#the grave of the felled forest

[babblish]

The Grave of the Felled Forest 🧙‍♂️ A ONESHOT 🔮

Fandom: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons) Rating: PG Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships/Characters: Douxie, Archie, Bellroc, Skrael, Original Characters

Bespectacled cat friend in tow, Douxie is tasked with the duty of managing all of Merlin's estates Places of Power in his absence, but the magical folk of the world aren’t shy at letting him know they're watching and questioning where his loyalty truly lies.

You came here to strike a deal,” Douxie concluded. “What deal?” “Give us Merlin,” Skrael clipped. “Your foolish master betrayed us and conspired with the worst manner of mortal,” Bellroc spat. “The fact you do not know is evidence enough of Merlin’s pedagogical inadequacy. Do not turn your back on magical kind.” Douxie froze, feeling… if not his conscience, then something that served in its stead. No one associated with an organisation that called themself ‘The Order’ should be trusted, regardless of how cool of a clarifier was next to it. Merlin had said so himself, and Merlin was never ever wrong. He said so himself. “We did not come here to kill you,” Skrael snapped. “Why not?” Douxie asked. “If I were you, I’m sure I would.” Bellroc and Skrael looked at each other, as if reconsidering their agreed upon position. “You are too useful to kill,” Bellroc concluded. Douxie’s ego inflated and wafted away like a big fat balloon at the summer eisteddfod. “Do you really mean it?” “Of course,” Skrael said. “Once you’ve revealed each one of Merlin’s little sanctuaries, and you’re no longer a scrawny pup, as wide eyed as you are stupid, well——” “You would be wise to ally with the Arcane Order,” Bellroc said.

— Ties in with Primordial Awakenings, Searching for the C, Birkenstocks and Ballet Flats, and the rest of The Heart of Janus au.

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

i have such an intense hatred for cinemasins-esque commentary on movies. where is your whimsy. where is your suspension of disbelief. do you hate fun.

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ TIL DEATH DO WE PART — feat. kaveh event masterlist

synopsis. you were practicing your wedding vows near a grave, and accidentally brought a corpse back to life. trouble is, he now thinks you two are married. warnings. corpses. implied death. reader is arranged to be married. notes. request for @lowkeyren!! corpse bride au. gn!reader. 1.5k words.

The smell of fresh soil was thick in the air, rich and cloying, and filling your senses. It was only a few hours after the rain had tapered off, leaving the ground soft and moist beneath your shoes.

While the strong, slightly overwhelming scent managed to distract you from the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin, it came with an unfortunate side effect: mud. The further you walked, the more it stained the hem of your clothes, squelching uncomfortably under your feet. You tried to ignore the dirt that you knew must be caking the fabric, but every step into another puddle was yet another reminder of the mess you knew you looked.

Your wedding outfit, the one that your family had worked tirelessly to prepare, was near ruined.

Truthfully, you hadn't planned on running so far into the forest, only far enough that the ringing sound of wedding bells and nauseating scent of lilies were left fully behind you. Flowers and weeds alike were crushed underfoot in your haste, but by the time your frantic footsteps had slowed, you were already deep into the sprawling clusters of trees.

Emerging into a clearing, you finally halted in your tracks. Your lungs burned—from the chill of the night air, or from the exertion, you couldn't tell.

Your mind was still abuzz with anxiety and adrenaline clashing against each other in the back of your head. All you could think of was the horrified face of your fiance, soon-to-be husband, watching helplessly as you fled the alter.

He was a good man, a perfect gentleman; the kind of man you might have truly fallen in love with if you were given the chance. And with the way he had smiled at you when you met, he might have been able to fall for you too, but he wasn't given the chance either. Neither of you were given more than a few minutes alone, and a promise that you had a lifetime to properly become acquainted with each other.

The wedding rehearsal was supposed to be the practice, an opportunity for you to settle your nerves and make certain you could stumble your way though your vows without a mistake, but it ended in disaster.

Forgetting your vows was the first sign of trouble; dropping the ring was the second. Knocking over a candle onto the dress of your new mother-in-law was the final straw that broke away any hope of the day going smoothly. Before you could even process your mistake, the room was filled with shrieking as the woman tried to fan away the flames curling across her dress.

Humiliated, you had pushed past your shocked family, ignored the spluttering protests of your new in-laws, and left behind your soon-to-be husband behind.

It was a cowardly move, but you couldn't bear to stay any longer, when everyone was looking at you as if you had already failed as a spouse.

“It shouldn't be that difficult,” You murmur to yourself, pacing across the clearing. “Just a few simple vows...”

The vows themself were easy to memorize, but the moment you tried to voice the words, they would get tangled in your throat.

“With this hand... I...” You stopped walking, clearing your throat and holding your chin up. “With this hand, I will lift your wine—No, that's not right.”

A dejected sigh echoed through the space. There was no one around to see your frustration, but you knew you must make a rather pathetic sight, poorly reciting vows alone in a forest.

“Your wine will never be emp—Ugh, no! That's not right either!”

Between your attempts, you paced across the dirt, footprints sinking into the already soft ground. You needed to be better, you needed to get this right.

A hand fell to a hidden pocket at your side, holding the ring that you had failed to give to your soon-to-be husband. It was a simple silver band, glinting in the moonlight.

If not for your own pride, if not for your family, then you had to pull your act together for your fiance. You knew his stake in the marriage as much as you knew your own, and you knew he couldn't afford to search for a new spouse if you couldn't get it right.

You needed to get it right.

With a deep breath, you tried once more. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.”

A chilling breeze swept through your hair, but you barely noticed it. You took a step forward, eyes locked on a curling root sticking out of the dirt. It almost looked like a hand, reaching out to you. “With this candle... I will light your way into the darkness.”

You knelt down on one knee, stretching out a hand to the root.

“With this ring—” Your hand closed around the root, slipping the ring over the 'finger' of the branch. “I ask you to be mine.”

As soon as the words left your lips, there was a shift in the air. It was subtle at first; the wind began to pick up, and the birds flocking in the trees flew away, as a shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could blink, the root started to move, twisting to wrap itself around your wrist. You cried out, trying desperately to tug your hand out of its grasp, but it held fast. As you looked closer, it appeared less like a root now, and more like a hand, gripping you tightly with gaunt fingers. As you pulled harder, it surfaced fully from the ground, revealing the skeleton of an arm connected at the wrist.

You let out a shriek at the grisly sight. In your panic, you jerked your arm hard enough to cause the skeletal limb to break away with a loud snap, the force of the movement sending you stumbling backwards. With a cry, you shook your wrist to get rid of the now-broken hand, hurling it against a tree.

You watched, frozen in fear, as the patch of dirt where the root—hand? skeleton?—had once stuck out shifted, like there was something pushing it from underneath. Another hand broke the surface, clawing at the ground to try and pull itself up.

The hand was followed by an arm, then a head, then a torso. What emerged was the lumbering figure of a man, his tailored suit in tatters and covered in dirt stains. The tears in his shirt showed an exposed rib-cage, the flesh already deteriorated and leaving his bones on display. Half of his body was skeletal—just like the arm that was now missing from his side—but the parts that still had skin clinging the bones were gray and colourless. The only part that wasn't rotted were the shiny hairclips pinned at the side of his blonde hair, although, they did nothing to disguise how dirty and matted it was.

The creature might have taken the rough shape of a person, but there wasn't a trace of light shining in his eyes. They were glossy and white and lifeless, as if he was nothing more than—

A corpse.

The wind began to howl, filling your ears. In between the noise, a chilling whisper broke through.

“I do.”

Your chest seized, heart pounding in your ears. The corpse's eyes were fixed on your form, his blueish lips pursed slightly. He lumbered towards you, each movement making your skin crawl.

You stumbled backwards, your back hitting the trunk of a tree. The bark dug sharply into the back of your clothes, scratching at your skin. Across the clearing, the corpse was still watching you, eyes lit up with a glint of... curiousity?

He moved forward again, and your breath quickened. You spun on your heel, pushing through the trees and past bushes and branches to run further into the forest. All you could hear was your own fractured breathing and pounding heartbeat.

The wind howled mournfully as you ran, ruffling your already tattered clothes. Behind you, you could sense the corpse slowly growing closer and closer.

You came to a bridge, almost stumbling and falling into the river below. Leaning heavily against the railing, you tried to catch your breath, even as your lungs burned. Your feet were aching, your chest pained, but you couldn't stop.

As you desperately tried to steady your breathing, the moment of pause made you notice how still the night had become. The wind had died down, the birds had dispersed, and the corpse was nowhere to be seen.

You let out a shaky sigh, scanning your surroundings, but your relief was cut short as soon as you turned around.

With a gasp, you found the corpse right in front of you, a dark expression shadowing his face. Up this close, he looked almost pretty, with delicate features and piercing eyes that softened as they fell on you. You could imagine him alive, with a reddish blush in his cheeks instead of the sickly pallour that his skin had taken on; a beautiful young man, instead of a walking corpse.

He reached out, gently placing his ice-cold hands onto your shoulders. With a thin smile, he leaned closer until you could feel his words on your skin.

“You may now kiss the groom.”

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @wystiix, @mikashisus.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

May I request a yandere naga x gn reader, [smut can be optional]

I love monster men! Sorry this took so long

Yandere!Naga x GN!Reader

CW: Death, blood, abduction, short drabble

A virgin sacrifice?

1974

The friend group of incredibly drunk college kids stood near the edge of a forest, headed by Nathan who was wielding a ridiculously goofy dagger he had found in a thrift shop, reading an incantation from equally goofy book.

"Oh Fentoo, deity of the Earth, hear our cries!" Nathan waved his dagger. "Behold, our virgin sacrifice!"

(Reader) snorted. "Who's the virgin?"

Nathan glared down at them from the stump he was standing on. "You are, now shoosh."

"But.. I'm not a virgin?" (Reader) rolled their eyes, exhausted from their friend's antics. "Why not use Gayle; he's a virgin."

The awkward nerd beneath Nathan looked up at his leader with wide eyes. "Please don't sacrifice me, Nathan."

Nathan dropped his arms to his sides, sighing, clearly upset over the amount of times his ritual was being interrupted. "Gayle's a virgin because, well.. look at him, no offense Gayle. But you're.. decent looking? Fentoo will be more likely to come if he thinks you're a virgin, right?"

(Reader) rubbed their eyes, exhausted after the amount of beer they had been chugging all night. "Right, and what happens to me when he finds out that I'm not a virgin?"

"I don't know..? He doesn't eat you?" Nathan shrugged. (Reader) couldn't tell if he truly believed in the nonsense he was spewing, but allowed him to continue regardless, ignoring him in favor for another beer.

Gayle shook, unstable on his feet. "So what do you get if Fentoo accepts the sacrifice- (Reader)?"

"Uh.." Nathan flipped through the worn out book. "Fine metals of the earth, which is his domain."

"Damn, you're going to kill me for some gold?" (Reader) playfully asked in an offended tone.

Nathan opened his mouth in a wide smile, ready to respond, but suddenly fell slack jawed, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

A dark shadow rose behind (Reader), engulfing them in an unnaturally coldness.

"No.. you shall receive nothing, but death."

A voice deep and gravely growled so lowly that it rumbled in the drunk adult's chest and made their knees knock together. Very slowly, (Reader) turned, alcohol failing to give them any liquid courage.

Blocking out the light of the moon, a being emerged from the trees and extended up, rising to his full height. With ink black, scaly skin that elongated beyond his waist, a half human half snake monster that was like a living shadow smiled down at the humans beneath him, the only visible feature being his bright white fangs.

His movements were faster than a lion's, launching past (Reader) and striking the two drunk men before they could run.

(Reader) was powerless as they watched their best friends get ripped apart in from of them, torn open by the monster's bare hands. Blood splattered everywhere, even hitting (Reader's) face with splashes of red.

And they could do nothing.

As he moved under the night sky, the moon now illuminated his body, revealing the blue shine to his scales and skin, the strong features of his mostly human, noseless face, and his long locks of black hair cascading freely down his muscular back. His black eyes appeared to be staring at everything and nothing, unblinking as he murdered two innocent humans.

(Reader) was ready to die. Frozen with fear, their drunken mind accepted their fate. Even after watching the god's jaw unhinge to consume the pieces that used the be their friends, (Reader) was still.

But their death never came.

They watched the monster eat until there was nothing left but blood stains, however, when he turned to (Reader), he was nothing but smiles.

"The debt has been paid." He stated while grabbing the ceremonial dagger off the grass.

(Reader's) face must have conveyed their bafflement, because the creature chuckled before explaining; "The sacrifice has been accepted. Now you shall be rewarded."

Liquid gold poured up through the dirt around the horrified young adult's feet, solidifying as it came into contact with the air.

A single tear cleaned away blood from (Reader's) cheek. "I don't want gold."

His smile grew, revealing the inhuman split in his cheeks. "Oh? And what is it that you want?"

He reached out a cold hand, caressing their stained face.

"Jewels?"

".. no."

"Iron? Copper?"

Each time they nervously shook their head 'no' it seemed to please the deity more.

"Would you perhaps.. wish for a long life? One full of joy, and free from pain?" His voice softened as he rubbed his thumb against their trembling bottom lip. They could see the round of Nathan and Gayle as they moved through his body to be digested.

More cries escaped them. "Yes, please."

As soon as the words left their lips, (Reader) was scooped into the creature's strong arms, cradling them to his chest.

"Good."

He carried his newly claimed partner towards his domain, the land of the immortal.

"I am Fe Ntu. And I'd be honored to give you joy and love, for the rest of eternity."

[nvuy]

palingenesis — il capitano

summary. oh, to the gods, and to be reborn again from your rib.

notes. “nvuy do the corpse bride capitano fic” said about three people so i did it. is this actually corpse bride? no. do i care? also no. my halloween present that only certified freaks are allowed to read. capitano is geniunely not mentioned by his name or his status, so LOWKEY. you could read this as any male lead you want, i guess. but uh… it’s capitano. well. it’s supposed to be.

warnings. mentions of death. mentions of decay (but the khaenri’ah version of decay). capitano is literally a dead man walking. tangents about god and love. standard nvuy fic where everyone is miserable. angst if you squint.

“You used to love me for me, but I don’t even know what I am anymore.” 

There’s a small huff of laughter as you bring your knees to your chest. You wonder how he would react to you after all these years. You surely look different, and rot has set its teeth into your skin, and it morphs into his least favourite colour. 

You wonder briefly, if he would even remember you, was he to ever return. How childish.

You pick up a lone stick in the soil next to you and poke at the withered and abandoned white and yellow orchards surrounding the stone. 

His grave sits idly, silent. 

“I lost myself the day you died,” you admit. Your throat constricts for a moment and you struggle to breathe. “I had no idea what to do.” You lean against the tree stump, as you always do. “I still don’t.” 

His name is etched from many many centuries ago. Not by you, no. You hadn’t even attended the funeral, and to this day, you regretted it. Regret was a terrible ache that never quelled nor strayed too far from your heart. 

The flowers were dead now. You’d laid them here almost a hundred years ago. You hadn’t expected them to live, but the petals were now an ashy black, and the edges that used to be soft and rubbery were now crumbling like paper against your fingers. The petals fell to small pieces. 

The land was withering. Of course, the flowers would rot as well. 

“You’d hate what your home has become,” you tell him. “We’re all rotting. And it all hurts.” You grimace next, but almost playfully. “Everything is blue. You hate blue. You used to tell me it upset you.” You look down at your forearm, and the withering aches upon your skin. “Even I’m turning blue.” It’s more so black than it is blue, but whatever colour it may be, it scars and will never leave. It is your fate, as it is your people’s. 

The forest is quiet. 

His body was buried amongst his favourite orchard field, but those flowers are long gone now, and all that remains is the black and blue prickly grass that you sit in, and a stone with his name left in it. He is somewhere below the ground, his body long decayed and faded and given life to the soil that once grew the most beautiful greenery you’d ever seen. 

Not even that remained. 

“If you were alive, you’d… y’know…” You tilt your head. “You’d rot, too. And for that, I’m grateful you died with glory.” You stare out into the dead fields. “Though, I can’t help but be selfish. I think it would hurt less if you were here.” 

And there it is. 

You hum soundly. “Yeah… you made everything hurt less.” 

There’s a ring in your palm. It’s small, just large enough to slot nicely around the swell of your fourth finger, but the rot has dug into your flesh just enough that it doesn’t fit anymore. Not the way it used to. 

It’s beautiful, however. Silver with white and blue diamonds. He bestowed it to you one night, though it was significantly after his proposal. The proposal itself was… special. Not in a bad way — but in his way. He had been missing for several days after his army had been struck with an ambush. Only a few men had initially returned to seek refuge and aid from the city. 

It was only two months later, after the city had mourned the soldiers’ losses, that they had returned. Bloodied, battered, beaten, but they had returned. 

He’d spotted you that day when he’d ventured out alone to visit his favourite field of flowers. You were sitting amidst the orchards, because this was where he’d usually be. 

And by your wishes, he returned. 

“It’s you,” you heard him whisper. 

You’d never heard a more beautiful sound. 

You turned quickly and dropped the flower from your hands. The colour almost drained from your face before a newfound pleasantry blossomed across your cheeks. You smiled, and it’s the first time you’ve done so in months. “You’re alive.” 

You took a hesitant step forward, as if unsure if his body would crumble to dust the moment you touched him. 

You sobbed pathetically. You held his face, or what remained of it. “You’re here. I thought you–” 

“I am here.” 

