#there was supposed to be blood in this piece but that got scrapped in favor of fire

[vermwerm]

guys i think my chicken is burnt

[dxwnxdusk]

@siixkiing​

A loud crash, something fragile shatters against the forest ground, the sword remains in pieces. Nothing much of value besides being the newest thing he’s broken. The shadows flicker violently as the sounds of a low growl followed by a snarl increase. A tail flicks sharply before he shadow steps, the amount of smoke that's risen and it’s all from him alone. Powerless, because he can’t afford to fight back against the demon that’s chosen him as prey. Fitting he supposes, even though he never really got into scraps anymore. As soon as his own powers had fled in favor of trying to gather more strength to keep his struggling body alive? As he continued to defy death through his magic alone. Now he had to use it and it left him feeling hollow. There’s almost nothing left for his glamors. He’s been running through this damned place for too long. Until finally he gets close enough to the flaming mountains and takes the leap. The flickers of unbearable heat. Something slams into him and before he could even get close to the ocean-

It’s electricity, he feels like the saliva in his mouth bubbles like foam from the charge as the flaring burning sensation travels across his fur, his very flesh as his spine arches. It burns, like molten hellfire creeping slowly across the simian’s skin. the energy is seizing. It’s burning right through his trembling frame and expanding in range, blood dripping from the empty socket of where his eye had once been, claws rake the ground below him, segments of dirt getting underneath his nails as he tries to pull himself away. The choked inhale as the demon’s own claws digs into his flesh, tearing into himself as he writhes, choking on his own blood because he’s burning. God he’s burning, someone make it stop. He didn’t want this, he didn’t WANT THIS! He doesn’t want to die, he’s dying again, he’s losing everything. He doesn’t know what possesses the shriek, what damned right he thought he could do this anymore. But as the scent of death lingers in the air and he can register his arm now in the grasp of jaws. “...ko...” A snap and the name rips from his mouth in a broken cry. Desperation that anytime he’d have outright denied. In this instance? All he had left?

“WUKONG!!”

God’s help him! He can’t fight back. His body is dragged through molten dirt and across burning embers. The pain is inhumane even for him. Memories claw at the edges of his vision. A pressure building on the side of his face as the ground begins to crack. He hadn’t- He couldn’t. The glamors fade away and he screams because the aura of the demon above him crackles and pops in response. The way the carnage on him stops as his cloak is in tatters, segments of armor melted to cloth as he’s lifted back up. The motion only brings pitiful noises from his trembling lips. The promise of salvation lies just on that golden shimmering hope in the distance, even as his vision flickers with pure black. It’s just like back then, anytime a demon learned his darkest secret they paused as if considering. There was no mercy in these games. A demon would take what it wanted, power, greed...The way those auric hues gaze at him as the jaws of this behemoth monstrosity begin to open again. His frame is lifted above it’s open jaw and a realization dawns on him that terrifies him to his core. If he had any strength left to him, any power that wasn’t working overtime in keeping him alive? He’d have writhed, he’d have lashed out with all he had. He was going to be eaten alive. What a horrid way to go. Even as the burning white pain registers in his eye, something wet dripping down his face alongside the ounces of blood? Of course. Any sensible being would cry at seeing their inevitable demise. He chokes on his own blood, on the crisp air when he’s released and time seems to slow. He can see it again, he’s going to die here. He was going to die again.

[mhevarujta]

Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

  “Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

 Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them. 

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba​ I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

[tsarbomba567]

The Old Guard

TW: Death, Blood

Death is an inevitability. All things must come to an end, whether it be a living organism or a car that has driven its last mile before breaking down for good. That's how the cycle of life works: Things break down and decay to benefit the next generation. A dead organism will decay and provide nutrients for the soul underneath, while a car can be scrapped for its parts, which can then be used in new man/serpent-made products. This is how the world is supposed to work. But every now and again, there are instances that defy this cycle, going against all rational explanations and established scientific theories. Some might say it's blasphemous, others luck, but there are those who call it by its true name -

"Can we please settle down and camp for the night?! I'm very fucking tired," the Pyro Viper cried.

...Magic.

The leader of the band of Pyro Vipers turned to face the tired soldiers. "Fine, we'll stop here," they signaled, pointing to the nearby cave, "Let's set up camp there." The Pyro Vipers breathed a collective sigh of relief: They've been traveling for several days, walking for 16 hours at a time. They proceeded into the cave, and started to set up camp, the sun sinking into the horizon. As the group got settled for the night, the commander was taking a headcount of their forces. One hundred soldiers, of which 25 are regular guards, 25 Pyro Destroyers, 25 Pyro Slayers, and 25 Pyro Whippers, they noted, looks like the old guard is still intact. As they prepared to get some shuteye, a Pyro Viper nervously came up to them. "Um, Elizabeth," the soldier asked, "I know that you hate Aspheera with all your heart. But why do we have to travel all this way if we could have just taken her head on?" The female Pyro Viper stared into the soldier's eyes, seeing the curious fire burning inside. "The reason is simple: Aspheera revived them, so they'll blindly follow her every command," she explained, "If we attempted to attack her, we would be outnumbered and torn to pieces, not to mention that that bitch has both magic and Spinjitzu." Elizabeth paused, taking several deep breaths - exhaling embers - before continuing: "They'll believe her when she says that Wu is the Deceiver, but should they dig deeper into that claim, they'll find that Aspheera - not Wu - is the True Deceiver. She wrote history in her favor and now all the Serpentine believe her vile lies as the truth. That's why I wanted to get as far away from that witch as possible."

The intrigued soldier listened on, before asking her another question: "How did you die? I mean, you didn't die of old age or in combat, from what I can see." The female commander tilted her head, contemplating whether or not to tell them how she died; she appears to be very unpleasant with the question at heart. "Hey, you don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn't intend to -" "I'm fine Damien," Elizabeth interrupted, "I just needed to collect my thoughts." She looked around, seeing that most of the other Pyro Vipers had gone to sleep, before turning back to the soldier. "The King had invited me to a feast," she whispered, "It wasn't grand or anything, it was just for close family and friends; they wanted to tone down the feast so that it wouldn't cost that much, as well as attempting to avoid angering the peasants. Anyway, the King had just made a small speech, and was about to drink from his cup when I realized that the wine hadn't been taste tested for poison. I volunteered to taste from his cup, much to his surprise." Elizabeth paused to calm down before pushing on: "I drank from his cup, and I began to feel nauseous and weak, before … collapsing to the floor and beginning to have a seizure. I don't remember much, but I could feel like I was foaming blood at the mouth, bleeding from the nose, my eyes becoming bloodshot as my vision became blurry and red from me bleeding from my eyes; I felt cold, so cold." Elizabeth' voice started to become shaky as the soldier's face grew more grim. "I … I remember seeing the King's horrified face, as I faintly heard him crying for help, before the world around me began to fade to black, their voices growing more faint and…" Elizabeth started to cry, lava dripping from her cheeks, clearly traumatized at having to recall her final moments before she died.

Damien hugged the female Pyro Viper, feeling ashamed that they had made her visibly upset. "I'm so sorry Elizabeth, I didn't want to make you cry," he confessed. "I was only curious -" "It's okay," Elizabeth uttered, "I'll … I'll be fine." The soldier released her as she wiped away the lava tears, slowly regaining her composure. "I think it's time that the two of us get some sleep," she suggested, "We're going to be going at dawn." He nodded in approval, and was about to turn and leave when they asked her something. "Would it be okay if I slept with you? You know, just in case you have a nightmare," Damien offered, clearly blushing. Elizabeth pondered their proposal, before giving an answer: "Okay.'' With that, the two snuggled with each other before eventually falling to sleep.

---------------------------------------------

The sun had started to rise into the morning sky, with the frigid darkness of night being evicted so that the warm light of morning could take its place. The Forest of Tranquility, known to be the most pleasant and peaceful place in Ninjago, was jolted awake by the sound of 101 marching Pyro Vipers. Elizabeth was leading the group, while Damien was walking beside her, still flustered from cuddling with the commander last night. As the two scanned the woods, Elizabeth spotted what appeared to be some kind of settlement in the distance, and after some deliberation, determined that they should go and investigate. As the group got closer to the town, they observed that it wasn't abandoned, but was rather home to both humans and Serpentine, much to their confusion. When they entered the town, Elizabeth warned not to start any intentional fires while they were there - to which they obeyed - while they searched for the town's leader(s). As they made their way through town, the townsfolk monitored them, unsure of what to make from their sudden appearance. After exploring for some time, Elizabeth notices a strange looking red Serpentine - one she quickly realizes isn't a Fangpyre - talking to someone out of view. What a strange Serpentine specimen, she studied. I wonder who they're talking - her train of thought is cut off as she turns the corner, seeing the person the mysterious Serpentine was talking to.

An Oni. More precisely, an Oni dressed in a white cassock.

Demon, she silently repeated to herself, conjuring up a fireball. "DEMON!!!!" She screamed as she threw the fireball, with the red Serpentine dodging out of the fireball's way. The Oni, meanwhile, seemed undeterred, and simply put his hand up, and after muttering a few quiet words, the fireball exploded into a puff of black smoke a few feet in front of them. The Pyro Viper commander was baffled, wondering how a demon could wield such magic; she then spotted several groups of human and Serpentine soldiers converging on her group's position, and it seemed like a big fight was going to break out. Suddenly, the Oni motioned to their soldiers: "Lay down your arms! I don't want any blood being unnecessarily spilt," he commanded, and his soldiers obeyed, holstering their weapons. Elizabeth, seeing the opposing forces back down, also orders her forces to do the same, to which they comply.

After several moments of silence, the Oni spoke up: "What are you … Pyro Vipers doing here," he questioned, "I thought all of you were supposed to be with Aspheera." The mere mention of Aspheera filled Elizabeth with disgust, something that the Oni quickly picked up on. "Let me guess: Neither you or your soldiers like Aspheera? Judging by the fact you came all this way to seemingly get away from her gives me the feeling that is a yes," they hypothesized. Looking at her soldiers, Elizabeth turned back to face the Oni. "You would be right, demon," she replied. The Oni was taken aback, since he had never been called a fiend before. "Listen," he started, "I'm not a demon or fiend; I'm an Oni. And besides, I never knew I was one until the Oni decided to invade Ninjago." Elizabeth was bewildered: How could a "Oni'' not know it's an "Oni?" As she tried to understand how such a thing could be possible, the Oni came up to her, clearly seeing how confused she's become. "Listen, I too was baffled to learn that I was an Oni, being raised as a human in a human form. It confused others when I told them the truth," he explained. "How about we discuss this over lunch? Get to know each other," he offered. After pondering for a moment, she accepts the offer, curious to learn more about both the town and the Oni.

The Oni seemed delighted to hear her answer. "Great," he joyfully replied, "I'll take you to the food courts. They have some good food, I'll tell you." As he got ready to lead the way, Elizabeth asked them a question: "Um, what's your name, exactly?" The Oni seemed to be caught off guard by the inquiry, before regaining composure. "My apologies, name's Bennett Grant," he responded, before reaching his hand out, "And your's?" She hesitated before accepting Grant's handshake, "Elizabeth."

And with that, they were off.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 2

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This is the longest chapter, but it's worth it, I promise.

Word Count: Ch 2 - 2952

In case you missed it: Chapter 1 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We've Got Tonight

Chapter 2

Clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip, Andy silently crosses the landing. She places her foot on the top stair just as Dean rounds the corner from the hallway below her, both hands fisted in his hair. Even from this distance she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders. Her stomach twists, nausea and joy warring at the sight of him, and she can’t decide if she should turn and sprint for the door or throw herself at him and admit absolutely every foolish thing she’s done.

No. No, not foolish. She’s saving the world. That’s only a little stupid. She’s saving Cas and Sam. That’s good. She’s saving Dean.

That’s non-negotiable.

Then her weight settles on her foot, and the goddamned step creaks. Dean’s eyes snap to hers. For one hopeful moment, relief and genuine happiness flood his expression, and he smiles. The unclouded light shining from his face scraps any thoughts she has of bolting, and Andy makes it halfway down the steps before she’s engulfed in his arms.

He embraces her fiercely, and Andy allows herself a couple of seconds of peace and comfort, of the sense that she’s somehow home even though she’s only known him for a few weeks. Then the overwhelming realization of everything she’s signed away comes crashing down, closing her throat, choking off her air, and suddenly even the heat and safety radiating from Dean into her very bones isn't enough to ward off the chill of dread.

But she’s doing this to save him, to save Sam, to save...everyone. So, really, she’s not losing anything. If you save something, it’s not lost, so, really, she’s not losing anything.

Right?

Then her face is trapped between his hands, his face inches away, his eyes boring into hers with that burning intensity. The lies evaporate on her tongue, and she wracks her brain. What was she supposed to tell him? She has to say it before he starts questioning her, or she’ll blurt out every single thing she swore she wouldn’t.

“Are you okay? Where the hell were you? Was it those anti-Jesus freaks? How did you get away?”

What? Oh, yeah. The cultists. The whole reason she has a lovely new scar on her left arm and she met the Winchesters in the first place. The source of all their current troubles. Well, the main source, aside from her blood. Yeah, that would have been a good cover story, too.

Shit.

“Andy?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she manages, thankful at how little her voice shakes. She puts forth the effort of the ages and extricates herself from his grip, an act she recognizes as necessary while regretting it all the same. “I’m sorry I scared you. I had a lead, and I had to leave right away. They were really twitchy when I first contacted them, and I thought they might take off if I waited too long or tried to take anyone else, and by the time I realized I’d lost my phone it was too late to come back.”

Anger and disbelief seep into his expression, tainting the relief that animated him only moments before. “Okay, first of all, we’re going to have a long, detailed talk about taking off on your own for any reason without backup, much less chasing your own leads, because no. Just no. Second, what the hell? Did all phones between here and wherever the hell you went just vanish?”

“You programmed your numbers into my cell, but I never memorized them. I didn’t have any way to contact you once I got there, and-”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?!”

Deep breath. Keep steady.

“Look, I’m really wrecked, Dean, it was a long drive, and it ended up a bust. The guy never showed. I’m dying for a shower and some food. You can interrogate me all you want, but can we not do it right here, right now?”

She pushes past him, brushing him off in a way she’s never done before, but if he keeps gazing into her soul with those jade laser beams of his, she’s going to lose every ounce of self-control. Her fingers tremble with strain, and she clutches her bag tighter, determined to hold herself together for his sake.

She only gets a couple of seconds of reprieve, though, just barely making it off the staircase. He catches up with her as she passes the map table, aiming for escape through the library, and he snatches her elbow. His grip is harsh as he pulls her around to face him, and her fingers fumble at the fierce heat behind his eyes. Her backpack drops, spilling its contents on the floor.

Her stomach bottoms out. She immediately tries to crouch down, to stuff her papers and books back in before Dean can see them, but his grip tightens on her arm, and he forces her back up to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to disappear for two and a half days and then just-”

“Andy!”

Oh, thank god for Sam.

Andy takes advantage of Dean’s surprise to pull out of his grasp, but before she can bend down, she’s engulfed in a second, longer set of arms that feels almost as much like home as his brother’s.

God, what has she done? She really is going to lose everything. But this has to be worth it. Saving them is worth it, she knows it is. It’s going to be okay.

“Andy, are you okay? Where were you?” Sam is still in his concerned phase, and she’d like to make her exit to gather her thoughts before he hits Dean’s level of suspiciously pissed. She knows of no force in Heaven or Hell that can withstand the combined onslaught of Dean’s anger and Sam’s lectures.

“She says she found a lead,” Dean cuts in before she can try to explain herself. He’s definitely on the outer edges of pissed, and that’s fine. She can handle pissed, she just has to figure out what to do before he reaches volcanic levels of anger.

She drops down before anyone else can stop her and starts shoveling handfuls of papers in her bag. She needs to get them out of sight. She should have burned them, why didn’t she burn them, god if Sam sees some of it, he’ll know what she did without her having said a word to him, and -

“Andy, what the hell is this?”

Dean’s voice has dropped to a low, measured growl, and her eyes slide shut in dismay.

Don’t admit to anything, you don’t know what he found, just -

“You said you lost your phone, and now it falls out of your damned bag? You’re lying to me? Why-”

“Maybe because of this,” Sam cuts in, and she hears a rustle of papers from her other side, and she swears that it’s the loudest sound she’s heard in her entire life. It doesn’t matter which of her papers or which book Sam is showing his brother. They are all equally damning, and she really should have known better than to think she could get away with this plan.

“I had to do something. We were running out of time, so I made a decision while I still could.”

She’s impressed and surprised at the steadiness in her voice, the actual conviction. She is equally surprised to find herself standing when she opens her eyes, looking down at two of the most important people in the world, one of whom is regarding her with dismayed shock, and the other…

Her stomach wars with her brain; rational thought says the logical response to someone glaring at her with as much venom as Dean is packing is to run. Her stomach, on the other hand, is fully in favor of ejecting all contents in sheer terror. Somehow, she manages to shove down both impulses and stand her ground.

There’s a long moment where it seems like the whole bunker, the whole world, holds its breath, waiting for something to snap the tension. To Andy’s astonishment, Sam breaks in before Dean’s temper can explode.

“Tell me you didn’t. After everything we’ve told you, everything you know about us and our history, you called a crossroads demon? Where did you even find the summoning spell?”

She turns incredulous eyes on the younger Winchester. “Sam. I...really, Sam? When I asked to help, you put me on research. I didn't know where to look, and you gave me a stack of books, most of which had some variation of that or a similar spell in it. You gave me access to one of the world’s biggest fix-its, and you didn’t think I would do something with that?”

Sam opens his mouth, his face set with stubborn indignity, but he falls silent as Dean stands abruptly. He stalks past Andy, his silence far more worrisome than any shouting or lecturing could ever be. He stops at the bottom of the library steps, gripping the back of his neck like he’d rather have his fingers wrapped around something’s throat, and he stands like that for what feels like forever.

“I made a deal. To save you, Sam, Cas. Everyone. I had to do it.” Andy can’t stop the words that tumble from her trembling lips, and she can only be thankful that she doesn’t have to see Dean’s face as she says them. She should never have tried to lie to him, to them both, but especially not to him. Not after all the lies he’s had to live through.

“I won’t apologize. I found a way out of the end of the world when we had no other options, and I took it.”

Dean stands stiffly, unmoving as she confesses to his back. Sam wisely keeps his mouth shut, kneeling on the floor to look through Andy’s papers, avoiding looking at either of them. The gravid silence that hangs over the room is broken only by the thudding of her heart and the crinkle of pages as Sam rifles through her backpack’s spilled contents.

“Explain. Now.” Dean’s words are quiet and caustic, their bitterness cutting Andy straight to the heart.

This isn’t what she wanted, but their time is too short to try to work everything out. There will be nothing like a fairy tale ending for them, so she forces herself to say what she can. There are still some details she doesn’t want to tell him; if he knew everything, he could keep her here, keep her from going back to finish the deal, and she absolutely cannot let that happen.

“I did what you and Sam do every day. I did my research, I made a plan, and I faced the monsters. I made a choice, Dean.” She only just keeps the notes of desperation from creeping into her voice, though it’s a near thing.

He moves as she speaks, turning back to the table, his face inscrutable as he leans down to grip the back of one of the chairs. He holds onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping him together, and she feels a ridiculous stab of sympathy for the piece of furniture that’s bound to come to a bad end.

“And you think sneaking around, lying to all of us, and making a deal with a crossroads demon is going to magically fix everything?”

He’s too calm, too quiet. The chair creaks ominously under his fingers, and Andy takes a hasty step back. Sam rises, his forehead wrinkled with concern as he takes a step towards the table.

“Andy, just tell us the details,” Sam interjects, his tone low and placating, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “We can figure out a way to get you out of the deal. What did the demon you met with look like? Did they tell you their name? How much time do you have?”

“God DAMN IT!”

Dean slings the chair to the side, and it skates over the floor, shredding through her papers before slamming into a support pillar with a deafening metallic clang and careening across the room. Sam steps up protectively next to her, his hands half-raised like he can’t decide if he should try to talk his brother down or block more pieces of flying furniture.

“Why, Andy? Why didn’t you just wait for Sam or Cas to find something? We were looking!”

“There was no time left, Dean!” She knows there aren’t enough words in any language to explain her decision in a way that will satisfy him. It doesn’t matter to him that she’s one of the sources of all their troubles right now, or that she is an adult who was perfectly capable of making decisions about her life long before the Wonderful Winchesters and their guardian angel rode into town.

“We had days left, at best! I don’t want this anymore than you did, but it was my blood that started this whole disaster, my blood the cult needs to finish everything, literally everything! It’s my blood that’s the solution to this whole shitshow, and that means it’s my mess to clean up. I learned that much from you and Sam, at least! You clean up the messes you make, whether you meant to make them or not. You, of all people, could at least try to understand!”

“Understand what?! That you think selling your soul will actually fix anything?”

Dean closes the distance between them, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, knocking Sam to the side as he disregards all concepts of personal space.

“Selling your soul never solves a damned thing! And don’t you think for one second I’m gonna let you go through with this deal.”

“I’ve already gone through with it, I signed the contract. You can’t stop it, and you can’t change it. He said you’d try, and-”

“Wait a minute, ‘he’?” Sam cuts in, and Dean’s face flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with that son of a bitch Crowley.”

Fuck.

“I made a call,” Andy finally answers. “I was either going to hell and taking the rest of the world with me, or I was going by myself and keeping the rest of you safe.”

“You had no right-”

“To make decisions about my life? The hell I don’t, it’s my life, Dean! Who gave you the right-”

“We were supposed to be in it together, you and me! It’s not just your life, and you damned well know it!”

The three of them stand frozen, the words echoing faintly through the enormous room. Sam gaping at the two of them, Dean grips Andy like he thinks she’s about to bolt, and Andy tries desperately to remember why she’s not simply throwing herself into Dean’s arms.

Castiel, with his impeccable timing, chooses this moment to enter the bunker. The creaking door catches their attention, and all eyes turn to Cas, who stands on the landing, surveying the tableau of chaos beneath him. His eyebrows lower, his consternation clear.

“Andrea?” Cas’s voice is confused but gentle as he cautiously descends the stairs. She knows from the stories Sam and Dean have told her that her friend has a fearsome warrior side that makes even the worst demons think twice before approaching, but she’s never seen a hint of that part of him.

She’s seen this man soberly examining a bowl of Cheetos, questioning their attractiveness to large, feline predators; she has a difficult time picturing him facing down the worst monsters the universe has to offer, and yet, according to Sam and Dean, he does so without hesitation on a regular basis.

Which is why his cautious approach should really worry her.

“Dean, is it really necessary to hold on to Andrea quite that hard? You’re bound to leave bruises, and she doesn’t seem to be attempting to leave.”

Dean releases Andy abruptly. His face is dark and lined with the effort of repressing his rage, and he storms past the bewildered angel. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister, legs flexing and trembling as if he has to force himself to stop even that long. Sam takes a step towards him, but Cas holds out a restraining hand, and for once, Sam complies, though he looks seconds away from protesting.

“You should’ve waited, Andy. You should’ve talked to me, given me a chance to find something, anything but this. I can’t...I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

He climbs the stairs three furious steps at a time and is out the door before anyone can think of how to stop him, leaving Andy lost in the remnants of his anger and her shoulders aching more from the loss of his grip than the roughness of it. Her throat is burning, her jaw aching with strain, but her eyes are dry.

There was no other way, there just wasn’t. I did the right thing, and damn Dean to Hell if he thinks I’m going to cry for that.

“Andrea?”

Cas reaches out and steadies Andy, his grasp gentle and comforting in stark contrast to Dean’s furious hold. He considers her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Our lack of information regarding your whereabouts was quite troubling, and we assumed the worst.”

“Maybe not the absolute worst,” Sam sighs, leaning wearily against the table. He scrubs his hands over several days’ worth of stubble before rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, he can’t even meet her eyes, and an acidic splinter of shame twists in her stomach.

“You really should have waited, Andy.” ...

Chapter 3

[plastidgremlin]

Hatchet, Unburied

Promised I’d rewrite AotZ. Not sure if I’ll do the whole thing in its entirety, because I typically write during downtime at work and I get sidetracked from projects very easily, BUT I did write the first part!

I kind of got a little creative with the rumblejack because it’s a weapon we know was juryrigged together from scrap with some tech attached, hence why it’s in pieces here. Because I figured Drift was experienced enough to know having very obvious weapons on themselves at all times was bad, but being able to snap one together out of garbage if they ever got disarmed would be nice.

Characters: Drifter (Marlow), the Holdfasts Warnings: Mmm mentions of past trauma? At least one broken nose.

Obviously spoilers for Angels of the Zariman and the New War.

The shriek cut through her mind like a knife through butter. Even as she woke, she could still hear it, ringing painfully inside her skull like it was some hellish echo chamber.

But even with the unnerving noise still lingering, she could scarcely ignore the steadfast thump she had learned in time was the sound of her own heartbeat, radiating from the door she knew led to her own personal hell away from hell.

She swore quietly, opening her eyes slowly to stare at the faint, pulsing colorlessness radiating across the ceiling.

She reached for sirocco.

Only to find it missing.

At once, she pushed down the anger and panic in favor of a possible solution and stood abruptly, hands already snapping together the pieces of the rumblejack.

She raised it against the man in the lead, who barely reacted.

Unlike the man to her left.

He lunged, and she twisted to meet him.

In an instant, both of them were on the floor, wrestling for control of the situation. On her back, she knew she was at a disadvantage, but this bastard didn’t know what kind of weapon she had beyond a ramshackle baton. A slight adjustment on her grip, a flip of a switch, and—

“Motherfucker!” he barked in pain as the electrified blade pressed into his arm.

“Cavalero, let her be!” the man in charge spoke, stepping forward to reach for the bastard’s shoulders.

Instead, he ignored him and grabbed her wrists in an attempt to wrestle the weapon free or at least to pin her.

Marlow felt a spike of panic when he actually succeeded, pinning her wrists so she couldn’t twist the rumblejack on him again.

Immediately, a thousand different things flew through her mind, memories she’d buried, of grown hands and feral eyes and starving mouths, and she snarled in a mix of terror and pure, unadulterated instinct, adrenaline sparking new fight into her war-weary body.

“Calm down!” he growled.

And for his troubles, she headbutted him. Hard.

Something crunched, and her eyes watered on impact, but he let go, rearing back with a string of garbled curses.

Freed, she scrambled to her feet at once, stepping back away from the group with the rumblejack at the ready, carefully shifting her weight to place the doors out into the rest of the ship behind her.

And then?

Laughter.

One of the two women was laughing at the man who’d pinned her, a loud, hearty, raucous laugh. “She fixed you good, Cavalero!” she guffawed.

Beside her, the woman in Archimedean garb lifted a hand to cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking with faint laughter, as well.

Marlow looked them over quickly, the fight leaving her as quickly as it had come, body too tired to keep it up much longer. She kept her rumblejack up, ready to fight nonetheless, and ground out a wary, “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

Cavalero grunted, glaring at her from above the hand now covering his nose. Blood ran down his chin, and she nodded, satisfied with a broken nose as compensation.

The man in charge stepped forward slightly, only to stop when she raised the rumblejack again, holding up his hand to placate her. “You’ll have to excuse Cavalero,” he began.

“I’ll have to excuse all of you,” she retorted with a derisive snort.

“Yes, I suppose that’s fair, given the history here,” he said. “This isn’t the homecoming we would have wished for you, but welcome home, all the same.”

She scoffed, but gestured for him to go on anyway.

“Call me Quinn,” he introduced himself, with a polite nod. “We ‘Holdfasts’ are the last remaining crew of the Zariman.”

“Bullshit,” she answered. “The crew died.”

“Mmh, but the Void creates,” he answered patiently. “Death is merely a blank canvas.”

She tightened her grip on her ramshackle weapon, and Cavalero straightened again, dark eyes watching her like a hawk.

“We numbered five, not long ago,” Quinn continued before things could escalate again. “Poor Kira. The song broke down her resistance, she raised her voice in answer, and now she’s one of them.”

Behind him, she noticed the women quiet, and Cavalero turned his head slightly away, all three suddenly somber.

“So that thing,” she spoke hesitantly.

“Was Kira, yes,” Quinn said. “That form is what awaits us should we fail to hold fast. The angels were like us, once, but in time, they all drank from that bleak Reliquary. Now, they all scream in chorus to the Void. The Zariman must be saved.”

Marlow couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped her. “Saved?” she echoed, incredulity dropping icy venom into her voice. “This place is a graveyard and a hellhole, all wrapped up in one fucked up box. It shouldn’t be saved, it should be melted into scrap.”

“The Zariman has suffered,” he replied. “But she can still be a barricade against what is yet to come if you stand with us. Help us keep her out of the hands of invaders like these… Grineer.”

Her eyes darted past them, to the door radiating an unnerving lack of hue, and finally let herself dwell on the thought of the stone relief emerging from the Void not even… what, not even six hours ago? The grinning figure of her child-self, waving joyously down at both her and the Lotus, and that bone-rattling, thunderous voice booming across the sun-scorched platform.

“When you’re ready,” Quinn spoke patiently, and her eyes darted back to him. “Come to the lower decks. A void cascade is already breaking down what you accept as… reality.”

Before she could respond, the group of four vanished in a flurry of void-sparks, similar to what coiled around her when she transferred in or out of a warframe.

She drew in a long breath, lowering her blade, and glared at the door she knew led to her reality.

“Ah, fuck.”

[frostsinth]

Lost Time - Pt. 1

- MasterList -

Dear Gods; Its been a long time without having an active and open orc story. SIX WHOLE DAYS LORDS! So I decided to rectify that immediately. .. With a new orc story. Sincerely... Me.

I have... 3 open stories now, not including the Reptile Monster One-Shot and  the OctoMer One-Shot I was thinking to continue... But I missed my orcs. I need an orc story at all times. So enjoy!!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are my sustenance. Check out my MasterList up there ^^^ to read more of my stuff. Feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you’re there. Oh, and don’t forget to check out my Monster Match Giveaway! Closes 9/4! 

