#the branch gets put into a open air prison and are tortured and killed until the mc comes to help the remaining members

[mx-paint]

Seeing someone claim a book is "pro-genocide" and knowing that the part of the book they are referring to literally could not have a louder message of "anti-genocide" if it fucking tried.

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [61]

iii. sleeping giants

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: violence, bleeding, injuries, explosions, torture.

Summary: You, Clarke, and Madi finally get the chance to confront your enemies, and you quickly learn that you’re up against more than you bargained for.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You, Clarke, and Madi are crouched low along the ridgeline, and you and Clarke each have your rifles propped up on the large rocks in front of you, focused on the man you trapped in the clearing. He’s still crying out in pain, and you can see the blood on his clothes, bright red against his tan jumpsuit. Madi has watched on in silence since you arrived, but she finally breaks now, looking over at you and Clarke, clearly upset. “This isn't right.”

Clarke looks away from her scope to look at Madi, sympathetic. “Madi, I know, but this is our home, your home.”

“And they want to take it from us.”

Clarke nods, “That's right.”

She’s quiet for a second before she asks, “But he doesn't have to suffer. We can kill him now, right?”

Clarke’s expression hardens, her jaw sets, and she turns back to her weapon, peering down at the man again. “Not yet.”

You follow suit, the conversation seemingly over, watching as the man screams out again. Suddenly, there’s movement in the trees around the clearing, and seconds later prisoners start to creep out towards the man, led by the woman you saw earlier. She motions for the group to stop and watch, but a few of the men around her ignore her, walking past her and right into the kill zone you and Clarke established. You whisper, “I’ve got left.”

“I’ve got right.”

You and Clarke each fire off a shot, one immediately after the next, killing the two closest men. Everyone else in the group drops down, looking around for you, and you and Clarke reload before peering through the scope again. Unfortunately, you set your sights on the group just in time to see one of the men stand up, a large weapon in his hand, pointed right at you. You and Clarke see it at the same time, letting out a soft gasp, unable to do anything else before the blast hits the ridgeline in front of you. 

The blast knocks all three of you away, and you hear Madi let out a scream before your body lands on the ground with a hard thud. You groan in pain, a high pitched ringing in your ears, and you hear Clarke’s muffled voice calling your name through the haze in your head. You look up, meeting her eyes, and she grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We have to run!”

You nod your head, crouching low and following her and Madi from the ridgeline and into the trees. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and the cotton in your head to clear, but when it finally does, you feel a rush of anxiety, aware of the danger the three of you now face. Your anxiety only grows when you realize Clarke is gasping, quietly fighting back pain. You pull her to a stop, and Madi whispers, “We can make it to the north cave, come on!”

You ignore her and search Clarke over, pulling her hand away from her ribs and staring down at the black blood covering her hand. “You’re hurt.”

A look of fear passes over Clarke’s face and she turns to Madi, “We have to hide you.”

She looks around until she finds a cut out in a tree nearby, and she starts to urge Madi towards it. “You need to get in here.”

“Not without you.”

You glare at Clarke, blood still dripping from beneath her shirt. “Clarke, you can’t go on like this.”

“I have to keep Madi safe!”

You grab her shoulders, forcing her to look at you, “But who will keep you safe?”

You push both of them towards the hole, just large enough to hide Clarke and Madi. “You both need to hide, I’ll lead them away.”

“But-”

“Clarke there’s no time to argue about this! Get in here, stay hidden.” They both climb into the hole, looking up at you in fear, both reluctant to let you go. You smile down at them and Clarke whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you both.” You pass Madi your knife, wrapping her fingers around it. “Stay safe.”

And then you grab trees and branches from nearby, covering them both up, tucking them out of sight. You turn and run off, leading them away from your family, making sure to be loud enough that they follow you instead. You can hear the prisoners in the woods behind you, yelling updates to each other every time they catch a glimpse of you, and it only pushes you faster, trying to put as much distance as you can between you and the prisoners at your back. Unfortunately, you don't expect them to shoot at you, and you hear the sound of gunshot pop through the air seconds before a bullet tears through your left shoulder. You let out a cry of pain, the injury surprising you and knocking you off your feet. You stumble and roll down a small hill, groaning as you reach the bottom.  You hear footsteps approaching from behind you, and you start to jump to your feet when you feel a boot press down into your back, pinning you in place. 

You try to fight against them until you feel a hand press into the bullethole, making you scream out in pain, choked and broken. You hear a radio to your left, the voice of a woman coming through. “McCreary, we heard gunfire, report. I said report, McCreary.”

“Relax, Colonel. I told you we'd get her, and we did.” Someone grabs your hair, using it to tug your head up and back, and you sneer at the man who drops onto his knees in front of you. He reaches up to stroke a finger down your face, and you rear back and spit at him, watching the blob land in his beard near his mouth. He smacks you across the face, hard, snapping your head to the side, the movement tugging at your hair, and you bite back your sound of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He lifts his radio again and adds, “She's a feisty one. Pretty, too.”

“Good work. Bring her to me, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

You are yanked to your feet by the man, McCreary, and he holds you tight by the shirt around your neck, limiting your movement. He half drags, half pushes you the whole way back to the village, and you try to keep an eye on your surroundings as you move, looking for any sight of Madi or Clarke. You’re relieved when you don’t see them in the village, still out there, still free, but your relief is short lived when you are shoved into the center of the village, surrounded by prisoners on all sides. The woman from before calls out, “Let me see her face.”

Your head is again yanked back by your hair, and you hold back a grunt of pain as your eyes land on the woman in front of you. You're surprised to see that she’s young. Definitely older than you, but also younger than your mother, her face relatively smooth of any lines or signs of aging. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, giving you a small view of the jagged scar that runs across the front of her neck. You shudder at the sight of it, not sure you want to know how she got it and survived, and you move your eyes from her to the man at her side. He’s younger than her, closer in age to you, and he’s handsome. His eyes seem kinder than the others, and he’s dressed differently, his clothes all black instead of tan. He looks at you suspiciously, before his eyes fall on McCreary behind you. “You only caught one?”

“We only saw one.” McCreary lets go of your hair, pushing your head down and into the grass. You pull yourself to your knees and then look up at the people surrounding you, watching as the handsome guy whispers, “I highly doubt she was alone.”

“How many others in the woods?”

You look up at the woman, mind running through what to do, until you remember Lincoln. Silent, steady, warrior with a heart, who didn't say a word the entire time he was in your camp. None of you even knew he spoke English until Octavia told you later. You quietly decide to say nothing, hide your reactions, and you make your face blank and set your jaw as you look up at them, silent. The woman looks at McCreary, who smacks you across the face for a second time, the skin on your right cheek throbbing in pain. He drops down in front of you, and grinds out, “Answer the question.”

You stare up at him, still silent, and he lifts his arm and grabs your head before raising his fist, ready to punch you. You flinch a little, waiting for the blow, but the woman stops him in his tracks. “Not yet. First we pray.”

McCreary pulls you to your feet and drags you to the church, as the woman yells to the other prisoners, “Secure the perimeter. Her people will come for her, be ready!”

You are led straight inside of your home, and your lip curls up in disgust when you see that the prisoners have already made themselves at home. McCreary grabs a chair and tosses you into it, before snatching up a bit of rope and securing you in place. When he finishes, he stares at you for a long second, and you glare back, not letting him intimidate you. He glares back at you, before rising to his full height and punching you across the face. You grunt in pain, his hit landing in the same place as his last two, and you’re sure a bruise is already forming along your right cheek and eye.

The handsome man from before runs over and grabs McCreary before he can hit you again, yelling, “Hey, hey, stop! We need her.”

They both grab each other, McCreary hands reaching for the man’s neck, and the woman runs over to break up the spat. “Hey! Enough!”

“He's not one of us. We lose four men, and he doesn't even care.”

The woman glares at McCreary, snapping back, “He is one of us. None of us is here without Shaw.”

Shaw. The handsome man is Shaw, the man all too eager to hit you is McCreary. Shaw is different from the others, evident by McCreary’s “not one of us” comments, but you still aren’t sure how he’s different. You tuck all of the information away for later, in case you need it. The two men release each other as McCreary counters, “None of us is here without me, either. You remember that.”

The woman glares at him, grabbing him by the front of his uniform, her voice low and threatening. “We all have a role to play, and we're all upset about the loss of our men. Take a team and sweep the woods for her friends.”

She releases him and he stares at her for a long second, before he nods and walks away, bumping Shaw on the way out. Shaw turns to glare at him, but makes no move towards him, and the woman walks closer to you, eyes scanning you. You see her gaze drop to the floor, onto a puddle of black blood near your feet, dripping from the bullethole in your shoulder. She turns to Shaw, pointing at the puddle. “You see this?”

He walks over to your chair and runs his finger through your blood, rubbing it between his fingers as he peers down at it. “Blood alteration like they had on the Eligius III. Two suns, no sunscreen needed.”

Two suns? Eligius III? Though the comment confuses you, you are careful to keep your expression blank, adding the information to the list of things that might be useful to you later.

“Must be how they survived down here.” The woman lifts her radio and mutters, “Bring me a med kit. Over.”

The request sends some hope, some relief through you, because captors rarely bandage up their prisoners if they’re just going to kill them in the end. For now, your survival seems likely, meaning you're still useful to them. Something you can work with. The woman pulls up a chair across from you, sitting down into it, threading her fingers together. “We got off on the wrong foot, you and I. We had no idea that there was anyone alive down here. How could we have? We were just trying to get back home. Imagine our surprise when we found that there was no home to get back to, and then your people started killing mine. Surely you can understand why I'm upset, just like you were upset when we took your village. I don't blame you. When a fascist government tried to take my home, I wanted blood, too. And I got it. Nobody else has to die today, just tell me what I need to know, and we can come up with an arrangement that works for all of us. Sound like a plan?”

You sift through the information she’s given you, filing parts of it away for later, careful to keep your expression neutral and unreadable. Shaw, convinced by your show, muses, “Maybe she doesn't speak English.”

The woman doesn't get to answer, because the door to your home suddenly bursts open, and a large man drags someone inside. “Colonel Diyoza, we found this one lurking in the woods outside.”

Your stomach drops as your eyes land on a head full of blonde hair, streaked with red, and she looks up and meets your eyes, looking worried. You see her eyes scan your face, landing on the forming bruise, before she takes notice of the blood dripping from your shoulder onto the ground. You see her worry deepen, but you send her a silent message with your eyes, letting her know you’re okay. You scan her body for additional injuries, relieved to find none as the woman, Diyoza, stands from the chair she was sitting in and slides it next to you, motioning towards it. “Tie her up next to the other one.”

