#than to risk a chance of them not outrunning the furies

[yourstormywords]

Freddie stumbling over her words while talking about books is the most adorable thing ever and proves she is the best choice

[adonis-koo]

Moon Child • knj

↳ Summary: You had never dreamed of a day where you weren’t an Omega, beneath the boots of all your brothers and sisters. In an untimely manner your life is quickly turned upside down at the unexpected Blood Moon Alpha being your mate. With a new home you are summoned to the Kingdom of Vampires all while struggling to get to know your new mate.

↳ Genre: werewolf!AU, a pinch of angst, fluff, smut, alpha!namjoon and omega reader dynamic, soulmate au, 

↳ Word Count: 16k

↳ Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

↳ Tags: whew okay um, brief thigh riding, dom!namjoon, alpha is used as a title, rough sex, vaginal fingering, doggy style (what else were y’all expecting?), heat sex, mating, a lil degradation (he calls her a bitch a lot), namjoon likes to call her little :(, size kink, a lil possession, breeding kink, begging, multiple orgasms, namjoon’s cum makes MC go feral??, 

Last Installment

Note: aaaah this has taken me over a year to write lmfaooo but it’s so worth it! I can never make a short fic for my husband so I hope you all enjoy! 

Run. Feet aching, heart rate spiked and head pounding and yet all you could do was keep running as if your life depended on it. In fact, it did depend on it. Your whole life, your freedom- or what little you had left of it, it all depended on how fast your legs could take you. The cool seeping air that was first sight of winter made your cheeks feel chapped and throbbing, your body near numb with a chill and yet all you could do was shove the branches away from your face away.

You made it obvious, you knew it too, there was no way they couldn’t hear the way your feet crunched over the fallen dead leaves and twigs, the little cuts of your skin was the biggest no-no above all else when escaping a pack- your pack to be exact. You see wolves thrived on scent, it’s how they hunt and track, Werewolves, are no different. 

You didn’t know where you were going but you were going to get there somehow. You could hear them in the distance, they were close. Too close. But the rattling up ahead had you spooked as well. You could smell a human and.... something else. A vampire maybe? No, it was strange. Your mind was frantic and you couldn’t go back from where you came. 

Shoving through the branches you nearly yelped as you smashed into the doe eyed girl who looked just as scared as you, you could hardly register the throbbing pain of falling down before scrambling away, a whine escaping you as you heard howling in the distance, “Please…” your words weak as you glanced up to the male. 

Silver hair and magenta eyes caused him to stick out like a sore thumb in the flora of green, he was immediately at the girls side helping her up as his nose wrinkled, eyes flicking to yours before the girls as he spoke,  “Sorry darling but I don’t deal in wolf affairs.”

The girl however couldn’t help but let her lips part, glancing between you and the male before she tugged in his shirt, “Jimin…” She murmured softly, your head frantically shot up at the sound of stampeding paws pounding against the soft earth, they were closing in, “She looks like she needs help...” 

Your lips quivered and now that you were on the ground you weren’t sure you could get up any further, your legs ached and your mouth dry and parched, the male gave you a sympathetic look before glancing at the women as he frowned, “Sorry love but wolves have their own court system, nothing we can do about it. Sorry.” He only spared you a brief word before grabbing the girl by her arms and just as you blinked they had dissolved into nothing but black dust and a leftover trail of something foul as you let out a loud whine.

“There she is! I found her!” You scrambled backwards at the sight of your packs head Beta, eyes viscous as he snarled at you. Whining you lowered your gaze as you curled up against yourself. You had one chance and you ruined it. Now what would become of you? It was like a flash, all of your pack hunters surrounding you as they gritted their teeth and snarled, tears blurring in your eyes as you curled into yourself. 

You had one chance and just like always, you ruined it.

 “Look at the pathetic bitch,” You could the two Beta girls snicker, fingers pointed in your direction as you lowered your gaze, feeling your lips begin with quiver slightly as they began laughing once more, “Her head must be empty if she thought she could outrun us. Omega, fetch us our drinks please.” She shouted, as if just to mock you further. 

Tonight was a celebration, and it wasn’t a celebration without the pack’s laughing stock. You, of course. Trying to run away was foolish, it wasn’t like an omega could survive on their own, but you were willing to risk it. Even if it meant just a taste of freedom before you died. Yet just like everything else, you failed miserably. 

The torn leather collar was just an added humiliation, a show of power and a show of just how low you were in the pack. You weren’t usually one for self pity, but you couldn’t deny the envy in your veins when you saw other omega’s in the pack. 

Omega’s were the lowest of low, they were considered dirt, but even they didn’t have it as bad as you, they continued their daily duties of watching the younger children, washing the pack’s clothes and any other domestic duties. You had all of these responsibilities as well the only difference was that they weren’t the Alpha’s favorite punching bag. 

Walking up ahead you held your tray, approaching the two Beta’s who were currently laughing at you before you gasped, feeling a jerking sensation of your body suddenly toppling over due to the Beta’s foot conveniently sticking out just as you walked up to them. 

The wooden cups toppled down spilling all over your dress before thudding to the ground making the two girls howl out laughing, “Lost your footing bitch? Awh the poor little omega is going to cry!” Your fists curled in absolute fury as your eyes blurred making them laugh further as you glared at the ground. A wad of spit hitting your cheek as the Beta girl spat at you, “Serves you right you filthy traitor. Abandoning your pack. How shameful!” 

They both cackled as they walked away, tears of anger dripping down your cheeks as your hands shook with rage as you harshly wiped the spit off your face. This was life, tormented by people all due to your rank. 

You couldn’t help it, you were born an omega. It wasn’t your fault you were born weaker than everyone else, that you couldn’t fight, that your sense of smell wasn’t as good or your sight, it wasn’t your fault you were worthless. Why did everyone's entertainment have to come at your expense? 

Sniffling slightly you rubbed the tears from your eyes as you sighed, attempting to not let the frustration get to you. It wasn’t like you could change your birth right regardless. But perhaps in time, people would simply forgot of your existence. Your dress would be stained now and the cups wouldn’t pick itself up after all, life had to go on whether you were the ass of every joke or not. 

The last thing you needed was a Beta walking by and scowling at how incompetent you were, “Miss Y/n..! Do you need help!” You glanced up at the bright pair of doe eyes, little Hueningkai stared down at you with that shy smile of his. 

You couldn’t help the tiny smile that pulled on your lips as you shook your head, “Don’t worry Kai, I’m fine…” You lowered your gaze a little as you sighed, standing up as you brushed off the specks of dirt from your skirt, your gaze softening a little as you glanced down at the little five year old, “You should get back to your mother. She wouldn’t want you talking to me.” 

Hueningkai frowned, those big eyes of his dimming a little before he stomped his foot, “My mom can’t make me! You’re nice Y/n why is everybody so mean to you…!” He frowned eyes looking somewhat glossed at the blatant mistreatment of you, your heart softened a little as you kneeled down, offering the boy a small smile. 

He was too young, too innocent to understand how packs- how your pack worked. Some days you couldn’t help but wonder if the little boy’s heart would always stay this soft, or if in time, he’d become cruel like everyone else.

“This is how the pack works Kai, don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. Now run along, the Blood Moon pack will be here soon and I’m sure your mom will want you close.” He parted his lips to object before sighing, bouncing a little in his spot before he nodded. You sighed as you watched him scurry away where the crackle of the large bonfire was in the distance and the moon was high in the sky tonight. 

Patrols would be heavy tonight and despite this being a celebration you weren’t a fool to the tension in the air. Blood Moon was one of the strongest packs in the realm, not only this but they recently made an ally with the vampiric Jeon Dynasty of Arestella which was a feat in itself. This was a big step for werewolves. You ran in packs and it was rare that society accepted your kind in their towns and villages for long.

But now having Blood Moon formally recognized, not just by civilization but by the Vampires, the most respected species? It was a massive honor and everyone wanted to jump to be allies with Blood Moon in hopes of also getting an ally with the Jeon Dynasty. Including your pack. 

Blood Moon was coming here to evaluate if your pack would be worthy of becoming allies. If it were up to you, you’d tell their Alpha to not waste his time and find a more compassionate pack then your own. If you were going to rot alone in this pack forever then you might as well make everyone just as miserable. 

Your pack was strong, but not enough to take on one like Blood Moon, perhaps that’s why the guard rotation would be high tonight, in hopes of making your pack look stronger then it was in reality. Who knows, if this went bad maybe they’d just kill you all. Maybe they’d kill you and put you out of your misery. 

The flames of the bonfire exploded as you watched the crowd pile around in the distance, cheers were loud and drums banged as you picked up the cups, gently holding one in each hand as you sighed, the wood had been brittle and cracks had become apparent as they bounced against a large tree root. Standing up you intended to throw away them in the waste bin not too far away from you but you stopped in your tracks at the strong smell. No, scent.

It was like firewood and cedar mixed together, maybe even a little pine if you sniffed hard enough. Your nose wouldn’t stop twitching at such a dreamy scent, you could almost smell the twinge of ash from here. How weird. You rubbed your nose as you dumped the cups into the bin. 

No matter how hard you tried though the smell wouldn’t go away, not that you minded of course. It smelt amazing, you just couldn’t help but wonder what- or who- was causing it. Maybe...No...who were you kidding? It was said mate’s had heightened smells, to find one another, but, you surely didn’t have a mate. And even if you did...You doubt they’d ever want you. The crowd seemed to morph into an even larger state as unfamiliar wolves joined in. Blood Moon must have arrived.

“What are you doing standing around bitch? The Alpha wants you.” You sighed as you lowered your gaze, the head Beta snarled at you, grabbing your arm roughly as he yanked you along making a small whimper escape your mouth. You were dragged through the crowd as they made a path for you both as you came up to the large bonfire, everyone standing at a distance due to its immense heat that licked at the air nearby. 

You strangled another whine as you were thrown at the boots of your pack’s Alpha, shakily you sat up on your knees wrapping your arms around yourself as you refused to look up at him. You could hear him chuckle as he kneeled down grabbing your chin harshly, “This is our pack's little bitch. I’m sure she’ll keep your beta’s nice and happy, won’t you?” He growled menacingly as you lowered your gaze once more, lips quivering as you sucked in a harsh breath. 

That scent from earlier suddenly suddenly invaded your sense once more, this time even more heady than before. It was all you could smell and even tenfold. Your thighs suddenly felt weak and arousal pooled uncomfortably between your legs.

“That won’t be necessary.” A strong deep voice cut in, making all the cheers from your pack stop as a new pair of thick boots stood in front of you. A squeak leaving your lips as you were suddenly pulled to stand up, large hands wrapped around your arms and you were glancing up at the tall daunting figure of the Alpha of Blood Moon. 

A hand quickly cupped your chin as your lips began to tremble, you heard him scoff, a twitch of irritation on his face as he lifted your chin higher as if inspecting the bruises you dawned.

You were confused and scared and yet oddly aroused, being face to face with the werewolves strongest Alpha and he seemed angry. Silently furious even, what had you done to even warrant this? Breath? Your lips trembled in fear as thoughts invaded your mind frantically, you were dead, you were really dead now. 

You hadn’t even said a word- “If this is how you’ve been treating my mate, then we have no business to attend with you.” Your lips parted, openly gaping at the said alpha who just claimed….you...you were his mate…

Oh...oh my god...you were his mate! You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs at how much of a complete idiot you had been for ignoring his scent earlier yet you were frozen in place staring up at the tall figure of Blood Moon’s Alpha, Kim Namjoon. 

He was even more handsome in person then what you had heard, you had an amazing angle of his razor sharp jawline and truthfully you couldn’t help but feel somewhat intimidated and aroused all at the same time. His k-nines looked just as sharp if not even more so and his tongue was tucked into his cheek, showing a dimple yet his expressions couldn’t convey anything but annoyance.

Your pack's Alpha’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head before he sneered, a gritty smile on his lips as he forced a laugh, “This? Is your mate? Namjoon surely you’re joking. We Alpha’s don’t associate with weaklings like them, they only slow our packs down.” You couldn’t help but lower your head in shame...He was right...you didn’t deserve to have someone like Kim Namjoon, Alpha of the great Blood Moon pack be your mate. You were nothing in compared to the leaps and bounds he had made in the werewolves history. 

“Omega’s are what we need to keep our humanity, they’re the softness we need in our pack to remind us that we’re still human. Omega’s are the caretakers of the sick and the hurt, they’re the ones that remind us peace is just as much of an option as war. I couldn’t be more proud to have an Omega as my mate.” Your gaze shot up to the wolfish appearance of Namjoon, his hair had been neatly styled but there were still a few stray hairs that gave him that wolfish look.

You couldn’t help but feel somewhat timid under the hellfire gaze of your pack’s Alpha, but oddly enough, having Namjoon stand beside you made you feel oddly...safe...Warm even, as if it was radiating off his body and you felt the urge to nestle against his side. As if it were meant to be.

Your wariness however stopped you from attempting to do so. You may know who Namjoon is, but you don’t know him personally. Is this just a set up? To get you to act out before you’re cruelly punished. You haven’t said a peep yet and you certainly don’t intend too. Especially with both pack’s present and not a single soul speaking, everyone's eyes wide at the situation that has unraveled so quickly.

“I’m surprised the Jeon’s choose your pack,” He sneered, eyes darkening as he growled, “Any Omega sympathizers are usually outcasts. What makes you think you can take my Omega?” He punctuated the word carefully making your heart squeeze a little. 

“What makes you think I can’t take her?” Namjoon suddenly snarled, his voice guttural making you jump, his eyes flashing a dangerous red as he bared his k-nines, “My pack is the strongest for a reason and I’ll make a demonstration of that just as easily. But because my mate is present I’ll make you a deal. And you sure as hell better take it. You let me take my mate, and I’ll leave this pack without a slaughter. No deals are being made and you won’t be allied, but you’ll be alive so there’s that.” Namjoon gave an icy condescending smile making your pack’s Alpha twitch in irritation. 

It was silent for a moment before he bared his teeth, your pack’s Alpha hated being made a fool and right now he looked like a whole circus as he snapped, “Go! Take the bitch, we don’t need her anyways.” Namjoon’s eyes cut at his words but he said no more. Waving a hand you squeaked at the sudden appearance of another wolf, Namjoon glancing at him briefly before down at you, “Take her to the camp set up.” 

You hadn’t even said a word and just like that, your life had been completely changed. Yet ironically enough, walking with the wolf as everyone's eyes glared down at you, you wouldn’t miss this hell hole for a second. 

You were wringing your hands as you paced in the lavished tent, a rug was even thrown down and there was a desk filled with plenty of papers, a foldable cot was set down at the end of the tent. You had never been somewhere so...luxurious before. You were subjected to sleeping on the ground most days and you were considerably lucky if it was closed to the bonfire. But not only was this tent set up close to the fire, there was a bed. 

You had never slept in a bed before. Well, a cot. But it was the same thing to you. You just couldn’t stop stressing though. Were you really mated to Kim Namjoon? Was he the one you’d spend the rest of your days with? You felt unsure, you needed to get to know him. To know if this was it. 

Werewolves had derived the term Mate, it was the closest you'll ever find to a soulmate. The Moon Goddess, had a mate planned for every wolf, someone who was your perfect match. The one you were meant to spend your life with. You personally, just always assumed you’d die both young and alone. It was hard believing Namjoon….Kim Namjoon, was your mate. 

You perked up at the sound of footsteps coming from a few feet away from the tent, they were surprisingly light compared to what you expected. Turning around you were met with the tent flap opening, your lips immediately quivering as your gaze timidly dropped at the sight of Namjoon entering. 

You could hear him chuckle softly making you fidget. What were you supposed to say? What were you supposed to do....Okay it was a dumb question, you knew what you were supposed to do. Mates would consummate and mark one another when they meet, mating was a universal thing to all creatures alike. But… you didn’t want to do that with someone you just met…

No matter how much your instincts were going crazy right now with the need to bend over his bed and present yourself in need. 

“You look scared,” Namjoon murmured softly, you jumped at his hand cupping your cheek, you hadn’t realized he was right in front of you until now, “Mmm, I won’t hurt you.” His growl was low, almost instinctive at the way his nose nudged against your hair, “I’ve been waiting to find my mate for a very long time. What’s your name?” 

His hands tenderly wrapped around your arms, his nose continuously nudging your hair as if drowning himself in your scent. You weren’t sure if his gesture was meant to be comforting, a part of you wanting to lean into his touch but the other had been bruised your whole life from touch. How were you supposed to learn to be okay with it again?

Your body naturally tensed in his grip as you murmured, “Y/n…” You didn’t want to be difficult, you didn’t want your mate to think you were stubborn and unattractive, but...You also didn’t want to give in right away...you weren’t sure you were ready too. 

Namjoon nipped against your ear making you jump, a playful smirk on his lips as he replied, “I’ll just assume you already know my name.” He decided to attempt a bolder move, nipping at your neck, this time making you whine. Except it wasn’t the good kind, you attempted to push yourself away as your gaze lowered back down.

Namjoon immediately paused, frowning as he pulled away somewhat to look at you. Your considerably smaller figure timidly glancing at the ground, as if expecting some sort of reprimanding. It was from this moment Namjoon realized this was going to take a bit more time then he had hoped. His hormones and your scent were driving him utterly insane with the need to mount you. 

But your comfort was and would always be more important to him, he wanted you to trust him, to be unafraid of giving yourself to him. While Namjoon wished being mates would magically make all this happen, he knew it wouldn’t, “Why don’t you get undressed and lay down. I’m sure you haven’t gotten a good night's rest in awhile.” 

Yet he couldn’t resist the urge to stroke a tender hand through your hair, pushing it back away from your eyes so he could properly see your face. Timidly you glanced up at him, nibbling against your lip as they parted before closing for a brief moment before you forced yourself to speak, “B-but...what….what about…” Your face felt hot as you tried to finish your sentence. 

“That can wait,” Namjoon replied promptly, offering you a gentle smile, “You’re here now, there shouldn’t be a rush. And you don’t look comfortable. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Your lips trembled slightly, you weren’t sure what it was. Namjoon’s kind smile, those pretty dimples that showed up on his cheeks as he glanced down at you, or if it was his tender touch against your hair, as if he was calming a scared child. You didn’t know what it was but your eyes were watering before you let out a sniffle. 

“Hey, shhh! Don’t cry.” Namjoon was immediately cupping your cheeks, a frown on his face at the sight of your tears but before he could ask why you were crying you launched into his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around him as you buried into his warm chest, into the divine scent that rolled off him in waves. 

“T-thank you. Thank you so much.” You couldn’t stop thanking him in muffled sniffles, unsure of what you have ever done to deserve such an incredibly compassionate mate. You had never met an Alpha like Namjoon before. Most were cold and intimidating, but he was different. There was a reason he was the strongest. 

Rather than lock away his emotions, he weaponized them. 

Namjoon wrapped his arms around you soothingly as he pressed a tender kiss against the top of your head, “Shhh, you’re never going back there again. You’re home my little omega.” You had the biggest, most dumb looking smile on your face as you nuzzled into his chest, your cheeks burning at his nickname he had easily provided you. But for the first time in your life, it didn’t sound demeaning, it sounded endearing. 

You couldn’t get enough of Namjoon’s touch, it wasn’t even sexual. No matter how much your body thought it’d be better if it was. Just his touch was healing, it made you want more and more of it. You kept nudging him every time he’d take his hand off of you, wanting to be continuously petted. 

You might not have consummated with your mate, but you did spend the night tenderly in one another’s embrace, Namjoon showering you in the touch you were starved of your whole life. You never thought you were interested in physical touch until now, you wanted all of it, you wanted his hands petting your side, stroking your hair, his lips peppering your face in kisses.

You felt like a pup again when you fell asleep against his chest. Your life had changed drastically in a single night and yet you didn’t feel overwhelmed in the slightest. This was meant to be, you were sure of it.

“Looks like a storm is brewing.” You jumped at the soft sound of Namjoon’s voice, calm and steady behind you as you turned around from your spot where you had been currently watching the clouds brew and darken. You have been with Blood Moon for a little more then two weeks now. Everything was so...different.

Everyone was kind, they treated you with the utmost respect which you found yourself dumbfound at. You understood to a degree, being mates with the Alpha meant you’d….you’d be the packs Luna. There was no one to guide you on how to be a Luna and perhaps that was what had been secretly daunting you. This wouldn’t be an easy task, what if everyone judged you for making a wrong move? 

You wouldn’t become Luna of course, until you were mated to Namjoon, which you hadn’t partook in yet. But it was still lingering in the back of your head. Things between you both had been, formal at best. There was still much physical affection at night...and the occasional rutting- from the both of you before you both stopped your instinctual nature. 

“I’ve always loved the rain,” You offered a meek smile, you still had a hard time finding a way to converse with Namjoon in an informal way, he often told you at night he preferred when you spoke freely but...It just all seemed so foreign to you.

Turning back around you let the cool wind blow against your face, lifting your chin a little as you sniffed the fresh air, you could smell the crisp evergreen and the combination of rain on the horizon, “But thunderstorms always scared me as a pup. I have exceptionally good hearing so I didn’t like loud noises back then.”

Much like any other Omega you were considerably weak, but all omega’s had at least one strong sense, and yours just so happened to be hearing. But you often thought it came at a disadvantage, all you ever heard was the laughter of your brothers and sisters who looked down their noses at you. 

At least omega’s with speed had a better chance at running and those with good sight could see predators a mile away. Yet all you could do was cover your ears in hopes to drown out the noise of the world.

 “And what about now?” Namjoon asked, offering you an endearing smile as he sat down on the fallen tree that you stood behind, taking a moment to admire his beautiful mate. Turning to face him you gave a somewhat sheepish smile, lowering your gaze a little. 

It was hard some days to even look Namjoon in the eyes, he still carried the pheromones of an Alpha and it constantly reminded you that you were below him. That if you even so much as annoyed him he could easily snap your neck and there was nothing you could do about it. You felt guilty sometimes, for thinking this way. But it wasn’t as if you could help it, you had spent your whole life getting thrown around by your old pack’s alpha. 

“It doesn’t scare me as much anymore as it just hurts at times.The only thing that isn’t completely useless about me is my hearing,” You offered a weak smile as you rubbed the back of your neck, looking back out over the storm ahead, the clouds becoming darker by the second before you watched a crack of lightning strike in the distance, “It’s much more sensitive to noise then most wolves.” 

It was true, that was your one exceptionally good ability, you could nearly hear things a mile away, sometimes you picked up on interesting conversations. You had even known Blood Moon was planning to visit your pack long before anyone else found out in the regular ranks. It wasn’t a totally useless ability. But still, good hearing often came with disadvantages like loud noises that always had you whimpering and covering your ears.

“You aren’t useless.” You jumped at the way Namjoon suddenly grabbed your shoulders, turning you around to face him, his expression almost appeared like a scowl, looking somewhat angry as he continued, “You’ve been saying degrading things about yourself ever since you got here. You are my mate,” He let out a soft growl as you lowered your gaze, feeling like a pup being scowled at the moment, “Don’t mistake your softness for weakness. You aren’t useless. I won’t stand for you saying these things about yourself.” 

A loud crackle of thunder rumbled making you jolt a little, a low whine emanating from you as you rubbed your ears, “That’s easier said than done. You haven’t lived the life I have.” You tugged away from him a little as you kept your gaze lowered, pretending to not notice the look of mild hurt on his face at your rejection of his comfort, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

There were moments like this from time to time, moments of disconnect between you both. You couldn’t help but wonder somedays if the Moon Goddess made a mistake, if you were really meant to be with Namjoon. Especially when days like this happened. 

“Then help me understand,” You paused as Namjoon wrapped his arms around you from behind, letting his chin rest on your shoulder as he nudged your neck with his nose, “I only want the best for you Y/n.” But did he? You felt unsure of how to go forward with your budding relationship with Namjoon. Could you really open up to him? 

“I don’t know how,” You mumbled, feeling somewhat ashamed despite not knowing why. Maybe a part of you wished you did, you wanted to be with Namjoon, you really did. But the only thing stopping you was yourself. Glancing out over the dark clouds you sighed, feeling a droplet of rain splat against your cheek as you rubbed it away, “We should get back to camp to let the others know the storm is beginning. It’s going to be a long night.” 

Namjoon looked as if he had more to say but only nodded at your words, stopping for a moment before holding out a hand to you. Glancing down at it you nibbled against your lip before hesitantly letting your fingers lace in his. 

He offered you a small dimpled smile, free hand lovingly stroking through your hair before leading you back to where the pack was camped out.

You and a few of the scouts of the pack had searched for somewhere dry to stay before the storm fully hit, thunder kept rumbling from far away and the lightning was getting closer with each strike. 

Out of a pure stroke of luck you had found a large cave mass that went deep into the Northern Mountains. The rain had already started pouring down as everyone was being gathered into the mountain, Namjoon was soaking wet as he waved in the crowd of people, his eyes meeting your soaking figure as he paused, “You should go to the fire and get warm. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold pup.” 

He smiled down at your cute figure that glanced up at him, you rubbed your cheek somewhat shyly as you shook your head, you couldn’t afford to lay by a fire when so many others were being drenched in the ice cold rain, “I’m okay. We need to make sure everyone is safe first. I’m going out to check to make sure everyone is together.” Namjoon nodded in agreement, a smile still adorning his face as you pushed through the crowd as you made your way outside. 

A loud clap of thunder booming down making you jump with a whine as you covered your ears as you pressed forward through the harsh rain that dropped down like ice against your skin. It was freezing outside! Rubbing your arms you glanced around at the line of people as everyone gathered inside.

You could hear something abnormal but it was difficult to make out what it was between the rain pounding on the ground and the thunder that rumbled loudly, whining you covered your ears, feeling a headache come on as you pushed forward. Your senses were going wild, you could hear something. You knew you could. You just couldn’t figure out what. 

A loud clap of thunder roared causing you gasp, covering your ears as pain throbbed in your head, closing your eyes. You tried to tune out the noise but it only became heightened, “Help! Somebody please!” 

Your eyes snapped open as rain poured down, trying to relocate the sound before quickly following along the line of the crowd that was becoming shorter and shorter by the moment until you reached a little ways past the end, “Help! Please! Help!” You found an older wolf, a mother by the looks of it drenched in rain, looking frantic as you ran up to her, she grabbed your hands as she cried, “My pups! Please! She fell in the river nearby while we were waiting! My boy can’t keep her much longer!” 

You felt your heart burst- you should go get someone you can help! But…! There wasn’t enough time! “Lead the way!” You replied almost immediately. You’d just have to try your best for the sake of the young pup and the mother. She fumbled as she brought you down the steep hill, almost falling but catching yourself as your eyes caught the dimmed vision of a young boy crying out, “Mom! Mom! I can’t hold on any longer!” 

Not having the strength to keep up his little sister just as you were in reach of the crying girl his hand slipped, the heavy stream of water coursing causing her to immediately be washed away by the streams current. You could hear both the boy and mother scream before you did the stupidest thing in your life. 

Diving into the water coughed as your vision blurred with water and ran mixed, the water was ice cold and caused your teeth to immediately clack as you were rushed along, the little girl calling out with cries as her head bobbed up and down in the water.

“Hold on!” You called out coughing up water as you grabbed onto the log that was lodged in the river that the little girl managed to grab. Grabbing onto it you spat the river water that entered your mouth once more before managing to get closer to the little girl, her arms around your neck and you could hear her pitiful sobs as you held her. 

Your body was trembling and the whiplash of rain and the strong current was making your muscles weak as you tried to keep steady against the log, water continuously lashed against your face and rain in your eyes as you slowly but steadily used the log to guide you back to the land. Your muscles were ready to give out, not used to being used so much as you crawled onto the cold muddy ground. 

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” The mother was the first to run over immediately crying out over the loud rain, grabbing her sobbing daughter as she hugged her close, “We own you so much Luna! Thank you! Oh..! Luna?” You couldn’t muster a word, your body trembling and your vision spotting before everything went dark. 

…

Whining a little your head felt fuzzy and your muscles ached with every little movement. It took a moment before you forced your eyes open meeting the dark ceiling above, a few stalagmites hanging above you as brief confusion washed over your figure. Your body trembled a little as you heard a tongue clack, “You should be closer to the fire.” 

You groaned a little as you rubbed your head, your vision a little bleared as you rubbed your eyes before glancing up to the familiar voice of Namjoon who had just finished placing a fresh piece of firewood onto the small little fire that wasn’t too far from you, “C’mere my little omega.” He scooped you up effortlessly making you whine. 

You didn’t have any energy to objection though as Namjoon sat down, his back against the cave wall and now closer to the fire where your body was trembling as much, “You’re soaked to the bone,” He tutted, letting a hand press against your forehead before sighing, “You should’ve got someone to help you Y/n. You could’ve been killed diving into that water on your own.” 

You trembled once more, shifting a little in Namjoon’s grip before nudging your nose against his neck, the overwhelming scent of cedar and firewood relaxing your senses as you buried against your mate, “If I had gone to go get help that girl would’ve died.” You mumbled in weak objection against his neck, closing your eyes tiredly as you felt Namjoon’s hand begin to tenderly stroke through your hair, “Besides, I’m alive still, aren’t I?” 

You smiled weakly as you glanced up at Namjoon, he didn’t return the sentiment though, his eyes were a deep mahogany brown, piercing your gaze with his own and the fire reflecting and exaggerated his high cheekbones that much more.

“That doesn’t mean you will be in the future,” He growled, this time in a more stern voice causing your lips to quiver as they dropped, “Take somebody with you next time. I…” He sighed, his expression relaxing once more as he buried into your hair, “I couldn’t live with myself if you died and I just- I just let you. You’re my mate, I’m supposed to take care of you.” 

You frowned at his words, feeling somewhat conflicted. You had dreamt your whole life of being taken care of, of wanting someone to care, to comfort and coddle your every step. But...You didn’t have that sentiment growing up, and now actually having it…”But I’m okay. Namjoon,” You pulled away a little, your hair still damp and clinging to your face as you pushed it away, “I can take care of myself. I’ve had too my whole life.” 

You lowered your gaze a little as you tugged on a strand of your hair, “I...I know...that I’ve been a bit distant. And that we should already be mated by now. And I know that I haven’t been the easiest to get to know but, I just...I just need time, to get to know you, to become comfortable with the pack...I’ve been on my own for so long, it’s overwhelming in ways that it shouldn’t be.” 

You felt insecure about how you felt, truthfully. You should be grateful, you should be happy that you’ve somehow, against all odds, found your mate. That you should let him mate with you and get a move on with your new life. But it was difficult, in ways you felt like it shouldn’t be but it was hard getting used to such friendly smiles, to having your mate tenderly take care of you. Being called Luna, was rather overwhelming. 

“Y/n,” Namjoon sighed, his forehead resting on yours as his thumb rubbed against your cheek bone, “I’ve already told you we don’t have to be in a hurry. You can take as much time as you want to get used to the pack and we can take our time getting to know one another. I’ll be just as dedicated to you now as I will when we mate.” he nipped playfully at your neck making a smile tug on your lips, “But I will always be protective of you. That’s my instinctive nature.” 

You sighed in understanding, no matter how it made you feel, Namjoon was right. Mates were always protective, Alpha mates in particular, some more so than others. Even if Namjoon didn’t display it as often as others it was still there. 

You closed your eyes as you curled up against him, letting his fingers continue to untangle your hair in little strokes, a few pecks against your head here and there, “Have you been told why we’re here at the Northern Mountains?” You perked up a little with a yawn as you glanced up at Namjoon in confusion, a smile on his face as he brushed the hair away from your face, “We’re visiting Arestella, to see the Royal family. The Prince summoned us not long ago” 

Your lips parted a little as you tilted your head, “The Jeon Dynasty?” They were considered one of the kindest Dynasties to rule over Arestella for centuries- that was of course if you ignored the current king who outlawed magick and had sentenced the Witch Hunt to begin. But that was nearly fifty years ago now. Otherwise they had a fairly peaceful rule, it wasn’t too big of a surprise to you that their Crowned Prince signed an ally treaty with Namjoon. But still, to actually be here with Namjoon and him saying you’d be going to the Kingdom of Vampires, it was all a bit surreal.

Namjoon’s smile widened as he nodded, “Yes, me and the Prince- Jungkook have some business to attend. Apparently there's been a massive stir in demonic energy. There've been a lot of rumored Demon sightings that’s caused fright among Arestella’s outer villages.” 

You frowned as you pressed your lips together, hesitating for a moment as you rubbed the back of your neck, “Demons? Are they really real?” You felt somewhat hesitant to ask. You mind going back to when you last attempted to escape your pack. Those magenta eyes and silver hair, they were almost otherworldly...and the way they just...disappeared into thin air...

Namjoon offered you a weak smile as he shrugged, “I think so, I don’t know about the Prince’s involvement with demon’s but if he believes they’re real then I’d be willing to bet they are. He has ties in all sorts of different affairs. Demonic energy doesn’t always equate demons though, sometimes it’s just been plagued by Witches for a long time.” 

You hummed in response. You could see where witches could build demonic energy- not that you necessarily believed all witches were bad. People liked to fear monger and point fingers and be done with it. But things were rarely that simple in life. You still felt bad for all the witches that died during the Witch Hunt, a dark period in time just in the passing of Magicks outlaw. 

“I guess we’ll see when we arrive.” You mumbled as you let your head rest in the crook of Namjoon’s neck, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close. 

“Soon enough my little omega.” There it was again, that giddy little smile on your face as you sighed in contentment. Life wasn’t all too bad, even in it’s less fine moments.

