#and either way hundreds of people are dead on both sides and however you slice it that's a fucking tragedy

[thedreadvampy]

legitimately insane how to some people, "we should wipe out this ethnic group that we've violently constrained to a ghetto because they're just genetically more violent and dangerous" is a reasonable and justifiable statement but it's Nazi Rhetoric to say something like, "it's bad that Israeli civilians are being killed but acknowledging that as tragic includes acknowledging that the almost daily state-sanctioned murder of civilians by the Israeli government is also tragic and unacceptable"

btw guys speaking of Nazi shit - can we check in, alongside what's been done to Palestinians in the last 75 years, what's the Israeli government's take on the Azerbaijani government's newest round of ethnic cleansing of Armenians? oh are the Israeli government's actions maybe not determined by Jewish identity, but by a commitment to colonial supremacy which puts them on the same page as other violently genocidal states like Azerbaijan, the US, and the UK? god can you Even Imagine?

(framing speaking against Israeli war crimes as inherently antisemitic requires understanding the Israeli state as representing all Jewish people, when it doesn't even represent all Israelis.

framing Israeli war crimes as synonymous with Jewish identity is pretty fucked up if we're being honest. I don't think that controlling water and power and movement for a captive population and shooting children dead for throwing stones is an inherent value of Judaism, any more than I think the torture carried out at Guantanamo Bay is an inherent value of Christianity - in both cases they're atrocities carried out by a far right genocidal government using religious identity as a shield.

Calling statements like "Israel is committing genocide against the people it's displaced" inherently antisemitic is doing more to further the idea that all Jewish people are associated with Israel than saying "the Israeli government is doing war crimes," which is a statement of fact about a country that exists and does war crimes. Is criticism of Israel as a nation often used as cover for antisemitism? Absolutely. Does that mean the Israeli government isn't doing literal war crimes repeatedly, on record, while talking publicly about scrubbing an ethnic group off the map? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh well in the last 48 hours they've definitely cut off water and power to almost 600,000 civilians and allegedly used white phosphorus against civilians so in an extremely factual and unambiguous way yeah man those are Literal War Crimes whoever does them.)

#red said #sorry man saying 'it's bad to do genocide and war crimes' doesn't actually mean 'I'm happy when Jewish people die' #it means 'there is a context to Palestinian militants attacking Israelis which involves Palestinians being killed wounded or imprisoned #very nearly every day by the Israeli state and settlers. so no you can't treat a Palestinian attack on Israel as an unprecedented tragedy #without also recognising that Israeli forces have repeatedly visited attacks of similar magnitude on Palestine which is ALSO tragic #as well as the regular state-sanctioned murder of over 200 Palestinians in the 9 months BEFORE the Palestinian attack on Saturday #It means 'Palestinian lives don't matter less than Israeli lives' not 'Israeli lives don't matter' #this week is literally the FIRST TIME SINCE RECORDS BEGAN that more Israeli lives have been lost than Palestinian #bc for every year since 2000 orders of magnitude more palestinians than Israelis have been killed in this war #you don't get to say 'it's only bad when X ethnic group is killed it's GOOD to kill Y ethnic group' then accuse OTHERS of genocide apologis #it is legitimately a tragedy for Israeli civilians to be killed and wounded en masse. the people are not the nation. #but it's not less of a tragedy for Palestinians to have been killed and wounded en masse week after week for decades. #and when peaceful protest gets you shot and bombed and acting against the military gets you shot and bombed #and just existing doing nothing at all gets you shot and bombed. living near someone accused of terrorism. looking for your fucking cat. #when you're getting shot and bombed daily whatever you do. it's not surprising that sometimes people move to violence against civilians. #because as people from Gaza have said. better to die fighting for survival than die on your knees waiting. #which like. I'm not making a moral judgement one way or the other bc i am intrinsically disgusted by mass killing. as we all should be. #and this might be the movement which liberates Palestine and it might be the excuse which allows Israel to finish Palestine #and either way hundreds of people are dead on both sides and however you slice it that's a fucking tragedy #but we cannot. treat it as if Hamas' strike began the violence. and ignore the 200+ Palestinians killed by the IDF this year beforehand #Palestinian lives matter as much as Israeli lives. 700 Israeli citizens dead is a tragedy. 600 Palestinians dead is a tragedy. #and if you lay out the numbers from this weekend alone you can pretend that Israelis are getting decimated by Palestine. #but to do that you have to ignore the facts that for every 1 Israeli killed in the past decade 3 Palestinians die. #and that Israeli deaths happen in occasional outbursts of violence while Palestinian deaths happen every week #whether or not Hamas or any other Palestinian faction initiates violence

[blossomingimagines]

Fall Again

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff 

Word Count: 3,856

Summary:

Notes: I hope this what you were looking for.

Warnings: Depressive thoughts and talks of dying.

The faint sound of buzzing filled your ears as the man sitting before you droned on and on. His words are meaningless beyond the first sentence. ‘The tests came back positive, I’m sorry, you have cancer.’ Words that had instantly filled you with a certain hollowness you had never expected. As if your entire being tried to comprehend the words. As your mind tried to wrap itself around the idea that you were dying. Causing everything else to simply fade away into a static background. Simple white-noise to your predestined existence. Even still bits and pieces slice through like knives. Cutting you open to the world that you would never experience in the same way again. Leaving you exposed and bleeding without any semblance of protection. 

The sound of the hospital filtered through your ears. Shuffling of feet and the distant voices of doctors and nurses speaking to one another. An overabundance of cheer and hope floating through the halls like air, but you could now detect the underlying sense of despair. The darkness that festered beneath the light pretenses of the spotless halls. A feeling that only seemed to come to the dying. The beautiful lies become a painful truth. You simply stared straight ahead at all the degrees hanging proudly on the wall. All mocking you, because no matter how many awards your doctor may have-- nothing could ever truly cure you. Nothing could stop your body from tearing itself apart. Nothing could stop the suffering you were going to experience. His words mean nothing more to you than the mindless chatter you hear on the subway. 

‘I believe we caught it early, which is a good sign.’

‘You’re going to have to start radiation immediately.’

‘If we don’t get ahead of this thing… I’m afraid there’s not much else we can do.’

Turning, you finally meet the warm gaze of the man that was trying to save your life. Your mouth opens in hopes that your brain just knew what to say. That a few simple words would stop the spinning of the room. That your entire world would make sense again. 

Nothing came out. 

You simply stared at the man, with your mouth slightly open, as silence settled over the two of you. An oppressive silence that spoke more than either of you ever could. Brown eyes staring into yours with compassion and understanding. Lowering your head, you could feel the way your body seemed to wilt. Your shoulders slumping as you canted forward. Normally graceful hands, fumbling to get a grip on your knees. Anything to keep you anchored. To keep your thoughts on the current moment. On what was happening right now. You didn’t want them to stray to your future. To what you knew was coming for you. 

You didn’t want to think about the fact that you were dying. That you would be dead sooner than you ever thought possible. 

You had always known that with the life you lived you more than likely wouldn’t live to see your elder years. But you had always thought you would at least go out on your terms. Either a fire-fight where you were protecting your team or protecting innocent life. You had never thought that the true enemy all along was your own body. That it had been biding its time to finally land a crippling strike-- God did it land one. 

Closing your eyes, you try to stem the oncoming tears. You hated to cry in public when you were near strangers. You hated to look weak to people that didn’t know you. To people that would judge with their own preconceived notions. Nothing was going to stop the onslaught, however. Not as images of the ones you loved came flashing across your mind. 

Tony’s snarky voice filtering through your ears as if he was in the room with you. His teasing tone filling you with warmth. He always knew how to make you forget all your troubles. 

Steve’s warm smile as he looked up at you over the newspaper. His blue eyes crinkling with happiness as he offered you a mug of coffee. Having learned how you liked it long ago.

Bruce’s calming presence as he sat beside you as you read. A companionable warmth shared between the two of you.

Thor’s booming laugh as you told him a joke that you had heard. Easy conversation passing between you both as you shared joke after joke-- as well as ale, of course. 

Clint’s grin as you cooked together. His shoulder bumping into yours with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times over. 

Vision’s practical words always seemed to make you chuckle. As you always found his no-nonsense ways both endearing and amusing. 

Then Natasha and Wanda appeared and the choked feeling in your throat only grew. Their green eyes sparkling with all the love in the world. Wanda’s open grin filling you with the same amount of warmth as Natasha’s half-smile. The laughter that so easily flowed between the three of you. Your body naturally wedged between them both as you tried to get as close as possible-- though that never seemed to be close enough. 

Clenching your hands, you try to ignore the way your heart broke all over again. Try to ignore the fact that not only your heart was going to be broken by the end of the day. That the two women that held your heart had already lost too much. And now… they may lose you too. 

A simple fact that caused a choked sob to escape your mouth. You want nothing more than to go to a time where this was the simple case of the flu. When the only reason you had gone to the doctor was because of worried green eyes tracking you wherever you went. Even when you had done everything to reassure them that you were fine. Their worry, their fear, had been the tipping point. 

“How long?”

It took you a moment to realize you had been the one that spoke. As the voice that had broken through the silence sounded nothing like your own. It was weak… feeble… everything you strived not to be. And even as the question hung between the two of you, you weren’t sure you wanted an answer. You weren’t even sure what had caused you to ask in the first place. 

You weren’t sure about a lot of things anymore. 

“With what we’ve seen? I’m afraid that if you don’t start treatment as soon as possible you’ll be dead within a few months.” The words only cause your stomach to drop even more. “However, I am confident that we caught it early enough. That, with the treatment, you may be able to make a full recovery.” 

A sardonic smile twists your mouth. “And if I don’t? I’ll end up dying as something I’m not, right? A shell of who I used to be.” 

“Yes,” he agrees softly. “But would you rather take the chance of living? Or succumb to your body’s wishes of death?” 

His words echo like a mantra as you make your way back towards the Tower. Your eyes are taking in the landscape of New York City. The bustling of life that always permeated the streets. Whether it’s children pulling their parents excitedly to the next store or a businessman that was rushing to his next meeting-- New York City never seized in its constant state of motion. No matter what happened amid its confines nothing ever seemed to disturb that simple fact.

If you were to die tomorrow nothing would truly change. The shops would still open in the early recesses of the morning. Taxis and other means of transportation would still rush through the streets looking for passengers. There would still be the distant wails of ambulances on their way to the hospital. Life would go on as it always had. The world wouldn’t stand still simply because you were no longer in it. Even if yours had the moment you had heard the news. 

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you stand and follow the line of people that were getting off. Your feet touching the rough pavement of the sidewalk with a hollow thud. With your hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat, you make your way through the throngs of people. Ignoring some of the looks you received once people recognized who you were. You weren’t in the mood to socialize. You also weren’t in the mood to dismiss the people that looked up to you. You knew what it was like to be dismissed by the people who you used to idolize-- your own personal heroes. You didn’t want that to ever happen to anyone that felt the same way towards you. 

So, you just kept your head down and plowed through the bustling streets of New York. Towards the beckoning light of Avengers Tower. The great A situated on its side a beacon for home and safety. The dull echoing of your footsteps on the marble floor of the lobby as you bypass security. Your mind somewhere else entirely as you make your way up towards the communal floor of the Tower. Only the soft sound of the elevator pulled you out of your reverie. Announcing that you had arrived at your destination. 

Following the faint sounds of voices, your body follows the well-worn path to the kitchen. Taking in everything as you near the entrance-- trying to remember everything as it was before the fallout that you knew was about to happen. From the faint crack along the sidewall of the living room that had appeared when Thor had ‘tripped’ while playing Nerf Wars. To the many pictures that lined the walls-- from amusing candid's to group pictures from intimate affairs. The happiness that suffused the walls of the Tower was always present. 

You hated that you were about to taint it with the same underlying sense of darkness that the hospital held. Hated that your own body has betrayed you. 

You stop, just at the precipice of the room, and smile at what you see inside. Natasha at the counter cutting various vegetables while Clint stole as many as he could manage before she noticed. Steve at the stove as he continued on with a conversation with Bruce. Tony sitting at the island with a StarkPad in his hands-- no doubt tinkering with more ideas for the next Iron Man suit. Wanda and Vision were standing side-by-side as Wanda taught the android how to properly set the table. Laughter flowing between them all. It was a serene moment that you didn’t want to break. That you wanted to capture and live in forever, but all good things must come to an end eventually. 

It seems like this one had to the moment Vision noticed you standing at the doorway. His bright smile is an indicator that he was glad to see you. 

“I wasn’t aware you had returned. If I had I would have greeted you like I normally do, Y/N.” 

At the mention of your name, and Vision’s voice, the team turns and greets you with varying responses-- mostly cheers and grins. At their sudden attention, you take another step into the room. Offering a small smile towards Vision. Hoping that it would show that you didn’t mind he wasn’t waiting for you once you had returned. As you weren’t expecting to have lessons tonight either way. 

