorrow at the thought of leaving Evana behind, her lovely face filling his vision as he braced for the end.

Suddenly, the despair demon let out a high-pitched shriek and blasted away from him on a cloud of ice. In the demon's place stood a wide-eyed soldier, his sword dripping with fresh blood. In the next moment, the demon's spell shattered, and Cullen fell forward on his hands and knees, his sword clattering from stiff fingers. A hand landed on Cullen's shoulder, and he jerked away before looking up to see the young soldier staring down at him, terror and determination radiating from the man in equal parts.

"Commander?"

"I'm alright," he croaked weakly as he wiped frozen fingers across the blood on his neck. "You worry about that demon."

"Yes, ser!"

The young soldier charged at the demon, leaving Cullen to pull himself up as quickly as his icy limbs would allow. He curled his gradually warming fingers around the hilt of his sword - around that strip of leather Evana had designed specially for him - and stumbled toward the fight. While the young soldier distracted the demon, Cullen approached from behind, his blood pumping faster and warmth flooding his limbs with every step.

He wasn't there. He was at Adamant fortress. He was the Commander of the Inquisition. And he would not fall to a demon. Not then, and certainly not now.

He sprinted the remaining distance and brought his sword down on the demon's neck, slicing its head clean off. As it melted into goo before them, Cullen leaned over, pressed his hands to thighs covered in cold, damp leather and took another moment to recover. Catching the young man's eye, he nodded in thanks. The soldier gave a nervous laugh and nodded back.

They quickly rejoined the others to help fight off a couple of rage demons and a few Warden archers. Then, the contingent moved forward again, sweeping back and forth through the inner areas, going in and out of rooms and rooting out more demons.

Flashbacks tried to claim him several more times as they fought through the glut of enemies in never-ending supply around every corner, but now he worked even harder to stay grounded. Another slip like that would get him killed, and he had too much to live for to give up so easily.

Thoughts of Evana led him back to scanning the skies. Cullen knew as long as the archdemon had circled the fortress, it meant the Inquisitor had evaded the dragon, but the beast seemed to have disappeared during the past few minutes.

Then he heard it. A mighty roar of a dragon... followed by the most gut-wrenching sound of stone collapsing Cullen had ever heard. The stones under their feet trembled with the force of it, and Cullen's heart plummeted to his stomach.

But demons barred their path, and he could not alter their plan of attack now. He had to stay the course, no matter how it tore him apart, no matter how the fear and panic clawed at the cage he'd place around them.

To his respective relief and mild annoyance, Dorian and Sera joined them along the way, and in another half an hour, they'd reached the main hall and courtyard where the remaining Warden warriors fought alongside Rylen's contingent. Demons spawned continually from a giant rift at the center of the hall, and the soldiers would cut them all down only to repeat the process with the next surge. Cullen grimaced at memories of their first few days fighting the rifts after the Conclave... before Evana had appeared to save them all.

Cullen circled the perimeter, keeping to the wall as he scanned the area for her, hoping and praying. Cole flashed in and out in stealth mode as he attacked a rage demon. Sera had already joined the fray. But Evana wasn't there.

Maker, keep her safe... please... He couldn't lose her. Not after everything they'd been through. Cullen's carefully contained panic rattled its cage of frayed mental strength and began bleeding out through the weak spots.

"Commander!"

Rylen's sudden approach pulled Cullen from his spiraling thoughts. He shoved the clawing terror back and focused on his second in command.

"Where is the Inquisitor?" Cullen barked.

Good friend that he was, Rylen ignored the obvious tremor in Cullen's voice, shook his head and pointed up the stairs to the side. "The Inquisitor followed Clarel and Erimond that way... but we heard a terrible crash and haven't seen hide nor hair of her nor any of her companions since. I fear..."

Rylen froze mid-sentence as if suddenly remembering something. His eyes grew wide, and before Cullen could ask what the matter was, Rylen twisted violently and lashed out, his sword slicing through the empty space behind him.

Only his sword didn't pass through the emptiness. A harsh cry rent the air, and a dagger clattered to the stone as Rylen's sword cut deeply into the shoulder of a Venatori assassin. Cullen immediately sprang into action, dodging around Rylen to run the man through. When the assassin dropped to the ground, Rylen stood staring at the body for a long moment, his chest heaving and eyes wide.

"How?" Cullen asked incredulously, still a little breathless from the sudden shock. "How did you know he would be there? Did you hear him?"

"She warned me," he panted out in a tone just as dazed as Cullen's. "She told me..."

Rylen shook his whole body as if trying to wake himself from a dream. He turned to Cullen, his eyes still wide but a familiar wry grin on his lips.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I barely believe me." Rylen gazed down at the body for a moment more, shook his head and then continued on with his report. "Well, now we've cleared up that mess... The Wardens seem to have had enough of inciting mass chaos. Apparently, Clarel pulled her head out of her arse and charged them to assist us, so we've got this rift under control."

As he spoke, Rylen's eyes occasionally slid to the body at their feet before jerking up to meet Cullen's gaze once more. Cullen knew they didn't have time for it now, but he made a note to speak to Rylen about the incident later. Clearly there was more to the story than Rylen let on.

"The whole keep shuddered with the force of whatever happened up there," Rylen finished with a grimace. "Should I...?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. I will go. You stay here and manage that rift."

Rylen nodded, and without preamble, he strode to the rift as it pulsed with another round of demons. Cullen signaled to a few nearby soldiers and approached the stairs. If his unit had made it to the main hall, it meant the battle was nearly won. His troops knew what to do now. And no one would question the Commander being the one to concern himself with the whereabouts of the Warden-Commander and Magister Erimond. He would take this one moment to be selfish, if it could be called that. The creeping dread nearly stopped him cold, but he took a deep breath and led the small group up the stairs.

Sera stayed behind to help with the rift, but Dorian and Cole fell in step beside Cullen. Cole remained terrifyingly silent, and Cullen couldn't... wouldn't ask. Cullen and Dorian shared a look of concern as they rounded the top of the stairs to see the magister Erimond, incapacitated but alive, on the edge of a crumbled stone bridge. A couple of brave men walked gingerly to the man and pulled him closer to the walls, away from the edge.

His veneer of calm wearing thin, Cullen was in no mood to be gentle. He picked up Erimond by his foppish collar and slapped him hard across the face to wake him.

Erimond startled, and Cullen immediately shouted, "Where is the Inquisitor?! What have you done with her?"

"Wha...? Where? Oh..." The magister let out a breathy chuckle as his eyes finally focused on Cullen. "If you're looking for your precious Inquisitor, she went that way-" Erimond shakily raised his arm to point out into the expanse of nothing and then turned his finger down. "-along with all of her companions. I do believe that was the Champion with her, was it not? Your false heroes seem to fall just as quickly as you can raise them up."

Cullen felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He unceremoniously dropped the magister, uncaring of the man's cry of pain, and crawled out to the edge of the stone as silent lips formed the same word over and over.

No, no, no...

Dorian's warning cut through the savage panic scrambling to escape Cullen's waning control, but he was already too far out. Luckily, the stone held firm beneath him. He leaned his head over the edge... and stared into the utter blackness of a yawning chasm.

Frustration pricked at his already strained nerves even as relief crept in along the edges of his panic. He couldn't have handled seeing her body broken open on the rocks below. Bile rose up in his throat just thinking about it.

Scrambling away from the precarious edge, he threw his back against the nearest wall and sat utterly still for a moment as the numbness of shock and denial slowly faded. A pain like nothing he'd ever felt took its place, building in his chest like a heavy weight crushing him from above. His breaths came harder and faster with each draw of air into his lungs. The pain seared his entire body, agonizing and breathtaking in its depth. As bad as Haven had been - the fear, the guilt, the not knowing - this... Maker, this was ten thousand times worse.

He hadn't realized how much his love for her had grown. It hadn't occurred to him how much more it would hurt to know she loved him in return - to know the joy of having and holding someone as lovely and perfect for him as she - only to have her ripped away from him in a split second. All his rationalizations, all his justifications for pushing her away, for waiting, now seemed foolish. So incredibly foolish.

At least he'd finally told her. At least she'd died knowing he loved her. As he would have to live knowing she'd loved him... all the while remembering the time he'd wasted on his own fears and hesitations instead of simply loving her with all he had when he'd had the chance.

He groaned pitifully and dropped his head into his hands. He vaguely recognized that he should be more in control, that his soldiers were standing nearby and watching, waiting for his next orders, waiting for him to rally them to the cause. But he couldn't face anyone. Not yet.

The initial wave of excruciating pain faded, and a stone settled inside his chest, cold and hard. No tears came. He felt hollow... empty.

She was... she was...

Gone. His light was gone.

"Maker... Evana..."

The words fell from his lips, but he didn't recognize the anguished voice that spoke them. Dorian, however, had crawled carefully along the stone wall and arrived at Cullen's side in time to hear them. The mage's voice, for once lacking in sarcasm and edged with desperation, cut into Cullen's mourning.

"What is it? What did you see?"

"Nothing," he whispered brokenly. Then in a firmer, louder tone, "It's too dark. I-"

An evil laugh cut him off. "Oh, don't worry. She's definitely dead. The archdemon saw to that."

Cullen felt another of rush of pain, but along with it came an anger so potent it took his breath away. Scowling, he jumped up and strode toward the magister, intent on physical harm.

