#yes the bear is covered in dried blood

[little-pondhead]

No matter the universe, she’ll always be Dani.

[lynnlovesthestars]

Why?

Pairing: Astarion x Reader. Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. Warnings: mentions of past abuse, self-harm, astarion is a little bitch that can't accept someone can take care of him, blood sucking, lots of pulling and letting go i guess?, messy emotions for messy people, self doubt and insecurities. Anxiety, panic attacks, nudity but not sexual. (if i missed something, please let me know. Summary: night is that moment when you can take care of yourself, but what if you find someone that needs more care than you? WC: 4.4k

Author notes: omg i finally finished this one, i've been working on it for a while now and initially it was supposed to be published before i started getting requests, which by the way im loving and im diligently working on<3, anyways this was a small challenge for me, i've been trying to work with stuff i wasn't entirely comfortable with to push my boundaries and learn something new, and this came out.. I hope you'll enjoy this read while I work on the next draft<3 love you lots!

When the moon finally made its way in the sky, and dinner had been consumed, you knew you finally had some time for yourself.

You’d take that time to scrub away the blood that stuck to your skin and the filth of the day. Traveling along a river had it’s pros: you found a nice spot along the bed of the Chionthar that seemed perfect for a bath. 

That night the place was particularly silent, the wind was blowing between the leaves and it was the only sound that you could hear until you passed that  funny rock shaped like a bear.

Initially you thought it was an animal, or at worse a beast, but as you delved closer rhe sound became much clearer. 

Heavy breathing.

It was a sound you could recognize everywhere, because it was a sound you’d make on those nights when anxiety would take over and you felt helpless. Since you went through all the hardships of your life, you promised yourself you’d do your best to help people in need, and in that moment there was definitely someone that needed help.

Your stomach was churning as you followed the shallow breaths that reverberated in the silence of the undergrowth. It led to a small clearing where the moonlight was free to enlight as much as possible of your surroundings. On the opposite side from where you came from, someone was coiled on himself, exposing their bleeding back your way.

The slender fingers clawed at their own flesh leaving deep marks, but it was the whimpering that helped you recognize the person in front of you.

Astarion.

Astarion that was completely naked, his nails were digging into his shoulders, and trembling like a beaten puppy. His clothes were scattered around the clearing, they were ripped in the haste of the panic, you assumed.

You rushed to his side, dropping your bag next to him as you crouched and cradled him to you.

“‘Starion” You whispered as you scanned him, from the way he hid his face, to the red streaks along his chest, the pale skin stained with tears and his glassy, raw eyes.

His whole body was a trembling mess as he couldn’t hold back tears. The slow wails were filling you with anguish as you tried to calm him down just enough so he could make out a few words.

“Who did this to you?” You whispered softly, as you slowly dried his cheeks. The question awoke something in him, he slipped out of your arms before you could object and he tried to sit up.

His arms were shaking as he rested his palms on the leaves-covered soil. “No one.” He turned his head away, his eyes subsequently diverting from yours. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He breathed out as he tried to stop his eyes from getting more and more teary, yet failing at each attempt.

“Yes, it does.” You insisted, raising your palm and reaching for his cheek. Gently you guided his eyes back to you making sure he knew you cared. Making sure that he knew you only wanted to help him.

The pit in your stomach felt like a dark hole in you, swallowing everything with it. You’ve never seen him like this since you two met, not even when you learned his vampirism while he was starving. 

Even when you learned small bits of his past, like how he got turned, he always kept composure, though you knew he was hurting. Now instead he was so vulnerable.

You felt a pang of guilt hit you, you were invading his personal space and he probably wanted to run away, yet he was growing on you, and if there was something about you, it was that no one hurt the people you cared for. 

“Who did this to you?” You repeated still gently yet firm. You caressed his cheek with your thumb, taking your time to wipe away the remnants of his previous tears.

For a moment he hesitated, he wanted to hold back, but then his body gave out, almost slumping on yours. His eyes were duller, his lips were quivering, and he wasn’t sure he could ever form a full sentence properly, but you were there and you were trying to help him. No one ever tried to help him.

For so long he wished someone would waltz in and come to his rescue. He desperately wished someone would shake him awake from his worn coffin to drag him out of those filthy kennels. He wished someone would dry his tears and heal his wounds, yet for 200 years he suffered alone.

Instead you did much more than what he expected: you insisted, you didn’t recoil disgusted or gave up. You sat there trying over and over to patch him up, to find answers, and to find who hurt him so deeply that he’d end up bleeding alone in a forest.

You knew, of course, that he didn’t tell you his whole story when he opened up, it would have been foolish of him to do so since you were a stranger. He didn’t mention the scars that covered his back, or the constant nightmares during his reverie, cause of course elves couldn’t live without over analyzing things, or the true extent of his master’s punishment. You couldn’t have known yet.

His voice was shaky, broken, a whisper as he muttered Cazador’s name, afraid that even saying his name out loud would be too much, like that would make the monster materialize in front of him, but once he muttered his name, he couldn’t stop his words from being vomited out of his throat like sharing all of this with you was a new compulsion bestowed upon him.

“I was meditating when my brain decided to gift me an old memory” He sighed shakily. “And of course the memory was related to whatever is carved in my back. The pain was so vivid it felt like I was back there, hunched as that bastard was having the time of his life.” His voice was feeble, broken, it was so raw you were not sure how to react.

“When I woke up I was covered in blood and everything was hurting.” His eyes widened for a moment like he could rewatch those images over and over again, right there in front of you.

“My body was clearly not mine anymore, I was taken over by this fear that you’d all hate me for whatever this is, so I ran looking for a spot to hide.” He lowered his gaze.

“I guess before I could look around me, I sank on my knees. I felt like I was suffocating, Tav.” He was trusting you with something that he was running away from, something that terrorized him, something that you knew went opposite of his survival instinct. It was something that made him so fragile that he had to run away from a place that he should have considered safe, your camp.

Despite the gushing wounds he still ran, and yet he allowed you to get a piece of his mind, he didn’t kick you away like he’d usually do.

“My clothes were too much, the pain was too much, everything was too much. I'm not gonna lie. I literally ripped everything off before I could even process what I was going to do to myself. The only thing I knew was that the old scars were open again and they were gushing. I could feel it, Tav. I could feel the blood dripping down my fucking back.” His eyes were brimmed again with tears that he couldn’t hold back even if he tried, it was such a haunting feeling he wished he could erase the memory. “I couldn’t stop.”

He looked at his hands, his fingers were covered in blood and specs of his skin were hidden under his fingers. He was so disgusted at the sight that another sob quivered from his lips.

“You’re safe, nothing can hurt you now.” You leaned forward wiping his cheeks with your palms. 

The remorse in his eyes was vivid, he just had trauma dumped on you and he knew you were going to hate him for it, but then you said his name so gently, so caring, that he allowed you to caress him.

You gave him time to ragain as much control as he could muster before you helped him up. He did look in need of a bath undoubtedly, and you had to go to the river anyways, so you asked him if he wanted to join you. You offered to clean his wounds so he could avoid infections, though you weren’t so sure vampires could get infected like that.

You both took your time standing up, his head was pounding so hard that his balance faltered. Your arms were there for him before he could hit the ground.

How was it possible that whenever he'd be deep in shit, you saved the fucking day? Just that day you did it twice and he would have sworn he didn't deserve any of it.

“I’ve got you” You made sure your arms were anchored on him, steadying his movements, and taking the opportunity to ask him if you could clean his wounds. He wanted so bad to refuse but his body felt so heavy, and his eyes pleaded for help no matter how much he’d try to hide it. Astrarion couldn’t recall a single person that cared for him so tenderly.In the past 200 years all he got was beatings, starvation, indifference, it was all so foreign to him, so much that the words you told him bounced in his head incessantly for days. “I know you can handle it yourself, but it doesn’t mean you should have to do this on your own.” I know you can handle it yourself, but it doesn’t mean you should have to do this on your own.” 

It was like a second nature to you, you could read his eyes like no one ever did. 

Yyu guided him towards the river, in that secluded spot you liked. 

You settled down your bag on a stump, and along with it Astarion’s clothes. You decided you were going to clean those after you were done with your baths, and afterward if your fingers didn’t feel too sore, you’d work on fixing the tear along the back of his blouse.

You picked up the small bunch of bottles, and one of the small towels you usually carried around to clean your wounds. 

Astarion let go of your hand only when you picked up those things, and even in that brief instant, his legs could barely hold him up. It was like he was dragged back in the kennels, like he had not fed in goddamned ages, and he lost too much blood to even breathe.

You didn’t notice it until you turned towards him, his body was quivering like a leaf in the middle of a tornado. 

Despite the tremor and the blood, there was still something about him that leaked confidence, like the hurt that was encompassing him was not making him look smaller, or weaker. It was.. real. 

If you thought you saw through astarion when you first met him, this was the moment you realized you were wrong. When you were slammed in front of this raw sight, you knew.

This was the closest you could get to the real Astarion, and it hurt. You didn’t understand why it hurt so much, but it was much worse than any other pain you could recall. It was a feeling that was eating you from the inside cause you knew his wounds were much deeper than what he shared with you so far.

Nevertheless, you didn’t hesitate to throw the bottles closer to the water and pass to astarion the towel, then before he could even understand what was going on, you whisked him up in your arms. 

He wanted to complain- he wanted to rely only on himself-, but his body didn’t agree. It was like it was screaming at him, screaming to tell him that he needed help and that even for a moment, it would have been okay to let someone patch him up.

You sat him right at the edge of the river, where a log was already propped nicely so travelers could clean themselves without the risks of the flowing water, then without thinking too much about it, you stripped off your own clothes, discarding them quickly. You weren’t embarrassed, or rather, you were, but he exposed so much of himself already, that you felt safe to do it as well.

You joined him, sitting yourself in a spot that allowed you to slip in the water effortlessly, while still being close to Astarion. 

The towel was the trick: you dipped the cloth in the water just enough that you could wipe away the blood without soaking the skin, then you’d gently run it down Astarion’s body to wipe it all.

You worked one small patch at a time, starting with his right shoulder and working your way through his scarred body.

His back was towards you, exposing the carving, which you identified as infernal runes. You cleaned him slowly and with a softness you didn’t know you had in you. 

Everytime you’d move away to dip the cloth in the water, his body would soften, even if for a moment, before the towel grazed again on his scars, and he couldn’t help but flinch ever so slightly.

“I’ve got you” You whispered under your breath as you pressed the cloth on his neck, causing a long shudder to run through Astarion’s back.

He wasn’t sure what if was anymore: whether it was the towel still startling him or your words that seemed to mend him like tiny plasters putting his wounds back together. What you were doing for him.. it was nice. You soothed his skin, while whispering supportive words as you took care of him.

“I won’t let him hurt you again” You whispered while taking a moment to squeeze the blood off the towel, before resuming your slow descent. 

As you worked on another patch of the runes, you couldn’t help but stare at the way the moonlight shone on his skin, it was a sight that otherwise you would never see.

Your eyes took in all his form as you cleaned and cleaned, and you could feel your heart running an extra mile.

The slow passing of time started to affect him after a while, his back slowly hunched under the heavy weight of his thoughts, his breath hitched as you diligently traced his back. No one was ever allowed to touch his back before you. He could feel the tears swelling again under his eyes.

You were so concentrated on cleaning that you didn’t notice until he was almost curled up again, and you helped him up. 

You kept your arm around his waist so he couldn’t fall prone as you started working on the wounds on his chest, and that’s when his eyes met yours, the crimson was shining as the tears piled and piled on them, the moon only served the purpose of highlighting them.

Then when you scooted him closer to you and allowed his back to rest against your chest, he was a crying mess again.

This time his lips were moving before his brain could process his thoughts, for a moment you could see his sanity slip away hidden in the drops of his tears. 

“Why?” He pleaded. “Why? Why? Why?” His voice rose between choked sobs.

“Why now?” The more he would ask, the more his voice would raise, until it finally broke in a whisper again.  “Why didn’t you show up earlier? I could have been plucked from...” His words felt like a stab right through your chest.

"Shh" You whispered as you left the bloodied rag on his thigh, and you wrapped your other hand around his waist. 

"I might have not made it in time, but I promise you I'm not leaving your side now" You pulled him on your lap, leaving a soft kiss on his temple. You knew that if he was still alive, you’d feel his chest pound incessantly as everything became overwhelming, but the only sound you could perceive was the rushing of the water. In any other occasion you would have hated the closeness of your naked bodies, you would have been weary of such intimacy, yet it felt different. It felt right.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” He asked when his breath finally set down again, and the only memory of it was the long streaks of tears still sulking his skin. 

“Cause you don't deserve this” You still held him close as you lowered your voice, making sure the sound of the water could shield you both if you needed it, like a bubble around you.

“Liar” His tone matched yours, but with much more spite. “I've done awful things” He shook his head, it was something that heavily plagued him, he’d often have flashes of some of the horrible things he did, and that moment was one of them: he could hear the echo of the screams of the poor victims he’d bring back to Cazador.

“That doesn’t mean you deserved torture.” You cooed. “You didn’t have a choice.” You traced small soothing circled on his hip as you still held him close.

He sighed deeply, he knew you were right as much as he wanted to say that he could have ran away. The memory of the darling boy and the consequence of his action were a fierce reminder of it, everyday of his life.

“You are a fool.” He sneered. “I have stabbed in the back everyone I got close to, and you are still doing…” He pointed at the two of you, at the position you are sharing, at the rag on his thigh, at your arms around him, and the words you just told him. “This.”

“I like taking risks.” You chuckled softly.

“This is not a risk, you are doomed to fail and you are a dimwit” He rolled his eyes, evidently it was obvious for him, unlike you that still believed fairytales.

“Am I?” You didn’t falter, in that moment you felt confident in your choice.

“Are you forgetting the knife I held at your throat darling? What makes you think I wouldn’t do it again?” He retorted trying to make you waver, it was his survival mechanism at the end of the day. If he was able to slither in just enough doubt, he wouldn't’-

Your words caught his attention again right away, as you started counting on your fingers. 

“The fact that we’ve been traveling together for 3 weeks, that I let you feed off me several times and you have not sucked me dry, the fact that you told me about your past, and that you allowed me to just wipe away blood from your back.” You stopped for a moment, building up tension and to perceive what went through his mind in that moment. “..and the fact that you are literally crying in my lap.” You finished.

“Okay what if i'm just manipulating you? How would you tell?” What was the game he was playing? 

“I don’t think that what i witnessed tonight could be faked, ‘Starion” You finally sighed, relaxing your shoulders. You didn’t even feel your body tense up, that’s how much you were absorbed by this conversation between you two, cause it was so confusing.

He didn’t answer anymore at your last remark, he just allowed you to finish your work diligently as he was lost in thought again. 

You made sure his wounds were clean before leaving the rest of his body up to him, and then you finally took your time to properly clean yourself as well as your clothes. 

Drying your skin was by far the hardest step since you carried only one big towel with you: you opted to pat your bodies dry before slipping in your clean clothes, then you’d give him the towel to cover himself, since his clothes were in heavy need of repair.

The walk back to camp was fairly silent, since Astarion was still affected by the blood loss and you were lost in your thoughts.

You left your wet clothes next to the fire where they could dry while you’d rest, and then you started to walk back to your tent.

When you were just a few steps away from your little nook, you remembered.

Instead of sneaking directly into your tent, you made a beeline towards Astarion’s. He was still outside, sorting a few empty containers he had around, while his frustration was palpable in the air.

“‘Starion” You called quietly, avoiding to wake up everyone else.

“What? Are you here to give me your pity?” He scoffed as he was still fixated on the conversation you just had.

“Actually, I was wondering if you needed to be fed.”Your voice betrayed your worry which was loud and clear. “Earlier I noticed you were struggling, and your eyes are.. dulled” You explained, you wanted to pat his shoulder but you stopped just a moment before you touched him.

“So? Are you going to make fun of me if I am?” His walls were back up, the vulnerable elf you saw earlier rushed away behind this mask he carefully handpicked to push you away.

“No, you can feed off me though” You suggested encouraging. “If you want of course, take 

your time, I’ll be in my tent” The last thing you hear was a muffled ‘thanks’ as you made your way to your tent again.

