#the fist of mars sounds incredibly metal

[dijeh]

Virgil, Aeneid

trans. Stanley Lombardo

[theshiaxartistwrites]

Heir to Eco

Fandom: Jak and Daxter Rating: Mature Tw: Violence, Abuse, Torture AO3 Link

Chapter One

"His name is Mar," Damas had said. "Named after his Great Grandfather, he wasn't even walking last I saw him, barely a child."

The old warrior king had looked sunken in his throne, so tired and forlorn.

"He has blue eyes and green hair," Damas continued. "He was incredibly talented at channeling eco. He could handle the most raw, unfiltered eco with ease. When he was born, the sage said he was a natural conduit, destined for great things."

"You think Praxis may have taken him for something eco related?" Sig frowned, crossing his arms.

"I do," Damas stood, his grip tight on his staff. "I want you to infiltrate his ranks, I need ears and eyes inside the city that I can trust. If anyone can find my son…I trust it will be you."

"I'll find him," Sig uncrossed his arms and hoisted his own weapon onto his shoulder. "Can't be that hard to find the most important kid in Haven, right?"

Almost two years later, Sig walked into the Baron's Prison with ease. Climbing the ranks of the Krimzon Guard had been a cakewalk, his yellow armor standing out among his red-clad compatriots. He and the four KG soldiers with him had been assigned to patrol the prison complex for the day. The Baron and his lap dog were visiting a special prisoner, so security needed to be tight.

Sig had been on his way down towards the holding cells, intent on searching for any sign of the kid, when the Baron's right hand appeared at the end of the hall, marching towards him swiftly.

"You there! Soldier!" Errol snapped, Sig standing at attention. "Come with me, you're on cleanup."

'Cleanup'? Sig didn't question it and followed the smaller man without protest. He didn't hear the screams until the door slid open, flashing purple energy coursing through a strange machine at the center.

Baron Praxis stood at the head of an examination chair, to which a young man was strapped to, the dark eco surging into him at an alarming rate. The young man's screams rattled the walls, Sig feeling anger twist in his gut. Praxis snarled and slammed his fist against the control panel beside him, the machine shutting down. The young man stopped screaming as the eco flow subsided, gasping for air as he trembled under the Baron's shadow.

"Sir, we're expected elsewhere." Errol urged, pulling the Baron's attention away from glaring at the young man. It wasn't hard to see that the young man was filthy, his clothing torn and covered in old blood and dirt, clear bruises on his arms from too-tight grips. Praxis snagged the young man by the hair and snarled something into his ear, the boy was still for a moment before jerking his head to the side, slamming his forehead into the Baron's unfortunately metal nose.

The Baron cursed as he reeled back, holding his nose for a moment. Sig was glad for his helmet, smirking underneath, though his smile was wiped away when Praxis pulled back his fist and struck the boy hard across the face. The kid didn't make a sound, but didn't turn his head back, eyes pinched shut as he got over the pain.

"Little shit-" Praxis growled, stepping back to the control panel, his hand on the switch.

"Sir," Errol spoke up. "The Council is waiting-"

"The Council is on my schedule!" Praxis spoke harshly. "And they will continue to wait."

Praxis flipped the switch, the machine roaring back to life, dark eco surging into the tanks overhead. Sig watched as the young man in the chair tensed not a second before the energy struck him in the chest, only able to hold back for a moment before he started to scream again. Sig and Errol stood at the end of the walkway, watching the boy scream and writhe, thrashing against his bonds as Praxis stood over him, illuminated by the purple light.

Sig could see the dark eco surging into every fiber of his being, flashes of the man's skeleton visible with every pulse. Purple flickers rippled through his muscles, flashing with every agonized twitch. The longer the man screamed, the more Sig thought about how easy it would be to shoot Errol and Praxis right then and there. Hell, he could even just shove Errol off into the pit beside them and then blast Praxis in the chest a few times. It would be so so easy. His grip on his gun tightened.

A change in the young man pulled Sig from his thoughts, watching his skin start to lose what little color it had and his hair start to bleach a startling white. Sig could have sworn he saw fangs in that gnashing mouth, his nails turning black and sharp like claws. A crack of metal made them all flinch, one of the shackles beginning to give under the strain. With an angry groan, the Baron finally shut the machine down once again.

As the eco vanished and the boy faded back to normal, Sig wondered what exactly the Baron was trying to do. Praxis was focused on the readings on the control board, seeming to only grow more irritated by the second.

"Damn your resistance!" He shouted, turning on the prisoner. "I'll break you soon enough. You can't resist it forever."

Sig could only wonder how much eco they could have poured into the poor bastard already.

"Get that thing back to its cell!" The Baron ordered, snapping Sig and Errol to attention, storming his way past them both. "Hose it down while you're at it, it's filthy."

Errol let Praxis head for the door alone, turning to Sig and pointing at the young man in the chair.

"Return him to his cell down in block D-Z3, make sure you don't take your eyes off of him." Errol warned, waiting for a firm "Yes sir." From Sig before he turned and followed the Baron out.

Now alone with the young man, Sig took a moment to actually look at him. Long blonde hair with green roots that splayed wildly around his head and the table, a surprisingly soft face despite the massive bruise forming on his left cheek. To be honest, Sig wasn't sure he could really call him a man, looking to be barely 18 at best. A child.

Sig grabbed the boy's jaw and turned his face towards him, frowning inside his helmet when his grip made the kid flinch. His eyes fluttered open, an intense blue color marred by the unfocused, glowing purple pupils, before his eyes closed again. Sig paused. There was no way this teenager could be Damas' little boy.

But-

Sig patted the kid's non-bruised cheek, trying to wake him up gently.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" He asked. It took a little shaking to rouse the boy again, those exhausted eyes looking up at Sig helplessly.

"Your name, kid, can you talk?" Sig pressed.

The boy weakly turned his head, motioning towards his outstretched arm that was shackled to the table. Sig turned his head to look. The kid was flipping him off. Sig had to choke back a startled laugh, clearing his throat and grabbing his helmet to pull it off.

"I like you, kid, let's get you the fuck outta here." Sig grinned down at him, pressing the button to release his shackles and snagging the kid around the waist. Sig hoisted the boy up onto his shoulder, ignoring the dazed expression and surprised grunt he gave him. Sig wasted no time hauling ass out of that room and towards the exit, taking a few extra paths to try and avoid any of the other KG soldiers patrolling the place. Unfortunately for them both, it was the automatic security that caught them.

"Alert. Prison escape in progress."

"Shit." Sig spat, picking up his pace as red lights kicked on around the facility, a loud alarm beginning to blare.

"Kid, can you walk?" Sig asked as he ran, unsure if the kid was even conscious. To his surprise, the boy tapped him weakly on the back. Sig stopped to set the kid on his feet, holding his shoulder until he was sure he was steady. The kid looked less than alright, but Sig needed both hands to use his gun.

"Stick behind me, kid." Sig squeezed the boy's shoulder and then took the lead, gun at the ready. Sig moved quickly, checking around corners and passing rooms carefully, checking behind him regularly to make sure the kid was keeping up. To his surprise, the boy seemed to be never more than two feet behind him, keeping up despite looking like walking death.

"You wanna tell me your name now, chili pepper?" Sig asked when they came to an intersection, having to stop to check his map. Silence. He looked up to the kid, who waited for Sig's attention before making three swift signs in the air.

Mute. Just like-

"Sorry kid, I don't know sign that well." Sig shook his head, but managed a smile. "Name's Sig, I'm gonna get you outta here, then you can tell me your name, deal?"

The boy managed a small smile and a nod.

"Alright, things are about to get hot, stay right on my tail, kid." Sig took off again down the hall, the kid keeping pace once more. They raced down hallways, climbed through vents, and tediously jumped strategically placed gaps. Sig had to carry the kid across a few of the gaps, after he tried to jump one and nearly fell short, Sig snagging his arm before he could fall. They managed to avoid being seen, ducking around behind machines and into rooms whenever a troop came running past them, but when they reached the exit they were faced with a problem. The four men Sig had come with were now standing guard at the door, automatic turrets active on either side. Sig stood with his back pressed to the wall, eyeing them from around the corner, a hand on the kid's back to offer some comfort. The fuck could he do?

Sig startled when the kid patted his chest, looking down to find a serious face looking up at him. The kid pointed to himself first, then to a large barrel nearby, just large enough that he could hide behind. Then, the kid pointed to Sig, making a motion like removing a helmet, then pointing to the bruise on his own jaw. It took Sig a moment and a few more charades before he caught on to the kid's plan. They stepped away to the barrel, Sig leaning down a bit to make it easier for the kid to reach his face. The boy nailed him hard, enough to rattle Sig's senses for a moment, rubbing his now very sore jaw.

"Shit kid, you got a mean hook." Sig grinned, patting the boy's shoulder and motioning for him to hide. The kid ducked behind the barrel as Sig took his gun and fired down the hallway. It took only seconds for the four KG units standing guard to come running with their weapons at the ready.

"Sir-!"

"You four!" Sig snapped, interrupting the soldier. "Get your asses down there and sweep the area! Little shit knocked my damn helmet off!"

The squad didn't argue for a second, taking off so fast Sig only had to wait half a minute before the echo of their boots faded to silence.

"Gimmie a second." Sig motioned for the kid to stay put, walking to the exit door, between the two turrets. One good blast into one and two rounds into the other and they were home free.

"Come on kid, let's blow this shitshow." Sig grinned as the boy limpingly jobbed over, looking clearly excited as they stepped to the door. Outside was less than pretty and smelled like wet yakcow dung, but it was freedom. The kid started to walk, staring wonderstruck at everything; the people, the buildings, the zoomers, the KG patrols-

"Whoa now, cherry," Sig grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his side, walking with the kid in the shade a bit. "You're still wearin prison threads, we gotta get you outta sight and changed first." Sig wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, and a shower. Come on."

Sig pulled the kid along, ducking into an alleyway. They needed a ride. KG patrols were swarming the area and they both stood out terribly among the average citizens. With a zoomer they would be able to make it across the slums without drawing too much attention.

Sig removed and tossed a few larger pieces of his bright yellow armor, finding a discarded tattered jacket to throw on the kid. Sig told the kid to sit tight behind a trash bin and slipped out of the alleyway.

He managed to find an unclaimed zoomer, likely left behind by someone either arrested or dead, and started to walk it back, using it for cover when a KG patrol marched past. Once Sig and the kid were loaded up, they were able to make their way across the slums without so much as a curious look from the people below. The pair made their way to another back alley, to a hidden metal door with a symbol that made the boy stop and stare while Sig input a code into a hidden keypad to get it to open. Sig patted the kid on the back before walking down the short flight of stairs.

"The FUCK did you do!?"

The kid flinched, peeking around Sig at the slender brunette snarling at him.

"Easy, Torn," Sig started. "I know it looks bad-"

"Bad!?" Torn slammed his fist on the map table between them. "We just lost our one in with the Baron! He's beyond pissed! Your face is all over the wanted boards! No doubt they've already stripped any of the security accesses you had!"

"You don't think I know that?" Sig snapped back. "I've been puttin my ass on the line for over a year for you, I know what was at stake." Sig stepped aside, putting a hand on the kid's shoulder to pull him forward. Torn looked stunned, but only for a moment, turning his glare back at Sig.

"What is that?"

"'That'," Sig grinned. "Is the Baron's 'special prisoner'."

"No shit." Torn's jaw went a little slack, looking the kid up and down, brow pinched in concentration. There was a flicker of recognition in the man's eyes.

"What's your name, kid?" Torn straightened up. Again the boy made three quick signs. Unlike Sig, Torn seemed to understand.

"Alright, Jak, you and I need to talk-"

"Ah ah ah," Sig shook his head. "Kid has been strapped to the devil's heel and marched to hell and back. He's getting a shower and a hot meal first, then you can interrogate him."

Jak made a few meek signs, frowning at Sig. Torn let out a snort.

"Says he's seventeen and not to call him 'kid' again." Torn seemed amused, watching Sig hike an eyebrow at Jak, who was looking at him sternly.

"Riiight," Sig put up a hand of surrender. "This way then, Jak, let's get you cozy."

"Sig," Torn called before they got too far. "You and I need to talk."

"Lemme get the kid settled first."

"Be quick about it, I don't like strangers in my base."

"I know that." Sig tried to step through the door.

"And Sig."

Sig paused again.

"I'm not gonna play interpreter, learn."

Sig huffed and nodded as he led Jak down into their barracks. A comfortable, dry little hovel with a few rooms, a kitchen, and a communal bathroom.

"You wash up while I find you some new digs," Sig opened the bathroom for Jak and motioned him inside with his chin. "Try not to use up all the hot water." He joked with a wink.

[deathnotedrabbles]

The Sun

Warnings: very, very subtle hints to self-harm (very subtle, like, blink and you’ll miss it), descriptions of very minor injuries/mentions of blood (literally just chewing ur nail too hard like it’s nbd)

Words: 819

Pairing: Light x Reader

i read an analysis once that talked about Light being depressed before finding the death note, so i’m kind of working off that basis and looking a little at the way the death note changed that for him, y’know? idk, i wrote this when i was very tired so let's see how this goes

this was meant to be for the first day of @deathnotetober but obviously that’s long over now lmao. anyway i thought i should still post it, the prompt for this one was “Light”.

(also are any of my followers still active ??? i haven’t posted in YONKS, sorry fam)

__________

He had burned so bright.

You remembered the day you met, so many years ago now; the light in his eyes, the hope in his smile, the warmth of his hand over yours… until something shifted.

It was only subtle at first; a flicker of discontent at the headlines marring the tiny television that sat on your desk. The downwards tick of his lips at the stories his father would bring home from work. A whisper of pain as his fingers tightened around your own when the news of another injustice would find his ears.

He had burned so bright, but a darkness was blossoming inside of him, one that you were helpless to defeat.

“Light? It’s been three days… call me back, okay?”

You hung up with a sigh, your phone falling onto your desk with a quiet thump. The chair creaked warningly as you rocked back, fingertips pressing into your temples as you drew in a short, thin breath that did little to ease the worry knotting in your chest. It had been days since you’d heard from your boyfriend, and though you knew your concerns were surely unfounded, you couldn’t put to rest the building sense of unease that knawed at your stomach. You chewed your thumbnail.

Light wasn’t a happy person, not like he once had been. You’d realised this a while ago, but you’d always chalked it up to his empathy. The world was far from perfect, anybody could see that, but it seemed to hit your love harder than most. Perhaps it was his family’s background in the police that thrust a darker perspective of life on him than his peers, or maybe he was just a perfectionist, but at any rate, the bright, happy Light you’d fallen in love with had faded to a ghost numbed by the brutalities of the world.

The metallic tang of blood had you drawing your nail away from your teeth, wincing at the sting as you ran your tongue over the ragged flesh you had ravaged. 

Damned bad habits. 

You closed your thumb into your fist, and the simple action made you realise your hand was trembling. Clenching it until the quivering was quelled, you swallowed and picked up your phone again.

Light wasn’t a happy person, and when not-happy people disappeared off the map for a few days, it was generally reasonable to find oneself concerned.

You were only half-listening to the ringing as you drummed your fingertips over your desk, eyes searching the street outside, watching the orange and purple hues of the sunset fade behind the dark building silhouettes--streaks of colour stifled by the onslaught of grey, dully gleaming in the sun’s fading light.

“Y/N?”

Light’s voice was tense, and you jerked back in surprise at the sound of his voice. You’d fully expected another voicemail.

“Light! It’s been forever--are you okay? I’ve never seen you miss class before…”

The worry in your voice was clouded with relief, yet the bitterness beneath your repose was like acid burning through your chest. Light laughed, and you could breathe again.

“Yeah, just a stomach bug. I’m fine,” he replied easily, voice cool and composed. “Hey, did you watch the news today?” he asked, and the bluntness of his inquiry made you blink.

“Oh. Um. No? Should I?”

You flicked on the channel, brow quirking at the sight that awaited you. Criminals dying… heart attacks… dubbed ‘Kira’ by fanatics…

“...are you talking about the murders?” you asked. “Or… acts of God? Whatever this is?” you continued. Light chuckled, the receiver crackling at the action.

“Yeah.”

“Seems… pretty crazy,” you mused, frowning as your teeth caught on your lower lip. “How are you feeling, though? You said you were sick?”

“I feel incredible, Y/N,” Light murmured, and the low husk of his voice held a sinister intonation you’d never before heard in his smooth timbre. “Don’t worry.”

---

Light didn’t miss school again.

His eyes found yours the moment you stepped onto the grounds, and the intensity of his stare all but floored you. The boy’s shoulders were straight, his step sure as he stepped towards you and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips curved into a smirk, and your heart skipped a beat at the keen glow in his eyes.

It wasn’t the warmth you had grown to care for so much--it was colder now, calculated. Like he had a job to do. His smile was shallow, his hand firm around yours as you walked--as though you were the queen to his king, a trophy to show off to those less worthy. He walked with purpose, and though there might not have been a discernible shift to those who had not known him as well as you, there was no mistaking the focus in his gaze.

He had burned so bright.

But now?

He was the sun.

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 20 - as in the midst of battle

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >   

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: toxic relationships, mild gore/fighting)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Sonnet XXV” by George Santayana)

Roman led his friends back into the forest, trying to ignore the sour feeling growing in his gut. It was high noon, and the sun filtered down through the trees in broken rays. The woods looked so different in the daytime. Almost beautiful. Despite how upset it would make them both, and the points to the contrary they’d posed, Roman still thought Patton and Logan would be safer away from the fight. Roman had learned to deal with dangerous situations with nothing but his own skills and quick thinking. Three more people, two of which that were far more vulnerable, increased the number of things he had to think about tenfold. Not to mention their plan was rather half-baked and incoherent at this point. Roman simply hoped that by the time they got to the meadow, the ideas would start coming. Ursula could show up at any moment. They had to be ready to act.

Instead of worrying endlessly, Roman simply kept running over the handful of witchtongue phrases and words Virgil had taught him just in case things got hairy. Be careful, he’d admonished. You don’t have control of your powers yet, so you can’t control how powerful each word’s going to be. It could be like setting off a bomb.