The journey to Arestella had been peaceful, the weather had become gradually colder with each passing day and soon frost would be covering the ground and nights would become freezing without fire. This however, wasn’t a big deal for wolves as you had been custom to this for some time. When the air was colder the pack would shift and the fur of your animal counterpart kept you warm.

The one thing you were still struggling with was all the respect everyone gave to you. You felt yourself fumbling at times due to how friendly and kind everyone was. At first, you wondered if it was just because you were mates with the Alpha. It wasn’t the first you had seen everyone give special treatment to a Luna. 

Your eyes would warily watch over the other Omega’s in the pack who all appeared happy, anytime one was struggling a Beta was practically bouncing over to assist whenever needed. Things seemed so contrary to how you lived your life. Even now in such a spacious tent where the heat of the fire licked in the air where you settled against the small cot in contentment. 

Nudging against the pillow as you sighed, Namjoon and Jackson the head Beta had been talking about taking an alternate route to Arestella over the past few days which had lead to him not joining you until later. 

Hearing the soft crunch of leaves had your head perking and you could almost feel your inner wolf’s tail thwacking harshly as you curled up, the flap of the tent opening to see Namjoon’s- happy but obviously tired expression, “Happy to see me pup?” He teased lightly as you grabbed the stiff pillow to nudge against it to hide your smile. 

You were shameless in watching him pull the billowing shirt over his head to reveal the taunt thick muscles of his back to your view, your legs pressing together as you pulled the fur blanket over your chin, “How was the meeting?” You asked as Namjoon rolled his neck before taking a seat in bed, his hand resting against your head as he softly stroked your hair. 

“Good,” He hummed before laying down facing you, a soft smile tugging on his lips as he let his fingers curl around a strand, “We received a pigeon from the Sisterhood today.” You raised your brows a little in curiosity. 

The Sisterhood? You had heard of them of course, anyone who hadn’t was obviously living under a rock, or a century old witch perhaps, Namjoon chuckled a little at your expression as his hand met with your cheek once more, “We work in accord with them much like many other packs. We share the land with them and it only makes sense.” 

“Well yes,” You replied, it certainly wasn’t unheard of for the Sisterhood and wolves to work together, even your pack had assistance given to them by the Sisterhood from time to time, “But I didn’t realize you were that chummy with one another.” You snorted as you raised a brow. 

Namjoon clacked his tongue, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone making you shuffle closer to his warm body, “You know the story of how wolves came to be, yes?” 

“...Well...I’ve heard a few different variations.” You replied with a shrug, nearly every wolf knew a tale of how your species came to be but they widely varied. Your now curious as to what this had to do with the Sisterhood’s involvement. 

Namjoon gave a knowing smile as he replied, “It’s been passed down between generations of my family that a very long time ago, when the Moon was still young she- for the first time heard a prayer. It was of a young boy who had been attacked by our counterpart, wolves,” 

Namjoon tenderly pushed the strand of hair behind you as he spoke, “The young boy was crying and he bled beyond saving. As the life force left his body and he took his last breath beneath the full moon, pitied, the Moon Goddess took mercy on him and blessed him. Her powers only reigned so far, and so she turned him into a wolf. The Moon Goddess told the boy that once his wounds would heal he would be safe to return to human. But now he must bear the dual nature of both animal and human.”  

“When the rumors began to fester, the men of the villages nearby wanted to hunt the monster,” Namjoon hummed his fingers tracing down to your jawline, “The boy’s lover however, discovered who he was and pleaded with the men of the village. When they would not listen, the girl was sent a blessing by the Moon Goddess. The Bow of Lux. It became clear to her that if they would not listen to her, she would make them listen,” 

Namjoon gave a wry smile as he continued, “When the last man perished, the girl swore her life to the Moon Goddess and would continue to protect those who lived inside the forest and those who lived outside. The Moon Goddess, pleased, allowed her to form the Sisterhood and once she passed on, they say her soul turned to stardust and became Orion’s bow.” 

You perked a little as you smiled, “Is that why the women in the Sisterhood are only allowed to be addressed by celestial names to outsiders?” You had never heard that part of the story! It sounded so…! So forlorn yet, meant to be. Divine even. Namjoon chuckled as he patted your head, “Perhaps, that’s one of many theories. Orion is the patron of the Sisterhood, the first to protect. They pray to her for strength before they go into battle. My point however,” Namjoon tutted a little, his eyes crinkling in adoration, “Is that no matter what tale is being told, the wolves and the Sisterhood go hand in hand. We protect and work with one another when needed.” 

“Then what did the Sisterhood want?” You whined a little, impatient at Namjoon’s wordiness, he tapped your neck in gentle scold as you wiggled closer to him, his arm finally wrapping around you as he curved a brow. 

Clacking his tongue he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, “Don’t be pushy pup,” You could hear the playful scold in his tone, “It was sent by one of the independent scouts; Vega. She asked that we keep our eyes out for a witch that lives in the North.” 

You frowned as you asked, “A witch? What could she want with a witch?” 

Namjoon shrugged, his fingers tracing against your hip as he replied, “I can’t say for sure. All I know is she wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I know requesting Arestella to find a witch would probably get her hanged.” 

“Are Vampires really that fickle?” You raised your brows, unable to stop the snort, you had never seen a Vampire before but you had heard about them plenty and how proud they were. You didn’t understand why the reigning king banned Magick as it was, especially when it seemed as if their society relied on it previously. 

Namjoon also scoffed out an amused laugh, “You’d be surprised. Nobody follows the rules more than the own royal court. The Mad King makes sure of it. Anyone caught using magick is either hanged or burned. Even the court is not excluded.” You shivered a little at the thought. 

“And will you keep an eye out then?” You asked, you supposed since Blood Moon was nomadic like any other pack, Arestella couldn’t hold you accountable for the laws of their lands. But it made you worried. 

Namjoon closed his eyes solemnly, “I will, I’d never turn my back on the Sisterhood. Furthermore, the Prince doesn’t know all of my affairs. If it doesn’t concern our relationship then he doesn’t need to know.” He finally pulled you against him as you squeaked a little, your nose immediately nudging against his neck as you coiled against him, “You’ve been awfully curious tonight pup.” He whispered in your ear. 

A smile tugged on your lips as you inhaled his scent slowly, you could almost vividly smell the crackle of burnt wood against his skin, the kerosene he had split earlier while helping build a fire, a whine suddenly escaping your lips as you felt heat pooling between your legs. Your face throbbing as you embarrassingly pushed against his neck to hide yourself. 

This had been happening a lot, putting off your consummation had taken a toll on your body, constantly making you become aroused when you became too close to your mate for too long. The need to be filled with him was a constant ache, as if sensing that Namjoon let out an instinctive growl, his thigh suddenly forcing its way between your legs as he whispered in your ear once more, “I can smell how wet you are little one.” 

Your face throbbed even harder as your hips began rubbing into his thigh in search of friction you needed, desperately. Namjoon and you both had agreed taking things slow was for the best….But that certainly hadn’t stopped him or you from testing the waters a little…

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you whined against, letting your hips drag against his warm thick thigh as your clit pressed gently against his skin, the pleasure nearly sent you pathetically howling against his skin, “This isn’t fair!” You whimpered, your thighs shaking and your panties becoming stickier within seconds. 

Namjoon’s laugh was deeper this time, as if amused at how frantic his little omega was, “Then take what you deserve my little pup.” He nipped against your ear as you jumped, his hands grabbing your waist as he rolled unto his back, forcing your to straddle him as your lips quivered into a pout. 

Your clit was throbbing though and seeing how inviting his thighs looked was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, shifting to place yourself against one as you whined a little, unable to stare directly at him as your hips wiggled in need against his thigh. Pleasure swelled in your body and a muffled whine escaped you before you jumped at the sound of leaves crunching. 

Namjoon instinctively sat up as you curled against him, not a second later hearing the sound of footsteps as a voice called out, “Namjoon, I need just one more thing.” Jackson called out as you crumpled against your mate.

You felt embarrassed at letting your hormones get the best of you. Namjoon as if sensing this gently stroked a hand through your hair before pressing a kiss against your head, “Don’t look so disappointed, we can always try again later.” 

Your lips quivered into a scowl as you pouted, flopping against the bed as Namjoon chuckled before calling out, “I’ll be out in a moment.” It was just as well Jackson had interrupted when he had. Who would’ve known what that would spiral into if you had been left alone.

“You look wide eyed.” Namjoon chuckled as he watched you circle around yourself, lips gaping as you glanced around in curiosity. There were so many sights and sounds it was hard to take it all in at once, “C’mere my pup, I don’t want you getting lost.” He grabbed your hand attentively as he pulled you along. 

The journey to Arestella had taken another day and a half but you did eventually arrive and you were in near awe at the sight. You had never been in a Kingdom before, much less the grand jewel of the realm. You could smell the hefty scent of fresh baked loathes from the few humans that dared to reside in the realm of Vampires. 

Today was a beautiful day, apparently Arestella wasn’t known to be the sunniest Kingdom but today seemed to be different, the sky was a brilliant azure blue with fluffy billowing clouds to compliment it’s sky and the breeze was cool against the day’s warm air, “I’ve never been somewhere so...crowded.” You managed to say as you squeezed past a group of people, staying particularly close to Namjoon as you glanced around wide eyed. 

“There’s much excitement to see,” Namjoon chuckled, “If you think this is incredible, wait until we see the castle. That’s where we’ll be staying the next few days. Jackson will keep everyone settled in the outskirts of town meanwhile.”  

You couldn’t deny you were excited, you could see the gothic castle even from here despite it being so far away. The day was busy and everyone was bustling but if there was one thing you noticed...It was a lack of color...or thereof…What color there was seemed very organized, as if these people were all in groups. And then occasionally you’d spot a bright pop of red of some of the people you passed, “Why is everyone dressed so...dark…” You frowned as you kept close to your mate. 

“They have a very strict system here in Arestella, they use colors to keep classes separated. It’s mostly in jewelry you’ll see it. Humans must wear red in some form as it’s stated by law if they live in Arestella. Blue is often a color worn by wealthy families, a multiple array of colors can be worn by the average vampire. I’m not very familiar with how it all works though. Vampires have their own class system like us wolves have though.” Namjoon explained as he guided you through the crowd as you curiously looked around.

You felt a smile tug on your lips as you glanced around, excitedly spotting another patch of red on a young girls neck, she appeared around your age and she- unlike you- seemed used to the large crowds of people, yet oddly enough despite being surrounded by vampires she didn’t look the least scared, “How can humans live here despite knowing a vampires nature? I think we don’t give them enough credit sometimes.” You commented as you let your eyes focus ahead. 

“Most likely because humans here use sigils to keep them protected from feral vampires,” Namjoon snorted, looking somewhat amused at how fascinated you seemed by this strange new world, “They live quite peacefully. Vampires are a bit proud though, they don’t like admitting that they do need humans to survive. No matter how much they can argue that they can feast on turned vampires, they still need humans for that to happen.” 

You hummed in curiosity before laughing a little, noticing the mild annoyance in Namjoon’s tone as he glanced ahead, a hint of smile on his face when he heard you as you both walked hand in hand. Eventually you did make it up to the castle together. 

You had never seen anything like it, the way the dark brick walls towered high above your head and the wings of the castle stood large and proud. Even though the courtyard was filled with lush flowers and benches for rest, it looked like something straight out of a fairytale. You didn’t understand how guards and maids could walk by without so much as a glance at the beautiful scenery. 

Namjoon tugged you along as your lips parted, the castle doors opening upon your arrival and you were greeted by a smiling maid that curtsied to you both immediately guiding you up several flights of stairs, the corridors were long but you couldn’t help but focus on the beautiful marble flooring.

The way the original white swirled with black and greys and speckled gold with even some peacock blue highlighting. Or the doors and the Jeon’s symbol painted in silver on each door, or the way the handles reflected their polished shine against the light that flooded in rays of gold through the windows. 

You had never been somewhere so refined. All you had ever known was the wild untamed beauty of nature, mountains and thickets of evergreen and streams that clashed with marshes. Sleeping out in the woods were galaxies formed in the sky, where you could even see speckles of stardust in the sky. You didn’t realize two things could be so different, yet so beautiful in their own way. 

“Here you are Sir Kim! His royal Highness will be with you in a moment!” She curtsied once more before shutting the doors of the room. The room was spacious and wide, it appeared to be...an office of some sort? Your brows furrowed a little as you walked in, the fireplace was not lit up but there were four chairs, two on either side of a rug that was placed in front of it. 

Then there was the desk on the far end of the room next to a large window that overlooked the woods near the castle. 

On the other end of the room was an assortment of trinkets of...personal achievements maybe? You perked at the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway gently, “There’s something wrong…!” Your brows furrowed and your head tilted like a puppy at the sound of a soft feminine voice, they must’ve been at the far end of the hallway, walking closer to the door you tried to listen better. 

“Shh, worry not my love. I’ll deal with it. Right now you should be attending your lessons. I promise nothing will happen.” The other voice was deep yet soft, alluring in dulcet quiet manner, yet seemed attentive and in demand for everyone's attention, “I’ll discuss everything with Blood Moon’s leader.” 

You could hear a faint sigh, “Please Jungkook...I...I don’t know what I’d do if this turns out to be true.” You felt your face immediately burn in embarrassment. 

You just eavesdropped on the Vampiric Prince’s private conversation with his mate! 

You whirled away from the door as you fumbled to sit down next to Namjoon who looked at you curiously, “Heard something you shouldn’t have?” You scowled at his teasing words as you crossed your arms. Namjoon had been scolding you recently on your nosey habit of using your one good ability to your advantage far too often. 

The door opened quietly as your gaze immediately followed the noise. You were met with a tall man, who just like everyone else in Arestella was undoubtedly beautiful, but even then. Prince Jungkook seemed unnaturally beautiful, his dark raven hair contrasting heavily against his glossed pristine pale skin, his hair hung low on his face and one side tucked behind his ear giving him an oddly regal look. 

A smile graced his lips as he bowed while you and Namjoon stood up, “It’s good to see you again Namjoon,” His voice, confirmed the same dulcet tone you heard in the hallway before his eyes turned to look at you, they were a deep burgundy red not at all the bright red that Namjoon’s eyes usually glowed, “You must be his new mate. You have my congratulations.” 

You gave an awkward smile, feeling your face heat up at someone so beautiful staring directly into your soul as you fumbled with your fingers, a noise escaping you that made you all the more embarrassed as you hid somewhat behind your mate, “She’s a little shy,” Namjoon smiled endearingly down at you, a hand affectionately combing through your hair as you glared with a pout at the ground, “This is Y/n, my mate. You may call her Luna. She’s just here to observe today in case she needs to come in my place in the future.” 

Jungkook nodded before taking a seat across from you both as you sat down once more, “Then let’s start. We’ve been getting a heavy influx of demonic energy on the south side of Incúrsio. I’m aware you’ve had some tension with them in the past but it’s different this time. Despite the Ceremony’s passing they’re experiencing mass hysteria saying it’s the end of the world. After doing a little bit of poking…” Jungkook sighed, shutting his eyes as you sensed a vague annoyance fill him, “I found out there’s a reason why.” 

Namjoon tilted his head in observation, you had never seen his expression so quizzical before but then again you had never seen Namjoon in such an important meeting, “And that is?” 

“A...friend,” Jungkook offered a weak smile, “Has told me there’s been a bit of, descent in the underworld if you will...One of the Prince’s of Hell, in his words was: ‘Throwing a tantrum’ and to ‘not worry about it’,” Jungkook looked semi exasperated as you furrowed your brows, “But despite his words we’ve been getting reported demon sightings and if a portal to Hell has been weakened for any demon strong enough to push through the traversing barrier we’re going to have a problem. He said he’d take care of it but...I have some doubt.” Jungkook sighed. 

Namjoon frowned as he rested his chin against his head, “So what do you want Blood Moon to do about it?” 

“I want you to keep an eye out of any demonic energy, I know you’re a nomadic group and you travel all over the realm...Said friend, assumes it’s only the portal in Incúrsio but...Given the reports I’ve received from other royal officials in other Kingdoms, it doesn’t seem like it. And please, ignore the people of Incuriso should you go back to your homestead meanwhile. They’re unwell right now and cannot think straight.” Jungkook answered, his gaze looking out the window into the wilderness were the tree’s swaying with the wind delicately. 

“We’ll do what we can, but if Incúrsio tries to attack my people. I can’t make any promises Jungkook.” Namjoon hummed as he leaned back in his seat, “But I will do what I can to defuse the situation should it arise. Is that all?” 

“For now,” Jungkook replied, fixing the cuff of his sleeve before glancing back up, “But you’re staying the next few days for a reason. Please make yourselves comfortable in the palace. I expect to see you both at dinner.” You nodded as you and Namjoon stood up making your way for the door, “Luna,” 

You paused at the deep voice of Jungkook as he called out, “A word please?” You glanced at Namjoon as you frowned, he gave a small smile encouragingly, stroking your hair once before exiting the room, closing the door behind him as you timidly turned around. Something about the Vampiric Prince put you on guard, though you were positive it was simply due to just how intimidatingly attractive him and his kin were. 

You got an oddly seductive, yet dangerous energy from any vampire you had came into contact with since arriving to Arestella, Jungkook wasn’t an exception, “Please, don’t look so timid,” Jungkook offered a gentle smile as he folded his hands as if to appear non threatening, “I just wanted to speak to you for a moment. Much like my own mate, everyone has been awaiting Namjoon to find his other half. I wish you the best of luck on becoming Blood Moon’s Luna.” 

He stood up, elegantly walking up to you, eyes dark like pools of the blood yet there was nothing dangerous or malicious about them, “If you’re ever in need of a place to stay Arestella’s doors will always be open to you. My kingdom would be happy to serve Blood Moon’s Luna in any need or situation. I hope you enjoy your stay here.” 

Tugging on a strand of your hair you managed a tiny smile as you glanced up at him, “Thank you, it’s appreciated.” 

To that Jungkook offered a dazzling smile that showed off the sharp teeth of his fangs, his smile could put nearly anyone to shame as he chuckled, walking to his desk as he hummed, “You should meet my mate while you’re here. I feel like you’d both get along rather well. And she’s often lonely these days. The court,” You could see the dismay in Jungkook’s eyes as he stood in front of the large window by his desk, “They aren’t accepting of commoners like her. She doesn’t like to worry me but I can tell she struggles by herself when I’m unable to keep her company. She could use a friend to confide in.” 

You swallowed thickly as you managed a smile, nodding, “Of course! I’ll make sure to introduce myself if I get a chance.” It felt like an incredible honor to have the crowned Prince of Arestella ask if you could keep his mate company but you’d try your best. 

You just didn’t know who she was outside of the news you had heard. Despite being in isolation word eventually made its way to your pack that the Vampiric Prince had found his mate, but not only his mate, but a commoner at that. 

Many in your pack sneered at that and often laughed, someone of low ranking suddenly becoming the mate of someone powerful? Unheard of. 

You felt a vague sense of empathy, you were in the same position as the Princess at one time. Except your new pack were very accepting of you...You supposed the same could not be said for the future Princess of Arestella, you couldn’t imagine how snide the Court must’ve truly been. 

“I’ll see you later then.” Jungkook offered you one last small smile before you left his office, closing the door gently before you noticed Namjoon waiting down the hallway, his eyes set on the artwork that displayed on the walls. 

“Finished?” Namjoon hummed as he glanced over to you, a hand falling to your head to pat it as you pouted a little as you nodded, “Then come along, they prepared lunch for us. What did Jungkook want to talk to you about?” 

You tilted your head, his tone rather strange. It sounded as if he was trying to come off relaxed but there was a tense note in his delivery. But then it struck you, most werewolves were naturally jealous of their mate associating with the opposite sex, alpha’s no doubt. 

You felt a teasing smile tug on your lips as you snickered, “Nothing, he just wanted to ask if I could speak to his mate, to become friends with her. Despite having similar class systems, it seems the court is rather….Icy about her becoming one of them.” 

“That’s not too big of a surprise,” Namjoon wrapped an arm around you, keeping you snug against him as he continued, “Royal court is always filled with people who look down their noses at one another. Civilization is an odd sort but they make it work. I’m sure his mate does feel lonely. I’d hate to be a commoner entering the court. Many are wolves disguised as sheep.” 

You tilted your head in thought, that was often an analogy humans used to describe people who pretended to be innocent when they were truly guilty. You supposed you could see what he meant by his words despite feeling as though wolves really weren’t all that bad, “It’s just odd. I can’t imagine being in that position.” 

“Well the good news is that you aren’t.” Namjoon pressed a kiss against the top of your head making you smile as you wrapped your arms around his waist, nudging his arm a little, a silent ask for affection, “And we don’t have to deal with any kind of courts fickle business.” 

Namjoon immediately complied, his hands stroking your sides as you paused in your spot, preening at his pet against your skin and the way his lips peppered against your cheeks, “You look like a little pup my omega.” He whispered, a small smirk on his face as he nipped the tip of your nose, “Always whining and begging for affection, always greedy for more.” 

You stretched your neck a little at the feeling of his nose rubbing against your neck, a surprised whine escaping you at the feeling of his scent gland suddenly knocking against you, “You smell like vampire.” Namjoon growled against your ear, a whine escaping you as you tugged on his loose button up shirt, “When you should smell like me instead.” 

He nipped your ear in warning to be quiet as he rubbed his scent gland along your neck. It was in your nature to be obedient, standing completely still as you allowed Namjoon to continue to scent you. Often a gesture done right before mating or simply a display of dominance. 

“Are you wet little omega?” Namjoon growled in your ear quietly making a pathetic whimper escape you, your thighs squeezing together as you lowered your gaze in embarrassment. Of course he could smell your heady scent, “Do you like being reminded of who you belong to?” 

His voice was deep and murmured in your ear causing you to tug on his shirt as he rubbed his scent gland one last time on your neck, “Come on, let’s get lunch. I’m sure you’re starving.” Your lips parted in almost offense at the way Namjoon suddenly pulled away, obviously satisfied with his work as you now were drenched in his scent and panties dripping wet. 

“What?” Namjoon tilted his head innocently but you could see that evil glint in his eyes that enjoyed watching you squirm as you glared at him, pulling away from him with a pout as you crossed your arms, “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.” Namjoon lovingly stroked your hair as he kept his arm loose around you as you began walking once more. 

This man was going to be the absolute death of you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The flecks of concern were apparent in Namjoon’s eyes as he frowned, sitting up in bed as he was preparing to attend another meeting with the Prince and his order of knights. His hand gently resting on your head, thumb soothingly swiping over your warm skin as you nodded, yawning a little as you tried curling closer to his body. 

You looked rather pitiful truthfully, stretching your arms out to him as a verbal whine escaped you, wanting his affection once more as he smiled endearingly, “Sorry little omega,” Namjoon cooed as he brushed your hair from your eyes, “I have to attend this meeting. I’ll come back once it’s finished and then we can stay in bed for as long as you’d like.” 

Your body trembled a little, a bead of sweat beginning to trickle down your forehead as you whined again, “Do you really have to go?” You mumbled, your head laying in his lap as his fingers tenderly stroked through your hair lovingly. You weren’t sure what it was but you had woken up in the middle of the night feeling hot and you had since been clinging to Namjoon. All you did know was you felt much needier than normal for affection. 

You didn’t want your mate to leave. 

“It sounds pretty important,” Namjoon leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead before frowning, “You’re burning up. I knew that cold rain was going to catch up to you.” He sighed with a tut as you offered a weak smile, letting your arms wrap around his waist as he shifted in his seat, “I’ll send a maid to make sure you’re taken care of while I’m gone. Now c’mon on little omega, I need to go before I’m late.” 

You let out a louder whine, the innate need for your alpha to be by your side running through your veins as you curled against him. You could feel sweat dripping down your collar bones as you nudged your nose against his stomach. 

Namjoon looked a little guilty as he pried your hands off him, tears welling in your eyes as you whined again curling up in bed as your body trembled once more, “Shhh, I’ll be back sweetheart. Hopefully your fever will have gone down a little by the time I do.” 

Namjoon let go of your figure as you weakly cried out, collapsing against your pillow as you whimpered unable to speak at the way your wolf was crying out in desperation for your mate to not leave you. The door closed gently as your body continuously began to tremble and with shaky hands you tied up your hair as you began shedding your clothes. 

You were so hot. Another whine escaped you as you laid down back in bed, a violent tremor sounding through your body and your muscles were beginning to lock and clench as you groaned. A few minutes later a knock gently sounded at the door before a maid appeared inside. 

She gave you a sympathetic smile, “The Alpha told me what was going on, I have some cool rags to help with the fever miss, we’ve sent a maid to get you a tonic to help cool you off.” She explained gently as she kneeled down, bless her heart as she gently placed the cool cloth over your forehead as you tried to suppress the whine from your lips. 

Your wolf was just about as pathetic as you right now, howling and crying at her mate leaving her. The rag was quickly to dry up as the maid gently patted your collarbones down as she frowned, “You feel much hotter than most with a fever, are you sure you don’t have any other ailments?”

Your lips trembled for a moment as you thought about it. Abruptly you stiffened as your thighs clenched together, the sticky feeling of arousal making another whimper force its way out of your lips, “I’-I’m okay! It’s um….It’s just a...wolf thing…” You forced a smile as you clenched your thighs together, the maid frowned not understanding your words before she sighed, “Very well, but don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” You nodded rapidly, trying to ignore the itch to let your hands furiously get to work.

You groaned as the door shut, trying to squeeze your thighs shut as if it would make it any better. Most humans and vampires alike may have derived the word Mate from werewolves but...your nature was still a mystery to them. Your long delayed heat included.

Your body had been in survival mode for so long that your heat hadn’t come in a long time, you never expected for it to come so early. No wonder you had felt so needy for your mates attention. 

A whine escaped you once more as you flopped on your stomach, burying into the mattress before your hips immediately began rubbing into the bed in desperate need of friction, heat was suffocating you and pain was beginning to well in your lower body. 

Omegas were truly the worst off with monthly heats whereas Beta’s only experienced them every three months and once every six months for Alpha’s. Over all being an omega truly was miserable. You had forgotten all about your heat after your body kicked into survival mode causing you to miss. 

It made sense for it’s return though, you had met your mate, you not only were safe but you were taken care of and pampered. Your heat suddenly showering up was like your body telling you it was time to get pregnant. Your thighs began trembling at the idea of your mate, your alpha mounting you and filling you with his big knot. 

You buried your face into the pillow as you whined, it didn’t matter how pathetically you humped the bed it wasn’t a replacement for what you craved. What your body needed and why arousal was seeping from your tiny hole and walls that squeezed around nothing at the idea of your alpha’s cock filling you up to breed you. 

Just the idea of Namjoon’s scent was making you nearly delirious as your hips desperately rocked into the mattress once more, the strength of your heat intensifying with each moment before all you could do was tremble and whine against the bed, desperately looking for anything to help the pain. The mattress, the pillows, your fingers, anything. 

Two hours. 

That was how long Namjoon’s meeting took. Two hours before your ears perked up at the sound of the familiar footsteps, your wolf's tail was practically flying back and forth and crying out in need. Another wave of heat filtered through your body making sweat drip down your neck as you shakily sat up. The door quietly opened as Namjoon walked in, locking it behind him before he turned to face you. 

His expression turned to sympathy that had you whining and whimpering, too weak to stand up but if you could you’d already be climbing up his tall figure, “Oh my little omega,” His voice was deeper than usual, a growl vibrating in his chest causing arousal to slide down your thighs as he slowly approached, “I could smell you all the way from the staircase.” 

Your thighs felt weak at the way he stood in front of the bed looking down at you dauntingly as you fumbled against the bed, “Alpha,” You whined, lowering your gaze subserviently as you stumbled against the sheets, getting on all fours before presenting yourself for him your thighs shaky and pain coursing through you as you whimpered, “Please. Alpha it hurts.” 

“Does it hurt omega?” Namjoon’s voice was growled and dominance seeped in his tone as you flinched at the feeling of his hand resting on the swell of your ass, “Do you need your alpha to stuff you full of his knot?” You jump with a cry at his hand slamming against your ass with a sting, tears pricking at your eyes as your hips impatiently backed against him. 

A snarled growl left his lips as your cunt was met with the thick length of his cock hardened in his pants before his hands roughly grabbed your hips, “Be patient little omega,” His hands gripped your hips harshly and the smell of his scent wafting through the room was making you light headed as another drop of arousal seeped from your needy cunt, “Do you need your alpha to fill you? Do you need my pups little one? Do you need to be bred like a good little bitch?” 

It was taking every ounce of energy to not needily drag yourself against his hips as you cried out with a frustrated whine, “Please alpha! Please! I’ll be a good mommy! I’ll take care of our pups! Please.” You needed to be filled with his cum. 

Namjoon was filled with both arousal and his primal instincts running wild at the sight of you so subservient and pliable in his hands, your smell was thick and heady in the air causing a growl to escape his lips again, “Oh will you?” Namjoon growled softly, his cock throbbing his pants as his hands stroked against your soft ass, his hand dragging down before cupping you’re wet cunt as you whined.

Your toes curled as your hips began to frantically grind against his fingers, “Ah-ah! Alpha...!” Namjoon tutted, gripping your hips with his free hand as you whimpered against the sheets, your eyes filling with tears at the way your body burned and yet your mate was still teasing you, “You need to be patient little one.” Namjoon growled with a tease in his tone, his long slim fingers dragging against your wet folds as you whined, your back arching once more to try and coax him to give you what you wanted.

Instead his fingers only dragged down to meet your tender swollen clit, a cry escaping your lips as your walls clenched around nothing but air, “You’re so wet my little omega, do you need your alpha’s cock inside you,” Namjoon moaned his fingers circling and pressing against your sensitive sensitive bud as his eyes became lidded with desire watching the way you pitifully jolted and jerked to stay still for him.

Your muscles tensed before your hips began rubbing against his fingers, “What did I say?” Namjoon let out a low growl making you whine once more. His hand was not so light anymore as he struck your ass making you whimper before obediently stilling for him once more to do whatever he pleased.

His fingers dragged up your folds before you squeaked against the mattress as his finger pushing slowly into you, a second finger slid in with just as much ease due to your excessive arousal as you whimpered, “Alpha! Please! I need it! I need it please!” You begged with a sob as his fingers began jamming against your g-spot, your walls squeezing around him impossibly tight as your lips parted and your eyes snapped shut. This wasn’t at all a replacement for what you needed but it still felt amazing. You just needed more.

“You’re squeezing around me so tight little omega,” Namjoon cooed mockingly, you could practically hear the smirk on his face as his fingers began giving little thrusts as you felt drool dribbling against your chin, “How much do you need my cock bitch?” He growled, grabbing your hair as he yanked it, a gurgled cry escaped you as he pushed his fingers inside you once more. 

Your hips unable to stay still anymore immediately began fucking yourself against him as you moaned and whined, his finger pads dragging along that little spongy spot as you gurgled, “Please! Alpha!” You could hardy formulate words as tears dropped down your face pleasure was twisting in your body yet it still wasn’t enough. 

Namjoon let go of your hair to dive between your legs, his fingers dragging along your clit making you nearly cry out at the way your walls clenched around his fingers and the orgasm flooding through you. Your lips were parted and frantic cries escapes you as you rutted messily against his fingers, “Alpha!” Your cries were pathetic as the burning in your body only strengthened at the realization there wasn’t a knot filling your cunt.

Namjoon clacked his tongue at the sound of your pitiful sobs, your walls unbearably tight around his fingers and your hips attempted to back against him as he pulled them out of you, “My pretty omega,” He cooed softly, “Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fill your little cunt with my pups?”

His hands stroked against your sides as your legs violently shook while frantically nodding, “I’ll be a good mommy! Alpha please! Please! Need your knot! Please!” Your back arched harshly as you presented your cunt for him, desperately hoping he’d give you what your body was crying for.

Your head was becoming foggy and the need for something, anything to fill you with a knot became your number one need. Namjoon as if sensing you couldn’t take anymore teasing began to undone the knot of his pants, “You’ll be a good little bitch and carry my pups? You’ll let your alpha breed you like a good girl.” Namjoon let out a soft moan, his eyes closing as his cock sprung free, bobbing in the air in search for your cunt as his hands dragged against your waist, roughly petting down your sides as you whined at his praise. 

Your body tensed and swelled with excitement as you squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling of his thick bulbous tip dragging along your wet slit as another deep growl left him, “Be a good girl and stay still.” You were whining against the sheets as his bulbous tip pushed inside you, the pain hardly even there as your heat had caused you to become dripping. Unlike humans you were made to be pounded into. 

“Alpha! Alpha please!” You whined, your eyes shut tightly as you strangled a mewl while keeping your body obediently still. You could hear a low growled moan from Namjoon as he pushed his cock further inside you, your cunt eagerly letting him slide in further.

“Mmm so tight,” He leaned down as he growled against your ear making you squeak as your walls tightened around him, “My little omega likes presenting her cunt doesn’t she? Does she like to be fucked hard and knotted?” You didn’t get the chance to answer before Namjoon’s hips were slamming into you, his cock fixing the ache of your cunt as you moaned embarrassingly loud as your face pressed against the mattress.

Pleasure was immediate as you cried out, moans escaping you as your walls needily clenched around his cock, “Alpha!” You whined before squealing against the mattress at the feeling of his long fingers pressing into your tender swollen clit. You whimpered as pleasure welled hotly inside you, your body needy for him after denying your consummation for so long. Your body was being lurched with every powerful thrust of Namjoon as he growled, “That’s it omega, milk your Alpha’s cock, mmm that’s it. You want your alpha’s knot don’t you?” 

