#who has been given a little more sand in the hourglass because shes still useful and even though

[valtsv]

i keep thinking about digital ghosts. or maybe digital hauntings would be a better term. the final messages shared between you and someone you no longer speak to, for whatever reason. a webpage, or blog post, or inactive profile on a social media forum that you still return to sometimes, no longer even hoping for something to have changed, just to remember, like returning to a grave year after year. video and audio recordings of people who've left your life that you play back over and over until the tape wears out. in the realm of the more fantastical, maybe a hologram that bears their likeness but only a pale, shallow imitation of their complexity, their personality, or an AI or other imperfect replica built on a lifetime of data collected from them that only reinforces their absence but is all you have left to remember (or replace until you forget the difference) them by. all these records that they existed that will inevitably only last as long as the technology that supports them takes to become obsolete, or the data corrupts and begins to break down, or the archives storing it are no longer hosted anywhere. you haven't cheated death, or the grief that comes with losing someone. you've just prolonged it.

[theflyingfeeling]

I don't know if any of you remember but almost three years ago I wrote some AU fics as a part of an ask game and recently I reread this Fairytale(ish) AU one and one particular detail of it always intirgued me and I've wanted to expand that thought so much, and now I finally did!!

it's Joonas/Joel (as opposed to the Niko/Olli of the original story), and I do recommend you (re)read that^ one before reading this new installment to the AU, not necessarily because it has a whole lot to do with the original fic, but more to... put you in the right mood, I guess? ✨

~

Once upon a time in a faraway land in the cold, cold north, there was a boy who loved the night sky. 

"They're our home away from home", his mother had once told him when they had watched the stars together. “When we die, we choose one and settle down for a while, but only until our loved ones arrive there too and we can cross the border together.”

"Will you go live in one too?" Joel had asked. They never talked about it, not with the exact words at least, but Joel had known her time was near, from the way her voice was growing weaker by each day that passed, and from how she needed Joel's help with unlocking and opening the old, heavy door of their hut (“it used to be the other way around, you know”, she'd laugh and Joel would laugh too, just to show her how brave he was).

"I will, and I'll wait for you there", she had reassured her son, as if she had sensed that was what Joel would have wanted to know next.

"But how will I know which one is yours?" little Joel had wondered. His mother had appeared to be thinking for a while, but when she had spoken again, there had been no hesitation in her voice.

"When it's your time, although it's not going to be in a very long while", (she had said this to console him, Joel knew, but at that moment it had only made him curl up even tighter to her side), "a northern light will appear to guide you the right way. It will be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and–"

"Even more beautiful than the one we saw last Winter Solstice? The one with lots of purple and pink and blue?" Joel had to make sure, because he had never seen a more gorgeous sight than the one from that particular night; even over a year later, he had still been dreaming about it and found all the other northern lights they had seen since then ordinary in comparison.

"Yes, at least ten times as beautiful as that one. You'll know it when you see it, and it'll know where to find you, too, so don't you worry, Joel. It'll all be alright."

She had repeated those words (it'll all be alright) when her hand had finally slipped from Joel's as her soul had left her body some six months after that conversation and some ten years from this moment when Joel found himself sitting on a bed again, staring out the window, waiting for something to happen.

He loved the night sky, with or without Aurora Borealis, because how could he not? That was where his mother was, his beloved mother, who had been his everything, and still was, all this time after the sand in her hourglass ran out. That was where his nana was as well, his mother had promised him, even though Joel wasn't sure he'd recognize her, having been only one year and two months old when she had passed, after which he and his mother had been left all alone in the cold, dark world.

(He had tried to ask if his father would be there too, waiting for them in one of those twinkling celestial bodies, but she had never given him an actual answer. "Your father loves you so much" was all that had ever been said on the matter, so Joel never asked to know more, afraid it would have had her eyes filled with more tears.)

So when his mother had passed, Joel had been left more alone than he had ever been in his life, in a world that was even colder, even darker than it had ever been before. On her deathbed, his mother had made Joel promise that he'd wait for this special northern light to come and fetch him, had insisted on it as if it was something really important to her, so Joel was keen on keeping his promise, even though he had been tempted to go look for the northern light himself, let's say, in the bottom of The Black Lake, for example.

He had stood there countless times, in fact, on the pier of the lake and stared into its depths, wondering how long it would take for him to no longer feel the coldness of the water. He had admired the reflection of the dark woods surrounding it, asking them if they'd look as comforting from the other side of the surface. Once he'd made up his mind about it, he'd turn around and walk back home, trembling by the time he’d reach the door.

One of those times, he had stood on the pier for hours, or so it had felt like, watching as snowflakes had softly fallen on the still surface. It had been quite early for first snow that year, so the lake had still been free of ice, and Joel couldn't help but imagine how extraordinary, how soothing it must be, to witness the ice forming from below and have it trap you in the frozen waves forever.

He had made up his mind about it then too, only that time he didn't turn to walk back home, at least not right away. If he had, he had probably run into the person whose blond-haired reflection had then appeared next to his own on the surface of the lake, among the melting snowflakes.

This was where Joel's story started anew: 

Once upon a time in a faraway land in the cold, cold north, there was a boy who loved another boy.

And Joonas wasn't just any boy; he was a boy made of light, as if the sun beamed literally out of him and left a trail of sparkles everywhere he went, even reaching as far as the darkest corners of Joel's rooms and kept them lighted even when Joonas was not there. Joonas saw tiny miracles everywhere he went, and for some strange reason Joel was lucky enough to be the person he shared them with ever since they had made friends that day. He felt warmth where Joel only felt coldness and helped Joel feel it too, wrapping him in it; he heard birdsong where Joel heard emptiness, the kind that terrified Joel to the bone until Joonas would take his hand and ground him, showing him how to focus so he could hear it too; he saw hope where Joel saw nothing but desolation and pulled Joel back from it, back to the surface where Joel could breathe again.

On so many days, Joel was breathing only thanks to Joonas.

Some other days, when Joonas the fisherman's son had been helping out his father with preparing trout and burbot for the court, the air Joel was breathing wasn't quite so pleasant, but on second thought, those may have been Joel's favourite days, because he knew that later that evening they would bathe together and use the rose soap handcrafted by Joonas' mother for exactly such occasions. Ever since his mother's last embrace, Joel had never felt as warm and loved as he felt when sitting in the bathtub with Joonas in his arms, aimlessly chatting about how the day had passed for them and listening to Joonas' anecdotes about the summer before and how the thorns of his mother's rose bush had pestered him when he had been collecting rose petals for his mother's soap.

Such was the warmth he felt also when sharing his bed with Joonas, in the hut that was their own as of last summer. Joel hated to abandon the warmth, but he could never forgive himself if tonight was finally the night that the northern light his mother had spoken of would come for him and he'd sleep through it, even if she had given Joel her word that it would find him no matter what, “even in your sleep, yes.”

Maybe that was what Joel was most afraid of: that it would happen without him even knowing it. As a child, he had been obsessed about actually seeing the phenomenon with his own eyes. As of late, he had other reasons to not leave this world so abruptly.

His feet hung from the edge of the bed as he stared out the window, at the sleeping village in front of him. All the houses were dark, but still Joel wondered if anyone else was awake as he was, waiting for northern lights to appear in the sky to accompany them on their way to the other side. Or perhaps they had been given other instructions, a right-timed comet or maybe a dead branch of a mountain birch pointing them to the right star, helping them reunite with a long-gone loved one. These were the thoughts Joel amused himself with to pass the time, until he saw something green approach from behind a fell.

It didn't take long for Joel to see that this, like all the other northern lights he had seen since that one Winter Solstice, was not the one his mother had spoken of. Although beautiful in its own, simple way, it was as typical a northern light as it could be, with merely a couple of different shades of green and yellow, whereas some of the more impressive ones Joel had witnessed had filled the dark sky with almost every colour Joel could imagine. Still, he couldn't take his eyes from it, and sat down on the floor for a better view above the trees and rooftops.

He expected it to wash over the village in a couple of minutes, as northern lights tended to do at this time of the year, but when almost half an hour had passed and the sky was still blazing green, he poked Joonas' feet under the blanket.

Joonas moaned but opened his eyes. They weren’t sleepy as they often did if he was woken up prematurely, Joel noticed.

"Get up, Joonas, you don't want to miss this."

As if boneless, Joonas slumped next to Joel on the floor and wrapped a blanket around them.

"Oh, wow," Joonas sighed as soon as his eyes focused on the lights. "That is stunning. Look at how they’re dancing." He wiggled himself into Joel's armpit and rested his head on Joel's shoulder. Joel smiled, for never before meeting Joonas had he imagined the northern lights could dance. Looking at them the way Joonas must have been looking, it was clear as day they actually were dancing.

Often, when Joel had been staring at the sky, waiting for his northern light to appear, he had felt awfully lonely. That was the point, Joel had assumed; that when he was at his loneliest, his mother would finally come for him. Then Joonas had entered his life, and those feelings had been few and far between – although never completely gone – and he was grateful for the company, even those nights when Joonas grew tired of waiting with him and fell asleep before the lights would appear, if they ever did. Other nights, Joonas seemed as anxious as Joel was to find out if tonight would be the night.

(Joel had never planned to tell Joonas, but he hadn't known how to keep it a secret either when Joonas had once asked him why he stayed awake most nights, looking out the window as if waiting for something or someone.)

"This isn't it either, though, is it?" Joonas asked him now, with a voice that was a mix of sympathy and relief. “This isn’t your mother showing you the way?” Joel added in his mind.

"No," Joel confirmed, and the strangest thing was, even he felt relief. Many nights he had cried into the night, begging for his mother to come and get him already because he couldn't bear facing another sunrise without her. These days, he wasn't quite as disappointed about it anymore.

"Good," Joonas agreed with what Joel hadn't even said out loud. "That means I get to keep you for at least one more day."

Joel felt the smile on Joonas' lips when they left a quick kiss to the side of his neck before Joonas laid his head on Joel's shoulder again.

Times like these, Joel couldn't help but wonder if this was why his mother had made him promise he'd be a good boy and wait patiently until he'd see those special northern lights she would send for him; if she had known her son's impulsive mind and his stubborn heart and was afraid he might try and follow her to the darkness persistently, despite her warnings.

"And this is important, Joel, because if you don't wait until you see those lights, you won't find the right star and we'll never see each other again."

So Joel had waited, and he was going to wait until the day would come. While he did, he might as well lean against the boy next to him and admire the night sky, just for the joy of it.

"Back to bed now?" Joonas' voice was muffled by the blanket he was pulling even closer to himself. The floor was as freezing as the surface of The Black Lake at this time of the year, and Joel knew Joonas hated being cold.

Not so very long ago, Joel would have wanted to stay up all night, just in case. Now, he saw no need for that.

"Let's go," he whispered and crawled back in the sheets, back into the warmth, back into light where Joonas already waited for him. 

[hournites]

A lot of ways to love you (teach me through your eyes)

Hournite Week Day 7: Love Languages 

Summary: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Gifts, Quality Time, Touch. Or, Rick, Beth, and their many languages of love.

Thank you for coming along on this first HN week journey with me! ❤️

~.~

Words of Affirmation

  Beth found Rick by himself at the corner of their shared history class, carving his initials into the desk. She didn’t understand why he’d put himself there. It was like a brooding corner to be miserable. 

  “Hey,” she said, taking the seat in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?” 

  Rick dug deeper to splinter the wood. “They think I cheated on my chem test.” 

  Without asking, Beth unzipped Rick’s bag to pull out the test. Rick let her. 

  She gaped at him as she scanned over the F and comments from the teacher. He always treated Beth kindly when they passed in the halls, but she never actually had Mr. Geralds. Chemistry wasn’t her strong suit like Rick, but there wasn’t a doubt that she’d given some of the same answers with a great grade from the other science teacher. “Are you serious? That’s crazy. You’re going to contest that, right?”

  “You’re not going to even ask if I did?” 

  “I know you didn’t, you’re too smart.” 

  “I used to steal shit,” he muttered under his breath and dropped his pencil. “Haven’t heard you say I’m too smart for that.” 

  Beth slipped his test into her folder to return to at a later time, right now focusing on Rick. 

  “Hey, that’s not fair.” When Rick wouldn’t meet her eyes, she leaned in closer. “Look at me.” 

  Rick did. 

  “You know you deserved a good grade. And you’ve done what you did to get by.” She glanced at the vandalism briefly. “There are people here who know you’re better than what the majority of the town thinks.” She lowered her voice to keep her next words between them. “You’re a hero. You’ve helped save everyone in this town. So show them who you really are.” 

  She smiled when he let out a small huff, she knew he was listening. “I’ll go to the principal’s office with you, and we can get Pat to vouch for us. We both know that for Chem you should be in AP.” 

  “It’s really not that big of a deal,” he lied, shifting uncomfortably from all her nice words. 

  “If it weren’t a big deal, you wouldn’t have done that.” She pointed at the roughened mess he’d made of the school desk. “I know you better than you think.” 

  Act of Service 

  “Has anyone seen Beth?” 

  Rick walked around the main area of Pat’s cabin. It was after 2 AM. Barbara and Jennie were making late-night comfort food in the kitchen. Pat was manning the first aid station, tending to Mike, Jakeem and Yolanda’s injuries from Sportsmaster. Courtney was bonding or something with the staff in some strange ritual she had after a life-threatening mission. Rick just stepped out of the shower, washing the grime from his arms and face. 

  “She’s upstairs, I think!” Yolanda called, holding her ribs from her seat on top of the table. Rick shook his head when Pat admonished her not to yell. Rick made it up the stairs two at a time, stopping when he found Beth with her packed school bag on the floor in front of the couch. She was searching through papers, openly crying. She hadn’t even taken her cape off yet. 

  Rick crouched down beside her. “Hey,” he said softly. She looked utterly exhausted. “Are you okay? You said you didn’t get hurt.” 

“I’m not hurt.” She hiccuped, flipping through more papers, a little hysterical. It looked like it was for school. “I can’t find my math assignment. It’s due tomorrow morning.”

  “Did you finish it?” he asked. 

  “I don’t remember.” She wiped at her tears as she cried harder. “I might’ve left it at home, I can’t find it. I’m too tired, I can’t think.” 

  “Yeah,” Rick agreed. His bones were weary but he had always felt the least affected after battling it out with the ISA. He suffered plenty of superficial cuts and bruises, but he hardly felt them because his hourglass really protected him. He couldn’t imagine the hit the night must’ve taken on Beth’s body. Pat was going to be driving them back to main Blue Valley at 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning to get them back to school. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a random Wednesday. It’s not like they had a choice. 

  “Did you ask Chuck?” 

  “No.” Her lip wobbled, face contorting into another sob. Rick regretted asking. It was clear she was far too drained. It would’ve been simple to have asked Chuck to scan her bag to find out, but she hadn’t thought of it. 

  “Okay, okay,” Rick said. “Go to bed. You’re not going to be able to do the homework now even if you found it.” Rick got up to get to the top of the stairs, calling down for Barbara. 

  When he returned, he helped her up and managed to get her to let go of her school bag. “We’ll look for it before we leave, okay?” Rick ran a hand through his damp hair, his own eyelids started to droop. “I promise you’ll get it done before school.” 

  Barb joined them upstairs and coaxed Beth to change out of her suit, leading her downstairs with her regular clothes and a promise of a warm bed and tea. 

  Rick followed to grab Chuck when Beth wasn’t looking, turning him on once alone to help identify if this alleged math homework was even in her bag. Together they found what she was talking about. Ten problems of pre-calc. She was right. It was rushed and not done. 

  Rick sighed, tucking it under his arm. He said goodnight to the rest and retired to his assigned room. He turned on the lamp on the desk where he first solved the code of his father’s journal, spreading out the assignment and using Chuck as a calculator. It dawned on him an hour later as he rubbed at his tired eyes how he would be staying up all night to finish homework that wasn’t even his. 

  Gifts 

  Beth was immersed in her book when two hands landed on her collarbone. She looked down, touching the skin at the opening of her shirt when she felt the weight of something new at the base of her throat.

  “What’s this?”

  Rick murmured in her ear from behind. “An early birthday present.”

  She let out a soft gasp when he finished with the clasp. A tiny brass hourglass pendant with sand just like Hourman’s trickled steadily beside her rainbow pendant. 

  “Woah.” She glanced up at him. “You got me an hourglass?” She bit down on her lip, dread creeping into her mind when she realized this had to be expensive. She struggled to voice what she was feeling out loud, but Rick must’ve caught the complicated expression on her face. He smoothed his hand along the sleeve of her cardigan and reassured her the cost didn’t push him into any kind of financial ruin. 

  “Did you not realize I’ve been working for Pat before school? I had some spare cash. Trust me, there’s nothing better I’d spend my money on.” 

  The puzzle clicked into place. Beth had been meeting Rick at the Pit Stop every morning before school for what felt like months now. It made sense he was there to work on the cars. Beth felt her face heat up at his implicit soft-spoken confession. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper, still in awe. The necklace was beautiful and she felt fuzzy ever since his hands were on her neck. “I love it.”

  His eyes, usually hardened and defensive, skilled at warding off unwanted attention, now creased at the corners. Gentle, quiet, yearning, he watched her accept his gift. “I’m glad.”

  Impulsively she asked, “Could you unclasp the rainbow one?”

  Rick did. The chain pooled in her palm. She shook her head, pushing it to his chest. “You should have it.”

  His brows furrowed in response. “You want to give me your... rainbow necklace?”

  She flushed when he said it like that. She toyed with her new one, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “Well…” she said. “I have something of you, now you can have a symbol of me.”

  Rick let out a small laugh. Beth was pretty sure if this were anyone else he’d say it was stupid, so she couldn’t help the surge of pride when he nestled her necklace around his own neck. 

  “How does it look?” 

  It was actually twisted. She flattened it so it would look the way it was supposed to over the collar of his shirt. Rick didn’t complain, but it was bright and cheery and clashed with his entire self. Beth bit her lip, withholding another laugh, and took pity on him, changing her mind to tuck the necklace underneath. “Perfect now.” 

  “Beth, I hate to interrupt this moment but you will be late for school if you don’t leave the Pit Stop in the next five minutes.”

  Chuck broke them out of their weird double transfixion. They both found themselves smiling shyly at each other, neither truly wanting to move. 

  “Come on,” he said after another few moments of them smiling at each other without moving. “Put your bike in my trunk. I’ll drive you.”

  Quality Time

  When Rick stopped by at Beth’s locker, she was talking to Charity, a new close friend she made over the summer volunteering at the Blue Valley Community Centre. 

  “Hey,” Rick greeted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting for Beth to visit. 

  “Hey,” Charity said back. She swept her blonde bangs out of her face to continue their conversation. 

  “Charity had a great idea that we should enter for the sustainability case competition,” Beth filled in.  

  “We’re going to need at least a month to prepare. I was thinking we could meet Tuesdays and Thursdays after school?” 

  Rick stuck a hand in his pocket, sullen. Thursdays were their days, unofficially. Not that they’ve ever said so out loud, but with JSA training afternoons the rest of the week, Beth working on a case competition their days off basically meant not getting to see her. Which was fine. It happened. Rick just wishes it didn’t have to. 

  “I can’t on Thursdays,” Beth told her. She glanced up at Rick to give him a smile. He straightened up, meeting her gaze with obvious surprise. “Those are our nights.” 

  Charity paused, watching the two with curious eyes. 

  “We can cancel,” Rick found himself saying and actually meaning it. “You don’t have to stay on my account.” 

  Beth’s nose scrunched up as she shook her head, mind already made. “Nah. Sorry Charity, Thursday doesn’t work for me. Take out your schedule, maybe we have a shared free period somewhere.” 

  “Oh, yeah, sure! Okay!” 

  Rick ducked his head to hide his smile as Charity fished through her bag for her agenda.

  Touch 

  When Beth stumbled out of the cell she’d been bound in, she hadn’t realized just how long she’d been gone. She was hungry and exhausted and felt horrifically dirty in her soiled Dr. Mid-Nite suit, but then she got a glimpse of Hourman nearly pushing the others in his rush to get to her all she could feel was relief. 

  Rick cupped her face, eyes squeezed shut as he held her close, his thumbs brushed along her cheeks, under her dry eyes. She felt the buzz of adrenaline rushing through him just by being so near, but the way he touched her was gentle, so gentle.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered, a startling unfamiliar word to fall in succession like that, coming from Rick. His hands flew to the crown of her cowl, tugging it down to kiss her forehead again and again. “Thank you.” 

  I’m okay now, she tried to comfort him, though her words were choked, smothered out by the crushing weight of it all. He was crying as his lips brushed over her face. It wasn’t his stamina. The buzz, she felt. Rick was shaking. It hit her then, that maybe he wasn’t sure Beth was ever going to come back. Beth had scared him. He was scared.  

Beth vaulted with her tired, numb legs, reaching to wrap her arms around his neck. Her mind went calm for the first time since before they left home, muscles relaxing as she let Rick scoop her up. 

  She was safe. She was home.

Beth was loved. 

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, MORE BLOOD Vol. 12: Mukami Ruki [Another Story]

Original title: アナザーストーリー

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, More Blood Vol. 12 Mukami Ruki [Deluxe Edition]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Takahiro Sakurai

Translator’s note: I feel very much conflicted about this CD still. While I do kind of like how they took a different approach with the Another Story track and the way it ends, I still think Ruki went way too far in the main CD. It was interesting to see everything from his perspective too, although this means there’s a bunch of inner monologues in this and it’s Ruki so they’re quite long. I try to break up the paragraphs by describing what happens based on background sounds and such but this one just has a bunch of rambling lol. 

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

“Lately, she has been formidable. Even though she was always the type of girl to make the most foolish mistakes, to the point where one would wonder if she did it on purpose. She has not been getting scolded by me either. That does not bother me. Or at least, it shouldn’t bother me. So why do I feel so...restless?”

*Ding・dongー Ding・dong*

Ruki walks up to you in the inner courtyard.

( So that’s where she’s been...Look at her just casually watering the plants... No wonder she did not show up in the library. I assume she has completely forgotten about our meeting. )

“So this is where you’ve been.”

You flinch.

( Huh? What’s wrong? Why would she be so surprised just because I called out for her? Also...Under normal circumstances, I’d assume she would panic and spray water all over me with that hose she just so conveniently happens to be holding. Yet, she made the wise decision and turned off the water. )

“Oh well. I shall praise you for ceasing your actions as soon as you saw your Master approach. However, there should be something you have forgotten.”

You bring up the promise.

“Oh? So you do remember. Then you should have just hurried to the library.”

( Now this is new. I didn’t think a scatterbrain such as herself would have remembered our plan to meet up. No, if she remembered, she should have come to me straight away. Did she only just now remember? Even so, her behavior is off. Or am I simply overthinking things? )

*TIMESKIP*

( Once it starts boiling, the dressing will be complete. Which leaves just plating the salad. )

You enter the kitchen.

“...Hm? You’re already here? You almost resemble a dog or a cat rather than livestock, lured in by the scent like that. Let me tell you just in case, it is not feeding time just yet. Wait until I’m done preparing it.“

You nod and leave.

( Oh? She left without offering to help? I’m glad to see her so obedient, but then what did she come for in the first place? Usually she would insist on helping even if it’s more of a bother and either cut her finger or break one of the plates. Those are the kind of things she does. )

He turns off the stove.

“What is this feeling as if something is...off? Something about the way she’s been acting trips me up. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her make a blunder even once as of late. That isn’t something which should bother me, but I just can’t seem to get rid of this unsettling feeling in my chest. What has gotten into her...?”

*TIMESKIP*

Ruki enters the room

“We finally made it back. That was quite the disaster. ...Honestly, why do I have to wear the clothes she picked out for me? Well, I suppose she did not make a bad choice for once. I’ll add it to my collection of casual wear. That being said...Nothing happened today either.”

He takes a seat on the bed.

“How many days has it been since she stopped making mistakes? She won’t even show dangerous behavior. What kind of miracle is this? No, I do not mind that. I shouldn’t mind it. It basically means a huge pressure has been lifted off my shoulders. Then why do I feel so conflicted? Her suspicious behavior piques my interest, but even beyond that...”

( I felt as if something was lacking. Oh, I get it now. It all makes sense now. I have not gotten to taste her blood as of late, so I must feel unsatisfied. I am not the type of guy who easily becomes thirsty for blood, nor would I indulge in her without a good reason. However, with less opportunities to punish her, our time together automatically decreased as well. To be upset because of that, I must seem like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because his mother does not pay enough attention to him. It is obvious since when I have become so obsessed with her

...Since the moment I decided to betray the whole word and chose her, I must have already been enraptured by her. Harshly sucking her blood while restraining her movements was something which fulfilled my desire for dominance. It most definitely made me feel good. However, somewhere deep inside, I felt relieved when she accepted me without fighting back against it. At some point, I even began to cherish those moments where I would pierce my fangs through her skin. I must be quite the easy man as well. I always thought I was in charge, but I may have actually been the one wrapped around her little finger instead. (1) I cannot show myself to that man like this. No, I assume he is already well aware. )

Ruki suddeny raises his head.

“Hm...? That man? Speaking of which, that hourglass I gave her...I considered the possibility but could it be...? Even if she were to make some sort of mistake, if she rewinds time, she could do the same scenario over again. If she makes it so only she remembers, it would be easy to keep it hidden from me. I wanted to believe I was simply overthinking things, but now that I think about it with a clear mind, it really is suspicious...I’m sure that even someone as slow as herself would eventually get things right after two of three tries. If she has been using that hourglass to cover up her own mess-ups, then I have no other choice but to punish her for such a foolish act.”