You think it silly now, believing he was dead over and over again. Every time he departed he’d come after the expected arrival date, and even then you used to panic and flourish and do everything but accept he was really gone this time. 

And now. 

Now that he is gone, it only took you three-hundred and ninety-four years to accept it. The rest of those you were busy returning to his grave and retelling your day as if he was alive and listening. 

The few people that were left on this side of the city pitied you. Even the grand old Mage had whispered that you’d better off leaving the dead to sleep soundly before he’d left for Snezhnaya. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this, or what occurred afterward. 

You had asked the Mage, once, if necromancy was truly a thing possible. 

“I am sure, even if it was, living dead is worse than living alive,” he had told you one day. “The past is finished.” 

“Is it selfish to think this way?” 

He looked down at you, and there was pity in his glance. “Very.” You eyed the ring still captured around your finger. “But, love is selfish. To want one person for yourself. It is indulgent.” 

“I suppose,” you whispered. “But possession is beautiful.”

And it had been beautiful. 

Just you and him. 

It was hard to adapt. Still is, really. You forget him for days at a time, and then you remember, and then you return. You stop and stare at walls. You glance to where he would be standing if he was around; next to you, at the dinner table, on his side of the bed. You never truly made the bed your very own. It was his, once. 

Just as your heart was — you weren’t able to develop the courage to move onwards with your life, so you were trapped within purgatory; swindled in a void of pure blue, like his eyes. 

Because isn’t being someone’s everything so special? 

Especially someone like him. 

Someone so brave, and courteous, and gentle. 

You never deserved that, really. So it makes sense why he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared in your life. Unfairness. 

You look down at the ring again. 

“You would be mine?” he asked one day, laying beside you in the field. “If I asked?”

You stared up at the sky. “I already am.” 

That pulled a small puff of laughter from him, and he sat up. You followed shortly, facing him. “I have a ring. And a proposition.” 

Oh. You looked down on what he was offering you. 

“It is your burden to oblige, and it is your choice.” You couldn’t see his face clearly through his armour, but there was a flash of that awful treacherous blue he hated so much. “But, if you’ll have me, I will have you. In this life, you and I will be as one, and never apart again.” 

“That is a bold claim to make,” you told him. “There is no guarantee you will not die soon.” 

“To which I rephrase: even when I am gone and you still walk these plains, you will be mine, and I will be yours, and my love for you will blossom through the soil and bloom the flowers that you love so much.” 

You laugh gently. Such a stupid man. 

You want to crush the ring until it welds flat and unwearable. 

Marriage is a privilege to the blessed, and you’re far from it. You receive no watchful eye from the Gods; they don’t care. They killed everyone you ever knew, and loved, and shared this miserable life with. 

The jewel squeaks in its confines as you squeeze. 

Such a stupid ring. 

You breathe in shakily. Stupid, stupid fantasy. Stupid games. Stupid delusions and useless pining and all of this heartache was for nothing and–

How hard do you have to believe in love to love the same person for an eternity? How hard do you have to imagine a world where everything is perfect when what is foretold to be eternal dies with the soul and the flowers in the rot? 

How long do man and Gods have to continue fighting each other before they realise it is futile? Gods are not kind, man even less so. 

Beautiful rot and ruin. 

That’s the world. 

The crows that sing in the trees screech their awful song to mock you. 

So, you drop the ring. You abandon it right where he had abandoned you in the soil. The silver rolls along the stone until it comes to a stop on the cracks. 

And it sits. 

You consider picking it back up. 

You don’t. 

Instead, you stand and turn to leave. 

Fate is fickle, however. 

If you had picked the ring back up, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. 

The breeze hits hard behind you and it sends chills down your spine. 

You glance up. 

The crows are making awful noises again, and you grimace. Though the spindly trees are ugly, you find there’s nothing uglier than the sound of those birds. 

He rather liked them.  

You step away.

Something sharp scratches against your ankle and then twists, and you scream. 

It’s a branch of some sort, and it moves and wriggles like a worm when you free your foot from its grasp. It twitches as if it has not moved in years, as if the bones inside of it were finally coming to life. 

It retreats into the soil beside his grave. 

Then, nothing. 

Nothing moves. 

The crows still and quiet, and you feel as though you can’t find the energy or courage to breathe. Your ankle is covered in soil and scratches, and you’re sure from how weak it stands when you try to apply weight to it that it’s twisted at best and completely sprained at worst. 

The soil does not stir. 

Until it does.

A hand pops a hole through the ground, and it is as still as the branch was, twitching and writhing and feeling through the open air for leverage. 

A hand. A hand like yours—covered in rot and ruin, purple and blue, and the phalanges are swollen with wither and time.

You step back and bite your tongue. A wrist reveals itself next, consistent with blue and bruise, and it reaches until the bloodied terrible fingers squeeze the soil and begin to pull. The hand claws and claws and digs itself from the ground, fingernails dirtied and brown. 

You want to scream. 

Nobody would hear you all the way out here. 

An elbow. It climbs and climbs, revealing more rot and decay. It writhes as if in pain, and you don’t doubt it so. 

You swallow hard. 

A shoulder. Sides of the neck reveal itself through the soil, caked in mud and wear and tear. It’s other arm tears free from the ground. 

And then a face. 

A face unidentifiable and ruined. Sullied with rot and bruise and wear and fade and filth. Two horrific blue lights of sort cast through the pain and the shadow that shrouds its face, and it only prompts you to step back even further. 

To that, the creature leans forward as best it can to try and grab your ankle. It’s waist is stuck in the soil, and it tries to pull itself out, despite how weak it is. 

“It’s you…” the creature whispers. 

You can’t move. You don’t even blink. Your breathing only comes out in short pathetic bursts. 

You’re not sure what it is, but rot has completely disfigured it beyond recognition. It’s sickening to look at. It’s worse than anything you could ever comprehend, and you imagine one day that you will appear the same. 

It manages to free itself from the confines of the soil, though it cannot stand. It hasn’t done so in centuries, nd the feeling of moving limbs are foreign to it, being entrapped below the ground for so long. 

It tries again to reach for you. It’s fingers brush just shy of your foot.  

You swallow hard. “Who…” You feel as though you already know the answer. 

There’s a single eye that you barely recognise. Deep blue like violet satin robes. Darker than the dead blue spruce. Darker than the sky, and lighter than the depths of the ocean where the sun could not reach. 

You know him. 

You bite your tongue. 

Waves of black hair as deep as shadows drown you on both sides until the world has swallowed the two of you whole. 

“I’m yours,” he reminds. “Correct?” He raises the ring you let go of.

It is him. 

You fall to your knees in front of him despite the fear and nausea churning in your stomach. He almost leaps on top of you, but settles in front, hands reaching forward to rest on your legs. He has not felt the warmth of another person, or anything, for five-hundred years, and he only simply freezes at the feeling. 

You furrow your brows and try to control your breathing. You try to push him off to sit up, but he does not budge. 

“You kept my ring.”

Your fingers curl around what remains of his shoulders and he takes your hand. 

“It is you,” you whisper. “How’re you–” 

His old uniform he was buried in is caked in soil, and it’s covered you, as well. He does not bring himself off of the floor, but he leans back just enough to allow you to sit up. You feel you can’t turn to run just yet, and you’re not sure if you want to. 

You can’t steady your breathing. 

He cannot move his legs properly, and so while you freeze, he uses your corpse as leverage to climb further up and rest upon your shoulder. He is heavy, as heavy as a corpse is, but you find comfort in the weight, somewhere. 

“You look so different,” he comments. Rotten fingers come forth to graze the same textured remainders of true flesh across your cheek. “What has this world done to you?” 

“You died,” you say. His lips rest against your cheek and he hums. “I…” 

“I abandoned you.” 

“I grieved over you for five centuries,” you quickly finish. “You were alive this entire time in the ground?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I don’t think so. I feel as though time hasn’t moved at all. But it has.” He looks around, your face still in his hands. “This is the field.” 

You nod briskly. 

“Everything’s dead,” he comments. 

“It has been,” you reply. “For years.” You look elsewhere. “Everyone’s dead.” 

He holds you tight. “I left you in a world like this.” His hair is matted and disgusting, but you reach up and rest a hand on his crown. Guilt presses into his chest like a weight, and he wills himself to ignore it, despite how heavy it is. 

He is a corpse. A corpse. Like you. Like everyone that remains in this place. 

And he scares you. 

Despite how tight he holds you, you fear him. You feel for a moment you are hallucinating; this can’t be real. Your husband cannot spring from the soil and restate his love. Not like this. 

True death was incurable, and he had died many moons before the war in battle. He had sacrificed himself for victory and peace, only for it to end when the Archons set forth and destroyed your home. You still remember them, even if most of them were dead now. That Barbatos and Rex Lapis remained, despite everything, and you wanted them both dead in return. Dead and buried and never to return in the soil. 

“This isn’t real,” you whisper. 

“It is.” 

“No,” you try. “You died. You cannot reverse death.” 

“It is not reversed. I am still dead.” He wants to kiss you, but the fleeting warmth of your skin as you try to pull away and the soil and filth that rests upon his face shies you away with a flinch. “I can be yours again.” His fingers grace over the rot along your face. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

“I proposed that I would never part from you, and you I, even after death.” He holds the ring close to your face before he takes your hand. He rests it against your knuckles, perhaps admiring how the silver still shimmers against your skin. “It was a vow.” 

A vow, he says. Your face scrunches up in frustration. “I never married you.” 

“Marriage or not, the ring was a promise of my word, and you kept it all these years.” 

He takes your fingers gently before he parts them and slots the ring where it belongs. It nestles gently close to your knuckle and you swallow. Your finger felt strange without the piece, and wearing it again after only minutes satiated that discomfort. 

His face is… nothing you remember. 

His eyes are barely the same as they were before, and you turn away when he draws close again with a shaky breath.  

“Are you afraid of me?” He’d asked you that many years ago, many times. 

Even now, you feel the same. “Should I be?” You look out towards the dead fields, and you feel something cold bump against your cheek. 

His nose squishes against your skin when he kisses you close to your ear. “No.” 

It is only then through a gentle whisper and his lips do you muster the courage to look at him. He is so different. 

But, he’s still yours. 

“Are you the same man you were five-hundred years ago?” you ask him. 

He leans in as close as he can and his nose brushes against yours. His fingers lock tight around your hand and he squeezes; the silver ring imprints on your finger. 

He smiles, and you fall in love again. 

“I can be.” 

[akutasoda]

| | "drink my love, keep my blood"

╰ ➜ includes - dracula!argenti

⇢warnings - gn!reader, fluff, kind of angst?, implied to be set in 1890-93, maybe ooc?, small mentions of food/wine, mention of blood, wc - 3.7k

taglist - @mitsvriii, @tragedy-of-commons, @tetrachrxmacy, @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

a/n: my chosen prompt was "dracula"! hehe here's my entry for the stellaronhvnters event <3 had so much fun writing this :) got very carried away...

this was a mistake.

you should've listened to your rationality, now it was too late, now you were stuck dredging through a forest in a storm. the rain was relentless, piercing through the thin layers of clothing you hastily threw on prior to departure. the tiny droplets fell in clumps that felt like tiny blades clawing into you. chills racked through your body - you could even feel the oncoming cold that would haunt your body for ages afterwards, if you even made it back.

when you left, the clouds hung low in the sky and were a warning in themselves for what was forecasted for later. you ignored them however, thinking you could run a final errand before the storm. a grave miscalculation. the dreary clouds blocked out any possible light that could seep through and illuminate your path. not that any light would have been seen, it was most likely night by this time. you didn't have an exact idea but it felt like you'd been out for ages and were confident that the sun had set.

unwanted confidence was held in the idea that the storm was not due to pass anytime soon. the barrage of rain seemed to only worsen by the very minute. your feet were aching, your clothes clung to your frame in a feeble attempt to keep you warm but it only served to bring the moisture closer to your very core, and your eyes drooped low in fatigue - the bag you carried only served to tire you out more but you didn't dare lose it.

the hopeful part of yourself was dying, falling away as quick as the rain fell from the sky. dragging yourself steadily through mud and foliage, you cursed your previous self for deciding to take such a risk. your vision was limited, but a deep rooted part of yourself knew that you were lost. never before had you dared venture this far into the forest bordering your home. you tried turning around and heading back the way you assumed was where you had come from, but that seemed to be a hopeless, last ditch effort thought. now it was getting harder to think straight, the fatigue was overwhelming and the storm filled your vision making everything look the same,

you were convinced this was it. the chances of you surviving the night in such conditions were slim.

very faintly, footfall could be made out in the distance. walking most likely based on the periodic steps. you assumed it was an animal, some poor critter that had been caught up within the storm but you thought that the animal would be moving with more urgency - to shelter from the storm, something you wished you could do about now. now the footsteps were getting closer, heavier, and then it occurred to you. was it a human?

nobody was insane enough to trudge through a forest in a storm. nobody that didn't have good intentions. all of a sudden, the downpour was no longer your biggest concern. it was the potential threat of someone else in the forest with you. with visibility low, movement limited, and fatigue wearing down your limbs, if that person had bad intentions you wouldn't be able to do anything. you couldn't even muster the strength to run and hide. you stared down the direction of the approaching figure and with every step they took, it became more apparent it was in fact a person.

features were blurry. the only thing you could make out was a cloak, one that draped over their face and covered their body entirely. panic was setting in, but you couldn't do anything. the figure seemed to move quicker and with more emergency as they got close - they were definitely heading towards you, intentions still blurry. a part of you was hopeful, maybe they had been sent out to find you, to take you back and save you from the storm. but doubt was more powerful. overshadowing your hope and dreading the worst.

however, all your concerns were rendered useless as the stranger reached out a hand once in your vicinity -

“take my hand, i can lead you to safety, you just have to trust me”

their voice was soothing, a deep rich tone that radiated something akin to high status, but it sounded honeyed, as if they were genuinely concerned for your safety - and you weren't exactly in a position to be picky. either this stranger did as promised and lead you to safety, or put you out of your misery. either way you were out of the storm. so you took their hand.

it was just as warm as their voice. suddenly you became subconscious about the dampness that clung to your skin, but the stranger didn't seem to mind. you allowed your hope to build back up again. they moved fast, like they had the entire forest mapped out in their mind and you tried to keep up with them, stumbling and tripping over your own feet in the process.

a part of you was concerned that you couldn't see where the stranger was leading you. likelihood would be that to get home you'd need their help to get home, otherwise you probably would only get lost in the forest again.

it wasn't too long before that changed. through the barrage of rain, you looked up at the castle ahead. it was a stunning building from what little you could make out - did this stranger really live here?

the answer was soon revealed as they quickly unlocked the two grand wooden doors, heaving one open with a strength you could only wish to have. they hurried you inside before following suit and pushing the door closed yet again. sealing you inside the castle with them.

the inside was no less cold than the outside. atleast it was dry. it was dark inside, occasional candles were scattered around the walls and on a rather ornate chandelier hung up high. your vision adjusted rather quickly to the dim surroundings and soon you were distracted by stunning architecture of the supposedly glum castle.

from what you could make out, velvet golds paired with silvers and golds made up most of the decor and surroundings. an educated guess could be that it was all very well kept. the architecture was very cathedral like, beautiful arches and stained glass windows were a prominent feature.

something that couldn't go unnoticed was the smell. or more accurately the fragrance. it was sweet. a tad but of spice such as cinnamon, but mainly like honey or even apples. but it carried the same honey-like warmth the stranger did, something you could now place as a reminisce of wine. it wasn't strong, but it was prominent enough to leave you wondering.

all your thoughts were quickly shoved to one side as from the corner of your eye you saw the stranger pull down his hood. a waterfall of vermillion fell below their shoulders, long locks that looked very well cared for. the stranger quickly rid himself of the rest of his cloak before turning to you.

“my name is argenti” he explained “may i know yours?”

you were hesitant to do so, but he had just saved you and so you indulged the man. he offered a warm smile before ushering you further into his abode. argenti explained how he saw you on his way home and couldn't possibly leave you to suffer in the storm. thus bringing you back to his to wait out the storm.

admittedly, you were still wary about him but you were exhausted, cold and near ill. what could be the harm in staying here till the storm passed?

argenti soon walked you down a corridor to a spare bedroom. he offered it to you to use for the time being and soon excused himself to find something for you to wear until your clothes could dry properly. the spare bedroom was no less ornate than the rest of the castle had been.

it was definitely much better quality than anything you could hope to have. you set your bag down on the floor, anything inside it was probably ruined by now. your suspicions were proved correct when you opened the bag and practically found a puddle inside.

luckily, you hadn't lost anything too important. the majority of the bags' contents were fruits and such, small things you picked up as winter was drawing near and so they would become scarcer to grab hold of until spring, or even summer for some. a sigh still escaped you as know you had to remember to find those same things that had been destroyed as soon as you got back home.

soon enough your attention was drawn back to the room. the same theme of crimsons, golds and silvers lined each and every corner. cautiously, you took steps around the room, checking out each and every corner. it did feel a bit invasive but argenti had given you this room until the storm passed, naturally you would have a look.

out of all the luxuries in the room, the most intriguing to you was the bed and bedside table - perhaps your fatigue was getting to you.

the candlelight was still dim but you could still perfectly make out most shapes and details. the bed was certainly impressive. a small touch to its pillows and sheets were enough to convince you that he was certainly of a higher class.

but the luxurious bed was soon forgotten when you spotted a small, dark stain on the corner of the pillows. it looked like something had been split, something red. upon closer inspection, you could make out a faint coppery smell from it. you pushed your thoughts to the back of your mind and turned to the bedside table.

upon it rested a rather ornate vase, holding a full bloom of roses.

reaching a hand out you gently felt the petal, they were a nice shade of ruby with a velvety feeling to them. although something else caught your eye, a small dot of something rested upon the petal. upon your touch, it dripped. a thick crimson droplet fell from the petal and hit the table.

before you had the chance to do anything else, you heard a knock.

that same velvety deep voice called out “may i come in?”

you called back, saying he could, and quickly shot up and paced back over to the now open door.