Behind him, Logan drilled Virgil about the magical properties of everyday substances, desperately trying to formulate some kind of attack strategy.

“So, rosemary enhances magic?”

“Sort of,” said Virgil, struggling to explain. “It’s more like it concentrates it in one area. Keeps it from going wrong.”

“Anything else? Something also available to us?”

Virgil stuffed his hands in his oversized pockets, thinking. Patton had his cardigan on, and even Logan wore a windbreaker. It was a little chilly, now that Roman thought about it, but he’d always run hot, even as a kid. He had his usual weapons strapped to his body, but aside from that, just a t-shirt and jeans.

“Coffee puts us to sleep,” Virgil offered.

“So that’s why you never drink it!” Patton exclaimed. “Maybe we could blow a bunch in her face?”

“It’s not a tranquilizer,” he amended. “More like melatonin. It just makes us drowsy and lethargic.”

“We’re almost there,” Roman announced, but the three others were too engrossed in their planning to take notice. He didn’t mind. Roman wasn’t much of a planner. He was a shoot-and-stab first, come-up-with-brilliant-strategies later kind of guy.

As they walked, Roman let his mind wander to Dorian. Was he sleeping? If so, where was he?

A familiar tugging sensation filled his mind, and somehow, he just knew which direction Dorian was. Southeast, about three miles. The location popped into his mind just as easily as any one of his normal thoughts. It felt similar to how he’d found the Silkweed, and that strange sensation he’d felt that night outside the forest with the—

Roman audibly gasped, stopping in his tracks. Logan bumped into him.

“Roman? What—”

“It was you!” he breathed, pointing at Virgil.

Virgil paled, immediately nervous. “What was me?”

“You were the cat that kept following me to the forest every night!”

Virgil relaxed a touch. “You’re just figuring this out now?”

“Well, I mean. Kinda. I guess I didn’t connect the two,” he said, flushing. “Whatever, let’s keep going. We’re almost there.” Roman turned around and continued plodding through the trees, trying to hide his embarrassment. He’d had full on mental breakdowns in front of that cat. He’d talked about Virgil to it. It was comforting, and really sweet, actually—but also incredibly embarrassing.

“Okay,” Logan began slowly, “back to the matter at hand, I guess. Are there any substances that have negative effects? Ones that we can use against Ursula?”

“I mean, iron’s a classic, but there isn’t much of that just lying around,” Virgil said.

“What are its properties?”

“It cancels out magic.”

Logan sighed. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Virgil. What are the constraints? The parameters?”

“Well,” Virgil said as they arrived at the meadow, “magic can’t pass through it. So, if someone was behind an iron door, or in an iron cage, no magic could get in or out. In the Witchlands, they use iron cuffs to bind prisoners.”

“And what of iron in a powder form? What if a person were to become covered in it?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it before. I guess it could cancel out their powers, but it wouldn’t be as concentrated as solid metal. My guess is it’ll simply destroy any control over their spells, or decrease their power.”

They stopped in the middle of the clearing.

“Fantastic,” Logan muttered to himself, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

“Where are we supposed to get iron powder?” Patton asked.

Logan squatted down, pressing his fingers into the dirt. “Right here. Virgil, do you know of any spells that could draw iron from the ground?”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” he said with that same smile that crossed his face anytime the mention of performing magic was made.

“Now, be careful,” Logan warned. “Iron is a necessary nutrient for plant life.”

“Don’t kill the forest. Got it.”

Roman watched as Virgil knelt down, pulling the talisman from his jacket pocket and placing a hand on the ground. He opened his mouth, then stopped, eyebrows knitting together.

“What rhymes with stone?”

Logan brightened. “Tone, sloan, own, bone, zone—tome and roam are slant rhymes, but I’m sure they’ll work.”

“Disown,” Roman said. Atone was also in there, but he refrained from offering that one.

“Shown? Or known?” Patton chimed in.

“That’ll work,” Virgil said, and returned his attention to the ground. “Seek and find the hidden stone, bring it hence and make it known.”

The ground shuddered and beneath Virgil’s palm sprouted a pile of iron flecks, and a few larger pebbles.

“Jahsti,” he said softly, that strange tone to his voice that made Roman’s heart race and fingers tingle. Logan flinched ever so slightly. The iron seemed to vibrate, and soon all the flecks and pebbles were reduced to a fine powder. There was only enough for a fistful, maybe less.

“Wonderful,” Logan said, gathering the substance up in his hand.

“So, what’s the plan?” Roman asked, unconsciously scanning the treeline. “We somehow get close enough to her to chuck the stuff in her face?”

“That’s a rather simplistic way of putting it, but yes,” Logan said. He had that look in his eye. The one that betrayed a million calculations and ideas finally coming together.

A rare grin stretched across his face. “Patton, how fast can you run?”

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian lay on the top of a sheer cliff, bathing in the sunlight. Winter was approaching. He shuddered at the thought. Sure, he didn’t need to be warm to live—just like he didn’t need to sleep, or eat, or breathe—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to enjoy one and hate another. The cold reminded him of his time in the dungeons.

In his periphery, he could sense the little prince and his friends a few miles northwest of him. Perhaps they planned on confronting the Dragon Witch today? Dorian reveled in the fact that he couldn’t care less. Either they took care of his problem, or he got to kill Ursula and the little prince.

Who he hadn’t become fond of in the least.

Obviously.

Under normal circumstances, Dorian wouldn’t have been so out in the open, let alone sunbathing atop a clifftop, letting his scales shine like beacons. Again, it felt good to have no worries.

And yet, the little prince’s presence kept nagging at the back of his mind. What was their plan? How could they hope to defeat such a power with the prince so oblivious to his own? They had no chance, really. It was bound to end in disaster, and they’d no doubt come crawling to him for assistance.

Which he wouldn’t offer. Under any circumstance.

This is ridiculous, Dorian thought, and in a snap of brilliant golden light, returned to his human form. He needed to clear his head.`

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian stood at the treeline. Now that the curse was broken, he, too, should be able to leave the premises of the forest. Something that surely wasn’t fear curdled in the pit of his stomach. He’d never approached a human settlement before. Even while hunting Ursula all those centuries, he’d avoided the places as well he could.

Steeling himself, Dorian stepped into the yellow-grass field separating the township from the forest. He would have expected some sort of reaction, even a tingle up his spine, but of course nothing did. He trudged through the field and slipped between two houses. The street was lined with residencies and nothing else. The town square must be around here somewhere, he reasoned, and stepped out into the middle of the road. It was hard, like stone, but blackened and smelly, as if a dragon had scorched it with its breath.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Dorian strode down the middle of the street. Small humans—even smaller than the little prince—rode past on strange two-wheeled contraptions, staring at him with open mouths. While Dorian knew that magicless mortals such as these could not see the scales marring the left side of his face, he wondered if they saw some other kind of deformation more familiar to them. A burn, perhaps?

They continued away from him, stopping behind one of the large metal machines that littered the sides of the street and peeking out at him. Dorian continued down the road, twitching his finger in the direction of the machine. A blaring alarm rang out and various white, yellow, and red lights began flashing. The children yelped in fright and scampered away. Dorian contained a smile.

One of the large machines was moving toward him rapidly. A similar alarm blared at him and the woman inside made a gesture with her middle finger as she gradually slowed down. Dorian cocked his head to the side, and the machine’s engine made an awful cranking sound, black smoke billowing up from the front end. Another jerk of his head, and the entire contraption slid to the side of the road, out of his way.

This might be fun.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“VIRGIL!” a voice screeched in the distance, ringing like an ornery bird call through the trees. Roman froze, a chill shooting down his neck. He cast a glance Virgil’s direction. He looked paler than normal, and clutched his talisman so tightly, he would have killed it, had it been alive.

Roman knew where Logan and Patton were simply because they’d planned it, but he couldn’t resist using his newfound ability to be absolutely sure. Patton was thirty feet east of him and Virgil. Logan was even farther east. One hundred and twenty-seven feet, to be exact.

“Where are you, cat?!” Ursula screamed in frustration. Roman refrained from using his ability on the witch, just in case he ended up giving their location away. From where they crouched in the bushes, she sounded only a couple hundred feet up the slope of the mountain.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Virgil muttered.

“What?”

“She should know exactly where I am. I’m her familiar,” he said. “I don’t know why she can’t find me.”

“Well, whatever the reason, let’s count ourselves lucky,” Roman said. Though, for their plan to work, they needed Ursula to find them. Reaching into the bush, Roman grabbed one of the branches and snapped it. This needed to seem unintentional.

Sure enough, the witch began stomping down the hill toward them. Her hair was silvery as Roman remembered, though she wore pants, tennis shoes, and a streamlined running jacket. She almost looked like a normal human.

Her eyes scanned the trees. She still seemed unable to pinpoint their exact location.

“I can sense you, kitty,” she muttered.

Before Virgil could make his mind up to bolt in the other direction, Roman grabbed his arm and stood up out of the bush, pulling Virgil up with him.

“We’re right here, Ursula.”

Her eyes snapped to him, then to Virgil. Roman could feel him shaking beneath his jacket. The witch smiled and lifted her hands in a gesture of goodwill.

“I’m not here for you, princey. Virgil’s been misbehaving recently, and I think it’s time he got a reminder who’s in charge around here.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him,” Roman said, unsheathing his sword.

Ursula cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to save that for the demon? Be a shame to tire yourself out before the curse even starts.”

“Leave us alone. You have no business here.”

The witch’s expression darkened. “Where are the rest of your friends, kitty? Didn’t want to join the party?”

On cue, Patton wandered out of his hiding place, calling, “Roman? Virgil? Come on guys, where are you? Logan’s worried sick!”

Roman let out a curse, and a smile stretched across Ursula’s face.

“Patton! Get out of here!” he shouted. Patton’s head snapped in their direction.

“No,” Ursula crooned. “Why don’t you come over here, dear?” She curled a finger towards herself and muttered, “Nohmai.”

Patton jerked forward, as if drawn by a string sprouting from the middle of his chest. Roman’s breath caught. Just like his curse. Patton’s feet skidded across the forest floor as he was drawn toward the witch, his face one of fear and confusion.

Virgil nudged him. Roman started, remembering the plan.

“Baesta!” he cried, concentrating as well he could on the invisible connection between the two of them. Power surged out of him with the strangest sensation Roman had ever felt. It was like blood flowing back into a limb that had fallen asleep.

A deep groove tore into the ground and branches were shorn from trees as some invisible force barreled out of him. The furrow separated Patton and Ursula, and he stumbled to a stop a few paces from her. The witch looked at Roman, astounded.

“You’ve discovered your powers.”

“Patton, run!” Roman barked.

Responding faster than he probably should have, Patton turned on his heel and sprinted in the direction he’d come.

Almost as if he’d expected it.

She’s going to try to use him as leverage, Logan had explained. She’ll see him as the weakest member and since she can’t kill or harm Roman and risk him dying, she’ll try to threaten Patton’s life in exchange for Virgil. As long as you and Virgil can keep her from using magic to capture Patton, the plan will work smoothly.

The chase began without preamble. Ursula dashed after Patton with far more speed than a woman of her age should have been able. Roman and Virgil sprinted after them.

Roman was pleased to find that Patton wasn’t just a good runner; he was shockingly fast. His feet beat the ground in a quick pace, his strides long and loping, yet he swerved around trees and over logs with ease. He was easily faster than Ursula and Roman, and could probably keep up with Virgil in cat form.

They were fast approaching Logan’s hiding place. Thankfully, due to his total lack of magical ability, Virgil had said it would be near impossible for her to sense Logan’s presence.

Don’t let any of it touch you or Virgil, Logan had warned. We want to disable her powers, not all of yours.

Ten more feet.

Ursula growled in frustration, snarling, “Eirholme,” and rising into the air.

Five feet.

She picked up speed, her outstretched hand just centimeters from the collar of Patton’s cardigan.

Roman and Virgil swerved out from behind her just in time to avoid the plume of iron powder Logan flung directly into Ursula’s face as she passed.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian stood outside the small, two-story house, nose crinkled in disgust. He’d abandoned his quest to find the center of the village when he’d caught the unmistakable stench of magic.

The house was ripe with it. It was bound to happen, given that the last heir to the Witch’s Inheritance, a sybil, and the world’s most powerful witch’s familiar were all living in the same vicinity. He figured they were simply lucky they hadn’t attracted more attention.

Most likely, it was his own scent that had kept any stray magical creatures wandering the outside world at bay. He smelled of death, and he knew it.

Not at all curious, but simply wanting to get out of the public eye for a while—at least until people stopped getting all agitated about thier machines acting up—Dorian stepped up the front porch steps. The door was locked. A simple touch, and the door opened for him.

The odor was even worse inside. Dorian couldn’t fathom how the familiar had stood it all these years. Then again, Dorian used to live in the Witchlands. That scent had once been the smell of home.

He hadn’t sensed such an aroma in hundreds of years.

The house itself was quaint, with a relatively open kitchen and living space. Dorian found a carpeted staircase tucked against a wall and wandered up it. The smell grew stronger.

Four rooms, a bathroom, and a linen closet. He could tell which was the little prince’s without having to open the door, despite it hanging open, revealing a mess of clutter and clothes. He’d grown used to the boy’s particular odor by now. The familiar’s simply smelled like the Witchlands. The third had no particular scent whatsoever. Peeking inside, Dorian found the room studiously neat and well kept. Boring.

What he was most interested in, actually, was the sybil’s room. The child had come out of nowhere, with significantly more power than any other sybil Dorian had come across while in the Queen’s court.

He ran a finger across the door handle and sniffed it. Nothing too suspicious. Easing the door open, he stepped inside. The room was… warm. Homey, if Dorian had to put a word to it. Not much in the way of possessions, unlike the little prince.

Dorian sniffed.

Something was off. The room smelled of the prediction magic typical of everyday sybils, but there was something else. An undertone he hadn’t sensed since his days in the Queen’s dungeons.

Something… prophetic. Divine, even.

A loud thud from downstairs pulled Dorian from his thoughts. Eyes narrowing, he exited the room and slipped silently down the stairs.

The thudding continued. Dorian ambled curiously down the hallway it originated from. Being as powerful as he was, he didn’t have much to worry about in the way of danger.

Turning the corner, he was surprised to find a door, sealed shut with a glowing, violet sigil. The thudding turned to scrabbling at the edges of the door, trying for purchase on any one of the hinges or edges.

The mark of Avalian, Dorian mused to himself, running a finger across the sigil. It sparked and smoked at his touch.

“What are you hiding?” he muttered, pressing his palm into the wood of the door. Dorian slowly wiped his hand across the mark, wincing ever so slightly as it scorched the skin of his hand in protest. Despite the spell’s noble efforts, however, it eventually gave up and dissipated.

The door swung open.

“…swear I’ll stuff a pixie up that cat’s nose and tie his tail to a—”

Dorian’s mouth ticked up into a smile. “Hello, there.”

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Ursula screamed and fell to the ground, rolling several times. Whatever magic that kept her flying stopped. Patton jogged to a stop a few feet away. Logan leaped out of the bush, breathless with excitement.

“It worked!”

Roman rushed forward, brandishing his blade. Ursula wiped her face furiously with her hands.

“What did you do?!” she wailed, tears from her bloodshot eyes streaking down her face. She coughed. “Iron?!”

“That’s right,” Roman said, pointing his sword at her chest. “Don’t move.”

“Or what?” she said, spitting iron-tainted saliva out onto the ground. “You’ll kill me? We both know you can’t—aaah!” Ursula cried as he drew his blade across her thigh.

“You don’t know what I will or won’t do, witch,” he growled. “I’ve promised a very powerful demon that I’d kill you in exchange for my freedom. Seems like a tempting offer.”

“You brat. No wonder Virgil’s been acting up.”

“He’s not your property,” Logan said, brushing the remaining iron dust off his hands. Patton came to stand next to him. Ursula eyed them both.

“You stupid mortals would never understand. The kind of bond between a witch and their familiar is for life. There’s no going back.”

“He’s done pretty well without you, so far,” Roman countered. “Besides, you’re powerless now. You’re not exactly threatening.”

“Well,” she said with a smile. “I think the little prince needs to be taught a lesson, don’t you, kitty?”

“Roman, do it,” Virgil said hastily.

“What?”

“Kill her! Now! Before—”

“Dokuah Kulong,” Ursula rasped, gesturing toward Logan and Patton.

Roman’s heart dropped to his feet. One second, his friends were standing there, looks of surprise and confusion on their faces, and the next, they were just gone. As if they’d never been there. The world seemed to tilt around Roman, and he couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t… they couldn’t be… could they?

A wounded cry tore from Virgil’s throat.

Ursula was on her feet in seconds, disarming Roman, shoving him to the ground, and throwing his sword into the trees.

“Pounu!” she cried. To their right, several gallons worth of water appeared out of nowhere, sloshing over the ground and soaking Roman’s clothes. She growled in frustration and started for the water, desperately scrubbing mud over her skin, trying to rid herself of the iron powder. She’d obviously meant for it to appear right over her, but the iron was apparently doing its job.

“Makoaste duu fahrnistahll,” Virgil rumbled, his arms raised chest-level, the tendons on the back of his hands pulling taut as his fingers contorted. Tears streaked his cheeks, and his eyes held a fury that made even Roman’s stomach clench.

The world around them seemed to glitch, nothing staying in one place. The ground undulated and grew soft, Roman having to grab hold of the nearest tree to keep from sinking into it. The dirt around Ursula’s feet sunk in on itself, like someone had pulled an enormous drain deep below the ground. An absolutely terrifying noise emanated from the sucking earth. A low, bone-rattling note, like the earth itself were groaning.

Roman, it seemed, was already weak from the one word he’d uttered, and found it difficult to keep a grip on the tree. He was buried up to his waist, the ground pulling at his ankles like quicksand. Hopefully, Virgil wasn’t so enthralled in his fight he ended up pulling Roman into it as well.

