#unfortunately it seeped through my drawing regardless -_-

[deliriuxe]

[froog-water]

howdy y'all, again! 

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness.  It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

~

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

~

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

[spyder-m]

Zerith Week, Day 1: "Sanctuary"

My contribution for @zerith-week, Day 1: Church.

Summary: On her way back from down to the Sector 5 Slums, Aerith happens by two injured Soldiers passed out at the station. With seemingly no one interested in helping them, she took it upon herself to step in. Zack lives AU.

Chapter I: "Angels With Dirty Faces"

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.

“Phew, finally. We made it!”

“Urgh.”

Cloud garbled unintelligibly in response, his head lulling slack against Zack’s shoulder, before his body stilled once more. The shift was minimal, but enough to assure Zack that Cloud was still with him.

“Come on, Cloud,” Zack joked, readjusting his grip. “You could stand to be a little more enthusiastic.

Though the light-hearted quip went unanswered, it brought as much comfort to Zack as he hoped it did his friend.

It was a remnant of their old lives, the same banter they had shared back in Midgar. After seemingly everything they trusted in had been ripped away, he liked having that familiar certainty. Even now as those moments seemed at a completely distant, unreachable place in time, Zack would do all that he could to keep even a piece of them intact.

While Cloud didn't seem entirely cognisant, his company had been integral to Zack, imbuing him with the invaluable mental and emotional strength to carry through.

Internally, he was a wreck. He had no idea what was wrong with Cloud, who’d been unresponsive for months; their entire trip to Midgar. Frankly, it scared him.

Yet, he couldn’t let that fear show in his expression. He didn’t want Cloud, likely already scared himself, to worry. If Zack seemed uneasy, it may only serve to further rupture Cloud’s will, his psyche, at a point where it needed to be at its strongest.

Zack had wondered briefly what state Shinra HQ would be in now; with most of their top-ranked Soldiers either deceased or missing. He didn’t care to find out, firsthand though. Not when it would be far safer, he felt, to stick to Midgar’s Slums, knowing Shinra’s presence wasn’t as prominent underneath the plate.

Much of the slums were plagued by sickness and destitution. Monsters lingered on the outskirts of sectors and the roads and tunnels linking them, with many citizens open-carrying weapons to defend themselves. For that reason, Zack had been confident that the presence of two injured Soldiers wouldn’t appear too out of place or draw unwanted attention.

Still, he couldn’t be careless. The trains were overflowing with passengers; slum-dwellers who worked above the plate returning home. Knowing the likelihood of Shinra employees being among them, Zack had opted to sneak aboard one of the train’s rear compartments, intended for carrying cargo rather than passengers.

They still weren’t alone, but the train ride into Sector 5 passed without incident. Anyone unnerved by their presence simply chose to move to a different carriage.

Unfortunately, though, as he stepped out onto the station platform, Zack was beginning to sense a different, perhaps even more sinister, threat looming over him. His vision was beginning to fade, darkness seeping steadily into his periphery. The exhaustion and pain from the, fortunately, non-fatal wounds he had succumbed to was starting to weigh heavily upon him.

It was as though the urge to reach Midgar had been all that had fuelled him before, that determination helping him to channel strength beyond even his own supernatural limits. Yet now that he had succeeded, his body felt it could give out.

Zack grit his teeth, harnessing what little strength he had left within him to stay conscious. He had already crossed entire continents and stowed away on ships, all the while fending off platoons of men tracking them. Surely, he could make these last few miles into the Slums.

As Zack’s head lifted groggily, he scanned the near distance, squinting to make out the scrap yard stretching in front of him. His stomach sank.

Even if the monsters lurking there weren't the strongest, it would still be dangerous. They usually travelled in packs and, in his current state, Zack wasn’t sure he’d be able to effectively divide his attention between multiple enemies, as well as keep an eye on Cloud.

He had a bad feeling that they would end up as Gorger food.

Zack couldn't fall to such feeble prey, not after everything he'd pulled through.

So, spotting the nearby bench and vending machines, Zack cut a deal with himself.

Against his better judgement, he decided to take a brief rest. Just enough that he could regain his strength and fight safely through the scrapyards, but nothing more.

At least, that had been his hope.

.

Aerith sighed as she stepped off the train, lowering her still full basket of flowers.

Yet another day had passed and she hadn't been able to sell anything topside.

Despite being able to afford the luxury, the people above the plate showed little interest; rarely even acknowledging her presence.

She couldn't understand. Everyone in the Slums seemed to value the plant life much more, enjoying the way it brightened the drab mesh of concrete and steel shanties, giving it a more homely feel.

Still, as futile as her efforts seemed, Aerith would always make the trip; treasuring what few gil she could pull in to help out her mother.

As her eyes lifted, Aerith caught the last rays of what little daylight broke through the gaps in the steel sky. Conscious it wouldn’t be long before twilight began to set in, Aerith's gait picked up.

She had been volunteering at a soup kitchen being run by the Sector’s Church recently and didn't want to be late.

It only seemed fair to assist the priest who let her grow and sell flowers there. Besides, she found the work very fulfilling.

Whether she was brightening people's spirits by spreading her flowers throughout the Slums or providing warm meals and shelter to those who were struggling to find their own. It helped harbour an atmosphere far friendlier than compared to the one above the plate, creating a sense of community, of people who, despite struggling, were always willing to help one another out.

As Aerith crossed the station, her focus was broken by a vibrant shock of yellow entering her periphery, tugging her in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, any thought of needing to rush towards the Church was abandoned as she was drawn to the sight of two young men; not much older than her; slumped against the bench, their eyes closed.

At a cursory glance, it might not have seemed out of the ordinary; as though they were simply resting. Yet, from the state of their clothes and the dirt marring their skin, Aerith could tell they must have fallen on hard times.

Still, despite being in clear view, many commuters passed them by without so much as a second thought.

Aerith exhaled calmly, allowing those passersby the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew, they too were struggling and didn’t have much to their name that could help. Still, the matter was sensitive to her. Her own birth mother had passed away in a similar fashion, Elmyra being the only one to approach and try to help.

Kneeling down, Aerith glanced over the two more closely, in particular, noticing their clothes. Her eyes widened as she placed the dark, sleeveless sweaters and trousers, shoulder pauldrons, standard dress for members of Soldier.

It wasn’t uncommon for men and women leaving the military to end up like this, out on the streets. After the war ended, Shinra had suddenly found itself no longer needing so many large platoons of men, and there were only so many troops needed to patrol the streets. Because of this, many ended up being discharged and struggled to find work; the skills they’d honed under Shinra not translating well to other professions.

Though, what puzzled Aerith was that these two were not mere low-level guards. They bore the Uniform of ranked Soldiers, the company’s elite warriors. Which made her wonder how and why they could have ended up in this position? Surely, the company wouldn't want to let them go? Especially when she’d been hearing rumours that some of their most-decorated, highest ranked members had been declared MIA. Even if they did, wouldn't their skills be highly sought after? They shouldn't have had a problem finding work.

Still, regardless of the details, Aerith knew better than to judge. She didn't know their situation and didn't need to. For now, all that mattered was that they needed help.

She looked over the brunette nearest to her, a gasp breaking from her lips. She could make out patches of blood soaking through the dark material of his turtleneck, dried flecks crusting over his bare arms. Her hands hovered over him, calling on the power of healing magic. Yet the energy that surrounded him seemed to have little effect, as though there were no wounds that needed tending to.

Studying him, curious, Aerith found she couldn't see any obvious cuts or bruises. She could even hear him breathing softly, a sound that seemed to carry over the cacophony of the station, instilling the hope that perhaps he might be alright.

The blond at his side, however, seemed to be in a bad way. From the short distance she’d clocked them at, she hadn’t realised that his eyes were actually open. Though, they were glazed and unfocused.  Even if she were to meet his gaze, Aerith could tell she wouldn’t be able to get through to him.

The wounds he bore must have cut deeper, perhaps a trauma he still carried after being exposed to the atrocity and horror of war.

It was fortunate for her that one of the doctors in Sector 5 owed her a favour. She had been supplying him with rare herbs for his medicines and might be willing to treat these two. Though, getting them to the clinic wouldn’t be so simple.

Aerith supposed she could always find the doctor herself and bring him here, but she worried what may happen if she left them alone.

She might be able to help the blond, who was closer to her height and had a leaner build, but there was no way she could manage both. Especially not the dark-haired one, who, though malnourished, seemed much taller and bulkier.

Even if she could, she would still have to navigate through the backstreets and scrapyards where monsters lurked. Though she was certainly capable with a staff and her Cetra bloodline leant itself to a natural aptitude for magic, she would be hindered if she had to support someone.

It was obvious that she was going to need help.

As her eyes flickered across the crowd, hoping to find someone she knew, the brunette stirred, an exhale breaking from his lips. Aerith was pulled toward the sound, immediately catching the flutter of his eyelids.

He was regaining consciousness.

The sight gave her a flash of hope, as she wondered if he might have the strength to stand on his own. That could certainly make the trip the rest of the way into Sector 5 easier.

Tentatively, her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, a feather-light caress.

“A- Are you alright?”

His body sprung swiftly into motion at the contact, lashing out with the instinct of a wounded animal. Aerith lurched back, feeling her heart flutter unsteadily with the sudden movement. That pattern carried on as she took in the strong contours of his face and the few, errant strands of hair that hung over it. Her breath hitched in her throat as she was taken by the pure, shining blue of his eyes.

As the haze clouding Zack’s senses began to dissipate, he was overwhelmed by light shimmering through soft, chestnut hair, framing a brilliant emerald. He squinted, unsure if the presence was solid, or some ethereal vision.

While crossing the barren outskirts of Midgar, Zack had fallen prey to the odd mirage, finding images of Angeal or his parents burnt across the horizon. Whether it was a result of the climate or perhaps his declining condition, he wasn’t sure. But he wouldn’t overlook the possibility that he was still disoriented, imagining the presence of others.

He had certainly been starved for the company.

Surely, this seemed too bright and otherworldly, to be something, someone, underneath the plate. Perhaps, he wondered, he was returning to the planet.

“Heaven?” He muttered.

Blinking, it took Aerith a moment before her mind could piece together a coherent response. Conscious of the dire situation, she let out a forced, breathy laugh.

“Not quite. But I can see why you might think that.”

Aerith cringed, quickly realising her words hadn’t been the most sensitive. She had hoped some humour might be enough to ease the tension.

“I was just wondering if you were okay," she continued. "There’s a clinic not far from here, they’ll be able to help you and your friend out. I can show you the way if you like?”

Zack eyed her, at first, sceptical. His gaze scanned the perimeter, wondering if perhaps this was a ploy, expecting to spot a squadron of Shinra waiting to ambush him the moment he followed her.

Yet, the distinct, foreboding rush of dread that anticipated such an attack was something he’d become familiar with; particularly these last few months. For the moment, he couldn’t sense it.

Much of Zack’s journey had been bolstered by placing his trust in others, even when it didn't seem a hundred percent certain. There was Cissnei, who agreed to turn a blind eye and not inform Shinra of his whereabouts, the old guy who had given him and Cloud a lift.

Zack supposed he could tempt fortune once more.

“Alright,” he answered. "Lead the way."

He moved to stand; Cloud’s arm still draped around his neck; but staggered, almost losing his balance. Aerith's hands hung hesitantly by his shoulder, ready to offer to support some of the weight.

“Do you... need any help?”

"N- no, I've got this.” He grimaced, glance flickering briefly toward the sword still fixed at his back. “Though, I don't know that I'd be much good in a fight right now."

“No worry,” Aerith reassured, retrieving her staff. “You can leave that to me.”

.

Despite the obvious weariness bearing down upon him, Zack had been quite adamant that he, and only he, carry his friend; Cloud.

They had made their introductions briefly, before setting off. Aerith wasn’t sure what had compelled her to share her name. Perhaps she thought that if he knew it, he may be more open to trusting her. For now, he seemed somewhat apprehensive, as he trailed behind her, keeping a slight distance.

It would fall to her to fend off any monsters that crossed their paths.

Luckily, the packs of wererats they encountered were small and easy to keep track of. The fact that they tended to target the bigger, more immediate threats also proved advantageous, as; despite the giant sword at his back; Zack did not appear particularly imposing right now.

Before they could even think of calling upon their friends, Aerith was quick to rain ice spells down.

She led them safely the rest of the way to the clinic, just down from the Leafhouse.

Their late-afternoon arrival was opportune, as it meant she wouldn’t run into any of the kids, who were likely either inside or at their secret hideout. She suspected that the sight of her guiding two bloody, injured Soldiers might be cause for concern. It also meant there were no other patients being attended to, as they turned up just before the clinic was set to close for the evening.

The doctor’s head was bowed, looking over some paperwork when the door creaked open, his eyes lifting. Aerith’s hand rose in a sheepish wave as Zack stumbled in through behind her.

Gaze flickering toward the prone, motionless body balanced at Zack’s side, he swiftly rose from his desk, moving into action. Such a scene was not uncommon among the slums, it seemed.

“Move him to one of the beds in the back. I’ll examine him there.”

Suddenly, Zack grew apprehensive, his grip tightening instinctively, protectively, around Cloud. There was something about the room, the entire situation that unnerved him. The stranger’s white lab coat, their glasses, the stench of chemicals permeating the space. The cold, drab walls and equipment littered about the bench; needles, vials of unfamiliar substances.

It felt all too familiar.

He couldn’t trust it.

But, perhaps more crucially, Cloud was one of the few people left who Zack felt he could trust. After the lengths he had gone through to keep him from harm, Zack was not willing to hand him over so easily. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint shining through, enough for the man to recoil.

Catching the tension etched across his features, Aerith’s fingers treaded lightly against his back, immediately drawing his intense glare away.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “He’s just trying to help.”

As Aerith held his gaze, her eyes shining with sincerity and conviction, Zack could sense his more jaded, survival instincts ebbing away, as he wondered if he had a reason to doubt her.

She had found he and Cloud in trouble and, unlike most, went out of her way to offer help. She had led them all the way to his clinic, even fighting off monsters to ensure that they would make it safely. Those acts did not reflect someone with ulterior motives. Surely, if she had wanted to take advantage of them, it would have been easier to do so while they were passed out?

Besides, while he had managed to get this far on his own, Zack knew there were things he wouldn’t be able to do by himself. As much as it pained him to admit, he couldn’t help Cloud.

Begrudgingly, Zack guided Cloud over to the bed. Setting him down carefully with the doctor’s assistance.

Producing a small torch, he shone the light directly into Cloud’s eyes, noting how his pupils constricted. He was responding; that much was a relief.

Lifting his finger, the doctor dragged it in a straight line across Cloud’s eyeline. Cloud, however, was slow and languid in following the motion.

“Mako poisoning. Looks like a pretty serious case too. I can’t imagine how he’d have experienced such direct exposure.”

Zack grit his teeth. Having already received Mako injections as part of his induction into Soldier, he had a much better tolerance. Cloud, however, had not seen any direct exposure before. It was no wonder his body reacted poorly.

Not to mention, prospective Soldiers were typically given much smaller, controlled doses over time, allowing them to gradually adjust. They weren’t soaked in tiny tubes filled to the brim with the stuff!

As Zack stewed over bitter, disjointed memories of Hojo’s experiments, for the first time during the examination, the doctor’s curiosity won out.

“What exactly happened to him?”

Zack hesitated, unsure of how much detail he should go into. He knew it was counterproductive to lie, especially to someone only trying to help. After all, even the most innocuous information may have helped in assisting Cloud’s recovery.

But, could he really tell him that they’d both been sealed in vats of Mako and experimented on? That he wasn’t even entirely sure how long that process had lasted? That they’d escaped and spent the better part of a year evading Shinra? Sure, Zack was vaguely aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, but wasn’t sure it extended to dishonoured Soldiers on the run.

He couldn’t risk it.

“There was an open pool of Mako. He, uh- Fell in.” Zack lied.

The look the doctor gave was scrutinising, all furrowed lines and narrowed eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Zack’s hand rubbed at the back of his head, a nervous tick. For the time being, he did not acknowledge Zack’s dishonesty, instead continuing with the treatment.

“We have a means to treat this, fortunately.” The doctor continued, producing an elixir from one of the cabinets behind him. “Though, given his current condition, it would normally need to be administered intravenously.”

Zack nodded, unable to contain the flash of disappointment. Of course. This was a small clinic in the slums. There was no way they’d have access to that kind of technology. In yet another cruel twist, just as he thought he’d found a way for Cloud to get better, it was ripped away from him.

Surprisingly, though, the doctor did not seem discouraged, a prospect that gave Zack the smallest flicker of hope.

Positioning Cloud onto his side, the doctor began to pry his mouth open before slowly trickling the liquid inside. The sight woke panic in Zack, who feared that he may choke. That is until he saw the bobbing of Cloud’s throat, swallowing the mixture down. Zack’s bewilderment must have been shown in his expression, as the doctor offered an explanation.

“Keeping the airways clear is something deeply tied to our physiology. Even in the most vegetative state the body still retains its ability to swallow.”

His words brought Zack relief, as he watched Cloud drank down the last of the medicine.

“He should be fine. It’ll take some time to flush the Mako out of his system, though. It would be best if he spent the night here, just to be safe.”

“Then I’ll stay here too.”

As he spoke, Zack could feel the doctor’s eyes shifting now to examine him. The thorough and concise way he analysed him made Zack uneasy, still.

“You are fortunate to not be in the same position,” he said. “Though I am concerned by the amount of blood you appear to have lost.”

“Don’t worry,” Zack dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Most of it’s not even mine.”

“You may feel fine, but you’re still running on adrenaline. You’re going to feel the effects once it wears off. It would be best if you were to rest.

“I’m fine,” Zack pushed, stubborn. As if to further emphasise the point he pulled up a nearby chair, perching himself by the head of Cloud’s bed.

“Have it your way,” the doctor sighed, moving back out into the reception area; perhaps to speak with Aerith. “Though there are more beds available should you change your mind.”

It may have been reckless on Zack’s part, but he had his reasons. It had been unsettling when he first entered the Clinic. He could only imagine the panic Cloud would wake in if he found himself in a strange room. He may fear for the worst, thinking they had been captured by Shinra. If Zack was there, his presence might calm him down.

Besides, even if he wanted to, Zack didn’t think he’d be able to sleep right now. Not until he was sure that Cloud was better.

It wasn’t long, though, before he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Suddenly feeling much less resistance to the sleep trying to take him.

Cloud was still recovering, but ultimately, in a better place; out of Hojo’s clutches. The realisation left Zack content, knowing that he could, seemingly, finally relax.

That they were safe, for the time being.

.

“You’re still here? I guess you were serious about staying.”

Zack blinked, looking around the room. He hadn’t realised how long it had been, finding darkness now blanketing the streets outside.

From the doorway, Aerith hovered in his periphery, her voice reaching out to him from a distance. She offered a soft smile as he eventually turned in her direction.

“If you really don’t want to sleep, why don’t you stop by the Community Centre next door? You’ll at least be able to clean yourself up and get something to eat.”

Zack could feel his stomach churn at the mere mention of food. The offer was tempting. He hadn’t been able to change his clothes or bathe for several months and had eaten only when the opportunity presented itself.

But, he still had doubts. For the time being, he’d feel safe lying low somewhere. Right now, this clinic seemed to fit the bill.

Though, Zack sighed, finding it cruel to refuse her. Particularly when she was being so kind, going to such lengths to help him, to no benefit of her own. But this was just the situation they were facing. He needed to be practical.

“I’d like to, but...”

Zack trailed off, eyes flickering back toward the bed where Cloud rested, the lone gesture more than conveying the reason for his hesitance. Aerith’s eyes softened, cradling a hand over her chest. She admired his steadfast dedication to his friend. The fact that he would value his well being over his own to such an extent. He was so selfless, albeit to a fault.

It was time that someone looked out for him.

“I understand. But if you aren’t careful, there’s going to be two people who end up bed-ridden and I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

She set her hands at her hips and scowled in mock admonishment, doing her best to mimic the same pose her mother would adopt if ever she was misbehaving. Zack couldn’t help the chuckle that broke his lips with the sudden shift.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“How about this? You can stay here and I’ll bring something back for you, sound good? There was actually somewhere I was supposed to be helping out tonight, but… something else came up...”

Her voice dragged into silence and Zack smirked.

“You sure are connected, huh?” He teased.

.

The soup Aerith brought back was light and warm as it trickled down his throat. Zack shivered, feeling it heat up his chest, in stark contrast to the rain-soaked sweater that was still clinging to his body.

He was surprised by the broth’s vibrant flavour. He would have thought good quality vegetables would be difficult to come by. Though, that may have also been due in part to this being the first proper meal he had been able to enjoy in months.

Still, it tasted divine.

Though his stomach grumbled, aching for more, Zack pushed down the urge to greedily suckle up every last drop before him. He knew he needed to pace himself, that he could get ill if he suddenly gorged his malnourished body too quickly. It was a problem Soldiers faced, when on long missions and short on rations.

Soup was a safe option to start with, though. The fresh vegetables would help settle his stomach and allow him to eventually move onto something heavier.

As he continued to savour the dish, he could feel Aerith’s gaze covering him. He glanced up, greeted by her warm smile.

“Like it? I have some more if you want. Or we could keep it for Cloud.”

Setting down his bowl, Zack did not answer for the moment. Instead, he mirrored her expression, sincere and unyielding.

“I really appreciate this, Aerith.”

“O- oh, it’s nothing, really.”

“Are you kidding? Things were touch and go for us for a while there. But thanks to you, I’ll think we’ll be okay. I have to repay you somehow.”

Zack pondered for a moment, unsure of how he could even begin to repay the lengths she had gone to for him.

He didn’t have any gil, or really... anything of monetary value to his name. Perhaps once he had settled into town and found some work he’d be able to repay her. But, money didn’t seem adequate to cover just how indebted he was to Aerith.

If it weren’t for her, Cloud might have never had a chance to recover.

One thing he knew for certain, he was actually enjoying her company and would like to keep spending time with her.

“I know,” he decided eventually. “How about one date?”

“Hmm?” Aerith considered, fingers pressing at her chin. “Spending time with you is a reward, is it?”

“Well, you got us food this time around. It’s only fair that I return the favour.”

“I keep telling you, it’s fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I get the impression you aren’t exactly rolling in gil right now”

“Maybe not at the moment, but a man of my skills? I could be a mercenary, and take on any job. It won’t be long before I’ve found work.”

“Is that so?” She teased. “I don’t seem to recall you doing much monster-fighting today.”

“It’s true there’s no way I could compare to you, but I’ll have you know I’m quite handy with a sword.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to hire you and find out for myself.”

“I’ll be there. Just say the word.”

Zack was surprised. He’d always thought himself friendly, amiable. But not since he had first met Cloud, could Zack recall jelling so effortlessly with another person; enjoying that same easy banter. That he was opening up so readily after what he and Cloud had just been through.

The conversation dipped as they continued to eat, silently.

That is, until he caught the basket of flowers resting in the corner of the room. That’s right, Zack recalled. Aerith had had those with her when she had found them at the station.

It was a hard detail to miss. You didn’t often see flowers around Midgar. It piqued his curiosity. They must have been important if she had made the effort to bring them all the way here with her.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, but… what’s with the flowers?”

“Oh! I sell them. I actually forgot I had left them here. But, I suppose it doesn’t matter. They do make for a nice gift for someone who isn’t feeling well, after all. I’m sure Cloud will appreciate them.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” She goaded.