Astarion finally made up his mind, he strode quickly toward your canopy. “Darling?” He brought your attention to him. Your tent’s entrance was wide open, offering zero privacy to you as you were nose deep in some tome.

“Hey, come in.” You smiled, you were glad he was no longer avoiding you. “Can you please unhook the flap?” You asked while you moved the book away from the two of you. “I don’t wanna make you feel too exposed” You clarified.

“I appreciate it, but are you sure you want me to feed off you? I mean I know it’s not the first time, but it’s-” He hesitated, sure he wanted you to stay away, but at the same time that thought made him flinch away, like he should have felt differently.

“Yeah I’m sure” The apple of your cheeks warmed up at the nervousness, especially when you noticed he was fidgeting with his fingers. “You lost so much blood and the shock.. you definitely need to get your fill” 

“Thanks” He avoided your eyes before sitting next to you.

On the other hand you took your time readjusting your little reading corner, making sure it would comfortably hold both of you. 

“Just relax, I’ll take care of everything” He finally gave you the closest thing to a smile after a whole evening of tears. His arms wrapped around your middle as he helped you to lay with him. His touch was impossibly gentle: he moved away your hair and tilted your head to expose your neck, but he didn’t bite right away.

His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he held you to him, just like earlier you held him to you. He traveled down your neck with his lips, looking closely for your pulse, or so you assumed, then when he found a nice spot, he sunk his teeth in your flesh. Your body tensed for just one moment as you could feel his lips press around the wound, and your blood slowly leaking out.

Then you became putty in his hands, the dizzying sensation rocked you sweetly as you let it take over you.

He was slow, tender. 

He held your head gently and pulled you impossibly close, almost as he wanted to fuse your bodies.. His legs naturally tangled with yours while he sucked and sucked on your skin like his life depended on it.

It took everything of you to repress the whimpers that would build up in your throat, it was different from all the other times he drank from you: in the past you’d just be very tense, but in that moment you felt like air was directly pulled out of your lungs, like your body was being set on fire. 

He wasn’t in any different condition, he was barely  repressing the moans as your warm blood rushed against his tongue, and his breath was hardly regular. 

Even your blood tasted different, sweeter than before taking over all his senses. It was madness, it was like your blood suddenly turned into a drug he couldn’t resist, making his head spin.

He stopped only when he noticed you were starting to slump in his arms, a sign that you were getting too close to a no-going-back point.

He took time to lap away the blood that was still leaking from the pinpricks, sending jolts down your limbs, and stealing a sweet mewl from your lips. He didn’t concentrate on the sound he coaxed off your lips, cause he knew that if he did he’d probably spiral into insanity, so he focused on the wound he had inflicted, leaving a few kisses right where the pricks of his teeth made home, before reaching for your blanket and covering you with it. 

He didn’t let go of you, or move at all for what it mattered, he had to internalize all those feelings that were overwhelming him before he could walk out. He knew that if he didn’t stop there until he was back in himself, he would have felt dizzy as well, and he wasn’t fond of the idea of passing out on the floor.

Was he blood drunk? Whatever feeling was cursing through his body, he wasn’t sure he could identify it, but moving was not an option anymore when he noticed you were still nudged in his embrace. He tried to sneak away, but you were cradled on him, ‘peace’ crossed his mind before it got swept away by something you’d mumble, he had to wait for a bit to catch what you said since you murmured something he couldn’t quite comprehend, until your voice became clearer.

“I wish I could have saved you sooner” You murmured under your breath. “Stay, i’ll protect you.” Your arms around his waist pulled him closer to you, slotting your bodies together like pieces of a puzzle. Your warmth, your sweet flowery smell, your surprisingly gentle snore slowly lulled him in, closer and closer until he felt safe, and quietude took over him.

[probablyintensemuses]

Hey, Brother

Armando Aretas

🎧- Story of My Life: One Direction

summary: Armando’s your older brother, here’s how you meet, past and present.

themes: extreme angst and fluff. A bit of violence. But mostly found family and sibling love.

authors note: completely convinced he’d be an amazing older brother. There is a 8 year age gap between reader (20) and Armando (28). Also shout out to my older brother…I wuv you 💞😭 Also yes I know i switched a few things around. Just enjoy it. If you want a part two, lemme know!

Read Part two here

Four Years Ago

Miami Florida University

The night on campus was quiet, the only things to be heard were the comforting trill of crickets and the soft waves of the ocean, only three miles out from the college.

Armando sat idle on his motorcycle, twelve beats away from where he’d been told you, their next victim, worked.

This entire time he’d been killing people in the name of the Aretas family, he couldn’t understand why Mike Lowery, some beat cop came last. And why his mother was resorting to taking his daughter as bait.

What made Mike so important that he deserved a fight for his life, for your life?

“Mamá, no entiendo, ¿por qué ella?” Armando says through his phone.

Isabel sighs on the other end. “Con el tiempo, hijo mío.”

“She’s just a kid.” Armando sighs, pulling out his ipad and looking at your photos again.

From what he gathered, your were a first year nursing student here at MFU, you got great grades, danced for a kpop club, and worked part time at the cafe he was currently parked out side of.

But most importantly, you were Mike Lowery’s daughter.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, shouldn’t matter.

But for some reason, to his mother, it did.

“She's a pawn,’ Isabel hisses. “Mike necesita conocer el dolor de la pérdida; this will show him.”

Armando nods, taking a deep breath, feeling the same incorrigible anger rising up in his pit again at the sound of Mikes name.

This man had stolen everything from him: his family, his dynasty…his father.

Though his didn’t understand his mother’s methods, he’d never question her madness.

This man took everything from them, it’s time he learned that same pain, and as much as he didn’t enjoy hurting innocent… you were the key to getting even.

“Lo haré mamá.” Armando said, watching you finally exit the cafe.

“Muy bien.” Isabel said, hanging up.

Armando pushed off on his bike, riding a bit down the narrow street before hanging a right and turning back around.

Out of his pocket, he pulled out a needle. Whatever was in there was strong enough to knock out a bear, so it should have no problems sending you, a small college freshman, into a deep sleep.

Swiftly, he drives forward, accelerating until he just passes you before he makes an abrupt stop, cutting your path off.

You fall back and onto your ass.

You help as you hit the pavement, lifting your small hands to access the damage that had been caused by you cradling your fall.

You hiss at your bleeding palms before looking up at Armando in sheer disgust.

The heat of your gaze causes Armando to flip up the visor on his helmet, something in your eyes giving him pause.

He wasn’t a vain person in the slightest, but something about your eyes, when he looked in the mirror, they were so similar to his own that it nearly startled him. They were the same shade of chocolate brown covered by thick, dark lashes.

His observation of you quickly dries as your curse at him. “What the hell, dude! You could have killed me!”

Armando doesn’t say anything, instead he offers you a hand.

Reluctantly, you take it.

Just as your nearly up, Armando pricks you with the needle.

Your face drops as you snatch your hand away from him.

You look down at your palm, a single trail of blood dribbling down your wrist from the spot he pricked you at.

“What the fuck,’ you wobble, turning to run down an ally.

Armando watches as you attempt to flee, he knew it wouldn’t be long before you passed out.

And as he predicted, ten steps in and you were slumped against the moist ally ground.

He picks you up, slinging you across his shoulders, carrying you towards his bike and driving off into the night.

Later…

When you awoke, you found yourself bound to a chair in a large, abandoned house. You wiggle against the binds, only scathing your wrist even more.

You scream out, panic rising in your chest as your breaths shorten.

"Help!" You scream. "Someone help me!"

"Help is on the way, princessa.' A slick voice says.

You turn and see a beautiful woman taking slow, slutry steps down the staircase towards you.

"Who the hell are you?" You croak, scooting away from her the best you can in this damn chair.

The woman, grips your chair with one hand, while running another through your curls. "Your fathers la venganza.” She hissed.

“Don’t touch me,’ you bite. “And my father did nothing wrong, you’re lying.”

Isabel grips your chin, hard. You try and wiggle free but it’s no use as she pulls you close.

She turns your head from side to side, the warm evening sun causing a glint in your eyes.

“Always the eyes,’ she mumbles. “He gives all of his children his eyes.”

“What?” You question, breathlessly.

Isabel forcefully lets you go, leaving a sore spot on your chin.

Your mind reels around her words and the weight of them.

She was your father’s revenge, why? And had she been the one to shoot him all those months ago?

And all of his children. Your father only had one child, you.

Looking around the wear house and seeing all the sage and candles burnt, the circles and alters, you could tell that whoever this woman was, she was crazy and you wanted no parts.

The thought was enough to make a few screams come out of you.

You stamp your foot against the ground, “Let me go! Let me the fuck go!”

Isabel rolls her eyes at you, mumbling something in Spanish before she shouts, “Armando, ven a llevarla antes de que la mate yo mismo.”

Quickly, the man for the other night emerges.

“No,’ you scoot back in your chair as far as you could. “No.”

The man, Armando, grabs you out of your chair and drags you up the staircase.

At the top of the staircase, he slices your binds loose but still has a good hold on you.

Now, you by no means are a good fighter, but with your dad being police, you know a few things.

So as Armando unlocks a door, presumably to put you in, you stamp on his foot as hard as you can.

Armando yelps at the sensation, doubling over, giving you enough time to kick him in the legs and send him down on the ground.

As soon as he hits the floor you take off, running down the steps as fast as you can.

In the foyer, you check for the exit in front of you, but the door is locked.

Your head is buzzing, you didn’t have much time as Armando would be up soon, probably ready to kill you, and that Isabel, who knew what she’d do if she caught you.

You had to move fast, and the window behind you, seemed like your best bet.

You scurried over me to it, working frantically as you tore wooden planks off the window.

You about all got your face out the window before strong arms wrap around your waist living and pushing your back.

You scream as you hit the ground, coming face to face with a less than pleased Armando.

“Enough games!” He shouts.

You crawl backwards, afraid he’ll hit you…or worse.

“Okay!’ You whimper. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” You squeak as he towers over your shaking body.

You fully expect him to return the blows you’d given him earlier, but to your surprise he doesn’t. He just grabs you up again and takes you back to that same room.

Shoving you inside he gives you a parting word.

“Do that shit again, and I won’t save you.” He slams the door, leaving you alone in a windowless room, wondering how you’ll end up dead.

In all the enemies your father has had, none of them had mad it a personal mission to kidnap you…so why had they?

Fingers toiling with the dirt around you, it finally clicked.

This was a set up.

You were bait.

And just as fate would have it, you could hear what sounded like your father and Marcus crowding in the foyer downstairs.

You stood up, running towards the door and banging on it like a madwoman.

“Help! Dad! Uncle Marcus!” You shout, slamming your fist against the door.

When the door flies open, you expect to see one or both of them there, but you see Armando.

“Come on.” He grabs you. “Nice and easy.” He places a gun to your temple.

“Stop, why are you doing this?” You whimper, taking careful steps down the stairs.

“Why did your father start it, hm, princesa?” He questions, pulling you in front of your family.

“Dad!” You shout, tears pooling from your eyes.

“Let her go, Armando!’ He shouts, turning to Isabel who stands elated. “She’s a kid.”

“We were all kids once, Mike. It’s why she must have her turn.” Isabel says.

Mike shakes his head, drawing his gun at her, Marcus doing the same to Armando.

“You kill me, he kills her.” Isabel shrugs.

Marcus adds, “then I’ll kill him.”

“Then it’ll be a blood bath.”

You whimper, “please don’t hurt me.”

Armando tightens his grip on you. “Cállate.”

“I just want to go home, daddy.” You cry.

Mikes hand shakes as he hears your pleas. “I know, baby, and we will.”

Isabel smacks her lips. “Liar!” She shouts, lunging at Mike.

Mike dodges the hit, but Marcus’s gun going off starts a cataclysmic event.

Everyone who wants present before suddenly emerging from the darkness and letting off their weapons.

You scream, falling back into Armando, who lifted you off the ground with one hand while shooting with the other, as the chaos erupts around you.

“Marcus!’ Mike yells. “Get Isabel, I’ll get my daughter!”

Marcus sprints, to the best of his ability, after Isabel, while Mike makes full way towards Armando.

In a dark room, Armando drops you, pushing you into a corner.

“Don’t make a fucking sound.” He threatens.

You whimper in a comply.

You hear your father, Mike, burst through the doors, calling your name.

You do as Armando says, though, keeping quiet, afraid anything you do or say will get you and Mike hurt…or worse.

You watch from the dark corner as your father searches the room, only seconds later Armando jumps him, landing a blow.

You watch from the sidelines as they traded blows back and forth.

And it hurt to watch your father in a fight, it did, but what hurt most? The words slipping from his mouth.

“Armando,’ he said. “I’m your father.”

Your head was buzzing, spinning.

What the fuck did he mean this man was his son? How was that even possible?

Your heart raced as you watched Armando’s face fall, confusion lacing every corner.

“You’re lying,’ he said lading another blow, bending down and dragging your father out of the room and into the burning hallway.

You weren’t sure if it was adrenaline or curiosity, but you needed to see this through, hear it for yourself.

You push to stand and creep after them.

Armando has your father at the ledge, his shirt balled up working his hands.

“Last chance,’ he croaks, eyes searching. “Who are you?”

“I just told you.”

“Lie again.” Armando growled, wrapping his hand around your fathers neck, applying pressure.

You gasped, stepping forward, but a hand cautioned you to stay hidden.

You turn, finding Marcus’s comforting eyes as he mouths, “Don’t do it.”

"He needs us," you whisper in protest, Marcus's arm staying firm on yours.

"They need this, just wait."

You relax, only a little watching the scene unfold.

"Ask your mother if you don't believe me." Mike croaks.

Armando turns, loosening his grip on Mike, and in a turn of lightning, Isabel appears, mumbling in Spanish.

"Es verdad lo que dice?" Armando questions his mother.

Isabel shrugs. "No es importante. Mátalo.' her eyes drag over to where you and Marcus stand. "Entonces ellos."

Armando shakes his head in frustration. "Es mi papá?"

Isabel's eyes darken, her words fleeing her mouth more rapidly. "

"Is he my father!" Armando shouts.

Something in the way your father laid limp in Armando's graps, the fire and smoke building around you all, and the life you once knew just yesterday crumpling around you had you desperate for the truth.

"Tell him!" You shout.

Isabel pays you no mind when she says, "yes."

Three letters.

One word.

That was all it took for your world to shatter.

You had a brother you hadn't known about, a brother who drugged and kidnapped you.

all of his children have his eyes.

A brother your father had behind you and your mother's back.

The realization made your mind splinter, picking up in your chest with each shortened breath you took.

Tears pooled in your eyes, making the scene in front of you blur and sharpen, wax and wane.

It's not until a shout and commotion caused you to dial back in, where you find Isabel pointing the barrel of her gun directly at your chest.

You're too frozen to move and put your hands up to brace yourself for the pain, for death.

But it never comes.

only the sounds of four shots ringing out and blaring in your ears, that's the only sensation you get.

You move your hands from your eyes and find Isabel falling over the balcony to her death and Armando on the floor, his shirt filling with blood as Mike, Marcus, and Rita crowd around him.

It clicks then for you, he took that bullet for you, he stepped in for you against his mother.

This family was dysfunctional as hell.

"Get over here!' your father calls out to you. "Now!"

You scurry over, tearing off your flannel and placing it on Armando's wound.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" Rita shouts.

"Go with Rita!" Mike shouts towards you.

You nod, locking hands with Rita and rushing out of the burning building.

Once outside, you look behind yourself to find Mike and Marcus dragging Armando's body and placing him on the ground, applying pressure to his wounds.

The rain clouds your vision as you draw closer to the van waiting to take you away and back home.

"Is he going to be okay?" You ask, holding your wet and naked arms.

Rita sighs, ushering you into the car. "I don't think that's something you should have to worry about.' She smiles softly. "Get some rest, kid. Okay?"

You nod and shut the door, feeling the car jerk before it pulls off and away from the chaos.

You fasten your seatbelt and lean your head back against the headrest.

Perhaps Rita was right, maybe worrying about Armando wasn't such a good idea. Maybe it was best for you to shove it down and let your dad deal with it, like he did everything.

Because you didn't think your heart could handle any more than what it was already going through. Thinking about Armando, your father, and Isabel...it would only weigh you down more.