Cole stepped in his path. Cullen skidded to a halt, his brain having trouble processing so many swings in emotion in such a short period. He stared at the spirit boy blankly until Cole began to speak.

"Gone from this world but not gone. Sparks sear dragon flesh. Down, down over the edge with splitting, cracking stone. Too late. Then... green cracks and sputters, a tear in the veil but not an old one. New, bright, wide, built to save." Cole turned to look deeply into Cullen's eyes and shivered. "Gone from this world but not gone. She opened a rift, and they fell... fell into the Fade!"

Too ravaged and raw to be gentle, Cullen grabbed the boy by the collar, his breathing harsh and unrestrained. He rarely understood Cole's ramblings, but that last sentence was too clear to mean anything else. Tempering his wildly flaring hope, he gave Cole a little shake.

"You're sure? She's in the Fade? Right now?"

Cole nodded, eyes wide. "The anchor disappeared, brightness extinguished, but it didn't feel like dying. No. Not dying. More like... like going home."

Dorian let out a sigh of relief, accepting all this far faster than Cullen's brain could process it. He fed off Dorian's confidence, however, looking to Cole for answers as Dorian pressed the boy for information.

"Can you feel them now? Can you see if they are truly alive? If any of them are in pain?"

Cole shook his head sadly. "No. I can't feel them in the Fade. It's too far and I..." Cole shuddered. "I don't want to go back there."

Cullen finally let go of the boy and exhaled, his heart beating wildly at the ups and downs he'd just experienced. "No one is asking you to, Cole. You're safe here... well... as safe as you can be in a keep full of demons."

Cole nodded, and his eyes, though still wide with the weight of whatever he'd seen, now held a note of calmness they'd lacked earlier. The pain in Cullen's own chest ebbed into a shaky kind of elation. He felt slightly drunk on it. Sure, she's physically walking through the Fade with her companions. Why not? She's already been there once and survived. No problem.

The boy hovered before finally asking in a small voice. "I helped?"

Cullen gripped the boy's shoulder and looked directly into his icy blue eyes. "Yes. You most certainly did. Thank you, Cole. Now, back to the rift with you. The soldiers need your help."

With a shy grin, Cole disappeared, leaving Cullen feeling far more charitable toward the boy than ever before. She could be alive. Maker... please let her be alive, and bring her back to me.

With a suddenness that took his soldiers by surprise, Cullen strode forward and pointed at Erimond. "Take him down to the main gate and find a few templars to hold him. We can't have him using his magic to escape. The Inquisitor will judge him once she returns."

Erimond looked unsure for the first time. Cullen's confidence seemed to have shaken his own.

"You can't be serious!" he whined. "That boy has no idea what he's talking about! Even if it's true they fell into the Fade, they won't make it out. She'll die there. They're probably already dead! Do you hear me?!"

Cullen paid no attention to the magister and strode quickly back to the center hall with Dorian hard on his heels. The mage remained silent at first, but halfway back to the courtyard, he finally spoke.

"Cullen, I hate to agree with Venatori scum, but..." Dorian reached out and grabbed Cullen's arm, pulling him to a halt on a narrow stretch of the ramparts. "We don't know that they survived their fall into the Fade."

Cullen looked away from Dorian's serious gaze, for once glad of the darkness surrounding them. The moons shone down brightly, but even with the silvery light, details were muddy. Perhaps Dorian couldn't see the doubt and fear in his expression.

"I know," he admitted reluctantly, "but... at least it's something. It's more than I... than we had before."

Dorian hummed in understanding. "You clearly have something in mind. A plan of action, perhaps, from our action-oriented Commander? What's going through that pretty golden head of yours?"

Cullen started down the path again and rolled his eyes as he looked over at the mage. His friend. Their friend, who had worked so hard to make sure they found their way to each other.

"Think about it, Dorian. Rather than expend energy opening a new rift - if she can even do that on command... it might have been a reflexive action - I'd bet my life they're working their way toward-"

"-the closest open rift! Of course. Good thinking!"

Cullen raised an eyebrow and grinned at the mage. "I know."

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "What have I told you about getting smug, Commander?"

Cullen didn't care. He was actually enjoying the banter and riding high on the knowledge that Evana could still be out there, albeit in the Fade, and alive.

The scene in the courtyard, however, brought reality crashing back down. They fought hard for the next hour, but every time it seemed as though they were making headway, another wave of demons spawned from the rift. The longer it took, the more his confidence eroded into doubt and worry. What if they'd died in the fall anyway? What if she couldn't make it out? What if the demons in the Fade had killed them all? What if...?

After another half hour of continual fighting, it became apparent that he was going to need to set up shifts. More groups arrived from doing their sweeps of the fortress, and he began organizing units that would take turns resting and fighting.

As even more contingents arrived, including Iron Bull, Vivienne and Blackwall, he sent them back out to begin the task of looking for injured survivors. He charged them with triaging the injured and getting them to the camp just over the hill from the fortress where the healers waited to begin their work.

Iron Bull clapped Cullen on the back. "Don't worry, Commander. The boss has a way of getting out of sticky situations. She'll be out of that rift in no time."

Cullen didn't know how to answer, so he just sent Bull a tight smile and a brusque nod. Bull nodded back and turned to leave, calling out to Blackwall as he went.

"You should stay here and fight for the honor of the Grey Wardens or something. I'm going to find some attractive injured people to carry back to the healers. Heh, heh, heh."

Cullen couldn't help laughing at Bull's absurdity, but he felt it prudent to add, "Bull, don't you dare pass over an injured person simply because you don't think they're good looking enough."

Bull waggled an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry, Commander. My standards are low. For instance, you'd pass snuff for sure."

Cullen just shook his head. They were all tired, but he did appreciate the companions trying to keep up morale. Sera flipped around the back edges of the courtyard shooting arrows into demons and then merrily walked around during lulls to yank them back out of the piles of dead demon goop. Dorian kept up an occasional, sing-song-y "any time now" as they fought through wave after wave of demons.

But the men and women were frightened, and it was beginning to show. Their Herald had disappeared yet again, and this time the Champion and Warden Stroud had disappeared with her. Cullen did his best to not let his growing despair show through. She had made it into the Fade, but there was no guarantee she'd make it out.

Time crawled by a snail's pace. Cullen stared at the watery image of the Fade beyond the giant rift every chance he could and strained to see any hint of the Inquisitor or her party coming through. His previous confidence now in shreds, he prayed to the Maker as he cut through yet another round of wraiths and demons. Finally, during a reprieve, he briefly closed his eyes and willed his words to reach her as he uttered a haggard whisper into the glowing green light of the rift.

"Evana, where are you? Come back to me. I need you."

Suddenly, as if in answer to his plea, Cassandra, Varric and Solas tumbled out of the rift all at once. Cullen felt his heart soar... then come crashing down again. Just like at Haven, she'd sent her companions to safety before herself.

Seconds passed, but no one else came through. Maker, the emotional ups and downs were going to send him to an early grave. Where is Evana? Cullen rushed forward to catch hold of the exhausted Seeker and help her stand from where she'd fallen. His voice cracked as he repeated his thought aloud.

"Where is Evana?"

Cassandra looked up at him in a daze and then shook her head. "I do not know. She, Hawke and Stroud were directly behind us the last time I saw them. I would not have come through if I had thought..."

Varric and Solas looked back through the rift as if waiting. In the meantime, another round of demons spawned from the rift. The appearance of the Inquisitor's companions had sent a shock of energy through the exhausted troops, and they fought all the harder.

Cullen set his jaw and readied his sword to attack a nearby demon, trying to wrestle his emotions into some semblance of order. He believed Cassandra. Evana had been alive and well only moments ago. She was coming. Hawke and Stroud were still with her. She had to be coming.

He could not contemplate otherwise. Not again.

[everythingmusicandfilm]

Annihilation and its Portrayal of Depression

I can’t say I have ever seen a film that has accurately portrayed depression, however Alex Garland’s Annihilation is a wonderful step in the right direction. The incredible performances and in depth characters, the unique narrative and important themes along with the stunning and unusual setting, creates an outstanding film that portrays the brutal yet beautiful effect of self-destruction.

The Netflix film is a sci-fi horror epic like none other. The story focuses around Lena and her husband Kane who met in the military. Kane left for a mission one day and went missing. He turned up at their house one year later suffering from organ failure. Lena learns that Kane’s mission was to investigate what they call ‘The Shimmer’. This is where an unknown source hit Earth and created a quarantined zone that no one has returned from. Lena along with four female military scientists enter ‘The Shimmer’ to try and figure out what it is and how to stop it.

The five lead female characters each portray depression in a different way. Josie wears sleeves to hide the cuts on her arms. This represents how depression can make you feel suicidal whilst you still attempt to do anything to feel alive. In the end Josie wanted to escape the pain as we see her in short sleeves for the first time and she walks away from Lena and becomes one of those humananoid trees. She wanted to embrace and accept death as she knew she could not escape her pain. Cass, who lost her daughter to cancer, represents how someone can become a different person after they experience trauma. You can not remember who you were before the pain, so you don’t know how to escape it. Anya who is an alcoholic and who gradually loses her self control throughout the film, represents how you can lose control of your body. Your mind and body can separate as you let your body self destruct. Ventress who we learn is suffering from terminal cancer, represents the pure anger and self destruction that depression can cause. Lena somehow represents all of these sides of depression as she is just filled with guilt and is haunted by what happened to her husband. All of these characters are overwhelmed with emotion, hence why this mission seems like a suicide mission as none of them are too concerned about dying, some of them even long for it. Dr Ventress says to Lena that “Almost none of us commit suicide, whereas almost all of us self-destruct. We drink, or take drugs, or destabilize the happy job – or happy marriage…But these aren’t decisions. They’re impulses. And in fact, as a biologist, you’re better placed to explain them than me.” This film highlights how we are all encoded with a nature of self-destruction. We can try to run away from it or replace it but it will always be inside of us.