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The pounding in my head wouldn’t reside, despite how long I kept my eyes closed. I squeezed them tighter, finding my hand in the swirling, spinning pain that was my brain, and willing it to come up to palm my forehead. The smell of dirt filled my nostrils as I did, and I managed a groan. What the hell happened?

Last thing I remembered was… well, that was a blur. A foggy shadow clouding my thoughts. At least, what thoughts I could distinguish amid the blinding pain and dizziness.

I laid my head back against… something, and waited. Nothing else to do for it. Hopefully I wasn’t in any immediate peril, or someone was watching over me. My head hurt too much for me to even consider trying to differentiate between the different sounds assaulting my ears. 

The minutes ticked by like hours until slowly the throbbing and swirling subsided. There was still a dull ache behind my eyes, and a stabbing pain at the back of my head. But I found the courage to crack open one lid. Blinding light hit me square, but a few timid blinks had it clearing into a smooth wash of emerald green.

Trees, I realized. Or, more specifically, a canopy of leaves with sunlight splashing through them. As my brain took in that realization, it connected the sounds of rustling leaves it had previously dismissed. The smell of dirt now washed with the smell of greenery and bark. Pine, I thought, though I was sure there were others that were less distinct. The general expected rumblings and trappings of the forest filtered through as well; bird song, a squirrel chittering. And someplace distant, branches snapping.

I managed to sit up a minute or two later, but cradled my head in my lap as a fresh wave of dizziness struck me. I breathed in carefully, in through my nose, then out in a rush through my mouth. Felt the pain subside once more like a cool compress to the back of my head to allow me to look around.

As I might have guessed by the trees and birdsong, I appeared to be in a forest. Though I had absolutely no recollection how I got there. I tried to blink and fight my way through the fog in my brain, but the more I did, the less I could recall. And the more the back of my head throbbed.

I reached with tentative fingers, and found a damp patch in my hair near the base of my skull. I jerked at the touch, pulling my hand back to see the tips coated in drying blood. Well, that explained the pain then. Perhaps the memory loss too, if my limited understanding of such things was to be believed. I realized then that my hands were coated in dirt too. Looking down at myself, I found the rest of me equally disheveled. Had I fallen? I glanced around, but I seemed to be in a flat area. No hills. No rocks. I supposed it was possible I had fallen out of a tree, but didn’t seem particularly close enough to any to surmise that. And why would I be climbing a tree?

Had I been struck then? I gingerly touched the wound again, to see if it would yield any more clues. I winced, but managed to trace its edge. It ran about the length of my hand right at the back of my skull. It wasn’t deep, nor particularly wide. And as I certainly was no expert on wounds, or weapons for that matter, I found no reasonable response.

I dropped my hand, defeated, looking around again. Did I know this place? I asked myself. There was no strong answer if I had at some point been familiar with this wood, then again, there was no strong answer that I had never been here before either. Regardless, I found I was happy just to know the words “tree” and “forest”. I honestly otherwise couldn’t say much else about my time in the world. Nor, a few moments of quiet contemplation later told me, did I know where I was supposed to be.

I was surprised how calm I found myself. Looking around, turning things over in my still throbbing head. Trying to piece together the puzzle that was literally everything about me. It was… oddly comforting. The fact that I knew nothing about myself. I knew words, I knew my approximate age, I knew I had blue eyes and blonde hair without checking. And that was all I needed to know for the moment. I wondered if I had been missing patches and holes rather than the blanket of memory that was gone if I would have been more panicked. Because I would have enough reason to be.

Instead, I found my feet, brushing the forest floor off my pants, and looked around again. The sun overhead was bright. So probably about midday, I would hazard to guess. I didn’t seem to have any supplies with me, therefore I reasoned I couldn’t have come from far away. Right? I mean, hopefully I wasn’t the kind of stupid idiot who tended to go wandering deep into the woods without any overnight gear, food, water, or even a coat. But what direction to go? Picking the wrong way could send me further away from help. And there seemed to be no strong indication that one direction would be better than another.

The loud snap of a branch pulled me out of my contemplations and sent a shiver down my spine. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that it wasn’t just birds, squirrels, and myself that existed in the world. There were other, much larger, much more dangerous things as well…

I turned towards the sound, and found the hairs prickling on my arms. Warning me. A memory? No, it didn’t feel familiar. More like instinct. A response to the realization that something large was moving through the underbrush.

Another snap, this time from my left. I spun again, my heart now racing in my chest. I hoped it was just a deer. But not knowing for certain one way or the other put me on edge. I made up my mind quickly. I would head away from whatever was hiding amid the trees. It seemed a pretty safe bet overall.

I turned, practically running as fast as I dared between the trees in the opposite direction of the last snap. Making an effort to make as little sound as possible as I fled. I kept glancing over my shoulder, as if I would be able to tell if whatever had been snapping branches was following me. Which perhaps was not the productive way to move through a dense forest.

This point was accentuated as my foot caught an errant root, sending me blundering through a particularly large bush. And smacking straight into something quite large. I fell back from the impact, landing on my backside with a soft “oof!” My eyes shot to the warm body that I had crashed into.

He was much larger than anything I would have ever expected to see moving amid the loosely packed trunks of the forest. His torso was at least as thick as the largest of the trees, and I wasn’t entirely certain the dark hair piled on the top of his head and spilling down his back was not scrapping the canopy above. I craned my neck back to look up at him, my mouth inadvertently falling open. He had broad shoulders, armored with layered, plated leather whose thick straps ran across his muscled chest. His skin was a deep green, so dark I wouldn’t have been able to identify the color save for the sparks of emerald that flashed as the sunlight brushed over him. He turned to consider me, eyes narrowing beneath a thick, hooded brow. One side of his face was distorted by lighter scar tissue. It was knotted and torn, twisting his lip and eyebrow as it passed from his hairline, over his pronounced brow and temple, all the way down to his chin and thick neck. My eyes widened even more as they moved from his scars to his mouth, where four prominent tusks protruded from between thick lips.

I didn’t need my memory to decide that this was not a creature I wanted to mess with. I scrambled backwards, away from his great, lumbering form as he took one long stride towards me. He lifted a broadsword as big as I was tall as easily as a child might a stick, resting it on one muscular shoulder as he scowled down at me. He towered over me, looking me up and down with a look on his face that made my stomach lurch in fear.

Having seen more than enough, I managed to jump back to my feet and bolted back through the underbrush. I heard something from behind me, perhaps a growl, though it almost sounded like words. I didn’t pause to try to figure it out. Crashing back through the brush. My shoulder hit a tree painfully as I tried to dodge quickly between them, but I didn’t slow. Nor did I care to try and quiet my progression, favoring speed over grace. After all, I reasoned, he already knew I was there. I hoped my smaller size would allow me to navigate between the trees and brush quicker than he could pursue, and my pounding heart insisted that he would.

Once again, I made the fatal mistake of looking over my shoulder. Perhaps I would have learned my lesson had I not still been nursing a throbbing headache. But that was likely wishful thinking; it seemed to be becoming a character flaw. One which I considered heartily as the ground suddenly dropped out unseen from under my feet.

I gave a shout of alarm, then slid and tumbled down the broken ground. It seemed a storm had uprooted the trees, or perhaps it was an ancient riverbed. Either way, my hasty retreat had me careening off its edge and rolling through the dirt once more. I felt my foot catch on something as I fell, jerking me sharply off course. I smashed heavily into a large tree near the bottom of the incline, jarring my already sore head. I closed my eyes in defense against the sudden barrage of pain, my arms having instinctually curled up to protect myself during the fall.

A minute later, I shook my head, clearing it enough to come back to the present once more. My ankle thrummed now too, and a quick jerk found it painfully stuck between two roots. I wrapped my hands around my calf, trying to tug it free. But merely managing to send another wave of pain coursing through me.

I heard and felt the ground shudder beneath monstrous steps, and yanked harder. Barely stifling my cry of anguish at the sharp searing pain that shot through me again. Panicked eyes looked up, and I nearly swooned at the sight of the huge beast standing at the top of the hillock. For his part, he glared down at me for a moment, before bending to catch the edge of the drop in one big hand and jumping down. In that single movement, he had covered half the distance between us.

I struggled against the roots, trying to loosen their hold, my heart racing in my ears. Another stride and he was upon me. I jerked back, unsure if I should try to roll to the side or raise my arms in defense. A puny defense it would be; the man could likely snap through both of them and my spine with one single blow and still sink his sword into the ground behind me up to its hilt.

I jumped in surprise as he dropped down to one knee, tossing the broadsword to the damp leaves beside us instead of bringing it to bare down on my head. His big meaty hands grabbed either offending root, and with a sharp twist and a loud crack, my foot was freed.

I quickly tugged it backward, dragging myself away from his crouching form which still looked like it might be taller than my standing one. But I found the reaction more wary than fearful. After all, had he wanted to harm me, he certainly didn’t have to free my foot first. Perhaps he liked the challenge of an unbound prey? My heart skipped at the thought.

His eyes watched me, still narrowed and darkened by the shadow from his heavy brow. I could see now they were a brilliant copper, and I swallowed nervously as they appraised me. Again came that strange sound. Deep and guttural. Easily mistakable for a growl. But this time, I was sure they were words. I frowned at him, glancing over my shoulder as if checking he was actually talking to me. When I looked back at him, he seemed to be waiting patiently. Though for what, I couldn’t begin to fathom.

I shook my head, unsure what else to do. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, “I don’t understand.”

His big head cocked to the side, and his scowl deepened. I ascertained he also did not understand. Though the intelligence in those simmering copper eyes was now unmistakable. I suddenly felt incredibly foolish for being so frightened of him before; of thinking him some mindless monster or beast. I couldn’t help but remain wary though. After all, he could still mean me harm, and even if he was harmless, why had he pursued me? Why not just shrug and go on his merry way? Certainly it couldn’t be completely out of the goodness of his heart to follow up on me. Though, I wondered, perhaps he had been headed this way anyway. And it was simply coincidence he had come upon me again.

His eyes studied me for a moment longer, then he let out a loud snort. I jumped again as he put his hands on his knees and pushed off, straightening back up to his full height. I had had the impression that I was tall, at least of what I could remember (which granted, wasn’t much). But compared to him, I might as well have been a mouse.

Less panicked by his sudden appearance than before, I used the moment to appraise him further. His arms were thick and muscular, as was his exposed abdomen and chest. Despite his broad shoulders, he had a somewhat narrow waist, but his legs were as big as a tree trunk each. He had layered fur armor like a kilt around his hips that reached to his knees, and tough looking boots that seemed ready to break with each flex of his huge calves. Other than the armor, he was adorned with a huge belt around his hips, a small pouch on each side. My attention was once more drawn to the scar that took up most of one side of his face all the way down his neck, and I saw him turn slightly. Presenting more of his better side. As if sensing my eyes on it and seeking to hide the unsightly skin. I swallowed nervously again, not entirely soothed by my fresh assessment.

But he gave a grunt, then made a very obvious gesture that I should follow him. He reached down and picked up the broad sword, resting it on his plated shoulder once more as he looked down at me. It didn’t seem a demand; I certainly could just… refuse. I wasn’t sure if he would stop me, as he waited so patiently, and I felt my twisting nerves abate a little more. I hesitated, glancing around. Yet it seemed as good an option as any, even though the idea of going anywhere with him still made my knees knock together. What were my other options? Wander haplessly about the forest? Perhaps this creature at least could lead me to its edge. Bolstered by that thought, I worked to get my feet back beneath me and moved to stand.

I was promptly back on the ground, clutching my ankle in pain, as soon as I tried. It felt hot to the touch, and I could already feel it swelling. I heard him grunt, and then grumble something in his own tongue. He extended one hand, bending down a little. I glanced at it, unsure what to make of it, and after a moment he slowly pulled it back.  I gritted my teeth, gathering my good leg beneath me and carefully standing. Balancing all my weight on one side with my bad foot lifted. One hobbled, hopping step made me realize walking like this was not likely to be an option.

Another hearty growl preceded my soft “eep!” as I suddenly found myself hoisted into the air. My heart alternated between racing and skipping about frantically and my breath caught in my throat as my hands frantically searched for purchase instinctively. They latched to the straps of his shoulder plates, and I felt suddenly hot as I realized how tightly I clung to him. Tense for the fear of being dropped what seemed like quite a long way down and surprised at having been picked up at all. The man’s burly arm cradled me against his chest, as unbothered as if I were less than a feather to him. I didn’t doubt I was, but was unsettled by the proximity of him. He smelled heavily of pine, moist soil, and wood-smoke, as well as his own musky scent, and his skin was warm against me. I felt a flush rising to my face, and my mouth opened and closed useless. But a glance to his face made me realize he wasn’t looking at me anyway.

With surprising speed and grace, he turned and with a single flex of his thick legs scaled up the broken ground. Bringing us back to the top of the crater and reorienting himself to then follow along its edge. Certainly not the direction I had originally been travelling, though I couldn’t be quite sure where that had been. In my flight I had lost all sense of my positioning, and looked around to try and gather my bearings again.

“Where are we going?” I asked him quietly, unable to keep the nervousness from my voice.

I didn’t expect him to answer, and he didn’t, but it made me feel better to ask anyways. He carried me quietly with one arm, his other hand still holding the broadsword tucked against the shoulder opposite me. I wrung my hands nervously over the straps, feeling his skin brush against my knuckles lightly as I did. Perhaps he was bringing me back to civilization. I was certain he would do so quickly if that was an option, as he didn’t seem eager for my company based upon the deep scowl still on his face. It made the knots of his scar seem more prominent, and deepened the lines. Again, he turned as if he felt my eyes on it. The other side of his face suggested that perhaps he was not very old, not yet middle aged from what I could tell. Certainly an adult, though I had no basis for standards of what that would mean in regards to… whatever he was. I wondered if it was my lack of memory that I had no name for such a green skinned behemoth. Or if perhaps I simply had no experience or knowledge of them. The speed of my pulse suggested the latter, and there was certainly no familiarity about him.

A small, amused part of me wondered if we were of the same race. Perhaps I had just forgotten the gender dysmorphia due to the knock on my head. Which would make my actions prior seem quite ridiculous indeed. It almost made me smile to think that he was just a typical male, and I was the one acting the fool. Which led me to wondering if he found me attractive, and what exactly he meant to do with me.... I quickly pushed the notion aside, as it sent blood rushing to my already throbbing head and brought some sinful thoughts to my own consideration of him. Not to mention the improperness of him cradling me against his half bare chest if that were the case. He didn’t seem very interested in me though, other than a mild, annoyed concern for my existence. Perhaps escorting lost people was simply his job; maybe this happened to him all the time, which was why he seemed so familiar with the proximity.

I resolved to try not to worry too much, as I didn’t have much control over it anyways. The light between the trees was beginning to fade, suggesting a fast approaching night. And given the state of my ankle, I wasn’t exactly in a position to be traipsing off by myself again. Even if I did have some sense of where to go. The conscious decision was not enough to slow my heart though, and my breath still came in nervously shallow wisps.

My hopes that he would bring me to civilization (or at least someone who spoke the same language) were dashed after a long quiet walk as we approached what appeared to be a campsite. It was more permanent than that, I realized, based upon the perimeter of spiked sticks and the separate smoking and tanning racks set beside a stone fire pit. There was a cave, formed amid a copse of dense trees and a prominent pile of rocks. It didn’t look particularly deep, but it was tall enough that the man likely wouldn’t have to bow his head much to service it. A  thick fur was pulled back from the entrance like a curtain, and I could make out dark piles of things beyond. A house? I reasoned. Shelter at least, and with night almost upon us, it seemed as good a place as any.

He stomped through the small opening between the makeshift wall, and deposited me unceremoniously next to the fire pit. I opened my mouth to try to communicate with him again as I released the straps of his armor, but he was already off. Gathering logs from a huge pile beside the cave. He set his sword to lean against the rock and brought over an armful of the wood. Dropping it into the pit and crouching down. He drew a flint stone from somewhere beside the fireplace, and with a handful of dried leaves gathered from within reach, he quickly had a smoking flame beneath the pile.

I listened to the sound of the crackling and snapping build as the fire sparked. Watched it lick and bite at the first log hungrily. He bent low to blow some air onto the glow, fueling it’s growth.

“Excuse me,” I braved politely as he leaned back. His copper eyes turned to consider me at the words, even though his frown suggested he still didn’t know them, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but ah… what are we doing here?”

He watched my lips move, and his own thick lips scrunched together around his large tusks. He appeared to chew at the inside of his cheek, then shook his head and grumbled something in that foreign tongue. No luck then. Still not understanding each other. I sighed quietly, reaching down and rolling up my pant leg to take a better look at my ankle. I removed both of my shoes, rubbing my hand carefully over my foot and joint.

It was painfully swollen now, and I winced as I touched it. I didn’t suppose I was in enough pain for anything to be broken, but knew (somehow) that a sprain could be as bad as any break if not treated properly. I started slightly as the big man grunted and rose to his feet. I watched him out of the corner of my eye moving near the cave entrance, and glanced up at him as he came back over to my side. He dropped down to his knee again, and swatted my hands gently away with one of his. Surprised but wary, I leaned back. I jerked as a cold cloth dropped around my ankle, and I drew in a thin breath as his big fingers slowly eased it to wrap around my joint. A particularly rough movement had me instinctively grabbing at his hand in pain to stop him. I froze as his copper eyes jumped to my face and his movement paused. We stayed like that for a moment, until I couldn’t hold his curious gaze and dropped both my eyes and my hand from his. He began wrapping the cool cloth again shortly after. But I noticed he moved more gently, more cautious of the tenderness of it. He leaned back when he finished to admire his own handiwork.

He said something else in the strange, guttural tongue, then glanced at me again from the corner of his good side. I offered him a weak, thankful smile. Hoping the meaning would get across. He gave a grunt, shaking his head and standing once more.

As he went back to the cave, I was glad for the heat from the fire. The night was quickly forming around us; lengthening the shadows of the trees and bleeding the color from the forest. And with it came a chill that threatened to reach my bones. I eased a little closer to the flames, listening to him rustling amid his things in the cave.

He returned not long after, a piece of rolled up paper in his hands. He showed it to me as he crouched down next to me again, then swept one palm across the ground to clear away leaves and debris. Spreading out the parchment, he grunted again, gesturing to me then the page. I leaned over, frowning, until the dark lines and shapes registered to me.

“A map.” I exclaimed, understanding.

Another grunt, and he pointed to me with one big finger. Then to the map. Speaking in his own language. I looked down at the lines and ridges. I saw mountains and forests and rivers neatly marked. I could identify the names of each of these things, as well as the labels for what appeared to be villages and towns. But a pang of disappointment hit me as I realized I didn’t recognize any of it.

I looked up at him, waiting for me patiently, watching my face. He frowned as I shook my head, and I tried to look as apologetic as possible. He pointed to me again, then the map. I shook my head again, and he growled something in his language. I supposed perhaps he was getting frustrated. I sighed, disappointed, shaking my head a final time. Trying to figure how to explain to him that I wasn’t stupid (at least as far as I knew); I just couldn’t remember anything. He seemed to be getting increasingly impatient, and I shifted nervously as he gestured with one hand almost angrily at me.

He seemed to notice my unease as his mannerisms became more intense, and stilled himself. Instead, sitting back on his ankles and rubbing the back of his neck. His movement reminded me, and I reached my own hand back, touching the still throbbing, tender spot at the base of my skull. I winced, but found the dampness again and pulled my blood stained fingers around. I held them up in the firelight to show him, trying to look appropriately apologetic again.

His copper eyes widened slightly and his thick brows raised. He scooched closer and leaned his big bulk over me. His shoulders were so broad, I felt as though a ceiling had been drawn over my head. I drew in a sharp breath as he  reached out and caught my chin in one big palm. His hands were huge, each one bigger than my face, and rough to the touch. But despite the firmness of his grip, he moved gently. Turning my head to the side and down. He spoke as he moved, and the tone was softer. Soothing, almost. I felt the fingers of his opposite hand brush through my hair, and my skin tingled on my neck. I resisted the urge to wince as his thumb brushed the tender flesh around the wound. His nostrils flared and I heard him draw in a huffing breath.

He grumbled, releasing his hold and sitting back on his ankles again. I glanced up at him to see him rubbing at his chin, seeming to be thinking it over. He turned back to the map, and pointed to a forest there. Then gestured to around us, before pointing back at the same spot. I leaned closer, studying the area to see if anything sparked a memory. I couldn’t help feeling a little sad as well as disappointed as I had to shake my head again. I ran my fingertips over the spot, trying to concentrate, my brow furrowing. But my head merely throbbed with the effort, and I reached up with my opposite hand to palm my eye in an attempt to ease it.

I started as his big hand swallowed up my wrist, pulling my hand away from my face. I looked up at him again, swallowing nervously. But despite the heavy set curl of his brow and the deep grooves of the scarred half of his face, I decided he didn’t look too frightening right then. And I realized he never really had been. Every movement and gesture had been slow and careful. Every touch had been gentle... and kind. I had looked at him the first moment I saw him and scared myself, but he had never once given me a reason to justify that fear. He growled something I didn’t have a hope of understanding, then released my wrist to brush his fingers through my hair, pushing it back out of my eyes.

He froze suddenly, his big fingers lingering by my temple. I looked back and forth between his copper eyes, as he seemed to consider something he saw in mine. I saw him shuffle, then clear his throat. He mumbled something else in his language, then turned his head to the side. His long hair fell about his shoulders and I let out my breath as he dropped his hand. He cleared his throat again. Then planted his palm against his chest and gave a hearty grunt.

“Njord’roshan.” He rumbled. I looked at him in surprise. He smacked his breast. “Njord’roshan.” He said again, firmly.

“Neeyord-ro...?” I echoed uncertainly. 

He nodded, cocking his head to the side and chewing his lip. Then smacked his chest again. “Njord.” He offered instead.

 I smiled slightly as I realized his intent. “Oh! That’s your name. Njord.”

He grunted, nodding his big head as he recognized my understanding. Then gestured to me. I winced, and my face must have fallen again, because he titled his head slightly. Looking at me from the corner of his good side. I shook my own head, giving a little shrug of my shoulders.

“I-I don’t know…” I told him, the realization hitting me then as my hand went instinctively to the back of my skull. 

I dropped my eyes to the side, feeling a strange emotion welling in me for the first time since I had woken in the forest. It was… hollow. As if everything about me was wrong. As if I was somehow out of place; a missing piece in time. It made me feel almost suspended from the moment, like the body I was in wasn’t mine. I didn’t even have a name...

Perhaps it was this strange, ethereal concept of myself that kept me from starting as his hand came up again. Brushing thick fingers lightly along the edge of my jaw. His language came from his wide mouth again, and I strained my ears, longing to understand him.

It was a long string of the guttural words, thick and heavy. But softly spoken from between his thick lips, and I watched them move to form each sound. He tucked his knuckles lightly under my chin, and the corners of his lips curled upwards slightly. I found his touch oddly comforting then, and had to fight myself not to reach up and run my fingers over his knuckles. Even as my hands itched to do so. I felt a lump forming in my throat, and tried to swallow it away as my heart skipped a beat.

“Shikobakin.” He told me after a moment’s silence, tapping my chin with his thumb. His lips twitched at the corners again, and he brought his hand to his chest. “Njord’roshan... Njord.” Then reached back out, touching the tip of his large index finger back to my chin. “Shikobakin.”

I returned his smile, though it felt heavy by the time it reached my eyes. “Did you just name me?” I asked, my voice peppered with a hint of amusement.

I thought his returning expression might have been a small smirk, and his copper eyes seemed to glimmer. He patted his chest once more. “Njord.” Then tapped my chin again. “Shikobakin.”

I placed my hand on my own chest. “Shikobakin.” I echoed the strange word, but it felt warmer as I accepted it as my own. I smiled, then reached out and lightly touched his chin with the tips of my fingers, as he had mine. “Njord.”

He stiffened slightly at my touch, and his copper eyes darted down to my hand. He brought his own big hand up, wrapping it around and engulfing my tiny pale one. The big beast gave a pleased sounding grunt, soft and distracted, nodding as he gently pulled my hand from his face. He shifted, angling his head to the side. Turning his scar away again.

After a breath too long, he released my hand, then brought his pinched fingers to his mouth. “Di’chin yiya?” He asked softly, miming eating and patting his stomach.

He didn’t wait for an answer, standing and going over to the smoking rack. He returned a moment later, holding out a large piece of meat to me as he dropped back down next to me. I took it gingerly, offering him a small smile. Our fingers brushed as I took it, and I thought I saw him stiffen. But it must have been my imagination. After all, why would a small little human make such a big creature anxious.

I sniffed at the meat, taking a small bite. I quickly recognized it as fish, and seemed to find I liked it. I smiled up at him as I chewed, pleased I had learned at least two things about myself now. I had a name. And I knew I liked smoked fish. I saw his brows raise slightly as he considered me, and again he turned his head slightly to the side.

We finished the smoked meat in companionable silence, watching the fire bite and lick at the logs. I shivered as the darkness fully settled around us, and hunched up my shoulders against the chill of the night. My ankle and head throbbed in an offset rhythm, and I felt my eyes growing heavier with each passing minute. Especially as the salty fish settled in my stomach. 

He passed me a waterskin, which I drank from thankfully. When I lowered it back down, I noticed him watching me from the corner of his copper eye. I couldn’t read the expression on the untouched side of his face, but felt a strange tickling in the pit of my stomach that had me turning my attention to my bare feet. I shuffled them and shifted, kneading the skin gently between my palms before passing it back to him. He cleared his throat, placing the skin to the side. Then smacked his hands together and moved to a crouching position next to me.

He spoke more of his language, jerking his big head towards the cave. I looked up at him, surprised to find his hands reaching out to me. Waiting. I barely nodded my permission before he quickly scooped me back up in his arms and carried me over to the shallow cave. His chest brushed my shoulder, and I found his skin pleasantly warm after the chill of the night. I couldn’t help leaning into him slightly, even as my heart skipped in my breast.

The cave was too dark for me to see, but he seemed untroubled by it. The air tasted damp, though slightly warmer than the outside air. He moved purposefully, bringing me to what I could make out as the far back wall before crouching down once more. I started slightly as he lowered me into something soft and plush. A moment later, I recognized the furs for what they were, and shuffled amid them. I felt his big hands come around, dragging what appeared to be more furs and blankets, making a pile near the foot of the bed. Gingerly, he took my injured ankle and rested it on the elevated lump. I could barely make out his silhouette in the dark, but saw him reach out. Felt his hand brush my cold shoulder. He muttered something, then pulled more furs to wrap around me.

“Thank you…” I told him softly as his motions quieted.

His face turned towards me in the dark, and I tried to trace its outline. I couldn’t see his features, but imagined he must be peering back down at me. I felt a sudden bolt of electricity shoot down my spine as I wondered where he was going to sleep. My stomach twisted at the thought that perhaps we would share the furs…

After a moment though, he leaned back, giving a pleased grunt.

“Wet’hay tlee, Shikobakin.” He breathed, and I found his deep voice a pleasant comfort in the dark. I watched him stand, then turn and head back towards the cave opening.

“Goodnight, Njord.” I called softly after him. I saw him pause in the entrance, his huge, burly body carved out from the night air by the orange glow of the fire. His head turned, glancing over his shoulder at me. “And.. thank you again…”

I knew he couldn’t understand me, but I hoped he understood at least the meaning. He didn’t give a response, and after lingering a moment longer, walked back over to the fire. I couldn’t quite see him anymore, and relented to burrowing a little deeper into the furs.

The motion kicked up their scent, and I was suddenly washed in the deep odor of pine, wet earth, and wood-smoke. And another scent, one I had smelled on him each time he had carried me, though the musky, masculine smell was stronger here. My heart leapt again as I realized that I was, in fact, in his bed. A pang of guilt shot through me. I hoped he would not think me an imposing guest. I certainly would have been fine with just a mat and a fur in the corner. Though the memory of the chilly night air had me pulling the furs tighter about myself in denial of that silent offer. 

I brushed the soft fur against my nose, drawing in his thick scent. It soothed me, strangely, and my eyes felt heavier. Warm and feeling better than I ever had in what little time I could remember (which surmounted to that one day), I snuggled down. A few minutes later, I was fast asleep.

...

To Be Continued

[foxtophat]

hello hello hello

i got thrown off my groove for a month there doing irl shit but i finally sat down and posted this piece of mercy fic that i’ve been sitting on for like a month. it’s all about john and kim hanging out and bonding so that’s fun!!!

i have a couple of ideas for stories but i’m not QUITE SURE how many of them are going to actually get posted. i might do like a yearly synopsis and put it in the series, writing out what happens between stories and stuff so when i reference shit it isn’t out of the blue, BUT ALSO i am lazy and it’s a miracle mercyverse has gotten this much from me, so lets not try to rock the boat huh???

anyway this is a story about john and kim falling into a cave. it’s like a bottle episode except the bottle is like a large intestine.  i hope you like it!!! if you do, consider reblogging this post, or sharing the link, or kudosing or commenting or liking or subscribing or SMASHING THAT BELL

as usual, the story is under the cut for those of you who want to stay on tumblr for some godforsaken reason

Kim had thought that she was doing Nick and John a favor when she first offered to go cache-hunting with them. After all, Grace and Carmina had their hands full working on the yard's shooting range, and there hadn't been anything better to do than dig a couple of holes out in the woods. She'd figured, why not? An extra set of hands could speed things up, and she could keep them focused on digging instead of bickering.

Of course, now that she's out here with them, she regrets ever having offered. As it turns out, their method of cache-hunting involves incessantly goading one another into a fight, trading places between aggressive pessimism and irritatingly fake optimism whenever it might serve to piss the other off more. She's given up on trying to stop it; after all, it's not too much worse than what they say while mending fences and hauling scrap. It's just that the distance between them means that they're arguing at a headache-inducing level.