So you decided to leave them all at that building that night, to burn up in the flames.

At least you tried to...

Four Years Later

Miami Florida University

"Please tell me you're coming to this party tonight?" Your friend, Kiesha, asked over the phone.

You chuckle, climbing the last flight of stairs to your apartment. Your father, Mike, had got it for you as gift for being in your last year of college.

“I can’t, sorry.’ You place the key code to your apartment and the door unlocks. “Lots of studying to do.” You half-lie.

“Girl, all you do is study. You know college is not actually for school.” You can practically feel her rolling her eyes.

You drop your bags on the counter, pulling out a pack of ramen noodles and starting a pot of boiling water.

“That’s easy to say for someone who’s only half majoring in, what is it, communications?” You comment.

The line goes silent for a minute before Keisha comes back.

“Wow,’ she scoffs. “I get that you’re stressing out with finals and you know, your dad being a fucking fugitive and all, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”

You run a hand through your hair, it getting tangled within your curls towards the end.

“Kiesh,’ you groan.

“Save it. Have fun studying.” She grumbles before hanging up.

“Fuck!’ You shout, turning and tossing your phone down the hallway.

Your grip at your hair and tug slightly, shutting your eyes you feel a hot tear slip out.

It had been a whole week since your father and uncle Marcus were deemed fugitives and accused of doing God knows what. It had been hard for you and Christine.

Knowing your father, you knew the allegations weren’t true, but another cover up, same as Captain Howard.

Still, you know it was bullshit meant nothing to the “adults” in charge. They saw him as guilty, and that seemed to be the end of it.

You turn, wiping away your tears and placing your ramen into the boiling pot of water.

It wasn’t the best, but it was all you could stomach these days, the fear of your family's future causing your appetite to slim.

You twirling the noodles in the water with a pair of chopsticks, watching the five minute timer chime by. It all but captivated you into a trance until a creak against the floor caught your attention.

You turn your head, peering down the hallway you had just thrown your phone. Staring into the darkness, you see a figure moving towards you slowly.

You gasp, grabbing a large knife and holding it out in front of you with shaky hands.

You would call for help, but unfortunately your phone was in harms way.

“Don’t come any closer,’ you squeak.

The figure doesn’t respond, it just trudges closer and closer to you until it’s emerged into your kitchen lighting.

At first, you have to squint real hard to make out who it is, but then, when you catch a glimpse of his eyes, so hauntingly like your own, you know who exactly it is.

Your brother, Armando.

You don't drop the knife, keeping it held high as you slowly approach him. You'd seen how vicious he was, and you weren't taking any chances with him.

Closing the space between you two, you could see that he's in full tactical gear, covered in blood.

He takes another step towards you, you step back, before collapsing onto the ground and passing out.

You rush towards his side. “What the hell!” You rip open his vest, finding all kinds of stab wounds and lacerations littering his body. “Armando!” You shake him.

He doesn’t respond, you shake him again, harder this time, and a tiny black book falls out.

You open the book and find your address on one sheet and another sheet addressed to you.

Don’t hate me, babygirl. I’ll explain everything soon, until then, you two lay low.

Be strong for me.

Love, Dad.

You could scream, you could actually fucking scream right now.

No way this motherfucker sends this other motherfucker to your house for you to nurse back to health.

You crumple up your father’s note, chucking it across the room.

Looking down at Armando, you watch the slow rise and fall of his chest as he lay unconscious.

It was obvious he was loosing blood, and you could let him bleed out and pretend you tried everything.

But then again, he saved your life before…and he didn’t even know you.

Guilt tugged in your chest at the thought.

“Fuck.” You breathed, throwing your head back.

You knew what you had to do.

You figured lifting him would be hard, he was bigger than you by a long shot and was basically deadweight.

You tapped him, shook him, slapped him…hard, but nothing woke him up.

Looks like you’d be operating on the floor.

You stood, gathering your curls in a pineapple on your head, and headed to your bathroom.

You grabbed all the first aid kit supplies you could find, fresh clothes, a blanket and pillow, before heading back out to the main part of your apartment.

You slipped on some gloves, cut open his shirt, and began working on his wounds, dressing them and putting on bandages.

Thank God for nursing school and clinicals.

It took you two bowls of ramen, a Celsius, and a whole heck of a lot of bandages and gorilla glue, but you got Armando mostly patched up.

You wiped the sweat of your forehead grabbing the pillow and blankets you’d grabbed.

You gently lifted his head placing the pillow underneath and the blanket on top of him.

Next to his body you placed the fresh clothes, Gatorade, protein bars, and a bottle of water.

When you finally stood, you felt woozy and in need of a shower and sleep yourself.

But before you crept off to take your shower, you stood over Armando, taking in his features.

His dark hair, his smooth skin, his nose, and lips. He looked like a Spanish version of your father and it was freaking you the fuck out, sending a shiver down your spine.

You walked away hoping your father’s explanation was coming soon because, you may have just saved his life on the conscious fact that he’d done the same for you, but he was still dangerous…and who knows what would happen to you when he wakes up.

The next morning, when you wake up, you creep out of your bedroom, peaking to see if Armando had moved at all.

To your surprise, he hadn’t.

You release a heavy sigh, walking over towards his body.

You watch his chest rise and fall, faster than last night.

Good.

At least your dad couldn’t kill you for letting his son die.

You lean in a big closer to Armando, checking out his wounds from a far.

One wound had opened it seemed like.

You turn and grab the gorilla glue and a bandage of your counter.

Completely removing one bandage, you toss it to the side, pinching the skin of his chest while prepping the glue.

You’re just about to glue his would shut again, when his arm shoots up, gripping your wrist.

You scream, falling back on your ass.

Armando’s eyes shoot open and he sits up quick in a panic.

You crawl backwards, away from him, bumping into the cabinet .

Armando groans, rubbing his sore torso and arms.

His eyes skate across the room before they find yours.

He jumps back a little. “¿Qué diablos me hiciste?”

You swallow, holding your knees. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

Armandos eyes widen then narrow. “Did you do this to me?” He says, accessing his bandages.

You hesitate to tell him the truth…would he be mad and hurt you again?

Armando must sense the hesitation. “I’m not going to hurt you,’ he groans, slowly standing up. “It’s just a question.”

You nod, backing away from him. “Yes…I did.”

Armando swipes up the bottle of water, chugging it, tossing it aside, and then going for the Gatorade. “Gracias.” He grumbles, heading towards your bathroom.

You stand, slowly following after him, still keeping some distance between you two.

Armando peers over his should, eyebrow raised. “Mike sent me, if you’re wondering.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.”

“I never said that.” You clarify, even though he’s not wrong.

“Don’t need to.”

You frown. “Armand—,”

He slams the door shut.

“Great.” You roll your eyes. “Just fucking great.”

You slam your head against the wall, thinking off all the ways you would tell your dad off when you saw him next. But until then, it seemed you and Armando would be roommates.

So you should try and be cordial, right?

[masked-men-fantasy]

Ask about their manhood size Headcanon (Dead by Daylight)

Headcanon for my beloved masked men from Dead by Daylight. What have they got for us?

NSFW Content. MDNI.

The Trapper

In this case, you didn't ask to know his size. You learn about it accidentally when he secretly washes himself in the heavy rain.

He takes off his workwear bib and lays it on the ground; only his fully naked body is shown. He scrubbed his body to wash out all the blood stains.

That is when you find out how beautiful his body is.

Well-built, gorgeous muscle, perfect body fat ratio, thick pecs, mass thighs, and well-rounded buttocks.

And, of course, his manhood part.

The sight is not clear, but it can be assumed that he has an 8-inch shaft. Not to be surprised, there are open wounds on it as well, making you wonder if it hurts or not.

Curiosity does kill a cat; your foot makes a cracking sound because of the dried branch nearby. Notified by the sound, he quickly reached for his cleaver and walked directly to the source of the noise.

You attempt to run, but then your foot steps into the bear trap that he placed inside the bush.

Evan finally reaches you. The shadows of his body covering your entire body show how big he is compared to you.

To your surprise, he does not pick you up to bring you to the sacrificial hook. Instead, he pushes you down on the floor, and your face tastes the ground. The trapper lifts your hips up and tears open your pants.

You are in trouble—very deep trouble now. Hopefully, it is a kind of trouble that you have on your mind.

The Knight

"If I were to show you such a private matter, would you accept to be a sex slave for me and my pack for a week then?" Tarhos makes an offer. One that is very difficult to turn down.

You slowly took out the metal armor on his lower part until it revealed a thin red loincloth and what he had inside.

Around 4 inches when flaccid. Then you have to put in some work to make it hard.

6.5 inches when fully erect, and the tip of his cock is pretty red, so it can be assumed that he has not done it for awhile.

He is also uncut.

Not well-trimmed pubic hair. It is not so shaggy or dirty; you can assume that he does not have much self-grooming experience, so he might use any convenient blades he could find to cut those hairs.

Now that you know the answer, you know what is going to happen next, yes?

Tarhos strikes his sword down the ground, a green aura lights up through his sword, and the faithful three are summoned.

"Let us enjoy this slave I found," Tarhos said, his lustful eyes looking through his helmet. The same goes for those three who just show up.

You are so done for.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #34

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: torture, past noncon, waterboarding, broken bones

It was some sort of sick game.

Or at least, [REDACTED] hoped it was a game. It certainly didn’t feel like one, but if he could fool himself into thinking it, there was still hope.

“Please, sir-”

Lord Dael kicked him again, knocking the breath out of him. “Stop-” he gasped, and the boot came down to slam his head into the stone.

The room swirled, and he felt bile and blood in his mouth.

“Don’t tell me to stop,” Lord Dael snarled. “Don’t ever tell me to stop. Got it?” His heel dug into [REDACTED]’s temple, and the pressure made his head throb. 

“I got it! I got it, sir, please-”

The boot lifted from his head, and [REDACTED] curled into himself. He didn’t dare cover his head. Defending himself only made Dael get more sadistic. 

Dael loomed over him, and [REDACTED] couldn’t bear to look at him. He focused on the shadow cast on the floor.

“I don’t think I like ‘sir’ anymore,” Dael said, stroking his face. [REDACTED] screwed his eyes shut, shuddering. He didn’t like him like this; it meant he’d be fucked again-

“You’re going to call me ‘Master’,” he continued, patting his cheek, and [REDACTED] nodded.

“Yes, Master,” he breathed out.

As long as Master was happy, it didn’t hurt so much.

___________________

“You deserve this,” Dael said, taking a swig of wine.

[REDACTED] cried, his arms and shoulders burning with every movement. 

Master had strung him up by the wrists, left him dangling on his tiptoes, and grabbed a bullwhip.

“Say it,” Lord Dael commanded. He cracked the whip in the air next to [REDACTED], and he jumped.

“I- I deserve this.”

“You deserve this, what?” The whip came down on his back, and [REDACTED] screamed as the fire ripped up his back for the dozenth time.

“I deserve this, Master!” he cried out. The whip cracked through the air again, and [REDACTED] wailed.

It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. He didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.

“You should be thanking me,” Master said, pausing to drink more wine. “I’m teaching you your place. Your purpose.”

The whip came down on his back before he could answer, and hot wet blood dripped down his skin.

He gasped for air. “Th-thank you, Master,” he shuddered.

“Again.” The whip slashed into him-

“Thank you, Master!”

Thank you thank you thank you-

___________________

The month was almost up, and [REDACTED] had never looked forward to something more.

He had a plan: get the money, and get out. He’d go to the doctor first, as his wounds were too much to bear. 

Then, he’d pick up his sister. Surely she was at the Emry temple, and he’d give her the biggest hug and apology he could manage.

[REDACTED] licked his dry, cracked lips. He couldn’t really explain what happened- it was too awful for her- but hopefully she would understand, especially with all the money he’d be paid.

The money. It must be a lot; a whole month of wages and maybe more because of… He cut the thought off. He shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t irritate his sore ass.

It would be enough to pay bills, get her new shoes, clothes.

Her birthday was in two weeks. She’d be nine, and there would be enough money for a proper present, unlike the past few years. He knew she wanted a sketchbook and some fancy colored pencils. He could swing that. 

Birthdays were important, after all. Especially nine. “Almost double digits!” she had told him proudly. 

Maybe there would even be enough for cake.

[REDACTED] closed his eyes, and dreamed of sweets and shiny wrapped boxes.

___________________

Richard opened the cell door, metal rod in hand. He wasn’t sure what the steel was originally for, but it was the perfect weight and length to teach his slave a lesson.

The slave cracked his eyes open, his nose and mouth covered in dried blood and cum.

“Morning,” Richard smiled at him. The slave sat up partially, still leaning on his arm.

His eyes dropped to the steel in his hand, and he looked devastated.

It was a good look on him.

“The- the month is over, Master,” he whimpered.

Richard blinked. “You actually believed me?” he asked, incredulous.

The boy’s eyes went wide. He actually thought-

Richard laughed. It was just too good.

The slave slowly stood, shakily sliding up the wall.

“You- you said-”

“I lied, moron,” Richard mocked, advancing on him.

The boy looked at the door and back to him, and surely he wasn’t that dumb-

The kid ran towards the doorway.

Richard grabbed his arm, flinging him back to the ground. The boy sprawled onto his hands and knees.

“You stupid bitch-” Richard spat, kicking him onto his side.

“Don’t-” gasped out the slave, and Richard’s vision went red.

“What did I say about telling me what to do?!” 

He brought down the steel rod, over and over, and the crying and shouting was nearly background noise to the buzz of anger in his ears.

Until he heard a sickening crunch.

The boy wailed, clutching his leg.

“You broke it!” he screamed. “My leg! You- you broke it-”

Richard felt nauseous. The limb was streaming blood, and it looked so wrong. A bone shard peeked out of the skin, and his stomach twisted.

The slave began to weep, and it was too much.

He turned, slamming the door locked behind him.

Richard leaned against the stone door, scrubbing his face. Gods, that was gross. He tasted bile and it was all that damn slave’s fault. 

He flung the metal down the hall. Ew. Even his hands had blood on them.

Richard went to wash up, and a cleaning bucket near the sink gave him an idea.

___________________

He sobbed through the pain. It was one of the worst things he’d ever felt, and with a broken leg-

Master wasn’t going to let him go. 

His brain stuttered. He was going to stay here forever. 

Everything went fuzzy. The pain felt far away, and he couldn’t breathe-

The door slammed open again and it all rushed back to him.

No- No more-

Master lugged a bucket inside, water sloshing at its sides. He dropped the bucket, and drops splashed out.

[REDACTED] braced himself.

Master grabbed his hair and began to drag him towards the water.

[REDACTED] screamed, shards of agony shooting up his useless leg as it scraped against the stone.

“Shut up,” Master hissed. Then his face twisted into a smile. “Take a deep breath,” he advised.

And then he plunged [REDACTED]’s head into the water.

It was freezing. [REDACTED] held his breath, twisting and fighting the grip. But Master didn’t let up-

He was almost out of air when Master pulled him out. He sucked in a breath, and he was back under.

And again, and again-

[REDACTED] scrabbled at Master’s hands, desperate for air. Master kicked his broken leg, and bubbles flew as he screamed into the water.

He choked and breathed in water and then-

Master yanked him out, letting him fall to the floor. [REDACTED] coughed up water, his lungs stinging and burning.

“I’m sorry-” he begged. “Please, Master, I’m so sorry-”

“Quiet.”

[REDACTED]’s jaw snapped shut. He trembled and shivered, which only made his leg worse.

Master stood looking at him. Then he turned and left, the door locking behind him.

[REDACTED] fully collapsed on the stone and just… breathed.

It was all he could do. He was thirsty and starving and dirty, but getting to the water in the bucket felt impossible.

It all felt impossible.

It was impossible. 

[REDACTED] breathed out, closed his eyes and tried not to cry even more.

Why why why-

There was only one answer. Only one thing made sense.

I deserve this.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings

@zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

@snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda

@loserwithsyle @bitchaknso @cepheusgalaxy @taterswhump @fleur-a-whump

@hellodecisionparalysis @otterfrost @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @risk606 @i-walk-on-the-dark-side

@phoenixpromptsandstuff @haipasa

[goldflinches]

swear by the dog (snippet)

Summary:

What is a death omen to an immortal? A friend.