( It became clear to me that I would have to set up a trap to find out the truth. ーー And if her actions were to be exposed, I would make sure to compensate for the lack of disciplining these past few days. I can already imagine her crying out. I probably should not feel proud for having such thoughts. However, this is not a bad situation. It may be somewhat shameless, but it seems like I am enjoying it quite a bit. To get to use her own blunders as an excuse to suck her blood, or knowing that no matter what I do, she will not get away from me. )

“I suppose I shall enjoy our time together for the first time in a while...Which may just turn out to be a hellish period for her.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Ding・dongー Ding・dong*

Ruki pulls back after sucking your blood.

“...Hah. Your blood tastes even sweeter than usual. By sucking it repeatedly, the flavor ripens, becoming richer, almost like wine. Or in other words, like a stew you kept on the stove for too long. If it simmers any longer, it might just burn. I suppose we could put it to the test. After all, no matter what happens to you, all we have to do is turn back time.”

You keep quiet.

“You can hear me, right? Why not give some sort of reaction? I would not mind seeing you miserably struggle in vain.”

You still fail to give a response.

“Guess she really did lose consciousness. Judging by the looks of it, I doubt she will wake up even if I were to rewind time. I guess you could consider us even now. Perhaps I went a little too easy on her, but I shall forgive her now.”

He takes a step back.

“Such an innocent sleeping face. Almost as if the obscene expressions you showed me earlier were nothing but a lie. Your sheer white complexion and screams were not bad. As well as how you would cling onto my clothes, remaining by my side despite your obvious fear.”

*Thud*

“...Ah!”

*Cling*

“The hourglass...”

Ruki picks up the Hourglass.

“That man might have been testing me after all...Me? Or rather, us? ...Now that I think about it twice, the ability to manipulate time is something which should only ever be given to God. We could have possibly overthrown all logic in this world if we so wished. Yet, we used it to cover up for trivial mistakes. Then this is basically just some child’s toy. However...I am sure that was for the best.”

He turns his head to look at you.

“You might be more of a genius than I thought. However, how many times did you rewind? The magic has almost run dry. The few times I rewinded are basically irrelevant. I wonder just how many times you repeated your own ridiculous mistakes? Oh well, I shall drag that out of her later. I doubt she will easily confess though. ーー No, I suppose there is no point in asking her. I can simply confirm it with my very own eyes.”

*Cling*

“With this amount, we can still turn back time just once. That’s plenty.”

*Thud*

*Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock*

ーーー

“Hm…”

You approach Ruki.

“Oh? It’s you. No, it’s nothing serious. I was simply lost in thought.”

You take notice of the hourglass in his hand.

“You seem curious. Are you that interested in this thing? Blood red sand…Its decorations are beautiful as well. It would make for the perfect interior piece.”

You ask if there is a catch.

“No, it’s jsut a regular old hourglass. There is nothing special about it.”

*Thud*

“More importantly, you mentioned you wanted to look for resources for your assignment, right? Meet me at the library during tomorrow’s break time. I shall help you.”

You seem surprised.

“Yes. As your Master, it is my duty to look after you. However, do not be late, okay?”

You nod.

( Well then...I wonder what the next few days will have in store for me? How many mistakes will you make, and how many times will you get punished by me? ...I am looking forward to it. )

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) Literally he says that he always intended to be the one ‘holding the reins’, but instead he was actually tied up/restrained this whole time. 

[strangerays]

Nothing in Particular Update #3

About seven months and I finished the first draft at 93k!

I always imagined how it would feel to finish a first draft (I’ve been writing novels “seriously” since about 2017) and now that I’ve finally done it, I can say it’s a better feeling than I imagined! Telling my friends and family (and even my doctor, who was really quite excited about it) was an amazing amazing thing. I’m generally pretty nervous to tell people about my work, but I had a really positive reaction. Honestly all of it has me on a creative high (not sure I’m coming down from that any time soon lol).

I’m going back for my last year of school in two days, which means I’m not going to have as much time as I did to write all summer. This is okay, because I’m actually going to take an entire month off of writing! I’m really burnt out - don’t want to start editing a story that’s so near to me if I don’t feel ready. I’ll talk more about editing when the time comes!

In a lot of ways, I found that my life mimicked my art. I think for a lot of people, it tends to be the other way around, but this story did a lot to heal me.

Going to hop right into excerpts now! I’m not going to explain much this far into the story because I would like to try to publish this story (FAR in the future) so I apologize for that! Also, I stopped naming most of the chapters until I go back and edit because there are just SO MANY and I didn’t have the time to stop and think of cool names. Anyways... enjoy!!

(Here is the link to the original masterpost!)

#1

text: Rays of gold curled to the ground, primordial and shy as the fire reeds on the cusps of shallow pool around the bay outside of Mothouse combed them to fine sparkles. I remembered the way Lonan kneeled on the edges of this pool. He never dove in – just blinked slowly as he watched crabs and minnows chase each other in a swirl of sand. I could not resist the water. I’d made it a part of me. My hair was longer then; down to my elbows, fading from dark red to orange and white, soaked always. Lonan let me borrow his shirts when I forgot to bring my own. They hung from my waist, too big for me, and I was warm even as the breeze rocked us inside.

#2

text: The sky was never blue in Point Blink. At least, I couldn’t remember the last time the clouds hadn’t given way to a dark gray mist. Jude was here. I was out of place. I was floating – watching slender, underfed pines wave in the breeze behind houses on the water before they disappeared underneath furls of cloud. Bursts of warm light shone in windows on the bay, like hungry eyes watching for a storm. A group of kids our age chaffed on a rocky expanse, their heads popping over pockets of darkness when they laughed. Froths of cloud stretched across the sky, moving the ground with it. Long stretches of trees and islands far on the other side of our small pocket of ocean looked more like large freight ships. Lights glittered and beamed on the roads and highways that belonged to the city. Pink was starting to show over the horizon. Lonan was on the other side. Somewhere.

#3

text: 

Jude sucked her lips in and flopped onto her stomach so she could see the blue below her feet. Her dark curls draped over her ears and hid her nose.

“I can’t see the bottom of the ocean.” She cupped her fingers with the other hand. “See where the water fades to white and back again? The endless tide. Why do people say the ocean is blue?”

I leaned forward. She was right. Blue ocean climbed up the side of the cliffs and turned the rocks a dark gray; ate the erosion as if from a plate. I’d never had the ocean explained to me that way before.

“I think I like it that way,” I said.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was at the bottom of Point Blink.

#4

text: 

She smiled weakly. “It’s okay. This is just guesswork. Patchwork.”

I wanted to apologize again, but I had a strong guess that it might make her annoyed with me. “It’s kind of like… I’m just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

She wrinkled her nose and eyebrows, scrunched up her little face. “That’s dumb.”

“I think it’s a smart way to live.” Sometimes it felt like worry was the only thing that kept me alive. It wasn’t dumb at all.

“You’re going to be fine though. We’re going to be fine. If something bad happens, we’ll deal with it. Don’t let it eat you.”

There was wisdom in what this seventeen-year-old girl on my bed had offered me. I caught it like a gold coin. Before I could reply with anything, she launched into another question. I didn’t want to think much about change anyways.

#5

text:

“Oh. Wow. That’s like, next year.” I sort of laughed.

“A year can be a long time,” Lonan said with a wince. “What do you think?”          

I sighed through my nose and leaned back with him. The sun was going down. Sometimes, my life felt less like a golden hourglass and more like a stopwatch with a broken face.

“For once, I think I agree with your mom.”

Lonan just stared at me, with something like awe.

“I think you should do what you want,” I said.

 “Ray,” Lonan started.

“No,” I interrupted him. “It’s not about me. She’s stopped you from doing anything and everything you’ve wanted to for the last four years, so when you go to college, you’ve got to separate yourself from this place.” I pointed to him. “You’re allowed to do this.”

#6

text: 

Maybe I was just being strange. Lonan was my best friend. It didn’t help that there was a little bit of him in everything – the tide pools, the echo of shells, my broken camera.

Soon, we stood in the center of the field. A breeze whispered through the cattails, fanning against our knees. Ellis loped behind me as I stepped in and out of tire tracks under the cloudless sun. She wasn’t much different than Jude. Her footsteps crunched excitedly behind mine, excited at the prospect of an unprecedented adventure. I’d missed those.

Lonan said he didn’t like to walk in fields because the wind tricked him into thinking that someone was behind him. Every brisk of his heel was a trick of the mind. Sometimes I felt the same way, like I might be haunted.

#7

text: 

The ageless water begged me closer, frizzed my hair and swathed my arms in a sweet, familiar scent. I remembered galloping down to the shore with a childhood friend in one May. Soft piano accompanied croaky lyrics from someone’s radio when we fell chest-first into the water. Static erupted in my head. There had been nothing new for me in Point Blink for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to float. Grass turned into pebbles, and I heard Ellis’ footsteps soften to the beat of the sand. Our eyes crumbled the shells that walled the long expanse of dark sand where waves rolled in. We leaned over like two swans, crunching shells beneath our feet, displaying shells to one another, naming the ones we recognized, and when I looked out at the horizon, I saw blue.

Red plastic cups, cigarettes, and even some broken glass stuck out through the sand as we made our way further down the shoreline, as if someone had thrown a party. My brow furrowed. Maybe this part of the beach wasn’t so abandoned after all.

Between the spit of the waves and dry sand lay some sort of book. Sand trickled out of the pages and onto my shoes when I swept it out of line of an oncoming wave. Ellis was beside me in moments. Shells tolled under her shoes.

#8

*Warning for mention of blood (fake blood and fake knife!!) this takes place on Halloween haha*

text: 

Jude held the container in her palm, kneeled down so we were shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes fixed on the knife in my neck, mine on her hands, then her focused expression. Her fingers tipped my chin up, cold on my skin. I tried not to move. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about Dad, or Raven, or Lonan. I only let Jude in – this girl who had come out of nowhere and wrecked me, saved me. And she didn’t know any of that. I didn’t owe anything to her, but I needed her. She kept us afloat when I couldn’t even keep myself above water. Her fingers painted blood over the center of my throat, our breath quiet on each other’s cheeks. She held my shoulder as she set back.               

“Absolutely feral,” she said.

#9

text: 

“Point Blink is all I have. It’s where I am, what I am.” My throat was tight. “It’s all I’ve known. I am happy with my life. And I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to throw all of that away so we can dig up answers. I want to stay.”

 Jude sat there for a moment. I think Florian and Ellis had turned to look at us, because when we went silent, I could no longer heat their hushed whispers, only the sound of water as it rose and rose and rose. I wondered if it would rain.

Jude sat up on her hands, then her knees, then she stood over me.

“Is that what you honestly believe?”

Tears bubbled in her eyes. Blood streaked down her cheeks. I’d been so focused on not crying, I had missed when she started to.

“Point Blink is just the same as anywhere,” she said. The words sat somewhere above her inside her chest, weak and frail, as though they’d been realized a long time ago.

I’d stared into her eyes until they disappeared. She grabbed onto a branch above her and quietly swung herself around a corner. Her footsteps echoed until they dissolved into waves and birds and frogs and left me in the dark.

#10

*Warning for strong language!*

text:

“Why didn’t you tell me how you’d been feeling?” he asked after a few moments of silence. It was beginning to stretch uncomfortably.

“I know I don’t deserve to know,” he added, “but you’ve always put me first.”

I picked at the wood that peeled from the fence.

“I just want you to be okay,” Lonan croaked. “Please tell me what to do.”

Even when we were together, we still worried about each other. It wasn’t always that way. Maybe that was my fault. I didn’t want to think about it.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I mumbled into the crisp, red air. “To be fair, I didn’t know it like I know now for a long time. I think sometimes I got the same way as a kid. Now I have a name for it, and I still don’t know if it feels right.” I sighed. “I guess… I guess I just thought that was how things were supposed to be. I thought I was only the humming low and the high.”

“Of course that’s not how you’re fucking supposed to be.”

 I coughed on a laugh, wiped away a new set of tears. On the rare occasion that Lonan did swear, he sounded much like he was doing it for the first time.

I hadn’t fully realized what I’d said before Lonan’s hand was around my arm. He pulled me close to his chest. I felt smaller than him; warm and safe. I exhaled and sunk into him, didn’t allow anything else in. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

“You’re funny and smart and better than a lot of people.”

And... that wraps up all of my excerpts for the time being! I really enjoyed writing the last four chapters of this book. Of course they aren’t perfect. A lot of the book needs improvement. There are entire characters who are flat and plot lines I just forgot about! Come October, I plan to get back into my edits/rewrite the story.

Really quick before I finish writing this:

I just wanted to thank everyone who read about my story and showed genuine interest in the characters. Had I not received all of this love from people in real life and online, I might never have finished this draft at all. When I started this story, my mental health was really quite bad. (I’m doing a whole lot better these days!!) I guess you could say the idea started as more of a journal entry. All of these characters are like little parts of me coming together to help the main character, and I think there’s something really special about that.

Thank you so much! Good luck on all your creative endeavors! It pays off in the end, I promise :)

tag list (ask to be +/-); @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-writer @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar​ @writeherewaiting @cryptid-s-wips @kingsinking @author-a-holmes

[hollenka99]

A Mislabeled Hourglass

Summary: Fundy grows up faster than Wilbur was expecting but he is going to make the most of his son’s shorter childhood regardless.

Warnings: Mentions of hunting animals, implied character death

Wilbur is no stranger to growing up faster than most. In the midst of learning survival skills as a child, he was still able to play to his heart's content. His mum, and later Phil, never cared too much if he got dirty. Kids will be kids. Despite that, his first experience with grief is at 6, he causes an animal's death sooner than most would and he dies himself for the first time at the age of only 9 (stupid accident, he should have watched his step). He is perhaps 8 when Phil gives him his first taste of independence. At 11, Tommy enters their life and makes him a big brother. Phil's day trips gradually get more frequent, sometimes stretching out for longer durations too. Whenever it's just him and Tommy, he has to be responsible, has to play a more adult role despite being in his early teens when it becomes a noticeable habit. Then Technoblade shows up. You could argue that from around 17 or 18, Wilbur is practically becomes a young carer on a full time basis. However, this accelerated maturation was all mental. The earth had gone around the sun once when he spoke his first word, five times when he began deciphering sequences of letters as words, ten times when Phil told him what to expect over the next several years and it had completed its 19th revolution shortly before Fundy came into the world. Fundy was... different. First of all, he was a shapeshifter so right off the bat, he was never going to look fully human. Sally had fins and naturally red hair. Fundy was born with a substantial amount of ginger hair and ears that seemed slightly more pointed than they should be. When his son gets older, it will become apparent that his senses are stronger than Wilbur's too. Speaking of Fundy getting older... Wilbur has a hunch that something isn't quite right when his baby rapidly outgrows clothes meant for his age group. He initially dismisses it as Fundy likely inheriting his ridiculously tall genes. Because what else could it be, right? Then he is crawling at 2 months old. Wilbur's far from a baby expert but he's sure infants don't become that mobile that soon. A month or so later, Fundy takes his first clumsy steps towards him. Now that? Yeah, that undoubtedly raises alarm bells. He knows for a fact that that milestone was for those around 12 months old. Okay yep, something was definitely up. The books say Fundy should have been introduced to solid foods by now. He guesses that puts him in the Bad Dad category, along with temporarily using cows to feed him when he first got Fundy. He'd defend himself by pointing out he didn't have formula on hand the moment he became a father and was yet to learn non-human milk wasn't actually good for the baby but those excuses don't seem credible. He knows he's been going about this blinder than he would liked since day 1 but the accelerated aging might end up screwing him over even more. Ha, imagine having time to settle into parenting a baby before they graduate into toddlerhood. It's fine, he swears it's fine. It just means he gets to start having comprehensible, reciprocated conversations sooner than most, not to mention going through less nappies. There are stumbles for the first week or two after Fundy learns to walk but his son soon gets the hang of it. Only days after his first steps comes his first word. Noisy pattering paired with cries of "Daddy!" get more common. He could certainly get used to this. A one year old's way of running is potentially one of the silliest things he's ever witnessed. But look at his little champion go! When Fundy learns to crouch, Wilbur is crouching right beside him. Tommy comments that he looks and sounds like an idiot whenever he plays with Fundy. Wilbur pays him no heed because his brother is an absolute hypocrite. He has to say, Tommy is doing a great job for someone who was thrown in at the deep end just as much as he was and his brother doesn't even have the responsibility of having to care for a kid. He's always been a bit... rough and ready when it comes to playing with others. But with Fundy, he makes sure to be gentle around the toddler. Wilbur isn't entirely sure whether hanging upside down from someone's grip on a near daily basis is healthy for a little kid but Fundy's eruption of giggles each time suggest otherwise. When Tommy turned 11, he was not yet an uncle. The following April, he has a two year old nephew who complains he wants to help blow out the candles, nearly fighting for his right to do it instead of the actual birthday boy. It somehow leads to a pillow fight between them. So all in all, Tommy is taking it in his stride. By Fundy's second Christmas, Wilbur is able to start calculating. A 14 month old kid is supposed to be getting the hang of being bipedal, not receiving books that will help them learn how to read. Given that his son was walking at 3 months old, his best guess is that Fundy's development rate was four times that of other children. It seems consistent too since Fundy is approximately the equivalent of a 4 or 5 year old boy now. He recalls Sally once joking about how shapeshifters tended to live fast and die 'young'. He thinks he gets what she means now. Quadruple speed for Fundy though? Fuck. If he's got the maths right, they will be the same physical age when Wilbur is 25. The gap will only grow more and more from then on. At 30, he will have a child who is roughly 40. And when Wilbur himself is 40... he'd rather not dwell on the heartache his early 40s are set to bring. He has been given a 60 second hourglass that's been labelled as a 4 minute one. He's begun to comprehend this with 2 seconds' worth of sand already piling at the bottom. What is he even supposed to do? Does he bake a birthday cake every January, April, July and October 10th or just that last date? He guesses that will be for Fundy to decide in the future. Tommy has made a 'reverse leap day kid' joke before but it really is based in truth. While still a small child, one of Fundy's favourite places to rest is against his father's chest. There have been plenty of nights where the little boy has fallen asleep in his father's arms while being read a story. He's rapidly getting bigger and Wilbur frequently has to adapt how he holds him to accommodate. In the quietest of moments, his eyes will notice a tiny mischievous smile directed at him that will make his day or his ears will catch the softest of snores coming from beside him. As much as he tries to enjoy those occasions, peace often leads to a chance for overthinking to take place. When that happens, it all turns bittersweet with the desperate wish he could get several years of this, not feel lucky if he gets more than 2 or 3 of them. Of course, every time Fundy is resting against his chest is not necessarily positive. There are obviously the typical 'toddler having a breakdown because they scraped their knee' type stuff. Those are fine, all he has to do is soothe him and distract from what is usually an overthought 'injury'. But then there are the times where Fundy's fingers ache from the ordeal of slowly developing claws, Wilbur lets him dig his nails into his jumpers as hard as he feels the need to. The same happens whenever there is any significant growth with his ears too. The older Fundy gets, the more used to the flat of a small head pressing into his chest he becomes. He would do anything to alleviate his pain and discomfort if he could. And no, he definitely hasn't shed a tear or two when nobody is watching in regards to the matter. From here on in, it feels like he's on home soil. He's helped raise a kid from the age of 4 before. The only difference now is that this kid is his own flesh and blood. And a shapeshifter, which Tommy never was. They've begun entering the "Dad, look what I can do!" phase of Fundy's life, now that he is getting more capable with age. The first major instance is when he comes home from a hunt. Tommy has a smug look on his face and Fundy seems seconds from exploding with excitement. His son is let loose on him as soon as he's freshened up, dragging him to a chair where he is made to listen to the most drawn out reading session he has ever experienced. But Wilbur can't help but beam every time Fundy successfully gets through a word. The day he believes Fundy is old enough to start learn how to use a bow can't come soon enough. He knows fuck all about hybrids or shapeshifters other than the very basics. He can't tell you how to construct the most impressive of architectural structures. But this, archery and hunting? Now that he can impart wisdom on. He passes down second hand stories about Fundy's grandma and anecdotes about his trips with Phil when he was a young boy himself. As far as he can tell, Fundy laps it all up. Swordplay is soon added to the mix of training activities. The wooden sword he crafted for his son is slightly too big but eh, the kid will quickly grow into (then inevitably out of) it sooner than later. They gradually work up from technique and stance to improving accuracy and striking moving targets. Every bit of progress he makes, his dad is there cheering him on. Fundy only grows reluctant when it begins to get 'real'. That is to say, when Wilbur tries to take him on an actual hunt or attempts to introduce him to the subject of turning a kill into a meal. And yeah, he gets it. He wasn't the biggest fan of it either when he was being taught himself. Plus, he's aware Fundy's nose is more sensitive than his or Tommy's so yep, preparing a body's going to be even less pleasant for him. It's unfortunately a part of this sort of life. There's... well, there's always the option of heading down to the butcher's in town. Just keep in mind who got his first girlfriend indirectly due to the fact her dad would always give him money for helping supply produce. You've been doing great though. The important part is you're learning how to survive on your own if need be, not to mention how to defend yourself in case of an attack. Another part of Fundy's development to make him gush with pride is when he starts to really hone his shapeshifter nature. It's small at first, a furrier hand transforming into a paw here, a lump of a half formed tail spotted underneath a dressing gown there. He can't really describe how happy it makes him to see a child with a fox's head greet him one morning when Fundy jumps out from behind a door. There are features the young shapeshifter will keep in his human form obviously. Yet it's thrilling to have him keep coming over to show off a new shifting-related ability. The first time Fundy manages to morph fully into a fox, during the spring after his 2nd birthday, Wilbur promises the three of them can have an 'anything Fundy says, goes' type thing the following day in celebration. There are times where Fundy may, for instance, forget to include his tail as an animal or he'll walk around as his usual self, albeit with accidental fox eyes. It's simply a matter of practise, Wilbur believes. One of the best parts of Fundy gradually improving his shapeshifting is the fact he loves to curl up on his dad's lap while in fox form. Wilbur cherishes it. Fundy's getting older now (taller too, this kid is undoubtedly going to be at least 6 foot one day) but he'll always be smaller as a fox than as a human. Forgive a father with limited time to enjoy carrying his son around for wanting to prolong the inevitable. Fundy is 3 when he physically catches up with Tommy, age wise. It's not until he is the equivalent of maybe 15 that he passes his uncle's height. Tommy complains about it incessantly, especially whenever Fundy teases him about how much taller he's getting. It's all fun and games but Wilbur was an unusually large teenager once (only a few years ago really, though let's not dwell on that) so he understands what it's like. Going through growth spurts is hardly the most enjoyable thing out there and he can't imagine how it must feel to keep getting hit by them with even less time to settle into your new height. Not to mention growing pains. During a quiet evening, he checks in on his son and approaches the subject. It leads to him allowing Fundy to rant about the worst parts of growing up. Orange fur recedes on his arms to show a few stretch marks. Ah, he was wondering if the extra hair was deliberate or simply puberty taking hold. He assures Fundy stretch marks aren't something to be ashamed of. He got a bunch of them himself at his age. Although, they've pretty much all faded by now. It's fine, you don't need to stress about it. Besides, Tommy's going through the same kind of shit. The main problem with Fundy and Tommy being similar ages now is that they are arguably closer than ever. Which, no, isn't a bad thing. In fact, he's glad that for a few months they're able to hang out on more equal footing. The issue lies in the fact that Fundy takes after his uncle when it comes to causing mischief. The little rascal is turning into a bit of a prankster. And yeah, maybe Wilbur himself likes channelling hints of chaos into his life but you'll never hear the designated responsible adult admit to that in the others' presence. At one point, Fundy is a six year old gleefully explaining how Tommy helped him up so he could place that water bucket. Only a year later, there's an 11 year old revealing that yes, he was the one to make their chickens, cows and sheep switch enclosures during the night. He only gets more ambitious from there. God knows where he got all that dye from when he's in his mid-teens. Fundy is much like himself as a teenager. Both clearly love their respective fathers but both grow to varying degrees of resentment regarding the level of independence they are given. Wilbur always had too much. It was his job to take care of Tommy whenever Phil left on short trips until the avian hybrid pretty much said 'well, you're an adult now, you can take care of things all by yourself' before heading off with Technoblade for months on end. It's why Wilbur knows kids want a safety net, for an adult to be there to help them out if they need it (no matter how mature or independent they feel). Has he taken it further than he should have? Maybe. Fundy is the only one who can be the true judge of that. He just wants his little boy to be safe and happy. He didn't want him to grow up so quickly. However, even if this was happening in 15 years, he would have grown up too soon. It doesn't surprise him too much when Tommy and Fundy make the choice to go off on their own. He only allows it because they promise they will stick together throughout the journey. He supposes it was time. Phil snuck off to do the same around their age and his mum was roughly 18 when she set off to be a nomadic traveller. The thought to live a similar style life has crossed Wilbur's mind. His duty to the two boys under his care has always made him reconsider. But Tommy is 16 now and not as much of a child as Wilbur likes to say he is. As for Fundy, he's probably around the equivalent of 18 or 19 by this point. He hates to admit it but they've both grown up. Where the hell did the time go? So although it pains him to do so, he nevertheless sends them off with a smile. If they find anywhere nice in their adventures, they'll be sure to tell him. He might even join them if they choose to stick around in one area. He turns back into the house after they leave and fuck, has it always been this empty? He gets a letter in early July, telling him all about this place called the Dream SMP and their time there. He arrives and things seem to snowball as soon as he begins the 'drug business' bullshit. Suddenly, he's a general with his brother and son as soldiers, along with some new friends. They are at a disadvantage in this fight against tyranny but it's okay, Eret says she has a secret weapon. They might just pull through. Or... they might instead be brutally betrayed by a former friend and lose so much more than their possessions. He loses track of his battalion in the chaos. All he knows is screaming for everyone to flee. Then the agony a sword through his stomach. Tubbo's dead, as is Tommy. Where's Fundy? He can't see him anywhere. God, please say he managed to get the fuck out of here. Please let it be that he turned into a fox and scarpered away, something like that. Never mind his dad. If Fundy's alright, he'll be alright too. He loves his son, has done all he was able to ensure his little boy has never had reason to doubt this fact. Over the past few years, that love has been repaid in mischievous grins, unrestrained giggles and drowsy cuddles, among other quieter moments. It gets repaid once again as a boy playing a soldier struggles to join the side of his pretend general of a father in order to loosely grasp hands. It barely registers. Neither does the tiny pained smile or ginger hair that go largely missed by eyes preoccupied with the vain effort to keep them open. They all celebrate the independence they'd fought so hard for the next night. The bittersweet nature of this victory goes ignored. With all the cheerful chatter and singing declaring their land to be one of freedom from tyranny drifting in the evening air from the campfire, it feels like the good mood will never end. It feels like the only thing that may tear the father and son apart is Wilbur's desperation for just a bit more time with Fundy as his little boy, despite how painfully obvious he was already grown up into a man in less than 5 years. Arm slung around him as a toast is made, they are not yet a debilitatingly stressed president, increasingly suicidal exilee or secretly loyal spy. For tonight, they are still a relatively happy, loving pair. For tonight, there is hypothetically still so much time for them to stay like that.