At the very least, Kim had hoped for some kind of method they could fall back on, but at three hours in, they've all but given up. She supposes the first two caches had been pretty easy to find, being in areas where the terrain hasn't changed much — but this neck of the woods has definitely seen some shifting. Between the rock slides and massive knots of collapsed trees, the steep hillside looks more like a beaver dam than the picturesque hiking trail it probably used to be.

"I'm starting to think that Jacob was full of shit," Nick says, as if he hasn't been reiterating the sentiment for the last thirty minutes. "There's no way we're gonna find anything out here."

Nick might be right, but Kim isn't about to gang up on John right now. She's been mostly staying out of it as the two of them argue about Jacob's map coordinates; why get involved now?

She ignores them and instead picks her way up the hillside towards one of the many uprooted trees nearby. Just like the last dozen trees she's checked, this one doesn't hold a barrel in its roots, nor do any of them have any damn sign indicating where they should be looking. Whatever marker Jacob might've left, paranoid bastard that he was, it's definitely been destroyed by the apocalypse.

"I told you that this wasn't going to be easy," John says. "There's half a mile of trail to search, and there's only three of us. This isn't some pasture outside town —"

"When I asked you if we should bring Grace and Carmina along, you said they would just get in the way! Now here you are, telling me we need more people!"

"If they were here, who do you think Grace would blame if Carmina got a goddamn splinter or scraped her knee? How do you still not get that she is actively looking for a reason to shoot me?"

"At this point, I'm looking for a reason, so I don't know what you're expecting!"

Kim has to admit, they're both making pretty good points. She just wishes they wouldn't make it sound like the start of a fistfight.

John's sigh is especially theatrical, and Kim hears the leaves crunch underfoot as he begins to stalk up the hill after her. He's probably going to try passing her, just to get space from Nick, but he really shouldn't bother. They should at least stop for something to eat and some water, and then they can figure out whether or not expanding the search zone is a good idea. They should probably reconsider their current "poke around and hope" method, too.

Setting her sights on a stout, dead tree with its roots partially torn up, Kim decides to make that the last straw. If she's got any luck at all, the cache will be tangled up in the tree's roots, and she'll be able to gloat about finding it for the rest of forever.

"Don't get too excited," John says, catching up to her as he runs away from Nick.

"Too late for that," Kim teases. "My hopes are at an all-time high. I'm about to be crushed by the disappointment."

"Fantastic," John grunts, rolling his eyes.

He lets her take the first approach on the tree, which juts awkwardly out of the ground at an acute angle. Its scraggly branches are covered in dry needles, and the partially exposed root system seems to have rotted from rain. There are no other trees for a good couple of yards in any direction, so this tree must've gotten the brunt of the worst nuclear weather.

"We should take a break," Nick shouts from halfway down the hill. "I need a goddamn drink!"

"I told him this would be a waste of time," John grumbles. "We could have taken any other location, even the one at the goddamn compound, and had better luck than out here."

"Well, we're here now," Kim replies. "Come on, maybe the cache is tangled up in the roots or something."

John reluctantly follows Kim as she tests the spongier, damp soil around the rotting tree's base. It's clear he's already given up, but that only makes Kim more determined to find something worth the trip out here — at the very least, so that she can rub it in John's pessimistic face. He can't be a sour bastard forever.

No barrel in the root system, of course. All Kim finds is molding wood and the flash of exposed rock. It's just muddy enough that Kim's going to have to scrub her boots when they get back. From here, she can see the slope of the hillside, and the trees that slump with their tops pointed in her direction. It's like they're telling her, go back!

"Please talk Nick into giving this up," John insists, lingering right behind her and scowling at the roots that have betrayed both of them.

"I mean, we've only been out here for two hours. There's plenty of time to find something." Kim crouches down to check the rocky substrate for anything interesting. "Look on the bright side, at least we don't have to dig."

"I think you two are blinded by that bright side of yours." John sighs, leaning against the tree and glaring down in Nick's direction. "You know that the interstate is only a half-day hike from here, right? This is the exact sort of place Jacob would've stashed passports, money — bug-out kits to abandon the county, that kind of thing. It's not like he buried more coffee and rice out here."

"So is that your new theory? Jacob was planning escape routes for you guys?"

John frowns. "It's one of them."

Kim stands and comes around to join him by the trunk. She debates on invoking Jacob's memory any more than she already has; he seems to have a habit of upsetting John even from the grave. She gives the tree trunk a little kick as she considers pressing him, knocking some mud from her boot tread.

Her curiosity takes a backseat as the world lurches uncomfortably beneath them. She catches herself against the trunk and looks towards Nick, who's picking his way up towards them. Only now does she notice that the trees in this direction also lean inwards, towards the lone tree they're currently beside.

John catches on at the same time, hissing under his breath before hollering a warning. "It's a goddamn sinkhole, Nick, watch out!"

The inconvenience turns into real fear as Kim considers the terrain. With all the caves littering the mountains around here, there's no telling how deep the void beneath their feet might be — five feet, twenty? Or, God help them, more?

Kim struggles not to panic as Nick makes no effort to hide his own. "Come on, you guys," Nick calls from between two jutting evergreens, "Just cut across before the whole damn thing gives out!"

There's not a second to spare, but even as Kim starts to move she knows it's too late. She gets one last look at Nick's horrified expression before she, John, and the dead tree crash down into the empty space below.

Kim lands hard on her side, her arm taking the brunt of the blow and blossoming in radiant, white-hot pain. The world around her, suddenly dark and unfamiliar, tunnels alarmingly out of her vision, her blood rushing into her ears until she can only vaguely hear her own pained crying. Trying to move only causes daggers of pain to shoot right up her arm and into her brain, but she only finds that out as she rolls off of her definitely broken arm. At least, Kim's pretty sure it's broken. She's terrified of looking over and seeing her bone poking out, or something even worse — she knows that she won't be able to stand it, that she'll pass out, and she can't do that down here in this goddamn cavern!

Vague, warped voices vibrate through her as John appears abruptly by her side. The left side of his face is covered in a smear of blood from a deep wound scored over his brow. His mouth moves like he's trying to speak to her. God, her fucking arm!

"Take a deep breath," John commands once again, and this time Kim hears him and abides. The pain doesn't subside, but at least the panic that comes with it is softened as she struggles to calm down. As she does, the background noises begin to come into focus; the crumbling rubble settling, the sharp, birdless silence of the air, and most importantly, Nick hysterically shouting her name from above.

John puts a hand on the shoulder not currently delivering mountains of pain. "Another one," he says, and Kim obeys. It's while she's trying to catch her breath that John steps away, cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting up, "Kim's broken her arm!"

"God damn it, what happened — never mind, just —! Stay put! I'll go get help!" Nick's voice cracks as he realizes aloud, "Shit, there's nobody to get help from!"

Kim sucks in a deep breath. There's no way that John is going to be able to handle Nick's mounting panic by himself, and so she steels herself and tries to steady her voice. "It's gonna be okay!" she shouts. "I'm fine!"

"Bullshit you're fine, that looks like a two-story drop from here!"

John swears under his breath. "I don't have time for this."

"He's going to try and jump down if we don't talk him out of it," Kim hisses, closing her eyes as a wave of painful pins and needles washes up her arm. She keeps accidentally moving it, and the feeling of the bone scraping is enough to make her want to vomit.

John clearly decides she's right, changing tactics as Kim desperately tries not to start sobbing again. "It isn't bad, Nick!" he shouts, "But I need rope if I'm going to splint it! Get the cord from the glove box!"

Nick is quiet for a moment. "Y-Yeah," he calls down shakily, "I... I guess you got plenty to work with — hold on!"

Kim lets out a breath she hadn't meant to hold, then bites back the scream that threatens to rip from her throat. "Please tell me you can do this," she moans as John crouches down beside her broken arm. "I can't look — is there bone?"

"There's no bone," John replies. His voice is tight and unhappy, but at least he isn't lacking in confidence when he tells her, "I know what I'm doing. Try to stay conscious, and don't move. The last thing I need is to be stuck alone with Nick."

"Excuse him for worrying," she groans, staring up at the sky through the fifteen-foot-wide hole above her. She counts down the seconds until Nick gets back, if only to focus on something other than the pain.

John leaves her to it, making his way over to the tree that's joined them here in the cavern. There isn't much else down here besides them and the vegetation that came down with them; the sinkhole must have joined with a cavern somewhere along the way. The rock here probably hasn't seen daylight before — when she glances around, she spots a dark crack in the wall that implies there might be more, unlit caves to explore beyond.

Boy, she really does not want to go into that creepy tunnel, and she especially doesn't want to do it with a broken arm. Thankfully, Nick returns before that worry turns to panic.

"Everything okay? Actually, never mind — look, I got the rope, and the first-aid kit!"

Anything Nick decides to throw down is going to stay down here, and so Kim quickly stops him. "You keep that, Nick! If you get hurt up there, you'll need it!"

"We need it more," John points out, returning to her with a few branches that he clearly intends to use as a splint. He's not wrong about the medkit; the cut over his eye is a nasty one, and Kim could use all of those expired painkillers about now. Not to mention, there might be more injuries they've missed.

Still. "I'm not leaving Nick without supplies," she says.

John doesn't reply, but his scowl speaks volumes.

After a minute or so, Nick is ready to throw the cord down. They coordinate the hand-off just fine without her, which is great, because Kim needs to reserve all of her strength for what's to come.

Nick's bundled a few of the medical supplies into his worn-out flannel, along with the crank flashlight and one of the ultra-dry military rations, all tied off with the paracord. Kim is both touched at the thought and horrified at the idea that they might be here long enough to get hungry.

"This is good, Nick," John calls. "We're in a cave — there's got to be another way out nearby!"

"I'll go look for a way in!"

"No," Kim shouts, her voice cracking, "You might get hurt, Nick!"

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, Kim! I'm not gonna leave you down there!"

Kim has never in her life imagined that she would say her next words, but that doesn't mean she doesn't mean it. "I'm going to be okay! John's down here with me, I'll be fine!"

John doesn't seem to have expected her to say that, either, boggling at her with open confusion. But... well, come on! If John can trust her enough to gun down Peggies trying to kidnap him, then she can at least trust him to help her limp out of one of Hope County's many caves. Sure, it's not an ideal situation by any means, but Kim's just happy not to be stuck looking for a way out by herself.

"Are you sure you can even walk?" Nick calls uneasily.

"I can handle it, Nick," John replies for her. "We'll look for a way out — if we don't find anything in an hour, we'll come back here and try something else!"

"What the hell do you want me to do!"

John pauses long enough to look at Kim, but since he seems to have more ideas than she does, she defers to his judgment. "Circle west around the hill and look for any entrances to call from! There's going to be a cave opening somewhere nearby!"

"I don't like any of this, Kim!"

John pinches the bridge of his nose, leaving Kim to answer, "It's the only plan we've got!"

The silence from above stretches out. "We don't have time for this," John mutters, abandoning his attempts to reassure Nick. "There's no telling where a way out might be, and I'm not wasting more time because Nick can't trust me."

"It's not about trust," Kim snipes in return. "He's trying not to panic."

John only grunts in return, settling on his knees next to her as he prepares to do the hard part for her. That leaves it up to Kim to encourage Nick to get a move on; she really doesn't want him sticking around for the painful part. "Nick, be careful, I don't want you to fall in another sinkhole! We'll be okay!"

Nick is frustratingly silent for another moment, but eventually, he relents. "Okay, fine! Remember to mark your path! And don't trust any ropes or ladders you see! And stay outta any water you find, you don't know how deep it is!"

"Jesus Christ," John mutters.

"Oh, shut up," Kim tells him, lifting her strained voice to call back. "Alright, Nick! We'll be careful! We'll see you soon!"

Kim makes John wait another minute after Nick leaves before she lets him at her arm. Despite his sour expression, John manages to be nothing more than stern, and surprisingly gentle. "Careful," he tells her, as if she needs a warning as he adjusts her broken arm. She's unable to decide if the burning sensation or the stabbing sensation is worse, but they're both vying for the spot as John examines the fracture. God, she hopes he knows what he's doing. She hopes it heals clean. She doesn't know what she'll do if she loses the thing.

John jostles her a little too abruptly, and a gasp of pain tears her from her downward spiral of worst possible outcomes. If John notices, he doesn't comment.

"It's not so bad," he says, although Kim's still not sure if she trusts his judgment on the matter. "It seems like a single fracture. I'll splint it, and... Well, there's somebody in town with medical experience, isn't there?"

"I don't know," Kim gasps, head reeling, "Maybe?"

John sighs. "Well, at least you'll survive."

"You better hope so," Kim jokes, or tries to anyway.

John rolls his eyes, but thankfully he's not in a vindictive mood as he prepares to set her arm. "You'll want to scream," he tells her. "Try breathing through your nose instead."

He sure isn't wrong. Kim can't think straight for a minute after he's finished, her face wet as the pain forces her to tears, but John is utterly detached and methodical as he binds her arm to one of the branches. It's reassuring at first, but Kim can't help but wonder just how many people suffered broken bones and serious trauma at his hands, only to see the same dispassionate bedside manner afterward? God, assuming they even survived what he put them through.

"Catch your breath," John tells her once he's done, standing and turning back to further investigate the tree. "The cave systems go on for miles down here, but there are dozens of openings in the hills. As long as we stick to the larger tunnels, we should be able to find one of them."

Kim watches him pick through the tree, sizing out larger branches and dismissing them one by one.

"I'm surprised you're not more freaked out," she says as he picks out a four-foot branch. "You know, being underground and everything."

John furiously breaks the branch from the trunk, then roughly cleans it of dead sprigs and foliage. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Sorry, I just meant —"

"I know what you meant," he says. "It's fine. I'm not... Like I said, these tunnels are hardly inescapable." He strikes the branch against the ground and seems satisfied by the sound. "I spent a lot of time studying the cave systems out here. We considered using them for passage between the gates, but that plan never went anywhere. It left me with enough useless knowledge that I'm not prone to panic down here."

"Useless until now," Kim points out. "Now help me up and let's get the hell out of here."

John helps her to her feet with her good arm, careful not to jostle the splint as she tests her balance. The world heaves for an uncomfortable second or two before righting itself, although it's mostly shock and adrenaline keeping her moving. She's not sure how long that's going to last, but she sure hopes it's long enough to reunite with Nick.

"I should probably lead," John says, looking unhappy about her tentatively upright position.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm in the position to trail-blaze."

"You're barely in the position to walk," he replies. Casting one last look around the sunlit cavern, John turns towards the dark crack in the wall that leads further into the system. "Try not to pass out."

"No promises," she says, staggering her way to their only exit.

She can feel the cool, musty air from here, oddly relieving against her sweaty face. She wishes she hadn't watched The Descent so many times before the apocalypse, because that is really coloring her perception of this situation. Of course, they're more likely to run into a wolverine or bear den than they are to be hunted by a pack of cave-dwelling mutants, but that doesn't stop her from considering it.

John starts forward. Kim, anxious and trembling in pain, tries to joke. "Just avoid stepping on any weird symbols carved into the ground, okay?"

"Christ," John groans, the same way he does every time somebody tries to rope him in with a pop-culture reference. He winds the flashlight up and the beam of light cuts a sharp swath across the dark tunnel "Will you two please let that Hollywood bullshit die already?"

"Oh, relax," she replies. "Tropes are older than L.A. and you know it. They aren't going to disappear just because civilization got nuked."

"One can dream," John snipes dryly in return.

Of course, even with the attitude, John keeps close to Kim, sticking to her uninjured side. Kim imagines her slow pace must be irritating the crap out of him, but he impressively manages not to sigh or stomp like a passive-aggressive toddler. He's been getting a lot better about letting his exasperation get to him, although she bets it's got a lot to do with exhaustion and survival instinct right now.

The silence stretches for a time between them. Kim imagines John is lost in his thoughts, but she's been hyper-aware of every distant sound of rubble shifting or oddly-shaped rock formations that are easy to mistake for humanoid shapes in the dark. The tunnel is only about eight feet across and somewhat taller than that, but that's plenty of room for Kim's imagination to play tricks on her.

"I always thought your anti-Hollywood thing was some kind of shtick," she admits. "Maybe you got scorned on a screenplay or something, I dunno. But you really believe that all of the entertainment industry deserved to get firebombed out of existence?"

"It deserved a reckoning," John replies.

"You mean something like nuclear annihilation?"

John's frown deepens. "Maybe," he says stiffly.

Normally, Kim would try to dig into that more, but she's not in a position to make much sense of it right now. Honestly, the conversation is irrelevant — she just needs something to keep her from fantasizing about monsters in the dark. Or, you know, passing out. Whichever would be worse.

"So I guess you don't have a desert island five, then."

John huffs loudly at that. "I wouldn't be able to remember it."

That just tells Kim that he does have one. She bets American Psycho or Fight Club was on it. Maybe Fear and Loathing?

"Okay, well... say you had to pick a movie to watch as soon as we got home. What would it be?"

Even without looking, Kim knows he's rolling his eyes. "Seriously? Is this really the time?"

"Humor me."

He groans in annoyance, but Kim doesn't miss the short stretch of silence that follows as he thinks it over.

"I don't know," he finally grumbles.

"Come on, you've got to have something."

"I only ever saw a handful of movies growing up, and I lost interest in the medium in college."

"God, you must have been a pretentious bastard."

Despite himself, John chuckles at the jab. "Oh, you have no idea," he replies.

The conversation dies, just like John had probably hoped it would. Kim tries to find something else to distract her, but there's really not much to look at. They've only found one offshoot that John had been able to fit in, but it had ended only a few yards in. They've been exploring for maybe fifteen minutes, though; there's still time for a miracle. Until then, she's got moss to look at, and the distant trickle of water from somewhere far away. With the way the land's shifted, there may be a new river forming somewhere up on the surface. In a few decades, it could swallow these caverns entirely.

"How does your arm feel?" John asks, his voice bouncing off the walls and breaking the silence.

"Not... great," she admits, still trying not to focus on the numb agony of her arm. "I wouldn't mind lying down and sleeping for a few weeks right about now, but I think I can keep it together until we find a way out."

She hopes, anyway.

"Good." John takes a moment to crank the flashlight before it can go out, then picks up the conversation as though Kim weren't even there. "There's nobody in town that I know of that has serious medical experience. With the gates destroyed, there's no telling where the experts we'd vetted for the Project wound up. Dead, probably. Or worse, still involved with Joseph. Hell, even a vet would be better than nothing."

He's definitely more anxious than he wants to let on. Kim doesn't believe for a second that being in this endless, dark tunnel is any better than being trapped in a bunker, save for maybe the space. At least in a bunker, you know which way is out, and you know what's going to kill you.

Now Kim is the one who starts to ramble. "I mean, there's got to be an eagle scout out there somewhere. And there were a couple of doctors still working when I had Carmina — one of them might've survived, right? Somebody out there will know enough to check your handiwork. For the record, though, I think you did a pretty good job for a guy stuck in a pit."

John shakes his head. "I've set plenty of broken limbs." There's a weird sort of challenge in his voice as he says, "Of course, I was the one who broke most of them."

"And I think you feel pretty shitty about it, so I don't know why you sound so smug."

"I'm just reminding you of who you're trying to compliment."

Kim rolls her eyes, her exasperation carrying over in her voice. "I know exactly who you are, John. Quit trying to rile me up like you do with Nick, it isn't going to work."

He huffs. "Sure," he says, then promptly shuts up. Of course he does. No wonder he only ever wants to talk to Nick — it's like he doesn't know how to hold a conversation without trying to start a fight.

Well, Kim needs something to distract her, so she'll carry on with it herself. "I've sprained my ankle a couple of times, but the only time I've ever broken a bone was in soccer camp when I was... thirteen, I think? It was my big toe, and the humiliation was way worse than the pain."

"I can't imagine," John drawls, distinctly unenthusiastic.

Kim opens her mouth to ask the obvious question, then catches herself. Asking about John's past is essentially opening Pandora's box; every time Kim has gone digging, she comes away with something new she wishes she could forget about. The breadcrumbs of information he's given her over the past year or so have honestly kept her up some nights. She probably doesn't want to know anything about the number of broken bones John's had. She definitely doesn't want to know how.

John looks over at her, daring her to ask. It's only when Kim manages to contain her curiosity that he parts with a few terse details. "The first time was when I was eleven. It was a powerful learning experience. One I... try not to revisit."

"Sure," she says. It sounds reasonable enough, anyway.

The flashlight's beam cuts across the wall further ahead, revealing the first major fork that they've come across. They're forced to take an impromptu break as John tries to determine their best way forward. John scowls at the darkness in either direction, but it doesn't seem to help make a decision. Meanwhile, Kim takes the opportunity to rest against the cold stone, swallowing down the nausea that's starting to build. It's a miracle that she's made it this far without fainting, but she doesn't think John's in the mood to hear that.

Frowning, John turns the flashlight back the way they came, sweeping the light down the forking path. "Strange," he mutters.

"What?"

"It's nothing," he says, sweeping the light down the way they came. "Except... see this?"

He steps closer to highlight a uniformly rectangular notch in the wall, just about hip-level. Moving the light reveals more, equally spaced notches, continuing along the wall of the newest fork in their road.

"There were guide ropes installed at one point or another. It doesn't seem to be an active mine, though — it must've been for dumb tourists, just in case of lawsuits."

"I hate to tell you, John, but right now, we're the dumb tourists."

"Unfortunately so. I guess that means we should take the left."

It's smaller, and it looks just as untouched as the rest of the cave has so far, but John's made a compelling point about the seemingly man-made notches.

"You're the expert," Kim says, "I'll take your word for it."

"Alright," he says, not as enthusiastic as Kim would have hoped for. He eyes her somewhat critically, then asks, "How are you doing?"

It's probably the pain making her delirious, but she's surprised at John's concern for her wellbeing. She really shouldn't be. Of course he cares; even if he weren't actively trying to be less awful, he's too smart to leave Kim down here and risk Nick finding out. But still. She's pain-addled enough to be touched by the sentiment.

That doesn't mean she's in the mood to sugarcoat the truth. "I'm surprised I'm still standing," she says. "Let's just hope we find Nick before I pass out."

"I'm sure he'd enjoy seeing me carrying your limp body out of the abandoned mine."

Kim laughs, regretting it as it sends an ache jolting through her body. "Oh, I bet. Just don't be surprised if I tap out at some point."

"You're stronger than that," John remarks. "Follow me."

Now, following John Seed through a dark cave tunnel with a broken arm seems like it would be a bad time. If this were ten, eleven years ago, Kim's sure she would be hunting for a weapon or looking for her own escape route. That is, of course, assuming he hadn't left her to die down here. No doubt that her survival would've banked on how much he would have needed her.

She's glad that's not the case now. John is a reliable navigator, slow-going and cautious as he leads the way, testing suspect rock formations and ducking into narrow crags that don't go anywhere. Honestly, he's probably being more cautious than they need to be. It's already been a half-hour or so, and they're going to need to turn back before much longer.

John has other concerns to bother him, though. "I wonder what happened to the anchors," he says at one point. "You'd think we would have found one by now."

"Maybe they took the rope down before the Collapse," Kim points out. "Lots of tourist traps weren't exactly up to code. Earl probably got here way before we did, back when he was trying to crack down on these kinds of things."

John frowns thoughtfully. "Maybe."

"It's not like people are down here renovating for the next season."

"We don't know that," he points out grimly. "Survivors might've hidden from the radiation down here. Or maybe some angels got lost after Faith was killed."

"Come on, John," she groans.

"Nick's always wondering where the mutants are. Maybe we'll be the ones to find them."

Kim side-eyes John just in time to catch the remnants of a smirk on his face, and she can't help but elbow him with her good arm. She tries to admonish him, telling him, "Knock it off," but she can't help laughing as she does.

"You're probably right about the code violations," John chuckles at last, lifting the light to check the ceiling ahead as it dips low enough for them to need to duck. "Not a lot of these cave systems were what I'd call safe. It's one of the reasons we decided against using them as tunnels. The work involved was too expensive, and the chance of cave-ins was too high. And, as we've found out, they weren't guaranteed to stay underground."

"So, what was going to happen instead? Were you guys going to rely on radios, or what?"

"It doesn't matter what we decided," John points out, more weary of the conversation than irritated. "The gates were barely finished before the Deputy destroyed them, and we never got to find out what might've happened."

They follow the notches through two more forks, and Kim starts to worry that they're only going deeper into the old attraction. Well, at least they're taking the easy way. With a smooth floor and a ceiling that rarely drops lower than eight feet, Kim gets the impression that they're in a manufactured mine, and not an organic one. For all they know, some crazy prepper dug this tunnel out to make a quick buck for his bunker-building hobby. Of course, if that's the case, it's a miracle that nothing's caved in yet.

They pass underneath a lower segment of the ceiling, and the tunnel abruptly opens up into a massive cavern. Defunct light rigs are scattered amongst the stalagmites, with several hanging stalactites covered in chipped fluorescent paint. The rest of the rock outcroppings are covered in lichen, which disappointingly fails to glow in the dark. As John sweeps the flashlight across the large, empty space, Kim gets a good idea of the cheap edu-tainment that was offered on short hikes through the mines. Somewhere in here, there's probably a storage closet full of Halloween decor waiting to liven up the otherwise boring cavern.

"Well, this wasn't worth the twenty dollars it cost to get in," John grouses.

"Don't forget the thirty-dollar iron-on tee-shirts they print off at home," Kim reminds him with a laugh. It's enough to make her lightheaded, and she doesn't quite regain her balance, even after she braces herself against the wall.

"We can only rest a minute," he warns her, sweeping the light in the direction they need to go. Any more huffing and puffing on his part is diminished as the light glints off the rounded edge of something metallic. When John refocuses the light on the object, neither of them really know what to say.

Lying amongst the rocks, battered and dirty, is one of the dark green bliss containers they've been looking for. Kim looks up, but the ceiling is rooted in darkness, and she can't see any sign of another cave-in or sinkhole. The idea that Jacob might've come this far himself crosses her mind, but if that were the case, why is it sitting out in the open like that?

"John, wait," Kim calls as John steps off the path. Suddenly, all her jokes about booby traps seem tasteless, especially with John charging into the unknown like he is.

Of course, this isn't Indiana Jones, and there's no pit of spikes or tripwire to trigger. John doesn't wind up with a face-full of poison darts as he picks up the dented canister; the only thing he's forced to sacrifice is a good grip on the flashlight, which shines at an awkward angle and only illuminates a useless part of the floor. His slow pace and the bad lighting leave Kim to imagine what he's found inside — remnants of supplies, or a dead animal? Indications that something chewed through the rubber sealant, maybe?

John drops the barrel between them, the clanging metal causing Kim to jump. John doesn't notice as he reorients the light, leaning over to illuminate the barrel's contents. The interior is flaked with rust, and whatever sealant had been used is all but completely worn away. The only thing left inside is an empty, smashed bottle of liquor and a few wrapped, moldy packages of cigarettes.

"I don't know if I'm disappointed or not," Kim says.

"I know I am," John replies, grimly reaching into the empty barrel to check for a false bottom. The screech of metal rises up into the cavern, bouncing off the far ceiling and turning into an ugly birdsong. Kim leans back against the wall; if she keeps looking down, she's going to end up toppling over like a broken Weeble-Wobble. John glances her way after a moment, before lifting a clump of wet paper out from the depths of the barrel.

"Of course he buried documents here," John mutters. Kim can't quite pin down whether he's upset or resigned to the bad luck at this point.

"Anything salvageable?" she asks.

"Doubtful. I'll... bring these along, I guess." He checks again, digging out what he can. Other than the loose papers, there's a water-logged manila envelope and an equally soaked box of ammunition. John tucks the box away in his front pocket, holding the papers uncomfortably in his hand. "We'll worry about what these are once we're out of here."

Despite the pain in her arm giving her full-body tremors and John's dismal mood, Kim is nearly upbeat as they exit the cavern. They're still in civilization, after all, even if it's a defunct tourist trap, and the knowledge that they're clearly on their way out is the main thing keeping her moving. If they're lucky, they aren't too far from the truck — if they're really lucky, Nick will have found the entrance before them.

They eventually find a few anchors that are still moored to the walls, a knotted bit of rope still attached, and Kim breathes a sigh of relief. The sigh quickly turns to a groan of pain as she rattles her arm, but at least it isn't enough to knock her off her feet.

John hesitates in front of her, slowing just enough so that he can offer his arm to her. "We can't stop now," he tells her.

"I know," she pants, wiping sweat from her forehead that she hadn't realized was gathering. "Okay. We're nearly there."

She gives up on pretending entirely, leaning heavily against John as they continue forward. Lying down and resting for, oh, a hundred years or so sounds great right now, but first, she needs to make sure Nick hasn't had a heart attack waiting for them. He's probably convinced himself that they've gotten killed somehow, and John isn't going to be able to talk him down on his own.

They approach what will hopefully be the last fork in the tunnel, only to find that both directions have anchors. The newest offshoot seems to curve pretty severely downwards, though; it's clear even as they stop that they should stick to the path they've been on.

"I don't like this," John says, looking first behind them and then ahead, down the new path.

"Fine," Kim groans, "You can choose the next tourist trap we get stuck in."

"I'm serious, Kim." John turns the flashlight down the new path. The air coming from that direction is thick and stagnate — Kim's imagination unhelpfully supplies a few images of killer clowns and deformed mutants to lurk down in the dark that way. God, why did she have to like horror movies so much? Why couldn't she have enjoyed normal, safe entertainment that wouldn't have filled her imagination with monsters and a deep-rooted fear of the unexplored dark?

It certainly doesn't help as John says, "I keep getting the feeling that we're being watched."

"Okay, that's it," Kim snaps, desperately trying to bury the surge of fear the suggestion fills her with. "I'm done being creeped out."

"I'm not trying to scare you —"

"Well, you're naturally gifted, okay? Look, let's just — we know that's the way out," she says, nodding towards the safer route. "Let's just go that way. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Agreed," John grunts.