“apologies, but this was all i could find for you-” he trailed off, looking down toward your bag and shooting his empty hand up to cover his lower face, taking a few steps back.

it startled you and you quickly asked if everything was okay with him. argenti quickly regained composure and let out a small, awkward chuckle, “yes, sorry but is that garlic in your bag?”

you knelt down to your bag, and sure enough it was the garlic you purchased earlier “it is, is something the matter?”

“you see i'm quite allergic to it, if i may ask, can you move it elsewhere for the time being?” his response shocked you.

mainly because you didn't want to give your host an allergic reaction, especially after he saved you and so you grabbed it out the bag - argenti winced as you did so before asking “may i request you throw it out the window”

he didn't miss the shocked look on your face and he quickly continued “i can reimburse you the money to buy more later”

you didn't argue with him and only nodded. he quickly set aside the pile he was carrying, one hand still over his lower face, and rushed to open one window with a key he fished out of his pocket. you waited until he stepped back before rushing forward and throwing the garlic.

argenti thanked you with a smile, locking the window and turning back to pick up the pile of clothes again.

he handed over a small pile of clothes, the fabric was nicer than anything you owned and your current attire was drenched, you'd take anything but clearly he didn't want to give you anything subpar. and so argenti quickly left again to give you room to change - as he left he called out that he'd be making dinner for a short while later.

and true to his word, not too long later, argenti knocked on your door again and escorted you down to the lavish dining hall.

you sat across from him. the dining table was large but not large enough to create such a distance where you couldn't hold a conversation with him. argenti claimed to of made the meal himself - and if so, you were very impressed, it smelled divine.

the whole situation had left you famished so, cautiously, you took helpings of the dishes you found appetising. you took a hesitant bite of the food and it was as if the the divine smell translated perfectly into the taste.

you watched as he starred down into his embellished goblet before swirling it around, whatever it was had an odd smell, almost coppery, but you used it as an opportunity to break the silence

“what's that? is it wine?” the hesitancy in your voice was painstakingly obvious.

“wine? no, i have not such a taste for that” he paused, looking back down once more, taking a sip before asking you a question

“is the food alright?”

you feigned a smile and responded “yeah, it's nice”, looking over at his place at the table you couldn't help but notice the lack of plate, or even cutlery before him “aren't you having any?”

he shook his head with a smile “no, but please don't let my lack of appetite disconcert you” making a vague gesture to the spread along the table he continued “it was all prepared for you”

although you found it hard to enjoy the meal now knowing that your host was not indulging in the food he made - admittedly it made you rather subconscious but not eating what was left on your plate seemed worse.

the rest of dinner was silent, save for the storm that constantly battered against the stained glass and the wind that seeped through cracks in stone and howled upon arrival. or the occasional times argenti stood up and left, goblet in hand, and came back with supposedly a full glass. each time the smell of copper grew stronger.

eventually it was over. argenti soon escorted you back to the spare room and bid you goodnight. he also quickly gave you directions to his chamber, should you need something during your stay, but you were sure to forget them soon enough.

looking over at the bed, you became very aware of the exhaustion that was seconds away from making you collapse. and so you decided to turn in for the night. ideally you would've preferred to leave ages ago, but the storm was no less better than it was hours ago. so tonight you would have to sleep in argenti’s castle - you were just lucky he was so accommodating..

yet in spite of this, sleep wasn't coming easy to you. whether it was because of the fact you were staying overnight in a castle owned by someone you barely knew, the storm, or the constant feeling of somebody, or something, watching you. but you did notice something in between your tossing turning-

that smell was back.

that rusty, metallic smell that was present during dinner. except it was stronger. more potent than you would've liked - so much so that it was sickly. it was heavy in the air, overpowering the usual sweet cinnamon fragrance.

at this point you were convinced that everywhere in the castle would have an underlying scent of copper.

the next thing you noticed was the sound of something being dragged, just past the door to your room. to say you were freaked out was an understatement. getting up and checking it out seemed like a horrible idea, so you didn't. or you at least waited until it seemed reasonable that if there was someone, they would've been gone.

however, before you could move, you heard footsteps walk back past your door. toward the entrance hall if you recalled correctly. so you waited until they were faint among the sounds of the storm.

cautiously, you made your way to the door. slowly opening it, praying the wood wouldn't creak, and poking your head out looking left and right. it was dark, you couldn't make out much, maybe it was just the walls battling with the storm.

you had no clue what had come over you, but a sudden burst of confidence made you take a couple cautious steps into the cold hallway. candles were truly useless, they were dim and barely gave off heat but they were all you had to illuminate your way.

your steps were quickly faltered when you stepped on something. a liquid. lowering the candle, a trail of crimson slightly turned orange by the flickering flame was leading all the way past your room. looking to the side, it clearly went deeper down the hallway-

someone was watching you.

you felt the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. slowly, filled with dread, you turned around. and there he was.

argenti was stood at the other end of the hallway, wearing that same cloak from earlier, expect this time you could make out faint marks covering most of it. marks that weren't that different to the ones on the floor.

“what are you doing up?” his voice was gentle, like it was trying to soothe you - something that contradicted his actions as he slowly walked towards your figure that was rooted to the spot.

noticing your lack of answer he kept going “did something wake you?”

he was now within less than a meter from you. that coppery smell clung to him like a blanket and it was overwhelming, it made you want to gag. from this close up you could definitely say that the stains and blotches coating his previously pristine coat, were in fact that same crimson trail below.

shakily, you nodded and he gave you a sympathetic smile “ah apologies, was it the storm? afraid there's not much to do, perhaps trying to sleep again is your only option”

was that? was that what you thought it was?

a part of you was convinced that you had seen something, a fang or two, peeking out when he spoke. no. you were tired. your mind was playing tricks on you, surely argenti wasn't…

“if i may ask politely, please return to your room and try and get some sleep.” he stopped to to urge you to turn around “when the storm passes you have a long trip back”

you mindlessly complied. there was no point in overthinking, if argenti really was going to hurt you he would've done so by now, right? one night. that was all. and at this point you didn't even know what to think. your mind too frazzled, scared, and you too exhausted that you just wanted the storm to pass and go home.

and as you tried to get back to sleep, the only thought that crossed your mind was, is argenti really what you thought he was? was he a vampire? you thought they were fictional, a ghost story, the signs were all there but maybe not…

you woke up after what felt like the worst sleep of your life, despite the fact you probably had slept in the most comfortable bed in your life. you quickly found the pile of your now dry clothes and dressed. you desperately wanted to leave, to not overstay your welcome.

argenti found you quickly after you exited the spare room. he showed you to the front door very quickly after hearing you wanted to leave as soon as possible - he was hoping you'd stay for breakfast but he didn't want to force you.

he opened the heavy wooden door again, and you noticed how he stopped at the door, not crossing into the daylight. he smiled “apologies but there is something i have to tend to, don't fear i have requested someone to escort you back the way we came”

in the sunlight you could now tell that there was some kind of pair of fangs peeking out from behind his lips.

“they should be here soon” argenti glanced away to the forest before looking back at you “i do hope we meet sometime in the future”

that sickly sweet smile made you want to run. now that you were refreshed and not worried about dying in a storm you could clearly see all the signs. it made you uneasy. you really just spent the night in a vampire's castle…

you shook the thoughts away and left, grateful to have the opportunity to return home alive. that was it. you'd never see him again, it was best to forget and move on.

although, you could never shake the idea that someone, something, was watching you. through all your theories and attempts to shake the feeling, you never noticed the light scarlet bat that hung outside your house at night.

it wasn't too long after that night that you walked past a group of kids and one adult. and you could never forget the way your blood froze when you saw the adult gesture to the woods you got lost in and say -

“dracula. a creature of the night, don't tempt your fate out in those woods”

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere priest or religious higher up x witch reader?

Yandere! Priest pt. 2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt.1

In a small, picturesque village nestled amidst towering mountains and lush greenery, there existed a quiet and humble priest. He was revered for his kind heart, unwavering devotion to his faith, and his desire to help others. Yandere! Priest had dedicated his life to serving his community, finding solace in his duties and the tranquility of the church. He could only be described as compassionate and fair with the gentlest heart. He was very well loved by the community around him and highly respected. However, there was a small group of people who hated him and preyed on his downfall. One these people managed to gravely injure him and drag his body far away from civilization to make sure he doesn’t have a chance at living. They wanted a slow and painful death for him.

On the outskirts desolated from the village, was an enchanted forest, that was rumored by the townspeople to be cursed and filled with many horrors. That so-called haunted and enchanted forest held your lovely house which you had been living in for decades. Now the question arises, why exactly were you living in such a dangerous and isolated forest in the first place? Well, an easy explanation to this question was the fact that you were a witch. On that possessed extraordinary magic, to be more specific you were a witch doctor. One who was dedicated to healing and creating new medicinal spells.

Currently, you were outside in that forest collecting herbs when you came across a severely injured person. They had grave injuries all over their body and had a nasty head wound across their skull. Whenever you came across an injured animal you would always heal them immediately in order to ensure their survival. This time it was different because they were human. You had to be extra cautious about using your powers in order to not be exposed as a witch. You start to carefully and swiftly carry them towards your cabin.

By the time that you got home, your patient had already lost a liter of blood. You honestly were not sure if they were even gonna survive the night but you quickly got to work on them. Although it took several hours, you managed to stabilize him with the help of your magic and medical tools. Using a spell to clean up the blood, you decide to retire for the night. The operation was a success but you had to heal him little by little to avoid suspicion. Anyways, he should be up by tomorrow, it’s time to get some well deserved rest.

When morning arrived, Yandere! Priest started to stir from his bed. He was currently in a daze, “Where was he? The last thing he remembered was getting beat up. How did he end up here?” A few minutes later, the door opened to reveal you. “Nice to see you awake. I hope you feel better now.” He looks at you with confusion and you quickly explain the situation and how you found him.

“Ah, I see. I can’t exactly remember who attacked me. Is it alright if I stay here for a while until I get better?” Just like that you earned yourself a new servant. He was extremely respectful towards you but had the tendency to linger extremely close to you while you were out in public looking for supplies. While you worked on your medicine, Yandere! Priest took care of all the household chores and acted like your househusband. He was supposed to be devoted to God and live his life in celibacy but here was little by little falling in love with you. No matter what he did, his mind was filled with just thoughts of you and the need to please your every desire. It wasn’t right but it felt so natural. If God was out there listening and witnessing all the deeds he had done for him in his name, then he wouldn’t mind if he fell in love with you right?

As the days went on, you both were living in complete harmony, that was until one day while shopping in town, someone from Yandere! Priest’s village recognized him. This person ended up being Yandere! Priest’s childhood friend who had a crush on him. She was extremely shocked that he was here and she stalked him all the way back to your house. While there she got jealous, the way that he looked and treated you made her green with envy. All her life she had a crush on him and when she finally had the courage to ask him out, he simply stated that he devoured his life to God. Devoted my ass, what kind of priest looks at a person with such tender love and care? She honestly could not believe this. She loved him so much that if she couldn’t have him, then no one could. Which is why she hired a hitman to kill him and why she was so surprised to see him alive. If only that person she hired wasn’t so incompetent.

After some more days of observation, she discovers a disturbing secret from you. It was the fact that you were a WITCH. She could not believe her eyes as she watched you take out your spell book to make a potion. As she was about to go town to tell everyone about this, she ended up tripping which alerted you that she was there. You quickly realized that she discovered your identity and was about to go tell the townspeople. In a flash you immediately took action and teleported to the other end of the forest and rushed to the town.

There, you immediately screamed, “WITCH, EVERYONE I HAVE DISCOVERED A WITCH.” This immediately caught the attention of everyone around and they all started to ask you questions about their appearance. Yandere! Priest was shopping and heard the sound of your voice. He immediately rushed over to you. After you finish giving the description of the girl, she immediately rushes over to the people and starts accusing you. Which you respond with, “She tells lies! I saw her reading and writing! She must be a witch, burn her at the stake!” Okay, so you knew this was morally wrong but it was either you or her. Thanks to your gaslighting and the brain deadness of the people, everyone took your side. It honestly was not that hard to convince them, they do witch burning of people every week because they had the ability to read.

Right now, you are currently watching a woman burn at the stake while she shouts profanities at you. You honestly could not believe that had worked, well at least your butt was saved. However, the more that Yandere! Priest thought about it, the more it made sense that you might actually be a witch. From your mannerism to your way of life, it was all odd. I mean normal people don’t just live in the middle of some random woods. Wait, no, that couldn’t be, you were something greater. For the remainder of his time he made sure to heavily observe you and anything you did. He kept these thoughts to himself until he fully recovered and was expected to leave your house. That was fine, he was willing to leave but not without you by his side. On this day, he hid your spell book to guarantee that you wouldn’t run away. With that he made his way back to his former village to start making preparations for your arrival.

You were frantically searching for your book. Where was it? You definitely couldn’t have misplaced, right? Just then, you hear a knock on the door and Yandere! Priest steps in. “I’m so grateful to see you again, I could bear being away from you. Even if it had only been two hours.” What? Now you were confused, what was he doing here again and what was he talking about? Seeing the confused look on your face he explains, “I’ve come to take you back with me. You see I am a priest and I now know that I was created in order to worship you.” With that he holds up your spell book. “I know what you are, a divine being greater than God. I’ll spend the rest of my day following your every demand. Come, I have already ordered the other priest to prepare your arrival. Let us worship you. You are the only one that can save us from this wretched world, please indulge us with your presence. We’ll make sure your word is law.”

You had such a look of disbelief written on your face. Holy crap did you just accidentally start up a cult?!?! Fuck.

[websterss]

SEE YOU AT THE MEADOW — GUILDFORD DUDLEY

REQUEST: yeah julie I’m gonna need you to continue writing fics for Guilford cause i’m pretty sure you’re the only one atm. so just a small request (reader is an ethian maid for the dudley’s so her and guilford just grow a bond over the years. she could be a cat and sometimes she’ll shift to lay in his lap to get pats or she’ll walk with him in the morning when he’s a horse to keep him company for a bit. just some good friends to lovers type vibe) I LOVE YOU JULIEEEEEE💗💗💗💗💗💗💗@raggedyoldwitch

WARNING(S): fluff

WORD COUNT: 2,002

PAIRING: Guildford Dudley x Ethian!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You were only a child when Lord Dudley’s second son made his first transformation. The news was short-lived when you and your mother were made aware of Lady Dudley’s death. You hadn’t received much news on the matter but whispers amongst the kitchen maids settled on Guildford being at the cause of it. You were just as grave as he was, especially when all the whole servants were dismissed besides Bertie.

Your mother begged to stay but Lord Dudley was persistent on having you leave them. it wasn’t until you transformed yourself into a cat that he was swayed.

He even thought that if you had so easily controlled when you could shift between forms then perhaps you’d be able to help his son accomplish the same.

You didn’t though…

It was only the beginning of your friendship. A little girl trying to help a boy, who thought he was cursed. His only contrast to his curse was that he fully believed for you to be given a gift. That got him a pebble thrown at his head.

”You cannot hit me. I’m of importance!” Little Guildford protested, rubbing at the spot he was sure to receive a nasty bump.

“Really. I did not know.” You proceed to throw him another rock.

“Stop that!”

“You are not even trying!” You sighed. "It's easy. Look!" You bent at the waist as your body morphed. Your human form no more as a brown and black tabby cat. Your fur is a mixture of colors, brown and black as though someone ran out of paint and used what was left on your animal form. You meowed at him once and sat down as him saying 'see'. A second had only passed when you shifted back.

“I am trying. Am I not!?” He scowled.

He began throwing rocks back at you. Some of them land pretty much in your exact area, others missing you by a long shot. But after a while, he became distracted by a passing squirrel. A pebble hit him straight on causing him to topple over onto the grass. Your eyes widened as you rushed over to him.

”Oh dear…quick what is your name?”

“You fool!”

“Okay, what is my name?”

He shoved you away. The shove causes you to fall on your bottom.

”You little bastard!" You exclaimed, before shoving him back twice as hard. He stumbled and fell back into a rose bush.

You two tumbled around before you were pinned by him. His breathing stilling as he watched your own eyes widen.

Your eyes widened in fright at the position you’d landed yourselves in. It felt like both of you were holding your breath as you watched each other’s expression. He’d never been this close to you before, and he found himself studying the way your eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight.

“Y/n, Guildford, supper is prepared!”

Both your eyes widened at the soft voice of your mother, but by the time you’d both looked around she was nowhere in sight. Guildford looked back down at you, his expression a mixture of nervousness and confusion as he tried to figure out what to do next. His father was expecting him for dinner but he didn’t want to leave you alone here in the forest. He opened his mouth to speak. But for some reason, he just couldn’t find the words.

“I’m…I’m never gonna get this.” He relented, sitting back to allow you up.

You sat up too, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You then looked as he sat down next to you, a look of helplessness on his face.