“Yes please! Please! I’ll be a good girl.” You whined not having the energy to do anything but stay obediently in place as his massive cock continued splitting your cunt with every thrust, just feeling his thick length was causing your head to spin and your pleasure spiking as you mewled, “Alpha y-your so big…! Alpha please.” 

Your hips kept trying to buck into him causing a low snarl to escape him, Namjoon sounded nearly primal compared to his gentle level headed manners, hand large hands tightly gripping your hips and forcing them still as you whined in impatience your body craved his knot badly but you had heard Alpha’s don’t knot as quick as Beta’s.

“Be patience bitch.” Namjoon growled, his hands would certainly leave bruises later as his hips slammed into you to sate your needy cunt, he growled in pleasure at feeling your tiny walls trap his throbbing cock, “Gonna have my pups, fill your cunt up until your tummy is filled with my pups.” You whined as your body jolted, walls clenching harshly at his cock roughly sliding in and out of you, your heat craving his knot as your thighs trembled in anticipation.

“Please alpha! Please! I’ll be a good mommy.” You whined and whimpered, your back aching from it’s uncomfortable arch but your ass perking, wanting the perfect angle for his knot. Namjoon’s fingers roughly rubbed into your clit only making your walls that much tighter as his hips snapped harshly into yours, his chest pressing into your back as he growled into your ear, “That’s right little omega you’re going to have my pups. Mine.” 

Your thighs were beginning to tremble at the feeling of his base swelling, “You’re going to be an obedient bitch and take my knot.” He snapped, his hand tangling into your hair to yank it only to shove your face into the soft mattress as his hips rammed into you at an unnatural speed.

Your moans and cries were muffled as your walls began to rapidly convulse, the feeling of his thick fat cock ramming into your tiny walls, his fingers rubbing roughly into your clit. His rough manhandling. You were like a howling pup when your orgasm snapped in your body, whines and whimpers escaping you as Namjoon growled, his scent was overwhelming and he leaned down snapping his hips as he continued rutting into you, his fangs dragging over your neck before he sunk them deep into your neck. 

A loud whimper escaped you, your cunt clenching around him harder as all of your sense overwhelmed you, you couldn’t smell anything but firewood and cedar, his cock only making your orgasm that much better as he dragged it past your g-spot with each stroke as he marked you.

The base of his cock was swelling rapidly and dominant pheromones were rolling off his body as he growled and snapped at your obedience, still riding the high of your orgasm as your body was jolted and tossled by his hips which were roughly smacking against yours before you heard a choked moan escape him. Letting his cock fully rest in you as you muffled a whine against the mattress.

Tears stung your eyes at the feeling of his knot, it was massive and plugged up your small hole as you felt the first burst of hot cum stream from his cock, nobody ever told you that your hormones were running so crazy that you’d cum just from him cumming. But here you were letting out the most embarrassing cries and squeals in pleasure and it was like your orgasm was tenfold at being filled up by your Alpha. 

Spit was dripping into the bed as you let out the lewdest moans, your hips grinding against his cock that was completely stuck inside you, a snappy growl escaped Namjoon as he released your neck from his mouth, his cock hyper sensitive yet your needy grinding earned the second spurt of cum from his knot , “Stop that you needy little bitch.” Namjoon snarled in command, your walls split open by his massive cock yet they were still so tight around him. His cum was like euphoria for you. Making your head spin and your body nearly black out in pleasure as your hips kept trying to grind against him for more.

Namjoon snapped again as he grabbed your hips making you cry out with a whine, walls needily clenching around around him earning a third load of his seed as you moaned pathetically, your knees trembling but your body was begging for more. Taking pity on your trembling desperate figure Namjoon let his fingers return to your clit nearly making you scream as you whine against the sheets, “That’s right little omega.” Namjoon purred against your ear, “Let them all know who you belong to.” 

You were trying your best to be still, you really were. Tears pricked at your eyes as he let his fingers circle over your swollen bud, your walls harshly clenching around him earning a low growl, “Keep milking my cock baby. You’re gonna be such a good mommy.” Namjoon nipped against your ear as you whimpered. You were in absolute bliss, being stuffed full of his knot, his fingers playing with your clit while filling you with his seed. 

Your inner wolf was howling in ecstasy. The pleasure was so much you weren’t sure when it happened but your vision began to spot before darkening altogether.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better Luna.” Your cheeks burned at the Prince’s well meaning comment as you gave a timid smile, trying not to think about just why you had gotten ‘sick’ according to the rest of the court. Namjoon’s nose nudging against your neck as you curled into your seat. Your heat would have been unbearable had it not been for your mate, but Namjoon had taken care of you the whole week and…

You couldn’t say for sure but you had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before a pregnancy was announced. You couldn’t say for sure, omega’s weren't easy to impregnate but, surely after being knotted for a week straight by an Alpha...Just the idea of little pups running around had you nearly bouncing in your seat, “Oh, thank you Your Highness, I’m feeling much better.” You nudged back against Namjoon, eliciting a small growl in your ear from him as he straightened up a little. 

A large hand stroked against your hair as Namjoon spoke up, “Thank you for letting us stay, we’ll be heading out later this evening to unite with the pack, I’m sure they’re all ready to begin our journey back to our territory.” 

Jungkook offered an easy smile as he nodded, long locks of raven hair shielding his eyes briefly with the movement as he replied, “I’m sure, wolves have always had the tendency to be nomadic in nature. I just have one request for you.” Namjoon raised his brows in curiosity as the Prince looked to his mate, a gentle encouraging smile on his lips as if trying to coax her to speak.

She withered a little, looking away in reservation as she mumbled, “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jungkook’s hand squeezed against hers in confirmation as she took a breath in resignation before glancing between you both, “I’m...looking for someone...A powerful witch, they say she lives north, I don’t expect you to look for her, but if you were to stumble across one such as herself, please send her to me, directly.” 

You tilted your head in confusion before you glanced at Namjoon, witch of the north...? Was this the same witch the scout from the Sisterhood was looking for? You could see the a mixture of desperation and resignation in the Princess’s eyes as she glanced back at the table, her hands folded as Jungkook tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear with soft eyes, “Pardon my words but,” Everyone’s attention was on you as you tilted your head, didn’t Namjoon say the royal court enforced these rules more then anyone? “Isn’t witchcraft punishable by death…?” 

A tense air took over the table and it seemed your words were confirmed, while you didn’t live in any kingdom, you had known just as well as anyone else witchcraft was against nearly every kingdom's law. Jungkook bowed his head, as if in understanding of your confusion, “It is, which is why we ask you to keep this between the both of you. We’re looking for someone dear to my mate, but the only way we can possibly find closure is through magick. Please don’t go out of your way or put yourselves in danger for this.” 

Namjoon nodded in understanding though keeping what he had previously talked to you about a secret, “Of course, we’ll keep a lookout if we come across anyone with that sort of power.” 

“Thank you.” The Princess offered a small smile before letting her gaze drop back to her plate, the conversation between the Prince and Namjoon picking up once more with any last minute details of what to look out for. 

After your private dinner with the crowned Prince and future Princess you had made your way out of the palace. While you would miss the plush beds and elaborate meals you wouldn’t lie in saying you were glad to be out of the bustling city and into the open air where your new pack greeted you with open arms. 

Taking a long sniff of the fresh air you curled up against Namjoon where the big bonfire was, everyone conversed and celebrated another fruitful picking to eat well. Namjoon’s arms wrapped around you as he nudged against your neck, a smile on his lips as he hummed, “Should we tell the pack?” 

You felt a smile tug on your lips as you looked up at the man who had become your whole life, shaking your head as you let out a breathy laugh, “No, I’d rather not tell them until we know for sure.” 

Pressing a kiss into your neck Namjoon flirted, “We’ll give it two weeks.” You rolled your eyes with a smile as you leaned against him, his hands tenderly stroking your stomach as you closed your eyes. You couldn’t wait to begin the journey to a new land once again and experience everything with your mate in hand. 

[gotdreamsagain]

GHOST IN THE SNOW

Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow, has turned defected to the United States of America. A call made by an archer sent to assassinate her has resulted in her becoming an agent of SHIELD. Whenever Nick Fury sent her on a mission to extract a nuclear engineer, she had no idea that she would come face to face with a ghost from her past, one she can't outrun this time.

Dedicated to @thunder-and-fireworks 

Word Count: 5181

Rating: T

Notes: MCU, Comic, and Headcanon based

Triggers: Death, Blood, Violence, Murder, Injury, Past Abuse Mention

A03: here

Born and raised in Eastern Europe, Natalia Alianova Romanova had never been afraid of the cold. So, when it was the dead of winter and she was given the task to escort a nuclear engineer out of Iran, she didn’t so much as flinch from the prospect.

 From the moment she arrived, the mission was fraught with issues, and she had no doubt that someone, or something was following them. The hotel room that they had secured the Nuclear Engineer in was less than secure, a poor decision on their part. The engineer himself was less than a professional man, instead far more focused on flirting with her rather than the risks involved with getting him out of the situation all together. All of it paired with the sheer fact that the man she was supposed to keep alive had amassed a number of targets on his back across the globe didn’t make her the most confident in the mission, but she never turned down a challenge.

 Their route had been planned carefully in order to conceal their intentions on extracting him, but, even with all the assurances of them people behind the scenes, it seemed that it wasn’t as secure as they’d imagined it would be. In an effort to throw off their scent, she went against the posted route, much to Nick Fury’s annoyance in her ear as she did so. On snow covered roads, the engineer in the passenger seat was too scared to protest, and the deeper into the wilderness they got, the more apparent the car in her review mirror became. No sane person would be driving on these roads picking up speed, which only left one option. The Winter Soldier. Memories of decades earlier threatened to overwhelm her, but she has to focus on her mission, she has to do everything she can even if she knows how this will play out. For all the training they had done, for the serum that had lit her veins on fire and left her frozen in her prime, she’d never beaten him, and she doubted that this would be the exception. She tried not to show her panic, cool until the end until the moment the first bullet hits a tire, and then a second, and the car, with her and the engineer in tow, went over a cliff.

 What happens next happens in slow motion, and by the time it’s over, they are upside down and she’s gathering her bearings. The car is wrecked, and there is no way they are getting anywhere in it any time soon, so now they’ll have to move in a snowstorm blind at the bottom of a cliff while the best assassin in the world is on their tails. They have no chance in hell, and yet, they have to try. The nuclear engineer's life depends on it, and for the second time in her life, the widow knows she’s going to fail a mission, she just hopes she survives it this time.

 Grabbing a knife from her belt, she cuts herself free of the seatbelt, landing hard against the hood when she falls before moving to do the same with her passenger. He groans, protesting the move, but she doesn’t have the energy to care about his comfort. Pain meant you were still alive, and that was what she focused on. The former widow drags herself out of the car along with the engineer, but they don’t get far before she hears the inevitable and seemingly impossible sound of footsteps behind them. For the first time in decades, she’s aware with how bitterly cold it is, and how hard it is to drag the weight of the scientist with her at every step, how her muscles ache and nerves scream at her, but she has to keep going. The sound of his footsteps behind her get louder and louder, closer and closer, and finally, the scientist can’t keep up anymore. Whether it’s injury, exhaustion, or acceptance, it doesn’t matter now.  So, she does the only thing she can think of when he falls to the ground with no time to pick him up, she lays on top of him to cover him, looking up as the all too familiar figure made it’s final approach.

 He looks the same as she remembers him looking on the first day in the Red Room, an imposing figure made of metal, flesh, and bone. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, and even after she had bested every other widow inside of the Red Room, he’d laid her out flat on her back over, and over, and over. It had been a bruise to her echo, one she’d initially met with sarcasm and a promise to do better. They’d spent months together, with him teaching her, training her to be better, helping her escape the palace of torment she called home for missions, until one day she’d finally managed to pin him to the floor, if only for a moment. Their lips had met, and it set her down a path that had brought her as much misery and grief as it had the energy to leave when Clinton Barton had offered her a way out. She’d always imagined they’d get out together, on missions, when the night was the only thing that could hear their conversations, they talked about it sometimes, what life away from HYDRA and the Red Room might look like. Instead, he remained a prisoner without a memory, and she was forced to share the burden of the memory of it all on her own, with his dog tags around her neck of a permanent reminder of the reason she fought so hard.

 The same dog tags that rested against her skin as the Winter Soldier finished his approach were once given to her as a sign of love by a man who only sees her as an obstacle now. Watching as a weapon was raised, there isn’t time to even get out a word before there is a searing pain in her stomach, contrasting so heavily with the freezing cold the rest of her feels. It leaves her breathless, and the singular sound of surprise and then silence from the engineer beneath her makes it clear to her she’s failed this mission, and there’s only one word that she can get out despite it all, a quiet whisper. ”James.”

 The sound of the shot rings in her ears, and despite the knowledge that the shot had landed with stunning accuracy through her, the widow didn’t feel an ounce of pain despite it all. No, only warmth bloomed there, the starkest contrast to the frigid air that surrounded them. Over the years, she’d learned countless lessons on the ways of the world, and one such lesson was about the significance of pain. Pain meant that you were alive, that you might still survive, but the lack of pain, well, that was a darker sign than anything else. Eyes stare into the sky at the starless night listening as the footsteps of the soldier fade into the distance as the snow continues to fall, and she says his name because there’s no telling what time she has left to wait until SHIELD swoops in to assess the damage. A part of her hopes she’s dead before they get there, a part of her that had clawed her way through her survival in the Red Room, and another part of her, the larger part, knows she had to live. She has to survive so that she can find him, and get him out. She didn’t know when it would happen, she didn’t know how long it would take, but it was a promise she intended to keep.

 One day, they would both be free, and she’d be able to repay him for everything he’d done for her.

 One day, they’d both be free, and she’d be able to return the dog tags that has helped her through it all.

 One day.

[godkilller]

❝ gin--! ❞

he had called his name that night - screamed it, really -- when he had seen the small body being swept under kisuke's arm. he had screamed after them, those two -- only the howling from his captain had diverted kisuke urahara from what he had been about to do. for all of aizen's abilities -- he could not yet face down a bankai.

he had tried, though -- had tried. the captain had been skilled, however. cunning. even with the kanzen saimin in place, he had still landed a hit and kaname-- kaneme! he'd been breathing at least, and it'd been enough for aizen to pull him up and get them both to the fourth that night, collapsing from pain and bloodloss, deliriously mumbling of having been attacked by interrupting the captain in what he'd been doing --

collaborators.

he had made urahara into a proper patsy, had cared only about that -- until he'd woken up and found everything out. a month and more -- more -- since kisuke had taken him. and more than him -- more than that, more than --

a hilt wrapped in a shade that was not teal was grasped between his fingers as he stared at the place to which he'd been guided, coaxed, kyoka's awareness linked to another, one not his own. weeks it has been and he is here now, the shop standing no chance against the wrath of the one who now wears the haori lined with turquoise. a shade so near gin's eyes -- he is here, now, the smoldering wreckage proving his fury as he sweeps to --

there.

the entrance is easy to discover, a flaring of power and it splinters under the weight of his wrath. he is quick to launch himself down there, quick to call out again.

❝ GIN--! ❞

he can sense him down here.

❝ GIN--! WHERE ARE YOU?! ❞

his is the seat of captain now and he is willing to admit he's being reckless by doing this -- but oh, the cracks in the blade that is cradled between finger and palm, the loss of not just him but the youth that had become his shadow too in one night? no. no, aizen is calling, power seething around him, seeking for him. he knows he's here. he can sense it.

he had made a promise to shinso, hadn't he--?

and to himself.

he's going to murder the former captain when he gets his hands on him but better, now, to find gin and get him out of here, isn't it--? best to sweep in and out. before the humans can investigate but oh, he's seething.

          THAT NIGHT WAS A BLUR, ROARING ECHOES AND A BLASTING FORCE.  Tsukabishi Tessai, alongside Urahara Kisuke, had been formidable indeed. Yet their appearance in the midst of Aizen’s experimentations upon Gin’s captain was a necessary interruption indeed. Not even that, an interruption, no, planned. They were to be framed, after all. Their attendance was expected and one could have even ventured to say ‘perfect’ ... that is, prior to Tessai’s casting of Hado number eighty-eight, Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raiho. Something Aizen had believed a subsequent casting of Danku, a Bakudo level eighty-one, to be sufficient in blocking. AND IT DID.... somewhat. Perhaps he hadn’t accounted for how serious Urahara and his allies would be in stopping them from walking away, because the Kido Master shattered through that protective wall within a flashing spark and blaze.

          It was the first time Gin had ever seen a split-second show of shock grace the Lieutenant at his side’s features. Maybe that was why he acted fast, faster than Aizen and Tousen, he had always been focused on training himself to strike wickedly swift, and he did not disappoint them then. Gin had drawn Shinso and cut lightning. But he was still, no matter his speed or darting blade, a mere boy, a Third Seat standing against the snarling storm of a Kido Master’s design, and for the split second of deflecting there came many more agonizing seconds thereafter of rippling defeat as the high level Kido won over. Shocks shot through his body, cracked across Shinso’s blade till it flew from his grasp and embedded itself into the ground, a mirroring effect onto its wielder as Gin was blasted by that same force which proceeded to send him backward, flying, tumbling, tumbling, and black.

          Perhaps they had felt guilty, striking down some young and promising kid when they truly had wanted Aizen to be hit, and that was why Gin awoke within an unfamiliar abode. Or maybe Urahara Kisuke wanted information, and Gin was to be hostage, informant, kept holed up -- because when Gin gathered his surroundings, his state  ( sore, scuffed up, and the worst headache -- the rest he couldn’t tell, bandaged up -- where was Shinso? A hand flying out, reaching, searching blind before he even turned his head to look. Ah, fuck, he must’ve dropped it, yeah... he dropped it, and they hadn’t taken it with him, damn it )  ... it was his immediate reaction to seek an escape.

          That hadn’t gone too well. Guarding the exit, despite Gin’s careful and silent steps, was Yoruichi. He knew he couldn’t outrun her. Flash Goddess, wasn’t she? Best to not even bother making a fool of himself. Especially whilst still aching from the blast he took.

          He was implored to rest, to stay put, to recover and that he couldn’t go back.

          Gin couldn’t open a Senkaimon without Shinso, and thus that held true; he couldn’t go back even if he managed to run past the shopkeeper and bolt.

          Urahara Kisuke was not a cruel man, Gin found, but he was also the secretive type, and the kind of man that seemed to believe that he knew what was best. That sort of cruel. He believed and enacted his beliefs regardless of protest. Like so, in that keeping Gin here was best. Part of Gin wanted to agree, to stay, be plucked from Aizen’s clutches and be free of those howling nights... yet the other yearned to return, ached even. He felt he didn’t belong, this was wrong. Particularly a potent realization that he was no longer within the Seireitei, he wanted to return to Rangiku. Oh, she was going to be so worried. No doubt Aizen still spun the story of the villainous Urahara Kisuke, no doubt Gin’s own name had been listed as one of his victims. But Aizen would know better than to write him off as dead, surely. No, he’d know better, knew his boy prodigy could take a hit -- and certainly his Zanpakuto remained behind, yet solid and tangible, it hadn’t vanished to signal the death of its wielder. Likely Gin was reported as kidnapped.

          And Aizen would likely be searching for him, among others.

          Gin couldn’t deny the fact that, despite a fresh form of hatred brewing beneath him, seething really, a sickly stomach and a choked up throat.... how it terrified him, sometimes, to know he was well and truly entrapped by this man, no escape, already far too tangled to ever hope to pull himself away... oh, and yet he couldn’t deny that he wanted Aizen to find him. HE WAS TOO FAR DOWN THIS ROAD TO SHY AWAY NOW, too far down the line, he didn’t know what to do with himself if Aizen didn’t find him.

          Luckily, the thought didn’t plague Gin too terribly... even as days stretched on and Gin inevitably had to cave into eating what was offered to him, kind words and warm food did not reach him -- hollowly, patiently, he waited in near-muteness. HE WOULDN’T TELL URAHARA ANYTHING, no matter his gentle demeanor and respecting air, Gin steeled himself akin to a prisoner of war and it became apparent to the older man that the kid had no intentions to trust, to open up. Gin didn’t do that shit for anyone. He’d be damned if he caved and spit his secrets to the one man Aizen had verbally made known that he loathed... and if Aizen found out Gin confessed anything? Wouldn’t he then become a loose end a little... too... costly to be kept alive? Gin saw what Aizen did to pawns who disappointed him. Even Tousen, one of his top favorites, occasionally earned himself a scolding look that spoke of authority and displeasure... would Gin risk everything he had worked for thus far simply to confide in a stranger, shopkeeper, who had stolen him away from it all? No, not worth it.

          Besides, Gin knew it wouldn’t be much longer here.

          Weeks turned to a month, or something close to it.

          But Gin knew it’d be soon. Aizen was, after all, a thorough man.

          So was Urahara, as he had Gin moved downward, below the shop, across an an expansive underground training area  ( Gin didn’t bother trying to wrap his head around the fact that the ceiling looked like the sky outside, save for that ladder and opening... a strange set-up indeed )  A SMART MOVE, ultimately, as it kept Gin from being able to run away without first crawling from the single exit and entrance to the underground space, and it also kept him from getting absolutely leveled alongside the shop the moment Aizen’s reiatsu became known overhead. 

          Gin was accustomed to Aizen’s reiatsu in that he hardly even shuddered upon its weight thrashing downward, and the subsequent explosive force that wrecked the shop above. The Third Seat simply sat upright, looked upward, and held his breath. IT WAS BROAD DAYLIGHT UNDERNEATH THIS FALSE SKY, BUT GIN KNEW BETTER, he felt the chill of the air above flowing in from cracks, drafts, he knew too that Aizen would not act so boldly within a blanket of sunlight -- not yet, at least -- but still how odd it was to see moonlight begin pooling in, downward, from a sunny ceiling crumbling to give way for its visitor.

          A visitor who descended from the false sky’s wreckage as a nightbringer would, doused in darker hues, an ethereal world-ender he was making himself to be -- to become -- before Gin’s own eyes. A PART OF GIN’S UPBRINGING IN THE RUKONGAI URGED HIM TO RUN AND HIDE AT THE MERE SIGHT, seeing such a display of desperate might  ( Aizen was desperate, Aizen was pissed off, he had come for Gin and Gin alone in this moment and it both sickened and pleased him ) ... and part of Gin wanted to turn and run and not look back. HE WANTED TO STAY, HE WANTED TO WATCH THE KOI POND AND THINK NOTHING OF DEATH, CLEAN FINGERNAILS, THE PURRING OF A BLACK CAT, WARM CLOTHES... HE WANTED TO CRY, NO, TAKE ME HOME, I MISS HER, SHE’S WAITING FOR ME, PLEASE -- AH, HE WANTED TO GET OUT WHILE HE STILL COULD, STAY AWAY FROM ME, NO, HELP ME.

          Part of him lingered in shadow, stepping half a step backward rather than forward, into visibility, into Aizen’s frantic range of sight. He could hide himself still, wait for Urahara to step up to challenge Aizen’s wrath, wait for them both to clash and destroy... and then slip away. Or he could open his mouth now, and seal his fate to remain tethered to the man’s side forever more.

          He teetered there, for a second alone, at the precipice. 

          Then the boy called out to Aizen. A quick response, a signal; I’m here!

          Gin had never been one to listen to self-preserving advice.

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 3/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor.

warnings: for this part – grief, allusions to depression, alcohol abuse, self-loathing, abuse of a police officer’s position, the usual. 

you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer. (the formatting is 110x better & includes italics where they are supposed to be!) i’m not making any promises about having the next part up tomorrow because this work week may kill me, but i’ll get it up asap. 

Less than a month later, Michael’s slumped against the wall in the Chaves County Sheriff’s station. The view from the cell hasn’t changed since the day Michael and Isobel gave Max hell for healing Liz Ortecho in front of it, and the sight gives Michael a painful expectation of seeing his brother walking through the door at any moment, uniform and disappointed scowl in place, self-righteous lecture at the ready. But that’s not going to happen, so Michael’s swollen eyes are closed. The feeling of loss eases, if only a little, and keeping his eyelids shut helps against the steady throb in his cheek and ribs, too. 

It also allows him to ignore the look burning into him from the desk across the room, where his arresting officer sits. The young man is new, desperate to prove himself -- fuck, it actually looks like he’s shined the badge on the front of his uniform. He’s wet behind the ears, too goddamned eager to show how much better he is than guys like Michael. 

Michael knows that’s why he’s still sitting here. Sheriff Valenti would’ve let him go by now, shaking her head at him in wordless disappointment, just as she had the last few times he’d found himself in here after Max’s death. This guy doesn’t give a shit about Michael’s grief, though. Doesn’t even know about it, since only a few have been told the truth. Kyle’d insisted on bringing his mom into the loop after Caulfield and discovering his father’s role in it, and Michael and Isobel had been too numb to argue for more than a few minutes. 

The sense of those eyes on him starts to chafe, and Michael forces his eyes open to meet the Deputy stare-for-stare. He knows the picture he paints: the black cowboy hat perched haphazardly on his head, the insolent tilt of of his chin and shoulders, the sprawling pose he’d adopted against the wall with his legs crossed in front of him. It’s an image he’s cultivated for the last decade of his life. The rebel. The drunk. The outcast, challenging anyone who dares to get too close. 

Most people never bother to look beyond the facade, and Michael usually prefers it that way. Today, though, it rubs him the wrong way. He’s used to Max being the one to pull him out of the drunk tank in the morning, accustomed to the lectures and the insistence that Michael is worth more than this, more than the booze and the fights and the disappointment in everyone’s gazes when they looked at him. Those damned speeches had always made Michael homicidal; Max never seemed to understand that what they’d done to Rosa had killed any chance of a future for him just as surely as it had killed the girl herself. To Michael, Max had always seemed unaffected, infuriatingly numb to the truth of the crime they committed and immune to the consequences, and his insistence that Michael deserved to move forward, simply because he had, only ever made Michael resent his brother.

Finally, the Deputy seems to have enough of their staring contest. Michael’s eyes flicker open at the scraping of a chair leg on the floor, and he watches with a blank expression as the man strides across the floor with the sort of bow-legged strut used men with more ego than common sense. He tips his chin back to meet the man’s gaze, squinting through the swelling around his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise, letting the man come at him first, instead.

“So,” he says, and Michael’s eyes dart to the too-shiny badge on his chest. Simmons. The name is vaguely familiar, like all names in a town this small, but Michael doesn’t care enough to try to figure out where he’s heard it before. It’s not like it actually matters. “Your third bar brawl in two weeks. I’d be impressed, except that’s nothing for you, is it?”

The sneer in his words is expected, and Michael only rolls his eyes. “Slow week,” he drawls in reply, ignoring the shooting pain caused by moving his jaw. “I’ll make sure to throw a few more punches next week just for you.” 

Simmons huffs a disdainful laugh, and reaches back to take a stack of paperwork from his desk. “Unlikely,” he says, flipping a page in a file. “I know that you’re used to special treatment, Guerin, but I’m not Valenti. I don’t have a soft-touch for hopeless cases.” 

Michael snorts. “Yeah? You want to go tell her she’s a soft-touch to her face?” He doesn’t think much of the law, never has, but he knows that Michele Valenti is far from gentle. She’s fair, and usually pretty by-the-book, if Max is to be believed, but she’s as tough as nails when needed, and if Simmons hasn’t learned that yet -- well, Michael’s pretty sure the Sheriff will enjoy showing him how wrong he is. Michael can only hope he’s around to see it. 

Apparently, Simmons doesn’t like Michael’s flippancy. His brows draw downward into a pinched, angry expression, and he leans in close, close enough that Michael can see every carefully steamed inch of his impeccable uniform. The image jolts something loose in Michael’s mind, dragging unwanted memories of Max’s first days on the force to the front. 

Isobel had insisted on re-ironing Max’s slacks so they wouldn’t be wrinkled for his first shift. Michael’d been at Max’s for god-knew what reason, since he hadn’t even been able to look at his brother that soon after Rosa’s death -- but Michael had been there as Max put that uniform on for the first time, watched as determination filled his expression and inflated his chest and shoulders. Determination to make up for the wrongs he’d done, to atone for the sins he’d committed by helping others, as if he could somehow undo the horrible thing they’d done with good intentions. 

Michael had burned with fury at Max’s naivete, with jealousy, for his ability to move forward when Michael himself was stuck, suspended in that moment, day after day. 

It’s funny. Michael had always thought that the year after Rosa’s death was rock bottom -- yet here he is, still trapped, still furious and heartbroken, with no one to blame but himself. 

“You’re going down this time, Guerin. Assault, at the very least. That guy you were beating on had broken ribs, and there’s no way he’s going to drop the charges -- and I will personally see to it that someone claps you in cuffs and throws you in a cell to rot.” Simmons slams his hand against the bars, hard enough to make the entire cell rattle, and Michael blinks away the remnants of the memory to look back at Max’s replacement, lips curled in a sneer. Blood trickles from a split that hadn’t quite closed, yet and down his chin, but Michael doesn’t move to wipe it away. 

“That what gets you off? Guys in handcuffs?” he drawls. “I’m flattered, officer, but you’re not really my type.” And that is an understatement. In fact, comparing Simmons to Alex is an actual insult, as far as Michael is concerned -- not that he should be thinking of Alex right now. Or ever. 

Simmons’ face flushes with anger, and Michael allows himself a small, triumphant smirk. He knows he’s signing his own arrest warrant with his behavior, but he’s known that for weeks. Eventually, all of his sins would catch up with him, and he’s done trying to outrun them. 

Much to Michael’s regret, Simmons gets ahold of his temper quickly; his hands clench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing visibly beneath his carefully tousled blond bangs, but his voice is calm, almost cloying pleasant, when he speaks again. “Ah, well that explains things, doesn’t it?” he muses, and the knowing tone in his voice makes Michael wants to punch him hard enough to break that Colgate smile. “I knew Evans was disappearing your paperwork - every time someone tried to prosecute you, it would all just vanish, or the plaintiff would just suddenly withdraw all charges. It was obviously Evans -- I just hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d risk his career like that on a nobody like you.”

Michael struggles to make sense of that information, tries to fumble it into the schema of his and Max’s relationship for the last decade, but the pieces don’t fit. Max had always been the goody-two shoes, so by-the-book in dealing with Michael’s indiscretions that it is impossible to believe that he’d literally been tampering with the paperwork to keep him out of jail. Michael had always just thought Max had pulled in favors with Valenti, or used the ‘old friend’ card over and over -- but this? Had Max really gone to such extreme lengths to keep Michael out of jail?

“But if you two were fucking before he skipped town, well. That makes a hell of a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” 

White-hot rage greys out Michael’s vision, and he’s on his feet against the bars before his mind catches up with the instinct. The feeling is senseless; the insane assumption should be something he laughs at, uses to deride Simmons’ detective work, but Michael can’t summon any humor or snark to throw at him. Hearing Max’s name from his asshole replacement is too much, and Michael’s had all he can take. Power builds in his hands where they’re pressed against the cold metal of the bars, humming through him and causing a ringing, metallic buzz to echo through the small room.

He can’t do this. He has to stop, needs to push the power down and keep it hidden, but Michael’s so removed from his own body in that moment that he can practically look down at himself and see the tension turning into a wavering aura of power in the small cell. 

“That’s enough,” a harsh voice snaps, and both Michael and Simmons’ attention shifts immediately to Alex Manes. He’s looming in the open doorway, blocking all view to the administrative section of the office, an air of authority around his camo-covered shoulders that makes Michael’s breath catch in his throat.

In some ways, Alex is as familiar to him as the parts of his truck, or the smooth surface of the ship fragments he spends his nights with, but while he wears that uniform and that particular expression -- the one that not only demands instant obedience but expects it -- Michael can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a stranger. And after years of limited contact and heartbreak, that’s likely how it should be. Michael almost wishes it could be that simple. Instead, he’s fairly certain that despite everything, he could still pick Alex out of a crowd of millions from miles away. Something in his chest always thrills to Alex’s presence, drawing Michael’s gaze to him even when Alex is the last person he wants to see. 

“What the hell are you doing back here, Manes?” Simmons demands, crossing his hands over his chest and straightening his shoulders in an obvious effort to look intimidating. He’s got an inch and several pounds of muscle on Alex, so it should work, but in comparison to Alex’s hard expression and relaxed but ready body language, Simmons is nothing. Alex certainly doesn’t think so; he stares fearlessly back at the Deputy and raises an eyebrow, a challenge inherent in the minuscule movement. 

“That’s Captain Manes, actually,” Alex corrects definitively. “And I’m here because the guy he hit—” Alex nods toward Michael. “— is Air Force. He’s being reassigned effective Monday morning with a black mark for excessive drinking and brawling in public, so he won’t be pressing charges.” 

Alex presents a set of papers to the Deputy with a flourish, a hint of the attitude Michael had fallen in love with a decade ago shining through in the movement. Simmons gives him a long, hard look, then snatches the papers from his hands, all but tearing them with unnecessary force. While he reads, Alex looks around him to Michael, a silent query on his face.

Michael blinks slowly, taking stock of his body and the energy that has receded somewhat at the sight of Alex. He’s sober enough to wonder, this time, if he’ll always have this reaction to the other man -- if he’s doomed to only ever feel calm and safe around someone who’s so tangled up in some of the most negative, traumatic experiences of his life that Michael doesn’t know how to separate Alex’s comforting grip with the vice around his heart when he thinks of Caulfield. Of his mother.