[reyloforcebalance]

Confessions of a Rated-T Fanfic Writer

I have something I want to get off my chest as a relatively new member of the fanfiction community (specifically Star Wars and Reylo). At the end of this post, I have a list of my favorite reylo fics, so if you like, just skip to that.

When I started writing fanfiction after The Last Jedi, I wasn’t much of a reader. This article from the Atlantic introduced me to the world of fanfiction, and I gobbled up Forms and Interstellar Transmissions but quickly found reading others’ work made me self-conscious about my own. So, in the interest of preserving my confidence, I focused on writing.  

During this period, I noticed most of the Reylo fandom was interested in rated E or M fics. Explicit fics were the most popular on Ao3 with a significant difference in the amount of attention and praise given to them verses rated T works, and the more I noticed this, the more resentful I grew. It bugged me to know that so many readers would never give my story a shot simply because of its rating.

Then one day on a whim, I clicked on a fic by Kylotrashforevor and got sucked in HARD. I found refuge in AUs because they weren’t set in the Star Wars universe and didn’t make me second guess my own plot choices. It’s like the sky opened up, the sun came out, and suddenly, I understood. I no longer felt resentful of readers who exclusively searched for rated E fics because WHY THE HELL WOULDN’T THEY!? Rated E fics have the whole package— great story, great characters, AND the sexy stuff.

Almost overnight, I became the very reader I hated. I snorted rated E fics like cocaine while barely giving fics with other ratings a glance. I was ashamed of my hypocrisy, but this did little to stop me.

Then, I started noticing a strange pattern. There were several times when I’d start a fic, get really into the plot, but when I got to the smut parts, they were just “so-so.” I glazed over the sex scenes but didn’t feel like I’d been robbed because I enjoyed the story so much the disappointing smut hardly mattered. That’s when it struck me…

Why am I only searching for E-rated fics when I’m clearly enjoying a lot more than that? If I can read an E-rated story and still love it despite so-so smut, why bother limiting myself?

So, I started opening my searches to all ratings and haven’t looked back since. I found rated G and T gems that I kicked myself for after reading because what if I’d never grown out of my stupid rated E exclusivity and missed them!?

So, if there’s a moral to the story, it’s this: You will greatly enhance your fanfiction reading experience if you put your biases aside and try a little of everything. I used to think most rated E fics were smutty trash heaps until I found Kylotrashforevor. I used to think AUs were weird, crossovers were nuts, and crack fics were just worthless. I was WRONG on all accounts. Trying new kinds of stories helped me better appreciate the breadth of talent and creativity in the reylo fandom, and I want to encourage others to do the same. 

So, if you usually read only E or M fics, try giving T and G stories a shot. I think you’ll be surprised by how little you miss the smut.  If you usually read T and under, let me assure you the explicit parts of many M and E fics are easily skipped. Don’t let a couple of sex scenes keep you from some of the best stories out there. Broaden your tastes, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Below are links to some of my favorite Reylo fics. In the spirit of this post, they represent a variety of genres and ratings. For simplicity’s sake, I’ve divided it into canon and AUs and noted if the work is incomplete.

Try a little of everything and enjoy!

CANONVERSE

Darkness Rises… And Light to Meet It series by @a-nerd-obsessed. A dark Rey role reversal fic where Rey and Ben grow up together in the Jedi Academy and struggle with their understandings of the Force. My ABSOLUTE favorite. Currently on part 3 of 4.

Higher Ground by @kathknight and Seraphprotocol. Post TLJ fic with hands down THE BEST actions scenes I’ve read in a reylo story.

The Machine by @vespaer77. Post TLJ fic that explores the role of the military industrial complex in the Star Wars universe. Incomplete.

Darkness, Take my Hand by @kathyswizards. Post TLJ fic where the Raddus rams into the Supremacy before Rey can respond to Kylo’s offer to rule the galaxy.

Sky-Marked Souls by AnonymousMink. Post TFA soulmates fic where Kylo and Rey get marks on their skin whenever the other feels physical pain.  

Like Sands Though the Hourglass by @jeenonamit. Someone’s posting Reylo fanfiction to the First Order’s Intranet and Kylo IS NOT pleased.

Pillow Talk by @themoonmoths. Post TLJ fic where the bond brings Rey and Kylo together every night for bed-sharing and conversation. Incomplete.

Strike Me Down by Mericat_Blackwood. Post TFA fic where the spirit of deceased Han Solo is dead set on bringing his son back home. Incomplete.

When the Force Ships It Too by Neuvoreylogirl. Alternate TLJ plotline that pits Snoke and Luke against one another in a galactic Reylo soap opera. Snoke is the worst “cool dad” ever... 

Stand in the Sun Then by @the-reylo-void. A Galaxy’s Edge-inspired fic where Kylo notices a certain three-bunned hairstyle has become very popular on Batuu.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

First Order IT, Can I Get Your User ID? by krossartist/ @theeamazingem. Mechanic Rey likes her job except for when the computer screws up and she has to call her least favorite IT guy for help.

Fireflies by quixoticlux. ABO meets Mansfield Park meets Clueless when high school Rey can’t stop crushing on her cousin Ben. Incomplete.

Nine Lives by on_my_toes. Doctor Ben becomes increasingly concerned when he notices the barista at his favorite coffee shop has a habit of putting herself in harm’s way.

Stay Out of Trouble by Deathtoallstars. Cop Ben keeps arresting the same wily college kid who always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Incomplete.

Bleeding Edge by Succubusybody. Westworld meets Stepford Wives in a dark fic where Rey takes care of scientist Ben’s every need until she makes a shocking discovery.

Can’t Turn Off What Turns Me On by audreyii_fic. Omega Rey and Alpha Ben come together during her heat and an intense connection sparks.

Miles from Where You Are by Mooncactus. Rey and Kylo get into an online battle about Star Wars films.

Nevertheless, She Persisted by @dawninthemtn. Campaign staffer Rey is tasked with keeping an eye on her boss Leia Organa’s aloof son. Incomplete. 

Self-Inserted by @kylotrashforever. College student Rey happens upon journal belonging to Ben Solo, an old crush from high school she assumed hates her. As it turns out, he doesn’t…

Epithumia  by Pontmercy44. Engineering student Rey keeps falling asleep in Introduction to Classical Art and Literature. Professor Solo is less than pleased.

[maybankiara]

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

12: THE MORE THE MERRIER

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 3k

a/n: all questions and complaints to be sent to my po box, thanks

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

Me | 6:12pm Hey! Do you know where most people are meeting up?

Winnie O’Connell | 6:12pm I’ve got no clue but Holden Wes and Marea are coming to mine at 6:30 and we’re leaving a little after 7, Wes isn’t drinking. You can come with us!! The more the merrier 🥰

Me | 6:13pm That sounds great!! Thank youuu

Winnie O’Connell | 6:13pm No problem girl ❤ Winnie O’Connell | 6:13pm You remember where I live right?

Me | 6:14pm Yep! I should be there a in 25-30

Winnie O’Connell | 6:14pm Can’t wait to see you!! 😘

Me | 6:15pm You too 😊

◇

Addie leaves the flat looking—hopefully—decent enough for a night out with colleagues. She’s aware of the fact that all these people have been on a fair share on nights out together by now, and she’s not entirely sure about the dress code, but she went with what seemed the most appropriate – a deep, dark green tube top and a matching high-waisted skirt, with a stylish leather jacket Marianne let her steal for the night. She managed to stuff all her belongings into the jacket’s pockets, even the strawberry-scented tinted chapstick that Marianne forced to take, even if her lips are too dark for the chapstick’s light pink to make the slightest difference.

  The Uber picks her up and leaves her at Winnie’s address shortly after forty past six, just like she planned. Addie stands in front of the tall, expensive-looking building feeling insufferably small, despite her height and the platform shoes that are currently making her stand even taller. She smooths out the nonexistent creases on her skirt and tells herself she’s freaking out over nothing, then rings the bell.

  Winnie lets her in within a moment and a minute later, the elevator has taken her to the top floor.

  Addie stands in front of the entrance door, and hesitates.

  The first and only time she’s ever been to Winnie O’Connell’s apartment was on the very first week of the internship. Their bosses were still trying to see whom Addie would work the best with, and Winnie was the first who had a case that involved economic matters that Winnie, as a recent lawyer, couldn’t do on her own. They spent the evening at hers, working through the case until they cracked it with enough Indian takeout to keep them going. 

  Winnie might’ve been the first person to offer her friendship, yet Addie refused it in favour of a strictly professional relationship she’d deemed necessary to work on that case, and any other. She’s lucky that Winnie doesn’t hold grudges and didn’t even act as if it was out of the ordinary when Addie asked to join one of their nights out.

  Finally, with a deep breath, Addie knocks.

  Winnie opens the door with a bright smile on her face. She’s taller than usual, sporting a pair of high heels that are a few inches taller than her usual attie, combined with a little black dress that accentuates her curves in all the good ways; Addie’s first thought is that Marianne would like this dress. Her second thought is that she nailed the dress code.

  ‘Addison, hi!’ Winnie pulls her into a tight hug, smelling of a warm floral perfume. ‘I’m glad you’re here, we’re just about to start a little drinking game.’

  Addie smiles. ‘That sounds great.’

  The girl moves to the side and lets her in. The door shuts with a click and Winnie’s heels make nearly the same sound across the wooden floor as she leads Addie into the apartment. She stops at the end of the hallway, right where it expands into what Addie recalls to be a massive living room.

  ‘I’ll just go and grab you a drink,’ says Winnie. She steps through the door on the side, closer than the living room, and Addie catches a glimpse of a silver, minimalistic kitchen. ‘The others are in the living room.’

  With that, Winnie enters the kitchen, and Addie makes her way into the living room.

  ‘ADDISON!’

  Her lips stretch into a large, toothy grin at Wes Tucker’s voice, enlarging as her eyes fall upon the boy. Wes is someone a person can’t help but notice – cheerful and always making a point to be the loudest in a room, with a talent for accomplishing the most by doing the least. He’s also yet another person whose friendship Addie refused, yet it doesn’t seem to matter to him, either.

  He’s giving her one of the biggest smiles she’s ever seen on him, and he looks casually elegant in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. ‘We’re all very happy you finally decided to join us.’

  ‘Well, it was about time, right?’

  ‘Fuck yeah. Now get here, we’re about to play Charades and Holden needs a partner since Marea’s sitting this one out.’

  Addie’s gaze drops to the girl sitting at the furthest end of the table, a phone pressed to her cheek and lips stretched into a slight smile. She waves at her, and Marea’s smile increases just a little, as she speaks to whoever’s on the phone. Addie doesn’t think it’s Italian (which Addie is pretty sure is her native language). With her dark locks and matching eyes, slightly tan skin, and a sharp jaw, she looks on edge and filled with kindness at once.

  A chair screeches. Addie turns her head, and her eyes meet Holden’s. 

  ‘Hey,’ he greets, flashing her a set of impeccably white teeth. ‘You ready to get this started?’

  She nods, letting her face relax and shoulders drop. ‘Let’s get it on.’

  ‘Great!’

  Addie takes a seat where Holden’s pulled the chair out for her, right next to him. Winnie comes a few seconds later and gives everyone a new round of drinks, which Addie suspects isn’t their first nor second, either. They clink them together (‘To the internship!’) and get started with Charades.

  The sweetness masks the taste of alcohol, and Addie goes through her drink quickly. Marea leaves the room the moment they begin playing because Winnie is the one acting out in the first round, and the petite brunette holds a lot more vocal power in her than Addie would’ve guessed. When they finish, Wes high-fives her as they count the cards, and threatens Addie and Holden with fire in his eyes. 

  Addie laughs, and for the first time in three months, feels like she’s finally experiencing the full offer of the internship. 

  It’s her and Holden’s turn, and he offers her to pick, so she panic-chooses guessing. He groans and she learns soon enough that Holden isn’t the best at miming. The sand is out of the hourglass, and both of them are out of breath. 

  They’re still faster than the other two, winning the round. 

  Holden wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, shaking his head as he gives her a smile. ‘That was a lot.’

  ‘Mhm,’ says Addie. ‘The only reason why we won is because they’re worse, not because we’re good.’

  ‘Ouch. Let’s see if you’re any better.’

  She ends up being better, after all, or it’s just the initial awkwardness of being partners outside of their workplace finally going away. Addie guessed they would make a good team, given how well they get along at work, but it’s still nice to get a confirmation. Also, Holden offers to buy her a drink when they get to the bar as an apology for doubting her, and she can’t really say no to that.

  At the end of the day, Addie is just a girl who likes boys, and Holden just so happens to have swapped his usual three-piece with a navy blue t-shirt and a pair of fitted black jeans, losing some of the office stiffness, too. He’s more at ease than she’s ever seen him, with eyes that tell the intimacy of an inside joke, and there’s something oddly charming about him. 

  Her hands move a stray curl out of her face and she focuses back on Wes and Winnie, who are shuffling the cards, and she feels her breath flutter as she exhales.

  i’ve been single for way too fucking long.

  For the rest of the game, half of Addie’s focus remains on the boy sitting next to her. They get through a few more rounds, getting better each time. She’s aware of how close their knees are, of the bittersweet scent of his cologne, of the way he seems to pick up on her mannerisms quickly and easily enough to turn the game into child’s play. 

  Marea comes back a little before they’re supposed to leave. Wes leads them to his car, a silver Subaru, ordering Marea in the front and the other three in the back. The car’s big enough for them to fit comfortably with Addie in the middle, but not enough for them to not be touching.

  Addie doesn’t budge for the entirety of the ride, but neither does Holden.

  The bar where they end up meeting the rest of the people from the internship is located in the northern part of the city. It’s full of people roughly their age, drinking beer straight out of the bottle while playing pool or watching others sing karaoke at the back – basically, as Marianne would say it, it’s the “American bootleg version of an honest-to-god English pub”.

  Their table is in-between the lousy bunch sitting at the bar and the loud bunch playing pool. Addie slides into the booth with Nadia to her left, and Mark and Diego a little further. The ones sitting beside them are the ones she doesn’t really know, as they’re from a different department, and neither they nor are among those few who travel from one to another given the occasion. Addie checks the time on her phone, seeing she’s got a text from Marianne, but chooses to ignore it for the time being.

  Holden slides into the booth next to her, thigh against thigh. Addie feels her skin shiver where his knee brushes hers, and she takes an ice-cold beer out of his hand and nearly downs it in one go.

  ‘Damn, Addison.’

  The bottle thunks on the wooden table and Addie taps the runaway drops out of the corners of her lips. It doesn’t miss her notice how his eyes follow the movement. ‘It’s Addie. For friends.’

  ‘Okay then, Addie,’ says Holden, grinning. His finger points at the phone that’s still showing her lockscreen – that undisputably dumb-looking photo of Drew one of the cast members took back when he had her phone. ‘That your boyfriend?’

  Addie slides the phone back into her pocket. ‘Nope. Just a friend. Haven’t got a boyfriend.’

  Holden nods as if he’s mulling the information over. His eyes light up and the corners of his lips tug into a playful smile. ‘Are you as good at playing pool as you are at Charades?’

  ‘Only when I’ve had more than two drinks.’

  ‘Well in that case, I can go get you the—’

  ‘IT’S CHUGGING TIME!’

  Both of them are startled by Raiden’s announcement and about two dozen beers being slammed on the table. Next to her, Nadia laughs and makes a comment about how the next morning is going to be difficult, and Diego retorts by calling a pussy, to which Nadine informs him that technically, he isn’t wrong.

  Addie nearly bursts into laughter. Nadine hears and then asks for her opinion on the matter, and Winnie ends up being included, too, until the entire group is discussing the weight of “dick” and “pussy” as insults.

  Raiden tells them to pick partners. Addie goes with Nadia, Holden with Winnie, Wes with Marea, Mark with Diego. Raiden instructs them to intertwine their arms at the elbows, which Addie and Nadia do with ease.

  Nadia bobs her head. ‘You ready?’

  ‘I was born for this.’

  In the end, they end up being nearly the last for all three turns, because as it turns out, they’re not that good at this. But it’s a good laugh, and Addie feels like Nadia is someone she might get used to.

  The realisation that the only thing they all have in common is the firm they intern for irks her mind a little. She knows that there’s people who get along with everybody, but the idea that there’s a dozen people bonding solely over the fact that they have a love-hate relationship with their job and bosses and actually making long-lasting connections is baffling.

  Just... humans. Humans are baffling.

  And Addie is starting to feel her five drinks.

  She ends up leaving Nadia to go to the bar with Holden, who gets the two of them a drink each. He’s got a mouth made of honey and he talks Addie into playing pool with ease, except she gets Winnie and Wes to tag along, too.

  Addie slams two sticks on the table. She’s not usually this confident, or this cocky, but one look at the curve of Holden’s lips is enough to get her to raise her chin high, bump shoulders with Winnie, and say, ‘Y’all are about to get smoked.’

  The boys laugh. When it turns out that Winnie is indeed a master at pool (‘It’s a family sport, really’), they don’t laugh anymore.

  Addie bends over the pool table, the stick between her index and middle finger. The alcohol is making everything fuzzy and smooth so it’s taking double the concentration – but Winnie says she’s got it, so she’s got it.

  The stick glides between her fingers. The last coloured ball shoots into the side, then another side, until it shadows into the hole in the middle.

  ‘SMOKE THIS, BITCHES!’ shouts Winnie, raising a fair few eyebrows around them, and whispers a “sorry” hushed with a giggle.

  Wes sighs. He puts one end of his stick on the ground and the other underneath his chin, eyeing Holden with disappointment. ‘We could’ve played better, dude.’

  ‘What can I say.’ Holden shrugs, taking the balls out from under the table. He throws a glance at Addie, wearing the same face he usually does when they figure out how to go on about a case. ‘I’m used to having a different partner.’

  Winnie chuckles. Wes groans. Addie rolls her eyes. 

  ‘Cheer up, big boy,’ says Addie. She comes from behind him and takes over what he was doing, aligning the balls into a perfect triangle. His stare is burning into her back, but she doesn’t budge. ‘Ready to lose another one?’

  ‘No, actually.’ he says. ‘Team switch up?’

  ‘Ugh, really? Wes?’

  Despite Addie calling his name, the tall boy edges to Winnie, making a grimace. ‘Nah, I’m with Bradfield on this one. I’ve got a better chance at winning with Winnie. Ya know.’ 

  The pun—intended or not, doesn’t really matter—earns him a light smack on the chest from Winnie, who ends up agreeing to the new teams. 

  Addie sighs. ‘Fine, then. Holden?’

  ‘Yes, Addie?’

  She comes closer to him, leaning close enough that she’s sure he feels her breath on his cheek, and stage whispers, ‘We’ll get ‘em just like we got ‘em in the Charades.’

  Both Wes and Winnie begin to protest so Holden slings an arm around her shoulder, as if protecting her from it all. Where his gentle fingers touch her briefly, Addie’s skin chills – she can only hope he doesn’t notice her shiver. 

  ‘Hell yeah,’ he says. ‘Just you wait.’

  His arm disappears from her shoulder and he’s over the table, pushing the stick, and the game has begun. 

  Addie’s head is beginning to spin a little, and she’s aware that she’s not aware of everything that’s happening. 

  Some time and two rounds of pool later (that they both still lose, because they’re the worst pool players she’s ever witnessed), they decide to try out clubbing. Mark drives Diego and Mareahome, Nadia leaves with Raiden (whom she has apparently been hooking up with for as long as they’ve both been a part of the internship). That leaves Addie, Holden, Wes, and Winnie with people whose names Addie didn’t catch – she blames it on her fuzzy mind being unable to hold onto any coherent thought.

  The club’s lights are dim, and they’re all kind of dancing together. She’s mostly with Winnie, until Winnie leaves to chat with someone who’s just bought her a drink, and Wes is making out in the back of the room with a boy he met back at the bar, and it’s just her and Holden.

  Addie and Holden.

  He smiles, as if reading her mind, and takes her hand just to twirl her around, watching her gleefully as she throws her head back and laughs, freely. His hands travel to her sides, and soon they’re all she can focus on – their slight tug pulling her close, her hips swaying to the rhythm. 

  Addie knows it’s going to happen before it happens. Even under the dim neon light of the club’s dance floor, she sees Holden’s eyes flicker to her lips, before looking back at her eyes with a question. They look nice – deep and blue and full of something, and the lights reflected in the m are bright and blue and red and yellow, and that’s all a part of the reason why Addie tilts her head to the slide, her eyes flickering to his lips, now. 

  Holden leans in. Addie does the same.

  His lips taste like beer, not honey. Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste like a mistake, either.

◇

Virgin Mary | 8:21pm so how’s it going?? Virgin Mary | 9:47pm I’ll just assume you’re having a great time 😂 Virgin Mary | 9:49pm anyway just remember to be responsible and don’t do anything super drastic from what you'd do when sober!! love youuu

Me | 00:22am i kissed holden Me | 0:22am or he ksised ke Me | 0:22am were gonna gi to his

Virgin Mary | 0:23am OK HOLD UP THAT CONSTITUTES AS DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT FROM NORMAL Virgin Mary | 0:23am how drunk are you

Me | 00:23am very

Virgin Mary | 00:23am where is he

Me | 00:24am talking to wes

Virgin Mary | 00:24am do you want to shag him

Me | 00:24am yes

Virgin Mary | 00:24am drunk?

Me | 00:24am yes Me | 00:24am no Me | 00:24am fuck Me | 00:25am shit

Virgin Mary | 00:25am do you want it to be a one night stand

Me | 00:26am wtf n0 Me | 00:26am ok ill just call an uber

Virgin Mary | 00:26am let me know how it goes!!!

Me | 00:31am wes is dringing me home Me | 00:31am be there in twenty or twentybfive

Virgin Mary | 00:32am I’ll wait up on you

Me | 00:37am thanks marinanen Me | 00:38am youre my best friend and i loge you dko kych

Virgin Mary | 00:40am lmao I love you too gal ❤

Me | 00:49am ❤❤🤡❤❤❤

Virgin Mary | 00:50am you know what... I don’t want to ask 😂😂

Me | 00:53am were here

Virgin Mary | 00:53am omw!!

◇

13: EVERYTHING GOES WELL

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby​​​​​​ @taiter-tots​​​​​​ @sacredto​​​​​​ @snkkat​​​​​​ @drewswannabegirl​​​​​​ @yeslifeofateen​​​​​​ @rudypnkw​​​​​​ @stfukie​​​​​​ @x-lulu​​​​​​ ​​​​​ @drewstarkey​​​​​​ @butgilinsky​​​​​​ @solllaris​​​​​​ @hyperactive2411​​​​​​ @chasefreakinstokes​​​​​​ @surferkie​​​​​​ @jroseron​​​​​​ @k-k0129​​​​​​ @starlightstories​

[lassluna]

Swan’s Hourglass (2/?)

Emma Swan had a mission. Find a place to start New Hyrule, her kingdom apparently. It was her mission as Princess or Savior or whatever. It’s going terribly if she’s honest. No one ever gave her Princess or Savior lessons growing up. She really has no idea how to be a Savior. She doesn’t even really want to in the first place.

But when the Demon Ship kidnaps her son and she gets stranded on a strange island with only an old woman and peppy fairy for help, Emma will have to do what she has to do to rescue her son, even if that means putting a certain self-proclaimed pirate captain in his place.

Legend Of Zelda AU

Ao3 FFN

AN: Happy Father's day everyone, I hope everyone is having a good time spending time with their families. Thank you so much for the support this story has gotten! This story would not be what it is without the lovely @spartanguard​ for beta reading it, @eastwesthomeisbest​ for her FABULOUS art as well as @cssns​ for putting this event together.

Chapter 1: Awake

“Mom!”

Her eyes shoot open and she sits up with a gasp, clutching her chest as she struggles to catch her breath.

Her vision is fuzzy when she looks around, and her limbs are sluggish at best. She doesn’t see Henry, she doesn’t see the ship or anything she recognizes.

“Henry,” she utters, her voice raw and her lips tasting like salt.

Salt. From the water. She was in the water.

Suddenly Emma feels cold, cold through her bones and she’s shaking, shivering really.

“Henry!” she calls out again, looking around, but there’s no sign of her kid.

“Hey, you’re awake!” says another voice, from a figure kneeling beside her. “Thank goodness you’re ok; when I found you washed up on the beach, I swore you were dead.” She blinks at the figure, trying to concentrate on her, but it proves difficult.

Her hands move and they come into contact with sheets, softer than the sheets in The Darling. The bed was larger too.

Eventually, her vision clears to realize she isn’t on a ship, or on a beach, but in a bed on solid land. She also realizes she isn’t alone.

“Granny didn’t think you were dead, so we brought you inside to Granny’s spare room—well, my room, but it’s still just the spare room,” the woman continues. Emma blinks trying to figure out who she is and what she is even talking about.