”…don’t worry.” You told him, noticing how dejected he looked. “We can try again the next day. Night will come again.”

He shook his head. “You repeat it over and over. It’s not working. It hasn’t worked and it will not! It’s an unavailing attempt. It’s no use in getting our hopes up!”

You reached out and lightly hit his arm. “Hey, what sort of defeatist attitude is that? There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, right?” He didn’t answer for a moment before he turned his head away from you. You didn’t notice the blush on his face.

You sigh. You watched him silently for a moment, not wanting to speak and say something that would upset him further. After a moment though you spoke up anyway.

”…you should head inside.” You said quietly. “Your father will have your head if you’re not there soon enough.”

“Let me see you in at least. Your mother will have my head if you’re not there, soon enough.” He offered his arm and you grasped it.

You linked your arm with his and together he slowly began walking you back to your cottage. He tried to ignore the way your hair swayed with each step you took or the way your scent that of the poppies and lilacs in his mother’s garden you worked hard to revive again. But it was a hard task for a young growing boy who’d only just begun to notice these things.

When you reached the entrance, you both halted in your tracks at the sound of a raised voice coming from inside.

“My heavens, look at the lot of you. Filthy!” Your mother scorns you as she reaches forward to pull a leaf out of your hair. “Go…I’ve run you a warm bath already. Then dressed and down for supper.” You let go of Guildford bidding him a bye with a small grin. Then ran up the stairs.

“Guildford…” She eyed then sucked her teeth grabbing hold of his face. “Oh, that girl. Look at you! It will bruise!”

“If it lessens your worries, I got her back!”

”She's supposed to be helping you, not damaging your face.” She shakes her head.

His cheeks burned a deep red in embarrassment as she continued to fret at him. “I’ll be fine…it’s just a bump and a mark.” He mumbled.

She took her hands away, still in a disapproving mood as she crossed her arms. Before a smile cracked at her expression. ”You like her, don’t you?” He looked at her, his expression wide as she began to tease him. ”That’s how it starts. Yes! First, it’s just a bump and a mark, then it’s a broken bone, then you’ll be bedridden!” She then scolded.

"Well then Y/n will join my demise…" He shrunk in on himself.

Your mother laughed at his remark. “I believe she could just be my lord. That girl could be a little nightmare if she tried.” She then ruffled his hair before guiding him towards the stairs. "Go, clean yourself up before the food grows cold."

"I'm not a lord." He called over his shoulder.

"You will be." She chimed shaking her head as she watched him ascend to the second floor.

-

"And when that April with his showers soote-" Guildford had stopped reciting the poem from the book in his hands. His smirk grew as your animal form perched itself on his lap. He reached forward to scratch behind your right ear. "Shall I continue or are you simply here to be a distraction?"

The feline version of you closed its eyes at the sensation of his fingers scratching at the sweet spot behind its ear. You released a little noise that sounded a lot like a purr making it clear that you were enjoying the attention. You then used your front paw to paw at the pages of the book, as if telling him to go on.

"Very well then..." He emits a low chuckle.

Your little furry self settled down in his lap and listened to the dulcet tones of his voice as he continued with the lines.

His reading was like music to your ears. He made the words soar off the page and flutter around the room. You hadn't seen Guildford this calm in ages, not since the death of his mother.

The two of you remain in the library for hours, him continuing to read aloud to the little animal on his lap. But it's not till you release a sneeze that has him stopping, has him anticipating what would come next. He sighs moving the book onto the side table as he sits back. He holds his breath as he sees ripples of black and orange begin to transform your cat-like self. It's not long till you release another sneeze in your human form.

"Bless…" Guildford clears his throat. He keeps his hands and arms on the armsrest.

You get your bearings. Your hair is messy from when you slept on your side in cat form. And of course, you're only in a night dress. You look at Guildford, and he looks back at you.

He attempts to avoid looking at your nightie, but he's only a man, after all.

You palm down your hair, in hopes it doesn't appear untamed.

He watches you do this, his eyes darting over your face and down your body. He knows he should look away, but he can't. Not when you looked like this. It was just like in the forest all those years ago as children, the feeling of nerves and the rapid heartbeat.

"Sleep well?" He reached up caressing some of your locks behind your ear.

You nod your head as if his soft touch has you forgetting how to speak.

He can see the blush on your cheeks and he knows he's the reason why it's there. "You're adorable." He says, almost as if on autopilot.

You roll your eyes as you climb off his lap. "Fool..."

He watches you cross the room before stopping you at the door. Your hand holding onto the handle.

He lets out a sigh, his leg beginning to bounce. “You do know it is very uncouth for you to be wearing that in my presence.”

"It's my nightwear, Guildford. What do you expect me to wear?" You respond, half turning your head to look at him. "Besides, it's not the most inappropriate attire you've worn around me."

His face turns a few shades darker red as his mind drifts to that exact memory. The image of you in his thin white undershirt, with nothing else on…it hadn't been that many years when he convinced you to go with him to a lake. You had shifted into your cat form by accident leaving you rendered embarrassed and well without clothes. He doesn’t want to be having that sort of thought right now. Not when you were standing a little less than an arms-length away from him, in your very night clothes.

"Thought so…" You muse with a chuckle. "Good night Guildford." You bid him goodbye opening the door to make your way out.

He almost lets you walk out. But his mind has other plans. Before he could think better of it he bolts up and pauses at the door. You're only a few feet from the door before his voice catches your attention.

"Where are you going?" He softly chuckles.

"To bed. Some of us sleep before dawn Guildford."

"Care for a stroll through the meadow again…keep me company?" He looked down before he met your bemused gaze again.

"I'll ask Bertie to pack us fresh carrots."

He quirks an eyebrow at your words, but he can see how you consider it. After a moment, you let out a sigh. "I would never miss it." You bid him with that adorable contagious grin and go to your quarters for the evening. "Night, my lord." You were heavy with the emphasis of his title. Guildford let his weight fall against the threshold, knowing he had the morrow to look forward to. 

[slashersdaddy]

Hallo! I absolutely love Your writing! Can you make Another writing about Slasher x S/O that Accidentally Kill The Slasher Victim/Target? But with Jason, Michael, Brahms And Maybe Stu? I'm sorry if it was Too much To Ask. Take your time!

Of course! I love drawing for those guys!!!! I appreciate the support for my writing! Its not too much at all! I went ahead with using GN reader, since you didn't specify what gender, and i like writing GN anyhow! AS USUAL! MDNI: ALSO THERE ARE CLEARLY MENTIONS OF MURDER, ALSO BLOOD AND GORE+ A MAKEOUT SCENE

Authors note at the verrrryy end ;)

Jason Voorhees:

Jason's eyes raked over your blood soaked form, his mind reeling as you stood- over the blood soaked body. Hands shaking as you opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to find your words, but alas; you found nothing. Now dont get him wrong, Jason thought the look of you, soaked in blood was beautiful, but frightening- as this meant he had failed at keeping the victims away from the cabin.

No, failed at knowing where the victims were, and that in of itself was a grave crime. He walked towards you, lowering his blood drenched machete to the floor and pulling you into his broad chest, a low rumble of a hum escaping him. Jason is a man of few words, especially in times of stress, being mostly mute, but his voice- rough with misuse and drowning, came through the air like a soft comfort "I'm so sorry teddy bear, dont worry, your safe now" His tender words soothed you, and you felt yourself relaxing into his embrace, a breath heaving out of your chest that you didn't even realize you had been holding. Tenderly he led you to the small bathroom, running the water while sitting on the edge of the tub, you nestled into his lap as he drew the hot bath.

Soon the tub was full and Jason carefully and methodically removed your clothes, just as you found your words. "I-I'm sorry Jase, i just- they came in and i-" Your shaking voice pierced his cold heart like a sharp blade, his rough fingers stroking your hair, his blue yes finding yours under his mask as he lowered your shaking form into the warm water "Its alright, dont worry" He gently rubbed the blood off your trembling form with a wet rag, his eyes soft and calm as he cleansed your form. You sat in the bath for well over an hour, his silent form just rubbing away all of the blood until the water had turned a deep crimson and run cold.

As you rose from the bath, he wrapped a large towel around you. The towel was large and smelt of the forest and petrichor, mixing with Jason's scent as he carried you to your shared bedroom, laying you tenderly on the bed, pulling the blankets back and wrapping around you as though you were his stuffed animal, his hands tangling in your hair as he scratched your scalp with a contented hum.

Before you fell asleep only one thought crossed your mind- "He's right, I'll be fine, as long as i have him"

Michael Myers

As you watched, in seemingly slow motion as the would be victim lunged at Michael your instincts took over- your hands grasping a nearby butchers knife as you threw your body onto the attacker, driving the knife into his chest. Once, Twice, Three times. Before strong hands pulled you off and Michael's soothing voice broke your haze. "Its over. He's dead dove" The nickname he had called you for so long felt wrong in that moment as you began to shake, dropping the knife to the floor with a loud clatter, your hands flying over your mouth, the warm blood covering you a sickening sensation.

Michaels piercing eyes trailed your body, searching for wounds. He couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips as he saw you, his beautiful dove, drenched in blood and gore- as though you were his very own angel he was corrupting- it was exhilarating.

But alas- he pushed those thoughts aside in favor of hugging you close, his strong arms trapping you in his warmth, the soft thumping of his heart soothing your frayed nerves. Michael took you to the bathroom, guiding your shaken form, his large hand rested on the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. Michael knew he needed to focus on you right now, and not in the way his mind initially went when he saw you- stabbing the man who was meant to be his victim. So he sat on the toilet, running the bath till it was full, holding your body close to his own and kissing your face, to ease your stress, it was a silly thing, since he was really just smooshing your face with his mask, but it made you smile, and to Michael that's all that mattered. Once the water was up to the brim Michael stripped you, the clothes hitting the floor with a wet disgusting squelch as he put you into the water, grabbing his body wash and washing you with it. Normally he didn't like you using his soap, a peculiarity thing he had, but right now, he figured he'd rather you smell like him than like some wimp. so he worked on cleansing your body, hands nimble and soft on your flesh as he tended to you as though you were a frightened lamb.

Soon you found yourself in the living room once more, donned in one of Michaels oversized t-shirts and a pair of your own underwear, curled in the Halloween killers lap atop the couch, resting your head on his chest while you watched 'nightmare before Christmas' an old favorite of yours that Michael rarely sat though, not without busying himself with something else, but tonight, just for his little dove, he would sit with you, and let you hide in him while taking in the comfort of a familiar movie.

Brahms Heelshire

As your weapon of choice- a large metal pipe you had seen laying around made contact with the mans skull your eyes widened- the sickening crunch much louder than you ever thought it could be, the scream of pain cut short as his jaw was mangled, his body slumping to the floor, thrashing as he passed. Your mind reeled, and you found yourself leaned over- puking up what you had eaten earlier, it was sickening- the smell of death- the-the way the blood pooled in the carpet, surly to leave a stain.

The way your mind had rushed with dopamine at the way you smashed his skull. It was all too much, too much for you to bear. You honestly hadn't even felt Brahms arms wrap around your torso, or him pulling you into his chest until you felt the world stop spinning and looked up to see you were in the kitchen, sitting on a chair while he busied himself with making you tea, his head perking up at the sound of you moving and turning to you, his voice cherry as always "You are so so good, you followed the rules so well honeysuckle!"The endearing term brought you back down to reality- right, you HAD to do it, for Brahms, for his safety and so he wouldn't be hurt- it was only normal right? You reasoned with yourself, after all you took care of him, and he shouldn't deal with any more pain than he already had, you nod to yourself as he sets the cup in front of you, the scent overwhelming any lingering scents on you, lavender and chamomile, a calming sweet scent that rose to your nose quickly.

Brahms hands were gentle as he began to massage your tense shoulders, nuzzling into the back of your neck as you slowly rose the cup to your lips, taking a small slow sip of the liquid gold.

The rest of the night was a blur, Brahms leading you to your room, tucking you in and placing his doll beside you on the bed before taking his station near the door, watching you with a small smile as you cuddled into the warm blankets "That's right honeysuckle- your mine forever"

Stu Matcher:

Stu's eyes roamed over your blood soaked form as you tried desperately to tell him you weren't in fact the killer; but your words failed you.

only for Stu to laugh and smile at you shaking his head, walking over the body at your feet to pull you into an embrace, whispering in your ear- voice low and rumbling as he said "Oh I know that sweet thing~ its okay, you were just doing your best to survive, but you dont have to be scared of any big bad killer- ill protect you my little lamb" His voice was like honey- but held a chilling realization for you, the guy you had killed- he wasn't the Ghostface killer; rather your loving boyfriend was. The feeling was like a tidal wave crashing into you, but so soon followed by relief.

Stu wouldnt abandon you; he would stay even with the blood on both your hands nothing changed, you realiized as he crashed his lips against yours in a dominating and affectionate moment.

The kiss was deep and powerful, leaving you breathless as he pulled away, a strand of saliva connecting you for just a moment. snapped as Stu licked his lips "Its okay, now lets get this asshole in the ground yeah?" He asked, his usual playful demeanor coming back, and so you nodded, taking the spare Ghostface mask he held out "And on and on it goes"

AUTHORS NOTE: I ADORED writing this, especially Stu's part; if enough interest is shown (Or the parasites demand ;P) I may make that a whole fic and not a snippet; but that remains to be seen~ Happy spooky month my lovely little freaks!

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Danny is missing Project

Final senior semester Mr. Lancer has his class make a story that is told through any other medium but writing.

Danny, Tucker, Sam and Dash create an unreality/arg YouTube account under Dash’s name.

They start off with Dash recording blog like post of his life as a senior in a small town called amity park (minus all the ghost fights) for a final project.

Then the real project starts with a video titled “going through my freshmen yearbook”

Where he shares fond memories he has with everyone in his class. Until he stops and pauses at the photo of Danny before chuckling awkwardly and mentioning that he doesn’t actually remember this guy and stating that he’ll see if there’s a story he’s not remembering before moving on.

The video’s start taking a turn as he starts updating his confusion on Danny Fenton as he’s been asking around and everyone has adamantly responded that there has never been a kid in that town by that name.

The thing is that Dash has physical proof that Danny grew up with him and the others.

Dash keeps delving deeper and deeper bringing out old keepsakes like old recitals and photographs and places that showed proof of this mysterious Danny.

Eventually he makes a playlist simply titled ‘Danny is missing’.

The longer he post the more he realizes that Danny wasn’t just a person in town but seemingly very important in Dash’s life.

He starts sneakily recording conversations he has with other people when he brings up Danny.

Dash gets more paranoid and starts shutting himself in and focusing all of his energy into finding out who is Danny.

Starts theorizing when Danny went missing.

And of course in the background or darkness of the videos Danny’s doing his thing and fucking with the recording or just being creepy in general.

Eventually the story plays out as so:

Dash and Danny were childhood friends who used to play in forest that connected to the back of their properties.

Eventually they had a falling out due to Danny becoming friends with Tucker, who unlike Dash had both of his parent’s approval to hang out with the local ghost hunter’s kid.

Dash became Danny’s bully through their younger years before they reconciled and became friends again and eventually they fell in love.

Dash’s dad, who Dash thought was just a deadbeat, is a bigot, who eventually found out about the boys and proceeded to brutally beat both of them Bloody.

Danny succumbed to his injuries and Dash’s father was arrested.

It is revealed that Dash has retrograde amnesia due to the incident, all his memories that he has were post incident and everyone in town decided it was best for Dash not to know the real reason he was in the hospital and focus on recovering.

Afterwards, no one knew how to break the news to him so they just kept up the charade, there was never a Danny Fenton, so there was no need for Dash to go through any misplaced guilt or grief for someone he couldn’t even remember.

Everyone got so caught up in the lie that no one really took the time to actually grieve themselves. Going as far as Burring Danny in an unmarked grave under one of the trees in the forest.

The series ends on the implications that closure is important and that sometimes the things you do to protect someone can do more harm than good.

Dash’s character ends the series with his last update where he talks about going to a city near by and checking himself into medical facility for his own well being.

To say that Mr. Lancer was impressed is an understatement.

[runningfrom2am]

moon river // part one

summary: people in lincoln county are dropping dead alongside their livestock, the wells are running dry and children are prompted from their beds to wander unconsciously in the night. billy has been hired as a last resort by the lawmen as a bounty hunter, charged with the task of hunting and killing the witch responsible in exchange for a reward and the clearing of his name. how could he turn that down?

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 7.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: witch!reader x bounty hunter!billy, warning for like,,, witchcraft and stuff i suppose?? mentions of death, minor amounts of gore and animal mutilation. devil worship and other supernatural/biblical tea. also angst. probably.

a/n: impulsive new series dw ab it. i'm thinking this'll be only a few parts but based on how long part one is, i don't think that means much lol. buckle in.

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

The reward had been posted for weeks, and any man who dared to set foot in the woods on the hunt for the witch who had been cursing local crops and killing livestock didn't return at all. Billy was confident, though. He could draw and shoot quicker than anyone, and he had not only been offered the reward, but also the clearing of his name and a clean slate- and damn if that wasn't an impossible offer to turn down. Even if the sheriff was pretty damn desperate in order to seek Billy out unarmed to beg him to go after this witch.

Rifle in hand, he walked for hours hunting for a girl he'd only heard rumours of. Of her pretty hair that fell in enchanting waves and her bright, sparkling eyes that were deceptive in a way that could suck a man in and kill him with nothing more than a quick flick of her wrist. But he'd met plenty of girls like that before. He also heard she was horrid, scary and old and plucked straight from everyone's mother's horror stories passed onto them as children to keep them in their beds at night. In truth, he had no clue what he was walking into.