“It’s all right, Vis.” You shrug. “I wasn’t expecting you to.”

At your words, Vision’s eyes narrow ever-so-slightly as he detected the underlying stress that you were trying to hide. Something you knew he was about to comment on before Tony interrupted with a question directed towards the android. You never wanted to kiss a man more. 

Knowing that you needed to get some air, but not wanting to be rude, you turn towards Steve. “When will dinner be ready, Cap?” 

“Another thirty minutes,” he admits with a rueful smile. “It would have been finished sooner if Thor hadn’t eaten all the final touches for the meal. He’s out getting them right now.”

You flash a smile at him. “That’s all right, Steve. I think I’m going to go up and get changed. I feel a little grubby in these clothes.” 

He simply smiles back at you. Taking that as a sign to make a quick exit, you’re half-way out of the door before Bruce’s soft voice halts you. 

“So what did the doctor say?”

You shoot him a confused look over your shoulder. Trying to desperately appear neutral as all the attention of the room, once again, shifted towards you. 

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you go to the doctor today, má lásko?” Wanda steps from around the counter. A worried frown began to make its presence known on her beautiful face. The same expression that was starting to appear on Natasha’s. Something that you didn’t want at all. Your mind screeches at you to fix the situation you had suddenly found yourself in. You couldn’t tell them all right now. You could barely wrap your mind around it. You didn’t know if you could handle dealing with them trying to as well. 

“I have the flu,” you offer with a weak smile and a shrug. “A few days of rest and I should be as right as rain.” You turn your gaze towards Natasha and Wanda. Your eyes noticeably softening as you did so. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.” 

At your words, the team seemed to relax. The tense atmosphere, that you hadn’t even been aware of before now, dissipating as they all turned back to what they were doing. Sighing, softly, you quickly make your way out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards your room. 

Trying to ignore the feeling of two green gazes following you as you did so. 

The bright lights of New York City shone like the millions of stars that hung above it. Shimmering in the oncoming darkness that the night brought. The buildings, and the people, standing strong against the presence that many tried to avoid. Standing just beside the large window that made up a wall of your room, you could clearly see the nightcrawlers coming out down below. A completely different society awakening as the sun disappears behind the horizon. 

Having changed into fresh clothes, you felt slightly rejuvenated. As if the clothes you had been wearing were bars to a cell. Locking you in with the truth that you were trying desperately to come to terms with. Being out of them brought a small semblance of peace, of stability, that you had been searching for. The simple act allows your mind enough time to get its bearings once more. It may not have been the ground-breaking epiphany you were searching for but it was enough. For now. 

“Dorogoy?” A soft voice whispers from the entrance of the room. Your eyes slipping shut as the knowledge of their presence seeped into you. They have given you enough time to prepare yourself. You were a fool to think that they wouldn’t have noticed that something was wrong.

Turning, you meet their gazes with a tired smile. “Nat. Wanda. Is something the matter?” 

Your question causes both their eyes to flash. Whether it be in a warning or something else, you weren’t entirely sure. 

“I believe you have the answer to that question, Y/N,” Wanda says, her brow furrowing in concern. “We know that something is bothering you but we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what that is.” 

“We’re concerned,” Natasha admits, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Her green eyes shimmering with suppressed emotion as she stares at you. “What did the doctor really say to you?” 

A defeated feeling wells itself up in your chest. You know that you couldn’t lie to them. You had never been able to lie to them. Slumping forward, you move over to your bed and sit. A sigh escaping your mouth as they followed suit. Natasha settling on your right as Wanda settled on your left. Their hands immediately clasping yours in gentle, yet strong, holds. 

Your jaw clenches as you try to work up the courage to speak. Try to put the words you didn’t want to be true out there. To make them materialize as a reality instead of the nightmare you wished they were. 

“I have cancer.” 

The events that followed went by too fast for you to truly react. Natasha’s hands tightened around yours with a stricken look painting itself across her face. Wanda stood with fury written across her face, green eyes flashing red as she tried to control her powers, though you knew none of that fury was directed towards you. At least not yet. 

A soft hand on your cheek pulls your attention away from Wanda’s pacing. Your eyes taking in the pained expression on Natasha’s face. An almost desperate edge underlying it made you sick to your stomach. A quality that only resonated itself within her voice. Tears already forming in her emerald green orbs as reality came crashing down around you all. “They caught it early, right? There’s still a chance for you to beat it? Please tell me there’s still a chance. Tell us there’s still a chance to save you. That we won’t lose you.” 

Tears flow unbidden down your cheeks at her desperate pleas. At the faint sound of Wanda kneeling before you and pressing her forehead against your knees. The trembling you could clearly feel as her hands clasped onto your only available one. The tears you could already feel seeping through your leggings. You want nothing more than to take their pain away. To tell them that this was some horribly fucked up joke that Tony put you up to but you couldn’t. You couldn’t and that hurt you more than any bullet ever has. 

Your throat clenches around the words that try to escape your mouth. As you try to choke out the words through your despair. “Yes.” Natasha’s eyes lighten at your words and Wanda’s head raises from its position on your knees. “The doctor says that they caught it early but I’ll have to begin treatment right away.” 

“That’s good though, right?” Wanda murmurs, settling back onto her feet. Her wide eyes filled with so much hope. “You’ll just begin treatment and everything will be okay.”

At their expectant looks, you lower your gaze towards your lap. Your heart thudding against your chest as you tried to formulate what you wanted to say. But how could you tell the two people that made your life worth living that you weren’t going to have treatment? That you were letting everything rest and have the universe take its destined course. 

Your silence seemed to be all the answer Natasha needed, however. Her words filled with thinly-veiled fury. “You’re not going to go forward with the treatment.” 

“No.”

The silence that follows your feeble answer was even more oppressive than the one in the hospital. Both Natasha’s and Wanda’s hands tightening around yours as they processed your answer. Both their emotions heightening as each second ticked by. Swirling around the three of you like a vortex. Having them both stand suddenly pulls you out of your reverie. Your head snapping up to watch them both pace. Agitation is clear in each graceful movement of their bodies. 

Whipping around, Wanda snarls at you. “Why don’t you want treatment? It could save your life, Y/N.”

“And it could also make me a husk of who I am,” you cry, standing up from your bed. “We don’t know if the treatment will work and I refuse to die as something I’m not.”

“We don’t know that it will fail, Y/N.” Natasha cries back, equally as outraged as you were. “We don’t know what the future will hold. Except for the simple fact that you will die if you refuse treatment. It’s just a maybe right now.” 

Wanda steps forward with an anguished look on her face. “Please don’t sign your life away because of something you don’t even know will be the end result. Don’t make this into a certainty.” 

“Even if I do start treatment I will be completely useless to the team,” you hiss. “Who knows how long I’ll have to fight this until it goes into remission. I don’t want to be a burden on any of you.”

Natasha takes your face into her hands, her thumbs gently rubbing soothing circles on your cheeks. “Do you think they will care, Y/N? Do you think they won’t jump for joy when they find out that you’ve decided to fight? That they won’t be there for you every step of the way?”

“We’re a family, Y/N,” Wanda murmurs with a loving look shining in her eyes. “Family doesn’t let family fight their demons by themselves. You’re more to us, to them, than just a teammate. Nat and I love you with everything that we are. And you know the boys love you like a sister. They wouldn’t want you to just give up.”

“Yeah,” Natasha chuckles. “And I’m pretty sure you’re Vision’s surrogate mother.”

You laugh softly at her gentle teasing. Feeling warmth blossom in your chest for the first time since you had stepped foot in the hospital. “What about if I get too sick to take care of myself like I used to?” 

“We’ll be there, dorogoy,” Natasha whispers, one hand falling from your cheek as Wanda’s took its place. “When you fall we’ll always be there to pick you back up. Just like we know you’ll always be there for us.” 

Your eyes slip shut as the feeling of complete warmth and safety settles over you. Your world is finally beginning to make sense once more. Everything came back into focus as you were surrounded by Natasha and Wanda. The two people that knew how to set your heart on fire with emotions you never knew you could feel. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll begin treatment.” 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that they were smiling. Nor did you have to, to know that they were leading you towards the large bed. Easily pulling into the center with their bodies snugly pressed into both sides. Your nose nuzzling into Wanda’s neck as Natasha pressed herself firmly into your back. Both of their arms holding you in their warm embrace. 

All other thoughts slipping from your mind as you succumbed to the dark recesses of sleep. The only things that mattered were the two women that were holding you like you were the most valuable thing in the world to them. Their warmth better than anything a blanket could ever provide. The feeling of completeness overwhelming you as the darkness finally took hold. 

Your last thoughts being of the two women who would always be there to pick you back up again. 

No matter how many times you may fall.

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader x wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #marvel imagines #black widow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #fall again #avengers imagine #avengers #marvel

[janekfan]

for the bingo board, would you mind doing health scare with jon and the crew? i love your writing btw

Thank you so much!!! 

Uh, I filled this probably unconventionally? But I hope it’s okay!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514178

Jon first noticed something was off when he woke up shivering in the dead of night. But temperatures had been dropping steadily, there was no reason to think that it was anything other than the thin, poorly insulated walls of his flat causing the problem. Exhausted, Jon knuckled enough sleep from his eyes to retrieve another blanket, deciding before he slipped away again to wear a warmer cardigan tomorrow because the archives had a tendency to be chilly.

When Jon limped his way into the office the next day his joints were already burning and loose, feeling all too much like they’d been crushed into powder. He knew better than to walk that extra stop from the train but he was so embittered about his new, illustrious position as Head Archivist that being crammed like a sardine with hundreds of other people all but reading his mind, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t cut out for the work, was unbearable and he’d needed an escape. It wasn’t that bad; he was just tired from trying to fix Gertrude’s mess, that’s all. He just needed to redirect his attention away from the needles stabbing into him every time he took a step and focus on the mountain of files he had yet to sort through.

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how they were organized, but he had been able to use the dates scrawled across the tops of the stiff yellowing papers to get some semblance of a timeline going. That was where Jon found himself when Martin dropped off a cuppa, thanking him absentmindedly as he compared what was either a nine or a seven to another, clearer script.

“Um. Jon?”

“Hm?” It couldn’t matter that much and Jon filed them away in deference to the tea. Jon hadn’t realized how thirsty he was...what time was it?

“I. It’s half three.” Oh. “And I. I just haven’t seen you eat? Anything?”

“Oh.”

“You’re so busy, of course! It’s natural to get, uh, caught up! I could fix you something, if you’d like?”

“I’m.” Not hungry, that was for certain. Either the pain or the exhaustion was upsetting his stomach and the idea of eating right now was--

“Jon?” Maybe he’d eaten something gone off? Past the expiry?

“Oh. Um. Actually.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Some. Some toast would be lovely, Martin, thank you.” A bite or two would help and as strange as it felt to take Martin up on his offer, the slightest bit of tension bled out of his shoulders.

Things had been.

Tense.

Since he’d accepted the position.

It was clear, no, true, that Sasha was better deserving of the job. She had more experience, more knowledge, more everything and yet Elias had passed her right over, giving Jon the ridiculous choice to resign or take it.

He should have resigned.

Finding a new workplace would be easier than watching his friends pull away from him. He didn’t blame Tim for siding with Sasha. She needed support right now. And anything he could think of to say to her would make him sound ungrateful that he’d been selected over her. Couldn’t very well go up to her and admit that he hated this and wanted everything to go back to the way it was in Research, because she really did want it.

And he.

“Toast’s up.” Martin sidestepped into the room to place the small plate on the corner of the desk. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like with it so I got a few things!” Cheerful and bright, he placed the jams down with a small spoon. He couldn’t have known it was exactly the right thing to do, that dry toast was about all Jon was going to be able to manage. “Anything I can help with?” Tentative, it was no secret that Jon was prickly at the best of times.

“Ah, um.” Jon gestured to a box, repressed a flinch when it seemed like his shoulder would jump from its socket. “I’ve been organizing by the dates on the top? Just, just for something.”

“Got it.”

Jon made his way slowly through one slice, later agreeing with Martin that he’d gotten too caught up with work to think about the second.

Things didn’t improve.

Maybe it was this.

Maybe it was that.