Right now, he can almost convince himself it doesn’t matter. Michael’s too relieved to see Alex, too grateful for his intervention, to feel anything else.Taking a long, slow breath, Michael peels his fingers away from the bars of the cell and takes a step back. The metallic hum in the room stops completely, and as long as Alex gets him out of there without Simmons making any more comments about the kind of man Max was, Michael thinks he can avoid this situation turning into more of a disaster.

“The military doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Roswell,” Simmons says a moment later, his chest once again puffing out in righteous indignation. “Guerin’s been picked up three times in the last two weeks for the same offense. We don’t need your guy to press charges; I’ve got plenty of evidence to keep him in lock-up.” 

Alex’s eyes narrow, and Michael almost feels sorry for Simmons. Almost. 

“Really.” The word is flat, loaded with insinuation. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost out on the  position at this station to Max Evans? And then lost out on the last open position for Evans’ partner because he said he didn’t want to work with you?” Alex’s expression is carefully blank, but Michael can read him well enough to know that he’s ready to go for the throat. 

It shouldn’t surprise Michael that there are large chunks of Max’s life he knows nothing about. The two of them hadn’t been able to get past what happened to Rosa and the way it was handled, and that crack had led to nearly complete fragmentation in the intervening years. There’s no chance of fixing it, now, no way of knowing if they could have regained the closeness they’d shared for so long, because Max is dead -- but somehow, Michael is still learning things about his brother that make him want to put his fist through a wall. How many times had Max risked his career for Michael by destroying documents and evidence? How many people had he run off from the position as his partner to protect Michael? And why had he done it? Protecting their secret is one thing, but fuck, how is Michael supposed to take that information in stride?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons blusters, but Michael can tell the Deputy knows that he’s been beaten. Alex doesn’t go to battle without all of the facts on his side, without an ironclad plan, and Simmons had lost before they’d even begun. 

Alex snorts. “Sure I don’t,” he says amicably. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Valenti, then? If all of your evidence on Guerin is by the book? I’m sure she’d be happy to back up one of her deputies and kick me out, if that’s the case.” 

Michael doesn’t know if Alex is bluffing, which almost certainly means Simmons can’t tell, either. He waits, aware that he should be more concerned about the outcome of this grudge match than he is, until Simmons growls, “Fine. Get him out of here. But the next time --” 

“You’ll throw him in cuffs and leave him to rot, yeah, I got it,” Alex interrupts, his tone suggesting that if he weren’t in uniform, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Keys.” 

Simmons slaps the keys to the cell into Alex’s extended palm and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael watches, silent, as Alex allows his airman persona to fade back into the gentler, less composed version of himself. “I hacked the cameras before I came in, just in case,” he says, and gestures at the lock on the cell. “You still need me to let you out?” 

A moment later, Michael has released the latch on the cell with a tendril of thought and stands in front of Alex, chin raised daringly as dark eyes take in his injuries. “We should go before that guy comes back,” is all he says, and Michael trails him out of the precinct and into the cool night air. Michael takes a deep breath and slouches back against the wall, eying Alex. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what’s expected of him now; hell, he doesn’t know how to interact with Alex on a good day, anymore. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Michael says after a moment, the words stiff. Anger would have been better, but Michael can’t seem to summon it back now that it’s gone. “It would’ve been fine.” 

Alex shoots him a skeptical glance, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to take that as Guerin speak for, ‘thanks for getting me out of jail,’” he snipes, and hits a button on his keychain, making his SUV blink its lights from a block down. “Come on. Your truck is still at the Pony, I’m guessing? I’ll give you a ride and you can pick it up tomorrow.” 

There isn’t much chance to argue, or Michael’s too tired to try. He trails Alex into the SUV, grateful despite himself for the unwavering presence at his side. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Max, despite ten years of distance and resentment, had still been protecting him. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition with the assumption that Max had only ever done anything to protect him in order to protect their secret. Max had fucked up so many times over the years: he’d left Michael alone and scared in foster care, had only listened as Michael whispered confessions of pain and fear of the families he lived with as a child, had pushed him into taking the blame for Isobel’s crimes and allowed him to give up on the one chance at a future he had -- 

Michael hates looking backward, and hates the fact that he understands Max so much better now that he’s gone. His brother had never been human, but he was as flawed as any of them, and yes, he had made mistakes. But how many of those mistakes had seemed unforgivable because of Michael’s own unhappiness? How much of his resentment toward Max had sprung from Max falling from the pedestal Michael had put him on? 

The hand that had, until recently, been numb and scarred, flexes against his thigh. Michael will never know what Max was thinking, that night. He’ll never be able to ask questions, or try to mend the rift that he’d helped created between them. 

Michael will never have a brother again, and the loss feels fresh, now, as if the experience with Simmons had ripped a new wound over the infected one still oozing in his chest. 

“Michael,” Alex says quietly, catching his attention more effectively than if he’d stood up and yelled. It’s rare to hear his first name from Alex, rarer still to hear it in a tone that borders on affection. They’ve avoided that sort of relationship for years, both aware that they’re in the middle of a balancing act, and one wrong move could send them careening over the edge into a world of hurt. “You’ve got to stop doing this. I’m not going to be able to use the same tricks next time, and . . .” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he psyches himself up for whatever else he has to say. “And Max isn’t here to stop them from making sure you end up in prison.”

The words emerge in a rush, so quick that Michael has to let them process before he understands why Alex is so nervous. No one who mentioned his brother had walked away unscathed, lately; it was a surefire way to send Michael spiralling. 

But it hurts less, somehow, hearing the truth from Alex. Maybe because he knows that Alex understands grief, understands the feeling of anger that follows in the wake of abandonment, or because he knows Alex isn’t throwing words around to hurt him. So Michael doesn’t react; he simply turns his head to look out the window and watches the New Mexican desert fly by. 

It’s clear that Alex doesn’t know how to read Michael’s silence. He rushes on, obviously determined to get the words out before Michael loses his temper. “Think about it, Michael. If they get you in a jail cell, how long is it going to take before your cellmates, or a guard, or someone realizes that there’s something different about you? What if you get hurt and sent to medical? Who’s going to stop them from doing tests and figuring out that you’re not human? My father would love that kind of opportunity, Guerin. Please, for the love of god, don’t give it to him.”

Michael swallows, an old fear rising in his gut as he considers the scenario Alex spins for him. Jesse Manes. Experimentation. Tortured, like his mother and the rest of those poor souls hidden away at Caulfield prison. He shudders, hands digging into his jeans hard enough that his nails score the tender skin beneath. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alex’s hand is resting over the back of his left one, a gentle slide of skin that makes it easier for Michael to breathe. He almost misses the tremble in Alex’s fingers, caught up in his own emotions, but it’s there, and impossible to ignore. Michael glances up at Alex, surprised to see an anxiety nearly matching his own on his face, and wonders how often he’s ignored the way the people around him are feeling in favor of drowning in his own feelings. 

Michael flips his hand and squeezes Alex’s back, and triumph sparks in his chest when he catches the barest hint of a smile flash across full lips. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it.” Alex’s words, when he speaks again, are full of rueful self-recrimination, and again Michael is struck by his own selfishness. He’s not the only one mired in trauma and hurt. But despite his own pain, despite the way Michael has treated him, Alex has been there when MIchael needs him. Every damn time. 

“But the way you’ve been acting lately -- shit, Guerin, it’s fucking terrifying. The drinking is one thing, but the fighting? The total disregard for your own health and well-being? That’s not what Max would’ve wanted for you. Do you think he spent the last decade of his life bailing you out of jail because he wanted you to rot there? Do you think your mother died convincing you to run because she wanted you to die out here instead?”

Michael’s fists clench in his lap, but his powers don’t react. This is Alex, after all, the calm in the middle of his storm, and something in Michael refuses to allow anything that might bring him harm. He grits his teeth against the spiral of guilt and shame that threatens at Alex’s words, and reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact that the car is still moving. Alex shouts and slams on the breaks, leaving them both startled and staring at each other across the console between their seats. 

“I just want to help, Guerin,” Alex says, obviously biting back a furious comment at Michael’s stupidity. “I’m not asking you to love me, or date me, or whatever it is you’re so set against. I just want to make sure you don’t end up dissected or left to rot in one of my father’s torture chambers. Can’t you just let me?” 

The fight rushes out of Michael with a long breath, and he slumps back in the car seat. His head tips to one side, and he looks straight at Alex with a resigned, wary expression. “That’s the problem, Alex,” he says dully. “I do love you.” As much as he could love anyone at the moment. “But I can’t do anything about it. Not right now.” Maybe not ever. 

Alex’s face is washed pale yellow in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Michael doesn’t miss the hurt etched into the lines of his face, though it’s gone in a moment. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Alex says quietly. “I’m asking you to come back to my place tonight, get some sleep, and eat an actual meal in the morning. We can figure out where to go from there.” One large hand rests on the gear shift lever, waiting for Michael’s go-ahead before he puts it into drive. 

Michael hesitates, part of him determined to climb out the door and trudge back to the Airstream to suffer through another night alone. But fighting Alex never gets him anywhere, and Michael’s tired of trying to stand on his own. If Max’s loss has taught him anything, aside from the fact that he does care about the self-sacrificing dumbass, it’s that Alex meant it, when he called Michael his family. And maybe, on a night like tonight, it’s not so wrong to want that support, no matter how selfish it feels.

So instead of following his instincts to run, Michael catches Alex’s eye and nods.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 9: On the Run

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

Instead of sticking to terms, Nick Fury was going for a hostile takeover.

It was a breach of contract, but from a business standpoint, it was the smart play. Hell, Bucky planned to do the same thing in the future, but the situation had gone tits up before he got the chance to put his own plans in motion.

They’d all agreed to the terms of the treaty, but as soon as Fury got back to his home turf, he unexpectedly declared Steve wasn’t the right man to handle their combined interests, and refused to work with someone he “no longer deemed trustworthy.” The Families didn’t have an alternate person who knew both businesses, and without Steve as a diplomat and go-between, the truce became strained.

In in an effort to maintain order in Brooklyn, dues were increased, funds were redistributed, and territories were rearranged. Tightening both the reigns and the purse strings helped for a while, but when people learned trade suffered because an outsider was badmouthing one of their own, they made their displeasure known.

It didn’t take long for whispers of disapproval to turn into deafening roars of outright dissent. The nature of the business had changed, but the foundation and principles had remained the same. In their world, unsubstantiated accusations still brought out visceral impulses, and after Sam went down, the gloves came off.  

Bucky had Natasha and Bruce investigate and they’d both arrived at the same conclusion: Steve and Sam had been loyal and all roads led back to Fury. He’d been the origin of the treason rumors, was behind the unsanctioned hit, and wanted Steve cut out so he could wrest control and poach from their joint revenue streams.

The situation reached critical mass after the funeral. Sam had been in the ground less than an hour when another attempt was made. Steve had been ambushed and almost killed in the middle of his own living room, and not long after, Bucky learned the Families private homes had also been compromised.

Bucky knew it was only a matter of time before Fury tried again, and once the Families realized he was gunning for them all, everyone agreed to batten down the hatches and move to undisclosed, more secure locations.

The hotel suite he was holed up in offered privacy, security, and best of all, a well-stocked bar. Yet, even with the creature comforts, Bucky still felt feel like a caged animal. He really needed to get his house in order, and so far, no easy solution had presented itself, and the booze wasn’t helping.

“If you want to take Fury out, you’re going to need to do it from the inside,” Natasha opined over FaceTime. “You need to turn his crew, and in order to get to them, you have to go through Steve.”  

“If he rallies Brooklyn and manages to get Fury’s people on his side, allegiances will be divided, and there will be mutiny here and abroad,” Bucky argued. “I can’t fight a war on two fronts.”

“You’ve always been stubborn, but I never knew you could be so ignorant.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Natasha leveled him with a hard stare, “Steve’s calculating, but he’s stalwart. You’re alive because he’s still in love with you, and that’s why he won’t ever betray you or try to oust you.”

Bucky sighed and poured himself another drink, “For the record, he’s not in love with me. And Steve may be steadfast, but he’s also unforgiving and prone to petulance.”

“Look, if you just apologize and set aside your ego, the two of you could--”

“My ego isn’t the problem,” he interjected. “And in case you’ve forgotten, his goon squad beat the shit out of me, and he left you for dead in an alley.”

“And in response, you had our guys torture him for a month. Then, you took away his choices, his money, and his freedom,” she retorted. “The time for posturing and tit-for-tat is over. If you don’t get Steve back on our side, our people won’t fight, Fury will bury us, and it will be your fault.”

Before Bucky could formulate a response, Natasha brusquely told him to, “get his fucking shit together,” and then, ended any further discussion of the matter by cutting off the call.

Partnering with Nick Fury had been a calculated risk, but Bucky could have never foreseen it going bad so quickly. The harsh, bitter truths Natasha voiced were difficult to face, but deep down, Bucky knew she was right. The wisest course of action would be to bring Steve back into the fold, but given everything that had happened, mending fences would be easier said than done.

Too exhausted to think about it anymore, Bucky texted his security detail, and let them know he was turning in for the night. He’d just started to undress when a response came through; thinking it was one of the men bidding him goodnight, he ignored it, but when his cell rang and one of the guards in the suit adjacent suddenly began pounding on the adjoining door, he knew something wasn’t right.

A rhythmic candace. Sharp, loud, repetitive snaps.

The sound was all too familiar and made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand on end. Instinct and a flood of pure, high-octane adrenaline made him reach for his own weapon at the base of his spine. He could hear muffled, indistinct voices; see the doorknob being rattled; feel the grip of the gun against the palm of his hand; taste the fear and whiskey on his tongue.

Knowing he was next, he bolted for the exit, and looked through the peephole. When the hallway revealed itself to be empty, Bucky slipped the chain back, flipped the deadbolt, and opened the door.  Both guards stationed just outside were down, and as he continued onward, the bodies kept piling up.

The culprit had taken them out one-by-one and managed to get into the suite next to his without raising any suspicion or alarm. Everyone had erred on the side of caution and the Families hadn’t revealed to each other or anyone else where they were hunkered down. If he was being targeted, it meant someone on the inside had sold him out.

A strange sound drew his attention away from his thoughts and back to the task at hand. When he approached the elevator, he saw the doors opening and closing, but a pair of legs sticking out from the inside prevented them from shutting all the way. Bucky didn’t know how many enemies there were or where they were all located, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

A flickering exit sign pointed toward the stairwell, and he hastily made a beeline for it. Twelve flights and another door saw him out of the hotel and onto the street. Without his phone, wallet, and keys, he had no way of reaching out to anyone or getting away quickly. Exposed, alone, and with the enemy on his tail, Bucky had no choice but to start walking.

Gun low and pressed to his thigh, he crossed the street, and made it about two blocks before a black SUV, headed fast in the opposite direction, suddenly pulled a U-turn right in the middle of traffic. There was absolutely no way to outrun a car, which meant he had little choice but to duck into the nearest alley.

Sweat pooled at the base of his spine and his pulse thudded in his ears, but he remained silent, and waited. The vehicle pulled right up to the sidewalk, but nobody got out. The tinted window on the front passenger side was lowered, which prompted him to ready his weapon.

Bucky was a hairsbreadth away from firing when the high beams were flashed and a familiar voice yelled his name. As he warily approached, the back door was thrown open; the interior lights came on and revealed Bruce riding shotgun, Natasha at the wheel, and none other than Steve Rogers in the seat behind her.

With the threat of death imminent, Bucky didn’t hesitate, and as soon as he was in, Natasha hit the gas, and drove like a bat out of hell.

“How did you know?” he asked.

Bruce turned around in his seat, “Ever since Sam was killed, I’ve been monitoring all communications, but there are a lot of phones and a lot of people. Fury managed to get to one of your guards. I just didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“And him?” he prompted, nodding his head toward Steve. “Why is he here?”

“Steve knows Fury’s playbook,” Natasha voiced. “He’s here to help.”

Bucky let out a sound of frustration, “You shouldn’t have involved him.”

“You want me gone? Fine,” Steve mumbled lowly. “Pull the fuck over.”

Bruce shook his head frantically, “Bad idea.”

Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror, “You’re in no condition to be out on your own.”

When the vehicle entered a tunnel and the car’s interior was flooded with light, Bucky instantly understood why Bruce and Natasha didn’t want to dump Steve on the side of the road. The evidence of Nick Fury’s brutality was on every inch of visible skin, and the sight of Steve’s injuries made his gut twist.

One eye swollen shut and the other bloodshot. Brow and cheeks marred with stitched up cuts. Jaw extremely distended. Bruises on his arms that hadn’t even begun to heal. Steve was pale and sweating, and his harsh breathing indicated there was probably something even worse going on beneath the clothes. A lesser man wouldn’t have been able to withstand the agony, never mind be upright, but Steve wasn’t like most men.

Ram-rod stiff. Vacant countenance. The composure and comportment of a soldier.

He may have been bloodied, but Bucky knew not to mistake it for weakness or surrender, and the cold, deadly look in his eye suggested he wasn’t going to let a few cuts and bruises prevent him from getting even.

Everyone in Brooklyn was baying for blood, including Steve, and war was inevitable.

Nick Fury started it.

And Bucky had a sinking feeling Steve would be the one who finished it.

Chapter 10: Behind Enemy Lines

Everything: @jennmurawski13​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

[xenosgirlvents]

There is an ancient Terran saying barely remembered even by humans in their forty-odd millennia since it was first said. “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” La’al had never heard this saying, but if she had it would be echoing relentlessly in her head.  Said best laid plans had been to take back a young T’au world from a small force of Orks who had stolen it after the gue’la’s military had had their way with it. Her own squad, composed of a smattering of various auxiliaries and a handful of veteran Fire warriors, had been sent around to the east of the main Cadres in an attempt to corral the bhe’ghaal. But, rather clearly, those best laid plans had been shattered irreparably.

The young Shas’La’s tympanum were reverberating under the force of the never-ending fusillade of fire soaring over her head and pounding against the flickering Tidewalls and burning vehicular wrecks she was jogging past, willing herself not to outrun her la’rua. Moving as quickly as her squadmates could manage, they were slowed further under the weight of the injured they carried with them. La’al herself held Olatharal and Balantara – the two surviving Exodites who had joined the military alongside her – slung over her shoulders, cutting her ability to retaliate dramatically. She would have almost envied the two of them then, both unconscious and unable to hear the paradoxically raucous and operatic singing roaring out over the sound of gunfire as the army of Orks rolled inexorably closer, if not for the glinting of the small red gemstone Balantara clutched tightly in her fist.

The Exodite had risked death charging into the green tide to wrest it from her brother’s corpse, and La’al would sooner die herself than let that risk have been in vain. So, for now, she had to focus on surviving as blood – red, blue, green, and practically every color in between – splashed under the running hooves, boots, and talons of the retreating squad. Returning her focus to the task at hand, the young Shas crushed the still-living and profanity spewing severed head of one of the bhe’ghaal under-hoof.

There was only one warrior with them without a body in their grasp, and he wasn’t even a member of their squad. The breacher Shas’Ui ran alongside them, his heavier armor doing little to slow him down and his pulse blaster invaluable as the la’rua bolted between cover. Many of the Orks’ “squigs,” as La’al had heard her comrades yell, barreled toward and around them, squealing and snorting hungrily only to be all but disintegrated by the breacher’s plasma fire or else to be caught in vicious combat with the numerous Kroot hounds that had been loosed to cover the Cadres’ retreat

The distinctive whip-crack of rail-fire announced that they were nearing the end of their escape. The evacuation point was coming into view; surrounded by a veritable wall of Hammerheads and Broadsides – further bristling with Kroot rifles poking between the gaps and buzzing with the insectoid forms of Vespids – unloading their weaponry into the advancing horde, Mantas and Orcas were picking up as many survivors as they could, knowing that no stragglers were likely to survive once they were forced to fully extract. And standing atop her hover-drone just behind the wall of vehicles was Vre Da’ty, whirling her Honor Blade about and swatting away the projectiles flying at her as if they were barely more than flies.

The Ethereal was perfectly calm. The simple creatures advancing across the battlefield were far outside of their accurate range, and even if they weren’t, she knew that they would never see her as a priority target. Vre’Da’ty knew well that bhe’ghaal “philosophy” revolved around the concept of bigger being better, and she was far from the largest target they could train their primitive firearms upon. As such, she had elected to take the last craft to leave, knowing that the concept of leaving an Ethereal in such a hellish warzone for too long would motivate the Cadres’ survivors to move much faster. Coolly, she surveyed the surrounding area, pointing out approaching parties of survivors for the wall of guns to split for, when a red glinting caught her eye. Turning her head, she spotted Shas’La La’al and her surviving squadmates approaching as quickly as they could, defended by a breacher’s pulse blasts. A small smile creeping over her face at the young warrior’s apparent capacity to survive, she gestured to the small party and lowered her drone at the utterly incessant insistence of her honor guards.

The la’rua let out a collective sigh of relief as they saw a break form in the wall of metal to accommodate them, only a handful of craft left willing to make the risky lift. The party wasn’t a second too soon either, a number of the tanks and battlesuits already beginning to peel away and board the Mantas set aside for their evac. La’al almost cheered, herself, but it was cut off by a harsh scream from behind her. Turning sharply while maintaining her pace with her squad, she was shocked to see the Shas’Ui who had kept them covered being pulled back by a mass of pink flesh. The veteran warrior let out a barrage of curses and swears, firing his gun wildly as he tried to level it at the squig’s head to utterly no avail.

La’al knew he had no chance. The tanks were falling back, and those that were still holding were much too focused on the tide of green marching closer, the singing growing loud enough to all but silence the gunfire. Acting on instinct, she passed the unconscious Aeldari to the least burdened of her squad members and charged back, drawing her carbine as she went.

To the Shas’Ui, the young Fire warrior was a blur. A streak of his Sept’s color barged into the squig and rolled with it several meters in a tangle of vicious and bone shattering kicks, punches, and gun-bashes. Seizing the new chance at life with both fists, he began to drag himself back toward his dropped gun, grabbing the blaster and rolling over to aim it at the clash just in time to watch the Shas’La unload almost an entire magazine directly into the orkish animal’s eye. She roared her fury over the sounds of the battle as she shredded the creature that had dared harm the warrior who had guarded her squad’s escape.

Covered in the sizzling remains of the squig, La’al whipped back around to help the Shas’Ui up just as the rain of ballistic fire petered out. Dragging the veteran along on his crippled legs, La’al peered across the battlefield to see the Orks had stopped moving and almost none of them were firing a shot. But the ground still rumbled as if the entire horde was charging. Then, as the smoke from their vehicles’ engines cleared away, she saw why. The entire Ork horde joined in a single gruffly operatic chorus as an utter behemoth of metal rolled through the smoke, its treads alone towering over practically everything else on the battlefield.

“Bloodwind…” the two Shas uttered in unison as the Mega-Gargant opened its jaws to reveal what looked, to La’al’s cybernetic eyes, to be a stage on which stood a giant Ork in black armor with a white mask covering the right half of his face, and a gretchin in a frilly dress and long brown squig-wig perched atop his arm. The titanic machine’s guns began to spin up, sonic waves tearing across the battlefield as the Warboss began to sing in earnest from his stage, vast speakers on the Gargant’s chest blasting out the ballad almost loud enough to knock La’al from her feet.

The T’au forces still on the ground began raining fire at the colossal mobile fortress as they began pulling back with as much speed as they possibly could, Mantas and Orcas initiating their liftoff sequences even as tanks and suits mounted them. La’al herself bodily picked up the Shas’Ui and tore across the distance between them and the Manta that had taken aboard her la’rua. Even with all her speed though, by the time La’al arrived, the bay door was already almost closed, and no other ships were even near the ground.

“Oh no yOU FUCKING DON’T!” She screamed as, in a last act of desperation, the young Fire warrior gathered her strength, leapt dozens of feet into the air, and threw the older Shas through the door just before it could close.

The transports pulled away just before the Gargant’s guns could begin unleashing their stream of death. But as the Exodites aboard it roused themselves back into consciousness, their first sight was an injured breacher pounding his fists against the door, cursing as if his life depended on it. From the other end of the craft, Vre’Da’ty saw the same, and the three of them quickly came to the same realization.

Shas’La H’kek’an La’al had been left behind. The Little Hero was alone.

(Honestly, I barely even know what kind of commentary to leave here this time. So I’ll just go with the standard “Hope you enjoy it, and please share any questions and critiques you have”)

Okay! So wow, this was actually really good, honestly! I enjoyed in general the way you wrote about the inclusion of certain T’au specifics to the battle: not standing and engaging in a battle of attrition when they still have room to redeploy in, the use of the Tidewalls to provide cover for their withdrawing infantry, the use of the Breacher Shas’ui (Breachers are a favourite unit of mine conceptually, I wish we had a Fire Warrior 2 Game only so that Kais could cart around a Pulse Blaster-like shotgun to kill Marines with) and I enjoyed the Ethereal too, with the good addition that they actually undermine the normal Ork threat assessment pattern, that’s actually a really good point I haven’t thought about before but it’s true!

As always I also enjoyed heavily your use of T’au terminology throughout the piece. This is something I sometimes struggle with, as it can slow me down, but you make consistent use of T’au words throughout which helps it feel engaging and engrossing by making it clear who we’re reading this from.

I am very curious as to how this will go, but I already foresee La’al perhaps ending up surviving on her own for an extended period of time, ghosting Orks, before being rediscovered by other T’au? Whatever it is you have in mind I look forwards to it, this has really been the highlight for me of anything 40k related for a while now :)

[worddevdealswithml]

Side Effects Include: Empathy

Chapter 21:

Marinette stared, arm stretched out.

Then, slowly, shakily, she pulled back from the edge.

She closed her eyes, trying to forget…

Forget.

Adrien, leaping across the gap, arms flailing wildly as he tried to get the last bit of distance.

Adrien, not quite going to make it.

She dove forward, as he slammed, stomach first, into the ledge.

She’d barely managed to grab a hand as he fell away.

She’d slid, but held firm, arm barely supporting his weight, even with her enhanced strength.

For a second, she’d thought she could simply pull him up, and then there had been the sickening sensation of his hand slipping.

She’d flailed out with her other arm, and if she’d been just a bit quicker, a bit less clumsy…

The image of shock on Adrien’s face as he fell away was seared into her memory.

She should have found some way to transform, even if it had meant revealing her identity to Adrien.  Even if…

It felt like part of her was crumbling in on itself.  She was breathing too fast, her vision blurring, growing unfocused, as the tear she couldn’t restrain seemed to gleam unnaturally bright on the tile.

“Marinette?”

It felt like she’d just hit the ground, or as if her soul had just been flung back into her body.

She was here.

Now.

Her breathing slowed, just a bit

“Maybe he just woke up.”

Maybe he just woken up.

“I…  Right.”

He’d…  He’d just woken up.  Definitely.

“Of course.  That’s… What happens when…” she swallowed.  “When something like that happens in a dream.”

“As soon as you defeat the Akuma, you can tell him all about what you dreamed.”

Holding onto what felt like vain, false hope, Marinette pushed to her feet.

She turned, just in time to see-

“Max,” she said, voice weak.

“Marinette.” He blinked, visibly breathing hard, and she could see the wheels spinning in his head. “You found some way to escape your dream?”

She shook her head.  “I don’t think anyone outside the school was trapped.”

He nodded, slowly.  “I understand.”  He froze for a second.  “Then that gives me no hope as to my position.  We have less than a minute before these platforms will be submerged.  We should go now.”

He started up the steps, a bit unsteadily, and Marinette followed him, having to think about every step, barely able to keep herself moving.

--

Chloe Bourgeois had found her way to her bed.

Her phone’s apps weren’t working; right now, she would have given more than she wanted admit for someone from her class to talk to, but her phone app only gave her a dial tone, and her only social media app pulled up a nutrition app, that didn’t even seem to have any information in it.

The clothes in her closet were… fine, theoretically, but something seemed wrong about them, and she wasn’t sure she should wear them.

Besides, they were even older, some of them, than what she was wearing now.

At the reminder of her mother’s dig at her fashion, she curled up a bit on her bed.

Daddy hadn’t stood up for her.  Of course he hadn’t.  Between the two of them, all three of them knew who he was more afraid of.

Her clothes were out of style, her mother was disappointed in her, and Sabrina…

The lights glowed hungrily, a bit brighter than before.

Sabrina was angry at her, and Chloe didn’t even know why.  Not even that she didn’t understand why whatever it was was worth getting worked up over, but…

She didn’t even know what had caused it in the first place.

What was it supposed to mean that Chloe ‘hadn’t waited for her?’  Waited where?  When?

She was supposed to be Queen Bee.

Queen of what?

Paris?  She was at most a princess, with her father being the mayor.

Fashion?  As if.  Her mother would never stand for someone else taking on the title of queen of fashion.

And at school?  Only one person respected her authority.

What kind of queen only had one subject?

What kind of queen lost her only subject?

Chloe let out a slow, shuddering sob.

Yes, she had her castle, and her servants, but…

If anything, Marinette had more followers than her.

Another sob wracked her body, as her hands clenched around fistfuls of blanket, a sign of the burning, useless rage in the depths of her stomach.  Rage at… Marinette, her mother, and… Her own weakness.

Marinette had more respect than her, and when was the last time she’d gotten anyone Akumatized?

She was shaking with pointless fury now, her mind beating out profanity in rhythm with the blood pumping in her ears.

The last time Marinette had gotten someone Akumatized, it was the girl who had been lying ceaselessly to the class, manipulating them against her.

And Chloe, though she hadn’t acknowledged it, had heard both Alya and Nino talking about how Marinette had faced off against Lila’s Akumatized form.

No Miraculous.  Just… Marinette.

And Chloe?

The last person Chloe had gotten Akumatized was the one girl she would even consider calling her friend.

The scream built up, deep inside her lungs, until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The lights themselves seemed to dim as she let it out, as if in fear.

--

“Why is this room so tall?”  Marinette finally managed, breaking the spell of silence she’d maintained for the last several minutes of steady climbing.

“It’s…” began Max, before heaving a breath, “based on an identical room from the game Outrun.”

“Outrun?”

“This.  You outrun the rising liquid.”

“Isn’t outrunning kind of a stretch?  It’s… Pretty slow, isn’t it?”

“For now.  It gets faster the higher you get.  We’re still in the tutorial phase, but if I have to guess, we’ll be leaving it soon.”

“How many… How many phases are there?”

“This is the tutorial. The first real level involves more difficult platforms, and adds jump-pads.  The second increases the difficulty immensely.  The third… Removes most of the jump-pads, but keeps the platforms similarly difficult.”

“So, if we complete the three stages, we might be able to break out?”

He stopped, and she heard him sigh.

“No.  The third stage is endless, and it only gets faster.  No matter how far we go, it will catch us. There’s no way out.  There’s no ‘winning.’  There’s only… Game over.”  

Marinette pursed her lips.

“There must be something.”

He started climbing again.

“Naturally.  If I believed the situation were hopeless, I would already have given up.”

“Then, if it’s endless…?”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir have presumably already shown up.  Usually, this means we will should be saved within… 20 minutes, maximum.”

She was playing an endless game, and if she lost it… If she even slipped, it was game over.

Just like it had been for Adrien.

Worse, the only ‘way out,’ Max had, was…

Her.

And she was trapped just as much as he was.

She stopped, as she realized that the layout had changed.

This had to be stage one.

It was… Exactly like Max had described.

The jump pads, the more dangerous platforming.

She froze.

Exactly like Max had described.

This was his dream.

Things here worked exactly like he thought they should.

Then…  She had a choice.

“Max?”

Max looked back at her from the jump pad, where he’d been about to jump.

“You can’t save your progress in this game, right?”

“No, of course not. Every run is from the beginning.”

“So… If you quit the game, you… lose whatever run you were on?”

He adjusted his glasses, and took a breath.

“Marinette, I know what you’re thinking.  It’s too much of a risk.”

“Is it?  This is your dream, Max.  It’s up to you whether it’s a risk or not.”

“And…” He grimaced.  “I don’t know.  The character dies.  The player doesn’t.  We’re both of them, right now.  It’s infinitely safer to trust that Ladybug and Chat Noir will arrive soon than to risk your life to avoid climbing.”

Marinette pursed her lips. She hadn’t said it, but…

“I came in here with Adrien,” she said.

He pulled in a breath, and looked down.

“I see.”

She pulled away.

“Good luck, Max.  I just… I need to know.”

“Luck isn’t…” he sighed. “Good luck, Marinette.”

She turned away from him, but could still hear him climbing again behind her.

Well…

Either she was right, or… Or she wasn’t.

The sludge oozed worryingly beneath her, purple and toxic.

Here went…

Nothing.

She leaped, and this time, she wasn’t aiming for a platform.

--

Though he hadn’t been able to tell Marinette, Adrien had gotten the chance to feel the emotions of the fake Chat Noir.

It had felt like…

Like a beginner playing the piano.

The melody was there, plucked out with one finger, but the rest of it was silent.

And what he felt… It felt like someone trying very hard to be Chat Noir.

Strange, that.

This Akuma could easily have made them secretly villainous, or… Or even openly villainous.

But it hadn’t.

And… Adrien was trying very hard to concentrate on figuring out why that was the case, in the vain hopes that it would keep his mind off of… Off of…

“Adrien,” said his father, “are you even paying attention?”