Ursula was covered nearly head-to-toe in mud. Preoccupied with trying not to be buried alive, she paid Roman little attention.

“Eirholme!” Ursula rose into the air, the angry black dirt following her, tugging at her feet. She raised a muddy hand and screamed, “Kazhta!”

Virgil gasped, collapsing to the ground. The dirt immediately fell slack, jittering and twitching as Virgil thrashed and screamed on the ground, grabbing at his back.

“Virgil!” Roman cried, trying desperately to free the lower half of his body from the dirt. It was no use. His sword was somewhere lost in the trees. He tried to locate it, but he was too frazzled. He couldn’t concentrate.

Virgil tore his jacket off, revealing countless shallow gashes torn up and down his arms. His back was criss-crossed by them as well, soaking his black shirt crimson. More appeared every second. If it went on much longer, he’d be cut to ribbons.

Ursula approached Virgil, her feet alighting on the ground like she was an apparition.

Roman fought back tears of fear and frustration as he tried to pull himself out of the earth with the hold he had on a low branch. The limb snapped.

“Remember this, kitty,” Ursula crooned, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. She looked over at Roman, favoring the leg he’d injured.

“You both belong to me.”

And with that, she muttered a quick, “Dokuah Cairo,” and disappeared without a trace.

[icosmohunters]

chapter nine : benignity

chapter nine of cosmo hunters!

word count : 4.4k words

synopsis : quinn was hurt during the hunt for the master of puppets, and the puppeteer remained untouched after hope chose to retreat. in the midst of the boy’s recovery, hope finds herself opening up to the others. 

it was a catastrophe, bringing the boy into the ship without bringing him incredible pain. the way the others hovered over him and rushed him around, running about for cloths and freezing cold water and bandages and needles and threads. hope had to stand back because it wasn’t her place to intrude.

they had put quinn on one of the spare bottom bunks, and all hope could see from the window over enzo’s broad back was dawn’s head moving at times and the sweet sound of her voice which would often be interrupted by the pained cries from the injured boy.

she couldn’t watch, nor listen.

blinking slightly, she moved away from the door and like a ghost, carried herself to her room. perhaps if she fell asleep, if she awoke the next morning, this nightmare would be over. a self-inflicted nightmare, one which she had caused due to her very aloof plan of taking down a cybercriminal for good. and someone had gotten hurt because of her actions. because of her recklessness.

sometimes she viewed moments like these as pure karma. was this the universe’s payback for her unnecessary rudeness? for her snappy attitude? for her unkind approach to things? for her coldness? did she deserve this for whatever reason?

resting her hand on the wall, hope blinked a couple more times and then viewed her red hand where the blood was drying. before she could dry heave, she rushed to the bathroom and in a frenzy, hurried to wash it off, wanting to rid it from her skin, the imprint of her foolishness. hope then splashed her face and smacked her cheeks before groaning.

“ you didn’t stab him. you weren’t the one who told him to get hurt. so why are you the one taking all the blame? ”, the bounty hunter was scolding herself, her mother wasn’t there to do the job. looking at herself in the mirror, her plain face soon contorted into a growing grimace. she whimpered and ran to dry her hands and her face.

exiting the bathroom, hope paused for a moment and frowned more. her chance to get the puppeteer was gone because she put a group of innocent people in danger. they weren’t saints but they didn’t deserve to be hurt by something that was meant for her. why did she even agree to take them? she knew something was going to go bad, she felt it.

and now here they were, struggling to remain calm after their mechanic was struck by one of the androids. hope didn’t even have the energy to seethe with rage at the man who inflicted the harm towards them. maybe when she grounds herself, she’ll be able to actually feel . . . something.

“ hope! ���.

the girl let out a yelp and smacked a hand over her mouth before looking at who stood before her. enzo. looking concerned, hands behind his back. she saw this as the first time he’s ever seen her in this sort of state and she wanted it to be the last time, she couldn’t afford to lose it. not now. not when they needed to feel secure or sane.

she felt her food begin to rise and focused on not doing so, focusing on better well-being that might be brought if she attempts to sleep. gulping, she removed her hand from her mouth and upon adjusting her posture, let out a small sigh. “ sorry, i was a bit dazed, that’s all ”, she replied. and then looked in the directions of the rooms. “ is he going to be alright? ”.

“ hope, you’re shakin— ”.

“  —n-nevermind me! quinn, how is he? is he stable? does he need a blood transfusion? what about his internal conditions, is anything bleeding from the inside? i can ask a.j to do a sca— ”.

“ hope! ”.

“ oh for god’s sake, enzo, tell me! i wouldn’t give a fuck if i was at the verge of dying right now, my worries are on quinn and whether i’m going to have to fly a dead kid through space to burry him somewhere! ”.

hope had grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt and squeezed it into her fists, ready to practically headbutt him to get him into the right frame of mind. or maybe to fix her very own, which seemed to have gone haywire, melting in the worry and the guilt of the entire situation, she hadn’t even gathered the courage to lift nebula off.

releasing her grip from his shirt, hope let out a shaky exhale and covered her face behind her trembling hands. “ s-sorry . . . ”, she muttered, shaking her head. she was losing it, absolutely losing it for no reason. she knew quinn was going to be okay, especially at the hands of an expert like dawn. but in the case that he wasn’t doing well, the captain felt like it was her right to know. “ god, i’m sorry. ”

“ it’s alright, all of this is messing with all of us ”, enzo reassured her and then crossed his arms across his chest. “ but really, hope, if you think any of this is your fault, you’re mistaken. if anything . . . it was my fault for agreeing to come. we should have stayed. but then the thought of you handling it all by yourself, you wouldn’t have made it. ”

she hated to admit it but he was right. she’d seen those androids, they looked hellish, like things manufactured in the deepest pit of the underworld, murderous and cold. they would have reduced her to dust in an instant.

the girl ran a hand through her hair, “ so, it’s kind of both our fault’s. we should have come better prepared, with better ammunition and maps and more people. people from voyage. god, i don’t know how i’ll ever get my hands on him again. after this, he’s shifting, he’s not going to the same place. ” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “ i lost him completely. ”

“ to be fair, it was too ambitious of voyage to throw you into a mission like that. one person could have easily died in there, they need an entire team ”, enzo spoke and frowned. “ i know you like to be independent, hope, but you wouldn’t have lasted a second in there by yourself. ”

“ i wouldn’t be able to handle fighting one of those things again. ”

“ what things? ”.

“ nothing. ”

enzo recommended for her to get some rest as best as she could. as if that was going to be easy, the horrors she’d seen today would come back to haunt her in the deepest parts of her dreams. perhaps she would dream of that pale picture that stared at her once in a dream, waiting, twitching, eager for her to step forward so it could lunge.

wandering into her room, hope grabbed her bathing equipment as she needed to wash up properly before thinking about going to bed. sometimes you forget things because you’re so exhausted. towel and soaps in hand, she wandered off.

the first thing she noticed after she started to fill the bath up whilst undressing is that her ankles looked like they had been bashed to pieces. it was probably from when she tripped up the juggernaut, forgetting he was made of metal and her legs were made of innocent calcium. not even dense muscles like hers would be able to survive without an injury.

her right ankle belonging to her dominant leg was pretty much wrapped in bruises, it was purpling. she could cry at the sight of it. it was horrendous, an enormous patch of purple on the surface of her skin and she didn’t even think to touch it, she just added drops of eucalyptus oil in the bath and hoped for the best.

bathing for around twenty minutes hope found her eyes closing spontaneously at times, hinting her exhaustion that had risen to a hundred ever since she properly relaxed. the smell of the eucalyptus oil was possibly the best aroma in the world aside from that of her mother’s food, it relaxed her body and her mind. but the images of today wouldn’t stop flashing in her mind.

and she tried to put them to sleep. she got changed after drying herself and searched for her sleeping pills and took them with a glass of water on the side of the bed. clapping her hands, the lights soon switched off and she tossed to her left side, the most comfortable side to sleep in. 

and then she waited, waited for sleep to take notice of her and take her away into a land of dreams, sweeter dreams compared to the ones she’s been having. her eyes were heavy but her body just wouldn’t relax. and every time she closed her eyes, she gets that sensation.

that someone is watching her, closely observing through some sort of entry, through some sort of gap through the space-time continuum. it was the feeling that lingered from having to deal with the puppeteer, the great, psychotic puppeteer.

the vision of his eyes came to mind and hope snapped her own eyes open and turned her bedside lamp on before gulping. she couldn’t sleep. even though she felt like she was going to faint, it was impossible for her muscles to relax. or her mind. nothing was relaxing. she was beyond perturbed. 

yet she didn’t want to stay awake. she needed to sleep. she needed rest, a.j wouldn’t let her lift off the nebula in the morning. realizing she was still on mars, hope got out from beneath her bedsheets and approached her window. looking out into the martian night sky. she sighed softly.

it looked too much like home. in fact, she just felt the homesickness growing painfully intense by looking at a sky littered with stars. it wasn’t earth, but among those stars, home could be spotted. home. 

“ a.j, what day is it on earth today? ”.

“ april tenth. ”

hope frowned. in two days' time, her home would be littered by color and lush, a new beginning to the seasons and a new beginning to life in general, inviting the bloom of flowers and the gathering of friends and family to celebrate rebirth. she wasn’t religious, but easter was somehow one of her favorite holidays.

“ would you like to send a message to your parents, captain? ensuring your safety? ”, a.j questioned once more.

hope looked out into the stars and then hummed, “ no. leave it. i’ll pay them a visit eventually. ”

time skip  ﹏

staying awake, it was difficult. but it wasn’t as if she would be able to sleep anyway, not with a million thoughts being fired in her brain. her head was consumed by all sorts of worries and perceptions, some that may be seen as worrisome but hope didn’t really share them with anyone. she felt that if she closed her eyes, she would see something. 

and this thing would keep her awake for hours at an end. there was a perfectly dark night sky out there, a sense of familiarity rather than floating through endless space with no awareness of time. she didn’t take advantage of it, though.

mars had a twenty-five-hour cycle, and currently it was three in the morning. the captain was in the lounge, nursing her nerves with a can of energy drink that she had stocked up on after a brief visit to a grocery store. she had spoken to enzo roughly five hours ago, and since then hope hasn’t seen or heard from everyone.

at this point, she was assuming the worst. the kid died, she was tempted to believe. nobody cared to drop in to tell her of anything, maybe he was still healing or was struggling to sleep like her and so they were trying to soothe him into a state of painless peace.

the doors slid open and hope’s tired eyes moved towards the figure that came in. it was dom, he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink either, still in the clothes from the mission and with a grave expression on his face. when he took notice of her, hope prepared to be yelled at.

to be blamed, to receive a good scolding. but nothing ever came. he just stared at her for a moment and then averted his gaze away. “ is he alright? ”, she questioned. “ the kid. is he okay? ”.

“ stable ”, dom replied and hope let out a sigh of relief, bracing herself for a but. it never came, though, as dom went over and got himself something from the vending machine. “ what flavor of energy drink do you choose? ”.

hope blinked but replied, “ cherry. ”

dom hummed and then tapped away at the screen on the vending machine. it was silent for a moment, hope had grown used to speaking to the rest but she never did the same with dominic, not after what happened between them just after they came out of the j-colony. his bruise looked slightly better but it was nowhere near healed.

“ he’s healing okay ”, he said to break the silence. “ the cut didn’t reach any vital organs but it was somewhat deep. a.j had a look, which was quite useful. but quinn’s healing slowly now, vivi’s watching after him in case he wakes up in pain. ”

“ i’m sorry. ”

“ don’t be. ”

for that and also for the bruise, hope wanted to say but was unable to.

dom walked near to the couch and hope saw the same cherry drink she was holding in her hands. popping the can open, dom took a sip and appeared puzzled for a second before grimacing. “ that’s strong ”, he managed to say with another shudder.

hope chuckled softly and looked to the doors when they slid open once more. enzo walked on through, it seemed as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep either but he at least had gotten changed. “ nice seeing you two getting along ”, he commented with a tired grin. “ why are you awake, cap? ”.

“ got a late-night craving. my sleeping pills didn’t work, so there’s no point in staying awake. besides, i was worried about quinn ”, she stated as the young man approached. “ is there enough medication for him? ”.

dom snorted, “ more than enough. ”

“ you could heal an entire army with what you’ve got stored in there, cap ”, enzo added before stopping by her and offering a small smile. “ quinn will be alright, he just needs plenty of rest and good food. i was in the kitchen, i saw some bags on the counter. did you go shopping? ”.

oh. hope blushed softly and looked down. she’s never been one to blush, at all. she was slightly embarrassed to have been found out, she was going to put the food back into the fridge but then completely zoned out and forgot. 

“ yeah, i did ”, hope revealed. 

enzo gasped and clapped happily, “ vivi is gonna whip us something good tomorrow then and i cannot wait for that. you should see the soup she makes when one of us is sick. ”

it was refreshing to see them back to their normal antics, it was better to see them all smiling, though, it brought a sense of safety. that she didn’t have to worry about all that’s happened and that all would be well within a given time. sure, she had missed the chance of killing the puppeteer.

but it was suspicious why voyage had even given her a task like that, especially one for her to complete alone. if he was on top of the list, they would’ve most likely offered her some sort of help. they didn’t, they forced her to do it by herself with the impression that she wouldn’t pass the task on, and she didn’t.

and now someone had gotten hurt. whilst she wanted to take the blame, the pirates didn’t allow her to. dom and enzo settled on the couch to watch something or play a video game, hope wasn’t paying too much attention to be sure.

because she soon lifted herself from the couch and left the lounge, her attention dragging towards the door of the rooms they were allocated in. she wasn’t too certain if dawn and quinn were awake, but she knew vivienne was, so it was worth going in to check. she could see with her very own eyes just what had been done to heal the boy.

once the doors slid open, hope looked into the room for the first time in a while. they hadn’t made a total mess of it, most of it was clean except for some bags by the window which hope assumed were clothes of some sort. or comfort items. 

craning her head to the side, her eyes widened at the sight. quinn was laying down on the bottom bunk of one of the spare beds, a blanket over his body. his chest rose and fell gently and some color had returned to his face. seeing movement on the top bunk, hope saw it was dawn, fast asleep.

vivienne had put a chair right beside where quinn laid, she had a reading light on and a book open against her lap. she was wearing some pleasant grey pajamas that looked rather comfortable. and it suited her a lot. upon taking notice of the other girl, she smiled softly. “ you’re still up ”, she noticed.

“ so are you ”, hope replied and approached her. she briefly crouched down beside the bed to get a better look at the sleeping boy. it was a weird habit of hers, something she had developed back home. always waking up early and immediately checking if her brother was still sleeping and if he was feeling okay. even now, it didn’t feel that different. “ poor kid . . . i feel awful for what happened. ”

vivienne reached over and brushed the hair out of quinn’s eyes, “ he was in pain but he never once spoke about it being anyone else’s fault. he just fell asleep a couple of hours ago after dawn gave him some morphine. ” hope’s eyes widened. “ i didn’t know morphine was even legal to have outside of a hospital. ”

“ yeah, well i needed it once a long while back ”, the girl described. she didn’t linger on the subject for too long and chose to sit on the edge of the bed rather than crouching and cause more pain to her ankles. “ he’s going to be fine, though. he just didn’t deserve getting hurt. ”

“ wait, did you deserve it instead? ”, vivienne questioned, turning back to her book with a chuckle.

“ yes ”. vivienne’s smile dropped. “ i would have rather gotten hurt than allowed someone else to take the hit. i should have stayed with you guys but . . . i don’t regret it. the puppeteer came into contact with me. he knows my name, my reputation, he knew i was nothing against him alone. but he knew there were people . . . people under my responsibility. ”

“ you think he commanded the attack ”, vivienne assumed.

hope nodded, “ it’s probable. he knows his own bunker, surely. it was easy for him to know we came in, we just weren’t careful enough. and it’s not enough to just shoot at the security cameras. he has eyes scattered everywhere. ”

she thought that he knew they were there even when they were above, on the surface of mars hunting for the ravine. those abandoned apartments, he could have easily stored something within them, something so high-tech that not even hope’s rogue sonar picked up anything. nothing at all.

but he knew that they were coming and when they were coming, it was how he worked. eyes everywhere, so everywhere that you couldn’t even begin to think where the first eye was. he was vulture flying above, waiting, watching as the prey draws closer before striking.

hope shivered slightly and shifted her position, trying not to think too much about the incident. it would make voyage angry but she had already dropped a word in, sending a distress signal as someone had gotten hurt during the mission and to pass the quest onto a team, not a single bounty hunter.

as strong as she was, she wouldn’t have lasted a second in there had she gone alone.

“ it’s going to be easter in two days back home ”, vivienne said suddenly, and hope was glad that she did. it was nice to talk about home sometimes. she relaxed slightly and nodded. “ do you celebrate it? ”.

hope chuckled, “ yeah, my family does. we’re not religious, we’re just easily influenced by others. but my mom usually puts chocolate eggs around the house and we all try and find it. usually, when he’s there, dad holds a nice barbeque for the neighbors. ”

“ no exterior family? ”.

“ nope, we keep to ourselves. besides, the exterior family is across the country. most are in canada, they like the cold for some reason ”, hope explained and looked towards quinn, fixing his blanket over him. “ i’d like to go there someday. ”

“ home? ”.

“ canada. ”

the two girls shared a gentle laugh, soft as to avoid waking the others up. it was nice, hope had to say. admitting it was hard but she liked the company, it made a difference. she knew that she was arrogant in the beginning, believing that she was fine on her own but sometimes having someone around makes a difference, especially for someone engulfed in solitude like this particular bounty hunter.