Excuse after excuse, because anything would be better than what he knew in his heart this really was and finally late one evening Jon clutched the bed spread despite the fire flaring in his fingers and buried his face into the soft fabric. It was foolish; it wouldn’t change anything to be so upset and he should be better equipped to handle it considering these spells would continue happening. He breathed in, out, slow, measured, but instead of calming him, he burst into sobs, muffling himself in the sheets and crying despite the pain and as he lay there, coming down from his tears of frustration, Jon realized, accepted, what was happening. The reason for his fever, headaches, the increase in pain, the trouble eating, sleeping--

“You are fine.” He whispered repeatedly into the cold isolated dark of his bedroom. “It won’t last forever. It never does.” But it always felt like forever and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be this time. What mistake did he make to cause it, even though Jon knew deep down it didn’t matter. That these things came and went with the wind and no matter what habits he changed to try and mitigate it, it never mattered. It was as if he was only able to talk himself down in time for it to flare up again and the constant fight to convince himself he would be alright, that he would make it through again and again and again was exhausting because it meant he was done in before the day even began.

Jon’s body ached like one giant bruise, crushed, pulled apart, at once boneless and so heavy that moving out of bed was out of the question. Brain stuffed with cotton wool and foggy thoughts meant that to speak meant to hurt so he didn’t, knowing he came across as spiteful but he didn’t have the energy to explain, not when he was so focused on making it from train to Institute to door to stairs to office; each leg of such a routine journey worse than the last. Sitting up was an ordeal and Jon had to drag his stick and string self out of bed after each restless night with caution, lest he pull something loose out of place. Braces, tape, hidden, hiding, normal, normal, normal. How he could be so tired and still not be able to sleep at night was a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Greetings, pleasantries, small talk all standing in the way of Jon reaching his desk and taking a break from what was essentially waking up. But it hurt. It all hurt. And it made it all worse because they were already angry with him and they wouldn’t stop being angry at him unless he put work into mending their relationships and he couldn’t put work into it when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and be unconscious for however long it took until this all passed.

The worst part of it all was that he needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it. Not with the cold shoulders, the whispers, the looks. And he only had himself to blame. The desk phone caught his attention and Jon was surprised it wasn’t shrouded in a layer of dust, still weighing his choices. Call someone, probably Martin. Or drag himself out of his office. One would only wound his pride. Gingerly, Jon cradled the phone to his ear, licking chapped lips before dialing Martin’s extension.

“Oh, J’Jon?” He’d never called any of them before. “Uh, what can I do for you?” Thank god. Trust Martin’s helpful nature to override any other questions.

“Ah, Martin. Yes, thank you. If you could--” There was a scuffle, a yelp, muffled through his door, followed by the dramatic clearing of a throat and:

“You can’t hide in there all week, Jon!” Came Tim’s sing-song reply and the hang up was two fold; through the receiver and the clang of the thing on Martin’s desk. Jon took a deep breath, pushing back the emotions threatening to flood him, tipping his head back and begging the tears to stop.

Having to ask for help was almost impossible and the longer he waited to show his face, the worse it would be.

The only thing he’d accomplished by picking up the phone was to put himself on a time limit.

This was too overwhelming.

Their desks are meters away but it may as well have been kilometers with how much he was hurting. But Jon pushed himself to his unsteady feet anyway, wishing both that someone would just notice and that he was masking his symptoms enough that they wouldn’t. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave his cane behind. It took concentration to keep his expression neutral, to force himself to walk smoothly. To pretend it was a regular day.

“That’s a level ten scowl, boss.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’ve been so moody lately.” Tim looked up from where he was twiddling away on his phone. Taking a break, that’s all, nothing to be upset with even though he couldn’t help but compare the number of files stacked on their individual desks. Jon swallowed hard around the tangle of hot disappointment.

“I’ve b’been, uh. It’s well, it’s a lot.” He hadn’t heard Sasha come up behind him, tone droll and capricious and all too familiar these days.

“I thought you’d be happier considering your position.” When Jon laughed nervously, it was damp with suppressed emotion. “It’s like you didn’t even want it.” And good lord at this moment he’d never wanted it less. But how could he talk to her about how difficult this transition had been when he was the thief? So he didn’t defend himself, instead going along with their jokes at his expense, trying to explain what he’d tried to call for. It was difficult to breathe in their presence, it was difficult to stand. It was difficult to accept that his friends were actively making things harder.

How would they know?

Tell them.

They’ll think you’re lying.

You were fine the other day.

“I was hoping you’d help me collect some files.” Jon wrapped his pompous academic exterior around him like a shield and for a horrifying moment he thought Tim was going to tell him off.

“Why didn’t you say so, boss?” Sarcasm dripped like crude oil from each syllable. “You just tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Ah, j’just uh.” Jon pointed to what he needed in the stacks and Tim grunted with the weight of it, chuckling without mirth.

“Letting being the Big Boss go to your head are you?” He wiped a hand dramatically over his forehead. “Too shiftless to collect your own work?”

Why was he being so cruel?

“Too busy, I think you mean.” Jon shot back, letting anger and frustration seep through the continuously forming cracks. It was that or sob.

“Yeah, well. If you need anything else, you know where to find us.”

Jon absolutely refused to cry in his office.

It was stupid of him to not ask for help.

But he’d needed help with so many things this week past. Small things. Moving things. Carrying things. Things a normal person could do without constantly relying on others and the idea of parading himself into their midst again made his eyes sting with tears and his knees and hips burn. They hurt so much even with the bulky braces and sticky tape hidden beneath his trousers literally holding his joints together he didn’t think he’d be able to make another trip back and forth.

Which is how Jon found himself staring dumbly at his dangling arm for full seconds after trying to lift a box.

He’d dislocated his shoulder if the audible and sharp pop! was any indication and when the hot flush of agony hit he yelped mostly in surprise before controlling his fall to the floor. Someone was digging around in his shoulder socket with a superheated spoon as he writhed on the ground and he took just a moment to feel sorry for himself. He’d just wanted to do this one thing by himself and not have to surrender the tiny scrap of independence he’d been clinging to with his fingernails. Cursing himself for being so stupid and cursing himself again when his mewling brought all three of his assistants to his door, Jon looked up, feeling not unlike a beetle trapped on its back and waiting to be pinned. Now he was surrounded, in pain, under the glass of their frightened stares and he couldn’t spare the breath to tell them that he was fine. Just needed a moment to, to fit the puzzle pieces back together while he was being torn apart at his fragile seams.

“Boss--” A cacophony of panicked voices rising higher and higher and--

“Don’t!” They were reaching towards him, stopping at his tight command. “Don’t. I need. I--a minute. It’s fine.” Sweat streaked into the greying hair at his temples.

“This isn’t fine.” Tim sounded angry, scared, and Jon didn’t have enough in him to explain. Not right now. “Jon, you need--”

“Don’t tell me what I need!!” Surprising even himself with the vehement strength behind his declaration Jon put real effort into slowing his rapid breath. If he couldn’t control that, he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t control the situation. At some point he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, listening to the sound of Tim’s angry footsteps, Sasha’s following, their muffled voices upset and far away. He sensed Martin kneel beside him.

“Got you a cold cloth. Would you…?”

“P’please…” carried on the gust of his next exhale, the hum of relief stuck in his throat when Martin smoothed it over his eyes and it dulled the constant headache.

“You feel warm.”

“S’normal.” Martin was a surprising well of calm, not pressing or pushing or probing.

“Can I help?”

“In a, need another minute.” Experimentally Jon wiggled his fingers to check for numbness before trying to extend his arm and ultimately asking Martin for help.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, to make it worse.”

“Can’t. Not really. Just there.” Martin’s hands were soft and warm as he maneuvered his arm over his head, helping bend it at the elbow and Jon grunted at the sensation of it falling back into place with a cool wash of relief.

“Oh! Uh, better?”

“Much.”

“I’ll make you some tea.” As though it were the man’s answer to all ills.

Jon took his time sitting up and getting to his feet, grabbing his cane and making his way to the breakroom where he knew he’d find Tim and Sasha. They at least gave him time to get settled before Tim launched into his interrogation.

“What happened?” Jon squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, eyes downcast and focused on the glare of the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the surface of the tea Martin made him and glinting off the untouched foil backing of the paracetamol blister pack. His arm was in a sling. A sling he happened to have in his desk. A sling he happened to have in his desk “because this just happened sometimes.” The pain had decreased significantly but it didn’t feel right and probably wouldn’t for a while.

“I tried to lift a box.”

“A box.” Jon could really, really do without the incredulity.

“You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, because you never talk about it!”

“Because it’s always the same!” Jon didn’t mean to shout, but they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. And no amount of explaining or talking about his symptoms or complaining when he was hurting because he was always hurting would make a difference. “People don’t want to hear about it, Tim. It’s. It’s depressing.” They don’t believe me. “It makes people feel bad and then they get awkward. It’s easier for all of us if we just. Pretend.”

“Jon--”

“You’ve known since Research.” Jon wrapped sore arms around a sore stomach. “You know what these episodes look like, if not what it is.” And you didn’t care enough to even ask. It goes unsaid. Blaming Tim for something so far beyond his control wasn’t fair and Jon refused to do it.

Noticing would have been nice.

Not being forced to haul himself out to their desks to ask for help would have been nice. He understood they were acting out a bit of revenge and he didn’t blame them considering he’d stolen the job out from under Sasha. But it had been a blow to his pride all the same. Every time. Like being kicked when he was down.

Tears sprang to his eyes.

“And I. I don’t need. I don’t need to be coddled. But.” It felt stupid to say he wasn’t always able to walk between their desks and his office. He should be able to do that. It should be easy and he hated that it wasn’t. “I n’need to be allowed to, to.”

Leave. Leave here and never come back because he’d never felt worse than he did right now trying to beg his assistants for permission to use the phone.

“Call us.” Martin provided. “On the bad days.” Jon nodded, hiding his trembling lips behind the mug of cooling tea.

“Jon.” Tim sounded stricken. “I, I never meant--I.” Jon knew that. Tim was kind, had helped him when they worked upstairs together. But being punished like a child for saying yes-- “Jon.” He looked up to see that Tim was sitting across from him, hand outstretched on the table between them. Reaching. “Jon. I’m so, so sorry. That was. I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“I never. I didn’t say anything. You didn’t know.” It was Jon’s fault for being stubborn. It was Jon’s fault for not explaining.

“That’s no excuse for acting like a prat.” Jon ducked his head, embarrassment heating his face.

“I just. I chose y’you because.”

I trust you.

When Sasha sat beside him and bundled him into a gentle hug, that’s when the tears came in a biblical flood.

“Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.” She rested her chin atop his head and the relief outweighed the unprofessionalism as he let himself be held. “We’re going to be better, alright?”

“Al’alright.” Salt damp and trembling, Jon was too exhausted to worry about what they thought of his greatest secret.

Hours later Jon blinked awake, bleary and warm, on the couch, head in Sasha’s lap as she read through a case and wrapped up in one of Martin’s jumpers.

“Almost quittin’ time, boss.” Oh. “You okay to make it home?”

“Uh, y’yeah, yes.”

It was nice to be asked.

It was a bit like walking on eggshells, the first few days of them navigating Jon without smothering him but the support was a far cry from the isolation and loneliness he’d dealt with since this whole thing started.

And then finally it began to break; the pain that’d been ratcheted up to eleven finally started dying down to a more manageable five or six.

“Need anything while I’m up, Jon?” Sasha poked her head into his office on her way by, a familiar, easy smile on her face and one he’d missed dearly.

“Ah, no, I--oh. If it’s not too much trouble, Martin was working on a translation?”

“Sure thing.”

Simple as that.

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #gen #hurt comfort #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #Jon has a cane #Jon has EDS #chronic pain #chronic illness #internalized ableism

[lovelyirony]

#6 No ones going to hurt you or #5 Your safe now with winteriron pls!! Maybe post civil war? Or whatever you come up with♡

been a long time since this list has been on my dash! 

Bucky didn’t follow the rest of the team. He couldn’t, not when he didn’t know who the hell any of them were. Sure there was Steve, he knew Steve. But it was still like when you know you know somebody, you’re just not sure why. 

He sneaks out in the dead of the night with nothing but a note left behind. 

New York is a helluva place still. Everyone moving, rushing, and talking. There’s never silence, something he appreciates. 

He holes up in hotel rooms, slipping in and out of apartment buildings with ease. He’s not sure what he’s trying to do right now. Maybe find himself in a life that people say he lived. Maybe redefine himself. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to help Tony Stark escape what would’ve been an already unsuccessful mugging. 

Stark blinks at him. 

“You gonna kill me this time? I gotta say, an alley isn’t really ideal for me.” 

“What?” Bucky asks. “No, of course not. No one’s--I’m not gonna hurt you. Are you gonna kill me?” 

Tony cocks his head to the side. 

“Why would I do something like that?” 

“I can list off five reasons.” 

“And four of them would be Steve-related,” Tony mutters. “Speaking of, why aren’t you holed away with him and the team?” 

“I don’t know them as well as they want me to,” Bucky says. “And I don’t know myself as much as I think.” 

Tony nods. 

“Did they tell you about BARF?” 

“Well I’ve done it about a dozen or so times--” 

“Nope, not the gross one. Come with me. It’s science time.” 