I— he mouthed, but no sound came out.  Not even the bare whispered he’d managed before.

At first, his father had called him in to talk about how he’d clearly been missing his piano practices, then about his grades were slipping, and now…

“Well?  Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He was standing in the atelier, too far away for it to be personal, but too close for him to pretend that this wasn’t directed at him.

I can’t speak, he tried to say, but of course…

“Disgraceful.”

Father, please, I’m—

“This is exactly why I believed that putting you into a public school was a poor choice.”

No, I’m trying to—

“Standing there, gaping like a fish.  I have no doubt you’d tell them all about how amusing it was to make me angry.”

That’s not—  I’m not—

“Well, you won’t.”

He froze.

What?

“I placed a bare modicum of trust in you, Adrien, and I see now… It was misplaced.”  He took a deep breath, disgust etched into his features. “From this day forward, you will no longer attend—

He stopped.

“Oh,” came a voice, as Adrien saw a shadow pass by his foot.

Marinette?

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You are an aspiring fashion designer with a great deal of potential.  I recommend you leave now, before I am forced to have you removed.”

He turned, to see her stiff and worried, but as their eyes met, even he, with his poor eye for it, could make out the relief.

She had to have been worried.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have to make sure he’s okay.”

He felt a pang of fear as she said it, because-

“That is none of your concern.  I am his father.  And you are…?”

At the long silence, he turned, to see her pale.

“I’m his friend,” she said, finally.

“A ‘friend’ who has illegally entered my house, and is actively challenging me is not a friend that Adrien should have.”

You don’t get to decide who my friends are!  he tried to say, but…

“I believed you might have been better than the rest of them, but now…  I believe I may have to remove you from his life.  I will not have bad influences affecting him.”

“I…  You…”  she was slipping, now.

They’d exited one nightmare, only to enter another.

There was no Ladybug coming to save them, nor any Chat Noir.

But…

There was a slamming sound, from beyond the door, like stomping feet.

The door slammed open, rattling the hinges.

“What do you think you’re doing in my—

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Changeling Loyalties: Chapter 5

Up All Night

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do? Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

~~~~

Toby liked the Three Rules of Trollhunting far more than the Changeling Code, he decided as he and Jim climbed slowly up the crystal stairs. They were much more straightforward and pretty much boiled down to: stay alert, don’t start fights you don’t want to finish and hit where it hurts.

They reached the top of the stairs and Jim pulled out the horngazel Blinky had given him. Toby stared at it longingly. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to take one apart and see how it worked. The troll’s tools seemed to generally consist of a magic stone or crystal of some variety powering a set of runes. Toby, as a very low ranking changeling, had never really gotten the clearance to know more.

“Toby?”

He blinked and quickly closed his mouth. Jim was giving him a curious look.

“Sorry,” He said with a sheepish smile. “I zoned out.”

Jim nodded and turned back to the rock wall in front of them. Toby watched with fascination as he drew the arch and opened the portal. 

“That is so the bomb…”

Jim grinned as he pulled on his mask.

“I know right?”

He stepped through the portal and Toby followed. The glowing blue energy had a soothing welcoming feel, unlike the chaotic electric touch of the Fetch.

Jim slipped the horngazel into his shoulder bag and re-adjusted his mask.

“I really need to master that helmet soon,” He grumbled.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta have something to wear for next Halloween… At least you don’t randomly get stuck in your armor anymore.”

“I suppose so,” Jim sighed.

They begin to make their way back up the embankment to where they had stashed their bikes.

“It’s too bad we can’t use this for gym class credit,” Toby said, rubbing at his sore arms. “That was definitely worth a couple weeks.”

Blinky was no lightweight as far as training went. He made Coach Lawrence look like a softy. 

Additionally while he did give them instruction, he seemed to be the type who believed in learning on the job. As a result they were doing a lot of running for their lives. Or at least that’s what it felt like. If it wasn’t for the way he listened to Toby’s concerns and would occasionally give one of them a caring pat on the arm or back, he might have thought the troll was trying to kill them off.

His train of thought was cut off by Jim’s amulet letting out a sharp ping. They both glanced at it. 

“What’s it doing…”

Something large and black hurtled into them. At the exact moment it struck Jim, the amulet released a concussive burst of light flinging both Toby and their assailant away from him. Toby rolled and came up on his feet. He quickly made sure his cloak was still properly covering him, before looking up.

He froze.

It was Bular. The large black troll was pulling himself out of the bushes were the light had just flung him.

Toby quickly ran over to Jim, who was also getting up.

“Come on, J- Trollhunter, time to run,” He hissed urgently.

Jim looked up and saw Bular, who was up and charging them again, let out a yelp and bolted, Toby on his heels. There was no way they were going to be able to outrun Bular and he was between them and their bikes.

“Come on! Come on! Through the trees!” 

The trees did slow him down but not quite as much as Toby had hoped. The Dark Prince crashed through them, snapping decades old timber like it was toothpicks. In a minute they reached the end of the woods. There was nothing but open space between them and the houses.

Jim stopped.

Toby skidded to a halt a moment after.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll hold him off,” Jim said, shoulders tense. “You get to safety.”

“No!” Toby snapped. “Are you crazy?! If you’re fighting, I’m fighting.”

He pulled the ax off his back and moved to stand beside Jim. He could feel himself shaking. He wondered if the pendent masked the scent of his fear.

“Toby…”

There was no more time for discussion. Bular was upon them. Jim dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding getting his head, or at least his mask, removed. Toby took advantage of the moment and brought his ax down on Bular’s outstretched arm.

The troll roared and whipped back around to slam him into a tree. His vision flickered for a moment. Jim let out a yell and Toby struggled to stand up. His head throbbed abominably and he cursed his weak fleshy body. If he was in his other form…

That was it!

With the cloak on no one could see what he looked like. He wasn’t shaped much differently as a troll. For once his small size was to his advantage.

He waited until Jim had Bular distracted before transforming. As he hoped, the cloak blocked most of the orange yellow glow. His teeth were sharp in his mouth as he grinned and charged forward, head no longer ringing.

The blow he landed on Bular elicited a roar. The troll turned around with a snarl and drew both of his swords. Toby whimpered, his ears pinning back under his mask.

He managed to bring up his ax just in time to block a slash that would have decapitated him. Bular leaned into it forcing him to the ground. In human form Toby would have been done for but, as it was, he was still way outmatched. Bular’s rancid breath made Toby’s hackles go up. He smelled of blood, both fresh and old.

There was a flash of blue as Jim attempted to land a blow on Bular’s back, but the troll must have heard it coming. He brought up his other sword and used the push-through of the motion to throw the human off. Jim bounced hard when he hit the ground but managed to struggle back to his feet. A few more hits like that and he wouldn’t be able to. They needed to get out of here quickly.

Toby took advantage of Bular’s distraction with Jim to roll out from under Bular’s sword. The troll made a grab for him and he narrowly dodged out of the way. His foot caught in something and he went down hard.

He glanced down, it was an old sewage pipe. Toby’s face split into a grin.

“J- Trollhunter!” Toby yelled. “Copy me!”

Toby swung his ax into the ground as hard as he could and the pipe began to crumble. Jim must have heard him because he immediately did the same with his sword.

Except that when Jim did it, Daylight released a flash of violent blue energy. 

Toby scrambled quickly away from the light. The pipe broke open with a crash and Bular dropped into the ground. The troll’s eyes widened for a moment then narrowed with fury as he struggled to free himself.

“I will skin you and use your hides to stuff your entrails,” He roared.

“Now we run,” Toby said.

Jim nodded rapidly.

They made it about half way across the field before a louder roar caused Toby to glance back. Bular was free and once again in pursuit.

This was complete bushigal. Jim was starting to flag and Toby, still in troll form, had to slow down to not lose him.

He cursed again under his breath. If Bular caught them now, in the open field, they were toast.

Before he could even try to figure out what to do something slammed into them from the right.

Toby barely managed to hold back a snarl as he was flung into the air and landed on something…

Fluffy?

It was Aaarrrgghh!

He dug his fingers into the giant’s fur and quickly switched forms. They needed to be able to move as fast as possible so it was a risk he had to take. Beside him, Jim scrambled for purchase. Toby didn’t think he had noticed.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Toby yelled as he clung to the troll. “But what are you doing here?”

“Was worried,” Aaarrrgghh said, his voice sending vibrations through Toby’s stone. “Hold on.”

They shot through the rest of the field into the suburbs. Passing dimly lit and darkened houses. In one yard a tall black haired man stared in shock as they passed by. Toby cringed at the blatant violation of his training, but there was no time for subtlety. Hopefully he would have the sense to not say anything.

Soon they were in the main part of the city, Aaarrrggh dodged from side to side as Bular began throwing things at them.

Eventually they managed to lose him. Aaarrrgghh stopped by a dumpster.

“Down. now,” he panted. “Will lead him away.”

“Will you be okay?” Toby asked fearfully, Jim’s body language mirroring his.

“Yes,” The troll grinned. “Quicker alone. See you later.���

He stayed long enough for a fist bump and then bolted.

Toby and Jim jumped behind a dumpster just before Bular went by. 

~~~~

It was a long tense walk home. Toby and Jim had decided to wait until morning to retrieve their bikes. Toby almost wanted to weep for joy when he saw their little corner of the suburb.

Unfortunately for him, his night wasn’t quite over yet. The moment they came to a stop in front of their houses, Toby’s phone pinged. He pulled it out and grimaced.

“Who is it?” Jim asked automatically, leaning over his shoulder to look. “A solicitor huh?”

“Yeah, I should probably stop filling out all those free-prize things,” Toby said, tucking his phone back into his pocket. It was just as he suspected.

“So do you want to…” Jim started to ask.

“Sorry,” Toby cut him off before he could finish. “I got to go. I promised Nana I’d…” His brain scrambled for the first excuse it could find. “I’d help her with her dentures.”

Wow, good one Dumbzalski, He thought sarcastically.

“Okay…” Jim gave him a bit of a strange look, which was really quite understandable, then looked away for a moment and rubbed at his neck. “I guess it was a bit of a long night. We should get some sleep.”

He glanced back at Toby again and offered him a little half-smile that made Toby’s heart twinge for some reason.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Toby said.

~~~~

Toby wrapped his ax and cloak in the scent masking pendent and then hid them in the shed. The goblins almost never went in there because they didn’t like some of the chemicals Nana used on their garden.

He glanced at his room and noted the light was on. It hadn’t been on when he left.

He crept quietly into the house and up the stairs. The door was open a crack. He peered in and felt his shoulders relax, it was his goblins. Three of them were sitting in a circle playing Candy Land. Hopefully they wouldn’t eat any of the cards this time. He opened the door and entered.

Kracka was the first to turn to look. He gave Toby a smirk and nodded. Min glanced at him for a moment before turning back to glare at the board with half lidded eyes. Foon on the other hand, threw down the dice it was holding and darted over to Toby to clamber up his back and onto his left shoulder.

“Woah there,” He yelped. “Watch the claws.”

Kracka shot the younger goblin a glare and it lowered its head and quickly shifted to Toby’s right shoulder. Kracka relented.

Toby glanced around the room.

“Is Bob here tonight too?”

Kracka nodded and poked something behind him. A blearily head poked out the sheets. The goblin’s eyes shifted slowly around the room before landing on Toby.

Hi Bob, He signed.

She nodded at him and gave a little half salute before settling back down.

With greetings out of the way, Kracka offered Toby the yellow gingerbread man. Toby sighed and shook his head.

“Sorry guys I’d love to join you but I have cleaning duty tonight.”

He had their attention at that. Bob glanced at them and then at Toby. He signed Clean-up to her. Her eyes brightened with interest.

Kracka tossed his board game piece aside and then scrambled up onto Toby’s left shoulder.

“Coming along huh?”

Kracka grinned and nodded.

“Okay.”

Kracka and Foon jumped over the crackle of light as Toby shifted. He patted around checking to make sure he still had his mask and hammer on him. Good. They were both there. Wouldn’t do to go to anything involving other changelings without them. He set the mask to the side before switching back and grabbing a nondescript dark-grey hoodie from his closet along with his backpack. Kracka and Foon crawled into the backpack as Toby put on his hoodie. Bob climbed up his leg and into the front pocket.

“Are you coming?” He asked Min.

Min shook its head and crawled up onto Toby’s bed. It turned a couple circles before curling up into the blankets.

“Suit yourself,” He said with a shrug.

Time to go.

~~~~

Toby glanced around anxiously as he waited at the bus stop and pulled his hood up over his mask. After a short wait, a bus with the route number 2 pulled up.

“Are you sure you have the right route, kid?” The driver, an elderly Chinese man with a chip missing from his ear, asked.

“Does this bus stop between today and tomorrow?” Toby responded, flashing his eyes.

The driver flashed his eyes back.

“Show your pass.”

Toby opened the link on the ‘spam’ text and held it up to the scanner. There was a soft ping and the driver closed the door.

Toby scrambled to find a seat as the bus pulled away from the station. Fortunately there were only six other people tonight. All wore nondescript clothing like Toby. One nodded at him as he passed but the rest ignored him.

The ride was short and quiet, the bus pulled to a stop in the center of the trail of destruction Bular had created. The other changelings disembarked from the bus, Toby following carefully behind them.

A stocky light skinned woman was waiting for them. Unlike the other changelings she wore no mask, her square scar-crossed face on display. Toby had met Alfhild a few times before. She worked full time for the Janus Order; she had no cover and therefore no need to protect her identity. Her blue-white eyes watched them sharply as they approached, before she grinned a toothy smile and clapped her hands together.

“Excellent,” She said, voice entirely too loud for the late night street. “You’re all here. This is just a quick cover-up job. Make it look like the damage is from a drunk driver. If all goes well we’ll be home in time to get some good sleep… Or hit the bars before they close.”

With that she started addressing the individual changelings.

“997, 1176, you’re both in the woods tonight. Cover any of our Dark Prince’s tracks. Make it look like someone was doing some illegal logging. You will be using the truck I brought.”

The two changelings nodded and left.

“1607 retrieve any security footage you can find regarding the culprits and clean the tapes.”

Toby felt a pulse of fear. Sure he and Jim had worn their disguises but what if…

“1870.” Toby snapped to attention at his number. “1223 You two are in charge of covering claw marks and making sure anything that can’t be passed off as car damage is unrecognizable. Your tools are inside the undercarriage of the bus.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Kracka popped out of Toby’s pack with a disappointed grumble, drawing Alfhild’s attention. Toby tensed as she approached. She might have been only about five feet, but she had a much bigger presence.

“You brought Goblins?”

Kracka and Foon climbed out onto Toby’s shoulders, he felt Bob stir in his pocket.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Excellent, I have a job for them later. Bring them by when you’re done.”

 ~~~~

Toby and the other changelings made quick work of the trail of destruction. The Janus Order generally tried to leave as much work as they could to the city. Only taking care of anything that might draw suspicion to their cause.

“You had a job for the goblins Ma’am?” Toby asked moving back to stand before Alfhild.

Kracka perked up and grinned at her. She reached into her pocket, pulled something out and tossed it to him. The goblin caught it and Toby craned his neck to see what it was. It was a set of car keys.

“They get to crash a car.”

Kracka whooped and scrambled down Toby’s side to wake Bob, Foon hot on his heels. They were always down for some vandalism and chaos. Toby watched apprehensively as they bounded off to get into the, no doubt stolen, car. Hopefully they would survive the crash fine.

The other changelings returned settling down as safe distance away from the road as the goblins began revving up the vehicle.

“And they’re off.”

The car screeched down the road, careening off lamp-posts and stop signs as the goblins hollered and waved in excitement. Toby waved back as they went by, tensing when they shot directly toward a small flower shop.

The car crumpled when it slammed into the wall, taking out the window and some of the brickwork. Smoke billowed from its engine.

“Aaaand that’s a wrap,” Alfhild said, turning back toward the watching changelings. “Back into the bus with you all. Chop. Chop. I’ve got just enough time to make it to L.A before sunrise and I’m not wasting it.”

The other changelings obeyed, all too ready to head home, but Toby waited anxiously. The car door slammed open and he relaxed as three green forms emerged. They were a little charred, but all in all unharmed.

“Come on guys,” Toby said holding out his arm, the goblins scrambled up, resuming their usual places.

He turned back around, ready to head to the bus and found Alfhild watching him. He tensed slightly before forcing himself to act casual.

“Are planning to become a goblin trainer?” She asked, watching him with a slight tilt to her head.

“Maybe…” He said not wanting to show his attachment. Though now that he thought about it…

“Hmmm,” She nodded and then dismissed him.

He darted back to the bus.