John adopts a brisk walk that Kim has some trouble keeping up with, but she's not interested in slowing down for anything. She feels vindicated by their choice of exit as they pass a faded safety sign lying on the ground, as well as the decidedly fresher air coming in from what Kim expects to be the exit. There are a few moments where John has to resist breaking out into a jog; Kim can't exactly blame him, but his jitters are amping up her own anxiety, and now she's trying desperately to listen for chasing footsteps behind them. It's hard to hear much of anything over the blood pounding in her ears.

It's a massive relief when John finally slows down. "It must have been an animal," he says at last, casting one last look behind them. "God, I fucking hate being underground."

"Well, let's hope we aren't leading the mutants to the surface world," Kim jokes. It probably would land better if she didn't sound completely wiped.

John frowns at her, but the dark makes it hard to pin down his expression. "We're almost there," he says, which sounds alarming like a reassurance.

Her spirits lift as they pass an overturned rail barricade, but the wind is immediately taken out of her sails as they find the path blocked by a chained and padlocked gate. The thick gauge chain-link fence has been welded to brackets on the wall; the bottom has been bent outwards, likely from some angry animal forcing its way through. Unfortunately, it's too small for either of them to get through.

"For fuck's sake," John hisses between gritted teeth.

They're not going anywhere, and Kim's nausea forces her to find something more solid than John for support. She manages to stagger to the nearest wall before falling against it, but it's enough to make her regret moving at all.

At least she manages a weak thumbs up when John anxiously asks, "Are you alright?"

"Just — giving you room to work," she gurgles, staggering a few feet back down the path before throwing up.

John swears under his breath as Kim tries to coax her headache back to something more manageable. She can hear him tearing at the gate behind her; if she weren't feeling so miserable, she'd probably be flipping out on it, too. As it is, she takes her sweet time to turn around and start back for the fence, watching as John tries to widen the gap left behind by some tenacious wolverine. It's going to wreck her arm to try and weasel through the hole, but Kim is willing to try anything at this point.

"How far are we from the truck?" Kim rasps. "Maybe Nick can hear us?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" John snaps, well past the end of his rope. Kim has to admit, she's surprised he made it this far. "God damn it, I don't know where we are any better than you!"

"Okay, point taken," Kim says — after all, she's in no position to argue with him. As it is, it's taking most of her focus to keep from sinking to the ground. As soon as she's sitting, she's going to pass out, and she's not in any position to be doing that yet.

Thankfully, Nick's voice reaches them before she can give up. A tidal wave of relief floods Kim at the sound of him calling her name; she staggers forward, gripping the chain-link with her good arm.

"Nick!" she shouts. The sound of her own voice bouncing off the walls only amplifies her pounding headache, but it doesn't stop her from shouting his name a few more times in desperation.

John grabs her good shoulder. "Careful," he says, "Take it easy."

"You take it easy," Kim snaps as Nick's voice bounces off the far-away cave entrance. Trying to glare at John is a mistake, as vertigo nearly sends her to the floor. The only thing that keeps her upright is John's grip on her arm, easing her back until she finds the wall for support.

"Let me handle it," he says.

Kim has no choice but to follow his orders, reeling against the wall as he picks up the impromptu game of Marco Polo. She's not sure how much time passes between her slow, long blinks, but all that matters is the moment that she sees Nick appear with the lantern held high. It's enough to bring her to tears — well, that and the dizzying pain — and from Nick's tearful shout, it's having the same effect on him.

"Oh, thank Christ," he gasps as he reaches the gate, rattling it with his free hand as if he could just pry it back. "Kim, you're alive! Are you okay?" He turns the full force of his relief on John, concern furrowing his brow. "Jesus, John, are you okay? We needa get that cut looked at."

"It's fine," John says. "You didn't see any keys anywhere, did you?"

"Let me go check the ticket booth," Nick replies. "Don't worry, you guys — I'm not about to let a goddamn padlock stop me."

Nick jogs back down the tunnel and Kim finally sags, sliding to the ground with a tired groan.

"Okay, John," she sighs, "Mission accomplished. Wake me up when we get home."

"Kim, hold on," John replies, but frankly there's no stopping her now. This was as far as she'd hoped to get on her own two feet, and honestly, she's surprised that she made it that far.

She does rouse briefly as Nick begins wailing on the padlock with a steel pipe, but that's something the boys can handle without her. Here and there, she registers hands on her, and dappled light flashes over her face as they finally escape the caves. The fresh air brings her back long enough to help Nick get her settled in the truck, but she's already dozing off by the time John and Nick start arguing again. The rest of the trip, for better or worse, is completely lost on her.

————

When Kim finally comes to, she's immediately met by the familiar sight of her room at home. She can't tell what time it is, only that it's late enough for the lamp to be lit. Judging by the voices downstairs, everyone is still awake — and going by the sling and bandages, they've had some company since she was last conscious. She allows herself to imagine the whole thing was all a horrible nightmare, just for a second, but the throbbing in her arm is already reminding her of the unfortunate truth. At least she can check "escape mutants in a tunnel" off of her bucket list.

She doesn't have long to focus on the slowly returning pain; it's not even a minute later that she hears boots on the stairs, and Nick pokes his head in not long after.

"Hey," is about all she can muster up before she has to clear her throat, but it's enough.

"Christ, Kim!" he exclaims, throwing open the door as he rushes to her side. The worry breaks on his face as he crouches beside her, careful not to jostle her broken arm. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"Uh... not awesome," she admits, shifting in an attempt to sit up. Nick hurries to help her, and she can't help but smile at him as he piles the pillows behind her. "Better now, though."

"That's what I'm here for," Nick laughs, "That and making everybody else uncomfortable. They kept tellin' me not to worry, but you know how hard that is."

"They?"

"Well, John mostly, until Jerome and Grace showed up. Then I had to keep it together for Carmina, so that helped. Uh. How much do you remember about gettin' back here?"

"Not much," Kim says. Now that she's more conscious, she's able to discern the late evening light for what it is; it's been hours since she was last aware of where she was. "I... remember getting into the truck, I think? And then... Nothing. Why? What did I miss?"

Nick shakes his head, smiling fondly at her. "Nothing much, honest. Most of the ride back was me and John arguing about what to do. He radioed Jerome for help while I got you up here and settled in, then I called up Grace so she could keep Carmina busy until Jerome showed up with some help. I guess Winona, y'know, down at the Eagle? She was getting her nursing degree, or license, or whatever, so Jerome brought her over here to help out. She said it looked like a clean enough break, and John did a good job setting it, so we just had to make sure you wouldn't be accidentally moving in your sleep." He chuckles. "You know, real exciting stuff."

"Oh, boy," Kim groans, "I bet I scared the crap out of Carmina. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Worried about you, obviously, but Grace gave her a pep talk and we kept her busy downstairs. Figured you oughta be awake before she came to see you."

"Good call." Kim briefly debates whether or not getting out of bed is worth it, but she quickly decides against it. Even if she weren't wiped out, Nick looks like he'd fall apart with worry if she tried to exert herself. "You might have to go get her, because I don't think I could move if I wanted to."

"Don't even think about it," Nick says, pointing at her as he gets back to his feet. "You're on bed rest until tomorrow at least. I'll be right back."

Kim dozes for the few minutes that stretch between Nick leaving and Carmina coming up the stairs. It's impossible to fall back asleep, but the rest is good enough on its own. She makes sure to perk up when she hears Carmina coming up the stairs, smiling wide as her daughter enters the doorway.

"Hey, honey," she says, her voice rougher than she'd expected it to be.

"Mom!" Carmina exclaims, careful to avoid jostling Kim as she climbs into the bed on her good side. "I was so worried!"

Kim folds her arm around Carmina's shoulders and gives her a squeeze. "I know, sweetheart. I didn't mean to spook you."

"What happened? Dad said you and John fell into a cave!"

"That's pretty much it," Kim laughs. "We fell through a sinkhole into an old cave system. It used to be a place people could visit, though, so it wasn't hard to find our way out."

Carmina frowns, picking at a loose thread in the comforter. "But it was probably really dark. And your arm was broken, and John busted his head open, and..."

"First of all, his head wasn't busted open," Kim says, reaching up to ruffle Carmina's hair. "He probably needed a few stitches, sure, but he knew what he was doing, and we both made it out okay. And your dad got the flashlight to us, so we had plenty of light to see by."

Obviously, Kim never wants to go back to that awful place, but she needs her daughter to learn not to panic now, in case she ever has to go into those tunnels herself. There's no summer camp to enroll her in that will teach her how to be mindful of caves, so Kim's going to have to do it herself... She just wishes she'd gotten to it before she'd had her own scary experience.

Carmina huffs, frowning briefly at the door. "You were lucky John was there," she says.

Kim bites back on her knee-jerk reaction to scoff at the idea. "You're right," she admits, a little more reluctant to do so than she really should be.

"Nobody else thinks so," Carmina grumbles. "Grace got mad dad left you two down there and then Jerome got mad at John for getting you hurt and Winona was really mad that she had to give John stitches. I wanted to say something but dad wouldn't let me."

"That's because they have good reasons not to trust him," Kim points out, although that excuse is starting to wear a little thin, even with her. "They just need time."

Carmina groans. "I guess. I'm... just really glad you're okay."

Kim squeezes Carmina's shoulder. "Me too."

Carmina sighs. "So... what was it like?" she asks, unable to resist her curiosity any longer.

That's okay by Kim — she could use the distraction. "Well... it was dark, and chilly. It was really quiet — the only thing we could hear was water dripping on the walls and our footsteps. The tunnel wasn't very interesting... but there was a big cavern in the middle where we found the cache, covered in stalactites and stalagmites. You could see where they used to have lights rigged up, and they'd painted some of the rocks to glow in the dark."

"You didn't see any animals?" Carmina frowns. "I always thought animals would hide in the caves."

Kim absolutely will not be telling her daughter about John's creepy sense of danger, thanks. "You know, we didn't. There isn't a lot of food for rabbits or cougars in there, though. I think they usually prefer little caves, not big ones."

There are plenty more questions for Carmina to ask that Kim only barely knows the answers to. Thankfully, geography and natural history are easy to teach hands-on; while she's not about to go back to the cave they just escaped, there are a couple of old attractions she remembers visiting that might do the trick. Places with good gift shops and little museums and educational plaques everywhere to help Kim explain how basic geology works.

"If you want, we can do some cave exploring of our own one day," Kim offers. "I'll need some time to get better, first. And I'll have to find the right place. But when we have some free time..."

"That sounds fun," Carmina says. "Just don't fall into another one first?"

"I'll do my best. We'll, uh, teach you what to look for so you don't make the same mistake."

They talk for a little while longer about the cave systems that litter Hope County, but it's not exactly Kim's favorite topic right now. It's a relief when Carmina declares that she needs water; even more so when she offers to bring some up to Kim. She considers asking Carmina to relay her thanks to John, but it can honestly wait until morning. Hopefully by then, she'll have adjusted to the makeshift cast, although she suspects she'll have plenty of time to get used to it. How long does it take a broken bone to heal, she wonders? Probably a few months, at least. She's really going to have to take it easy, and hope that nothing catastrophic happens while she's down one working arm.

[yamisnuffles]

Let Them Eat Crepes

Crowley suffers through Aziraphale eating crepes after the rescue at the Bastille.

Rated M. Read on Ao3

A very silly thing written as a gift for @racketghost to hopefully bring her some cheer. - - - - -

When Crowley had taken up residence in Paris, it hadn’t been to play host to a fussy angel with a death wish. He’d thought of the angel. Of course he had. Any time through history when he kept a room with a bed, he took some time to imagine said angel in said bed. But Paris was a nightmare and he was only there to keep up appearances, maybe scrape up the occasional detail for a report. He hadn’t thought Aziraphale would ever actually appear. Not in the middle of a bloody revolution. Certainly not dressed like that.

“What good fortune they offer crepes at the very same inn where you are keeping a room,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sipped at his cider. It was supposed to pair well with the crepes. Not that he was eating any himself, despite having ordered food. Somehow his plates always ended up in front of Aziraphale.

“Yeah, fortunate.”

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and speared another bite on his fork. “And such good ones, too.”

He punctuated the statement with a moan that sent Crowley’s blood on a trip south. He took a much larger gulp of cider. Alcohol tended to at least postpone the inevitable reaction to watching the angel eat. At this rate, he’d probably be better off asking for a whole cask. They were only two plates in and hadn’t yet reached the cruelest part of any meal.

Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale resented the creation of forks. Sure, he would use them, but there always came a moment in any meal when he abandoned his utensils in favor of more natural options. Whether it was licking the last bit of broth from a bowl or chasing some spot of cream with his fingers, it happened without fail and it was hell. Literal hell. Well, maybe not literal but Crowley thought it came close to anything they’d come up with Downstairs.

He was, at present, using a torn off scrap of crepe to sop up a bit of golden yolk. He swept the delicate pastry across the plate and let it drag through gooey Gruyère that clung to his thumb and forefinger. Once this process was complete, he would pop it all into his mouth with a moan and suck his fingers clean. He continued on with a single minded focus until the plate was absolutely spotless and Crowley was on the edge of breaking his tightly clenched jaw.

Aziraphale stopped short of putting the final bite in his mouth and looked up at Crowley, as if only just remembering he wasn’t alone. “I know you said you didn’t want any, but maybe just a taste? It really was divine.”

He held out that final scrap on the tip of glistening fingers, as though he expected Crowley to simply nip it away.

Hell. It was hell and Crowley was going to die.

He licked his lips. “Nah. No. M’fine.” He coughed and looked at the empty bottom of his mug. He considered getting more but he needed more than just alcohol at that point. “I’ve got a few good bottles in my room. How about we head up there.”

Aziraphale ate the rejected scrap of food and licked away the grease that had coated his fingers as he held it. “But I haven’t finished yet,” he said with a frown. “It would be a shame to go through all that nasty business at the Bastille without at least eating my fill.”

Wide blue eyes drifted toward the kitchen and then back at Crowley, widening further as they went. Eyebrows lifted up. A bottom lip made its appearance and wobbled for good measure. It really was a marvel, looking back, that it had taken Crowley so long to suggest Aziraphale take on temptations. The angel was a natural at it.

Crowley ran his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth and considered his options. “Ehhh, it’ll be fine. They’ll bring the food up.” They might not know why, but given they’d only started offering crepes an hour ago, it was hardly the most confusing thing they’d been through that day. “We can finish up in my room.”

“Oh, good.” It was clear the moment Aziraphale was appeased because his pout was instantly replaced by a smile. “Well then, lead the way.”

Crowley risked a surreptitious glance downward that he hoped his glasses blocked from view. Despite the growing tension in his abdomen, it didn’t look like his trousers were in a state to give him away. If he walked a little oddly, he had to hope Aziraphale was too focused on the promise of future crepes to notice.

When they got up to Crowley’s room, Aziraphale gave it all an appraising look. He wrinkled his nose at one of the chairs, removed his hat, and used it to wipe the offending furniture off before he took a seat. “Charming place you have here.”

Crowley shrugged with as much disinterest as he could physically muster and went into the small bedroom off the main room. The wardrobe had been repurposed as a wine cabinet. “Doesn’t need to be charming. I’m a demon. It’s supposed to be dark and dank and gloomy,” he called back as he ran his fingers over the labels of some of the wine he’d liberated from now deceased nobles. He grabbed two bottles of Chardonnay and glasses for the both of them and, after a moment of chewing on his lip, a bottle of Champagne. “Besides, not like I’m planning on staying much longer.”

When he returned, he found two large platters of crepes had been delivered. Aziraphale had a fork in hand but seemed unable to decide which to sample first. He settled on one dusted in sugar with sliced lemons on top. His lips puckered slightly around the lemon before relaxing back to a smile. Crowley wanted to lick into his mouth and see if the tartness of the lemon remained or if it would be all Aziraphale. Instead he uncorked a bottle with his teeth and drank a hearty swig of Chardonnay.

“If dark and dank is what you were going for,” Aziraphale said, “then well done, my dear. It’s good to hear you won’t be lingering, though.”

Crowley swallowed down more wine. Between that and all the cider before, he could feel his limbs loosening. He stretched out his legs, forgetting why he’d been keeping them crossed in the first place. “Not much more to do here, really. Can only write, ‘the humans have chopped off more heads’ so many times. Got my commendation, anyway. Might as well head out before Downstairs starts expecting something new and exciting.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Seems prudent.”

He picked up a stray slice of lemon, dabbed it in sugar, licked it clean, and then did it all over again again. Crowley watched the whole thing, entirely enraptured, especially when Aziraphale’s thick, pink tongue would make an appearance to remove any lingering sugar from his lips. Warmth that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol Crowley had imbibed settled firmly between his legs. His feet had wandered dangerously close to enemy territory. He pulled them back and threw one foot over a knee in an attempt to disguise the growing tenting in his trousers.

“Those worth losing your head over?” he asked, nodding his head toward the food.

Aziraphale took the bottle from Crowley and poured himself a glass. “Sometimes you miss life’s little pleasures and you have to take a risk to get what you want.”

Pink blossomed high on his cheeks. Crowley tilted his head.

“But death? For crepes?”

Aziraphale smiled around another bite. “Yes, well, it would have only been discorporation and they’re really rather good, if a bit clueless.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about crepes?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer beyond a small huff of laughter. Silence settled in while he continued on eating. Crowley was certain he was missing something but he was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think straight.

It was odd to see the angel in red. Some secret part buried deep in his chest liked it, loved the message of rebellion that it shouted to the world. He'd never admit to it but, as much as he liked it, he'd loved every last gold thread on the absurd outfit that had come before. He could still see heavy manacles around delicate, lace covered wrists. He could practically feel the ghost of curved calves wrapped in sumptuous stockings. His fingers ached from the memory of feet clad in ostentatious silk. How he'd wanted to take it all off, piece by ridiculous piece.

And there Aziraphale was before him, with a view of the bed just beyond. Maybe he would wear those chains again. Or, better yet, perhaps he’d put himself entirely in Crowley’s hands. Crowley could spread him out on the mattress and peel it all away until only pale skin and paler hair remained.

Aziraphale dropped his fork with a clatter. “Oh.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just that he could imagine it all perfectly, Aziraphale really was back in all his finery. Only, it wasn’t identical to what he’d been wearing before. Gold had been replaced by silver and a vein of deep scarlet ran through the embroidery on the sleeve.

“Well, that was certainly frivolous of me,” Aziraphale said, oblivious to Crowley’s growing distress, “but Heaven can hardly fault me if I didn’t mean to do it. I had been thinking about how much nicer silk was against the skin but… no, I certainly don’t remember actually willing it back.”

��Right, unhhhh—” Crowley’s voice came out as a choked squeak. He opened another bottle and, in a maneuver not recommended to those without demonic serpentine attributes, downed half of it in one tremendous gulp. He tried not to consider the way the angel’s eyes were trained on his neck as he ran the back of his hand across wine stained lips. “Sometimes these things just happen. You know. No use worrying about it. No one will see you here, so just eat the rest of your crepes.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tugged down slightly. “If you’re impatient to be somewhere, don’t let me keep you.”

“Not impatient just…” Crowley switched the cross of his legs in search of some relief. He had to use one hand to still the other in order to keep from palming away the ever building tension. “You know.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I do. Are you alright, my dear? You seem uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m, er…” Crowley tugged at his collar. It was too tight. He could feel himself swallowing and every swallow sent his mind elsewhere. “Hot. Should probably open the windows.” He was halfway to his feet when he remembered why getting to his feet under Aziraphale’s watchful gaze was probably not the best idea. It didn’t seem likely the angel would be secretly ecstatic to find out that he was hopelessly hard just from watching him eat. “Actually, nah. Would need to open the curtains and with your clothes… best to keep things shut. I’ll be fine. Really. Get back to your crepes. You said it yourself, it would be a shame not to finish after everything you did to get them.”

Aziraphale picked at his final crepe. His whole body melted with a moan as soon as it touched his tongue. All the while, his eyes were still locked on Crowley.

“Oh, but it wasn’t just me who went through a lot for these.” He carefully cut another portion of crepe and nudged the sliced tip of a strawberry onto it. He then swirled it through a cloud of rich cream and held up the fork. “Strawberries and whipped cream. Try a bite. For your troubles.”

The whipped cream lost its structure against the warm crepe. A rivulette of white travelled down the length of the fork and onto Aziraphale’s fingers. Crowley licked his lips. He couldn’t possibly take that bite or he would never be able to stop. But Aziraphale was looking at him so expectantly and he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse.

He leaned forward and took the fork into his mouth. It was alright, as food went, but he barely registered the taste. He was far too focused on the way his cock pressed to his stomach when he was bent forward. And then there was proximity of those white, sticky fingers. His head swam with visions of grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist and licking the cream away.

It was all a mouthful too far. He’d tried. He really had. His eyes shut as a desperate groan tore up from his throat and his trousers became a mirror of Aziraphale’s fingers, wet and sticky and warm. He wasn’t sure he could bear to open his eyes again. He fell back into his seat and dared to crack open one eye.

Aziraphale was smiling. “I told you it was good.” He pushed the plate forward. “Would you like to share the rest?”

Crowley sighed and leaned his head back. “Nah, you eat it. I’m good for at least a couple more hours.”

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover Episode 1 Part 4

Hello all, this is the last section of Midnight Striga, Episode 1. Feel free to let me know what you think! Everybody clap your hands!!

Luz and Eda looked at each other, neither bothering to fight off the smirk at King’s adorable attempt at being serious. As they followed him through the doors, Eda tugged King back before he could crash into the glowing barrier barring their way. “Up, up, up! We’ve got a human with us, remember?”

King chuckled sheepishly. “Oh yeah, I guess I got too excited.”

Luz arched an eyebrow. “Okay, what does my being human have anything to do with this?” She indicated the “this” in question, gesturing to the barrier. She had to admit, it was a pretty nice looking one, albeit not a very complicated one. She had an idea of what they needed her for, but getting confirmation was always best.

Eda grinned wryly at the girl’s question. “This barrier is how Wrath keeps the contraband under lock. It blocks out all magic, so no Witch or Demon can cross through. Because humans aren’t supposed to have magic,” Eda continued, ignoring the annoyed glare Luz sent her way, “I assumed you’d be able to cross it. But since you do have magic… got any ideas on how to get through?”

Luz snorted, shaking her head. Of course, what had she been expecting? “Yeah, don’t worry. This isn’t my first time having to dispel a barrier, and this one doesn’t seem like that tough a nut to crack.” Turning a discerning eye back towards the barrier, she reached forward, marveling as her hand passed through, mostly at any rate. The barrier seemed to cling to her, as if it recognized that she had magic, something it was supposed to keep out, but was confused by something.

Eda gazed impassively, her thoughts racing at the implications of Luz’s words. As far as Eda knew, unless it was broken by something it couldn’t block, dispelling a barrier wasn’t a thing, yet Luz apparently had done so before. When she saw the barrier stick to the girl’s hand, she felt a slight jolt of worry; the human had magic, who knew how the barrier would react to her? Her worry vanished as a cocky grin bloomed across Luz’s face. Her arm lit up along the area the barrier was clinging to, sigils, runes, and symbols flashing across it, before spreading out across the barrier. To Eda, it looked a lot more methodical than most forms of magic she had seen, but she couldn’t deny, it seemed to be working. As the symbols crawled across the barrier, it broke further and further apart; soon, in seconds really, the barrier was gone, a wide open passage in its place.

Luz felt the impressed stare of Eda burning against her, but brushed it off. While showing off like that was certainly fun, the quicker they got this done, the sooner she could trash this place. As Luz strolled into the room, she noted how it was almost overflowing with scraps, odds and ends, and numerous random bits and pieces; it looked like a hoarder’s paradise. As she grew closer to the center, she noticed a raised pedestal. When she got closer, she stopped and blinked, hoping her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. They were not. Grabbing the prize, and somehow keeping her temper in check, she wandered back to Eda and King, the two of them having made themselves at home amid the junk. As she approached King, she plopped his crown atop his head: a cheap piece of cardboard, the kind used to package boxes shipped within cities, arranged into a crude ring and cut into the shape of a crown with fake jewels drawn on it.

As King felt the crown fall atop his head, he paused, elation rushing through him. “YES!! I CAN FEEL MY DARK POWERS RETURNING!!!!” He roared with glee, turning to the toys scattered around him, before focusing on a stuffed bunny. “You, nightmare creature! I will call you Francois, and you will lead my armies!”

Luz turned a twitching eye back to Eda. “That crown doesn’t give him any powers at all, does it?” She knew it didn’t, but she really needed to know WHY.

Eda barked a cynical laugh. “HA! No, not even close.” Her cocky grin fell as she slumped, now seeming oh so very tired of it all. “Ah look at us kid. I’m a cranky old witch who lives in the woods, and sells junk to whoever’s gullible enough to buy it. He’s a mini-demon with delusions of grandeur. Me and him? All we’ve got in this world is each other, so if that toy is important to him, then it’s important to me. We weirdos have to stick together.”

As frustrated as she was about it all, that sentence rang with Luz. All her life she had been the outcast, and so were they. Who was she to judge how they decided to live? “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“Of course I’m right, kid!” Eda crowed. “Now let’s get out of here before the Warden catches us.”

“Too late.”

An oddly flesh-like scythe cleaved through Eda’s neck, sending her head rolling across the ground. Luz screamed, not in fright, but in sorrow, sorrow at the loss of the woman who she had already formed a bond with, however fresh it may have been, and rage, the blistering rage at the man, the monster, responsible for them being here.

“It seems the Owl Lady isn’t as impressive as I was led to believe.” Wrath rumbled, reaching down to scoop up Eda’s head. Before he could touch her, however, Luz blocked his path, her face a rictus of hate. “Oh, a human? So that’s how she crossed the barrier. I had assumed she would’ve tried going around, rather than through. Still, how does a fragile thing like yourself hope to challenge the likes of me?” He rumbled, no he chuckled. This bastard was LAUGHING!! HE HAD MURDERED EDA AND WAS LAUGHING!!!!

“You…” Luz’s voice dropped, cold-blooded murder coursing through it. “I’m going to make you pay for that.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Wrath paused. Then, his shoulders started to shake. The guards behind him started to snicker. Then, they all burst into raucous laughter. Luz had been aware that those on the Isles didn’t really seem to have the highest opinion of humans, but this open display of laughter, as if the idea of a human hurting, or threatening, them in any way was only a laughable joke? That made the rage burn all the hotter.

Luz brought her hands together in the familiar pose of her favored magic, and as the light started building in her palm, the laughter started dying. She bit out a spell, anger scorching through every word. “Light-Make: Blazing Durendal!!!”

With a scream of rage, pain, and years of accumulated frustration, Luz unleashed the strongest Light-Make spell she was currently capable of without incapacitating herself. A shining sword, so large the just forming it caused the ceiling and the floor to tear up to accommodate its bulk, launched forward, catching Wrath on the chest. It was a testament to how strong he was that he didn’t die immediately, as that sword was very much sharp, and the sheer force of its movement made it hit like a landslide.  The guards screamed, scattering in panic as their leader was sent crashing through the walls. With a roar, Luz ran after the Warden, intent on making him hurt more, oblivious to what was going on not ten feet behind her.

After Luz jumped through the hole her spell had made through the walls, King tentatively approached Eda’s head. As he crept closer, he slowly pulled himself level with her face… and slapped her across the mouth, eliciting a pained yell from the decapitated head.

“OW!! King, what was that for?!?” Eda yelled, oblivious to her current lack of a body.

King, deadpanning, pointed to his left, where, following his arm, Eda’s gaze landed on the sight of her headless body flopping against the ground, trying and failing to move without her head.

Eda blinked. “Oh. Okay, so how badly did the kid take it?” Eda really hoped Luz wasn’t too choked up over this. Having her head cut off, after she got past the initial panic and horror the first few times, always amounted to her getting knocked out and her body flopping around until she rolled close enough to reattach after waking up.

Once again, instead of answering, King gestured, this time to the gaping whole in the wall. Eda blinked again. “Wow. Not sure how she did that, but help me get up so we can stop her from doing something stupid, okay?” King grumbled, but grudgingly agreed, carrying Eda’s head over to her body.

Back with Luz, she had finally reached the spot where Wrath had landed. Aside from his uniform being trashed to Kingdom Come, and some bruising all across his torso, he seemed none the worse for wear. He chuckled, “A good trick, human, and this will certainly leave a mark for some time, but I doubt you have anything left to give after that feat. I may not know how you imitated magic in such a way, but I doubt you can do so again.”

Now, Luz was well aware that battle banter was something you were supposed to leave in books, high-profile fighters notwithstanding, but she couldn’t keep the snark in check. “There is nothing imitation about my magic. Seriously, maybe do a little fact checking before going off outdated assumptions, asshole!” Normally Luz isn’t so coarse, but right now, she had every reason to be pissed off enough to curse.

“Hmph, then prove it, welp.” Wrath goaded.

“Light-Make: Lion Jaws!” Luz screamed. A blindingly bright Lion Head materialized before her, surging forward and clamping around Wrath’s torso. With a pained grunt, Wrath was once again sent flying back, only to brace himself against the ground. Digging in his heels, he grunted, and roared, ripping open the Lion’s jaws and the head along with it.

“Pitiful.” He grunted, tacitly ignoring the pain surging through his ribs. With a roar of his own, he whipped one of his arms back, reforming it into a mace, and rocketed it forward. With a yelp, Luz jumped back, avoiding the blow, but feeling part of her hoodie rip at the close shave. She grunted; she really liked this outfit, dang it! “But that is to be expected of one who allies with trash.”

Luz was incensed. A slight against herself, while frustrating, was something she could handle. Mocking the dead!? Yeah, she was gonna make this bastard pay dearly. Still, she needed to stall a little more before she could unleash her trump-card, so…

“Why’d you do it?” She asked. She genuinely wanted to know, but the more she could draw this out, the better. “What possible reason could justify killing her? She lived in the woods and sold trash!!!”