As soon as Clarke is pushed down into the chair beside you, you turn her way and whisper, “No gonasleng. Weron deimeka?”

No English. Where’s the sun? She nods, understanding your command and your question. “Klir. Kamp daun oso sontam honen graun.”

Safe. Near our summer hunting grounds. You nod before you look away, Clarke now tied up beside you. When you do, your eyes land on Shaw and Diyoza, who clearly heard your whispered conversation. Shaw turns to Diyoza, “So, no English then.”

The radio at Diyoza’s side crackles to life with McCreary’s voice, updating everyone on their search. You see Clarke perk up from the corner of your eye, and Diyoza must see it too, because she smirks as she pulls up another chair. “They speak English, they just want us to think they don’t so we'll speak freely and reveal something they can use against us.”

The radio crackles with another update, Clarke clearly listening in, and you resist the urge to shake your head, wondering how someone so careful is now so obvious, her mama bear instincts overriding her warrior instincts. “Every time the patrol checks in this one looks at this. She's tracking our movements, that's all she cares about.”

Clarke freezes, not meaning to give either of you up, and Diyoza looks over to you, seeing if you're going to change your mind and answer any of her earlier inquiries. When you make no move to, she leans back in her chair, appraising you both. “You don't want to talk, that's fine, don't talk. But we'll see how you feel when we find whoever it is you're protecting.”

She lifts her radio, her eyes never leaving Clarke as she delivers the news. “Change of plans, ladies and gentlemen. No more prisoners, shoot to kill.”

Your blood runs cold, and you and Clarke share a look, but she manages to keep her cool, though you know she’s eager to kill everyone in this room and get back to Madi. Diyoza stands, watching you both, waiting for you to react, and when you don’t she sighs and puts the radio down on the table beside her. She grabs the medkit and walks over to you, but you shake your head, nodding over at Clarke. Her brows pull together but she moves to your twin instead, finding the injury they gave her when they blasted the three of you on the ridgeline. As she works, she calls out, “Shaw, they’re both bleeding, gimme a hand.”

She passes some supplies to Shaw before he walks over to you, searching your body for an injury. He finally finds the bullethole in your shoulder, and when he checks the front of your body, he sighs when he doesn't see an exit wound. “The bullet is still in your shoulder, I’m going to have to free one of your hands so I can get your jacket off to get a better look. Are you going to behave?”

You stare at him, trying to decide what to do, before ultimately you give him a single nod, knowing that Clarke already alerted them about your ability to understand, and that bleeding out as a prisoner is not how you want to go out. Shaw frees your left hand and then helps you shrug out of the arm of your jacket before he tugs down the neck of your shirt to get a better look. As he does, you feel his finger pass over the jagged scar on your shoulder, the one Clarke gave you when she cauterized your arrow wound on Luna’s rig. His face pops back into view again, giving you a strange look before he reaches for a pair of surgical pliers. “This is going to hurt.”

You give him no reaction and he takes that as a sign to continue, digging the pliers into the hole in your shoulder, searching for the bullet. Your jaw clenches, biting back a scream of pain, trying to keep up your show of strength. He digs around for an agonizingly long second before you feel the pliers slide out of the wound. A second later he grabs your hand and drops the bullet into it, glinting in the light beneath your black blood. He grabs a suture kit and stitches you up, your mind distracted from the pain as you roll the bullet around in your hand. Shaw finishes quickly, bandages your wound, and helps you back into your jacket before he restrains your hand again and steps away from you. You tuck the bullet into your pocket, a reminder to you on what you’re dealing with here. Diyoza finishes up on Clarke, both of you now bandaged, and the two of them walk away from you and your twin, leaving you to contemplate the mess you’re in.

Hours pass, and slowly day turns to night as your captivity continues. The sporadic updates from McCreary leave you and Clarke with hope, no mention of them finding Madi, leaving at least one of you safe. Sometime after dark, Shaw grabs a canteen and offers Clarke and then you a sip of water, before he settles into the seat across from you, his voice soft and pleading. “Come on, what harm can come from telling me your name?”

He watches you, waiting for you to answer, but when you don’t he leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, believe it or not, this is the best conversation I've had in over a hundred years. I was an altar boy in a church just like this. Saginaw, about two hours outside Detroit. On my Harley, I'd make it in one. God, I miss that bike...more than I miss most of the people.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but McCreary’s voice comes through the radio, sounding excited. “Someone just ran out of that cave. Harris, Falk, watch your six. Fast little thing, we can cut her off at the lake. Go west. Wait, scratch that. She's turning North, I got a shot.”

You and Clarke exchange a look of fear, and she immediately breaks her silence. “No! She's just a child.”

Diyoza turns to face her, surprised. “She speaks.”

“Please.”

She stalks towards Clarke, her voice hard. “How many others are in the woods?”

“None. It's just the three of us. I am begging you, tell him not to shoot!”

“Fire at will.”

Clarke looks over at you, terrified at the thought of losing Madi, her daughter, her family, and you look at Diyoza. “I know where they are, over near our summer hunting grounds. She's leading them into a trap. If they don't stop right now, those men will die.”

Diyoza looks at you, unconvinced, but Shaw turns to her, looking sincere. “I believe her.”

You silently thank the kind hearted man as Clarke backs you up, “It's the truth. If you let her go, we'll tell you everything.”

Diyoza stares at you both, considering this offer, before she lifts the radio again. “All units: stand down. Falk, if McCreary disobeys, shoot him in the leg. Harris, if Falk disobeys, shoot him in the head. There may be traps near your position. Check it out and report back, over.”

It only takes a minute for them to come back on the radio, sounding shocked. “Son of a bitch, another bear trap. Almost stepped right in it.”

“Report to base camp. Over and out.”

Clarke looks up at the woman, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling the truth. As long as you keep doing that, your friend in the woods will stay alive, and so will the two of you. Do we understand each other?”

You and Clarke both answer, “Yes.”

“Good, then let's begin. Start with how the world ended.”

You and Clarke share a knowing look, before you lean back in your chair, your voice serious, “Which time?”

“There was more than one?”

“Two, actually.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Clarke takes over, beginning the history lesson, as McCreary and a few others step inside your home, listening in. “On the Ark, they taught us that the war started as a Chinese first strike, but they were wrong. It was started by an AI called Alie. Her intention was to reduce the popu-”

She’s cut off by someone’s voice coming in over the radio. “Colonel, we have five more hostiles. At least one is armed, are we still playing nice?”

Everyone in the room cuts a glare over at you and Clarke, but the two of you share a look, utterly and completely bewildered. There’s no way. Diyoza grabs her radio, “Stand by.” 

She points to the others in the room. “Find out where they are and reinforce their position. Not you, McCreary.”

She comes to stand in front of you and Clarke, absolutely fuming. “What did I tell you would happen if you lied to me?”

“We didn’t-”

“Everyone else is locked-”

Diyoza cuts you both off, hitting Clarke across the face, and then you. You bite back a yell of pain, sure that your cheek is bruised at this point. “Take them outside. Use the collar.”

Your eyes widen in alarm, not liking the sound of that, and the reactions of the two men around you only increase your worry. McCreary grins, already walking towards you. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Shaw stands from his seat, looking worried. “Colonel...they’re cooperating.”

“Which is why they’ll live. Their friends, on the other hand…” She lifts the radio, finally deciding on her plans. “Four of ours are dead. It's time to even the score.”

McCreary snaps a thick collar around your neck as another prisoner puts one on Clarke, and you are both pulled to your feet and dragged to the door, fighting the entire time. McCreary tosses you down the stairs, and you roll, hitting your shoulder on the way down. You hold back your scream, letting out a quiet groan of pain as Clarke is tossed down beside you. You pull yourself to your knees, your hands desperately clutching at the collar, and McCreary comes down the stairs and stops in front of you, two remotes in his hand. He tsks, “I wouldn't do that if I was you, you might burn your fingers.”

You pull your fingers away just in time, because seconds later a pulse of electricity moves from the collar, through your body. Little sounds of pain slip past your lips as you convulse, the shock worse than anything you’ve ever felt from the batons, and you can hear Clarke somewhere nearby, making similar sounds of pain. All around you prisoners start to cheer, gathering in a circle to watch, and you start to crawl away, hoping that you can outrun the pain that radiates through your body. Clarke groans out, “Please, we weren’t lying!”

“Hit them again.”

He hits you both again, both of you crying out in pain as the shock electrifies every cell in your body, tearing you apart, piece by piece. When the pain finally stops, you convulse for a second, your body trying to shake the pain off, and McCreary drops down in front of you, grinning. You weakly mutter, “We don't know who that was.”

“I guess you made your point.”

You’re grateful for Shaw, still trying to defend you and your twin, but Diyoza is less impressed. “You might be right. But just in case, hit them again.”

He electrifies you again, your whole body shaking from the force of it, and you can feel yourself growing weaker as the pulse moves through you. The pain stops abruptly, but it takes a second for your senses to return, and when you do, you realize you and Clarke are side by side, sitting in the path of a bright light. Diyoza yells, “Hold, and fire on my command.”

You and Clarke crawl towards each other, staring at the rover in front of you, as Clarke whispers, “Madi, no.”

Diyoza yells, “Come out with your hands high!”

You hear the rover door open and close, and you peer towards it, blinded by the bright lights. A figure approaches slowly, much taller than Madi, and your stomach drops, not sure what you’re seeing. Before their face comes into view, you hear their voice, washing over you and leaving you shocked. “I’m unarmed. Just want to talk.”

He comes closer, stepping into the path of the light, his face now coming into view. 

Bellamy. 

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, falling down your cheeks at the sight of him. He’s older, but he looks good, really good, facial hair now covering the lower half of his face. His hair is still long, curls bouncing around his face. You have to resist every cell in your body, screaming at you to run to him and jump in his arms. Instead, you pull yourself to your knees, your eyes locked on him, watching as he looks at all the prisoners pointing a gun his way. 

“Talk. Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand.”

Bellamy’s voice is full of leadership as he looks at Diyoza, “How about I give you 283? That's how many of your people are gonna die if you and I can't make a deal.”

He holds up a cup in his hand, and it must mean something to Diyoza because she freezes in place, an unreadable expression passing over her face. She nods, and Bellamy holds up a hand, signaling for the rover to back up and drive away. You hear Clarke sigh beside you, relieved that Madi is still safe. Diyoza glances back at you and your twin, before turning her focus on Bellamy. “283 lives for two. They must be pretty important to you.”