~~~~

~~~~

Chapter notes:

Toby gets his first clean-up duty. The next one won't be quite as nice.

On the goblins' pronouns: In this story the goblins are genderless, so they are using pronouns to designate position. (Partially because I used he for Kracka in the first chapter and don't feel like correcting it) Swarm leader(s): They/them Offensive specialized: He/him Defensive specialized: She/her Unspecialized/generic address: it If the goblin changes specialization its pronouns will change accordingly.

I am trying to be better about describing people so be sure to let me know how I'm doing. I will appreciate any tips.

[lothirielswan]

“A Cinnamon Roll Burnt in the Oven, Seething with Inner Fury.” [2]

Quest Objective: Survive Irony.

~Krasarang Wilds~

“Wow…” I couldn't help but gaze up at our new surroundings. Our wild boat ride was days ago, followed by journeying with merchants and courtiers. We ended up in a much deeper jungle tainted with salty air from the nearby ocean. The tree bark was darker and the leaves an even deeper hue of green–like emeralds sewn together.

I ducked back into one of the bamboo huts where Anduin sat, studying scrolls that described the unique place. He seemed truly fascinated by it all–our curiosity had taken us far.

I sat across from Anduin and smiled. He glanced up and returned the gesture shyly. I had spent a lot of time mulling over our new surroundings, but I still knew very little about Anduin. He was respectful, reserved, and a whole new mystery.

“So...the light is your thing?” I asked Anduin as I watched for a reaction. He had used light magic a few more times on our journey–I was impressed by how scholarly he was.

He rolled up his current scroll and set it to the side. “Yes, and the shadows are yours?”

“Nah, it's more of a hobby,” I joked with a smirk as I held up my head with my hands. I peered at my new companion curiously. “Why the light?”

“I heard it's calling a long time ago. It's not the life my father wanted for me,” Anduin’s stare was downcast when he mentioned his father. I hadn't connected the dots there yet, but it seemed like a complicated relationship–I could understand that.

“Why is the Horde after you–? If you don't mind me asking, I don't mean to pry,” He said. I still didn't know much about Anduin, but I did know he was the sweetest cinnamon roll I had ever met.

“No, no. I don't mind, it's a...number of things to be honest,” I admitted as pink overwhelmed my cheeks. “But mainly...I betrayed the Horde when they attacked Theramore. I had a friend on the other side...and it was an offensive attack. They weren't provoked or anything, it was slaughter for no reason.”

While no one on the Horde’s side favored my actions during the Theramore siege, that wasn't why Garrosh was ransacking the continent to hunt me down. That was true horror–

“I wish I could stop the war.” Anduin said abruptly. I snapped out of my thoughts and studied him as he said such a curious remark.

“I think we should strive for peace,” Anduin said wistfully as the birds and wildlife outside hummed in agreement. I was shocked that he would even think of stopping the war by himself. While it was a wild idea...I had a new respect for him. His belief saved my life twice. It seemed like everyone I knew was consumed by the raging worldwide feud...but not Anduin.

“That’s not a popular opinion...but it's a commendable one.” I replied. “I would support it.”

Anduin’s shoulders sprung up like I had breathed life back into his spirit. “You would?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Anduin fell quiet, but the silence wasn't awkward. The atmosphere was comfortable and more at ease. My gaze crept to his scrolls, “Did you find anything?”

“There’s not much I can make out,” Anduin admitted as he unfurled one of the scrolls and the parchment covered the table. I stood and leaned over his shoulder as I studied the unique markings.

“The pandaren language is ancient, and this continent dates back hundreds of years. There have been wars and feuds…” Anduin trailed off as his fingers traced the ink lines.

“That's Azeroth,” I shrugged. I tucked my hair behind my ear to keep it out of my face.

“Very old sayings too,” Anduin said. “ ‘Some losses are valuable, and some wins are worthless.’ Hmm. Wonder what that means...”

I don't. I eat cookies and I pay the price. It's a dark world.

“I heard some of the locals speak of a temple farther west–Temple of the Red Crane. If we go there, we might find more answers.” Anduin paused. “If you’d like to come, of course.”

I thought about it for a moment. The more I knew about this continent, the better–the more chance I had of outrunning Garrosh.

Besides...Anduin’s really nice, and the only person I know on this land mass.

“Of course,” I nodded. “When do we leave?”

~*~

We passed rows of massive pillars decorated with red markings as we peered into the darkened entrance. My ears twitched as I heard the faint crickle of parchment turning.

“Hello.”

I had already faced the newcomer while Anduin was still turning. The pandaren–the fluffy bear-like race that occupied the new continent–offered us a simple bow. “Welcome. What can I do for you?”

I stepped away as Anduin chatted with him, scanning the grounds. Students started to appear, paying homage to the shrines across the property.

No Garrosh yet...I don't know if that's a good sign or not.

“–Eona, would you like to join us?”

I looked back at Anduin, the excitement clear on his face. I smiled shyly and bowed to our greeter, “With respect, do you mind if I look around?”

“Of course,” The pandaren replied in a deep, warm voice. “May you find what you seek.”

The pair vanished into the open mouth of the temple, swallowed up by smoke from incense. While I admired Anduin’s search for answers in books, I needed a little more than that.

So I walked the grounds. I chatted with some of the students, asked them about the continent. They barely knew of the Alliance or the Horde, and gazed at me like I was walking figment of their imagination.

I stared up at the deep green hues of the trees. Then I felt it. It.

A sharp sting erupted in the back of my head, followed by a vibration down to the very tips of my fingers. It was there all the time, but easily ignored unless it intensified.

I tensed as I studied my surroundings. Most of my kind put their faith in magic, while I put mine in the “sixth sense” I was stuck with.

There.

My eyes flit to the temple.

Anduin.

The unsteady feeling grew as I was drawn back to the red-roofed building. It looked glorious in all it's innocence and naivety that I suddenly doubted. The huge domed walls within picked up my light footsteps and echoed them across the dark tavern.

In the stoned quarters, many sat around those who stood and spoke. My eyes landed on the bright yellow tunic of Anduin easily and rushed to his side.

“Would you like to join us?” He whispered, scooting over on his mat.

I hated what I had to do next, but I had to be firm. “Anduin, I think we need to leave.”

Anduin’s blond eyebrows creased. “What? Why?”

I didn't have time to explain my weird gift. “I need you to trust me. Something isn't right here–”

I flinched and looked up at a loud bang. Everyone glanced at a flushed pandaren who had accidentally dropped a scroll, and the paper rolled across the stone floor.

“Is this about the Horde? They won’t find you here, I’ll protect you,” Anduin promised as adrenaline steadily rose in my veins.

“You’re adorable,” I muttered and grabbed his hand. Anduin reluctantly rose to his feet, and whispered apologies to the teacher as we passed. I felt horrible for dragging him away, but I couldn't risk losing the one person I knew on this continent.

“Eona, I promise you, everything is fine,” Anduin’s voice finally rose to a normal volume when we were outside the temple. The sting in the back of my head eased slightly, but it hadn't melted away yet. I descended the steps with Anduin in tow.

“Eona.”

Anduin finally stopped at the bottom of the steps. He wasn't moving another inch.

“I'm sorry,” I said, grasping for an explanation that made me sound less like I had lost my sanity. “I just...I have a really bad feeling about this.”

Anduin’s cinnamon roll instincts kicked in as he lightly took my hands and looked into my eyes with a twinkle in his. “Eona, everything is alright. It couldn't be more safe here.”

As if to spite him, the ground roared as it cracked open and screams soon followed.

Cookies eaten. Price paid.

~*~

“I'm not going to say I told you so.” I said quietly as we looked out at the ocean. The Temple of the Red Crane was demolished by the earth itself. Flashes of the darkness that crawled out of the ground and assaulted the temple flew through my mind. One of the few that survived called it the “Sha.” Perhaps Garrosh’s rage wasn't the only threat on the continent.

After dealing with the catastrophe, we fled south to the beach. Anduin sat next to me on the white sand and hadn’t said a word.

“I'm sorry I dragged you away like I did. I'm sorry you didn't get more time at the temple,” I hugged my knees to my chest as I temporarily closed my eyes and soaked in the soft crash of the waves.

“I'm not angry with you, Eona. You know that, don't you?”

I opened one eye and peeked at Anduin. “Really? You’ve been sitting here like a cinnamon roll burnt in the oven, seething with inner fury.”

A coral-colored crab waddled by, snapping it's pincers as it went. Anduin shifted in the sand towards me. “You saved my life, I thank you for that. I’ve just been thinking...about the saying I found before we left. If this is a loss, how is it valuable?”

“Hmm.” I rested my chin on my knees as I thought. “Well, you’re alive. Both of us are, contrary to my mom’s belief. And we learned that reality can suddenly snap and try to kill everyone. That's a good thing to know.”

A low, hearty chuckle escaped Anduin. “And we have a marvelous view.”

I grunted as I stood up from the warm blanket of sand and offered Anduin my hand. “We should enjoy it.”

Anduin stared at my hand like it was one of the scrolls from the temple, and took it. We abandoned our shoes and my toes sank into the moist sand. The orange glow of the sunset made Anduin’s skin gleam like the sand as we walked side by side. Sometime during the walking and talking, Anduin lifted me up and spun around with me in circles like we were five and I didn't mind at all.

Perhaps there is value in loss after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hello Awesome Adventurers! Thank you for reading, I apologize for the weird schedule of posting chapters, I’ll have to work on that. But I hope you have an awesome day, fortune and glory for all!!

Continue the journey to the next chapter here!

Not sure where you are? Check the Caverns of Time for more chapters!

[azealiax]

Ignorance Is Bliss Part 3

“Maybe there is such a thing as destiny. Some things are meant to happen, no matter how many times you rewind.”

Hope you like. :))))

Lawrence was behind this.

That Thomas thought as he rushed himself and Newt down the street in hope of finding shelter from the building that was raining down at them.

Lawrence did this. As revenge. He had every reason to be pissed- Thomas had seen the state of the rebel city. It was bad. His only question was why the jerk would do it when the Gladers were still inside. Thomas breathed heavily as he made onward.

Lawrence needed his Bliss, right? Thomas was his key. Unless the crank had stopped caring at all.

Some part of Thomas wanted to think about Lawrence’ motif, but it wasn’t the time to dwell. There were other things claiming Thomas’ thoughts at the moment, and quite frankly: Lawrence and his reasons could go to hell for all he cared. It wasn’t the time.

Right now, they had to find shelter. Behind the boys was a rainfall of smaller rocks, and Thomas was not stupid enough to try to outrun the heavier rains that would soon be upon them. Thousands of rocks hit the ground, filling their ears to the brim with the noise.

He searched with his eyes, trying to keep them from watering, for somewhere to take cover. They needed a place strong enough to hold the larger pieces falling of the building.

But there was nothing of the sort in sight, and panic was making its way through Thomas already. He heard the impact of the increasingly larger rubble hitting the ground around them.

They stumbled on until finally, something appeared in his line of vision that could be of help. It would not hold off any of the debris, but… Thomas put more strength into his steps, and lead Newt further to his right.

Parked not fifty metres away was a car, a van, abandoned in the lot.

The boys tried their best to run. Even Newt kept to himself, kept calm. He let out an admittedly alarming gurgle, but seemed to understand enough to run along as best as he could. Their pace was slow, but still quicker than it had been before they had collapsed nearby.

As they made their way forward, Thomas tried to ignore how the sounds grew louder with the size of the pieces crashing down. Still the stressing noise did not drown the screams that echoed.

Thomas could only imagine all the innocent subjects lying dead in the rubble. Innocents falling from the sky. How could Lawrence and his men be so careless? They, if anyone, should know what it was liked to be killed like they didn’t deserve a life.

Reaching the door felt like they were saved, when in fact staying there might just postpone the inevitable. He managed to get the slide-door at it’s side to open, still supporting the weight of his friend.

Thomas pushed Newt into the van, and crammed himself in after. It was a small space, but enough for two to sit in the backseat. However, Thomas would not be sitting in the backseat, he had to get them out of here. Thomas would be driving.

First, he had to make sure Newt could stay calm. Currently, he was sagging in the seat beside him, tired from the sprint and seemed too out of shape to do any harm for the moment. Thomas decided to take his chance and climb over his friend, towards the driver's seat, despite the knife still lodged in his hand.

Outside the van it was raining debris, if they were going to make a break for it, it had to be now. Newt let out a low groan, and Thomas hoped it was not out of pain but maybe some sort of agreement as he made his way towards him.

Stupidly, Thomas had made it so he had to stretch over his friend in order to get to the driver’s seat. But there was no time to move him. Neither was there time to doubt Thomas nonexistent knowledge in driving. No time.

“Newt stay still, please. Please.” Thomas whispered soothingly as he climbed, hovering above the boy.

Newt stayed still, but the car didn't.

Some larger piece of stone jolted the van to its side, stealing the ground from beneath their feet.

The motion made Thomas fly into the air, losing his footing. Before he knew it, his head slammed into the car door and the world swam before his eyes.

He felt himself land on this stomach on something comfortably soft, and before he’d opened his eyes he supposed it was the seat cushion. He opened his eyes.

Thomas had landed, with full force, onto Newt.

His friend was lodged beneath him, pushed into the car seat. He felt his cold sweat returning as he came to a conclusion.

Newt hadn’t moved. He hadn’t let out a vicious scream, hadn’t taken the opportunity to attack. It was as if he didn’t even recognise the pain he had to feel.

As terror rose in his stomach, Thomas found that there was an ache at his chest, where something sharp poked at him. As carefully as he could, he rolled off his friend, knocking into the side, trying to get a better look. Newt remained still, and despite the darkness of having dust cloud the windows, he saw it.

The knife. The knife was jutting out of Newt’s chest. Somehow, it had gotten squished between them when they were thrown in the air. Newt’s fingers still clutched the shaft loosely.

The world slowed, and Thomas knew it wasn't for the blood that ran down his own forehead. Dead. His thoughts echoed.

He couldn't breathe. Was this what he was doomed to do? By saving a friend, he lost another? Whatever he did someone got hurt. And now Newt would be...

No, Thomas decided. No. This was a lie. The image before him, just a dream, a nightmare. It wasn’t real.

Newt was not lying beneath him, a blade in his heart. No. He was not dead, not dying. He wasn’t. He was still there, about to wake. Thomas sat, clenching his hands to his own chest, eyes wide. Thomas just had to wait. Everything is going to be fine. It’s ok. It’s ok.

He started repeating the words. “It’s ok. It’s ok.” Soon he didn’t know if it was to soothe himself or Newt.

“It’s ok…”

But looking down at Newt again, Thomas knew it wasn’t ok.

His arms had slackened, laying haphazardly on the seat. His friend didn’t seem to mind that his back was in an awkward position, tall as he was. Didn’t seem to know that the world had tilted with the van. That everything had gone crooked. Wrong.

Soon, Thomas felt the tears.

He was crying, silently, and he covered his face with his hands, even though droplets of blood slipped between his fingers. He didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care.

Was he going to have to walk and talk and live, knowing that this death was his fault? He’d lost people before, and the weight of those deaths was already killing him. But losing Newt… Thomas couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine how he’d have to tell Minho how it happened.

Newt was his anchor, he kept him sane. A world where Newt wasn't there didn't seem possible, yet here he was. And a world where he was responsible of the death… he couldn't live in that world. Wouldn’t.

His hands dropped to his side and he forced himself to look at Newt, and suddenly, the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard erupted from his seemingly dead friend.

A cough, and a moan of pain.

Blackened blood gushed out over Newt’s lips, but the slight movement gave Thomas a dangerous shard of hope. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead.

The shock of Newt’s movement got Thomas away from his increasingly depressing thoughts. He did care, he thought, breathing shallowly. Care if Newt’s last words were “I’m sorry Tommy.” before he had reached for Thomas’ gun. He cared enough to make sure they would not end on that.

Leaving sadness for fury, Thomas straightened. He would be damned if he wasn't going to do something. He looked around frantically, anywhere but at Newt. Looking, searching for something to bring him back.

Thomas didn't know much about wounds, but enough to know that if a knife had gone so deep, retracting it could be fatal. It was blocking the blood.

So what could he do? He couldn’t tend to the wound, Newt would be dead within a minute of him trying to do so. He had to wait for someone else to do it. His thoughts quickly wandered to Minho with the serum, thinking on what had happened to him as the building collapsed. He had to imagine he was still put there, searching. Otherwise Newt and him… Both would be dead by morning.

Thinking again about Minho made his cold sweat break out in the back of Thomas’ neck. What happened to him when WCKD was demolished? (Only now did Thomas realise that most of the noise had passed.) What about Brenda? He desperately needed a confirmation that they were alive, and his hand went to his belt, where a walkie-talkie was supposed to be lodged. But he knew even before he’d reached for it, that the thing had been left outside, forgotten in the hurry.

Newt coughed again, and wriggled where he laid. Thomas snapped back to reality, and looked at his friend.

“If Minho finds us, you are going to have to be alive.” He whispered. “I don’t know what to do, Newt. But you are going to be alive when he finds us.”

Without knowing what to look for, Thomas observed their environment. The van was at its side, tilted in a 30 degree angle. The windows at his sides were all blocked by some sort of debris, jammed. The only remaining source of light came from the front window that was uncovered. But there was no view out. He prayed that you could see the car at all beneath the junk.

Newt was laying at the bottom of the slope, the door wedged shut by the angle. Trying to open the opposite one would risk something falling on top of him.

They were stuck. Their hopes of getting out rested solely on top of the remaining Gladers’ shoulders.

Thomas’ head shot to the front seat and his mind spinned. He steadied himself, leaning on the wall as he felt a slight nausea. He had hit his head during the fall, he remembered. But Newt’s injury was more urgent than his, anyway.

He breathed for a minute, then looked back to the driver’s seat, leaning in to get better access. Stretching as far as he could, he managed to get the glove box open. He searched for a first aid-kit without much aim, and didn’t find any.

Yet in the far corner there seemed to be some kind of vial lodged. As he got his hand around it, bringing it into the vague light, Thomas realised it was a syringe.

After his previous encounters with syringes the sight made Thomas cringe, but as he read the inscription he had to stifle a gasp of joy.

This was a version of Bliss. He twisted the syringe to read on. For what felt like the first time in his life, Thomas was solely happy to see the letters W C K D plastered onto an object.

It couldn’t help with Newt’s wound, he knew. It wouldn’t save him from bleeding out, but if there was anything Thomas wanted other than that, it was too see Newts eyes clear before he died.

He leaned back in over to Newt. This amount of Bliss could hold the Flare off for a little, Thomas hoped.

It was selfish or him to expose his friend to the possibility of more pain. It was selfish, but Thomas couldn’t wait for Minho alone. He couldn’t wait knowing there was so many things left unsaid.

Feeling the oncoming guilt of his actions, Thomas gut twisted, but he kept still. Was it OK to stab his friend with a syringe produced by WCKD, knowing that if it worked Newt would again have to endure the pain?

It had to be, if it was a chance of life. Thomas had to do this for the possibility of Newt’s survival, however small it may be. He had to try.

Newt was still not moving, and for a second, Thomas worried he'd waited too long. But a small gurgle erupted and Thomas took it as a sign, bringing the syringe forward.

With shaking hands he readied it, he must have learned how in his years with WCKD, but at the time he didn't care how he knew, he just did.

“I'm trying to save you, if this hurts I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Newt.” Thomas whispered, attempting to keep his hands from shaking. “I had to.”

He plunged the syringe down, and with a sickening thud, it found its mark.

[the-rose-clad-demon-doctor]

Hellsing: Forest Fire Part 4

So, this is probably going to be the last update for a few days. Writing this chapter kicked my ass and, apart from a few plot points, I’m totally unsure of how to continue at the moment. I’ll probably be working on Part 5 sporadically throughout the week but hopefully I’ll have it up by Friday or Saturday.

Sunday morning. The Hellsing Organization and Wild Geese had been at full combat readiness for nearly two weeks. Full combat readiness meant constant patrols, each patrol shift pulling more than twelve hours constantly on watch. It was wearing on everyone. Normal humans simply weren’t meant to keep vigilant and alert for that kind of time each day.

        It was especially wearing on Claude. He hadn’t had an opportunity to really talk with Pip since their previous interaction. “One night zis week” got quickly pushed back to “Possibly next week.”

        More worrying to the blonde soldier, as he wandered the halls, was the effect the whole situation was having on Sir Integra. It had been at his urging that she hired the Wild Geese and pushed to fortify Hellsing Manor for what could be a siege situation. He had already passed by her door to hear her saying that she shouldn’t have listened to him. Claude knew it was just the stress, but that still stung.

        Which is why it almost came as a relief when, nearly sixteen days since the Wild Geese arrived, a spotter on the roof saw the buses pulling up at the front of the manor.

        Claude assumed his position in the ground floor. The mercenaries had taken positions up on the second storey, defiladed through the windows, with heavy machine gun nests set up at three points. The Hellsing troops had been spread throughout the manor, and Sir Integra and Walter took refuge in the basement.

        There was a brief moment of anticipation as two tall, lanky, very differently-dressed individuals walked up to the gatehouse, exchanging a brief word with the guards before opening fire.

        The whole world seemed to pause, as if taking a breath. Suddenly, it was like the gates of Hell itself opened up. Nearly a hundred guns throughout the mansion opened fire. The two men at the gates jumped, taken by surprise. They moved faster than anyone could possibly keep track of, scattering and moving out of the firing arcs of the mercenaries on the upper levels.

The buses accelerated, making a charge for the front door, tires tearing deep tracks in the ground. One of the buses suddenly split in half, torn to a hundred thousand pieces by an explosion as it rolled over an anti-tank mine. The remaining three buses slammed into the front façade of the mansion, breaking through the walls and sending soldiers scattering.

More explosions as the doors on the buses opened, spilling forth soldiers replete with riot shields, all crudely labeled with “Boo doo, people murder people.” The Hellsing soldiers hid behind barriers, but still found themselves falling under the crushing advance of the armored ghouls.

Squad 17 had been split across the first floor, not one member was within easy reach of each other. Claude had the good fortune to be placed near the stairwell, a half-dozen men and women under his direct order.

The radio on his hip crackled to life.

“This is Belmont, in temporary command of Squad 6! We’re falling back to the Southeast stairwell! All troops, masks on! Thunder Children, load your guns for area denial!”

Claude looked around as everyone around him snapped on simple painter’s breathers and goggles. “Area denial.”

The Karmina shotguns were of a large enough bore to launch custom grenades. These had been designed by Alucard and Walter in a joint venture to give humans weapons to make life very unpleasant for vampires and ghouls. A frangible outer shell made out of cold iron, boasting a very light explosive charge. The real meat of the grenades was their incredibly finely-powdered silver, each individual speck light enough to float on the softest breeze. Each grenade contained several hundred grams of this powdered silver.

As Squad 6 rounded the corner in full retreat, pursued by a charging formation of ghouls, Claude dutifully shouldered his gun and fired over the heads of his comrades-in-arms. The grenade rounds kicked more than usual, so his gun knocked the hell out of his shoulder. Its explosive projectile sailed high, smacking into the shield of one ghoul before bursting open in a flash of light.

It suddenly became much harder to see in the hallway as a million rays of light were reflected by the particulate silver floating in the air. The ghouls, clearly newly-turned, continued to breathe instinctively. That was their mistake, as they caught lungs full of powdered silver. As their lungs screamed in pain, their skin blistering from exposure to the precious metal, some dropped their shields. Some dropped their guns. All of the ghouls seized in pain. A lung full of silver wouldn’t be enough to kill a vampire, not even a ghoul, but it distracted them. Which was exactly what was necessary, as the Hellsing soldiers ripped the small crowd apart with concentrated fire.

The soldiers in that small hallway let out a cheer, but it was short-lived. The other sides of the Manor remained unsecured, a fact they were painfully reminded of as another member of Squad 17 called out over the radio that Squads 2 and 8 were wiped out.

One of the two lanky bastards from before the attack had broken in through an uncovered window in the back of the mansion and caught the two groups by surprise. His other tall associate had met up and charged together into the lower levels before splitting up again.

Integra, dead. Seras, dead. Alucard unable to save them. Pip dead. Claude unable to save him.

Claude gripped at his head, grabbing his radio, fury running through every vein in his body. He keyed the channel for the rest of the radios they used.

“This is… This is Claude Grey to all Hellsing soldiers and the Wild Geese mercenaries. Everyone on the second storey secure the stairwells at all costs! Don’t let any of those bastards up there! Level the fuckin’ stairwells with C4 if you have to! All forces on the first storey and below, do whatever you can to get to the basement! They’re aiming for Sir Integra!”

They’d probably be fine. But was he really going to risk it? He had a dinner date with Monsieur Bernadotte to look forward to. Integra was like a mother to him. Seras almost like a sister already.

I’ll be damned if some vampire asshole’s gonna take everything away from me again.

Everything had transpired over the course of a few seconds. Before anybody else had a chance to react to what he said, Claude bolted for the stairwell and stormed downstairs. Abandoning his command like this would earn him a royal chewing-out later, but he didn’t care. He knew the basement was shielded against radio transmissions. Even if Integra had a radio, she never would’ve heard what he said. He had to get there first, and one man could move a hell of a lot faster than seven.

The basement level of the Hellsing Manor was a labyrinth the likes of which would have made King Minos green with envy. It sprawled much farther out and much deeper than the already palatial mansion sitting aboveground. Twisting tunnels which doubled back, dozens of dead ends, fake doors, electronic shielding, all designed to hide the lowest dungeons and the deepest, darkest secrets of Hellsing and the Council of Twelve.

It was also where the vampire Alucard made his home, meaning it was somewhere Claude Grey rarely ventured.

He probably knew as much about the basement level as the vampires now trying to navigate their way to find Sir Integra.

Every corner had the potential to put him face-to-face with a being much more powerful than he was, much faster than he was, far harder to kill than he was.

He wasn’t particularly scared, not really. Dying was something he hadn’t been scared of in years. At the end of the day, Claude knew he was expendable. The Hellsing Organization would move on if he died, but Sir Integra was vital to their survival.

Claude was also fairly sure he was lost. Every corridor in the basement looked the same.

Voices came from the hallway to his left. The soldier hugged the wall and listened closely.

“You dumbass! Those cocksuckers were waiting for us and you knew it, didn’t you?!” How was he communicating with someone? That shouldn’t be possible. “I don’t give a shit what he told you or not! We walked into a trap you kraut fuck!”

Kraut?

Claude’s attention was taken as he heard further gunshots from down the hall to his right. That… That had to be where Integra was. He pushed away from the wall, breaking into a dead run, not caring about the noise he was making.

“Oh shit… Hey, come back here, asshole!”

Claude could hear the man behind him, footsteps moving far too fast for him to outrun. He reached to his battledress, grabbing a grenade. A flashbang. Just something to use as a distraction.

Claude pulled the pin, hearing the footsteps getting closer. After less than a second, he threw the grenade behind him and covered his ears. There was a tremendous BANG, amplified by the walls of the basement. It rattled every bone in his body, even shook his teeth. Even after covering his ears, they rang fiercely, he could scarcely hear.

A door at the end of the hallway stood open, and Claude could see the white-suited man from earlier seated against the wall, bloodied. The man turned to look at Claude, chest heaving from multiple bullet wounds. Alucard still stood, holding a gun aimed at the seated individual. He raised a second gun that Claude had never seen before. Under the ringing in his brain he could hear the vampire yelling.

“Get down!”

Claude dove for the floor, landing awkwardly on his gun. Oof. That was gonna bruise later.

There were further gunshots, though they barely registered through his already weakened hearing. He felt an impact as the vampire chasing him fell to the ground and slid along the floor.

The soldier panted, out of breath from the sprint. He clambered to his feet and trained the Karmina shotgun on the black tracksuited vampire on the ground.

“H… How’s it feel… Dickhead?”

Mr. White Suit turned, grunting. He coughed, blood spattering from his mouth.

“Jan… You should have left when I told you to…”

“Urgh… Sorry, big bro… Wasn’t gonna let you have all the fun. I wanted to take at least a few more of these assholes with us as payment for all the trouble.” Jan looked up at Alucard, and Integra as she emerged from the room behind him. “How’d you… Ungh… How’d you bitches know we were coming?”

“That’d be me.” Claude spoke, feeling vindictive. He stamped his foot on the bullet wound in Jan’s leg, prompting him to shout. “I heard you talking to your boss. Called him kraut?” He twisted his foot, digging in harder. “Let him know, it doesn’t matter what he does. I’ll see it coming. The Hellsing Organization will never let you win, whoever you are.”

Claude got a strange feeling as he said that. The little voice in the back of his head screamed at him. Jan laughed wickedly.

“Oh, trust me. He knows now.” The vampire sat up, flipping off Alucard and Integra. “He’s been listening to this entire conversation!”

Oh shit. DEFINITELY should not have said that.

“I’ll bet you wanna know who sent us, then! It was…” There was a flash of heat, catching everyone off guard as Jan and his brother erupted in flames. “M I L L E N N I U M…”

There was practically a chorus of “Millennium?” from Claude and Integra. Questions fresh in their heads, they emerged from the basement to find the ghoul army neatly cleaned up. Seras had left the basement from another stairwell as the two brothers went down, and began cleaning up the leftovers of their forces.

Hellsing had, despite their readiness, taken fierce casualties. Twenty-six killed, nearly forty injured, along with eight injured Wild Geese. Claude shuddered to imagine what would have happened if they were not as prepared as they were.

After a firm dressing-down by Integra for so recklessly running headlong into the basement and abandoning his command, Claude was allowed to rest. It was night-time by now.

Fully exhausted, he flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to strip out of his battledress, or even to put his gun away. The second his eyes closed, he was out.

There was a soft phump, then another. Claude’s eyes fluttered open slowly, unsure of how much time had passed. He looked to the source of the noise.

In the dim light of the room’s lamp, he could see a very short… Boy? Did he have… Cat ears? Claude’s eyes adjusted, and then widened as he another, much taller… Was that a woman? With a scythe? He quickly looked at the sleeping figure of his roommate. Blood… Blood on the walls.

The catboy turned to him, tittering quietly.

“Oh? You’re certainly qvite a heavy sleeper, nein?”

Without a second thought, Claude grabbed his sidearm and moved to fire it at the boy. But the woman was quicker. She was across the room before he could blink, and delivered a series of tremendous punches to his chest and stomach. Even through the bullet-resistant battledress, they knocked him utterly senseless. He gasped, struggling to breathe through the pain of what had to be several broken ribs. Thrown off balance by the impacts, Claude rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor and bringing his guns tumbling with him. Hitting the floor did nothing to alleviate the now eye-watering pain.

“Tsk… Vas zat really necessary, Obersturmführer Blitz?” The woman rolled her eyes, chomping down harder on the cigarette in her mouth.

“You vould razzer he shot you, zen? Or me, more importantly?”

Claude struggled, trying to lift his shotgun, but the catboy merely walked over and stepped a foot onto his chest, eliciting a gasp of pain.

“Ah-ah-ah… Now zat’s not wery nice.” The catboy picked up Claude’s shotgun with almost no effort. He wasn’t dying, but the pain of the Nazi Youth-dressed individual standing on his chest certainly made Claude wish he was dead.

“Mein leader visely decided to stop… How you say… pussy-footing around. If our plans vere getting foreseen, vhy not capture ze individual who foresees zem?”

Why do I ever open my big goddamn mouth?

The catboy giggled again, now standing with both feet on Claude’s chest.

“You’re going to be coming vis us.”

He bent down, cutely tapping Claude’s nose with a finger.

The world around them disappeared entirely.

(Not gonna lie, this chapter was a LOT of fun to write, but it certainly gave me guff trying to figure out how to allow Hellsing to find out about Millennium with all of the advantages they had in the battle. I also love how Medz and I, on our own, both formulated nearly identical ways for our characters to get captured!)

[gorthol-mormegil]

The Barring of the Gate to Nekyia and the Fall of Sariza of the Roads

So this is a fic that sparked from an idea I had that Vaenia, ya know the porn flick, was actually a trashy corruption of an ancient asari romantic legend regarding an primordial republic's leading political family's final matrician and the captain of their guard during a time where a tyrant seized control through a coup.

Longer four part story short the captain, Benria, is killed by the tyrant's captain after they fled for their lives and the rest of the third book is spent searching for Piares to beg for her soul, contained in a magic device,  to be re-housed. The captain eventually atarts to catch up with the small band they had managed to scrape together just as they find the entrance to Nekyia, Piares' city in the polar caps. 

Sarizia, the last wandering knight of an even older kingdom, and a prototype of old Justicar codes of conduct, thats esentially an entire living heroic tradition herself, counsels the matrician to leave her behind.

Given tgis is the third thing I've ever wrote for pleasure that I've actually completed and it was all typed on an extremely frustrating phone keyboard, I would love to know everyone's thoughts on how this work holds up to someone other than the author.

Notes:

The dictators actual name is so close to the word tyrant in most Thessian languages that is sometimes an exercise in futility to try and parse out tyrant and Tyrant from old texts with any degree of certanity. For clairity, sanity and tradition she's refered to by her title alone in most translations.

The sel is an old Thessian measurement equal to about 14.67 inches or 37.08 centimeters.

"These bones know battlefields my liege-" spake Sarizia, "-here at the gate a single spear, even one as rusted as this, could seem legion to those who try and cross her. They know also that the riders were but a herald for a fast aproaching columun that we cannot outrun but only delay."

The exile chewed on the elder matriarch's words, still trying to find a way to cast stones under Velan's cart without loss. Soon, she sighed, her metral bent in acepptance of the need.

"You speak truth Sarizia. But how long can this pass be held against Velan's thrust?"

The warrior paused lost in clouds of memory and battles past; perhaps wishing for long ago winds to push against her back in that dark defile. To those gathered she seemed as stone. Tapping Aiglo once upon the rock she straightened and her gaze was lifted to the fog cast road behind:

"Once I could say none could pass my shield here and that it would take many weeks for them to find a crack. Yet my crest has withered from those heights now, all I can offer to you is a garuntee that you would find a way to the depths of Nekyia and perhaps a solution to both you and your bond's problems," With those words Sarizia turned to gird herself in panoply for the last trumpet call.

Turning to the small band Ontia felt the yoke of a world upon her shoulders and even as Mythixila's voice began she silenced it with a wave. There was no time for even a small forum among the dust, she was a general conserving the bulk of her strength for more more favorable ground instead of a matrician vying for agreement in that desperate hour. With a tremor the fellowship turned away from the hero of their youth onto the shadowed bridge leading deeper into cold darkness. Clutching Benria to her heart she strode forward to Piares fog hidden halls.

---

Sarizia Road Walker, long legend closing, took Sanaris' helm from her pack as the footfalls of her companions faded into a place where only her spirit would see. Smiling at the empty metal she spoke words to it like wayward child returned to their mother's tomb after a life spent apart. No one could hear that confession in that place of bones, the cold north wind blowing at her back bearing sole witness to the beginning of a final duty an apprentince gave to the master. But before long Velan found the portal and those words exchanged still ring in the aurals of those who seek strength in old bones.

"Who stands here?"

"It is I: the judge of Aethan, the hooded friend, slayer of the Hound of Timatha, the defender of the unheard and last Iurisar of Thenos."

"Speak you name or stand aside."

"What shall you do if I say my mother given name?"

"That will be detemined matriarch. But you risk my wrath if you vex us further."

Sarizia laughed, a hoarse note among the gathering gloom, "Very well impatient one, but you should know it well by now. For my name comes crying from the lips of those you burn out of home, those whose right to consensus is stolen from them by fear of knives in-"

"Enough of this. Your *name* you isolent old fool!"

"SARIZIA ELESSARA IS THE NAME I WAS GIVEN," she bellowed like Kurinith's trumpet given form, "THE SAME ONE YOUR MATRIARCHS SPOKE OF AS A MEMORY OF THEIR YOUTH IF YOU HAD EVER DEIGNED TO LISTEN TO THEM. I STAND HERE FOR HOUSE T'NUVIAS AND THEIR JUST CAUSE. NAUGHT BUT THE GODESSES THEMSELVES WILL MOVE ME FROM THIS DOOR."

"You? *You*? You are old and pale. Submit to wisdom and your death will be swifter."

"MY AGE IS NO BARRIER WITH UNBLOODED WRETCHES SUCH AS YOU. STAND BY YOUR BOAST IF YOU DARE."

With a shout Velan's van surged forward toward the brightly shining figure before them. Fifteen times they came upon Sarizia and fifteen times they where cast back and each time she repulsed the she beat her shield once with Aiglo like a great brass drum that sounded like the heavens opening upon the plain. Wrath was her point and fury her biotics in that melee, with each attempt Velan's band quailed sooner and sooner for the Road Walker's eyes and blood ran with new fire that was stoked by each body that crumpled before her stroke and lay as testament to her fell skill. After the fifteenth time Velan called a halt to the slaughter, for none could withstand the furor contained in the blows Sarizia gave for long and did nothing but grow the number beneath Sarizia's boots.

Sensing the reluctance before her Sarizia laughed again as they pulled away from the doom that stood before them in the growing twilight. She rested herself on Aiglo for a breath and beheld the charnel pit grown before her; bowing her head once in scorn she tore the armor off her right breast and cried:

"Come now, my heart is bared to you. Surely one among your mighty numbers can find their way around my shield?"

Oh, if Velan's heart was not bent onto dark paths and darker treacheries Sarizia's tale would not end in defiance and pain; curse her heart. Curse treachery in any form.

Rage fired Velan's nerves at the barb, without a thought the trumpet call for a charge was sounded and the black heart herself surged at the fore of that new tide. Crashing on Sarizia's aegis Velan redoubled the call but it was like a child trying to shout down a hurricane. There Sarizia's talent was tested to it's utmost as it always is before the end comes. Nonetheless Sarizia, true to her words, gave not but a half sel to the throng before her like it was the Bronze Legion itself holding the gate to Piares realm.

Oh how Aiglo reaped a harvest in that final twilight; a loyal servant to a end so near. Keen was it's ice like tip and it whispered through air like the finger of Athame casting judgement. Oh how her silvered helm caught Parnitha's last light upon it's brow like a beacon of hope in fog clouded times. Oh how it shined.

With time came some measure of twisted reason in Velan's poisonous mind: she could not assail the gate with strength of force unless a full banner of the Tyrant's hand was brought to bear. Withdrawing once again across the violet painted clay she whispered words of treachary to a liuetenant and as they reassembled Velan lingered between the lines. Casting her arms into the signal of tethnamostra she called:

"I remember your name now o great Sarizia Elessara and I know now the legends of your prowess are but dew compared tp the ocean. I call you to grapple to stem the purposeless loss of maiden blood. Avail over me and you will be troubled no more, submit to me and your oath to Lady T'nuvias will be forgetten for a newer road. This I swear on Tevura's name as true."

One last time the firey laughter of youth flew from Sarizia's throat as she upheld her arms in answer before turning to the straps and buckles of her panoply for feckless vigor rushed in her veins in that hour. Blind she was to the truest depths of malice lurking in some hearts even after a lifetime and a half, if she only had a glimse much heartache could be undone. Finishing she rose to her full height, standing tall among the gore pit around like a lighthouse before a wine dark temptest. Undetered by age she strode forward to a place equisdistant between Velan amd her goal.

"I accept, though my heart fears oil beneath the waters. No matter though, for even unlimbered I am match for your guard. Come, subdue me if you can."