Before Zack could offer any retort, a strained groan broke from the opposite side of the room. His voice caught, a tightness constricting his throat. Before him, Aerith froze, her hand in the midst of raising a spoonful of soup to her lips. Zack’s head whipped back toward the bed as the sheets ruffled under the distinct movement of Cloud’s body.

“Cloud?!”

“Z- Zack?”

Immediately, Zack sprung forward, stopping abruptly by the head of Cloud’s bed. His voice had been weak, his features scrunching up as he struggled to keep his bleary, eyes open.  Yet, it was more life than he could recall seeing from his friend in months. Zack laughed, tears of relief beading in the corners of his eyes.

“I guess you were right. The flowers did make a difference.”

[thecassadilla]

Written in the Stars - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,328/AO3

Pairing: Kristanna

Love During Lockdown Series: Serendipity (Prologue) 

Summary: Figuring out how to go on an in-person date during a time of social distancing would be a challenge for anyone. Luckily, it comes easy to Anna and Kristoff, who find a creative way to spend some time with each other amidst a pandemic.

Author’s Note: Well, I’m back again. If you remember, a few weeks back, I wrote a one-shot about Anna and Kristoff meeting during the pandemic because their deliveries got sent to each other’s addresses by mistake. I added that it had the possibility of being expanded, and ta-da! I’ve linked that fic above. I highly recommend reading that fic before this one, but you do you. I can’t believe I followed through, for the first time ever. This was interesting to write because, well, I had to imagine what an appropriate, in-person date would be like right now. This is going to be three or so chapters, but again, has the possibility of being expanded upon! I hope you enjoy it!

In the days immediately following their initial conversation, Anna found herself carrying her phone everywhere with her. She didn’t want to miss out on a single text from Kristoff. They hadn’t had much contact in the week since their chat - from what she had gathered about him, he definitely seemed to be on the shyer side; despite this, and the pandemic that was practically prohibiting them from meeting in person, she was hopeful that everything would work out and they would have a real opportunity to talk. There was just something about him and their interaction that was different, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. 

Suffice to say, when he called her out of the blue on Saturday afternoon, just over a week since they’d met for the first time, her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

“Hello?” She answered, breathlessly.

“Hey,” he responded, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright, thanks for asking. Uh, so I know this is going to sound kind of weird, but I haven’t started my car in almost a month and I’m kind of worried that the battery is going to die,” he explained. “I was wondering if you wanted to go for a car ride in a little while? I know it’s short notice and it would be bad social distancing, but -”

“Absolutely,” she cut him off, sounding a little too eager. “I can wear a mask if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No - I mean, you can bring it. I’m going to bring one, too, but you said you haven’t left your apartment in a while, right?”

“I haven’t left in almost two months,” she answered.

“Same here, so I think it would be safe? As long as we’re in the car, and you’re okay with it?”

“I’m totally fine with that,” she said, again fearing that she was going to come off as desperate.

“And...if you want, we can get take-out or stop by a drive-through or something? I know it’s kind of inappropriate, and ideally we’d be going to a sit-down restaurant, but...you know.”

“That would be wonderful,” she assured him. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was worried about not impressing her, because it sure sounded like he was asking her on a first date. The situation they were in was certainly not his fault, though, and the fact that he was still trying regardless of that made her weak in the knees. “What time were you thinking?”

“Um, an hour or so? Or we can meet up later if that’s too soon?”

“No, that’s perfect. I’m dying to get out of this apartment and see a person other than my sister,” she giggled.

“Oh!” He said, sounding a little surprised. “Me too, except with my roommate.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, smiling. “Where should we meet?”

“By the entrance to the building?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see you in an hour!”

“See you then,” he said, before hanging up the phone.

She was so excited that she wanted to scream. She immediately jumped off the bed and began to tear her room to shreds - she wanted to wear something that was cute but appropriate. She also didn’t want to have to explain why she was wearing a fancy dress to Elsa. After way too much time deliberating, she finally settled on a light blue romper with spaghetti straps and a pair of sandals. She didn't have enough time for a full face of makeup, so she settled on mascara and lipstick, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. Her hair hung down in loose waves cascading down her back, and she mentally applauded herself for taking a shower that morning. When the hour was about to draw to a close, she placed the mask over her face, grabbed her purse and cell phone, and excitedly bounded out of her bedroom.

She paused in front of Elsa’s door, knocking a few times with no answer. She peeked inside, and was thrilled to see that her sister was taking a nap and could not protest her departure. She decided that a text message would be appropriate, and gently closed the door to her room before practically skipping out of the apartment. As soon as she opened the door, a blast of hot air hit her in the face and she was immensely grateful that they were going to be sitting in an air conditioned car instead of going on a walk. Before she walked downstairs, she sent the text message to Elsa and shoved her phone into her purse - if she could help it, she wanted to keep it there the entire time they were together.

When she finally reached the entrance to their building, she could hardly contain her excitement. So much so that when Kristoff emerged from inside, she found herself approaching him with her arms wide open before she realized what she was doing.

“Oops, sorry,” she said, lowering her arms. “I always hug people after when I haven’t seen them for a while, but I guess we don’t live in that world anymore. Hi, by the way.”

Although she couldn’t see his mouth, she could tell from his eyes that he was smiling. She couldn’t help but notice how good he looked; he was dressed casually like her, wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt, but it suited him so well that she nearly found herself drooling. 

“Hi,” he said back, his eyes still sparkling. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been doing as well as I can,” she answered. “I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind, though.”

“I feel the same way,” he chuckled, slowly starting to walk toward the parking lot. “I’m glad to be getting out for a little while. You look great, though; quarantine must be treating you well.”

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, walking alongside him. “You look great, too. And I feel the same way; my sister is starting to drive me up a wall.”

“It’s just you and her up there?”

“So it’s a little complicated, actually. She doesn’t actually live here,” she explained. “I had two roommates.”

“What happened with that?”

“One of them broke his lease, because his internship ended abruptly due to the pandemic, so he had to go back to live with his parents. And my other roommate has been quarantining with her boyfriend, but she took almost all of her stuff with her and she’s not answering my messages, so I actually don’t know if she’s coming back.”

“I don’t mean to cut you off, but this is me,” he said, motioning to a grey SUV. He unlocked it, and they each went to their respective sides. It was blazingly hot inside, as expected, and he put his keys in the ignition. “I’m honestly relieved that it started and I’m really sorry that it’s so hot in here, but it should cool off in a few minutes. You were saying?”

She pulled off her mask and he followed shortly after. “Yeah, so, my sister came to visit, like, a week before everything shut down and then she just refused to leave. It worked out since my other roommate moved out, but she’s driving me crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking over at her. 

She slid the seatbelt over her shoulder and buckled it in. Cool air started seeping out of the vents, offering relief from the suffocating heat. “It’s not the worst thing in the world, but her anxiety is basically out of control. She’s a touch agoraphobic in general, and this is just making it worse.”

“That has to be really rough,” he responded, shifting the car into drive and slowly pulling out of the spot. “I mean, my roommate just sits around and plays video games all day, so I kind of lucked out in that regard.”

“I would do literally anything for her, but I definitely miss having a little freedom; she doesn’t even want me to go on walks, or anything,” she said, shaking her head. “Luckily, she hates Florida, so I think she’ll try to go home as soon as it’s safe.”

“Are you from Florida?”

She glanced out the window, admiring the clear blue sky and the palm trees. She had almost forgotten what the outside world looked like. “No, I’m actually from upstate New York.”

“Get out of here, so am I,” he said, excitedly. “What part are you from?”

Her face lit up. “Arendelle, it’s a small town near Saratoga Springs.”

“I grew up, like, half an hour from there. Near Broadalbin, in Fulton County.”

“No way! It’s such a small world,” she laughed. “What brought you here?”

“I’ve lived in Florida for a few years now,” he explained, focusing on the road. “I came down here for school. I’m becoming an architect, and I needed an internship, and that led me to this part of the state a couple of months ago. Unfortunately, it kind of got put on hold due to the pandemic.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she frowned. “I don’t know much about architecture, but it seems really cool.”

“It is,” he grinned. “But it’s a lot to talk about and I don’t want to bore you. What about you?”

“I doubt you would bore me, but to answer your question, I needed a change. I came out here for school, too, and loved it so much that I dreaded going home during breaks. So I got a job and found an apartment, and now I live here.”

“What did you major in?”

“I’m still working on my Bachelor’s, but elementary education. One semester to go.”

“You must love kids,” he assumed.

She nodded. “I do, I really do. I had a lot of amazing teachers, and I hope that one day I can leave an impact on someone in the same way my teachers left one on me.”

“Wow, that’s really thoughtful of you.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “I’m really looking forward to having my own classroom, someday.”

He found himself smiling at the sincerity of her response, but before he could say anything, she had already moved onto the next topic.

“What do you do for work?”

“Well, the internship was my job, for the time being. I quit my job as a waiter for the internship, so I’m currently unemployed.”

She nodded fervently. “Same here - I had a part-time front desk job, and the office had to close, so I got laid off.”

“This whole situation is just awful,” he responded, shaking his head. “To get back onto a happier subject - what do you love most about living here?”

“The weather,” she cooed. “I love the warmth and the sunshine. No snow or shoveling to worry about in this state.”

“That’s the one thing that I dislike about living here,” he remarked. “I kind of miss having four seasons. Oh, and I never want to be referred to as ‘Florida Man.’”

She burst out laughing, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god, stop.”

“I’m serious! There are so many negative connotations,” he laughed.

“Yeah, but you’d have to do something dumb, like, stick your foot in a gator’s mouth to earn that title.”

“I don’t know, I feel like they’re handing it out willy nilly these days; any man who lives in Florida is officially a Florida Man,” he smiled, shaking his head. “In all seriousness, though, I do hope to move back to New York, someday.”

“I think I do, too. The distance has helped my sister and I grow as individuals, but I’d like to live closer to her. Not anytime soon, though.”

“I get that,” he nodded. 

“So, what’ve you been doing to pass the time?”

He sighed. “I’ve been doing school stuff, mostly, but now that the semester is over, I’ve been watching stuff on Netflix.”

“Ooh, what have you been watching?” She asked, turning her body so she was facing him.

“Whatever gets recommended to me, honestly. I watched Tiger King -”

“Oh my god, me too! What a train wreck!” She exclaimed, before bringing both of her hands up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I totally cut you off just then.”

“It’s fine,” he said, glancing over at her. “I kept expecting it to get better, but it just kept getting worse and worse. Other than that, I’ve been watching a mixed bag of stuff. The Office, Parks and Rec, et cetera.”

“Literally, same,” she laughed. “I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube, too, because it’s interesting to see what other people are doing during quarantine.”

“Good point,” he agreed. “I haven’t even thought about how other people have been coping.”

“Almost everyone I watch has been doing the same stuff I see everyone on social media doing. Baking bread, renovating their houses, watching television. I appreciate people who are putting out unique content.”

“I’ll have to get on YouTube one of these days,” he stated. “What are you looking forward to most when all of this is over?”

“Gosh, I don’t even know,” she gushed. “Everything - I want to eat in a restaurant, again. And go back to Disney World, and to the beach.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Disney World.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” he smirked.

“No way! We’ll have to go when it opens!” She declared, and then quickly backtracked a step, worrying that she was too forward. “Only if you want to, though.”

“I’m not opposed to going,” he chuckled. “It was just never high enough on my priorities list. I was actually supposed to go back in March, but then they closed. I’d love to go with you when they reopen.”

“Stop, I’m literally so excited now,” she said, unable to control her smile. “I’m not in a crazy rush to run there as soon as they reopen, but I literally cannot wait now.”

His lips curved upwards as well. “Me too.”

“How about you? What are you looking forward to?”

“Well, aside from going to Disney World, probably just things going back to normal. I miss simple things like going to the grocery store.”

“Do you like cooking?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I do. That’s another thing that I’ve been doing - practicing my cooking skills. You?”

“God, no. I love eating but I’m an awful cook,” she laughed. “I know how to make some really basic stuff, but I have a knack for burning everything. I’d say that I’m a better baker, but I don't think boxed mixes count.”

“At least you try. I’m pretty sure my roommate would live on microwaveable food and take-out if I didn’t live with him.”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “My sister is no better, but we get by.”

“I’ll have to send some food up to you sometime; can’t have you two starving,” he winked.

“Stop, you’re too sweet,” she gushed. “I would love that, though. My sister on the other hand…”

He glanced over at her. “I notice that you talk about her a lot. Is it just the two of you?”

She paused for a moment before answering. “Yeah, it’s just me and her. Our parents passed away a few years ago, and we don’t have any other family.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry to hear that,” he frowned. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s okay; I’m actually kind of glad you asked,” she said quietly, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers. “My sister and I don’t talk about them, really.”

He raised his eyebrows. “How come? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She shook her head. “Well, my sister had a lot of anxiety issues as a kid, and she became very closed off. They were concerned, but they didn’t really do anything to address it and we both suffered as a result. They got into the accident when I was fifteen, and she was eighteen so she became my guardian, but it was like I was living with a stranger at first. We got better, eventually, but she was a little overbearing and I needed my own space and that was when I moved down here for school. We just don’t bring them up, now. They weren’t bad people or anything, it’s just hard to talk about.”

He nodded along with her as she spoke, acknowledging what she was saying. “I get that. I’m really sorry that that happened, but I have to say - you’re incredibly brave.”

“Thank you,” she looked up at him and gave him a sad smile. “What about your family?”

“I was a foster kid who got bounced around, so I don’t really have a family. I’m still in touch with the family I was with the longest, but it took two other families to get to them.”

She gasped. “I’m sorry, that must’ve been so hard.”

“Well, a lot of good came out of it. It made me want to work harder, for one, but it also made me realize what type of person I want to be and what type of life I want to live.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“Well, I want to have a family of my own someday. I just...want to be present for the people in my life.”

“That’s really amazing. You’re also incredibly brave,” she remarked, repeating what he’d just said to her.

“I guess we have a lot in common, then.”

She nodded, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his arm. She hesitated, though. “You can say that again. But it’s a good thing, I think. Not to wax poetic, but we wouldn’t be here right now if all of those horrible things didn’t happen to us.”

“Very true,” he agreed. He pulled into a gas station, stopping the car at one of the pumps and turning off the engine. “Sorry, I just want to fill up my tank so we don’t break down somewhere.”

“No need to apologize,” she insisted, as he climbed out of the car and started fiddling with the pump. She was completely overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. This was easily the best date she’d ever been on, and she was hopeful that he felt the same way and that there would be many more dates in the future. Though it was a bit of an annoyance at the time, she was eternally grateful for the delivery drivers who’d messed up their deliveries. 

“Alright, we’re good,” he announced, as he climbed back in and started the ignition again. 

“Do you want money for gas?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “Where to next?”

She shrugged. “You’re the driver.”

“Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere and eat,” he offered. 

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“What’re you in the mood for? I know there aren’t too many practical options for eating in a car.”

“We could stop at that McDonald’s that was just down the street.”

“Alright,” he said, pulling away from the gas station. “I have nothing against McDonald’s, but if the circumstances were different, I would’ve preferred to take you somewhere much nicer.”

“I know,” she smiled. “But I’m not, like, disappointed or anything. I’m honestly having a great time.”

“Me too,” he responded softly. “I’ve really been enjoying talking to you.”

“I’m really glad that we’re on the same page. Also, I haven’t had McDonald’s in at least a year, so I’m super excited about that.”

“Is that why you suggested it?”

“Maybe,” she smirked. “But also because it’s close by and we don’t have to get out of the car.”

“If that's what you want, then I’m happy to take you there, but don’t worry about the distance. I don’t mind going somewhere else if -”

She interjected before he could finish his thought. “Nope, McDonald’s is great.”

“Alright,” he laughed. “Then to McDonald’s we go.”

[owlespresso]

An Evening in the Life / Nhaza’a

Nhaza’a Jaab/m!Reader My commissions are open, and I write headcanon lists/drabbles for ko-fi donations! 2 ko-fis = one list/drabble! My ko-fi can be found HERE. There is spice below the read-more. 

Thanalan is cold at night. The temperature seeps into your skin through your armor and leathers, fabric and metal splattered with the blood of your deceased target–a large monster that had been troubling the locals for the past few suns. Fatigue rattles your bones and steals the breath from you, back of your throat burned raw. It’s a soreness you haven’t experienced in awhile, and it makes you weary.

So weary that you don’t notice the coyote that had been tailing you until it crouches on its haunches and leaps–or at least tries to. The silver of a rogue blade sinks in between its shoulders, straight through its throat. Its ghastly gurgling whine splits the air and finally causes you to whip around, eyes wide as you behold Nhaza’a’s form, illuminated by pale moonlight.

His sword is slick with blood as he pulls it from the beast, his boot planted on its haunch. 

“To think, the vaunted Warrior of Light failed to notice such a clumsy beast on his tail.” He tuts at you, pulling a cloth from one of his pockets to wipe down his blade, cleaning it thoroughly before sliding it back into its sheath. “...You’re a sight for sore eyes. What’s wrong? Did you help too many poor grannies across the street?”

“No. It was a hunt.” You grumble, turning around to continue on your way. You’re not in the mood to humor him. If he wants to be a cynical asshole to you, he can wait until tomorrow to do it.

“Ah. My apologies, wait–” His boots thump against the ground, kicking up sand and coarse dirt. You’re not given any other warning before his hand plants atop your shoulder, eagerly tugging you backwards. Your body, weakened from the day’s activities, lacks the strength to stand firm and topples backwards into his broad chest. “Allow me to treat you to a drink.” He beseeches, a gloved hand stroking your jaw, his good eye hooded low and sultry.

You inhale shakily, collect yourself. Your hands curl into fists at your side.

“And something to eat?” You inquire, raising an eyebrow sharply.

“Your wish is my command.” Nhaza’a acquiesces with a simple sigh, resting a jeweled hand on his hip. “If that is what I must do to make up for my transgressions, then so be it.”

And that’s how you’ve landed up here, sitting across from him whilst the tavern hustles and bustles around you, resting your cheek on the palm of your hand. The smell of freshly cooked food wafts over you and causes your stomach to growl, reminding you that you had skipped lunch. Your glazed gaze flickers over the laminated menu, caught between the steak and the garlic butter chicken.

It’s difficult to decide, not when you’re so exhausted and have so much on your mind. The image of him, outlined in the fine veneer moonlight.

“Is there something on your mind?” Nhaza’a asks, taking a quaint sip from his margarita glass. He gazes keenly at you, that near constant smirk gone from his face, replaced with something gentler, more contemplative. 

“Why did you save me?” You finally pluck up the courage to ask. It’s been on your mind since you walked in, his arm wrapped near possessively around your shoulder. Only now, that you’ve been given space, can you finally voice your nagging curiosity. “I’ve done nothing but oppose you and be a thorn in your side. Killing me while I was vulnerable would have been the best move for you to make.”

“Always full of cheer and merriment, aren’t you?” He drawls, sighing as you settle him with a firm glare. “Alright, alright. Your question is valid, I will admit. Though the answer is simple. I don’t need to kill you, at least not yet. While you inconvenience me every now and then, you typically do not stop me from doing my good work. And if I did not have you, who would amuse me during my free time?” The corners of his lips curl into a mischievous little smile, eyelids dipping low, voice pitching into a delightful croon.

“You decided to let me live because you like fucking me?” You deadpan, incredulous. In all honesty, you wouldn’t put it past him. For all the grandiose arrogance he speaks with, his goals are rather simpleminded. 

He wants a fight, a hunt, something to thrill and entertain. The exhilaration is all he cares about, so it makes sense that he would keep you around.

“No, no. I would not say it’s the only reason. I appreciate your company on more than just a physical level,” Nhaza’a says, and has the nerve to roll his eye. “I’m not a savage. If I was simply looking for a few holes to fuck, there are plenty of prostitutes lining the streets of Ul’dah for me to pick from. But they cannot give me what you can.” His blatant honesty and the crudeness of it nearly makes you shy all over again, but you manage to hold your ground, instead shoving your face into your hands. You rub the bridge of your nose.

You’re the Warrior of Light. Slayer of gods, savior of countries. So why are you sitting across from a mass murderer? Why did you even entertain the idea of spending time with him in the first place? “Come now,” he coaxes, attempting to bring your attention back to him. “Truly. Am I that awful to be around?”

“You’re mediocre at best,” you reply with little to no hesitation, the small frown on your face refusing to budge. 

“Fair enough, but I have a feeling you’ll be singing a different tune in a mere few hours.” His voice pitches low and it causes a flicker of liquid need to blot your lower stomach. You inhale swift and cross your legs, snuffing out any of the unfortunate arousal before it could even start.

“There’s no any fucking way. Not again.” You swore fearlessly as the barista placed two drinks in front of you both. You reached for the tankard and took a massive swig, attempting to hide your face whilst attempting to get your chaotic emotions under control. 

I am not affected, you say to yourself a mantra that goes obsessive, I am not affected, I am not—

---

“Fuck!” Your breath is wrung from you in a humiliating squeal, fingers curling helplessly into the silken sheets. Never again, you repeat to yourself, even as Nhaza’a drew your cock into his very talented mouth. Your hips twitch and wriggle even as he holds them down, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to pin them to the sheets. 

At the very least, his mouth is occupied. If it weren’t, you don’t doubt he’d be mercilessly raking you over the coals for going back on your word.

He will, you know, but for now, all you can do is settle back and enjoy the slow draw of his tongue along the underside of your stiff cock. He spares you no quarter, refuses you the time to regain your bearings and actually think.

All you can process is the way his fingers splay across your inner thighs from their awkward position, all you can understand is the way he hollows out his cheeks and sucks. At one point or another, the back of his tongue rises to brush against your tip and the smattering of pleasure that assaults you makes you see stars. 

There is no way to coordinate yourself, because you’re hurtling towards the edge, bathed from head to toe in white hot pleasure. He does this beautiful little thing where he hollows his cheeks and you get to cling on for another moment before you’re gone. The first orgasm of the night is wrung from your aching body. Your muscles still throb and ache from the strenuous hunt, but you’re tipsy and needy and all you can think about is the way he swallows each drop of cum like it’s ambrosia.

“What was that about ‘never again’?” Nhaza’a wastes not a moment after pulling off your cock. Smugness drips from his every pore. If you weren’t currently basking in the afterglow of an admittedly incredible climax, you’d have to resist the urge to sock him in the face.

Rather than be deterred by your silence, it only seems to motivate him.

“I believe you meant ‘until I find someone who fucks me better than you do’. In which case, allow me to assure you that will never happen.” Nhaza’a nips at your inner thighs, smiling at the way the muscle twitches.

“Stop wagging your tongue and fuck me already.” You grumble. Trying to argue against his nearly neverending narcissism is an unwinnable battle. No matter how many times you wipe the floor with him in combat, he’ll always have that smug smirk, always hold himself high above most, if not all of the general populace.

“So demanding,” he sighs. He climbs up the mattress regardless and presses his lips to your own in a violent, conquesting kiss. The sandpaper texture of his tongue makes your eyes shut and your thoughts begin to slip through your damn fingers.

He works your body with a finesse you have hardly ever experienced, opening you slowly with slicked fingers. Your breath leaves you in short sighs and moans, sharp intakes and exhales that mismatch with the chaotic rhythm your heartbeat has set.

By the time he begins to curl his fingers just right, you fall over the precipice, spilling over your own stomach with a pitched cry. 