And to an Endless? What it is. Nothing more, nothing less.

(or: a Barghest bears witness to the life and loves of an immortal.)

---

Square/Prompt: C2 - Creature: Barghest | @dreamlingbingo

Rating: Mature

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Warnings: Outsider POV (From the Barghest POV), Blood and Injury, Descriptions of Dog Bites, Hob Gets Better, No Dream In This Snippet (But We'll Get There Eventually!)

---

This is not their first meeting, the Barghest and this deathless human.

This hunting (haunting) ground was an old one and they are hardly new prey. But. Between the slabs of stones was a pile of rags, pungent with the dirt, sweat, and tears. A growl of hunger not been sated for a long time. A body that decays but refuses to finish the cycle. An delicious bevy of aromas. The pile turned to look with his large brown eyes, cloudy with exhaustion. The prey's eyes became clearer when focused on the Barghest.

Old prey, new prey, it does not mind.

This old human, this prey scrambles. The Barghest is a hulking thing, shadow and teeth lengthening with every step it takes towards him. The prey’s back hits one of carved stone slabs and the Barghest practically tastes its next meal. He raises his arm up in a panic (delicious, delicious panic) and the Beast sinks its teeth into it. Bites into meat of arm. Tastes blood, savors the meat seasoned with desperation.

Until the bite meets bone. Then an overwhelming sweetness overpowers everything. A wrongness at the heart of it. The Barghest immediately lets go, whining and spitting, shaking its shaggy head hoping to get the cloying taste out of its nose and mouth. All through it, the prey holds its ground, covered with blood, teeth bared in pain. The sourness of pain and panic is tempting but the Barghest knows better. A whine breaks from its mouth, the cloying sweetness stuck to its palette. Closes its eyes and A sound shuffling to its side. Hard breathing. A scent that loses its sharpness. A long moment where it is just the Beast and wrong, bad taste that keeps staying. Long, long moments where it lays on bloodied weeds and chews on the grass.

The taste stays and stays.

Suddenly, the scent is back. Dried blood atop freshly spilled blood, dried sweat mingling the sickly sweetness of life everlasting. A hand soothing its snout and another nudging something between its teeth.

“Come now, little beastie. Something to wash the taste out of your mouth,” the not-prey murmurs. Another, more forceful nudge. A whiff of a clean spring water makes the Barghest open its jaw incrementally, baring a bit of tooth. As a reminder. A sigh from the not-prey-anymore. “Yes, yes they’re very sharp little beastie. I didn’t forget you trying to take a piece my arm just a moment ago.” The cool water dripped into its mouth, clearing the taste and making it easier to breathe again.

[theobsessedbrunet]

Damn stupid

One- shot, Pairings: Bucky Barnes x You

  The rooms of the interrogation room were blank grey like the floor and the ceiling and the chairs and the table. Very boring and tiring room. You had actually never seen one, they were a little bit different from the movies and series. There was no mirror on the wall or a metal railing on the table where the suspect could be handcuffed to. Or maybe you got a normal waiting room, reserved for not so dangerous people.

  "I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

  Your turned to look at your partner in crime sitting next to you, looking anywhere else than you. You pressed your mouth together and slightly smiled. "If we're accurate, I got you into this mess."

  Bucky laughed slightly, the sound echoing in the empty room. He had a slight stubble lining his jawline and he had started growing his hair a bit longer again. Something he had not been planning to do, but once you commented how good he looked with that, he decided to do it. Of course, you had no idea he did that because of you. Honestly, you were so oblivious. He was head over heels for you, hence the situation you both were in now.

  You two had decided to go for a few drinks since the weekend was starting and the situation had escalated. A girl had tried to hit on Bucky but got rejected by him and she took it out on you. Bad mouthing about you in the bathroom to some randoms and at the counter. You had enough about that after you heard her talking to what you had counted to a seventh person. Some words were exchanged between you, then some pushing around and before you knew it you were in your first ever bar fight. Bucky only tried to keep you safe and pull you away from her but things got complicated when the other girl's boyfriend came to pick her up.

  Bucky finally got the courage to glance at you but quickly looked away when he saw the dried blood below one of your nostrils. He hated himself for letting you get hurt. Your safety was always his number one priority.

  You noticed his brows furrowing after he had glanced at you. Wanting to lighten up the mood, you laugh a bit and push his shoulder lightly. "You should see the other girl."

  He shook his head a smile forming on his lips. "I did."

  The door suddenly opened as Dr Raynor strutted inside and sat on a chair across from you two. You took notice of one folder in her hands as she sighed, glancing between you two. She was a strict woman let alone a therapist. 

  "You are a constant pain in my ass." She simply began, opening the folder. 

  "Will we be out of here soon?" You asked, careful not to poke the bear any more than necessary. 

  "You, yes. Him, no."

  You and Bucky looked at each other, not surprised how it went to that. Yes, Bucky had conditions in his case that demanded that he would not break the law or hurt anyone and he had been caught doing that. 

  "But it was not Bucky's fault. He didn't start it, I did." I leaned forward towards Dr Raynor who looked at me unphased. Bucky placed his leather covered hand on my knee and looked into my eyes a small smile playing on his lips. He knew it wouldn't help but he appreciated your efforts.

  A sigh escaped out of you as you slumped back into your chair. "Well, how long are you going to keep him here?"

  "You and your boyfriend got big plans for tonight?" Dr Raynor asked, eyes analyzing every movement. Bucky quickly pulled his hand back embarrassed and slightly annoyed with Dr Raynor. She definitely knew what she was doing.

  "He's- He's not my boyfriend." You breathed out. You were taken back by her ruthlessness. She either, in this five minutes figured out how you felt about or Bucky had said something to her in their therapy sessions. It couldn't have been the second option since you two were only friends, so simply said she was way too good at her job.

  "You better tell him that then." 

  You looked at Bucky confused. Eyebrows furrowed you tried to meet his blue eyes but he once again looked anywhere else than at you. 

  "Only love makes you that crazy-" Dr Raynor began, eyes traveling between your two frozen bodies. "And that damn stupid." 

  Soon enough you were let out.. Jacket wrapped around you, you sat down on one of the cushioned waiting chairs, determined to wait for Bucky's release. People walked in and out, chatter filling the place.

  Could it be that it was not at all about the girl bad mouthing about you but about Bucky getting hit on? Did you use that as an excuse to attack on that girl? No you were not that petty to actually attack a girl because she tried a guy you fancied. Right? He was good looking and his musky scent just pulls you into him and- and his presence just takes over any room he steps in. You couldn't blame her, you are just as attracted to him as she was. Definitely more.

  Few hours later Bucky appeared from the double doors a police officer quick on his heel. The officer stayed at the doors, eyes trailing Bucky as he spotted you sitting in the waiting room. Emotionless look on his face, he walked towards you with a stride. Your eyes traveled over his metal arm that was visible to everybody as he had his jacket in his hands. 

  As you stood up, you wanted to reach for him, ask about what they said or if he was in a lot of trouble. But before you could do that, Bucky collided into you. His hand quickly found your waist as the other one was placed on your cheek. He pulled you into him, overtaking your lips into his. He was demanding, and still so careful and sweet. Your lips moved in a slow rhythm, enjoying every second.

  It ended too fast as he pulled away from you. His blue eyes meeting yours as he anxiously waited for your reaction. After you had walked out of the room, Dr Raynor had given him a talking about how he should allow himself to experience life. You were a big part of this talking as she had seen how you had blushed at the mention of him being your boyfriend. 

  Your eyes gleamed as you gazed up at Bucky, smiles taking over both of your faces. You slid your hands down his arms into his hands, enjoying every touch of flesh and the cold metal. 

  "We need to come up with a better first kiss story." You laughed as you two turned towards the exit. You leaned against Bucky's shoulder as he smiled widely, glad that for once Dr Raynor gave a good advice.

[streamdotpng]

Enid’s been having a pretty shitty day. She overslept, which lead to her getting chewed out in her first class…again. She bombed a pop quiz in a different class, which in her defense was unfair considering it was about next week’s chapter. Her gothic solace personified was unfortunately absent, something to do with her brother, so Enid was without her primary source of comfort as she trudged her way through their broken education system.

To top it all off, Enid now finds herself in a sewer system she doesn’t wish to be in, wearing broken web shooters that she just fixed, and fighting her dad in a battle she wants to be over. Enid is tired.

“Dad,” Enid says with such resigned energy, one would think she’s about to give up, “please, I need you to stop.”

She dodges yet another attack from her dad’s scaly tail, but gets clipped by his claws, leading to the spider knocking her head against the sewer wall. She rubs her head, only to look at her hand to find new blood. Through her damaged mask, her left eye is exposed, and compared to the more animated remaining “eye” of her mask, her real eye is a melancholy blue, tired, and in need of sleep.

“You told me you had this figured out. You promised me it wouldn’t happen again. How many more times are we going to have to do this?” The Lizard simply growls in response, the outburst echoing into oblivion. “Please Dad, I’m-“

Enid finds herself in her dad’s clutches, claws slowly digging into her sides. The spider pries open his fingers, but just as she jumps out of his reach, he whips his tail around and slams her against the wall with a booming thud.

Enid’s head rings as she struggles to get her bearing. She looks up to see the giant reptile barreling towards her. “Alright Dad, I’ve had ENOUGH!” At the last second, the spider dodges the attack, landing one right hook to the Lizard’s head, without holding back her strength like usual. The punch instantly knocks the reptile to the ground; he’s down for the count.

As her father slowly but surely begins to shed his scales and morph back to his normal self, Enid stands over him, with tears fighting to fall from her eyes. “We’re going home.” Once he’s small enough, Enid throws her dad over her shoulder and begins her trek out of the sewers.

As she shuffles on, the spider takes out her phone, chooses a contact, before putting it to her ear. After a few rings, the person on the other end picks up.

“Yes?”

“Wednesday? Are you busy?” The spider tries once again to keep the tears at bay, at least for a little longer. “I’ve had a bad day.”

Enid tries to breath, heavy and controlled even with the ache pressing against her side. "and like I totally get if your busy but-"

"I can talk," Wednesday cuts in and Enid allows herself a break because if she goes out there, she knows that she'll keep running and running and she doesn't know how much more she can handle. So she lays her dad down with shaky hands and slides next to him.

Enid watches him, eyes the way his chest still moves and it hurts to see him this way, covered in dried scabs and blood but he's alive.

That's what matters in the end, right?

"thank you," she whispers and presses her face deeper into the phone because she really wants a hug right now. "can you talk about something? Just about your day?"

When no reply comes, Enid accepts it. Wednesday was never the type to ramble on her day especially to a phone.

But then her voice trails through, soft and Wednesday. It's all Enid needed to allow herself to rest.

[astralbulldragon13]

Arrigo Makes a Mistake

(This is a fanfic using an original character insert for the listener in Escaped Audio's 'New Jersey Rats' Series. Warning, there is some implied racism in this story, if that does not jive with you, feel free to skip. I completely understand)

Skyla Ghost Bear the Intern half-way listened to the conversation between Jean and Tricky Ricky, talking about the logistics needed to complete the job with the gold. It had been about a week since the incident with the Feds, and they were invited over again to 'talk shop', with the gold. Jean still was insistent on no one, not even the Bada Brothers knowing about that little incident.

Jean seemed a bit nervous when it came to inviting Skyla along, but she wouldn't say 'no' to some, really good, home-made Italian food. Even if it was in the company of the Cosa Nostra.

The only time she even got to have Italian food back home was when her Lala would take her and her siblings to the Olive Garden by the mall. This food was so much better, like comparing Taco John’s to authentic food from a real Hispanic household. 

‘But Taco Johns has potato ole’s,’ she joked mentally as she took a sip of the dry red that Ricky provided them to drink, trying not to scrunch her face at the taste. She was never a fan of dry wines, not even when they use them in church. ‘And Olive Garden has breadsticks and really fucking good salad.’

“Tell me, young intern,” Tricky Ricky spoke, looking up from his plate. “You know some about me, I don’t know some about you. Tell me about yourself.”

Jean glanced at his Intern with a fair amount of concern, hoping this wasn’t some attempt to dig up dirt to hold over them. 

Skyla offered him a calm, polite smile. This was a businesswoman’s smile, like a dagger wrapped in velvet, and Jean was able to decrease his heartrate at that. “Not much to me, sir. I’m from the midwest, came to New Jersey with hopes of experiencing a new life and seeing the ocean instead of the Missouri River. I will be receiving my degree shortly.”

“What kind of blood do you have in you?” 

Skyla’s business-smile tightened and her jaw tensed. Badabing and Badaboom looked at each other nervously, while Jean was almost worried that she may jump the table as Skyla had been very private about her ancestry, but she just picked up their wine glass. “I’m Plains Native American on my mother’s side, yes. We… aren’t particularly close

“What about your father?” Giovanni asked, eyeing the young individual.

She returned the look, her blue eyes unwavering, something uncommon amongst most who look the consigliere in the eye. “I never knew him. I know that he was an Irish exchange student, and that I have his eyes. That’s really all I know about him.”

Tricky Ricky nodded, finishing a bite of his food. “A shame, truly. He doesn’t know he has quite the intelligent child.”

Skyla laughed polietly, nodding in agreement with the old man’s words. “I thank you for your words, sir. I truly appreciate it.”

As dinner was wrapping itself up, Skyla excused herself to the restroom. After she washed and dried her hands, she reached into the inner pocket of her blazer to apply a fresh coat of her favorite red lipstick. It wasn’t some designer brand, but simple Maybelline New York #333, Hot Chase that she found in Wal-Mart at the age of seventeen. She popped the top off and twisted the tube up and paused, looking at the color, then her reflection with the faded color still on her lips and thought to her poor, scruffy superior. Skyla didn’t know why, but their mind went to him, his hair wild, his business-shirt un-tucked, and his pretty face covered in kissmarks in this shade of red. 

With a girlish giggle, Skyla applied the lipstick leaving a fresh and shiny coat. She twisted the spiral back down and re-capped her lipstick, sticking it back in their pocket. She undid her hair and retwisted it, pinning it again with her barrett, then walking out the door. 

To her surprise, she found Arrigo waiting outside the door, waiting for her. She drew up short, letting the door to the restroom close behind her. “Oh, Mister Belardi! You caught me a little by surprise there. Is there something I can do for you”

The so-called ‘Mafia Prince’ gave a smirk that Skyla supposed was meant to be seductive, but in truth it just made her skin crawl. “Yeah, uh… what are you doing after dinner?” 

His question sent up so many red flags it could have been used to decorate a rescue boat. Skyla returned to her business smile and tried to move past him. “I have some matters to attend to when I return to my apartment. Now, please excuse me, I do believe dessert was about to be served and I’ve been looking forward to that semifreddo all evening.”

“Or,” he said quickly, caging them with his arms on either side of her body. “You could, uh, come with me? I’m having a yacht party at the marina tonight.” Arrigo reached up with one perfectly manicured hand and stroked her cheek.

“I’ve, uh… never been with a girl like you. I mean, I’ve been with Indian girls before but not your kind of Indian, you know what I mean? Come on, why don’t you… try me on for size? I bet I could do better than that loser Jean. Come on, don’t you want a chance to really have some protection from the family?”

Skyla blinked and tilted her head down to look Arrigo in the eye. The young Belardi heir only stood at five feet, four inches, five foot, six with the help of the lifts in his shoes, while Skyla, being half Lakota, stood at five foot, nine inchest. Pair that with the fact she always wears four inch heels, she was towering over him, and he knew it. 

In response, the Intern decided to use the greatest power in their arsenal, the only gift her father gave her. She glared at Arrigo’s hazel eyes, and to him, looking into Skyla’s eyes was like looking into a stormy sea. 

A chuckle bubbled up from her lips, and she shook her head, almost incredulously. She looked up, and noticed Jean looking around the corner, his brown eyes burning. So, in response to the Princeling’s offer, Skyla place a hand on the arm that was caging her, and gently moved it out of the way, before moving aside and walking away from him, still chuckling, while adding a little sashay to her hips. “Hey, Unch, is everything alright?”

Jean blinked, trying to clear his head. This was something different, she usually called him something different in her mother-tongue, but it sounded similar to what they just called him. 

“Wh-Wha? Oh! Oh, right I, um, was coming to find you. I know how excited you were to have that semifreddo.”