Long they grappled, new thews almost even against memories of countless matches and rightous hatred. Far into the dawn's light the two strove against each other; battering their foe with blows that would shatter any other body like aged kindling but neither breaking off. Oh, how it was like the sparring of titans in that cold dell. At the hour the wertas' crow could be heard on some faraway plain Velan saw a chance for her wretched gambit to start and sprung past Sarizia's guard with a leap toward the stone where Aiglo lay; seizing the mighty spear she, curse the demon's heart to the four winds, lashed at Sarizia's eye's darkening half the world with a single stroke. Stumbling back at the venom unleashed at her Sarizia gave a howl that sounded through Nekyia's dark halls to those who she had given her utmost to protect and incensed almost beyond reason she charged the villian like a avalanche at it's zenith. Velan, twist tounged, nearly shrank from the wrath of the Colossus of Dilzana come for her. Oh, if she had listened to that voice. Wading in herself, Velan took blows now that pulped bone to marrow before finding a gap among the fury. Ramming forth Aiglo with all her strength Velan pierced through Sarizia side. Aiglo, shivered and malused, burst in Velan's hand, perhaps as a final token apology to the one who carried her over long highways by wounding the aggresor with many shards.

Yet still Sarizia was the better there and those around her quailed at the furor of the wounded matriarch. But fog soon took from her the greater part of her strength and they bound her with chains to imprison her waning might. So Sarizia, her deeds uncountable, did fall under the gentle press of a northern wind - though she lingered long in the Tyrant's grasp until she cast herself from Vaenia's highest tower to the quiet stones of the plazas below.

When the dead were carted away the steel of the fallen were cast into a cairn eight sels high in hopes their deeds would crumble to dust given time. Many years later the abandoned shields, their bronze rent and torn, were pulled from that defile for part in the new bell that hung opposite the great common hall of Vaenia; to serve as a watch and alarm for those who would follow in the Tyrant's shadow. Of Sanaris' helm Calmasa, granddaughter of Lieratha, braved the chasm's rock to untold depths to retrieve it from gloom it was thrown in order that it's splendor would not be lost. Aiglo, faithful to her bearer's cause after parting, soon shone bright on Benria's belt as she scaled the walls of her home to smite the Tyrant with fury unending. Velan Dark Heart met her judgement the soonest, in those twisting cyclopean halls so jealously guarded by spirits even more terrible than she.

[lassluna]

Freeing the Witch (15/20)

Once Upon a Time, there was Emma Swan the Savior and Killian Jones the fearsome pirate Captain Hook. But this is not that time, this is not that place, this is the time of the Dark Swan and a cowardly Deckhand who dares to think he could save her and live to tell the tale…Especially when things get complicated.

Now Beta read by the glorious @notoriouscs

Ao3 FFn

Chapter 15

Confessions of a Guilty Conscience

He must be 14, mere months before…but he doesn’t know that yet.

They’re in Arendelle. This is Liam’s favorite place in all of the seas. He loves the gold and silver they can steal here.

Killian doesn’t know why they’re here this time, not specifically, just that Liam is after the most valuable treasure in all the realms. Killian knows the ship has made port, but he’s not allowed off the ship. Liam says he has business to do. It isn’t the first time he’s said that, and Killian doesn’t argue.

When Liam returns, he has the biggest grin on his face, chest puffed out and swagger in his walk.

“I’ve done it, Victor,” he says to his first mate, who pats him on the back. “I’ve stolen the hidden treasure of Arendelle.”

Killian tries to insert himself into the conversation. “Where is it brother? I wanna see!”

Victor and Liam laugh, the latter messing with his hair.

“Little brother, you still have a lot to learn,” Liam snickers. “You’ll see her someday soon, I hope.”

Killian pouts. “Younger brother!” he insists. “And why? Why can’t I see it now?”

Liam is about to respond, but there is shouting that royal guards have appeared in the harbor. Killian knows what that means. Liam is already ordering his men to get the ship into open water. They have to hustle.

But not to worry. There isn’t a faster ship than the Jolly Roger in all the realms. They outrun their royal tail in mere hours. Liam is excited as he addresses the crew about a new adventure.

Then a storm hits, sweeping around them in mere moments. The ship rocking, the sails flapping violent, Liam instantly leaps into action, showing all exactly why he is the captain of the vessel. He even spares a second to tie Killian to the hull to keep the winds from sweeping him overboard.

But the winds whipping at them send Liam reeling in agony even though he maintains his footing. His eyes look cloudy as he grips his head with one hand while searching empty air. He calls out for someone in the midst of his haze.

“Liam!” Killian yells. His brother is too distracted to notice a piece of flying ice hit him in the head.

Killian’s shouts snap Liam back to reality for a moment. “I’m fine, little brother,” he says, getting to his feet. “This storm, it’s magic. It messes with your head, makes you hear things that aren’t there.”

Even remembering Liam’s long-ago warning about Arendelle’s magical storms, Killian is not prepared for the hallucinations.  He’s not prepared to hear screaming in the wind, loud, agonized wailing in her voice. Nothing can shake him as much as her. He tries to focus on keeping a grip on the wheel. He has to keep it steady lest the ship be thrown on its side from the winds.

Then he feels her, her hand on his, a gentle caress of her lips on his cheek. Her voice whispers in his ear, “Stop this, Killian. Just let go.”

It’s tempting; to listen to Milah, to just let go, let the storm sweep the ship away in its mighty wrath. Just to be safe, in case he gives in to a moment of weakness, he secures the helm’s position as best he can with a line.

As soon as he ties off the rope, the screaming changes. Now it’s a boy shouting, “It’s your fault! You killed her! It was all you! It should have been you.”

Killian nods, silently agreeing with the boy’s accusations. He always has. His hands shake on the wheel, debating letting go and letting the wind just take the ship. He deserves it. He-

Emma.

He has something more in his life now, someone more, than just his guilt.  “Aye, but it wasn’t me, and it won’t be today either.” He looks to where he sent Emma to drop the sails. He just needs a single glance at her.

“Emma?” he calls out for her across the empty deck. All he catches of her is a flash of blonde and then an audible splash. Cold dread crashes over him as if he were the one to hit the water. He rushes to the rail, leaning over to search for her.

He imagines seeing Emma’s head pop up above the waves, watching as she vanishes from the water and materializes back on deck, safe and laughing. She will tease him for doubting her, for worrying about her. She’ll curse the storm for daring to wet the wings of the Dark Swan.

But in wet, windy reality, he doesn’t see her head bob above the churning water. Her triumphant smirk doesn’t appear on his ship.

“Elsa!” he yells desperately, already in motion to grab the main line of a sail and tie it around his waist. “Emma fell in the water,” he tells the Ice Queen. “I’m going in after her. You need to pull us back up when you see us.”

She laughs violently, getting into his face, her hand tracing up his arm in a way that is eerily similar to Emma’s touch. “Who do you think pushed her in?” Elsa squeals. “It was so much fun!” She releases her hold, twirling as lightning crackles just beyond.

What is she thinking? Murder aside, they need Emma’s help to survive this storm. Elsa wouldn’t risk her own life just to kill Emma…right?

“For Anna, and for my kingdom!” Elsa continues her mad ranting. “I don’t care if we were once friends, I don’t care if we were once sisters! Emma cost me my happiness!”

If he doesn’t get Elsa’s help, Emma will – he doesn’t know what –  can the Dark One drown?

But he does know that he can’t lose her.

“You’re wrong!” he shouts back to Elsa.

“She killed Hans! She killed Anna’s true love! She threw my home into everlasting turmoil and civil war!” Elsa reminds him in a growl.

He doesn’t think, doesn’t need to, as his next words pour out at the thought of Emma dying over his mistake.

“I killed Hans!” he shouts. “Emma lied to protect me. Now please! Help me save her. She’s innocent.”

Elsa’s face turns from manic glee to surprise to intense rage. Of course she wasn’t going to bother saving anyone now that he gave her a new target for her fury. “You!” she roars, ice creeping across the deck until it is entirely encased. “I’m going to kill you!”

He leaps back, slipping on the ice. “Go ahead. I. Don’t. Care,” he spits. “Just let me find her, let me save your friend, and then you can kill me. I won’t try to stop you.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns and dives from the deck into the icy waters below.

He swims frantically, searching, hoping to see her, or perhaps not to; he’d much prefer if she were safely onboard.

But then he sees blonde hair, and hair only, floating a small distance away. He swims to her as fast as he can, gripping her lower back with one hand and her shoulder with the other to pull her head above the surface.

“Emma!” he chokes out between his own labored gasps, feet treading water without having to think about it. He is lucky, at least in this instance, that the Captain would often toss him overboard just for the pleasure of watching him try to get back on the ship. But he’s never tried it with another body before.

“Come on love, wake up,” he begs. Her face is hidden by a sodden curtain of blonde. The waves keep sweeping strands over her mouth no matter how much he tries to keep them out of the way. Her skin, always pale, is almost grey now, nearly fading into the color of the churning sea. She’s cold, so cold. To touch and the eye. No addictive inner fire, no becoming rosiness to her cheeks or distracting tint to her lips.

He’s got her body. Now he has to get Emma back. He looks toward the ship, yanking hard on the rope.

“Elsa! Come on! Pull us up!”

Nothing happens.

Killian turns back to Emma, trying again to wake her. She could fix all of this with a wave of her hand. Her head just rolls onto his shoulder, but that’s the only movement she makes. He holds her a little closer.

Whenever the Captain threw him in the water, the sympathetic first mate always helped fish him out. But now his only hope is a vengeful ice demon, whose capacity for empathy froze over a long time ago.

Or perhaps not. The next thing he knows, he, Swan, and a mess of water land on the deck. Even while he’s coughing up salt water, it’s instinct to pull Swan closer to his chest.

“So much easier than pulling a silly rope,” Elsa sneers. “You two aren’t worth risking my manicure.”

He ignores her, turning Swan onto her back, listening to see if she is breathing.

She isn’t.

“Swan, come on Swan, wake up.”

She doesn’t. He knows she’s supposed to be the immortal Dark One, but she isn’t waking up, she isn’t breathing.

So Killian does the only thing he can, pressing his lips to hers and forcing air into her lungs. “Come on love,” he pushes down on her chest, expelling a spray of salt water. He repeats the process once, twice, three times. “Come back to me,” he pleads.

And then, like a gift from the gods, she jolts up, eyes snapping open as she starts to choke on the ocean in her lungs. He helps her sit up and pats her back while she coughs up enough water to breathe freely.

“Killian?” she rasps. Her beautiful green eyes are hazy until they focus on his, and he feels nothing but relief. “What? How?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer her, as cold hands grip the back of his jacket and jerk him up and away from her clumsily. “There. She’s alive. Happy? Time to die, sailor,” Elsa laughs, spinning him around to face her.

He looks to Emma, who is still on the ground, barely sitting up.

“She knows, love. I’m sorry,” he says simply, a nervous look on his face. Killian knows he should be scared, but he isn’t. He’s more afraid of looking back at Emma. He’s too afraid of what he’ll see.

“Don’t you dare, Elsa,” Emma hisses, weakly trying to get to her feet while shivering from the cold.

He didn’t think the Dark One got cold, showed any sort of weakness, but apparently he was wrong.

“Get your hands off of him,” she seethes.

Elsa laughs, snapping her fingers to shoot a bolt of ice at Emma, hitting her in the chest and knocking her backward. Her head hits the deck hard, knocking her unconscious.

“Emma!” he yells, struggling to get to her. Elsa’s grip, however, prevents him from moving an inch. The witch moves her hand down to his neck, putting him in a chokehold.

“You better worry about yourself, sailor,” Elsa sneers as she pins him against a mast. Even when a wave hits and the ship lurches again, her grip is like stone.

He was going to die.

He feels her hand reach into his jacket pocket and remove something before she sends him sprawling and slipping onto the deck.

“Thanks for the help. I guess this makes us even now,” Elsa laughs. “Enjoy it for a few minutes until I get around to killing you.”

She tosses the object she took from him into the air. It’s light blue and no bigger than the palm of her hand. As it falls, it grows in size and starts to reflect different colors, like a prism. He can see reds and purples and pinks. Then, a ring of rainbow light explodes outward, nearly knocking him back to the deck.

It’s a person, he realizes as the lights fade. Elsa just pulled a person from his jacket pocket.

As the object, no – the woman – lands, her hands are wrapped around herself, and she’s shivering. He can see frozen patches on her skin and hear the chattering of her teeth.

“Anna?” Elsa asks hesitantly. The figure looks toward the voice, and Killian is sure he sees fear and confusion in her gaze.

“Elsa?” the woman eventually forces out through her chattering teeth. “Oh Elsa!” she sobs as she stumbles towards the ice queen. The rage melts off of Elsa’s face as she folds the redhead into her arms.

“Anna, oh Anna, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry!” Elsa presses into her shoulder, near tears.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry!” the defrosted woman exclaims. “I should be the one apologizing. I was scared of you! So scared that I didn’t see that you were scared too.”

Leaving them to their the warm reunion, Killian makes his way over to Emma. When he feels her heartbeat and her hears her breathing, he lets out a sigh of relief.  Elsa hears him, spinning around, rage taking over her face again. Killian flinches in fright, instinctively positioning himself in front of Emma.

“Almost forgot about you, sailor,” Elsa sneers, forming a ball of ice in her hand.

He was going to die.

“Elsa, where am I? What happened?” Anna interrupts, looking between the two.

“Your sister is going to kill me, lass, all because I killed someone to make him stop torturing my friend,” Killian explained like he was offering a weather report, knowing Anna’s interference was his only chance at living long enough for Emma to wake up.

Elsa bellows in rage.

“Elsa, is that true?” Anna asks.

Elsa lowers her ice-wielding hand. When she doesn’t respond to Anna, Killian decides to push his luck.

“Murder is a bad first impression, lass,” he says. “We average humans don’t exactly like it.”

Anna quietly pleads with her sister, “Elsa, please don’t. No more freezing, no more killing.”

“Fine,” Elsa grumbles. “But the man he killed was Hans, Anna. He killed your true love.”

The Anna flinches back at the news her hand going up to cover her mouth in shock. She looks deeply hurt by the news.

Elsa takes this moment to raise her hand again looking, if possible, angrier than she did before.

Anna’s frown turns to a sad smile. “If he’s my true love, then I might as well be frozen again,” she says sarcastically. “He never loved me, Elsa. He broke my heart. He wanted me to turn to ice.”

Elsa puts a comforting hand on her shoulder as a wave pushes the ship off balance. Killian leaps toward the helm, grabbing the controls to level the ship. “Elsa, Anna, grab Emma. Get below deck and stay there until I come get you,” he orders. He can see Elsa sneer at him, a rebuttal on the way when none other than Ingrid appeared from down below.  

“I’ll take care of her Captain.” She assured him, waving a hand and Emma disappears before him. “Elsa, when you said my help was not needed above deck, I didn’t think that meant you would try to kill your sister.” The woman lectured.

Anna looks towards Elsa, Killian can see a dozen questions racing through her mind.

Elsa catches the redhead by her shoulder to steer her toward the ladder leading below deck.

“Your sister, Elsa?” Anna asks. “Where are we? What’s happened since I was frozen?” She looks at Ingrid in confusion. “Who is she? Why does she look a bit like Mom?”

Ingrid just fixes her with an icy stare.

“So much, Anna, so much, but right now let’s get you inside where it’s warm, ok?” Elsa answers gently, tears of ice slipping down her own cheeks. “Please, let me take care of you for once.”

Anna nods, a small smile on her face. “Of course, sister.”Before she can disappear with a triumphant smirk, Killian calls for Elsa to come back for a moment.  “I want an explanation,” he growls once they are alone. “I thought you said the only way to free your sister from the ice was to find her true love.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything, but since I’m in a good mood now…I’ll just tell you the bare bones of it. The wizard said that I needed an act of true love. The obvious one is a kiss from her soul mate,” Elsa deigns to explain. “But since someone killed him,” her eyes flash dangerously, “or at least I thought they did, I had to come up with a new plan. I’m far too cold-hearted to thaw anyone else with my affection, but I found a third option.”

Elsa gets in her triumphant smirk after all. “I know how to spot a man in love, a man ready to go to the end of the world for his mate.” She presses a hand over his heart. He gasps as the cold seeps into his chest. He didn’t know it was even possible for how cold he already felt after his dip in the sea.“And I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d trade yourself for her, before you’d perform an act of true love.” She pulls her hand back to offer a mocking little clap. “I planted Anna in your pocket hoping the magic from your charming little display would transfer to her. It didn’t even take you a day!”

From her face, it’s unclear if she’s impressed with his performance or the brilliance of her plan. Probably the latter. “Of course, I didn’t think you were the one who actually killed my idiot brother-in-law, but surrendering that bit of info to absolve Emma, along with jumping into the ocean in the middle of a storm to save her did the trick. I would have let the pair of you drown if Anna hadn’t been in your pocket, now that would have been a perfect ending, but I’ll take what I can get.” She said with a shrug.

“There’s a problem with that, lass,” Killian finally found his voice after struggling to comprehend Elsa’s explanation. “I don’t love Emma. I can’t.”

Elsa lets out a laugh. It might almost be a real one.

“If you didn’t love her, then Anna would still be an ice cube, and you would be dead. But by all means, you keep telling yourself whatever makes you feel better, pirate.”

He doesn’t love her; He can’t. He can’t love someone only to lose her, to force her to lose him. He can’t be another person to break her heart.

And yet, Elsa is right, Anna was thawed out. It meant...something. It meant his feelings for Emma were past the point of denial. Things were getting too complicated. “Elsa, can we keep this between you and me?” he asks. “Emma doesn’t need to know.”

Elsa just shrugs in reply as she goes to join her revived sister below deck.

Alone with his thoughts, Killian makes one thing perfectly clear in his head:

He will not love Emma Swan

[moonsandstar-s]

The Final Warning - Chapter XXI

Chapter XXI - Extinguished 

Summary:  As the year draws to a close, peace has finally dawned. The time for unity has arrived. In the Vytal festival, it is time for heroes to rise, bringing glory to their kingdoms. But as autumn dies, the first winds of winter blow over Remnant, chilling the hearts of the people; breathing doubt into their souls. Long-buried secrets will triumph, and every action will have a consequence. Ruby must reconcile herself with her own fate. Weiss struggles to escape her legacy. Blake cannot erase memories. Yang’s search leads her into more peril than ever— but none of them can outrun fate. Shadows turn on shadows, and bonds shatter as they are tested to the limit. For in dividing them, they will fall and burn; at the eye of the storm, no peace lasts forever. In the end and beginning of time, there is a place where the sun never rises, and the dead delight to teach the living. A great danger is rising from the darkness. It’s time to take sides. The final warning is coming. The first chill of winter is the most deadly; it is the chill that kills more than any other. The first betrayal is the most damaging; it is the act that shatters bonds of love and trust, crushing even the strongest heart, tearing teams apart. AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7745314/chapters/21309935 Blake 

She had not noticed the stars, had not prayed again, and thus, clouds rolled in from the east, roiling banks of snow clouds that smothered the starlight.

Blake paused once she had made it out of the thick of the fighting in the courtyard, breath rasping harshly in her lungs. Each lungful of air she took seared her throat, it was so cold, but she welcomed the clarity it gave her. She clenched Gambol Shroud tighter, imagining she could feel its heartbeat, but she knew it was just her own frantic heart, racing against her ribs, pouring all her anxiety into the Bond. I must find Yang before it’s too late.

She moved forward, over broken glass that lay glittering on the pavement outside the promenade of the cafeteria. Someone had punched out the windows of the massive room, and within, the tables lay haphazardly amid slabs of stone. It looked like a hurricane had torn through the cafeteria and left it in a terrible mess. She looked closer, squinting; there was a shadow moving in the back, near the pillars. It was a broad-shouldered figure with a head of bright hair, but the firelight, undulating with shadows on the walls, confused Blake’s eyes. Frowning, she leaned forward, Gambol Shroud at the ready, in case it was an enemy— a White Fang lackey, perhaps, or a robot solider. “Yang,” she called. “Yang— is that you?”

At her voice, the shadow spun around, still crouched down. Their face came into view, and Blake staggered back, her breath punched out of her chest in sheer astonishment.

“It’s been too long,” said the figure, straightening up and looking directly at her with a slow, lazy grin uncurling across their face. “You have forgotten what I look like at a distance. I did not think you would. But you always were so terribly bound by your own desire, Blake, that it blinded you to reality.”

The firelight fell fully across its face— his face— the narrow shape, the curve of the mask, the rise and fall of his scarlet hair, like the rise and fall of fire, the burning inferno that had made him what he was.

Adam.

In what could have been eternity or only seconds, every memory that mattered rushed through her mind: the mission of Forever Fall, drifting away from him on a traincar, a shattered Bond, shooting Ayran in the skull, Yang’s face as she broke Mercury’s leg, and then Adam’s voice, in all those nightmares she had endured every night. In all that time, she had never thought she would see him again, had never dared to imagine it. For better or for worse, once she had cut the cord on a train that had separated them forever, it was over. She would only ever have to see him again in nightmares.

Except he was here, and that had been an illusion. A beautiful, terrible illusion.

“You hesitate, my love?”

At the sound of his voice, her bones went cold, and the trees whispered with a terrible, mocking laughter. He cast a flickering, looming shadow to spill over the broken rubble, right up to the walls. Blood splattered his chest and his weapon was drawn, shining scarlet.

“You’re here with them, aren’t you? Here with Cinder’s attackers.” She hardly recognized her voice when she spoke, and she didn’t know why it was steady and firm, when she was shattering inside. “It’s me you want dead, Adam. It always has been. You have no quarrel with the students of Beacon. Why are you doing this?”

“I have every quarrel with them!” His amusement fell away, replaced by an embittered, snarling loathing. “They’re human, all of them, your team and your partner! You and I were going to change the world once, Blake. You promised, do you not remember? And you turned your back on that promise so easily, do you remember that? We were destined, pet, destined to light the fires of revolution, destined to blaze at the head of the ranks, and you gave it up. For what? For this? For them, humans who will talk to you and work with you and even sleep beside you, but will never consider you equal to them?” He swung his blade up, lashing out at the body of the student beside him, planting his heel on his chest. “You’re a fool, and you always have been. Equality is never going to happen, not in this world. But superiority shall, and you will not be a part of it. I gave you every chance, Blake, and you ran away, because you are a coward, and have always been one. I will be the one to triumph alone, with my own fire, my own revolution. Consider this the spark.”

She wasn’t aware of jerking her own sword out, fury igniting her blood. She only felt a white-hot surge of hatred towards him for bringing the two of them to this, and she felt power arc through her as she sprang forward, broadsiding him just as his blade plunged down.

He howled in rage as he was thwarted, and she drove her fist into his face with all the force she could muster, feeling the bones in his nose splinter. Blood gushed out, creating a grotesque scarlet mask. He retaliated with a snarl, planting his foot in her chest, and she crashed backward, rolling with his weight as they tumbled through the dust and blood. He roared, battering her with all the unbridled rage of a hurricane, and she could only barely withstand the onslaught, agony— more than she had ever felt in her life— splitting her skull.

She raised her blade just in time as he drove downwards with his. They met in a fiery clash of metal, screeching and spitting sparks, and she realized why he looked so shocked and furious all at once: this was the first time they had clashed in any true, physical way with hatred and enmity. The first time she had ever dared to fight against him.

“I’m not running away,” she snarled, ears pinned flat against her head as she drove upward with every ounce of force she could muster, muscles trembling with the strain. “Not this time, Adam.”

There was a very ugly look on his face, like an animal that he had thought was tame had suddenly turned on him, and bitten him. “You will,” he spat, his sallow skin drawn tight, his eyes glinting bloodred in the firelight. “It’s all you know how to do.”

She felt pain explode through her as he suddenly reared back and slammed his heel into her abdomen, thrusting all his power into the blow; he had grown so much stronger in her absence, and the force of his kick tossed her backward as easily as if she were nothing more than a rag-doll.

She skidded across the floor with a yowl of pain, feeling the broken glass open up gashes in her skin as she hit a slab of rock and crashed to a halt. A flicker of movement flitted through her peripheral vision, and she snapped her head to the side, horrified as she saw a Creep. Its beady eyes fell upon her, filled with mindless rage.

With a snarl, it charged towards her, only to be intercepted mid-leap, broadsided by a streak of red that crashed into its side. Blake’s eyes rounded as she saw Adam sink his sword in its neck, black blood splashing across his skin as the Grimm squealed before collapsing, and fading. He had saved her— had he come to his senses, after all, and changed his mind?  

She realized she could not have been more wrong as he turned towards her, snarling, like a tiger with its claws out.

“You came woefully unprepared for this, I’m afraid,” he cackled, sheathing his blade and spitting a stream of blood to his right contemptuously. “Now you’ll pay, my dear.”

She swore at him, and he grinned, a grotesque sight.

“But not before you suffer for your betrayal, pet,” he said, his voice soft with a frost like the first creeping, killing chill of winter. He came before her, his eyes twinkling as if she were nothing more than a show, a display for him. “How does it feel, knowing that your entire life has led up this moment? Every thought, action, word, has been to bring you to here and now? That you are mine to use, to discard as I please?” He crouched close to her, a mad, Chesire-like grin spreading across his face. “You were never Ayran’s, you know. You were always mine. And this was always my fate! You lied! You said I had a choice! But there never was one. I would never have let you go, I would track you down to the ends of the earth to make you pay for what you did.”  

She was chilled as she remembered her dream.

I will find you. I will hunt you down and bring you back. I will follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond, track you wherever you hide. I will pull you back kicking and screaming and lock you up where no one will ever find you. You can't leave me, Blake, you can't, you can’t—

Her response was to summon up all of her flagging strength, to arch her neck and spit in his face. He drew back with a snarl, lifting his hand as if to strike her again before lowering it, not wanting to risk killing her.

“Now I am going to explain to you what is going to happen, so you may know the pain you are going to feel… and the pain you are going to cause.” He crouched beside her, and she could feel the heat of his semblance blazing up around him, could feel how he wanted her— to play with and destroy her— and it sickened her. “Your team is enamored with you, aren’t they? They believe you are good. That you have not killed and lied, just as I have. But I know the truth, Blake, and I know you have murdered and stolen, that you are just as damned as any common criminal. But you are worse. You are a traitor, a turncoat, with a foot in two worlds. You murdered a man who gave you everything, who once believed in you—”

“Ayran wasn’t a man.” She curled her lip, and the skin on Adam’s face tautened in anger. “He was a monster.”

“Monster or not,” Adam said, “he took you in— took you into the arms of the White Fang, gave you everything, gave us both everything— and you murdered him, Blake!”

“He killed my parents!”

“He should have killed you too. And you got your revenge, didn’t you? Yet still, you aren’t satisfied… because your heart is dark, dark as night. Don’t deny it!” Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Truth always triumphs, pet. Now, I am working with a human to ruin this human monstrosity of a place, and she ordered me to stick to the course, to not go after anyone in particular. But I have found a way to circumvent this, my dear, because I would never truly ally myself with a human.”

He’s gone insane, she thought in horror, seeing the unhinged glint in his scarred eyes, the mask looking like a raw wound. He is really, truly insane. Oh, Adam…

Perhaps he misinterpreted the sorrow on her face, because his eyes narrowed menacingly. “Are you hoping for a savior, my darling? You pray in vain, I am afraid. Not even your precious team— cowardly good-for-nothing humans— can help you now, not while you and I are cloaked in these shadows. And you will not be joining them ever again, my dear, for it’s awfully hard to reside with a team when they are dead.” His eyes shone with madness and glee, his voice growing exultant. “I shall go forth, Blake, and kill them one by one. That little team leader of yours, the human who slaughtered Roman Torchwick so mercilessly? I’m going to come back and gut her, I will torture her until she is begging for death. The brat Schnee, I’ll make sure she dies as painfully, as well, as she deserves. Perhaps I’ll kill her with Dust, how fitting would that be, that she perishes by what gave her the undeserved title she bears now—”

Blake felt her heart hammering away in her chest, a choking feeling in her throat; there was so much pure terror within her that it was impossible to express it. She had passed from mere fear into something much, much more, and dimly, she wondered if her own traitorous body would overload from her fear and fail her now, when she needed it most. She saw her team, the people she loved most in this world, flash before her eyes—

Ruby, laughing at a joke, silver eyes sparkling, before her face became solemn and pale; Ruby, who was like a little sister to her, who had faith in her from the very beginning; Ruby, who had lost so much but still held hope in life and love—

then Weiss, smiling her small smile, her blue eyes glimmering with warmth. She was one of Blake’s best friends, opposite from her but amazing just the same, someone she would trust to have her back through anything; Weiss, who bore her cross with such quiet dignity—

and finally, Yang, the one she loved more than she could ever imagine loving anything, her sun and stars; Yang, who’d been through hell and back for those she loved; Yang, who burned with a quiet fire that could never be extinguished for long; Yang, who was in danger now because of Blake’s past, because every damned thing had come back to haunt her, as he had always promised it would…   She was afraid. She knew the Bond had to be overloading, and she knew Yang would surely be coming to see what was frightening her so horribly, but she couldn’t come now, she couldn’t, Blake was powerless once more…

Adam was still talking. “— and your partner, the gold-haired one? I’m going to track her down, and I’m going to break her. I’m going to break her spirit in the way you should have been broken long ago, and I’m going to make her hate you, make her see the real you. And I will kill her before your eyes, so you may know true pain, so you may know, really, what you have caused, what is your legacy, that despite your foolish dream of changing the world, the only mark you will leave is hate and pain and betrayal, like you did to me—”

She stared up at him, a slow paralysis creeping through her, a disbelief, because this could not be happening, he could not be here, not again… and she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, because the instant she showed defiance, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to show her the true meaning of pain.

Do not go gentle into that good night—

“And at the end,” he snarled softly, leaning closer so she could see the dark light gleaming in his pupils through the mask’s eyeslits, “You will die too, Blake, after all the pain you have caused.”

— rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Blake turned her head away, unable to go on looking at his cruel face. The very thought that she had once loved him, had once loved this person, this monster who possessed such boundless cruelty, made her feel a sickness like she had never felt before. All she could see was him.

Adam. Once, he had been her closest friend, her confidante, her ally against the harsh world. Her partner, her mentor. Her one source of warmth against the coldness of discrimination. The Faunus who had always been able to make her strong. The boy who had guided her through the tempest of her childhood. The Faunus with so much determination who had helped her get back on her feet, all those years ago.

Traitor. The boy who had turned his back on her without her even knowing. The Faunus who had plotted with Ayran to slaughter all of mankind, to bring mercy to its knees. The one who had worked behind her back to manipulate her. The one who had not cared how many had to die if he could achieve his wants. The one who had allowed himself to be bewitched by the promise of power. The Faunus who had denounced humanity after being spurned, and had sought to take everyone down with him.

Her chest felt impossibly tight, and she fought for every breath, as she imagined a dying person might. He was gone. He was truly gone, and any trace of the person he had once been had died many, many years ago. The one who stood before her with such hatred in his eyes was not Adam, not anymore than she was Blake of the White Fang. Both of them had been changed in incomprehensible ways, altered by destiny, and she did not flinch as he raised his blade to slash at her again.

“Go on,” she said softly, not moving to protest as she closed her eyes. “Call me traitor, if that helps. Strike me again, if that will make you feel better. According to you, I deserve all of it and more. Do your worst, Adam. Knock me down, bloody my skin. Be the monster that should have struck me, not mankind. Fix fate’s wrongs.”

He stared down at her, momentarily stunned, a slow-burning fury, mixed with an emotion she didn’t quite recognize, broiling in his eyes. But before he could speak, or move to deal her another blow, a desperate scream broke into his words. A scream that made Blake’s eyes shoot open, made a jolt of terror race through her, so great it nearly stopped her heart.

“Blake!”

He swung his head up triumphantly, eyes landing upon her. “So the thought of your death does not make you cower,” he snarled. “But I think hers will. And now, Blake, I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love… starting with her.”

/ / / 

Yang

Yang sprinted through the ruins of the school, her lungs screaming for release, screaming for air, but she didn’t dare to stop. Didn’t dare to do anything but frantically track the thread of light that connected her to her partner, telling her where Blake was, telling her of the fear lighting up their Bond.

There was a visceral, pounding terror infusing every fiber of her being. She had been talking to Weiss when it had hit— asking her where Blake was— and then out of nowhere, like lightning, horror had lit her up from the inside out, and she had taken off running, not even bothering to tell Weiss where she was going, even as the heiress cried out in alarm behind her. But Yang knew the fear was not her own. It was Blake’s, and Yang knew that there was only one thing in this whole world that could make Blake that scared.

Adam. / / / 

Blake

“Get to your feet, my Blake.”

“Make me,” she invited, swallowing a wince as he prodded her sharply. “If you can.”

“Oh, I will,” he purred, and she drew back her lips in the beginning of a snarl. “Oh, Blake. You used to be so staunch, so firm, so strong… truly a warrior of the White Fang. And who are you now? Not quite a human, not good enough to be a Faunus… you’re weak. You have become so weak, so emotional, my love.”

Fury crackled through her, blindingly sharp. “I’m not your—”

“And shut that mouth of yours,” he snapped, backhanding her across the face; a hot explosion of pain radiated out, but she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know he had hurt her. She met his gaze with blazing, defiant amber eyes. “It’s always gotten you in trouble, hasn’t it? You’ve always had too much of rebellious streak, too much of a disregard for who was really in charge. Just like that damned father of yours. Well, that’s why he died. It’s high time it was burnt out of you.”

Burnt. She swallowed a shudder. Yang’s call… she was coming now… and Blake had no idea what she would do when that moment came. I would die right now, Yang, if you could survive safely and never witness this, never witness what he wants to do to you and Ruby and Weiss… please don’t come. Please, please, don’t try to play the hero, for once, please, let me…

Let me go…

“Blake! Blake, please, where are you?” Her voice was incredibly close now, and Blake’s resolve crumbled as she saw her partner enter her view from the farthest side of the building, picking her way recklessly through the rubble. Adam’s teeth glittered in a wild smile, all sharp teeth and blood, as he saw her, and some part of Blake, some detached part that wasn’t crouched here in the shadow of her oldest nightmare, wondered if Adam could see himself in Yang. They possessed the same fire, the same strength, the same unkillable drive, the same inability to let go of Blake. Twin sides of the same coin, Adam in the shadow, Yang in the light. They were alike, more alike then either of them realized, and Blake had known it all along.

Yang finally saw her, and her eyes widened; she saw the blood on her face, the shadows of bruises, and the fear in her expression. Her eyes grew furious as she saw Adam, and she launched herself towards the two of them.

“Stay back!” he barked as Yang hurtled forward, leveling his sword so the tip of it brushed Blake’s throat. It stung like the coldest kiss of a snowflake, before warming as blood welled up from the barest nick of the blade; he took a visible breath before calming himself. “Take another step closer, Huntress, and she dies.”

Yang pulled up short. Her eyes flashed across to Blake; they had never been so full of terror, and the Bond… Blake regretted it, for the first time, she regretted being Bonded. This couldn’t help anyone— because the fear there mixed with her own, until it was almost unbearable. She met Yang’s eyes, her heart thudding so hard it felt like it would burst. Do as he says. Blake knew Adam was bluffing— he would not kill her yet, not before he had his revenge—  but Yang could not call that bluff, or he would kill her as easily as anything. Right now, she was a bargaining chip, that was all.

He began to pace as he spoke, all the while keeping a line between the two of them, his sword hanging loose at his side. Blake knew that didn’t mean anything. He could explode into deadly action in between one breath and the next if he wanted to, and she watched him as warily as she would watch a bloodthirsty panther.  

“You have no idea,” he laughed humorlessly, shaking his head as he paced, broad shoulders rippling with muscle, “about my Blake, my dear, do you, Huntress? I’m sure she’s talked at length about me, but was any of it the truth?” He looked from Blake to Yang, still grinning. “Oh, you see me here, threatening her. Now put a name to my face. She has never been able to shut up about her nightmares, so you should know me well.” His voice dropped to a mere hiss like the crackle of flame. “Do you know me, Yang Xiao Long?”

Blake’s breath caught in her throat as Yang ran one hand down her gauntlets.

“Of course I know you. Adam Taurus. Leader of the White Fang.” Her voice was remarkably steady, lilac eyes touched with the barest hint of red; Blake couldn’t tell if it was her semblance beginning to activate, or the reflection of the bloody flames. “But I’d prefer to call you coward. From Blake’s descriptions, you look just hideous as she made you sound. Wearing a mask to hide your ugly face—”

Adam’s face twitched, contorting for a moment with anger, before he controlled himself. “Mockery is the product of fear,” he said. “And you are very, very scared, human. Only a fool would not be. Of course—” He swung around to face Blake, all the while keeping his sword drawn— “You’d know her fear, wouldn’t you, can’t you feel it, running through your veins, doubling your own?” His voice trembled with loathing. “Because you Bonded again, didn’t you, even after ours—”

“Our Bond is broken,” she spat, cutting him off.

His mouth thinned out. “Broken as you will be, Blake. All in due time. And as our Bond is dead, so shall your new one die, too. Do you remember when Ayran said I would become leader of the White Fang, by your hand? That came true when you killed him, killed him without mercy, just as he killed your own father. Do you truly believe yourself invulnerable to the circle of balance? Our Bond broke because you left me. What goes around comes around, my love, and I swear, Blake, by the end of tonight, you will leave her— your Bond with her will be over, and you will break it.” He looked at Yang. “Willingly.”

The words she snarled back made him hiss in anger, before he roared with mirth, though his face still looked like it was carved from stone. “Oh, she has spirit, this one! Blake, why am I not surprised that it is her you’ve chosen, over me? And why,” he went on, his voice becoming chilled, “is it she that will die tonight, and not you?”

“Then come threaten me, not Blake,” she said, and her voice was remarkably level, clear and measured, but her eyes burned with something Blake had never seen before— something that scared her even more than Adam’s words. She had seen Yang’s fire and spirit— that fire had never burned Blake, had never burned anyone with the intention to hurt. But this looked like an inferno, a blaze that would kill everyone in the world to keep a single person safe. “It’s me you want, not her. I’m her partner, not you. You claim that humans are the evil ones, but you’ve turned into something worse than a human. Your jealously has warped you, just like Blake told me it had. You don’t want Blake out of some pretended sense of justice, you just want her to suffer because she had the nerve to say no to you. I know why you’re so obsessed with her. Because she was the one thing you thought you had total control over that ever turned around and bit you. You thought you owned her and you didn’t. No, I don’t know you, Adam. But I know your kind. I know the people who think they own others. But you don’t own Blake— you don’t own a soul. And I will never let you hurt my partner again.”  

His mouth twitched into a scowl. “Humans,” he spat, and Blake thought she could hear the shadow of a little boy, a Faunus trampled at a rally gone wrong. “Arrogant little scum, every last one of you.” He said it with all the coldness of the bitterest winter, all amusement fled from his voice, so it was hard. He turned back to Blake, and she flinched away as he ran a hand over her face, considering, before he dealt her another lightning-quick strike across the cheek. She shuddered, her adrenaline leaping in her veins, burning the pain away.

Yang was ashen, shaking on her feet, and though her eyes were leaping with scarlet fire, they were cold as ice. All the fear was gone from them. All that remained was hatred and rage. “If you dare touch her again,” Yang spat, voice hard with chilliness, “I swear I’ll make you regret the day you were born, you filthy bastard.”  

“You see! That is what a human would do, jump to threats and violence as persuasion. Mindless cruelty is all you know. This is your legacy. Whereas mine…” He leaned over and drew a possessive hand over Blake’s cheek. She staggered away, spitting at him, and he roared with laughter, reveling in his element of sick cruelty. “Mine,” he whispered, “is so much greater.”