“The politics at play are more complex than your feeble mind could even begin to grasp.” Wrath intoned condescendingly. He raised his untransformed fist, beckoning her almost. “But I must admit, I enjoyed that far more than what is traditionally proper. Seeing the stain on my love’s perfection wiped out was far more satisfying than I ever anticipated. Now, she’ll have to accept my offer for a meal together!!”

Luz blinked, dumbfounded. Then, the confusion shifted. Now, it was boiling hate, even more intense than any of the rage and pain she had felt today, the likes she hadn’t felt since that day. “You mean to tell me… you murdered someone, an innocent woman, TO GET A DATE!?!?!?”

Wrath laughed mockingly, throwing his head back. “She is far from innocent! Her very existence is a spitting in the eye of our leader’s great vision! She should be honored to serve as a lesson to those looking to stray from the proper path!!”

With that, Luz officially snapped. “LIGHT-MAKE: DAGGER DANCE!!!” A swarm of blades manifested, each aimed to rip Wrath apart. To counter, he divided his arms into countless tentacles, whipping up the nearby rubble into the paths of the daggers.

“Light-Make: Wolf Pack!” Whatever attack Wrath had been planning to follow up on was quickly aborted, as he was forced to divert his tendrils to fend off the canine constructs currently attempting to rip him apart. As he busied himself with fighting the wolves, Luz took the moment to catch a breather. Keeping him distracted while setting up her finale was a LOT harder than she thought, and she just knew she was gonna be paying for it tomorrow. Still, she needed just a little more time…

“Answer me this then,” Luz began, eyes alert for any attack he may use. “What possible reason do you have for locking these people up?” She gestured in the direction of the cells, specifically the cells containing the trio of prisoners she met before. “What did they do that deserves all this!?” She yelled, gesturing to the imposing structure surrounding them.

Wrath snorted, wrestling another wolf into the ground after it made a lunge for his throat. “I locked them away because they are better for it. What possible use could society have for people like them? Worthless wretches who can’t even do what’s expected of them-” Anything further he had to say was cut off by Luz’s attacks. Abandoning finesse for raw power, Luz had traded her constructs for blasts of pure, concentrated light. As each blow hammered into Wrath, Luz screamed her fury.

“BEING YOURSELF IS NOT A CRIME!!”

Hearing the yells, Katya perked up.

“BEING DIFFERENT IS WHAT MAKES EVERY PERSON AMAZING!!”

Tiny Nose raised her head.

“WHO CARES IF THEY DON’T FIT IN? THEY AREN’T HURTING ANYONE!!!”

The Eyeball eater gained a tearful smile.

“NOBODY DESERVES TO BE LOCKED UP FOR JUST BEING THEMSELVES!!”

The prisoners shared a look.

“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE!!! AS LONG AS I’M ALIVE, I WILL ALWAYS STAND UP FOR PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO BE TRUE TO THEMSELVES!!!”

With a roar, the three prisoners threw themselves against their cells. As the guards closed in on them, the eyeball eater grabbed them, slamming them against the bars, while Katya snagged their keys. With a battle cry, Tiny Nose proceeded to blast the guards with fire, incapacitating them long enough to lock them in the cells in place of the prisoners. Sharing a nod, they rushed off. As they rounded the corner, they saw Wrath powering his way through the Light Blasts, though he was clearly worse for wear. His body was coated in light burns, his clothing in tatters, even his mask was destroyed. As he reared back a scythe-arm to destroy the still defiant human, the three prisoners leapt into the fray.

“I Believe the Wowld is a Twiangle!!” Tiny Nose yelled, pulling at the corner of Wrath’s beady eyes.

“I like to eat my own eyes!” The eye eater growled, pulling at Wrath’s arms to keep him from swinging.

“And I practice the ancient art of fanfiction!!” Katya roared, swinging her arm into Wrath’s torso.

“””AND WE ARE DONE BEING AFRAID OF YOU!!!””” All three screamed.

Smirking in pride at how forceful the three, formerly meek, prisoners were being, Luz reeled her arm back, and unleashed one last blast, sending Wrath flying back. All four of them cheered.

“Luz!”

Luz’s ears perked up at the shout. It couldn’t be, could it?

Her eyes started tearing up. “Eda? You're alive!!” Indeed she was. Eda certainly looked ragged, but by all accounts, she was alive and well, and somehow her head was once again attached. Attached… Luz blinked, then slapped herself. She had totally forgotten about Eda’s detachable hand earlier!! Of course, she had no reason to believe that would extend to something as important as a head, but still!

Eda smirked, but it couldn’t hide the relief in her eyes. “And here I was coming to bail you out, and you had it all handled!”

“Yeah!” King shouted, trying to sound angry. “We were worried!”

Luz grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you guys.”

Eda patted a spot next to her on her staff. “Okay kid, let’s beat it before Wrath recovers.”

Luz groaned as the pain from her injuries and expended magic started kicking in. It was anything serious but it was exhausting. “Yeah, I’m not sure how long I could’ve kept that up. Let’s go!”

“Wait!”

“Huh?” Luz turned, catching sight of Katya, holding her hand out.

Katya bit her lip, nervous, before speaking. “I just wanted to say, thank you.”

Luz cocked her head, puzzled. “For what? You guys got yourselves out, didn’t you?”

Katya grinned at the memory. “Yeah.” Her expression sobered. “But we wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t inspired us. Nobody has EVER stood up for us before, or people like us before.” She gestured to the eyeball eater and Tiny Nose, both having the same expression of gratitude that Katya did. “I don’t know if we’ll meet again, but if we ever do, you can count on me for help, okay?” She held out a hand. Luz glanced at it, stunned, before eagerly shaking it in acceptance, getting a startled laugh from the Witch.

“As touching as this is,” Eda droned. “We really do gotta go.” In response to her words, the furious roar of Wrath sounded out again. With the reminder that he wasn’t down for the count, everyone quickly rushed outside, on foot for the prisoners, and by staff for Eda, Luz, and King.

“Wait!” Luz yelled, causing Eda to stall.

Eda turned around, surprised. “What for?”

Luz grinned maliciously. “For my finale of course!” She exclaimed, pointing up.

Eda snorted, following her finger. “What do you mean finaleeeEEEEEEOOOOOHHHH MY TITAN!!!!!!” Her question shifted into a shout of shock at what she saw; an absolutely massive magical circle floating above the Conformatorium. Each quarter of it was a different color, with a different style. The one closest to Eda appeared to be Brown, with a rock and stone motif, the next a rich blue, images of waves and water covering it, the third being a bright red, stylized flames scattered about, and the last segment being pale green, swirling gusty patterns that reminded Eda of windstorms detailed across. It wasn’t just Eda who was shocked. King was stammering incessantly, unable to form proper words. The little ball-shaped demon with the big nose was ranting something about a higher power. The one with multiple eyes was popping them out and gobbling them down as fast as they appeared in some sort of stress-eating trance. The girl Luz had talked to was just staring, wide-eyed. And Luz? She was currently putting on four rings, their designs matching the four designs on the circle above.

“The finale.” Luz intoned, pointing her ring-clad finger to the sky.

“Oh Mighty Earth, I Invoke Thee. Sunder This Land So That All May Fall.

Oh Blazing Flames, I Invoke Thee. Scorch This Land So All Shall Burn Eternal.

Oh Crashing Waves, I Invoke Thee. Wash Away All That Is So That Nothing New May Come.

Oh Howling Winds, I Invoke Thee. Rip And Tear This Unworthy Place So That Naught But Memory Remains.

Yee Four Catastrophes, I Invoke Thy Names Under The Authority Of Those Forgotten. Mine Name Is Fae And Let All Sing Thine Song Of Sacrifice!!

ABYSS CANON!!!!!!”

Nothing happened at first. The circle glowed, and vanished. Suddenly, a roar built up from above. A great light started shining. And then… a pillar of destruction descended, rending the Conformatorium apart, each floor dismantling itself under the force bearing down upon it. Yet, just as suddenly as it started, it ended. True, over half of the Conformatorium had been reduced to rubble and slag, but it wasn’t the total destruction they had been expecting after seeing the spell begin. A pained gasp caught Eda’s attention. As she turned, her gaze filled with horror at what she saw; Luz, blood hacked from between her lips, blood and tears seeping from her eyes, the four rings she wore cracked and charred. “KID!” Eda’s cries fell on deaf ears as Luz tottered forward, and fell

-

-

-

-

-

“uz. Luz. Luz!” Luz blinked her bleary eyes to find the worried gaze of Eda staring down at her, a crying King clinging to her chest. “Oh thank Titan you’re okay! You had us worried kiddo!”

Luz tried for a confident smirk, but had the feeling she failed at Eda’s unimpressed look. “Didn’t know you cared that much.”

Eda blinked, looking almost offended. “Of course I care, I’m not some kind of monster!! You stuck your neck out for me and King way beyond what was needed for the mission, and when you thought I was dead, however wrong you may have been, you jumped in to avenge me. That’s not something I’m just gonna write off. But I do gotta ask-”

“WHAT IN THE TITAN HAPPENED!!” King butted in, tears and snot dribbling from his face.

Luz blinked, mulling over memories, before realizing what they meant. “Oh you mean the spell!”

“”YES WE MEAN THE SPELL!!”” The force of the combined shout was actually enough to ruffle Luz’s hair.

Luz sheepishly chuckled, glad her laugh hid the wince of pain her body was feeling. “That spell was my trump card. A last resort that lets me totally obliterate a target, derived from one of the most dangerous spells ever taught, the Abyss Break.” She turned her gaze to the sight of her rings, ruined from the strain of helping her channel the spell. “Quick confession time, Eda, remember those elemental spells I used against you earlier?”

Eda blinked, wondering why she was asking about that. “Yeah, what about them?”

Luz bashfully rubbed her head. “I can’t actually use them normally. I’m only technically trained in Light-Make Magic. Those elemental spells were ones I knew theoretically, but lacked the training to actually use.” She gestured to her rings. “Those rings are focusing instruments, allowing me to utilize and channel elemental magic in its more raw state to make up for it. Normally I only need to have them close to my body, like in a pouch or something, to enjoy the benefits.” She turned her gaze, looking almost apologetic, back to Eda and King. “But for anything big or complicated, I need to properly wear them. The biggest drawback to them is that they aren’t very high-quality, so if I ever aimed too high for a spell, something too big for them to handle, they had a chance of breaking and for me to suffer a backlash from the spell breaking down.”

Eda looked shocked. She had genuinely not been able to notice that Luz hadn’t been using those elemental spells from before in any way unusual, sure she may not know anything about human-style magic but still, she knew plenty about magic in general! The fact that humans had tools that could compensate for lack of training and talent for magic use was honestly a scary thought. Before she could finish processing it, however, a thought came to her. “Okay, but what about that big spell from before, what did you call it, Abyss Canon? That wasn’t an elemental spell as far as I know of.”

Luz’s grinned shifted from sheepish to proud. “Abyss Canon is extremely complicated, it and its predecessor work by taking fire, wind, earth, and water magic together, and sublimating them into a total destruction attack. So, technically, it is elemental magic, it just isn’t one element!!”

Eda blinked. She snickered. She snorted. Then, she laughed. A deep, heavy laugh, the kind that came from hearing something totally surprising you couldn’t NOT find funny, especially when it completely challenged something you hated. “HAHAHAHAHHAOOOOHHHHH TITAN!!! That… that’s incredible, kid.” Her grin softened, looking almost wistful. “So, you ready to go home?”

Luz blinked. “Who said anything about me going home?”

Now it was Eda’s turn to blink. “But, I thought, wasn’t that why you helped us? To get you back home?”

Luz snorted. “No. I helped you because it sounded like fun! Also, because I thought if I helped you, you’d be more likely to let me stay here.”

Eda backed up at that. “WHOA WHOA WHOA!! Now I may like you, kid, but my place is not somewhere a child should be. I mean, wouldn’t your mom worry about you?” As Luz’s face darkened, Eda had the feeling she had stepped into something bad.

“I haven’t seen my mom since I was ten.” And there it was. Whatever resistance Eda felt about letting Luz stay just went up in smoke. Eda felt a tug on her dress, looking down to see King looking up at her with pleading eyes.

“Come on, let her stay! She could make us snacks!” King begged. “And… it gets kind of lonely with just us here.” He gestured to all the space they had for the four of them.

Eda groaned. “Ugh, fine! You can stay!” Luz and King both cheered, before she continued. “BUT! You’ve gotta work for rent, capiche? I’ve already got one freeloader.” She said, gesturing to King, who had the nerve to look affronted!

Luz smirked, taking Eda’s hand in her own, shaking it. “Well, Miss Owl Lady, looks like you got yourself a tenant. Plus, maybe we could trade some magic, eh?”

Eda smirked back. “You know, I think I might actually like having you around, kid.”

[sometimes-i-right]

Was digging through my notes and found this discarded scene from Mand’alor bal Kaysh Vod’ika. Obi-Wan’s verd’goten was originally a single chapter featuring a hunt on Mandalore, but I scrapped that in favor of the Xanatos hunt published on AO3. Of course that decision was made after I had already written 3k words, so enjoy the scrapped scene after the break. (The original arc also involved a completely original mission where Obi-Wan crossed paths with Luminara and her master. I may use bits and pieces of that mission in a future arc.)

This chapter originally had another 500 or so words where Obi-Wan is adopted by a strill puppy. I think those words got deleted, since the only evidence is a pro/con list and the single “protect” emotion from the strill parent.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure what he expected Mandalore to look like, but it wasn't this. Large swathes of the southern hemisphere had been bombarded from space, leaving enormous puckered black scars across a golden desert. The desert was relatively new, or so Jango said, a result of the bombardment destroying the natural ecosystem and leaving the area uninhabitable without sophisticated environmental domes.

The northern hemisphere had been miraculously spared - and that alone had probably kept the planet capable of supporting humanoid life - leaving a glimpse of the Mandalore of old. Forests and mountains blanketed the area, making it difficult to carve out enough space for a single clan, let alone a city or proper landing pad.

Jango guided Jaster's Legacy in for a lopsided landing between an evergreen forest and the start of yet another mountain range, a feat Obi-Wan was glad he didn't have to perform. "Wayii," he exclaimed softly upon exiting the ship, eyebrows rising in awe at the way the Legacy was perched atop three boulders like a giant bird of prey.

"It just takes practice," Jango assured, voice modulator hiding most of the amusement Obi-Wan could feel from him. "Now, your verd'goten," he started and Obi-Wan snapped his attention over. "Traditionally, the two of us would disappear into the wilderness while the rest of Clan Fett tried to catch and defeat you. Seeing as that's not an option, we'll have to test your warrior skills another way."

Obi-Wan swallowed his nerves and nodded seriously.

"In these forests are a number of dangerous predators. Your task is to hunt a strill," he stated and Obi-Wan tilted his head in question. "They're an apex predator native to these forests. Highly intelligent, mammalian, with an unmistakable stench and six legs. Tend to pounce from high trees," he warned, grinning when Obi-Wan nervously glanced at the tree line.

Those were some very tall trees.

"I'll be with you to make sure you don't die, but this is your hunt," Jango finished. "Be sure to take whatever you need from the ship."

"I don't suppose there's a strill tracker?" Obi-Wan quipped before studying the forest. He had taken the basic survival courses all Initiates took. He had the Force. If things went to absolute bathashit, he had Jango.

He could do this.

He set off into the forest with a light pack, a single blaster, and a survival knife. He had contemplated grabbing more supplies - enough provisions for a week, more weapons, a full temporary shelter and bedroll - but had ultimately decided against it. This was a test. He wouldn't take the easy way out.

The forest was eerie and peaceful at the same time. Insects chirped and screamed all around him, blocking out the softer padding sounds of small prey animals and his own two feet. Branches snapped and shook from the breeze and various creatures going about their lives. The scent of pine and rotting foliage sat heavy in his lungs.

He trudged on.

The sun filtered through the sturdy veshok trees and warmed patches of undergrowth. Obi-Wan paused in one, absorbing the heat and breathing out his tension. Breathed in peace, and exhaled his uncertainty. Inhaled fresh air and exhaled his nerves.

He stretched out his senses.

Jango stopped fifty yards away, preternaturally still in the way all predators were. He was calm, patient, warm, but ready to spring into action at the slightest signal. His own senses - and likely his sensors - were on high alert, searching for any indication that Obi-Wan needed his help.

Obi-Wan would not need his help. Not for this. He would make Jango proud.

A rapid heartbeat and softly padding feet off to one side, a flicker of life just as wary and alert as Obi-Wan was. He brushed against that dim light, identifying it as a small herbivore. A prey animal, calculating in its own simple way whether it wanted to flee or continue munching the sweet vorpan berries.

Another flicker of life overhead, this one sleeping. A good thing, too, since there was an aura of danger and barely leashed violence tucked behind those brown wings. Obi-Wan would not put it past this particular creature to attack, and possibly kill, humans if it felt the desire. He sent a soft sleep suggestion to it and warily turned his attention elsewhere, though part of him kept it firmly in mind.

Something nudged his arm, and Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open. A cold black nose attached to a long triangular face nudged his arm again, and Obi-Wan huffed a soft laugh. He slowly, carefully reached up to pet the shatual's head and scratch the base of the wide antlers, gaze flickering over the herd that had decided to come meet him.

"Hello there," he greeted quietly, belatedly realizing he had been projecting peace into the Force in his attempts to keep the predator bird overhead asleep. No wonder the herd had come up to him. "You're a brave little fellow, aren't you?"

Jango shifted, and the shatual herd stiffened, heads all swiveling to stare at the Mandalorian. Obi-Wan jerked back to avoid getting clocked by his new friend's bony crown.

The largest shatual made a guttural sound, and Obi-Wan scrambled away as the herd abruptly fled.

A mix of exasperation, disbelief, and humor prompted Obi-Wan to turn, a bemused if chiding look on his face. "Thanks for that," he snarked, staring pointedly at the blaster Jango had drawn.

"This happen a lot?" Jango asked evenly as he stowed the weapon.

"Not generally. I think I was projecting and they got curious," Obi-Wan admitted. "We should move on. I think that's a shriek-hawk overhead, which means a strill wouldn't be welcome here."

There was a brief pause as Jango consulted his HUD. "Good eye," he confirmed.

Obi-Wan smiled as he wandered deeper into the woods, the Force guiding his steps.

 They stalked through the forest for hours, Obi-Wan picking out what plants he thought were safe for foraging and Jango verifying their safety. Whether that was cheating, Obi-Wan didn't care to examine too closely. He knew how to test whether a plant was edible. Using Jango's knowledge simply kept the man from worrying at Obi-Wan's naturally small appetite.

There were no repeats of the shatual herd incident, though Obi-Wan may have used a small Force suggestion to lure a rabbit for latemeal. He only felt mildly guilty about using the Force in such a way as Jango helped him field dress and roast the animal.

Camp was a simple affair; a pile of dry leaves, a small fire, and a blanket to keep the morning dew off. Jango didn't even bother with the blanket, relying instead on his beskar'gam to keep him warm and dry. Part of Obi-Wan was jealous, the rest of him knew he would get his own suit soon.

The next day came bright and early, complete with Obi-Wan gasping from a half-forgotten nightmare and Jango groaning about a night on the hard ground. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and would have thrown a pillow if he had one; the ground was not that much harder than the shared blanket pile they were experimenting with on the Legacy.

They wandered onwards, Obi-Wan following the vague currents of the Force as best he could. It was difficult to tell where exactly he was meant to go. The Living Force had never been his strong suit, and the Force felt especially elusive in this old, scarred forest. This was a place teeming with life tempered by a looming expectation of danger; these were survivors, determined to eke out a living among the jagged rocks and scraggly trees and the heavy weight of death.

He shivered as he crested another boulder.

The vague feeling of alarm and the sound of rustling trees alerted him to animals fleeing something. He turned, stretching his senses out.

A breeze ruffled his hair, and Obi-Wan nearly gagged at the stench it carried. Like rotting meat and Vos's training tunics and unwashed bodies all mixed together. He hastily switched to breathing through his mouth, and nearly gagged again as he realized he could taste the stink.

He glanced back at Jango, a disgusted look on his face. 'Is that what I think it is?'

Amusement spiked, and Jango inclined his head. 'Yes.'

Obi-Wan scowled and crept towards the strill, drawing both his vibroblade and blaster. He reached out with the Force, recognizing a spark of animal intelligence just ahead, mind bright with happiness and victory at a successful kill.

The strill was just as ugly as it smelled. Short gray fur bristled across its flappy skin as it tore into the downed shatual. Its front four legs held the shatual in place as it systemically tore the beast into shreds, blood and viscera spreading from the corpse in a gory puddle.

Obi-Wan swallowed roughly and raised his blaster.

Something - the wind, maybe - alerted the predator of his presence as its head snapped up, snarling. The Force barely had time to flare in warning before the strill pounced, fangs and claws extended.

Obi-Wan shouted in surprise and thrust one hand out, catching the strill with the Force, pushing it back, and buying him precious seconds to scramble to his feet.

The strill snarled as it landed, prowling around him in a wide arc. Obi-Wan raised his blaster and aimed for the creature's center of mass, Force at the ready for any unexpected surprises. The Force trilled right as the strill leapt, and Obi-Wan twisted to one side, blaster landing a fiery score across the loose skin of the strill's underbelly.

He cursed under his breath. That would only make the animal angrier.

The strill snarled as it landed and immediately bounded up a nearby tree. Obi-Wan shifted closer to the shatual body, tracking the strill as it jumped from tree to tree around him.

He dove to one side as the strill fell almost on top of him, blaster snapping out three quick bolts. The strill whimpered as it landed, and Obi-Wan frowned as he realized he had only caught one of the six legs instead of the animal's vulnerable chest.

It would hurt, but it wouldn't incapacitate.

Apparently it hurt enough, as the strill picked up its injured leg and fled into the forest. Obi-Wan grit his teeth and followed, eyes scanning everywhere for disturbed foliage and blood.

Despite the injury, the strill was fast, quickly disappearing among the veshok trees. Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, searching for that combination of intelligence and anger/hurt/fear/hunger that was the strill among similar animal minds.

He scowled as he felt the strill escape to the edge of his awareness. If he were better with the Force - if he were a real Jedi - he would be able to feel it out from across the planet. He picked up the pace, using the Force to vault himself over a downed tree and enhance his speed.

But it was no good. The strill was clever and knew the forest better than Obi-Wan did. He drew to a stop, panting, as he recognized that his target had escaped.

As he caught his breath, he realized Jango was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, reaching out with the Force for the familiar presence, but only finding the relatively dull glimmers of animals instead. He reached for his commlink and paused.

He wasn't asking for help. He wouldn't. Not for this.

He could do this. Jango thought he could do this, so he could do this. He would not let Jango down.

He flipped a switch on the device allowing it to broadcast his location, and tucked it back in his belt pouch. Whether Jango needed the tracking signal or not, it settled something deep inside knowing Jango would absolutely be able to find him.

And if the strill did kill him, at least Jango would be able to find his corpse.

With that cheery thought, Obi-Wan carefully examined his surroundings. There, off to the side and high in the trees, were what looked like claw marks, and lower on the trunk were a few spatters of blood.

He followed those signs for some distance, trusting the Force to keep him mostly pointed in the right direction and his own eyes the rest of the way, and emerged in a small rocky clearing. He scoured the lichen covered rock for the telltale blood spots he had been following, and headed back into the forest.

As he came upon a small rocky clearing, he was forced to admit the strill was far more clever than he had given credit. He drew his knife, marked the false trail, and tried a different path.

The third time he entered the small rocky clearing, Jango was waiting for him.

"Not a word," Obi-Wan demanded, finally locating what he hoped was the real trail.

Jango didn't move, but he also didn't say a word, so Obi-Wan counted that as a win. He determinedly ignored whatever emotions Jango was bleeding into the Force.

The third path led him into the foothills of a mountain and down into a shallow stream. He scowled at the cheery water feature, just knowing the strill had used that to well and truly lose him.

"Do you have a plan?" Jango asked as he drew close.

Obi-Wan sighed, releasing his frustration to the Force, and took a seat on a conveniently flat rock. "We weren't taught more than basic tracking skills," Obi-Wan admitted, "but I did spend a lot of time hiding from and chasing down my friends in the creche. Whenever someone got really good at hiding, we could generally locate them if we meditated and really focused, so I'm going to give that a shot."

"Does that work for anyone?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "The better you know who you're searching for, the easier it gets. I got a decent feel for the strill while we were fighting, so with some luck I should be able to find it. At least, I should, as long as it hasn't gone too far away," which they both knew was unlikely given the strill's injury.

Jango didn't have anything to say to that, so Obi-Wan closed his eyes and drew the Force around him. Energy swelled, and Obi-Wan concentrated, dragging his attention away from Jango's bright light to pick through the dimmer threads surrounding them.

His attention slid to a knot of threads vaguely resembling his target and a herd of shatuale. The strill-thread watched closely, its focus on the runt-thread at the back of the herd with the gimp leg, as the herd gathered at a sizeable bush. The runt dropped its head to gather some berries, and the strill pounced, air catching the gliding skin between its legs and depositing the predator's claws on the shatual's neck.

The shatuale-threads panicked, bolted, and fled, leaving the strill-thread and the dying shatual-thread behind but not forgotten. As Obi-Wan watched, the shatual-thread frayed and split, the pieces carried away on some indiscernible breeze to tangle themselves with the shatuale herd and the strill ripping strips out of an empty shell.

And those scattered threads suddenly contracted, bright and solid and demanding, dragging the herd and the strill-thread, now frayed in places, together. He watched as the mess of threads collided and tangled, forming some knotted mess he could hardly pick apart before it suddenly dispersed, leaving only a few frayed remains behind.

He frowned at the unhelpful vision. Something - the Force? - frowned right back.

He prodded at the frayed remains and felt a flash of very animal alarm/protect/hunt in return.

He kept that thread firmly in mind as he carefully eased himself from the Force.

"Find something?" Jango asked evenly, though after his latest deep meditation the man might as well have been screaming his worry, curiosity, and fascination to the galaxy for all he was masking the emotions.

"I think so," Obi-Wan answered, rising to his feet and nearly tumbling to the ground as his vision temporarily blacked out. "Whoa. How long was I out?"

"Four hours," Jango answered, stowing the blaster he had been cleaning. He fished a nutribar from one of his numerous pouches and threw it at Obi-Wan. "Eat and drink. The water is safe."

Obi-Wan scowled but obediently bit down on the dry bar before chasing it with water and venturing back into the forest. The strill-thread felt different outside that plane of deep meditation, but he had a direction to follow and he wasn't about to let it slip away again.

He almost wished he had waited to finish the nutribar before chasing the strill. His mouth felt sandy, and he hadn't thought to fill a canteen before leaving the stream behind.

The strill-thread remained steady in his mind, and he couldn't help the slight increase in pace as he caught the first pungent whiff of the beast. He cloaked himself in the Force as if he were hiding from Quin and approached slowly, senses straining for any sign the strill knew he was approaching.

He heard growling and an answering whuff just ahead. He ducked down, drawing his blaster and checking the Force. Jango was still several meters away, and it felt like the strill was distracted by a sizeable herd of angry shatuale.

Angry herbivores. That was not something he would have expected.

The lead shatual ducked its head, antlers pointed straight at the strill, and whuffed another warning. The strill growled and darted forwards, forward paws raised to slash.

Obi-Wan could only watch as the shatual charged, caught the strill in the points of its antlers, and tossed it aside like trash. The other shatuale dropped their heads and followed suit, hooves trampling the strill into the dirt. The lead shatual stopped long enough to study its target, whuffed and pawed at the ground, and tossed its head in victory as the strill whined pathetically.

He sat stunned for a moment, not sure what he was supposed to do as the shatuale proudly left the area. He was supposed to hunt the strill, but a herd of prey animals came and did the deed for him. Did it count if he tracked it, fought it, and ultimately didn't kill it?

But no, the poor animal wasn't dead yet.

He could feel the creature's pain, see how it struggled to breathe around a crushed ribcage. Its limbs were shattered in multiple locations, the grey fur already matted with blood where its thick skin had burst. The shatuale hadn't killed the strill, but there was no way the strill would survive much longer.

He felt a swell of pity for the thing as he approached. There was no way he could help it; even if he had enough bacta on him (which he definitely didn't), the creature would sooner kill him than let him approach.

He met the animal's gold eyes, unfocused and cloudy though they were, and tried to press peace and comfort on its mind. Something stirred and weakly nudged against his mind, leaving an impression of pain/sad/hungry.

The strill released a wet whine and blood burbled past its lips. Obi-Wan closed his eyes in mourning, pressed a suggestion to sleep on the rapidly weakening creature, and shot it clean between the eyes.

It really was a mercy this time.

He rose to his feet as he heard Jango approach. "I killed it, but a herd of shatuale did most of the work first," he blurted out, stowing his blaster.

Jango came to stop next to him, staring down at the corpse before turning his helmeted face towards him. "That's okay," Jango said. "I told you before, the verd'goten is traditionally a hunt between clan members. This was a test to see how advanced your survival and fighting skills were, and based on what I've seen, you're more than skilled enough." He smiled behind the helmet, one hand resting proudly on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Congratulations, verd."

Verd. Soldier. Warrior.

Jango's smile became tender as he squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, vod."

Obi-Wan beamed.

[jjba-hell]

Remember the Time...

Ah, a reader-insert? On my blog? It’s more likely than you think...

Definitely a difficult piece for me so it ended up a post-mission, hurt/comfort kinda thing. 

A bit more mild with the trigger warnings: alcohol abuse, blood, kinda gory, at home medical procedure, some suggestive conversation, prostitution (mention but not expanded on- yeah I know I should probably get some better mafia entry but I think things might lighten up a bit more in the upcoming pieces) ANGST

We taggin’ @a-nonnie-mousse​ cuz I know they LOVE this mans (tho I don’t blame ya) Also to @lasquadraweek2020 and @giogio-gucci-gangstar​ cuz I need to interact more with my mutuals. 

Reader is GN! 2,2K words, good luck

You pushed past the entrance to the squad base with a groan. You were actually just after the medical kit Risotto kept in his office so you figured it would be empty but instead Illuso sat like a lazy cat in front the TV with his feet up.