The forest was quiet today, eerily so, without even the chirping of birds or the wind in the trees to keep him company on the foot journey. Nothing. He wasn't welcome here and something deep inside of him knew it. Walking into a clearing, he gets only the mildest relief as the wind brushes the long grass against his boots and the woods isn't suffocating him any longer. Until the breath is vacuumed straight out of his lungs when he sees the first sign of life in miles.

This girl must be his age, of all the things he heard he didn't truly expect that. It was hard to tell as she was crouched over one of many graves in the open clearing, the sun making her hair glow like it had hand picked that surface to reflect off of. She can't be the witch everyones afraid of. He can even hear her now, the subtle humming of a tune coming from her lips as she laid out flowers from a basket below the shoddy cross. This was just a girl taking care of a forgotten grave, that was all. Despite his better judgement, he wants to believe that.

"Hello?" He calls, tilting his head slightly as he takes a hesitant step closer across the clearing.

You already knew he was there, of course. You could feel the shift in the air when he entered the space a minute or so prior. You turn your head, standing up straight again and brushing off the front of your dress.

"Hello, there." You reply, offering him a small smile as you pick up the basket from your feet. Admittedly, he was the youngest (and handsomest) of the men you assume had come to kill you, but you're surprised the woods had even let him get this close. The forest can see something in him you could not, clearly. Who are you to deny its very will?

The power in your skin thrums like a second heartbeat in your fingertips and against your ribcage, and you bring a hand up to grasp at the crystal hanging around your neck.

He notices the way your hand tightens around the necklace in your fingers almost anxiously, and it makes his own hand subconsciously itch to raise his rifle as he takes another step closer towards you. He swallows, trying his damndest to not show even a flicker of fear behind his eyes. There is none. She's just a girl, he has to convince himself, but you can see it. Feel it in the air around him even as he stands perfectly steady and strong in front of you.

"Who are you?"

A pretty girl, alone in a forest that no-one else dares tread into. It's a curious sight, and it only serves to make him more on edge. No one in their right mind would be in this forest of their own will.

You tilt your head slightly, watching him as he steps closer but making no attempt to move away yourself.

You answer with your name, soft and sweet as honey as you twist the chain around your neck slightly, eyes locked now on the gun in his hands.

"You're..." You pause for a moment to think, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. "Billy. That's your name, right?"

His hand tightens on his rifle. The feeling of being somewhere he was never supposed to have entered made beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck as he felt the air thicken all around them. "How do you know that?"

You hesitate on how to answer. You can't very well tell him that you felt it, that you just knew. That you just knew he was here to kill you. You are far from the most social of girls, but you had to save face.

"You look like a Billy." You smile softly. "And it's a common enough name, is it not? A safe guess."

His eyes narrow slightly as his grip on the rifle relaxes. You were hiding something, that much was blatantly clear just from looking at your face, but still, he couldn't imagine someone like you to be the reason the townsfolk kept their doors locked and children well away come sundown.

"I suppose." He finally says, a hand coming up from his rifle to pull his low brimmed hat off his head- a small show of reluctant respect. Though, he still keeps his distance.

Your smile relaxes a little bit just as the subtle sounds of birds chirping and the wind through the leaves surrounds you again in background noise. "It suits you." You tell him, grabbing the basket handle with both hands now.

A hint of surprise flickers across his face at the odd compliment, but it fades just as quickly as it appeared. He lets out a hum of acknowledgement, watching you carefully. If he was being honest, he didn't want to believe that the woman in front of him was a witch. You are far more delicate than that.

"What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Oh, well, I was passing through and saw all these graves. I couldn't help but feel they were lacking some flowers." You explain, lying easily and glancing down at the ones you had already spent time laying lavenders over, five or six of them still looking fresh, without as much grass regrowing over the dirt just yet. "Lavender helps with sleep, you know. It ensures a peaceful rest."

He takes a moment to look at the surrounding graves, his stomach twisting at the sight of how many there were. Ten, at least. He'd seen graveyards before, many times, but something about the lack of proper head stones and the makeshift crosses that were just wooden sticks shoved in the dirt made this feel so much darker.

He frowns as he turns his eyes back to you. "Aren't you afraid of what people say about this place? That it's cursed or something."

"Cursed?" You ask, brow furrowing slightly as you look back at him with a slightly confused smile. "It isn't cursed. It's just a forest."

You knew as much as he seemed to that what you were saying wasn't true, but "cursed" was definitely not the right word to describe it. Though, if the townspeople were saying it was cursed, well, it made more sense as to why people came in here intent on killing you more and more recently.

He can't help but notice the way your smile tightens ever so slightly at the comment, like it was forced to remain on your lips in an attempt to keep up appearances when in reality you wanted to do anything but. You were nervous.

"It don't take a genius to figure out that no one goes in these woods alone for no good reason. A lot of people get lost in here. A lot of people don't come back." He can't help but look back at the headstones of people who most likely went missing, forever lost to the forest. To you. "And I ain't ever seen you in Lincoln."

The two of you stand in the clearing for another moment, neither of you speaking. Neither of you moving as the world around the two of you seems to hold its breath. He feels himself wanting to reach out and touch you, like he was in a trance of sorts. He wants to know what you're hiding, he wants to know who you are. A large part of him already knows, subconsciously wishing it wasn't true.

He tears his eyes away, shaking his head. He wasn't here to make friends, he was here for the reward- not to start sympathizing.

"Oh," You reply quietly, unsure what to say as you force yourself to keep your eyes on him instead of looking over at the fresh graves. "I... I am sorry to hear that."

He studies you for a moment, trying to decipher your carefully worded reply. He can't tell if you actually feel sorry for those who came here and never made it out alive, or if you're just trying to cover up the fact that you may be connected to it.

"It's a shame, really. A lot of good men have gone missing out here, never to be seen again."

He looks like he's about to ask another question before he notices the way your knuckles start to turn white from gripping the basket so hard.

"Your hands are shaking." The observation is formed more like a question, an accusing tone you pick up on easily.

You look down at your hands, eyes widening a bit before you tuck them behind your back with the basket. "Oh, uh... sorry. I can't control it sometimes." You admit sheepishly.

He watches the way you try and hide your hands out of view, and it only serves to make him more suspicious of you. Why would the thought of him seeing your hands shaking make you so anxious?

He doesn't call you out on it, though. "What do you mean can't control it sometimes? Are you nervous?"

"I-I just... I haven't eaten yet today. And it runs in my family, you know. Shaky hands." You explain, trying not to sound as nervous as you are.

"You're lying." He accuses, watching your reaction carefully.

As he speaks the previous chirping of the birds and the wind in the trees and in the grass halts in an instant, like the forest itself was tensing with you. You knew what that meant. Your gaze flickers from his face down to the gun in his hands and back quickly as you take a small step back. "I- I'm not, honestly." You reply with a slightly nervous laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere again and delay the inevitable. Either he wasn't going to hurt you, or he was the one meant to hurt you. It was a mystery of the universe you were less than eager to discover the outcome of.

His eyes flick over to the surrounding trees as the forest goes quiet, as if it was listening- waiting. He grips the rifle a little tighter when you take a step back, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"You're a very bad liar." He responds, his eyes back on you again. The change in your behaviour doesn't go unnoticed by him, as he slowly starts to lift his rifle to an almost aiming position.

"Don't-" You urge him quickly, your eyes going wide again with more urgency as you hold a hand up to try and stop him. In the same moment he starts to lift his gun, the clouds seem to cover the sun and the beautiful beams of light entering the clearly through the trees is all but gone to gray.

His eyes flick up to the sky as the forest is cast into darkness. He isn't an idiot, he doesn't believe that clouds could move across the sky that quickly- only one other thing could make a place this dark this fast.

"...You did that." He points out with an accusatory tone, his eyes back on you as he adjusts the rifle, aiming the barrel straight at you.

You drop the basket, raising your hands as the still air picks up a somewhat electric buzz to it, the sky darkening further. You didn't know what the forest had done to the other men, but you suspected you were about to find out.

"I-I didn't, I haven't done anything. I swear." You promise him, voice shaking a bit.

He holds the gun steadily as he watches you closely, the way your eyes dart around the clearing as if searching for a way out, the way the air is now thick with something that he can't put his finger on. It's something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up, it's something that feels dangerous. He's always been attuned to it.

"Don't bullshit me." He says, cocking the rifle with a click. His eyes watch you like a hawk, the barrel of the gun now pointed directly between your bright, enchanting irises.

"I know why you're here." You stammer out quickly, slowly moving your hands out to your sides toward the trees on either side of you as the leaves start to rustle more urgently in the wind. "I mean... I don't know why but I know you're here to kill me, right?"

He tenses slightly as you begin to move your hands toward the trees, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger of his rifle. "You have the townsfolk scared shitless. They put a damn price on your head, and word spreads fast." He tilts his head, continuing to watch you intently as the air becomes more and more electric.

"What?" You ask, to him looking genuinely confused as you watch his finger graze over the trigger. "I-I've never even been into town. I've never done anything to them."

The wind picks up then, blowing wickedly through your hair and ruffling the skirts of your dress.

His body tenses at the feeling of the wind blowing so fiercely, the trees beginning to sway with the force of it. The air is thick, almost electric in a way that can't possibly be natural, and he's beginning to realize just what he's gotten himself into.

"You expect me to believe you?" He responds, the barrel of the gun still aimed at your head. He doesn't know why he hasn't fired already, he knows he's staring down the sights of his hunting rifle directly at the witch he was meant to kill. Who has killed six of Lincoln's bravest men and is currently standing over their graves.

When he moves the gun you wince, and the sound of the trees shifting becomes almost more intentional now as you hold your hands up higher at either side of your body. "I-I'll explain... Just... just put down the gun. Please."

"Why should I do that?" He asks, keeping his aim on you despite the trees that now seem so alive all around you- like they were whispering.

"You just have to trust me!" You call out, now that the wind was getting louder and louder, the sky darker as the trees closed in on the two of you, more specifically, the branches reaching for him.

He clocks it quickly; the branches slowly creeping down, the leaves reaching out towards him. It was like they were going to reach out and grab him at any moment, and the idea is making the hair on his arms stand straight up. It wasn't real, he knew better than that.

"How... how are you doing this?" He asks, his eyes flicking back to you, his rifle still raised.

"I'm not!" You shout, hands pushed out on either side of you as you squint against the wind, expression tense as the air pushes in on you from every direction. "I'm trying to stop it, just drop the gun!"

His eyes dart between you and the trees, noticing the way the branches are slowly inching towards him, and how you seem to almost be trying to push them back, your entire body tensing with some unknown effort.

"And if I drop the gun and you try something, huh?" He yells back, his finger still resting against the cool metal of the lightened trigger.

"You'll end up dead either way!" You shout, squeezing your eyes shut now as a couple small roots start to slowly coil around his ankles. "I don't want to bury you! Just drop it!"

He glances down at the roots slowly making their way up his lower legs, and his eyebrows furrow as he tries to comprehend how in the hell something like this is even possible. Finally, he grunts, clicking the safety back on his rifle and dropping it to the dirt. As soon as the weapon is out of his hands, the atmosphere in the clearing changes.

Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the pressure get taken off of you as soon as he drops the gun.

You drop your hands back down to your sides, winded from the exertion of keeping him alive. It seemed to have moved quick, the forest in its efforts to eliminate the threat, but you have to imagine it was much slower than it was when it set its sights on the other men who set foot in here to kill you.

"Are you okay?" You ask, gasping to catch your breath as the roots remain wrapped loosely around his ankles, incase it needed to grab him again quickly. Though, the skies had mostly cleared and the wind had stopped now.

He stands frozen in place for a moment, his breath heavy in his lungs as adrenaline courses through his veins and his heart hammers violently in his chest. "I.... I'm fine I think..." He responds, looking down at the roots still clinging to his ankles. He's at a loss as to how the hell something like that can even happen, even more so how you could make that happen.

He tries to get his legs free from the roots, but they cling to him stubbornly, even when he pulls with his full weight. He huffs in frustration, dropping himself to sit down on the ground. "Are you gonna get those things to let go of me? I dropped the damn gun."

They tighten a bit as he talks to you like that and you watch as more vines slither across the ground and wrap around his rifle, dragging it away while also doing the same with the revolver on his hip.

"I... I can't." You admit quietly, wringing your hands nervously in front of you. "I told you, I'm not doin' it."

His eyes widen as the roots from the ground pull his revolver off of him, and the vines drag his rifle towards some far off tree line. He realizes promptly he's being toyed with- like a mouse to an un-hungry cat.

"The hell do you mean you can't?" He asks frustratedly, his eyes locked on you as you fidget in place. His heart is still pumping faster than it has in years. "Do it!"

"I-I, well-"

You start, ready to try and explain but you don't get very far before he's quickly hoisted up off the ground by his feet, being hung upside down as bullets and coins rain from of his pockets. He curses loudly over your yelp of surprise as the forest tosses him up into the air, leaving him to hang by his ankles nearly twenty feet above the ground. He can feel the blood quickly rushing to his head, leaving him dizzy as the items in his pockets come tumbling out. As he tries to reach for something, he loses his balance and starts to swing back and forth like a pendulum.

You wince in sympathy as you hesitantly reach out toward him before pulling your hand back quickly. "Sorry, sorry..." You say through clenched teeth, a guilty expression on your face.

"Could you... please... get me down?" He asks in a strained voice, trying his hardest to keep what was left in his stomach where it was.

You frown, taking a small, hesitant step closer. "I... I told you, I'm not doin' it." You repeat, glancing down at the small objects that fell from his pockets.

"Do you... always carry that many bullets?"

This is the first time in a forever that he's felt so defenseless, hanging from his feet in some clearly, definitely cursed forest. Still, he tries to ignore the humiliation he feels at being in this position, trying to keep his cool while also trying to keep in his breakfast.

"I like to be prepared." He responds tightly, his eyes staring at the ground as he continues to swing back and forth slowly above you.

"For what..?" You ask, knowing that now probably isn't the time, but you truly are curious. And it's not like he could hurt you at the moment.

He pauses for a second, thinking it over before shrugging awkwardly in his hung up position. "You never know when danger might come knocking." He explains, his eyes continuing to be locked on the grass below him. This was a damn embarrassing position to be in with an audience, especially a pretty one.

"Yeah I... I guess so..." You agree, unsure what to do as the vines circle him further, searching inside his clothes for more weapons, no doubt.

He lets the forest strip him of his weapons in silence, his pride already bruised for the day anyway. He only lets out a small grunt as a particularly sharp branch pokes him in the stomach, searching for anything else that might be hidden.

"If I ask you something, these things aren't gonna try and strangle me or anything, right?" He calls down, gritting his teeth as his blood continues to rush to his head.

You can't help but giggle a little as you look up at him, his arms dangling below his head and his shirt starting to fall a little bit as well.

"I don't think so." You say, tilting your head slightly and squinting against the sun as it comes back with your quiet laughter, surrounding you in more warmth and lighter air.

He watches you as you laugh, watching the way your eyes crinkle and the way your smile spreads across your face. He's starting to realize that he's pretty unfortunately attracted to you, especially with the way the sunlight hits you the way it always seems to. Taunting him, tempting him- you were a gift from the trees he doesn't think he would do very well to try and pluck away from the stem.

He takes a breath, swallowing hard and lifting his hands to try and swat away the vine digging into the waistband of his trousers to get at the dagger he had there. "Why aren't you scared of me?"

You giggle again, lowering your hand as some of the tree branches grow up and out in the perfect spot to shield only your eyes from the sun.

"No offense, but you're not exactly very fear-inducing at the moment." You reply, watching in slight amusement as he dangles from the roots, spinning slowly without an ounce of control over it.

He watches you shield your eyes with the branches, finding himself a little surprised at how the forest seems to bend to your will. Despite that, a small smile appears on his face, his arms crossing in front of his chest. "What're you talking about? I'm terrifying."

You let out another laugh as he tried to cross his arms over his chest, and then the birds are singing again. The roots start to lower him just a little bit at his lighthearted joke and the way it made me smile, and he finally stopped resisting.

"Yeah, I'm quakin' in my boots."

He rolls his eyes as he lets the plants lower him down, still trying not to look completely humiliated. "Very funny, smartass. Mind telling them to lower me the rest of the way?"

The roots quickly jerk him back up again at the comment and your smile drops as you wince again. His lips form into a tight line when the roots yank him back up again, his head spinning as all his blood shoots straight back to his brain. "I can't tell them what to do, unfortunately." You remind him, head still tilted back at a mildly uncomfortable angle to look up at him.

"They seemed to listen to you just a minute ago to give you some shade." He mutters, feeling like an idiot just hanging there.

"I didn't ask for them to do that." You reply, another small smile tugging at your lips that seems to bring the sun back just a bit.

He watches as your lips pull into a smile again, noticing the way the sun seems to come back just a little every time it does. He's starting to get it, even if he was far from a comprehensive or even realistic understanding.

"Oh, so this stuff is just what- a coincidence now?" He asks, gesturing to a nearby tree that had pushed its branches out to act as your own personal umbrella.

You look up at the branches over your head before back at him. "Okay, well, I never said that." You chuckle, standing on your toes and reaching up to one of the leaves, letting a ladybug crawl onto your fingers.