The woman looks younger than her, so early 20’s, has darker blonde hair falling short on her shoulders, tanned skin and she just. Keeps. Talking.

“Wh-Where am I?” Emma asks, her voice rough to her ears and she feels incredibly thirsty.

The woman’s eyes spark at her talking. “So you can talk, I was worried. We’re in Mercury Island in the East Sea, only real land mass in this area, at least according to Granny, and Granny knows every—“

Oh god . Emma thinks. Should have let me drown…

“Tink, are you talking this poor girl’s ear off?” says a second voice, interrupting the girl and entering the room. It was an older lady carrying a plate of food.

At first, she considers denying it, wanting to get up and look for Henry, or this Demon Ship that had taken her kid.

But her stomach growls and she still feels cold. Emma knows that if she has any chance at finding her kid, she needs to stay strong.

She takes the food; it’s a warm bowl of broth with some sort of noodles, she isn’t sure exactly, only that it’s delicious, the warmth waking up her sluggish body more and more with every sip.

“I’m so sorry about Tink, she gets a little bit excited. I’m Granny,” the woman says, smiling kindly at Emma; she has a motherly feeling, as if she enjoys caring for the less fortunate. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Emma.”

“Tell me Emma, how did you come to be washed up on our beach?” 

Emma swallows, hesitant to share her story, but coming to the conclusion that she needs help and these people are all she has.

“I was sailing with my son. We were attacked by the Demon Ship, a big ship, scary designs and an unnatural fog,” she describes. She sees Tink’s face pale and the woman frowns darkly. “They took my son. I need to get him back,” she insists.

“Granny…”Tink says, glancing at the older woman.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie, but finding the Demon Ship—why, it’s impossible,” she insists. 

Emma narrows her eyes. “You’ve heard of it? What do you mean impossible?” she repeats.

“People have been trying to find the Demon Ships for years. No one survives the encounter,” Granny explains.

“But I survived,” she points out.

“Then count yourself lucky, Emma. Try to forget what you lost and move on.” Her words hit her to her core.

“That’s not happening,” she snaps. “My son is on that ship, and I’m finding him no matter what,” she insists, moving the soup away. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

She stumbles slightly when she stands. Tink moves to help her but she brushes her away.

“Well if you’re that stubborn,” Granny begins, “There is one other survivor that I know of.” That catches her attention. “Before you, he’s been the lone survivor of the menace; he still hunts the damn thing. Can’t imagine why.”

That does seem useful; someone hunting it must be familiar with Demon Ship and would have the most information, and given that he survived it, he might know how to defeat it and get her son back.

“Where do I find him?” 

Tink looks to Granny nervously. “You don’t mean…” 

The old woman nods.

“I do. You’re looking for Captain Hook, and you’re in luck; word around town is he made port on the other side of the island last night. He’s most likely still there.”

Get to the other side of the island, find this Captain Hook fellow, and save Henry. It sounded like the makings of a plan.  

“Alright,” she agrees. “If you could give me directions to this port, I can get out of your way as soon as possible.” 

Granny shakes her head. “If only it were that simple sweetie, but the safest way to the port is through the bridge and it’s out. The builder should be along in a few days to fix it, but until then, you’re stuck.

“My son doesn’t have a few days!” she snaps. “You said safest,�� she recalls. “What’s the other way?”

The old woman shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s the other way?” she repeats. Emma doesn’t care about danger. 

“There’s a path, but no one ever uses it,” The older woman begins.

“It’s covered with monsters!” Tink interjects. “You can’t go there, Emma; it’s not safe.” Emma rolls her eyes.

“Look, thank you for your hospitality but I’ll be fine,” she insists. “If you can just point me to the path, I’ll be going.” She moves towards the door, but Granny stops her. “Listen, lady—“ But the old woman just shakes her head. 

“I’m not stopping you, Emma,” she assures. “But you can’t go running around in those rags. I have a few things that might fit you.” Emma looks down at her clothes. The dress she’s wearing is completely ruined, sea water having done its job on the skirt and the rip in the back being too bad for a regular patch. 

“Now, I have an adventurer’s tunic; legend has it that the one who wore this-“ But Emma cuts her off, not even glancing at the green she holds, looking straight at a dark blue and brown vest and pants respectively hanging besides it.

“Will this work?” she asks. Emma glances at the clothes Granny is about to offer. “Sorry; green isn’t my color.” The old woman looks a little shocked before she nods.

“Perfect.”

//

Apparently this ‘super dangerous’ path was in fact super dangerous. 

The moment she stepped out into the path, three red demons attacked her. They were small but had claws, teeth and bright yellow eyes. They took one look and lunged for her. It took Emma by surprise and she barely got away.

It had taken kicking one in the face to get them to back off. The second she could, Emma ran back to town, where they apparently did not want to follow.

Tink is the one who finds her at the beach kicking at the sand, trying to find something on the beach to use for a weapon. That’s all she needs: a weapon to beat these things and get to port.

“Granny was right,” Tink says when she sees her; Emma glares at her. “The path is too dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. Emma is not in the mood for an “I told you so.” She ignores her.

“Especially without a weapon, and the only weapon on this side of the bridge is Granny’s old sword but she doesn’t like to use it.”

Emma’s head pops up. “Sword?” she repeats. Tink’s eyes go wide.

“I shouldn’t have said that, like I really shouldn’t have said that, but sometimes I don’t know how to shut my mouth,” she admits.

“Why didn’t Granny mention a sword?” she asks. That would have helped her get through the monsters and would definitely be a big help in her mission.

“Granny is a pacifist,” Tink admits. “She keeps the sword because a friend of hers made it,” Tink adds. “But I don’t know what friend; I think it’s the cannon maker in another island but I’m not sure…” She trails off, talking about this Marco fellow, but Emma doesn’t care.

“Where’s the sword, Tink?” she asks.

The blonde shakes her head.

“It’s in the shed, but Emma, please—you can’t take it, it’ll get you killed and it’ll be me getting you killed and I really don’t want that.” She pleads with genuine emotion and Emma believes her—she honestly cares.

“Ok, Tink,” she says softly to calm the upset girl.

“You promise?” Tink asks. Emma hesitates.

“I promise.” Perhaps it’s a little juvenile, but she crosses her fingers behind her back.

Emma waits until Tink is called to do her daily chores to make her way to the shed. A part of her feels bad about stealing from these kind people, but she just says to herself that she’ll give it back as soon as possible.

Maybe even compensate them for their troubles. It would be a harmless theft.

(Emma tries to push the sight of a concerned Tink from her mind.)

She focuses on the mess of a shed, boxes and crates of food in every inch of it. It takes a good while before she finds a chest in the back of the room. The box is good and sturdy with a design etched in the wood. She wishes she can see it, but the chest is too old to properly make it out.

When she opens the chest, Emma is pleasantly surprised by what she finds. 

She had expected some rusty blade too heavy for her to handle one handed. It was what she was used to seeing when she was with Bae. Or something lighter and slender, like a cutlass.

This was a one-handed double edged broadsword; long enough to give her some reach, but short enough to give her some power. It was always the type of weapon she preferred. It was the kind of sword her father once had, and while she later learned how to wield one on The Darling , her father’s weapon of choice always held a place in her heart.

She can tell by the sharpness and gleam of the metal that someone kept great care of the weapon. She picks it up and it feels right in her hand. She swings it, once, twice, three times and grins at the crisp sound of it cutting through air.

This is exactly what she needs; this is exactly the weapon she needs to rescue her kid. She looks around, finding a holster to secure the weapon to her side. Beside the chest, she notices a wooden shield. It also looks relatively new. A white bird design was painted onto it. She picks it up. 

She’s heard of people fighting with both a sword and a shield and she wonders. Bae never bothered with one. He thought they were too cumbersome, and considering his own fighting style, he was probably right.

Emma suddenly feels guilty for wanting to take both these things from the old woman who helped her.

“Mom!” 

Emma shivers. She would never forget the sound of Henry calling for her. That was the reason she was doing this. This time, the means justified the end.

 “What are you doing?” It catches her off guard to the point that she nearly drops the sword. Emma turns around slowly.  

 “ That’s a good question,” Emma admits. She honestly didn’t think she’d get caught.

“You’re stealing from us?” Tink says, sounding devastated. “You promised you’d wait, you said—“

Emma gave a sigh. “I’m sorry, but it’s my son, my only family; wouldn’t you do that for your family? Your grandmother?” she asks. “Every minute I wait, I feel like he’s hurting, like he’s scared and alone and I can’t have that.” She tightens her hold on the blade.

Tink looks at her for a long moment, an almost blank look on her face.

“Granny isn’t my grandmother,” she admits. “I-I lost my memory. Granny found me. I was half drowned and injured; she nursed me back to health and gave me a sanctuary while my memory came back…” she trails off.

“But it never did.” Tink smiles in confirmation. Honestly, Emma feels for the younger girl. She knows what it feels like to feel lost in your own head, unsure about anything at all. She seems different from the happy go lucky chatterbox from earlier.

“I don’t know if I’d do what you’re doing if the situation was reversed; I don’t know if I have a son, or a loved one, a family.” She shakes her head. “But you’re right—waiting is stupid. We should go. Your son needs you.”

“We?” Emma repeats. That was the last thing she expected. “You don’t need to come; you don’t need to risk your neck for me,” she insists. 

“But I want to!” she insists, all her spunk springing back into her. “I want to help you find Captain Hook. Plus, you shouldn’t have to go it alone. You have me to help you; even if I can’t fight, I can watch your back.”

Emma nods; that seems helpful. “But when it starts to get tense, you’re going to have to keep quiet and not distract me, alright? And just until we get to the docks and I find Captain Hook.”

“Deal!”

//

The red creatures don’t stand a chance against a fully armed Emma Swan. The first one she finds, she sneaks up on, and stabs it in the back before it has a chance to turn on her. It howls in pain as it dissolves into darkness.

Its cry alerts the other two to her presence, they jump at her with a vengeance, but she pushes them back with the shield on her arm. They try to circle her, but she doesn’t let them, charging at one while blocking the other. It takes a few swings before they’re both vanquished as well.

“You do know how to swing a sword,” Tink says amazed. Emma smiles shyly. She really doesn’t, but the bare basic she knows is enough for now. It has to be.

//

The town is a lot smaller than Emma imagined. Maybe it’s because she’s used to bustling port cities, or hidden castle towns, but this town is absolutely tiny. 

There is a small tavern, a small inn, a shop or two and a boathouse. There are barely any homes either. It just feels sad and dead, like the life in this place just wasn’t there. Emma doesn’t understand it.

 “I guess we can start at the shipyard,” Tink suggests, looking over at the ships. There are only a few, one standing out larger than the rest. Tink leads her right to that one.

“This is the one I remember Granny pointing out as his,” she explains. They look around, seeing not a speck of life on the ship. “Hello?” Again no one. There wasn’t even a crew on board.

“Are you looking for someone, miss?” says a voice; Emma sees an older man, sword at his hip and gruff disposition approach them.

“We’re looking for the owner of this ship. If you happen to know and want to tell us, of course…” Tink says meekly.

“Captain Hook,” Emma says louder, more assertively. “Can you tell us where he is?”

The man laughs. “Why on earth would you want to know where that sorry seaman is?” he asks. Emma crosses her arms stepping forward. 

“That’s none of your business sir. If you can’t help us, we’ll just find someone who can,” she says boldly.

“Probably drowning his sorrows in more rum at the tavern,” the man says leering at her. “But I wouldn’t bet on him helping you. The man is obsessed with only two things, rum and his suicide mission.” He laughs, eyes glancing at Tink. Emma steps in front of the younger girl.  “Perhaps I can be of service to you sweetie.” Emma takes Tink’s hand.

“Thanks, but we’ll take our chances.” She pulls Tink right along.

“I get to come to the tavern with you?” she asks delightedly. “I’ve never been to a tavern before.” She almost giggles. Someone seriously has to take this girl out more...

“Well I’m not leaving you with Prince Charming back there,” Emma says certainly. “Come on; just stay close to me.”

The tavern isn’t as raunchy as Emma expected; it was just a bar with a bartender and a few unconscious guests. Considering it was pretty early in the afternoon it was better than Emma expected.

“Excuse me?” Emma asks the bartender. “I’m looking for Captain Hook,” she says slowly. “Do you think you can point me in the right direction?”

Before the man has a chance to reply, one of the drunks near her shoots to life.

“ Captain Hook ,” he says with obvious disdain. “Good for nothing pirate! Beat me at cards; cheated me, cheated me I tell you,” he insists with a raised fist, knocking over his half empty glass onto the floor.

“Linebeck, no one cheated you at cards,” the bartender assures him.

“There were 6 Aces in his deck, 6! I counted them. 1,2,3…” He seems to get a little lost at that point. Tink tries to help him finish counting but Emma can tell a lost cause from here.

“Can you help me find him?” she asks the bartender once more.

“The Temple!” Linebeck shouts once more. “He conned me out of my key to the Ocean Temple!”

The bartender turns his head sharply. “Linebeck, you didn’t. You know the man is crazy about that,” he says. 

“Conned me, I say!”

“What is he talking about? Where is Captain Hook?” Emma demands. When no one answers, she takes a breath, trying to calm down.

“Look, I’ve traveled a bit to find him, fought some monsters, stole from a little old lady’s house; so if someone doesn’t start talking, I’m going to be really mad.”

There’s a look between the bartender and the crazed drunk.

“The Temple of the Ocean Queen. Hook has been coming and going for months trying to get in there, but it’s locked up tight. The only key there somehow ended up in Linebeck’s hands. Now Hook has it so he’s probably there,” he explains. Tink’s eyes go wide. She obviously knows something about this Temple. “And if he managed to get in that place, then you might as well give up, because he’s surely dead by now.”

Dead?

“He can’t be dead!” she exclaims.

“Emma…” Tink pleads. “He’s right; the Temple, Granny says-“ Emma shakes her head storming right out of the tavern. “Emma!” she calls, chasing after her.

“Which way to the temple?” she demands.

“You can’t go!” Oh, but she can. 

“What if he’s not there yet?” Emma tries. “What if we just go to the gate and look around?” she persuades.

Tink thinks about it for a moment. 

“Do you know how to get there?” she asks. The girl nods.

 “Just take me there Tink; that’s all I ask,” she insists. The smaller blonde looks uncertain, but she does lead the way through a path riddled with monsters towards the ominous blue building. As Emma says they do look around, look for any sign of the sea captain, but there is none, not until they get to the gate where there is a collection of chains undone, slightly open where you could slide through.

It was plainly obvious Captain Hook had found his way inside. 

“I have to go in,” Emma states plainly, looking at her companion.

“Emma, going in there is a suicide mission,” Tink insists. “People go in there and never come out. It’s a fool’s mission,” she adds, her hands on Emma’s arm, wanting to pull her away.

Emma glances at the tall, intimidating building and Emma can see what she means: it radiates an unsettling feeling.

“You said that this Hook fellow is the only one crazy enough to hunt down the Demon Ship,” Emma reminds her.

“Yeah but—“ Emma doesn’t let her finish.

“He’s in there, right?” Again Tink nods. “Then I have to go in there, find him and get him to take me to the Demon Ship,” she concludes. 

“But Emma,” Tink says; she's practically pleading with her. “If you go in there, you’ll die,” she says like a certainty. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

Sour, but familiar. 

“If it’s my only chance at saving Henry, then I’m prepared to die trying. If you’re scared, I get it; this isn’t your fight, this isn’t your problem. Go back to Granny’s; you’ve done enough.” She has; Emma is incredibly grateful for her help, but here is where they part.

She doesn’t let Tink answer, knowing nothing the young woman can say will change Emma’s mind. Emma doesn’t need anyone else to believe in her; she has Henry’s belief and that is more than enough for her.

It takes a minute to push the heavy doors open, but once the door opens, light floods the room so she’s not in complete darkness. 

The first thing she notices is how grand this place looked. It looks more like a palace than a temple, like something out of a storybook. She can see an alter up at the top where a Queen could stand and address a gathering of people. She can see where grand curtains could be hung, a door that could be towards a war room, or rooms for guests or family. It didn’t feel like a temple, a building existing to protect something sacred; it felt like a castle, strong and secure, but filled with darkness. 

The next thing she notices are the voices, low and sad voices. 

“Death to all who enter the Ocean Temple.” It makes her turn around sharply, as there’s a cold feeling in the back of her neck. All she sees behind her are bones.

“ Life drained in an instant; abandon hope, all ye who enter here.” She whirls around again, sword at the ready; still nothing. Emma thinks she’s starting to get the feeling why entering here is a suicide mission.

“If you’re going to be spooky, at least be original,” she quips at the voices.

“Who has to be original?” another voice asks. Startled, Emma swings her sword, absolutely tired of this. Tink lets out a shriek as she barely jumps out of the way. “I know you’re mad but seriously?” the blonde cries out.

“Sorry,” Emma replies. “This place is…creepier than I thought it would be,” she admits, glancing around. She doesn’t hear any more voices. Tink nods in agreement, stepping away from a skull she just notices. “What are you doing here?” she asks. “I thought I was on a ‘suicide mission’.” It makes Tink flinch.

“I made a promise that I’d take you to Captain Hook,” Tink reminds her. “I-I don’t like breaking promises.” Emma raises a brow. “Plus, I figured it would be safer if we went in together. How could I let you go in alone when I know you’re fighting for your son? What type of person would that make me?” she asks.

A sane person.

“You don’t have to, Tink,” Emma insists. “Like I said outside, it’s my battle to fight.”

Tink crosses her arms stubbornly. “Sorry Emma, you’re stuck with me,” she insists. “Whether you like it or not.”

Emma wonders if Tink coming with her is a good idea for exactly two minutes before she steps on a booby trap and Tink pulls her back just moments before a sword could come down on her head.

So maybe the annoying talkative blonde was really starting to grow on her.

Tagging: @phiralovesloki​

[puttingfingerstokeys]

turning of the wheel

or wheel of fate--I ain’t decided. they all kinda sound cheesy. Prequel to Lightning Rod

Yet more drama and angst at the dawn of time with Lord Liu Kang, Raiden, and a lovely Fujin cameo! I hope you guys want a wee bit of a nut punch today ‘cause here she comes. Oh as usual I’m too lazy to fuck with the italics, so hopefully y’all can figure that out. 

warring exes implied

broken timeline (leading into restored)

“Shang Tsung? Lord Raiden—that is madness!” Liu Kang’s face held the ardor of youth, and the shock of a child who had just been told his favorite myth was a man in a costume, or that it was altogether imaginary. Raiden appreciated the innocence in this look. For all his razor sharp intelligence, Liu Kang was still largely untainted by his new duties. His hands were not yet covered in the blood of billions, not this version of him. In time, Raiden thought bitterly. And I have done this to him—dare I ask for even a little more, much less what I would actually have?

“And yet I am sane,” responded the fire god’s advisor. Liu Kang looked him over, appraising, eyes narrowed. Something was amiss within his mentor, a strange conflict, and it appeared to be draining him. He had settled himself nearby, physically weary from the weight of whatever it was he was clearly carrying. Lately, Raiden had seemed distracted and listless; Liu Kang would not have said a word unprompted, however. “You must… for the sake of your restored timeline… weave Shang Tsung back in—only there, only one… it is… all I ask.”

“But how? Why?” The fire around his body flared and one fist clenched, hard. He recalled the strange relief and pleasure he had felt watching the wicked, serpentine sorcerer crumble into sand and blow away in a cosmic wind. In that moment, Liu Kang had witnessed something utterly foreign to the man’s darkly handsome features: Fear.

“I removed him from all timelines—what I have done… Raiden, I do not regret it and it cannot be reversed.”

“I do not… ask you to regret, Lord Liu Kang… only to… help me.” Asking for assistance was not Raiden’s strong suit; he was accustomed to requesting alliances, to challenging his friends to greater heights of prowess, and to giving them the tools to successfully defend Earthrealm. Upon this, especially, he had not wanted to elaborate, had hoped he would be able to overcome this weakness on his own. Alas, it was not to be. “I am deteriorating… because my body is mortal, as all mortals must. But... I also house… two souls.”

“Two souls, Lord Raiden, that is impossible!”

“For a human, yes… It would kill you instantly, had you no way to contain it, no training, but I am not human—not entirely—and you have the power to draw forth souls, do you not?”

In this moment, Liu Kang wished he could still blush. He thought he should feel shame for this, ever the humble monk. He nodded, however and moved closer to his mentor, reaching out to offer a hand. Raiden waved it off and shook his head.

“I will be still a while,” he said, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, “and then I will explain all.”

Patience was, indeed, a virtue when in the presence of a god, even a former god. For a being who had seen many lifetimes, and many eternities, a few minutes was nothing. Liu Kang assumed a meditative pose and stayed nearby, breathing deeply himself, drawing the air of the dawn of time into his lungs and exhaling, centering himself on the deep thrum of the hourglass.

He reflected upon his first lessons with Raiden, how intense the training had been, how focused he had been upon impressing his teacher and on bettering himself. It was this second trait which Raiden claimed was his strength. “Impressing me matters little, Liu Kang; I am not your opponent. You are.”

“When the Elder Gods punished Shang Tsung, they hollowed him out, made his greed endless, bottomless, fathomless—they removed his soul, Lord Liu Kang,” Raiden began. Liu Kang interrupted him.

“I know this, master; you have already taught me… and even if you had not, such greed cannot be attributed to someone who was in possession of his own soul.” I would have figured it out eventually, not that it matters; an evil like that must be defeated. Always, Liu Kang thought with some bitterness.

“But a soul is energy and energy cannot be destroyed.” Raiden’s voice rumbled across the space between them, heedless of the interrupted, resounding like a distant thunderstorm breaking on some foreign shore, the sound carrying over water, reverberating against stones, and finally settling in Liu Kang’s chest, his heart, his guts, his entirety.

“The man I destroyed… had no soul; he was a husk... so he could not truly die—Lord Raiden is he somewhere in the hourglass, biding his time? Does he await a moment of weakness? Please, I know patience is perhaps the greatest virtue, but is there time?”

“There is time, if only a little,” said Raiden quietly, sighing deeply. “They split his soul and placed it in a vessel which would never break—but which was already broken. A pair of vessels, in fact.”

“You are one of them, Lord Raiden. YOU house Shang Tsung’s soul… but why? Why you?”

“Two vessels, Lord Liu Kang. I do not house his entire soul, only half. I… must amend my earlier statement… one and a half souls reside in my body, yet another factors which grants us a little time.” He paused and closed his eyes, breathing heavily, steadily. “My brother bears the other half and… he does not know.” Raiden’s head hung low, shoulders sagging visibly. Liu Kang had not even registered that Raiden had not answered his question, nor had he clarified the meaning of unbroken vessels which were broken. It was too much around which to suddenly wrap his mind.

“Why did you never share this with Lord Fujin?” Liu Kang knew it was no time to grill Raiden, that time was, in a way, of the essence. All the same, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and awaited the answer.

“I foolishly thought to protect him, as I did over and over during my time as Earthrealm’s protector. I know how futile that attempt was. In the end, I caused much pain and this will be yet more. I cannot make amends in a way I would have preferred, because time is short, so proper explanation will have to wait. He will not be pleased… nor would I in his position.

“All the same, we must summon Lord Fujin and remove the fragment from him…. And from me—we must weave Shang Tsung back into the timeline. It is essential, Lord Liu Kang, that we do this and let him lead his life.”

The pallor of Raiden’s features disallowed more questions. Liu Kang felt that he had little choice in the matter. He hated being caught this way, but was unwilling to lose Raiden so soon. If I am honest, he thought to himself, I am unwilling to lose him, ever.

Raiden knew Liu Kang had many questions, but was grateful he held his tongue for all that. He assumed the new god of fire and thunder was wondering how they would go about ensuring the old serpent would not simply engineer their end once more. Perhaps it was always his destiny to do so. Raiden had wondered the same thing when the initial pangs of the soul fragment came upon him.

He no longer had time to wonder, though he was sure the answer would come in time. For the moment, it was of utmost importance to contact and converse with Fujin. Summoning him to the dawn of time would not have been difficult for Raiden, had he been possessed of a more sound and less mortal body. As it stood, he would need to teach Liu Kang the technique of communication between gods.

“Align yourself… with your godhood, Liu Kang,” Raiden instructed, watching him, staying upright with great effort.

“Do not speak, Teacher,” Liu Kang begged, closing his eyes and reaching into himself. “Besides, who better to beseech help from a god than a monk? It was part of my training, after all.”

This brought a faint smile to Raiden’s face as he fought to stay conscious and whole. The soul fragment within him was active and angry, feeling as if it might slice through his guts and leave him bleeding out. He swallowed hard and focused upon his hands, clenched hard in his lap, keeping him conscious. Raiden knew if he gave in to the sweet temptation of sleep, he might not return. I cannot fail Liu Kang—not again.

In point of fact, Liu Kang need not have attempted summoning the wind god. Fujin appeared by the side of his brother with a look on his face that suggested he knew little other than the obvious fact that Raiden was in distress. He dropped immediately to one knee to confer with his now-mortal sibling.

“Raiden, what has befallen you? Is this because you have given your divinity to Liu Kang?” He gestured to the new god, who had turned with a start when Fujin appeared. He was mentally chiding himself for not assuming Fujin would automatically know when something was wrong with Raiden; on the other hand, he had not appeared until now, so evidently, the elder of the two still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

“Lord Fujin, there is no time to explain,” said Liu Kang. “Shang Tsung yet lives within you and Lord Raiden—”

“What foolishness is this?!” Fujin’s beautiful face was a mask of indignant fury. He grasped his brother about the shoulders and had begun to lift him when Raiden uttered a grunt of protest and lifted a hand.

“It is no... foolishness, brother,” he assured Fujin, struggling to stand on his own. “When the Elder Gods... cursed Shang Tsung, they removed his... soul. It was split for—for eternity—or so they must have... assumed—and placed within us.”