“Well now don’t you look shit.”

You kicked the door shut behind you. “Of all people why did it have to be your turn to keep watch at the base?”

You passed by behind the couch he was sitting as steady as you could but the bullet wound in your side was insisting on some medical attention.

You got into Risotto’s office and ducked into the metal cabinet in the corner for the medical kit. Sitting down on the couch brought another searing sting to your side but you pushed through and peeled your bloody shirt off of your body.

“Care to share how the mission went?” Illuso’s voice rang from where he was leaning against the door frame.

You didn’t bother answering as you pulled on some gloves and doused them in disinfectant.

“Wait, what are you-?”

You went in with your finger after the bullet in your side, trying your best to ignore the pain, clenching your jaw shut at an attempt to hide what you were feeling. Showing any inclination to your pain would just prove the bastard in front of you right- that you were the weak link between them. You had clawed your way up the food chain in Passione only to end up here, Risotto telling you that this was the equivalent of ending up in exile- where they did the dirtiest work for the least amount of money. It annoyed you to no end but you couldn’t think about that way. You needed to push forward, as of now your goal was to compete against Prosciutto for second-in-command of the squad.

“Fuck, could you give me some warning before you start fingering your wound?”

Those words fell from his mouth two seconds before you got a grip on the bullet and with a scowl you looked up at him and brought the bullet out of your side with a sly smirk. “I know my way around fingering holes, LuLu. I could teach you sometime.”

You curled your hand around the bullet before tossing it aside.

Illuso gave a disapproving grimace as he watched the blood splatter from the bullet in a line over the concrete floor between you. “Relax- if it were serious I’d be bleeding out on the floor right now. Why don’t you do me a favor and go get me some booze?”

You had said that as a way of taunting him but Illuso simply straightened from the door frame and moved to Risotto’s desk. He pulled out a bottle of vodka and tossed it between his hands. “I’m not particularly good at fishing foreign objects from flesh but I can staple you shut.” That same smug smirk came back to plague you and for once you could actually laugh at that.

The last mission you Illuso had been on was after a particular plastic surgeon that knew a bit too much about the organization and the drug OD’s on the streets. The two of you were assigned to shut him up real nice.

Illuso had taken it literally with the stitching stapler before you finished him off and disposed of the body. It was sadistic, maybe, but the guy was mouthing off at Illuso in the lobby for a bad jaw job he never had- how do you walk away from that kind of disrespect without some form of punishment?

You finished clearing off the dried blood off of your side before getting up to sit tall on the arm rest of the couch.

Illuso took the stapler and rather knowledgeably disinfected the equipment before gripping your shoulder and looking at you head on. He wasn’t easy to read- it almost looked like what he was asking was more of an afterthought. “Let me know when it feels wrong.”

You were about to make a sarcastic remark but instead decided to brace for impact.

It burnt like hell but it was allot easier than getting stitched up for the little cuts like when Melone did it. It was quick.

Literally three painful staples in your side and he was done- feeling perfectly fine. Or at least so you had thought before the support from Illuso’s hand on your shoulder pulled away and you suddenly felt lightheaded.

You suppose he had taken a hint to your immobilized form on the couch and got more disinfectant and gauze. You let him wrap you up, keeping yourself upright to properly patch you up before he tapped against your injured side as if to signal him being done.

“There.” Was all he said with a stoic expression as he cleaned up the medical supplies.

You took the opportunity to hop off your seat and reach for the bottle to just try and dull the pain.

“Not so hard to take the help offered is it?” Illuso started, that same sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“Oh?” You took a swig straight from the bottle. “That was you offering help?”

You handed the bottle to him to which he reciprocated with a swig himself.

“I’m not hearing a thank you.”

You shrugged, deciding to fuck with him a bit. You stepped up and leaned in- giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for stapling me up, baby.”

Illuso dramatically rolled his eyes at that. “You have been spending way too much time with Formaggio.”

You took the bottle from him and walked out of the room. “I’m too drunk and too tired to drive home so I call the base bed.”

By that you meant the double bed in one of the rooms where the lookout for the night would spend the night.

You moved into the said bedroom and started looking for something else to replace your top- landing on an old band T-shirt.

“Nice choice.” You nearly leapt out of your skin at Illuso’s voice over your shoulder.

“Do you even make a noise when you walk?” You shouted behind you at Illuso’s kneecaps.

“Most of the one-night stands we bring over end up in that shirt in the morning.” He continued as of you didn’t just yell at him. He calmly turned around and walked away. You dropped the dinky shirt and ended up going for the plain purple one- hoping that you wouldn’t hear more history about the shirt you were wearing than absolutely necessary.

You came into the kitchen and found Illuso had left a bowl of pasta on the counter for you and it wasn’t some unexplained mystery how or why.

Now La Squadra, contrary to their profession, was actually a tight-knit group- some of the closest teams you’ve met. So when you came in, it was hard to try and meld into a group you dared say had no room for you but you’d be lying if you said they didn’t do anything to try and integrate you.

Prosciutto would lend you cigarettes or ask you if he should buy you a pack at his next stop, Ghiacchio always offered to give you a ride if you needed to get somewhere, Melone would offer checkups after injuries- granted that came with his lecherous side comments. Formaggio would even ask you for play bets when his game was on but Illuso had seemed indifferent to his teammate’s kindness until now.

You placed the pasta in the microwave with a heavy heart at your mistreatment of the whole team up until this point. You weren’t exactly doing anything to return their kindness.

So you brought the pasta bowl with you to sit beside Illuso as he stretched his feet onto the coffee table.

“Thanks for the pasta.” Was all you said as you sat cross-legged beside him.

“Don’t get used to it- that was my dinner scraps.”

Deflecting the thank you, should have known directly wasn’t the way to go.

So you didn’t bother saying anything else in favor of eating. Finished with dinner, you stretched out the same as him. “The bed’s yours.” Was all you said.

Illuso chuckled. “You’re easy to read, you know that?”

You didn’t react. It was a known fact that you flubbed like a fish when you didn’t know what to say or think.

“Listen, I’m a nice guy. Most of us do expect reciprocation but that doesn’t mean anything serious right now. I’d rather ask how you’re not used to this kind of treatment.”

You turned to him. “What do you mean and why?”

“You’re telling me you’re not used to the whole ‘newbie’ treatment?”

You scoffed, “Newbie meant getting life three times harder than necessary, not easier- you guys really are making a weird like that... Besides, why do you care?”

Illuso turned to you this time, that smirk on his face. “I deal with information. Recon and shit.” His face slowly soured into a scowl. “But since I landed on this team the rest of Passione had been closed off from me.”

You reached over to the forgotten vodka bottle on the table, sitting back and flicking the cap off. “Let’s talk then.”

You took two swigs per question, starting with: “Well then how did you end up here?”

Illuso laughed with his bottom lip against the vodka bottle. “I fucked a capo’s daughter.”

You laughed with your head back. “Figure’d you’d get here by being sleazy. But how’d you get caught?”

“Uh uh uh uh!” He took his two swigs then handed the bottle back to you. “You gotta answer a question for me first.”

You took it reluctantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Now you tell me how you got here.”

You didn’t exactly have an answer for that, but recently you had developed a theory. “I think I rose the ranks too quick- I was aiming at getting into Unita Speciale but that squad needs to be personally approved by the boss.”

You took to swigs and gave the bottle back- the quick succession of drinking started to make your mouth a bit more loose.

“So how’d your dumbass get caught?” You asked Illuso as he took his two swigs.

“Bitch drugged me when she found out I was fucking her friend. Got my ass handed to me halfway through the mirror- literally.”

The image of Illuso’s butt naked ass hanging out of a mirror in an attempt to get away made you snicker. “That’s too bad.”

This time you took the bottle yourself and waited for the question.

He cleared his throat and looked at you head on. “Do you ever wish you never got into this shit?”

You frowned at him, already feeling shaken by the personal question- should have known he’d want to delve deep while you were too drunk to keep your mouth shut. Didn’t stop you you from bringing the bottle to your lips. “Yeah. Who doesn’t?” You were extra generous with the swigs you were taking before Illuso tipped the bottle back down and took it from you.

“Save some for me you selfish fuck.”

He took his own swig but not nearly as much as you.

You didn’t say anything for a moment as you wondered if you were going to act out on your drunkenness or would you just excuse yourself before things got too personal. Of course your curiosity got the best of you, so with slurred words you asked- “How’d you get into Passione, anyway?”

Illuso gave the bottle a last gulp and without missing a beat answered. “I killed the bastard that was sleeping with my partner. Didn’t know however, that their murdered side piece was part of a gang. So when you have a on your tail and you’re too much of a coward to face them yourself, you run to Passion for protection. And you end up like me.”

You gave a satisfied hum and got up. You fucked up and you knew it- now he was going to ask you how you ended up in Passione.

“Where are you going?”

“The vodka is done and so am I.” You lied.

"Like fuck you are.” Illuso stumbled after you but once he was up he was much more steady on his feet than you were, trailing behind you as you wobbled through the hallway to the bedroom. He grabbed hold of your shoulders and turned you around- making you grab onto the wall for support.

The two of you, properly saturated with booze, leaned against the wall with your shoulders as you gazed into each other’s eyes. “How did you end up in Passione?”

You were pretty drunk- but not drunk enough to forget the pain that came with that question. The booze only helped to make you more emotional and more likely to spill the beans but you tried to turn around back to your destination once again but he grabbed hold of your hand again to stop you in your tracks.

“Pretty please. I spilled my guts now you get to spill yours.”

You balled your fists and tried to say as stable as possible as you turned to look him in the eye. “MY boyfriend had debts to pay to this shithole gang and he sold me as collateral.”

Illuso seemed to process your words and then almost victoriously said. “So THAT’s why you’re so fucking stuck up! The bastard stabbed you in the back, didn’t he?”

The words hit you and in response you pushed him away- it was lucky he was too tall for you to push over in your already weakened state but he did stumble back a few steps. “Fucking prick! Is that all you wanted to know? Why I don’t trust anyone? Why I keep to myself? I didn’t want to have my brains fucked out for the rest of my life so I clawed my way up through the ranks! Only to end up here! Which wouldn’t be so bad ‘cause I thought-“

You clenched your first again and turned around. You’d babbled enough at him.

“Y/n.” Illuso took a few steps closer again, propping himself up against the wall. “You thought what?”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat- might as well finish what you started. “I thought you guys weren���t so bad. You didn’t treat me like an idiot so I figured you must have had some kind of respect for me.”

There was a beat of silence as you two stared each other down- a scowl on each of your faces. Then, rather awkwardly, Illuso’s hand landed on your shoulder again and perhaps it was just because both of you were too far gone to have inhibitions but you moved into his chest, pressing your chin into the nook of his neck- his hand moving up your back to hold you in a strangely comforting hug, Illuso slightly bending down to allow you to let the pain subside into him.

He rubbed over your back softly then spoke against your temple. “I know.”

There was some understanding between the two of you. You quietly separated and he guided you to the bedroom where you ungracefully face planted down in typical drunk fashion onto the bed. Through the pillow on your face you shouted-

“Don’t go.”

You thanked whatever was ruling the universe that he didn’t ask you anything. He tiredly moved away from the door, moving you to make room for himself beside you. He kicked off his shoes and splat down stomach first onto the bed.

He didn’t lull you with lies about being able to trust them. He didn’t reassure you that it was going to get better. But you suppose knowing he understood was all the comfort you needed. As the night passed you over, you woke up with a headache only to see Illuso’s hand cupping yours in the space between you.

So you laid your head back down and slept it off- feeling at ease.

[p-artsypants]

Arcadia or Bust (16) Corner of Main and State

"Yeah, so mom…we made it to New Jersey, and we're all safe...but the Heartstone isn't really...impressive. So, we're bringing what we found home. See you soon!" In Which Arcadia welcomes back it's underground citizens, Jim gets used to mundane life as a Troll, and drama seeks them all out like a magnet.

Ao3 | FF.net

I’m rewatching Trollhunters, because it’s been like a year since I watched it, and the more I listen, the less the plot of Wizards makes sense to me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but there’s some lore and continuity issues. That being said, I’ll continue to write this story using Trollhunter’s lore primarily, with a sprinkle of Wizards and 3Below lore as I see fit. :)

—

Jim had been through a lot of trauma in his life. At least since becoming the Trollhunter. But nothing was as jarring as looking down to his chest and seeing his ribcage, muscles, and heart beating. 

They had taken the amulet from where it was nestled, and in return, left the gaping hole wide open, oozing with blood, and exposed. Could trolls get infections? Because humans certainly could, and this was just asking for infection. 

He had been lying here alone for a few hours now. It was hard to tell exactly how long in the vast passage of time while drenched in pain. 

When Colonel Kubritz appeared at his side, he wasn’t even surprised. Had he fallen asleep?

“How do you get this to work?” She bit. In her hand, she held the cleaned amulet, and it glowed, aching to be back with him. 

“You can’t. You have to be chosen by it. Even if I die, it will pick someone else. And it might not be you.” 

She slapped him for that, but it looked like it hurt her more than him, by the wince on her face. “Don’t give me that crap. Tell me how to work it!” 

“Just speak the incantation inscribed.”

“We already tried that.”

He shrugged. “That’s all it is.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Teach me to use it, and I’ll let you go home.” 

Jim sighed. It was pointless, but he may as well try. 

—

Claire rang the doorbell at the designated house. 

A surly man opened the door. “Yeah? What do you want? No solicitors! Unless you’re a girl scout…no, you’re too old. Are you with the tamale lady?” 

“Hello sir, I’m not here to sell anything, I actually came to ask about the car you had totaled a few days ago.”

“Are you here to hunt down that devil that flipped my baby?!” He gestured to the smashed in car in the driveway. It looked drivable, but one bump away from death. 

“Not quite...I’m actually here to fix it.” 

“Fix it? You want to fix that? My mechanic couldn’t even fix it! And you want to! What are you, 15?” 

“17, actually.” 

“I doubt you have the experience for this, little lady.” 

“Oh, I’m not a mechanic, I’m a sorceress.” 

“A what now?” 

“Sorceress, a witch! Do I have permission to fix your truck?” 

“Girlie, if you can fix my truck, I’ll owe you a huge favor.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that!” With a little skip, Claire went over to the truck and rested her hands on the hood. “Ad initium redire...” Her hands glowed purple, and pulsed against the metal, making it groan. Then it began to twist and crunch, popping out dents and welding pieces back together. 

The old man stood in shock as his beloved truck knit back together, and when she was done, it was in perfect condition. 

“How did—where did you—?!” He rounded the car, circling it like a vulture. “It’s perfect! You even took out that bump from years ago! You’re a miracle worker, girlie!” 

Claire fell on her butt on the driveway, dizzy and winded. “Glad to help.” 

“You alright?” 

“Just a little winded. I’m still getting used to using magic, especially without a staff. It’s exhausting.” 

“Well why don’t you take a seat up on the porch instead of the road? I’ll get you a beer.” 

“I’m seventeen.” 

“You’ve earned it!” 

Claire chuckled to herself and climbed to her feet. She followed the man up his steps and took a seat on the porch swing while he went inside. 

Only a minute later, he returned with beers in hand. “Here you are darlin’. Summertime ale. I’m partial to dark ale myself, but my neighbor got me this pale ale. It’s pretty good! You have a favorite?” 

Claire took a sip and tried to hide the grimace. “I don’t really get to drink very often, unless it’s a special occasion.” 

“Right right, we’ll keep it our little secret. Now then, I owe you a favor. You just saved me a whole chunk of change and a basket of anxiety. You must have something in mind since you offered?” He suddenly sat up straight. “Oh god, you don’t want my soul do you?” 

Claire snorted. “No no, you can keep your soul! Don’t know what I would do with it anyways...You know the boy that damaged your truck in the first place?” 

“I only saw a glimpse of him, that blue devil? What about him?” 

“He’s actually my boyfriend, and he’s really very sweet and usually not like this. But he was...fed something he shouldn’t have had and it made him go berserk.” 

“Crying shame.” 

“I’ll say! So the army came in and took him away! They wouldn’t listen to us at all!” 

“So what do you want me to do about it?” 

“We are going to run a campaign to get him out. Hopefully, if we get enough attention on the issue, they’ll let him go.” 

“Oh, I gotcha.” 

“So if you could just...spread the truth around town? He’s actually the one that stopped that troll invasion back at the beginning of summer.” 

The man looked surprised at that. “No kidding, that was him? Well, he’s a local hero! He’s been talked about a lot since then! Sure I’ll set the record straight! What’s this kid’s name?”

“Jim Lake Jr.” 

“Got it! Don’t worry, I’ll bring it up at the lodge, and the rotary, and the chess club...”

—

The phone was ringing, he had been successfully patched through. Strickler sat in his office after hours, wanting to make the call as private as possible. 

“Stricklander, I haven’t heard from you since the fall of the Janus order. What reason have you called on me?” 

“Can’t I just call an old friend to catch up?”

“You? No.”

Walt cracked a smile. “Fine. I need a favor.” 

“Changeling to changeling, or school principal to army general?” 

“The latter, actually.” 

The man on the other line laughed. “Color me intrigued.” 

“You know of the human Trollhunter, correct?”

“Just what you wrote in your dossier, a human male, 16 years old, lives in Arcadia Oaks, California, turned half-troll by the wizard Merlin. Responsible for the death of Bular and Gunmar. Quite a remarkable young soul. Is there anything else to know?”

“He’s been captured by the United States Army.”

The man let out half a chuckle. “Captured? What dumb trouble did he get into?”

“His deadbeat father left out some cocaine for the boy to find, he thought it was trash, and ate it.”

Distantly on the other line, there was laughter, a strong bark of laughter that lasted far too long. When he came back, he was calm. “How unfortunate.” 

“He’s a good kid. Why would there be a kilogram of cocaine in the trash anyways? I fail to see the humor in the situation.” 

“Of course. So, I assume, he went on a rampage following his meal, and then attracted the attention of some of us?” 

“So you haven’t heard about it?” 

“Not where I’m stationed. But give me a moment.” The line went silent, only a very distant and quiet tapping of keys on a keyboard being tapped. Then the man returned. “I’m glad you told me about this. This incident hasn’t been reported to our database. That shows evidence of misconduct. Did you get the name of the commanding officer responsible, by chance?” 

“Colonel Kubritz, I believe.” 

More typing. “Area 49-B.”

“That name was also passed around.” 

“Technically not my jurisdiction, and since she didn’t report it, I’m not supposed to know about it.”

“I’m afraid you will officially know about it soon.” 

“Oh?”

“His friends and family, myself included, are going to put on a protest for his freedom. Drawing attention to the situation.” 

That echoing laughter was back again. 

“It wasn’t my idea, in case you were wondering.” 

“I know, you wouldn’t come up with something so bold. Regardless, go ahead in through with it. I’ll make sure whatever protest happens gets brought to my superior’s attention, and then I will take it from there.” 

“Thanks. I will owe you one.” 

“Oh come now, Walter, we Changelings that survived the Fall of the Janus order have to stick together. Besides, I heard rumors that you’re caring for my familiar?”

“He’s still in the cradle stone, and the moment. One baby at a time, for now.” 

“Then we’re even. Besides, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in a while. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“Your kindness is refreshing. I’m glad Gunmar didn’t eat you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“We’ll be in touch then, Samuel.” 

“Of course, Walter.” 

—

“How goes the car repair?” Asked Merlin, as he met up with Toby and Claire in the park. 

“Ugh, exhausting. First I stopped at the mechanics, and they’re still backed up with fixing other cars. Apparently, Gunmar’s army did a number and backed them up for months. But they gave me the names of all the clients who got totaled from Jim. I had to hit the scrap yard for four of them, and I just finished another two in driveways.” 

“How many does that leave you with?”

“Seven more,” she sighed. “How goes the road work?”

“It goes. Now come along, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He didn’t wait for them to follow as he turned and started walking away. 

Sharing a dubious look, Toby and Claire quickly caught up with him. He led them to a bookstore, where a young man was sweeping outside. 

“Hisirdoux, my faithful and loyal apprentice—“

“You're damn straight I’m loyal!” He shouted. “Where have you been? I’ve been cleaning tables for the last 900 years!” 

“Calm yourself boy, I’m here now, aren’t I? And I need your help.” 

“Finally! What is it? Just say the word!”

“I need you to go with Miss Claire Nuñez and help her restore recently smashed vehicles.”

“What?”

“Or, you can repair street damage.” 

Douxie crossed his arms. “What is this? I saw what happened! There were trolls, and evidence of Morgana! And now you need my help? To clean up, several months later?”

“That is correct.” 

“Why didn’t you call for me back then?!”

“I forgot.” 

“You forgot? About me?”

“Oh come now, don’t take it personally. I was busy trying to prepare the Trollhunter to fight Gunmar. And get my magic back from Morgana.” 

Douxie seemed to become more sympathetic at that. “Morgana stole your magic?” 

“Yes, but it’s all in the past now. Everything is fine. Well, not really. Seems that the US Army has declared the Trollhunter as a menace to society. We must get the trust of the city on our side if we are to get them to trust us, and agree that his capture is unjust.” 

“Please,” said Claire. “We need all the help we can get.” 

Douxie sighed. “Alright. Afterwards, you’re training me again.” He gave Merlin a hard look. “And no amateur magic either. I’ve been doing the same drills for 900 years. I think I’m ready for more advanced work.”

“Oh, you will be. Starting with helping Miss Nuñez field her shadow magic.”

Douxie looked at her, in awe. “You’re practicing shadow magic? Truly?”

“It’s a recent development…”

“She took Morgana’s Skathe-Hrün, and wielded it without any training. Because of that she has a tether to Morgana in the Shadow realm, who has been teaching her ever so slightly. I’m not allowed to train her, but she could use the guidance of a Wizard in the physical realm. Do you understand Hisirdoux?” 

“I do, and I’ll be happy to teach her…I’m just…I’ll need a moment or two to digest the sentence you just said.” 

“Well, don’t take too long, we have a Trollhunter to rescue!” 

—

There was a heavy knock on the door, which was never a good thing. Especially nowadays. 

Still, Barbara went to the door. 

Standing there was Detective Scott and James Lake Sr. 

“Does this belong to you?” Asked the detective. 

“I don’t claim him, no.” 

Her almost ex-husband smiled at her, pleadingly, “Please Babs?” 

“What is he even doing out? You arrested him!”

“About that…” Detective Scott winced. “We don’t have enough to keep him on.” 

“What!” She shouted. “He confessed in front of a bunch of people!”

“Which would be helpful if we had a case for a trial. But as it stands, he doesn’t actually have any drugs on him. And we don’t have a confession on tape. So…we’re shit out of luck.” 

“Oh come on Louis, you know the cocaine came from him! Where else would Jim have gotten it from?” 

“Look, the chief’s not thrilled that we didn’t arrest the guy responsible for trashing the town, but we’re supposed to arrest someone else without evidence?” 

Barbara threw her hands up in the air. “With probable cause!” 

“That doesn’t work with drug dealers. He’s clean, Barbara. All the blood tests came back clean too.” 

“Ugh.”

The house shook slightly, and Barbara felt the floor bow behind her. “Is there a problem, officer?” Asked Draal. 

“Nothing you can help with, Draal. Thank you.” Barbara sighed. “James is not being charged.” 

“But he is a criminal, this degenerate flesh bag poisoned the Trollhunter! He should face banishment for his crimes!” 

James withered a little with the glare Draal gave him. 

“Well,” said Officer Scott. “Maybe you can keep an eye on him from now on. If you have evidence that he is dealing, like physical traces of cocaine on the premises, call us. But for now, there’s not much else we can do.” 

“This is ludicrous.”

“I know, I’m sorry Barbara. How is Jim?”

She frowned. “You haven’t heard? The army came and collected him from the hospital!”

Louis sputtered. “The army came?!”

“Yes!”

“Where were they when Gunmar was terrorizing us?” He scoffed. “Again, sorry Barbara, I can’t help you here.” 

“It’s alright. We’ve got a plan.” 

“Love to hear it, but I’ve got to get back to the office. I’m sure Toby will tell Darci, and she’ll tell me. Good luck!” And he left James on the porch. 

“Babs, I’m sorry…” 

“Save it.” Barbara scoffed, but allowed him in the house. 

Draal never took his eyes off the man. 

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I have no more supply. And after Rudy found out what happened to my last Kilo, she’s not getting anymore for me. So…”

“I’ll have to thank Jim for keeping a kilogram of Cocaine off the streets of Arcadia. We have a fairly low rate of drug use around here, and we don’t need you to ruin people’s lives.” 

James sighed, knowing he had dodged a huge bullet by being let off the hook. He’d rather deal with his wife than with his ex-associates in jail any day. “I think I’ve still ruined people’s lives anyway.” He walked into the living room, only to halt at the signs on the table. 

Release Jim Lake Jr. 

Justice for Jim

Let Lake Go!

“Babs, what is all this?”

“That’s part of our plan to free Jim! I’m friends with the councilwoman, and she suggested that we campaign for his release. Bringing a lot of unwanted attention onto his capture will stir the government to let him go!”

James jutted out his jaw, a sign of barely concealed rage. An expression Barbara had grown very used to in the last few months. “So, you’re going to put his name—my name in the news? You’re going to broadcast what city we live in?” 

“Yes.” 

He whirled on her, grabbing her arm. “Babs, people are looking for me! Horrible, mean, and ruthless people! If you put his name out there, they’ll know where to look!” 

“All the better! Then they can come take you off my hands!” 

“You don’t understand! I owe them a lot of money, and they’ll take it anyway they can! That includes extorting you, Jim, and whoever else they connect with me!” 

Draal stepped in, removing his hand from Barbara’s arm. “This house is under my protection. If anyone dare tries to enter, they will be dealt with swiftly.”

“You don’t know what these men are capable of.” 

“I assure you, I’ve decimated armies of flesh bags in my day. These men are no different.”  

Barbara smiled. “If you’re really that scared, I hear Vermont is lovely this time of year.” 

James just narrowed his eyes, before storming out of the room.

—

The first rally took place from 3pm to dusk, starting from after school, and leading up to when Trolls would be able to participate. Granted, it was only a handful of people, but standing in the middle of downtown did garner a lot of attention. More than a dozen people walking past had stopped to ask about the cause. They were then given a short synopsis of the situation, as it pertained to them:

“Jim is a 16 year old student who was chosen by the trolls to be our protector. He willingly gave up his humanity to defeat Gunmar the Black, the monstrous troll that attacked the city at the beginning of the summer. Now, he looks like a troll, and was sabotaged to go into a rage and damage the city. The US army took him away without a trial! He’s a hero to the city, and deserves fair treatment!”

Reactions ranged from: 

“Oh, he stopped that thing?”

To:

“Oh my god! He’s just a child!” 

Overwhelmingly, there was no negative feedback, at least in person. But it was only day one. 

—

“This daylight...is it significant?” The colonel asked, as she circled his table. 

“It’s just a name.” Jim lied. “A sword with a name is stronger than one without.” 

“Interesting. Interesting indeed. According to my notes, trolls turn to stone in daylight. Any correlation there?” 

So she already knew? Then what was the point? Was she just playing with him?

“I’m the Trollhunter, and I fight bad trolls. It would make sense to name my sword after something they’re afraid of.” 

She hummed. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Are you afraid of daylight?” 

“Why would I be?” 

The colonel laughed. “Oh Jim Lake Jr. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. You are honest and forthcoming with truths that work in your favor. You freely told me of your transformation, and of your victory against a Troll tyrant. But now that I’m edging on the topic of your weakness, you clam up and give me vague answers. I can do this all day, beast. What does daylight do to you?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t do anything to me.” 

“Really? Even as a troll? That’s interesting.” 

“It’s fortunate.” 

“I would say so. Though, now you’ve got me curious. These burns on your skin…where did they come from?” She dragged her fingernail over one of the dark marks.

Jim winced. “I don’t know. I wasn’t aware in my rage state.”

“Then you won’t mind if I find out for myself?” She crooked a finger towards the shadows. Jim could hear the creak of wheels before a lamp with several fixtures was wheeled forward. 

“Oh no…”

“UV lights, all different wattages. Let’s see what works the best, hmm?”

—

ARCADIA TRIBUNE

Justice for Jim

By Nadja Chamack 

Who is Jim Lake Jr. anyway? This is a question I asked myself as I drove downtown three days ago. No doubt, you’ve seen the crowd of students and teachers holding signs on the corner of Main and State Street. It’s pretty hard to miss, quite honestly. Among the students, there’s also Councilwoman Nuñez, and resident Troll Mascot, ARRRGH! Signs range from ‘Justice for Jim’ to ‘Free our Lake’. 

But who is Jim Lake Jr.? And what happened? A precursory search on my end showed only a scant few facts. Jim is a student at Arcadia Highschool, in his Junior year. He was nominated as Spring Fling King last year, and played the part of Romeo in the school play. His criminal record seemed pretty clean too. A misdemeanor for scratching a rental scooter was all that showed up. But hey, who hasn’t done that?

So I went to the source, his family and friends campaigning for him. On Saturday, the group was downtown, campaigning all day long, so I had the chance to interview each and every person about why they were there.

Turns out, Jim Lake Jr. might be the most amazing person in Arcadia. 

From his mother, Dr. Barbara Lake, I learned that Jim is an Arcadia native, born and raised here. He enjoys cooking gourmet food, working on his vespa, and acting. 

Oh, and he’s the first human Trollhunter. 

What? You’ve never heard of a Trollhunter? Me neither. But Barbara and Blinky, another resident Troll, gave me the scoop. 

You all remember that night at the beginning of the summer that we all promised not to talk about? Well, I’m going to talk about it. In fact, I’m here to give you all the answers you’ve been craving. 

Many months before that fateful night, a new Trollhunter was chosen, after the previous one had perished. “The Trollhunter is chosen according to his mettle, by the amulet of the Trollhunter, as created by Merlin, the wizard of Arthurian legend. Jim was chosen after the fall of Kanjigar, his predecessor. Jim is the first human to be chosen, also the smallest and weakest. But, he was the first to defeat Bular, son of Gunmar!” Said his mentor, Blinky. None of this made any sense to me at first, though it was said with great enthusiasm. 