Bucky is surprised when Tony leads him to a lab. It’s not cold or cynical. There’s a printed out picture of what looks to be a skeleton making a stupid joke. 

“Welcome,” Tony says. “Sorry about the pictures. Interns are trying to educate me on modern humor. Not going well. Anyways...” 

Bucky gets explained about a program that could potentially help him come to terms with the words. 

“I assume Wakanda offers a similar, more advanced program?” Tony asks. 

There’s no anger in his voice, not then. Bucky stills. 

“Why not go after them?” 

“If I’m being completely real, they’re not worth my time,” Tony says. “And besides, I have more things to do.” 

He doesn’t mention Siberia. Doesn’t mention anything. 

“Hey Ice Pop, where you staying at?” 

Bucky doesn’t want to lie. He also doesn’t want to let Stark know he’s been technically breaking-and-entering. 

“Some hotels.” 

“Yeah, no,” Tony says. “You’re not a good liar. Should’ve had you keep the mask, huh?” 

He’s not shying away from who he used to be. That’s...refreshing. 

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Could even bring you a matching one.” 

Tony barks out a laugh. 

“Thanks, but if you do I’ll be forced to use it. You’ll be hailed as a genius in Pepper’s eyes. No, you can stay at one of my smaller apartments around town. Let me get you the keys.” 

Tony says sometimes he just needs to sleep somewhere else. 

“Surrounded by a legacy is not as cool as you think,” Tony says, smiling sadly. 

Bucky nods, not sure what else to say.

-

Tony isn’t sure exactly why he’s doing this. God knows he should be telling everyone about Barnes being here, should be foaming at the mouth to destroy him. 

But Barnes left the team, went to New York. Didn’t even have a plan, just lived from room to room and kept out of sight. Tony had to say, he wasn’t expecting that from somebody like Barnes. He’s not sure what he was expecting in the first place. 

Pepper and Rhodey disapprove. 

“This is a terrible idea,” Rhodey says. “What if he comes back?” 

“He doesn’t know where Winter Wonderland is.” 

“Not hard to guess. He’s either gonna destroy Hydra bases or come back to where his home used to be,” Pepper says. “Anyone with half-a-brain could figure that.” 

“What if he kills you in your sleep?” Rhodey asks. “You know I’m not a light sleeper, I can’t help you.” 

“Friday has protocols in place and he won’t,” Tony says. “If he really wanted me dead, I would’ve been dead when the whole mugging thing happened.” 

“Wait, what?” 

Brunch is awkward on Sunday. Bucky was invited, came, and ordered the same thing as Pepper. They’re not sure what to talk about. 

“So, um, what is everyone’s opinion on yogurts?” Tony announces. “I, for one, think Greek yogurt is the best. If anyone says the flavor strawberry-banana is the best, die by my blade.” 

Rhodey cracks a grin. 

“Peach is the best, don’t you dare go against that.” 

“For people who went to MIT, both of you are stupid,” Pepper says. “Best flavor is strawberry, obviously.” 

Bucky pipes up. 

“Um. I like orange cream.” 

“Now that, right there? Absolutely not,” Tony says. “That’s disgusting. Absolutely abhorrent. No, we’re getting you better yogurt.” 

From there, Bucky gets closer to them. Of course he keeps himself at an arm’s length distance: he’s not an idiot. Just because Tony Stark let him into his life doesn’t mean he belongs there. Rhodey and Pepper give him enough looks and cautionary statements that he knows he is quite lucky to be there at all. 

It’s not until Pepper calls him and asks him to be an emergency “watcher” in a sense when Tony’s talking on a public platform that they get closer. 

Bucky hasn’t expected to be included in anything, and that’s completely fine with him. Tony’s already doing too much for him as it is, letting him live in a nice apartment and using truly revolutionary technology. 

So he’s surprised when Rhodey gives him a glance. 

“You eating pizza with us or not? We’re ordering pepperoni, if that’s your thing.” 

“You sure?” Bucky asks. “I don’t wanna intrude or anything.” 

“Rhodey wouldn’t bother asking if you weren’t welcome,” Tony says. “Just so you know. Come and eat really shitty pizza with us.” 

Bucky decides shitty pizza is the only way to have pizza, no matter what Pepper says. 

“I can’t believe you heathens ordered this,” she says with a sniff. She still eats four slices, however. 

Bucky laughs. 

The news is always...something. People are wondering where the Avengers went, and Bucky grips the arm of the chair as he remembers Siberia. 

Over and over, he apologizes. 

“Why?” Tony asks one night. “Why do you still keep apologizing? I said you were fine.” 

“You’re not fine,” Bucky says. “And I...I damaged the arc reactor. I fought you.” 

“You did it because Steve didn’t tell me about my parents and I took it out on you as well as him,” Tony says. “This isn’t all your fault, don’t put it all on your shoulders. I should know, that’s my specialty.” 

Bucky comes over a lot more after that. 

Tony knows that this shouldn’t have been the result. 

But he likes James. Likes him in the way that he learns how to make coffee and latte-art because it’s a small thing that Tony likes, but he can’t go out without getting hounded for questions about returns. 

Likes the way that he hums along to the radio and texts Tony about songs he hates and loves, the way he got excited over being able to make a playlist with hundreds of songs on it. 

The way they can handle each other, knowing the truth. 

It’s...odd. But not unexpected. 

(He just hopes Pepper and Rhodey don’t make fun of him the next time.) 

They do. ;

Relentlessly. 

“Leave it to you to get a crush on an ex-assassin,” Pepper says, snorting. “And you gave him a home and care first.” 

“Shut up,” Tony grumbles, resting his head on the table. “Not my fault.” 

“Your fault entirely,” Rhodey says. “How are you gonna ask him out?” 

“Why would I ask him out?” Tony asks. “He probably has way too much shit on his plate, he probably feels bad that he sort of killed my parents, and not to mention the whole Rogers issue.” 

“So?” Rhodey asks. “You ever let that stop you before? Worst comes to worst you just move on and have awkwardness for, like, a month. It can’t be as bad as that time you confessed you liked Tim in sophomore college year.” 

“Oh god,” Tony groaned. “That was the worst.” 

So he decides to ask about James. Because Rhodey is right, and life is too short. Besides, he’ll probably say no and Tony already has a suit lined up with a destination in mind, so it’s not like they’ll see each other that next week. 

James has gotten him takeout food. Oh god, he’s so sweet. 

Tony steels himself. “So, um, you may not want to do this, but? I really...really want to take you out. On a date. Not kill you. Jesus Christ, no, but um--shit.” 

He’s messed this up entirely. 

Bucky laughs. He smiles at Tony from where he’s standing at the kitchen. 

“If you wanted to kill me I would’ve expected a faster response in this last year, Tones. Yes, a date sounds nice. Are you sure about...about me? I mean...” 

“James, sweetheart, let me tell you about one ex that threatened world domination because I wouldn’t go to a movie with them after we broke up and they still terrify me more than you...” 

- 

Tony loves dating Bucky. The way that he smiles widely when getting even the smallest things. The way he loves to play music and dance around the kitchen and bump into Pepper and Rhodey, who laugh as they gently push them out of the way. 

The way they look at each other and it’s a little like a promise. The way Bucky is always holding onto part of him, keeping one of Tony’s battered, old tools by him at night when they’re apart. 

Sure, they’ll have to explain it at some point. God knows there’ll be disapproval. 

But Tony finds he doesn’t mind that if he gets to look at Bucky every single day and love the living hell out of him. 

#lovelyirony writes #holy SHIT this prompt was a hard one to write #i hope it's okay anon #winteriron #bucky barnes #tony stark #not team cap friendly #(as usual on this blog) #pepper potts #rhodey #anyways they're all Hilarious

[thekidultlife]

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate! AU (2)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 5.2k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 | CHAP 5 | CHAP 6 |

RIOTS AT THE PARLIAMENT by Jeon Wonwoo

The Porta Persa Edition, August 30

On the morning of the 29th, news of the passing of the reformed Soulmate bill in Parliament incurred throes of protesters in front of the building. Armed with handmade placards and their own voices, each were shouting the alleged corruptness rooted in the said decision. Effigies of the King and the Prime Minister were burned and branded as 'capitalist bootlickers'. According to the leader of the Free Will Movement, a student activist named Lee Chan, they all have gathered to voice out their overdue dissatisfaction in the government and its ineffective actions towards domestic and sexual violence. He says that people needed to be aware of the crimes committed under the name of the Soulmate bond.

What prompted these events was the case of Himi Gestalt who was murdered at her home June last year, a crime which was later on confessed to by the owner of Luce Trading Co., her husband and soulmate, Rene Gestalt. While the lower courts had deemed Mr. Gestalt guilty, further appeals were made in Higher Court where he was, instead, absolved of the crime. Motions were then made for the Parliament to amend the hundred-year-old Soulmate Bonding law, in order to prevent such incidents to happen again, and such amendment, after a year, has now been decided upon and passed for the prime minister and the King to sign. 

According to one Parliament member of the Santaragossa Assembly, Rep. Lee Jihoon, the bill has been decided with the intentions of the people in mind. In his opinion, while the bill may seem unsatisfactory to some, necessary changes to the proposed bill were made in order to form an agreeable consensus. 

The gathering of protesters however did not end peacefully, only dispersing after the Royal Guard appeared and tried to arrest the protesters. None were arrested yet most surely, some were injured in the process…

◇

The sun was high, the birds singing eagerly: it was time for lunch. As if separated from the troubles of the world by the tall wisteria trees and ancient walls of the Royal Academy, students leisurely attended to their hunger.

"I'd say you were lucky to get out of there," you remarked, pushing your homemade lemonade to Wonwoo, who drank it eagerly. 

"It wasn't really that intense, you know," he replied, shrugging.

"You're just too relaxed under pressure," Soonyoung answered back. "If I hadn't gotten your call and threw in a carriage for you, you would've been arrested."

The three of you shared a rather peaceful lunch together at the courtyard just after morning classes. In your uniforms and carefully prepared seafood pasta, the three of you chatted domestic affairs as if it were your love lives. It was definitely something you preferred more than the latter. 

"In my opinion though, the protests were well deserved," you started, "The Parliament couldn't even keep its own integrity with how they're trying to appease these corporations."

Wonwoo shrugged, "Well, they do have a motive. Some representatives are part of the sex trafficking scheme we talked about before: people who are powerful enough to tame the amendment. The Gestalt case was just the tip of the iceberg; an ugly head roaring out of the shadows." 

"How's your investigation going with that though?" Soonyoung asked, his eyes gazing seriously at the cooked scallop. 

"At a dead end. I better find new leads soon," he replied as he took a forkful of fettucini. "But I do believe it'll take some time." 

"That's true, but our newspaper is already under fire," you remarked solemnly. "We hardly have any time before they crack on us as well. Soonyoung's and your father's influence can't save us all the time."

The three of you sighed and nodded. 

"You think the monarchy is in this as well?" You asked.

"Maybe." Wonwoo shrugged again, glancing at the other male.

"I've seen the money trail go all the way up though, so it's possible," Soonyoung whispered, incharge of looking into the monetary accounts and the financial side of things. 

A shiver crept underneath your skin. 

"It's deeper than we initially thought. If we still want to go with this report, we really should be careful," you warned them, looking each into their eyes as they understood that this was no longer a silly impulse made by three university students. 

Silence passed the three of you. Only the sound of the breeze rustling through the colorful flowers adorning the surroundings could be heard, as well as the white noise of chatter and carefree laughter. The gravity of the situation finally weighed down on you three. 

"Right so, uh…" Soonyoung spoke, unable to tolerate the awkwardness and the tension around him. 

A sweatdrop on your cheek. "Right."

"I must say though, it was surprising that you have Lee Jihoon as your roommate," Wonwoo started with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

While he was usually stoic and silent, Wonwoo tends to be playful from time to time with his teasing, dad jokes and hit-or-miss puns. An intelligent individual, Wonwoo was your newspaper's government correspondence, lurking in the parliament or at the courts using his politician father's influence. 

"I don't see any wrong in that," you replied, rolling your eyes, a chicken panini on your hands.

"Well, for one, he's quite popular despite his abrasiveness," Wonwoo said as he adjusted his glasses. 

"He's a classmate of yours, right?" Soonyoung asked his bespectacled friend, now lying comfortably on the freshly trimmed lawn. 

"We share a few classes. Usually he's busy working so I see him more often when I sit on Parliament sessions, than inside the classroom."

The other male whistled. "I surely can't imagine having him as a roommate. He looks like a neat and orderly type of person. Does he even have a soulmate yet?" 

"Not much I can say. We rarely talk or even see each other and no opportunity has been provided for such  interactions," you remarked, tugging your sleeve down. 

"Regardless, girls in my class would kill for your position. Lee Jihoon, his power and his money is that popular." 