Skyla just giggled and took his arm. “Come one then, let's go.” And they walked off back to the table. Jean glanced over his shoulder to look at Arrigo, who looked offended and rather confused, and just gave the little brat a shit-eating grin. 

[keepmeinmind-01]

wip wednesday—“and the hound”

thank you for requesting this file! I was having fun writing this, especially because if Theseus is immortal and Newt lives to 1947 and makes the registry…yes, juicy angst 😌

thank you to @kalira @wizisbored @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin @whimsicalmeerkat @auburnlaughter @violet-prism-creatively @twyrewolf @stonemaskedtaliesin @kallisto-k! here are my lines:

The snapping branches mean Newt knows something is wrong. Theseus never makes sound moving through the forest anymore.

Uncurling from the sprouting grass as if alive, night-black flowers and bone-white blooms with needle-sharp thorns grow and wither in rapid succession where each of Theseus's footfalls lands. The grass shoots up to knee-height, wild and glowing, before blackening and falling away.

Rot and renewal, to the time of a heartbeat.

Newt swallows.

Theseus staggers to the nearest tree and slumps against it, sliding down until he sits heavily at its base. Breathing hard, he scratches the back of his hands against the bark, rubbing away the dried blood in flakes that turn to single butterfly wings. A shroud of white fungus bubbles up from the oak, splitting the trunk, and Theseus flinches even as he sinks back into it.

His older brother groans, blood still oozing from the cut on his temple, and covers his face in his hands.

Between Theseus's trembling fingers, Newt catches glimpses of his brother's face shifting like water. One moment, those familiar wild eyes blaze through the gaps; the next, they are human again, bloodshot and glazed with pain. The transformation ripples across his features: sharp teeth blunting, then lengthening again; cheekbones softening then growing knife-edge sharp; skin flushing with color before draining.

"Thee?" Newt asks, creeping closer.

Theseus lowers his hands. His face is almost entirely human now: younger, softer, exhausted and scared. The gash at his temple still bleeds freely, but the blood runs red now instead of the strange dark ichor it has become in recent weeks. When he opens his mouth to speak, his teeth are flat and normal.

"The villagers," he manages, voice cracking. "They had cold iron. Old wards." He presses a hand to his side where his shirt is torn and darkened. "They knew what I was."

"And now you're hurt," Newt says, reaching for the wound. Theseus catches his wrist with fingers that are almost normal now—no claws, no impossible length.

Dead leaves stir around them without wind, rising and falling like breathing. The white fungus consuming the tree bark spreads faster, creating patterns like ancient runes before dissolving into powder. Nature itself seems to be speaking in a language Newt cannot quite understand, but one that makes his skin prickle with recognition of something vast and other.

"I remember right after it happened," Theseus says quietly. "When the spirit first came. I remember...everything. Being normal. Being young. Having dreams that didn't taste like blood and moonlight."

He laughs. "I used to want to work at the Ministry, can you believe that? Wear smart robes and push papers around a desk all day."

"You'd have hated it," Newt says, but he doesn’t know if that’s true. "Even before. Even when you were perfect. Remember how you used to climb trees with me? How you'd run through the woods shouting just to hear your voice echo?"

"Maybe. I was so young, then. I wasn't what I needed to be." Theseus's smile is sharper now, his teeth fully fanged again. "Or maybe I just tell myself that, to make this easier to bear."

[father-salmon]

writing patterns!!

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess thank you, my bean!!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

(none of these are buddie so there's your disclaimer lmao)

1. God is a Bit of a Freak - Rated E, Meg Masters/Castiel/Dean Winchester

Honestly, if you ask Meg what she gets up to on a general Saturday evening, the answer isn’t what you’d expect. Yes, she’s single, nearly 30, and has… a semi-normal amount of friends. You’d think she’d be with them or on a date or something.

2. What Happens in Oz... - Rated E, Charlie Bradbury/Dorothy Baum

The way Oz works is that it’s every person for themselves. Charlie is learning this very quickly and sooner than she’d like. The body of someone she and Dorothy once considered an ally is now dead on the floor, courtesy of the latter. Blood seeps out on the tufted carpet of Oz’s version of the Men of Letters bunker. What once was the Bravest Cowardly Lion’s fur is now a stained and stepped-over relic of the past. Charlie suppresses the urge to gag. She glances at Dorothy, whose face is hardened with the stink of betrayal that hangs in the room. The air runs thick with it.

3. Holy Ground - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Cas - One Week Before the Wedding 

Coming back to a place you’d long ago given up on, feels a bit… bittersweet. Everything is nearly exactly as it was 15 years ago; the convenience shop on the corner, the church in the center, the Roadhouse. The only thing that has really changed is the people. It’s more or less the same crowd, only with more wrinkles and bigger bellies. The stores are more weather-worn, too – the paint faded on the signs and windows by the same sun that has chapped skin and dulled lined-dried clothes until the whole town seems washed out and pale.

4. enthusiastic consent - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean has a shadow. 

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Everyone has a shadow. 

Dean has two though, he’s sure of it. He’s been sure of it since last week when the debilitating feeling of being watched was too much to bear and now he believes it. Because he’s seen the goddamn stalker ! Albeit, handsome stalker but stalker nonetheless.

5. Bedroom Hymns - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

The Impulse Purchase - 2014

Dean didn’t even think twice about clicking the order button on a value pack of men’s panties. If anyone were to look through his search history, he would vehemently deny it but that’s the perk of having his own computer. 6. close encounter of the fourth kind - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Others

To say Dean was abducted is the understatement of the century. 

His ass was literally taken out of his comfy memory foam mattress, shoved into a sac, and brought to… wherever the fuck this is: this Area 51 looking room, that’s for damn sure. 7. The Red Means I Love You - Rated E, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak

An oak tree marks Claire’s first grave. She found it on a whim, adrenaline rushing through her veins trying to find an appropriate burial spot among the woods just behind campus. She dug feverishly until she couldn’t see the ground above her, paranoia growing higher by the minute. It was only when she scrambled back up and dropped the extremely disfigured body of her mother into the ground and covered it up did she feel the relief. That was the only thing she didn’t prepare for. 

8. Butcher's Cut - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Does Dean Winchester have a clue about what he’s doing?

No.

Is that stopping him?

Also no. 

But opening a butcher/sandwich shop in town with his best friend — neither of them having any experience of running a business — may be one of the more stupid ideas he’s ever had. Not that he’s had any good ones but, here he is. 9. baby, it's cold outside - Rated T, Castiel/Dean Winchester

THUMP! 

“Ow—son of a bitch! ”

Castiel whips his head up from where it’s buried in his book to find the source of the sound. 10. nobody cares this is the day i was born - Rated G, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Two days. That’s all he gets. Two days before his birthday, Lisa shoves a birthday card at his chest and tells him she’s breaking up with him and he’s left there with a crumpled gift and a broken heart. Two days. He’s fine. He can cope. Except it’s his birthday in two days and he had planned to spend it with Lisa and now? Well, he’s blown off every other attempt his friends have made to spend his birthday with him, so it’s definitely too late to ask if he can join in on plans they probably made without him. 

--- no pressure tag list!! @underwater-ninja-13 @bigfootsmom @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @gaylicense @spotsandsocks @devirnis @monsterrae1 @yelenasbuddie @buckaroosheart @snarkythewoecrow @dicklessthewonderclown @bleuzombie @malicmalic @cactusdragon517 @deancodedcastielenby @songliili

[send-me-a-puffalope]

“Blood blooms like a flower from the loser's back. The older girl just crumbled, and the last thing that she saw, before her vision faded into deep, darkest black, was the distraught face of her young sister-in-law.” (MA Survival, cover by Rosencrantz)

GARRETT & VANESSA!!!!!!; she saw how he died. Before the MCI, and I want to believe that she also saw how Garrett died. Due to a small series drawn by @i-give-u--stuff (their version of Puppet Garrett AU). She saw it happened, blocked it from her mind. Because how can she believe it? Her feelings know that he is gone, but he's never existed in her forefront memories. She can't bear it. Because he was destined to be nothing.

But any red flowers make her oddly scared. She can't understand why, but she thinks it's because of how twisted her mind is(to her), she thought that the whole blood made his back more.. earthly?? Like. Back stabbed (literally) at the back of her house. It's a pond, but so flowy and flower like. The color reminds her of how wilted roses are.

Dried blood on green grass = wilted roses -> to Vanessa. And she can't stand it.

__

Garrett also saw her there. A tiny peak, yes, but his sister (he sees her as one), was there for a second. But she understood it all too well. ... She knew it was his end and she did nothing.

But just what could she have done if she did anything to stop it? ("You can make bad decisions, you're still just a child")

She could've taken his ending. But she's selfish and greedy; as human she can be.

She wants to live.

And so she did, and listened to the Yellow Hare's, Rabbit's, Bunny's .... Father's words.

But before they both were torn all he could see was how distraught she was, growing hatred, sleepy? Depressed even.

That's the last thing he saw of his big sister.

Now to be a reminder, in the back of her house. In the back of her mind. Presence overbearing - waning and waxing. Too big and then too small. Everything, nothing, the floor, the sky, the ground, the birds, God, Death, a butterfly, a bullet.

Stagnant. To always be those things, that give warnings, that make others to be more alert in the future.

Everything, nothing.

The center of it all, chain red.

He resides in the back of two minds.

He resides in the trash bag of the other two minds.

As big as a clocktower,

As small as a glass bottle,

Stuck.

He's stuck as such things.

He's not real, a ghost — reminder.

Warning, the clock ticks on,

It's not fit for humans.

YOOO!! ANOTHER BANGER!!!! ANOTHER BANGER BY AUDREY SOTOGALMO !!!!

ngl the lyric “from the loser’s back” is making me giggle. referring to anyone as a loser is for some reason hilarious to me. big fan of how this ask developed from an explanation to a poem, literally peak youcore /pos

[basilhopewhumps]

mmmm bit of whump writing based on this post by @i-eat-worlds and the tags on it by @fern-writes-whump

---

"I'm gonna change the bandage again, okay?" mutters C, touching A's arm with a tender hand, where the gash is now wrapped up in gauze that is nearly soaked through with blood. "Are the ice packs okay? Do you need them cooled off again or are they good?"

"Mm," A hums distractedly, brow furrowed as they gaze out the window.

"A?"

A blinks, and for the first time in the last few hours they actually turn their head to meet C's wide, concerned eyes. "Sorry, what?"

"Bandages. Ice packs."

"Right. Sorry." A rubs their face and then winces when they accidentally touch the bruise that is blooming across their eye. The pain is bad, yes- they took a lot of blows, and the knife caught them pretty badly in the arm. But just now there is something bearing down on their mind even more heavily. "I'm just...I wish B would come home."

A shadow of worry crosses C's face, and their hands falter, falling into their lap. "Oh," they whisper. "Yeah. Me too." They share a pained look with A before A's eyes return to the window, longing, hoping, yearning.

When A stumbled into their home, sobbing, collapsing into B's arms and telling them about what had happened, they had been too frantic and upset to catch the rage in B's eyes. The utter, cold fury at all the descriptions of how they had been hurt and who hurt them. A misses B's soft hands rubbing their back soothingly, the gentle kisses to their temple; it's been hours since B stormed out of the house after only a bid to C to take good care of A's injuries and a long kiss goodbye for A.

"Changing the bandage now," C whispers, and A nods, swallowing hard, trying and failing not to cry. They weep silently, tears slipping down their cheeks, punctuated by soft sniffles and trembling lips. For C's part, there is nothing to do but touch them gently, whispering apologies when they have to dab stinging antiseptic on the wound and A gasps softly. They know that the crying is not about the pain. It is about missing their lover.

C doesn't ask about the icepacks, knowing A doesn't want to talk about it. They lift each one, trying not to wince at the bruises that mark A's body each place they were struck, and feel the bottom, most lukewarm now. They stand to go to the kitchen and get fresh ones, but A looks up suddenly, voice high-pitched and watery. "C-"

C turns in the doorway, looking back at them with sympathy and sadness in their eyes.

"What if B gets hurt," A whispers. "What if something happens to them, what if they-"

"They won't," C cuts them off sharply, and then their voice softens at the glistening, tear-stricken face they are looking into. "They won't, A. They're gonna come home. They love us. They love you."

A lets out a shaking sigh.

It is a while longer, more of C tending to A's injuries gently, in near silence only punctuated by the soft hitches of quiet sobs, before the door creaks open.

"Oh my God," C exclaims immediately, and jump up from where they were sitting on the couch beside A, holding an icepack against their bruised face for them to give them a rest. A doesn't catch the icepack they drop, too caught up in the moment, eyes wide. Their heart is racing. Please, please, please-

There is a fire in B's eyes as they limp through the front door, across the room, and drop to their knees before A on the couch, taking both their hands. Both pairs of hands are trembling.

"A," B whispers fiercely, "I am 100% serious when I tell you that no one will ever hurt you like that again."

A stares at B. Their lovers face looks five times as bad as theirs. Covered in bruises, a trickle of dried blood trailing out of their nose. Their words are slurred- there is blood in their mouth too. A's eyes flick down to their hands- bruises bloom across their knuckles too. B clenches A's hands tighter as their own shake harder, and A's stomach flips at B's ragged breaths.

"B-" they begin tearfully, but B slumps forward, suddenly going alarmingly limp, their head thunking against A's knee.

"Shit," A and C say in near unison, and while C continues in a stream of "Shit, shit, shit, shit, oh my fuck, shit, God-" A is tearfully imploring B- "B, please, I love you, oh my God, why did you- please I'm scared I love you-" C reaches forward to help A, who is already in a panic trying to ease B up onto the couch, abandoning their own seat. They've been trying to go easy on their injured arm, but they have forgotten all of their own injuries- as they help C strip off B's shirt and examine them, it turns out B is injured far worse.

B's eyes blink open blearily a minute later, as C is running for more ice packs and more bandages. A strokes their face softly, leaning over them- "shhhhh sh sh B it's okay now, we're here, you're going to be alright-"

"They-" Just the pain of moving their mouth to speak makes B wince, shuddering a little, and A lays a hand on their chest gently when they find a spot that is not bruised or bleeding. "They hurt you, A."

"I know, I know, B, you didn't have to do that," A whispers, tears brimming again in their eyes.

"They hurt you," B repeats weakly.

"They hurt you worse."

"They hurt you..."

A opens their mouth and then closes it.

And they drop their head down and shakily, tenderly, gently, kiss B's forehead.

"It's okay, B," they whisper. "I'm okay. And you're gonna be okay."

"If I have anything to say about it," adds C softly, dumping the armful of supplies they've gathered onto the coffee table. "A- I got it, don't worry. I've got them."

A shuffles back with a sigh, feeling their wounds scream at them again.

They fold their arms over B's legs, burying their face there, letting themself cry. And they feel B's hand come to tangle in their hair, stroking their head softly; A reaches for B's other hand without looking, and every time B squeezes it from the pain of C dressing their wounds- accompanied by "Sorry, sorry, almost done-" A feels their heart pang, half with sorrow for B, but half with gratitude that their lover is home and safe and taken care of.

[pockavas]

Halsin - trusting your fears

P.S. First time posting such thing. Hope all will enjoy it.

It was a long and tiring day, after which you didn't even want to talk to your campmates, but to retreat to some quiet corner and be alone with your thoughts.

Covered in dirt and dried blood, Ross decided that this peaceful spot by the nearby river stream is perfect and through its clear and cool water she could shake off the accumulated dirt on her body.

She hurried through her tent to get clean clothes and a special jar of scented oils, with that much-loved mix of rose oil and honey.

She liked a stony spot on the bank of the stream, where she could comfortably sit down and enjoy the refreshment. She didn't strip naked, she decided that there was no need, and started dousing herself with the towel, diligently scrubbing every single spot of blood and mud that she could see. When she decided she was clean enough, she devoted herself to caring for her hair, rubbing the oil in thoroughly, inhaling its relaxing aroma.

Immersed in her work, until the last moment she did not notice the approaching huge bear on the opposite bank, which with clumsy but steady steps directly entered the stream, noisily splashing the water around its powerful paws.