“And his soul is killing you.” Fujin’s voice bore a note of something Liu Kang did not recognize, but the urgency of the situation overrode his desire to delve deeper into the relationship between the gods of wind and thunder, and so he moved closer, urging with his expression and the tenseness in his body that they should hurry.

“It is,” admitted Raiden, standing only with Fujin’s help. “My body is… mortal and such a… finite thing cannot house... two souls.”

“What will you do with it once it has been removed?” Fujin’s eyes moved between Raiden and Liu Kang.

“That is up to… Lord Liu Kang,” said Raiden quietly. He met Liu Kang’s eyes for but a moment, and something passed between them, a sureness that, above all else, Fujin must not know their true purpose. Even now, Raiden was trying to protect his brother.

“Do it, then,” said Fujin through clenched teeth. He had wrapped Raiden’s arm over his own shoulders and was propping him up that way. “But you will dispose of it appropriately. Your new era cannot afford to have such a serpent entwined in its roots.”

Raiden could no longer meet Liu Kang’s eyes. He seemed paler than usual and the young god knew he had no more time. He was glad Fujin had agreed so readily, but in the meantime, he had to concoct a story for what he would do with Shang Tsung’s soul. His mind was a steel trap, but lying was not easy. It had never come easy to him. Kung Lao had once mocked him for this, but he still held it as a virtue. In truth, Lao did, too, but would never have admitted it.

Slowly, Liu Kang began to draw upon his own experience—that of his revenant—with soul magic and thence, to draw forth the essence of the thing which was vastly different within the two brothers, and similar to itself, once exposed. The essence was simple to spot, relatively speaking. It was the soul of a mortal, for starters, ancient, but not in the way a god’s was ancient, and filled with greed and ambition. Next to Fujin’s shining energy, it was little more than inky shadow. The soul seemed to have wrapped itself around Raiden’s, however. His soul, while that of a mortal, still did not bear the same essence as Shang Tsung’s. It was much older, though the sorcerer’s clung tightly to its host and was far more difficult to extract.

Fujin cried out but once when the dark essence was pulled from him. Fortunately, he stayed upright and strong, for when the oily ink had been removed from Raiden, the former thunder god collapsed heavily against his brother, breathing shallowly, pale as a ghost. Liu Kang wanted, more than anything in that moment, to run to his teacher, but he was busy wrangling the soul of a dark sorcerer.

Lowering the two of them to the stones, Fujin pulled Raiden’s hat from his head and set it aside. With utmost care, he also removed the cap and freed his brother’s hair, pulling it off his sweaty forehead and running his fingers through it tenderly. He held Raiden close, arms wrapped tightly about him, eyes squeezed shut, willing him to survive.

With no vessel in which to house the soul, Liu Kang turned toward the hourglass. He knew that entrapment in the glass itself was possible, but that one also ran the risk of tainting the Sands of Time for every single eternity. If anyone could taint it, Shang Tsung was that person. He had no choice but to quickly, with as much care as his limited experience would allow, weave the man back into the timeline of his new era. He was taking Raiden on faith, but his faith was great. 

His thoughts were distracted, turning ever back to the struggling deities behind him, but he had a job to do, perhaps the most important job of his life, aside from being the chosen one—and what a career that had turned out to be! Even Raiden himself had not anticipated that the meaning of “chosen one” referred to Liu Kang’s eventual divinity.

Meanwhile, Fujin was muttering quietly to Raiden, holding him close, cradling his head against his neck like a child. The god of thunder did not stir. Tears of frustration and terrified rage threatened to fall from Fujin’s luminous eyes, but he choked them down in favor of speaking.

“Brother,” he whispered, hoarse and constricted, pressing his lips to Raiden’s sweaty forehead, to his hair, his cheeks, his eyelids. “Raiden, please… I refuse to believe it was too late—you cannot have held out so long that this… I cannot—I will not allow it.”

All at once, both brothers began to give off a strange, eldritch illumination. Liu Kang turned just in time to witness the light enveloping them both. The power of it drove him back a few steps, but he held his ground as best he could, calling out to them.

In the midst of the light was not unlike the eye of an immense hurricane. Raw power swirled around both of them, but not a hair on either head was stirred. Raiden had opened his eyes and was looking up into Fujin’s, one hand clasped in his brother’s. Raiden held tightly to it.

“I thought I had lost you, brother.” Fujin’s admission was quiet. Raiden closed his dark eyes and shook his head.

“It is not my time, not yet—soon, perhaps, but I still have much to teach our young Lord Liu Kang.”

Now, it was Fujin’s turn to shake his head. “It would be teaching which keeps you anchored to mortality,” he said, sighing through his nose. As he did this, the shining, violent wind and lightning all around them began to abate and Liu Kang himself approached.

“You are your own again, Lord Raiden,” he reassured his mentor, bowing with palm over fist, to both gods, “and you, Lord Fujin. Though… you did not suspect something different was the case, did you?”

“You are wondering how I might not notice such a soul,” guessed Fujin, easing Raiden into a sitting position. It was only then Liu Kang seemed to notice the former deity’s state of undress and politely averted his eyes. Raiden rested heavily against Fujin, eyes closed, breathing deeply, at rest but not sleeping.

“I am, Lord Fujin, though I suspect our only source for a fully articulated response has been taken from us,” said Liu Kang, referring of course to the Elder Gods. Ripped from the quantum state where they both had and had not resided, one could almost argue that they had never existed in the first place, but if that was the case, then where did that leave the brothers of storm?

Free.

It left them free. Liu Kang was a believer, through and through. His faith had carried him where all else faltered. It had also gotten him killed at one point. With the eyes of a young man, of a god, and of a vicious revenant, he now saw the dominoes falling into place, set up eons ago by who could say what force and only now toppling in completion to reveal a great mural of suffering and joy, necessary agony and perfected bliss.

“My best guess is that the soul of a god is so radiant, it drowns out the dimness of half a wicked human soul,” Fujin offered, spitting the last words like venom. Raiden nodded, confirming that this was, indeed, the case. “How long have you known, brother?”

“The moment it happened, brother. Forgive me for this deception.” Raiden’s voice was no stronger than it had been, but it lacked the quality of degenerating breath, though it still sounded exhausted. Fujin’s frown was stormy for a moment, but then he shook his head and waved it off. 

“Why did you think you could hide it?” Now, it was Fujin’s turn, for once in their long lives, to scold. Raiden sighed. 

“Separating myself from Lord Liu Kang to remain as advisor, I noted a weakness which I took to be only that of a mortal. I… had not forgotten his soul… I had simply underestimated its effect upon mine.” Embarrassment was only a tiny portion of the emotion Raiden’s voice betrayed. The rest was something inscrutable, but Liu Kang thought it might have been a strange, melancholic fondness. “It was slow, at first… I thought I was merely aging. Even as a deity, I did not have the appearance of a young man.”

The sickness had, like Shang Tsung himself, crept up gradually, taking him piecemeal, content to dismantle with insidious slowness, not entirely unlike old age itself. When Raiden had first realized what was happening to him, he thought perhaps he could hold out long enough for his death to seem natural for the mortal he now was. This proved not to be the case, however, as the creeping had turned to the consuming spread of a wildfire under the influence of a strong wind.

“Well, he has been expelled,” said Fujin with finality. “And good riddance. Lord Liu Kang, your timelines are safe from his venom.”

Fujin held Raiden tightly still, even though he was out of danger, terrified to risk him again. Raiden leaned into his brother, wanting desperately to sleep, but knowing there was work to be done. At the moment, he was far too weak, however, and knew that there was little to do for now but rest.

“Please, Lord Raiden, retire to the Sky Temple for a time,” Liu Kang suggested. “I will be… I must learn to shift the sands on my own.” He was wearing a brave face for his mentor, but nothing terrified him more than the prospect of putting one grain out of place and re-initiating that which they had sacrificed everything to stop.

“I will take him,” said Fujin, shifting his grip upon his brother and standing. “If you have any need, Lord Liu Kang, please do not hesitate.”

The wind carried the brothers away, through time and space to the safety and peace of their Sky Temple home. Meanwhile, Liu Kang returned his gaze and focus to the hourglass. He had woven the sorcerer in with as much care as time had permitted.

Examining his work, he found it to be adequate, but there was still much worry. How would he ensure Shang Tsung’s nature would not overtake him and bring about another Armageddon? Raiden trusted him, but he did not trust himself. 

And he did not trust Shang Tsung.

[shadowofthelamp]

Year in Review: Writing

So, I can’t do the ‘year in review’ for art because... yeah, I didn’t really draw that much this year. So I decided to trawl through my writing tag for one favorite piece per month, and a pulled few paragraphs from each! Basically everything here is Zim except for the one tendershipping week thing, lmao, oops.

Some months had slim pickings but I still do like every one of these and it was a nice reflection.

January: Arrival

Her skin was tinted a sickly green, more like decomposing flesh than irken or human. Dib swallowed, but her breathing seemed to be even when he placed a hand to her kind of chubby chest, so that was probably just how their skin colors mixed, right? Besides, the lighting in the lab was always weird. Her mouth was gummy with no teeth yet, but her vocal cords were functioning perfectly. He was going to need hearing aids by his twenties, between her and Zim.

She had four fingers and three toes, which he kind of expected, as well as a nose but no ears. That made sense, if she had antennae, but it was still strange to run his fingers along the sides of her head and just feel smooth skin.

Her eyes… they were Zim’s through and through, deep ruby with the color filling the sclera. Did irkens even have sclera if they only had one color? Under the lab’s lights and mixed with the way everything on her slightly shimmered from the sticky goo she'd been coated in, she was like a section of space stolen into the little room and it took his breath away. The water blurring his vision didn’t help as he wiped it away with his sleeve, shifting her to one arm. She was so small...

__________

February: WLOD Dib meets Twix, alt version

It’s fascinating, to see what could have gone right. The 1001 here had gangly, underdeveloped limbs, and wispy hair that never quite got clean from the showers. This version wasn’t fat or anything, but definitely had more meat on its bones.

He examined the goggles- peering through them, they altered its vision because they made the lab beyond the ‘glass’ blurry. Curious, very curious. He was about to pop the lens out when it began to stir, tugging at the metal restraints with a clatter.

_________

March: Zibvoid

He talked to himself.

He talked to himself.

He talked to Zim, who hadn’t said a word since he’d died, but maybe he was just giving him the silent treatment.

Round and round, the generator buzzed like a bee and a hospital and a bug zapper that would draw in prey like flies to a web, except he was the spider now and the Zims were the moths.

Dib. Dib Dib Dib Dib Zim Dibdibdibdibzimdibdibzimdib. The names popped off his tongue as he rolled them both in his mouth, over and over until they didn’t seem like names at all anymore.

__________

April: Sturdy Branches (I know the date’s different on ao3 but it was first posted April)

Her dad is either singing or talking to himself as he vacuumed inside the house with a sway in his hips. At least you’re pretty sure it’s her dad? You haven’t seen a picture of him or anything, but he’s about the same age as your dad, so he’s too old to be a brother and too young to be a grandpa, and she hasn’t mentioned any uncles. A babysitter, maybe, but that doesn’t really make sense since Tulip isn’t home yet- ah!

She’s talking to someone as she turns the corner, bouncing her backpack. It’s lilac and circular, as well as covered in buttons. The Ranger helmet is in her backpack or still in her locker, but either way, she’s not wearing it anymore. She’s got the boots on, though. You adjust the binoculars a bit, but you aren’t good enough at lip-reading yet to tell what she’s saying. Whatever it is, it’s making the girl she’s talking to laugh. Maybe she’ll tell you tomorrow in class or at lunch if you pull her to sit at your table again. She has more friends at the middle table, but they don’t like sitting next to you after the beetle incident, and she doesn’t seem to mind. She always has a big smile when you start talking, and she’d say something if she didn’t like you, right? Pretty much everybody else does.

_________

May: Do Something For You (TD spoilers!)

Dib had never really thought ahead to having a family, but she was pretty much everything she’d want in one. She was an assistant and a partner, she was invested in the paranormal, she hated Zim- but on the other hand, she didn’t want him hurt? She seemed weirdly invested in making sure he didn’t get caught, actually. Eh, she’d hit him pretty hard, so it wasn’t like she was opposed to him getting his rightful dues for being an evil space monster.

It was relatively simple- she was just worried if he died then her timeline would be destabilized, which was a decent enough concern. Zim had to be important to his life for years to come, in one way or another. But whatever they were dealing with in the future, it had to be better with Zim out of the way earlier, right?

__________

June: Unnamed capture au drabble

“Why do you even give me these stupid scripts if you don’t like me doing them?” Dib folded his arms, kneading the ball in his palm. “Just get a robot or something.” He snorted. “I mean, it’d probably break, like half the stuff you touch.”

Zim’s hands curled into fists. “Take that back, you- you- worm!”

Dib quirked an eyebrow. “What, touched a nerve? When I was a kid, half the stuff you made broke, it’s just a fact. You only conquered Earth because this place is a trash heap and your garbage is slightly better than ours.” Over a year in Zim’s presence without too many galling injuries and a lifetime of not being able to keep his mouth shut made him bold. “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re probably broken yoursel-” He was cut off with a Pak leg aimed directly at his throat, prodding in just deep enough to draw a drop of blood down the alien metal.

Zim’s eyes were narrowed, but something was watering on the edges, and Dib swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing just below the leg’s tip.

“Zim. Is. Not. Broken.”

___________

July: Laughter

Ryou couldn't stand the lights on one minute and then hated having them off the next. The shadows bled from the way the light reflected off the couch, how it seemed to devour the wall behind it, and he swore he could still hear the voice in his mind. (Was that himself? Had he started thinking of himself as a separate voice? It had been ages since he'd really been alone, even though anyone outside him would have wondered about the boy who talked to his reflection like it was an old friend.)

He wished he could talk to Ryou. Ryou who had seemed so pliable as a child but had proved entertaining, a match for the fire, (heh, fire, even though it wasn't that funny, in fact, it wasn't funny at all, but what did he have but jokes? it wasn't like he could cry anymore) who carved out rules for use of the body with gritted teeth and tugged at the rope of the Ring so hard it had chafed his neck. He'd respected him. From a soft child, he'd hardened and grown firm, grown powerful, grown to be worthy. What were the odds fate had given him a chance at the same time someone had handed a young Yugi the box with the Puzzle? A roll of the dice. (The Gods having a last laugh, perhaps..)

Ryou dug his nails into the wood of the desk so hard that it made crescents, tiny moons in the umber that dug splinters into his pale fingers. The little model of the Thief King sat, as he always did, half-hidden on his shelf behind the pieces of Zorc. He'd never bothered to glue the monster back together but felt oddly reluctant to just incinerate the figures and be done with them. Both of them. Either of them. Maybe he just didn't want to pretend it had never happened. (Maybe he was worried he'd forget, thoughts and memories swept away by the sands of time, trickling down the hourglass, minute by minute, day by day, as he aged the way the Spirit had never been allowed to.)

___________

August: New Mission

It had been a month.

Nebula Twix had survived. She’d had to be popped into the healing pod when she had an allergic reaction to the oatmeal Dib had tried to feed her when it had inflamed her spooch, and Gir had tried to eat her head the one second Zim’s back had been turned, and she made goo from both ends a lot, but otherwise, she was perfectly fine!

And with that, Zim had come to a crossroads. It seemed that he was, indeed, in this for the long heel. (He was pretty sure that was the phrase. Humans liked large feet and large boots, so it made sense.) He could either continue to keep her a secret, or he could pass on his success to the Tallests.

Creating slaves out of the species marked for invasion was pretty common- something like 85% of invaders did it. But creating hybrids? That number was much lower. (Besides, they were usually disposed of as soon as the invasion was complete.) And irkens having those hybrids from their own bodies, and not just mixing them out of genetic slurry and quickly aging them up in time-fields? Almost completely unheard of. Zim was the pioneer in that area.

Also, having smeets from one’s body may have been a tad illegal, considering how hard it had been to find good information and judging from the fact that all irkens found to do it were brought in for experimentation. But no matter! Zim was nothing if not very, very good at things few other irkens dared to do, ready to drive the Empire forward by any means possible. They would have to appreciate that!

__________

September: Twix finds out she’s pregnant

Secondary life-form detected, the chamber chimed.

“Oh, gross, I’ve got a tapeworm? Well, flush it out.” Twix rolled her eyes, going back to the computer.

Lifeform has elements of Pak user.

Her finger froze on the ‘b’ key. “It… what? Analyze species origin.”

The chamber hummed around Twix as sweat dripped down the skin of her neck. There was a tiny 'ding!’ like a kitchen timer.

Lifeform is too underdeveloped to make more than approximations, but is roughly 25% irken and 75% Dominant Earth Species.

Her scream rattled the walls.

__________

October: Best-Laid Plans

“Of course, Number One.” Two turned his head slightly, and Dib jolted- he hadn’t directly commanded him to do that. “Your plan is perfect.” He blinked slowly- much slower than most Zims. Most Zims were utterly manic, back and forth and back and forth, loud and brutal and dangerous, but Two- Two had always worshiped him. Maybe even more than the rest. It had been nice, to be admired so heavily. Two had adored the personal attention when he was turned into an errand boy.

Dib might miss him.

He shook that thought out of his head, gripping both sides of Two’s face with his index finger and thumb, nails (not claws, they weren’t claws) digging into the cheeks.

“You belong to me.” Two didn’t respond, and Dib dug in a little further.  Irken skin was thicker than a human’s, with a single drop of pink blood oozing over Dib’s fingernail and leaving a barely-perceptible damp trail. “Respond. Who do you belong to?”

“I belong to you, Number One.”

___________

November: Desperation (warning if you click through for impalement)

Dib’s lips were on Zim’s before he even knew what he was doing. “You’re not dying on me, you little bastard,” he hissed, fumbling to hold up the body as Zim nearly coughed blood directly into Dib’s mouth. It was salty and sweet all in one, but Dib couldn’t linger on the taste. Zim’s fingers grasped at his shirt, and Dib took that as a sign that it was working, pressing their lips together hard enough to bruise the capillaries.  

There was a click. Dib breathed in blood and out carbon dioxide, sputtering and swallowing it down so Zim wouldn’t die like this-

Something red-hot and metallic climbed over his arm before digging into his spine, and he realized that the body had gone entirely limp before there was electricity and then there was nothing.

____________

December: Freak

Twix grit her teeth. “How am I supposed to trust you if you’ll just- just do that?”

“How am I supposed to drop my whole social life because you can’t help being the weirdest person in school?” Tulip shot back. “I do care about you, but it’s so, so hard sometimes, because you just don’t know how to act, and sometimes I’m sick of waiting for you to play catchup just because your parents are the town freaks!” She slapped her hands over her mouth and took a step back.

Twix’s eye twitched under her goggles. “At least they’re freaks that love me. I’ll see you tomorrow, third period.”

“Twix-”

“I said,” Twix said through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get out before I reactivate the security.”

Tulip got out, and Twix buried her face in a couch pillow and screamed.

[sxvethelastdance]

Sleep When We’re Dead

Fire God Liu Kang/Johnny Cage

Broken Timeline

 A direct sequel/companion piece to I’m on Fire Again by my lovely friend over @puttingfingerstokeys

Do be warned: This here fic is first-person POV and about as artful it gets for someone who embraces the ‘patching half formed thoughts together like it’s going out of fashion’ lifestyle.  

I am me, and not. It is a paradox that would have given me a headache, were I still human. The experience, the being of godhood. It is a conundrum no more solved by this sudden ascension than it is, had I deliberated on it as the Liu Kang of past and present. 

He does not hear me enter the room. Rather, he sees me touch down upon the ground with more grandeur than I’d thought I had any right to after the portal has closed.

Everyone has gone off to battle. War. That is what we must call it, because that is what the circumstances demand of us, sacrifice and retaliation. We are defined by our battles. The ones we win, the ones we lose, and the ones we cannot fight. I know that my friend feels confined by these definitions, forced to watch his daughter go off without him and let go of his love a second time. It burns at him like it burns at me, knowing that I cannot stop what comes next. Only that we must deal in the aftermath.

“Liu... You’re. Holy fu-” I put my finger to his lips and let out a ‘shhh’, noting the questions that fill his face. We must keep it down, lest the late Grandmaster’s students come running. My presence is intentional, but I would rather not deal with the effects of my interference outside of our reunion. He knows that I am here, and somehow… I think he knows that this is my final stop before I join the others. What I hope is left of them when all is said and done. One cannot predict Shang Tsung’s machinations, only the inevitability of his betrayal. 

“I try to keep my promises when I can.” I look into his eyes and I see hurt and a fire that matches mine. I see his incomprehension and interest, and I find that the fire that envelops me is not in the literal. 

“I’m uh. Diggin’ the mop-top.” Or it is, and the cause is Johnny himself. That is more likely. My hands are at his arms, the same way his had been on mine all those years ago. He jokes, something about a “role reversal” and Reptile having been some variation of a “demon scaly” and I laugh. I am not above that, I will never be above that. Nor do I see myself above him outside of the most literal of contexts here. 

I want to make up for lost time, but with so few hours (minutes, moments. They are all one in the same) until my presence is required at the hourglass, I know that I cannot close the wound that I have opened. But there is time. Enough for one a last kiss. Because no matter what happens at the dawn of time, the things that have come to pass under my eye, they cannot stand. 

I do not lie. 

I did not lie. 

I lied.

What else can I do, when faced with enemies who have lied and slaughtered their way through the best of us? Who fight tooth and nail for the undoing, even if it is their own? It is madness, and perhaps that is what is required this time. Madness. 

I think no more on the subject when his lips are on mine, and that phantom flame ignites in my chest. I haven’t seen him in 25 years, and yet I saw him hours ago. Another paradox, another longing. He moves with purpose, as do I. We are both desperate and lonely in our own way. Our paths, crafted as they were by the mad titan were ours to walk. And walk we did until the time where we met again. I wrap my hand in his, still clutching the headband bestowed upon him by my other self, and he presses himself to me as if I’ll dissolve like the sands that dictate our lives. 

“You know the deal, kicky longstockings.” Johnny says, a watery laugh escaping him. I find beauty in it the same way that I find beauty in the creases of his face, the mark of his survival. No longer am I bitter about this, that I died young, no longer do I mourn for the man I never got to be. I have made peace with that, I have let go. I do not let go of him, my other hand squeezing tight enough to deepen the bruises that color him from what I assume are the previous night’s encounters. I know the deal, so I seal his mouth with mine again, and we take what comfort we can from this, my fingers wiping away at what tears have gathered at the corner of his eyes. 

He brushes the hair from my face (what I have left out in my ascension) and I feel sparks, both phantom and real dance upon my skin. The way that Johnny shakes out his hand gives me pause, but he’s having none of that. 

“I’m good, I’m good- Just...Whoa.” 

‘Whoa’ indeed. Fire is natural for me, but Lord Raiden’s gifts… I am unsure of how to describe it. They amplify the powers that I possess, but I am not completely unaware of the nature of these forces combined. This is another thought that loses itself in the hands that had found their way to my chest somewhere along my deliberation, a smirk planted firm on Johnny’s face. I may be a God, but the heat that washes over me is just as I felt it when I was alive. I am alive, death does not feel like this. My hands are hot on his skin, flushed red with delight. He knows what this does to me; and I know what I am going to do about it.

Some things never change.

This makes climbing atop him less an impulse and more an inevitability, though I am mindful of his leg. His current state of undress makes this endeavor a small undertaking, even if he is anything but. And much to my disappointment he has removed his hands from where they are in favor of my pants. Though I cannot stay mad for long with where his hands are. His neck is a sufficient target for my frustrations. 

We try to take our time, but I have mourned him once and he has mourned me twice, all to prepare himself for the unanticipated third time around. I cannot help the way my hands pull him to me anymore than he can help the way that his fingernails dig into my shoulder blades, welts in their wake. Sinking into him ignites a flame that not even my hottest strikes can compare to, and kissing him is just as I remember it. Better in some ways, even. The value of time comes full circle here, and it makes my heart beat without mercy. I know he feels the same, if not for the rapid-fire teasing, then for the hitch of his breath when I bear down upon him.

“Still have it in you, old timer?” He breathes deep through his nose, sweat gathering on his skin. It’s more tantalizing than it has any right to be. But what is Johnny, if not someone known to break the rules of what he can and cannot have. 

“If the ‘it’ is you, then sure thing, turbo.” He grins fiercely, and we are at odds again. If there’s anything else to be said here, it is that Johnny Cage has a talent for pushing just where he needs to for what he wants. I can also say that i shamelessly rise to the task, teeth and tongue to put that mouth to rest. 

One of the most fearsome aspects of godhood is the idea that I could go on for what would be eternity to a human. There is a satisfying ache in my bones, but I feel no real exhaustion, tangled up in him. His scent, that insatiable wit, the sunglasses that catch what little light that enters the room, characterized by their lack of presence on his face. It’s strange to see the man without them. But I find that I do not mind, having spent more time than I could ever bring myself to admit peering behind them. Putting together the pieces of a man with a deceptive wit and a need to be understood for more than an image. A well-crafted one, but an image nonetheless. 

This realization does not ‘hit’ me so much as it spreads. In my heart, in my lungs, in my veins. I see someone I understand. Someone I never had the chance to fully know, but someone I understand. That is what makes it so hard to part from him. Unlike my other self, it is daylight, and I cannot spare him the pain of watching me go. I can tell him that he has done well, that I am proud, and he can scold me for being so formal, something so uniquely Johnny to say. The air is tense, and I know what I must do. We both know  that it’s time.

I had moved to open the portal when he stopped me, resistance keeping me from slipping forward through the time stream. He hasn’t let go of my hand. Nor I of his. 

It seems we are both having trouble here. 

“Liu?” 

“Yes, Johnny?” He looked at me with a fondness that dissolved my tension and I squeezed his hand, my heart beating. 