"I'd rather kill to have your dorm room!" The other male interjected, whining at how unfair the world was while you grinned at him.

"That's one reason I stayed, you know," you told him, getting a bite on a tomato slice. "As long as we mind our own business, there wasn't any problem to be honest." 

You definitely sighed at this, remembering another thing you have to keep your own business to, yet as soon as you recalled this certain memory though, you had it banished from your thoughts. 

"That is fortunate to hear then. I was contemplating that you would wish to change rooms," Wonwoo offered. "It's not that hard to talk to the administration."

"That's right! We can talk to the school for you~" Soonyoung chimed in.

You sighed. I'd rather not use your families' influence with something like this.

"You need not to worry. Lee Jihoon isn't that hard to live with. At most, we would exchange small greetings but that's all there is to it."

Your friends raised their brows. "Are you sure?"

Nodding without a word, you concisely ended the conversation about Lee Jihoon. Any more mention of his name might summon his presence in front of you three. 

"Oh, by the way, Y/N. For your next editorial, you're going to interview a few people in a soulmate bond, is that correct?" Wonwoo asked, looking into a leather bound journal in his hands, clearly his planner. 

"Yes, maybe after class. I've already contacted a few people to interview," you replied as you began to clean up. "This shouldn't be much of a task." 

"Wait! Y/N gets to interview people?!" Soonyoung suddenly cried, sitting up from his relaxed position on the grass. "While I have to look into shipment laws?!" 

"You do study International Trade, in case you've forgotten," Wonwoo, who was a Magical Law major replied, again adjusting his glasses. 

Soonyoung whined, and slumped back on the grass in his random dramatics. "Why do you guys study such cool things?" 

"You're an heir of a business empire."

"Besides, you like your major anyway. You're just being extra."

"Please stop bullying me!" 

Soonyoung complained, tackling you both to the ground. Bouts of laughter echoed across the courtyard as the three of you enjoyed days such as these. You wished it would just stay like this forever. 

It was almost a week after classes began and to say they were challenging was an understatement. The Academy was definitely not for slackers yet you still managed to balance it out with your responsibilities as a budding journalist, albeit with great effort. Every day's end left you exhausted even though you only had a few classes in your schedule, plus the amount of studying you had to do at night. 

Despite all that though, classes were very much enjoyable. The topics discussed were definitely right up your alley. Rather than a chore, studying has become a bit more interesting than before.

"Among the most ancient types of magic is the Soulmate Bond. It is as old as the mountains, older than the Kingdom of Porta Persa."

You sighed on your seat. This was the least interesting of them all. 

"Soulmate Bonds connect two people either through their thoughts, their emotions or their memories. These connections are essential to deepen this bond, even though these two people are inherently compatible with one another. Of course not all thoughts, emotions or memories can be transmitted through the connection. If there are no issues with the bond, then they are able to control whichever they wish to transmit."

Another sigh from you. This class was solely giving you a headache. The teacher was an old magus who, according to her, served under the King's Royal Magis for more than a quarter of her life. Now too old to actually perform duties, she was now teaching Ancient Magic History.

Nevertheless, the class was irritating and boring. 

'I wouldn't be surprised if you hated this class.'

Those weren't your thoughts. 

Pursing your lips, you adjusted your position on your seat and braced yourself.

'I thought we had already established rules? '

The other side of the line was silent for a while.

'The 'rules' merely state that you are uninterested in knowing a single thing about me, which of course, is fine by all means. But that doesn't mean I am prohibited wanting to know more about you.' 

Massaging your temples, you could feel a headache breaking out in a few moments. 

'You definitely know not a single thing about making rules.' Your soulmate continued. 

The problem with this bond, you realized, was that you can't actually hear their voice. It's just information arriving into your head that you know what they were saying. Your tampering neither helped nor stopped you from arriving at this situation at all. 

'Regardless of my rule-making capabilities, let me remind you what those rules were since you seemed to have forgotten all about it.' 

Propping your head on your arm as you pretended to take notes, you scowled at the air. 

'First, there shall be no communication between the two of us. I am unwilling to know you, to meet you, to share any of my thoughts to you.'

'Denied.'

You exhaled, exasperated.

'What do you mean by that? Didn't you agree to it before?'

'Well, I am no longer agreeing to it now. Besides, your little rules are obviously to your own benefit. I don't mind not meeting you, yet I propose I get to talk to you at certain times of the day.'

'The week. Make it two times a week.'

'Four times, out of seven days.' 

You clicked your tongue. You were totally unprepared for something like this. 

'Fine. Four times.'

You had a feeling your soulmate was smirking on the other side, much to your chagrin.

'Glad we can come to a consensus.' 

You knew you were not going to like them.

'I know you're just trying to make me fall for you.'

They were laughing on the other side, you didn't need to guess.

'I don't even need to try. You will fall for me eventually.'

A sudden need to defend yourself welled up inside you; their words wounding your pride. 

'Absolutely not.'  You bristled. 

'Whatever you say. There are reasons why the Universe brought us together, and even if you force it to bend to your will, it will simply backfire on you.' 

Completely livid, the only thing that was stopping you from blowing was the fact that you were in the middle of a class. Instead, you breathed in and out to calm yourself down. 

'Just from this conversation, I could already tell that the Universe has been largely mistaken in bringing us together. A person with no sense of agency and a total lack of concern for others would be the last person I shall prevail upon to marry.' 

You could already tell they were affected by your emotions by the way they bid time to compose themselves. 

'There are things that you can change while there are those which you cannot. You should know the difference.' They paused. 'Yet I doubt it. You can't even tell that I am a guy or anything about me for that matter.'

'I'm not interested--'

'Run while you can then. Though I'd assume you could hardly go that far anyway.' 

Wanting to defend yourself, he had only cut you off at every opportunity, leaving you hanging with your own words.

'I must apologize for taking so much of your time. Until then, my dear soulmate.'

As he spoke those last words with utter spite, like spitting on the ground, the communication went silent, leaving you embarrassed and furious in the middle of class. 

*

Obstinate. 

If there was one thing that Lee Jihoon wanted to do right now, it would definitely be something like plopping on his bed back in his dorm room and sleeping the rest of the century off.

That way, he wouldn't have to worry about mulish soulmates or fucking lobbyists. 

If it wasn't clear yet that he was exhausted right down to his very bones, then he didn't know how to express it anymore. His work was gratifying, sure. He liked creating proposals, he liked battling wits with other representatives, he liked things to get better in Porta Persa. But oftentimes, the risk reward ratio was just too unbalanced. 

He threw away the pair of glasses he was wearing onto the desk in front of him carelessly, allowing it to bump on the stacks of binders arranged neatly on top. Loosening his tie, he never thought it was this exhausting. 

Jihoon sighed.

The glistening horizontal bars around his wrist seemed to be mocking him; laughing at his rather peculiar situation. He definitely knew a few things about his soulmate just from the stray thoughts which enter his mind from time to time: student in the Academy, hates the soulmate bond with passion, probably a writer. With how brash she was, it was easy to deduce a bit of information.

"You are certainly mistaken."

Whispering to himself long after that conversation, it was as if he had been wounded by her words. If that was indeed the case, Jihoon gave no indication nor confirmation. He simply sat there in his office in the Parliament building, skipping his own classes. 

Removing him from his reverie, a small knock came at his door, only to see Jeon Wonwoo, a classmate of his, greeting him with a deadpan look. 

"Jihoon, I heard you were looking for me?" He asked, standing tall and adjusting his glasses.

The dark haired male sat up straight from his seat and glanced at Wonwoo, assessing the situation from his position, before he opened his drawer to place a newspaper on the table. 

He pushed the newspaper before Wonwoo and propped his head on an arm. 

"You and Kwon Soonyoung own this newspaper?" Jihoon asked, his voice devoid of any sort of emotion, a skill he had honed during countless hearings. 

The other stared at Jihoon for a while, weighing his words and planning what he was about to say. Wonwoo might be slow yet he was careful. 

"Soonyoung owns The Porta Persa Edition on paper, but I'm listed as co-founder. Why do you ask?" He finally answered. 

Yet underneath those words was another question unmentioned: 'Are you trying to set us up in a trap?'

Jihoon leaned against his chair, crossing his arms in and legs in a power position. Wonwoo knew the other was trying to intimidate him yet if Jihoon had known any better, Soonyoung would've reacted in his favor. 

"No reason in particular," Jihoon replied.

How dishonest. Wonwoo thought as he watched the other. 

"Though I must say, your Alex Fireflower sure has been quite provocative  over the recent months," he continued, side-eyeing Wonwoo.

"Alex Fireflower writes editorial pieces which are fundamentally their own opinions. It is up to the reader if they wish to be provoked," Wonwoo countered. What a long-winded introduction.

"I am well aware of that," he glared at Wonwoo, as the other remained poker-faced. "Yet that is not the reason why I asked of you." 

Wonwoo raised a questioning brow. Here it comes.

"I wanted to talk about the Gestalt case," Jihoon began, while Wonwoo looked at him with a look akin to surprise.

Did he just use his power to summon me so that we can talk about the Gestalt case? Wonwoo was perplexed and refused to believe there was no ulterior motive over this. 

"What about it?" Wonwoo asked. "I mean, it's quite straightforward." 

"Well, it is straightforward but I wanted to know your thoughts about it."

My thoughts? Is it because of the article I wrote?  The tall male was apprehensive yet answered nonetheless. 

"Rene Gestalt murdered his wife Himi Gestalt. The evidence was against the defendant and the verdict of the lower courts was sound. However I believe the higher court's decision was highly politicized, instead of objective weighing of evidence." 

Wonwoo dared not to mention any of the investigative work he was doing regarding that case and how far he had sunk deep into the mystery. He was wary of Lee Jihoon and what his motives were when he asked him about the case. 

"But that would mean that the Soulmate Bond is a faulty system if soulmates are able to murder each other," Jihoon replied, his expression hard but unreadable. 

"Yes, it is a faulty system. If I say so myself, Alex Fireflower is right by saying that if this system was indeed perfect in the first place, then why is there a need to have divorce laws and violence against women and children laws?"

Jihoon arched a brow at Wonwoo. 

"Then, do you think it is necessary to remove the Soulmate Bond all together?" He asked, fiddling with the glasses he had thrown on the table a little while ago. "You did say that it was a faulty system and Alex Fireflower, as I have read, seem to insinuate that we should be done with it."

Wonwoo felt a sweat drop down his cheek. This was really intimidation. If you were in his position what would you even do? You hated the whole thing and would've answered passionately, no matter how incomplete your logic was. If Wonwoo was indeed nervous, he didn't even try to show it. He was as level headed and cool as ever when he answered.

"What needs to be removed is the clear propaganda spread by this government by painting the bond as something perfect. Not the bond and all of its entirety. I believe that it has created millions of beautiful relationships, yet there are some which are less than perfect. Rather than making it seem like something complete, the soulmate bond is aiding us to a person who could help us grow into someone better and more mature."

Jihoon hummed at his reply, fully considering it.

"Then that would mean that the system itself is not faulty but the people who falsely interpret it as such," he snatched the newspaper on his desk and began folding it into half. "The government did no such thing as propaganda. If people wish to express the happiness they experienced due to the bond, we are in no position to stop such expression, as we are in no position to repress your freedom of expression in your little newspaper." 

Wonwoo almost sighed. It wasn't because Jihoon was a particularly brilliant debater, he was just good at disarming people and diverting topics at an alarming rate that Wonwoo, who was slow in reaction, cannot efficiently fend off.

"Then let's go back to the Gestalt case," Jihoon continued. "If the system is not inherently faulty, but the parties involved, then it is suffice to say that something went wrong between the two of them."

The taller male narrowed his eyes. "What are you implying then?" 

Jihoon made a paper fan out of the newspaper and began stroking his cheek with it as he prepared for his answer.

"If the bond is sound and properly working, then it would be virtually impossible to kill your soulmate who is basically your other half. It's suicide."

Wonwoo blinked, several times in fact. As Jihoon's last two words swirled inside his mind, he felt this door of darker unknowns opening up before him, ready to swallow him whole. How did...? Does Lee Jihoon know…?

On the other hand, Jihoon who was observing Wonwoo's reaction was smirking behind the paper fan. 

"It looks like we seem to agree on a few things about the Soulmate Bond," the darker haired male continued when Wonwoo gave no response. "However, your dear Alex Fireflower would gladly beg to differ, wouldn't they? Anyway, that's all I wish to ask. You're free to leave if there's nothing else." 

The politician was already dismissing Wonwoo who was still digesting everything that has happened, and has even more questions to ask. While that would be convenient, he was worried about placing himself in such a precarious position especially in the middle of his investigation with a new lead to work on. Deciding to leave it as it is for today, Wonwoo bid farewell.