“Let her go,” Yang snarled, sounding like a wolf, and Adam glared right back— Blake thought that they looked like two wild, mad creatures standing each other down.

“Come and get her,” he invited mockingly. “If you can, human. Before she dies.”

Then Yang’s eyes locked with Blake’s, and she saw the anger— not cold indifference, not icy detachment, not chilly aloofness— crackling within them. Every time they had discussed Adam, every heartbreak, every nightmare— they had all led up to this moment, this final confrontation. The final stand.

You cannot cheat nightmares. In the end they will have their own.

Something rumbled in the back of her throat, a low growl at first, but by the time she turned away from Yang and threw herself at Adam, it had transformed into a roar worthy of a lion.

Chaos erupted around her. She heard Adam screech with fury, his sword pricking her throat, only to be torn away as a shape flew over her. She blinked hazily as a howl of pain— Adam’s— rent the air, and she heard Yang’s shriek of anger as metal clashed against flesh. Then red light suffused the air, sharp as a knife. They were both fighting against him now— but Adam could fight armies alone.

“Yang, no!” Blake screamed as she unsheathed Gambol Shroud, watching him swing up his sword so the moonlight caught it, glowing silver against red. “His semblance— move!”

But Yang, now sporting a bloody gash on her temple, wasn’t fast enough. Blake hurled herself forward, feet slipping against the rubble, and flew into the path of the downward arc of his blade. She only had time to close her eyes and brace herself before he struck, screaming in fury at her defiance. She curled up, but nothing— no pain, no shattered Bond, no battles fought— could have prepared her for the agony of the blade slicing into her flesh.

She screamed, screamed as the blade sank deep into her side, bypassing any bone or muscle or sinew. It ripped and tore before withdrawing, and she was screeching like a mad animal, as soft lights exploded behind her eyes, like stars behind rain-torn clouds. She went to her knees, coughing up blood, wondering how it was possible to feel this much pain without dying, and she doubled over, the world receding to the barest flicker of flame as pain, feeling just like fire, flooded her veins, devouring her alive. She thrashed, trying to put out the flames, wondering how no one could see the burning, as the world swam before her, as she was only hanging on by a thread…

Blake!

Let me go, she thought dimly, aware her struggles were growing weaker, her spasms fading. Let me go, let me fade, before he comes back into…

And then came the scream. It was a wordless, painful lamentation, like a bird crying as its wings were torn off. It was the scream of pain deeper than the soul. It was Yang’s scream as she felt the agony singing like a wailing chorus through the Bond, and Yang’s pain as she saw— what she thought was— Blake’s death. But she was alive, if only for the moment.

If I die, Blake managed to think, so be it. I will die. But not without making Adam pay. I owe Yang and I will not go into the dark with that debt unpaid.

/ / / 

Yang

As soon as she hurled herself at Adam, in the thought that she was going to attack him for hurting Blake, for bringing down his sword and stabbing her with it, she knew she was going to die.

She thought she knew hate. She thought she had known what Blake had gone through. But nothing could have prepared her for this— this absolute creature of pain and terror and hatred. His eyes were full of hideous glee. His sword swung down.

And made contact.

Later, the memory of pain would still make her flinch. Later, she would forget the way flame ripped through her veins. But now— this was real, and death had taken her in its grip and was shaking her around and around and would not let go.

She was fire, she was blazing as brightly as a star, burning herself up in the descent. She saw Adam's eyes, now as cold and expressionless as a winter wind, before he smiled, and it was a thing of terror. The strike that blazed through her now was a pang of pure anguish so great that she thought it would stop her heart. It ended in a jolt of pure terror, and a flash of light red as blood.

Now she was falling through the air, her body weeping blood tinged with fire, the ichor of angels. Weightless. Someone was screaming, and she wondered briefly who it was, until she realized it was coming from her own mouth, rising high as the uncaring stars. As she fell, all she saw was Blake's terrified eyes, dilated with pure animalistic fear, staring behind her at something she couldn't see. Yang saw Blake's lips shape her name in a scream, but all she could hear was her heartbeat, roaring in her ears.

Then darkness slammed down around her.

/ / /  Blake

She found herself staggering to her feet, lurching into Adam’s path as he advanced upon Yang, who was lying on her side on the ground, curled up, body half-hidden from Blake’s sight. Pain flooded through the Bond in crashing waves, a pain more acute and crippling then she had ever known, leaving Blake gasping. The pain almost drowned her: she was as helpless as a child against it.

But then it all cut off. The pain, the emotions, everything, leaving Blake more alone than ever. She had been Bonded with Yang so long that she had forgotten what it was to be alone, but the feeling of absolute solitude was more crippling than ever, like someone had cut off some essential part of her… and then she realized the magnitude of it. If Yang’s side of the Bond was gone… if the pain was gone, if the feeling of her was gone… her aliveness and the feel of her and her emotions were gone, and the Bond felt dead… But how could that be, if Yang was okay? Surely she was just stunned. She would get up any second…

“No,” Blake muttered as Adam drew aside, casting Yang’s body into the light more fully, as she saw the pool of blood that was slowly ebbing out from her body. “No, no, no.”

“Yes,” he whispered as Blake saw what Adam had done, why his sword was wet and red with blood, why his eyes finally glittered with triumph. “She’s worthless now. What is a Huntress without her weapon?” He began to laugh loudly as Blake finally saw what lay there. “What is a human with a hand to inflict pain?”

Yang’s eyes were closed, her face so pale she looked like she were already dead. She was unconscious, the only mercy that the night had yielded. And next to her…

“No,” Blake choked. “No, you… she’s not..”

She could not comprehend it; her mind simply could not accept was it was seeing. Yang was a burning flame, bright and invincible. She had never been seriously injured, not beyond repair, because that was impossible. But there she was, lying there, and her arm… Adam stalked around to the other side of Yang, looking down at it, at where his sword had come down and sliced it off, as easily as one would take a breath.

There wasn’t a shred of remorse on his face, only a cold satisfaction, the face of a wolf after it had made a kill. “This is your payment,” he snarled at her prostrate form. “A partner for a partner. A weapon for a weapon.” Then he turned his face down, and spat on her. “The only mercy you get, human, is that you won’t be alive to watch Blake die, too.” He raised his sword again, preparing to kill Yang in one motion.

He didn’t even get as far as lifting it before Blake had flew at him, fury blinding her with tears. Her hands wrapped around his throat, a scream bursting forward from her throat. He staggered backward. “You!” Blake screamed. “You did this! You ruined my life and hers! It ends here!” She punched him the face so hard his head snapped around, bones cracking. “I should have killed you when I killed Ayran!”  

She thought she had known anger when she had attacked him earlier. That was nothing compared to this. Something had unlocked inside of her, flooding her with a fury that lent energy to her strikes. They both fell, punching with kicks and screams, but this time, Blake had one thing to match him: now her strikes sought his death, and her strikes were her final stand. She had killed Ayran, and she had never wanted to kill Adam, but she had never felt this much pure rage— this could only end one way— if he was too strong, she would die in the darkness.

Yang hadn’t been able to touch him for one reason, and one reason only.

She didn’t know Adam.

But Blake had grown up beside this boy, trained beside him, slept in his bed, eaten the same food. She knew his thoughts and hopes, fears and dreams, the way he thought, the way he fought, the way he moved. She knew Adam, and that was his undoing.

You think we can never be equal?

“You think you can kill me?” he cried, his breath hot against her ear. “After everything?”

“After everything,” she screeched, “you deserve it.”

He roared in agony as she kicked him squarely in the face, knocking his mask off to the side, his nose crunching as the bones broke. In retaliation, he smacked her away and she fell down on her back, just like she’d been when this first started. He raised his sword, intending to stab her through the heart. But he moved just too slowly, from where Yang must have injured him earlier, and again, as Blake slipped out from the reach of his blade, Yang had saved her life in the smallest of ways. Adam was on the ground for a moment, vulnerable— the briefest of moments— but it was enough.

There was only one thing for it.

Goodbye, Adam.

With a gut-wrenching cry of pain, she threw Gambol Shroud, feeling it as it left her hand. The air seemed to turn to syrup, time slowing to a crawl, as it spun end over end like a dark star. Adam’s eyes widened, scars stretching grotesquely, the firelight shimmering on bulged skin. And Gambol Shroud— her blade— her faithful blade that had been by her through everything, had linked her and Yang time and time again, and had saved her life, did not fail.

A good blade.

She watched, motionless, as time seemed to speed up again and the blade sank into Adam’s chest.

He stood there a moment, staring first at her, and then, as he looked down at where the blade stuck out from between his ribs, blood oozing out weakly, it was like he was a puppet, and someone had cut his strings. Adam fell.

He fell, crumpling to his knees, a bubbling, broken wheeze exhaling from his slackened mouth. He clutched weakly at the hilt protruding from his chest, and Blake could not stop herself from walking forward towards him as he struggled on the ground, a powerful monster reduced to a feeble shell. She felt like she was in a dream and nothing she said or did was really happening.

She took his head into her lap. It made her shudder to touch him, but she sat there, straight-backed and numb, as his glazed, scarred eyes slid over the fire-lit walls and then came to settle on her face.

“Bl…ake.” He looked up at her, gasping shallowly for breath, those gray-gold eyes, marred with scars, piercing into her. In answer, she picked up his mask, placing it over his eyes. “Your blade has… true aim. Just like… like with Ayran. I taught you how to… use it. I never thought it… it would kill me..."

Her voice was choked with emotion as she wiped blood away from his chest, but it kept coming and coming, a ceaseless tide, drowning, drowning just as Yang had drowned in her pain only yesterday, what felt eternities away. “You’re not dead.”

“No… don’t touch me… I can’t bear it if you touch me.” He raised his hand and lifted it up, placing it over hers, where her hand was on the gash in his chest. “Heart,” he whispered. “You threw to pierce my heart, and you did… just as you have every day since you left me.”

He’ll blame me until he’s dead, but I’ll never regret leaving him. He had turned into a monster. Another flare of anger bloomed to life inside of her. “I—”

“It was… not supposed to be like this. I trained you, Blake, and I trained you to throw a blade… straight and direct… I know you.” Blood glistened at the edges of his lips, a grim sneer twisting them. His voice was ragged. “No, I’m not dead yet… but you aimed to kill. And your aim… was true. There’s not much time left.”

She didn’t try to argue. She knew where she had thrown her blade— if she hadn’t hit his heart, she had hit something else vital, maybe even punctured his lungs—  and she could recognize the smell of death creeping in on the air, lingering in the way his face was getting grayer and grayer. She knew how to recognize death, because she had grown up with it.

“I’d like to say I regret a lot of things,” Blake whispered. “But I don’t regret this, Adam. I can’t. And I never will.”

He coughed, and a thick spool of blood rolled out from the corner of his mouth, his face pale and waxen-looking. “You killed Ayran,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t… think… I would die by your hand… too.”

Blake bowed her head, hot tears stinging the edges of her eyes. Here she was, sitting— beaten but not broken— in a room in the academy she loved, alive while two of her partners were dying around her. “I didn’t want it to end like this. I don’t forgive you, Adam, but I don’t think you wanted it to end this way either…”

He turned his head slightly, his face pale in the light. He must be very close to the end now. “Two paths,” he whispered. “Two destinies. ‘One will lead to mankind's destruction; the other, your salvation. You have the potential to atone for your sins.’” His face contracted with pain, skin going taut. “But I never could atone for what I did… who I became… and neither could you. And you— you shouldn’t. So I shall… give… a final warning. Run, Blake. Run… away. The White Fang… will hunt you down. Because you killed me. This is their revenge, their way. If you are with the human… they will kill her too. Run. Run away from Vale and… never return. That’s the only way your team will be safe and survive. You’re… a danger to them. As you have thrust a blade in my chest… so they shall to you and to Yang. My death will not bring you peace, but only pain. The White Fang is a creature of vengeance. That is what… I made them.”

“No,” Blake hissed.

“I have chosen my path.” His eyes glittered. “Rage at the dying of the light, Blake, even now… I cannot change it… and going gently into that good night… death was never gentle, not with either of our parents or our fates... and neither was I...”

“Adam,” she whispered in horror as he turned his head away, exhaling a low breath, his chest’s movement falling into stillness. “Adam, no.”

But it was too late; his body was going cold, and when she shifted, he— his corpse— rolled off of her. She could recognize the eerie stillness of death on his face.

Blake’s head spun, black spots dancing before her eyes— from blood loss, or from loss of the heart? In all her nightmares, in every worst dream, she had never thought of Adam dying— or that she would kill him. She hadn’t dared to imagine it. She had wanted her revenge, perhaps, had wanted him out of her life. But not gone from the world forever. Even now, it seemed unreal. A world without him was like a world without night, or snow, or rain. A world that was uprooted from the center. Death had erased the lines on his face, softened his skin, made him younger. Hands shaking, she took off his mask and closed his eyes gently. He did not deserve her forgiveness— not after everything he had done— but she owed something to the boy he had once been, the boy who had saved her, brought her up after Brian and Maria died. Not to Adam, leader of the White Fang, but Adam Taurus, the boy who had loved her. Who had taught her to fight and how to survive.

“Goodbye, Adam,” she whispered.

He had died… and his last words were a warning to her. Not of reconciliation— she hadn’t expected forgiveness from him, nor had she forgiven him for all his crimes— but of a promise.

The White Fang will hunt you down, because you killed me. This is their revenge, their way. If you are with the human, they will kill her too. Run. Run away from Vale and never return. That’s the only way your team will be safe and survive.

“But first,” Blake whispered to the empty air, “I need to get Yang to safety. Then… I will run.”

I didn’t know it when I took my first breaths, when I became Adam’s partner, when I walked into Beacon, when I sought out Yang in the forest... but my duty is to protect her. I have been made to protect her. Only in death will I be kept from that duty. And to do that… I have to get her to a safe place, and then, because my presence ensures danger, I…

The answer came to her through her whirling thoughts like a shaft of lightning striking through the clouds.

I have to go. I have to go and never come back. I have to leave Beacon, leave the city, leave Vale entirely.

This is… this is goodbye. To both of my partners forever.

Numb— not quite comprehending what had happened, her emotions all locked in ice, except for the sense of urgency, to get moving, to get away from this place— Blake stood, taking the last steps away from Adam’s body. Each one felt like it carried her a mile, but she didn’t look back once.

Several feet away from him, sheltered underneath a broken table, was Yang’s body. Fear mixing with a horrible dread in her chest, Blake stood over her, heart in her throat. Was she already dead? She could live in a world with a dead Adam, but not a dead Yang. Adam’s death could shake the world. Yang’s would shatter it.

Her breath rustling out of her throat, she leaned down, touching Yang’s shoulder, not daring to touch the wound that Adam had caused her. “Yang,” Blake whispered, holding her partner’s face. She was unresponsive, her eyes flickering as if in dream— or something else, behind her eyelids. She felt slack, like a badly-jointed wax doll, her skin no longer burning with that inner fire, but cold as ice. “You can’t die. You can’t. I still need you.” I will always, always need you…

But Yang didn’t move at all, and she was as still as a statue. Heart splintering in two with agony, Blake closed her eyes briefly, leaning down to rest the top of her head against Yang’s chest. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes like white-hot pinpricks. Her heart pounding, she sat floating in the darkness behind her eyelids, resolutely trying not to think of Yang. But her face appeared against the blank screen of her closed eyelids anyway, not smiling at her but looking sidelong, and she could see the gold of her hair, the uneven curl at the corner of her mouth, and the sparkle of her eyes. All the marks and flaws and imperfections that made up the person she loved most in the world. Yang. She could almost hear her voice, too, saying her name, the way she had whispered it in the classroom so many months ago when she had told the tale of her mother, over and over again. Blake. Blake. Blake.

The words became almost like a heartbeat, an unbroken rhythms, before Blake’s eyes flew wide as she realized what she was hearing was a rhythm, the simplest, most beautiful tune of all: the beating of Yang’s heart.

[dracox-serdriel]

Lament of the Asphodels - Chapter 30: Sisyphus, He Sat upon his Rock

Lament of the Asphodels

Title: Sisyphus, He Sat upon His Rock Author: Dracox Serdriel Artist: @liamjcnes Artwork: Post 1 | Post 2 Word count: 4,700 Rating: NC-17/Explicit (except on FF) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Graphic sexual content, Declaration/threats of sexual violence, Minor character death, Social stigmatization/abuse, Detailed descriptions of hopelessness/depression/inner turmoil, Descriptions of the effects of extreme phobias/social anxiety, including anthropophobia, thalassophobia/hydrophobia, and hylophobia/dendrophobia, Descriptions of shipwrecks and storms at sea

Read Lament of the Asphodels on FF, AO3, LJ, or start at the beginning on Tumblr. Written as part of @captainswanbigbang.

Chapter 30: Sisyphus, He Sat upon His Rock

Emma opened her eyes under a sky awash with stars with the soothing rhythm of the ever-moving water rippling beneath her. Her lips curled slightly as her hands grazed a familiar surface of coarse wood, and she reached out for the only missing piece that plundered this moment's perfection.

Where's Killian?

The thought struck a sobering block that ignited the shroud of complacency around her, and all at once, pain, hunger, and thirst set upon her as kites to carrion. Ropes tore at her raw and bleeding wrists, and chains burned against her ankles and bare feet. She struggled fruitlessly, her efforts blunted by her sapped strength. Panic descended upon her, for she had been bound and cast adrift, possibly days ago. And Killian was... Cora had said he was gone.

"You are awake," someone said.

The voice was soft and warm with a hint of caution, and though she never before had heard it, she felt the resonance of a shared past. It was a weak glimmer in the dark, but it was all she had to grasp. She yanked herself up into a sitting position and slumped against the stern.

The man in the rower's seat was smaller than she expected, though by no means slight nor short. In many ways, he was exactly average, with calloused hands and a weariness in his face that had nothing to do with his advanced age. His scalp was bald, safe for tufts of white hair over each ear. Despite the perceived connection, she recognized nothing of this man except his eyes. She had seen them somewhere before, certainly, but not him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"I'm no one important," he replied. "And we are presently rowing not far from Stagrock Light."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "But circumstances as they are, you can imagine the answer is... unpleasant. Let's talk about something else."

She sucked in a breath and shook her head, no. She was too tired, too beaten, too wounded to trade banter with someone who surely was one of her kidnappers.

"Tell me about your son," he suggested.

Fury erupted inside her at the thought of this man daring to threaten her child. She couldn't have contained it if she desired such a thing.

"If you even think about harming my son - "

He interrupted, "I would never do something so vile! I only meant to suggested a pleasant topic of conversation."

Emma was incensed and indignant, but even that did not stop her so-called 'superpower' from recognizing that he was, in fact, speaking the truth. Not just about never harming her son, but everything he said had been true.

She measured her breathing and resisted the urge to lash out at her captor. The silence extended, broken only by the gentle slap of oar against water, and, very slowly, her anger burned lower and lower, till it was naught but a simmering, smoking ember.

"He loves stories," she said, starting quietly. "Writing them, reading them... graphic novels used to be his favorite, but recently he started to really love the classics. I guess it happened before we went to Camelot, but after our trip there, all of a sudden he was making a trip to the library every other day. He never loses faith. He never stops believing. I don't know where he gets that kind of optimism. Not from me or his father... or his adoptive mother, either."

It was odd that the man hadn't batted an eye at that last statement, for it wasn't common practice in this realm for adopted children or orphans to meet their biological parents. She couldn't recall a single story about any such person even looking for blood relations.

"He sounds like a wonderful young man," he commented.

"He is," she replied. "Why do you care?"

"I have found that caring is the only real tonic for this world," he explained. "Caring, in the face of everything."

"What's your name?" she asked, not sure how else to steer the conversation.

The man's face broke into a wide smile, bright and true, that lit up the whole of his person, casting off several decades with the shadows.

"My lady, surely you know," he said jovially. "My name is Henry."

She started, not expecting to hear her own son's name, yet he had assumed that she had known already. There was no reason why. She had never met him before.

"Henry," she repeated as an idea dawned on her.

"Regina's father," he added. "Very pleased to meet you, Miss Swan."

"How - how do you know me?"

"You visited my grave," he replied. "And Cora told me of you, though she was too busy portraying you in a dark light to convey any truths."

"You know who... what Cora is?"

"Sadly, all too well."

"Then why help her?" she asked. "After all she's done?"

He gave her a morose smirk as he replied, "She may never have loved me, but she is the reason I have Regina. And despite herself, she did love our daughter. Besides, if it wasn't me, she would recruit someone else, and she would not do it kindly."

"Why are we rowing in circles around Stagrock Light?" she asked. "I don't care how unpleasant your answer is."

"Cora wants nothing more than to leave this place," he explained. "There is but one way for a soul to escape the Underworld."

"A trade of souls," she said, cottoning on. "But we're in the Underworld, so how does that work? The spell you're talking about only works when cast in a realm of the living."

"Apparently, the spell can free her soul to leave in exchange for trapping another," he said. "Thereafter, can escape, so long as she finds the door."

"The door?" she repeated incredulously. "The Underworld has a door?"

"Door, portal, exist... something to that effect."

"That still doesn't explain why we're circling Stagrock."

Of course, speaking those words fueled a theory that made her silent. Her face must've betrayed the thought, for Henry held his tongue.

"Cora thinks it's here," she said. "The exit."

"She doesn't want you to escape through it before she completes the ritual," he confirmed quietly. "I considered facilitating your escape, but I fear we wouldn't get far. I can barely see beyond the boat."

"It's all right," she replied. "Now that Cora's found me, outrunning her isn't really an option."

Emma and Henry let a lapse of silence fall between them. At some point, sleep captured her, letting the rest of the dark hours pass in the blink of an eye. When she woke, she was bound in the center of the rowboat, which was moored to a dock. She fought to sit up, but she was pinned down somehow... almost certainly by magic.

It took her several minutes of desperate trying before she accepted that brute force would not be enough to free her. As she caught her breath, her ears sharpened, picking up on two voices carried by some combination of wind and water.

"Cora, please, I beg you to reconsider," Henry pleaded. "This is a dangerous risk."

"Darling, darling," Cora replied. "I'm touched by your concern, but we both know it's not for me."

"He lives for nothing but cruelty."

"All great rulers must be feared," she said. "Only the bravest, most brazen subject dare approach a leader like that. It weeds out the weak and others unsuited for the reward."

"That man could strike you down to ash!"

The sound of choking came across the water.

"He's not a man, he's a god!" Cora snapped.

There was a horrific crunch followed by a short, wicked chuckle. Emma's heart began to pound hard in her chest as an anticipation of dread crept up on her, washing over all of her faculties.

Magic - her magic - reared up inside her like an incensed serpent, ready to explode into action at her command, and she channeled everything inside of her, from sorrow to fury, into the power born of True Love. She cast away every thought until her sole obsession was freedom. Her bindings withered, frayed, and fell away, and the wind shifted, as if a nearby wall had been removed.

She went still and held her breath, straining her ears so she could hear anyone approaching. There was nothing but the wind, so she sat upright only to be hit by a wave of dizziness as black spots rolled through her vision. It was potent enough to stay her from standing in the gently-swaying boat, lest she topple into the salty sea for lack of balance.

As she waited for the spell to pass, she wondered after her deportment. She certainly seemed a sorry sight, if not for her bare feet and frayed garment, then for the tangled mess that had once been her hair. Her lips were chapped, and any skin that wasn't red or bleeding was horribly dry. She was so parched and ravenously hungry that she entertained slipping her captor for no reason other than to slake those needs that distracted her.

Distractions, however, remained a luxury she could not afford. For whatever reason, the magic binding her powers had waned, and while Cora was far from infallible, she rarely left things to chance. In all likelihood, the witch had set Emma free on purpose to draw her into the depths of whatever fiendish plan that unfolded in these very moments. Emma was ragged, injured, and without allies, and there was no upper hand to be had.

I cut off his head and banished his body from this realm.

The cruel monotone of Cora's words echoed in Emma's head, and her soul filled with the kind of wrath that collapses empires and valleys the highest mountain. Cora's curt statements, devoid of apology and concern, cut deep into the oldest, most wounded parts of Emma, drumming up the agony she concealed with half-truths and broken promises.

He would never stop trying to save you, to defend you...

Then her heart joined the fray, echoing the sentiments and the loss that she felt, and fury nested its foothold somewhere that no light ever dared touch. Cora murdered Killian because of his devotion and love, and she told Emma about it as if remarking on the weather or discussing something as bald and common as felling a tree. And then she delighted in the agony she inflicted.

I couldn't have that.

Had there ever been any element of her soul that dared resist the desire to destroy the evil witch who slew her love, it was surely snuffed out by those last remembered words. Killian died because Cora couldn't allow him to live, and as sure as she was Emma Swan, she swore that Cora's own words would damn her into whatever the next hell looked like.

She hadn't noticed the brewing storm that snuffed out the weak morning light, nor had she witnessed thick and heavy fog running across the water and enveloping the lighthouse. When she rose inside the tiny craft, she could see nothing in front of her, yet her feet knew instinctively where to go and how to step. With every step, her body tensed, and magic rose from the core of her soul to the surface. By the third step, she was a radiant warrior, illuminated with silver-red light that no light to which no light could ever compare.

She vaguely registered Henry's collapsed body leaning against the outer wall of the lighthouse, but as he was no threat to her, she ignored him entirely and continued to the main doorway, where Cora waited.

"I see you've found your magic," Cora said. "Well done. But I'm afraid it's come too late. There's nothing you can do to stop it now."

The smugness with which she spoke and her complete lack of fear merely contributed to Emma's rage, and though she knew of no spell that could kill nor had weapon to best the witch with, she had every intention of ripping her enemy to shreds and banishing her from this realm. Just as she did to Killian.

"I don't care," Emma replied.

Cora's face faltered for a moment, but she quickly reestablished her air of dignified control. A patronizing smirk spread across her face.

"Do you mean to kill me, Emma Swan?" she asked.

Emma closed her eyes and screamed, and with her voice came a violent rush of energy that was simultaneously fire, ice, and lightning.

There was a fraction of a moment, a fleeting flicker, where Cora realized her time had come and failed to school her features. It was but an instant, however, before the furious magic struck her and made any expression she may have worn meaningless. The blast casted her into the sky, and the fog and wind went with her, curling around her like a snack crushing vermin. As to Cora's survival or where she or her remains landed, no one could ever say, save for the fact that the fog traveled to the Northmost Point, to the great ice caps of Northedge.

Emma knew nothing of this, for the instant that she released the wrathful powers within, the will inside her crumbled. She had lost too much to lie to herself about the nature of her life, for being the Savior condemned her to a lifetime of sacrifices. Being born of True Love never meant that she had any hope of finding such a thing for herself, and when she did find it, she fought it. She resisted until it was too late to have, and then she followed that love into the Underworld on the foolish notion that all she need do was fight and good things would happen. She wondered in this moment if she had known this all along and deceived herself, that she could transmute her final act of self-destruction into an act of the heart. She was forced to concede that the possibility existed, and with that single admission, a thousand questions circled her like predators as every certainty she held became a doubt.

And it was too much for her to bare. Then even her condemned her, for the last thing she saw before defeat's maw closed around her was a horse suspended in the sky. That was impossible, even in the Underworld.

So she closed her eyes, and darkness took her.

Killian could not see the events that transpired beneath him, for riding a winged horse required an awkward position, lest his legs press against the wing joins. He didn't know why Pegasus returned to him after they parted ways on the beach, and he cared not for reasons any longer. What his eyes could not tell him, his heart translated all too clearly, and he knew Emma was in trouble. So he accepted his new companion's boon without preamble, and his only hope was that he would not soon regret the choice.

As they neared the lighthouse, a blurring roar of thunder crashed before them, and Pegasus flinched at the sound, rearing back and changing direction in a heartbeat. Before Killian could urge the steed to correct his course, however, a mist passed over them, moving with curious speed. Normally the touch of fog was cold and wet, but this seared and smarted as it rolled over them both. He grunted against his steed's back, but the stallion made no indication of ill feeling. Perhaps Pegasus was immune to such magic.

Then everything stopped, down to the wind and the waves. It was impossible, of course, for the tides were a force of nature that nothing could oppose. Yet his ears, which lacked nothing in ability, could discern no trace of them or the wind. He risked a glance down over Pegasus's shoulder and wing and discovered that his hearing did not betray him, for the world was absolutely still.

The lighthouse, encircled by a sea serpent that appeared chiseled from the same stone, stood alone in a motionless sea, and a figure radiated light that rivaled the sun and so bright was her luminosity that he forced himself to look away for fear of blindness. All this transpired the span of a second, though to him it seemed an infinity thereof.

Yet it did end. That was to say, everything was as it was supposed to be, as if nothing had ceased to begin with. Killian could no longer rightly feel the directions nor sense where they were, so disorienting was the surge of return, but Pegasus turned again, leaving his rider with hope that they had corrected course.

Heat flared against his skin, quickening into a flame that he could not ignore. His hook awkwardly dug out the fiery token in his possession, and the amber cube that Hippolyta had given to him shined with red and gray light. He cursed himself for piercing its edge, for it seemed as if it might spill out at any second, surely consuming steed and rider alike. He held it aloft on the desperate hope that they might land before it burst; otherwise, he would have to drop it into the sea.

There was a clattering of hooves as they landed atop Stagrock, and Killian, unprepared, felt his body ripple harshly, every muscle sore and throbbing. He patted Pegasus's great neck again and murmured his praise and thanks before dismounting, careful to keep the growing ember at arm's length.

"Thank you, Old Boy!" he said.

Then he raced down the lighthouse, falling more than climbing the latter, and he hardly cared that his already-strained body protested every jarring leap and every misstep. He couldn't risk the flame expanding anywhere but its true home, the beacon room, for it would surely consume even the stone on which he stood.

He didn't even descend into it; no, he opened the hatch, leaned in at the waist, and flicked the amber box from his hook, angling for the curving corner. He didn't wait to see if he had struck his mark, and it was a proper thing to do. No sooner had it touched the floor of the beacon room that the Unending Flame regained its full and glorious light and erupted into a blinding beacon. Its shine took several minutes to fade, for its brilliance always adjusted to the realm.

The immediate danger dealt with, Killian remembered his reason for return as well as the distressing fog that rolled through him on his journey here. Though his flesh begged for rest, he could not allow it. Emma was in danger.

He raced down the inner steps. He wondered if new stairs appeared to spite him, for it seemed as if they doubled in number since last he climbed them. He took them two at a time, yet still he felt himself moving at a snail's pace. He chose to leap over far too many in the basement, his back protesting at the violent landing, yet he continued as if he felt no pain.

The doorway still had no covering over them, so he saw Emma lying on the ground, only a few paces from a man he didn't recognize. Both were unconscious. So keen was his focus that he didn't register the scorch marks as he cross over them.

"Emma!" he shouted as he lifted her in his arms. "Emma! Can you hear me, love?"

His fingers felt a pulse, strong and true, but it failed to bring him any relief. She was alive but badly injured, and he was hardly in a good way. Could he safely bring her inside before his own body gave out?

"Emma, love," he said quietly. "Please, Emma... please."

She twitched in his arms, then shifted, as if to get comfortable. He hesitated, afraid to believe that she was coming around when all reality told him it was at best wishful thinking. But then her eyes fluttered opened, and the beautiful jade emeralds that she hid behind her lids appeared like they had done a hundred thousand times before.

"Killian," she mumbled.

She lifted her hand, and he grasped it in his own. Joy - true, unbounded joy - filled his heart, and he pulled her close to him, lifting her head so he could hold her properly.

Her eyes fell upon the battered doorway before her, and with a flick of her wrist, wood from the heaviest oak in all the realms collected like moths to a flame. Metalwork also appeared, and suddenly a new frame and door rested against the lighthouse, which glimmered as if restored to its youngest days.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly. "But save your strength, love."

He helped her to her feet as gently as possible, though for all his trouble, she was far steadier than he. She grabbed his collar and brought his lips down over hers, and her lips and tongue made him question who was the greater pirate. Together they collapsed against the outer wall before the door, panting and laughing.

"Who is he?" Killian asked, waving his hand at the man only a few paces from them.

"Nobody important," someone else answered.

And just like that, his joy vanished, for the speaker had a voice like ice and fire, cruel and uncaring. Killian pushed Emma behind him and reached for his cutlass before he realized it was not there.

"Tut, tut," the speaker said. "There's a time and place, and this isn't it."

The man who stepped out of the shadows - which was particularly disturbing as it was morning and there were no shadows from which to step - had the air of a gentleman. He had a suit of fine quality and matching Fedora held in hand. There was no doubt that he was royalty of some kind, it was in his air and manner but also in his face and hands.

"Hades," Emma said, stepping out so she was shoulder to shoulder with Killian.

"You recognize me?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"No," she replied. "But Cora called you, didn't she?"

"She summoned me," he replied.

"To what end?" Killian asked.

"Waste of time, really," he said. "She wanted to trade souls, but as you already know, that kind of thing can't happen. Not with our deal."

"Our deal?" Killian repeated.

"Ah, yes, Mister Jones, not you," Hades said. "Just me and Miss Swan here."

"You made a deal with Hades?" Killian asked her.

"Oh she made a deal," Hades spoke before she could. "A blood deal. It was a very bad idea. And I still can't see why she did it."

"Our deal said no interference," she said.

Truthfully, she could not remember the terms of their deal, but she imagined if no one could trade souls with her, other obvious safety measures must've been put in place.

"Technically, I can do whatever I want, with some minor restrictions," he bristled. "I'll admit it. I never thought you'd come this far. Too bad about Pegasus. Had that other lady not let you go, we could've counted that as number ten. But, alas, here you are, nine labors done with none to serve as your tenth."

"How can that be?" Killian asked. "This is the Underworld."

"I keep a clean house," Hades replied. "Besides, you had, what, eleven, twelve opportunities? I've lost count. If you haven't done ten yet, you never will."

"That's not what we agreed," Emma said.

"Hmmm," he commented. "I'm not here to stop you. Far from it. It serves me better if you succeed."

"Then help us succeed."

Hades smiled and blue flame erupted atop his head, and some part of him came to the surface before it burned out.

"You weren't the first," Hades began. "A long time ago, a venomous serpent bite a woman named Eurydice on her wedding day, and she died a few hours later. Her husband, Orpheus, couldn't accept her demise. He was a poet and musician, so what hope did he have in the Underworld, where only the greatest warriors hoped to survive?

"But his music... well, it was special. His music defeated the singing of the sirens, that's how beautiful it was. So he took up his lyre and played the sweetest melodies and cast Cerberus and every other guardian the Underworld has into a deep, deep sleep. He crept by the elm where ivory dreams cling and through the gates, then down, down, down... until he found her. But before they could leave, my judges captured them both and brought them to a tribune to decide their fates. Though truth be told, the decision was made before they were even discovery. More of a formality.

"And there Orpheus stood, in front of deities the likes of which he only knew by the praise in his songs, and he asks for an audience. It was granted, so he played his lyre, and the tune... I've never heard its rival nor its equal in all my long life. All the blessed saints of Apollo had not played half as well before or ever since. To call it beautiful would be blasphemy.

"Even so, it was only music, and no matter the depth of its majesty, it ended like all other music. Every judge recovered from the tune and cast it off, like it never happened. Deities are spoiled with all kinds of splendor, and even we can miss something of real value when we see it. I confess, I certainly did. To me he was just one more mortal trying to cheat his fare, and no matter his talent, he should be no exception.

"But then I looked up and saw something that I hadn't seen in all my alive. A long time before even Eurydice's death, there was a man named King Sisyphus, a cunning man. I'll spare you the details, but he earned a very special punishment in the Underworld. He was told he could escape, and all he had to do was to push a boulder up a steep hill. He wasn't told that Zeus himself enchanted that stone to roll back down the to the bottom before it ever reached the top. Sisyphus is a man of impossible imagination and intelligence doomed to an eternity of frustration and futility. In fact, his intellect is part of the reason that he continues to move that rock. Sisyphus believes - honestly believes - that his cunning will save him from this, even after all this time. He can't stop. Not because anyone is forcing him to keep going. Oh, no, that would hardly be punishment. No, he can't stop because he's too smart to stop. Yes, Zeus designed his punishment very well.

"By all accounts, Sisyphus's plight is unending, except for a single respite. The stories go that Orpheus descended into the Underworld and played music in memory of his wife Eurydice, and his tune was so profound that all the world, from the Underworld to Mount Olympus, fell silent that they may hear. But truly, the greatness of his playing can be found in nothing more than this: a man damned by deities and condemned by his own mind to the point of a hardened soul stilled his endless efforts and sat upon the rock, that he could listen to the music and indulge in a fleeting moment of tears.

"Never before had Sisyphus halted his work, let alone settle on the stone as if it weren't his to move. So while my wary ear and jaded heart couldn't accept the truth of Orpheus's music, I saw its power," Hades said.

He folded his hands, weaving his fingers together, placing his palms delicately over his suit. He seemed calm, collected, composed, hardly like a deity ready to lash out at those before him. Then he waved two fingers, and the unconscious man vanished.

"I let that man lead his wife out of the Underworld," Hades said quietly. "Not for winning a prize fight or seducing me. Not for charming me or presenting me with adequate tribute. No, I allowed it because Sisyphus, he sat upon his rock. Remember that."

Then Hades disappeared, leaving Emma and Killian clinging one another outside the freshly relit Beacon of Northedge.

End-of-chapter notes: In Greek myth, Sisyphus lived as the king of Ephyra, a cunning and crafty man whose avarice and deceit earned him a special punishment in Tartarus upon his final repose. Sisyphus was forced to push a huge boulder up a steep hill; unfortunately, Zeus enchanted the boulder to roll down to the bottom before it reached the top, forcing Sisyphus into an eternity of frustration and futility.

Many myths and legends describe Sisyphus's unending plight, which has but a single moment of respite. After Orpheus descended into the Underworld, he petitioned the gods with music in memory of his wife Eurydice, and what he played was of such profound beauty that all the world, from the Underworld to the heavens of Mount Olympus, fell silent. It was so moving that it even touched the hardened soul of Sisyphus, who stilled his endless efforts and sat upon his rock for a fleeting moment of tears.

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