For the first time, Bellamy’s eyes finally find yours, surprised to see you on the ground, clearly in pain. Clarke is now on her knees beside you, looking at Bellamy in shock, and you see a look of pain pass over Bellamy’s face as he looks you over, taking in your appearance. He answers Diyoza, his eyes locked solely on you. “They are.”

You feel a rush of tears fall down your face again, fully crying as you look at the love of your life, back on Earth, standing in front of you. You can feel your muscles tense, wanting to run to him, but the collar shifts on your neck, reminding you of its presence, so you don’t. You just sit there, eyes locked on Bellamy, his eyes locked on yours, reminding you of all the love, memories, and history that the two of you share. 

Diyoza turns to Shaw, her expression serious. “Assemble a team and head back to the transport, check on our people.”

Shaw starts to walk away, but Diyoza grabs him. “Take the girls with you. Anything goes wrong, kill them both.”

Shaw nods once, and McCreary pulls you to your feet while someone else grabs Clarke. They start to pull you away, away from Bellamy, and any self restraint you held onto goes out the window, threatened with the thought of never seeing Bellamy again. You start to fight, pulling against McCreary’s hold on you, wiggling in his grip. You call out for Bellamy, finally getting yourself free from your captor, and you take off towards him, Bellamy’s arms already opening, ready to grab you in a hug. You smile, overcome with relief, but you never make it to him. Halfway across the space someone activates your collar, sending electricity pulsing through you, more powerful than before. You hit the ground, convulsing and twitching, your body focused on nothing other than the shockwaves that pulse through you. You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to think of anything other than the electricity that invades your body and destroys you.

You’re relieved when the pain finally stops, but your body is exhausted, unable to handle the last hit of electricity, and you feel yourself start to slip into unconsciousness. You hear Shaw yelling at someone, and Bellamy saying your name, and you try to fight the darkness that engulfs you, wanting to get back to him, but it’s too strong. It grabs your body, wrapping you up, before the darkness takes the plunge, bringing you with it. 

-

next chapter

[redstainedsocks]

Plant Day!

Whumpblr, forgive me for this... xD this is either the best or silliest idea I've ever had and honestly? I think it might be both at once. Heed the tags but also just know nothing is as serious as it seems by the time you reach the end...

for @brutal-nemesis' whump of the month prompt: plant day.

Thank you @muddy-swamp-bitch for helping me work out how to tag this thing

Warnings: cutting, knives, scarification, body horror (???), corpse mutilation [!?], environmental whump, [mass] killing (???), multiple whumpers (but not at the same time), survivors guilt, curses, magical whump, whumpee with she/her pronouns, captured whumpee. Mentions of: eye whump, bugs/insects, slavery whump

The knife wasn’t sharp enough, not for this. It was a hack job, and it wasn’t going to heal pretty. It carved into her slowly, inch by torturous inch, scraping away the surface of her skin. She screamed, but no one seemed to care, it wasn’t like they spoke the same language.

The two people leaning over, peering at her, paused in their work.

I hope crows peck out your eyes

They talked and brushed away the carnage their knife wrought, tittered, went back to their work.

I hope your children never know love, or freedom

It hurt, digging deep into the fibres of her skin. Changing the surface of it forever. It was going to scar, these strange, crude letters forever marring her perfect form.

It was no worse than anything else she had suffered but she resented it all the same.

May bear excrement ruin your water source and wasps sting you to death

Her cries went unheard. And curses didn’t mean a wad of shit if no one observed them. She liked that word shit, she’d learned it from the humans long ago. Shit shit shit, it was all shit.

Long ago, in the days before, she had watched her people be slaughtered. Hacked down one by one, cut to pieces and their bodies heaved off by horses. Horses bound to do the humans bidding, such a wretched life, she thought, but they seemed happy, they hadn’t come to her aid when she called.

She had mourned and grieved her fallen brethren, watched their lifeless forms be stacked and chained together to be burned or put to some other nefarious use, and only hoped that her own pain would end so swiftly. But it was not to be. She had been left to witness, the pain hers alone to bear.

Long, long years passed, held captive in this barren, dying place. The colonies that tried to take up life in her people’s old home were uprooted, shunned. Nothing and no one could prosper here.

She waited a long time; long after the woodcutter, and the woodcutter's son, and the woodcutter’s son’s son…. and, well, she lost track of the generations a bit after that but it had been a while.

The sun was older, the earth quieter. She was cold, her joints creaked and ached and everything was heavy. She had been abandoned by her own people and the humans who had caused their destruction. She alone, left to weather the harsh… weather. Lashed with rain and beaten by the hot sun, no friends left to help give shelter. No happy little breeze now, just the violent waves of wind, unhindered.

Her eyes were cast ever skyward, and it hurt to look at the sky, but it was better than the memories that clung to the earth. She would weep, but it only made her feel sticky and sickly.

One day a mere mortal, not more than three score years and probably not even that—she noted his features were smooth and bare, no whiskers on this one— wandered by. He was dressed strangely but everything they did was strange so she didn’t pay it much attention. He laid a hand on her and she tried to shake it loose.

Stupid humans, no touching, dirty hands, ruinous hands

“What was that?” He murmured.

She thought he was a he, he had that air about him. Entitled. An extra trunk between his legs too, if her eyes weren’t mistaken.

Go back to your cities, cretin

His hand slid around her, feeling for… something. It brushed over the scar of the initials carved into her, that claiming mark.

“Tsk, this won’t do.”

He brought out a knife. Of course he did. Just like all the rest.

He cut into her and she wailed, throwing herself around and trying to get away but it was no use. He just kept on cutting, and though his work seemed like it had a purpose she couldn’t tell what it was. Her life force oozed out around the hole he was making as he cut chunks, stole away parts of her, until a hollow hole was left where part of her should be.

It felt… if not better, certainly different. They were good at change, these humans. She looked skyward again, only feeling a little better when she noticed the scarring marks were gone. He’d cut it away?

Well, more power to him, if he wanted a piece of ruined flesh so be it. She thought no more of it until he came back three moons later and talked to her again.

“I know what you are.”

Oh goodie, someone with some brains for once. Very pleased to meet you I’m sure

“I can hear you, you know.”

I doubt it

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. I know your secret, hiding in plain sight. But you can’t hide from me.”

She stayed silent, thinking, considering. If he was telling the truth…

“You’re no tree,” he murmured, stroking at her with his silly little furless paws. “You’re a wood nymph.”

Hmmph

“No, I said nymph.”

And you are a wizard, what do you want a pat on the back?

“No, just a conversation.”

She was taken aback, she hadn’t talked to anyone for years.

“You must be lonely.”

Obviously

“You’re very grumpy.”

I’ve been stuck in a tree for near three hundred years, you would be too

“There’s not enough magic left for you to get out.”

Congratulations on stating the obvious but there is nowhere I could go anyway

“I have somewhere.” He produced a small box from his pack and her heart—woody though it was—faltered. That was—

“Yes I made this from you.”

Thief!!

“Come now, it won’t be so bad. I have a wonderful collection of items, and creatures, you won’t be lonely.”

I won’t be free

“You’re not free now.”

I won’t go

“Oh yes you will.” He opened the lid of the box, ornately carved and beautifully made but still the desecrated corpse of part of her flesh. Disgusting, sickening. Very pretty but so macabre.

It was powerful magic, runes and other things that should be of no consequence but she was too weak to resist and had been for too long. She screamed, waved her branches, reached for the sky but no great eagle or eager buzzard came to her rescue as she was pulled down, down down into the tiny wooden prison made from her own bones.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” He asked as he snapped the lid tightly shut.

The box rattled with the force of her rage but he wrapped it in cloth and she felt the slide of ropes twinning tightly about her. It was strange, feeling part of herself outside of herself, when it shouldn’t have been part of herself any longer. I was dark and cool inside the box, but that was about the only good thing she could say about it.

Let me out

“No.”

He slipped her into his satchel, and she bounced and shook as he walked further and further away from her home.

Curse you

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. But no, you will be a blessing. A boon to long life, nymphs, if the books are correct. We’ll be happy together.”

I doubt it. Ridiculous boy with your toys and tools, I could never be happy with you

“Hush now, tree, or I’ll leave you in that box forever.”

Shoddy craftsmanship, you should be ashamed

He laughed. “At least I know you’re not going to sulk silently like some of my prizes. No, you’ll be more entertaining.”

She went silent, just to make a point.

“If you’re very good, maybe one day I’ll work out how to re-plant you and you can feel the mud between your toes again. Wouldn’t that be nice? A little glade, lots of life around you, plenty of growing things to watch over.”

She perked up at that, suddenly feeling… was that what hope had felt like? It had been a few decades since she’d last let herself feel it.

“See, I told you. Your old tree may wither and die without you, but you can be new and fresh as a spring bud. As long as you do what you can for me.”

So that was that, she was to be a slave? No worse than she deserved, after watching her people be killed and not able to do anything to stop it. Finally her long awaited fate had caught up to her, it was about time.

Do you have what the humans call television?

“Yes, why?”

I’ve wanted to see what it is, can’t I be curious?

“Well you won’t have eyes for a good long while until I know you can behave, but we could start with some music.”

Nature makes the best music

“You haven’t heard rock’n’roll, just wait.”

[My thought process for writing this was: hmm, plant day. Plant whump... what if... the plant was the thing that was whumped. Hahah, nah... unless 👀?

And I thought about that for like three weeks before finally churning out 1k the night before the event. Sexily unedited, just the raw chaos]

[myhusbandsasemni]

Burns and Rescue

The Adventurers

CW: Burns, mentions of torture and experimentation

WC: 2474

.............................

“I need your help, master,” Rin said. He stood in the dusty beams of light that filtered into Old Man Ralph’s house. The house always seemed to be bathed in a sunset glow, the light dancing across the piles of books and playing on the bottles in the cupboards and on the shelves. 

Ralph looked up and raised a bushy eyebrow. “What for? You Adventurers don’t need my help.”

“Well, I need your help this time,” Rin said desperately. “You have to understand, there’s a man I need to go rescue, but he’s severely burned. The shock of the rescue might kill him and I need another medic who can deal with deep tissue burns.”

Ralph froze and turned fully to Rin, his wolf ears tilted in high alert. “Rin,” the old man said, “I can just go dancing off into a fight. I’m old and frail and-”

“You’re not frail!” Rin protested seriously. “I’ve seen you work on a surgery for 9 hours straight. That is not a feat that a frail man could manage. Please. I know you hate adventures and motion and danger, but this is something we can’t do alone. He was sick and dying and I couldn’t do anything! I left him behind and I NEED to rescue him and I can’t do that without……. Oh. You’re coming?”