"I'm glad to have this conversation with you Jihoon. I shall be excusing myself now," he finally said, turning around and walking towards the door.

However, as he was halfway out of the doorway, Jihoon stopped him. 

"While you're at it Wonwoo, I should warn you to be cautious. Calling the government as propagandists with no factual evidence can lead to libel cases, if I'm not mistaken," he told him. 

Making a wry smile as he went out, Wonwoo could feel Jihoon's intense stare at the nape of his neck like a panther ready to pounce. 

Now I know why I've been called. 

*

You could feel a sweatdrop roll down your cheek; a polite tight-lipped smile on your lips.

You were slowly descending into madness, being surrounded by all this madness.

"You know Y/N, meeting my soulmate was the most incredible experience I ever felt. The connection just appeared one day while I was buying groceries and finally meeting him was just...oh no, this is quite embarrassing."

The woman who was around her early thirties was gushing about her partner in front of you who was slowly detaching from the present moment. 

"I-I see...but, I mean, surely he wasn't what you were expecting, right? Are there times where you would think of someone else?" You tried once more, pen poised on your notepad. 

The woman, who was named Cecille, placed her hand on her chest and knitted her brows, seemingly offended by your question. 

"Oh dear, why would I do something like that? Philippe is my soulmate. What are you even implying by those questions?"

You made an awkward chuckle, hiding your growing embarrassment. 

"A-ah, is that so Madam? I can totally see the strong bond you have with your husband!"

There was really no escape. 

Sighing as you kicked a stray pebble on the street, you were so close to being kicked out of the woman's house. Crawling your way to finish the interview without crossing the line was kind of difficult. 

One last interview. 

"I'll ask Madam Ascott a few questions if that is alright?" You started, sitting comfortably on a garden chair as you interviewed your final respondent over late afternoon tea.

"Of course! I would be delighted!" She replied, her hair perfectly coifed, her posture restrained and polite. 

A young woman, Julie Ascott was once a lady of a noble house. However, according to your research, she had married a modest shipbuilder: her destined soulmate, now they are living a normal life by Porta Persa's busy docks where she manages their shipbuilding business. 

You glanced at her rather poised mannerisms. What a total one-eighty degree flip. 

"So, how are you Madam? I hope you have been doing well," you began, totally an amateur interviewer yet you could only blame your inexperience.

Fortunately, Madam Ascott did not notice or minded your awkwardness, instead she was cheerful and incredibly polite with you. 

"Thank you for asking, Y/N. I am actually doing quite well! We had built a steady clientele for our business over the years, creating a steady stream of income every year," she replied. "While I was a complete beginner at this when we started, I've been able to learn quite a lot!"

"That's good to hear! Shipbuilding is quite a good business to venture on, considering the booming trading industry," you responded, angling for your actual first question. "So, with all these going, did the soulmate bond help you in any way?"

Madam Ascott pondered for a while as she took a sip of tea, before answering you. 

"Well, I could say it helped a lot with the decision making. Since my husband and I have an emotional connection, we usually do not encounter moments of misunderstanding. If he or I feel like something is off, we would talk about it first before taking action. It's quite convenient, to be honest."

"Oh wow, being able to work as a team like that is actually something amazing. But I'm curious where it all began. We're things as smooth sailing as this even from the start?"

Now you were genuinely curious. You have never met a bonded person such as Madam Ascott, who in a sense, was more grounded than all the women you have interviewed all afternoon. 

Humming, she averted her gaze at the nearby window as she tried to reminisce memories a few years back.

"In all accounts, my family did not appreciate the bond I had with William. Even if it was destined and good at the eyes of society, marrying your first daughter to a commoner was teetering on a fine line between what is acceptable and unacceptable." 

You understood what she meant. While the Soulmate Bond offered a chance to rise in the class ladder, that would also mean there would be a few people going down. Social mobility has become easier yet that doesn't mean it is a truth easily swallowed.

"Truthfully speaking, I had been lucky. I was keen to leave nobility behind. William was at first, just a mere excuse. He was the most convenient escape available to me. Yet he understood what I felt then and supported me as my husband and my soulmate," Madam Ascott confessed, gazing at the palm of her hands. "This was not a love at first sight story if that is what you are looking for. I used him to gain my own freedom. William knew that yet he still accepted me. Maybe that's the reason why I fell in love with him." 

Blinking once, then twice, you felt a heavy toiling weight form inside of you. What a shame.

"It's truly amazing how it had worked out for you Madam. Maybe someday I'll be able to have something like that."

"Y/N, have you had your bond yet?" The Madam asked after taking a sip. 

You flushed immediately, hoping it wasn't as obvious to your interviewee's eyes. There was no way you could tell her.

"N-no...I still haven't," you replied, glad that you had strategically placed a wristwatch to hide the markings. 

Smiling at you, Madam Ascott placed her hand on yours and gave a tight squeeze. 

"Then I hope you don't mind a bit of unsolicited advice," she began, chuckling, "Soulmates aren't perfect, as much as there are no perfect people. Yet they come at the perfect time where both sides need each other to grow. People like that also enter our lives to teach us important lessons and then leave, yet soulmates are the ones who stay."

The weight inside you grew heavier, like a burden you could no longer ignore; a truth you had long ran away from. 

"Unlike what other people think, it isn't always about romance. You are bonded to a person who is fundamentally your other half. They would magnify your insecurities, your fears, your greatest flaws as a person, and force you to face them. That is what a soulmate truly is. Accept them and learn." 

*

The french doors were heavy as you entered the common room. 

It was already late in the evening, yet you couldn't feel any signs of hunger or fatigue. Rather, there was this deep dark void of emptiness inside you that you could not fathom. Afraid that if you take a look long enough, it would swallow you whole.

As you dropped your bag at the couch in front of the fireplace, that was the only time you noticed that your roommate was there in the room, sitting on an armchair, playing a cello. 

Both of you were silent as he observed, assessed your actions. Yet there was really nothing he could find notable. You had no drive to react to him in any particular way as you continued to stare into empty space.

Well, that is until you broke your silence.

"Jihoon, do you think it's possible to be friends with your soulmate and marry another?" 

You still refused to look at him, and instead gaze at the ornate white ceiling.

"Where did that even come from?" He asked, in the middle of a downbow. 

"Just curious."

"Good in theory but not in practice. Imagine yourself falling in love with a person who shares their thoughts, their feelings to someone else. I don't think that would feel good on your part. I could even call it unfair." 

"Does one really have to fall in love with their soulmate?" You asked another, now in a brooding mood.

"I don't think that's even a conscious choice. Soulmate bonds, by design of our magic system, are inherently romantic. You fall when you fall," Jihoon replied, now deciding to take a break on practicing.

"How then, do you know if you have fallen in love? What makes it different from infatuation?" 

For a while, both you and Jihoon exchanged glances. His dark chocolate orbs intensely stared at you as if trying to figure you out, nitpicking your words and your body language, until it simply became pure and unadulterated gazes. 

'Beautiful.'

Jihoon averted his gaze. It stopped. "I don't know."

Sighing, you nodded and marched towards your room. Passing by him, you bid him good night.

"I didn't know you played the cello, you know."

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 | CHAP 5 | CHAP 6 |

* A/N: Here’s chapter 2!! Chapter 3 comes out next week!! I’ll be taking a break from this for next next week, and instead 30 Nights with Lee Jihoon would be posted! Hopefully, I can return after that week!!  EDIT: CHAP 3 IS OUT!

-Hyeri

#seventeen #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fluff #the most convenient escape #chapter 2

[sourwolf-sterek32]

THIS MEANS WAR (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: It’s been nearly two years since the war with the Saviours ended. You and Daryl now ran the Sanctuary together and for once life was starting to look good. However, little did you know, your whole world was going to come crashing down around you very soon and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Jesus’ Twin Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Blood, guts, language (just usual twd warnings) 

Chapter 16-

By the time the sun was high in the sky, the four of you had been walking for nearly an hour through the woods before the familiar sounds of walkers groaning filled the air and you grinned. The herd was here. That was a start.

You indicated for the others to all keep quiet as you trekked further through the woods until you reached the edge of a cliff. You couldn't stop the grin spreading across your face as you crouched down beside the cliff face and looked down taking in the mass number of walkers milling around inside the quarry.

"Holy shit." One of the others gasped as they all knelt down beside you, taking in the herd of walkers below you. There had to be over a thousand walkers amongst that herd, what kind of people were willing to walk around amongst all those walkers? Just one slip up, one sneeze or one small cut on your arm that exposes blood and you're screwed. 

"See that road that spirals up around the quarry? There's an entrance just a few hundred metres to our left and another entrance on the other side of the quarry. They're the only way in and out." You explained, pointing towards the main roads that lead down into the steep quarry. "I have already planted dynamite inside the dirt by both entrances and marked them with spray paint. We blow the dynamite which should trigger a landslide and block up the roads, trapping the walkers and whisperers inside."

"That means we have to blow them both at the same time because if we blow one exit then the whisperers inside the herd will just escape through the other exit." Carol spoke up, but you shook your head.

"That's where Magna comes in with the sniper." You said, looking over at the other woman before looking back towards the quarry. "We blow the first dynamite together, then I will head over to the other road. It'll take me half an hour to get over there, I've already timed it. So, while I'm heading over there I need Magna with the sniper to take out any whisperers trying to escape through the last exit. While she's covering the other exit I need Yumiko and Carol to stay here with your bows and take down any whisperers that try and climb over the rubble and dirt." You explained, looking between the three women who all nodded taking in the information.

"The explosion should draw the herd so any walkers making their way towards the other exit in the other direction will obviously be Whisperers. But, what about the whisperers that aren't in the quarry? Like Alpha?" Magna asked, glancing over at you and you sighed. This was part of the plan that you hadn't told them yet and you knew they wouldn't like it.

"Once I blow the last exit, I'm going to wait until dark and then sneak into their camp." You informed and they all snapped their heads in your direction like you were crazy as you quickly raised your hands in surrender.

"I know. I know. But, I'm doing this last part alone. Once I blow the last exit and no more whisperers are trying to climb out the quarry then you guys pack up the gear and head back to the cabin. Grab your horses and the last of the supplies and go back to your communities. I will meet you all back at Kingdom once I'm done just in time to help everyone move to Hilltop." You explained, but it was clear that none of them liked the plan at all.

"You want us to just leave while you take on the rest of the Whisperers and Alpha?" Carol questioned in disbelief and you just nodded. You had a plan, it could work and if it didn't work... well if it didn't work then you didn't want the others around when shit hit the fan. You couldn't risk losing any of them.

"I know it sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. It will work, but I have to do it alone." You insisted, but they all just shook their heads as they stared at you in shock. "Please. Look, Carol, you've known me since the start. You were there when Glenn bought me and Rick into camp. You know me better than most, you have to trust me on this." You said, your voice almost pleading as you stared at the older woman.

"I don't like it. You saw what Alpha can do." Yumiko spoke up and you sighed, rubbing your face with your hands.

"That's why I need to do it. Her people killed my brother, they murdered him right in in front of me. I have to do this, with or without your support, I don't care, but I'm doing it." You stated, looking between the three women and they sighed, but slowly nodded. "Good, now let's go." You said, standing back up as you began walking along the cliff face towards the first exit.

It took a few minutes, but you eventually reached the entry to the road that spiralled down into the quarry. You used your bows to take down the few walkers stumbling around the start of the road before you instructed the others to all wait up the top. You quickly ran down the road until you spotted the familiar red 'x' you had spray painted and dug the dynamite up.

Within a few minutes, you had set the explosives up inside the wall with the extra long fuse sticking out as you took the lighter from your pocket and lit the fuse before you sprinted back up the road to where the others were.

"Come back a bit more. I don't know how much of the cliff face will get taken out in the explosion." You quickly instructed breathlessly as you ran back further away from the road and cliff face and not a minute later the dynamite exploded and the forest floor rumbled from below you.

You couldn't see it, but you heard the landslide as part of the cliff collapsed and after a few minutes you all began to make your way towards the edge and you chuckled in relief as you took in the now completely blocked road. There was no way walkers were getting out this way, you doubted any Whisperers would even be able to climb that the amount of rubble and debris now covering the road.

"I can't believe that actually worked." Magna commented and Yumiko hummed in agreement as you all stared down at the quarry.

"Alright. Carol, Yumiko, take down any Whisperers that try climb out. Magna, take out any Whisperers that try make a run for it out that exit." You instructed, pointing towards the other road on the other side of the quarry. "I'll see you guys back at Kingdom later. Be careful and leave once I blow the other road, these explosions will attract other walkers, so get out of here as soon as you can."

"I hate this, but be careful, okay? You better come back, Y/N. I'm not telling Daryl that his wife tried taking on Alpha alone and didn't come back. So, make sure you come back." Carol ordered and you nodded.