As a ranger who spent most of her conscious time in the backwoods and was intimately familiar with the flora and fauna of the forest, Ross decided it was best to lay low and see where the course of the event would take her. She took a closer look with her trained eye, and thankfully realized she knew this bear, it was Halsin, in his wild form. What a majestic beast he was in this condition, inspiring fear among enemies and respect among allies.

This druid, this rock of nature, was all that attracted Ross. Older, more experienced, wise even, strong and powerful, at the same time infinitely attentive, tolerant, concerned, funny even.

During their weeks together, in camp or on the battlefield, they got to know each other. Ross was definitely interested in him, and more than once she had asked him out for a drink, to relax away from cares and others, but he always refused, managing not to be rude and at the same time saying things that suggested to her that Halsin also has an interest in her but restrains from action.

Halsin Bear entered the stream up to his belly, and in the next moment he transformed back into his human form. This was always accompanied by a blinding golden light and was always impressive. Ross never moved, but he noticed her immediately, their eyes meeting. There was a moment of surprise in his look, and then he became calm as morning light, and a soft smile crossed his lips.

Ross hesitated for a moment longer how to react, seeing him naked to the waist, the water dripping from his hair, his wet body, his broad shoulders, his strong arms. It was a sight that made her hold her breath.

"- Sorry if I startled you!" Halsin said meekly, "I needed to get the goblin blood out of me. Although children of nature, they deny everything she stands for."

"-Yes, I understand you completely. I too felt this need and came here first."

"-But I interrupted you, I didn't mean to disturb your peace. Come, the stream is all yours."-Halsin held out his hands beckoningly to Ross, but she did not reach for them immediately. "-What's wrong, why are you hesitating?" he asked worriedly.

"-Well... I... Do you remember when we shared things about ourselves the first time, and I told you that I was afraid of water. At first you thought I was joking, but it really is. About this I'm standing here in the shallows."

Halsin's expression softened even more, a hint of apology running through him. He stepped towards her, still with outstretched arms:

"- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have underestimated your words then. Now I'll show you it's not scary. Trust me!"

Ross trusted him, he had saved her life more than once and she had saved his. She didn't wait any longer and placed her hands in his, which were immeasurably larger, stronger and surer. Like this, Halsin backed into the deeper part of the stream, slowly and calmly, reading her every expression. After only a few steps, Ross stopped feeling the bottom beneath her feet and panic began to rise within her.

One by one she removed her hands from his palms, clinging tightly to his biceps, then wrapped both arms around his neck as if she were a drowning man clutching a steady log, trying to stay afloat.

Halsin smelled the scent wafting from her hair, his favorite honey, a scent that made him inhale deeply and close his eyes for a moment. He remembered the first time he'd spotted it in the goblin lair, when Ross had saved him from them, saved a raging bear, not knowing if she'd be attacked in return for her help.

Halsin sensed Ross's fear instantly, not protesting but wrapping his powerful arms around her waist to make her feel more secure. She was so small and fragile in his arms.

And what a certainty that was. Halsin was like a monument that you knew would never yield. Every muscle of his felt infinitely warm, despite the cold water. A hug you never want to leave.

"-It's okay Ross, I'm holding you. I'm with you!" - he whispered to her - "There is nothing to be afraid of."

"-I... I know, I'm at peace with you, but it's a fear deep inside me that's hard to fight. Primal. You know what it is! And against nature, it's hard to fight."

Halsyn gently released her arms from the grip around his neck, placing her palms on his chest. She felt his pulse, so calm, steady, balanced. She just had to follow that rhythm.

"-Let me show you how nice it is to let the current wash everything away from you."

Everything needed to convince her was read in his eyes. Holding her hands again, Halsin placed her in front of him, now holding her with one hand on her back and one on her stomach. Without giving her a sign, Ross closed ers eyes, surrendering to her trust in him. She leaned back as if the water were the most comfortable bed, only her face remained above the surface.

It felt like you were floating on clouds, not swimming. For a moment the world disappeared, no stream, no enemies, just her and Halsin's warm hands on her skin.

Halsin was beside her, smiling blissfully, seeing the effect this small gesture had on Ross's mind.

He decided enough was enough. He gently straightened her up and pulled her to him. Ross didn't rush to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw him looking at her. She was all in his eyes, sinking into them. Ross realized that he had been staring at her. That her wet hair fell over her shoulders, that her underwear didn't really hide her nakedness, that her breasts had hardened, her nipples even more, from both the cold water and his unrelenting presence beside her, one of her straps had fallen, revealing part of her tattoos.

She didn't mind it, she wanted him to look at her, and not only that, she wanted more from him, but the current problems with the Shadow Curse, the guilt gnawing at him, made the deflections of her invitations somewhat murky. And she had decided, as much as she wanted it , to respect his will.

And how much he wanted her! But he couldn't indulge his desires just yet, not until the job was done. Until then, everything had to remain in his mind, in his dreams. But he couldn't deny his body. This woman, an excellent hunter, master of the bow, flexible and agaile as his string, fearless in the face of danger, yet so frail and small in his hands, who shared her only fear with him.

Wet, fragrant as spring, with clothes as transparent as morning mist, only hinting at the treasures beneath.

"-Halsin?" - called him quietly by name, approaching him, placing her hands on his chest again - "Halsin?" - even closer now. She could feel his warm breath on her face.

"-I'm sorry, I..., I forgot myself, I forgot I was immersed in the beauty and genius of Mother Nature's creation. I am happy that she trusted me and shared her innermost fear with me. It is a gift that I will keep close to my heart ."

Without waiting for her answer, he led her back to the shallows, leaving her to sit by the jar of fragrant oil.

"-Don't stay wet too long, I don't want you to catch a cold."- he ran his fingers down her arm, to her shoulder, a simple touch electrifying her skin, he put her shoulder strap back in place. A gesture that completely contradicted what he wanted to do - to tear the thin fabric and soak up every drop of water from her skin with his lips.

Realizing that Halsin actually intended to leave, Ross put her hand on top of his while still on her shoulder, the other running through his wet hair that was dripping onto her. Halsin was kneeling next to her, literally casting a shadow, so large he was, encompassing her entire being.

"-You don't have to leave. You can stay and make sure I don't catch a cold."

"-Don't think I don't want it. My desire extends far beyond that, ...but I must stay focused on the dangers that lie ahead. I fear that if I get too distracted, it could cost us dearly.

... And also.... I want to be able to give my full attention to the object of my desire, because it deserves everything, and nothing less. To do otherwise would not be fair, but egotistical on my part."

"-Halsin...."-what can you say against those words, sincere, kind, spoken in the warmest voice -"I will always respect your position. What else could I do?!"- Ross gave him an encouraging smile , behind which there was a slight sadness and a note of disappointment.

She didn't wait for Halsin to leave, got up before him, gathered her clothes and started back to camp. She did not notice that the jar of perfumes was left, a fact that did not escape Halsin's sharp gaze. He reached for the small container, opened the decorated lid. He couldn't resist inhaling the aroma that grabbed his mind and took him momentarily into his dreams where he was holding Ross in his arms, their bodies entwining in pleasure....indulging in their nature.... Even only in his, this vison, this desire, it was so strong that it strained his muscles, from the back of his neck to those between his legs.

Halsyn wrapped his fist around the jar, opened his eyes, a mixture of lust, disappointment, and anger. Lust and passion, struggling with disappointment in himself, that he has to turn his back on the object of his feelings for now to atone for his guilt. Anger at the whole situation, anger at him for almost pushing her away, denying the nature of both of them, and not knowing what the new day and the dangerous world they live in will bring.

[justinewt]

Keep the Peace - THE 100 REWRITE Chapter Twenty-One

[THE 100 MASTERLIST]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: Michelle had to rest after the head trauma she suffered when she and Bellamy tried to rescue Clarke after risking both of their lives. She would be fine but there was something brewing ever since Pike joined the people of the Ark in Camp Jaha. And after an explotion occured at Mount Weather, to whom Bellamy’s loyalty belonged was put in question. 

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: The 100 season 3 spoilers (mention of events from episode 3 “Ye Who Enter Here”; episode 4 “Watch the Thrones”), mention of wounds/concussion, dried blood, guns, pike is racist 

The whole trip back to Arkadia had been a pain for Michelle. The swirls of the car on the forest roads made her even sicker and sicker than she already was due to the acute vertigo and migraine from the head trauma. At one point they had to stop the car because she was moaning so much. She had gotten so nauseous that the moment Kane opened the door, and she stuck her head out, she threw up but again, it was only bile and it felt like fire went through her throat. He gave her several sips of water from a canteen as they continued the road and she lay down, resting her head on Kane's leg. Driving in Arkadia, He carefully hoped out the rover and was met by Abby on his way to the infirmary of the camp where he went straight to put his daughter on the nearest bed available. The car ride really took a toll on her, and she was unable to respond to Abby as she examined her but the state in which she was in gave the doctor and Chancellor enough information on how bad the injury might be, though she later determined it was only a mild concussion, which was already enough to make her sick for days. She told Kane to stand aside as Jackson joined to assist her. They slowly sit her up and Jackson placed his hand on both side of her temples to stabilize her head and keep it aligned with her spine and prevent movement while Abby firmly pressed a clean cloth on the wound. It had stopped bleeding by now, meaning it had already started to coagulate, which was good news but it still required to be cleaned and bandaged and so she did. She then covered the wound with a piece of gauze and wrapped her head before resting her on the pillow. Without even flinching, Michelle swallowed the medicine which was put on her tongue and eventually fell asleep, the last image before she closed her eyes was of her father sitting beside the bed, running his hand worriedly over his beard.

The next 48 hours, Abby came in to check on her every hour or so, but Jackson stayed in the infirmary to always have an eye on her, cleaning her head injury about three times a day and changing the bandage. The pain killers she got every now and then helped her not to be in so much pain and really calmed down the migraine. She didn’t have to stay in bed all day but because every time she tried to stand up and take a few steps, she was seized with dizziness which forced her to sit down again so it really narrowed down the options of what she was able to do. Like Abby told her, after a whole week most of the symptoms should have resolved on their own and it did, except for the migraine which came back every now and then especially when triggered by loud noises or vertigo if she moved her head too suddenly but thanks to supplies taken from Mount Weather, she was able to get pain killers when it was too much to bear.

“It’s been a week. How are you feeling today?” Abby came into the infirmary and walked up to her, pulling a chair next to Michelle’s bed. She got up to sit in her bed, placing her pillow behind her back for support. She didn’t have her head bandaged anymore since the wound had scabbed for a few days already.

“Just a headache when I woke up, but Jackson gave me painkillers. Now it’s fine.” The Chancellor turned her head towards her and held a small flashlight to her eyes to check her reaction and sensitivity to bright light. Michelle barely squinted her eyes. She then had her lean her head forward to clean the scab that formed over her head wound. It was mostly healed by now, but she still had to be careful so that it didn’t start bleeding again if she scratched it off. Abby got her to stand up and walk around a bit. No vertigo to report. This was a good sign that things were going the right way. She sat back down on her bed and Kane arrived at the same moment that she started asking about the Summit they were supposed to attend at Polis City with the 12 other clans and the Commander.

“You’re not coming.” He straight up said, his arms crossed.

“Didn’t expect you would let me anyway.”

“I sent Bellamy to Mount Weather, so he’s not coming either. But you, will stay in Arkadia, and you will not leave campgrounds. What you did the other week was stupid and reckless. I had asked you to be careful and you left with him without telling anyone. You both could have been killed.”

“I am sorry, okay?” She apologized, frowning. Now that she was better, his worry was overpowered by his need to scold her and act like the parent he should have been in her life and no matter how much she deserved it, she didn’t like to be addressed like a child. It was her decision to go with Bellamy and it was to look for Clarke, so she wasn’t actually that sorry, though she understood the stupidity of it. That was that kind of interaction that harmed her relationship with her mother, prior to her getting sent to solitary confinement for an entire year. Michelle stood up after taking an antibiotic and painkiller and Abby stopped her before she walked out. She still wasn’t allowed to take part in any activity that required effort and be careful not to touch her injury so it wouldn't bleed again. Even though in the past few days, she had had to stay within the walls of the infirmary for obvious reasons, she felt like she had been grounded ever since her return to Arkadia, a camp she still couldn't call home.

Michelle had taken care of doing what she could, chores here and there to help out among little trips to the infirmary when she got dizzy but knowing on the one hand her dad and Abby in Polis and her friends in Mount Weather were enough to keep her mind busy for the day. In the evening, she wandered around the camp, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. The weather was good, and the mood was calm and relaxing until the sound of an explosion in the distance disrupted everything. Given where the sound came from, it didn't take her more than a couple seconds to realize that it had occurred in Mount Weather, where she knew her, friends were, which immediately worried her. She watched the smoke rise above the treetops with wide eyes. Unable to go to bed, she stood pacing near the station entrance, watching for the camp gate until she saw a car drive in in the middle of the night and she ran to the hangar. Her father, Abby, Bellamy, and the others came out. She tried going up to Bellamy, but he walked past her and left. He seemed out of it.

“Dad, what-- what happened? What was the explosion earlier? Where are the others? Is Bellamy okay? What—" She was so confused and worried she couldn’t stop asking questions. He grabbed her shoulders.

“The Ice Nation blew up Mount Weather. Gina died in the attack.” It was the only piece of information she needed. She rushed to catch up with Bellamy who was walking down a hallway towards his bedroom. It was late and a lot had happened, so she understood he probably needed to be alone right now, but she had to check on him. He didn't even turn when he heard hurried footsteps coming from behind him, until she called his name. Then he stopped and looked at her before avoiding her gaze. She could see the neon light above them reflect the tears that made his eyes glisten.

“Bellamy, I’m sorry.” He knew what she was apologizing for and just looked down. She had never been close friends with Gina, because she was the girlfriend he got after they had gotten close and she pushed him away, but she would never have wished something like this to happen to her. She was a nice person who didn’t deserve to die. For some reason, Michelle drew Bellamy into a hug, and he wrapped his arms around her after a second. Acting tough wasn’t everything, he needed to be comforted too. They spent the night sitting on the floor next to each other in his room, not really talking or saying anything, just keeping each other company so neither of them would be alone. She saw him let his guards down and be vulnerable in front of her. The events at Mount Weather had really taken a toll on him and she had never seen him so bummed about something before, only when Clarke had left them.  After a while, they fell asleep, their heads resting on the bed behind them, their foreheads pressing against each other. This was the kind of intimate moment that they hadn’t shared in forever and Michelle realized how much she had missed it. She was quite unsettled by the resurgence of her feelings for Bellamy, not knowing what to do about it since the death of his girlfriend had just happened and she would hate herself if she tried getting with him just yet. She would deal with all this later, right now she just wanted to be there.

            Shortly after the sun finally rose outside, the rays entered the room and illuminated Michelle's face. She placed her hand over her eyes and rolled onto her back, when she realized that she was lying on the bed. At first without straightening up she raised her head and looked around in confusion and finally sat up seeing Bellamy standing near the table. He looked away, looking preoccupied. She was already over the fact that he woke up first and carried her on the bed, which somehow warmed her heart and wasn’t surprised by the expression on his face as he observed his Ark guard’s jacket hanging from the coat rack on the wall, near the door. He was as silent as last night, and it took her a minute to understand what was going on in his head. Because of what happened, he wanted to resign.

“Whatever happened… it wasn’t your fault, Bellamy.” She finally broke the silence. Hearing his name spoken outloud, he turned his head to her, looking back at her. It was clear that he disagreed with what she said, but it was true, what happened to Gina was beyond his control. She was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“I could’ve done something. I should’ve stayed.”

“Stayed where? At Mount Weather? But weren’t you there when it blew up?” She tried to ask a couple questions, to get him to tell her what actually happened because all she knew was that Mount Weather blew up and Gina died, but she didn’t know the details. Her questions remained unanswered as he grabbed his jacket and walked out of the room. Michelle jumped out of bed and followed suit. He wasn’t any more talkative in the corridors. She kept asking him where he was going and suddenly step in front of him to stop him in his tracks, grabbing his arms. Quickly, he finally loosened his tongue and told her the whole story. How a Grounder he was locked up with came back and told them about a trap at the Summit and that he then decided to leave with the others, leaving Gina behind at Mount Weather, where she was murdered before the whole facility exploded. There was a second of silence and she let her hands slide off his arms, nodding. Repeating that he didn’t need to blame himself for this was pointless, as he truly believed it was his fault.