“Kick the old lizard’s ass for me. Maybe slap baldy on the dome if she’s still up and tickin.” There’s humor in his voice, but I am aware of what this communicates. He is saying “do not forget me.” And how could I ever do such a thing? Johnny Cage is unlike any man I have met, and for this I feel that the blessing was not the gifts which bring me above my mortality, but the chance to meet someone so bright and blinding. There is much room in my heart for him, I have missed him and I cannot find the words to tell him this, I wish I could. But I cannot. I can, however, bring his hand to my lips. His eyes, blue as the dawn of time (I have seen it, felt it. I know now.) are wide. He hadn’t expected that. But even I am known to have the element of surprise every now and again.

“I will tell them who it’s from.” And then we are laughing again. I cannot help but pull him into another kiss. There’s a certain delight in the way his stubble, what little of it there is, scratches my cheeks. This feels less like goodbye, and more like “until we meet again.”

In another time and place, I know that we will. 

[atinytokki]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 11: Crossroads Pt. 2 

(Warnings: Violence and blood)

As Seonghwa leapt out the window and started running, he was surprised to hear footfalls following behind him.

He thought he had would have left his brother in the dust, but it seemed the prince was keeping up as the two of them sprinted down the hill and back through the town, guided by the flashes of light and jarring sound of bullets ringing out. 

Seonghwa didn’t even dare hope, but the logical side of him clawed at anything he could think of. The shots are still going, his mind whispered. They’re fighting back, they haven’t been killed in their sleep.

How he could have been so stupid to leave them like that, when enemies lurked around every corner?

Junhee called his name but Seonghwa ignored it, hurtling around the corner and slowing to a stop. He and Junhee came face to face with a small group of uniformed men. Royal Navy.

“What’s going on?” Junhee finally burst, leaning over to catch his breath. “Why would you run towards gunfire?”

The eyes of the officers before them widened and they immediately prostrated themselves, not expecting to be in the Crown Prince’s presence at such an hour. 

Seonghwa went from gasping at the decimated state of the upstairs window to watching in horror as one by one his friends were led out of the inn. Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Hongjoong— all restrained and disarmed.

From behind them, a familiar figure strutted out with pride. It was Admiral Kim, and half the commanding officers of the ATEEZ, scourge of the Royal Navy, were in his custody.

Actually... only three.

San wasn’t with them, hopefully he had escaped, and as for Seonghwa...

Seonghwa choked on a breath as he realised that somehow, in a stroke of fate, he stood with the favour of the crown prince, and no evidence to connect him to the pirates who were all being forced onto their knees now and displayed for the royalty to see.

“What is the meaning of this?” Junhee asked tiredly, expression nonplussed even as Kim went on to explain.

“Pirates hiding amongst us, skulking about in our towns, probably meaning to kill you, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong was staring at Seonghwa with a face that clearly warned him to bide his time. Speak up for their innocence now, and he could easily be thrown in with them. Wait until he had Junhee’s ear to himself, and perhaps they would be set free.

Seonghwa didn’t like it but he swallowed his doubts and hung behind his brother as the Admiral went on.

“Not just any pirates, either. This is Kim Hongjoong—”

Roughly, he grabbed Hongjoong’s strawberry hair and tugged his face up into the lantern light for all to see.

“—Captain of the pirate band ATEEZ, a frequent thorn in our sides. We’ve run into each other before, haven’t we?”

His cheshire grin spread from cheek to cheek and the pure malice he emanated made Seonghwa’s stomach boil.

They were in serious trouble.

“These are surely fellow pirates of status for him to have been travelling with them,” the Admiral remarked with a gesture towards Wooyoung and Yeosang, who knelt still as statues and ignored the sneers and saliva spray from the officers around them. The Admiral squinted at Yeosang for a moment before adding, “I recognise this one too, but I can’t place where from.”

“Can you prove it?” Seonghwa called when he couldn’t keep it in anymore. These soldiers didn’t look above killing the three of them on the spot.

A cloud passed over the Admiral’s face. “Pardon me, but who is this?”

Finally, Junhee’s tongue came unstuck from the roof of his mouth and he pulled Seonghwa forward. “This is my younger brother, Seonghwa. He’s been missing for some time but I’ve been blessed to be reunited with him tonight. Treat him as you would me.”

That last addendum was air in Seonghwa’s lungs. His voice was being given authority.

“Can you prove that they’re pirates?” He repeated, more confidently this time before gesturing to the houses and shops around them. “Because if not, you’ve just interrupted the sleep of half the island and accused innocent men of... what exactly? Plots to assassinate my brother, the Crown Prince? Seems like quite a leap to conclusions.”

“This one I can prove,” Admiral Kim growled, dragging Hongjoong up and in one precise movement, ripping at the neckline of his shirt and pulling it past his shoulder. Burned into his skin was a pirate brand, a couple years old, situated next to the newer scar from Seunghyun’s bullet months ago. The Admiral gazed at it with satisfaction. “A souvenir from the last time we met.”

A letter seared into a pirate screamed guilt, and could never be removed. There was no way Seonghwa could argue him out of this. 

But he did get some gratification out of watching the Admiral’s face fall at the unmarked skin of Wooyoung and Yeosang. 

“A lucky coincidence for them,” he mumbled. “That they evaded naval encounters thus far.” With that, he shoved their heads back down and didn’t blink when the momentum pushed Yeosang onto his stomach. 

“Wh-Which makes them innocent until proven guilty,” Seonghwa stuttered, cringing at Yeosang’s attempts to sit up, struggling against the officers who pushed him back down.

“Piracy isn’t some quaint, mischievous fringe lifestyle,” the Admiral spat, words laced with poison. “We can’t pardon them just like that when they’ve already been arrested for rooming with a known pirate. They must be investigated, that is the law.”

“Admiral,” Junhee snapped, surprising Seonghwa almost into flinching. “Do not speak down to Prince Seonghwa. He may not be learned in all our laws and their applications, but he is still royalty by blood. And he has a point.”

Admiral Kim bowed his head respectfully but practically hissed back at Seonghwa, more wraith than man, “We’ll keep them in custody here on suspicion of criminal activity by association with Hongjoong.”

Here he turned back to the Captain in question and eagerly clapped him in irons.

“Kim Hongjoong, I charge you with all of your crimes against the Crown and Empire, namely piracy, for which the penalty is death.”

The protesting ruckus of Wooyoung and Yeosang was ceased by a single look from the Admiral. “Don’t worry your colourful little heads. He won’t die until he watches both of you be killed first. Even if I have to drag the evidence up from fishermen and brigands.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Junhee nodded and Seonghwa stood there and watched his friends be dragged away.

“Your chariot awaits you, pirate kings,” the officers jeered, none too careful with their handling as Yeosang and Wooyoung each received a pair of handcuffs.

“We’ve invented an entirely new class of tortures,” the Admiral crooned into Hongjoong’s ear as he packed him into the carriage waiting to drive the three to the jailhouse. “Just for you and your crew.”

Patience, Seonghwa screamed at himself internally, glued to the spot against his will.

This was Admiral Kim, before whom men trembled in abject fear. He was clever and committed and the moment Seonghwa was out of the man’s sight, he was on the clock.

Kim bowed low before the princes, climbed in with the prisoners, and shut the carriage door tightly.

The hourglass had tipped and sand was sinking quickly.

...

Mingi heard the dawn before he saw it. The mystic’s ménagerie of birds chorused outside his window and heralded in a sunrise that dipped treetops in golden light.

A lazy morning melted into a lazy afternoon and Mingi found that his ever-present itch for action had died. It was like the sweet breeze that tickled the wind chimes was a perfume that relaxed him almost to the point of lethargy.

He sat contentedly on the balcony with Yunho, sipping from a honeyed beverage of some kind that he didn’t care to put a name to, while Jongho kept Eden company inside.

The older pirate still wasn’t on his feet yet, and the pocket watch Mingi pulled out every once in awhile warned him that they’d have to make a decision about what to do soon.

Just as he went to open his mouth and make a suggestion, a particularly strong gust of wind sent autumn leaves wafting past them and up to the twin doors of the mystic’s watchtower.

Mingi watched with fascination as she emerged from behind the shades and caught a leaf as it drifted towards her. Her expression darkened as she gazed at it like it was some kind of messenger.

Suddenly her attention turned to the two of them. “Join me,” she called before turning back inside, silk robes fluttering behind her. There was no need to discuss it, so Yunho and Mingi simultaneously rose from their seats and climbed up to the watchtower, beckoning Jongho along with them.

“I received a prophecy,” the mystic informed them, not even turning from where she stared into her crystal ball. 

“Concerning...us?” Mingi was hesitant in making assumptions, but she had called them up there after all. 

“In a way, yes,” the woman answered, stepping back so they could see. The inside of the globe looked like a mess, flame and crushed plants mingling, a dark substance that looked like water, and a hazy fog swirling around. It was not a clear depiction of the future, but whatever it was, Mingi could tell it was bad.

“Enemies are plotting to strike,” she said gravely, and from the way Jongho fidgeted, Mingi could tell he wasn’t satisfied.

“Which enemies?” The youngest asked. “And plotting to strike when? How?” There was a tinge of jealousy to his voice. Foretelling hidden dangers was once his job.

“That much is clouded still,” the woman sighed, covering the ball with its velvet cloak and settling into a chair. “But this is not like the mischief of demons or the ambition of the Navy. There is unrest in the very fabric of reality. It feels almost like...”

She rubbed her temples until the sensation came back to her and she could put a name to it. “Almost like preparation for war.”

War with the universe.

That notion was like a fuse that flickered on in front of Mingi’s face and tensed his muscles in anticipation of an explosion. His drive had returned to him.

They’d waited around on their backsides long enough. This was as clear a signal as any that their stay in this small paradise was up.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Mingi commanded the room with a quiet cough. “We have some things to discuss.”

...

The cobblestone streets were home to San, and he could navigate them blind. So he ran to the eastern marina in the dark, thinking on his toes.

The Crown Prince’s escort fleet and all the Navy ships were at the western docks, but still San stuck to the shadows and scanned the boats for one special ship.

The ATEEZ was gone.

San triple checked and then clamped his hands to stop himself from tearing his hair out.

Where could they possibly have gone? And why would they leave?

The crew of the ATEEZ had been loyal through every tribulation thusly so why now did they choose to betray their officers, at the worst possible moment?

“Pirates!” He hissed in frustration, sitting himself down on the edge of the dock. “Backstabbing, good for nothing, traitorous pirates.”

And now he had to steal a boat.

“But first...” he mumbled, pulling the pages out of his pocket again and staring at the sad, wrinkled parchment.

Had Hongjoong not been resolute in his order to call for help, San wouldn’t have spared the spellbook pages another glance. They’d destroyed his life already, he found it hard to believe they could do any good.

But there, scrawled in a corner on the fourth page, was a spell for silent communication. So he took a deep breath and read it before selecting the person he would call.

He thought back to the voice that had spoken to him in his fight with the demon. Part of him recalled who she was, but all he needed was to remember her voice and try to speak back to it.

“Please help us,” he whispered, reaching out with his mind. “We’re in trouble, the Navy’s come to capture us. Send help.”

He whispered incantations until he felt a jolt of energy and a ringing in his ears. 

His voice had been heard.

...

The more Seonghwa looked, the more he came to believe that San had escaped the battle unharmed.

As soon as the Navy officers had left, he assured Junhee that he would join him in his royal residence soon and entered the inn to comb through the crime scene.

The cowering innkeeper and his family were of no help, so he hurried upstairs to their decimated room and picked through broken glass and curtain for anything incriminating.

It created a pool of regret in him to be rifling through their bags while all of them were probably being beaten senseless elsewhere, but if he was careless, they would experience much worse. The Admiral would probably return soon on a hunt of his own.

Seonghwa sighed in relief at the fact that Yeosang had left Eden’s compass on the ship and the treasure was safe there as well. 

He had to leave some of their belongings or it would be obvious he had come to cover their tracks, but he collected his own bag and all of San’s things. Now it was like the two of them were never there.

As long as the Admiral didn’t know about San, the surgeon had a chance to get off the island and get help.

Seonghwa returned his room key at the front desk before leaving the inn behind. All the keys were accounted for now. One less shred of evidence for the Admiral to uncover on his return.

Seonghwa headed to San’s old house, and thankfully the woman who lived there now was awake and compliant when he asked her not to tell any soldiers of their visit there earlier and paid her in advance for her cooperation.

By the time he returned to the temporary palace, the sky was grey and promised morning soon. 

“You know them, don’t you?” Junhee asked the moment Seonghwa collapsed in the bed his brother had ordered prepared for him.

His mind took a minute to catch up, but Seonghwa hummed quietly when he realised he couldn’t very well deny the statement.

“You know, the merchant told me you were captured by pirates,” Junhee whispered, settling into his own bed once the lights had been extinguished. “It shocks me that you’d defend one of their kind after all they must have done to you.”

There was a moment of silence in which Seonghwa felt he could say nothing other than the truth. When the soldiers questioned them, it would be as if they never knew each other, but to Seonghwa there was no way to minimise what they had done for him.

“They saved me,” he finally croaked out. “These pirates saved me. I’m just returning the favour.”

“You were travelling with them, then?” Junhee pressed, and he sounded more intrigued than anything as he turned on his side to face Seonghwa. 

“We didn’t come to kill anyone or steal anything,” Seonghwa said softly, emotions he had bottled up in front of the Admiral slowly working themselves out and down his cheeks as he spoke. “I don’t know if it’s within your power but, please, hyung. Please pardon them.”

Junhee stared at him for some time and Seonghwa waited for him to laugh and call him ridiculous. Maybe even turn him over to the Admiral and have him hung with the others.

“Everyone makes mistakes. I’ll speak for the unbranded ones,” Junhee finally said. “But if they are proven guilty...”

He flopped onto his back and broke eye contact, and Seonghwa knew he had made up his mind. “They’ll have to pay for their crimes.”

Seonghwa wanted to fight back, he wanted to explain that none of them deserved death after all the good they had done, but he swallowed his arguments and thanked Junhee humbly.

It was something. More than he could have asked for without his new status, and more than Junhee owed him.

Their quiet mid-morning breakfast was intruded upon by a visit from the Admiral.

Junhee let him in but scowled at the interruption of his explanation of royal eating customs to Seonghwa.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Admiral Kim apologised with a low bow. “I just wanted to ensure Prince Seonghwa was settling in well.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t here to gloat, which meant Yeosang and Wooyoung weren’t talking for him. As expected, they wouldn’t condemn themselves.

Seonghwa forced a smile and assured the man that he was doing fine, to which the Admiral hardly reacted. What was he here for?

“Is there an end in sight to the investigations?” Junhee asked conversationally. “I’d like to get home to begin wedding preparations soon.”

“Well,” Kim flashed a charming smile. “I may have a lead to follow up. The pirates’ ship is absent from the harbour.”

“So, perhaps they aren’t pirates after all then?” Seonghwa was quick to ask, trying not to sound too triumphant already.

“What do insects do when it rains?”

Seonghwa was completely blindsided. “Pardon?”

“Critters— insects, spiders and the like. They could be killed by a single drop of rain if it falls on them, so how do they survive?”

Seonghwa froze. The Admiral knew something. He answered his own question and Seonghwa’s thoughts flew to San.

“They scatter.”

...

San watched flames consume the wrinkled parchment, his soul finally at peace as the fire licked away at what remained of the spellbook.

He let the charred scraps fall to the bottom of the harbour and told himself it was the right thing to do. He had used the spells just as he was told and all that remained in that book was death and dark memory.

With the destruction of the spellbook pages, the demon’s plans were officially ended.

Now, San had to run for his life. 

The town was on high alert and he would be caught most certainly if he attempted to return to it.

The only option was to leave the island entirely and wait for help to break him back in.

A small sailboat was anchored just a few spots down from where the ATEEZ had been, and after purloining some food and supplies from the guardhouse kitchen, San snuck aboard to commandeer her.

The wind was insistently pulling him out to sea, so he obeyed it, working tirelessly to man the thing himself and slip out of the marina unnoticed by soldiers. 

From what he could make of the stars, he was headed south. He sent up a prayer, out of spontaneity and not magic, and drifted with the sea. 

Mostly he just hoped his supplies would last, and that the others would get here before he had to worry about them.

Time was slipping away as the sun peeked over the horizon and San felt like he was slipping with it.

...

“Why were you with a known pirate?”

Wooyoung shook his head at the officer yelling at him (a Lieutenant Byun if he had heard correctly) and tried not to tremble where he sat, restrained, in this dungeon they called an interrogation room.

There was no time to collaborate on a story or make a plan of escape. It was just him, this lieutenant, and the bucket of water he kept dunking his head into until this torture ended.

“Answer me, why?”

The world was plunged into freezing watery depths again and Wooyoung fought until his lungs burned like they were about to explode and suddenly he was up again, coughing and making a mess of himself.

He didn’t think he could do this much longer.

The lieutenant grabbed him by the neck to dunk him again and he broke.

“He captured me,” Wooyoung wheezed. And he wasn’t even lying. “It’s the truth. I was working for Bang Si-Hyuk, privateer, and he-he attacked our ship and kidnapped me. That’s how I ended up with him.”

It was a lead that would hopefully send the Admiral after Si-Hyuk for confirmation, buying time if nothing else.

“You expect us to believe you?” The lieutenant laughed.

“Ask Bang himself if you don’t,” Wooyoung’s voice shook but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to get out of this room and away from that water bucket. “I don’t have any more information.”

Byun stared at him for a moment before signalling the guards to unbind him and take him back to his cell.

“Well done,” he goaded Wooyoung on the way out. “You’ve just volunteered your brown-haired friend for the next round of questioning.”

Yeosang.

Wooyoung’s eyes fell shut with disappointment in himself and he almost begged them to leave Yeosang alone but he was already being returned to his cell.

Yeosang’s was next to his, and he only had enough time to reach a hand through the bars that separated them apologetically before the guards took him away.

Wooyoung sunk to the floor and tried to collect himself. It was like a metal weight sat on his heart and he could barely move.

Hongjoong’s cell, the one across from him, was empty. Wooyoung didn’t know where they’d taken him and he didn’t want to think about it.

The sooner they got out, the better. He just had to keep believing Seonghwa would help them. If not for him, their entire company would already be dead.

Wooyoung focused on his breathing and memories of the rest of the crew while he tried to recover. He missed them more than he could say.

They had been successful in exorcising San, and San had been successful in escaping, so all things considered, the odds were still favourable. 

Wooyoung just had to keep that in the forefront of his mind and the beatings would be manageable.

After some time of being alone with his thoughts, Yeosang was dragged back into his cell.

Lieutenant Byun brought him back personally with cruel eyes and it was clear that he hadn’t cooperated.

“If he doesn’t want to speak, then he won’t be eating either,” the officer said, sliding food under the bars of Wooyoung’s cell and pointedly avoiding Yeosang’s. “Try to share with him and your fingers will be broken.”

Wooyoung waited until the footsteps retreated to scoot over to the bars that separated the two cells and slip his hand through.

His fingers found Yeosang’s shoulder and after a moment, the other melted under his touch. He turned him around to face him and regretted that they couldn’t embrace through the bars but was glad to be able to see his face.

It was badly bruised and blood was drying where it flowed from his head, but it was the way Yeosang’s eyes struggled to focus that worried him.

“I tried fighting back,” he admitted quietly, eyes lingering on Wooyoung’s untouched meal. “They didn’t take kindly to that.”

Wooyoung rested his forehead against the bars and Yeosang mirrored him. “We just have to hang on and we’ll be out soon,” he finally said, not nearly as confidently as he’d hoped it would come out. “They can’t find anything on us.”

A growl from Yeosang’s stomach reminded Wooyoung of the food waiting for him. After a quick glance around the area, he smuggled a chunk of bread through the bars and immediately paid for it.

A guard shot out of the shadows and entered his cell, yanking the rest of the food away from him and grabbing one of his fingers to deal punishment.

“No, no, please—“

Wooyoung barely had time to muffle his own scream with a fist in his mouth as the finger was snapped, a fracture cracking the bone and a sharp pain shooting from it.

The guard said no more and left the cell. 

Wooyoung didn’t respond to Yeosang’s concerned cries and curled into a ball while the other sighed and petted his hair until the pain and tears had subsided.

Eventually they sat back to back, singing softly to busy their minds. Hongjoong had still not returned, but Wooyoung waited instead for sleep to find them.

In sleep there was at least some respite.

...

Jongho watched the diamond spray of the waterfall cast a rainbow over the valley and listened to Yunho and Mingi argue about what to do.

Mingi was in favour of setting out immediately and asking Eden to pull his weight, and Yunho insisted that the older pirate heal and be able to walk first.

Jongho didn’t know why they hadn’t considered the most obvious option.

“Let’s just leave him here,” he broke in, sighing when they stared at him in surprise. 

“He would never allow that!” Mingi scoffed.

“We could always just ask him!” Jongho argued back. “Ever think of that?”

“How do you think we’ll even get off this island without his help?” Yunho pointed out, and Jongho was about to make a suggestion when another voice cut him off.

“Just ask me,” the mystic smiled, reaching into her sleeves to hand them something while they scratched their heads wondering where she had come from.

“This, I believe, is yours.”

In her palm lay a knife. The one Hongjoong had given to Mingi, that the beast had run away with stabbed into its skin. 

“How did you get it back?” Mingi breathed, taking the knife reverently and turning it over. 

“I have my ways,” the woman waved off the question before sobering. “I agree with the youngest, it would be wise to set sail now, without Eden to slow you down. I have just received a message, word from San. He flees from Namhae alone and calls for aid. They’re all in grave danger.”

“Is this connected to the war you mentioned?” Mingi asked nervously, sheathing the knife as they made their way inside. It sounded like he’d be needing it.

“Only time will tell,” the mystic said simply, stopping them outside the door to their room. “He’s awake, but I’ll give you some privacy.”

Eden certainly was awake and reading at that, Jongho noticed as they settled into plush cushions and danced around the point of the conversation.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Eden said coolly, shutting the book gently and laying it on the arm of his sofa. “Your crewmates are in trouble and you need to go to them, I understand.”

Mingi frowned at Yunho’s poke in the ribs but opened his mouth to reassure Eden they would only leave if he was in agreement. “It’s just that you still need time to heal, and we can’t wait any longer.”

The sail to Namhae was relatively short but every day they spent was costing their friends.

“I’m in good hands here,” Eden agreed. “Hongjoong will understand when you reunite with him.”

There was a pause where his eyebrows drew together and eventually he sighed.

“Tell him I was wrong. About you, about him... about everything.” The words came out all jumbled together, but he spoke from the bottom of his heart. He believed in them now.

“You children have been nothing short of miraculous.”

Course decided, the three got to packing and said their goodbyes. Jongho knew the first place he was coming back to when he had the chance, and it was this island. It was a wonderful and awe-inspiring place, and he had a friend to return to now as well.

Eden called his name as he was about to cross the threshold, so he turned back to hear his parting words.

“If we ever meet again, I hope it is under much better circumstances.”

...

In the dim hole that was their prison, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed.

Meals came infrequently, and Wooyoung was much more careful about being caught sharing after his earlier stunt.

To ease the guards’ suspicions, it took a few days of eating his meals himself before he could slip something to Yeosang through their clasped hands, sitting back to back against the bars like they had done before.

Hongjoong came and went, always with very little sleep, and Yeosang couldn’t help but notice how the guards stopped marching him out for “questioning” and started dragging him.

If he put up a fight, it wasn’t in front of them. He never had much to say when he was around, either, apart from asking if they had eaten and begging them to trust him.

He said he knew what he was doing. He said he had a secret plan. He said he needed them to be patient. So they were.

Conversation was strictly discouraged by the guards, but they got by with being able to look at each other, and in Yeosang and Wooyoung’s case, cling to each other through the bars.

It seemed the Admiral had forgotten about them, or was no longer interested.

No one interrogated them for days, and it seemed they couldn’t lawfully be beaten outside of interrogation tactics as suspects and not proven pirates. 

They waited endlessly in the damp mustiness of the prison, a stone floor for their beds and stale food for their bellies.

Morale had sunk low enough that they didn’t bother to whisper about escape anymore, but the stray thought about Seonghwa was an ever-present hope. He was working on getting them out. They were sure of it.

Until one morning when both were escorted to the interrogation room together and Yeosang was sat down for the Admiral himself to question.

“I found something peculiar when looking through the evidence,” Admiral Kim told them theatrically, waving a couple of scrolls in the air before unrolling one and showing it to Yeosang.

“A map,” Yeosang deadpanned. He had resisted all of Byun’s interrogation techniques, and he wasn’t about to cave in front of the Admiral.

Wooyoung watched anxiously from the side.

“Not just any map,” the Admiral lilted, tapping the right corner. “This one has portions of the East charted on it. Places no one outside of my fleet has ever been.”

“What are you insinuating?” Yeosang gritted out. “I’m tired of playing games.”

The Admiral’s smile wilted and he tossed the maps to the ground. He was angry now.

Yeosang flinched as the Admiral reared his hand back for a slap, but suddenly the man froze and everything went quiet for a moment.

Kim’s hand came up alongside Yeosang’s face, and he rubbed some of the blood off his eyelid. He was gentle, tender even, and as much as it sickened Yeosang, it allowed him to breathe for a minute.

“I thought I recognised you,” the Admiral said quietly, thumb lingering on the birthmark next to Yeosang’s eye. “Now I know where from.”

Yeosang didn’t move a muscle, willing the man to stop putting the pieces together, but it didn’t work.

“Kang Yeosang.”

Byun and the other guards gasped at this revelation. They had the son of their own Head Navigator imprisoned and tortured.

“Let them free,” the Admiral sighed, finally stepping back and crossing his arms. He ignored the look Lieutenant Byun gave him and opened the door to let the two shocked prisoners walk free.