Ralph looked up from the bag he was packing and rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m coming, if only for the bragging rights. Stop your blathering and help me pack.”

Rin grinned and hurried to do as the old surgeon asked. 

…………………..

The dark building brought up unpleasant, half formed memories in Rin’s mind. It was a very unassuming block of concrete. There was no decoration to it at all. It really was just a hollowed out block of cement and metal. Rin grimaced, leaning into his best friend, Laurance, for a bit of comfort. He could almost hear Simon’s screams in his mind. 

He was back in the blank hallways, only decorated with his and Simon’s gasps of pain and fluids from their weeping wounds.

“We’re almost out,” Rin had gasped, holding his arm where a guard had dislocated his shoulder. “Come on, Simon. We’re almost out!”

Simon had panted behind him, his arms awkwardly out to his sides to avoid chafing the burns. “I’m coming,” he’d called, his voice pained. 

Rin barreled through a door, banging his shoulder on the way through. He screamed as his shoulder popped back into place, as intended. He shook stars out of his eyes as his healing processes bound his ligaments tightly back in place. 

He paused so he could run alongside Simon, one hand on his lower back to help him run. The sounds of the guards were coming up behind them. They didn’t have much time. Rin leapt up on a counter and smashed open a window. The first window he’d seen since he’d been brought here that led outside. The haze of light on the horizon where the sun would be rising gave Rin such a rush of relief and joy he nearly passed out. He climbed through, breaking the glass so Simon wouldn’t receive the cuts that were already healing across Rin’s own body. The adrenaline the werewolf felt was the only thing that was keeping him going. 

He turned to reach and help Simon, but the guards were already pouring into the room. Simon was backed up against the counter, shaking. He twisted his head, burned arms up in the air. “Rin!! GO!”

“Simon, I-”

“GET OUT OF HERE!”

Rin froze for only a moment. A guard shot a taser at him through the window while others took Simon roughly by the arms. Rin fell back, dodging the prongs and sickened by Simon’s screams of pain as his burned skin shed off underneath the rough treatment. 

Rin stood up and ran off through the trees, sticks stabbing at his bare feet, branches whipping across his hospital gown, and tears streaming down his face. 

He’d been found in a town about an hour away on foot, curled up in a ball outside of a vet clinic. He couldn’t remember much after his escape. His brain had shut down.

It was now two weeks later, and Rin had found his way back. Laurance glanced at his friend with a concerned look as Rin came back to the present. Rin shook his head, fingering the crossbow charm that hung around his neck. He could feel Kiera’s comforting hand on his lower back as she and Anisha discussed if they wanted to go in sneaky, or swords blazing. 

“Kay,” Laurance said when the discussion stopped. “Kiera and Souka will cause a distraction, Anisha will go and find the control center and solve what this place is exactly and if there are more of them, and Rin and I will go and find Simon. Is that what the plan is?”

“Sounds good to me,” Kiera said with a nod, icing her knuckles in preparation for the fight.

Rin nodded. 

“And what about me?” Ralph asked, sounding very miffed that they had forgotten him.

“You’ll be coming with Laurance and I to help Simon,” Rin said seriously, clicking back into his place on the team. “Who knows what they’ve done to him since I escaped.”

“Let’s go then,” Anisha said. She became invisible and was off like a shot.

Laurance and Rin waited until Kiera and Souka had entered before they snuck around with Ralph to where the window was that Rin had escaped through. Rin almost swore when he saw the opening had been filled with concrete.

“We’ll find another way in,” Laurance said reassuringly. “Maybe Anisha found a sneaky way and we can follow her.”

“Just hurry up,” Ralph said, med pack strapped to his back and cane in one hand ready for some butt kicking. “I’m ready to get my bragging rights with healing this Simon of yours.”

‘Nisha,’ Laurance said in the mind link. ‘How did you get through?’

‘Window on the second floor,’ came the cheerful reply from the Scaleon inside. 

Laurance located the window. Rin went first, scaling the wall. Laurance paused to let Ralph complain and get on his back before jumping up and getting through with Rin’s help. Once inside, they found themselves in a lab. The sounds of a fight had started up somewhere on the east side of the building that didn’t quite mask the sounds of a keyboard in the next room. Anisha was busy doing her job.

“This way,” Rin muttered, getting out into the halls. “We were kept in the basement.”

The other two followed, Laurance sticking close to Ralph as he was the assigned bodyguard at the moment. Ralph just seemed vaguely annoyed by the time it was taking to get down to the injured man.

Once on the first floor, Rin had no trouble remembering where the basement stairs were. He popped the locked door open after only a moment and descended into the horrid darkness. 

‘I’m sure there will be scientists we have to watch for down here,’ Rin mindspoke, eyes darting across the dark rooms.

Laurance sent an affirmation to Rin and drew his sword. With scientists, he doubted he’d have to use it, but it was a good threat display. 

Rin shuddered as he passed a room he remembered all too well as an experimentation room. He’d spent a good three days in that room being ripped apart and getting healed up again by his own magic.

They came to a room that was definitely full of people. Laurance pushed past the two to peer through. Scientists were conducting experiments with chemicals and whatever else. Laurance backed up. He had not seen Simon, or any other prisoners, in the room. Rin led the way past silently until they reached a corridor of cells. The doors were made of a see through material. Some had scratch marks in their surfaces, almost all were empty.

Rin only glanced at the cell where he was kept, recognizing the marks of each of the scotches he’d made on the walls. It was the only thing he had to entertain himself while he was trapped here. That and talking to-

“Simon,” Rin breathed when he saw the man laying in the corner of the cell. Rin quickly opened the pad, put in the numbers he’d seen the scientists put in hundred of times, numbers he’d memorized in case they’d need it during their escape. 

When the door slid open, Rin dropped to his knees by Simon’s side. The man had shifted upon hearing his name, but his eyes were dull with fever and he shuddered under Rin’s touch. He probably didn’t even recognize the werewolf. 

“Oh, no no no,” Rin crooned, pulling back the hospital robe Simon was wearing. The burns from whatever the scientists were giving him had spread. They coated his arms and hands, but were creeping out onto his torso and up his neck. It was a wonder the man was still alive.

Ralph was by his student in an instant, cutting open the sleeves and sneering at the poor attempt at bandages on the man’s arms. 

“I’ll give him something to bolster him. I can’t do anything else until we get back to the med bay,” Ralph said, pulling out a potion and taking some of it into a syringe. He quickly emptied it in the man’s chest where it would circulate quickly. 

Rin rolled out a shock blanket and they loaded Simon onto it gently. The man was so out of it that he could only twitch when pain lanced across his body. They wrapped the blanket around him and Rin lifted the man carefully. He was so skinny now. He’d been here longer than Rin had. Even before Rin had been brought here. Rin bit his lip, calculating everything. There was a very good chance that Simon would die, even before they made it back to the med bay. 

“It’s okay, my friend,” he murmured. “I’m sorry it took so long to come back. I’m getting you out.”

Laurance was out in the halls first. ‘Should I take care of the scientists?’ he mind asked.

‘I’m thinking we just lock them in their lab,’ Rin replied. ‘We can send people to deal with them later.’ Rin widened his call and mind asked Kiera, ‘Is it safe for us to leave through the front doors?’

‘Should be all good,’ Kiera sent, giving the impression of flicking her tails with a sense of satisfaction. 

Laurance went off to lock the scientist in the lab, which he succeeded in. He jammed the doors so they wouldn’t open, ignored the scientists pleas and caught up with Rin as they reached the front doors.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rin said to Anisha, who was waiting for them outside after finishing her job. Laurance opened a portal as Anisha finished. He put extra care into making the portal steady. A wobbly portal could cause injuries to become worse, and while he hadn’t made a wobbly portal in months, any detriment to Simon’s health could likely kill the man. They portaled into their medical room in the Hoard and Rin, Ralph, and Anisha set to work in healing the man. Laurance put a hand on Souka’s shoulder and smiled. From what he’d glimpsed through the mind link, his boy had done very well in the fight, even taking out a third of the force while Kiera dealt with the rest. All with minimal casualties. 

“Wanna go make some food?” Laurance asked Souka.

Souka nodded, knowing that making food was exactly what Laurance would need to distract himself while they waited for the medics to finish up with Simon. Kiera would have to help this time so she couldn't bug Laurance or play games with them until Simon was stable. Her cooling powers would be needed on his burns.

So, the boys left them to it and went upstairs to make food for the others when they emerged from the hours of healing that were ahead of them.  

……………………

The healing was exhausting. Thankfully, Rin had plenty of material to print new skin for Simon. He looked kind of patchwork when they finished, but he was breathing better and he didn’t look as sick. Rin had eaten afterwards and then gone to pass out while Laurance cleaned the med bay after the surgery and looked after Simon. It was nice to have a friend who only needed three hours of sleep, especially when there were things to be done and you needed sleep. 

Rin grabbed a cup of coffee when he woke and went down to sit by Simon’s bed. He was nervous, but hopeful. Simon had actually done very well during the surgery. Perhaps the scientists put something in him that made him more resilient. Rin mulled that over in his head, sipping at his coffee slowly. 

Simon woke up around the time Rin was thinking about getting a new cup of coffee. Rin leaned forward into Simon’s line of sight as the man took a deep breath. He whimpered a little and the werewolf quickly soothed him.

“Simon, I don’t know if you recognize me without those robes on,” Rin smiled a little to himself over the hours they’d spent complaining about the clothing. “But it’s me. Rin.”

Simon peered at him from one eye. “R...Rin? You…. no.'' Simon groaned. “They caught you again.”

“No, no, no, my friend,” Rin said, ears twitching as he put his hand on the man’s forehead. “Simon, I got away. And I came back. I’m just sorry that it took me so long to do so. But you’re safe. We’re at my house, now.”

Simon stared at Rin and a relieved smile grew on his face. He relaxed into the blankets with a happy chuckle. “I knew you’d come back,” he said warmly.

Rin smiled. “Of course. I promised I’d take you out to watch some movies. Not to mention have a drinking competition. Once you’re healed, of course.”

“Of course.” Simon was silent for a moment. “I imagined being free so many times while I was in there. I imagined how I would feel, what I would do……... Now that I’m out, I’m most excited to be able to sleep….. without having to worry about waking up to more experiments.”

“I can imagine,” Rin said, agreement in his tone. “Hey, are you in any pain at all?”

“No,” Simon said softly. “I just want sleep…. And Rin. Thank you.”

“No problem man.”

“When you rescued me, I thought you were a god coming to take me to the next life.”

Rin chuckled. “Not a god.”

“Not a god,” Simon agreed. “But….. unarguably a hero.”