           A man guarded the entrance. Inside, Kane and Abby were in a private meeting, probably assessing their next move regarding what happened. The door eventually opened, and the two young adults found themselves facing Pike who looked at them before leaving. They stepped in the room, watching Abby walk to the opposite side while Kane was leaning on the table, thinking.

“Sir?” Bellamy quietly called out to Kane. The latter straightened up on his stool and glanced at them, joining his hands in front of him. It took him a couple glances to notice his daughter standing next to him. She could tell he was wondering what they were doing together.

“Why aren’t you at your post?” He asked in a low voice, with a sigh. Bellamy put his jacket on the table and pushed it further away. “Don’t do this.”

“Forty-nine of the people I swore to protect died yesterday because I left them.”

“That’s not your fault, Bellamy.” Kane turned to face him. “Place the blame where it belongs. On the Ice Nation.”

“The Ice Nation didn’t tell Gina to stay there.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “That was me.”

“Given the information you had at the time, you made a reasonable choice.” Kane stood up, placing a hand that was meant to be comforting on his shoulder. From the side, Michelle could see the pain and guilt that made his eyes shine in the faint glow of the light. “You were trying to save lives.”

“But I didn’t.” He looked away with a heavy sigh, his eyes getting watery as he tried to fight tears. He didn’t say anything else, maybe if he knew that if he did, he would have started crying, and instead just turned around and left. Michelle went to grab his arm as he walked past her, but she stopped herself and crossed her arms. She sighed, closing her eyes.

“All that’s certain is that we die. How we die is up to us.” Pike declared, standing before them as they all sat on chairs set in rows in the hangar. On Pike’s left side, Abby and Kane were sat together. They were all gathered here, attending a memorial for the ones that died in the explosition at Mount Weather. Michelle was next to Bellamy in the back row, sat straight back in her chair, fiddling with her fingers, eyes glued to her hands, her loose black hair falling in front of her face. She wasn’t good with feelings like sadness and grief and hated the heavy atmosphere that hung over them. It kept reminding her of the loss of her mother and she wanted to run away from it but there she was, stuck in this room and it would be disrespectful of her to just leave out of the blue. She wanted to be present, out of respect for the victims, but especially to show up for Bellamy, but she didn't feel able to look at the people around her. She didn't want to see the pain in their eyes. The former Earth skills teacher asked who wanted to speak for one of the girls that died in the attack and a man walked up to him after a moment of silence.

“Iris was strong. Good with a knife. She saved my life. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do the same for her.” He gave a sudden jerk with the knife in his hand to pull out the blade and put it down on a small piece of furniture nearby, before returning to his seat.

“We will miss Iris.” Pike resumed. “May we meet again.”

“May we meet again.” Everyone spoke in unison, with Michelle barely letting a whisper leave her lips. She hated that her grief made it all about her mother for her, and anything to do with loss and grief reminded her that she never had the chance to say goodbye to her mother and she never would. Neither would she ever see her again in this life. But it wasn’t what this memorial was about, and she refused to let herself cry over it while being surrounded by all those people. She never even told Bellamy about her feelings on this subject, despite pushing him to talk about what happened to his girlfriend.

“Who will speak for Gina Martin?” Michelle raised her head for the first time in the whole service and looked at Bellamy. He glanced at her and She risked giving him a small comforting smile and although he didn't return it before getting up, she knew he appreciated her support. Their relationship had been on and off those past few months, but they had never stopped being friends. He walked up to Pike, holding the book The Iliad in his hands. This time around, Michelle looked at him as he spoke, and he often met and held her gaze. Maybe he really felt her support, she didn’t know.

“Gina was real. She always saw the light, even here. She deserved better.” He went to put down the book when doors opened, and a bunch of Ark guards entered. Everyone straightened up in their chairs, looking at the soldiers and whispering to each other. Michelle noticed Pike talking to one of them, and she saw Lincoln alone. She followed Pike with her eyes as he walked to Kane and Abby. Seeing his lips moving as he leaned towards them slightly, she frowned. His voice began to rose.

“You gave a Grounder one of our radios?” Everyone in the audience stood up and the whispers became much louder.

“Sir, are we under attack?” Hannah enquired.

“No, we are not under attack.” Kane declared. “Their commander sent a peacekeeping force. To ensure that we can defend against any further attacks from the Ice Nation.”

“Peacekeeping force?” Pike was clearly not having it. “Even you can’t be that naïve, Marcus.”

“Watch your tone. You’re talking to the next Chancellor.” Abby chimed in, before addressing the crowd. “We’re all grieving. This has been hard on all of us. But we can’t let anger drive our policy.”

“Anger is our policy.” Michelle frowned even more at his aggressive response. His hatred for Grounders made him so biased and he really thought he was in the right. He rose his voice louder and talked to the people of the Ark present here. “If they’re here to defend us, as you say, then tell them to go home. We can defend ourselves!”

“Yeah!” Some of them began agreeing with Pike. Michelle looked around and exited the crowd through the left side to go to his father and Abby when a man dressed in the clothes of an Ark guard pointed at Lincoln in the back.

“You. You don’t belong here.”

“He’s one of them.” Said another man.

“My boy is dead!” A dude yelled and a stone was thrown at Lincoln, hitting him in the head with a thud. He groaned at the blow, and it quickly turned to chaos with some people trying to come at the grounder and others pushing them off. Bellamy ran through the mob to keep people from getting close to Lincoln. Kane ordered to arrest them and separated one of the many fights happenings when Pike let out a shrill whistle and things finally went to a halt.

“We do not attack our own!” He pressed each one of his words. “Fighting each other only makes us weak. The enemy is not in this camp. The enemy is out there.”

Michelle hated how everyone started listening to Pike suddenly, just because he was loud and strong with his words. She could tell he was going to cause troubles for all of them, especially those who weren’t pitting themselves up against the Grounders, like herself or her father. She looked at the people in the room and her eyes set on Bellamy and she wondered if that man would manage to get in his head, one way or another. It made her grind her teeth to think of Bellamy siding with Pike but when later that day, she saw the two men having a drink. She was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, having a drink on her own since without Clarke or even Murphy, well if she wasn’t hanging out with Bellamy, she really had no other friends. And Monty was nowhere to be seen anyway so she didn’t bother to look for him much. She couldn’t hear their conversation from where she was, but she watched them from the corner of her eyes. She noticed Monty’s mother at a table next to Pike and Bellamy’s and the woman was discreetly looking at them too, but Michelle wasn’t too sure if the latter wanted Pike to get the young man on their side. She didn’t know her too well, so she had no idea what was going on in her head. But to be safe, she preferred to assume the worst and to think that all the people from the Farm station were with Pike, and against her dad, and by association, against her.

When she saw Bellamy look around and the people from Farm Station that were there all gave him a glance, a glance full of the hatred for Grounders that they witnessed earlier, she understood that her assumption was in fact right. Sometimes being safe is being right and in that case she was. She didn’t like what was brewing. For some reason, and she wasn’t even a Grounder, so she wasn’t the group’s main target, but she started feeling unsafe and quite uncomfortable at that. She wished she could hear what they were saying so she could report it to Kane and Abby, but she at least knew that they were preparing something and trying to get Bellamy in on it with them, so that was already something, but she chose to wait a bit longer and see what more she could learn by just watching them from afar. The second she saw Bellamy give a nod to Pike, she knew whatever game they were all playing, it was over. For the Grounders at the very least, but also for anyone siding with them. She bitterly gulped down a last shot of alcohol and, grabbing her jacket lying on the seat next to her, she walked away as she put it back on. Not knowing where her dather would be as of now, her best guess was either the meeting room that she visited earlier with Bellamy or his own room, but she didn’t even remember where the latter was so she had to hope he and Abby would both be there. She had no idea where else they could be anyway.

After a dozen minutes just wandering around, she ran into Harper, and she grasped the chance. She wasn’t surprised at all to hear Michelle’s thoughts on the situation they had with Pike. It was already late, the sky was dark, and the two girls went to Lincoln and along with Zoe, they stood in the dark of the main gate, and it didn’t take very long for the group of wannabe vigilantes to come to them. When they noticed the four individuals, they stopped, and Bellamy walked up to them with a stern look on his face. He looked at all of them without moving his head, his eyes lingering for a little longer on Michelle. He was frowning.

“You need to step aside, right now.” He warned.

“What are the guns for?” Michelle asked after exchanging a glance with Harper. They knew very well what the guns were for, and Bellamy wasn’t so stupid either.

“There’s an army out there. And we need to hit them before they hit us.” As they spoke, Pike and the others slowly advanced towards them.

“That army was sent to protect us.” Lincoln said.

“Do we have a problem?” Pike asked this in such a way it sounded way more like a threat than a question.

“No.”

“I have always done what is best for us. I need you to trust that I am doing that now.” He glanced at Zoe in the back, and she subtly nodded before stepping away. Michelle frowned, taking a step towards him. Bellamy then looked at Harper and as if she understood his motivation, she nodded and apologized to Lincoln before leaving in turn. There was only Michelle left by his side, and she wasn’t about to walk away as well. She chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek, and she looked at Bellamy, trying to knock some sense into him before it was too late, even though she knew damn well that it was in fact too late. He would stand his grounds and side with Pike still, and he would realize only too late how far he went because he believed in the wrong person. Pike was loud and aggressive but that didn’t make him any less of a snake. Now she knew why she disliked him so much as a teacher on the Ark. He was never a good or a nice man.

“Bellamy.” Her tone of voice was soft. She was trying to do something pointless, but she still tried. And if she wasn’t on Pike’s bad side already, she would be now. “You’re not thinking this through. You can’t let Pike get in your head like this with all his Grounder hatred bullshit, come on. They’re not out there to kill us.”

“I am thinking this through, Michelle.” He came closer to her, and his brows relaxed but not hers. He spoke with determination to convince her this was the right thing to do. “I’m doing this for all of us. We have to hit before they hit us. Trust me on this.”

She looked away for a second. She wanted to believe him but with Pike in the mix, she just couldn’t, and it was tearing her heart apart to have to doubt Bellamy’s intentions but on this one, she couldn’t risk being on the wrong side. And she couldn’t be on the same side as Pike because it would always be the wrong one. She hated that Bellamy let himself be manipulated like this. She still believed there was a way to get him back on the right track, but she just couldn’t support him this time. She shook her head and looked back at him.

“You can’t just go out there to kill 300 people. They’re here to protect us.”

“They’re Grounders.”

“So were your fucking ancestors, Pike.” She spat vehemently, giving him a death stare.

“Watch your tone. You wouldn’t talk to your mother like this.”

“Don’t you talk about my mother.” She angrily rose her voice at Pike, suddenly walking towards him but she was stopped mid-way by Bellamy who grabbed her arms and moved her back in front of him. Pike obviously kept his composure and just looked at them. She hated how vicious he was, mentioning her mother like this, to try and get to her emotionally and he almost did get something out of her, but Bellamy prevented that. If she was alone, she would have bursted out in tears but her voice barely broke when she talked back to him.

“Let us pass.” Bellamy asked her, almost whispering. For a second, she got lost in his eyes, but this was nothing like the intimate and priviledged moments they had once shared. They were surrounded by Pike’s minions. She made a pout, shaking her head again as she pushed his hands away and stepped back next to Lincoln, staring at Bellamy. He seemed disappointed by her reaction, probably hoping she wouldn’t fight him, but he wasn’t Clarke, and the latter was the only one she would blindly follow.

“I can’t.” Bellamy let his arms hang at his sides and they held each other's gaze.

“Lincoln, you wanna prove you’re one of us, let us pass.” Pike spoke to the Grounder.

“I’m not moving.” One of Pike’s men suddenly aimed at him, urging him to get out of the way and Lincoln subtly pushed Michelle behind him as he grabbed the gun and made the man lose his balance, holding his knife up to the latter’s throat, backing away. Being behind him, Michelle was kind of stuck there, having to step back as well. The rest of Pike’s men brandished their guns. Bellamy told them to put the guns down and Pike encouraged them to listen to him.

“So much for the good Grounder.” Monty’s mother noted.

“Quiet, Hannah.” Michelle now stood aside, still not about to leave. “Whose people are you defending here, Lincoln?”

“Lincoln, put down the knife. No one has to get hurt here.” Bellamy added.

“I can’t let you start a war.”

“We’re already at war.”

“Not with the Grounders out there.” Michelle argued.

“They’re all Grounders.”

“This is so stupid… They’re not all Ice Nation. We’re not at war with them.”

“Neither of you can stop this.” She stared back at Bellamy, letting out a quiet but heavy sigh. Shaking her head in disbelief, not taking her eyes off him, she mouthed his name but not a sound came out of her lips, and she hated that she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t sorry for any of this. He truly thought he was doing the right thing here. The PA system in the camp went off and screeched for a second before a voice came on.

“All unstationed security personnel report at the main gate.” He repeated the message a couple of times as a buzzing sound sounded in the background. Octavia appeared in their sight and ran towards Lincoln.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bellamy closed his eyes and looked at his sister. A second later a bunch of Arkadia guards arrived with their guns. Michelle saw her father walking in their direction among the soldiers. She could’ve searched for him longer but when earlier she came across Harper, she didn’t waste any more time. They had gone straight to Lincoln. As Kane came closer, Pike asked his people to put their guns on the ground.

“Lincoln, it’s all right. Let him go.” At Kane’s words, he released the man who threatened him. The future chancellor and his daughter exchanged a quiet glance.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Abby enquired.

“What you didn’t have the guts to do.”

“Did you arm these people?” Kane headed towards Bellamy. He didn’t even answer but his silence alone was enough for him to understand.

“Guards take them to lock up now.” They were quickly all arrested as she told everyone else to go back to their quarters. It was late and there was nothing else to see here. “It’s over.”

“Nothing is over.” Pike exclaimed. “We are surrounded by warriors who want us dead.

“That’s enough!” Kane spoke up.

“No, it isn’t. Not even close. Why don’t you show us all what you let the Grounders do to you yesterday? Come on, Kane. I think that the people who are about to vote for you have a right to know.” Michelle frowned, having no idea what he was talking about. She got closer to Abby and her dad. He looked around him as people asked him to show them whatever it was. He lifted his sleeve and showed the crowd a red mark on his arm.

“It’s the mark of the Commander’s coalition. It means we are the 13th clan. It means we are in this fight together.”

“No. It’s what farmers used to do to their livestock.”

“Right before the slaughterhouse.” Hannah shouted, trying to entice the crowd into siding with them. And people started to be for Pike going as far as to tell him to be on the ballot for tomorrow’s election. Michelle turned around when she heard Bellamy chanting Pike’s name, followed by every single one of those who had been arrested, and a lot of people in the crowd. This felt like a nightmare. She stepped next to her father, and he put a hand on her shoulder out of habit. He, Abby, and Michelle looked at each other, worried and dumbfounded by the situation.

“I tried to talk him out of it.” She said quietly, looking at them walk away.

“You did what you could.” He gently squeezed her shoulder, unable to take his eyes off the people still chanting Pike’s name like a bunch of brainwashed people. Things were only about to get worse now that Pike convinced others to be with him. There was a risk he could be elected the next day and with him at the head of the whole group, it would be war against any Grounder in sight.

The next day, with barely a few hours of sleep as she was unable to get any rest, Michelle attended the election held outside in the camp and and Pike quickly received a majority of the votes. They couldn’t believe it. Once it was over, her father and two guards headed towards the prison wing of the ring. She followed them and hid behind the walls to let them pass without being seen and, to keep a certain distance. She followed them until they got to the portion of the corridor that went straight to the cell door. She stopped behind a corner and even though she wished she could be closer, it should be enough for her to hear them talk. If she tried to approach, it wouldn’t be the guards or Kane who would notice her, it would be the prisoners and she would be spotted by everyone anyway because if Pike saw her lurking around the corner, he would never keep his mouth shut. He knew she was out of reach for his manipulation tricks. She would never talk with him. He was only going there to tell Pike of his win at the election, but she still wasn’t supposed to be following him when he had asked her not to, though he knew she wasn’t always listening to him. She went ahead with following him because she was fully aware he wouldn’t get mad at her for something like this. He had other things to be uspet about anyway.