The Shimmer also represents aspects of depression. When the girls first enter, they wake up disoriented as they can not remember entering the Shimmer or know how long they have been there for. Depression is like this as it disorientates you as you lose track of time and life becomes a blur. The Shimmer is also full of strange drained plants and concrete walls covered in vegetation. The Shimmer represents depression as it consumes everything in its path and duplicates it. Everything is consumed and reflected to make the Shimmer continue to grow. This portrayal of depression shows how destructive depression is. It all starts with one thought, then it duplicates and reflects until depression is completely consuming you. Suddenly everything is disorientated, you’re angry, you can’t remember who you were before the pain, you want to feel alive again but yet you still long for death as your body becomes a weapon used against yourself.

At the end of the film, Lena reaches the lighthouse where the Shimmer was first formed. She discovers a video tape which shows that Kane killed himself and it was his duplicate (created by the Shimmer) that made it back to Lena. Lena then follows a hole that tunnels into the ground to find Ventress. A Space Odyssey type scene plays out as a mysterious alien force drives through Ventress as she disintegrates, before dying she says “Nothing of what we are will remain. It’s going to annihilate us. That’s what it is. That’s what’s waiting. Annihilation.” Lena then finds her own duplicate. The duplicate follows her every moment and physically crushes her. This represents the weight of depression as you can’t escape it. Depression can often feel like a heavy force that constantly follows and crushes you. In the end you let the weight of depression overcome you. Lena then manages to blow up the lighthouse and destroy the Shimmer. As we go back to where Kane is being held, Lena knows that Kane is not the real Kane. This makes us question what does this mean for the world as even though the Shimmer is destroyed, there is still at least one alien being on Earth. Kane then asks Lena if she is Lena. Lena does not reply, however the two hug as their eyes both light up. The film ends on a huge cliffhanger, where the audience is left wondering if Lena is the real Lena or if it is her duplicate. By Natalie Portman’s amazing acting, I sense that it is still the real Lena but she has changed. Lena’s character reflects how depression can completely change us and turn us into different people. Lena is proof that even though depression can crush us and weigh us down, we can still escape it, we just might not be the same person anymore.

Although the ending of the film causes a lot of questions, one thing is for certain and that is that this film successfully portrays depression as it shows that it is not just a disorder. Depression is a way of being and very rarely do we see this accurately portrayed on the screen. The characters, the narrative and the Shimmer setting creates a brutal yet beautiful reflection of self destruction as it portrays the hard battle between wanting to feel alive and longing for death. This film makes those who have not experienced depression understand what it is like and how brutal self destruction can be. And it makes those who have experienced depression question, who are we without our mental disorders? How can we move on from pain when it is all we know? Annihilation manages to capture this complexity of mental disorders whilst still providing hope that maybe we can all be like Lena and eventually escape depression and become someone else, someone who is not defined by a mental disorder.

[yourslovinglecter]

The Duchess - Part 6

Summary: She hated him, for everything he had done to them, the damage he had caused, the suffering and pain he had left behind. She hated him… Didn’t she? Emilia comes face to face with the leader of the Saviours and is confronted with his true nature, which in turn has her questioning her own.

Warning/s: Eventual smut, slow burner, profanity/swearing, graphic descriptions of violence.

Pairing: Negan/OC

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5  

No gifs are made by me unless otherwise stated. All credit goes to the original creators. A/N: THIS IS A LONG ONE SO HUNKER DOWN! I couldn’t leave you another whole chapter without Negan, so I combined two as a thanks for all of your lovely support. 

She couldn’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours which meant she had a fair while to wait before she’d see the daylight again. She had two choices, stay here and hope they bypassed them or move and risk being heard. If she remained where she was and they discovered her, it surely meant the end for her and Logan…

If she moved maybe she had more of a chance, it would be harder for them to find her but in turn she’d be stumbling around in the dark and had more risk of running head first into a walker.

She listened hard, all of her senses were on high alert. She knew she was around 50 miles away from Alexandria, which was a days travel on foot, whoever these people were they could have a vehicle.

She jumped hard and pulled on Logan’s fur as a loud, high scream pierced the air around them, drifting from somewhere ahead. Then gun fire, the anguished screams of another person, she could hear them begging whoever was injured to say with them… Then more gunfire.

Then more screams.

A shot

Then silence.

She closed her eyes for a moment as the imagined scene flew up unbidden from behind her eyelids. Why had they used guns, the fools. That would have attracted every walker in the area right too them.

She clung to Logan, every noise making her jump.

She didn’t sleep any more that night, her heart raced in her chest and she was sure it was as loud as the gunfire had been, was sure it would draw every walker to them.

She didn’t know how much time had passed until she heard the shuffling, it had felt like hours but could have only been mere minutes. It sounded like a lot of them, gurgling and groaning and stumbling their way through the forest.

A herd.

And she was stuck right in their path.

She sucked in a deep breath as panic seeped into her bones, her arm tingled at the rush of oxygen and she felt light headed as she thought about the possible outcomes.

She’d never forgive herself if her foolhardy venture ended up with Logan being… No.

She wouldn’t think about it.

Couldn’t.

She trusted her dog and so laid in total silence beneath him, the large tree was their only cover. She listened intently as she heard them bounce off the rope surrounding the clearing and continued in another direction.

She felt every single second of the minutes and hours that passed, her muscles screamed from the constant tension in her muscles but she was too afraid if she moved they’d hear her. Her fists were still clenched in Logan’s dark fur as she held him atop her, fearing that if he moved they’d get him.

Silent tears tracked their way down her face as the stench of rotting flesh surrounded them. She was grateful for her nose being buried in Logan's fur, his familiar scent comforting her as they waited together. Fear overwhelmed her, fear of moving, of being discovered, of the rope snapping or a twig giving way beneath their combined weight, fear of Logan shifting or one of them tripping and managing to get through…

As she ran through the many scenarios in her mind time passed slowly, she had never wanted to see anything so much as another sunrise, but she knew that if it rose whilst they were in the midst of the herd, they were done for.

Silently she prayed.

Gradually the noise seemed to lessen over time, fewer groans and dragging footsteps led her to believe that the bulk of the herd had passed them and it couldn’t have been in better timing as the sky was beginning to lighten ever so slightly. She could just see the glimpse of sky through the canopy of trees.

She remained where she was, her whole body felt as though it was on fire having had constant adrenaline rushing through her for the last few hours. She thought she’d either pass out or throw up when she moved. She hoped that she was at least away from the walkers if that happened.

The sky was beginning to glow now, before it had been a dark navy as the sun began to rise and now the sky was a glowing red and orange.

Suddenly she heard her mothers voice in her mind.

“Red sky at night, shepherd's delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning”

She refused to acknowledge the feeling of dread that filled her stomach, it was just her mothers superstitions rubbing off on her and she wouldn’t let them influence her now.

She had just enough light to see her surroundings and as the shuffling had lessened she risked a glance to her right to see their situation.

A few bodies lumbered their way through the trees, only visible as dark shapes shifting in the minimal light. She shifted slightly to try and look behind them, to see if there was a way out. They didn’t have much time now before they would be bathed in sunlight. She couldn’t see round the thick tree which had kept them hidden all this time, not without moving and Logan firmly remaining in place told her he was against that idea.

She loosened her grip on his fur and felt somewhat guilty as clumps came away in her sweaty palms. She couldn’t believe she had been gripping that hard and he’d not even made a move or noise, again she felt her heart swell for her loyal pup.

The sky was lightening by the second, now stained with pink and yellow and the dark shapes became more discernible. They were still surrounded, though now by a massively reduced amount of the walking dead. She would have guessed during the darkness they were in the midst of a herd of at least a hundred walkers, now however she could guess more or less ten of them were straggling along at the back.

Logan shifted and she knew that was her signal to move. His warm heavy weight lifted, hitting her with a blast of cold air which helped alert her further. He was silent as he moved, his paws settling into the leaves beside her without even a crunch. She sat up as slowly as she could, hoisting her bow and ignoring the pain in her arms knocked an arrow, on one knee she surveyed their surroundings.

Her movement had attracted attention and the walker closest groaned loudly and stumbled towards her, arms outstretched whilst his exposed guts swung from the slit in his bloated stomach.

Disgust curled her lip as she pulled back and glanced briefly to her side at Logan. He was gone.

Panic shot through her and her eyes darted around the area. She couldn’t see him. Surely she’d have heard him if anything had happened?

She loosed the arrow, fear for her best friend now driving her as the wood hit home and lodged within the eye socket of the disembowelled walker. It fell with a thud, drawing the attention of the remaining.

She had five arrows left and at least double that were now all heading for her, enclosed in her self made rope circle she realised just how pathetic it looked. They bounced off the rope but kept coming, she fired her arrows one by one, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she knew she couldn’t miss a single shot, and she didn’t.