Rin smiled as Simon drifted off to sleep. 

The Adventurers tag list: @dowings @writeblrfantasy @artrayasnow93 @doubi-ixi @extraisthmus @thethistlegirlwrites @thepotatowriter

[crimeronan]

no supernatural au concept i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since considering ronan and opal were once the same age

the lynch family has a reputation.  partly it’s because they’re fucking weird, but let’s be real -- every rural town has its share of characters.  weird farmers are par for the course.  if the lynch family just kept to themselves at the barns, no one would know they existed.  however niall lynch is a swaggering larger-than-life storybook hero who loves attention and scandal, so: the lynch family has a reputation

by and large, the household is made up of known entities.  niall, the irishman who never shuts the fuck up.  aurora, the quiet beautiful wife with the bizarrely gorgeous beadwork at craft fairs. declan, the eldest son who’s got one foot in DC and won’t ever look back when he gets there.  matthew, the youngest boy with the enthusiasm and adoration and intellectual prowess of a golden retriever puppy

however.  the lynch twins are largely folkloric

it’s not just that they never seem to appear in public.  it’s that there are a dozen decade-old stories told by knitting folks on their porches that cannot POSSIBLY all be true, including:

the lynch twins set fire to the post office

the lynch twins stole four pallets of soda from the back of a truck unloading at the henrietta general store and drank all the evidence

the lynch twins lured a man into the woods and stabbed him in the leg

the lynch twins helped the local vet’s office coordinate 30 TNR procedures because they’ve befriended a colony of feral cats

the lynch twins trained a rotating cast of corvids to shit on the mayor when he leaves his office every evening

the lynch twins were banned from three local churches after incidents involving a statue of mary, stained glass worth several thousand dollars, and the preacher’s microphone respectively

adam doesn’t give much of a shit about local gossip but has gleaned quite a bit of it when being deferential and polite to middle-aged women at the dollar store.  it takes him a month of attending aglionby to put together that ronan and declan are siblings (they look unbelievably alike, but their body language and speech are SO different) and another week after that to realize ronan’s one-half of the unidentified lynch family variables

“isn’t there another one of him?” adam blurts

declan looks up and blinks, nonplussed rather than smooth for once in his life.  “excuse me?”

adam’s eating lunch and has ended up at a table with declan not because of friendliness, but because declan’s taking a break from his roving cast of intransient social interactions to work on college apps and adam’s getting a head start on homework.  neither is here to make friends.  adam nods across the room at ronan, who appears to be constructing a fully landscaped mountain sculpture out of french fries

declan says “god, i wish” as ronan upends a bottle of ketchup over the fries and causes a volcanic eruption that obliterates everything in the lunch table’s path

that tells adam absolutely nothing but also he doesn’t really care.  later, when he and gansey are friends, and he’s no closer to understanding ronan but much more actively annoyed by him, he asks gansey the same thing

“oh, his sister!” gansey says, and beams.  this at least explains why she doesn’t go to aglionby.  “she’s great.  she’s taught me a lot about what plants want to kill you”

adam can’t decide what to make of this.  once upon a time he’d think that the affection of someone like gansey predisposed the mysterious lynch sister toward being like declan, but it turns out gansey reserves that ebullient expression for losers like him and ronan and noah alone, so.  more data necessary

it’s important to note that this isn’t like, occupying a huge part of adam’s mind.  it’s just idle querying because he likes knowing things.  to that end, he asks ronan once if he’d ever met ronan’s sister when adam attended the public junior high.  they’d be in the same grade, right??

ronan gets weird and evasive with some response about how she homeschools with his mom, and adam’s like okay, some religious cult thing with the women running the farm. whatever. not my issue

adam and ronan get slowly closer over time, etcetc, you know how it goes.  eventually adam's invited to the barns.  his first few visits are normal.  suspiciously normal.  aurora is loving and gentle in a way that makes adam skittish - probably more due to his own issues than any Actual malevolence, but who knows - and there is zero mention or sign of a girl living there

it doesn’t Really bother adam, but it kind of bothers him.  less because he’s dying to meet her and more because equations that don’t add up make him nervous.  his running list of theories include 1) she doesn’t exist 2) she’s dead 3) she’s at some elite boarding school for girls in connecticut 4) she’s an emancipated minor 5) she’s not an emancipated minor but has run away anyway 6) she’s a fugitive from justice 7) she’s in prison 8) she’s dead but, like, worse this time

adam carefully and subtly raises his concerns to ronan by asking, “so is your sister being tortured in your attic or what?”

ronan, reasonably, is like, “the fuck?”

adam’s like, “look, all i’m saying is that when a twin goes missing in a story and no one seems to care, something sinister’s afoot.  that’s all i’m saying here.”

ronan’s like, “say the word ‘afoot’ again.  you sound like gansey.  come on”

he takes adam out for a walk in the woods, which seems like a pretty murdery way to respond.  adam, uncomfortably aware of that rumor about luring people to the woods and stabbing them in the leg, is like okay i’m about to die here.  i’ve uncovered a lifetime movie plot and now i’m gonna be buried in unmarked barrel #457.  what a way to go

this is pretty much confirmed when he gets attacked

he hits the ground before he’s really registered anything beyond a surprise impact.  it drives the breath out of his lungs. he flips onto his back right away.  ronan’s got half a foot of height on him and stupidly long legs so a sprinting escape doesn’t seem viable.  he’s gonna have to rely on the old-fashioned power of fingernails and kicking

he has time to see a pair of blown-pupil eyes WAY too close to his face before the weight disappears from him.  the culprit is a girl, late teens, with hair that’s probably blonder when the matted dirt is washed out of it.  “for fuck’s fucking sake,” ronan is saying, hauling her to her feet and blessedly away from adam’s vulnerable internal organs, “why. WHY.”

“holy shit.”  adam sits up, clutching his chest.  he can feel every bone in his body.  “god. god. god”

the girl is almost as tall as ronan.  she’s dressed in some kind of baggy coverall-ish getup that might once have been an army parachute.  she is not wearing any shoes.  there’s some blood on her face from a recently-opened scab, and also a black speck on one cheek that adam thinks is a smashed fly

“you didn’t jump gansey!” ronan is saying, extremely exasperated.  “why!”

“i didn’t have my hammock yet when gansey first came,” she says.  she does not sound remotely sorry

adam looks up and discovers that there is in fact a hammock stretched between the trees.  it’s one of those heavy-duty camping numbers with thick canvas and a full insect net.  it’s also thirty feet in the air.  there are branches on the way down, but they are very precariously spaced.  adam does not want to know how she parkoured to leap onto his shoulders

“when you snap someone’s neck,” ronan says, “i’m not helping you hide the body”

“who says i haven’t already?”

“the fuck? and you didn’t ask me to help hide the body?”

she darts a few feet away and pulls herself into a tree.  adam watches with slight fascination as she shimmies out along a long branch until it dips under her weight.  as he gets to his feet, trying to piece together his wilted dignity, she rides her makeshift nature elevator down until she’s staring into his eyes again.  hugging the branch like a snake.  absolutely no consideration for how normal human beings behave. it’s almost marvelous

“sufficiently free of my attic, parrish?” ronan asks

“uh, yeah. yep”

“so this is opal,” ronan says

opal flips over so she’s hanging from the branch like a sloth.  then hooks her legs around it and reaches down until her palms are flat on the ground.  cartwheels out of the tree like a particularly feral acrobat.  adam jerks back to avoid being smacked by a faceful of twigs at the whipcrack slingshot of the branch bouncing back

opal pulls a pocketknife from one of the folds in the DIY parachute sewing machine tick protection onepiece from hell.  adam eyes her warily

“opal, this is parrish. or adam. whichever. don’t stab him”

“god,” adam says again

opal beams.  she opens the pocketknife, but all she does is start cleaning bits of plaque from between her teeth with the tip, which is somehow so much worse than stabbing.  adam looks at ronan and finds him pinching the bridge of his nose.  it occurs to adam that this is the only time he’s EVER seen ronan express any sense of embarrassment in any social situation.  ronan has no sense of propriety.  adam didn’t know he was capable of feeling embarrassed

he immediately likes opal just for that.

“yes,” opal says, unconcerned, answering a question no one’s actually asked.  “ronan is the normal one”

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Revenge At Hand

Series: Brynhilda’s Saga

Pairing: Ivar x OFC

Warnings: None really. 

Tagging: @anunhealthydoseofangst @salimahbicharara-comun @tiyetiye @ivarinleatherpants

A/N: If this has a lot of spelling errors in it, it’s all my fault, I was just too damn excited to get this out. 

Brynhilda has to wonder how much sadness one person can handle. Laying there, looking at the sky, she can’t help but feel very small. “Odin?” she whispers. “What is your plan for me? Is it to cause so much grief I simply die of heartbreak? Or are you testing me, as everyone says you are?” She is heartsick. She misses the girls, Ivar, her home. Everything.

A crow caws, startling her. Looking over she finds it staring at her, a fish at its feet. It gives it a nudge, rolling it towards her. She doesn’t feel like eating.  

She turns back to look at the sky. Deciding to focus her attention on planning. She isn’t too good with strategising, her one and only plan had always been ‘hit the enemy harder than they hit you’. She was sure this wasn’t going to work this time. The news that she lives had no doubt spread like wildfire throughout Boggvir’s kingdom. It’s all a matter of how she goes about attacking everyone, and who she’s attacking first. She needs to think like Boggvir, who would he attack first? Her chief concern is how she’s going to stop an entire army on her own?

She remembers Aslaug’s advice. She must not doubt her capability to lead. She thinks even further than that, to the man Ivar tortured. He said people would rise up to fight for her. How true was that? Would people come if she asked them? How would she get the message out?

The crow caws again. It’s a different tone, quieter, I must pay attention, she thinks. She sits up, listening. There are men nearby. She hops to her feet, grabbing her bag of provisions, and her sword. Keeping low, moving silently, she follows the voices. Which isn’t hard considering someone is screaming.

She stops behind a tree, peeking from behind it. One crow sits on her shoulder, while the other sits on a low branch. It’s a group of men and women, all around a fire, drinking, eating, and torturing a poor soul in bright clothing. Brynhilda has to look away, stomach turning despite the emptiness. She never could stand torture.

The crow nibbles her ear. “Yes,” She whispers, “I must do something, I know.” She unsheaths her new axe. She managed to trade some hide for it. It was better to have a swift, short range weapon in woods, rather than a sword. She slinks down to the group, wholly unsure of what she’s going to do.