Kane pressed on the panel next to the door, unlocking the door before walking in. Everyone inside stood up. He walked up to Pike.

“Congratulations, Mr. Chancellor.”

“Where’s Abby?”

“Wishes she could be here.” He handed him the Chancellor pin. “The vote wasn’t close. Our people are now your responsibility, Charles. I hope you take that seriously.”

“Thank you, Marcus. I certainly intend to. For my first official action as Chancellor, I pardon myself and the others. For my second official action, I reject the brand that made us the 13th clan. For my third, let’s finish what we started.” Michelle felt a knot in her stomach just hearing this and she rested her head against the corner with a sigh, not caring if she was seen anymore. She crossed her arms and watched the people walk out of the cell, keeping her eyes on her father as he stopped Bellamy before he left. He spoke to him in a whisper so she couldn’t hear but the expression on Bellamy’s face as he walked past him. He noticed Michelle standing there and gave her a brief look but there was nothing there, no compassion, nothing. It was just the dark brown of his eyes looking at her like they were enemies.

[To be continued…]  

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

Published (12/29/2023) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405​ @kika64 @mirellef2001 

[unglomeral]

● Blood Orange

• IV - Overture

It spoke to her in an ancient tongue.

Not a word could she identify nor a sound could she hear dancing at the openings of her torn off ears.

It was an all-encompassing drone of tones, a sound like the gaping maw of a beast grinding its teeth against the brimstone of an umbral body.

Her mind thought in flashes, ones that burned into her eyes, creeped to the edges of her vision, breaking her sight, breaking into the constellations of her weaved memories.

Bowed syllables rumbled through a resounding hum. It spoke through its mouth and from it befell an emotion akin to aching dread.

Her bones dried beneath the wet of her flesh, her skin shriveled, dismantled under a lecherous ooze, eternally mortal against the rage of sanctity withered

She let out a sound guttural and primal, forced to crawl on her belly and eviscerate her consumed sins in a trail of innards, themselves consumed by torment.

It spoke to her in an ancient tongue, and through divinity unbeknownst to the fruits of her mother's womb, she understood.

"Yes." She said.

"Yes." The beast heard to its askings.

"Yes." It understood.

A demiurge of forgotten chaos, ineffable in its existence, understanding of ends and of nothingness, knowledgeable about what there is not to be known, accountable for all that isn't, and all that may never be or has not yet become.

"Yes."

***********************************************

She awoke to closed eyes, like a cadaver put to rest, but unlike one, she sucked the air into her rising chest and leeched at the saliva dried to the roof of her mouth.

Her heart beat to an irregular rhythm, not a fast pace but not a slow one, either. It galloped, stumbled, and caught its footing again before racing off into her body.

A cool breeze blew in and brushed at her wet skin, pooled in her sweat, waves of heat rolled from her head to her feet.

She allowed herself to see, eyes fluttering open.

A rough ceiling dangled above her head. It appeared to be cobbled from sheets of metal, bolted, screwed and hammered haphazard and with haste, a night sky of corroded stars.

Through unlocking her senses, the surroundings of her body became clear, her head rested on a pillow, and by the way it scratched at her neck, she knew it to be down.

Her body felt eerily light, she raised her arm and no sounds of tin clanging made its way to her.

She propped herself up on her elbow, almost too weak to bear the load, and just barely missed scraping her head on the rust above her.

Staring down at her body, over which she wore her fleece undergarments, she confirmed her armored weights burdened her no longer.

From hazy peripherals, she caught regular gaps in her vision, a bookcase cut in three by the iron bars that surrounded her.

She pleaded for her mind to think, to process and understand but it was numb even to her own inputs, a fuzziness coated her, it pulsed to life in the tips of her fingers when she moved, needles stabbing into her skin.

Beneath her resting body, a red carpet provided cushioning as well as a covering for the floor. To her left, a soft outline of a door's seam and to her right, nothing more than a wall of iron.

Now that her eyes could see, she found herself in a room of marble and stonemasoned pillars.

The walls were a dull cream, the zones of the floor that were uncarpeted were a white streaked reflection of the chandeliers twinkling above them, and the ceiling was intricately carved with blooming flowers that appeared to weed through battlements and clubs.

Shelves upon shelves of books various and varied plastered the walls, embedded into nooks at intervals between which portraits of oil painted men and drab scenes hanged and glared over low backed seats.

Her feet faced an open window, curtains draped half closed, and through the gaps of golden tassels, she glimpsed a young night.

Behind her, she felt a strong wind blow in the wake of a material scourge, shutters banging against their bars.

Falling back into her feathered head rest, she sank into the white cotton. Her breathing was controlled, but her fear ran wild.

To the side of her head, the door opened silently, making itself known by forcing the pressure in the room to drop as it shut.

Someone taller than the roof of her cage, taller than it allowed her to see through the corners of her vision, walked in calmly, with dress shoes rapping against the marble floors.

"Good afternoon, Isolde. How are you feeling?"

She tensed, her fingernails digging into the carpeted floor. Her pulse sounded from within her throat, one she couldn't suppress even as she swallowed dryly.

"I have not drugged you, and you are not tied up. Perhaps you're shaken, understandably so if you are, but you should be alright, so let us speak."

She forced her head to turn and look directly up towards the disembodied voice.

The dread wished for her not to, but she ignored it and at the end of her rotation she saw a man in a three piece suit, the very one who sat in the official stands, the one who brought Obille to his death.

"My name is Alistair Strauss."

His skin was pale, almost white, but his hight set cheeks were a healthy rose.

He wore a pair of thin spectacles above a hawked nose and below barely visible brows of a blonde as light as his complexion, an almost delicate combination of features that made him appear faint

His short hair reflected shining circle patches as bright as the whites of his dark eyes.

The collar beneath his silken coat had been spilled red, and when he unbuttoned it to drape it over the hook on the door, she could see the grey of his waist coat bore the same stains.

"I do apologize for my attire. It is rather off-putting to the eyes. You can surely imagine how disgusting it is to wear, but suits aren't easy to come by around these parts."

He walked over to the window behind her and peered through it. His every move was being followed dutifully, without rest in the form of blinking.

She guessed that they were likely elevated from the way he looked over and down before shutting the window.

"I don't want any wildlife getting in." He announced to nobody in particular.

There was something uncanny about him, something unsettling that she frantically searched for.

His unfazed face, unsmiling, unaffected, the way he spoke, walked, it was the farthest possible act from malice, evil, or anger, but her hackles raised when his eyes fell to her, a siren blared in the back of her mind and her body wished to flee but her muscles locked.

"It must feel inhumane to be in a cage, but I've done what I can to make it feel less so."

He half bent over and picked up a book from a low table. He made a thoughtful face before placing it back, "To what sick bastard did this chamber belong?" He mused, "That cage was here before I arrived, you know?"

To the front of the thin bar columns, he made his way, cut off from the torso so that she could only watch as his legs walked in front of her.

"I was not the one that undressed you, if you were wondering."

The points of his boots turned away from her, and suddenly, the cage creaked under a weight.

He crossed one leg over the other, and his suspended foot shook to a regular rhythm.

"I am waiting for a few associates of mine to return, in the meantime..." She heard the sound of a sparking flint and then a faint sizzle, followed by a poignant grey smoke so heavy that it fell to the floor.

"Please, do allow me to ramble." He said bluntly, voice slightly muffled.

A deep quiet followed, one neither captor nor prisoner had any desire to break, but the crackling puffs inhaled through his cigarette did not hold the same concerns.

"I imagine it's the gruesome sight of so many deceased that has you silent. For all its worth, my intention was not to murder Obille."

"Why did you do it?" She just barely whispered.

"He broke our deal. He was never meant to call for your execution, but there is no sum of money greater than a larger sum of money, I suppose. It's unfortunate that Balic had amassed more wealth than my sponsor's generous funding."

While the smell that emanated off a freshly lain corpse had just barely been forgotten by her senses memories, the sight of the bodies ripped to shreds and mangled had not yet become dull.

"Have you ever heard the story of a woman named Eyisbe?"

Her silence was followed by a sigh and then a gentle rapping on the steel over her head.

"N-no."

"Well," He pulled the red tip of his cigarette closer to his lips, "It's a short one. We've got time."

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

"Eyisbe was a peculiar girl who appeared in a small village one day.

She was filthy, spoke in tongues, had no family nor possessions, and not as much as a single cloth to cover her skin.

Despite this, the village and its people came to love her dearly and accepted her as one of their own.

The men could not resist her, and neither could the women. Even the animals of the forest took a strange liking to her.

When she came of age, the list of those that wished to wed her had grown longer than a river.

On one rainy day in particular, they found her alone in the forest, speaking to the trees, using their fallen leaves to cover the body of an injured deer.

The villagers couldn't believe what they had witnessed.

The trees shed their leaves to her whim, and the deer, still alive, did not flee from her.

She garnered the attention of one and all, from villages afar and even to beasts that man had feared for ages.

She committed miracles unthought to the minds of the villagers, things they could have never imagined.

From fruitless trees, a full harvest would bear, and from the lifeless soil, grains like golden rods would grow to the sky.

Soon, a young man named Jeles would grow jealous of the attention.

He was unable to see the appeal the others did, and he spread false rumors to the other young men in the village.

On the night of her twentieth birthday, they invited her to a barn in the woods.

From the rafters, they hanged her by her neck, and they stripped her from head to toe.

They had their way with her, screaming unheard by the village and its people.

The boy, Eles, took a rusted knife and thrust it between her legs.

They filled a cup with the virgin blood that poured from her thighs, and they shared it together."

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

He finished speaking, and Esandolyn was grateful. Her stomach had twisted into a knot that painfully unwound itself.

The tone of his voice and the words he spoke were not synonymous. They drove an icy stake into the base of her neck.

"It was said that Eyisbe was the personification of nature, our mother, a way of saying, by the hands of man, nothing is sacred."

There was a gentle knock at the door, a triplet pulse followed by a polite enquiring voice, "Mister Strauss, may I enter?"

"Yes, you may enter."

A sharply dressed man, as slender as the curl of his forked coattails entered the room, his one hand grasped at the door handle, and his other balanced a silver tray topped with a fine glass tea set.

He hurriedly set it down on the table and, with no time wasted, set two fingers atop the tea pot's lid and poured a rich liquid into two bulbed cups.

"How many sugars do you take, Miss Esandolyn?" His bushy mustache, curled at its tips, jumped up and down as his lips moved.

She mouthed the words he spoke to repeat them to see if she had understood them correctly.

"I will leave you with the sugar so you can take as much as you please."

He gently raised the saucer and cup into the air and handed it the man that sat above her, who replied with a polite, "Thank you, Rosenthal."

"Always a pleasure, Mister Strauss." He set down a cup in front of her as well, along with a bowl of heaped sugar in which a small spoon drowned.

"My purpose in telling you that story, heaven forbid you're thinking to yourself 'goodness, what an odd fellow this Alistair is,' was an admittedly feeble attempt at an explanation."

The steel groaned, relieved to be free from the weight as his boots returned to the carpet.

"I don't believe killing to be sin, nor I do believe lying, thievery, greed or lust to be blasphemous deeds."

He took a sip of his tea instead of a breath between words.

"A sin is an offense to divinity, a complete transgression against the laws set up by our lord." He paused while turned away from her, his hand clasped at the small of his back.

"The day mankind slaughtered a God was the day we committed our first true sin. It was the day our creators left us."

A sinking feeling had fallen on the net of her beating chest and brought it down to the base of her stomach.

"Rosenthal, please wait outside for Rawsthorne to arrive."

"Of course." He moved to the exit and bowed once before letting himself out, slinking through a thin gap.

He turned to her, and his face had not lost its effect on her instincts.

"You must have many questions, so ask away. I'll answer what I can, I mean to be nothing but honest with you."

"Where have you taken the queen?" She had been itching to ask and jumped at the opportunity now that it arose.

In the time it would take a hummingbird to flap its wings exactly once, his face rippled with an expression of surprise, then the waters stilled, and his calm demeanor returned.

He smiled, but only with his mouth, the flesh of his cheeks pushed his eyes to close, but they remained fixed on her. "So it's true, after all. I must say I'm relieved."

She felt that she had made a mistake, and with just a few more thoughts, she swore softly to herself for being so stupid for allowing the situation to muddy her logic.

"I won't tell you where she is."

"Then tell me what I'm doing here, why did you take me?"

Whether she shook from rage or from fear, a combination, perhaps, she did not know, but her words were still sharp.

"You are very special, one of a kind in the truest sense. To some others, you would be a clairvoyant, a soothsayer, a..." He gestured to the air, searching for a word through half closed eyes, "... A prognosticator, perhaps, if you want to be fanciful."

"And what am I to you?"

He smiled with raised brows, "Exactly right, you are."

Dropping himself onto the arm of a low backed cushioned bench upholstered in a velvet red, he set the cup and saucer to balance on his crossed legs.

"To me, you are a prophet."

"Wh-What? What does that mean?"

"Definitions can be so pedantic. Let's not get lost in detail. All those words mean the same thing, but "prophet" has the connotation of someone chosen to be a voice for the voiceless."

"A voice? What am I a voice for?"

"To figure out the answer to that question is precisely why I need you."

"Why does it have to be me? Why can't it be someone else, a different prophet? Leave me out of this!" A sliver of rage broke through into her words.

"Who else could it be but you, Isolde. There has only ever been one prophet at a time since the age of divinity, passed down through descendants...chosen at their death... it matters not, you're the only one, its a terrible unluck and certainly nothing personal."

She stared at the brown water of the still tea. She could just barely see her eyes over the rim, and she felt the same as her reflection, that she too might sink deep into something that would swallow her whole.

"Then why kill all of those people just to get to me?"

"It's upsetting, I know, but it's not in vein. I'm only willing to do what's necessary to accomplish this. While I was not planning on it, we're conveniently ahead of schedule." A voice sickeningly pleased rang out from the rim of the cup pressed to his lips.

"How many have you killed?"

He looked into her eyes, studying them, studying her face, so much so that it felt as though he had stared right through them, into her mind and soul.

"How many do you see, Isolde?"

"How many...?" She asked, brows furrowed, concerned and confused.

Any excitement etched in his face slowly faded back to his regular neutrality.

"Don't worry, it is still early. But back to the root of your question, we simply need the bodies."

"Wha-"

"Mister Strauss," Rosenthal interrupted through the door, "Rawsthorne has arrived. She says the preparations have been made, and we can leave at your earliest convenience."

"Ah, perfect timing! We'll, I assume since you knew of the Queen's kidnapping," He said to isolde, "you would have known of this too, and I assume you left behind an indication of sorts."

She remained silent, and so did he, watching her as she watched him in return.

"Someone you know made an appearance today, funnily enough, though it was unrelated. These obelisks are making quiet the splash amongst you knightly figures." He smiled slyly.

She perked up at the mention of someone she might know, "What did he look like?!"

"She, actually. Sorry to disappoint, but dark hair, small build, yellow gems in the armor she wore, she may fetch quiet a hefty sum..." He said thoughtfully.

"Gen...?" She said quietly, confusion on her face.

He heaved himself off from the seat with a groan and placed his still steaming tea aside, "Well, we have to be off Isolde. It was lovely to officially make your acquaintance, I am terribly sorry that you can not bathe or get a proper change of clothes beforehand, but I will give you a pair of shoes before we leave."

With that, he walked behind her to an area blocked out from her vision.

She heard the rattling of chains and the friction of them being pulled taught accompanied by the grinding of old gears.

With a shudder, the cage lifted from the floor, leaving behind railed dents in the carpet.

Rosenthal was waiting for her once it rose completely, arms neatly tucked behind his back and a pleasant expression on his weathered face.

He gently took her by the arms and guided her to her feet, making sure not to hurt her.

"That's it, Miss Esandolyn..."

She thought to struggle, thought to fend against the two men knowing she would emerge relatively unscathed, she was trained after all, but her hopes were shattered under his vice like grip.

Unnaturaly strong, he pressed her flesh to to her bone, and to her skin, he brought the cold point of a knife that whispered persuasive threats that warned her to stay put.

Two more people entered the room, dressed as though they were attending a cabaret, blacks and whites in cottons and silks.

They swarmed her, tightly holding on to her arms and clothes, dragging her by chains made of her own limbs.

"Let us be off, Isolde."