He watches you stand on your toes and reach up, nymph-like in the most graceful of ways- a sight if he's ever seen one. He can't help but notice how the sun seems to break through the trees a little more now, lighting your face and hair up in a way that's almost angelic. He can feel his mouth starting to go dry as he watched you play with the ladybug. "So... you talk to bugs too?"

"What? No." You giggle, letting the bug crawl up your arm and into your hair. They did really seem to like your hair, something you had always picked up on. You didn't like it much, but they never stayed for long. Just explored for a few moments before continuing on their merry way. "It's... it's more complicated than that. More like a feeling. Not with bugs," You explain quickly. "Just like... the space, if that makes sense."

He lets his eyes linger on the small red bug that was currently making a home in your hair, trying to distract himself from the way a few strands of it seemed to fall against the exposed skin of your collarbone.

"I'll be honest... not really." He responds, a small smile on his face, "I'm not much acquainted with stuff like that."

When you look up at him again, smile widening a bit when you see he's smiling too, the roots start to lower him another foot or so again. "That's alright. I don't really get it either." You shrug softly.

He lets out a small huff of laughter as he's lowered down again, finally feeling like he's starting to get used to hanging upside down. "Well, I guess we're two peas in a pod then, huh?" The sun breaks through the trees even further, casting a golden glow on both of you and the plants surrounding you.

You grin up at him and his flushed red face as you step out of the little umbrella and pick up his hat from the ground, dusting it off before starting to gather all his things and setting them inside like it was a bucket.

"So... what did you say was happening in the town? Livestock are dyin'? People gettin' sick?"

He watches you dust off his hat and collect his belongings as you speak, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest that he felt when he saw you handling his stuff like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Yeah..." He responds, his voice sounding a little distracted, "No one's been able to figure out why for months now. They tried blaming it on all sorts of things, but nothing's worked so far... that's why I'm here."

"They think it's me." You comment, nodding slightly, picking up the last of his things before standing up again, looking up at him.

He watches you brush down your dress, his eyes lingering longer than they should on the gentle curve of your waist and how your seemingly soft hand smoothed over the surface. With the sun lighting you up like you were an angel sent from heaven itself? Maybe you were just as dangerous as they said. "Well... are you?"

Your brow furrows slightly and you shake your head, a small frown pulling at your lips. "No... I... Like I said I've never even been to the town. Okay, well, maybe once or twice, but I just like to go to the farmer's market every once in a while. I'd never want to hurt anyone."

He watches you look down sadly, noticing how your expression shifts to the sad one he saw when you were tending the graves not too long ago. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest, realizing his comment had been a little thoughtless.

"Hey, I didn't mean..." He starts, pausing for a moment as the vines slowly let him down even lower, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's not your fault." You reply, watching him get lowered a little bit further. "If everyone believes it, I wouldn't expect you not to."

He's finally almost on the ground now, hanging just about eye level with you. At this point, looking at you from the upside down view makes his head spin a little.

"Yeah, well... I guess I still shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." He responds, watching as a soft breeze blows in through the clearing, messing your hair up for a moment and filling the air with the scent of wildflowers.

Your smile grows a bit at that. "Well, thank you. I appreciate that."

Then the roots are suddenly turning him upright again before he has the chance to even consider what to say, lowering him quickly to the grass and thrusting him forward into you. "Whoa..!" He stumbles forward, suddenly upright again, only to be flung forward at full speed straight into you. He grabs your arms by instinct, trying to keep from knocking you both backwards but failing as both of you land on a soft area of moss. The two of you fall back onto the ground, him landing on top of you with a soft thud. He can feel his heart racing in his chest as he looks down at you below him.

You're shocked at first, getting your bearings quickly though as you look up at him and into his blue eyes. It feels like you're looking straight through him at the beautiful and now clear sky above you, and you can't help but giggle when you've realized what happened. Clearly, the forest didn't see him as a threat to you anymore; stripped bare of his weapons and armed only with an apology for making assumptions.

His heart skips a beat the moment you start to laugh, the sound like music to his ears. He'd never heard a prettier sound than that. His heart hammers against his chest as he looks down at your face, the sunlight streaming through the tree tops to perfectly light up your face, giving you a golden glow. He can feel his mouth going dry again, just like it did earlier. He had never found someone so beautiful before, and for a moment, he's scared he's fallen victim to your rumoured enchantments.

He realizes after a moment how long he's been staring, and how close the two of you are. His face was so close he could see the individual lashes framing your eyes, the freckles spread across your skin, the light flush across your cheeks. His eyes fall to your lips, realizing how soft they looked... and how he badly he would like to taste them... Oh, he must be enchanted somehow.

"Are you quite alright?" You giggle, shifting a little bit, unwilling to outright ask him to get off. "I didn't expect them to throw you like that."

The giggling helps snap him out of it, and he suddenly realizes just how embarrassing the situation looks, and how strange it is that the forest would even do that to begin with. He scrambles to get off of you, sitting beside you on the ground.

"Yeah.. yeah... I'm fine...." He responds sheepishly, a flush on his own face as a few stray pieces of moss stick onto his clothes.

His face was still burning, and he couldn't get the sight of you laughing out of his head. The way your eyes had sparkled, how your hair had been splayed out around you against the grass... he shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He didn't have time to be getting all distracted like this. He glances over to you, noticing how your hair was still messy from the fall, a few blades of grass sticking out of it as a few flowers from the surrounding area are caught in the strands too.

You close your eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he moves off of you, smiling a little to yourself as you feel the sun on your skin. Just for that, it seems to burn a little brighter.

After a few moments you push yourself up so you're sitting as well, your gaze finding him again. "You must really believe me."

He tilts his head slightly, watching you push yourself into a sitting position beside him, your back against the tree and the sun still shining through the branches onto your face. He can feel his heart skip a beat as he stares.

"How do you figure that?" He blinks, trying to snap out of it and trying not to think too hard about how he was starting to feel towards you so quickly.

You nod over to the roots and vines retreating slowly back into the tree line. "They wouldn't have let you down otherwise."

He glances back over to the trees, watching the roots and the vines disappear back into the underbrush. He'd almost forgotten they were there, so distracted by you. A frown tugged at his lips, he should never be this distracted.

"I guess you're right..." He responds.

"You were the first to even get that close." You admit quietly, a thoughtful expression on your face as you glance over at the makeshift crosses and mounds of dirt a few feet away.

He lets out a soft breath of disbelief, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the little burial site, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realizes just how rude he'd been when he first got there. You had been taking care of something really important to you and he had just thrown accusations at you without even knowing you. And for some reason the forest had even allowed him to get that close... there must be a good reason.

Even in these past few minutes of speaking to you, he'd been able to tell that you weren't dangerous, and hell- you were honestly one of the nicest people he'd ever met, and by far the prettiest. Not that that mattered.

He finally looks away from the crosses and focuses back on your face, noticing the grass and the flowers, and he can't help but think that they look kind of cute on you.

"Who are those for? ...If you don't mind me asking."

"The men who came before you, I assume." You tell him, looking down and picking at the grass. "You mentioned that people were hunting me, and no one came back. And I was wondering why bodies kept turning up here..."

A lump lodges in his throat as you confirm what he already knew deep down inside. He swallows hard, trying not to let the realization that he could've been just as dead as them show on his face, but by the look on yours, he knows you can tell what he's thinking anyway.

"You... didn't kill them?" He asks, trying to sound strong, but not quite keeping the trepidation out of his voice.

Your eyes snap up to his and you quickly shake your head. "No! No, I-" You defend quickly, sitting up a bit straighter and pushing yourself back a bit. "I... Like I said, they just turned up here. I come out here often to check on the older ones and lay flowers, I started coming back and there would just be someone laying there dead. I didn't... I just buried them."

His face softens slightly as he sees the panicked expression on your face, how defensive you were at the accusation, how you quickly scooted away from him as if you would run if you had to. He knew you were telling the truth. He curses himself for letting his imagination create the image of you again, standing over a corpse with your hands covered in blood- that thought alone made him somewhat nauseous.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes glued to the little crosses. He could've been there too, no better than carrion for the animals. Of course they were the men who came before him, and he's sure the forest was much less forgiving than just hanging them by their boots and taking their guns.

"Why do you come back here every day?" He finds himself asking.

"I... uh... I don't live far." You explain, glancing back over your shoulder. "And... um... my parents are here. And my brother." You add quietly, fiddling with the crystal around your neck as you look briefly over at some much older graves at the edge of the clearing.

His eyes follow your gaze over to where a group of older, smaller crosses laid on the other side of the clearing, and the realization finally set in that you were here every day to tend the graves of your family.

"You're an orphan...." He says it like a statement instead of a question, not realizing he'd said it out loud until a moment later.

You nod softly in response, leaning back on one of your palms.

"You are too." You reply, tone gentle in the observation.

He freezes, his eyes going wide as you call him out so delicately. The way you say it, it was almost like you had looked inside and had seen him for exactly what he was.

"How'd you know?"

"I can feel it." You tell him, knowing how vague it sounded- but you didn't have any better understanding of it than he did.

He blinks, looking down at the ground as he processes that. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, knowing that somehow, you'd seen straight through every front he put up in seconds."What do you mean by that?"

You shrug slightly. "Exactly what I said. I can just... feel it. Like you can see or hear things, you know? I just... know. It's hard to explain."

He was silent for a few moments as he nodded slowly, still watching the way your fingers fidgeted with the necklace around your neck. He knew something was up with you, with how the forest seemed to welcome him when it made everyone else run. But he was starting to get the feeling he was only just scratching the surface.

He took a moment, looking up again at the simple crosses and mounds of dirt littered around the clearing, the thought that you'd had to bury your family by yourself and continue tending to their graves for who knows how long was making his heart ache in a way he didn't know was so familiar to him until he was faced with it.

"I'm sorry." He finally speaks after a few stiff moments, his voice sounding a bit softer and more tentative than before. "How old were you?"

"Fourteen." You answer quietly, looking over at him again and offering him a weak smile.

A lump forms in his throat as he takes in your answer. You'd taken care of them at only fourteen years old. The realization settled heavily in his stomach like a rock, how impossibly unfair the world was, to be dealing hands just like his out to others. To sweet girls with soft skin and perfect smiles. "Jesus ...." He mutters quietly, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes.

Picturing you as a reflection of himself, nothing more than a child, all alone in the dark forest trying her best to dig a hole for all her loved ones overturning into a vision of the last he had seen of his family. Year after hurtful year, standing over graves and tossing in handfuls of dirt to send them on their way. It made bile rise in his throat.

He looks over at you silently, and his heart aches again. He knows what it feels like to be all alone. You, in the cold, dark woods for so long with no one to look to and him, in the cold and bright lights of being hunted for his actions. You, sitting next to him on the soft forest floor, were his only chance at leaving that behind. Of looking to the future, burying you and the harm you supposedly caused behind him with his wanted posters left to blow inconsequentially in the wind. He wonders how long it had been since you had seen another face other than his in this little graveyard, and he realizes he couldn't stomach carrying your corpse back into town. If the trees would even let him take your body so far without leaving your cold skin covered in the claw marks of it's efforts to keep you here with it, nestled in the safety of its tree cover.

"No one should have to live like this... all alone." He says quietly, the words leaving his mouth before he even realizes it.

You pull at the grass in front of you mindlessly as you shrug. "I'm not alone. Not really." You say quietly.

You look over at him again, studying him for a few moments. "You're a lot more lonely than I am, I think."

He pauses at that, his heart panging in his chest again at the truthfulness of your statement. He knew you were right, he was lonely. No family, no friends. Hell- before today, he's pretty sure no one's ever looked at him the way you are now. With something like kindness. He lets out a rough sigh as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Guess we've got that in common, then."

"I guess so." You agree quietly, giving him a small, slightly sad smile.

You lean over and pick up his hat from the ground next to where you'd both fallen, checking inside that it still held all his pocket change and bullets before holding it out to him.

He stares at the hat in your hands for a moment before looking back up at you, studying the way you sat beside him with your head tilted to the side, the way your dress clung brunched up around your hips and the way your hair fell over your shoulders in messy waves in the afternoon sunlight.

He swallows hard as he reaches out and takes the hat from you, his fingers brushing yours for a second. "Thank you..."

"Of course." You hum, tucking your knees up to your chest and brushing some of the stray grass and moss off of your calves and arms. "Thanks for not killing me."

He lets out a short laugh, setting the hat back onto his head after shoving its contents back into his pockets. "I'm not going to kill you." He says firmly, his eyes following your fingers as you brush off your skirt.

A small smile twitches at your lips as you look over at him, and you feel that familiar pulsing of power in your fingertips and chest, running through your skin again.

You can feel that he means it, and you felt safe before, but even more so now.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for another moment, listening to the sounds of the forest around you, and he feels a sense of peace in this quiet space he'd stumbled into.

There were a hundred different ways he could be spending his afternoon. There were bounties to be collected, townsfolk to cheat at poker, and cards to be dealt and drank to. But instead, he was sitting in the middle of a makeshift graveyard with a lonely, beautiful, witch in the middle of the woods and he'd never been more at peace in his entire life.

"Are you... hungry?" You ask after a minute or so, glancing up at the sky to see whereabouts the sun was. It was likely mid to late afternoon by now, and you still hadn't eaten yet- that hadn't been a lie. You had to get back, but you didn't just want to let him go without making sure he would be able to make it back safely.

He was actually a little surprised that he hadn't thought about it. After all, he'd been walking around in the forest for hours. Now that you mention it, he can feel a hollow emptiness in his gut and a sharp pang of hunger go through his body.

"Yeah.. I could eat." He says, rubbing the back of his neck as he tilts his head up towards sky and squints against the sunlight streaming down.

You push myself up from the soft moss you were sitting on, ignoring the bits of it that clung to your dress and hair for the time being.

"Alright, well, c'mon then." You grin, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you go to collect the basket of drying lavender from the grave you were tending before he interrupted.

His eyes widen a little as he watches you stand up, his eyes lingering a little bit too long on the curve of your hips again. He shakes his head before getting up himself, gathering his things and brushing himself off before following the witch deeper into the forest that would inexplicably kill to keep her.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[itsnexhun]

Rush v.

taglist: @queenmimis, @strawberrymango-l3, @dreams-writings, @ally-to-fic-writers

TW: slight nudity, descriptions of anxiety and abandonment issues, veeery slight NSFW implications

“Seriously? You put up a tent?���

He looks at you as if you are kidding, as if you just told him the most ridiculous tale ever. Maybe your wishful thinking slightly overestimated your situation. You know by now, that he’s recognized your intentions, your childlike curiosity regarding him.

“Why we come here? You think I have time for camping?”

Perhaps you messed up. He doesn’t seem mad, but still visibly annoyed. Were you thinking too much into this? Was this a mistake? 

Were you just digging your own grave by doing this?

His hand went to open the door. Blood rushing to your brain. You panicked. I cannot let him leave, that was the only thought left in your mind. Your body acted on its own, fulfilling your only current wish – even if it meant killing you in process.

You grabbed his arm. He did not turn his face to face you. But you could feel his arm muscles tense up under your grip. He was on high alert. It would have taken him only a millisecond to eliminate you if he had seen you as a threat. You were walking on a thin line.

“Please. Wait! Just this night and after that I’ll drive nonstop till we get to Yorknew. I’ll get you there in time for whatever you need to do! I promise-.” 

“Why?”

His question interrupted your shameless begging. No more words were needed. Just that one word sent your brain spiraling.

Why? Why did you want this?

Was it the innocent and dumb childlike curiosity? Was it your strange attraction to him, the darkness within him? Was it the thrill, the boredom of your mundane life that led you to slowly become attached to the idea of this man?

You truly had no idea.

“Why… I- I don’t know…”

You were confused, stuck in a trance surrounded by your own thoughts. Your hand slowly slipping off his arm, you felt sudden surge of weakness. Head feeling heavy, black dots dancing in your field view. Endless thoughts ceased as the darkness enveloped you whole. Your exhausted body fell in his lap.

The sound of fire cracking fills your ears as you slowly wake up. Struggling to open eyes, you can tell you sobbed slightly, your eyelashes feel glued together. Warmth enveloped your body, you are comfortably laying in the sleeping bag inside the tent. 

It takes you a while to realize how you got here. You passed out in midst of your conversation with Feitan, if it can even be called a conversation. It’s no wonder, you’ve been driving while being under constant stress for days now. It was only a matter of time for you to collapse. 

Judging by the dark outside, you must have slept for quite a while. It takes only a second for you to start to panic. The realization hit you hard, set the blood in your veins ablaze. You felt your heartbeat echo in your ears.

Feitan… Where is he? Did he leave you here?

You stumbled out of the sleeping bag, ran out of the tent. There was no one. Nothing but the fire quietly cracking by your feet, water running in the distance. Trees and dark as far as you could see. No sign of him other than the tent and fire being made. Taking a quick turn, you find your car to be still here. Yet that could mean nothing when it comes to his presence. He was ready to leave you on foot.

“Feitan…?”

Your voice is weak. You are scared.

“Feitan!”

This time you scream into the darkness. But the darkness holds no answer to you. It’s too quiet. It’s all too quiet. You want to cry.

Looking around frantically, you decide to run along the stream of river naively hoping to find him. Crying his name out to the forest as you rushed, looking around at all that was surrounding you. You felt like a lost child. In a sense, you were one. You already lost your way back. While in distress, you lacked any sense of direction.

Tired and out of breath, you fell to your knees. At this point you were bawling your eyes out while struggling to breathe. You were seeing black again. You wanted to scream and cry to the maximum of your lungs’ capacity.

“Boo.”