"I will, promise." You replied, hugging each of them before slinging the backpack from your shoulders containing the arrows and bullets before you disappeared through the woods.

It was easy enough to blow the other road and to your relief it worked perfectly as well. You could still hear the occasional gunshot from Magna's sniper, but after 20 minutes the gunshots stopped indicating that the group of them had left.

You stayed hidden, following the dirt track that lead from the quarry into the Whisperers camp in the middle of the woods. You had scouted that camp out weeks ago and you knew every tree and every rock in the area.

You remained hidden behind a bunch of bushes that had a clear line of sight to the dirt path where the whisperers would walk to and from the quarry. So, you stayed hidden and used your bow to take out the whisperers that either went to see what the explosions were or to swap shifts with the ones steering the herd.

Once the sun disappeared, you made your move. It was a full moon like you knew it would be, giving you clear vision as you snuck into their camp

Lydia had told you that most of them slept during the night while only a few stayed on watch and patrolled the area, so they were your first priority.

You stuck to the outskirts of their camp, taking mental notes of where everyone was sleeping as you pulled your machete out and silently snuck around the area. Lydia had told you were Alpha usually slept, away from the others, but you wanted to leave her for last.

You took out the guards from behind, covering their mouths with your hand while slicing their throats and quietly lowering their bodies to the ground, being careful to make any noise so you didn't wake up the other sleeping Whisperers.

Once the guards were taken care of, you began to go around to the sleeping Whisperers and started to take them out too. It reminded you of the time you took out the Saviours Satellite outpost in the middle of the night, killing them all in their sleep. That's where you got the idea from, it worked back then so you hoped Rick's idea would work now too.

"What the hell?" A voice suddenly shouted just as you pulled your machete from a Whisperer's head who you just stabbed in it's sleep. You quickly spun around to find one of the other Whisperers sitting up against a tree, his mask sitting in his lap as he stared at you with wide eyes.

Without hesitation you quickly tucked your machete away and drew your bow all within a couple seconds, giving him no time to respond as an arrow shot straight through his chest, but not before he let out an ear piercing scream.

"Shit." You cursed under your breath as you quickly nocked another arrow onto the string and turned around to the muffled voices of the remaining Whisperers. Five Whisperers were all standing up now, all of them without their masks as their eyes flashed between you and all the dead bodies scattered around the camp. 

Suddenly, they began to pull knives out from their sleeves, their eyes all focused on you and you sighed. Well, there goes your plan of staying silent.

Throwing your bow over your shoulder, you quickly pulled out your handgun strapped to your belt. You raised the gun in their direction as they all began to sprint towards you and you didn't waste any time as you pulled the hammer back and fired at the last remaining Whisperers.

You fired off three shots, killing three of them before the other two reached you. You only just managed to dodge their knives as you jumped backwards, but not before one of them knocked the gun from your hand as it toppled onto the dirt floor.

The two Whisperers didn't waste any time as they continued to charge at you and you only just pulled your bow out in time and used it as a shield to block their swings from the knifes. You kicked one of the Whisperers away causing him to fall backwards as you slammed the end of your bow into the head of the other, knocking him unconscious.

You quickly turned your attention towards the other Whisperer who was rushing to get to his feet as you nocked an arrow onto your bow and pulled the string back, barely using the sights as you bought the bow up and released the string watching as the arrow speared through the mans neck.

You reloaded your bow and fired an arrow into the unconscious Whisperers head, so he wouldn't wake up and try kill you. But, just as you released the string killing the last Whisperer the sound of a gun cocking filled the air. You knew that sound. That was the sound of Alpha's sawn-off shotgun. You were so fucked.

Slowly you turned around as you lowered your bow, knowing you'd be fighting a losing battle if you went against her shotgun with a bow and arrow. You barely had a second to look at the woman as you turned around, just getting a glimpse of her shocked and angry expression before she pulled the trigger.

Sudden pain exploded through your left thigh causing you to stagger back a few steps before falling backwards, your legs unable to hold you up as you dropped your bow and hit the ground. The pain flared through your thigh like it was on fire and you looked down in shock to find blood seeping through your jeans that was covered in small holes from the shotgun pellets.

You could see the pellets stuck in your skin through the holes in your jeans that was saturated in blood. There had to be over 10 pellets stuck in your thigh and if you weren't in so much pain you would have been relieved that it was sawn-off shotgun and that Alpha was standing a fair distance away because if she was standing any closer or had a normal shotgun, you would've been dead in an instant. Although, right now, you weren't entirely sure you weren't dying.

"Fuck." You groaned, dropping your head back down against the ground as you stared up at the sky towards the tree tops, black dots slowly clouding your vision before everything turned black.

-

"Why are you lying on the floor?" A familiar voice questioned and slowly you opened your eyes as you stared up a blurry ceiling and blinked a few times. "Hey, I asked you a question, sis." The voice said again and you froze.

You quickly sat up and looked around the room in confusion quickly realising that it was the apartment building you and Paul lived in with your friends before the world changed. But, before you could even say anything a figure sitting on the couch caught your attention and your eyes went wide in shock.

"Paul?" You questioned, staring at your brother who was sitting with his legs crossed on the end of the couch. His hair was a little shorter, just above his shoulders, but he still sported the same beard and dirty grey beanie.

"Looks like you got yourself into some trouble." Your brother observed, nodding towards you legs and you looked down spotting the shotgun pellets in your thigh under your bloodied jeans. You frowned staring at you leg for a second as you stood up and put weight on it, but it didn't hurt. You couldn't even feel it.

"Am I dead?" You asked in confusion, looking back over at your brother who chuckled and shook his head. "But you are... I saw you die.... I had to bury you and I-I..." You trailed off, tears rising in your eyes.

"I know, it's okay." He responded, standing up from the couch, but you just shook your head.

"No, it's not. How can that be okay? You're my brother, you're the only family I ever had and..." You trailed off again, shaking your head at yourself as Paul quickly closed the distance between the two of you and pulled you into a hug.

"It's okay." He whispered, his arms tightening around you as you cried into him. "It was my time and I played my part. It's okay."

"I miss you so much." You whimpered, wrapping your arms over his shoulders as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, not even caring that his hair was getting in your face.

"I miss you too, sis. But, it's time to wake up, you still have a life to live." He said, pulling away from you, but he kept his hands on your shoulders as he stared into your teary eyes.

"How? How do I move on with my life when the worst thing has happened? I can't do this without you." You whispered, but Paul just smiled as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"You're my twin sister and we'll always be siblings and I'll always be with you, Y/N. No matter what." He said, brushing the hair out of your face.

"No matter what." You repeated causing Paul to smile as he nodded and took a step back.

"Now, you need to wake." He instructed, his tone turning serious before everything turned black.

When you opened your eyes again, you weren't staring at the ceiling to your apartment, you were staring at the full moon peaking out between the tree tops, but the second you tried to move sudden pair erupted through your left leg. Well, you were definitely awake now.

"You come in here, slaughter my people while they sleep and think you can get away with it?" Alpha's voice questioned and you glanced to your left to find her still standing where she had been earlier, the shotgun hanging low in her hands.

"You left out the part about trapping your herd in the quarry." You commented through gritted teeth and the look on the woman's face just made the whole thing worth it as her eyes narrowed in your direction.

Pain skyrocketed through your thigh as you forced yourself to stand up. Trying to keep the pressure off it and for a moment you thought you were just going to fall over again, but you managed to keep your footing as you stood up straight and sized the woman up.

"You really think you can beat me?" She questioned in disbelief and you just shrugged.

"Put down the gun and prove how strong you are." You challenged, knowing it was the only way you might have a shot at actually beating her. One more shot from that shotgun and you were done for, but to your relief the woman just nodded, tossing her weapon to the side as she began to walk over to you.

You were so shocked that she actually threw the gun away that you didn't even have a moment to prepare yourself as her fist collided against the side of your face, sending you stumbling back a few steps.

Pain flared across your cheek, but it was nothing compared to the searing pair in your thigh as you managed to keep yourself standing.

"This is just pathetic. Surely you knew that your plan was suicide. Why come here and risk everything to try and kill me?" Alpha asked curiously, cracking her knuckles as she began to walk towards you again, but this time you were ready.

The moment her fist reared back, you ducked and slammed your own fist against her stomach before punching her in the face and despite the pain it caused your leg, you grinned watching the woman drop to the ground. 

"You took everything from me." You growled, forcing yourself to stand up straight as Alpha struggled to get to her feet.

"I don't even know who you are." Alpha scoffed, getting to her feet as she pulled a knife from her belt.

"You will." You responded, pulling out your brothers sword that you still had attached to your belt as you held it out in front of you and sudden realisation flashed across Alpha's face.

"Wait, you were there when that ninja guy died in the cemetery, right? I remember you. I remember watching when you fell apart the second my man stabbed your friend through the heart. I remember hearing you scream like it was you who actually got stabbed, but it wasn't. It was that ninja guy." Alpha explained, clearly realising that she hit a nerve as she grinned.

"His name was Paul Rovia and he was my twin brother. He was the leader of Hilltop. He was a good man and your people killed him!" You yelled, your hands tightening around your brother's sword as angry tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

"Actually, I killed him. I gave the order to kill. Your brother died because of me." She stated and for a moment you just stood there as you tried to process what she just said, but a second later all you saw was red as you charged.

The pain in your leg not even registering as you sprinted towards her, grabbing her arm with your free hand just in time to stop her from stabbing you. You squeezed your hand around her wrist tightly causing her to drop the knife with a gasp of pain.

"This is for Enid. For Tara. For Henry. For everyone you have ever hurt and killed, this is for them." You said and in a split second you twisted her arm up behind her back, ignoring her pleading to let her go as you held her body in front of you.

"And this..." You began to say as you stabbed the sword into Alpha's back and through her heart until the end of the blade was sticking out her chest as you leant forward until your mouth was beside her ear. "...this is for my brother." You whispered, pulling the sword out as you took a step back and watched as her body dropped to the ground, dead.

For a moment you contemplated on letting her turn, but she liked the walkers. She liked pretending to be one, she liked living amongst them. So, you weren't going to give her the luxury of ever becoming one.

You limped back over to your bow and quiver that was lying on the ground, picking them up as you slung your quiver over your shoulder before nocking an arrow onto the string. Once you were standing above her body, you drew the bow back aiming at her face from point blank and released the string as the arrow shot through her eye socket. It was over. The Whisperers were dead.

-

NEXT CHAPTER

-

A/N- Link in bio for the Masterlist, I will reblog with Daryl Dixon tag list, if you want to be added to the list just comment below.

Well, I’m back. Sorry for going MIA for a while guys, but I’m back and there is only one more chapter left! I hope you guys are liking this fic and I promise you won’t have to wait long for the final chapter. 

Until next time, stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

#Daryl Dixon #The Walking Dead #Daryl Dixon x reader #twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #Norman Reedus #paul rovia

[dean-charleschapman]

The Cut That Always Bleeds

Castor x reader

Requested: Yes / No

Summary: You are one of Pilgrim’s Acolytes alongside Castor and Nix. This fic takes place during the end of season two and covers some of the events of season three, but has an alternative ending and many added scenes. Sorry about the occasional use of direct dialogue from the show, but in some cases it was unavoidable (I tweaked a lot of it to include the reader)

Warnings: lots of angst, language, violence, self-harm (you know how The Gift works). It's also fluffy if you can believe it

Word count: ~18.7k (I’m so sorry)

A/N: No one else was going to do it, so I took it upon myself to write a Castor fanfic. God himself tasked me with this, I had no choice so here we are. Also Castor doesn't die in this and I refuse to accept that he isn't alive and happy and cured :))) This is way longer and way darker than I had planned, but I wanted to feed the masses.

*To skip some of the violence, start on the third paragraph  

     Out of the corner of your eye you see another flash of tarnished silver, barely missing your cheek as you dodge the blade. You spin around and impale your attacker, immediately moving on to the next as their body slides off your sword onto the blood-stained ground. Everything around you is a blur of crimson and black, your mind clouded by the heat of battle as you slice through body after body, letting the Gift control your actions and allowing the power pulsing through your veins to fill you to the brim. Intermingled with the scent of blood and sweat is the stench of the muddy riverbed you are fighting on, the soft brown earth now pitted with deep score marks and pools of blood as more and more die at the hands of you and the other Dark Ones. The mud makes fighting more difficult, causing your feet to slip trying to find stability as you twist and leap among the slashing weapons, but it is not nearly as much of an inconvenience to you as it is to your opponents. Your Gift makes you stronger and more agile than them, so you use the slippery terrain to your advantage, only touching the ground for a moment before leaping up again and slashing through the armor of the fighters surrounding you as they clumsily attempt to reach you with their swords.