“Unfortunately, I made a promise to your father once, that I would make sure no harm ever came to you,” he said by way of explanation, walking behind the pair as they helped each other towards the exit. “He wouldn’t be very happy with me if I had you executed.”

And as for Wooyoung, it seemed he was imprisoned by association and pardoned by association as well. It was the first thing Yeosang insisted upon and surprisingly, the Admiral allowed it.

“I’m after another member of Hongjoong’s company now,” he informed them vaguely, a knowing smile teasing his lips. “One who seems to have escaped me. But I won’t presume to glean information from you— off you go!”

The door was open. They could leave. 

Wooyoung turned back as they limped towards the light, just in time to see the Admiral enter Hongjoong’s cell.

“There’s going to be an execution next week in the square,” the man snarled. “Yours.”

Yeosang and Wooyoung shared a knowing look. They were on the other side of the bars, which meant they were responsible for springing their Captain out next.

Knuckles white around the bars of his cell, Hongjoong’s hoarse voice rang out and followed the Admiral as he left.

“I may have to go down. But I’m taking you with me.”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @atzjjongbby​ @celestial-yunho​ 

A/N: ONE CHAPTER TO GO!! And then I start the next book in the series ;) Things are getting really intense, what do you think will happen? Comment or send an ask <3

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[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, ALLI! You’ve been accepted for the role of SEVEN OF SWORDS with the faceclaim of CILLIAN MURPHY. Canis is certainly a fucking concept, whom I adore to no end. He’s got a tenacious and willful sort of attitude about him, the kind of incredulous charm and wit that lends itself to an air of villainy and danger, and I think that he fits into the Seven of Swords like one fits into a well-made boot or glove. In spite of remaining leashed like a dog, he’s got no small amount of fire in him, and I’m eager to see what (or who!) he sinks his teeth into during gameplay. You’ve brought me a real gift, dropped it on my doorstep, and I am grateful.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

— APPLICATION

OOC

NAME:    alli PRONOUNS:    she / her AGE:    twenty - one TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL:    cst /  i  am  currently  on  summer  break  and  have  the  ability  to  be  really  active ,  but  sometimes  things  do  come  up !  i  definitely  have  plenty  of  time  to  be  on  the  dash  with  several  posts  within  activity  limit  and  when  my  muse  is  high  ( i’ll  be  honest  i’m  a  hoe  for  high  fantasy )  my  activity  is  also  super  up ! ANYTHING ELSE?:    what’s the mead sis…….. the wenches are squabbling …….

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON:    seven  of  swords NAME:   efferus  aubenet   /   “canis”  &  “the  dog”   efferus  -  of  latin  meaning ,  “wild ,  savage ,  cruel ,  barbarous” .  a  name  canis  has  long  since  abandoned ,  preferring  even  the  subtle  jab  of  “the  dog”  given  to  him  by  opponents  of  his  crew  and  the  highborn  that  look  down  on  him .  he  finds  it  just  about  as  cutting  as  a  bread knife .  no  one  except  those  closest  to  him  ( ie .  the  pack )  even  know  this  name  exists . canis  -  latin  for  “ dog ” ,  though also  the  scientific  genus  for  all  canines ,  including  wolves  and  coyotes .  meant  to  symbolize  canis  as   the  leader  of  his  pack  of  wild  dogs ,  and  a  sign  of  respect ,  a  nickname  earned  on  the  streets  and  not  given  to  him  in  tyrholm . the  dog  -  a  nickname  received  while  working  under  king  septimus ,  by  those  that  see  the  second  fangs  as  dirty ,  unruly ,  savages .  also  by  revolters  who  see canis  as  a  dog  blindly  following  the  orders  of  a  tyrannical  king.  in  any  case ,  he  still  prefers  this  to  efferus .  sometimes  he  even  barks  in  response . FACECLAIM:    cillian  murphy ,  michiel  huisman   ( he / him  pronouns ,  cis  male ) AGE:    thirty - nine  ,  born  on  the  twenty - seventh  day  of  the  twelfth  month

DETAILS:   i  always  find  myself  drawn  to  underdog  characters ,  muses  that  have  overcome  more  than  most  others  could  even  imagine  to  find  themselves  in  their  present  position .  i  believe  there  is  so  much  depth  to  backgrounds  like  canis’s .  no family  so  he  created  his  own ,  nothing  to  his  name  so  he  created  his  own  legacy .  a  moral  compass that  tries  it’s  best  to  always  point  north .  that  fails ,  because  the  muse  is  so  painfully  human .  the  irony  of  a  sellsword  who  wants  more  for  himself ?  incredible .  when  i  was  skimming  the  skeletons ,  it  was  his  that  startled  practically  writing  itself ,  this  street  urchin  turned  warrior  figure ,  so  i  spent  a  lot  of  time  picking  apart  the  biography  until  i  was  left  with  canis . i  did  a  bit  of  research  on  the  seventh  of  swords  tarot  card ,  but  let  me  tell  you  ..  i  was  so  pleasantly  surprised  and  intrigued  when  i  did .  on  one  hand ,  when  upright ,  seven  of  swords  means  scheming ,  resourcefulness ,  cunning ,  and  lies ,  all  traits  that  have  gotten  canis  to  where  he  is  today ,  however  negative ,  the  legacy  he’s  forged  for  himself  and  all  deeply  tied  to  his  work .  however ,  when  reversed ,  the  seven  of  swords  can  mean  confession ,  conscience ,  regret ,  and  maliciousness ,  which  i  think  lend  beautifully  to  this  character’s  private  struggles .  there  is  a  very  heavy  mix  of  negative  and  positive  attributes  leant  towards  seven  of  sword’s  core  character ,  someone  who  wants  to  do  right  by  themselves  at  great  cost .  when  interpreting  the  tarot  as  canis ,  i  was  drawn  to  the  maliciousness  and  the  regret  ( in  sometimes  equal  measure )  of  the  reversed  card .  i  believe  there  is  so  much  more  to  this  character  than  just  his  web  of  scheming  and  lies ,  that  canis’s  true  self  comes  from  somewhere  within ,  and  i’m  really  excited  to  explore  his  inner  conflicts.  this  man  has  so  many  issues  that  he’s  buried  and  i  think  the  possibility  of  him  becoming  a  part  of  the  revolution?  impeccable.  my  muse  for  this  skeleton ?  through  the  roof .

BACKGROUND  

I .  O’ ROMULUS  AND  REMUS ,  CASTOR  AND  POLLUX ,  WHAT  IS  ONE  WITHOUT  THE  OTHER ?   a  twin ,  you  were  told ,  though  it  feels  like  something  you  should  never  be  permitted  to  forget.  you’ve  never  felt  him there ,  not  like  a  phantom  limb  or  a  guiding  whisper.  just  a  story ,  when  you’re  feeling  ungrateful  for  your  lot  in  this  realm ,  that  there  is  only  one  where  there  once  was  two.  born  in  the  dead  of  winter  --  the  one  that  bit  at  the  napes  of  even  the  most  fur  cloaked  nobility  of  markholm ,  that  anyone  unlucky  enough  to  live  through  it  can  still  recall  as  “ceaseless”   --   and  childbirth  takes  your  mother  as  it  goes.  two  children ,  born  sickly ,  cold.  so  you  are  dubbed  efferus ,  a  savage  beast  who  can  claw  his  way  into  life ,  barely  holding  onto  breath ,  already  having  taken  a  life.   it  takes  a  village  to  raise  motherless  boys.  sometimes  it  takes  more  than  that.  your  brother  doesn’t  make  it  past  the  winter ,  but  you  keep  growing ,  getting  stronger  by  the  day ,  and  finally  spring  flowers  bloom  forth  from  hard  soil.  the  goat  farmer  next  door  tells  your  father  you  are  a  resilient  one ,  that  the  undying  smiled  upon  him.  another  miracle ,  that  your  life  could  be  a  blessing  and  not  a  curse.   as  long  as  you  knew  him ,  your  father  kept  steadfast  in  deep  religion ,  devout ,  praying  over  the  crops.  the  cattle.  the  harvest.  even  your  birth ,  a  story  he  recants  so  mystically  it’s  hard  to  imagine  you  were  there.  “we  all  bled  fer  you ,”  he  always  starts ,  like  it’s  your  fault ,  “my  son ,  my  son.  let  all  else  be  damned  fer  ‘im.”  two  lives  for  the  price  of  one ,  he  reminds  you ,  and  you’re  just  a  boy ,  but  you  still  find  it  all  absurd.  there’s  never  been a rhyme  or  reason  to  suffering.  “you  make  a  deal  with  the  undying  and  you  get  what  you  paid  fer.”  sometimes  it  seems  a  compliment.  others ..  you  aren’t  so  sure.   your  father  hath  no  mercy  for  the  weak  or  spineless ,  though  he  wasn’t  an  inherently  evil  man  either ,  at  least  not  in  the  figments  you  can  conjure  of  him.  you  plow  the  fields ,  with  hands  so  rough  with  calluses  you  can’t  feel  the  hilt  of  the  axe  you  use  to  cut  the  firewood.  you  milk  the  cows ,  so  gentle  with  great  beasts  you  start  to  forget  your  name.  you’re  skin  and  bone  and  beating  heart  ,  not  much  to  look  at ,  but  just  the  blessing  your  father  asked  for  all  the  same.  a  good  boy ,  in  that  you  were  capable  and  healthy  and  strong.  a  bad  seed ,  in  that  you  cared  for  little  and  didn’t  always  do  as  you  were  told.   it’s  your  tenth  winter  when  frostbitten  tendrils  take  first  your  farm ,  and  then  your  father.  you  make  a  deal  with  the  undying  and  you  get  what  you  paid  for ,  you  remember ,  and  it  almost  makes  you  laugh.  perhaps  it’s  not  so  funny  that  you  mourn  very  little  the  life  you  lost.  perhaps  still  it  is  a  testament  to  your  strength ,  a  boy  of  only  ten  who  shoulders  already  a  lifetime  of  death  and  decay.  who  makes  it  look  a  load  easy  to  bear.  who  are  you ,  efferus  aubenet?  and  who  will  you  become?

II .  A  MIRRORED  MIDAS  ,  IF  EVERYTHING  HE  HAD  TOUCHED  TURNED  TO  DEATH  AND  ROT .   a  street  urchin  with  no  farm ,  no  family ,  and  most  prominently  no  coin.  winters  slip  away  like  sand  through  an  hourglass ,  and  it’s  all  you  can  do  to  keep  track  of  the  time  that  folds  beneath  you.  one  year ,  and  you’re  frail  and  quiet  and  know  only  to  keep  to  yourself.  three  years  and  you’ve  developed  a  taste  for  fighting ,  scrappy  as  you  are.  it’s  just  a  game ,  in  the  beginning ,  one  the  other  coinless  children  keep  telling  you  you’re  too  good  at ,  “it’s  no  fun  fighting  a  hungry  dog.”  five  years  and  you’re  taller ,  more  meat  to  your  bones.  you’re  better  at  sneaking  things  out  of   the  market ,  extra  to  feed  your  friends.  you  learned  the  hard  way  what  happens  if  you  don’t  bring  back  enough ,  if  you  turn  a  blind  eye  to  people  who  call  out  your  name.  you  hear  it  when  you  dream ,  half  awake  in  chilled  darkness.   “i’m  so  hungry,  efferus.  i’m  so  hungry.”   you  start  going  by  canis.  it  makes  it  easier  to  sleep.   six ,  seven  years  and  you’re  so  good  at  fighting  that  your  pockets  start  to  feel  heavy.  cobbled  streets  whisper  canis  when  you  cross.  bruised  fists  and  a  bloody  conscience ,  not  all soldiers  make  it  out  of  battle  alive.  it  dawns  on  you ,  slowly  but  with  all  the  force  of  a  crack  of  lightning ,  why  the  others  like  to  call  you  dog.  maybe  it’s  because  you  were  born  from  death ,  or  because  you  know  loss  so  well  it  colors  your  eyelids  when  you  blink ,  but  it  seems  all  you’re  good  for.  you  discover  a  rage  within  you ,  one  which  you’re  sure  ( you  hope ,  foolish  as  it  is )  any  man  is  capable  of ,  if  pushed  too  far.  but  it’s  directionless ,  vile  in  the  way  it  sits  inside  your  chambered  heart.  there  is  nothing  more  universal  than  pain.  nothing  more  isolating  than  anger.  a  boy  with  a  taste  for  blood.  so  blind  to  the  way  you  snap ,  like  branch  under  boot ,  when  you  push  too  hard.  what  place  is  there  for  you  in  an  unforgiving  world ,  wracked  with  hardship?  at  whose  table  do  you  dine?   you  knew  love  once ,  it  felt  like  sharing  bread  and  blankets  and  tales  of  woe.  like  years  on  the  streets  relying  only  on  wit  and  steadfast  determination  to  survive.  like  knowing  a  person  fully ,  inside  and  out ,  as  you’d  always  known  yourself.  that  too  would  be  taken  from  you ,  like  everything  else.  for  the  price  of  just  a  single  coin ,  you  watched  your  love  take  their  last  breath ,  watched  the  thief  make  off  with  their  blood  money ,  felt  truly  and  terribly  powerless.  worse  than  losing  your  father  to  deep  winter  chill  you  lost  your  first  love  to  a  blade.  and  in  the  end ,  it  meant  nothing.     the  sons  of  argos  could  not  undo  what  you’d  done ,  what  had  been  done  to  you ,  but  maybe  you  could  give  back  tenfold.  it  starts  small ,  at  a  table  in  your  favorite  tavern ,  as  all  great  plots  tended  to  do.  an  invitation  to  join  a  company  you’d  heard  about  only  in  whispers.  you  saw  espace ,  penance  where  others  saw  a  home ,  but  that  would  always  be  enough  for  you.  it  was  intended  to  be  permanent ,  a  family  you  couldn’t  lose ,  under  a  friend  who  would  lay  down  their  life  for  the  men ,  women ,  and  children  under  their  protection.  a  life  of  adventure  to  call  your  own  and  you  didn’t  need  to  suffer  anymore.  you  had  but  one  skill ,  it  seemed ,  beyond  tending  to  the  herd  and  trimming  too  tall  crops ,  and  your  father  once  taught  you  that  skill  fed  fortune  ( though  the  money ,  you’d  find ,  would  come  later ) .  you  don’t  think  the  sons  is  quite  what  your  dearly  departed  had  in  mind ,  and  this  makes  your  smile  widen.  you’ve  always  found  humor  in  odd  places.     what  follows  is  a  career  far  short  of  extravagant ,  fighting  crime  like  a  bunch  of  vigilanties ,  tied  to  a  city  state  that  knows  little  of  its  own  streets.  you  hunger  for  travel ,  to  sink  your  teeth  into  shores  unseen ,  land  untended.  to  make  a  real  name  for  yourself  and  anyone  who  followed  suit.  “mind  your  place ,  mutt,”  you  hear  more  than  once ,  and  you  want  to  swat  the  others  away  like  flies  buzzing  in  swelling  ears.  but  there’s  something  sharp ,  too ,  like  a  cut  that  just  won’t  heal.  your  voice  is  too  loud  amongst  the  rest ,  your  name  --  the  name  you  paid  for  in  blood  --  nothing  next  to  strength’s.  the  captain  you  were  meant  to  worship  turned  to  dust  in  your  heavy  fist ,  the  family  you  forged  alongside  them  never  yours  to  call  your  own.  you  tell  yourself  they  betrayed  you ,  like  everything  else  in  this  life  they  gave  you  nothing  to  hold  onto  save  for  the  back  of  their  coattails ,  but  in  truth  you  were  never  meant  to  stay.  minding  your  place  felt  a  lot  like  digging  six  feet  down  to  lay  rest.   it’s  like  waking  from  a  dream ,  one  you  push  down  when  it  returns  to  you  in  the  night ,  leaving  the  sons  for  good.  four  winters  you  slept  under  their  tents ,  ate  at  their  table ,  and  still  you  feel  nothing  when  you  pack  what’s  yours  ( and  maybe  some  of  what  isn’t ,  but  who  would  dare  come  looking  for  it? )  and  go.  no  one  follows ,  no  one  even  pleads  your  case ,  and  when  you  see  them  playing  knights  on  the  docks  the  fire  in  you  swells.  it’s  all  rot  now.

III .  WHERE  WOULD  ICARUS  BE  NOW ,  IF  SOMEONE  WISE  HAD  CLIPPED  CURSED  WINGS?      iriebury  is  the  stank  of  unwashed  flesh ,  the  heat  of  southern  sun ,  something  to  conquer.  the  citizens  are  mean  and  the  crime  meaner.  it  makes  tyrholm  look  a  lot  like  playing  pretend ,  the  sons  seem  like  a  group  of  toy  soldiers.  to  survive  in  iriebury  you  need  your  bark ,  you  need  your  bite.  naturally , you  thrive.   it  takes  just  one  winter ,  one  warm  southern  winter ,  before  you  have  something  to  call  a  crew  of  your  very  own.  the  second  fangs ,  a  handful  of  beaten  down ,  nearly  finished  off  mutts  that  think  you  look  like  a  future.  you’ll  find  one  day ,  when  you’ve  turned  to  face  the  wrong  end  of  a  sword ,  these  dogs’  loyalty  knows  no  bounds.  and  maybe  you  do  have  a  family  after  all.  they  don’t  look  like  warriors  born  for  battle ,  but  they’re  sharp  on  every  edge  and  speak  of  you  like  you  hung  the  moon.  like  a  prophecy  spun  from  the  undying  herself.  the  queen  of  iriebury’s  no  different ,  when  you  flash  her  a  smile  and  run  a  sword  through  her  guard.  this  is  your  destiny.   with  work  and  full  bellies ,  the  second  fangs  grow ,  picking  up  more  men  and  women  the  rest  of  markholm  cast  aside ,  giving  them  all  purpose.  leadership  becomes  you ,  you’re  kind  in  places  other  captains  breathe  fire.  your  men  adore  you ,  and  maybe  this  is  why  it’s  easy  to  lose  yourself  a  bit.  you’ve  always  been  looking  for  him ,  that  voice  inside  of  you  that  has  guided  every  confident  step ,  and  you  really  start  to  believe  you’ve  found  him  at  the  end  of  a blade.     what  you  do  isn’t  pretty like  life  in  a  castle ,  it  isn’t  gentle  like  the  farm  or  humble  like  a  temple ,  but  it  suits  you.  you  find  company  at  the  bottom  of  a  bottle ,  family  inside  the  taverns  and  brothels ,  atop  dirty  cobblestone.  it  all  feels  a  lot  like  honor ,  like  duty.  you’re  known  for  your  loyalty  and  cunning  among  burdened  skill.  work  lends  to  virtue  or  some  mirrored  image  of  the  sort.  the  second  fangs  take  the  jobs  you  approve ,  not  the  ones  the  queen  hands  you ,  nails  stained  with  blood ,  and   who  knew  a  mercenary  crew  with  such  an  eye  for  morality?  bastards  that  comb  the  streets  but  speak  with  love  fresh  on  their  lips.  you’re  a  heathen  with  heart ,  of  that  not  even  the  fiercest  opponents  can  dispute.  maybe  there  is  a  place  in  this  world  for  nameless ,  coinless  men  with  a  hunger  for  something  more.  you  give  back  to  your  beloved  pack  what  they  give  to  you ;  everything ,  everything  and  then  some.  a  life  that  means  more  than  scraping  the  bottom  of  the  barrel.   you  can’t  carry  on  like  this  forever  and  survive ,  and  it’s  only  a  matter  of  time  before  real  gold  starts  knocking.  a  steady  job ,  you’re  promised.  a  lifetime  of  stability ,  peace.  you  know  more  of  the  king  of  tyrholm than  you  let  on ,  and  maybe  you  are  naive  to  trust  the  word  of  a  woman  who  did  not  raise  herself ,  but  when  you  look  at  your  company’s  worn  faces  and  tired  smiles ,  weathered  from  southern  strife ,  it’s  never  been   easier  to  bend  a  knee.     some  odd  winters ,  some  odd  springs ,  lived  with  modest  lavesty.  septimus  is  an  arse  of  a  man  that  whispers  corroded  bidding  into  your  graceless  ear.  no  one  but  the  second  fangs  knows  how  much  you  shake ,  when  the  job  is  done  and  you’re  safe  at  home.  how  much  weight  you  shoulder ,  for  yourself ,  for  your  men ,  for  the  lives  you’ve  taken.  the  lives  you  will  take.  your  crew  was  never  meant  to  become  a  rebellion.  the  glory  feels  lost ,  you’re  a  knight  without  chivalry ,  a  wolf  without  teeth.  you  hear  dog  more  than  your  own  name  and  you  bite  back  bile  when  you  look  in  a  mirror ,  but  still ,  you  think ,  you  would  do  it  all  over  again.     the  second  fangs  are  a  happy  crew ,  well  fed  and  housed  and  nothing  like  the  orphans  you  sheltered  so  many  moons  ago.  when  it  starts  to  feel  like  you  have  your  own  sons  of  argos  you  shelf  the  thought.  your  pack  looks  at  you ,  strong  and  fit  and  still  just  a  bit  withered ,  and  laugh  and  cheer.  “yer  getting  old,  canis,”  they  jest ,  when  you  stumble  into  bed.  “hunch - backed  from  all  that  gold  in  yer  pockets.”  you’ve  always  been  wiser  than  most  of  them ,  something  raw  in  your  heart  that  keeps  it  beating  steadfast.  better  you  than  them ,  you  know.  most  men  would  crack  at  what  you’d  seen.  what  you  know.     there’s  good  to  be  found ,  once  you  learn  how  to  look ,  like  the  devotion  of  judgement  ,  a  beauty  in  worship  that  reminds  you  of  all  your  father’s  useless  praying.  peaceful  in  all  it’s  absurdity.  there’s  friendship  in  odd  places ,  with  the  empress  you  serve.  you  find  it  hard  to  trust  in  tyrholm ,  unaccustomed  to  the  politics  of  a  ruling  class ,  the  society  that  never  once  smiled  down  on  a  farm  boy  and  his  widowed  father.  you  want  to  be  wise  and  cunning ,  still  sometimes  you  feel  inadequate  next  to  those  raised  in  education ,  but  the  queen  saw  your  potential  before  anyone  else  in  the  whole  retched  kingdom ,  and  that  has  to  mean  something.  there’s  the  fool ,  a  real  dog  you  sometimes  think ,  who  mirrors  your  old  captain  so  much  it  makes  your  skin  crawl.  they  aren’t  so  bad ,  but  it’s  hard  for  you  to  look  up  at  someone  who  serves  at  the  hand  of  the  king.  you  wonder  if  others  think  the  same  of  you.  fools ,  the  whole  lot  of  them.   you  know  what  the  queen  expects  of  you ,  your  word  is  your  livelihood ,  but  these  things  take  time.  for  now ,  you’re  comfortable ;  your  cup  is  full.  there’s  always  been  something  about  wars  to  come  that  feels  like  home ,  ragged  and  battle  scarred  thing  that  you  are.  and  besides ,  it’s  easier  to  put  out  a  fire  that  burns  inside  your  ribs  than  one  that  swallows  an  entire  kingdom ,  of  this  you  are  certain.