“ if you . . . want to go, to see your family, i could definitely tell the others we’re making a stop first ”, vivienne proposed slowly, trying to find the right words. “ i can’t remember the last time we’ve all been to earth. ” 

hope smiled. smiled. the pure selflessness had led to a sudden swarm of butterflies in her chest, it was very flattering to see the woman being so caring, she’s never quite seen anything like it. and it invoked a reaction that not even hope was used to. but the smile stayed for some reason, she didn’t try to wipe it away.

running a hand through her hair, the girl nodded. “ yeah, y-yeah that’d be nice. dad went through a lot a while back and i haven’t exactly been the best daughter, haven’t visited him. it’s cool between us but . . . i can imagine it looks bad ”, she explained softly, staring at her fingers. “ it’s nearly been a year since i’ve been home. ”

“ you must miss your family terribly ”, vivienne pointed out and tilted her head. she seemed to have forgotten about her book. “ is it just your parents and you? ”.

hope shook her head, “ it’s me, mom, dad and connor. ”

“ who’s connor? family dog? ”.

hope snorted and suppressed the urge to burst into total laughter. she slapped her knee slightly and adjusted herself on the seat, her smile didn’t fade, though. her eyes lit up at the mention of her brother. her tone even changed as she tilted her head and answered, “ my baby brother. ”

vivienne gasped softly, “ oh god, i’m sorry, i didn’t know. ”

“ no, it’s quite alright. he’s quite puppy-like, anyhow ”, the girl replied, her smile still completely intact. she appeared starstruck, but that gaze she had, that aloof expression of happiness, that was love. absolute love for a younger brother who she would die for. 

vivienne beamed herself, though it seemed to at something else. “ well, i can imagine you’d be very happy to see your family. we can go to earth, maybe it’ll cheer quinn up. besides, easter is a great holiday to go back home to ”, she suggested, looking back towards the sleeping boy. 

“ yeah, i suppose we can all go ”, hope said softly and nodded, and then looked towards her wristband. “ but . . . i have to take you guys to where you have to be. maybe you can get better help there. ”

vivienne frowned, “ do you want us gone that badly? ”.

hope was rendered speechless. she didn’t want it to seem like she had wanted to get rid of them or move them off her ship. it was just that quinn could find better help, better medication and better food somewhere where there was actually something to offer. hope had nothing to offer to them at all!

but she also really wanted for them to stay until he’d healed. and perhaps a stop by earth could do the trick. but hope wasn’t too certain about it until she looked at vivienne. she didn’t want them gone.

not now.

and perhaps, not for a while . . . maybe until all of this was over. until quinn was healed and until easter had gone by. she needed time to ensure that they would be leaving safely without voyage trailing behind them, on the hunt.

“ w-well, not really ”.

vivienne’s expression softened and she averted her gaze back to her book. “ then it’s settled. you can take us, i’ll tell the others in the morning. try to get some sleep, though, cap ”, the woman said and hope paused, she’s never been referred to as captain by vivienne.

nodding either way, the bounty hunter rose from her seat and wrapped her arms over her chest and walked towards the door, looking back for a moment. viviennne seemed to be happily enjoying her book, but she was smiling, even if it was ever so slightly gentle.

“ good night ”, she called back softly.

vivienne looked up and chuckled, “ good night, captain. and thank you. ”

[wyrmeleon]

The Monster

     I wrote this horror story for a Halloween writing competition for Creative Writing class! I based it loosely on False Memory Syndrome and my love for werewolf-like creatures. It’s a bit of a mess.

Side note: The main character, Dani, is in no way connected to the Adventure Zone character of the same name.

@mythgirlimagines @psychadelic-fool @captainschmoe

     There was blood under Dani’s fingernails. It was uncomfortable, weighing down every fingertip. Were they bleeding? Dani stared at their hands, wracking their memory. 

     A fog of confusion filled their mind. Where were they? Their mouth was dry. Every muscle throbbed. They sat curled in on themselves, chin to chest. The cold tile pressed against their knees, leaching the warmth from their body. 

     How did they get here? They grappled for understanding but the memories slipped away like water through a sieve. Tentatively they tilted their pounding head from side to side, trying to clear their thoughts. Immediately, their vision swirled and pain rose in their gut. Hot vomit splashed onto the cold floor, the acrid smell searing Dani’s nostrils. They hacked and rolled onto their side, dragging themselves away from the puddle. They felt their back hit a wall: cool, tiled like the floor. They sat still, trying to catch their breath as their vision swam. After a few shaky moments they could survey their surroundings as long as they moved gingerly. They were in a small, dingy white room. To their right was a dented iron door. The doorknob was torn away, replaced by a jagged metal plate. Above them was a row of tarnished showerheads - long, rusty streaks like bloodstains marring the walls below. They looked down at themselves. They were naked, covered in dirt. A few inches from their bare foot was a small drain through which the contents of their stomach were trickling. The sight made them grimace. 

     Dani decided to try to stand. Stiffly, they arranged their aching limbs. Just as they reached out to support themselves, they heard a sharp crackle. Their eyes darted to the sound. In the far corner of the ceiling was a small speaker with a slow, blinking red light. From the intercom came a low voice faintly tinged with a West Virginian accent.

     “Thirty-one people dead. Youngest victim: three-year-old Philip Eastman. Decapitated. Oldest victim: sixty-four-year-old Maria Valdez. Disemboweled.”

     As Dani began to wrinkle their brow in confusion, a memory struck them:

     People were weeping. A mother wailed, heartbroken. They were filled with guilt; it rose in their throat and threatened to drown them. They tasted blood.

     “Some were friends. Some were family. They all came to the fair looking forward to a night of lighthearted fun. None of them expected to be torn limb from limb before the day ended.”

     More memories: a Ferris wheel, glittering against the night sky. A group of faces, smiling and laughing.

     Dani’s knees buckled and they fell to the floor. What was happening?

     “Do you remember, Dani?”

     Dani looked up sharply to the drawling intercom, teeth bared for a hot retort. Before they opened their mouth, however, there was a sharp pop as the intercom turned off and a hiss as the showers above them turned on. Frigid water sprayed down. The sudden cold sent a shock through them, their vision shrinking to a pinpoint. One more image flashed in their mind’s eye, just before darkness overtook them:

     A young man’s face, horribly still, eyes glassy. An incredible rush of anger and pain.

     Dani had no idea how long they’d been unconscious. They sat in silence, skin clammy, paralyzed with confusion and dread. The voice’s words were stark in their mind. Yes, they remembered. But what exactly were they remembering? Darting from memory to memory, they scrabbled to make sense of it all. 

     Abruptly, their thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound, distant and muffled by the wall behind them. Something was scratching. Something with claws. Then, another sound- footsteps, approaching the source of the noise. There was a low whine, the sound of a man gently hushing something, the click of a door closing. Then silence once more. Dani cowered, hyperventilating. Hours passed, until they weren’t sure if they had only imagined it all. They were cold. Their jaw ached. There was a faint dripping as the remnants of the cold water trickled in the drain. An air conditioning unit clanked on. Then came the crackle of the intercom. The voice was steelier this time, accusing.

     “Where were you the last night of the fair, Dani? Were you lurking as the children and their doting parents were massacred at the petting zoo? Were you there when the carnage continued, carving a path through the midway? Witnesses are describing a horrible creature- rolling eyes and claws that could cleave through flesh like butter. Like nothing they’d ever seen before. The news is calling it the Fairway Terror. The police don’t know quite what to make of it yet, but they’ll put it together. They’ll map its path. They’ll find samples, take them in for testing. It won’t be long before they figure it aallll out. You know what you did, Dani.”

     The intercom shut off with a pop. Dani leaned against the wall, mind reeling. Footsteps approached their cell. A shadow passed under the crack of the door. There was a wet thud. Suddenly, a flood of blood came gushing under the door towards them, the coppery smell filling the room. It ran along the cracks in the tiles and pooled against their naked body. Dani screamed, trying to stand but slipping and falling into the rising puddle. It was everywhere, spilling across their skin. Their mind went blank with panic, then was filled with a terrible vision. 

     A terrible beast with rolling eyes and jagged teeth, its fur matted with blood. So much blood. The smell is everywhere, tinging its hot breath. Its haunches flex and it pounces, preparing to deliver the killing blow. 

     It was all so real. Whose blood was this? What was the creature? Who was trapped in its claws?   

     -Was Dani the monster?

     The lights flickered and went out. Dani’s mind was screaming, overloaded. The blood clung to their skin and soaked their hair. They writhed, moaning gutturally, scratching furiously at their arms until their blood mingled with the stickiness lacquering their shaking body. Sobbing, they frantically shook their head. What was going on? They didn’t know what was real anymore. There seemed to be a distant howl, the sound of panting. It echoed in Dani’s mind until it was deafening. Was it real? Was it just another strange memory? Or was it Dani themself?

     His eyes were glassy, lifeless.

     They staggered under the wave of emotion. Breathing heavily, they stared at the scarlet sea lapping at their clenched feet. A reflection appeared before them, warped and horrifying. The creature’s face stared back at them- eyes wide, mouth gaping, twitching horribly. Dani’s face.

     Their thoughts splintered in a thousand directions. Images flashed painfully in their mind’s eye. They saw blood running down their hands. Claws. They felt entrails split open in their mouth, left ragged by their slavering fangs. They heard the screams of the victims struggling under their weight. It’s all your fault. All your fault.

    There came the sinister crackle of the intercom.

     “How did it feel, Dani? How did it feel to have their flesh give under your claws, to watch the light leave their eyes? Did you hunger? Did it excite you? You’re a monster, Dani. You know what you did.”

     Dani breathed heavily, shaking uncontrollably. Monster. They were a monster. Thirty-one people dead. Dani shook the confusion from their mind, panic turning to cold decisiveness. They remembered the sounds of weeping and snapping jaws, the dead man’s staring eyes. What was going to happen when they were found out?

     They grit their teeth. Dani was the monster. They’d show him a monster.

    They let rage overtake them. Grunting, they launched themselves at the intercom. The speaker split easily as their fist struck it, the mechanism squawking and bursting in a shower of sparks. Landing easily, they turned towards the patched door. They exploded at it, pummelling it and scrabbling at the edges with blood-soaked hands. Their raw fingers slipped along the metal plating, prying it off and wrenching it open. They narrowed their eyes, surveying the darkened facility before them. Their head swiveled, hunting. There. A light. They took off towards it. As they approached, the sounds of panicked crashing grew louder. They threw open the illuminated door to find an office in disarray. Fumbling desperately for the landline was a silver-haired man in a rumpled lab coat. The tag on his lapel read ‘Dr. George Bray’.

    “Please, for the love of God,” the familiar voice begged, now trembling with terror. “Kill me, destroy me! Just spare him! I only wanted to keep him safe! He’s all I have lef-”

    His voice broke off into a strangled scream as his arm snapped easily in Dani’s grip. Wrenching him to his feet, Dani screamed, animalistic. They dug their fingers as hard as they could into Bray’s soft face, letting the gore run down their elbows. Then they tossed him roughly into the desk. There was a sickening crack and the doctor lay still, blood trickling from his gaping mouth.

    Dani sniffed and turned down the hallway. It wasn’t over yet. They returned to the door of their blood-soaked cell. Eyes narrowing, they turned to their left. There. Another door, slightly ajar. They nudged it open. Two luminous eyes shone back at them.

    There it was. The creature. It all came flooding back.

     A text message from Dani’s cousin: ‘im so bored lol. im going to die if i have to be stuck inside 1 more day’. 

     Dani shot back: ‘How bout the fair? It closes today’. 

     ‘that sounds awesome actually. wanna come?’

     ‘nah man, u kno i have work! Have fun tho, send lots of pix!’

     A smiley emoji. A picture of Dani’s cousin feeding a giraffe, surrounded by friends. A group of faces, smiling and laughing. A Ferris wheel, glittering against the night sky. Then nothing.

     The phone call with the news. The Fairway Terror. Thirty-one dead. Dani’s cousin never even saw what got them. And it was all Dani’s fault. All their fault.

     The day of the funeral. People were weeping. A mother wailed, heartbroken. They were filled with guilt; it rose in their throat and threatened to drown them. They gnawed on their lip, biting back tears. They tasted blood.

     Dani peered into their cousin’s casket. A young man’s face, horribly still, eyes glassy. An incredible rush of anger and pain filled Dani at the sight. This was all their fault. Their suggestion had killed him.

     Then there came a new memory, one Dani had not seen before:

     It was after the funeral. Dani was distracted. They had been walking for hours, the asphalt scuffing under their sneakers. They didn’t even know what part of town they were in anymore. Suddenly, something caught their eye. A dark shape shuffling and snuffling by the dumpster. It moved too quickly for Dani to react.

     A terrible beast with rolling eyes and jagged teeth, its fur matted with blood. So much blood. The smell is everywhere, tinging its hot breath. Its haunches flex and it pounces, preparing to deliver the killing blow. Dani’s head struck the pavement painfully as they dug their nails into the creature’s matted throat, fighting back. Dani faintly heard a man with a light accent calling out desperately:

     “No, don’t kill them!”

     Then it all faded to black.

    A shuddering sigh leaked from Dani’s chest. They looked at the creature. It looked back. It seemed so much smaller now. They weren’t any different now, were they? They were both killers.They were both monsters. 

     The creature smelled its father’s blood dripping from Dani’s clenched fists. It whimpered, chain clanking as it pressed itself to the far wall of its cell. The sound filled Dani with rage. They lunged. With a swift bite and a wrenching of the head, it was over. The creature lay dead at their feet.

    They didn’t stop to look at what they had done. Closing the door behind them, they shuffled down the hallway towards the red exit sign. As they slunk through the double doors, letting the emergency alarm blare behind them, they heard sirens approaching. Seeing the flashing lights in the distance, they steeled their gaze. They lay in wait in the shadows, tense and waiting. The officer approached, fiddling with her holster. They could see the whites of her eyes. Gore ran down their chin as they snarled, leaping. The blood was warm under Dani’s fingernails.

[ambivalentangst]

A Tainted Grip

I've been pretty inactive for awhile in terms of original content due to school and some exchange pieces I have to get finished, but the concept of one of the reprogrammed sentries from Galra HQ malfunctioning on Lance’s watch wouldn't leave me alone, so I messed my boy up BAD. This is more whump than angst, though there’s definitely some of both, but I really enjoyed writing something quick and easy. Enjoy!

tw: graphic descriptions of violence

Lance liked the sentries that they reprogrammed, he liked them a lot. Aside from shooting them off into space, it was fun to have someone to do chores with when Coran told everyone it was cleaning day. They all argued that the sentries could have it tidied up faster than all of their efforts combined, but he twisted his mustache around a gloved finger and declared it a team bonding exercise. As much as they complained about it, Lance couldn’t deny that there was something to be said about the camaraderie forged with the person one scrubbed ten-thousand-year-old showers with. That in mind, Lance clapped the one currently folding his laundry on the back. He headed towards his bed, his space home away from space home--it was still so weird to think of empire ships as friendly, but it was fun to run around them without the threat of being shot hanging over his head, so he wasn’t complaining--and heard a hard thunk.

He winced, pivoting to assess the damage. He normally wasn’t one to break machinery. As good as Hunk was with that sort of thing, Lance knew very well how colorful his friend’s vocabulary could get when he broke a delicate piece. Still, he supposed the hit to the sentry wasn’t exactly gentle. He’d have to get the ship mechanic, if he hadn’t jumped ship like a lot of soldiers after Lotor became emperor, to take a look at the droid later and be sure he hadn’t rattled it around too badly. Other than the sound, it outwardly appeared to be fine.

Lance turned back around, going back to his original course of action. He’d been training quite a bit provided in, as much as he hated to admit it, the calm from Lotor’s new reign, and he was ready for a long, long nap. Then, he heard the robotic voice coming from behind him, saying something that certainly wasn’t anything Pidge had programmed into it.

“Programming override. Mission, destroy Voltron.” Lance’s eyes barely had time to widen before he felt a metal hand on his shoulder, and then felt a curling of the droid’s hand into a fist and the crunch of his shoulder. His scream was muffled by the hand that settled over his mouth, and in his pain Lance was only vaguely aware of the red light cast from the glow of the corrupted machine before he was slammed to the ground, his breath battering his lungs before escaping in a rough exhale. Lance wheezed, the world blurring to a smear of magenta walls while the sentry’s foot came down with sickening force on his outstretched fingers, scrabbling for purchase on the slick ground.

His entire face was stinging from the impact of the fall, and Lance didn’t remember where he’d left his bayard. He couldn’t get to it anyways, not with the way a foot was placed on his back to hold him down. Lance couldn’t for the life of him start breathing right again, and what little air he did manage to take in went to keeping him conscious. Screaming was not an option. There was nothing he could do but accept the beating the sentry gave him, metal fists pummeling his body while he attempted to think of a way out through the pain.

Whack.

A blow to his ribs, another crack, and Lance tried to remember where the others were. Pidge had mentioned going to the kitchen, but he didn’t know where that was, and Hunk was in the engine room across the whole ship.

Crunch.

His other hand, and then his ankle, all very quickly. There was a hand fisted in his hair, bringing his head down on the ground while the ringing in his ears intensified. Lance felt a dampness on his cheeks, but he didn’t remember crying. There was only pain, and maybe it was shock, which wasn’t good but Lance wasn’t sure what was good when a programmed warrior was trying to turn him into a pulp of boy and bones and blood. He thought perhaps that was the wetness, then. Blood on his forehead and in his mouth, choking him while he wondered if they could get the stains out of Marco’s jacket. He didn’t let that be washed, because it smelled like home. The first gasping sob was wrought from his lips because he couldn’t stand the idea of coppery blood marring the smell of wrestling in the living room and feeding the dog scraps when his mama wasn’t looking.

Yelling.

Was he able to scream yet, or had that simple comfort been stolen too? Lance wasn’t sure. Did he even want to know? Another question amongst many, and one he had to ignore because it didn’t matter. Nothing dumb like if he screamed or not would change anything if he died. Lance didn’t want to die, but it was hard to cling to the sentiment when he thought his head might explode from it all, and the purple of the room had turned to crimson somewhere along the way.

Sizzling.

The blows stopped, but the pain did not cease. It only got worse when Lance felt a heavy, inanimate body fall atop his own, and more tears wormed their way down his cheeks. He hoped they cleared away the blood for whoever found him because he didn’t want to just be a body, indiscriminate from the others they’d seen when they got to planets too late. He wanted them to know who he was, so they could tell his mama what had happened to him. That would still matter, even if he was dying. How could he not be, when everything was electric agony that sung through every nerve in his body and didn’t stop no matter what he did and how he cried and wished for it all to just end, one way or another.