“Twice already?” Nhaza’s sounds, sounding both surprised and impressed all in the same. It’s an emotion you’re not used to hearing in his voice, but you’re hardly granted a moment to think about it before you feel his tip press against your aching hole. “You can give me another, can’t you?” He asks, nuzzling your collarbone with a contented sigh. He rasps his tongue over your warm collarbone, adding to the overwhelming cacophony of sensations.

“M-mhm,” you nod shakily and shut your eyes, mouth opening around a sanguine cry. His cock throbs large and hot inside of you, pressing against your walls in a way that makes you squirm and wiggle on the sheets, against his broad body. Your thoughts melt away, body and mind lost to the brutal rhythm he sets with his hips.

The mattress screams and creaks underneath your undulating bodies, the force sending you up the mattress, mere inches away from the headboard. In the back of your mind, you’re aware of his rumbling moans, broken and broad noises that sound alongside deep purrs.

You’re not fully there when you climax, oversensitive, oversaturated with divine sensation. Another gush of hot cum drips onto your sweaty stomach, the breath knocked from your lungs. He fucks you through it, his tempo growing ragged and unsteady until he pulls out, spilling over your stomach with a growling moan. The hotness washes over your toned muscles, making you wince.

Boneless, melting, you descend into a slight doze, barely beginning to catch your breath. Nhaza’a drops to your side. The mattress bounces underneath the new weight. Even though he isn’t touching you at the moment, he’s less than an ilm away, allowing you to feel the warmth he radiates like a warm hearth.

Your consciousness comes fully back to you in sluggish waves, and the first thing you realize with your newfound awareness is the terrible mess on your stomach.

“Fuck.” you sigh, internally complain, and push yourself to your feet. Soreness has already hooked its claws into your hips and thighs, and you suspect it will only grow worse in the next few hours.

Never again, you settle into the comfort of your repetitive mantra, opening the bathroom door and limping inside. Never again.

---

“Out all of the places you could have fled to, and you come to me.” Nhaza’a runs his fingers over your shoulders, the flat of his palm settling between them. Your cheek rests over his heart, your entire body like a limp blanket atop him. 

“Can you stop being a taunting asshole for a few minutes?” You snap, voice unusually on edge even for him. He quiets, giving you the mercy of a comfortable silence as you wiggle around, adjusting your position to fit your liking. 

There was no one else you could have gone to, you tell yourself. Everyone knew you as the infallible Warrior of Light, the realm’s protector and strongest champion. You didn’t grieve, you didn’t get sad, or scared, or anxious. You never tire of your duty and that’s what makes you so reliable. That’s why so many look up to you. 

If you go to anyone who believes in you, who admires you, they’ll only be let down by your current state. The illusion of the invincible warrior will be shattered, and that will sow doubt, maybe discontent.

“I’m glad you’re making yourself comfortable,” Nhaza’a sighs forlornly. You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, so you don’t snap at him. You simply rest against his body and savor the surprisingly gentle touches he gifts you. His fingers press to your aching back, rubbing rhythmatic circles over the skin. Your shirt had been discarded at the door, leaving your torso on display for him to ogle. “Tell me, why didn’t you go to one of your innumerable worshipers?”

“None of them know how much of a mess I can be,” you grumble into his collarbone, too tired to put up a front and lie about it. You’ve lied to so many people. You’re tired of it. You need at least someone in your life to know that you’re mortal, that you’re a real person. 

“You’ve opted to show your vulnerability to me bechttps://owlespresso.tumblr.com/post/626018240329646080/an-evening-in-the-life-nhazaaause I’m the only one who gets to take part in it? I must say, I’m honored.” Nhaza’a drawls. A purr begins to steadily rumble in his chest. The noise soothes you into shutting your eyes, more than happy to let yourself drift to sleep. 

You don’t know how you’re able to rest so contentedly in the arms of a known enemy, but you’re too tired to think about it. If you have to contemplate the morality of what you’re doing for a moment longer, you’ll lose your damn mind.

Tonight is about you, and getting what makes you comfortable. Rest of the world be damned. 

After another few moments, you’re jolted from your doze. Nhaza’s hand presses against your back as he shifts, promptly dropping you off of his body and onto your side. Any possible question you could have asked dies on your lips as he spoons you, his broad torso pressing against your back, an arm draped over your waist. His warm breath brushes over the back of your neck, sending a slight shiver up your spine…

One that vanishes after a few moments. You once again relax into the plush mattress, pressing your noise to the sheets and inhaling the sweet scent that you’ve come to associate with him. Spices, brandy, something strange and floral mixed in there. You can’t tell, so you don’t bother trying. It’s much better and much too easier to lose yourself among the sea of sheets and blankets and pillows and warmth.

This is the most relaxed you’ve been in weeks, resting in your enemy’s bed.

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Little Red Riding Hood

A/N: Another Halloween one lovelies!! 🎃

Warnings: Language, mildly suggestive themes

>>>>—————————>

Black Mask was extremely aggravating at this precise moment in time, of course the dealer always was but for Jason, now in particular, he had reached another level.

"Aw, Little Red Riding Hood is off her game." Roman taunted further.

The vigilante shot in frustration, the wistful gun smoke mirroring his anger perfectly - there was a reason for the unusual mockery but Jason hadn't figured it out yet.

"Fuck off old man, I'm not in the mood!"

A sudden whistle rebounded off of the walls, the action seemingly harmless at first glance leading Jason to reposition his twin pistols toward a cornered Black Mask once more wearing a smirk under his helmet.

Although, a low warning growl echoed in the silence drawing his attention and eliciting maniacal laughter from the master who called it - deadly crimson irises sparkling in the moonlight and silky matte black fur flowing with the oversized predators movements. An array of questions and string of curses ravaged Red's mind as it prowled around him, the play on Red Riding Hood making much more sense now faced with the Big Bad Wolf - how Roman Sionis acquired such a creature remaining unknown.

The beast displayed a healing factor, recovering from bullet wounds in record time as well as maintaining fluent speed and agility Jason could barely keep up with. Although, through cunning he was able to shoot overhead wires to send multiple heavy steel poles toppling down on the creature with a pained whine. Without waiting for the wolf to awaken, Red Hood was hunting Roman down to finally track him to his escape helicopter on the roof until holding him at gunpoint that is. However, when you stumbled through the door panting heavily and glaring at Black Mask - the villain found an alternate bargaining chip. A shrill scream escaped your lips once you felt the piercing bullet through your shoulder and caused you to lean against the doorframe holding your injury.

"You're such a dick Roman!" Venom laced your tone, practically spitting his name like the bile he was before fading into unconsciousness.

"Ah ah, now Red Riding Hood... you can kill me, or save the civilian." Black Mask held the upper hand, there is no way Red Hoods conscience would allow him to let an innocent die, you looked rough already with claw gashes decorating your clothing as well as the blood sinking down your torso. Probably a victim of that beast he'd fought earlier, leverage for some addict Roman dealt to who couldn't pay up - you were undeserving of this situation.

.

You awoke with a deep breathe, immediately sitting upright causing a brief dizzy spell. The surroundings were unfamiliar, various blankets coated your body as well as bandages encircling you waist and shoulder which were briskly removed revealing no signs of injury at all - quirks of a werewolf you suppose. However, such phenomenons would be considered suspicious by even Gotham standards and as a result you rewrapped them just in case.

At that moment a handsome young man strolled into your space, carrying clean bandages and pain killers, the sight surprising to see considering his less than emasculate association with Red Hood you supposed.

"You're up then stranger." Your only response was an acknowledging hum to which he didn't seem to mind. Although as soon a he reached for your wrapping you were quick to stand, backing away with a defensive stance.

"Don't touch me."

"Tch, you took a damn bullet! I’m gonna call the hospital." He chastised, not much care to his tone.

"No! I'm fine, the bandages are fine - thanks and I've gotta go."

"Then, I'm getting you back to wherever you came from or else Mask is just gonna hunt you down again dumbass. Luckily for you that bullet took out whatever device he planted in your shoulder." The stranger sarcastically replied, crossing his arms with an exasperated sigh.

You gently traced your shoulder, knowing he no longer had control over you anymore. "Heh, he has crap aim when he’s panicking and thanks Red but I’ll be doing the hunting.”

"The names Jason." He acted indifferent but you could hear his heartbeat increase.

"Red Hood, Jason - same thing, what would you prefer me to call you? Little Red Riding Hood perhaps?" You gave a mischievous smirk, both scents identical to your finely tuned nose. Jason looked defeated, released a bored sigh and disregarded all pretences.

"Tch. Anyway, Roman’s heading out to Santa Prisca in a few weeks so I’ve got that covered and you can be on your way.”

“Perfect, I owe him a bullet. Don’t even try to argue, I’m both resourceful and strong enough to get there on my own regardless - I also know the Santa Prisca base inside out.” You posed a valid justification, albeit still wasn’t enough for him to trust you but that meant you were on the same page.

“For fucks sake...” Any other time he would’ve left tag alongs behind but for some strange instinctive reason, he didn’t think that’d be an option with you.

.

It required teamwork, a gathering of intel and resources - some of which you acquired via intimidation, crimson irises and razor fangs were persuasive - not that you allowed your unwilling partner to bear witness to such atrocities. Although you suspected he had suspicions regarding your mysterious uncanny ability to retrieve answers yet chose to ignore it.

In time you found yourselves standing in the mist of Santa Prisca’s dense forestry under a veil of stars, you’d arrived later than expected and despite Jason’s determined nature you’d pestered him enough to let you rest until midnight. Of course at that point, you’d have additional power with the full moon revealing itself.

Unfortunately lighting a campfire left you at risk of being detected at such close proximity to their base, but it wasn’t an issue as your natural body temperature kept you warm and as a result you were curled up at the base of a tree in no time. However, your sleep was disturbed when a sudden rush of heat seeped through your body and upon opening your eyes caught a glimpse of Jason strolling away with a stretch before lying on the ground, arms tucked behind his head and gaze towed at the starry sky. Your brows furrowed, not sure as to why he’d felt the urge to drape his jacket over your sleeping form rather than keep it for himself - besides he needed it more. With a huff, you stood up and walked over to him only to throw it back on his chest.

“What the- it’s called chivalry!” Jason begrudgingly whisper yelled after jumping from the unexpected interruption.

“I can hear your teeth chattering from over there and I can’t sleep so shut up and warm up.” Was your heartless reply, smirking as your friend rolled his eyes but as you went back to your spot, it seemed his temperature hadn’t risen as much as you’d liked.

Again you returned, this time stripping your own jacket which left more of your heated skin exposed and placed it over him before lying against his side, head on his chest and arm laid on his waist - more heat radiating from your body in order to warm him up.

“(Y/n) what the hell are you doing?! I’m fine!” Jason was incredibly tense, edging away from you purely due to shock as he justified himself.

“It’s chivalry or whatever, trust me.” With your quiet but stern counter, he couldn’t deny how addicting your warmth was and despite his reservations his body was attracted to your warmth like a magnet.

Soon enough his heart rate lowered, muscles comfortably relaxing as he’d subconsciously embraced your presence and had in fact drifted off to sleep before you did much to your amusement.

Midnight rolled around, your biological clock waking you and forcing your irises to glow a deep crimson but your movements whilst you sat up stirred Jason, since you’d slipped out of his grip, who caught a glimpse of them as you’d turned away - instantly he’d pulled you back, grasping your jaw to face him only to find your natural eye colour glaring back.

“I sleep with you once and you think you can kiss me whenever you want?”

“I wasn’t gonna - your eyes were - lets just get moving.” He snapped from his thoughts, too flustered to form a coherent sentence and instantly removed himself to find his helmet muttering something under his breath.

.

Upon entering the base, you found yourselves before Black Mask, unconscious henchmen in your wake thanks to your turbulent teamwork.

"How cute, it took longer than I expected but my little lap dog brought you here anyway. Too bad Red Hood." At his words and beckoning whistle, you stepped toward him as Mask ordered...

Like countless times before, you found your body configuring to its alternative form, silky black fur cascading down your back with a deadly snarl echoing across the island landscape.

"Interesting thing with wolves Hood, they have loyalty. Now kill 'im (Y/n)!" You prowled around Roman, standing beside the man who now held the upper hand with his greatest weapon by his side.

"(Y/n)?!" Jason was unreadable, the helmet making sure of that but you could hear the betrayal in his voice, an underlying tone of hurt accompanied your name whilst he silently pleaded with you. Though your focus was no longer on him, a glare was directed at your tail that appeared to be wagging due to Jason's attention - god no.

At least you could hide a crush when not wolfing out, this was just embarrassing... before anyone could notice the uncharacteristic behaviour you chose to speak, voice an octave lower than your usual one.

"Interesting thing about loyalty Roman, it has to be earned. And the Red Hood has most definitely earned mine... you however? Not so much."

Jason lowered his guns as a scattered Roman tumbled to the floor in a failed attempt to scramble away after you savagely barked at him, a large paw on his chest to pin him in place and pearly incisors centimetres from his terrified face.

“...So do I have to get you a collar now, because, I mean... I will...” The vigilante quipped, no doubt less than decent purposes occupying his mind as you sighed in exasperation, looking up at him with a deadly gaze before walking past and ensuring to swish your oversized tail in his face as you went leaving him to a defeated crime lord.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

.

By the time you’d morphed back and returned to the balcony in a stolen soldiers jacket and spare bottoms from your supplies you found Mask hung from the roof and gagged for the authorities to collect. Jason had waited for you and started on the path back to where you’d arrived on the island in silence, supposedly neither of you knowing what to say to each now alone. However, you felt at ease considering he hadn’t left without you even if it was mildly awkward.

“So that’s why you were so warm...” His voice was calm but quiet, though his words caused you to look up at him and answer somewhat guiltily.

“Yeah.”

“And the interrogations?”

“Yeah...”

“Hm.” It was simple, Jason still processing the information whilst silence once again took over the two of you as the walk continued. His expression remaining contemplative but accepting since he’d removed his helmet.

"Your eyes are beautiful by the way, I couldn’t say that earlier since you wanted to kiss me and all.” Jason wore a kind smile now, sensing your silent self hatred he’d playfully knocked your arm in order to stir a heartier reply.

"Oh you’re hilarious, how you honour me damned prince of Gotham." And he got one.

“Great to sleep with and funny too, you're the whole package aren't you furball?" It seemed as though the snarky exchanges had returned, bringing with them a sense of reassuring normalcy again.

“You’re just upset that you woke up as the little spoon Red Riding Hood.” You rolled your eyes with a challenging smirk, winking at Jason who only returned the gesture.

“Hey, there’s nothin wrong with that - besides it’s your turn next Big Bad Wolf.”

“Bite me.”

“Just tell me where and how hard, I might surprise you wolfie.” His flirtatious comments left you flushed but hadn’t left you defenceless.

“You can shiver tonight.”

[mithrasisgay]

Prologue: Mutiny Part II

@tyrias-library

Thank you all a million times for all the support You’ve sent my way! I’m all misty eyed when I read your comments! I’m so glad you enjoy my stuff, and fear not, there is SO MUCH MORE to come. This is the end of the Prologue for now. But after that, the fun really begins!

ON AO3

The first thing Asha feels is the unmerciful cold of the waters. She hits the surface like concrete and immediately after her head goes under, the panic sets in. 

There had been a strange calm in her until now, a resignation to her fate, but now that the fight for her life has begun, the protective layer of indifference is gone.

The water seeps into her clothes and drags her down; she struggles against her bonds, trashing about, eyes held tightly closed.

Sharpness hits her skin, pain as it's broken by... something. Sharks, Asha thinks. Krait. Unknwon horrors of the depths. Her lungs burn, her body screams for air and Asha cannot hold her breath any longer. Salty seawater fills her lungs and the world goes dark, a mercy after the raw fear of drowning.

When Asha comes to, she feels the sun on her skin, the taste of salt still lingers on her tongue, proof that she did not dream this terror. Not daring to let hope take her again, Asha slowly opens her eyes.

She sees a beach. Waves coming and going on the damp sands, sunlight glittering on the water's surface. Her bonds are undone, but the more conscious she becomes, the more pain Asha feels. Her wrists and ankles are open, raw from struggling against her bonds with no regard to her skin's integrity, adrenaline having clouded her sense of pain for that moment. Furtherly, there are gashes on her arms and legs, burning from the saltwater. Asha sits up, head spinning, nausea in her stomach.

She scans the immediate area for something, anything, an explanation to how she got her, and why she isn't one of the many unfortunate corpses at the bottom of the ocean.

The coast is rocky, aside from the few patches of sand. Large boulders adorn the beach, grey and bleak. Asha feels like she is dreaming, her surroundings feel unreal and too quiet for her standards. She's not used to this kind of peace, not after the harrowing ordeal of serving on the Rascal.

Then, from the corner of her eye, movement. Asha whips around, limps toward one of the big boulders in her vicinity. “Who's there?” she calls out, her voice raw and raspy from swallowing saltwater. In response, the stranger she'd spotted peeks their head over the rock, halfway, just to see wet, pale pink hair and featureless eyes. No pupil, no iris, just a white shadow where they should be, looking at Asha with a mixture of fear and curiosity. “Wait – Don't leave.” Asha pleads as she makes her way toward the stranger. “Please.”

A pair horrible, clawed hands appears left and right of the face, and the creature pulls itself upward, into view from behind its hiding spot. At first glance, it looks like a nude woman, pale as the moon, but then Asha sees the gills on her sides and her neck, the webbed hands and the scales on her waistline. She lifts herself up onto the boulder with impressive strength, revealing the mighty, scaled fishtail in place of her legs, the same salmon color as her hair, which clings to her back. Asha stares at her, frozen in place. She's heard stories of the melodious voices calling sailors to their doom, the beautiful women that feed on the blood and bones of those who hear them sing on the open sea.

“Siren.” she gasps and loses her footing collapsing back onto the ground. The siren bats her eyes and nods, then brushes her hand ober her tail. A change occurs with her, her tailfin shrinks, her scales fade into skin, and the entire tail splits, reforming into human legs right before Asha's eyes. A few minutes later, only a few scale pattern remain of the tail and the siren stands on wobbly knees before her. Once the transformation is complete, she kneels down at Asha's side and gives her a sheepish smile, as if asking if she is more comfortable with her now.

“Did... did you save me?” Asha dares to ask, as she has no other explanation for how she survived her execution and the siren nods. “I, um... thank you? But why? Aren't you supposed to eat sailors or something?”

The siren hurriedly shakes her head and takes Asha's left hand, her cold fingers tap the rash from the rope. She holds her own wrist next to hers, and a faint shimmer on her skin, an irregularity in her smoothness has Asha's eyes go wide. “You were cast overboard too? Is that how you became like this?” she asks and the siren nods once more, letting go of Asha's hand.

“Thank you.” Asha repeats, clueless about how to proceed from here. She's wounded, alone with a mermaid on some shore or island without any way to find her way home, let alone back to the Rascal.

Her gaze meets her saviour's again.

“I'm Asha.” she introduces herself. “Do you have a name?” The Siren opens her mouth, revealing a set of sharp, sharklike teeth, then closes it again, draws breath and produces as rasping, hissing sound from her throat, before managing to form a word.

“Raya.”

–

Vaixx stares into the spot Asha Gaets had submerged at, looking at the air bubbles rising as the girl drowns. His fists are clenched tightly, and he turns away.

“Set a course to Laughing Gull.” he orders, immediately assuming his duties as the new Captain, now that Rowan is no more.

“Hey.” He feels someone grip him by the shoulder as he makes his way into the Captain's Quarters, to clean up the body. “This isn't your fault.” He hums in response, brushes the hand off. “Vaixx.” His friend, Raxxi, moves into his way. “She killed the Cap'n. If you hadn't done this, the crew woulda torn her apart.” “I killed a kid.” he counters and pushes her out of his way.

Knowing not to push the topic, Raxxi follows him, clasping her hands behind her back. “What now? Taidha will not be happy about losing one of her best Captains.” she asks instead. “Taidha can suck my dick for all I care.” Vaixx responds sharply and closes the door behind them, cutting off the sounds of the crew celebrating the death of a little girl. He feels sick, and looks upon the corpse of Rowan Gaets.

His daughter's attack came out of nowhere. Rowan's eyes are wide open, his lips parted, as if in silent protest. Nobody would have expected the girl to snap, least of all her father.

“I followed Rowan's orders, not hers.” Vaixx adds and tears off his headband, to run his fingers through his hair.

“Sorry to burst yer bubble, mate, but those were her orders, passed through to the next instance.” Raxxi counters. “Look, I know you don't like her, but she's got an entire fuckin' fleet. We only have this sorry little boat.”

Vaixx pauses. “What if that wasn't the case?” “Wha?” “What if we had a fleet, Raxxi? We wouldn't have to follow her anymore, would we? We could just leave!”

Raxxi snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, what if we had five million gold? We could retire! Newsflash pal, we have neither that, nor a fleet. Taidha will appoint one of her goons as the new Cap'n as soon as she learns of this mess.” she says and Vaixx shushes her hurriedly.

“Yes, but she doesn't know yet, does she?” he urges. “I hate this situation as much as everybody else, but this might be a chance to leave Covington fleet for good! Your brother.” “My brother?”

“He's got the means to help us build a fleet, doesn't he? He's got the money to buy the ships we need, and the connections to populate them. We have to do this. We will not get another opportunity.”

“Vaixx, my boy. There is one weakness in your masterplan.” “What?” “You just set course to Laughing Gull.”

“Fuck!” The door bursts open again and Vaixx stomps out from the Captain's Quarters, followed by Raxxi as he makes his way up to the wheel. “Change of plans! Avoid Laughing Gull, Sanctum Harbor, on the double!” he calls to the Sylvari up there, who looks onto him with hollow eyes. There's a sting in his gut when he remembers her. She was close to the girl.

Regardless, she follows his order, spinning the wheel. Vaixx estimates, she will leave the crew as soon as they reach Lion's Arch but for now, he cannot worry about that.

He has work to do.

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Felinotherapy

Summary: A new member of the Agreste household takes her job very seriously; she’s here to fix things and she won’t stop until she does. She’s going to better Adrien’s mood, take care of Gabriel’s solitude and Hawkmoth’s shoelaces. She’ll even acquire a nap buddy. And, she’ll do it all with feline style! Did I mention that she’s a cat?

A sequel to ��New Kitty On The Block"

A birthday gift for Remasa. Be careful what you dream of.

A sincere and gigantic thank you to @kellarhi, who beta-read this story for me.

Read it on AO3 / fanfiction.net

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

"AAAAAAdrieeeeen!" 

An angry wail broke the silence of the mansion, booming with a powerful echo over the cavernous rooms and halls. Oh, paws. For human that was normally so quiet, this person could be loud when he wanted. And easily annoyed, surprisingly. 

She would have raced out of the room if it wasn’t for the fact that she was currently dangling high in the air. The tall man that people called "Sir" or "Gabriel" or "Father" (why did humans need so many names anyway?) had just grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and now held her as if she was the most disgusting animal he’d ever seen.

"AAAAAAdrieeeeeeen! Take this mangy creature away from me!" 

He wouldn’t stop yelling until the blond head of the smaller human appeared at the door.

"Sorry, father," the boy said sheepishly. "What has my Lady done this time?"

The adult sighed and rolled his eyes. "I can’t believe you call her that now."

"She’s mine and she’s a Lady after all," Adrien chuckled, taking her into his arms. He ran his fingers over her multi-colored black and reddish fur.

She slowly blinked at him, squinting her lime green eyes. The cheese aroma she had come to associate with the boy surrounded her, and she started purring her lungs out. He scratched her neck absentmindedly, revealing an elegant collar with a glittery name fixed in curvy letters.