She’s so focused on not making a sound, she doesn’t notice the man in the cage until he grabs the back of her shirt. She manages to hold in her yelp of surprise as she’s yanked into the air. “Free me,” The man hisses, “Why?” Brynhilda asks. She can never be accomodating, could she? “I want to kill those men, free me.” She raises an eyebrow, “What is one man going to do against ten?”

“What is one child going to do against ten?” The man counters. Brynhilda glares at him. “I will have you know, I am fully grown thank you.” The stranger looks her up and down, unconvinced. “You are rather short for a fully grown woman.” Brynhilda growls. “Put me down.” she kicks her feet to no avail. The man’s arm holds her away from the cage, she can’t get at him, not that she’s trying to hard.

“Free me,”

“I can't free you if I'm dangling in the air can I?” The man drops her to her feet. She’s surprised that she manages to stay upright. Looking back over her shoulder, Brynhilda holds her breath.

Breaking the chain on the cage will be a loud affair, she’ll have to strike quickly, and be ready for the inevitable fight ahead. “Odin, grant that my blad strike true,” She mutters before hefting her axe. She swings with all her might, shattering the chain cleanly. The man kicks that cage open, grabs her axe and charges the men. It happens so fast Brynhilda is left staring at empty space and an open palm. Her crow nibbles at her ear to pull her from her stupor.

She turns, watching with mild interest. Sitting down on a log, she takes one of the flagons of mead and begins to drink. As luck would have it, it’s blueberry. She smiles, watching the show. Her crow hops from her shoulder to her hand, taking a healthy gulp from her cup. The other simply watches from a branch above them. The prisoner lacks power, despite his hefty build, but he’s swift and deadly accurate. He takes the men out no problem, leaving Brynhilda sufficiently impressed. He turns back to her, axe still firmly in hand. Hers is on her sword, wary of him. “Drink?” She says, holding out another cup of mead. He nods, setting across from the dying fire. “Drink,” He mutters.

Of all the things Alf has seen, this one scares him the most. No, he isn’t scared, he’s unsettled. The young girl in front of him couldn’t be human. She had to be one of those forest things he’s heard the Vikings whisper about at night. Hulda? No, not unassuming enough. Volva. A witch, she had to be.

She’s dressed in simple traveler’s clothing, but everything else screams otherworldly. There’s a fine wolfskin that hung about her shoulders The pelt gleams, the eyes ever watchful. Her axe was sharp and beautifully balanced. The blade at her hip shines despite being sheathed. Her eyes have seen too much, her hair is too wild, and the two crows that sit about her person are too watchful.

“Alf,” He says, by way of greeting. “Brynhilda,” Alf is trying to figure out if she’s a threat or not, from the look in her eyes, she’s doing the same thing. When she and the crow perched on her knee have finished their mead, she throws up cup over her shoulder, then stands. “Well, Alf, it’s been fun,” She nods to him and walks away. “Where are you going?” He asks, alarmed. “This is no place for a child to wander about alone. And what about your axe?”

The woman pauses. “I’m not a child,” She tells him, whipping around, “I’m just incredibly short! Keep the axe, you need it more than I.” Alf crosses his arms. “Even a grown woman isn’t this short.” He smirks, enjoying the annoyed look on her face. “I am Brynhilda! I don’t need this.” She throws her hands in the air and continues to stalk off into the forest. “You say your name like it’s supposed to mean something to me.” Alf says, continuing after her. She pauses, turning to him, mouth hanging open in shock. “Are you famous?” He asks, still highly amused. She stutters for a moment, incredulous. She settles on ignoring him.

Alf follows her nonetheless. “Where are you going not-as-famous-as-you-thought Brynhilda,” This comment doesn’t annoy her like he thought it would. “Doesn’t matter, you’re not coming with me,”

“Oh no, of course not, the problem is, I have no clue where I am, I need to get to a town and you seem like my best bet to get there.” She throws a thumb behind her, “Town is that way,”

“Then why are you going the opposite direction? It’s dangerous for a child to be out here by herself.”

As if to prove his point, Brynhilda trips, landing face first into the muck. Her crows seem to laugh at her. Alf picks her up and puts her right on her feet. He has trouble not laughing at the enraged look on her face. “You will follow me to the next town,” She tells him, “No further.”

“No further,” He agrees.

*

The town is cold, gray, subdued. This is not the same village she remembers growing up in. She looks at the people’s faces. Fear has settled upon them. She wraps her arms around herself, hoping her shoddy disguise is enough to keep her from being recognized. Sure, it’s only a grey cloak, but it’s better than her wolf pelt. That would’ve been a dead give away.

“Where are we?” Alf whispers, trying not to disturb the silence. “Don’t worry about it,” She snaps, hurrying through the street, making sure not an inch of skin is exposed. She makes it all the way to the end of the village when she stops. Alf bumps into her, grunting. She can see the ruined land from here. Slowly, not actually wanting to see the devastation, she walks forward.

Brynhilda stands in front of the ruins of her memories. She isn’t surprised, she knew this had happened, but still...to see her family home reduced to nothing more than a few timber pieces piled haphazardly about is unsettling. She had wanted to raise a family there. Little warriors running about playing with wooden swords. She wanted to keep the name Brynjar alive, in some small way. She will never get the chance.

She looks at the family tree. It’s as grey as the surrounding, wilted, dead. This breaks her heart more than being blood eagled, more than losing Ivar. She buckles, knees driving themselves into the muddy ground. She can’t help the sob that comes forth. Her land, her home, her everything, gone, just like that.

Alf stands awkwardly behind her, recognizing the scene for what it was. He grits his teeth, heart going out to her. One so small, so young, should not know the grief that turns grown men into walking corpses. He’s going to put a hand to her shoulder when he hears someone walking up. His axe is out in an instant, turning to the sound. It’s a small boy, looking slightly frightened, there are flowers in his hands, and the Valknut dangling from them. “A monster used to live there,” the boy whispers, not sure what to do. It seems he didn’t want to disturb the silence here. He slowly approaches. “That’s what the say,”

“Who says that,” Alf asks, interested. He walks up to Brynhilda, lowering her cowl, understanding the importance of her disguise. “The grownups.” The boy says. “I know better.”

“Do you?” The boy nods. “A valkyrie lived here,” He places the flowers at the foot of the tree. “They say she was greedy, power hungry, evil.”

“But she wasn’t?” Alf watches as Brynhilda’s shoulders start to shake with emotion. “She was the kindest woman I’ve ever met.” He says a quick prayer over the valknut and places it next to the flowers. “That symbol,” Alf asks, “What does it mean?”

“It’s a binding symbol.” The boy explains, “The others are putting it all over their doors and pray to keep Brynhilda asleep, I pray that Odin releases Brynhilda from her deathly binds and brings her back. We need her.” Alf nods. “Run along boy, it’s cold out today.” The boy senses Alf is dangerous enough not to argue with him. He takes off running.

Alf watches after the child, only for a few moments. Rage taints the air. He turns back to see Brynhilda is standing, eyes half crazed with grief. “Brynhilda,” He warns, holding up his hands. She is going to do something brash, he knows it. She walks past him, straight up the lane of the village. He follows her, not bothering to stop her. In his head, he’s cursing her though. He might not live to see tomorrow after this.

She burst through the doors of the mead hall, strides up to the Jarl in his chair and gives his head a violent jerk to the right. Just like that, the thing slumps to the floor. “What in Odin’s name?!” Someone says standing. She turns, removing her cowl. Yup, Alf thinks, that is definitely the look of a crazed woman. The men take in a collective gasp. Alf turns, his axe out in a minute. “If you would follow me,” Brynhilda says, voice surprisingly stable, “Then stay. If you follow Boggvir, leave, before I have it in my mind to kill you.” There’s a heavy silence as men decide what to do. They all look at each other. The oldest one, a gray haired man past his prime steps up. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, fuck Boggvir.” Her face slacken, turns bright, then she smiles. Gods, Alf breathes, she’s beautiful, isn’t she? “We are Brynhilda’s warriors,” The man continues, the rest growl the affirmation, “We have always been Brynhilda’s warriors,” another string of affirmations, this time louder. “And we will die as Brynhilda’s warriors.” This time, it’s a fucking cheer that rings throughout the hall. Brynhilda’s smile widens. She kicks the body to the side, then sits on the throne. “Good,” She says, “Now, which one of you is brave enough to tell Boggvir my revenge is at hand?”

[sweetsmellosuccess]

TIFF 2018: Day 3

Films: 4 Best Film of the Day: The Old Man & the Gun (pictured)

Gwen: This is no white-knuckle affair; it’s a red one. As in knuckles chapped and scraped until nearly bleeding. Wind plays a large atmospheric role in William McGregor’s unsettling drama, both as a constant background noise, and as a bleak visual metaphor for the pitiless sparseness of the land. Wales is shown to be both staggeringly beautiful, with its craggy mountains and rolling green hills, but also unwaveringly uninviting: You will not see a more overcast film this year. The story concerns a young woman (Eleanor Worthington-Cox), her kid sister; and her struggling mother (Maxine Peake), as they try to survive on their hardscrabble farm while Gwen’s father is out fighting in an unnamed war. As their farm gets more and more stricken by what seems like a curse — their sheep are slaughtered, their potatoes are fallow, and their horse breaks his leg — it slowly becomes clear that these are not supernatural forces at work, but rather the acts of a supremely callous and hateful capitalist, who’s after their land for his mind operation. The obvious comparison would be to Robert Egger’s deeply unnerving The Witch, but McGregor isn’t playing with devils and demonic curses, here, just the horror perpetrated by callous greed and disregard for humanity. The film’s unrelenting grimness could certainly be a deterrent for some audiences, but it does capture something both about the land, and the attitude of those who can survive it.

Donnybrook: As a longtime admirer of Jamie Bell (and not only because he was the voice of Tintin), I’m happy to see he’s branching out his roles and expanding his reach, as it were, I just wish he’d picked a better project than this grungy, exploitive action drama from Tim Sutton. Bell plays a dude named “Jarhead Earl,” a former Marine, and a dutiful fellow on the economic downswing, looking to make a pile of cash at the big midwestern, bare-knuckle brawl known as the “Brook.” With a wife (Dara Tiller), teetering on the edge of meth addiction, and two young kids, Earl stakes all his hope on the prospect of winning the Brook, and claiming the $100K prize. Meanwhile, many other unsavory characters flit about, including another vet-turned meth dealer, Angus (Frank Grillo), and his seriously deranged sister (Margaret Qualley), whose had to put up with years of her brother’s intense abuse and has had enough; and the local sheriff (James Badge Dale), who’s knee-deep in his own business with Angus, and is dirty as they come. The film is filed with flags, guns, fists, and blood, as well as a jacked sensibility that suggests a faint homage to Lynch, without any of his wit, creativity, or artistic merit. It is not intended as irony, to be sure, or if it is, no one informed the serious-as-death actors, who play this to the last drop of blood. It’s the kind of film where a tied and tortured middleman gets to have sex with a seriously beautiful woman, while still bound to a chair, and immediately after he reaches the highs of ecstasy, she tips him over and shoots him in the head.