You scream and tumble forward as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Feeling your heart almost escape your chest, you fall on your back into the small stream. It’s barely to your knees’ length, but enough to submerge your whole body when laying down. The pain echoes in your lower body. You fell on some large stones. The wet clothes stick to your body and weigh you down, you shiver violently.

Looking up above you, you see Feitan snickering at your reaction. He’s missing his top. Pants rolled up to his knees, legs and hands still slightly wet. He’s holding two freshly catched fishes in one hand with his boots tucked under his arm. His other hand is extending to you to help you up.

“I thought you left me,” you say shakily while still sobbing.

“Waited for you to wake up. Sleep too long, went to catch dinner,” he says calmly motioning to show you the fish.

You are not sure if you are seeing things right, but you feel like he does feel a tiny bit bad for scaring you half to death just now.

“Let’s go. No want for you to get sick.”

While saying that last part, he looks away with a small and almost unnoticeable blush on his face. You take his hand as he drags you out of water. The cold air hits you right away, you almost hiss in response. Not getting sick in this state will be hard. His hand in contrary is warm, his body is oozing warmth. You wish you could steal some of his body heath but that would be asking for too much. Though he is the reason you ended up like this in the first place.

You can feel your teeth unwillingly clattering from cold on the way back to your camp. Tightly wrapping your arms around you, the water is still pouring down from you every time you squeeze your clothes. Just simply hearing the sound of firewood cracking lifts your spirits. You squat down to it and get yourself comfortable while still conserving your remaining body heat. 

The fire’s helping but not by a lot. It’s the end of the August, nights are beginning to feel colder and colder as the summer is ending. 

“Take of your clothes.”

His voice disturbs you from your thoughts. You immediately stop shivering from the shock.

“W-what?”

“Your clothes wet. Off.”

You are slowly beginning to understand. You open your mouth to speak but are interrupted.

“Here,” he says as he throws his cloak-like top to your side.

Even though you should remind him that you have a whole suitcase of clothes in your car, you feel like you cannot. This is a pure gesture of his kindness towards you, it was unlike anything he had done for you till now. This didn’t benefit him even a bit, this was simply something he did for only your own benefit. 

You are too cold to tell if you are blushing or not.

“Can you… Maybe turn around,” you say while he is still awkwardly staring at you when you take his clothes into your hands, “please?”

Without words he quickly turns around, goes further away making a distance between the two of you and starts preparing the fish. You feel quite uneasy stripping yourself off clothes in an open area with someone just few meters away from you. The wet clothes are hard to shed, the fabric gets stuck on your naked skin – it’s heavy and hard, burns when you try to force it off. You leave your underwear on even though it’s drenched like the rest of your clothes. After all it feels weird to be completely bare under his clothes in the middle of a forest. Such a bizarre and specific situation. You hope underwear won’t make any wet stains on his clothes – just like clothes with wet swimsuits underneath during summer. 

His clothes are a lot shorter on your body, but it at least covers everything it has to. Though it may look like a shorter dress. It makes you blush. The fabric still holds his warmth. While putting it on, you noticed the seams to be quite messy. Perhaps it was handsewn by him?

“Thank you… It’s okay to turn around now.”

He tensed up, stopped in his actions – he was gutting the fish. Steadily turning around, he tried to hide his slight blush but that small change in his cold behavior didn’t escape you. He stared at you for an awkward while, then got up and put the gutted trouts on fire. You still felt quite cold, you tried hard to hide your shivering to please him. Hugging your knees, you sat by the fire watching the fish sizzle as it burned, trying to warm yourself up. His clothes simply weren’t enough for a cold late August night.

“I’m sorry,” you said weekly, trying to stop yourself from sobbing again.

“What for?”

“I’m sorry for being such a trouble to you. I was just supposed to drive you to Yorknew and now I forced you to go camping with me,” you finished off fully sobbing.

“Ridiculous. I do what I want. If I camping, I want to go camping. Simple.”

You tried hard to hold your sobs, holding the snot in your nose. You hated being consoled like this.

“Now stop crying or I give you real reason to cry,” he said slightly having lost patience over your state. He put the trout off the fire, handing one to you.

“Remember nails? Cry more and I take your tongue,” saying so he flexed his hand, sharp nails coming out like cat claws.

You forcibly smiled and laughed it off disguising your last sobs as laughter. You thought he was joking. But was he really? Only he knew the substantiality of his threats. After all you had no idea who he truly was. 

The fish was bland and a little bit charred, it was only the pure hunger that forced it down your throat. You ate in silence, surrounded only by the sound of fire cracking, water splashing. Yet the atmosphere was light, not tense even a bit. You both felt more comfortable around each other with every second passing. You were sure that if soulmates were real, tied together with a red string, then you two were connected. Tangled in each other, being pulled closer and closer by fate. 

“Go to sleep. Tomorrow you drive, no stops,” he said strictly tossing out the fish bones to the fire. 

Tomorrow might be the last day you get to spend with him. You had a bad feeling that the clock was ticking and you two were to be swiftly separated and returned to each of your lives, different worlds, destined to never cross paths again. No matter how irrational it may have seemed to be sure of something so uncertain such as fate, deep inside you - you knew what was true. 

Without a thought you went to the tent, climbed inside your sleeping bag trying to find rest on the hard stony ground. Then it dawned on you, you still had his clothes. Even though you had a suitcase full off spare clothes you had packed, you were occupying his only bigger piece of clothing, He was still half naked, out in the night and most likely cold. He did not follow you into the tent, there was only one sleeping bag. You felt ashamed to have forgotten that. 

“Hey… Feitan?” you called out to him shyly. 

“Mhm?”

“Are you not cold?”

“A little,” he admits not thinking much of it. He knows, he’s been through worse than a little cold. 

“I can give you your clothes back-.” 

“No,” he interrupts you abruptly, “no want you to get sick.”

You couldn’t believe what you were about to say. 

“I feel a little cold too… So maybe,” you took a deep breath, “maybe you could come over here and lay with me inside the sleeping bag?” 

You practically blurted out the last bit of your sentence. Feeling incredibly embarrassed, you started biting your lower lip nervously. Were you too forward? Was this over the line?

“Seriously?”

“Yes… Please,” you said as your voice was practically trembling, “Feitan…”

His breath hitched the moment he heard you say his name like that. You were begging, you desperately wanted to feel the heat of his skin. To feel that he is real and right next to you, to feel that he isn’t going anywhere tonight. Yes, you were cold, but there was something more way beyond that.

He got up, his movement was slow and ragged like he was trying to control himself - holding back from doing something more to you. Slipping into the tent, his face was firm. Brows deeply furrowed, teeth clenched. You were inviting a beast to lay with you and god help you if he lost control. 

“You trust me? You trust I do nothing to you?” he knelt down to you as he questioned your conviction. Your eyes met, you saw that deep longing, the darkness that entwined it – as deep as a bottomless well. You were not afraid. 

You said nothing in return, you had no idea what to say. Simply moving to the side of the sleeping bag, you created a space for him to fit next to you. Feitan smiled, it was a simple smile – a smile that seemingly meant nothing but also everything at once. He slid into the sleeping bag. It was a tight fit, you were straining just to simply not breach his personal space. The heat radiating off him, the human warmth, felt incredibly alluring to you. So much so, that it pained you to keep your distance. 

Firewood cracking lulled you into sleep. As your consciousness slipped, your body gave up on resisting the magnetism that pulled you two together. You fell into his arms. Feitan did not sleep a bit that night. 

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter VIII

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including graphic violence. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: For those of you who have been saying "wow! I wonder what's going to happen next!"... me too.

Following the last Senju raid, which had nearly decimated the Uchiha village in its entirety, the reconfiguration of the land shifted. The newly appointed clan head, Madara, led your clan up the mountains to higher ground as the Senju more than doubled their already sizeable territory, spreading across the sprawling forests. 

One of many wooded mountains in the range that bisected the Land of Fire, the one that the Uchiha chose to call home was the largest and was appropriately dubbed the “Grandfather Summit,” which boasted three great peaks. The smaller outer two were called the “Guardian Shoulders,” while the peak in the center was simply called the “Crown.” 

You supposed that some ancestors long ago had thought the sizeable structure to be anthropomorphic enough to be a golem or perhaps a god. You could see it, although the shape took on little more than what you thought a child could draw. Madara never believed that the Grandfather Summit looked much like a man at all.

“It is a large pile of stone and nothing more,” he would frown and perhaps cross his arms with a tilt of his head. But his unimpressed notion of the Grandfather Summit didn’t stop him from relocating what was left of his friends and family up the mass of rock following the most destructive blow on the Uchiha tribe in recent history. 

You couldn’t believe that Madara had been able to set his pride aside for such a move. While all the clans in the Land of Fire bordered on nomadic in some way or another, a clan as large as the Uchiha typically opted to stake its claim in a sizeable plot of fertile land. After all, a clan’s ability to keep their territory was a marker of status in and of itself. 

But in the end, Madara moved you away from the patch of forest you had called home for all of your life in pursuit of the Grandfather Summit. You were almost certain the remaining elders were unabashed in sharing their thoughts before they were forced to submit under Madara’s domineering presence. And you knew just as certainly that if the previous clan heads were alive, they would have given him an earful. 

“They are buried so deep, the earth fills their mouths too much for chatter,” Madara would surely say.

He hardly followed rigid tradition, even when it mattered, so you weren’t surprised when protests fell on deaf ears. Madara’s changes were apparent, even from the distance you hid yourself. Only strong young men filled the war room, with no wrinkled brow or shaky joint to be seen. Just like Madara, they were all chosen through combat. 

Madara took his place in the center of the room, stroking his chin gravely as he studied the map. Izuna stood at his side, both wrists folded and resting on the hilt of his sheathed katana. Four stones sat each corner of the table, holding down the corners and pulling the artisanal paper taut as the band of Uchiha warriors took turns gesturing and poking at the depictions drawn below. 

The Uchiha settlement sat between the Crown and the southern shoulder, which offered the most fertile and settleable land. Although despite resting on the lower of the collection of peaks, the southern shoulder still undoubtedly offered the highest ground compared to the land in the surrounding radius. The current positioning of the Uchiha compound was second only to the treacherous northern shoulder and the Crown itself, which reached the clouds in the heavens above. 

It was no wonder the Senju were beginning to close in from the north. 

At least, it made sense to you. You were no military strategist.

“It would be impossible.” One of Madara’s councilmen scoffed. You saw the flippant wave of a hand through the crack between the windowsill and the closed shutters. “Say the Senju manage the northern Guardian. The chances of their warriors taking on the Crown are slim to none in and of itself. There is too much to lose in an attempt to ambush us from the skies.”

“Nay, save such speculative talk, for we are far past speculation.” Another flippant wave. “The Senju have already sunk their claws deep into the northern shoulder. Farther than we could have ever anticipated. Perhaps your words would be true if we had only heard rumors of their traveling north, but it was only a sennight ago that my brother carried a Senju crest back with him from patrols.”

“An ambush from the highest peak of the Grandfather himself?” A third voice scoffed. A shadow teetered back and forth, swiping across your eyes from where you hid, wavering in the candlelight. “What must Hashirama Senju be thinking? He is certainly out of his own head! He thinks himself a god!”

“He thinks himself nothing.” Madara’s voice was low and raspy, churning in his chest like a beastly growl. His nose scrunched to the side, contrasting the nonchalant bob of his brow and shrug of his shoulder. He rested his elbow on his knee, allowing his forehead to rest in the area between his index finger and thumb. Madara took a deep breath, letting another growl-like rumble resound in his chest. “He thinks himself nothing.”

The light from the candles that lit the room flickered, casting shallow shadows across the warriors gathered. They littered the room silently; all turned toward their clan head with watchful eyes.

No one dared speak but Izuna.

He leaned down, bowing at the waist, to speak directly into his brother’s ear. Madara quirked an attentive brow.

The red pattern of your already ignited sharingan swirled in your irises as you watched from your hiding place. Your breathing slowed to steady streams of hot air, and all of your attention focused on Izuna’s lips. 

“It is worth considering that the Senju…” A curtain of hair fell over the side of his face, obscuring your view. He continued to whisper as you tried to track the movements of his mouth from behind strands of hair. 

A chill came over you. Goosebumps began to pop up across your skin. A shiver worked its way down your body in a wave, starting from your shoulders and ending at your thighs. It was only then that you met Madara’s eye.

He peered directly at you, straight through the tiny slit between where the window and the shudders were supposed to meet. Your breath hitched in your throat, everything around you slowing as you felt the hairs on your arms rise. 

And with the slightest breeze, you were whisked away like smoke in the cool summer air. 

***

The meeting didn’t adjourn until late into the night, and it was only when the candles were snuffed out that the soldiers began to head home. The moon shone brightly overhead, appearing more prominent in the sky than it had during any of the previous seasons. Even without lanterns, the entire Uchiha compound remained well-lit. Madara and his forces trickled out of the meeting building’s doors, exchanging formal nods with each other as they set off onto the moonlit paths. 

Madara paused before the wooden steps, eyes focused on the trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Izuna stood on the porch behind him, silently following his brother’s gaze from the trees back to Madara. 

He lingered on the Uchiha clan head for a moment before making his way down the steps. Izuna approached him with certainty, placing a firm hand on Madara’s shoulder. Only through touch did Madara snap out of his trance, blinking a few times as he tried to conceal his acute surprise. Izuna returned his hand to his other in their usual resting place at the hilt of his katana, offering his brother a knowing nod.

Madara wordlessly understood, making his way down the dark path toward home. 

Izuna loitered in the middle of the dirt road. His shoulders relaxed under his robes, and his hands never once left their slack position across his weapon as he watched Madara disappear farther and farther into the distance. 

Only when Madara disappeared over the small dirt hill in the distance did Izuna set his sights on the trees. He peered at the spot where Madara had been fixated on, slowly pivoting himself in the earth to face the patch of dark forest. 

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded. His gentle voice carried a great sternness. 

He stood patiently in the open, ever so sure of himself and not in need to prove it.

You respected a man’s ability to manage his seriousness devoid of aggression. That was likely why you obeyed him, moving out of the shadows to step into the moonlit patch of road not too far of a distance in front of him. 

If it were up to you, Izuna would be clan head.

Not that you had any power to make those decisions in the first place. 

Izuna eyed you with mild incredulousness. You expected no less from him.

“I told you to reveal yourself,” he repeated, voice ever-neutral. You sighed softly, bowing your head as the double before Izuna melted into the atmosphere. Your true body emerged from behind a nearby tree a distance away. Izuna continued to eye you wordlessly.

“I deemed it worth an attempt,” you said, clearing your throat. Izuna didn’t humor you.

“You forget yourself.” 

Quiet overtook the night once again. You dared to venture farther from your hiding spot, stepping through the grass toward the ever-still Izuna. Your limbs protested, your instincts locking your joints like those of a wooden doll. You stopped at the edge of the path, protected by the shallow shadows of the trees and feet still planted in the line of the forest. 

You could see the tension build in his neck. Having already been lost in thought with the Senju affairs, you were sure your woman’s trick hadn’t been the most well-thought-out plan in the face of Izuna’s clear vexation. Quite a few Uchiha women were known to unlock their ocular abilities, but unlike their male counterparts who were expected to partake in battle, the Uchiha women’s sharingan techniques were almost entirely passive. 

Most of them centered on making illusions, for an image of a beautiful, vulnerable woman alone in the woods may distract enemy warriors long enough for a mother to escape with her children. The mother often taught these techniques to the young in her home for similar survival reasons. 

You waited for Izuna to speak again. It was best to wait, as unlike Madara’s explosive, violent fits of predictable rage, Izuna kept his rage artfully, dangerously restrained. Like storm clouds slowly rolling in to cover the sky above, you knew that Izuna’s thunder could crack at any moment.

“I will have no more of your nonsense, and neither will Madara,” Izuna harshly proclaimed. He slowly turned away from you, hands never moving from where they sat on the hilt of his swords. The skin of his nose crinkled a bit as if he were holding back a bitter snarl. “You know not what you involve yourself with. A woman knows nothing of the matters of men, nor should she be as involved as my brother has allowed you to be. If I were clan head, an apprentice would have replaced you as apothecary long ago.” 

You stared at him as he tried to fight off the bitter look that threatened to contort his face. The redness of your sharingan had long extinguished, but you hardly needed the enhancement to study the man before you. 

“There is none more knowledgeable at the present. Makihara was… Makihara was far too liberal in his ideologies. And with the war effort, we cannot afford a lesser medicine maker.” His stoic exterior faltered for a moment with a dip of his lip. Izuna gazed somewhere in the distance, lost in an anger caused by something greater than you. “But above all, Madara wishes not to take more from you than has already been stripped of you by the Senju.”

Izuna drew his attention from the ground to the moonlit sky overhead. A full moon peaked from behind the thin clouds, illuminating the road in a silver sheen. He pivoted a foot as he regarded you, the cracks in his exterior beginning to sink back into his cold exterior. 

“Then, it is not in your control,” The gentle evening breeze carried your level voice. It was soft and undaunted, like an Uchiha woman should be. “Nor is it in mine.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked in an even tone. “I ask myself why you forget yourself so, and why has fate encouraged you?” Izuna gazed up once again at the sky. 

You stood in the darkness, shrouded by the forest.

Izuna stood elevated in the light, blanketed by the glow of the night. 