It turns out, the trolls that we’ve gotten used to seeing around town, mostly ARRRGH, are ‘good’ trolls. The bad trolls, ‘Gum-gums’ are what invaded our town and destroyed my car. The Trollhunter’s whole job is to fight off these bad trolls, and gnomes, and goblins, and everything else that goes bump in the night. And so he did. The Gum-Gums invaded from the ‘Darklands’, being led by a fearsome troll named Gunmar the Black, the Skullcrasher, the Dark Lord…he had a lot of names, and it was obviously a bad dude. Gunmar had plans to invade the whole world by blotting out the sun, a.k.a the eclipse we saw. And he would have gotten away for it too, if it weren’t for those meddling kids! 

Mainly Jim Lake Jr. and his friends. 

And how does a sixteen year old defeat a couple millennia old, bloodthirsty, all powerful tyrant? With a fancy sword? Close. With some magical armor? Closer. By giving up a part of his humanity and becoming a half-human, half-troll hybrid? Now you’re getting it! Yes, to protect Arcadia, to protect us, Jim Lake Jr. allowed himself to be changed. You may have seen him around town. Blue skin, big horns...okay, I just described most of the trolls that are around here. 

“Jim works the night shift at my store,” said Stu Harding, owner of Thrifty Furnishings. “He’s a very hard worker, and always willing to do the heavy lifting that is hard for the other employees to do.” 

“Despite his appearance, Jim ultimately decided to attend school,” said Principal Walter Strickler. “After the school found out about why he had missed so many days of school, they were willing to move him onto the next grade to be with his peers. He was a good student before all this, and he fought really hard to keep his grades up regardless. We felt he should still have the opportunity to graduate. We were looking forward to having him on our football team, and in our spring production of Beauty and the Beast.” 

So what happened to Jim? And why is there such a big campaign for his freedom?

Well, the truth is that Jim is a victim of unfortunate circumstances. In more ways than one, obviously. Trolls eat our trash. That’s why Arcadia has such a small carbon footprint! (Be sure to thank ARRRGH next time you see him!) And this trait was adopted by Jim too, when he was transformed. 

“He just picked a bunch of items out of the trash. Cans, an old sock, and what looked like a VHS wrapped in duct tape,” said Jim’s best friend, Toby Dolmzalski. “It was a normal lunch for him. But right in the middle of gym class, he turned crazy town banana pants and took off! I had never seen Jim act like that! Ever!” 

After an 8 hour rage through town, Jim collapsed and was taken to the hospital for evaluation. It turns out what Jim had ingested turned out to be a kilogram of pure cocaine! 

At this time, it is unknown where the cocaine came from, or if it was planted purposefully. (Seriously, who throws away a kilogram of cocaine?)

But the damage that Jim caused was extensive enough to catch the attention of the US army, who has taken Jim into captivity from the hospital. No trial, no rights, they even took him while he was unconscious. His friends and family have not heard from him since. 

“I’m so worried,” said girlfriend, Claire Nuñez. “He was injured from the battle with Gunmar, and didn’t completely heal. In the hospital, he was covered in burns from the sun. I have no idea if they’re caring for him properly, or dissecting him like some creature. But he deserves so much better than this. He saved our town, he saved my life, and the life of my baby brother. That’s why we won’t rest until he’s home!” 

“Not bad,” said ARRRGH, long time friend of Jim. “Good troll have bad days, best trolls have worse days. Jim need some good days.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself, ARRRGH. 

Friends and family of Jim are asking everyone share #JusticeforJim on social media, hoping to get the attention of someone in charge. All the damage caused by Jim has been repaired, and there were no casualties from his attack.  

Of course, the whole ‘troll’ aspect of this story has to be a local legend. So when sharing it to social media, kindly leave that part out.   

—

“C-Bomb!” Mary shouted from the other end of the hall. She came running and almost crashed into Claire and Toby, holding her phone up in the air. “My twitter feed is blowing up, girl! Look at all of this!” She held the screen up so they could see. 

“Citizen abducted by the government, is this China or North Korea? Neither! It’s the US! #JusticeforJim” 

“Imagine if this was your son. So sad, and so scary! #JusticeforJim”

“This is real life, not science fiction #JusticeforJim” 

“Whoa, where did these all come from?” Asked Claire. “What did you post?” 

“Did you know Snapper Karr did a report on it!?”

“Snapper Karr? From KTTV in LA?” 

“Yes! Thankfully, he left out the whole troll thing. I’ll send you a link. In his story, Jim is just a kid that has a rare genetic disorder that makes him look different, and so the government took him away!” 

Claire winced. “This is…kind of spiraling out of control.”

“I don’t know why you’re worrying, Claire,” said Darci. “We want people talking about Jim getting abducted. It doesn’t matter if the world outside Arcadia doesn’t have all the facts. They still know he’s been taken away without a trial, and that’s all that’s important. Besides, Jim doesn’t want the whole world knowing about Trolls, right?”

She nodded. “As long as this works, I’ll be happy.” 

“And sensationalist stories like this blow up for like a week, and then they die out and are forgotten. This won’t last.” Mary waved her hand. “It should work long enough to get Jimmy Jam out though.” Then she squealed. “OMG you know what we should do?! We should totally have a welcome home party! Or-or a parade! Like they have for veterans!” 

“Mary, I don’t think—“ 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it! You’re not the only one with ties to the city!” And she hurried off, texting frantically. 

“What’s up Claire? I would have thought you’d be ecstatic the hashtag went viral.” Asked Toby. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I am happy. And I’m happy that Snapper Karr chalked the troll thing up to local legend or superstition…but I can’t help but worry that something bad is going to come out of this.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling.” She scoffed and went to her locker. “It’s dumb, don’t worry about it.” 

No sooner had she said that, did Strickler appear. “Claire, Toby, come with me.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve already spoken with your teachers, now come along.” 

Claire and Toby shared a look, but followed regardless.

—

They were led to the parking lot, where a black van with tinted windows waited, a huge red flag, if there ever was one. 

“Umm…” said Toby. 

“Don’t worry.” Strickler assured. 

A man in an army uniform stepped out of the driver seat. “Walter, good to see you again.”

“Glad to see you as well, Samuel. And thank you for following through with your promise.” 

“As I said, this is the most interesting thing to happen in a while.” He glanced at the two teenagers in attendance. “We’re just waiting for his mother, correct?” 

“She should be here soon.”

Toby muttered to Claire, “Who’s Jorgen Von Strangle over here?”

“No idea.”

And just like that, Barbara pulled into the parking lot, haphazardly parked, and ran over to them, still in her scrubs. “I came as soon as I could! We’re going to get Jim?!” 

“What?!” Screamed Toby. “We’re rescuing him?!” 

“That is the goal,” the man answered. “I’m General Samuel Attila. I’ve been given authorization to intervene in this situation, given that this project, whatever it is, hasn’t been officially recorded. But, bear in mind, you may not like what you see. We may be bringing home Jim, or just his body. I don’t know. So if anyone is uncomfortable with that idea, I suggest you stay behind.” 

“I’m going,” Said Toby. “No matter what.” 

“Me too,” said Claire. “It’ll hurt, but I want to know what happened to him.” 

“Alright, then let’s hurry. The facility is about an hour away.” He ushered everyone into the van, which had two front seats, two benches along the walls, and a gurney in the middle. As soon as everyone was buckled, they headed out.

“Hey, if you know Mr. Strickler, does that mean you’re a…?” 

“A what, Toby?” Asked Walt, with a hint of amusement in his tone. 

“A…man of culture?”

“Yes, I am a changeling.” 

Toby exhaled. “Okay, it’s like super hard to ask that question when you don’t know who knows, you know?” 

“I owe the Trollhunter a debt of gratitude for stopping Gunmar. After he ate the entirety of the Janus order, we the few that weren’t present for his return stayed in hiding. Had Gunmar taken over the world, my death as a traitor would have been slow and painful. We were thinking about sending him a thoughtful gift basket, but I think this is more fun. I love to bully those in lower ranks. The fleshbags get a few pretty badges and think they’re invincible. I love watching them cower!” 

Toby leaned closer to Claire. “He was so nice and helpful, I was beginning to wonder if he was actually a changeling.” 

“Same! But I actually feel better knowing he’s got ulterior motives, and that they have nothing to do with us.” 

“Have you heard from Nomura lately?” Samuel asked Walter. 

“She was in Arcadia for a while. She helped with the fight with Gunmar. Right now, I believe she’s on her way back from New Jersey.” 

“New Jersey? What was she doing out there?”

“After Morgana and Gunmar destroyed the Heartstone, Jim and Blinky went in search of a new one.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot there were rumors of a source in New Jersey. Did they find it?” 

“Yep,” said Claire. “But it wasn’t very big, so we brought it back to Arcadia in a truck. The rest of the tribe is making their way back on foot.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Samuel nodded. “You’re both very lucky. Not many Changeling’s are allowed in Trollmarket.” 

“Now that Gunmar’s out of the picture, I’m sure you could visit too!” Toby exclaimed, before getting elbowed in the gut by Claire. 

“It’d be nice to see it once. I’m sad I didn’t get to see the Heartstone in its glory, but such is life.”

The rest of the ride continued in relative silence. Strickler and Samuel spoke to each other, mostly catching up. But Toby, Claire, and Barbara were far too anxious to keep up with the conversation. 

There were no windows in the back of the vehicle, so there was no way of knowing where they were. From the front, they looked to be in a weaving forest trail. 

Then there were huge cement walls in front of them. 

Samuel pulled in the front gate. 

The man at the gate didn’t look up from his computer. “You’re not authorized to be here.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t recognize your vehicle, so I know you don’t have clearance.” 

Samuel sat up a little straighter, glaring at the soldier at the gate. “How about you scan my badge first, and then tell me if I have clearance, Lieutenant.” 

The soldier gave a little shrug and reached out for the badge, his eyes widening as he caught a glance at the four stars on the man’s shoulder. “Oh.” 

“Problem?”

“No, sir. I just…I don’t need to scan your badge, you can go in.” 

“Thank you. At ease soldier.” 

Toby held back a snicker.

“And, let Colonel Kubritz know she has company.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“As you were.” 

The gate rolled open, and they pulled through. 

It seemed like Samuel’s message was received pretty quickly, because the woman that had taken Jim was waiting for them, flanked by soldiers with strange weapons. 

“Stay in the car.” He told everyone, before getting out. 

“I was not aware of any sort of inspection. You are not my commanding general, and therefore not welcome here. This facility holds highly dangerous equipment and confidential projects.”

“Stand down, Colonel. I am here on behalf of general Adele. I’m here to recover Jim Lake Jr. General Adele will be speaking to you about your discharge.” 

“What are you talking about?” She demanded. 

“You kidnapped a teenage boy from a hospital. Surely you didn’t think that wouldn’t go unnoticed? I have video evidence of you leaving the hospital with him.” 

“He’s not a normal boy—“ 

“I’d say so! His whole town is hailing him as a hero for saving them from an invasion! I thought this facility was for research on protecting Earth from invaders. And you’re punishing a boy for saving a town?” 

“He also destroyed it. Don’t give into their little campaign. Jim Lake Jr. may have done something good once, but that doesn’t stop him from being a monster.” 

“I was just in Arcadia, Colonel. There is no damage. There’s no lawsuits against Jim Lake Jr. There’s not even any pending arrests.” 

“I have video evidence of his destruction!” She barked. 

“Then let the local police handle it.” 

She growled, then commanded her men to stand down. “Fine. But if he does this again, no one will stop me from taking him.” 

“Actually,” he clarified with a smirk. “You’re being discharged. So you won’t have any means to take him again.” 

Her mouth opened in shock, as she fought to find an argument. 

But he was a general, he was above her. 

“Now, Jim Lake Jr.?” 

She grumbled something and started off towards a big central building.

Samuel was quick to beckon the others out of the car to follow him, and headed towards the same building as Kubritz. 

When Barbara reached them, she spoke, “you didn’t hurt my son, did you?” 

Kubritz didn’t even look at her. “I don’t have to share information with civilians.” 

Claire clenched her fists in anger, a black haze coming over her hands. 

But Toby simply patted her on the back to ground her. 

Colonel Kubritz led them through the research facility, ignoring their questions. 

They reached the room Jim was being held in, and she entered her code to open the door. 

Of course, Jim wasn’t the only thing in the room, being surrounded by specimens of all sorts of living creatures, but he was right in the center, with a spot light right on him. 

“Jim!” Claire shouted first as she ran to him. 

The poor boy was naked, lying on his back and strapped to the table with thick iron bonds. His wound from Morgana wasn’t the worst on him anymore, as he was covered in blackened burned spots. The spot that had the amulet was now just a hole in his chest, that went right down to the ribs. Claire could see his heart beating, and his lungs moving, thank god. 

“Jim...” she cried, seeing the carnage. 

“What did you do to him?!” Toby shouted at the Colonel, but she didn’t respond. 

“Honey? Jim? Can you hear me?” Barbara asked, as she assessed the damage. 

His eyes opened ever so slightly. “Mom? Is that you? Are you...really here?” 

“Yeah kiddo,” she wiped some tears from her eyes. “It’s me, I’m here. Toby, Claire, and Walt are here too. We’re going to take you home.” 

His smile was just a hint, and he stated, “I’m tired.” 

“I’m sure you are. We’re going to get you fixed up!” She turned to the Colonel. “Get me a gurney or a wheelchair!” 

She scoffed. “I don’t take orders from civilians.” 

Samuel interceded. “Then get me a soldier who isn’t completely incompetent! If you’re going to continue to endanger the life of this young man, then I suggest you get out of my sight before I endanger yours.” 

The Colonel didn’t waver, though a tremor went down her spine. “Lieutenant!” She called. 

A man hurried into the room, standing at attention.

Kubritz just gave a roll of the eyes. “Follow whatever order the general gives you.” 

“But—“ 

“No, I’m done.” With one last glare to Samuel, she added, “I'll be sending my evidence to General Adele, then we’ll see who’s the one putting the nation in danger.” 

“Go ahead, I’ve already given my report.”

She growled at him, turned and left without another word. 

The lieutenant just stood at attention in front of Samuel instead. “Orders sir?”

“Get someone to fetch the gurney from the back of our van, and send for the medic! And get someone to get these shackles off this kid!” 

“Sir yes sir!” 

Meanwhile, Claire stood right by Jim’s side, holding his hand, brushing the bangs away from his face and combing his hair with her fingers. He had a pretty strong fever. 

“You’re going to be alright Jim. We’re going to take good care of you.” 

“I’m…cold…” He breathed. 

Barbara found some vinyl gloves nearby and got to work examining her boy. “I don’t know about the Troll half, but this tissue looks alright. I don’t see any infection yet, or any tissue death. Of course, we need to get this covered immediately.” 

“Where’s the amulet?” Asked Walt. “That’s what’s missing.” 

“The amulet!” Barbara addressed Samuel. “His amulet, we have to find it!” 

He nodded, “we can’t let these psychos have it. They have no idea what magic it possesses, even without being the chosen wielder.” 

Only a beat passed before the army medic came with the gurney, and another soldier came with a crowbar to undo the shackles. 

“Lieutenant, we’re looking for an amulet that came with Jim. It’s what’s missing from his chest.” 

The Lieutenant blanched. “I don’t know anything about it…I can ask the Colonel?”

“She won’t tell.” 

The shackles fell free from Jim’s limbs, but he didn’t seem to register it. 

“Alright,” said Barbara, “Let’s move him onto the gurney. We can worry about the amulet later.” It took everyone to lift him and carefully slide him over. Then, he was covered up to his stomach with a blanket. 

“You’re going home, Jim. Mi amor, you’re safe now.” Claire whispered, kissing his forehead. 

“Hmm…” Jim weakly groaned. “…for the…glory…” But before he could finish, he fell back into sleep.

[recurring-polynya]

saw your tags and I’M BEGGING YOU something about the rukia vs as nodt fight maybe just a drabble however you see fit 🥺🥺🥺

I am sorry this took so long!! Anyway, this ask was in reference to this post about the fears Rukia experienced during the As Nodt fight. I honestly don’t know why I have never seen another fic about this, but if you know of one, send it my way!!

In any case, I don’t usually write dark stuff, but I am good at it, actually, so this one gets a TRIGGER WARNING: Intrusive ideation of the gruesome death of a loved one. Eight times. Probably some spoilers for the TYBWA.

PS: If you want to know more about the time Renji broke his arm in Inuzuri, it’s a shoutback to this.

Rukia is running, her filthy bare feet pounding against the hardpack. She can hear the echoes of other feet behind her, but she can’t tell how many. She skids to a halt, panting, and turns, eyes wide and panicked, ready to count one, two, three, four heads. Four plus her means that everyone is safe.

She is alone.

---

Rukia flinches, waiting for the lead pipe to splatter her brains across the dusty Inuzuri street. But there is no pain, only the sound of bone crunching, followed by a soft grunt.

She has been rescued. Renji, as is his way, has placed himself between herself and the consequences of her actions once again. His arm now hangs uselessly at his side, dripping blood steadily onto the ground. “Fuck you!” he screams at her attacker, who raises the pipe for a second swing.

This isn’t right, Rukia tells herself. This isn’t how it happened.

Hot blood splashes across her face.

---

They stayed too late in the 77th. Renji kept eying the pale clouds gathering overhead, but Rukia thought she could score a few of scraps of food as the vendors in the market were shutting down. Not only was she wrong, but the snow had started falling when they were still a mile north of the Inuzuri border.

Now they were huddled against the bole of an old, half-rotten oak, under a pile of what little brush they were able to gather before the visibility went down to nothing.

Rukia’s brain feels fogged and sleepy. She honestly can’t tell if she’s hot or cold, temperature has become some alien concern. Renji’s arm, wrapped around her, pulling her close, feels heavy, too heavy.

“Renji,” she mumbles. “Renji, don’t go to sleep.”

Her eyelashes are crusted with snow, she can barely see. She shoves her ear against his chest, and listens for his heartbeat.

There is nothing.

---

It is raining, but she can still hear shouts from the courtyard.

“I just want to see her, you flash bastard! I just want to know that she’s okay!”

Rukia tries to make her way to the front entrance, but the hallways of the manor are foreign and seem to reconfigure themselves as soon as she picks a direction. It isn’t right, she tells herself over and over, trying to control the feelings of terror that course through her. I sent him away. I sent him away so this wouldn’t happen.

By the time she gets oriented, Brother is returning inside, his haori dotted with rain. He is wiping down his sword with a cloth that is stained very, very red. “The disturbance is dealt with, Rukia,” he informs her. “You may return to bed.”

---

“I won’t let you take her,” Ichigo snarls, and plunges his sword into Renji’s heart.

The rage melts from Renji’s face, leaving only disbelief behind. His eyes meet Rukia’s briefly, before they roll upward and falls, face-first, onto the street.

Her feet are frozen to the ground, a scream is lodged in her throat, unable to come out. She doesn’t want Ichigo to die, but she doesn’t want this either.

“Unfortunately, that is not up to you,” her brother’s voice echoes in her ears, and suddenly, there is a sword tip protruding from Ichigo’s chest, and an equally surprised expression on his own face.

A strangled sound, not yet a scream, emerges from her throat.

---

Rukia is walking across a bridge. Her thoughts are wrapped up in her own pending execution, when she feels it like a stone plunging into a lake.

Renji is gone.

She grasps frantically for his reiatsu, for a trace, a wisp. The guards are prodding her, yelling at her. Her reiatsu sense is becoming flooded by Ichimaru Gin, walking steadily toward her, smiling his snake-like grin, but she sifts for the tiniest sandgrain, trying to find some evidence that Renji lives.

There is none. Renji is gone.

---

Renji’s body cants forward, he can barely hold himself up, but his grip on her does not falter. Aizen’s shadow falls over them both. Aizen is talking, talking, talking, but his words are just empty buzzing. Rukia is pushing against Renji’s arms, his chest. She’s not sure if she’s trying to get him upright again, or trying to free herself from his grasp.

Just once, she thinks. Just once, let me put my body in front of yours, you bastard, just once.

“Please, Captain Aizen!” she begs, her voice desperate and shrill. “Please, I’ll--”

“No.” Renji’s voice gurgles in his chest. One of his lungs is punctured. “I told you to shut up… Rukia,” he murmurs, and she recalls that he often says “shut up” when he means “I love you.”

Not again, I can’t take any more, please not again.

“I’m not letting go of you,” he curses her, before raising his eyes to Aizen. “I’m not leaving her,” he swears. “You bastard.”

“I see,” Aizen replies. “That’s unfortunate.”

This time, no one intercepts the blow.

---

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez saunters down the empty Karakura Street. “So, which is it?” he drawls. “Which one of you three is the strongest?”

Renji sidles a step in front of Rukia.

“No,” Rukia murmurs. “No, you weren’t there. You were off getting gored by Yylfordt Granz, you bonehead.”

“Not you,” Grimmjow decides, ramming his hand through Renji’s guts.

It’s not pleasant to watch, but Rukia forces ice through her veins and refuses to look away. It’s not real. Renji lets me fight my own fights.

Renji coughs once. His body hits the ground with a wet smack.

---

The Arrancar, this pulsating mass with Shiba Kaien’s face, levels Nejibana at her, when Rukia feels Renji’s reiatsu storming through the hallways of Las Noches, his footsteps pounding like a heartbeat against her spiritual senses.

“Give it up,” Rukia growls, forcing herself to remember clasping his hand in the desert, making him promise.

“I swear on my sword,” he’d agreed, reluctantly.

“Say it. Say the whole thing.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “I swear on Zabimaru that I won’t die for you, okay, Rukia? Of all the stupid--”

“It’s not! It’s not stupid! I can’t fight all-out if I have to worry about you throwing your stupid body in front of me the minute I start to lose! I’m strong, Renji, you have to have a little fucking faith in me!”

“I do!” he had protested. “Of course I do! I always have! That isn’t why… that’s not… I…”

“It’s not the time for that.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “But I know why. You don’t have to say it.”

One side of his mouth quirked up in a humorless smile. “Yeah. Well. You got your way. I promised. Do me a favor in return and at least try to stay alive, would you, Kuchiki?”

The promises were real, and Renji kept his. She didn’t then, and she doesn’t now, either.

“Sorry, Renji,” she sighs and throws herself forward onto the trident.

---

Rukia is screaming. She is screaming and screaming and she can’t stop.

Suddenly, there is a loud crack, and As Nodt’s Tatar Foras begins to shatter around them. Daylight leaks through, at last. Rukia has access to her senses once again.

She scrabbles, desperately feeling out with her reiatsu, trying to find Renji. She doesn’t know exactly when it happened that she became perpetually aware of him. Maybe sometime during the Winter War, she spent so much time groping around for him that he became lodged in her head, a half-forgotten song she couldn’t knock loose. Since the Royal Realm, though, he’s been a noisy, omnipresent companion, a rhythmic bassline steadying the tempo of her own soul.

He is halfway across the Seireitei.

He was napping, but he’s waking up now.

Napping.

It wasn’t Renji that came to her rescue at all, but Brother, whom she supposes also has a right to a piece of As Nodt.

Renji is sure to get in another fight sooner rather than later, but at least if he dies, it will be because he wasn’t strong enough, not because she wasn’t. That’s a bit of a weird thought, Rukia realizes, as the paralyzing fear slowly recedes from her body. She doesn’t want Renji to die at all.

The solution is obvious. She and Byakuya will just have to finish this quickly, and then she can go protect that bonehead with her own strength. He will likely chew her out and then she can tell him to shut up.

“Do you still have any fears?” Byakuya asks her, trying to gauge if she has shaken the aftereffects of As Nodt’s spell. “Rukia?”

Rukia adjusts her grip on her sword. “No!” she replies.

[thekidultlife]

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (3)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 5.3k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 |  CHAP 5 |  CHAP 6 |

ON THE NECESSITY OF GRAND ROYAL BALLS by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, September 6

In one's life, what would be considered basic necessities? Food, shelter, clothing, mayhaps a life partner? Indeed, such factors are important. Yet allow me to tell you, dear readers, that there is something far greater and more magnificent than mere daily needs which regularly perish in less than a common laborer's working hours! An element which elevates the typical human experience to the realms of the ancient gods; giving us a glimpse of the most beautiful, the most majestic blinding auras in this Universe! A necessity which is by far the most crucial of all inventions created by man, known to man! 

That, my friends, is the Grand Royal Ball. 

To be held a week from now at the Crystal Palace, the Grand Royal Ball only admits through invites, usually reserved for the rich and the powerful. Yet what is most anticipated is the glamorous First Waltz where they can showcase their magnificent beauty and impressive wardrobe for the public to see! 

Yet this is simply a mere gathering for the upper class, you say? What, in heaven's name, is the reason why this event is of great importance, you ask?

Look closely, my dear readers! Look at the Grand Royal Ball! Look at it with eyes of impunity! Gaze at its splendor and radiance, and see what these people have robbed from you, from the common people! They who have been brought into this world with silver spoons in their mouths, feed us with scraps from their abundant golden banquets! Banquets such as the Grand Royal Ball, where crimes of extravagance and greed go unpunished in the eyes of god.

Do not forget who mines the diamonds in their earrings, who weaves the silk on their lapels, who farms the fruit in their white marble tables! They who afforded nay a drop of sweat in order to survive, yet admonishes the poor for 'indolence' and 'degradation of moral values'--remember them and do not dare forget in the face of their magnificence! 

If these sheer words do not convey a clearer message to you, then allow me to reiterate. The Grand Royal Ball is an important reminder to you common folk who gaze at them in your grease-stained hands, growling stomachs and exhausted eyes. This is a wake up call to you who still believe that you can be like them, wearing your own beautiful gowns and respectable suits to your own grand royal balls. This is a reminder to look past illusions established by this society dictated by such people. 

You are being exploited. You are being paid by less than what you are worth. If that does not constitute slavery, then there is no worth in reading this article. If you are yet to be angered by such realities through this piece, then I, as an editor have failed my mission. Realize that your fellow laborer is not your adversary. The true cold-blooded monsters are up there in their hectares-wide plantations, sitting on leather chairs and pretending to be your friend, as they casually strategize how to pay you less and less of your appropriate wage, as they search for loopholes in our civil code to perpetuate their evils in the world.

They may look like gods next week, dancing to a waltz in the Crystal Palace with the innocence of a daisy, yet do not be in awe. Do not be complacent.

Do not forget the true enemy. 

◇

"You're going to the ball."

Both Wonwoo and Soonyoung declared, under the purple shade of the wisteria tree in the courtyard, their seriousness catching you off-guard.

"What?!" You shouted, almost choking on a shrimp. "What do you mean I'm going to the ball?! I just slandered it in our newspaper yesterday, if you hadn't forgotten!"

The two boys gazed at you, eyes pitiful. 

"Don't look at me like that!" 

Wonwoo, the bespectacled one, sighed and sat up straight. 

"Look, this isn't a prank. We had to bargain you for um…"

In the middle of his words he gradually lost steam, and began to feel your furious, scrutinizing gaze. For better or worse, he suddenly found the garlic shrimp on his plate quite interesting. 

"Alright, let me handle this!" Soonyoung proudly declared, yet nonetheless deflated after you gave him a similar glare. "Wonwoo...you should handle this after all…"

With a face that may seem calm, Wonwoo conveniently concealed his discomfort. 

"So, um...alright, allow me to explain. I got a bit of a lead on the investigation we're doing and thus, following that trail led me to the ball," he continued, "Apparently, there will be a gathering of the people involved during the evening, and I needed to get in with Soonyoung. So I asked some help, and in exchange, they wanted you."

After listening to his story, you closed your eyes and sighed heavily. There was no way you could stop him even if you wanted to. The deal was done and he had the invitation. 

"So, who's they?" 

You asked, a bit annoyed but you understood the need.

"That would be me."

A familiar voice startled you from behind, as you finally caught a glimpse of the devil Wonwoo had to make a pact with. 

"Jihoon, didn't know you were there," Wonwoo remarked, as the new arrival bent down and passed a heavy binder to him. 

"I just arrived really. Thank you for the reading notes though," he replied, paying you and Soonyoung no heed. "Anyway, Y/N, please return to our room as soon as you finish class. We have to talk about what you're going to wear for the ball."

Jihoon ordered, then stalked away without waiting for a reply, leaving you taken aback. 

After a few moments, you turned to Wonwoo wearing a rather frightening expression on your face.

"Jeon Wonwoo! How dare you bargain me to Lee Jihoon!!" 

◇

'Do you despise Lee Jihoon that much?' 

The voice inside your head asked, completely eclipsing the words of your professor. 

'Do you really have to talk to me during class? ' You snarled, spinning your pen around as you watched one of your classmates getting scolded for sleeping. 

'You don't even like this class. So I'm actually doing you a favor by entertaining you.’

'Touché.'

A few moments of silence passed before your soulmate replied. You thought he bailed out, yet that was definitely not the case.

'Lee Jihoon is the reason why you seem troubled today, isn't it?'

You sighed. 'How obstinate...'

'As obstinate as you, in fact. Have you forgotten that we're soulmates?' 

Clicking your tongue, you knew he was going to bother you if you didn't answer, and well, the words from a month ago rang deep inside your heart: Accept them and learn.

'Fine, he does upset me. I mean, I was not supposed to go to that pretentious ball, now I have to wear those heavy dresses and fake laugh with people I despise a lot! I could be doing something else, you know! Something I enjoy more!'

It took him some time to reply. It's not your fault you had no one to talk about it. Wonwoo and Soonyoung literally sacrificed you. 

'Is it not because you dislike him?'

'I am irritated now because of what he did, yet I surely do not harbor stronger hatred towards him. I live with him after all.' 

'I see. So you simply have a dislike towards parties in general?'

'Not entirely. I don't mind going to parties, yet this one particular ball does not sit well with me.' 