Lady Noir, it read.

“Who’s the pretty kitty?" Adrien cooed with a smile. 

She tilted her head into his palm for more pets and enthusiastically kneaded his forearm. 

Gabriel pointed to the leather chair. Scratches marked its backrest in two parallel lines. In hindsight, not her smartest move, but she had been practising leaps and her aim still lacked precision.

"I thought I told you to trim her claws," the man scowled accusingly. 

Adrien rubbed his chin over Lady Noir’s head, right where the entirely dark left half met the reddish right half creating an illusion of a red and black mask that was split in the middle— the pattern that, according to the boy, had earned her the name. 

"It must have slipped my mind," he said.

Her ears twitched at a new sound. Was she the only one who could hear the snickers coming from Adrien’s shirt? 

xxx

Lady Noir hadn’t been used to luxury prior to being adopted. The Agreste mansion was definitely a place where a cat could spread her wings. Metaphorically of course. Cats do not have wings, although… among the inhabitants of the house, there was one that could fly regardless.

She wasn’t certain if Plagg really should be referred to as a cat, but he was the closest thing to the idea of a cat: the master of lazing about, with a knack for causing trouble; curious, gluttonous, cheeky and mischievous. In short, he was her idol, and guide to all things feline. Just like her, he had his own ways, but inside he was just a big softie with a heart of gold—or possibly cheese, as he basically inhaled the stuff in enormous quantities. Lady Noir tried his camembert thing once. The experience could be summed up in a single word: Yuck! Plagg was outraged when she took several baths to get rid of the foul smell afterwards.

Although Plagg’s interests seemed to be limited to dairy products, he never failed to remind Adrien to restock on her treats when asking for more camembert for himself. She could go through her stash of snacks almost as quickly as Plagg went through a block of cheddar. It wasn’t hard to do, considering she stayed in the boy’s room most of the time.

Lady Noir prided herself on being a very observant cat, and recognized immediately that Adrien needed her company the most. Besides, she knew she’d been brought into the house explicitly to become his cat. Which, in Feline, meant that the blond boy belonged to her now so she supposed it was her duty to meet his needs the way he’d been meeting hers.

He didn’t need much. Just a little bit of distraction when he was tiredly bending over his textbooks, or a kneading session when he was exhausted after one practise or another. Some nuzzles and nibbles to wake him up. Lady Noir also made sure to keep him company at night. Together with Plagg, they made sure no nightmare could reach him—purring was the key to their success.

She was the model of contentment, and only got miffed when they left her and went outside through the window. Adrien seemed to really enjoy those outings, when he put on a black suit that made him look a bit like a cat. Lady Noir loved to play with the long tail or swat at the golden bell, but those were rare occasions. Usually Plagg vanished somewhere when the boy changed into his black cat-like gear. He always left in a rush only to come back much later, tired but happy, and smelling like luck for some reason. The flying cat then appeared again as if nothing happened and demanded his cheese.

Lady Noir would gladly go out with them, were she invited. Unfortunately, there was little entertainment to be found in the huge empty house when Adrien left for school or his cat job. Boredom eventually drove her to explore it once she was done with the boy’s room.

xxx

It would have been nice to have company when Adrien was out, but Plagg always went where her boy did. His father became the next obvious choice, as the only other permanent resident. Unlike the boy, he didn’t smell of cheese, but of butterflies and passion fruit, which intrigued her to no end, as he never left the house and was rarely seen out of his room. 

They hadn’t started their acquaintance on friendly terms, which admittedly was partly her fault. She decided to make amends in a typically feline way—by bringing him offerings. And what better gift could a cat bring to a person who smelled of butterflies? The house was full of them if one knew where to look. And she was a very clever kitty. No butterfly could hide away from her for long. She caught them expertly and brought them to Gabriel’s desk whenever she could. He must have liked them, because they disappeared very quickly. 

xxx

And then one day when she came to his room with fresh prey in her mouth, there was a new smell around. It was damp, cold and heavy—metallic, with a hint of algae, old stone, and moss. A little bit of sniffing allowed her to find the hidden door and after some paw work she was able to push it enough for a slim cat to slip inside a dark corridor. 

Maybe she’d find some mice or rats in here? It was ages since she got any decent prey and maybe Gabriel would prefer a fresh, fat rat over those flimsy butterflies? She knew she would. 

But she found no rats as she explored, just another huge chamber, with faint light seeping through a ceiling window on the other end. It shone over a strange tall tube. Lady Noir knew tubes. There were plenty of them in the house in various sizes and they made for very nice scratching posts. Much better than those generic things from the pet shop. No self respecting cat would scratch those when they had a perfectly good tube, chair, or drape right under their noses. 

Lady Noir arched her back, wiggled her tail and reached for her newest scratching post. There was a metallic clank and the tube hummed softly. Then the upper part of it rose up revealing its contents.

She sniffed once, twice. The air smelled a bit like Adrien, minus the cheese overtones. She looked around and hopped onto the tube. There was a woman, tall and blonde, asleep inside. What a novel idea! This was the perfect place for a nap, sun beam and all. It looked like Lady Noir finally had found a nap buddy for her long days!

Up close she could tell there was something off with the woman’s scent. Something she couldn’t quite put her claw on that felt like weakness or illness. But Lady Noir wasn’t afraid; she prided herself on being an excellent feline doctor. After all, whenever Adrien was sick she stayed with him, drawing the bad vibes away. 

Happy with her newly discovered friend, she curled up on the woman’s belly and dozed off. 

xxx

Plagg wasn’t happy when he saw Lady Noir after her first basement nap. He hissed at her and grumbled something about dark magic. Admittedly she did feel rather strange, but she blamed it on the salmon pâte that must have been a bit on a stale side. However, the flying cat would have none of that. He dragged her into the upper level of Adrien’s room and licked her clean—she was definitely feeling out of it if he was allowed to do that. 

She did feel better afterwards, right up to the point when it turned out Plagg was no gentleman at all. He coughed a hairball right in front of her, the weirdest hairball she’d ever seen. Part of it consisted of her own hair and Plagg’s saliva, but there were also purple strings present: streaks of something Plagg called “bad energy" tangled with the rest of the hairball. He said it had ‘no place in our home’, so he put his paw to it and whispered something under his breath. The thing turned to ash with a quiet buzz. The room seemed brighter after that. 

Lady Noir thought that would be the end of it, but the sprite proceeded to talk her ears off about “bad energy", forbidding her to go near its source again. So of course the first thing she did when Adrien and Plagg left for school the next day was go back to her nap buddy. 

Every time the flying cat returned home to find her “feeling off", he would holler, lick and cleanse her fur, and then turn the “bad energy" into ash.

“I swear, Spots," he grumbled, stuffing himself with camembert to get rid of the bad taste, “I don’t know what you do to get all tangled in that mess."

She could only shrug to his complaints. After all, the napping lady was her secret and one did not betray their buddies.

xxx

Lady Noir kept going back to the basement, but since the only entrance led through Gabriel’s room, she had to sneak her way around him. Sometimes he would visit the sleeping woman, although most times he sat at his desk and worked, casting longing looks to the enormous painting that covered the whole wall from floor to ceiling. Lady Noir knew very little about art, but she thought the person in that painting looked a bit like what her nap buddy would have looked like, if she was younger and awake.

It usually took hours for Lady Noir to get an opportunity to sneak to the underground level of the mansion, so inevitably she started to keep the man company as well. He turned out to be as sad and lonely as his son, but he seemed more desperate and anxious than the boy. There was always an aura of deep grief and heartache around him. No self respecting cat would allow it. That’s how Lady Noir decided to include Gabriel in her daily routine. Between the sleeping lady and Adrien she still had plenty of time, which she could put to good use, if only the man would allow it.

Since the butterfly strategy hadn’t worked, she had to come up with a new plan to get his attention. Laying on his tablet seemed to annoy him. Stretching on his sketches irked him. Pushing his pencils off the desk usually got a growl out of him. 

A few times he grumbled under his breath, but Adrien wasn’t home to take her away. So after a while, the man accepted her presence; however, he moved her away from his things, which allowed for her to lounge on the unoccupied part of his desk. 

One day she must have dozed off, because when she woke up he was nowhere to be seen. Yet, as his scent lingered in the air, he couldn’t have actually left. Her nose led her to the painting and then to a spot on the floor. She thumped it with her paw and was rewarded with a deep echo as if the space below was empty. Another hidden passage?

She sat beside it and meowed experimentally.

There was a hollow clank, then part of the floor moved and revealed a smooth silver head with eyes hidden behind a mask. The man who appeared in the passage smelled like Gabriel but he didn’t look like him. He was wearing a single-color suit—not Gabriel’s usual clothes. He cast her an exasperated look and sighed deeply. 

“Stop it," he said and returned to the tunnel.

Of course she didn’t stop. As soon as the trap door closed behind him, she let out a wail of sorrow only a cat is capable of. 

“I’m serious. Cut it out!" Gabriel’s voice, albeit muffled, replied from under the floor.

“Meeeeooooooowrrrr," she lamented.

“Oh, for the love of—" 

The silver head emerged from the passage again. Cold blue eyes pierced her. The man’s lips, the only thing visible from under his silver mask, were pressed into a thin line.

“Meow?" She mewled tilting her head. Her tail curled attentively into a question mark.

“Fine," he rolled his eyes. “But you had better behave."

A dark glove caught her scruff, and the next thing she knew she was sliding through a tunnel in the man’s arms. 

There was a large chamber on the other end, similar to what she had found in the basement, but this place must have been somewhere high up, judging by the plethora of light from the round window. And there were butterflies. Every flat surface was covered in them. She had never seen so many before.

She wondered if she could catch a few for Gabriel, but the man raised a warning finger.

“Don’t even think about it," he said, depositing her on the ground.

He tapped his foot and the butterflies took flight. She halfheartedly swatted at them, but where was the challenge when there were so many? She lost interest in an instant and decided to explore the chamber, leaving the silver-headed man to his own devices.

He called her when he returned to the trap door; it was then that she discovered Plagg wasn’t the only flying creature in the house. The man murmured something under his breath and suddenly he was no longer wearing a silver mask or a strange suit. Gabriel stood in his place and a violet sprite hovered next to him.

“Nooroo," the man said, “This is Lady Noir, Adrien’s cat."

xxx

Nooroo was a good friend. He was appointed with the task of keeping her busy when Gabriel needed to focus on his work. She chased after the sprite, eliciting quiet chuckles from Adrien’s father, when he thought they couldn’t hear him. They played their own version of hide and seek, with the cat tracking the violet creature’s hideouts all over the room. He drew her away from Gabriel’s sketches and his tablet. In reward, he usually got a generous helping of passion fruit that the man kept hidden in his desk. After some time, she discovered that one of the drawers got filled with her favorite snacks so that, after a wild run over the room, she could feast alongside Nooroo. A few times she caught Gabriel gazing at them, while a shadow of a smile danced on his lips.

He kept disappearing into the tunnel, though. At first Lady Noir sat next to the trap door and meowed incessantly, but he rarely returned for her. Once, she spied that, before entering the passage, he pressed parts of the enormous painting. Oh! Well, cats could also press things when they felt like it. After a few days of practice and careful aiming,  she managed to figure out how to leap from the desk to land on the canvas in a way that would allow her to open the trap door.

She proudly strutted into his secret room. Emboldened by her trick, she viciously attacked his shoelaces to draw his attention away from the window and to cut off his monologuing. 

To say that Gabriel was surprised when she showed up in his chamber wouldn’t say half of it.  He yelped, and jumped half a meter in the air. Lady Noir was sure that if he had a tail, or any hair on that smooth silver head, it would have bristled like an angry hedgehog. 

The second time she followed him, she decided on a less threatening approach and just rubbed her head into his calves. Her purr of contentment echoed in the cavernous space, amplified by the dome.

After the third time she managed to sneak into the chamber Gabriel gave up and just took her with him, allowing her to lounge in the sun beam from the window, while he did whatever he came to do there. As far as she could tell it mostly consisted of talking, grumbling, hissing, gritting his teeth and stomping angrily. Sometimes waving a fist was involved. One name stuck in her memory, mostly because he mentioned it a lot.

Ladybug.

xxx

Funny thing, Adrien sometimes had a guest who used the window. A guest who smelled like luck—the faint scent the boy sometimes brought with him when he returned from his cat escapades. A guest whose name was Ladybug. 

What was even funnier was the fact that the girl visited him other times, under a different name, in a more regular outfit and used the door. Although she still smelled like luck, in this form she was referred to as Marinette, while another flying creature, a red bug, hid in her purse.

Lady Noir was a young cat and she hadn’t had much experience before she got to the mansion, but it seemed that every human she met was accompanied by a flying friend. She wondered why humans needed them?

It took a while before she discovered that Adrien had no idea that Marinette and Ladybug were the same person. She couldn’t believe it! She knew human senses were weaker than cats’, but the boy would have to be basically noseless not to recognize that scent. She tried everything a cat could think of to show him the error of his ways. She allowed the girl to pet her, hoping Adrien would recognize how familiar Maribug was with his cat and how she always stroked her in the exact same way. She brought the girl a figurine of Adrien in his cat form, wishing he’d understand that the scent he wore came from the girl. A few times, in an act of desperation, she even tried to drag Plagg out of his hiding spot under the sofa; but the sprite refused to show up, even though Marinette had her own bug who could have been Plagg’s sister.

Afterwards she received another one of Plagg’s lectures, but instead of scolding her for the upteenth time about getting the “bad energy" all over herself again, he ranted about how his existence must be kept secret from other humans. She really didn’t see the point, if every other person seemed to have a—what did he call himself? A kwamice. 

xxx

Ladybug in both of her forms seemed to be very fond of Adrien, which didn’t escape Lady Noir’s attention. It soon dawned on the cat that the boy’s feelings for the girl were also stronger than those for a “friend”, as he sometimes called Marinette. She made him happy, and it didn’t even take Lady Noir’s genius to see that. The cat figured a girlfriend—a romantic partner—was exactly what Adrien needed. She doubled her efforts at enlightening him about there being only one person who smelled of luck. Plagg only rolled his eyes at her antics.

“You might as well give up now, Spots," he told her. “I’ve been dropping hints much longer than you, and the kid isn’t really that dense. It’s just the magic of the Miraculous. It won’t allow for him to see that they are the same person unless she shows him herself."

Lady Noir refused to give up. In a typically stubborn feline fashion, she decided she would let Adrien know even if it was the last thing she would do. Painstakingly, she tracked down each and every item in Adrien’s possession that bore the girl’s scent. They were hidden all over his room. Carefully, she moved them to the little red figurine that looked like Ladybug— for good measure, she threw in some pictures Adrien had stacked in one of his trophies. She kept telling herself her plan had to work. After all it was consistent with what Plagg had said—“she” had to show him herself, and the various items he’d collected from her would show who she was. But, Lady Noir reasoned, no one said anything about what would be shown and by whom.

Finally the day came when her display was ready. The bracelet Adrien usually kept on himself was her last loot. The pink piece of paper he had hidden in his desk, the notes he sometimes browsed through, the blue scarf he liked so much—everything she could find was already there.

Satisfied with her work, she dragged Adrien to her collection, rubbing her head against his calves. 

“Really, Spots?" Plagg chuckled from his bin. “You needn't bother."

“Meow," she headbutted the Ladybug figurine. “Mrow," she grabbed the cat boy doll and move it closer. “Purrrr," she took the bracelet in her teeth and laid it on top. Then she sniffed the papers and the scarf ostensibly. 

Adrien gazed politely at her theatrics. He reached for the scarf. She sniffed again. Plagg cackled in the distance.

Sniff. Adrien took a deep breath smelling the scarf. Sniff-sniff, he sniffed the notes. Lady Noir put her nose to the cat boy figurine again.

“That scent…’ Adrien murmured. He closed his eyes, taking each and every item and reverently putting it to his nose. “That scent…" he echoed. The bracelet fell out of his hand. “She’s… that’s… it can’t be, can it?" he mumbled. “Plagg?"

The sprite flew out if his bin and looked over the scattered items and to Adrien. The boy’s eyes were blown wide, his lips opened as he stared at the Ladybug figurine.

“No way," the flying cat drawled. “You have got to be kidding me."

xxx 

After her success, Lady Noir could devote more time to Gabriel’s wellbeing. She decided to spend the day on his desk. She didn’t even notice when a finger started rubbing at the perfect spot between her ears. She cracked one lime green eye open. Adrien’s father was sketching, deep in thought, while absentmindedly scratching her head. His hand slipped under her chin and then moved to the side of her muzzle and to her back. 

Lady Noir purred, nuzzling into his palm. She put her paw over his wrist and clawed gently. Then she dared to nibble on his thumb.

Surprised, Gabriel whipped his head to her, his hand frozen mid-scratch. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She slowly let go of his hand, but he just smiled. Emboldened she rose from the desk and strutted to him. 

“Who’s the pretty kitty?" he cooed lowering his head. 

She headbutted him without thinking twice.

“You are," he hummed, as she proceeded to rub her whiskered cheek against his chin. “You’re the prettiest kitty!"

Slowly, he reached for her and scooped her into his arms. His fingers slid into her fur, scratching and tending. The man’s jacket was quickly covered in a thick layer of additional hair, but he didn’t seem to mind, engrossed in the caress.

Nooroo’s head popped from behind Gabriel’s shoulder and he winked at her. 

“The prettiest, softest kitty," the man babbled. And for the first time his smile reached his eyes.

xxx

The next day she found a toy mouse on Gabriel’s desk in the spot she had claimed as her own. She also smelled a new brand of snacks somewhere near. 

Later, Adrien’s father didn’t go into his butterfly chamber, choosing to take Lady Noir to the sleeping woman instead. He held the cat the whole time, his fingers buried deep in her fur, as he gazed at the glass tube, commenting on how the woman’s skin seemed to have regained some color. Nooroo pursed his lips and cast an anxious look to the woman as if considering something. When they returned to Gabriel’s room, the sprite made sure the door to the passage stayed opened enough for an industrious paw to fit into the crack, making Lady Noir’s visit to her nap buddy much easier.

That day Plagg wasn’t happy. Nor on the days after that. Not even when she brought him the toy mouse.

xxx

Lady Noir quickly got used to Gabriel petting her while he was working. It was now easier to sneak out for a basement nap as the man took on a habit of having lunch with Adrien when he returned home during the day—sometimes in Marinette’s company. Usually Nooroo came with a heads up when the meal was nearing its end, so that she could leave the sleeping lady and return to her spot on the desk. Gabriel couldn’t design without her, claiming she was his new inspiration. And he definitely was on a designing spree these past few days. According to Nooroo this was the first such successful spree since the sprite arrived at the mansion. However, that day Nooroo didn’t come. 

Lady Noir woke up to a finger rubbing behind her ear and another gently stroking her back. The touch wasn’t familiar. 

“Who’s the pretty kitty?" A feminine voice whispered, hoarse and scratchy, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.  

Intrigued, Lady Noir risked a peek at the person petting her. Bright, green eyes looked back at her with kindness and confusion. Eyes so similar to the ones she saw in the painting in Gabriel’s room, so similar to Adrien’s eyes. The sleeping lady had woken up after all those long days and delightful naps! Lady Noir purred in contentment. Another pair of hands to pet her was good news.

Her nap buddy hummed, letting her fingers wander over the cat’s back. “Mmmmm, this is so nice."

Lady Noir couldn’t agree more. All that was missing now was—

A thud sounded in the spacious chamber. Gabriel stood at the entrance, the bouquet he brought scattered on the floor.

“Emilie?" He rasped. “You’re… you… how do you feel?" In just three steps he was at the woman’s side. To Lady Noir’s indignation he took away one of the hands caressing the cat’s back and pressed it to his lips; a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Well rested," Emilie sighed, her lips stretched in a soft smile. She sniffed experimentally. “And surprisingly not allergic to cats anymore."

Lady Noir’s ears twitched. Nooroo giggled somewhere nearby. Upstairs, a door opened and closed. She heard the faint echo of Adrien and Marinette’s steps as they ran to his room, laughing. Gabriel still held Emilie’s hand, but his breathing sounded shaky. The cat yawned looking between two humans, who stared at each other as if this was their first meeting in a long time. She stood up and squeezed herself between them just in case they’d forgotten she was there as well. A tail in Gabriel’s face and a gentle rub of her head to Emilie’s chin should do the trick. 

“Meowr,” she chirped.

Gabriel chuckled, even though his voice seemed tight. “Who’s the clever kitty?” he cooed scratching behind her ear.

Lady Noir sat attentively, her tail lashing behind her. She definitely was the cleverest kitty. She purred, pleased with herself and the fact that her nap buddy would now be able to pet her as well. Something told her that she would not be the only one getting the much needed attention and affection from Emilie. Just one look to the woman’s smiling face and Gabriel was already putty in her hands. 

There was love here, and where there was love, there was happiness. She could feel it in Gabriel’s heartbeat, she could see it in Emilie’s blush. The aura of grief and melancholy was slowly melting away, replaced with tentative hope and the promise of a happier tomorrow. Things were definitely going to be better around here, and that was perfectly fine with her.

 The End

(Please check out the amazing art by @sinfulpapillon​ to go with this fic)

[mackinmacki]

The Way You Feel

Rating: K

Word Count: 2831

Summary: Weiss is having nightmares, and Ruby's gonna stay up to help her through it. She may be falling asleep sitting up, but by golly she's gonna do it. 

Pairing: White Rose

Notes: This is for day two of White Rose Week. Topic: Touch.

Link: (FFN) | (AO3)

———————————————————————————————————–

She felt cool to the touch, like she'd been sleeping under the vents all night. That wasn't new, because Weiss always felt pretty cool. She wasn't sure if it had something to do with her semblance or if she was just really committed to her role as an ice queen. It wasn't bad, though. She liked to press her forehead against Weiss's arm on warm days to feel the chill seeping through her skin. It made her smile every time she did it, though she wasn't sure why. Weiss was never satisfied with "I don't know" as an answer to why she was smiling, even if she really never did know.

She also felt tense. Though her eyes were closed in sleep, her brow was furrowed, as if her dreams were troubled. This had been an unfortunate trend she'd noticed lately. It was clear that Weiss wasn't getting her beauty sleep, as she called it. The blackening bags beneath her eyes were enough to tell, though she'd always head right to the bathroom in the morning to cover it up. She seemed to think if she was quick enough, it would escape Ruby's notice. There weren't many things quicker than her, though. She could always tell they were there.

Slowly she rubbed her fingers along Weiss's arm, drawing lines up and down her skin. She hoped that her movements would be soothing enough to dip her back into a more peaceful sleep, but it appeared to be unsuccessful. Weiss let out a mutter: something that she couldn't understand. She leaned in closer, tilting her ear towards Weiss's face to try and hear her better. However, her words continued to be mumbled, as if she was speaking into her pillow. It concerned her further, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. Her fingers continued to stroke across Weiss's arm, wishing that it could be enough.

As quietly as she could, she shifted in bed and brushed Weiss's hair out of the way so she could plant a kiss on her cheek. Her lips ghosted across Weiss's skin, but it seemed to have at least a somewhat positive effect. Weiss started to calm down, her twitches stopping and her breathing becoming more steady. When she saw her face had relaxed, she breathed a sigh of relief. That was when she could really feel her eyelids starting to droop. It was the middle of the night, after all. She laid back down in bed, putting her head on her pillow and staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes kept glancing over at Weiss in the dark to check if she was moving at all until she finally fell asleep.