Dragging.

Small hands went under his shoulders, and he fought to get away because the grip was not so strong, so incredibly overpowering as the last. He had a chance, and he’d do just about anything to stop the blinding pain. Didn’t they know his shoulders were pulverized, just like the rest of him? He tried to tell them as much, screaming and pleading, but they did not stop. Lance fought, up until he tossed his head back and saw green. He knew green. Green gave him the same feeling as looking at his niece, the overwhelming need to protect and shelter her from anything, even himself.

Nothing.

Lance woke in a warm embrace, smelling faintly, familiarly like lavender and sweat, like rushing into battle after showering with the castle provided soap. His eyes blinked open slowly, the scar crossing Shiro’s nose first becoming clear before Lance took in the rest of him. Shiro, strange as he was, as of late, for no particular reason Lance could discern, was somebody he could feel safe with.

Shiro smiled.

“How you feeling, buddy?” he asked. Lance let his head loll for a second, trying to come back to himself. He was now awake enough to feel the tackiness his whole body had after a stint in the pods, along with the traces of a headache and general bad aftertaste in his mouth. The pods healed, but weren’t exactly luxurious in their methods. He raised one hand in a sloppy wave, seeing the rest of his team, minus one, of course. It was with a pang that Lance remembered that Keith would not be joining them in greeting anyone released from a pod for a while yet. He looked back to Shiro, letting his head come to rest against his bicep. With a smile, he answered,

“Like I’ve spent a good while in the pods, but otherwise fine. You?” Shiro laughed, helping Lance stand on his own two feet with his hands on his arms to steady him.

“I’m fine, just glad you’re okay.” As soon as Lance flashed a tired thumbs up, he was swamped by the team, and he felt tears dampen the fabric of the suit he’d been put in for the pods while they crushed the life out of him via hugging.

When they pulled back, his eyes landed on Pidge, whose eyes shone with barely restrained emotion.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging him again, seemingly just for good measure. “When we started reprogramming the sentries, I thought I had my antivirus software installed in all of them, but I must’ve missed some or had a flaw in it somewhere. Some resisting Galra forces hacked in. As soon as it registered to my main console,” Lance would chide her later for eating around her computer, if she’d had to come all the way from the kitchens,“I came over. I didn’t know, didn’t think that without its gun the sentry would be able to do so much damage so quickly.” Lance put his head atop hers, patting her back lightly.

“Don’t worry about it Pidgeon, I’m all good now. I know you did what you could,” he reassured her. Coran was the one to point out that perhaps he was not entirely unchanged.

“Almost good, anyways. You gave us quite the scare, and the bot got a good lick in,” he reminded Lance and spun him to face the surface of the pod in order to see his reflection. Lance saw the truth in his words almost immediately. Stretching from his temple and nicking his brow was a not inconsiderable white scar, shiny in the light. Lance reached up to touch it and was surprised to see that his fingers didn’t tremble much at all when he did.

He couldn’t say he remembered much beyond the agony of the whole experience, but thinking cynically, the scar was a reminder that they could never trust anything fully, not even their own handiwork. Lance decided he didn’t care much for that interpretation and turned back around with a grin and his hands on his hips.

“Just another asset to my already flawless appearance,” he boasted, smoothing his hair down before ruffling Pidge’s hair and meeting Hunk’s eyes. Allura laughed, Shiro shook his head fondly, and Lance pushed his hair away to better display the new addition. All that scar meant was that Lance should probably do his own damn laundry anyway.

[anchor-management]

The Monster They Create

Blue skies stretched on over the horizon, the sun set high at its peak. It was just transitioning to the afternoon, where warmth replaced the cool morning air and colored the world in bright and saturated hues. The salt-filled breeze brushed over tanned skin, gently disrupting short, coarse hairs against his scalp. The grass was soft and moist beneath, cradling his head and tired body. His breaths drew in and out with ease, even and relaxed. It was perfect. He could lay here forever and never tire of it. If only time would stand still. “Jude--!” Musical and playful, her voice was, albeit distant. The footfalls approaching were light like a dancer’s, coming closer still until he could feel the presence of another’s foot near either side of him. His eyelids parted open into warm slits of crimson. There, above him, was her silhouette, the light behind her blinding him from making out her features. But he hardly needed to see her to know who it was. The shape of her wisping locks of raven hair were enough, her ears alert, fluttering slightly each time the wind caressed one. “Jude,” more audible, it came, the tone almost chiding, though full of humor and warmth. “Wake up now. We have to go back.” He felt her bare fingers touch his face, the pads of her digits running over the scarring over his features. There was blood on her touch as she drew back, but for some reason this didn’t alarm him. “Wake up…,” she repeated softly, a little more pleading. He didn’t understand; he was far from asleep by now, being able to watch her contently as he was, regardless if she was veiled in the blinding sun. But, for some reason, he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t find the strength or will to move... “Wake up!” An order now. Almost desperate. Her hands were on his chest, shaking him slightly. He couldn’t reach out to her. She started beating on his torso with balled fists. His breaths were growing anxious, the situation slowly sinking in, filling him with anxiety. “Wake up!” Why couldn’t she see he was awake? Why couldn’t he reassure her he was alright? And most of all, why couldn’t he move?! “w A k E   u P - - - !” Her words screeched against the sudden gale that tore through, piercing his ears, ringing in an echo as she screamed. It seemed to tear the very foundation from their feet, the light behind her engulfing their surroundings like a blast. He wanted to press his hands to his ears and squeeze his eyes shut, but all he could do was stare in horror as her form was revealed in the flash. Some gray creature, with nothing but whites in her traumatized gaze, jaw stretching off her face until it was peeling off the weathered, bloated corpse that she was...

Anchor jarred awake against the floor in a cold sweat, eyes wide and reflecting the same horror at what he had just witnessed. His irises were brighter than usual, but slowly dimmed as he drew in ragged, shuddering inhales. A whispered curse passed his lips as he reached up shakily, chains dragging from the restraints against his wrists. His quaking fingers raked through his coarse, black hair before sliding back down his flushed and contorted features. A dry swallow then, pressing a palm to the cold earth to push himself up. It was an effort; he was still incredibly weak after the second fight. The poison wielder had been more of a challenge than the pirate had hoped and left him terribly dehydrated after his body had expelled much fluid trying to rid itself of the toxins his knife-like nails had produced. Though… he supposed he himself was to blame for half of it; using his own poisonous body to end the bastard’s life. It earned him his victory, but the cost was great. In this condition, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to contend. Not like this. [“He’s had a good run so far… but may I suggest enhancements at this point?”] Nagakane’s words floated into his memory like an echo. Anchor’s fingers curled into weak, trembling fists. His body was already ailing from the years in the mines from years past. What would something like this do to him? He felt... nervous. And he hated it. He hated feeling that familiar sensation of uncertainty when it came to him and his own. It was his life. It was his body. It was his. [“... You will understand one thing.”] It was Elam’s voice now that came to surface. Anchor could still feel the throbbing pain against his throat as the other’s fingers dug in against it from under the metal circlet, squeezing along the fresh gashes from his recent fight. He could still smell Grave’s breath hissing against his skin, [Your life is mine. The moment you betrayed me, then walked right back into my den trying to protect some helpless doe that was mine for the taking. You just haven’t realized it yet. You will kill for me. Someday soon,] [“Even that doe.”] Anchor’s fists slammed into the cavern floor. It hurt. He didn’t care. Even though the words had passed, he still felt the same anger that had nearly taken him all over again. His breaths shook from his nostrils, growing in intensity until he growled in frustration. His temper threw him into a fit. He raked his heels along the ground away from the cavern wall his ankles and wrists were chained to. The metal dug into his already raw skin as he thrashed and pulled, as if he’d somehow break from the very earth it was embedded in. Grunts and seethes of frustration poured from his lips and between his gritted teeth. His pale, sick flesh went flush for his effort. His body contorted this way and that, twisting legs and shoulders in a mad lash like some wild animal. Within it all, Anchor released some violent outcry while he jerked repeatedly against his restraints. His legs gave out. Anchor’s knees collided into the ground, his rasping roar weathering into pained and exhausted gasps. He still pulled desperately, though with less ferocity, with what strength he had left in his torso and arms. The rattling of the chains went on for a few more minutes, before gradually stilling, replaced with the sound of his harsh and labored breaths. He stared out towards the cell bars in front of him, eyes wide with the recent, blind madness as his visible breaths panted out and dispersed into the cold air around him. But Anchor’s disposition twisted slowly; brows creasing over the anguished lines against his forehead. He felt it suddenly… That dreadful feeling he never wanted to feel again. The feeling that kept him submissive for years in That Place. The feeling of control being ripped from his fingertips. H e l p l e s s. And SLAM went his head. He had dipped it suddenly, letting his forehead collide into the ground punishingly. That awful feeling passed. Because to hell with it. He was not a child. And he was most definitely not a slave. Not to his past, and certainly not now. To Hells with Shael. To Hells with Elam Grave. He couldn’t trust either of them and he certainly couldn’t count on another to pull him through the gutter that was this world. He didn’t get this far riding on coattails or having his hand held through the darkness. Anchor dragged himself tooth and nail; through blood, piss, and shit. Anchor was still breathing laboriously as he lifted his bruising head off from the stone below. There was still a madness to his countenance as he lifted a palm to his mouth, wiping away the slaver and sweat there from his recent fit. His hand lingered over his lips, eyes darting about searchingly. If Elam Grave could not stand on equal ground with him... If they could not work together... Then he would have to die. Just as all others that got in his way. He would godsdamn crush him and whatever he was trying to build here. He would tear everything from his fucking greedy fingers. ...But how? There was a flicker in his peripheral, beckoning for his attention like the dull light of a firefly. His jaw set slowly as his gaze panned over, breaths easing from his nose as his palm slowly lowered from his features and back to the cavern floor. It slid over with a light rake of chains following behind, his fingers outstretching to the small little crystal embedded into the earth there. The tip of his calloused, grimy digit made contact tentatively, like testing the temperature of a stagnant pool of water. He traced the shape down, following the veins that had become a familiar sight in this mountain. It was gentle, the way his finger drew over the patterns, going from one crystal to the next, towards his side and behind him and back to the wall where they seemed all the more abundant. Anchor’s form rotated in place to follow, palms sliding up the walls and over, eyes flickering over the different portions of the cavern wall like it were a canvas and he was the hungry artist trying to decide where to start. All of these… they all went through these caverns. They might stretch through the entirety and beyond. An odd smile quirked up Anchor’s lips on one end. More intently, he pressed his palms against the wall, brows drawing together. Sweat beaded from his temple and slid down the dark and purple bruises marring half his features. His breathing picked up again and an unearthly static sparked between his knuckles and contact along the crystals and stone. [“...Another use of such ability will kill him.”] Anchor paused, that energy in the air fizzling out as more of Nagakane’s words seeped into his thoughts. He pulled his touch away slowly, looking down at his trembling hands. They weren’t shaking from fear or rage. It was simply strain and the pain wracking his abused form. That’s right. He was far too weak. He didn’t have enough within him. Yet. A soft exhale puffed out of his nostrils and, after a moment of reluctance, Anchor turned from the wall and let his scarred back lean against it instead. Not yet. But soon. He supposed he would get whatever enhancements Elam Grave and the Curator spoke of. And then… Then he would show them what the monster they created could do. 

[imagine-darksiders]

can we have a nathaniel and florist s/o short plz? I feel like he doesn't get enough love~

Sorry, did you say ‘short?’ :S 

Why is it that I write the longest fics for the less popular characters?? ?

loads of fun. Nathaniel is a feathery sweetheart x

—-

Fat,heavy drops of rain patter against the pavement outside your shop.Autumn had finally arrived, bringing with it the cold, wet and windyweather conditions that always tend to encourage people to stayinside rather than venture out to the market. An inconvenience, forone such as yourself, as you could certainly do with the business.

Sighing,you pat down your apron and brush a dead leaf from your sleeve beforemaking your way to the dahlias in the front window. At least with thelack of customers, you can get some dead-heading done. You produce aset of secateurs from your pocket and start trimming. Dreamily, youwatch some of the pedestrians jog through the downpour, umbrellasalmost turning inside out and the hems of their trousers or skirtswet through with rain water. People always seem to be in a hurry. Everyone rushes to get to the next place and it’s sad that they don’t have the luxury of time to stop and smell the roses. Literally, in your case. You count yourself amongst the lucky few who can take the roses with you. 

A woman outside shrieks when a car drives by too close to the path, splashing muddy, cold water all over her. She shakes a fist lividly at the driver, resuming her power-walk down the street and out of sight. 

Shaking your head with a wince, you’re more than gratefulto be inside where it’s dry.

Yousnip the last of the dead flowers from the bouquet, turning towardsyour counter, intent on finally putting the gladioli in a vase. Thepoor flowers have been sitting on the table top, unattended sinceearly this morning.

Youtrot around the back of your counter and duck down to peruse yourcollection of small, ceramic vases that are sure to liven up theinside of the shop. You’d painstakingly hand-painted each one withdifferent, intricate patterns after discovering that they’d been areal hit with some of the older ladies who would often stop by. 

Thesoft, classical music playing out of a busted-up, old radio in thecorner is interrupted by the bell above the door suddenly tinkling,indicating that there was at least someone out there who wascrazy enough to brave the cold and rain just to come and buy yourflowers. 

You pick out a small, pastel-blue and orange striped vase andstand up from behind the counter, ready to flash a bright smile and greet your customer. But your eyes land on the person who’d justwalked in and you promptly drop the vase in your hands with a loudgasp of shock.

Anangel stands in the doorway, rain running down golden andwhite armour in little rivulets, before dripping into aslowly-growing puddle by his boots. On his back, a pair of enormous,pristine, feathery wings are folded close to his body, as though he’smaking an active effort not to knock over any of your carefullyarranged displays. The wings look completely bedraggled and drenchedfrom the rain outside, a sad sight, but you’re no less impressed bythe sheer regality of the sight.

At theshattering of your vase, his head snaps up in your directionand your eyes lock for a moment. The angel’s skin is dark,contrasting beautifully against the snowy-white feathers and hissimilarly coloured eyes which peer into you with fierce intensity. He hasa strong jaw, high cheekbones and thick, full lips which are marredby a long, dark scar that stretches from somewhere beneath his shortbeard to a point just above the left eyebrow. But the mark doesn’t distract from the handsome features, rather, it seems to actually enhance them. It’s with some degreeof alarm that you find yourself appreciating the physicalattractiveness of this strange, frighteningly huge angel.

You’repulled from your scrutinisation of the guest when he suddenly beginsto move towards you. Some, small part of you is horrified that you’restill staring at his face with your mouth agape like somewonderstruck child. He reaches the counter and looks down at you,filling your field of vision with wings and gleaming armour. Theclassical music does little to penetrate the thick silence that fallsbetween the you and the angel. You’ve never seen one up close, onlyonce or twice from a distance, or maybe in passing on the news. But right now,you’re literally standing face to face with a resident of Heaven. Theangel’s shoulder armour bumps slightly against one of your hangingpots with a clang, breaking the quiet spell and making you jumpviolently.

Hislips twitch slightly at your nervousness but he doesn’t lose thegentle frown which he points in the direction of your fallen vase.

“Areyou alright?” he asks.

Youfreeze at the sound of his voice. It’s deep, authoritative and smoothas silk. You’re so enraptured, you don’t remember that he’sprobably expecting an answer. The angel’s eyebrows gradually begin toclimb higher and higher up his forehead as he watches you in mildamusement. When you don’t react for a while, he softly clears histhroat. That certainly gets your attention.

“H-huh!?”you squeak, wincing in despair at the ineloquent response.

Atleast your angelic guest doesn’t seem too upset by your ratherpitiful greeting. His mouth stretches into an easy smile as heregards you patiently. “I asked if you were alright,” he repeats,“I believe you dropped something when I entered?” Heactually sounds apologetic. 

At long last, the surprise starts towear off, leaving you room to feel incredibly embarrassed at your initial reaction to his presence.

“Oh!Oh yeah, the vase!” Smacking a hand to your forehead, you quicklyduck down behind the counter and start gathering up the sharp littlepieces of broken ceramic. ’Damn,’ you mentally wince, ‘this one wasmy favourite.' 

A set of heavy footsteps thud around the side of thecounter. From the corner of your eye, you spot the angel’s metalboots stepping into view. He squeezes himself between your counterand the wall, mindful not to scrape the paint with the sharper edgesof his armour. He proceeds to lower himself to one knee until his face is mere inches from yours. Your handspause over the broken vase as your eyes fly up to meet his. Theangel’s own hands begin to scoop up the remainder of the mess and hislips pull down in a grimace.

“Myapologies,” he murmurs sincerely, “Ishould be the one to clean this up. I did scare you, afterall.”

Abreathy laugh escapes your throat. “Oh don’t worry, you didn’tscare me! I was just….startled, that’s all. It’s not everyday I get such an interesting customer through my door!”

Mercifully,your professionalism kicks itself back into gear and you shoo hishands away from the mess. The angel stands back up and moves aroundto the front of the counter again, following your lead when you setthe ceramic shards on top of the wooden surface. 

“Now then.”Taking a moment to  straighten your hair, you rest your arms on thecounter, away from the broken vase and shoot the angel a careful smile. “What can I do foryou?”

Theangel’s milky eyes appraise you intently for a few seconds. They roll from your messy hair to the apron around your waist and you notice his gaze lingers on your eyes for a long time before heasks, “I wonder, might I know your name?”

Thequestion throws you off guard. What on Earth could a being fromheaven possibly gain from knowing your name. Not even your humancustomers have cared enough to ask. Regardless, you answer himanyway. He repeats your name carefully, watching you for anyindication that he’d said it wrong, then places a fist on hisarmour-clad chest and bows his head slightly.