But she still didn’t have enough arrows.

Once she had run out she threw her bow over her shoulder and bent down to retrieve the hunting knife, her eyes still frantically scanning for Logan. She didn’t realise she had been backing away until her back hit rope and fingers clutched at her clothing.

She gasped and jumped forward, spinning quickly to see an open mouth full of teeth and a black, rotten tongue snapping at her. The walker seemed aggravated to have been so close and not gotten a taste and lunged forward, his head pushing through the two lines of rope as he toppled forward into her inclosure. She took her advantage whilst he was on the floor and lodged her blade firmly into his temple. The body stilled and she breathed, finally noticing the growls and thudding of bodies dropping to the floor around her.

She span to the noise to see him and relief filled her just as much as fear as he leapt at a walked and ripped at its throat until its head was dislodged from its body.

“Logan!” She hissed as another walked stumbled towards him. He shot out of its way just in time and sped into the trees, a long low howl striking her to the very core as she realised what he was doing.

“No!” She whispered as tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched him lead the walkers away.

She leapt into action and retrieved her arrows, not having time to untie her rope Emilia grabbed her pack and ran after them. She stayed alert, well aware her crashing footfall through the forest was alerting everything with ears to her presence, but she wouldn’t lose him.

Each walker she came upon she stabbed through the back of the head, lodging her knife upward from where the neck ended and head began and swiftly removing it and carrying on her pursuit. Her chest burned and her breaths puffed out in clouds of air as she ran until she could run no more.

“Lo-gan!” She called, bending over with her hands on her knees, knife dangling from her fingertips as she panted. “Logan!”

She heard a low howl, and her head snapped around to the echoed noise, it had come from back the way she had come. He had circled round for her only to find she had disappeared.

“Fuck. I’m coming!” She cursed and retraced her footsteps back, running past the bodies of the fallen walkers, some she had killed and some she had come across with their heads ripped clean from their bodies.

At this point she thought she may pass out, her legs burned and her chest pulsed with warning as oxygen set her lungs on fire but she refused to stop until she found him. She had been running across the dirt road which cut through the forest when a set of large paw prints leading up caught her attention. She looked in the direction of the clearing they had spent the night in and saw the tracks had come from that way. Had he realised she wasn’t there and continued up? She knew he could have tracked her, found her, but if he knew she was coming maybe he was leading her to something.

She followed the tracks, happy to see the large paw prints but knowing the gnawing dread in her gut wouldn’t be assuaged until she saw him.

The tracks led her back into the forest, she was up about 5 miles from where they had been the night before when, whilst tearing through the trees, familiar eyes pierced hers and she let out a happy laugh as she ran at the black, furry figure which was sat next to a fallen tree. She launched herself forward and wrapped her hands around him, his large tongue licked the side of her face once as she muttered how happy she was to have found him into his fur.

Then her eyes slid sideways and she realised what he was sitting next to. It was two bodies, they must have been the ones who were caught by the herd unaware last night, the two they had listened to as they die. She pulled the black scarf around her neck up and over her nose as the smell hit her. The first man had been torn apart, there was a large open cavity where his stomach used to be and a single hole in his head. She looked to the other figure and realised what must have happened. He’d shot his friend as he was being ripped apart and then himself when he realised there was no escape.

She let go of Logan and shut off her feelings as she opened her pack to take whatever she could from them.

She’d nearly lost Logan for their stupidity.

She picked up the gun from the undergrowth and was about to deposit in her pack when a carving caught her eye. Her gaze jumped over the two bodies and then back to the handle of the gun. A baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. They were saviours.

The image of Negan flashed into her minds eye and she shook her head to dislodge it, taking a little satisfaction knowing these couldn’t be good people. Not if they followed him.

They had been carrying a lot, food, weapons and even medicine. She wondered if they had been separated from a larger group, perhaps raiding and stealing from another group nearby. Emilia shouldered both her pack and the one they had been carrying.

She was slightly disappointed not to be able to head on and look for more but she simply couldn’t carry anything else on foot. She motioned for Logan to follow her and he did, his head pressed into her hip as they walked and she rested her hand on his neck as they made their way back to the dirt road, knowing that following it would lead them home.

“You scared me you know.” She said as she looked down at him, he only looked at her as he panted, his tongue and teeth dripped with blood and only now did she rub her cheek where he had licked her. “That’s fucking disgusting Logan.”

She wiped her face on her shoulder, fully aware she was just smearing the blood across her cheek.  Still she ruffled the fur on his neck, pleased they had made it out of there together as they walked together.

A couple of hours had passed judging by the position of the sun when the low grumble of an engine caught their ears. They both diverted from the path, Emilia ducked behind a large tree and looked back up the road, trying to catch sight of the vehicle. The sunlight glinted off the windscreen and it wasn’t until she could see the driver that she smiled with relief. She’d know that hair anywhere.

She stepped into the path and waved, Logan took her cue and reappeared at her side as the car slowed to a stop and she opened the door to let him in, getting in behind him.

“Mind if we catch a ride back?” She turned to Michonne who eyed her with a grim smirk, her gaze lingering on the new pack and blood smeared cheek.

“Sure… What happened to you?” The engine started and Emilia laughed, she delved into her bag as she explained their night, finding the remaining can of dog food she passed it back to Logan who stuck his head straight in.

“He deserves the rest of that for what he did.” She concluded and Michonne looked at her in disbelief.

“Jesus.” She looked back at the road, seeming tense as if she was deciding whether or not to say something. Emilia gave her time, enjoying the cold wind on her face as they drove with the windows down. “I found The Saviours and their compound. We’re massively outnumbered and outgunned. There is nothing we can do to fight.”

It was the first time she had heard Michonne speak with an air of defeat and she looked at her friend in shock.

“That big, huh?”  Michonne only nodded, her hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel. “Well then I guess we can only keep on doing what Negan wants until we find another way.”

When Emilia spoke the name of the leader of the Saviours Michonne shot her a strange look and chewed over what she was about to say.

“He’s got his eye on you.”

“Ha.” Emilia snorted, rolling her eyes. “He’s just a self important, egotistical jackass who thinks he’s gods gift to women and that we’ll all fall at his feet if he flashes a smile.”

“I agree.” Michonne said as she turned to look at the woman beside her. “But be careful. It’s you he’s singling out. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The conversation died then as she briefly mulled over Michonne’s warning before her thoughts turned to having a shower at home, she missed being able to have a hot bath but it wasn’t an easy thing to come by nowadays. Her daydreaming was interrupted as Michonne cursed loudly and she realised why as they pulled up to the already open gates of Alexandria.

The Saviours were here.

Both women exited the car quickly and Logan stayed at Emilia’s side as they entered, Negan’s many men loitered around the entrance as they leant against the vans smoking and drinking. All eyes were on them as they entered and they aimed to quickly make their way past.

Michonne was ahead of Emilia and walked up toward the storage lockup quickly, assumedly to check what was being taken. A large bald man stepped in front of Emilia as she made to walk past, blocking her route.

Michonne looked back but Emilia shook her head once, telling her to go on, saying she could handle it.

“Well what the fuck we got here?” The man laughed and looked over to his friends, all of whom laughed and jeered from their place against the metal side of the van.

“Move.” She said, glaring at the man who took a step toward her, only to hesitate as Logan snarled at her side, his upper lip pulled back to show his large, sharp teeth.

“You better tell your fucking mutt to heel bitch or i’ll make it my dinner.”

Before any of them could react she had her bow drawn and aimed as fury pulsed through her veins, the sharp metal tip was inches away from the brutes eye socket and he looked shocked as his friends withdrew their weapons and yelled at her to drop hers.

“Say that again.” She spoke, ignored them. How dare he threaten Logan after what he had just saved her from, after the hell they had been through. “I fucking dare you.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice quivered slightly and he didn't move any closer, although he tried to uphold his false bravado she could see through it. “What, you gonna shoot me?”

“My arrow in your eye socket will be the least of your problems.” The large, bald man got the insinuation and his eyes slid down to Logan at her side, clearly now noticing the fresh blood staining his teeth as he snarled and snapped at the man. “I have often wondered what would happen if he bites someone with rotten walker blood is on his teeth… Do you think you’d get infected? Shall we find out?”

“What in the ever loving fuck is fucking going on? Why can’t you fucking people get the damn message I swear to-” The familiar deep voice approached from behind the large balding man who blocked her path and field of view. His speech stopped as he approached from their flank and saw who it was and what was going on. “Well, hello there Duchess, I was wondering where the fuck you were.”

“Out scavenging. For you and these dim witted morons.” She could feel his eyes on her but she dared not look away from the man in front of her. Her arm didn’t even quiver as she held the tension in her drawn arrow.

“Lower your fucking weapons.” Negan spoke to his men who did as he said, the bald man frowned in protest and opened his mouth to complain before the authoritative voice spoke again. “You fucking move back from her unless you want your dick ripped off by her fucking guard wolf and an arrow in your eye. I don’t think she’s fucking around.”

He did as he was told and stepped away, his eyes narrowing on the pack at her shoulder and she lowered her bow slightly, the tension easing as she allowed the arrow to rest but didn’t put it in her quiver, just in case.