“An Uchiha, yes,” he continued coldly as if the words he recited were nothing less than factual. “But you boast no living blood. You, a woman— you have no interest in the value of tradition. Instead, you busy yourself with matters that do not concern you.” Izuna’s gaze sharpened but didn’t narrow. “Your heart is easily swayed. Your flesh is soft and bleeds when it is struck. You consider not what is done on your behalf; I implore you to consider it.” 

Izuna’s sword drew from his hip in a flash, and the tip of his katana drove into the ground. The polished metal sunk a few inches before stopping.

He finally breathed. He hadn’t realized that he had begun to heave or that his sword had been pulled from its sheath. Izuna stared at the hilt for a moment; hand still gripped around the woven handle. 

“I advise you to retreat from this place,” he muttered, heaving another deep breath as he removed his weapon and slid it back into its usual place by his hip. Izuna turned once more, squaring his shoulders back as if the mere act of speaking to you angered him to the core. His robes snapped with the motion, flowing in the air as he stormed off, ever-militant. “Our world as we know it thrives on deception, and you are no different. Retreat before your illusion fades like the fog before a flame.”

He stalked off down the path, leaving you where you stood in the darkness. Your form remained shaken but undaunted. 

***

The Uchiha’s most formidable forces were venturing off to defend the northern shoulder. It was the talk of the village from as early as daybreak, and the entire compound bustled with life as everyone made preparations. 

The journey that the warriors were to be making was most perilous. Due to the incline, there was no better way to reach the northern shoulder than to pass around the Crown summit. If Madara were to lead them upward, the warrior party would encounter a few narrow routes that led directly north. If only a few warriors were leaving, the journey might have only taken about a day or so, but with a battalion the size that Madara selected, you anticipated that it would take them a few days to reach the northern shoulder.

Women carried back firewood and prepared provisions. Children ran across the village, delivering messages and small amounts of raw materials. Metal on metal sounded from the forge. The ovens churned the scent of bread products into the air. And just shy of the center of town sat your apothecary.

You propped the door with a large rock and tied the shudders open that morning. Warm natural light trickled into the main chamber, where you stood, slaving over a mortar and pestle at the counter. 

The apothecary didn’t appear too dissimilar to your old workspace. Made of mostly wood, it stood on giant tree trunk supports. Five wooden stairs led up to the entrance, and a small patio housed a few pots of herbs. 

Large cabinets lined the walls, reaching about hip height with sturdy shelving just above to house a tall arrangement of medicinal goods. A half counter bisected the room, separating the entrance lined with goods from the back of the building, which flared out a short distance on either side. Heavier jars and handling tools were stored in this section farther into the apothecary, leaving room on the extended countertops for you to use as a workspace.

In the very back stood a winding wooden staircase. At the top sat a loft with a small library, and at the bottom was a door out the back into the small plot of land you called your medicinal garden. 

Madara’s warpath kept your counters as messy as ever. To your left, you kept trays of various herbs and mixtures laid out, ready for the adolescent soldiers to pack into bags to put into field kits. 

“You should be able to administer the wound ointment.” You frowned, stopping your work to hold up the two halves of your concoction. “First, you are to place the powder—”

“I am aware of the ways in which to administer medicine,” Madara groaned, letting his head tilt back. He rolled it from shoulder to shoulder, gazing off toward the ceiling as if that would make you stop talking. “I have not the time to learn your convoluted experiment. Where are the items I requested from you? Izuna should have notified you.”

Madara leaned over your counter, and you met his gaze. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he was bored, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable. With you behind the counter and Madara imposing himself onto your workspace, it was almost as if you were sixteen again. 

“Some things never change,” you sighed. You turned to grab a small bowl from an eye-level shelf and placed it down on the counter with a huff. Madara caught your eye again, but despite the glimmer of curiosity that continued to swim in his dark irises, you knew better than to test him like you would have just a few years prior. “I insist that we try the deep-wound treatment first. The fibrous characteristics of the vallestinia, in combination with some moisture and the accelerant-type factors of the lamortens grand, can quite plainly sew tissue together with chakra in a matter of moments—”

“Unnecessary.” Madara placed his entire hand into the bowl, scooping up a palmful of pills. He let them slip through his fingers, falling back into the pile as he considered them. “The Senju will not allow us any time to spare to make use of lengthy healing processes.”

“But you wanted me to create these,” you posed, holding your tongue from making more than an implied criticism. 

The last of the pills fell back into the bowl. Madara stared at the small compilation.

“I do not doubt that Hashirama Senju will be present on the northern shoulder,” Madara drawled, pausing between phrases. “The surrounding clans grow weary of battle, and I must admit that I have grown… tired of the state of affairs.”

“You?” you hummed an amused laugh behind tight lips. “The grand Madara fatigued of battle?” 

“Fatigued from the act of burial,” he swiftly corrected. The corners of his lips twitched upward for only a moment. “Fatigued from my home being disturbed.” His words drifted off into a growl, a soft, bored rumbling in his chest. Madara often let his voice stall in his throat, the noises turning over as they churned into a low rumble. 

“This is why I implore you to bring my latest ointment. There are but a few of them—”

“The Senju do not climb upon the Grandfather Summit to entertain prisoners. Should a warrior of the Uchiha sustain a fatal blow, he should take it upon himself to give his life in a suicide attack. It should be an honor for the final act of a soldier to be making his enemy pay.” He rose to his full height from his leaning position, glancing from the trays of herbs to the pile of pills on the counter. “Are these all you have crafted?”

“There are several more jars in storage. The herbs consist of a standard selection for minor wounds… for the journey home, of course.”

“Very good.” Madara nodded, not sparing you a second glance as he exited.

You wouldn’t see him again until the battalion departed. After a few short days of preparation, the gathering of some of Uchiha’s best warriors and other volunteers left before daybreak. You watched them go from the porch of your apothecary. Madara led them out of the compound, donning his infamous red battle armor and gunbai. Izuna followed close next to his brother. He didn’t look back at you either. 

There was much fanfare, but it was soon over, and the Uchiha compound was left in peaceful stillness.

You busied yourself with foraging in the woods near the compound, enjoying the time you were left undisturbed. The doors and windows to your apothecary remained open so you could enjoy the cool summer air. Despite the sun, which shone brightly overhead, the temperature remained comfortable.

Something about the stillness didn’t feel right.

***

The Uchiha never made it to the northern shoulder.

The Senju made their approach toward the Crown, and both clans clashed on the rocky terrain that plateaued between the two summits as you tended to your garden at home. Madara and Hashirama engaged in combat, as they had for years, clearing out a massive section of the battlefield for their duel. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on the unforgiving field, leaving little but hot stone and wilted grass. 

Not a far distance away, Tobirama’s sword clashed with Izuna’s. Their weapons crossed, shaking with the sheer force of their strikes as the two came face to face. Izuna flashed his sharingan, the deadly crimson pattern swirling to life in the heat of battle. Tobirama quickly closed his eyes, and Izuna used the opportunity to strike.

Tobirama tumbled back, slamming his back against a nearby boulder. A strangled noise tore from his throat at the impact. He wasted little time readying his hand signs, completing his jutsu before his eyes reopened in time to counter Izuna’s great fireball jutsu. 

Steam filled the battlefield.

Not one to underestimate his life-long rival, Izuna held the reds of his irises at the ready, scanning the rock for signs of movement. Kunai flew toward him from the front. He hummed to himself, unamused at the feeble attempt. 

And for a moment, he considered himself blessed to have been blessed with the sharingan eye.

“Flying Raijin Slice!”

At home, one of your flower pots fell from the railing on the apothecary patio. The sound of shattering clay startled a flock of crows, which flew overhead from a gathering of nearby trees. You stood just at the top of the wooden steps, staring down at the pile of shards, dirt, and upheaved roots. 

You could feel it.

Something was terribly wrong.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: The last chapter, this one, and perhaps part of the next are a bit Uchiha-centric in order to set up for what I have planned. You know, I didn't even intend for Madara to have this much of an impact on the story nor did I even consider writing any Izuna, but here we are... I knew I had to kill him before I posted this.

Sorry for keeping everyone waiting. It's been really cool seeing the Foul Creature notifications roll in all the time. Especially when it's someone starting from Chapter 1. Always feel free to chat; I know my posts are few and far between.

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

[taraljc]

One of the things I love is that we still actually have so much of Agatha's story that we don't know.

Why did she acquire the Darkhold? Was it really to hide from Rio? was she corrupted by the Darkhold the same way Wanda was? If not why not?

When did she and Rio start fighting to the point where Rio went from wanting her back to wanting her horizontal in a grave?

It's not just about how did they meet and fall in love. I am way more interested in how they fell out of love. Was it by inches or was it all at once? Was it specifically Agatha running away from their idyllic little cottage deep in the heart of a primordial forest while she was in active labour because Rio told her Nicky would be stillborn? or was he born premature?

Agatha left in literally nothing but her shift and her cloak and the pin. She left everything else behind. okay apparently she also took a lemon and an eating knife with her which okay fine sure whatever. But why run with nothing but the clothes on your back? what are you running from and what are you running to?

There's still so much story there. there's still so much story to come. Agatha has only just entered her ghost era. She reincorporates and dies and reincorporates again a whole bunch of times in the comics so as far as I'm concerned this is just the beginning.

It was her origin story for the ghostly mentor the Maximoff witches have always needed.

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER EIGHT - campfire stories

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

By the time Ghost finds solid shelter, it's snowing.

You're in and out of consciousness the whole time he's walking, your mind fuzzy to the point where you're not sure how far Ghost treks from the lake you fell into.  His breathing, steady footsteps, and the feeling of his heartbeat thudding underneath where your freezing hands clutch around his thermal jacket help ease the cold, stubborn hold of panic on your mind.  Price checks in on you both occasionally as well, sounding frazzled as he rants to Ghost about the shitshow that was everything that's happened through the comms.  With the adrenaline gone, you're exhausted and freezing, and it feels like your heartbeat is pounding in your head as you drift in and out of sleep.

But he does find somewhere safe eventually; setting up a small camp under a small ridge in the forest to ensure you both won't be spotted by the helicopters and planes that buzz above.  You think, maybe, he doesn't realize he's doing it, but Ghost says the name of each aircraft that passes under his breath.  He does it enough that you're able to identify some of them on your own by the volume of the buzzing in the distance.

“Graves likes his F-16s,” you mutter after one passes overhead, and you smile smugly as he pauses in cleaning your head wound.  He huffs a breath, shaking his head at your antics.

“Smart kid.”

He gathers enough firewood around the area to last you the night and sets out his mask to dry whenever the fire's started; and it's then you notice the trail of blood that speckles the snow with his uneven footsteps.

"You're bleeding," you say, your voice still quiet and unsteady as he curses and fiddles with his lighter that doesn't seem to want to light.  

"S'fine," he breathes.  His hair is starting to freeze to his forehead—and the eye black on his face is smudged to hell across his crooked nose and on the gloves of his hands.  He covers the lighter with his hand to block the breeze that carries snow into your shelter.  "Just a graze.  It can wait."

Still, his lighter doesn't light.

Slowly, you shift your pack off of your shoulders.  You dig around inside it until your hands come into contact with cold metal, and you take it out.  

"Here," you flick your dad's lighter to show him it works, emitting yellow light that spans across your face before you shut it again and offer it to him.  "This one works."

He grunts his appreciation before taking the lighter.  Then, his brow furrows.  He doesn't immediately reach to light the fire, suddenly interested by the small device in his hand.  You watch as he turns it over.  He studies what's scratched into the bottom as something flickers in his eyes—confusion, maybe.  When he looks up at you again, you can't read his expression.

"Mutt," he says, slowly.  He holds the lighter up.  "Where'd you get this?"

Your brow pinches at his almost accusatory tone. 

"Dad had it," you tell him.  "Why?"

His eyes flicker back down to the piece of metal.  He flicks it open and presses the small flame to the tent of sticks and evergreen needles.  He doesn't answer, not right away, and it's impossible to tell what he's thinking as he successfully lights the fire before flicking the cap shut and sliding it into his pocket.  He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Your mouth opens to protest, but it shuts again as a small realization crosses your mind.  Your eyes widen as you come to the only conclusion you can even fathom—and even still, it's hard to believe.

"It's your's," you say slowly, searching his expression for any hint of emotion other than practiced indifference.  "Isn't it?"

He grunts, finally settling to sit.  He lifts his leg to inspect the bloody rip in his tactical pants, "It was.”

“So you're Riley?"

"I'm Ghost."

"That doesn't answer my question."

“Then Riley's dead," he deadpans.  "You happy?"

“No.  Far from it.  Why does my dad have his lighter?  Did he steal it?  Or—holy shit—" Your eyebrows raise at the realization.  "Is Riley my mom?"

He huffs, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Because nobody gives me answers,” you retort quickly.

A stare down commences.  Ghost’s eyes narrow at you, but he doesn’t have a response.  Then, he just shakes his head and continues his work.  He pulls his pant leg up and takes a knife from his belt, testing the grip in his hand.

“Turn around.  Go to sleep,” he tells you.  He grabs his mask from the side of the fire and slides it back on, causing his voice to be more muffled when he speaks.  “Gotta take the bullet out and I don’t want you watching.  You've seen enough today as is."

You're about to argue, but you fall short.  Your head hurts too bad to think of a proper response.  A huff leaves you before you roll over—pulling the thick S.A.S. coat he had lent you further over your shoulders.  It's still damp, but it's enough to quell your incessant shivering for the time being.

It's silent aside for the crackle of the fire and the sounds of Ghost performing impromptu surgery on his own leg.  Another surge of contempt fills you whenever he doesn't make so much as a grunt.  You envy his pain tolerance.  

You also can't sleep. 

It feels like all the mental progress you made recovering after the other week has been shattered and stomped on.  At this point, you're unsure if your shivering is due to the cold or not, because you can't help but flinch every time another aircraft flies overhead or when the fire makes a particularly loud pop.  Every time you drift off it's like you're falling through the air again, and you flinch awake.

It's the sound of Ghost cocking his gun after he's stitched himself up that does you in.

You jump upright, your breath gasping as you scan the area for danger.  Your eyes land on nothing except Ghost sitting at the other end of your shelter with his gun in hand, and you let out a breath.

"Fucking…don't do that again," you hate the way your voice cracks as you speak.  You roll over, facing the wall again.  This time, you're sure you're shaking from anxiety rather than the cold.

You feel his eyes on you, as you lay there; studying you.  You count the seconds, waiting for him to grunt and move outside to keep watch.  Outside, the breeze howls against the overhang, bringing powdery snow with it that stirs your blanket.  The fire cracks and you desperately want to turn over to warm your hands and your face; but you don’t.

Then, he sighs.  "Fuckin' hell…"

You hear him shift.  Suddenly, he's near you—sitting by your feet with his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the fire.  There's a bloody bandage around his leg, now, and his gloves are gone, leaving his hands stained with his own blood.  He scratches at the back of his neck as a few moments of silence pass and he seems to be hesitant about something.

Then, after a handful of minutes, he speaks.

“I was there,” he admits. “In Mexico.”

Your eyes open, but you don't look at him.

"He was already there when I showed up.  At that…cartel base.  Got the shit beat out of us together, you know."  He huffs a breath like he might almost be nostalgic for it.  "Hard to forget the man who was forced to bury you."

The fire crackles to your right and you clutch the jacket over your shoulders a little tighter.

"I don't know how much Price told you, but…he had this journal with 'em.  Would always talk about some kid.  Kept 'em going, I think.  Could go longer without beggin' for mercy like the rest of us…and it gave him the courage to try and escape, too."

Another pause.  The wind whistles over the overhang.  When he speaks next, his tone is grave.  Solemn.

"He set that place ablaze with the lighter I lent 'em," Ghost says.  "But he got stuck, told me to run.  I almost didn't…but he told me he wanted someone he trusted alive to keep an eye out for you.  Told me to look for you if he disappeared one day."

You let his words hang in the air for a second.  You don't realize you've been crying until your voice wavers when you speak.

"He didn't die that day," you mutter.

"He didn't," Ghost nods in agreement, his gaze still locked on the fire.  "And when he did go down, here in Russia, and Price came to me with this mission—I figured this was the perfect opportunity to return the favor for saving my life n' all.  'Tried to convince Price to keep you out of this, made him promise you wouldn't end up dead, but…'guess I should've tried a little harder, eh?"

Suddenly, Price's words from earlier that day make sense—and you rethink every interaction you've had with Ghost up until this point.  His subtle avoidance, his hesitancy when you first met, sparring in the training room…the irony of it all.  The first person you've met so far that knew your dad personally—and the only one you were scared shitless of.

You sniff and wipe at your face.

"You guys are the closest thing to answers I've gotten since he left," you say, meeting his gaze.  "So no, I'm glad I met you.  I'm glad I stayed.  Even if you are all assholes."

A moment passes where you both just look at each other.  He's even harder to read under his mask, and you think he's about to say something before Soap's voice cuts through the comms.

"L.t."

You sit up, holding your breath.  Ghost places his hand on the button to speak immediately,  "Soap."

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

A head with a mohawk pokes itself around the side of the cave, smiling as he continues to talk into the comms, “You’re favorite boy.”

Relief hits your body so hard you physically sigh, letting your head fall forwards into your hands at the thought of being saved.  Your previous conversation forgotten, Ghost chuckles, shaking his head before he stands to his feet.  “Took you long enough.”

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @karurururu @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @nostalgialeech @scuftryo @0alk0msan @synthe4u @stunkbiggu @bebobeboben @enfppixie @lyd14k4y @tlkonthestr33t @raye2000 @shinchanboi @orkwardx0