It only felt like mere moments until she was woken up again. There was movement in the bed, but her sleepy brain didn't fully register it. It knew something had happened, but she couldn't get her muscles to move and do something about it. She drifted in and out of sleep before finally having Weiss's name slide through her mind. Though she was dead tired, she knew she needed to get up and make sure she was alright. Letting out a quiet moan of discontent at having to move, she lifted her arm and let it drop down gently across Weiss's waist. It landed against the bed, bouncing up slightly before resting on the covers.

"Huh?" Okay, there was a Weiss there just a second ago, wasn't there? Ruby groaned and pushed herself up, her body protesting as she sat up in bed. Her eyes stayed closed no matter how much she tried to keep them open, but she could hear something odd coming from the bathroom. It sounded like running water, and it stopped as soon as she heard it. Was Weiss washing her hands or something? Something in her exhausted state made her feel uneasy, and she got out of bed despite her body's craving for more sleep. She nearly fell right back into bed as soon as she was on her feet, but she pushed herself towards the bathroom.

When she opened the door, she found Weiss standing at the sink and staring at her reflection. The sound of the door opening drew her attention, and they both just stared at each other for a moment. It was really dark, since Weiss hadn't turned on the lights. Whatever reason she had for using the sink in the dark, it probably wasn't good. Something obviously had happened, and Ruby could figure it out even if her brain wasn't fully functional at the moment. Without a word, she walked over to Weiss and hugged her tightly.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Weiss didn't respond, which was all the response she needed. She pulled away from her and took her hand, gently leading her back to the bed. Weiss followed her without resistance, not saying anything as the two of them sat back down in bed. She sniffled quietly, which was a sound that broke Ruby's heart. She immediately grabbed Weiss's hand again, squeezing it tightly as she tried to force her eyes to stay open. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." She could barely hear Weiss's whisper, but she knew better than to push her luck. When Weiss didn't want to talk about something, odds were she wasn't going to change her mind. Ruby wished she would, though. It didn't feel like she could help her any when she remained mum on whatever nightmares were troubling her. Maybe she wouldn't be able to help regardless. The things Weiss had gone through as a kid were a lot different than Ruby's experience growing up. It didn't ever feel like she had the right to say things would be okay, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn't know what else to say.

"That's okay, Weiss." She scooted closer to Weiss, their hips bumping against each other. It was so difficult to keep awake: she was sure that at any moment, she would fall asleep sitting up. She needed to stay awake no matter what, though. Her girlfriend was clearly upset, and she couldn't just leave her to deal with this alone while she slept. That wasn't what a good girlfriend did.

To try and stay awake, she kept her hands busy. She slowly massaged Weiss's back, feeling her trembling slightly beneath her touch. It hurt to know she was in pain, and more so because there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was be there for her, but that wasn't good enough. It didn't take away the nightmares. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she kept massaging Weiss's back, occasionally slipping up to rub her shoulders as well.

"Hey..." Weiss turned around to face Ruby, lifting a finger to wipe away her tears. It felt nice against her skin, and she shuddered slightly. "Why are you crying? You're not supposed to be crying." Had she really been able to see her tears in the dark? No, that wasn't possible. She must've made some kind of sound that had alerted her: one that she hadn't realized she'd made. Weiss leaned in closer, her face shadowed in sadness as Ruby's eyes adjusted to the dark. "Ruby, you can barely keep your eyes open. I demand you go back to sleep at once."

"No can do." She mumbled, garbled by sleep. Her hands moved up to Weiss's face, cupping her cheeks. They were still soft from the moisturizer she always put on before bed. She smiled to herself as she rubbed her thumb in circles around her cheeks. "I'm not going back to sleep until you do." Her body definitely didn't like that, but she didn't care. Watching over Weiss was more important than getting a good night's sleep. She could just sneak a three hour nap in the middle of the day, which Weiss probably wouldn't like either. Can't always win, though.

"That's ridiculous! What if I stay up all night?" She couldn't help but giggle at Weiss's tone. No matter what the situation was, she could always conjure up this attitude. She was still the same stubborn princess that she'd been on the day they met. It was confusing and annoying back then, but she'd grown to understand where Weiss was coming from the longer they knew each other. The more she learned about her and the life she came from, the more it all made sense. She was prepared to die for Weiss's right to act like a stubborn brat sometimes.

"Then I'm staying up all night," she declared with as much confidence a sleepy Ruby could. Weiss just sighed, obviously getting nowhere with her surprisingly stubborn partner. Ruby took that opportunity to hug Weiss again, planting comforting kisses on her shoulder. "I can't sleep when you're worried about nightmares, Weiss. I just can't." The nightgown she wore was of a very soft fabric, and Ruby always enjoyed having it touch her bare skin. Rubbing against it made her feel excited in a way she couldn't explain. Yet another 'emotion without explanation' that baffled Schnee scientists to this day.

"You're impossible sometimes, you know that?" Weiss sighed and let her body relax as best she could. She leaned into Ruby, feeling more at ease having her next to her. Her presence was often enough to quell any fears raging inside her. When it came to her dreams, though, they were often as powerful as they were terrifying, at least to her. She shuddered involuntarily as the memories of what she'd woken up from hit her mind, a motion that didn't go unnoticed by Ruby.

"Yeah, but that's why you agreed to go out with me." Smiling in the dark, Ruby nuzzled Weiss's shoulder, slowly easing her down onto her back. Weiss followed her movements with no complaint. It was risky to be laying down, since she could pass out at any moment. She was hoping that the more comfortable positioning would lead to more important conversations, though. "I wish I could help you with your nightmares... Ooh, maybe I could sing you a lullaby before bed."

"Get real, Ruby. If anything, I should be the one singing a lullaby to you. You know I have the better singing voice." She settled down on the bed, turning around so she was facing Ruby. "I've... never told you about my nightmares, have I?" Ruby shook her head, feeling her heart lifting at the potential of actually getting to know what was hurting Weiss so much in her sleep. At the same time, she was scared about what she might hear, and if she was equipped to say the right thing. "I suppose we've been together long enough that I ought to tell you. You have stayed up with me plenty of nights without knowing what was bothering me. No matter how many times I tell you to go back to sleep, I might add."

"You don't have to if-"

"I want to, Ruby." She gently kissed Ruby to reassure her, then pulled back and closed her eyes. Having the images of her dreams in her mind hurt, but she'd just committed to speaking about them. Besides, not talking about them wasn't going to stop them from plaguing her regardless. "Most of my nightmares are about my family. Having my father always telling me how much of a disappointment I am. Being locked in my room and having no way of escaping." She opened her eyes slightly, a sad smile on her face. "Never being able to see you again because of it." Seeing all that pain in her eyes was enough to shatter Ruby's heart, but she wasn't done yet.

"I have nightmares of you, and Yang, and Blake all sacrificing yourself for the greater good, while I just stand there and do nothing. Of you thinking I'm crazy for having such silly little dreams." She laughed quietly, bitterly, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying. Enough tears had been shed that she'd washed away in the sink. "Tonight, though... I... was standing in front of my mother's casket again, knowing that I had missed my chance to say goodbye to her. Feeling guilty that I'd never said anything nice to her until it was too late. Until only all those unfeeling mourners could hear my aching cries... Embarrassed that I was crying, at my own mother's funeral. What kind of messed up person feels ashamed of that?"

"Oh Weiss..." Weiss may have been holding back her tears, but Ruby was under no such compunction. She wiped the tears from her eyes, her fingers wet as she pulled Weiss into another tight hug. This time she refused to let go, wanting to spend the rest of the night holding her like this. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you have to deal with all these nightmares, and that there's nothing I can do to help. I'd never think they're silly, though. Never. They're hurting you, and that makes it serious. I'm never letting you go, okay? Never ever. I'm gonna chase those stupid nightmares away and make you dream of good stuff! Like... cookies."

"Cookies?" Weiss quirked an eyebrow, poking Ruby's stomach. "That just sounds like something you dream of."

"And it's a good thing to dream about." The mood had been lightened for a second, but Ruby could feel the tension settling back down on them. It was heavy, and she swore that she could feel herself being pressed down into the mattress. "Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?" She knew the answer was going to be no, but she had to ask. If there was anything - anything - that she could do, she'd do it.

"It's fine, Ruby. You don't have to do anything more than you're already doing." Ruby blinked, tilting her head slightly in confusion. She wasn't doing anything. Sensing the confusion, Weiss smiled and pushed her fingertip against Ruby's lips. It was cool, but it made her feel warm inside. That really showed the truth about Weiss: something that Ruby felt blessed to be able to know. She was cold on the outside, but inside, she was warmer than anyone Ruby knew. "Just having you here with me helps in ways that are hard to explain."

"Oh, so now you get to have unexplainable feelings?" Smirking, Ruby stroked Weiss's arm, slowly and rhythmically. "Seriously, though, I haven't done anything. I'm just lying here."

"You don't have to be doing anything. Just having you here makes me feel more at ease."

"But you're still having nightmares, though..." Ruby frowned, resting her forehead against Weiss's. She closed her eyes for a moment, then quickly opened them again to avoid falling asleep. Even in such an emotional moment, she was still finding it hard to stay awake. Sleep kept being such a tempting mistress.

"I'm always going to have nightmares, Ruby. There isn't anything either of us can do about that." She sighed, the inevitability of such things making for a sobering middle of the night thought. "I feel better when I wake up in the morning, though. Because you're there next to me, and that's something no nightmare can take away." She let her finger trail across Ruby's jaw, smiling as reassuringly as she could. "Is that enough for you to finally go back to sleep? You're going to be exhausted in the morning."

"Mm... Only if you sleep too." Of course. Really, her stubbornness gave Weiss a run for her money.

"I will try. Is that good enough for you?" Ruby nodded, which finally meant it was time to try and fall asleep again. It felt like they'd been dealing with this ordeal all night, but when Weiss turned to look at the alarm clock on her nightstand, only twenty minutes had passed since Ruby found her in the bathroom. Shaking her head slightly, she laid back down and closed her eyes, Ruby's arms still wrapped tightly around her body.

The feeling of Ruby's warmth was something that she wished she could properly describe. Perhaps she was a hypocrite for trying to get Ruby to explain things when she had certain moments she couldn't explain herself. Having Ruby touch her made her feel good inside, and she found herself unable to sleep properly without her by her side. She laid a hand on Ruby's arm, gently touching her skin. The warmth that she exuded wasn't on the same intensity as Yang, but it could still make things uncomfortable in the dog days of summer. Right now, though, she was craving that warmth, and it was something she was able to get for free. No amount of her family's money could bring her what Ruby gave her.

Smiling to herself, she closed her eyes and fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber. Though when she woke up, she swore that she could remember something about cookies...

[categoryhouse]

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot, don’t fucking tempt me. Daddypool over here could use a couple ‘a headshots.”

Even with the mask on, Peter knew Wade well enough to know that the other man had no intention of being cruel, his hard exterior little more than a front - a means of protection from those who stared at him with disdain. 

To them, the jaded crowd of pedestrians, the ex-mercenary was inhuman; an otherworldly beast, present only to plague their collective existences. They didn’t see behind the bloodied mask, but when they could, they would muster nothing more than disgust, aiming it at the man like a barbed spear. 

The irony was nothing short of painful- they saw him as a bloodthirsty murderer, but the only weapons drawing blood were those of which they so proudly held.

Equipped in full suit, katanas and all, Wade could only stand and watch as they circled him. They were no angry mob, brandishing not much more than cellphones and cameras, but they scowled at him with contempt and nothing less. They only came so close, retaining a couple of meters of distance, because at the end of the day, he’d end any of them if they stepped to close. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t affected by their resentment. 

Peter stood to Wade’s left, the silver webbing along his suit glinting in the sunlight. The gunman him and Wade had just downed was curled at their feet, mouth bound by a gag and arms webbed to the pavement. He’d attempted to open fire three blocks down from Times Square, and if it hadn’t been for Wade spotting the poorly-concealed semi-automatic on his person, they wouldn't have been able to stop him in time. 

And that, unfortunately, was what the general public just couldn’t see- the side of Wade Wilson that was genuinely trying to change, to make a name for himself that didn’t just involve senseless contract killing. It was Deadpool that had potentially saved hundreds of lives, who had been on the ground and incapacitating the offender before Spiderman had even realized what was happening. 

The truth of the matter was that these days, Deadpool did nearly as much good as Peter. He was out on patrols daily, covering for Peter when he had to put in extra hours at the Bugle, but regardless, his previous reputation stained every life he saved and innocent he protected like wine, insidiously seeping into each one of his actions and marring his perceived intentions. 

Years prior, the media had a field day when they’d initially broke the story of the Spiderman-Deadpool partnership, taking the opportunity to make absurd claims about Spiderman’s ‘switch to the dark side’, and how they had been right all along about the hero’s intentions. There hadn’t been a paper in the greater New York area that wasn’t plastered with obscene rumours about the two of them. And yet, not one paper commented on Deadpool’s informal resignation from mercenary work, or the unofficial Avengers membership status granted by Stark himself. 

Instead, the papers chose to continuously frame him as a killer- unchanging, unrelenting, and insane. They chose to ignore the dozens of lives he saved daily, chose to accuse Spiderman of endangering the city by inviting the mercenary to stay. The truth of the matter was that Wade had been working towards change, towards using his powers in a more socially responsible manner even though it meant going against his every instinct. 

Peter could see the effort, could see how fucking hard the other man was trying in every way possible to be better. Wade tried, and though there were slip ups, and the occasional accidental murder, he was usually successful in refraining from maiming or permanently injuring enemies, instead opting to disarm them for the police to deal with.

And yet, regardless of his effort, of his blatant character change, the public still stared at him like some sort of freak, some sort of villain. Even standing next to their beloved Spiderman and the mass-murderer he’d just taken down, their loaded gazes firing loathing, disgust, hatred. 

“C’mon, ‘Pool,” Peter muttered, motioning towards the sidewalk, “Police are gonna be here soon, they’ll take care of this guy. Lets head out for food or something, huh?”

It was a struggle to keep his voice gentle, the unadulterated judgement emanating from the crowd of pedestrians provoking the anger expanding against his ribs. He once looked at Wade like that- when they had first met, when he hadn’t yet gotten to know the tender person beneath the leather costume. Part of him resented himself for ever thinking such a thing about Wade, and the other part just wanted to slap some sense into the deluded onlookers, make them see what he saw in the older man. 

Wade nodded, eyes trained defensively on their audience, before following Peter out of the commotion. The two of them were watched by wary eyes as they paced the streets, but there were no comments, no brave soul willing to approach.

No one wanted to bother Spiderman if Deadpool was around. It was both a blessing and a curse. 

They stopped at some tiny pizza joint sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a convenience store, grabbing a box to go and bailing as soon as possible, knowing that shopkeepers didn’t exactly enjoy having mercenaries (ex or not) as customers. 

The two men only travelled a couple of paces further before scaling an apartment complex, because unless they were unfairly high up, eating in peace as Deadpool and Spiderman wouldn’t go without garnering some sort of negative attention. 

Peter reached the top of the building first, tossing the pizza box onto an air conditioning unit as he waited for Wade, who threw his body over the roofs edge with little reserve. He pulled himself to his feet, adjusted one of his swords, and sauntered over to where Peter had settled. Wade left a few meters of space between them, and the distance was beyond uncomfortable for Peter, who was more than accustomed to Wade’s penchant for being as close as he could possibly get away with. 

Muscles still rigid from before, the ex-merc hardly reacted as Peter yanked his mask off, pitching it to the side and grabbing a slice of pizza. It was unusual, Wade not reacting in some capacity when the mask finally came off. At the very least, there should’ve been a whistle, a wink- something. The dead silence didn't sit well, caused his stomach to stir. 

He took a bite, dark eyes watching as Wade continued to stand still. “Hey man, take a slice. There’s no way you’re not starving after all that.” 

Only four storeys up, the wind wasn’t substantially stronger than it had been when they were level. But Wade’s continued wordless demeanour cut right through him, sent chills up his spine. 

When the other man finally opened his mouth, his voice was hard, vulnerable in a way Peter hadn’t ever heard before.

“What’s the point, Pete?”

The sun was beginning to set, casting a pale orange hue over the maroon planes of Wade’s suit. He stood with his back straight, chest puffed, a sign of external pride and confidence even though Peter knew that he was feeling neither of those things internally. For Wade, it was all about appearance, what others thought of him- more specifically, what others hated about him. He fed off of the negativity, took every bad thing said about him and convinced himself it was true. He truly, truly believed he was a monster- an irredeemable creature that was better off with a bullet through the skull.

It broke Peter’s heart. 

“If I’m killin’ the people they pay me to kill, they call me a maniac. If I’m savin’ their sorry asses, they call me disgusting. If I’m on my own, they think I'm about to shoot ‘em up or something. And if I’m with you, they’re convinced that I’ve brainwashed you or hurt you or turned ya evil and-” Wade, who’d been frozen in space up until that moment, began to pace back and forth, creating a warped oval of footsteps as words tumbled out of his mouth, “And there’s no point, is there? Me doin’ this? I could be fucking hot dudes in Australia, eating like a fucking king in Dubai- what am I doing here? If no one gives a shit, what the fuck am I doing here?”

Peter watched as he ripped a dagger from its hip-sheath, glaring at it only briefly before whipping it forwards into the ground. It stood up, perfectly adjacent to the roof it stuck out of. 

Having dropped his slice of pizza at the beginning of Wade’s rant, Peter waited until the man marinated in his temper before approaching, movements slow and steady and careful. The last thing he wanted was to make this harder than it needed to be. 

“You’re here with me, yeah? Figured out a long time ago that I couldn’t take New York on my own- actually have a shot now, with you as my partner.”

Wade’s shoulders hunched forwards, spine curving as he shifted his weight. Peter interpreted the motion as permission to take another few steps forwards, reaching a hand out to delicately brush at the other man’s wrist. 

When Wade didn’t throw himself off the building at the contact (which had, in fact, happened in the past, and wasn’t something Peter ever needed a repeat of), Peter moved even closer. He could feel the warmth radiating off of Wade’s chest, could smell the thick aroma of leather that wafted from his suit. 

“You’re here for me, being a better person for me and like- hey, maybe I’m not the best person out there but like, everything you’re doing? Just because they can’t see it doesn’t mean I don’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it more than I’d like to admit.” Carefully, so as to not startle the man, Peter leaned forwards, pressing his forehead against Wade’s collarbone. His enhanced hearing picked up a nearly imperceptible increase in heart-rate, but otherwise Wade didn’t react. 

“Doesn’t matter if they don’t see it, Wade,” Peter insisted, eyes fluttering shut as he close the little distance between their bodies in a barely-there hug, “Because I see it, all of it, and I love it. I love how you’re trying, how much good you’ve been doing. It’s unfair that they can’t see it and I’m sorry, they fucking suck, I get it. But I see it, and I’m sorry if that’s not enough.”

And, as though he’d done it thousands of times before, Wade pulled Peter tightly against his chest, masked face buried into the fluff of his hair. 

“Course you’re enough, baby boy,” Wade rumbled, grip against the younger man’s bones tight- comforting in a way that couldn’t be put into words. 

The sun had disappeared behind a high-rise by the time the two of them parted, their hands still entwined after their bodies separated. They ate together in silence, the contact feeling as natural as anything. 

The headlines and the disgust and the judgement would always be brutal, Peter knew, but watching as Wade tugged his own mask off to smile over at Peter, he had a feeling they’d be just fine. 

[thelanguageoflovers]

Little White Lies - Chapter 1

TJ has a habit of telling little white lies about his life. They're never big, just a 'nothing happened' here, a 'no, of course not' there. He knows the truth must be revealed eventually. He just doesn't expect it to happen all at once. But when he and Cyrus get paired up for an assignment in health class, the truth finds its way out. 

TJ woke to his little sister shaking his arm. Opening his eyes, he glanced at the clock on his desk. 1:03 am, it read, taunting him with its jarringly bright red numbers. The night was dark and cold as he pulled his heavy, warm blanket closer around him, finding himself face to face with Molly's bright blue eyes. "Molly?" he asked, sitting up in bed. "What's wrong?" "I had an accident," Molly whimpered. Her eyes were watery as she spoke, like frigid oceans, complete with salty waves of tears brimming at her eyelids. "Oh," TJ sighed. He sat up, swinging his feet over the side of his bed and wincing as they touched the cold wood floor. "What about Amber?" "She's getting rid of my sheets. She told me to come ask you for extras." TJ nodded groggily, rubbing his eyes and padding across his small room as quietly as possible. Something in him vaguely registered that the old habit was long since obsolete, and he reminded himself that their dad was long since gone, but he tiptoed regardless. He shivered as he pulled out all the extra bedding in his closet. Clearly, his dad had gotten tired of paying their heating bill again. No, he was just cold. Dad wasn't around anymore, he reminded himself. They'd moved months ago. "Here you go, kiddo," he said, handing Molly most of the extra blankets and sheets, save for the extra comforter he threw on his bed. "Give those to Amber, okay?" Molly nodded and quietly padded out of the room, swaying under the weight of the bedding clutched in her arms. Sighing, TJ lay back down in bed, resting on his back with his eyes trained on the ceiling above. However, he was now coherently aware of the cold seeping under his blankets, and could seldom find it within himself to take even a deep breath, let alone to fall asleep. TJ spent the rest of the night similarly, tossing and turning in a vain (and in the end fruitless) attempt to stay warm. His alarm went off at exactly 6:30, and TJ didn't so much as flinch. Instead, he blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. "Yeah, okay," he sighed, sitting up in bed. His eyelids were heavy, his ears red with cold, and his room was flooded with nearly Stygian darkness as he stood up. He padded silently into Amber and Molly's room, flicking the lights on to wake them. Molly woke immediately, whereas Amber simply rolled over, throwing a pillow in TJ's general direction before rolling back over. "Go get breakfast, Molls. I'll wake Amber up," TJ whispered to Molly. She nodded, making her way out of their room and leaving TJ to deal with Amber. "I hate you," Amber mumbled. "We have to be at school in two hours," TJ reminded her, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Fuck, you're right." "I thought so," TJ teased, walking back out the door and closing it behind him. "I still hate you!" Amber called after him. "You always will," TJ assured her with a chuckle, before turning down the hall. He found Molly on her toes, straining to reach for a box of cereal someone had accidentally put on a higher shelf than normal. Smiling, he pulled the box down, handing it to her. Molly grinned, clumsily pouring it into a bowl. "Hey, kiddos." Their mom said, having just stepped into the kitchen. She kissed Molly's head and ruffled TJ's hair fondly. "Where's that sister of yours?" "Getting ready," TJ laughed. "I should have known," Jennifer responded, nodding. "Molls, you almost ready to go?" "Mhm," Molly mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. She quickly downed the rest of it, before rushing off to get dressed for school. She came back after a few moments, dressed slightly haphazardly but dressed nonetheless. "Ready Freddy?" Jennifer asked. Molly nodded with a smile, picking up her pink backpack from the couch. "Alright, TJ, I have parent-teacher conferences after school today, and I have to grade students' tests in between. Can you two pick Molly up after school? Get her a snack, get her to bed, make sure she stays alive, you know the drill." "Yeah, of course. I take it you won't be home before you have to get to Sam's?" "Sorry kiddo," Jennifer said, nodding. "Unfortunately, customers at 24-hour diners wait for no man... or woman. Fridays are always the worst." "It's fine," TJ chuckled. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, or tonight if I'm up late enough." "Perfect," Jennifer said, kissing the top of TJ's head. "Tell Amber I said goodbye, will you?" "I always do."