Negan entered her field of vision, his eyes tracked over the blood on her face which was probably mixed with tears and dirt. She clenched her teeth and swore to herself she didn’t give a damn what she looked like. She’d been out scavenging she wasn’t going to look clean and fresh as a daisy. He handed Lucille off to Carl who was stood behind him, his hollow socket fully exposed as he bowed his head. She frowned at him for a moment in confusion before that voice captured her attention then.

“Well, aren’t you the most fucking beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.” For a split second she thought he’d been talking to her… Then she realised his eyes were fixed on Logan who was still at her side, his snarls having reduced to low growls now that the other man had moved out of her personal space.

She saw Negan take a step and looked around, everyone was watching. The whole of Alexandria knew Logan and his temperament, it was as if they were all waiting with bated breath to see him lunge at Negan. Well, she wouldn’t let her dog be shot because they wanted a show, begrudgingly she warned him.

“I wouldn’t… He doesn’t like strangers. Men especially.” Those dark eyes flicked up to hers as he smirked cockily and crouched, his arms resting on his knees as he met Logan’s eyes.

“I’m sure we’ll be best of fucking friends.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah right, okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If he rips your throat out we aren’t responsible and they aren’t allowed to shoot.” She pointed toward his men who were watching the situation with morbid curiosity and fear.

“Yeah yeah sure Darlin’, no one shoot if the dog moves. Happy now?” He flashing his white smile at her before looking back to Logan. “What’s this beauties name then?”

“Logan.” She said, finally putting her arrow back in her quiver and her bow over her shoulder to free up her hands to lay one upon Logan’s neck, attempting to calm him anyway she could. If Negan was determined to do this, she hoping her lack of hostility would show Logan not to do anything that could put them in danger.

“Well, hello there Logan. You are fucking magnificent!” He extended one large, tanned hand toward her dog, leaving it handing in the air between them, waiting. Logan continued to growl, the hair on his back and neck was raised upward as he held Negan’s gaze, she patted his neck and sighed.

“I told you, he doesn’t like men.”

“Sure he does.” Negan said tilting his head at Logan. “He just hasn’t fucking met a real man yet.”

She rolled her eyes, his alpha male, macho rubbish wouldn’t work on Logan. She was just hoping they got out of this encounter alive.

Then, suddenly, the air appeared to shift and she stood amazed as Logan went quiet, licked his lips and stepped forward, butting Negan’s hand with his head once as the man in question grinned from ear to ear.

“Theres a good dog!” Negan scratched Logan behind the ear once and stood, now toe to toe with her and she suddenly wished she hadn’t holstered her bow. “See, he knows who’s in charge. Does his mistress?”

She clenched her jaw and couldn’t resist rising to the bait. “Don’t get cocky, one word from me and he’d rip your throat out regardless.”

“Oh I don’t fucking doubt it Duchess!” His eyes glinted with hunger as they roamed over her. “Hell if I got to sleep in your bed every night i’d rip any fucking throat out you asked me too.”

“Can we get through now?” She decided to ignore his previous statement, heeding Michonne’s warning with determination not to stoke to fire.

He swept his arm out behind him and turned on the spot, hit tongue touched his teeth as he spoke, his southern accent slightly more pronounced. “After you Darlin’.”

She stormed past with Logan at her heels, she could have sworn she heard him chuckle with glee behind her but she didn’t turn to look. She heard a swoosh of air which could only be Lucille as he took his weapon back from Carl and swung her up onto his shoulder before his longer strides meant he was walking along side her.

“Where is Rick?” He asked her, his eyes watching her carefully as they walked, Logan trotted along between them.

“I was about to ask you the same question.” She turned to look at Carl, a frown pursing her lips before she looked back to Negan. “I’ve been gone two days.”

Negan stopped suddenly and she turned to face him, irritated that her wait for a shower was being prolonged.

“If you weren’t with fucking Rick out there, who did you go scavenging with?” His tone sounded deadly but she didn’t know why, didn’t know what she had done wrong this time so she went on the offensive.

“Logan.” Was all she said before storming ahead, only to be stopped by a strong hand on her bicep. Logan growled in warning at her side as she swung around and faced him again, he was now holding his hand up to Logan to show he meant her no harm before he looked back to her.

“You were out there alone for two days with just your fucking dog? What happened why are you covered in blood and dirt? Why is Rick sending out a fucking woman alone?” Fury seemed etched into his features as his jaw jumped with a tic.

“I wan’t alone, I had Logan. I didn’t want anyone else, I don’t trust them to have my back and I wasn’t going to babysit. Maybe if you didn’t keep turning up days ahead of schedule we wouldn’t need to split up to find somewhere which hasn’t already been picked clean of supplies!” She hadn’t noticed she was approaching him as she got more and more riled up until she realised their chests were practically pressed together. She refused to back away however and show a weakness to him.

“Okay Duchess.” His tone had completely reversed and was now calm as he looked her over. “Point taken, are you hurt?”

She shook her head once. “No, like I said down there. Logan saved me from a big herd and all I want now is a shower here-” She dropped the pack she had recovered from the bodies of his men at his feet. “It was thanks to your men using guns rather than knives Logan and I almost died. Thankfully we didn’t, but your two didn’t make it. I recovered their things. I’m going to take a shower now.”

She walked away, not turning back to acknowledge him as he called out to her.

“You’ve got ten fucking minutes Duchess and if you aren’t at Rick’s house I’ll come and get’cha. Even if you’re still naked as the day you were born!”

She ignored him and the thrill of embarrassment his words sent through her. She refused to give him any form of reaction or proof he got to her.

Nonetheless once the door to her house was closed she sprinted up the stairs shedding clothes as quickly as she could as she laid her weapons down in her bedroom and shot into the shower. The cold water hit her but she didn't have time for it to heat up, she scrubbed at her face and body using the small lemongrass soap she had stashed aside. It has barely been touched and she refused to analyse why she was suddenly using it now. She washed until the water running down the drain was no longer stained with dirt and blood.

She used a small amount of shampoo, taking care not to knot her hair as she didn't have any conditioner to help detangle her mane. Once rinsed and just as the water had some warmth she turned it off and jumped out, quickly towel drying her hair before wrapping it around her torso and peaking outside the bathroom door.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the only sound being Logan's soft snores and quickly got dressed into the only other pair of trousers she owned. They grey jeans hugged her legs tightly and she jumped up and down to get them over her legs.

They were a bitch to get on but she never got caught on fences and there was no excess material for walkers to grab.

She pulled on her combat boots, a bra and a black tank top before looking sadly at her jacket. It was filthy and certainly in no fit state to be put back on. She took a deep breath and looked around for something else, anything else, whilst fully aware the clock was ticking.

She felt too exposed without a jacket or long sleeved top but grit her teeth and took her frustration out on her hair as she dragged a comb through the already curling strands.

Emilia slung her bow over her shoulder along with her quiver and headed toward the door, Logan stretched and yawned before following her and as she turned the handle and pulled the door open she was hit by the autumnal breeze

She walked quickly down the steps and towards Ricks house, the chill of the air combined with her damp hair and lack of sleeves sent goose pimples up and down her arms.

She wrapped them around herself and rubbed at her bare skin, practically jogging to the house only to freeze suddenly in shock as she spied Negan and Carl on the porch.

Part 7

Tags: @negans-network @monizzle96 @ryangoslingstanktop @magpiegirl80 @neganslittlebird @waddiwasi44 @collette04 @negan--is--god

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged. 

[sasukeuchiha-eternalmangekyou]

Sureen limited herself to letting him talk - sensing that this wasn't something Sasuke had ever really put into words before. Her eyes remained trained to the ground, focusing the iridescent dewdrops which were adorning the blades of grass like pearls.

And while Sasuke was slowly cleaving a way through the muddled, convoluted memories and emotions connected with his brother, Sureen didn't dare interrupt him, afraid it would make him lose his thread. "I'm sorry I made you go back there," she eventually stepped in. "I-I know it… it hurts, to put it nicely. Reliving the same situation over and over, I mean. But then again… I think there's no way to deal with it that would NOT hurt. But - huh?! Oh… oops~"

Sureen suddenly paused, feeling something move right next to her. Her eyes widened in shock as she noticed that she must have placed her hand on Sasuke's arm at some point. She could only guess how long she'd been like that when the other deliberately pulled back from her touch. So she hurried to pull her hand back as well, bashfully looking the other way and crossing both arms in front of her chest. As the moment of shock slowly subsided, Sureen continued, albeit with a low voice, little more than a whisper. "B-but you know… it needs to hurt. It's allowed to hurt. It's a thing that needs time and space… and a way to get out of your system, 'cause otherwise it's nothing but an endless, self-destructive circle. But once you find methods to interrupt the circle for a bit… sooner or later it becomes less unbearable and less… less hopeless. Like its impact begins to shrink, like… like there's land in sight. Well, or maybe that's just me, maybe it wouldn't work like that for anyone else.