“Wellmet, Y/n of Earth,” his voice booms out, “I am Nathaniel.Guardian of the Light and defender of the Crystal Spire.” His tonesoftens into something apologetic in nature. “I am sorry to haveinvaded your home like this.” He pauses to glance over his shoulderat the small pools of water that have followed him from the door.“And that I’ve made such a mess…”

“Ah,it’s alright,” you hurry to reassure him, “the water is good forthe plants! Besides, this isn’t my home, it’s my shop.” You grin upat his handsome face whilst he surveys the room with curious eyes.

He turns a quizzicalexpression down to you. “Your shop is like nothing we have in theWhite City. It smells sublime….Tell me, what manner of merchant are you?”

“O-oh!”you stutter, “Thank you. Well, I’m a florist. These flowers aremy….my wares, I guess? I- I’m sorry, I just have to ask..”

Youtake a deep breath and Nathaniel tilts his head inquisitively. “Idon’t want to come across as rude but, what exactly are you doinghere? You don’t look like the type of person in the market for sweetwilliams.”

The angel blinks rapidly and scratches at the back of his neck, perplexed. “I….confess, I dono know this 'William’, nor the nature of his temperament.”

Thesmall floristry is suddenly filled with the sound of joyfullaughter.

Nathaniel gazes at you, wide-eyed whilst you slap a hand over your mouth in horror when you realise that you’ve just potentially offended an angel. A big angel. A very big, likely very deadly angel. 

With frightened eyes, you brave a glance up into his steely gaze, only to duck your head slightly when he suddenly smiles broadly down at you. 

“Why, you have a fine laugh, Y/n!” he exclaims, “Oh, how I’ve missed the sound. My former master was not one for humour, you see.” The angel proceeds to straighten himself up and gives his wings a delicate shake, ridding them of a bit more excess water. “Now, as for why I am in here…..” 

Gesturing to your front window, he grimaces towards the weather outside. “A scholar of some calibre has tasked me with gathering knowledge of your culture and architecture. I am here to learn more of Earth.” His lips draw into a thin line. “But as much as your realm impresses me, I despise its rain. The White City does not suffer from such abysmal conditions.”

“No,” you reply, removing your hands from your mouth with a sigh of relief, “I don’t suppose it does. I mean, it is Heaven after all.” 

Nathaniel nods, humming wistfully at the memory of a warm, dry climate. “Indeed. The water makes flying incredibly cumbersome, so I’m afraid I sought shelter, this being the first open residence I happened upon.” 

You watch him, fascinated as he slowly swings his massive bulk around to regard your flower-filled shop. Hesitantly, he glances at you whilst motioning to a pot of chrysanthemums. “May I?” 

Bewildered, you simply smile and shrug. “Of course! Please, feel free.” 

He makes his way over to the flowers, ever mindful of his wings which still look sodden from the rain outside. He places his hands beneath the heads of several chrysanthemums so carefully that you feel your heart flutter at the unexpected gentleness of this ethereal giant. 

“You know,” you chuckle as Nathaniel sticks his broad nose amongst the petals and takes a long, deep breath, “You don’t need to pretend to be interested in flowers to avoid going outside. You’re more than welcome to stay here until the rain stops.” 

To be perfectly honest, Nathaniel is perhaps the most interesting person to have come through that door and you’re not really keen to see him leave.

The angel lifts his head from the flowerpot, looking slightly relieved. “That is good of you, friend,” he sighs, “But I am not merely pretending…..You must understand, such fragrant foliage is seldom found in the White City. I may be a warrior, but even I understand the importance of slowing down enough to appreciate the small, fragile and beautiful gifts the Creator has to offer.” As he speaks, that mesmerising gaze never once leaves your face. His tone dips lowly into a deep, smoky rumble that promises total safety and monumental danger all at once. 

You realise, with a start, that he’s looking at you as though you’re the most interesting thing that he’s ever laid eyes on, not the other way around. 

Heat rushes to your face under the intensity of his gaze. Nathaniel must have seen something flash across your face that he misinterprets as discomfort because his eyes suddenly widen, his gentle smile falls and he straightens up hurriedly. In his flustered state, he ends up crashing the top of his head into a heavy, metal, hanging basket that dangles from a hook in the celling. He grits his teeth and hisses at the sudden, unwarranted flash of pain. 

“Oh! Goodness, are you alright!?” you exclaim, dashing around the counter towards the angel. He stands there, rubbing at his head and shooting the hanging pot a dirty look. “I am fine,” he grumbles. After a moment, his hand drops to his hip and he flashes you a grimace. “Forgive me for staring,” he mumbles remorsefully, “I did not mean to cause you disquiet. But you are first human I have ever spoken to. I don’t quite know what to do with myself.” 

You pause, then huff through your nose amusedly. Your concerned features soften as you reach up towards his head. “That’s funny, I feel like I’m in the exact same boat. I’ve never met an angel before, so I haven’t got the first idea of how I should be behaving.” 

As your fingers approach, Nathaniel starts to lean his head back and eyes them warily. “What are you doing?” he asks.

In response, you tut and frown. “I’m trying to see your head! Those hanging baskets are heavy. Now come here, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I can assure you,” the angel scoffs, yet gradually bows his head for you to reach, “I have suffered far worse blows than this. Your concern is not necessary.” 

Despite his words, your soft fingers brush gently over the angel’s scalp, almost reverently. At the contact, Nathaniel stiffens, his wings shuddering noticeably. You stroke your fingertips around, feeling for any lumps or cuts. After a moment of having you softly dance your hands over his head, the angel releases a soft sigh of contentment. 

“Huh,” you state, “You were right, there’s not a scratch on you. Damn, that pot would have knocked most humans unconscious.”

You retract your hands, letting them fall against your sides as you step back, allowing Nathaniel the room to stand. He rises to his full height with a proud smile, puffing out his wide chest. 

“You will find that an angel warrior is far more difficult to damage than a human.” 

Rolling your eyes at his peacocking, you stroll over to an overturned watering can. “Yeah, yeah. You guys are big and tough and us humans are small and weak…” 

Behind you, Nathaniel’s wings droop, his smile fading. The angel thumps a hand against his temple, copying your earlier action and mentally scolds himself. Quietly, he steps up behind you. “I meant no offence,” he offers. Then, with a sigh, he hesitantly lays a hand on your comparatively tiny shoulder. “But I can see that I’ve insulted you, and after you’ve shown me nothing but kindness…..” He trails off. 

You’re glad that he can’t see your face because it had once more become flushed with colour the moment his large hand fell onto your shoulder. It’s heavy and firm, more than capable of crushing your bones at the slightest application of pressure, however the touch is anything but threatening. It feels gentle and safe and so vastly different to the last time you’d been touched. 

He sounded so dejected at the thought that he’d unintentionally hurt your feelings. But honestly? You weren’t really bothered by what he’d said because he was technically correct. 

Only when you feel the heat in your cheeks start to dissipate do you twist your head around and smile warmly up at Nathaniel. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “you didn’t insult me. It’s only the truth. You’re like a…a great oak tree, and I’m a….a…” You grasp at the air as though attempting to summon the word from the void itself. 

The angel decides to step in. “You are like these flowers.” He sweeps his arm in a wide arc, indicating your entire shop. “Rare, radiant. Yes, perhaps you are more fragile than a tree, but you still grow, proud and strong. You bring joy and light to an otherwise dreary world.” He nods towards the rain still pouring outside, then furrows his brow at you in a sincere manner. “That is a noble purpose.”  

A little shellshocked at his deep compliment, you tentatively raise your hand and place it over the top of the one on your shoulder, giving it a few pats. “That’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me….thank you, Nathaniel.”  He instantly appears consoled, nodding and letting go of you. But you find that you actually miss the weight of his touch. 

‘Weird,’ you think. 

Sporting a bright grin, you swiftly set the watering can upright before spinning to face the angel again. He’s still shaking his wings every now and again, causing you to grimace. It must feel horrible to have wet wings.

Suddenly, an idea springs to mind. 

“Hey! Y-you wanna come in the back to dry off? I’ve got a hairdryer in one of the drawers.”

Nathaniel blinks down at you cluelessly. “A hair dryer?” 

“Yeah! Oh, you’ll love it! Come on!” A sudden spark of courageous excitement ignites deep inside your belly. Extraordinary things like this just don’t happen to people like you, might as well make the most of this one. 

You grab the angel’s huge gauntlet and tug him towards the door leading to a storage room in the back of your shop. He goes rigid when you touch him, staring at your tiny hand in his. But then, with a tiny smile, he allows you to guide him through the door with no resistance. He squeezes through after you, ducking his head to avoid smacking it against the wooden frame. 

Letting go of his hand, you trot over to a sturdy chair in the corner of the room and pull it out into the centre, continuing to busy yourself with brushing a few, stray leaves off the seat. You smile up at Nathaniel and pat the wood  enthusiastically. “You can sit over here if you’d like!” 

Confused at your rapid shift in demeanour, Nathaniel mentally shrugs, deems you worthy of his trust and slowly lowers his armoured bulk onto the relatively flimsy chair. It creaks warningly under the weight of his armour, but it holds. 

His eyes follow your movements as you move over to a chest of drawers and start rummaging around inside one for a while until you give a triumphant, ‘Ah hah!’ and pull out some strange, metallic device. 

Marching to the wall behind the chair, you plug the hairdryer into a spare socket before returning to the waiting angel. 

“Now, just hold still,” you urge him. But the angel’s neck cranes over his right shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever’s going on. 

“What are you doing back there?” he inquires, “What is that bizarre contraption? What does it do?” He rapid-fires questions at you whilst you simply roll your eyes with a soft giggle and flick the small switch to the ‘On’ position. 

Unfortunately, the moment the loud machine roars noisily to life, Nathaniel leaps from the chair and whirls about. His hand flies to the hilt of his great-sword, but he doesn’t unsheathe it just yet. 

Startled, you hold up your free hand placatingly and turn the hairdryer off once again.

“….Dude….” you deadpan. 

“What manner of foul beast is that!” the angel bellows. 

Casting the machine a baffled look, you reply. “Ummm, it’s a hairdryer?”

He continues to glare at it suspiciously. “It roars like a demon…” 

You laugh lightly, motioning for him to calm down. “Trust me, if it were a demon, I wouldn’t have it in my floristry. I just use it to dry the silk flowers outside if they get caught in the rain, like today. Here, watch.” 

With that, you turn it on again and aim it towards your own head. The angel’s eyes burst open and he releases his sword’s handle as your hair begins to billow around in the concentrated stream of hot air. 

“See?” you coax him back over to the chair again, “It’s not going to do anything. Not that it could hurt you, even if it wanted to. Besides, you’ll feel much better once your wings are dry.” 

Curious, but cautious, he ventures back over to the chair and stares keenly into your eyes. You return the look with a sincere smile. It dawns on you that he’s searching you for any sign of deception. Evidently, he finds none, because the next thing you know, his full lips stretch into a placid grin. The angel then turns his back to you and sits. 

You nod triumphantly, turning the dryer to the lower setting so that you can talk without having to shout. Slowly, tenderly, you start to pass the hairdryer over the tips of Nathaniel’s wings. You revel in the softness of his feathers whilst you thread each one delicately through your fingers to make sure the hot air dries them effectively. Honestly, you’re hard pressed to say which is softer: This magnificent angel’s immaculate wings, or the petals of a rose. 

Under your touch, Nathaniel seems to be physically melting into the chair. His enormous shoulders slouch forward and he grunts softly when you rove the hairdryer up to his wing-bone and thumb at the shorter feathers there. 

For the next half hour, you and the angel make pleasant conversation, inquiring as to the other’s home life, friends, family, culture, interests and hobbies. 

Small talk, yes. But it’s the kind of small talk that gives you a clearer insight into each others’ lives. It feels good. 

No other customers enter your shop, the phone never rings and the rain continues to fall gently against the window pane. Until, at last, a weak sunbeam crawls slowly up your leg and glints off the metal dryer, flashing in your eye and drawing your mind back to the present. You glance at the back window, admittedly dismayed when you see that the rain has finally stopped. 

With a click, you turn the hairdryer off, unplugging it and wrapping the cord around the handle to keep it from tangling up in the drawer. Nathaniel shifts on the chair, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before he stands up and turns to face you. 

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest at the impressive sight before you. 

The angel towers over you and spreads his wings out to either side of him as far as they’ll go before they hit the confining walls. They stretch with a rustling, rippling sound, like willow branches in a soft breeze. Now that they’re dry, the wings look so full and clean. You have to resist the urge to run your hand over the feathers once more. 

Humming contentedly, Nathaniel inspects his wings and gives a nod of satisfaction. “That,” he rumbles, “was glorious.”  

Shyly, you scuff your toe against the floor and avert your eyes from his, trying to hide your blush. “It was nothing, I’m just happy to help.” 

When you look up, the angel is gazing at you with a mixture of curiosity and awe, his lips quirking up at the corners in a barely-restrained smile. Then, his eyes land on the sunlight streaming through the window. You can’t be sure, but you think you see his smile falter for a moment. 

He mumbles something to himself, following behind as you reluctantly bustle to the front of the shop again and sigh loudly. “Well….It’s stopped raining….” 

Nathaniel regards you closely until he turns his attention to the wet pavement outside. “So it has,” he murmurs noncommittally. Neither of you say anything further for a while, allowing the soft music to fill the silence. It’s broken when the angel suddenly coughs, catching your attention. You blink up at him as he scratches the white beard on his chin. 

“I wonder,” he mutters. Tilting your head, you jump when all of a sudden, the angel stoops to gather your hand in his. 

“Nathaniel! Wh-what are you-?” 

He interrupts your stammering with renewed vigour in his voice. “Y/n. The reason I came to your realm today…I want to learn more of Earth and her culture. I thought to just go about it by myself, but I realise that it would be far more beneficial for me to have a human by my side in this venture. For who better to teach an angel about humanity, than a human themselves?” He draws your hand closer to his chest and lowers his head further towards yours, so close that you can see the slight discolouration of his left eye where the scar has torn through the iris, leaving a long, pale pink stripe up the length of his eyeball. 

“When do your duties end?” he asks. 

“My…my duties?” you blurt out. Then, it clicks. “Oh! You mean when do I get off work?” 

He nods eagerly, still not letting go of your hand.

“Well, okay um….” Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you note the time is 4:30pm. Usually, you close up at about 5, but nobody had been in all day, save for Nathaniel. Apparently, it just wasn’t the day for it. Still, that meant nobody would really mind if you closed up a little early, surely. 

You look back at the angel and shoot him a timid grin, “Give me about five minutes and I’m all yours.” 

Nathaniel thumps a hand over his breastplate and finally releases your hand. “By your leave, Y/n.” 

It doesn’t take long for you to dart around your floristry, making sure all the flowers are sitting in water and don’t have any bacteria growing on the bottom of the stems. Then, you trot into the back room, turn off the light there and close the door. Nathaniel waits patiently as you usher him outside, locking the front door behind you and stuffing your keys into your coat pocket. You turn to face him. “Right then. Shall we?” 

He bows his head, falling into step beside you as you walk down the street, talking animatedly with the angel who’s attentive eyes never leave your face. 

You failed to notice, when you left the shop, that the ceramic shards from your broken vase were nowhere to be seen. 

EXT ENDING —-

The evening you’d spent with your new, otherworldly friend; Nathaniel, was definitely in your top three evenings. Even if all you’d done was stroll and sometimes swoop through the city and talk. Just talk. 

It’s with a light step that you glide down the street in the morning to your shop. As you approach, your eyes land upon an object resting innocently on the front step. 

Intrigued, you bend draw to a halt above the item and peer down at it. A light, flutter of excitement courses through your body when you recognise it. 

Your vase. The very same one you’d hand painted but shattered just yesterday. Yet there it stands, whole and complete. Seemingly without a scratch on it. Resting against the ceramic is a small, faded scroll, tied together with a thin strip of pulsing golden light. You hesitantly pick up the vase and the scroll. The moment your fingers touch the parchment, the golden light vanishes with a burst of magic, dissolving into the air and allowing the scroll to unravel elegantly. “Cool,” you breathe, juggling your keys and the vase until they rest under one arm so that you can fully unroll the bizarre letter to read it. Your heart leaps into your throat at the large, bold writing that adorns the paper. 

‘To my new, but dear friend, Y/n,

It is my hope that this letter finds you well. 

I, by no means, have the intricate crafting skill of a maker, but I wanted to at least try and repair that which had been broken. 

The few, small but precious hours I spent with you will forever remain close to my soul. You showed me your world in a way I’d never thought I would see, showed me kindness that I didn’t deserve and above all, you have agreed to be my friend. They are few and far between of late, so I treasure the ones that I make. 

I will drop in when I am next able, although I’m afraid it will not be today. I am needed in Lost Light. Perhaps I can show you my home, some day. 

Be safe, resplendent one.

Your friend, 

Nathaniel.’

You clutch the letter to your heart with a blissful sigh and slump back against the door. A wide grin splits your mouth in two when your eyes land on several objects poking out of the vase. One is a large, snow-white feather. A promise of protection, if you’re remembering the symbolism correctly. 

The other is a single, lavender rose. 

“Is this really happening?” you ask nobody in particular. 

Gazing up at the sky, you smile brilliantly, biting your lip as a sensation close to love swells dangerously in your gut. 

Something wonderful lingers just beyond the horizon. You can practically taste it. 

And you simply can’t wait to find out what it is. 

[cutiesonthehorizon]

Exorcist ficlet to the 2 minute video from episode 5 and episode photos

Written for the prompt by @grime-and-ashes and as part of my daily MiniWrimo word count. Also because I just can’t wait to see tonight’s episode and I’m pretty sure it will make this ficlet AU.

„In the name of Jesus Christ I compel you - show me yourself!“  Tomas shouted into the dark room and froze as he felt the cold touch on his arm. The voices around him stopped too as he was thrown into a different room, in different time. As soon as he saw the bodies, Tomas realized he made a huge mistake. When the shot rang out and the bullet pierced through his body, all he could do was look at the fresh blood marking his hands and feel the incredible fear coursing through his veins. He needed help... he needed Marcus.