TJ sat down in his usual place next to Cyrus just as the bell rang, signaling the beginning of health class. "Just in time," he sighed, slouching against their table as he plopped his books on it. "Locker got stuck." "Ugh, I hate that," Cyrus sighed sympathetically. "Alright class, may I have your attention please?" Mrs. Bailey asked, clasping her hands together. "Now, I know you've all heard me mention your big end of tri project, and the time has finally come to execute it." A chorus of groans spread through the class. "Now, don't get too excited, I haven't even told you what you're doing." "Please tell me we're not protecting an egg, doll, or bag of flour," someone groaned. "No, nothing like that, Adam," Mrs. Bailey assured, waving a hand dismissively. "You are going to pair up, and until the end of the trimester, one of you will learn everything about theother. At the end of the trimester, you will turn in a paper on your partner and their life. Questions?" "What does this have to do with health?" a student asked. "This is the social part of social health," Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "Are we supposed to be, like, stalking our partner?" Ella McMasters asked from the back of the room. "Part of me wants to say yes, just to see how far you'll take this. However, I'm pretty sure I'm not legally allowed to condone stalking, so no. You will ask each other questions, like normal, non-sociopathic teenagers." "Wait, so one person just has to answer questions about themself?" "I think you'll find that it's quite a feat in itself to be completely vulnerable with someone." "Um, who are our partners?" Cyrus asked. "Oh! Right, here we go." Mrs. Bailey picked up a basket from her desk, handing it to the people at the table closest to her. "Draw a number, and find the other person who has it." The basket quickly found its way to Cyrus and TJ's table, and they both grabbed a piece of folded paper, passing the basket on to the next table. "What'd you get?" TJ asked, unfolding his paper and turning to Cyrus. "Eight," Cyrus said, holding his paper up to TJ. "No way!" TJ flipped his paper, revealing an eight scrawled on it. "Oh thank God, that is gonna make this whole process a lot easier." "We should start after school. Your house?" "Oh, I would, but the neighbor's house is under construction- it's terrible," Cyrus groaned. "That's fine, library?" "Closed this week for remodeling, I tried to study there last week. What about your house?" Cyrus asked. "O-oh, okay," TJ nodded. "Um, we'll have to walk home with Amber and Molly." "Molly?" "My little sister?" "Wait wh-" "Alright, that was ample time to find your partner. Now, time for today's reading."

TJ unlocked his front door, letting Amber, Molly, and Cyrus file past him. "You've got Molly covered?" TJ asked. Amber nodded, opening the fridge and crouching, pulling Molly in front of her so she could pick a snack. "Come on, Underdog." "I like your house," Cyrus said, following TJ into his room. "Oh, yeah. It's kind of small, sorry." "No, it's fine! Um, so, I guess we should get to work?" "Yeah," TJ said, gesturing to his bed. "Should I ask questions or should you?" "If you're okay, I'd rather ask the questions. I'm pretty much an open book," Cyrus shrugged, sitting down and pulling his computer from his bag. "Okay, um, have at it?" "Alright... Full name?" "Ugh, fine. Timothy James Kippen," TJ admitted. Cyrus grinned, typing the name happily. "Immediate family and names?" "Um, my mom's name is Jennifer, then there's Amber, of course. And my little sister Molly. Oh, um, my dad is Vincent, but he doesn't live with us." "Oh, I'm sorry," Cyrus said, clearly unsure how to react as he typed. "No, it's fine, we're better off without him." "Ah. Still, I'm sorry. Tell me about your mom." "Oh, um, she's a 6th-grade teacher at the elementary school, and she's a waitress at Sam's at night. She had Amber and me when she was 16, and then Molly 9 years later." "Oh, I didn't know your mom got pregnant at 16," Cyrus said, looking up from his notes. "15, actually. She turned 16 about 7 months into her pregnancy." "That must have been terrifying," Cyrus said sympathetically. "It probably was," TJ said, as though the thought had only just dawned on him. "I've never really thought about that." "Speaking of, what's your greatest fear?" "...Wow, you really are just going for it, aren't you?" "I want to do well on this assignment!" "Fine. I'm most afraid of clowns," he lied, making a fear up on the spot. "That was a lie," Cyrus said, ceasing typing. "I-I know," TJ stuttered. "Why would you lie? This whole assignment is to tell the truth," Cyrus said. "I know that too," TJ said, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting slightly, his gaze dropping. "TJ. You don't have to lie to me," Cyrus said gently, lifting TJ's chin to meet his eyes. "I'm just...used to lying, I guess." "What a lovely way to burn all your bridges," Cyrus deadpanned. TJ scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't get it." "What don't I get?!" Cyrus asked, exasperated. "Sometimes burning bridges is a defense tactic," TJ defended. Cyrus stared at him for a moment, before typing the phrase into his notes. "I'm sorry," TJ said quietly. "For what?" "For lying." "It's fine, I get it," Cyrus said, shaking his head. "No you don't," TJ laughed. "I really don't," Cyrus agreed.   "I shouldn't have lied, I'm sorry." "No, it's really fine. It was just a stupid question." "It wasn't! I just didn't want to answer it." "You don't have to," Cyrus shrugged. "I want to, really." Cyrus looked up at TJ, weighing his options. On the one hand, he could just skip the question. On the other, he could ask it again, and get the truth. Did he really want the truth? "Alright. TJ, what's your biggest fear?" he asked, taking a deep breath. Before TJ could respond, Amber rushed into the room, desperately trying to dial a phone number. "Amber! What's wrong?" TJ asked, rushing to Amber's side. "What are you doing?!" "Calling 911! I know this is gonna sound crazy, but what the hell is the number for 911?!" "Amber! What happened?!" TJ asked. Amber looked up at him, panic in her eyes. The second she spoke again, time stopped, stretching like the pale pink taffy pulled in the window of a candy store. "Molly's hurt."

[lafeae]

Prompt: Knife to Throat for @averyoriginalyugiohfangirl

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Characters: Seto Kaiba, Joey Wheeler

For: @badthingshappenbingo

Read on AO3

Warnings: Full text has mild dubcon elements. Language.

Excerpt:

Fall was the worst time of year to get a contract. Not that Joey disliked work—money was always a good thing, and always in short supply, but fall was the worst. Crunchy leaves everywhere. Mushy ground. And he could never tell if it was going to be hot or cold when he packed his gear.

Most of the fall months he didn’t work. He let the other, less skilled hunters, take out the small fry. And learn the hard way just how shitty fall hunting was when they were rolling around in the leaves and the mud. This hunt couldn’t be passed up. Too much money was on the line. A cool fifty thousand. Enough to set him up for all of winter, because fuck snow hunting, too.

Fuck vampire hunting in general.

Trekking through an empty hamlet on the outskirts of Domino, Joey sighed. This as where it all started for him. He remembered this cemetery; he remembered fighting back against some weak and slimy, barely human damphyr at almost dusk. It had jumped him and his sister, Serenity, while they were exploring to an old cemetery. Their mother told them not to go—he wasn’t so good a listener then, but now there was a nasty scar on his ribs where he learned the hard way.

After that, he should have known that being a hunter was no walk in the park. It was an old, almost lost profession. A fable that only old coots still believed in because how could there be vampires when there were cell phones? His best friend Yugi told him otherwise. “

“They really are real,” Yugi’d said. “You saw. You felt it, right!”

Felt was a weak word. “Yeah, so what?”

“So what? You know how many fourteen year olds live from that?” Yugi asked. Before Joey could reply, he answered: “None. Just ask grandpa.”

Speaking of old coots who still believed. And still was a hunter willing to train apprentices. It beat a nine to five, especially when money was tight, so Joey let the old man train him.

That was almost ten years ago. Now, everything about the job was second nature. But coming back and prowling the same cemetery that led to a century-old dilapidated cathedral sent chills down his spine.

Something rustled in the distance. Leaves, snapped branches. There was something wandering in the wooded path behind Joey. He stopped and reached back for his crossbow. Oldie but a goodie, so Grandpa Mutou had taught him. Loaded with silver bolts and ready to go.

Lightning jolted through Joey from head to toe. Careful steps were taken forward, easing to the mouth of the forest. He did a quick 360 in, taking in every angle around him; as much as dim moonbeams, seeping through tree branches, would allow him. He learned early on that a beaming flashlight made him exceptional target practice.

He stilled his breath and raised the crossbow to the shadows between the trees. “Somethin’ evil this way goes....” he half-muttered, half-hummed. An old hunter’s song to try and ease tension. He jumped and turned the opposite direction, his muscles taut in anticipation. Sweat beaded his brow. Ten years of experience never made this any easier. The harder the mark, the more fear he had to swallow. It never worked. He continued anyway: “With pointy teeth an’ a crooked nose. But if ya...if ya track it close to day...”

“Maybe you won’t become its prey,” a gravely voice in the distance finished. Joey jumped and poised the crossbow towards the annoying, familiar voice. “Still singing children’s songs?”

Joey swallowed a shuddered breath. “What the hell are ya doin’ here, Kaiba?”

Even in the dim moonlight, or maybe because of it, he could make out Kaiba’s pale face and gossamer smile. He never looked happy. More like a wolf approaching its newest meal. The way he stared down the bolt of the crossbow tempted Joey to step back. Just a step. But he wouldn’t let himself. This asshole, however creepy and asshole-y he was regardless of their encounters, wasn’t a actual threat. They were, with great annoyance, on the same side.

“Praying that you aren’t going after the same mark I am. Because you are woefully outmatched,” he said. He pushed the crossbow from his face. “Look at you, still using outdated machinery. If it can be called that.”

“It ain’t outdated if it works.”

“Tch, hardly.” Kaiba pulled back the folds of his coat to reveal the small-caliber pistols holstered on his shoulders. That was the least of his equipment. An entire utility-belt of sci-fi meets fantasy hung off his hips, cocked just enough that he could see some of the wires that fed up his coat. Kaiba was more man than machine; hunts were a display, not an art. “Face it, you’re just a blood hound. And a mixed breed at that. Go home and let the big dogs take care of things.

“Fuck off, an’ go back to your fancy pants land. This is my mark, so stay out.”

“I don’t think so,” Kaiba said. “This is my city, Wheeler, in case you forgot.”

“The fuck’s that s’pose to mean?”

Kaiba took several steps closer, his smile wide and leering. The kind of vicious smile that he, unfortunately, found curiously exciting. The way vampires sometimes licked their lips at him. But instead, Kaiba grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into a tree so hard tears welled in his eyes. He dropped the crossbow.

“It means I’m bigger than you, I’m faster than you, and I’m stronger than you. You weren’t born and bred for this, Wheeler. You’re a nobody, a chump, and you’ll end up someone’s dinner one of these nights,” Kaiba said. The cool edge of a silver knife pressed perpendicular to his jugular. He hadn’t even seen Kaiba draw the knife.

Joey flattened against the tree. He needed to give himself room. Kaiba was far too damn close—he was sure he felt Kaiba’s knee brushing against his thigh—but he also needed room to breath. “Man, stop that. I had a shave this mornin’,” he said, pressing his hands to Kaiba’s breast. Kaiba doubled down and pushed closer. “What, are ya tryin’ to kill me or is this your way a tellin’ me you’re happy t’ see me?”

Kaiba backed away. “Grow up, Wheeler.”

“‘Eh, I ain’t the one tryin’ t’,” Joey bit back a laugh and snorted, “I ain’t the one tryin’ t’ make out with a knife between us.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Joey picked up his crossbow, his giggle fit was intermittent as they staggered towards the cathedral. He didn’t know why it was so damned funny. Kaiba was about as sexually appealing as an eggplant. And the eggplant had more colour, maybe even personality. Though his consideration of Kaiba’s sexuality at all was...well, he didn’t want to go there. That was enough of that.

“Oh my God, are you finished, you moron?” Kaiba asked. “Try and be professional.”

“I am a professional. See?” Joey unsheathed and brandished a silver knife. “Got my own knife and everythin’ jus’ like you.”

Kaiba rolled his eyes. “Your ponytail says otherwise.”

Joey touched the small pony-tail. Not even a pony-tail. More like a bunny-tail. “‘Ey, you’re one to talk, Mr. Fashion-Disaster. Neo called; he wants his trenchcoat back.” He’d take this silly conversation over looking at the headstones they walked through to the door.

“You would be the kind of person who likes the Matrix,” Kaiba said.

“An’ you’d be the sort of person t’ diss it. Ya even know what fun is? Lay back Kaib’. Live a little.”

“You wouldn’t know fun if it—“

Joey’s pointer finger flung to his lips. “Shh. I hear somethin’.”

—

Continue on AO3

[zweiherzen]

i'll cut your throat, nið. that'll shut you up.

—  @slature​  //  murder à la princess mononoke :^)

they meet, bloodhound and cardiac,  united in the Apex Games by common purpose ... the draw of battle, the fervent hunt for blood, the grand allure of championship. Alike in many ways — apt killers, so perfectly at home in the shedding of blood and in the crudeness of ruthless sport. And yet, for all their commonality, hunter and medic remain perpetually and diametrically opposed. That is the nature of their bond, Cardiac supposes. It is immovable, a rivalry strung like chain across impassioned and bloody links heavy with repulsion, quarrel, detest. And yet, even as they tear each other to shreds, even as they ravage and shove at one another in a rampage between beasts …  how inevitable it is that, for all they push, they will be drawn together once more.

There is little variation in these embittered encounters. It is a display Cardiac has seen many times in nature and in man  ( who, though they consider themselves intellectuals above animalistic whims, mimic the savagery of nature’s beasts ) :  of hunter triumphant putting down its prey to rest. No matter how the chase is drawn out, no matter how valiantly the hunted trudges on in search of escape, the eventuality remains the very same — life torn from one to settle in the belly of the other. Apex’s predators do not hunt for the sake of life, regardless of what Bloodhound would believe, no …  only to satisfy a starvation feral and beastlike at its core. Peace and passivity, after all, are humanity’s greatest curse; man cannot live without the promise of progress. Cardiac understands what Bloodhound does not: that, in order to create, one must be willing to destroy.

It is a simple dynamic that he and the hunter share, a morbid game of Katz und Maus that they play. There is little surprise, except in the pursuit and in finding just who will surface, victorious, as pursuer.  ( Who today will be die Kätzle , and who der Mäusle ? )  It is an entertaining game, one that offers him a more personal sort of challenge than the Apex Games can; but it’s hardly one that offers fulfilment in terms of results. 

And yet Cardiac does not bore. He is a fool, perhaps, to pursue something to which he has long applied predictability. Their rivalry is little more than a gamble of victor and loser, titles oft exchanged between them. But it has long been clear to him that this vested interest in Bloodhound is hardly for the sake of his work.

They’ve bested him this time, he thinks as he doubles over and sinks down on a knee, pressing a gloved hand to the side of his stomach. Healing is quick work for his body, but hardly quick enough to outlast the hunter when they’ve long set All-seeing eyes on him. Even as he staunches the blood seeping from the bullet wounds, feels the stress of shredded flesh and muscle straining to rebuild beneath his palm, Cardiac’s well aware: He will likely meet the end that they’ve prepared for him today. He grits his teeth, chancing an upwards glance; surely enough, they approach with steady gait, knife clutched in hand. To finish him, Cardiac supposes, huffing a soundless laugh that tastes of wet and warm iron on his tongue. Barely three metres behind him is the edge of a cliff. Beneath that, the waters of King’s Canyon wash over jagged rock into which his Flatline was sent scattering by a well-aimed arc star.  ( ‘ Today is certainly not my day, ’  he’s tempted to remark were he not certain that Bloodhound would spear him through before the plummet down below could. )  

He remembers little after that except the burn of his wound, the red soaked through the left side of his coat, and that he barks a laugh, wild and crazed — before he lunges up towards Bloodhound with saw in hand. It’s a last resort, a dying man’s final lash in Death’s iron grip. Cardiac’s snatch at their collar startles the knife out of Bloodhound’s hand, but the victory is short-lived. Their composure is regained as soon as they back away, dodging what would have been a brutal jab to their gut. Cardiac may be well-trained in the art of close combat, but they have lived it; it is a battle he’d lost the moment he entered it. There is no denying his loss when they ram a knee into his side, drawing out from him a wounded yowl. The moment's distraction is lethal: the doctor’s saw, his final defence, is fiercely torn from his hands.

Cardiac dares to reach out even as their hands grasp at his saw and hold it poised to the tender flesh of his neck — pits himself forward to tear away Bloodhound’s mask. It’s dragged off, hits the ground, and goes rolling off towards the edge of the cliffside to join the Flatline discarded far below. He catches a glimpse of bright hair ever so briefly before Bloodhound charges forward  ( catch his cheek with the practised edge of their blade ),  barrelling headfirst into him. They both go tumbling, and Cardiac’s head hits rock with potent force. Through the agonising haze, he feels pebbles digging like blades through fabric and into the skin of his back as they scramble atop him, scowl sharp as the knife of his saw against his neck. There is no ground beneath the upper half of his skull. The proximity to such fatal plummet is tantalisingly thrilling.

‘ That’ll shut you up, ’  they snarl. He peers up into eyes alight with fury and disgust and hatred — bares his teeth, crimson-stained, and laughs.  “ You’re beautiful. ”  Words slip through clever lips cracked, bitten, and bloody, but nonetheless contorted in devilish grin. The humour subsides swiftly, however, overtaken by grim sobriety, as the threat of death returns by the tip of a blade prodding against Adam’s apple. He responds with an upwards tilt of the head: a welcome invitation to press fresh steel more firmly against exposed throat. The doctor’s smile returns, broader. Blood seeps from the tears in his lips, tugged wide to expose teeth perfect and unsettling. His eyes glint, something wicked sparking in steely blues.

“ But you must do something about that unfortunate mess on your head, Fräulein. Your knife would go to better use cutting out those knots than cutting out my larynx. ”  A jerk of the head presses the skin of his neck up against his knife. The sharpened edge nicks just enough to leave a reddened line across the front of his throat, superficial — though enough to draw beads of red welling to the surface of the cut. He half-huffs, half-chokes out a delirious chuckle.  “ Mein Gott. It looks as if you haven’t run a brush through it in fifteen years. ”

[withthecherrytrees]

Guardian Ch. 3

Meetings by the Hearth

Merciful Lord, you are never weary

of speaking to my poor heart.

Grant me grace that, if today I hear your voice,

my heart may not be hardened.

It all seemed to happen very quickly after that. Balin, whose eyes had momentarily widened, before his face resumed its usual inscrutable look, gave some sort of a signal, and the guard retreated from the room.  

“You are she, then,” he said to Imya. “The Woman from the Battle.”

Imya gave a tight nod, the indignity of their unwelcome still smarting.

Balin shook his head. “Mahal, I hadn’t believed him.” He regarded her, his eyes keen and searching. They traveled over her, her face, her cloak, alighting on the weapons she had stashed in various places. Imya, used to Shadow and those quiet Dark places, had the rare and uncomfortable sensation of being truly seen.

“May I ask, Lady, why you are back?” he said.

I do not know.

I could not tell you if I wished.

I sense a danger which I cannot name.

Her voice cool, Imya said, “I will discuss that with the King.”

Balin seemed to consider this a moment, before nodding slightly. “Very well, I’ll be taking you to him, then,” he said. He stepped aside, and made a small, inviting gesture.

Imya stepped forward, but as she neared the door, Balin reached and grabbed the handle, blocking her way.

He said, “If you don’t mind, Lady, try not to draw attention to yourself when we walk through Erebor. It would make my job a lot easier if not many Dwarves saw you.”

Imya gave him her first, albeit small, smile. “Fear not, Master Balin. I am rarely noticed when I do not want to be.”

He regarded Imya a moment, eyes a little narrower than kind, before he smiled and opened the door for her, motioning her along.

Walking along, Balin’s unhurried pace and calm demeanor, and Imya’s ability to fade into the background indeed kept questioning eyes from falling upon them, and they soon reached an unassuming study on an upper level. It was not a King’s study, nor that of a simple worker, yet it was warm and inviting and had the distinct sensation of a place where good work is done and enjoyed. Imya liked it immediately.

Balin shut the door behind her, and motioned for her to sit in one of the leather armchairs, by the fireplace. He stoked the coals a bit to revive them as she sat down, her back tense and her mind uneasy.

This is not the welcome I was promised.

She wondered if perhaps she had committed some offense against these Dwarves, a misstep too foreign to her for notice, but grave enough that her presence caused a danger. Whether the danger was to her, or to another, remained to be seen.

“Tea?” Her thoughts were interrupted by Balin’s offer.

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

He poured a cup, and handed it to her, before opening the door very slightly. He motioned to someone, and spoke softly to them, before shutting the door and turning back to Imya.

“Apologies, Lady, for the delay. The King will be coming soon. He appears to be rather occupied at the moment.”

After a moment, Imya said, “Have I offended the Dwarves of Erebor in some way?” Imya had decided to ask this Dwarf directly. In her experience, a misstep was best cleared honestly and without pretense.

“Of course not, Lady, whatever gave you that idea?” Balin said, glancing up sharply.

“My presence displeases you. Or, it displeases others, whom you wish not to offend.”

Balin eyed her a moment, contemplating his words. He said, “Your presence… does not offend us, Lady. It does present some obstacles, however. But let’s wait until the King arrives. We’d do best to discuss it then.”

They drank their tea in silence, until a knock rang at the door. Balin stood to open it, and in stepped Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain.

“Balin.” he said, his voice a deep gravel. “And you. Imya. The Guardian.”

“Yes, my lord King,” Imya said, and nodded once. “You once offered me a welcome and a place to rest my head. I have returned, and would take you up on your offer. It seems, however, my presence is not so welcome as was promised.”

As she spoke, the Dwarf King’s brows drew closer and closer together, the scowl on his face deepening. He spoke, “Forgive me, and forgive Erebor, for offending you so. Indeed, I am grateful to you for the service you have done, and all of Erebor should be as well.”

Imya bowed her head, an acknowledgement of the forgiveness sought and given.

Thorin continued. “It is unfortunate, but the Dwarves of Erebor, beyond the Company whom you met, are not aware of your existence.”

Imya looked up sharply. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.” The King’s discomfort began to seep through the walls of his scowl. He glanced at Balin, an almost imperceptible move.

The older Dwarf spoke, then. “Lady, your presence, and the news of who had sent you, well, we chosen to keep it secret after the battle. You’d disappeared, see, and no one had really seen you or saw what you did, besides Thorin. Fíli and Kíli only said they’d seen you ride away from Ravenhill. We, well we thought it’d be best to keep it quiet, lest anyone ask questions.”

“Questions?” Imya did not understand.

Proud. And stubborn are these Dwarves. Taking issue with a Woman coming to their aid.

Peace, Imya.

“Madness.” The Dwarf King spoke again. “My line, and I, have history of it. I feared the tale of your deeds would fuel those who doubt I overcame the Illness I suffered. We agreed that calling myself Blessed by the Maker could make me look uncertain of my rule.”

Imya’s ire began to fade. “I understand, my lord King. A strange Woman rescuing you on the field of Battle, and Aüle’s Sigil on her arm. A strange and fantastic tale indeed.”

“Ah yes,” said Balin. “The Sigil. I was wondering, if I might see it.” He nodded towards her arm, where her leather vambraces covered the Hammer of Aüle.

Glancing at the King, Imya slowly removed the vambrace, until the Sigil shone brightly in the dim light of the study. The King’s eyes immediately shut, as the power of his Maker Thrummed into him.

Balin, however, seemed unaffected, even glancing curiously at Thorin, considering the King’s reaction.