"Either way, it really takes a LOT of time and space though. And simultaneously, it takes you to the very edge of your resilience and even beyond. I'm not sure if anyone could actually just hang in there and wait it out until it begins to get bearable. But I know it's definitely not something anyone could do alone. And I know that it's… very obvious and very human… to try and find different, more familiar ways to stop the pain. Like trying to kill yourself or kill everyone responsible, you know." A brief sarcastic chuckle escaped her, and she couldn't help but cast the ninja a telling glance.   "I guess it's boiling down to who we really are, indeed. But after all, my plan to stop the pain like that didn't work… so I ended up with the 'wait it out' version. Involuntarily. Nevertheless I managed to hang in there long enough to get over the worst bit. But that was because… at that point I wasn't alone anymore, I guess." As Sasuke took another break after telling her that his life had taught him happiness was simply out of reach for him, yet he couldn't stop wondering whether his chosen route was worth giving up everything else, Sureen took her chance to reply once more. "Yeah… happiness is a rather fragile, unpredictable thing. But at least those moments when you question everything… as painful as they may be… but at least they prove that you're not just darkness and hatred and revenge. Your real self is way more than that. You know that, right?" Again, she turned towards him and placed her hand on his arm - the former with more assertiveness, the latter on purpose now. This time it was Sasuke who looked the other way. "Well… at least I know. And the good thing is - trust me, your real self is pretty indestructible." With every word, her voice gained enthusiasm. Her hands started gesturing, and her eyes began to shine as she sensed the opportunity to finally let him know what she'd felt ever since their first encounter.

"Which means this is not a one-way-ticket! You can commit yourself to your chosen path all you want, with all your determination, with everything you've got, but your real self still won't vanish. It will hide in the farthest corner so you can't see it anymore, but in fact, it's - ugh. Yeah. Whatever. You don't want to hear a single word I'm saying, right," she suddenly cut herself off and dropped her hands as the waves of Sasuke's disagreement hit her.

"Sorry. I… I wasn't trying to talk you out of it or anything," she explained sheepishly, realizing she'd stepped on dangerous ground. If he wouldn't tolerate one thing it was people trying to convince him how "misguided" he was. "It's just… it's what I see whenever I look at you. That there's more to you," she added, her voice once again reduced to a whisper. He didn't reply. Instead, he started talking about Sureen, about her secret ability that wasn't so secret anymore by now. "Sometimes I think the only burden about it is that it's never mutual. That I'm the only one. I'm wondering if the world would actually be a better place… if everyone had that ability. Or, like, perhaps not a better place, but definitely a more honest one. With less lies, less misunderstandings. Deeper connections. More insight. Well… anyway. Not like we'll ever find out, huh…" she mused, shrugging her shoulders. "Um... but regarding my decision to either stay or leave. I thought about it a lot while I was on my way here, considering all the rumors I'd heard about you." With a sigh, Sureen brought herself back to the here and now, reluctant to disclose the truth.

"I… I can't stay. The obvious explanation would be - I'm not a ninja, I don't have any skills that would be useful for your mission, that could contribute to its implementation. But, in fact, I can't because… as much as your plans serve to save your sanity, Sasuke… they'd sure as hell make me lose mine. "Although it's almost 10 years by now - that they died, I mean - the last thing I could ever do in my life is... t-to help somebody destroy a village. N-no way. Just… no."

The torrent of wind twisted its invisible sway into the miles of forest beyond the coast, winding a misguided lurch of energy into the foliage before dying down. The sea breeze was less forgiving, hauling the spray of salt into the air. Waves silently crashed onto the sand, an almost motionless action as it disappeared into an engulfing abyss, only to be thrown forward once more.

“Space is what I initially needed, but all it made me realize was the cycle of repeat my left was circling me with back when I was in Konoha. Every day felt inclined to bring more sadness into my already unbearable anger I felt towards Itachi. But all those emotions existed due to a lie, the depths of an unfathomable reality I almost wish wasn’t real. He purposely gave me an outlet when I really only needed…” He paused, feeling his grief become heavier, aggressively pushing down on his chest with an intolerable amount of pain. “I needed him. Not this. I never asked for revenge. It’s what I decided to survive. Otherwise I would’ve given up a long time ago. Falling into sorrow is easier than holding onto a piece of choice. It took more out of me than most cared to realize.”

Sasuke nodded when reaching her glance, her eyes forever searching, always siphoning against any will of her own. He knew only what Sureen expressed in word pertaining to her past and it wasn’t too dissimilar to his own. But even a fragment of change can cause an avalanche of lost comprehension. No amount of strained voices could convince him understanding was a two way street. It lacked substance and accuracy when on the outside.

“Familiarity is a form of defense I’ll gladly take to my grave. Waiting for pain to subside or diminish may work for some, even be the only possibility, and in a way it’s a method of surrender when you can’t take anymore. At the same time, it’s not a weakness if it helps. In your case, it seemingly did. It must have taken a resilient amount of strength, but you’re standing outside the shadow of your past. I can clearly see that. Even if it manages to haunt you, it doesn’t define you. Unfortunately, I haven’t reached such an inward conclusion when weighing my vengeance. The complication leads to more contradiction if I cross my goals with my brother’s objective in all this. But I’m not like him. Our worlds were entirely different, unalike in many unforeseen ways.”

He allowed her arm to remain the second time, since she seemed to be finding her voice rather than stumbling through words of indecision to ease him. Her whispered tone, one carefully placed in order to create an unhostile conversation was an effective one. It maintained a calm most refused to use when pounding their ideology into his refutes.

“Happiness can be an illusion set in the mold of any structured lie. As I’ve said, I used to believe in it. My real self might reach beyond the border of darkness, but my mind isn’t as easily swayed as my heart,” he continued when she finished. “Regardless of all those memories or what I was told to be reality, it’s still there, dodging the light. My demons aren’t fully known to lack cruel reminders.”

It might be broken or flawed but his moral compass never held much virtue. When he was a child, striving in the simplicity of a happy life with family, he never anticipated the question of morality. He was too young to think outside the realm of discovery, of proving himself, and even of what the future could hold. But those confines soon shattered, revealing a cold mirror of reflective despair.

Sasuke exhaled, eyes being drawn back. “I know you weren’t trying to talk me out of anything. Trust me, I’ve listened to my fair share from people who try and continue to do so. But unlike you, they don’t comprehend the distance factor when it comes to aiming to locate a sense of clarity, whether I find a negative or positive one. All they want is to return me to a place where I no longer belong.”

It was hard to believe there was anything more to a shallow, soulless being such as himself. The darkness took its fair share of humanity from him. He willingly held tightly onto his reasons, but nothing beyond them. Sasuke’s love and devotion towards Itachi was buried under what he believed to be true. As it was gradually brought back to the surface, it stung.

“If everyone had your ability I think it’d be rather chaotic,” he added with a shrug. “If you consider the scope of your abilities, connections and insight are sure to be given, but in return no one would feel free to their secrets or able to maintain a stable way of growth, fight their inner struggles. Not everyone needs a guiding hand or someone else to pull them through self-discovery. But I can understand. You’re different and that makes it lonely.”

Starved of affection and closeness, what most define as care, it’s the price of being unique. It’s not asked for and doesn’t equate to the trail of living, but it’s there all the same. Being an Uchiha, he’s known the aspect of being overlooked as well as having all eyes preying on his movements.

Sasuke exhaled, the need of distraction tugging at the seams of his mind. It unraveled with precision, ribbons of agony scattered and discarded from the prior night of discussion. In the wake of a new dawn, the particulars could be looked at more clearly, with less aggravation swimming through his veins. He was set. Nothing could alter his decision.

“I expected your answer. I wouldn’t want to drag anyone down with me that wasn’t willing. I still have Taka on my side and they agreed to help me regardless of my shifting objective. I wouldn’t want you to lose your sanity over something so trivial as my own.”

[zoeslifeunderstood-blog]

So here it is, my life. I write like a 10 year old because my mind is too active to think about correcting myself.

For a long time now I have been struggling with my life and who I am. I struggle to understand why I have been punished and why nothing ever runs smoothly for me.

I shall start from when I was 14, the youngest age I remember feeling like this and then I shall work my way up to current day.

Being 14 was one of the worst ages for me. I was different from any of my friends, I liked different music and I dressed different. I stood out when I was with them and standing out was something I hated. I wanted to be in the background and unnoticed but my quirky sense of style didn’t let me. I was quiet and my head was full of worries. I felt under pressure at school, I wasn’t clever and I wasn’t popular so I was just a nobody. I made some friends online that were like me and coming home to speak with them was the best part of my day. We would share all our worries and talk about how much we hated school, I thought they were good for me until I wanted to be more like them. My music taste was now depressing and emo. The songs were all about killing your self and not wanting to be around. At this point in life I found that hurting yourself could help with the daily struggles, I started to cut myself just so I could see blood and feel that stinging sensation. I never showed anyone this. I covered myself up constantly.

Once I was 15 I had found a group of friends that accepted me. For the first part of the friendship I was the ‘cool’ one because I was different. I was invited out all the time and I had less time to think about what was going on in my head. To the world I was happy but inside I still felt like same old me. Being 15/16 was a new experience for me. I got my first boyfriend who was also seen as quite cool. I spent a lot of time with him and he made me happier but it was also at this time when I stopped eating. I was very very skinny but I didn’t see it. I used to get annoyed in the shop because I couldn’t find any size 4’s and the 6’s were too big. One of the girls from our friendship group once shouted to me in the corridor ‘if you get hospitalised for anorexia don’t expect me to come and visit’ and this hurt. It played on my mind over and over and then once again I felt unaccepted.

Once school was over I spent a lot of time in my room sat on my computer. I didn’t do well in my GCSE’s and this was a massive worry for me. I spent a lot of time online editing pictures of myself and making myself into this better person. My face was covered in spots and I had zero confidence. Online I was a warrior but real life I was so weak. I started college and made new sets of friends. I was in and out of relationships with different people but none really ever made me fully happy. My emotions were up and down.