The Old Man & the Gun: How would you follow up a film as utterly stunning as A Ghost Story, a powerhouse of a philosophical treatise on love, time, and human artistic legacy? Perhaps by approaching a similar topic from a vastly different direction. Based on a true story, David Lowery’s film follows the exploits of a man named Forest Tucker (Robert Redford), an elderly bank thief who simply cannot stop plying his trade. His approach, gentlemanly and smooth, matches the tone of the film’s opening two acts, as Forest hooks up with his two compadres (Danny Glover and Tom Waits), meets and woos a feisty widow (Sissy Spacek), and matches wits with the detective (Casey Affleck), whom he inadvertently humiliated during an earlier heist. By the film’s third act, however, as he gets closer to being caught, the film begins to take on a more melancholy air, as if sensing his mortality. He made a career out of springing himself from prisons (a series that gets lovingly highlighted near the end), but there is the sense he can’t escape his mortal prison, nor can he change spots and just settle down on a nice horse farm. A shot near the end, as the cops are sweeping in posits him as a kind of Don Quixote figure, sitting forlornly on his horse, looking down and defeated. Reportedly, this is Redford’s acting swansong, and if so, like Forest, he’s certainly going out on his own terms.

Halloween: Unofficially, there have been 700 bazillion sequels and remakes of John Carpenter’s 1978 slasher film classic, most of which have been derivative drivel, but with director David Gordon Green, working with longtime collaborator Danny McBride, you finally have a new vision for the venerable horror series. It’s been four decades – to the day – since Michael Myers terrorized a teenaged girl and murdered her friends. Since then, he has been locked up in an asylum, never uttering a word (the film smartly disavows all previous sequels). To the still-disturbed Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), however, the nightmare has never ended. Since surviving his original attack, she has dedicated her life to preparing for his eventual return, learning fighting/survival skills, fortifying her house, and arming herself to the teeth. This devotion to self-protection she imbued to her daughter (Judy Greer), and attempts to do so with her granddaughter (Andi Matichak), now the same age as Laurie was when she first met the Bogeyman. Things move along in typical Halloween fashion, with Michael escaping, donning the mask, and returning to Haddonfield to kill indiscriminately once again, only this time, he finds Laurie well-prepared and waiting for him. What ensues follows a similar pattern but with a major twist. In the film’s most exhilarating moments, the film gleefully twists and turns the tropes we have come to know so well – one such moment, setting up the film’s fiery climax, left the midnight TIFF audience laughing and cheering wildly – and morphs into, of all things, a feminist slasher flick. Naturally, the ending leaves things just ambiguous enough for another sequel (or six), but as a re-imagining of one of the seminal horror movies of the last 40 years, it’s got a lot of moxie. It might not have the actual scares of the original, but the film’s forward-thinking politics twist the butcher knife in very satisfying ways.  

Tomorrow: A mix-and-match sort of day: In-between interviews, I’ll be checking out the militia-group thriller Standoff at Sparrow Creek; the harrowing sounding The Most Beautiful Couple; another Witch-like film in the horror/western The Wind, and, if I can stay awake, the brutal retelling of the Mumbai terrorist attack from 2008 in Hotel Mumbai.

[benbarnesescape]

Good Enough 

Imagine: Sirius accidentally betraying his true feelings for you while trying to make you feel better. 

“Hi Y/N.”

You look up from the dark water, surprised to see Sirius slowly walking toward you through the thick foliage of the forest. You sigh, shifting your eyes back to the calm waves of the lake. He was the last person you wanted to see in this moment.

“What do you want Sirius? Whatever it is - I’m probably not in the mood for it.” You mutter, hoping he gets the hint. Instead you feel him sit beside you, causing your face to break into a frown.  

“I want to check up on you. You and Lily seemed to have gotten into a pretty mild tiff back there.” he motions back at Hogwarts, the large castle hauntingly dark casted against the setting sun.

You give a slow chuckle despite your mood and shake your head.

“We’re both just stubborn and being stupid. Its no big deal – I’ll get over it by the morning.”

Sirius gives a slow nod, his eyes stretching out to the water before whispering,

“This doesn’t have anything to do with James does it?”

You groan, throwing your head back to look up at the branches of the tree your under. Of course it had everything to do with James. He was your ex boyfriend and he was in love with Lily who was your best friend and you didn’t know how to handle it. Even it you had been broken up over six months ago.

He nods, taking your silence as the answer he’s seeking  before saying,

“He’s an ass. He never treated you right and didn’t ever deserve you.”

You laugh now, looking at Sirius. The Casanova of Hogwarts was trying to tell you what you deserved.

“You can’t be Serioussss, Sirius.” you make sure to accentuate the ‘S’ in his name as you giggle more, knowing it was a horrible joke he had probably heard a million times before.

You watch the ends of his mouth twitch upward into a smile despite how much he might have hated hearing the joke and you continue,

“You have woo’d the pants off most of the girls  in this school. Gryff, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw…Slytherin – doesn’t matter! You’ve seduced them all! And you want to try to tell me what I deserve in the area of love? Do you even know how to treat a woman beyond getting them in bed? You can’t even stay with a girl for more than a month.”

You shake your head again, laughing a bit more before giving into a large sigh. Sirius, who has been watching you skeptically, furrows his eyebrows together, before shaking his head and looking back at the water. Silence falls between you, the sounds of the large lake lulling you into peace before Sirius whispers,

“I know the difference between seduction and love Y/N. I seduce girls I know I’m never going to be invested in or find interesting. I get that. When you’re someone like me – love isn’t an option in your life.”

You look at him as he starts to fiddle with his fingers. You knew very little of his back story thanks to James but everyone knew the Blacks. They were a bitter line of individuals who found pleasure in the torture of others. You assumed that Sirius constantly swooning women was a dark, twisted version of that torture. Perhaps you were wrong.

He looks over at you, his dark hair whipping against his face as he continues,

“I know that when you're in love, you don’t interfere when the woman you love loves your best friend and doesn’t see you.  That when you love someone you let them cry on your shoulder and let the pain out while you try to contain yourself from killing your best friend for breaking her heart. When you love someone so much, you hope that one day they’ll see you the same way that you see them…”

Your heart skips a beat. What was he saying?

“Sirius-” and then his lips were on yours. Your eyes fly up in surprise - this was one of your good friends, a man who had teased you in your dark arts class, who let everyone know when your patronus turned out to be a badger, who would take a bite of out your muffin without asking for permission.

Then it dawns on you. Sirius likes you. And he had for a while.

His mouth trails over your lips, begging to enter your mouth and you oblige, wrapping your arms around his neck. You inhale his scent, a spicy, clean combination that has always soothed you, as he lifts you from your spot on the bench. He easily puts you in his lap, your legs automatically wrapping themselves around him as he draws you closer.  

“Oh!” you mumble under the prisoner of his tongue and he smiles as he rubs his length against you.  You forget for a moment about James or Lily and focus on him - the way his dark hair feels through your fingers, the feel of his scruff against your neck as his mouth moves down from his lips. And how much you desperately wanted him.

You eyelids fly open in surprise as his cold hand goes under your robes, inviting the bleak autumn air to your skin, and caresses against your hardened nipple.

He looks back up at you, his dark eyes begging to taste you one more time and before you can even think your lips are crashing back onto his. This time he kisses you deeply, hungrily, and all you can think of is what it would feel like to have him inside of you.

Then you remember the hateful thing Lily had whispered to you in a moment of fueled anger minutes before.  “You think any man could love you Y/N. You all but push them away….” and your mouth goes limp - the vigor in your kisses waning.

Sirius notices this difference and pulls away, looking up at you.

“Is this too much. Fuck this is too much.” he withdraws his hands from your breast, his face growing crimson and throws his head back, trying to shield his embarrassed face from you.

“Sirius -” you begin but he cuts you off.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you like this. I don’t want you to feel like… like you’re one of them. You’re different Y/N. I was going to come over and just talk to you and tell you….tell you how much I like you. How I’ve always liked you….”

He’s rambling and you can’t help the tears that are starting to burn down your cheek.

“Sirius…..” you finally muster out and he lifts his head to look at you, concern draping  his eyes.

“Y/N...are you ok?”

You think about the day James broke up with in the Gryffindor common room, minutes before joining everyone else at Hogsmeade.  How Sirius found you, quickly returning to grab a jacket, sobbing painfully next to the cold hearth. The tears and pain pounding in your chest wouldn’t stop and all you could remember was how gently Sirius was as he joined you on the floor, cooing you into his arms.

“Y/N...you’re stronger than this. Potter is an ass and doesn’t know a good thing when it's in front of him.” he kept whispering, rubbing your back as you sobbed into his chest, crying until you fell asleep.

He had always been there for you and you had always taken it for granted.

“I don’t deserve you.” you begin to cry, your head cast down as tears threatened to rob your body. Sirius lifts your head, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Don’t ever say those words to me. You deserve better than me.”

His eyes are penetrating your own and you lose your breathe for a minute before shaking your head.

“You like me?” you finally ask and his smile returns, robbing the defined features in his face and he nods.

“Of course I like you. I’ve liked you ever since we’ve met.”

You laugh again - conflicted with this new warm feeling that Sirius had brought on and the lingering sadness from your past relationship.

“Sirius it's not that I don’t find you attractive. Or intelligent or funny or kind….” your eyes shift behind him, watching the twinkling lights of the castle play against the now dark sky. When your eyes meet his, they are met with earnesty.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready to give you the love you deserve.”

He smiles again, cheeky and without expectation, and wipes a strand of hair from your face.

“I will wait for however long I have to if that means being with you.”