'Why so?'

You propped your chin on your hand as you leafed through the pages of your textbook. 

'It goes against everything I believe in. Why do people have to organize such expensive balls? Wearing expensive clothes? Eating expensive food? They could just donate that money. Don't you think so?' 

He hummed, thinking of a reply. 'You do have a point. Furthermore, it is not only this country's problem yet of entire humanity. Isn't it human nature to be greedy? Isn't it the nature of material objects to be scarce?' 

'Thus, it is an unavoidable, inevitable problem, you mean to say? Well, that would definitely be the case if no effort is afforded to find a solution to this problem. No matter how minute my actions are, I'm sure they would still have a rippling effect.' 

The person on the other side scoffed. 'If only that is how simple things are.' 

'What do you mean by that? Are you calling me naive?' 

He laughed. 'Whatever you think it is shall be its meaning.' 

You were about to interject with your own retort yet was unable to catch up. 

'Well, looks like I still have things to do. It was a pleasure talking to you today. Until then, my soulmate.'

And with that, the connection halted. 

You sighed and slumped on your seat with lips pursed. It was difficult talking to him while keeping your own pride in check. He was definitely talented in wounding it. 

They would magnify your insecurities, your fears, your greatest flaws as a person, and force you to face them.

Sighing, you glanced at the bell that had begun to signal the end of class. 

◇

Bathed in golden sunlight, you entered your dorm room as instructed by Lee Jihoon. 

It has been a month since you began living here yet the days seemed to have gone in a flash. To be honest, other than that time you saw him practicing with his cello, there was little to no interaction between you and Lee Jihoon. He really made sure to avoid me…

Yet right now, so suddenly…what has changed?

Opening the french doors like you did when you first met him, you were greeted by several female attendants and rows of clothes racks, each having a massive collection of gowns.

"Took you long enough to return."

Someone suddenly spoke behind you, making you jump in surprise. Taking a step back, you only bumped into Lee Jihoon's chest. 

"I had to go to the library on the way here," you replied, making some distance between the two of you as the black-haired male marched his way to a vacant armchair. 

"I see. Well then, shall we begin our business here?" He asked as soon as he was settled on his seat, glancing at the gowns at the side. 

"Exactly what I had in mind. Do you wish to explain what these are for?"

With an expression that reeked irritation, Jihoon gave no response to a question he assumed you knew the answer to. 

You sighed. "What I mean is, I thought you had already chosen something for me, so I was quite surprised to see all of these." 

The both of you simply gazed at one another without uttering a single word. Only the sound of the clock ticking and the afternoon bells outside could be heard as you allowed yourselves to be absorbed in your own little trance. Until Jihoon finally relented and stood up. 

"I just thought you would rather choose something akin to your own preference," he told you, scratching his nape, "additionally, these ones here are all about to be thrown out, so maybe you--"

"These ones are about to be thrown out?! But they still look so pretty!" You interrupted, wholly surprised as you inspected the exquisite bead work of the nearest dress to you. 

"It's common for people in the upper class to throw away gowns after wearing it once. So I thought you'd appreciate wearing something like this rather than having something new ordered. We could give away the other ones here as well," Jihoon explained, now a bit conscious of your reaction. 

Chuckling at how he was slowly becoming bashful, you threw a wide grin at him which Jihoon was sure had definitely caught his breath. 

"That was so thoughtful of you! Thank you!" You exclaimed, now more than interested to browse at the racks. 

Unable to respond, Jihoon silently allowed you to check out the dresses while he tried to conceal the fact that his ears had turned red. 

"What about you though? Have you already chosen something for yourself?" You asked in the midst of trying out one blue sequined gown. 

"Since I’m a member of the Parliament, we have to wear a standard ceremonial uniform," he replied, now seated back on the armchair.

"Is that so?" You hummed then continued, "I think I've decided on one so allow me to finish."

After some time, you returned to the common room, showing Jihoon the gown you had picked for the occasion. 

In a beige off-shoulder gown filled with lace trims and appliques, peacock feather patterns of sequins and gemstones, and dangling diamonds, you twirled around the room as the late afternoon sunlight created surreal reflections of light as it reflected on your dress. 

In Jihoon's eyes, you were dazzling, sparkling. He could feel his heart almost explode by how hard it was beating against his chest. What's missing though was a bouquet of roses and a lace veil. This is vexing...

"So what do you think?" You asked, now incredibly self-conscious because of how he was staring at you.

Again, Jihoon was quiet as he glanced at you, yet allowed a sigh to escape before he stood up from where he was sitting. Approaching the coffee table, he picked up a lacquered box and went back to where you were standing.

As he opened the box, you caught a glimpse of a necklace adorned with diamonds, garnets and rubies, sparkling earnestly. Handing the box to one of the attendants, Jihoon held out the necklace to you and wrapped it around your neck.

The close proximity made your heart race for a bit as you unintentionally took a whiff of his cologne. Aware of your reaction, you averted your gaze elsewhere in embarrassment. You were brought back to the present when Jihoon finally took a step back and you felt the weight of the necklace on your skin. 

"Oh...wow, this…" you began yet cannot finish.

"It's a family heirloom so take care of it." Then in a rather unexpected turn, Jihoon smiled at you warmly, making your heart race even further. "It suits you quite well."

Unable to contain it any longer, your lips broke out a wide grin. "I suppose this is a loan then." 

In a rather good mood, Jihoon took your hand in his. "How about we practice our dance? Surely, we wouldn't want to embarrass ourselves during the First Waltz."

You scoffed. "Despite how I may appear, I am capable of a simple waltz."

"That's reassuring then," he remarked, twirling you around so suddenly that had you gasping.

Back in his arms, the both of you moved back and forth as your feet danced to an imaginary melody. 

You never shied away from his intense gaze, rather, you accepted the challenge and smirked at him. 

"So, my dear sir, please answer this burning question I have in my heart," you mocked him playfully. 

"Why are you talking to me like that?" He furrowed his brows which you found adorable.

"I thought since we are to attend such a high profile event, utter politeness is necessary, even in speech."

Jihoon frowned, unimpressed. "Please stop teasing me. What was your question, by the way?" 

Chuckling, you replied, "What are you planning, Lee Jihoon?"

Even though you were still smiling, the atmosphere suddenly turned tense. Lee Jihoon can flatter you with pretty dresses and beautiful diamond necklaces yet you never cared much for them in the first place. To you, his actions were suspicious and it didn't help that he was a rather mysterious person. 

"Planning? Pardon me yet I do not know what you are pertaining to," he replied, as calm as you were. 

"What are you planning by choosing me as your partner? You could have made Wonwoo bargain a million other things, yet you chose me."

This time, it was Jihoon's turn to smirk. 

"I was simply confirming a few hunches, though that does not mean I will divulge them to you." 

This bastard…

You felt a sweatdrop trickle down your cheek as you grit your teeth. "I am not your toy." 

"I wouldn't dream of treating you as such," he grinned at you, "More than anything, you are quite important to me."

"I'd rather wish not to be involved in your political ploys," you seethed. 

He arched a brow at you. "Why would I? You are a mere alchemist's daughter whose political power is the same as the next person." 

You knew where this was going. You spoke no word as you tried to control your expression; not allowing him to see it in your face.

Jihoon smirked, his words hanging on the air.

"Unless, you have more than you let on?" 

*

One week later

The Grand Royal Ball, The Crystal Palace

You kept a tight smile.

The tip of your nose was itching, your skin unused to the makeup covering your face. Superficiality lingered and clung to every corner of the palace from its golden ornaments and marble balustrades to the couples ahead of you, marching their way towards the ballroom for the much awaited First Waltz.Yet you have to smile on. 

Welcome to the Grand Royal Ball!

Beside you was Lee Jihoon, dressed in an attire reserved for high-ranking officials and a sash which proudly broadcasts that he was someone you wouldn't want to mess with. You, on the other hand, wore the gown and the necklace you had tried on a week before, with hair coiffed to perfection and silk gloves which hid the markings on your wrist.

Only the most prominent, the highest  of the high were invited to dance during  the First Waltz.  From billionaire philanthropists and award-winning researchers to  powerful politicians like Lee Jihoon, they all  provide a sense of  prestige to the whole event. This is when the ball catches so much attention after all. 

Lining up uniformly, everyone participating curtsied before the reigning monarch as was the custom, and the music began playing. Facing Jihoon, you gave him a rather mocking smile as you placed your hand on his shoulder and the other on his hand. 

Without a word, everyone began dancing. 

As you stepped across the ballroom, you allowed your mind to slip away from reality; the face of Lee Jihoon reminding you why you were putting up with this sort of pompous absurdity in the first place.

A few days ago… 

You groaned in frustration. 

"I swear, Lee Jihoon is the most irritating man I've ever met in my entire life!" 

"Let's wait for him to fall asleep and beat him up, Y/N!" Soonyoung, who was happily lazing on the grass exclaimed.

"Come on, then! He's already asleep at this hour!" You responded, quite eagerly.

Simply sighing at your shenanigans, Wonwoo closed the book he was reading. 

"Don't listen to him, Y/N. He's drunk," he remarked. 

"But I haven't been drinking!!" 

The other man simply looked at him with a jaded look on his face. 

"You're always drunk even without drinking anything," Wonwoo quietly retorted. "Anyway, Y/N…"

Sitting back down on the grass, you turned to him. It was already past midnight yet the three of you decided to hold a meeting at a long forgotten grove behind the dormitories, usually used by overly-zealous couples for their own pleasure.

"It's true that Jihoon can be cunning if he wants to, yet it's not like we can't do the same as well," he continued, "There's a reason why I had no reservations in bargaining you."

"That doesn't sound too comforting, you know?" 

"As I was saying, Lee Jihoon can be cunning. He can't be trusted to stay at the venue while we are in that meeting. That is precisely why we have to get him out of the venue as soon as possible." 

You nodded. It was the same reason why it wasn't you who was leading this investigation. 

"So my job is to have him stay away from the palace while you and Soonyoung are in the meeting. Alright, I understand."

Wonwoo sighed. "Y/N, I'm not doing this because I think your skills are inadequate, but because we need to play by the rules. If things fail and our cover is blown, Soonyoung and I already have tainted names that another case wouldn't matter much. I can't have you dirty your own name." 

Looking down, you understood where he was coming from. It really wasn't an issue of who's weaker or who's stronger. It was an issue of who's richer and more influential. Wonwoo and Soonyoung, because of their wealth and power, were able to establish their own newspaper company with relative ease. And with that same wealth and power, if anything does happen, the repercussions they have to face and its lasting effects wouldn't be as heavy as an ordinary person would experience. Such is the gift of privilege. 

"I know. I understand." 

◇

You knew, as soon as the dance ended, people would flock around Lee Jihoon, all wanting a piece of that power and influence. 

That is why, when you had the chance, you slipped away from his side and went straight to the buffet tables. If you were going to attend a grand ball, might as well stuff yourself with food. 

That veal over there looks scrumptious!! 

Filling your plate to the brim, you scoured all over the buffet, finding food you have never dreamed of tasting. 

"Y/N! We finally found you, for god's sake! We thought something happened to you!" A familiar voice exclaimed, making you look up from the plate you were feasting on, as you sat on a bench at the side. 

"Ah, Soonyoung, Wonwoo! I didn't see you guys at the dance!" You replied, piercing a turkey leg with your fork. 

"Well, that's because we weren't invited to the dance. Our parents are though, since they are the VIPs," Wonwoo explained.

You hummed. "I see. Well, so far this ball has delicious food. Other than that, it's quite boring. I don't know half these people, and they've been looking at me since a while ago."

Like he always is, Soonyoung embraced you from behind, wrapping his arms around your neck with a cheeky green. 

"Your date is quite popular, you know? It's only natural for people to be curious as to the identity of his chosen date," he remarked, taking a bite of meat from your fork. 

"You're making it sound so romantic," you spat with disdain.

Soonyoung grinned. "Come on, don't you feel anything for our resident politician? You two were dancing so nicely earlier, you know."  

You clicked your tongue. "He's suspicious of me. I think he has a hunch that I'm Alex Fireflower." 

"This is why the Soulmate Bond hasn't visited you yet! You're always so serious! You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life! You can't be young forever!"

"I think Soonyoung has a point here though," Wonwoo suddenly interjected, now with a mischievous smile. "Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities of information gathering. Moreover, you can monitor him more closely than ever before." 

"Oh god, not you too. Isn't it enough that we're roommates?" You complained, sighing.

"No, no! That's not going to cut it, Y/N!" Soonyoung exclaimed, "You have to get inside his room!" 

Glaring at him, you hissed harshly. "I will not enter his room! And I will never date him!"

"Has no one ever told you to avoid using 'never', especially when there is a chance that you will be eating your own words in the near future?" 

A new voice suddenly interrupted your banter as the three of you glanced at the newcomer with a variety of expressions.

In his calm yet intimidating aura, Lee Jihoon stood before you three, waiting for a response. Of course, with a glass of wine in his hands. 

"Has no one ever told you that it's not good manners to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" You retorted back. 

With arched brows, Jihoon approached you and glanced at Soonyoung who eventually retreated away from you and back to Wonwoo's side with a nervous look on his face.

"It's hardly eavesdropping when I can hear you three screaming from the other side of the room."

At this comment, the three of you looked away in shame, unable to say anything to refute Jihoon.

"If there is nothing else, may I borrow my date for a while?" He then spoke, reaching for your hand while looking at Wonwoo and Soonyoung. 

Grinning, the two easily offered you. 

"Please do, Jihoon (before we turn into mincemeat)."

"Oh of course, please enjoy the rest of the night!"

You grit your teeth and glared at them, annoyed that you weren't able to finish your meal, much less bring anything with you back home. 

Traitors! I'll come back for you two after this!

As Jihoon swept you away from the buffet tables and towards the deserted balcony, you suddenly began to worry about what he was up to.

While dark and cool, the balcony was a pleasant place to escape to especially from a crowd of prying eyes. The crawling rose vines and the tall hedges concealed the area enough so that it was difficult to discern who was who in the balcony. 

"What is it that you want from me?" You finally asked, standing face to face. 

For a moment, Jihoon simply gazed at you before shrugging. "I just thought that since we are already here, we might as well enjoy a dance together. I am not one unkind enough to refuse dancing with my own date."

Arching a brow, you blinked several times, totally suspicious of his intentions. You sighed.

"And here I thought the thirty minute waltz from earlier would suffice," tartly, that was how you replied. 

Jihoon snorted, the first one you have seen. 

"That was simply a mere performance, one that is born out of tradition and formality. This time, I wish to dance with you at our own pace."

Still suspicious, yet nonetheless resigned, you hummed in agreement and took a step forward, towards him. 

Without warning, you snatched the wine glass from his grasps and drank everything in one gulp before discarding it on the balustrade's edge, earning a confused look on Jihoon's face.

"Now then, shall we begin?" you replied, reaching for his shoulder and his own hand on yours.

It seemed like for a moment, Jihoon was stunned by how fast your actions were. However, it didn't take him long to come back to his senses and place a hand on your waist.

Gradually, the both of you swung back and forth a millisecond late from the music's beat, simply too absorbed in each other to correct it.

As you gazed into Jihoon's eyes, you knew you needed that swig of alcohol to survive the whole night. He was as intense as ever; his sharp eyes unreadable, his lips curving into a ghost of a smirk. The grip he had on your waist was firm, sending shivers to your spine. 

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities...

You mentally shook those thoughts away. This wasn't the right time to think about those things.

"I've changed my mind, you know?" Jihoon finally spoke, his voice pulling you away from your reverie. 

"About what?" You asked, your hand warm on his. 

"I want to know you better. I know when we first met, I didn't want anything to do with you, but for some reason, my sentiments have changed over time."

Flustered at the sudden confession, you were only able to say one thing, "Why?" 

"Why…? Why indeed," he made a soft smile at this, as if he knew something that was totally lost to you. "Maybe if I get to know you more, I might arrive at an answer." 

You looked away, unable to face his earnest eyes. There was a feeling in you that knows he was being honest, yet you still couldn't help but feel suspicious. Why is he suddenly springing this up on me? Why does he want to know me? What is he planning? Who exactly is Lee Jihoon? 

You also didn't know the answer to those questions. But maybe, just maybe, you would understand if you just let him in. 

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

God damn it, Soonyoung!

"If that is the case, then feel free to explore, yet that does not mean, the seas are not treacherous," you finally said, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. 

"I wouldn't want anything else."

Grinning back at you, Jihoon leaned forward and placed a small chaste kiss on your forehead, making you look at him with the most stunned expression on your face. 

"I-I...I think I might want to have another drink! J-just stay there! I'll be back!"

As you shouted, you stormed away from the balcony and went straight back to the buffet tables, seeking anything that is liquid, alcoholic or cold to ease the burning on your cheeks. 

"Yes, it seems like I made the right decision with choosing her as my date," he remarked as he watched your retreating figure, smirking to himself.  

By the time you went back, you had already downed a few glasses, and another one on your hand to drink for later. You were tipsy then, as obvious as your flushed cheeks were, and Jihoon had to catch you before you stumbled onto the ground.

"You seemed to have drunk a lot," he remarked as he steadied you on your step.

"...Need it," you muttered, unable to look at him.

"What?"

"Jihoon…" purring, you clung to his lapel with a giggle, your face simply inches away from his. "You...you look quite handsome…have I told you that?" 

With a smirk, you inched closer to him; lips almost brushing against each other. That is, until he turned his head and pushed you away.

"It's late...we should head home."

 His ears were red though.

◇

The school was silent during the dead hours of the night. Students were either prohibited by their curfews or too busy studying to bother with fooling around. Only the soft rustling of wisteria and cherry blossom flowers and the loud ramblings of a drunkard could be heard across the courtyard. 

"Jihoonie~ come on now…don't touch me there," you teased between giggles as he carried you behind his back. 

"Please don't be too loud…"

"I'm not loud! In fact, I'm quite soft spoken~"

"What did I get myself into…?"

You were definitely heavy; and with the weight of the whole dress, Jihoon was already wheezing when he opened the door to your shared dormitory and carried you to your own bed. 

Gently laying you down, Jihoon spent a few moments gazing at you who was smiling at him carelessly. 

"Oh my…" a giggle, "are you going to confess your undying love to me now…?" You asked, making him grin at you. 

"Would you believe me if I did?" Jihoon responded, slowly reaching for your wrist wrapped in a silk and lace glove. 

"Of course not," you smirked. "You're Lee Jihoon." 

Upon your words, he made a small smile, yet it had hinted some sort of deeper sadness. Lifting your hand up, Jihoon kissed the inside of your wrist. 

"Of course."

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A/N: Hii!! This is Hyeri again!! No new chapters for next week (instead some Jihoon smut, if you like those sksksk) Hopefully, after that week, regular updates on this fic will continue! (maybe punctuated by some Wonwoo smut;;; Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter!!! Thank you so much!!

-Hyeri

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Size of Hope

(also on ao3)

Mordon isn’t certain what to make of the fairy tale king his goblin friends captured, and King Graham has no idea what to make of the huge and clumsy goblin who keeps running into his path. The two warily team up, but neither one belongs in the goblin kingdom, and some pain runs deeper than either expects.

(Gen canon-expansion fic putting scrapped fragments from the subtitle file back into the game. Full fic warnings: bruising, canon-typical violence, self-hatred, abuse, Goblins Do Not Make Good Friends)

~*~*~

3/5

(1: Seen)(2: Found)(3: Buried)

~*~*~

Some of the castle tunnels could carry sounds quite far, Graham realized. It made him uneasy. He could hear all sorts of things as they walked. He could hear low murmurs of other goblins (hopefully far away), could hear water dripping down and splashing into hidden underground pools, could hear the chittering chirp of those glowing salamanders as they scampered over walls. He was aware of how his boots rang against the stone, like that noise could pin him down as something that didn’t belong.

It perhaps wasn’t surprising that he heard the voice, then, since he was listening so carefully to shifting shadows. The voice itself, though, that was surprising, and he stopped, heart pounding in his throat.

Was that…Manny?

Positively inconceivable. Absolutely not. And yet. And yet, Graham had always known Manny had something to do with the kidnapping, hadn’t he? Or at least, suspected it, and this might be the proof he needed. He didn’t know why Manny would be here, didn’t know who he would be talking to, but it was certainly his lilting voice, coy and snide and manipulative, echoing gently along this side tunnel. Mordon and Graham had just passed it—it wasn’t on the way to the goblin king, it wasn’t important, but suddenly Graham very much wanted to see what was on the other end of it.

He glanced at Mordon. Suppose Graham did find Manny in these tunnels. Suppose he did confront him. This might be his only chance to do so, assuming Manny was really here and Graham wasn’t just imagining things. But if Mordon was with him, if Mordon saw Manny, if Manny had wrapped the goblins in that deceitful web of his…things could go wrong, fast.

Graham didn’t want Mordon to have to choose between loyalties. Especially because Graham thought he would probably lose that fight.

And, quietly, he wanted to keep Mordon as far away from Manny as possible anyway. He felt a curious need to keep the little (okay, not so little) goblin from that treacherous knight and his lies. Silly, perhaps. But if there was a chance their paths hadn’t crossed before, there wasn’t any reason to subject Mordon to that sort of manipulation.

Right. That’s an easy decision. Give it up, Graham. You’ve got more important things to worry about. Your friends need you. The Feys won’t make it another day and you know it. Find the king. Don’t get distracted. Find the king.

But…but hearing that voice had sent a horrible crackle down his spine. Made him think of things lost.

Wouldn’t seeing Manny be proof enough? He wouldn’t need to confront the knight, he would just need to see. And then he would know. The not knowing was the problem. Graham couldn’t act on a suspicion, not even against Manny: he couldn’t live with himself if he was somehow wrong. The question of who would do this to him, who would try to kill him in such a cruel, calculating way—he had to know.

Decision made.

“Stay here,” Graham said. “I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Mordon looked startled, even with the mask. Horrified, even.

“Stay here,” Graham repeated. “I’ve got to do something. I’ll be right back.”

“You…you’re leaving me?”

“Just for a minute.”

“No!” Mordon’s hands clawed at his helmet, like he was going to rip it off, before dropping them again.

“Mordon….” Oh, no, what have I done, he’s going to jump me, this is it, I’ve ruined everything.

“No one wants Mordon. Everyone always leaves.” Mordon was choking back tears, and he curled into himself even further, smaller and smaller, and his arms were covering his head like he was being attacked. “I am always left. No one wants me. I…I’m a monster.”

“Oh! Oh, no, no, that’s not it,” Graham said, relief slumping his shoulders. He tried that smile, the smile that Mordon seemed to like so much, and he knelt at Mordon’s level. He deserves better. “Mordon, it’s okay. Stay calm. I don’t think you’re a monster. You’re helping me, and I appreciate that, really. I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?” Mordon snuffled.

“I promise.” Without thinking, he reached out and touched Mordon’s bruised arm, the lightest of affirmations, and then he turned and hurried down the side tunnel, leaving the goblin stunned and silent and alone.

~*~*~

Somehow, being alone added a whole new level of stress. Graham padded cautiously down the hall, pressed as close to the wall as possible. At least with Mordon, they could have pretended like he was being escorted somewhere by a guard. Now, though, it was abundantly clear that he was escaping.

The tunnel felt deserted. He couldn’t hear his “best friend” anymore. Maybe Manny had left, or had never been there in the first place, and this was a fool’s errand. He pushed on, wary of every soft sound.

The pale colors of the illuminated salamanders and mushrooms started to give way to a warmer, more familiar sort of light. Flickering torchlight brightened the tunnel with each step, until he found himself at the entrance to a library. Empty of anything but books and stories. Long banners hung from the shelves with illustrations from favored tales.

He was disappointed and desperately relieved at the same time.

In the center of the room stood a pedestal with what seemed like a special book on it. It was marked as some sort of prize winner, and Graham, after considering his options, stepped forward to have a look, curious about what goblins would treasure so highly.

He was startled to realize that he recognized it. When he had first been captured and brought into this underground kingdom, he had stood before some goblin in a rather impressive hat (a goblin Graham suspected might be more important than he’d assumed at the time). The goblin had compared Graham to this book—compared the real king of Daventry to the little illustrated king.

Idly, Graham flicked pages, skimming the story. He thought he recognized pieces of it. It described a kingdom overrun with rats, and a useless king who did nothing but make wishes to get rid of them without looking for any real solutions. And when a solution magically appeared, the town made eager promises to their savior and then failed to deliver on any of them. Justifiably, the whole village was magically stolen away by the piper with an enchanting flute….

Graham remembered the flute playing goblin.

He could picture the goblin standing on the rooftops of Daventry’s town, trilling and dancing like the piper in the illustrations. He wouldn’t forget it in a hurry—that goblin had cracked the flute over Graham’s head during the kidnapping. And here, the same flute, played during a similar kidnapping.

He gaped at the page, at the illustrated villagers vanishing into the caves. This person looked like Bramble. That one might be Chester, in the right light. And the one over on this page was wearing what could be Amaya’s blacksmithing apron. His stomach dropped, and he felt a clammy chill crawl across his skin.

With a shaking hand, he turned back to the front of the book, to the title page he had cheerfully ignored just a minute ago.

Written and illustrated by…Manny.

“Once, in a town just like the one you’re imagining, there was a beautiful castle that stood high on a hill.”

Graham’s hand curled into a fist.

Manny had known exactly what to do, had written a story with just enough injustice to incite the story-obsessed goblins to action. Of course they would want to play out this story, this entertaining tale, and punish the sly villagers who didn’t respect the piper.

And Manny wouldn’t have to do a thing once this story was written. He could sit back and watch as the goblins had their fun. And, to them, it was fun. Graham had seen dozens of examples of playacting by now. Even though they took it completely seriously, even though they hoped some magic would flourish and the frog would transform into a prince, it was still a game. He was still just a toy.

And if they forgot to feed their toy—or, more accurately, if someone broke the food supply line—the goblins wouldn’t notice or care. Graham was a character to tip out of a box and throw away when they got bored. Like the goblin they’d locked in a room to play Rumpelstiltskin until he could spin straw to gold, that poor skeleton he’d found hidden away and forgotten with nothing but a rusted spinning wheel and a towering pile of hay. Not flesh and blood to goblins in the midst of their play. Magic and words.

He closed the book with a thump. So, Manny was fighting with stories.

I can do that, too. I’m good at telling stories.

A story got them in this mess. A story might get them out again.

But he needed to be sure he could do it right. That he could weave the same magic that the goblins loved so much. He went to the shelves. If these books were elevated, kept here in a royal library, they were probably best to replicate as he spun his own. He’d only have one chance at this.

He was still feeling jangled and raw, so when he pulled out the first book and found it had nothing to do with fairy tales, he swore. He didn’t have a lot of time, and a book detailing various goblin pranks was hardly useful. He glanced at some illustration of baby swapping between humans and goblins, and angrily dropped the book, desperate to find something more helpful. Changeling stories were not what he wanted.

Changeling stories. He stomped across the room, muttering under his breath as he searched for something more useful than changeli—

He froze.

Changeling stories.

If Mordon would stand up straight…

Graham whirled, cloak swirling around him. The book had fallen open to that drawing of a human and a goblin exchanging places. His heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he almost didn’t notice the sounds of approaching goblins, but at the last possible instant he realized he was about to have company. He could hear the squeak of a door opening somewhere in the room. (What door? The room didn’t have a door, did it?)

There wasn’t time to get the book. He dove behind a reading desk, hands pressed over his mouth, cloak wrapped around his knees, out of sight and silent. He hoped.

Goblin footsteps were light and quick. Their leather-wrapped feet made practically no sound on the stone floor as they walked, but their stone armor made some scraping noises so he could sort of track where they were in the room.

There were multiple goblins, he thought. At least two.

This is it. I’m going to be caught.

They were coming closer to his hiding place. They were talking happily amongst themselves, and then they were suddenly silent, and Graham thought, Zards, they know something’s wrong. They’ve seen something. I’m dead. And if he was dead, his friends were, too. They wouldn’t get out of this, and he hadn’t even had a chance to try.

Someone leaned against the desk.

He pressed his hands harder against his mouth. He didn’t dare breathe. Everything seemed completely frozen, except for his heart, which wouldn’t stop racing. It was going to give him away: they would hear it thundering in his chest, how could they not…?

And then they were walking away, laughing again. They meandered down the hall, pushing each other and tripping each other and causing trouble.

Hours passed—or, more likely, a minute or two—before Graham eased himself from his hiding place. He inhaled sharp and desperate, lungs aching, knees like jelly, dizzy and weak and pathetic. He couldn’t make himself stand yet. He willed his nerves to calm again, feeling the ghostly imprint of his own fingertips where he’d pressed them against his cheeks.

He noticed the room was different—subtly, in a way he might not have noticed were he not sitting still. He blinked, shook his head, focused. Realized. When he’d entered the library, he’d been sure it was a dead end, but now he could see that one of the bookcases was slightly ajar—a secret door, like that out of a mystery story. Just open a crack, barely noticeable. The goblins had probably meant to close it behind them but hadn’t pressed hard enough.

And the book about the goblin pranks, the changeling story, was no longer on the floor. Not back in its place on the shelf. Gone with the goblins, and Graham wondered if he’d seen it in the first place or if his nervous mind, twisted up with stories and ideas, had conjured it from nowhere and taken it away again.

Briefly, selfishly, he wished it was the latter. But the secret sat in his gut, gnawing his empty stomach. A shroud of stone. A size that didn’t fit.

And that…that…

I need to get back to Mordon, he thought. But...what can I possibly say? What if I’m wrong? What might he do? What can I do?

Manny might still be here. Might be down that secret tunnel. Graham’s initial reason for coming down this path was still viable. And the delay might also give him the time to find the words he needed. He risked losing everything here, he knew. Every step he took could lead him to safety. Or to something deadly. Lives were depending on him making the right choice. Not getting distracted, not taking unnecessary risks. Bramble, Wente, Amaya, Chester, Muriel, the Merchant, Mr. Fancycakes, and now…

Now someone else might need him, too.