Then I turned 17 and this is when I would say things took a massive turn for the worst. I started hardly ever leaving my room apart from at weekends. I quit college because I felt like I wasn’t good enough. I would stay up till 4/5 in the morning and then stay in bed till I knew someone was coming home from work. I was very depressed but unable to admit it. I had a poor diet and remained worryingly skinny. I didn’t know how to express myself so once again took to social media. This is when I started googling how I hide food so that I didn’t have to eat it.

18. This was a completely different year for me. I went crazy but kind of good crazy. My life was the opposite to what it ever was. I got a job. I had money. I started going out multiple times a week and I loved it. I used to drink and drink and drink and go wild. These were my best times because everything else was forgotten. At 18 I then got into a long term relationship. This relationship was bad for me. It made me worse than I ever had been. I don’t want to go into much detail on here because this is very private to me. This was now my lowest time in life. This was the first time I planned how to kill myself. I once went to the train station and planned on getting a train as far away as I could do nobody could find me.

The relationship went on till I was about 22. After it ended I was in a bad way. Nothing made me happy now and I decided to take action myself because I wanted to fight this sadness. This is when I made the spontaneous decision to go to South Africa. I booked it and was off 3 months after. I was scared but the fear was good adrenaline for me. Once there I completely forgot about anything that had gone off in my life. Animals were now my life and I was so focussed on it. I was there for 6 weeks and if money wasn’t an issue I would have stayed there. I went down every route possible to stay there but at the time it was so hard.

I came back and as expected I just sank straight back into my depression. I didn’t have many friends now but the ones I had were amazing. We would go out every weekend and just have the best time. She had her own house so I could go there to escape when needed. I was fine when there but as soon as I left I would just cry in my car. On the drive home once I put my foot down on the accelerator and shut my eyes in the hope that I would crash so hard that I’d die. I opened them obviously lol because I’m still here.

I was so mixed up now. I lost a lot of good people in my life because people didn’t know how to handle me and I pushed a lot of people away. This is also when I noticed my erratic mood changes. I could change from happy to crazy to depressed in such a short period of time. It’s a weird feeling, you can sort of feel it building in your head but you can’t stop it and you know it’s coming and you don’t know when it’ll go. I lost control a lot of the time. At work, if something didn’t go my way I would lose the plot. I started punching things and throwing things across the room. I thought maybe I had anger issues so I went to the doctors. God knows why I never went for depression but went for anger hahaha. The doctor did some tests and then decided it might be thyroid related and that was the start of my under active thyroid. It was manageable but explained my extreme tiredness. I took my tablets and got on with it. The anger calmed down and that was good enough for me. I’d coped with depression for so long that I was just used to it now.

Things turned to put slightly when a woman tried to commit suicide of a bridge on to my car. This is when my anxiety started. I was jumpy and hated and still to this day hate anyone being behind me. I got anxiety over strange things like not knowing what’s behind closed doors and even just things like texting someone first.

Things remained like this for a while.

I then moved out. I was in a relationship for a short time but soon ended once I was too busy with my housemates. We went wild. I did a lot of dangerous things. Like when I think back I wonder how I’m still here. This is when I created my second plan on how to kill myself. I went through a very very bad time at work. I didn’t want to go back to my parents house because I thought they’d hate me. I thought everyone would hate me. So one day I decided that was the day I would end my life and end my pain. I couldn’t see any other way round it but that same night my mum demanded I went home to her. I did thankfully and seeing my dog brought a lot of happiness. He saved my life.

And then I met Laura. My biggest life saver. I was very reserved when I met her because I wasn’t happy about opening up to her. I trusted a lot of people who eventually let me down and I didn’t want this to happen again. But I had a good connection with her, she made me feel different in a good way. I spent a lot of time with her.

Money became an issue and I had to move back home which meant less time with Laura but we did fun stuff like going to Manchester and trips out. She moved to Sheffield after a while and we got back on track. My strange mood changes were still a big thing and I hated that sometimes they would happen when with Laura but I couldn’t help myself.

I was the happiest I’ve ever been with Laura. But gradually I pushed her away like I do everyone. I hated myself but again I couldn’t stop what I was doing. It was like my body was took over and I was just completely different. I was in a bad way and this time I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t eat a single thing for 4 days and I was weak and just cried all day.

I hate this bit so I’ll skip the majority of it but I did get Laura back and we were happy and it was the best thing that ever ever happened to me and it really does prove that if it’s meant to be it will happen. The break was good for me because it showed me what I really want and what I was missing out on.

Ill leave this bit here because I am nearly on current day and this is a lot more complicated.

[argxntxus]

Bad end

Silver eyes were wide with a great, numb shock as loud peals of thunder crackled, illuminating the grisly scene. Every inch of ground was drenched in blood. His heart was squeezed dry with so much grief that even emotion itself eluded him. Raindrops from the fitting torrential rain poured, drenching him, as if the sky exuded what he was feeling.

It was too late now.

At the midst of it all, everything had been so surreal. The chaos that ensued before all of this went happened so fast. He knew of it, of the plot to destroy Luna Grail once and for all, but his efforts ultimately weren’t enough. It was ironic that everything he worked for to endure had only led to this tragic moment.

-

Ever since he married Dairrine, Xalroc had always tried to earn his people’s and her family’s trust. He was human, so naturally the man already expected the repercussions arising from it. He was a fiend hunter by self-profession, and marrying a vampire would indeed have great consequences. He had chosen this path and wished to see it through, silently hoping for a lasting respite.

Yet, the humans who felt betrayed by their “saint”, and the vampires who could not let go of his atrocities against their species. Xalroc’s people were fully convinced that even their most stalwart defender can break and so had to rely on their own selves for protection, and had been more hostile to vampire kind ever since. Conversely, most vampires could never hope to accept a vampire killer attempting to mingle with them, marrying one of their rulers, no less. To them, it was a most high sacrilege and thus they took their frustration out on Xalroc’s kind. Vampire routings had tripled ever since, and even if the would-be victims were saved by his hand, they threw and shot every bit of contempt upon him, thinking it was his doing to cause this overwhelming tension between the two races. Recently established nightly vampire hunts only served to worsen the situation.

Despite it all, Xalroc still hoped for a future with the vampire ruler. With her and her love, he was sure he would be able to endure the uproar of both species. He was never a stranger to suffering, as he would often bitterly recall, but with Dairrine by his side, all was well in the end.

And it wasn’t just him. It was only because of Dairrine that her most loyal followers could even tolerate his presence inside the castle. By marrying a renowned fiend hunter, Dairrine's position was threatened at every turn. While Dairrine had never publicized having a human fiend hunter as a husband, most of them had always trusted her judgment, and those who had carried out mutinous plans against her have been forced to keep silent in her dungeons. This, however, did not help in containing her rapid drop in popularity. With each passing moment, more and more of her kind had turned against her, her political enemies uniting and rallying against her regime. Day by day assassins were dispatched for her, yet thankfully enough, all of these were routed by her, Xalroc, and her most loyal followers. It had even gone to the point that it had turned routine. Yet, it was all worth it, if but to prove she can love whomever she wanted without sacrificing her authority. Not only did she truly love him, but with the feared “Quicksilver Butcher” by her side, any attempt on her life would be a fruitless endeavor. Why did the two have to sacrifice romance for their respective responsibilities?

Their union had even borne fruit – Asriel, their only child, as a testament to the strength of their love. The two could even scarcely meet, each passing day getting harder for them to do so with everyone out to get their necks, but that only served to beautifully season the few moments they manage to be with each other, their reunion nothing short of burning passion and savoring every second of it.

That, however, did not shake his looming dread that it was only a matter of time before their enemies would unite their forces under one ambitious, rebellious banner to assault Lunagrail’s walls and tear it down once and for all. It was true Dairrine had loyal followers, but that could do nothing against thousands upon thousands of disgruntled vampires and humans who condemned their marriage.

Nevertheless, they prepared with as much as they could. Even his colleagues had lent their aid in this most trying of time, much to the relief of the two. He had even suggested to retaliate, even make pre-emptive strikes, but Dairrine refused, saying she had her reasons not to. The man respected her decision but that did not stop her from harming hostile humans, to which Xalroc could only compromise with.

Then, one fateful day, the inevitable happened.

Asriel was spirited away by Dairrine’s elite guard, sent off to the Whitefeather Academy to be protected from danger. It pained the adolescent greatly, but Xalroc and Dairrine felt they had no choice. Protecting him marked the first time in the longest time that he got on his knees and asked a trusted colleague for this heavy favor.

As he expected, enemy vampire forces had surrounded the castle walls, initiating a full-scale assault upon Luna Grail itself. As the numerous gates fell apart with the sheer number of the enemy armies, Xalroc’s preparation was put to the test. Vampire soldiers started to pour in droves but the castle grounds’ quicksilver enchanted interior began its job. Massive tendrils of quicksilver erupted from just behind the gate, swatting and impaling every hapless being within reach. Some that managed to get through were quickly impaled by stakes of the same material. Any foolhardy enemy that tried to push their way through will have to face the gauntlet of cold steel Xalroc had set up. Still some were able to get through, those who had the greatest skill, which in turn, were forced to face the few soldiers Luna Grail had.