[bethanyshawnovels]

Start the Cyborg Chronicles today for 99 cents. Here is a special sneak peek at the first chapter. Lara peered at the terrain through the scope of her sniper rifle. Trees dotted the landscape. The only barren part was a dirt road winding up the mountain. No enemy soldiers were in sight, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. This was too easy. Attacking a World Alliance medical facility was never easy. She inhaled and let the breath out. Using her rifle’s scope, she scanned the area again. She was missing something. Her team crept up the mountainside through the thick brush, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they felt the same apprehension she did. Her belly rolled and she fought the urge to vomit, forcing deep breaths through her nose. Maybe her trepidation came from being sick; she couldn’t wait to get back to base, so she could fall into bed and sleep it off. Since yesterday, she’d been plagued with steady cramping that only seemed to be getting worse. If she weren’t the best sharpshooter in the entire rebellion, she would have asked to be let off the mission. As it was, Gage, her sniper partner, was in the infirmary, even though he seemed fine. Her twin brother, Jack, was second in command on this op. This was dangerous work. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to her last surviving relative, even if she felt like crap. Her entire left side burned and if she didn’t know better, she’d think she’d been shot. Movement in her peripheral vision took her out of her thoughts. She moved the scope, scanning the area. The familiar red-emblazoned uniforms of the World Alliance came into view. An entire contingent of two hundred men had rounded the sharp corner. They were marching down the road, heading directly toward her brother and the team. “Oh shit,” she said under her breath as she turned on her radio. “Mac, it’s a trap. Turn around now, over.” Her heart slammed violently against her ribs as she watched from her perch and waited for her commander to respond. Using her lens, she monitored the group. Mac stopped, motioning with his arm, and the entire team dropped to the ground. “What do you see, over?” Mac’s gruff voice crackled through the radio. “An entire contingent, Mac.” She peered through her scope again. The troops were moving at a steady pace, but it appeared they still had no clue her team was there. Good. “I don’t think they’ve spotted you yet. You should turn around and abort, over.” “We won’t get another chance at this, Eagle Eye. Over,” he said. She should’ve used his alias too. She only ever called him Mac when he was buried deep inside her and making her call his name, and now definitely wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. She wiggled forward, whimpering when the cramping at her side became worse. Adjusting her scope, she looked through it again. He was right. They wouldn’t get another opportunity like this, and the rebellion desperately needed the supplies in those warehouses. “If it’s not an entire contingent of men, it’s damn close. They have three tanks, too. Over.” “Copy that,” Mac said. “Meet at the rendezvous in five. Over and out.” Lara closed her eyes and thanked the heavens that Mac wasn’t going to do something stupid. He was known for being a daredevil. It worked for him, but the team wasn’t prepared, or at a good vantage point, to take on two thousand men when there were only twenty of them, including her. She peeked through her lens and canvased the area. Her breath caught in her throat when five trucks rounded a bend on the road coming up the mountain. The team was about to be blocked in. She picked up the radio again. “St. Clair, I’ve got trucks inbound. Get off the road, over.” Her warning hadn’t come soon enough. The trucks rounded the bend and halted, letting out armed men within a hundred feet of her squad. Her team dropped to the ground, finding cover wherever they could. Lara rolled across the ground, doing her best to ignore the fire burning in her belly as she resituated and took aim. Loud pops echoed through the air and she grimaced as men on both sides dropped to the ground. She peered through her scope and found her first target: a man hiding behind the safety of the truck. Squeezing the trigger, she watched as the bullet hit him between the eyes and he slumped to the ground. Her eyes narrowed as she sought out her next targets and took them out. She was searching for other soldiers who might be hiding behind the truck when two men hopped onto the roof and pulled back a tarp, revealing an automatic assault rifle. Lara took aim, but not fast enough. Bullets cranked out in rapid succession. Her brother, Jack, collapsed on the ground. He’d been hit. No. No. No. Curling her finger around the trigger, she fired at the shooters. The gun went quiet. Another man tried to take his place, but she took him out too. She fired rapidly until the remaining men at the trucks were dead. Her brother crawled across the ground in an attempt to find cover. He was alive. “Everyone fall back,” Mac’s voice said over the radio. “Eagle Eye, where is that contingent, over?” She cast her glance back to the approaching army. “They’ve increased their pace. You have three minutes, tops, until they’re on your location, over.” “Copy that. Get to the rendezvous. Over and out.” She pushed herself to her feet. Then slung her gun across her body with the shoulder harness, grimacing as pain sliced through her side. Dizziness washed over her, and she stumbled while blinking rapidly. What was wrong with her? She’d been sick before but never like this. Maybe it was the same flu that had wiped out half the population fifteen years ago. It could be resurfacing. Hadn’t that started with stomach cramps and dizziness? She shuddered at the thought before forcing it away. It was time to get out of here. Jack was hurt, and that contingent of soldiers would be blocking her only way out in no time. Lara sucked in a deep breath and set a steady sprint down the mountain. Her breath came in short puffs as she fought against the pain threatening to cut her in two. The trees whizzed past while the world seemed to spin around her. Surely she wasn’t going to pass out because that wasn’t an option. Prisoners were tortured. Or worse, placed in the cyborg program where the World Alliance stripped away everything that you were and turned you into an emotionless, soulless, killing machine. No thanks. She blinked and pushed herself faster. As adrenaline kicked in, the pain in her side began to ebb away, and she gulped in larger breaths of air. She was nearly at the bottom of the hill. Blurs of black raced through the woods. She smiled inwardly; glad to see her team was on the way. She scanned the forms, searching for her brother… and Mac. She’d never admit it, but she didn’t want anything to happen to him either. Their fighting was such a turn on and the sex — the sex was amazing. But she didn’t see either of them. When she glanced over her shoulder, a sob got caught in her throat. The two were behind the rest of the group. Jack’s face was ghastly pale and Mac was practically carrying him. She turned to intercept them. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she drew near. A large dark blot had formed over her brother’s chest. Blood seeped from his mouth. Jack had to be okay. Not only was he her twin brother, but he was her best friend. After losing their parents and baby sister to the flu, they’d promised to always take care of each other. “Jack,” she said breathlessly as she caught up to them. His eyes were glazed over. She swallowed hard. Jack couldn’t even hold himself up: Mac was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. “You should’ve gone ahead to the rendezvous,” Mac said as he met her eyes. She stared into his amber gaze with a frown. Like hell would she leave her brother. He knew her better than that. “Not a chance,” Lara huffed as she tossed her brother’s arm over her shoulder and took some of his weight. She’d inherited her petite frame from their mother; Jack had gotten the tall, muscular build from their father and easily weighed over two hundred pounds. His weight nearly knocked her over, and it did nothing to help ease the throbbing in her side. But she was determined to get her brother to safety. She stood straighter and pressed forward, meeting Mac’s rapid pace as they dragged her brother through the forest. “You should listen to him for once, Lara. Get out of here,” Jack said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not leaving you. We’re getting you out of here.” She was stubborn. That was why she and Mac fought so much. She called his bullshit, unlike everyone else who kissed his glorified ass. After losing her fiancé two years ago, she wasn’t going to lose anyone else she loved. It had to stop. There was only so much death one person could take, and today she wasn’t burying her brother. She’d drag him to the base herself if she had to. “We’re almost to the cliff,” Mac said. “My chute won’t open. It’s damaged. My pack got…” Jack’s words were cut off by violent coughing. He pitched onto the ground and pulled her and Mac down with him. They landed in a heap on the terrain. Broken branches jabbed her knees and elbows as she pushed herself to a sitting position. “I’m not going to make it.” Her brother drew in long, ragged breaths as he looked from her to Mac. “You two go.” Mac got to his knees behind Jack and inspected her brother’s chute. Lara closed her eyes after he exposed a large tear in the bag that had cut all the way through to the silk fabric of the chute. There was no way Jack was going to be able to jump off the cliff safely with that. “We can share a chute,” she said, opening her eyes. Her hands went to the pack on her back. “No,” Jack said. He put his trembling hand on top of hers. “Our combined weight will be too much.” His sweaty palm clasped hers. “Go, Lara. Get to safety.” “Not without you.” Her voice waivered as she glanced at her brother. “We can make it work. Mac, help me.” She tugged her hand out of Jack’s and started loosening the straps to take off her chute while watching Mac. Sweat rolled in rivulets down his face. His chocolate colored hair was disheveled and he drew in deep breaths as he tried to control his breathing. The toll of carrying Jack was getting to him, but she was here to help. They could do it together. “Don’t do it.” Jack shook his head, struggling to roll to his back. Mac helped him get into a sitting position so his back was against a tree trunk. “The max load for the chute is 250 pounds. I won’t put you in danger too, Lara.” He touched his chest and then held up his bloodied hand. “I’m dying anyway.” “No, you’re not.” She shook her head as tears clouded her vision. There was so much blood. “We’re getting you out of here.” Her bottom lip trembled as she looked at Mac. Indecision flickered across his features. He had to side with her. Jack was his best friend, too. They’d known each other for fifteen years. “I’m sorry,” Mac said. He patted Jack on the shoulder and stood up. Tears swam in Mac’s eyes, something she’d never thought she’d see, and then it hit her. He was going to leave Jack. “No! Don’t you dare give up, you coward!” Her hands went to her parachute, fumbling to undo the clasps so she could strap it to Jack. Her hands shook and her fingers didn’t want to work properly. It didn’t help that she could barely see through the tears blurring her vision. She just had to get him over the cliff and hold onto him, then pull the cord. I can do that. I can hang on. We just have to get to the ground. “She’s not going to see reason, Mac. Get her out of here,” Jack said. He reached for her but missed. “I love you, Lara.” Warm arms wrapped around her, grasping both her hands and smashing them down against her body. Mac’s scent washed over her, and she fought the urge to scream when he lifted her feet off the ground. “Get off me,” she said through clenched teeth as she kicked and thrashed. It was no use. Mac was at least a foot taller than her and easily had a hundred pounds on her too. “I’m sorry, Lara,” Mac said, lifting her higher. “I’ll see you at the bottom. She fought against him, but his grip was ironclad. It was pointless to fight him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try. “Let go, please, let me go. We can help him. Please,” she said, squirming. Pain ripped through her abdomen and her vision darkened as she groaned. Mac turned to the side, and he tossed her into the air. She blinked against the nausea curdling in her stomach. Blackness threatened to pull her under as she plummeted. The trees were rising up to greet her. She gasped and pulled the cord to release her chute. It shot out and tugged at her shoulders as it caught her fall, slowing her descent. The pain continued to wash over her. Tears streamed down her face. They couldn’t just leave him there. Mac was going to save him. He had to. The ground loomed below her and she tried to steer herself to safety, but every movement made her side scream. She hit the trees hard, the branches reaching out to smack her as she fell onto the ground. Her head collided with the dirt and she blinked. A haze surrounded her. Then darkness. Get it at your favorite online retailer Amazon US - http://tinyurl.com/hrlhlxk

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[mx-paint]

Seeing someone claim a book is "pro-genocide" and knowing that the part of the book they are referring to literally could not have a louder message of "anti-genocide" if it fucking tried.