“Strange,” the old Dwarf said. “I don’t seem to feel what you described, Thorin.” His eyes regarded Imya, a strange and wary look in them.

“Truly?” The King asked, uncertainty clouding his voice. “I feel the Power in the Sigil, the same that pervades the Stone of Erebor. You do not feel it?”

Balin shook his head, his bushy white eyebrows so furrowed the hairs nearly touched.

Imya decided to slowly retie the laces of her vambrace, feeling uneasy at the thought of the Sigil remaining visible for longer.

“Are you one of those, then, who would call the King mad,” she asked, her voice light but her hands tense.

Balin eyed her. “Never,” he said. “I am merely curious as to the workings of this magic Sigil.”

Imya said, “The Work of the Valar may not be for us to understand, Master Balin.”

He smiled then, but it did not quite smooth the furrow between his heavy brows. “Quite right, Lady, but it never hurts to try, now does it?”

Imya paused. “I suppose not,” she said. Turning to the Dwarf King, she said, “My lord King, regardless of the Sigil and its effects, I would speak with you of why I have returned to the Mountain.”

He nodded for her to go on.

“I saved you once. I knew of the Danger that would befall you and your Sister Sons, and I followed Aüle’s call to save you. The sense of Danger has not left me since the Battle. I fear you face a threat of whose shape I am not certain. Aüle has not given me Guidance, but I trust He would not let me fall astray.”

The King regarded her. “You believe I am in danger? Yet no proof?”

Imya held his gaze. “Aüle would not have me save you only to have you fall shortly after. I believe I was wrong to leave after the Battle. My Task to protect the Line of Durin feels unfulfilled, and I fear for you and yours should I leave now.”

Thorin motioned to Balin, who joined him towards the back of the study. They spoke in quiet voices, in the guttural language of the Dwarves. Finally, the King rested his hand on the old Dwarf’s shoulder, and said a final few words Imya could not understand. They returned to Imya, and Thorin said, “I thank you, Guardian, for your return. The Line of Durin is fortunate to have your protection. If you believe there is a Danger in the Mountain, let us find it. Erebor would be grateful to have you stay and unravel this mystery.”

Imya placed her arm, the still covered Sigil facing the King, across her chest, and nodded once, the motion bordering on a bow. “I serve Aüle, and His Will is that I guard the Line of Durin. I accept.”

“The proceedings will not be public, however. You will be an honored guest of the Lady Dís, the King’s sister, and mother to Fíli and Kíli. You will be a noble-woman whom Her Ladyship befriended while traveling,” Balin said. “The truth of your presence will stay between myself, the royal family, and Dwalin, the Captain of the Guard. Anymore would compromise our efforts.”

“You suspect a citizen of Erebor could be the source of the Danger I sense?” Imya was surprised. She had not considered the threat might be within the Mountain, rather than sent by the Shadow in the East.

“We must be prepared for any possibility, and the more that word is spread, the harder the danger will be to sniff out.” Thorin spoke with finality.

“Exactly,” Balin said. “Now, how about we catch ourselves a rat?”

Notes

The opening lines are a prayer by Cardinal Rafael Merry de Val y Zulueta, a Roman Catholic. The prayer asks for grace and guidance from the Lord.

[moonlit-seren]

One Last Time || Mark Lee x Reader

Summary: After a failed confession, y/n seeks out help from Mark knowing full well her best friend’s feelings towards her. Unable to turn her down, he allows her to use him as a rebound for the night despite knowing that he’ll only get hurt in the end.

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Slightly suggestive towards mature themes, I guess? Haha... I dOn’T kNoW wHat I wRoTe...

Word Count: 2.6k

Key:

Y/n- Your name

Y/b/n- Your bias name

(If your bias is Mark, which is understandable ;p, then substitute the name of your bias wrecker or secondary bias since most nctzens, like me, seem to have multiple biases)

A/N: This was inspired by all the cliche unrequited love imagines I’ve found littering Tumblr and Wattpad, that I can’t seem to prevent myself from reading despite knowing that I’ll want to cry a river afterwards lol.

꧁Masterlist꧂

~

~

Feelings can’t be controlled.

They dictate the way our lives progress over the years and the seemingly little decisions we make on a daily basis.

Even when they appear to be under control, the moment a small hiccup occurs the tranquil stability crumbles and disintegrates within seconds of instantaneous chaos. Whether it be a friendly smile from an attractive stranger or a vicious breakup after a happy two years.

Sometimes people get lucky and their romantic feelings immediately get reciprocated, but others pin after another for years only to get rejected over and over again.

Unfortunately, that’s the way of life. Some get fairytale endings while others are left with agonizing heartbreak.

Happy ever afters have always been elusive, if they even exist at all.

•

“I’m sorry, I don’t like you the same way.”

That was all it took for the misplaced hope in y/n’s chest to dissipate as if there was a black hole sucking away all of her happy emotions into the depths of her stomach.

Unrequited love is never easy to handle, some are able to move past it quickly but others are left holding it dear and tricking their minds into ignoring the fact that their feelings are one sided.

The silence that followed the stinging rejection was great enough to hear a pin drop and clank softly on the snow covered ground which felt like it was spinning beneath the girl’s feet.

Y/b/n smiled apologetically, whispering a quiet ‘goodnight’ and closing the door, unable to look at the hurt expression adorning his close friend’s face.

Y/n blinked slowing as a light gust swept into her eyes, acting as the catalyst unlocking the flood gates which held back her tears.

Years and years of quiet frustration hidden by fake smiles and hollow laughs seeped out of her puffy eyes, as her vision blurred and a dry laugh slipped from her swollen lips, riddled with invisible bite marks from the nerve wracking hours she spent pouring over how to confess to her long time crush.

Unable to stand there, where her heart had dropped into the depths of her stomach and shattered, y/n ran from the doorstep. The ground was slick with glistening ice making navigation incredibly difficult considering the fact that tears were already blurring her vision.

Not knowing what to do, or how to cope with the heart wrenching emotions swimming in her veins, the heartbroken girl ran to the one place she knew was always safe, to the one person she knew who would always love her despite her affections toward another.

“Mark…Mark open up…” shouted y/n desperately, ignoring all the half-concerned, half-annoyed looks she was getting from the few passerbyers walking around the neighborhood she currently found herself in.

The door swung open a couple of second later, preceding the soft thunks of worried footsteps from inside the apartment. Mark poked his head through the door, hair ruffled from having been woken up from a nap, and eyes heavy with sleepy confusion.

Upon seeing the tears streaming down y/n’s face, he sighed already knowing the reason behind her grief. “Come here.”

Gently tugging the girl forward by her wrist, Mark closed the door and pulling his best friend forward to wrap his arms securely around her shaking form.

Y/n sobbed quietly into his chest, hands bunching up the back of his shirt as her shoulders heaved up and down with every wave of tears.

Pulling back a little, Mark reached up to brush a stray tear off of y/n’s cheek despite knowing that it would quickly get replaced by another. He gently removed her hands and slipped one in his own before walking off towards his staircase.

Y/n silently trailed after him recognizing the familiar route towards his room. Even once they reached Mark didn’t let go and instead lied down on the mattress before pulling her down next to him so that she was facing him.

“Wanna talk about it?” He whispered, gently stroking the stray hairs off of y/n’s forehead as his eyes bore into hers with loving concern.

Letting out a shuddered breath, y/n shook her head slowly, snuggling herself further into the warmth of Mark chest as he enveloped his arms around her once more.

No words needed to be said as no explanation was necessary. The pair had been friends since childhood and were able to read each other's thoughts with a single glance alone.

And due to all the years they had been friends, it was inevitable for the platonic love felt by one of them to fester into something more. Unfortunately, it was Mark who had fallen prey to the sick games played by fate as it controlled his heart strings like an invisible puppeteer.

It didn’t take long for y/n to catch onto Mark’s newfound emotions, feeling his lingering gaze when he had thought she wasn’t looking, and the soft kisses he left on her forehead in what was meant to look like nothing more than the love shared between siblings.

It was hard acting oblivious to the sweet smiles and hidden signs he sent her on a daily basis, as she didn’t want to hurt him in any way, shape, or form.

Maybe it was selfish for her to continue drinking in his affection like a morningly cup of coffee without reciprocating anything, actually, scratch that, it was selfish for her to bask herself in the gentle warmth he extruded but she couldn’t do anything even if she wanted to.

Her heart already belonged to another. Y/n didn’t know when it started, perhaps it was when y/b/n lent her his coat when she had forgotten her own a few months ago, or even at first glance like all the cliches.

Regardless, she was utterly smitten by him the same way Mark was smitten by her. It’s cruel had destiny had played out, leaving the two friends drowning in unreciprocated feelings and heartbreak.

It was moments like these where y/n’s heart stung the most, seeing the never ending love swimming in Mark’s eyes but she couldn’t help but be selfish as all humans are flawed.

“Why are you in love with me?” Asked y/n, finally addressing the elephant in the room, despite knowing that things would only spiral downhill from there.

Mark flinched a little at her bluntness, blinking slowly as he quickly stuttered out a rehearsed answer in denial. “W-well, you’re my best friend of cours-”

“Cut the bull crap,” y/n cut in, knowing that he knew exactly what she meant.

Mark sighed, exhaling deeply as if to mentally prepare himself for the unavoidable conservation he knew was bound to follow the first question.

“How am I not supposed to?” He replied softly, a rarely seen sad smile adorning his lips as his fingers started to absentmindedly draw small circles on y/n’s back through the worn, cotton material of her shirt.

“Just the sight of you brightens up my entire world and don’t get me started on the beautiful melody of your laugh, I swear I could listen to it all day like a broken record on repeat. Only a fool would be blind enough to miss the radiant perfection that makes up the unique masterpiece that is you,” he continued, overwhelmingly confident in the truth behind his answer because that’s exactly how he felt.

Y/n’s eyes softened in guilt as she asked the other question that has been plaguing her mind despite already knowing the answer to it. “Doesn’t it hurt at all?”

“Maybe, but I can’t force you to feel the same way,” he responded with an almost fragile smile, feeling bare as all the secret feelings he keep suppressed and hidden shakily slipped out into the open.

Something inside the girl broke a little more at Mark’s honestly, as all coherent thoughts slipped from her mind and she was left with her consciousness muddled with overwhelming irrationality.

If anyone asks what’s the strongest thing in the world that intoxicates a person into not being function logically the obvious answer would be alcohol or drugs, but they’d be wrong.

It’s emotions.

Whether it be the unforgiving fires of rage or the exhilarating bliss of happiness, they leave us blinded to the consequences of our actions until we plummet and crash from the euphoric high and are left to face brutal reality.

“Then lie to yourself,” y/n whispered, pulling back slightly to stare into Mark’s eyes. His face morphed in confusion, brows furrowing even more as y/n reached up to cradle his cheeks in her hands. “Tell yourself that I feel the same way. Be selfish for once.”

Mark’s eyes widen at the her words, reaching up to clasp his own hands around hers. He gently pulled them off, shaking his head with a sad smile. “You’re not yourself right now, sleep here, I’ll take the couch.”

But before he was able to get up, y/n quickly protested by pushing his shoulder down so that he was now laying on his back. Mind clouded with a drunken desperation, she swung her leg over his waist, sitting up so that she was straddling his hips. “No. Please, I’ve handled enough rejection today. Help me, just for tonight.”

“Y/n-” he began to protest, heart throbbing in his chest as y/n’s eyes watered again at the mention of her failed confession. He knew that she wasn’t thinking straight but didn’t know how to snap her out of her dark reverie.

“Just for tonight,” she begged leaning down so that her nose was only a millimeter from his. Her eyes boring into his, pleading as if he were the executioner beside her chopping block. Except it wasn’t her neck lined up with the ginting steel blade, but her heart.

The flimsy walls Mark threw up came crashing down at the broken expression y/n was wearing, hands gently reaching up to cup her face the same way she had only moments ago to him.

“I’m sorry, for no longer having the strength to stop this,” Mark sighed out gently bringing her closer so that their lips were nearly brushing. “But if you ever want me to, tell me and I will.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” y/n whispered back sealing the gap.

•

The sun filtered weakly through the blinds, bestowing it’s soft morning glory upon the littered articles of clothing lying hazardously around the room.

Near silent snores filled the peaceful atmosphere, stifling  as a soft yawn replaced the sleepy constant.

Mark’s eyes fluttered open, gazing absentmindedly at the ceiling as he tried to blink out the sleepiness in them.

His mind seemed to function in slow motion, still thick with early morning haze as he started to recall the events of last night.

From the lustful and empty kisses, to discarded clothing and sweet, sweet lies. Each puzzle piece slowly clicked together as the full story unraveled inch by agonizing inch.

Groaning a little as the memories were being processed, something undeniably important started nagging at the back of Mark’s mind.

And moments later, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Y/n.

The soft creme sheets suddenly felt wrong on his bare skin as he realized what was missing. Or rather who he had forgotten about.

The unusual silence was explained when Mark turned around seeing nothing more than a neon pink post it note laying beside him.

Fear and dread crept up in his chest as his eyes landed on the messily scribbled message, which had most likely having been hastily thrown down before a swift escape

And unfortunately, he had every right to be afraid of it’s contents.

“Dear Mark,

I’m sorry for leaving so soon but I didn’t want you to expect anything from me if I had stayed. It wouldn’t have been fair for me to lead you on, not that I have been very fair to you lately. You’re the funniest, sweetest, most caring person in the entire universe and deserve someone so much better than a selfish, broken girl like me. I refuse to let myself be a set back in your promising life. Please move on and find your true happiness with another woman because I guarantee it isn’t with me. Thank you for being my best friend for so many years and for always being there. I love you and goodbye.

-y/n

“Goodbye,” Mark read aloud, eyes wide with a mixture of hurt, shock, and sadness. The word left a bitter and foreign taste in his mouth, for it had always been a taboo term between the two of them

Goodbyes seemed too permanent, as the pair were always confident that they’d see each other again. And farewells were habitually littered with ‘see you later’ or even a quick ‘Till next time’.

Suddenly, the reassuring feeling of knowing that they’d meet again didn’t feel as solid anymore. After all, goodbye meant forever in y/n and Mark’s vocabulary.

Something cool and wet slipped down the smooth expanse of Mark’s cheek, preceding a barrage of salty tears which trekked down the grief stricken lines of his face.

It already hurt enough being constantly rejected by the one who he truly loved, but now there was an added feeling of loneliness thrown into the chaotic mess that Mark felt in what remained of his once battered, but whole, heart.

And the agonizing feeling of abruptly being left alone felt like a pair of invisible hands choking out the last of his will to seek happiness or even to live.

All of a sudden Mark felt like the vulnerable teenager he was back in high school again, facing his very first heartbreak when he deluded himself into believing that he liked the prettiest girl in his grade in order to stop thinking about y/n.

It worked at first, and two long months had miraculously passed before that girl finally started to notice her boyfriend’s lingering glances at his best friend.

But regardless of his feelings for y/n, it had still hurt when his first love broke off their short relationship. And like that day many years ago, Mark once again found himself curled up in a ball under his covers, nose red and stuffy, and vision blurred with tears.

Though the pain of that heartbreak was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to over a decade of relentlessly pursuing someone who had never more than a foot away. Someone who’s heart felt like it was seas apart from his own.

If Mark could turn back time he would’ve done anything he could to prevent himself from falling for his best friend, even if it meant never having become friends in the first place or having said that first ‘hi’.

But no matter how hard he wished to go back to the past, nothing would happen. After all, humans were never blessed with the ability to control time just like how not everyone was blessed with that perfect romance found in story books.

There are no fairy godmothers in the real world, no kind hearted maidens who don’t care about appearances, no midnight balls where fated soulmates meet for the first time. Life is not a fairytale and dreams don’t always comes true.

But despite knowing that, Mark whispered out his final wish, letting the tear filled words linger hopelessly in the air.

“Come back to me, love...”

.

.

“I need you in my life…”

.

.

“Please…”

.

.

“Lie to me again…”

.

.

.

“One last time.”

[shaso-cinnjin]

Trust.

Written by @grand-master-alrik-ville and @shaso-cinnjin

Chapter 1: Old Friend, Old Enemy M41.072

Shas'la Hel'ves ran as fast as his hooves could carry him. The mont'gue'la had ambushed his convoy out in what they thought was safe territory. Hel'ves looked behind him and stopped. How could he not have thought about them. Raising his pulse rifle, Hel'ves ran back to cover the civilians as they ran past. Just about 60 meters behind were the mont'gue'la that the Imperium call Chaos Marines. He knew he was no match for them, but he had to buy the civilians time to get away. Just as he was about to turn and follow them, Hel'ves noticed a little girl trip, falling face first into the churned up ground. Hel'ves slung his rifle and launched himself towards her, sliding down next to her to pick her up.

“Come on, you have to get up. We cannot stay here.” Hel'ves stated as he tried to get her on her feet.

“I can’t. My legs are too tired”

“Then I shall carry yo-” Hel'ves was cut off by the cackling of a Chaos Marine as his shadow descended up Hel'ves. Seeing the devilish and barbaric looking axe raised high in the air, Hel'ves turned his back to the marine, attempting to protect the child as best he could. He waited for the pain and the cold of death to come, but all Hel'ves heard was the sound of a loud metallic CLANG, and then a wet THUD as something landed next to him. Turning his head, the chaos marine laid next to him, and a different presence stood over him. Looking up, all Hel'ves saw was a white cape emblazoned with a silver cross and crossed lightning bolts, and a terminator standing above.

“Run, get your people to safety and tell your Shas O’ that he must press his forces into the flanks if we are to win this war.” The tall marine ordered, his shield raised to protect both him and Hel'ves.

“Who…who might I ask are you, so I know who to tell my Shas O’ to thank for rescuing us” Hel'ves hesitantly asked.

“I am Grand Master Alrik Ville, of the Storm Templars. He will know what to do beyond that. Now go!!” and suddenly the marine dashed forward into the mont'gue'la, no fear in his voice, and he could only sense duty seeping from him.

The distress call from the evacuation convoy rang loudly in his ears as he shot through the sky, the fire billowing its orange and red glow from its location becoming more and more visible the closer he came to its last known location, he feared the worst yet hoped for the best, a hope that would soon take life as he spotted the untainted popping of frantic bolter fire and the crackle of power swords.

As he crested the cliff of the canyon where the ill-fated convoy rested he saw them, weathered armor glinting with orange and yellow as their frames became silhouetted from the muzzle flash, their tall shadows flickering against the trees surrounding the area, fighting valiantly against the bloodied hounds that surrounded them.

Arvack looked upwards, “Incoming projectile! Take Cover!” he screamed as he and his battle brothers dove into what cover they had left.

A thunderous crash was shook the ground as the projectile made impact over their heads, a ring of dust now hanging over them, the cries to the blood god falling silent.

Arvack leaned around his cover bringing his bolter to bare, in front of him was no crater left by stray ordinance but the rising form of a Tau battlesuit gripping the decapitated head of a bloodletter tron from its body by the suits gauntlet. A single red eye turned to look at Arvack, scanning what Arvacks assumed was his left pauldron,

“Storm Templar… It's been so long.” the suit spoke in flawless gothic, “What happened here?” it asked.

“We were ordered by the Grand Master to hold this position to provide cover for your “people” from this convoy while they retreated.”

“I owe both you and your commander a debt, Arvack.” it spoke turning its attention to the recovering horde as it began to reinitialize its assault.

“How’d you know my name?” Arvack inquired, firing his bolter at a charging berserker, blowing its head into gory chunks across the canyon floor.

“I know many things, we’ve met before on the flaming spires Jukaa, you were but a scout.” it said fondly as the T’au began to mow down cultists with its burst cannon, each popping spectacularly in dazzling blue explosions.

“That cannot be true, you lie! It’s been 200 years! That commander’s long past, he is but ash now.” Arvack spoke briefly, his attention becoming more drawn into the defense of his squad.

“Doing pretty well for a pile of ash don’t you think!” the T’au chuckled. “Shas’O Cinnjin, it’s a pleasure to work with your chapter again, Sergeant.”

Arvack looked back at the tall suit, its snow white limbs the same as those he saw blackened by soot back on Jukaa, the same T’au that fought beside him back on that infernal planet.

“Lets go, I’ve cleared a path!” the T’au shouted pointing towards an opening in the trees, “We’ll meet up with more reinforcements that way.”

Alrik rammed his shield into the first Chosen as he charged into battle with the traitors. Swinging his axe in a downward arc, Alrik cleaved the pathetic traitor in two before spinning around and using his shield as a club to crush the skull of another Chosen. Running further towards the convoy, Alrik could see the Tau battle suit aiding his men.

Alrik gave an amused HMPH, as he barreled through some more traitor marines, carving them into pieces. “Cinnjin, you never cease to show me that I can trust you” Alrik mused as he slammed his shield into another.

“Third squad, form a defensive ring around the Tau, the 4th company will be here to push back these fools,” Alrik ordered as he made his way into the quickly forming ring and took position at the back of Cinnjin, “Hello, old friend. Miss me?”

The caped terminator barreled his way into the perimeter forming around Cinnjin,

“Hello, old friend. Miss me?” he asked warmly, Cinnjin knew only one astartes whom would greet him so kindly.

“Alrik, it's good to know you still draw breath” Cinnjin chuckled as he ignited two traitors with the beams of cyan spraying from his pack mounted plasma rifles.

“You’re most kind for aiding us, I fear the more inquisitive among our kind will brand you traitor, you know my offer from all those years ago still stands, I won't ask you outright to come, but if an unpleasant fate begins to manifest in your chapters future, beyond your control, you are always welcome to pursue your goals here, as an equal.” Cinnjin spoke with slight concern in his voice.

The ring closed around them, Chaos of all forms sprinting from the treeline over the steadily increasing mound of corpses, blue and orange flashes making the shadows flicker and grow in spastic pattern. The crack of thunder hammers slamming ceramite and the pop of pulse munitions hitting home filled the night as the defenders grew ever fewer.

The ground began to shake and the clouds opened above, beams of bright blue shot down from the stratosphere, a beam of incinerating heat traced the outline of the group, annihilating the surrounding area. The flick and hum of incoming thunderhawk and tigershark engines sang chorus for the symphony of munitions they let loose as the entire canyon, save for the convoy, became naught but atoms before the combined might of the allies combined forces.

“Hel’ves told me about your desire to flank them, looks like they finished off the others just in time to save their poor commanders.” Cinnjin laughed, his eye lenses began shrinking to pinholes to better cope with the blinding light. “Tis’ a Victory, Alrik, even the smallest can make all the difference don’t you think?”

Alrik smiled under his helmet as he hacked at a Chosen, cleaving the traitor in two. “Cinnjin, you know I must say no to the offer. My loyalties are to my Emperor and his Imperium, regardless of whether it is a shadow of its former glory or not. Maybe in a different time, our Empires would see that we would work better as an Alliance. However, I fear that the Imperium has grown to a set in its xenophobia to ever realize that.” Alrik stated with a hint of sadness. Slamming his shield into a charging possessed marine before cutting him in half, Alrik looked behind him to see a charging chaos marine with a melta bomb going for Cinnjin.

Alrik pushed his Terminator armor as best he could to get as much speed as he charged for the traitor. Unfortunately for the traitor, he didn’t notice until it was too late the charging behemoth of cermatite and muscle. Using his shield as a club, Alrik decapitated the traitor in one undercut swing, sending its head and the bomb flying.

“All units, engage these traitors with extreme prejudice, leave none standing” Alrik ordered.

“My friend, our chapter is one of very few that ally themselves with…xenos. While we keep that under black tape, we are the only ones who try to help those that have helped us.”