But some of the enemies’ most determined and powerful soldiers were able to muscle themselves, and while Xalroc was down there maintaining his defense, his spouse lent her aid. Gliding throughout the battlefield in her elegant, illuminated garb, she struck without mercy, glass and poison making short work of even the most skilled combatant the enemy had. With this, Luna Grail was able to defend itself with great success.

Waves upon waves of enemies came and bore down on the castle, but with the combined efforts of its inhabitants, their rulers, and Xalroc’s closest allies joining in the fray, they were able to hold them off exceptionally well. The siege upon them continued strong, but they were able to endure until the end, and before long, the enemy had staged a retreat after realizing Luna Grail, despite its few inhabitants, was still a powerful fortress. Soon enough, daybreak had provided their non-vampire allies with respite, with the castles’ vampires retreating for shelter. Finally, the night was over.

Dairrine had stayed for just a little while longer as she glided towards her husband, a mixture of pride and relief beaming upon her face.

“Finally, Xalroc, it’s over.” She said with confidence, a smug, but well-meaning smirk drawn on her face. She knew full well that her enemies would dare not to result to another full-scale assault as long as her own forces and the Whitefeather Academy continued to lend their aid.

“Indeed, it is, love.” Xalroc replied, smiling back. The two drew closer to each other as the sun continued to rise upon the horizon. The man stretched his arms to embrace her wife descending slowly from mid-air, but a slight disturbance in his senses forced him to lose his smile. A sudden wave of hostility crashed all over him, making him double up as he was caught in surprise. How could this be possible? Didn’t dawn break already?

That was when his question was cruelly answered.

A wooden bolt sliced across the air, hitting the vampire ruler squarely at the back and exited straight through her heart. Suddenly, the deafening roar of several hundred hunters echoed throughout the ruined castle, charging in and catching them blindsided. Dairrine abruptly fell down and landed directly into Xalroc’s trembling arms. His companions looked on in horror as they watched their beloved colleague’s life draining away as she suffered a fatal shot through the heart with a wooden stake – the only surefire method to kill a vampire.

“Xal…roc…” Dairrine croaked, tears filling up her eyes as she gazed lovingly at her husband’s silver ones for the last time. She managed to give him one last pained smile, before falling limp, moving no more.

In that moment, the fiend hunter’s world came crumbling as his beloved’s last vestige of life drained away from her body. He screamed in anguish as he held his dying wife, while the Whitefeather Academy began fighting the hunters. Worse off, the sky rumbled as several human magicians among the fiend hunters began to work their sinister magic. The sun’s calming light gradually disappeared as another celestial body worked its way to block its radiance. Golden rays turned dark as the moon eventually swallowed the sun’s brilliance up, marking its sinister presence. As soon as darkness descended the land once more, their vampire foes rallied and marched straight for the ruined castle, revealing the truth that had plagued Xalroc for days – the eventual collaboration of humans and vampires to bring Luna Grail down.

Xalroc’s dread and horror plunged his world into a downward spiral as he held Dairrine’s body in disbelief. She cannot die, not right now. Not when he finally found sweet love again.

No, no, no, not again! Not again! Please!

In a panic, he shook his wife’s body to wake her up, but it did not move. The torturous image of her lifeless ashen face was the only response he would ever get. Grievingly accepting the inevitable, hot tears ran down the side of his face as he held her close, blending perfectly with the raindrops that began to fall. Filled with so much anguish, he hugged her body one last time, before carrying it, staggering with difficulty towards the castle as chaos began to ensue once more. This time, without any leader, Luna Grail was overrun. Dairrine’s soldiers fell left and right as the overwhelming number of their foes swarmed the castle grounds. The Whitefeather elites held their own of course, but each and every lesser being was obliterated by the combined forces of vampires and the humans who allied with them.

-

Xalroc stayed by Dairrine’s side numbed with shock and grief as the sound of battle grew fainter behind them. Moments later, a booming voice called for his surrender. Still in a daze, he lumbered outside the castle walls, beholding a scene worse than what he could ever imagine– Dairrine’s worst enemies from other clans stepped up, holding none other than the fruit of their love, Asriel.

But how? Wasn’t he supposed to be safe with the Whitefeather Academy?

“I’m sorry… father, I just wanted to help you and mom… I can’t bear to see you fighting alone!”

Xalroc whimpered at the sight of his one and only son at the mercy of his enemies. Why didn’t he listen and keep himself hidden?

“M-My son!” He raced over towards him but he was stopped in his tracks as his enemy drew an iron stake and brandished it inches away from Asriel’s heart, the youth whimpering in fear.

“Stay where you are, fiend hunter. If you wish to see your abomination of a spawn live, I would have you kneel before us and surrender!”

Without a second thought, the forlorn guardian cautiously paced forward. With Asriel under the mercy of his enemies and having just lost Dairrine, he was increasingly desperate. How he wished for them to show mercy!

Desperate, Xalroc threw away his pride and knelt, fixing his gaze upon his son. The enemy was ecstatic, eager to see their greatest adversary finally tamed. How easy it was, if only they found this out sooner.

“Ha! Look everyone! Look and see how our foe, the great “Saint of Cold Steel” has become!” With that, all enemy vampires howled with laughter while his few remaining allies looked away, unable to see an esteemed comrade in disgrace. In the ensuing chaos, Asriel seized the opportunity to wrestle free of his captors’ grip, writhing with all his might.

His captor immediately caught wind of what he was trying to do and began to tighten his grip. In a last-ditch effort to escape, his eyes glowed, heralding his use of his abilities but the brute had none of it. In a fit of rage, he plunged his saber deep inside the boy’s midsection.

A huge lump rose in Xalroc’s throat as he watched his only son drop to his knees, eyes wide in pain and shock. The boy mouthed the word “father”, his hand stretching out for him, but darkness soon overcame his son’s vision. Tears streamed down his face, color draining from it as blood seeped from his mortal wound, before his body finally keeled over.

He crawled over towards his son, despair eating away at him and each movement heavy with grief and slowed by the slippery muck, but he endured it, only to behold his son’s face one last time. His executioner quickly stirred to attack, but his leader ordered him to stay his hand. “Let him be. We shall savor this moment.”

The man beheld his son’s lifeless body before finally breaking his shock. He wept in anguish, pouring every last bit of his despair into his tears. His opponents all laughed, sneering and jeering at how lowly their self-proclaimed hunter had become.

“Now the wretched human-spawn is dead. Hah! Good riddance! You are outnumbered, Xalroc. If you value your life you will surrender!”

There was no response but his silent sobs amidst the silent, but tension-laden air.

The leader of the revolution was sickened at this pathetic sight, grimacing as he looked away, while the others jeered. To see their foe like this did not bring the satisfaction he expected to have. Craning his head back seconds later, he shot a stern look at the executioner before jerking his head, motioning for the moment he’d been waiting for – the last vestige of Luna Grail to fall.

The executioner grinned in delight as he lumbered over to the disgraced “hero”, giant axe at the ready. Loud squelches accompanied his footfalls traversing the soiled quicksilver muck as he riled himself up. This shall be the vampires’ greatest triumph yet, and to be the hand that finally slays the scourge that plagued their existence would grant him the greatest satisfaction.

But his colleagues would have none of it. Moved to action, his companions fought to save their comrade, even if it meant going through endless hordes. They will not let Xalroc fall!

Infuriated by this last vestige of rebellion, the leader screamed orders for the complete obliteration of his remaining colleagues. While it would be more dramatic if he would eventually make this event a public spectacle, why stop now that the enemy is incapacitated? The leader shall not miss this chance at immortalizing his glory as one who has brought salvation to their race. His eyes would make for the finest trophy in his collection yet.

Yet even so, the scuffle that broke out brought Xalroc time to execute his intention.

His companions, sensing this, stopped cold, a look of great fear and awe plastered upon their visages. Immediately as they began their assault, they fell back for their lives, distraught in unbelief that Xalroc would even think to do this. They knew there was no stopping him now.

The vampires would have jeered at the fleeing mages, if only there was time to. The vampire leader scarcely sneered in triumph when his attention, along with every soul that was with him, directed straight at their supposed prize. In panic, he shouted orders to stop Xalroc at all cost from finishing what he had started ever since he held Asriel’s lifeless body in his arms heavily grievous moments ago.

With a strong gust of wind, Xalroc slowly rose from his stupor, his eyes glowing an intense silver, so intense that the light swallowed even his pupils up. The gust turned into a whirling gale that surrounded him in an equally fierce light that swirled violently, with him at the center.

After a couple of seconds later, his visage began to crack like an earthen vessel, the same light seeping through them. The wind picked up even more speed as the gale turned into a small hurricane. As soon as one of the most resilient vampires managed to get close to Xalroc, his whole body illuminated with a blinding light, and with a bright flash, burst outward, bathing the darkness with an otherworldly brilliance. Seconds later as the light had gone, the earth beneath them shook violently with such force that everybody struggled to stand as they teetered to find their own footing.

Before the enemy could even come to, innumerable, gigantic obelisks of quicksilver shot up from below in blindingly fast unison towards the dark sky. Any hapless soul that was caught in it were violently ripped apart, disintegrating and drenching the air in red mist that blended with the pouring rain.

As the carnage cleared and the lunar spell gave way to a bleak gray sky, what once was Luna Grail was now a silvery field of towering obelisks that reached to the heavens, claiming Xalroc’s vengeance upon those who destroyed what he had.