 ================================

 The moment Marcus stepped off the boat he knew something was wrong. He had a strange feeling of foreboding ever since he spotted the port and their truck parked down the road. It was still too far for him to see Tomas but he knew the young priest was somewhere there, waiting for him. Marcus was vexed... he wanted to stay with Peter a bit longer, to take him out for beer and discuss what happened or maybe throw the whole discussion aside and just let it all happen again, but his conscience was screaming at him to go, just leave and find out what happened.  

 Peter must've sensed his ambivalence as well as his sudden nervousness, because he stepped closer and squeezed Marcus' shoulder.

 "What's wrong?"

 Marcus looked at Peter than back at the land that was getting closer.

 "That's our truck. I need to go, see what..." Marcus shook his head, frustrated. Peter's hand gently patted his face and he smiled.

 "Hey, this isn't a goodbye. We can... talk, later."

 "Yes, later," Marcus smiled too and let out a relieved sigh. Last thing he wanted to do was look like he was running away.

 "Good. Cause I really enjoyed this trip... and there's a lot more places I can show you."

 Marcus felt a shiver run down his spine, but the boat was already docking. The second it was safe, Marcus stepped out of the boat and without a backward glance rushed towards the parked truck. His steps were quick although a bit wobbly from the boat ride. He could finally see the truck, but in the dying light of the day it was hard to spot Tomas. Marcus frowned as he was closing the distance and realized the cabin of the truck was empty. He looked around, searching for a dark mop of hair, but the port was almost empty.  

 It was only once he reached the truck that he saw Tomas. It was the sound that gave him away. The inconspicious rustling of the clothes against metal, the shallow breaths, but most of all the chattering of teeth. The second thing Marcus notices was the dark mop of wet hair on the pale face, the tightly closed eyes and the small rocking motion that was accompanied by occasional shivers. Tomas was sitting in the back of the truck, looking like he was just put through the wringer and pulled out of a cold river.

 Marcus softly swore and jumped into the back of the truck, worry clouding his thinking. He automatically reached out, his hand touching Tomas' face and the back of his neck. Tomas' eyes shot open and Marcus almost stumbled back at the abject terror he saw in them. In the next second there was a flying fist that hit him in the shoulder, followed by flailing arms and a panicked attempt at getting away. Blinking off the surprise at the sudden attack, Marcus grabbed Tomas's arms and pushed him against the corner of the truck.

 "Tomas! Stop it!" he shouted as Tomas accidentally hit his head against the cabin in his mad panic. "Stop it! It's me, Marcus. Damn it," Marcus swore as a booted foot managed to catch him on his shin.  Clenching his teeth, he gave Tomas one firm shake followed by a slap on the face. The sound of the slap was probably more startling than the hit, but it did it's job... Tomas stopped struggling and blinked.

 "Mar-Marcus?" he asked a bit shakily and Marcus let out a relieved sigh.

 "It's me, in my whole charming self." Marcus added a smirk, but he felt anything but amused. Tomas looked at him with wide eyes, then as if someone pulled off a blanket, he looked around, realizing where he was.

 "You okay?" Marcus asked, the concern making his voice sound hoarse. Tomas seemed to think about the answer, his eyes pausing at the two hands still wrapped tight around his wrists.

 "Can you..."

 Marcus looked down and albeit a bit reluctantly let go, but still left one laying on Tomas' knee and the other one running through the wet mop of hair, frowning at the moisture.

 "Did it rain or you went swimming?" he asked, noting how Tomas seemed to pale at the question.

 "Tomas?"

 Silence. There was only slight shivering and a pair of eyes that was suddenly looking away.

 "What happened?" The tone of his voice made it clear that he wouldn't accept silence as an answer any more.

"I-" Tomas started, then stopped, unsure how to continue. Marcus' frown deepened, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

 "What did you do?"

 Tomas flinched at the question and Marcus clenched his teeth, pretty sure he knew the answer. Still, he wanted to hear it out loud, wishing he was wrong. Tomas looked away, but Marcus was having none of it. Grabbing his chin, he made sure Tomas was looking right at him.

 "Tomas?"

 "I was just looking around the house, trying to find out..."

 "What did you find?"

 "The atelier, upstairs. That room... the moment I stepped inside..." Tomas shivered and Marcus could feel the coldness seeping into his own bones. "There was something here. I could feel it... I could almost hear it. Voices... the presence."

 "You didn't-" Marcus said, feeling the anger creeping back. The averted look was answer enough.

 "Damn it, Tomas! I warned you!"

 "I wasn't inviting anything!" Tomas protested, feeling some of his own anger at the accusatory look.

 "No? So what did you do if not open your mind to it? Did you offer to hold a tea party and have a little chat?" Marcus asked, voice filled with sarcasm and reproach. "Or did you ask it to show itself to you?"

 Tomas froze and Marcus paused, the fight suddenly leaving him.

 "Oh, Tomas," he drawled half in disappointment, half in pity, because he could just imagine how that request was taken.  

 "You should have waited for me."

 "You weren't there," Tomas spoke so quietly Marcus could barely hear him, but it still cut him to the bone.

 "No, I wasn't. So you should have ran, should have left that damn room, instead of asking a demon for an introduction." And here, the anger was back even as Marcus started to think about all the possible outcomes. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation? Damn it, Tomas! You don't pull this shit without a backup!”

 “I know that!” Tomas shouted, stopping Marcus mid tirade and the look in his eyes spoke volumes about the horror he saw.

 “After what happened in there? Trust me, I know that,” Tomas said in a softer voice and Marcus nodded, trying to push back his own concern. Whatever happened to Tomas in that house was bad, but they both knew that things will get even worse if they didn’t do something.

[everlarkficexchange]

Sanctuary

Written by: @titaniasfics

Rating: T

Prompt 27: Katniss’s father is an undocumented worker, Peeta is a sympathetic federal agent sent to investigate or an employer willing to do anything to help. [submitted by @567inpanem]

Author’s Note: I’m late (as usual) but I went for the second option on this one. I jumped at this prompt because of my own feeling about this whole situation. Hope I didn’t hijack a lovely prompt by being politically didactic. I relied on my experiences with my family regarding picking fruit and the migration of workers as they follow the different harvest, together with the research on how the ICE conducts raids in this current political climate. It’s a different world from when my grandfather was a migrant worker.

A million thanks to @eala-musings for betaing this piece for me, @567inpanem for the amazing prompt and to @everlarkficexchange for hosting this challenge!

Katniss worked quickly at the conveyor belt, hands flying over the apples. She was one in a line of several workers stretching at intervals of two feet to either side of her, all separating fruit that would be packed and shipped to chain supermarkets from apples that would go to the factories for juicing and processing.

As far as part-time work, it wasn’t too bad. The pay was decent, though it was somewhat repetitive, even monotonous. She’d have made more money at the diner in the next town, but her family only had one car and it was easy to get a bus from Panem Community College to the Mellark’s Apple Orchards.

Before the semester had even started, her father had spoken to Mr. Mellark and gotten her this job for after her classes and on Saturdays during the apple harvest, so she couldn’t very well up and quit. They needed the money and she wasn’t about to make him look bad by not working hard.  Her scholarship wasn’t enough to cover all of her expenses to boot. So while her classmates from were up in lake country, enjoying the remaining warm days before the chill of autumn set firmly in, she was sorting and boxing fruit with the other migrant workers who’d made their way north to work this harvest.

She couldn’t remember her native country - her family had come to Panem - and District 12 - when she was only five years old. But she and her sister, Prim, had learned English and done all their schooling in their new country, and could speak both English and Spanish fluently.  Her mother was a citizen, having come to the US as a teenager, and spoke well but with an accent. But her father had had to learn English on his own, speaking well enough to be understood but it would never be perfect. Katniss was always pestering her father to go to the free Adult ESOL classes at the local library, but he always had one excuse or another for why he couldn’t go. However, the real reason was clear to everyone at home - he was afraid of getting caught by the ICE and being deported out of the country.

His fear had turned into paranoia with the election of Cornelius Snow, an open racist with a history of nationalist tendencies.  The political rhetoric had become more hateful, allowing people to express their less noble feelings in a way they never could before. He brought his hatred to bear on undocumented immigrants, leading to the passage of stricter anti-immigration laws and travel bans.  Soon, there were more round-ups and raids, putting the entire community on alert.

Mr. Everdeen did everything he could to shield his family from these realities, but he could not hide his fear from his oldest daughter, who watched him become more hesitant to go to public places. He followed the news obsessively to the point where Katniss often conspired with her mother and sister to distract him from what was happening in their country.

Katniss’s mind continued to spin as she worked, thoughts meandering as aimlessly as the apples that rolled unevenly down the chute. Her only interruption was when she glanced up from her work and caught sight of the owner’s youngest son, Peeta Mellark, watching her. He did that a lot lately, and she didn’t know exactly what to think of it. Her mother always said he was the best of the three Mellark boys, and possibly the best of the entire Mellark clan, including the father, who was himself well known for treating his workers well, and the mother, who did not.  Perhaps because Peeta, more than the other two boys, had practically grown up among the children of migrant workers, he had never been rough or abrupt with them the way the older boys and their mother could be.

Katniss nodded towards him, in response to which his eyes promptly flitted away, a slight pink rising above the collar of his shirt. He did that all the time too, which gave her a queasy feeling that was not altogether unpleasant. She pursed her lips together and shoved her braid roughly behind her shoulder as her arms moved quickly, her mind returning to her work as she made instant decisions about where each of the hard, sweet fruit would end up. She was down the line a bit so much of the fruit had already been culled, but still, she had to pay better attention to make sure nothing got by her.

The bell for second lunch rang and Katniss stepped gratefully away from the belt and washed her hands in the sink. She walked to the loading dock, which was now empty, leaving a yawning opening the height of a semi-truck container, granting her an expansive view of the property beyond. Row upon row of apple trees stretched like a bobbing ocean of green before her eyes, around which were interspersed workers with their wide-brimmed sun hats and enormous aprons bulging with fruit. It was soothing to wait there for her father to come in with the other field workers, after which they’d head off to the outdoor benches to have lunch together. On the days Katniss didn’t work, her father took his lunch and ate in the field, but when Katniss was there, he always came in and took his lunch with her so she wouldn’t be alone.

She was particularly hungry today and slipped her hand inside of her lunch bag, searching for one of the empanadas her mother had made them the night before. Wrapped in a colorful picnic napkin, it had lost the heat that had made them so tender, but Katniss relished the taste anyway.  She was so engrossed in her snack that she didn’t hear Peeta’s approach until he was right next to her.

“Hi,” he said, startling her.

“Oh, hi,” she said around with a mouth full of tasty ground beef and pastry.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were eating,” he said with a smirk.

She swallowed hard, wiping her mouth with the bright-colored napkin. “I…I’m not…I wasn’t eating,” she said, balling the paper and strangling it in her fist.

He pointed hesitantly at her chin. “Really? I think you have some of that thing you weren’t eating on your face,” he said, stifling a laugh.

Katniss rubbed her chin with the near-shredded napkin. How much more idiotic could she be? “Thanks,” she muttered.

Peeta let out a chuckle, the scowl on Katniss’s face likely keeping him from actually following through with a loud guffaw. He turned his gaze out to the field and she followed his line of sight. It was a gorgeous, fall day - hot but lacking the fierce bite of the summer sun.  He sighed loudly, shaking his head.

“Today would have been a great day to go up to Ash Lake,” he said.

Katniss raised her eyebrow in surprise. “I thought the exact same thing not five minutes ago.”

He smiled. “You want to go up there sometime…you know…with me?  Us?” he stammered rapidly.  “I mean a group. You know.  Some friends of mine. You and me?”

Katniss blushed, her stomach giving a sudden flip. He was the boss’s son. The Mellarks never really socialized with the workers, especially the undocumented ones like her father. She bit her lip, unable to form words. She realized she’d waited too long to answer when his face fell slowly, though he struggled to remain nonchalant.

She forced her mouth to move and answered, “I’m free tomorrow.”

His face lit up, and his eyes, which were an unreal color of blue, became luminous with excitement. “That’s great! I’ll pick you up and we’ll drive up together.”

Katniss nodded, feeling a current of warmth course through her body. She looked up at him as if really seeing him for the first time - his incredibly defined features covered in a down of blond hair, lashes that were so long and fair they disappeared in bright light. Solid and strong, she found she couldn’t take her eyes off of him - and realized she didn’t want to.

A commotion in the manager’s office caught both of their attention. She turned reluctantly away from him to listen as first a low murmuring discussion was followed by raised voices, which cut through the mechanized sounds of the conveyor belts.

“Something’s happening in Dad’s office,” Peeta muttered. He turned to her, worry marring his features. “Stay here. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

He raced down the steps and made his way quickly across the packing room. Katniss strained to look between the metal columns and undulating machinery to see what was the matter but she couldn’t. Finally, her curiosity got the best of her and she descended the stairs also, ready to sneak around the office and eavesdrop when Peeta appeared again, sprinting towards her.

“Federal agents,” he muttered. “ICE. It’s a raid. There’s nothing we can do for the packers and I can’t use the radio. You have to stop the pickers from coming in off the fields.”

“Papá,” Katniss said, feeling the color drain from her face.

“I know. Your father and the other men could get caught. Go! Tell them to hide in the old warehouse. They won’t bother to go out there. I’ll stall them but there’s about a dozen of them and they’re getting ready to move through the main orchard.”

She nodded frantically, taking off with as much speed as she could muster. She ducked between the large trees, branches heavy with their sweet fruit. Just a short distance away, she could already see the men chattering between them, some wiping their foreheads, all of them walking into a trap.

Sleek black cars were making their way up the path that led to the orchards, prompting Katniss to pick up speed. She waved her arms, at the same time trying desperately not to shout or draw attention to the men for fear of giving them away to the agents now swarming the fields, herding in other workers. Her father, who walked a little ways back behind the foreman, froze, staring at Katniss as she nearly collided with him.

“La immigración. Nos tenemos que ir, Papá. If they catch you…”

He nodded, passing the word to the other workers who were in his condition. She tugged at his arm when he tried to move back the way the men had come.

“No, this way. Peeta said we should go to the old warehouse.”

“Peeta?” he said in surprise.  

“Yes! He’s trying to help but we have to move. Now!” she insisted as she pulled her father away.

The crew of men veered away from the processing building, sneaking quietly among the older, gnarled trees along the edge of a narrow dirt road. They walked for what seemed like an interminable amount of time until they reached a decrepit building that had once been the imposing structure of the original plant. The roof was half-caved in and Katniss heard the scurrying of mice and other creatures within. Her skin crawled at the idea of their proximity to her, but she pushed forward, helping her father over the threshold, though he was a strong man and could still pick Katniss up with one hand.  

Crouched down, they waited, listening to each sound with suspicion. Their alertness became exhausting as the afternoon wore on.

One of the men, Thom, spoke in a hushed whisper. “Why don’t we take the small dirt road that goes west, until we get to the next orchard?  I don’t like just sitting here.”

“I live too far away,” responded Mr. Hawthorne, an old friend of her father’s. “Plus they might be expecting some of us to try to leave that way and could be waiting for us.”  He was one of many workers dependent on the company bus to bring them to the fields each morning.

“Peeta said we’d be safe here. Let’s just stay put,” Katniss said. Her father nodded in agreement.

She leaned against her father’s shoulder, absorbing the familiar smell of sweat and fruit on his clothing. It had gotten so bad the last few months, even before Snow’s election, with agents appearing at the doors of people’s homes, posing as police officers and taking whomever was inside. Men and women forced to return to a country which, in many cases, they no longer had any connections. Mothers and fathers deported and forbidden to return for 15 years, young children left to wonder why their parents were no longer with them.

She felt a sickening knot tighten in her stomach at the thought of her father being sent away for so long. She and her sister were both citizens. Her mother had a green card. But the process for her father had gotten more and more complicated with the passing years. Contrary to popular opinion, it was very difficult for an undocumented worker already in the country to get a green card without being forced to leave the country first. And Katniss’s father had been unwilling to leave his family under any circumstances. She would never be able to thank Peeta enough for protecting them the best way he could.

By mid-afternoon, they were dozing off, having eaten the lunches they’d brought with them, sharing with those who had nothing to eat. A rustling sound in the overgrown grasses beyond the building caused Mr. Everdeen to straighten in alarm but Katniss was already on her feet, creeping quietly to look out of the glassless windows. She perked up when she saw the blond hair, medium build and loping gait that was so very Peeta and stepped out of the building to meet him. He smiled when he saw her but his face was drawn and tired.

“They’re gone,” he said.

She turned and signaled for the men to come out of hiding.

“Thank you,” Mr. Everdeen said, shaking Peeta’s hand vigorously. Peeta nodded, greeting everyone, accepting their gratitude. They made their way back to the plant, but Peeta slowed his pace until he was next to Katniss.

“They took away at least fifty workers,” he whispered. “ Besides the fine, which dad doesn’t care about, they went through the employment records.” He shook his head, looking anywhere but at her. “Katniss, we have to let go of so many people.”

“But why?” she asked, making sure no one, not even her father, heard her.

“It’s called a ‘silent raid,’” he said with a mixture of disdain and anger. “If they don’t catch you during an actual raid, they get into employment records and force employers to fire any suspicious employees.”  Peeta looked around at the men, exhausted from the work and stress, as they lumbered through the trees and it became clear to Katniss that he was furious. “They are trying to make it impossible for those without papers to work. Meanwhile, employers can’t get enough workers because the ‘good citizens of Panem’ who whine and cry about their jobs being taken away would never actually lower themselves enough to go out in these fields and break their back to pick fruit.”

Katniss put a hand on his arm.  “What’s going to happen now?”

Peeta shrugged, then stopped to face her. “I don’t know. You’ll be okay. But your father…”

She froze, staring up into his anguished eyes. “You let my father go?”

Peeta frowned. “We had to.”

The knot of dread in Katniss’s stomach became so unbearable, she thought she might become ill.  