“Aye, I know where your loyalties lie, it was never a matter of that, of sides.” Cinnjin spoke sending a punch into a whirling screamer, the force of his onager gauntlet sending a shockwave into the treeline.

“It was about consequences, how sometimes the black ink gets washed away, it’s not an offer of annexation into the empire but of protection, so that you may serve your people even if they grow hate you, a thought that I dread.” Cinnjin spoke to the terminator as it smashed the skull of one of his traitor brethren beneath his bootheil.

Cinnjin then let out a sigh. Briefly noticing trees falling from deep in the thick foliage, the only warning of what was to come.

With a blood curdling scream the Debaser of Slaanesh slammed into the defensive perimeter, its wip like tendrils cutting through armor like it was the air itself. Cinnjin fell silent and began to crouch forward.

“You may want to move.” He said motioning for Alrik to step away.

All that stood in Cinnjins place after that moment was a cloud of dust a faint blue trail and a very, very shattered sound barrier.

Cinnjin shot fourth over the Debaser, grappling the two large horns cropping out from the head of the beast, kicking his vector thrusters around he began to rear the beast towards its own, it sending chunks of eviscerated heretic flesh through the air in spectacular gory sprays.

With a crack and a thud it was clear the commander had had enough, using his onager gauntlet to strike the beast so that the pressurised air punched clean through it and the ground, its head exploding in a purple-red haze coating him in blood.

Cinnjin them motioned to the path he had previously cleared and for the Astartes to follow.

“The evacuation should be complete, come!” the bloodsoaked commander yelled, pointing towards the salvation of the landing-zone.

“It's time we show these creatures the meaning of what we stand for!”

“If it comes to that Cinnjin, then I will accept your offer.” Alrik stated as he walked past the Debaser. “Templars, move to the LZ and secure the perimeter. Double time it” Alrik broke into a run.

“Cinnjin, I pray that the path we tread will never see us become enemies. As we both know, the path to ruin is paved with good intentions. My Emperor discovered that ten millennia ago. I fear your people are due for it as well. I just hope it will not see a good man like you taken from this galaxy.”

“I fear the same” spoke Cinnjin, “I’ve taken… "steps” to see that it doesn't. Until we meet again, Alrik.“ With those final words Cinnjin reignited his retros and shot into the air. His departure shaking the ground he once stood upon, the blue haze of his jumpack becoming ever dimmer as he rose up into the stratosphere.  

Chapter 2: New Age Diplomacy M41.109

Alrik stared through the glass of his flagship The Iron Storm. Down below were the burning remains of the Storm Templars home world Valencia. The day had come for Ahriman’s revenge. Though it had been many centuries ago, back when Lanius Pathiel had walked among their once proud halls and fought alongside the greatest of his chapter’s heroes. Today was a tragedy in the history of the Storm Templars, but one the Storm Templars will recover. Until the time for revenge is right, however, the Storm Templars must disappear, to give their enemy a false sense of security. “All ships, lock onto our warp jump point. We make for the Eastern Fringe. We have allies there that will show us hospitality. All hands, prepare for Warp.” Grand Vicar Remuldus stepped up behind Alrik, a puzzled expression on his otherwise stone-like face. “Grand Master, surely you don’t mean to barter with Cinnjin. Regardless of whether he is an ally, the wider Imperium would see this as…” Alrik raised a hand sharply, cutting his High Vicar. “Our people need a home, Remuldus, and our chapter needs a place to bury or dead. Cinnjin has offered us a home, and I intend to take him up on it. You know as well as I that he is an honorable man and a friend of our chapter,” Alrik turned to look at his friend, a long red scar running diagonally down his face, “and if we are to have our revenge for those that died down there, and for the stain on our chapter’s history, we must become like ghosts. What better way than to hide where not even Ahriman would think to look. Trust in me, Remuldus.” Remuldus stood emotionless, his face set. Suddenly he gave a sigh before look Alrik in the eye with a smile. “Once more my friend, you have proven yourself. I see your wisdom and logic in this course. May the Emperor guide our actions as he has done before, and let us go to our esteemed friend.” Alrik and Remuldus clasped gauntlets in a sign of mutual respect and kinship. Alrik turned to look our the view port. “All ships, initiate warp jump on my mark…..mark. With that, a series of over 30 warp rifts opened as the fleet made its jump to Tau space, bound for a friend they had not seen in years. A faint mechanical whining sound from within the suspended suit, chem injectors and nutritional drips retracted back into their inactive positions, Cinnjin woke from a dreamless sleep, something he had become accustomed to in his age. At least it took an edge off the fatigue, and the infernal nagging of the water caste. He did not wake to the usual hum of busy drones tending to battle damage or the flicker of his inbox prompting him within his heads up display but a wailing siren. “Ambush!” he thought lurching upright, tearing the still unattached wires and tubes from the walls and various equipment that allowed him brief rest. “Status report, Por’O!” he screamed into his communicator. “We’ve got jump readings off our starboard side, I’ve scrambled the fighters but they’ve caught us at port. They’re transmitting an unknown signal through the rift, can decipher it!” the Por”O replied. Cinnjin caught a faint flashing in his peripheral vision, a tiny screen flicked on and off as it read out its message. “Stormborn” “Recall the Fighters!” He spoke, with a taste of worry on his voice. “Get the EMT on the bridge and clear a landing zone upon the planet's surface, today is about to be a very dark one, and I refuse to let it dim any more.” “But Shas’O, it could be an ambush or a-” “Do as I say Ki’neth, trust in me.” Cinnjin cut the Por’O off, his voice adding a palpable calm to the situation. “Y-yes, Shas’O.” Just then the void tore open to birth a dozen vivid swirling holes, spears of silver and steel pierced the veil into T’au space, each one an intricate maze of spires and stunning stained glass sanctuaries depicting the heroics of heros long past, each one a grey reminder of the power of imperial might and the solemn reminder of engenuity long lost to time and tragedy. A few entered real space in ragged condition, their might hulls porus with shell holes torn to ragged ribbons by the lashing tendris of ordinance powerful enough to end trillions of lives in seconds. Cinnjin saw this, his mechanical fist clenching into a vacuum tight grip, it was the first time he felt rage in a very, very long time, the only calm in his mind came when he saw the flagship, its colossal silver hull ornately detailed and etched into swerling branches of silver and marble, its weathered prow still carried the remains of enemy vessels strewn across its titanic width. It sat protectively at the head of the fleet, like a lioness guarding her cubs. Now all Cinnjin felt was sadness, sadness and a hint of hope. He was sad that they had to come, but glad that they did. What would follow would need to be a time of rebuilding and trust, the Storm Templars have shown their true face, they need help, and now it was the T’au’s turn to be what the universe had been missing for fourty thousand years, kind. Alrik stood straight as he let his personal serfs attach his artificer armor to his neuroports. He had intended to come in his terminator armor, but Ahriman had seen it torn to ribbons. He stared at the remains of his once glorious axe, a relic of his friend, now shattered at the hilt. Alrik supposed now was the time for it to return to its old master, as well as his shield. When the Serfs returned with his new relic blade, he could scarcely believe what he beheld. A long polearm, a gigantic spear wreathed in symbols of lightning and the symbol of justice: The Hammer. His personal artificer never ceased to amaze. “Alrik, my friend, it is time to meet with Cinnjin, before his men get too restless.” Remuldus walked in before giving a low whistle. “Very fitting, I would say. Your weapon matches too. You look more like a sentinel.” “I embody that role. I am a sentinel to our chapter just as we are sentinels to our people. I agree with you friend. What is the Grand Paragon doing?” “Currently tending to his Paragons and the needs of our people. Should I recall him?” “Negative. We shall handle this. I think we need everyone we can get. Come lets meet our friend.” The Command Suit strode down the pristine halls towards the airlock trailed by a neat formation of fire warriors, each of their helms a pitch black, their pauldrons bearing the personal markings of their commander. Two warriors on either flank of the formation held a banner, one bearing the Iconography of the Storm Templars chapter as the contingent remembered it, and the other bearing a simple T’au symbol. Behind them proceeded numerous medical teams, unsure what the condition of their allies was they prepared for the worst. This was the same across the dozens of T’au ships rising to meet the sizably larger imperial vessels, the only one coming close to matching their size was the Flagship Drakken a prototype vessel with a massive centered railgun that bisects the ship right down to the picketed prow, a piece of equipment the T’au learn to fear from the Damocles Crusade adapted to meet their needs. “Wait to hail them before boarding, once we receive that it is indeed them, we will proceed” Cinnjin spoke across his fleet via intercom. “This is not an exercise in force, but compassion, this is where we prove we are different. Be kind my fellow crewman, be kind.” With that Cinnjin received the all clear, the airlock clicked and puffed oxygen visibly through its vents before opening. “Hello, old friend.” Alrik stood at the airlock as it opened, his silver and gold suit shimmering in the passageway lights. His spear was mag-locked to his back, a sign of respect and peace to his old friend. Once the airlock opened, he looked up at the battle suit, the now dull red scar very visible across his face. “Hello, Cinnjin. I wish this were on a better occasion but I must take you up on your offer. Our home system has been razed and our home world destroyed.” Alrik stepped aside to show his wounded men and the many civilians that waited in the hangar. “Many of our apothecary's were killed in the fighting, but we were able to recover as many as we could.” Cinnjin stepped aside, and his retinue followed in perfect sync to allow the medical crews aboard. “Your people are welcome here on Tash’var, and you are permitted to build upon orbiting moons to create a new “Chapter Monastery” as you call it. Shame really, I always hoped to see the Stormhold.” Cinnjin spoke, his tone serious with a hint of grief. “You have my utmost condolences. However I believe the grieving will have to wait unit things get settled.” Cinnjin then gestured down the hallway. “Shall we make room for the wounded, we should move around the ship so we can better talk without remaining ourselves an obstacle.” “I can guarantee that it would have been a sight for you, Cinnjin. I agree. If you would follow Remuldus and me, we can talk in my personal chambers” Alrik turned slowly before stepping off in a slow march, keeping his head forward, never letting his eyes wander. They walked down silver and marble halls, etchings depicting heroes of eons past. Here and there, picts displaying heroes in terminator armor holding off hordes of orks and traitors. Some depict massive combats with the Eldar. There is only one that depicts a dreadnought, its fist raised high, ready to crush a Tau battle suit. Cinnjin followed Alrik down the weathered hall of the flagship, wounded lining the walls on either side. They passed underneath gothic arches and past ancient statues. Cinnjin couldn’t help but feel the worried eyes of imperial crewmen eyeing his every move, he didn’t exactly blend into his surroundings. “Worry not about how they feel Cinnjin. They are hurt and scared. They will understand in time.” Alrik stated without looking. The group came upon two ornate blast doors. Placing his hand upon a pad beside them, Alrik opened the doors to his chambers. The main room was a rather modest hosting room, filled with furniture to sit upon. Lining the walls were shelves containing books and terminals with data streaming across them. Alrik’s personal serfs came forward before kneeling before him. “How may we serve you, Grandmaster” they spoke in unison, no questions asked about Cinnjin and his retinue. “Please, gather some tea for those that can drink, and whatever our friend Cinnjin here is able to have that we may be able to provide” “I thank you for your hospitality.” Cinnjin spoke, moving around the humble chamber briefly admiring the smell of burning incense. “Your chapter is welcome here, Alrik. The moon of Il'cea has land that is yours to govern. Save you defend it and its people. A condition I know you have little issue with.” “If there is anything specific you need we will attempt to accommodate you.” Cinnjin said turning to face Alrik. “I would like to ask of I could borrow some of your stealth teams. Despite their expertise in stealth operations, my fourth company was decimated trying to fight our traitorous cousins. We need to train our scouts going to that company.” Alrik turned towards Cinnjin. “We also need help with construction and possible terraforming. To being anymore than my people would be to invite war upon your cadre unless you were to join in an alliance. Like Commander Farsight did” “We would be honored to instruct your men, my kind are most reasonable when it comes to these things, it will not be difficult to sway things to better suit you. We’d even be willing to share equipment given time.” Cinnjin gestured towards the nearest of his bodyguard, the comparatively small warrior stepped forward, placing a disc shaped object upon the table. “A gift to soothe these difficult times, it is a shield generator, same make and design as mine, however more fitting to your “aesthetic”. The shield bore a simple design, not more than a simple disc with rivets dotting its circumference, and a single word etched in low gothic centred upon its crest. It read “Virtue”. “I saw it a fitting gift come our next meeting, albeit I had hoped to present it to you under better circumstances.” Alrik picked up the device and attached it to his shoulder. He could see the device shimmer as it dispersed the energy field around him, melding itself with his armor’s built in shield. He nodded approvingly. “A fine gift, one I am happy to receive, regardless of circumstances.” Alrik turned looked at Cinnjin. “In exchange, if your people are so inclined, we can teach your men further in the ways of melee combat. I unfortunately don’t know how much our technology would ban of use to you” That would be most appreciated, in time I’m sure your men would be willing to share with us your knowledge, though I do have to keep an air of ignorance about the truth regarding your technical equipment, the Ethereal caste still think me ignorant to the reality of the “warp” as you call it. They must be given time to better realize its complications, lest I suffer the wrath of knowing such a dangerous knowledge. A bit ironic don't you think?“ Cinnjin laughed. “All you must do now is allow us to help you, you are in good hands.” “Your men are welcome aboard our ships. They will be escorted by my men to keep any descendants in line. I must make a further ask that no mention of the Greater Good be made. We have our own version of which works for our people. I do not wish to cause any complications in our relationship as it stands. I do hope you understand.” "Understood, though you were already a whole coming together to work towards something greater, you already fight for a greater good, just one separate to my own. I however will instruct the more zealous of my crew to hold their tongues when it comes to Ideologies.” Cinnjin the paced over towards the stained glass window, a giant figure depicted in shining golden armor. “I think he may be proud, Alrik, I know little of your Emperor but if he is half the man you are he’d be proud, of you, of what you stand for.” "He was the most powerful man in the galaxy. Could persuade entire armies to lay down their weapons without a single shot being fired. Could mend machines with but a single touch and obliterate an enemy without a single motion being made. He was the epitome of what man could become. Now he is nought but a skeleton upon a failing throne. Few realize what he gave up to save his Imperium from the claws of the Chaos gods and their traitorous followers. He burned his own beloved sons soul from existence, so that he may never be brought back into being. In doing so, he sacrificed his immortality. He was a god among men, a true god. He merely wished to see mankind rule the stars, not alone, but the dominant species. I believe he would have attempted to have your Empire join the fold, if not ally with us. I merely wish to see a part of his vision come true.” "He did not know us, he knew a cold galexy that knew no warmth, I’m sure he could see the value of kind not his own given better times.” Cinnjin then turned away from the everwatching gaze of the imparator prime towards Remaldus. “I presume this to be your second? I wish to become acquainted with you, space marine.” Kindly spoke Cinnjin, extending a hand in a formal human gesture of trust. Remuldus looked at the hand before slowly taking it in his own. "I am Premier Vicar Remuldus Teuton. I am what other space marines call the High Chaplain of my chapter. I lead my brothers in prayer before, during, and after battle and in times of peace. However I am not his second. I am merely his spiritual counsel. Unfortunately, his second is seeing to his men. The first company was the rearguard in our retreat from our sacred home and took heavy casualties.” “It's a pleasure all the same, Remuldus, I look forward to hearing what you have to say, a holy mind is strongest in times of darkness.” Cinnjin praised, gently shaking Remuldus’ hand and taking note of the weathered and battered skull the Chaplin wore, the flickering of candle light highlighting the cracks lining the faceplate. “Now If you’ll allow me, I’d like to speak to you, Alrik, and perhaps a High Paragon, if one so much as remains after such a tragedy. I have a matter I’d like to discuss, in private.” Alrik went over to a command console. “Remuldus, go ahead and head to the chapel. I think now would be a good time for one of your sermons.” Alrik stated as he typed into the console. “Aye, Grand Master. As you command” Remuldus turned and walked out of Alrik’s chambers, his black armor melding with the shadows around him. “Randrid to the Grand Master’s chambers please, Randrid to the Grand Master’s chambers” Alrik called over the ship vox before shutting off his link. “So, what did you need to discuss, old friend?” “I need to share some grim news my own, we’ve managed to create a means of traversing the Damocles Gulf, after the tragedy of our fourth sphere expansion a wormhole opened in the silent zone, a path of void left by Hive Fleet Gorgon.” “We received a distress call through it, the same frequency as our missing expansion built a nexus of thousands of star forts around it and dove into it find our lost friends, this succeeded, however we drew a putrid ire.” “The sickly legions of the Death Guard appeared from deep space in numbers never seen before, a million fronts opened in an instant and the slaughter of millions took place, millions of lives that I am failing to save. They push ever closer to the nexus, and if they breach it the heart of our empire will be exposed to the destructive forces of chaos. I will not ask you to fight for us, for me, but the Empire is fighting a losing battle, and we need all the help we can get.” “I only wish to discuss such a thing in the presence of your Paragon due to the horrid eldritch powers at be, his expertise may be of some use, or at the very least he shield my words from the prying eyes of the warp.” The blast doors opened before the terminator armored figure of Randrid as he stepped through. “You have need of me, Grandmaster?” Randrid questioned, giving a momentary glance towards Cinnjin. “Yes High Paragon. Our friend here has told me that the forces of the Death Guard have launched a full-scale attack upon their Empire. He is fighting a losing battle. While I won’t necessarily say that he isn’t asking for our help militarily, he is asking for counsel about how best he can face this threat. Also, Cinnjin, this room is psychically shielded from all but Randrid here.” Alrik started with a hint of pride. “I see. Indeed, Cinnjin, you face an uphill battle if you face the Death Guard. Veterans one and all, and cursed by Nurgle to be nigh unstoppable. Depends on who leads this force, that will answer what your best course of action is. Truthfully though, the Death Guard are near peerless in psychological warfare, now more than ever. Your best chance is to kill any and all psykers, known to them as Plaguecasters. The rest would be to concentrate as much heavy firepower on any vehicles and heavy infantry they bring. Create kill zones to trap any light infantry or their regular troops. Finally, whatever you do, do not engage in melee with any cultists that look more like the undead than people. Those are called Poxwalkers. Any man they kill will rise and join their ranks.” “Thank you for sharing such wisdom.” Cinnjin said bowing slightly. “I’ll be sure to share such knowledge with my colleagues, as well as the good you’ve done for us.” “I would also like your paragon to study one of our drones taken from such a conflict, your Imperium shuns such thinking machines due to their susceptibility to dark influence, however we suffer not even the tiniest disobedience with our designs, the philosophy of our kind engrained within every fiber of their being, even to the point where they exhibit a sentience of not corruption but a desire to continue their intended task, even doing so after suffering such damage that they should fesable be incapable of doing so. Adapting some portions of our design may lead to a decrease in the creation of servators.” “Sometimes I think they may have souls their very own.” Alrik and Randrid looked at each other before chuckling. “My friend, we shun the use of fully autonomous AI, free thinking machines, for a reason. As long as the AI is controlled, we do not mind whatsoever. The reason we use servitors is because they are either criminals where even the best of rehabilitation programs would fail to turn results or trainees who have failed their trials and are too maimed to be returned. We take no pleasure in doing so, but regular humans can only do so much. Though you may notice we have many more serfs then you think” Just as Alrik makes this statement, his personal serfs return with drinks, passing them out to everyone. “Indeed, the war with the Men of Iron brought about the end of the first Empire of Man, with their reliance on technology being the catalyst. It is okay to use technology to benefit, but there is a line between benefit, and a crutch” Randrid spoke before sipping his tea. “However, we can study your drones combat footage and tell you the best course of action about how best to deal with them, if only to give your people more time to consolidate and hold. I will say, your builder drones are of interest” “You must think me a fool.” Cinnjin said with a sigh. “I know the risks, our drones are no crutch, but partner’s. The notion I was attempting to make clear is that in time your stock of servators may dwindle and although your chapter will still be capable it may be hindered without a workforce.” “And what causes the peculiar interest in our construction equipment?” Cinnjin said, motioning for his bodyguard to relax. “How quickly they work, their ability to continuously build. As it stands, we have no enginseers or techpriests to build our ships and knowing them, they would take forever. We meant no offense to you or your technology. Specifically you, but we have seen many other septs rely almost entirely on their technology solely.” Alrik apologized. “Nor did I mean any offense.” Randrid stated, locking eyes with Alrik for a moment. “Me and Alrik seem to agree on one thing. We will give you our full support to hold back the tide. We take care of our allies.” “We hope to do the same.” Cinnjin spoke kindly. In most cases septs attacked are in development, a phase of vulnerability where the infrastructure for a "living” workforce has not yet been implemented. I can see where your misconceptions come from.“ "If you provide the blueprint we will be happy to build you most anything, lest it require too much material at that time. The defense of the Empire comes first and the Ethereals only trust you with so much requisition, a stance I have worked to remove since our last meeting.” We can build you more than just a few cruisers if that's what you are asking.“ A drone then Calmly buzzed into the room, its eye lense staring curiously at Alrik. With a beep it drew back towards Cinnjin. "This drone will be the connection between you and me if we aren’t face to face.” Cinnjin said fondly, physically greeting the drone by placing a hand utop it. "Very well my friend.” Alrik tapped into his coms. “I need a servo skull to my quarters with blueprints for a strike cruiser.” Within moments a servo-skull floats in from a vent and displays the blueprints in front of Cinnjin. Cinnjin waves his hand over the holo-pict, designating the blueprint as vital information to his system, a faint but rapid click can be heard as his focal lens take even the tiniest the details with sharp precision. “I’ll upload this to my ships memory banks for data-transfer once we reach a dry dock, I am most impressed with your chapters personal changes from what is usually the standard for Astartes navy ships.” he praised. With a final click he returned his focus to Alrik. “I believe these talks have been fruitful. Once the entirety of your fleet is void worthy we’ll guide you to our space docks for further replenishment of provisions, then we will direct you to your new residence. Now if you’ll excuse me I must make my way back to my ship before they worry too much, our men aren’t as fond of each other as we seem to be, something that I hope to change yes?  Regardless it was a pleasure meeting you Randrid, you as well Alrik. Oh. Don’t forget to contact me immediately if you need anything, you are our guests after all. ” With those final words Cinnjin motioned his retinue to return to his ship, all silently standing and returning to formation behind their commander. Whether they were more relaxed after their ordeal or even nervous to begin with could only be guessed at. “Until I see you next, old friend.”

The years went by quickly, the Storm Templars rebuilt their fortress monastery with the help of the Tau builder drones. The fleet of the Storm Templars grew rapidly, its ships being completed in the spans of months rather than years. A trade route was established, with markers being placed to establish a route that would take any Imperial forces away from Tau planets. Given time, the Storm Templars returned to their former glory.

“Brothers, serfs, now is the time we return to the fold of the universe. We shall show our true might, not just to our friend Cinjinn, but to the wider Imperium.” Alrik announced from his pulpit in the staging area. Pressing a button, a hologram appeared in the air for all to see. “This planet is currently under protection from Cinjinn, and being attacked by the Death Guard. We shall through our full might into this. We shall remind them why we are the Emperor’s Storm. Board your transports, make ready for war. For the Emperor! For Mankind!” This battle cry was repeated in unison from over a million voices. Armored feet marched in lockstep to thunderhawks and stormbirds. Fighters took off to dock with their respective ships. Tanks filled into clamps underneath specialized thunderhawk transports. Death comes for the those that claim to be deathless.