PLOT IDEAS

STRENGTH:   oh  boy  oh  man.  canis  can’t  hold  his  tongue  with  distaste  even  if  he  tried ,  and  he  definitely  doesn’t  try  with  them.  his  anger  often  gets  the  better  of  him  and  i  believe  he  would  try  to  confront  strength  every  chance  he  gets.  he  sees  this  skeleton  as  nothing  more  than  the  king’s  right  hand  ( literally  so  exciting  to  me  that  strength  is  also  a  revolter  and  i’m  sure  neither  of  them  know  they’re  destined  to  work  on  the  same  side  again?? )   and  i  think  he  reflects  a  lot  of  his  own  inadequacies  onto  this  skeleton ,  a  lot  of  his  failure.  with  such  a  tension  relationship  i’d  like  to  see  fights  break  out ..  maybe  even  between  their  own  respective  men  that  they’d  have  to  quell.  far  down  the  line  even  settling  their  differences  and  working  together  as  the  military  leaders  of  a  revolution  because  who  is  better  suited  for  the  job  than  them?  but  it  would  take  a  big  blow  to  canis’s  pride  to  share  such  a  job ,  to  ever  work  alongside  this  skeleton  instead  of  against  them  like  he  always  has.  so  all  around?  here  for  it  all. NINE OF WANDS:   canis  looks  at  them  and  sees  passion  he  once  was  sure  he  felt ,  the  sharp  thing  in  his  gut  that  once  spurred  him  to  forge  his  own  path  in  a  world  that  never  once  showed  him  kindness.  his  scars  are  internal ,  but  they  wear  their  scar  like  a  badge  of  honor ,  at  least  that’s  how  canis  sees  it.  he’d  love  to  not  have  to  kill  the  king  himself ,  even  if  he  would  never  admit  it.  it  means  a  safer  life  for  his  men ,  it  means  being  done  with  tyrholm  and  a  life  of  ease  and  travel ,  everything  he’s  always  wanted  and  never  seemed  to  be  able  to  grasp.  i  wonder  if  them  growing  closer  through  sparring  and  their  ability  to  provide  him  the  best  weapons  he’s  ever  seen  could  change  his  opinion  on  wanting  them  to  kill  the  king  in  a  fit  of  rage??  i  could  see  canis  wanted  to  strategize  with  them ,  in  the  end ,  once  he’s  done  poking  the  bear.  love  this  gift  of  a  connection  a  lot !!!! THE EMPRESS:   definite  ass  kissing  going  on  here.  canis  is  more  than  grateful  he  was  hired  by  her  and  not  the  king ,  though  i  do  think  he  might  resent  them  a  little  for  the  work  the  king  makes  his  company  do.  he  prefers  to  take  jobs  from  them ,  when  ordered ,  though  i  feel  their  relationship  at  this  point  goes  beyond  just  work  like  it  does  with  septimus.  he  trusts  them  and  it  does  help  him  to  sleep  at  night  thinking  he  could  be  serving  their  hand  and  not  septimus’s.  also  entirely  possibly  they  call  him  the  dog  but  with  them  it  doesn’t  feel  like  malice.  he  would  never  dare  disrespect  the  queen ,  especially  one  he  sees  goodness in ,  sees  his  entire  future  in.  would  be  really  interesting  if  canis  even  is  a  little  too  friendly  with  them ,  giving  them  a  hard  time  where  maybe  no  one  else  would  dare  to  do ,  an  annoying  prick  in  her  side  that  she  NEEDS  to  get  what  she  wants. THE HERMIT:   i  think  he  has  a  lot  of  respect  for  the  hermit.  in  ways  that  his  pride  keeps  him  from  seeing  his  similarities  with  strength ,  he  sees  so  much  of  who  he  once  was  in  them.  young ,  making  their  own  way ,  maybe  even  some  of  the  same  rage ,  though  canis  has  no  place  to  put  his  own.  i  feel  like  if  the  respect  was  mutual  they  could  have  a  friendly  relationship ,  canis  even  pushing  advice  onto  them  they  might  not  want  or  need.  if  a  revolution  came  he  would  back  them.  somewhere ,  he  probably  even  sees  them  as  something  of  a  good  king.  canis  doesn’t  trust  them  fully ,  but  he  could  drink  with  them ,  knows  the  second  fangs  would  treat  them  kindly  as  well. THE HIGH PRIESTESS:   canis  is  scared  of  little ,  but  he’s  scared  shitless  of  them.  he  avoids  them  at  all  costs ,  looks  the  other  way  when  they’re  brought  to  the  same  space.  he  doesn’t  talk  kindly  of  necromancers ,  though  maybe  there  is  some  envy  there  he  needs  to  address.  he’s  sure  this  doesn’t  go  unnoticed ,  not  with  all  their  years  of  wisdom.  i  think  it  could  be  really  interesting  though  if  one  of  his  closest  friends  is  killed  on  a  job  and  they  bring  them  back  as  he  watches ,  sees  this  power  first  hand ,  feels  even  a  debt  is  owed  though  none  of  the  fear  is  gone.  a  lot  of  possibilities ,  i  could  see  the  second  fangs  might  be  dying  a  lot  more  often  pretty  soon ... JUSTICE:   the  world  calls  canis  the  dog  because  they  see  him  as  filth ,  as  something  mangey  that  feeds  from  table  scraps  of  the  king ,  but  canis  sees  that  justice  is  the  real  dog.  and  he  pities  him  for  it.  there’s  little  glory  in  the  work  of  a  bodyguard ,  and  maybe  canis  wonders  how  justice  would  fair  in  his  own  company.  never  the  less ,  i  think  they  could  butt  heads  just  as  easily  as  they  could  share  a  pint.  maybe  they’ve  even  fought  in  some  of  the  same  battles ,  know  each  other  from  war  torn  lives  and  have  a  bond  because  of  this.  lots  of  potential  for  both  malice  and  comradery ,  no  matter  what  line  of  the  revolution  they  tread. THE LOVERS:   canis  sees  himself  and  more  in  them.  he  doesn’t  pity  easily ,  has  an  ability  to  find  the  strength  in  even  the  smallest  mouse ,  but  he  pities  the  lovers.  in  some  ways ,  i  think  he  wants  what  they  have ,  longs  for  something  as  fulfilling  as  love ,  and  doesn’t  want  to  see  this  squashed.  every  day  he  gets  closer  to  telling  them  of  the  war  to  come.  i  really  wonder  how  long  he  can  go  without  letting  anything  slip ,  especially  if  they  look  at  him  with  gentleness  or  show  him  great  kindness.  he  feels  they  need  to  prepare ,  like  he  is ,  for  a  future  of  destruction.   THE MOON:   okay okay ..  i  have  two  different  paths  that  i  think  might  be  interesting  with  this  skeleton  depending  on  what  gets  plotted  out.  BUT ..  i could imagine  canis  stumbles  into  their  office  after  being  badly  injured  on  the  job ,  probably  requesting  some  random  herb  because  it  HURTS  and  he’s  WEAK  and  he  needs  it  to  be  DONE  WITH.  one  path  would  lead  to  the  moon  healing  canis ,  and  once  he  discovers  this  ability  he  probably  begs  and  bribes  ( heavily.  the  man  is  too  wealthy  for  his  own  good  now ,  and  what  else  is  he  going  to  buy?  new  boots?  his  work  just  fine. )  them  to  start  visiting  the  second  fangs  around  the  city  to  heal  them  in  secret.  he’ll  do  anything  for  their  ensured  safety.  the  other  path  works  quite  the  same ,  only  with  no  healing ,  just  plants ,  and  he’d  be  very  dependent  on  this  muse  either  way  because  of  the  miracles  they’re  able  to  work  with  his  men.  really  really excited  for  the  possibilities  of  plots  with  this  skeleton. THE TOWER:   a  backstory  plot  for  these  muses  is  calling  my  name??  like  maybe  the  tower  and  canis  had  a  deal  where  the  second  fangs  would  assist  them  and  their  men  on  voyages  and  pillages  for  a  cut  of  the  treasure  when  all  was  said  and  done ,  back  when  the  second  fangs  were  fresher  and  poorer  and  in  desperate  need  of  work.  and  maybe  one  of  the  two  betrayed  the  other  on  one  of  these  trips ,  with  greed  for  treasure  or  something of the like?  things  could  be  tense  between  them  now ,  at  each  other’s  throats.  OR  there  could  have  never  been  a  betrayal  and  they’re  actually  quite  good  friends  who  know  a  little  too  much  about  each  other’s  pasts ,  and  canis  offers  the  tower  company  amongst  the  pack  knowing  he’s  lived  through  canis’s  own  worst  nightmare.  the  terrifying  ordeal  of  being  known.  canis  could  definitely  trust  them  more  than  he  should.  this  one  has  me  really  excited  i  won’t  lie.

CHARACTER DEATH:    canis  would  quite  literally  volunteer  for  this  so  that’s  a  big  yes  from me.

WRITING SAMPLE

THE SELF PARA:  the tent is warm and the burn of the lamplight casts shadows across familiar faces. the second fangs. his pack, he always calls them, like they’re puppies and not vicious mercenaries. canis is most comfortable here, at ease, his usually pin straight posture relaxed despite the job he knows lays ahead of them. it’s not one he’s entirely comfortable with, an uprising in a poor village. always messy, always felt a bit like putting down a weakened calf at the farm. so they drink, to forget the day that lies ahead, the uncountable days behind. the faces. faces. faces, that echo like screams.   he can’t recall who speaks first, but it was likely canis himself, always a little too bold when his body buzzed with liquid courage. “that’s not what i’m asking,” one of his men corrects with a nudge of canis’s shoulder, always aggressive with each other, a pack of wolves nipping at each other’s heels. “the death’s on your hands. but it’s meant to be a good one. worth while.” and the captain’s own eyes twinkle uncharacteristically, perhaps because his inner conscious knows what his mouth does not. that the answer lies waiting at the tip of his tongue, a snarling beast of a target.     “and how much coin are we gonna get fer it?” ajax jests, but canis can see the gold flashing in front of his face, even from across the table. canis barks out a laugh, and they all bang their goblets on the table.   “aye,” in unison. they know each other inside and out, they speak a language strange and foreign. a family with many moons in their pockets. how many knights can say that?   “no coin,” canis finally adds. “no glory. no private dance at the brothel,” eying ren, and there’s another chorus of easy laughter, more aye’s.   “one of the nobles,” lawren grunts, and at first there’s just ringing silence. a paranoia that winds it’s way through the small group. they trust each other with their lives but this .. it’s like blasphemy. it’s revolution uncurling within them, more than just a job, it’s a force awakening. lawren speaks again, gentler, louder. “undying knows they’re all pricks.” and it’s easy again, more aye’s, cups overflowing with wine and ale.   but in between the laughter, he feels the wrench in his gut, the rage that threatens to flare. an allegiance of blood and blind faith  --  it reminds him so much of religion that he squirms. maybe his answer lies in a job, with wicked tendrils wrapped around his neck like a leash. the dog. how wrong would it be to bite the hand that feeds you? “i’d cut off my ring fingers and swear to celibacy to be rid of the fuck all king already,” canis growls, his knuckles white where he grips tight on his cup. and it’s quiet again. when he speaks they listen, they all listen, even the highborn in the castle, like he’s a wave crashing on shore. commanding attention. demanding it.   “you’re spending too much time with the clerics,” ren groans, with a face like a fox, her hair hanging limply in her face. he can’t tell if she’s smiling or frowning, but they’re nodding in agreement. all of them.    “what good’s that sack of shit king, anyway?” lawren chimes in, and then it’s deafening chatter. all canis can do is listen, absorb the pain of his men, the frustration, see himself reflected in their woes. say what any outsider will about his crew, maybe they are all mutts. one mind, one body, one restless spirit. tired of being used, of being chained to a cause that tries to fill deep chasms in bleeding hearts with gold. what is the price of true freedom?   “maybe the end is closer than you think, canis,” a small voice that rises above the others. a girl, mary, raised in the pack, only nearing her seventeenth summer. and she’s a legacy of everything canis has created, the family he wove with bruised and boney fingers. “we haven’t lost a battle, yet.” and she’s right, of course she’s right, whip smart and flea bitten. if there is to be a revolution, aid of the pack would be an immense advantage. it isn’t arrogance with which his men speak. it’s truth.   he has to chew on the suggestion, sharp glass in his mouth with every bite, impossible to digest, but maybe with the backing of his crew .. canis has trouble seeing the future beyond a sack of coins and a full bottle of ale. he knows little of politics, even after all his withered years serving as something of a king himself. it’s overwhelming, and he thinks his whole arm shakes when he raises his goblet. “nasty fuckers,” but his teeth shine in the lamplight, like fangs. like canines. “trying to get your own captain killed.” but when they clink glasses, it feels like a deal has been made, like he owes this death to more than just the queen, like the undying herself is watching.

EXTRAS

VOICE :   canis  has  an  eclectic  sort  of  accent ,  a  combination  of  all  of  the  people  he  met  while  living  on  the  street ,  his  father ,  the  lands  he’s  traveled  and  settled  into  with  his  companies .  he  constantly  sticks  out  as  an  outsider ,  no  matter  where  he  is .  he  doesn’t  mind  this  sense  of  otherness  because  whenever  canis  goes ,  his  family  is  never  far . canis’s  mockblog  can  be  found  HERE his  pinterest  can  be  found  HERE   ( blood  tw )

[xathia-89]

From a Fire in the Woods

Introducing my new OC: Caitriona as having been showcased in @muggzc amazing stuff (go check it out). This is her beginnings, and she is a pain in the ass. 

Thick black smoke was filling the air, the sound of screams and pleading of lives surrounded her. They'd fought so hard, moving every few days and making ends meet by posing as gypsies, but something had given them away as her legs were burning from her running. Her black hair was braided out of the way, but her pale amethyst eyes were full with the acrid smoke. They were destroying every part of their existence, as her survival instincts were her only thing right now.

Her parents were gone, they had been some of the first to be killed. She knew they were looking for her as she leapt over a fallen tree, desperate to find somewhere to hide.

She heard a mix of foreign languages before she ran. They were a mix of Parisian, Viennese, Florian and Roman. She knew enough to know who was after them as she squirrelled away under the fallen tree. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her arms wrapped around her body as footsteps came and went.

She knew all of the horror stories. It was all the village elders would talk about around the campfire, but she had always written it off as a story. It was designed to stop them straying too far, but now she could see it was all a watered-down story to the reality she was experiencing.

"Mademoiselle?"

She kept herself perfectly still. She didn't want to be found, she would end up dead if she was thought to be alive.

A soft hand, brushing her face in surprise and making her flinch. He gently scooped his arm around her shoulders and then under her legs, making sure not to knock her head.

"I know you are awake," his voice was soft. "I won't let them hurt you."

She didn't want to open her eyes and let him win. The Parisian was spoken fast and furiously, it soon became apparent that they didn't know each other all that well since the man sighed once they had passed the initial questioning of the camp guards. She barely knew any of the language, she knew what words to listen out for, and not one of them had been uttered in the conversation just gone. She knew what he was and he likely knew what she was, but he must have a hidden agenda.

He had someone else hold her before she was passed up to him. He had her settled in front of him on his horse and then waved himself off. The lack of resistance told her that he was an important one, possibly one of the principal families. Which only confused her.

"We are not far outside of Paris, I have a house here where you can sleep and rest up. Then you have a lot of questions for me to answer, I am certain. But you need to eat and sleep first."

True to his word, he didn't ask her anything. They arrived, and he gave her plenty of space. It was a substantial house, several bedrooms and even a private lake, which made her stare in awe. She was used to sneaking into places like this to bathe as the man gave her all the space.

"There is one other resident here," he informed her. "But he is on the top floor. I will leave you on the ground floor and instruct him to leave you be. I will get you some clean clothes, and I will have no doubt that you have already seen the lake, so I will leave you to it. I will be in the first room after the entrance when you wish to find me."

It was beyond puzzling. He should have killed her on the spot, but he was actively helping her past those who he should be calling his allies. He was living up to his word so far, but she couldn't let her guard down.

The lake was cold, but it took the dirt and ash off her. Her clothes were ruined now she had a chance to take a look at them, which made her a little sad. It was the only physical connection she had, and there was no way to salvage them before she reluctantly dragged herself back to the manor. Her stomach was complaining violently, it had been a couple of days since her last meal. The pursuit had been brutal.

She stood at the front of the house, her head tilted to the side before the sounds of Paris filtered past. It was all behind a barrier, designed to keep them out, and the residents of the house inside.

"I promise you that you will come to no harm," he was watching her. It was unsettling. "I arrived too late to help properly. For that, I apologise."

"How do I know I'm just not going to be your food supply?" She couldn't help herself. She felt like a trapped prey.

"Because I would rather end myself. Though I am certain, you know exactly how to. Besides, your blood is poisonous to us. That's part of your charm. We can't feed off you."

It made her pause and frown.

"I see that fact has slipped from memory. My mother was killed by a village elder of your clan. She fed from a witch, and it seemed to spark ruthless anger. I was away to tend to her. Do you remember anything leading up to the pursuit? The other vampires won't tell me what happened."

"We've been on the run for a few days. Stopping to change horses and drink enough to keep going, we haven't been able to get any food. I just remember seeing my parents sounding the alarm that we were under attack. All of the older adults were constantly coming and going beforehand. I was trying to get the herbs to pay for our next meal without needing to steal."

"I am sorry for your loss. I have had some bread, meat and cheese prepared for you. It is warmer insider," he gestured, his arm showing her the way.

He was pleasant enough to keep his distance as she did eat. Her magic told her it was safe before she couldn't help but delve in like a starved animal. He watched her from the doorway, a bottle of blood in hand.

"I still don't know why you are helping me," she said, pausing in her feasting.

"Because I had the means to save you all. And I didn't. I selfishly chose to spend time with my dying mother, who had no chance of being saved."

"That still doesn't mean you need to do this. You could kill me before I kill you."

"I have need of your magic, and in return, I will give you protection."

"Why my magic?"

"Your bloodline is talented. I need some help to make sure I can protect any more residents I do so happen to pick up."

"I will have a long list of requirements for you then."

"Then I believe we may be in business. May I know your name? I am Monsieur Le Comte de Saint Germain."

"Caitriona."

A smile. And it wasn't looking at her like she was food. "Then I believe you are in need of sleep after this. We will discuss the details later on."

True to his word, anything she wanted was gifted to her. She had a small apothecary on the outskirts of Paris, he furnished her out, and he would pay for anything that needed repairing. She had never known such luxury. She had someone chopping wood for her, the blacksmith would repair anything without coming to her for payment. She would also find out that Le Comte would give the butcher, fishmonger and farmers an advance for the week to supply her. She found herself mostly on her own, she worked on her magic to Comte's means. He rarely came to her, only when she had sent word.

Then she found her first patient. A woman was heavily pregnant, but the child has died in her. It was too long for her to bring him back, but the mother was in danger of death as well right now. She delivered the child and gave her all of the potions to ensure the woman would recover and even deliver a healthy baby for her next time.

Word spread quickly. Some accused her of witchcraft, but Caitriona snorted and gave them a show of the herbs she used. The loudest complainers would usually be on her doorstep in time. A relative dying she could help, she made sure to learn some incantations from the Bible, covering up her work as that of God's will. She could save the dying within reason. She knew when it was time to help someone along their journey and when they had more living to do.

The years passed into centuries.

She was stood in front of her finished product, next to Le Comte. Two intricately carved wooden doors, it had taken her decades of work, and she had been missing on more than a few occasions much to Comte's misgivings until she always returned.

"What is this?"

She was holding out something seemingly insignificant, a small charm made of silver by all appearances.

"The only thing to guarantee that you can travel freely between the two points in time. I have no way of guaranteeing where you come out on the other side, but I will promise that you will find what you are looking for. Anyone else travelling with you will need to be touching you, or they may get lost for all eternity, and even if I was to go looking for them, then I could not promise to find them."

"Where does it exit?"

It's a fixed point in La Louvre. Humans will pass the door by without a wish to use it. But I've also installed a protection feature," Caitriona paused and gestured to the large and ornate hourglass. "You can only use it once the sand has fallen through. Otherwise, you risk doing irreparable damage. Once you have passed through, you have 2 days to come back, and the door will not unlock from the other side until another turn has been completed."

"Thank you."

"Mm, I wouldn't thank me just yet. I can still kill you with my blood."

"If you do so you will be hunted until you are dead. I know my kindred know I am harbouring a witch from all that time ago. I have had demands from the Da Vinci family to pass you over."

"Caterina can suck a goose. Her son will be of more interest, I don't know entirely when he will be born, but I know the two of you will become fond of each other."

"I am sure that we will see."

[pazithi-gallifreya]

The Hourglass Garden (An Unus Annus-inspired short story)

*Author’s note: Firstly, this is NOT a fan-fiction, nor does it contain Mark or Ethan in any way, so apologies to anyone looking for that type of content. Rather, it’s a story centered around some of the motifs that crop up throughout the Unus Annus channel as a whole - an homage, if you will. These two guys got me to write again for the first time in years, especially when it comes to writing for myself. I’m just happy I was able to create something for the guys, and I’m so thankful to them for getting those wheels turning in my head again, even if they’re a bit slow. As much of a meme it may be on the channel at this point, I think the overall theme of running out of time is super important, and one I think too many of us dismiss a majority of the time, myself included.I even kept putting the writing of this story off, but I finally came up with enough of a concrete plot to put it together. Mark is always talking about how if you want to do something, you gotta grab the bull by the horns and just do it, so this is me doing that. We need to remember that we often don’t have as much time as we think we do, and the clock is constantly ticking. It only stops for us when we die, but us dying has no effect on time for everyone else. It moves forward without us. That’s not to say we have to rush to get everything done all the time. We still need to stop and appreciate the things and people around us. We just need to find a healthy balance, find what we enjoy, and also work hard, not only for others, but also ourselves. All of that is what this story is about.

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

          “Shit!” Aria gasped as the freezing wind nearly yanked the front door right out of her gloved hands. She reigned it back in, locked it, and pulled her beanie lower over her ears as she headed down the stairs towards her complex’s parking lot. She cranked the heat to max, sitting in her red 2007 Honda, cupping her still gloved hands and blowing into them before adjusting her rearview mirror. The crystals formed on the back windshield looked like little ice people. She smiled.

           It had been far too long since she had done something like this for herself. Her boss had recently quit at her editing company, making her schedule a living nightmare over the past month. The added pressure and stress hadn’t gone unnoticed by her best friend Beth, who, after much pushback on Aria’s part, finally convinced her to take a day off. “There’s this beautiful woodland garden about 40 miles out of town. There’s not as much to look at in the winter, so it’s not as pretty, but it’s still open. There’s also less people because of it, so if you’re looking for some solitude, as well as some fresh air, it’s the perfect place.”

          “In 30 miles, turn right on Hourglass Road,” chimed the robotic voice from her phone as she turned onto the highway. Any other day, she’d be blasting music and singing her lungs out, but not today. Today was a quiet day. She kept occasional watch over the crystal people slowly being sliced in half by the defroster, reminding her of her own temporary state as they dripped down the back window.

          Half an hour later, she turned onto Hourglass – a narrow gravel road that opened into a gravel parking lot surrounded by a short log fence, with an ornate sign that read Hourglass Gardens. She pulled in next to the only other car in the lot and pulled her coat tightly around her as she took in her surroundings. The fence opened onto a dirt path that forked in two directions. One led to the large old house that served as a local historical museum. The other traveled down to the woodland gardens. Aria turned off her phone so as to not be tempted, shoved her hands in her pockets, and sauntered down the longer path.

          A short way into the woods was a circular wooden bench surrounding a large, stone fountain  that was currently turned off, probably due to the season. The centerpiece was a huge hourglass surrounded by a stone circle with the phrase “Unus Annus” written repeatedly around the outside. The hourglass was filled with pure white sand, which had all sunk to the bottom. Tippy-toed, she reach up to turn it, but couldn’t get it to budge. She sighed as she took a seat and stared up into the bare branches that surrounded her overhead, silently thanking the powers that be for the seclusion. Beth was right, she thought. Not much to look at, but it’s pretty well-maintained... She stared into murky film at the bottom of the fountain. Mostly. At least it’s quiet.

          After several moments of taking in the stillness, she decided to move deeper into the barren woods. Every so often, she would run into little plastic markers with blurbs about the plants and wildlife people often encounter there. About 2 miles in, about every 20 steps or so, she began to notice little wooden markers close to the ground, almost hidden. They seemed to have arrows carved into them. They started along the path, then slowly got farther into the woods, away from the path. With time to kill, she figured she might as well go with it. There were no barriers, and having read many fantasy novels, she was always amused by the cheesiness of the “forbidden path” trope. Besides, she did come here to get away, after all, and what could be more detached from reality than following mysterious arrows in the woods into who knows where, even if the mystery was pretend. It was still the most excitement she had felt about anything in a while.

          She walked over another mile, and at one point resisted the brief temptation to turn back to the trail. She cleared through one final patch of dead shrubbery next to another arrow before stumbling into a clearing rivaling even the ones in her books – it’s like all the colorful butterflies and animals had congregated in this one spot, encompassed by rainbow assortments of flowers and dense foliage in full bloom, despite the fact it was January. In front of it all was a babbling brook, with an assortment of brightly-colored fish, complete with a little bridge nestled neatly over it. Funny, I didn’t even hear any running water before now. She knelt down to touch it, but something prevented her hand from penetrating the water; some invisible barrier.

          “I see you’ve made it.”

          Aria jumped at the sudden break in the silence. The voice was calm, yet loud somehow. A man in a white, hooded cloak stood on the opposite side of the brook, but still sounded as if he were standing right next to her. A strange mist spiraled around him.

          “What do you mean? Did you know I was coming? What is this place?” Aria asked, reaching her hand out in front of her, only to be forced back once again.

          The man pulled down his hood. “This is the end.”

          “The end of what? Who are you?”

          “I am the inevitable. This is where all of time resides. Everything begins here, and everything ends here.”

          “Are you saying you’re God, or something? Or Death? In the middle of a man-made sanctuary?”

          “I am neither. I am the in between. I am Time Itself. I do not reside on this plane, but I am wherever you need me at any given moment.”

          “So you’re saying you’re not really here?”

          “I am, and I am not.”

          “Am I the only one that can see or hear you?” Aria looked back to where she had entered. It was as brown and desolate as before.

          “Yes.”

          “Why? Why are you here? Why am I here?”

          “This is your turning point – the point where you decide whether to take back control of your own destiny or succumb to the darkness, the point where you decide to live a prosperous life or a waking death.”

          “How do I do that?”

          “Make the decision. Only you know which path you will walk down. When you truly have your answer and have confirmed it to yourself, return here before time runs out. You have one year. I will be waiting. Memento mori.” The man turned, slowly walking away as the mist swelled around him until in encompassed the entire meadow. A frog made a loud plop into the brook, and with that, it was gone.

          In front of Aria stood the looming hourglass fountain, now gushing with water. She pinched herself to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep on the bench. What just happened, and why was she willing to believe and accept it so easily? She walked closer to examine the intricate stonework. The hourglass had been turned over. A few grains of sand had already trickled their way to the bottom. She read the phrase again. “Unus Annus.” She turned her phone back on and typed the words into the search bar. “One year,” she said softly to herself. “Okay,” she affirmed. “Looks like I’ve got a decision to make.”

          She walked determinedly back to her car, feeling refreshed and invigorated, despite the mind trip she had just been on. As she turned the key in the ignition, she remembered something. “What was the other thing that guy said?” she mumbled to herself. “Memento mori?” She pulled her phone back out and searched the phrase. The translation read, “Remember you must die.”

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Thank you to anyone who read this. Thank you to Mark, Ethan, and Amy for being such a positive and encouraging force in my life for so many years and all the experiences I’ve had because of you. Thank you for giving me some inspiration to start creating again. There have been a lot of hard times going on with my family that I haven’t been able to properly focus on myself, and I’m still working on a lot of things, but this is another small step to help me towards my goals, and I’m glad to have you both be a part of it (even if it ended up sounding like a cheap YA novel). Being a perfectionist, I may not particularly like the final product myself, and think it's weak in every aspect, but that wasn't what this was about for me. I just wanted to show some appreciation for some amazing people. It’s been hard for me to keep up with you guys’ videos as of late, but this channel has been a way for me to stay up-to-date with both of you in a small way, and it’s such a cool concept. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for the channel.

(Unus Annus is right on the verge of 2 million right now! Let’s get them there! They deserve it so much!)

- Anne