“I’m so sorry,“ he said, his eyes now unbearably sad.  

“I know you are,” she answered, backing away slowly. She turned and ran towards her father, hoping she wouldn’t do something stupid like cry in front of him.

XXXXX

Mrs. Everdeen took the news of her husband’s dismissal better than Katniss did. They’d saved a small emergency fund. Katniss thought she could pick up more hours at the packing plant and there was still her mother’s income as a cashier in the local drug store.  But it meant that Mr. Everdeen would have to travel to another district, to find seasonal work. He’d be gone for months at a time again.  The Everdeens didn’t do well with extended separations, but if Mr. Everdeen didn’t find work migrant somewhere else, the whole family might have to move again, which would put both Prim and Katniss in a predicament with their school.

“I don’t see any other choice but for me to stay in District 11 for a while,” Mr. Everdeen said after dinner that night. He helped Katniss wash the dishes while Prim dried and put them away. Mrs. Everdeen sat at the table, sipping her tea, resting after having prepared dinner.

“Isn’t there somewhere closer to us than District 11? It’s seems so far away,” Katniss complained.

Her father shook his head as he ran water over the soapy plates. “They say that District 11 is a Sanctuary District. It’ll be safe for me to work there. And eventually, I’ll bring all of you to be with me, too.”

“It’s not fair!” Katniss exclaimed. “Maybe I can transfer to a school there…”

“No,” her father said firmly. “Your scholarship is for PCC. For me, the most important thing right now is that you finish college. I won’t move you until you graduate.”

“But that’s two more years!” Prim interjected.

“I know, mijita,” he said gently, resting his damp hand on her head. “But we all have to make sacrifices. I’ll only go away for the season and then come back home. The time will fly.”

A knock at the front door forced a heavy silence on everyone.  Katniss made her way down the narrow corridor and peered into the peek hole in the door. She let out an audible gasp as she fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

“Peeta!” she said almost breathlessly, stepping aside to allow him to enter.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. Mr. Everdeen gave him a vigorous handshake and asked him to take a seat.

“You’re always welcome,” Mrs. Everdeen said. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough for helping Katniss and her father.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, though he flushed with pride at her words. He glanced at Katniss, who could not stop staring at him, and let his eyes drop when they made contact with hers.

“I’ll prepare some tea,” Mrs. Everdeen continued.

“No, don’t worry —” Peeta said but she was already half-way to the kitchen, the sound of water running as she filled the tea kettle. Mr. Everdeen chatted amiably with Peeta until she returned with steaming cups of fragrant tea and cookies. Peeta dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out a card.

“It’s been a really tough day,” he began, clearing his throat before he spoke again. “We were, I mean, my family, we were so sorry to have to let so many workers go. There were so many people who’d been with us for years. Here,” he handed the card to Mr. Everdeen. “We’ve been trying to reach out to other growers. There’s a foreman’s position, just north of the border in District 7. It’s a longer commute each day and it’s lumber, not apples but it’s a smaller operation, and they haven’t had a lot of interference from the ICE.”

“You found Papá a job?” Katniss asked, dumbfounded.

“Well, I mean, it’s his if he wants it. My father talked to the owner already. You know, these actions don’t help the business owners, either. And it’s not right to attack people who are just trying to make a living.”

Mrs. Everdeen looked from her husband to Peeta before bursting into a silent fit of tears. “This means you won’t have to leave.”

Mr. Everdeen shook his head. “How does this really help me? Just because the ICE haven’t been there doesn’t mean they won’t show up —”

“Yes, but District 8 is moving towards becoming a Sanctuary District also. The leadership has promised that they will not assist the ICE in harassing workers.” Peeta looked Mr. Everdeen in the eye. “You’ll be safe.”

Katniss’s father bowed his head, rubbing his eyes as discreetly as he could. “Thank you,” he said, trying to keep himself composed. Prim threw her arms around him while Katniss stood behind him, patting his head.

“You don’t know what this means to us,” Katniss said quietly.

Peeta shrugged, clearly embarrassed by the attention. “It’s the least we could do.”

When he’d emptied his tea cup, Peeta took his leave, to the accompaniment of tearful hugs and thanks. Katniss followed him out the house and onto the porch. When she shut the door behind her, she stood before Peeta uneasily, trying again to make her treacherous mouth work.

“If… you hadn’t…hadn’t done what you did…my father would have had to leave…and we would have had to leave eventually.”

“I know,” he said. “It wasn’t without…self-interest,” he said, shoving his hands deeply into the pocket of his jeans.

Katniss gave him a small smile. They stood in another long, awkward silence, during which time they both found the wood planks of the porch to be of riveting interest. Finally, Peeta made to speak again, but Katniss found herself in motion, stepping forward and stopping his speech with her lips. She couldn’t even describe how her lips had ended up on his but almost without conscious volition, her arms were curled around his neck, pulling him down to her. She felt the slow winding of his arms around her waist, pressing her against him, first gently, then with more fervor.  Katniss felt herself getting lost in a violent wave of heat that didn’t end when he pulled back to stare at her.

“Are you sure?” he croaked out, his voice heavy with feeling.

“Am I sure about what?” she asked, trying not to stare at his plump lips, or think about how soft and warm they felt against hers.

“About…kissing me. Don’t feel like you have to. I would have helped you anyway.”

Katniss lips twitched in amusement before tugging him back towards her. “That just makes me want to kiss you even more.”

[themusicenthusiast]

Monday, February 6th, 2017 – A Confident and Genuine Gemini Syndrome Wows a Capacity Crowd at Trees in Dallas

This Monday night at Trees may have belonged to Starset, though the Synners were out in full force as well, ready to show their devotion to Gemini Syndrome. The amount of people sporting their Gemini Syndrome shirts was staggering, though not entirely unsurprising, the majority of the Los Angeles-based bands’ fan base being die-hards. They’re one of those acts where there’s not much, if any, middle ground when it comes to the fans, people either being completely enamored with the alt-metal outfit or just not caring much for them. That’s not a bad thing, as it cultivates a rabid and truly supportive fan base; and most are apt to fall into the fan category. This marked their first Dallas show since the previous October, their show that night being marred by terrible sound. The blame certainly couldn’t be put on the band, who marched on like true professionals, but whatever was responsible for it (be it human error or something technical), it still impacted their performance, and not for the better. It’s safe to assume they felt some added pressure this night as they returned to Trees, wanting to make up for that last gig and remind the Synners just what a high caliber performance they’re capable of, which is precisely what has made them such a buzz worthy act. Their intro was perfect, reflecting the times and fitting in line with statements on life Gemini Syndrome makes with their music, Charlie Chaplin’s speech from The Great Dictator playing. Mixed with some music it had an urgent feel and made it sound quite grand. “…Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men's happiness. Soldiers, in the name of democracy, let us all unite!” By the time the whole thing finished it was 9:08; that track fading into a slightly eerie but utterly enthralling piece as the musicians filed onto their spots on stage.

“Dallas, are you awake?” Aaron Nordstrom asked, the frontman gazing out at the crowd, beaming as he did so. “I SAID, ‘ARE YOU AWAKE’?!” he bellowed, as Brian Steele Medina led the charge into “Eternity” with some thunderous percussion. The song about appreciating what’s around you and savoring the moments life presents you with on a daily basis was a stupendous opener, one that instantly highlighted how cohesive the quintet is. Despite the song coming from a record that’s only about six months old, performing it already appeared like second nature to them; Alessandro Paveri propping his bass up on his leg for a few moments as he slapped the strings of it, while Medina tossed his drumsticks into the air on a few different occasions, never failing to catch them. That would be constant throughout their set. “You say your fucking awake?!” roared Nordstrom at one point, as if demanding more from the sold-out crowd who were happy to give it; the song eventually coming to a brilliant finish with a killer scream that reverberated throughout the room for a few seconds. To maximize their 40-minute set time, much of their performance was streamlined, the transition being quick and seamless into the first of a handful of cuts from 2013’s Lux, fans cheering with delight upon recognizing “Basement”. “Let me see those hands,” Nordstrom requested after the first chorus, the host of people raising their fists to the sky, the song’s peak seeing the members thrashing around wildly and banging their heads. One of their only breaks of the night had Nordstrom stressing how great it was to be back on Trees’ stage, the audience being almost completely silent as he spoke. “…I know you're excited, but you seem quiet for a Dallas crowd,” he commented, seeming perplexed but intrigued by the crowds’ demeanor. “Are you waiting for me to say something profound?” Nordstrom than asked, as his band mates started up their next song. Pausing momentarily, he promised everyone he would think on it. “Pleasure and Pain” stuck with the fan favorites from their debut record, guitarist Daniel Sahagún handling the guttural screams on the verses, sounding exceptional as he howled into his microphone. It added to the intensity of the already prominent rhythm section; Nordstrom stepping into that role on occasion, his voice being built for some brutal screaming as well, the best of which came at the tail end as he let loose a wicked screech that commanded everyone’s attention. Thus began a rapid succession of songs, “Resurrection” being the powerhouse it always has been, filled with some great licks from Sahagún and fellow guitarist Charles Lee Salvaggio; things coalescing wonderfully at the end, Nordstrom appearing to collect himself to make certain he was ready for the adrenaline pumping final stretch. “Do you mind if we play some new shit?” the frontman asked. The spectators were game for that, first getting a couple semi deep cuts off Memento Mori (out via Another Century). “Zealot” was one of those and arguably stood as Gemini Syndrome’s best song of the night. The structure of the song is marvelous, sounding like pure Gemini while also being incredibly catchy and boasting a great flow. While still heavy, it’s a little more radio friendly (traditional radio), even showcasing the gentler side of Nordstrom’s voice; the chorus of “Everybody's scratching just to get to the surface, find their purpose in this wasted life. Everybody wants to know their ending is worth it, that it’s worth it, it’s not wasted time,” forcing people to ponder some hard truths about existence. “Awaken” was in a similar vein, being more restrained at times while also having plenty of hard and heavy moments; and from there things bled flawlessly into “Anonymous”. It pushed the musicians more than any song had thus far. Medina got a serious workout just from that one alone, the drummer pulverizing his kit in the final half of the song that partly works to remind everyone they’re not so different from one another, all ultimately facing the same end. The drummer triumphantly raised a fist in the air, while Nordstrom informed the onlookers what ‘memento mori’ meant. “Remember that you die,” he said, adding that wasn’t supposed to be “sad” or “depressing”, but instead force people to realize how fleeting life is and make the most out of every precious second you have. “…Take care of yourself, take care of each other and make this the best fucking life you possibly can…” he said, finally delivering on that profound advice he said he would think on. That was the perfect lead in to “Remember We Die”, and with a statement like that it even made it feel as if that would be their final song of the night. It would have been a good one, offering a great message of being the best person you can possibly be for as long as you’re breathing, and musically it would have brought things to a powerful close, though the band had one last thing planned for everyone. “Did you have a good time with Gemini Syndrome tonight?” Nordstrom asked everyone, some roaring fanfare answering his question. “We had a good time with you,” he said before starting a clap along that had most everyone participating. The pulsating beat of the kick drum along with the gritty opening chords of “Stardust” filled the room, the audience cheering over getting one last beloved classic for the night. “You know this song, right?” Nordstrom asked before the final choruses, then asking everyone if they could help them with it. “Look at the wake from the stardust pouring from your eyes. It's no mistake, you are perfect…” the fans chimed in as the show came to an exhilarating close. This was the Gemini Syndrome so many have come to love over the past few years, their sound being topnotch this time around, and that confidence of knowing everything was working as it should emboldened their performance from what it was last time around. From the moment they stepped on stage, you knew they were there to accomplish something. Having the role of main support, they knew they needed to get everyone warmed up for Starset (thanking the band for having them out on this tour), though one also got the sense that Gemini Syndrome was there for much more. They wanted to truly connect with everyone, working hard to create a rapport with the spectators so their music would have the maximum impact possible. Due to the genuine manner that they conduct themselves in, being humbled and grateful for the support they receive, they established that connection rather effortlessly. They handled themselves comfortably throughout this mighty set, being refined but also raw in their presentation, holding nothing back as everyone gave Gemini Syndrome their undivided attention. I had caught Gemini Syndrome a few times in the past, though it had been a little while (excluding that October 2016 show), and this Trees show was the best I’ve seen them do. It was like seeing them for the first time, falling in love with their music all over again as they sent a strong reminder to everyone that they bring something different to the table. And far more than wanting to make music that people enjoy listening to, they strive to make music and deliver a performance that encourages the listener to think and assess life. They successfully did that on this Monday night. They’re out with Starset through February 17th, that tour concluding at Rex Theater in Pittsburgh, PA, with stops in Madison, AL, Johnson City, TN, Baltimore, MD, and Lancaster, PA leading up to the final show. Gemini then has a few more shows after, on February 18th, 19th, and 21st, at Tapouts in Hamilton, OH, Firebird in St Louis, MO, and The Black Sheep in Colorado Springs, CO, respectively. They’ll return to the road on April 7th, hitting the Midwest and East Coast with a few select shows in the South. Their full calendar of events can be viewed HERE; and check out Memento Mori in iTUNES or GOOGLE PLAY.

[melodramatic--blog]

DJ Bless feat. Jim Snooka & Sutter Kain Black Tar Heroin (Stir Crazy Remix)

DJ Bless feat. Jim Snooka & Sutter Kain Black Tar Heroin (Stir Crazy Remix)

STIR CRAZY Music Production!

High quality and affordable music production and recording!!!!!!!!! Please contact for quotes or any other information regarding beats and production for your next album!

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Super-producer Stir Crazy has stamped his imprint on the music scene since 2003. His production has helped create career defining hits for artists such as Potluck, D12, Bizzy Bone, Toxsick, Kamal, Tre Pound, SOL, T.O.N.Ez, The Insane Clown Posse and many others. Respected beyond the genres of hip hop and urban music, Stir Crazy, has also been sought by superstars and underground legends whose music needs a new edge.

Born in Detroit, Michigan on December 23, 1986, Stir Crazy has had many reincarnations– from a partnership in the label Super Phat Productions, and involved in a super group which consists of Dood Computer (of Doom Fist) and Himself.

Chop Shops smash hit single ‘Heart”, and Kamal’s debut cd Certified produced by Stir Crazy, introduced a unique style that defined the new wave of music in the years too come. Hip Hop and R&B with crazy effects held together by complex drum patterns. Death B4 Dishoner a group consisting of Lokey, T.O.N.Ez and Stir Crazy proved Stir Crazy could step out his normal boundaries and do heavy metal and rock production.

Recently he has helped form, and in a music group with Dood Computer from Albany, New York and about to release there new upcoming album. The reason this album is getting so much attention is because of the marketing. It is coming out on cassette tape only.

Stir Crazy’s sound is unexplainable, and meant to be listened to, not read….

His partnership with fellow producer Tre Pound, has spanned the untouchable label Super Phat Productions, and there trademark sound has spawned numerous imitators in the Detroit area. Still known as the originators of the new wave of Detroit sound when it comes to hip hop and R&B music.

Along the way he built an impressive arsenal of studio equipment, and worked/works at many studios in Detroit where he does most of his production. He regularly travels between his home studio and other studios around the area and other states working on many projects.

Stir Crazy’s genre breaking has changed music today and he takes pride in his success at staying ahead of the game with his experimentation and originality. Hard working and confident, his goal is to always stay ten steps ahead of the competitors while making fans not only hear but ‘feel’ music.

One thing Stir Crazy has on his side, other than incredible talent, is visibility. He has been featured on numerous websites as well as print.. He has been seen on several DVD’s, and he has a role in a feature film, Zombie Prom.. Then there are his numerous other appearances and accomplishments. He was named producer of the year by Juggalo News by voting of fans. The acknowledgment came as a surprise, he got a message that he was going to be featured, and there he was, without having to submit anything about himself. The word is out!

“You can accomplish any dream or goals in life, with hard work and confidence” says the dedicated Stir Crazy. He is a innovator of sound which continues to set new standards, while always expanding his musical palette.

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Artist that have purchased or been on Stir Crazy Beats….(non completed list)

A Autopzy Abica Ajax B Blaze Ya Dead Homie Boondox Bizzare of D12 B-side Bizzy Bone Brutal Ben Stockwell- Area 51 music Big frame Bankrupt Big Sin Brain Trama Badluck Big Jim/2 phat C Cartoon Killa Chop Shop CDC Chris Brewer Chief The Beast Cellar Mannequin Chuk Ruck Creech D Dizzo Doc Hollywood hustle DJ Rick Dez Dr Gigglez Disfucktional Phamily Dead N Dirty Dood Computer Doom Fist DarkHalf Dj Rec Dramadeus/2 fold horror Dead Arm Death B4 Dishoner Dan tha Saltine Duece Duece Durty White Boyz DCO Delusional Dynamic Duo DJ Clay E Eklypze F Fury Frantik G GM G-Wizz H Harm Half Fiction I Intrizink Ikkurruz Izzy Rotten Ill E Gal Ignited Insane Clown Posse J Judge Cryptic Jak Progresso J Reno J- Fill Jenetiqs J3 J-Kidd/J Truth/ JR Writer K Koopsta Knicca King Kold Kreepy-X kLepTo King Gordy Kamel Kasket Kyle L Lokey LaVey Lental Leo Giovonni M Musa McNastee Mars Mass Kunfusion Mad Maxxx Majik Duce Mad Max MrPPV Mr. Madman Mr freeze Maniaxe Movement Records N Natural Dizaztaz Noodle Nugget/Dredge Non Shalant O Okkultlegion P Potluck Pierre Vito Pony boy Poe Whosaine Polo Q R Renegade Rone Bone Rashak Rated R Raven Hunter ROC S Scum Sirkis Spuratic Squad 19 Skeptyk Shyste Sketch Scum Sean Strange Sol Saint Sinna Slink Dogg T Twiztid TBMA Troubled Mindz Trips T.O.N.E.Z Tony Sinister Toxsick U V Vishiss W Wayne Dub X Y Y.U.G. Z 4Saken 333s 2.DIE.4 Likes: 6 Viewed:

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