     You are battling a group of pirates who you had unfortunately crossed paths with at a bend in the river on your journey to find Azra, and despite you being vastly outnumbered, they are already on the verge of surrender. You quickly scan your surroundings to count the number of remaining pirates, and feel a wave of triumph as you see that there are only about twelve still on their feet. This is going to be easy, you think to yourself as you watch Nix slit the throat of a bearded man wielding a studded club. Your eyes flash to Castor as he throws off a large, heavily armored pirate who had lunged at him from behind and sinks his blade deep into the man’s chest, killing him instantly. He looks back at you and you meet his gaze, twitching an eyebrow upwards in a silent question. He responds with a small nod and is again swept up into battle with a lithe woman wearing a cape made of various skins. After the silent confirmation that he doesn’t need your help, you move to join Nix in extinguishing the surviving pirates. The two of you easily overpower them, and in no more than 30 seconds you stand in the center of a ring of dead bodies, fresh blood spattered across your skin. You can feel it dripping like sweat from your forehead and arms, and you blink it away from your eyes with a grimace. Fighting comes naturally to you, and you aren't bothered by the violence, but you will never enjoy the lingering scent and taste of blood on your skin. No matter how much you scrub yourself down, you doubt you will ever feel truly clean again.

     You turn your head at the sound of footsteps approaching and see Pilgrim slowly walking towards the three of you from the roadside where he had stopped the convoy of vehicles. Nix and Castor stand at either side of you as Pilgrim sweeps his gaze over the battle scene. 

     “Well done, my children. You have protected the lives of hundreds of our followers today, and the route of this river will lead our people to better lands. Now go inside, you must rest. We have a long journey ahead of us,” he speaks in a low, rumbling voice.

     The three of you dip your heads respectfully and follow him back to the road, leaving behind the bodies of the pirates to enrich the soil and soak the earth with their blood.

     You feel Castor’s arm brush against yours and you catch his eye again, shooting him a soft smile. It falters however when you notice the blood trickling from the side of his face. The fresh cut on his cheek from activating his Gift is still bleeding, and you have to fight the urge to wipe it off. You glance down at your own cut, already healed and blending with the hundreds of other scars across your arms. This only deepens your concern, and you look back up at Castor, checking for other injuries. He gives you a questioning smile and you shake your head, not wanting to reveal your worries.

     In the past few weeks you had noticed Castor faltering more often during fights, his Gift disappearing for a moment and his eyes clearing to reveal the striking blue that belonged to his gentler side. That side didn't belong in battle, and you never missed the flash of panic that swept through them as he realized what was happening. It scared you more than you wanted to admit, and you could tell he was trying hard to hide his own fear. He would never confess to being injured; he was always so stubborn and strong, and you knew that pity from you or Nix would only anger him.

     You reach the front of the convoy and climb into the back of Pilgrim’s car, immediately feeling comforted by the colorful fabrics that surround you on all sides and wrap your mind in a calming blend of blue and purple. Castor brushes past you through the curtains enveloping the mouth of your makeshift room and you sit on the cushioned bench, running your hands over the beads woven into the pillows. Sunlight filters into the otherwise dark room from the single window at the back of the car, staining your faces yellow through the strips of colored glass adorning the opening. 

     Nix stays beside Pilgrim at the front of the car to keep watch, and you shift in your seat to face Castor. He has taken his usual spot on the bench nearest to the window and is staring out the glass with a tense expression, watching the hundreds of other cars trailing after you. You furrow your brows, trying to pick up on any obvious signs of pain and promising to yourself that you will keep a better eye on him in future battles whether he likes it or not.

     Castor blinks and turns his head to look back at you, awoken from his daze by the feeling of your eyes on him. You don’t look away, instead meeting his piercing blue stare with a knowing expression. He frowns and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the harsh words that will likely follow you voicing your concerns over him.

     “I can tell when you’re hurt, Castor,” you say pointedly, your eyes holding him frozen in place on the bench.

     “I’m fine,” his frown deepens, the crease between his brows becoming more prominent.

     “No, you’re not. Your cut should have healed by now, and I’ve never seen you this tired after a battle,” you press, moving to sit beside him so he can’t ignore you.

     “I must’ve just cut myself deeper than usual by accident. It’s nothing,” he brushes you off, wiping at his cheek. His hand does nothing but smear more red streaks across his face, and you gently grab his wrist, stopping him.

     “Y/N-” he gives you a warning look as you bring your hand to his cheek, pressing a finger to the cut and closing your eyes. You search inside you for the healing energy that the Gift has blessed you with, and you focus on drawing it out and spreading it to the tips of your fingers. You feel it climb to the surface, glowing beneath your skin and burning the pads of your fingers as you brush them against his face and close the angry red line that mars his pale features. You feel your own life energy seeping from your hand into him and filling his muscles with a rejuvenating strength. You breathe out a deep sigh and open your eyes, suddenly feeling tired and lightheaded. The effects of using the Gift to heal someone else dampen your senses and your hand falls from Castor’s cheek to your lap.

     Castor is looking at you with a mixture of anger and concern, and you reach out a hand to search for his, your fingers trembling from the effort of using your powers. 

     “Promise me you won’t do that again,” he says sharply, but his tone is contradicted by the softness in which he allows you to hold his hand, his palm warm underneath yours.

     “I’ll do it as many times as I have to,” you reply, eyelids fluttering as you fight the darkness that creeps into the corners of your vision, your ears ringing slightly as you try to focus on your surroundings.

     “Please, Y/N. You can’t use your Gift to heal others, it takes too much of your energy. Azra is still a long ways away and I’m not going there without you,” his glare softens and he tightens his grip on your hand, causing you to blink up at him in surprise.

     “What do you mean? I’m stronger than I look, Cass. There’s no way I’m letting you see Azra without me,” you tease, your heart warming as his mouth twitches into a smile at the nickname.

     “I know you are, but I don’t need you wasting your Gift on me. I’m fine, really,” his mouth returns to the serious frown that you had grown used to over the past few months.

     “You don’t have to lie to me, Cass, I can help you, I-,” your voice raises, and he turns to you and takes both of your hands, his firm expression making you stop mid sentence.

     “I’m telling the truth. I’ve spoken with Pilgrim and he said that as long as I don't overuse my Gift, I’ll be okay. You worry too much, Y/N. Not everything is as bad as it seems.”

     “Alright...but Pilgrim doesn't know everything about the Gift, even if he can control ours. He doesn't have it, and as long as I do I’m going to use it to help people,” you concede after a pause, your limbs growing heavy against the cushions as your body begins to succumb to the fatigue of overexerting your powers.

     Castor smiles softly, “I know, you’ve never been a selfish person. But don’t doubt Pilgrim, if he hears you saying things like that he won’t be very forgiving.”

     You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes close as sleep washes over you and clouds your mind. As if you lived on another plane of existence, you feel your body being moved and pillows placed under you in the fog of your unconsciousness. A hand brushes across your forehead and you drift even further into your dreams, the low rumble of the engine below you easing you into a world where there is nothing but a vast, welcoming darkness.

     You are awakened by a loud hissing coming from the vehicle, and you struggle to sit up, your head bumping against the wall of the car as it lurches across the uneven landscape. A whisper of angry, hushed voices drifts into your ears from the front of the car, and you glance around the interior, realizing that you are alone in the small room. 

     “Castor, you must listen to me. You, Nix, and Y/N were given the Gift by the power of the Gods, and your life is not your own anymore. We must all serve a greater purpose; even I have no control over what I do, it simply must be done. We cannot have any distractions, do you understand, my boy?” you recognize the deep voice of Pilgrim, and you strain to hear what he is talking about.

     “...Yes, Pilgrim.” A quiet response from Castor.

     What did Pilgrim mean by that? you think to yourself, a seed of worry planting inside your gut and wedging itself between your ribs like a burr.

     The car releases another strident hiss and you feel the engine shudder violently, the vehicle crawling to a stop. You get up and lean out of the threshold, casting a confused glance towards Castor, who is now standing outside the car beside Nix and Pilgrim. He shrugs in response and walks to the rear of the automobile to find the source of the hissing, and you hop off of the stalled machine, following him.

     As you pass you feel Pilgrim’s eyes boring into you, and when you meet them, you are greeted with an emotion that makes the doubt in your stomach grow and twist painfully. You push it back down and focus on the task at hand, kneeling beside Castor to inspect the wheels.

     “What was that about?” you whisper to him, glancing back towards Pilgrim.

     “What? Oh, nothing important. He was just reminding me to keep a lookout for more pirates, they run their boats all along this river,” he doesn't meet your eyes and you bite back an angry retort. 

     Bullshit. Why is he lying to me all of a sudden? You shift your weight on your heels and frown as you continue to examine the car, angry at Castor for hiding things from you. He used to tell you everything; you were closer with him than any of the other members of Pilgrim’s group. The two of you had been together since you could hardly lift a sword, with Nix joining shortly after you began training. You could read him better than anyone, but he had been shutting you out at every mention of the Gift, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn't force him to talk if he wasn't willing. 

     Your hand runs over a large tear in the front left tire, and you can feel a steady stream of air coming from the opening. “I found what caused the car to stop,” you call back to Castor, standing and brushing the dirt from your legs.

     “What is it?” he calls back, getting the box of tools from inside.

     “We’ve torn one of the tires. We’re going to have to patch it up unless we find a spare in this wasteland.”

     “There’s tape in here somewhere, show me the hole,” he leans down next to you, repeating your action of running a hand over the rough wheel. He digs around in the toolkit for a few moments before pulling out a thick roll of black tape. You leave him to fix the tire and approach Pilgrim, contemplating how to ask him about his earlier conversation with Castor.

     “How are you, Dear One?” he greets you, his deep, commanding voice filling your head and reminding you of why Castor had warned you not to question him.

     “I’m fine, Pilgrim, although I can’t say the same about Castor. I know he talked to you, but are you sure that nothing is wrong?” His gaze hardens at your inquiry, and you swallow your next breath.

     “Are you questioning my knowledge of the Gift, child?”

     “Of course not, Pilgrim. I’m only worried for Castor’s health.”

     “Then you must believe what he has told you. Nothing is amiss, and the more you use your energy for others the less likely you will be to rise to a higher power when the time comes. Do not worry about Castor, Fate will ensure his recovery in time. We must all place our focus on reaching Azra,” he turns away, leaving you to try and make sense of what he had said. 

     Castor must have told him you had used your Gift to heal him, otherwise why would Pilgrim have mentioned it? You feel your frustration bubbling up inside you as you try to understand why Castor is acting so strange. As if you had summoned it, his voice cuts through your thoughts, “The tires’ fixed, we should leave before someone catches up to us.”

     Pilgrim nods and thanks him for fixing the wheel, and you follow Nix back into the car. Castor sits across from you rather than at his usual place near the window and forces you to look at him, a look of confusion written across his features.

     “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his large blue eyes filled with so much concern that you have to suppress the shudder that accompanies the increase in your heart rate.

     “Nothing,” you respond shortly, not wanting to discuss your feelings in front of Nix.

     “You grumpy ‘cause you’re hungry?” he smirks slightly, kicking your foot from where he is sitting. You can’t help but grin in return, raising your legs to rest your feet opposite you on the bench.

     “Feels like I haven’t eaten in weeks,” he groans, grabbing your ankles and placing your feet on top of his lap. You poke out a toe and prod his stomach, earning a snort of laughter from the boy.

     “Yeah, well rabbit stew must not be as filling as Cressida claims it to be,” you retort, feeling a twinge of hunger in your own stomach at the thought of food.

     “Since you two are complaining so much, why don’t you ask Pilgrim to let us hunt at the next stop?” Nix speaks up from her spot in the corner, smiling at Castor’s antics.

     “I will, but that won’t be till dark, and we haven’t got many torches left,” Castor complains, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the strip of bare skin above your ankle.

     Your body relaxes at the gentle touch, but a sudden and intense wave of emotion sparks inside your heart, and the path of his fingertip burns where it meets your skin. You hate when this happens. You hate how much he affects you; you don’t want to recognize just how strongly you wish you could run away from the Badlands and live a peaceful, quiet life with him. A life without blood caked beneath your nails and new scars every day, one without killing innocent people just to protect the dreams of Gods you have never even seen. Castor would do something so small, a simple gesture of kindness or even a smile, and it would leave you feeling as if you had run a marathon given the speed of your heartbeat and the heat in your cheeks.

     You need to distract yourself from your own thoughts, so you reinsert yourself into Nix and Castor’s conversation about food. “We could catch fish in the river,” you suggest, leaning back into the soft velvet of the bench. Castor perks up at the idea, and Nix murmurs in agreement. You don’t have poles or nets, but the three of you are well trained with swords and you figure you could easily stab them from the water.

                                                             ...

     “It’s fucking freezing!” Castor shouts from the water, knee deep in the lazily moving river.

     “If you can handle an entire army, you should be able to survive some cold water,” you laugh, pulling your socks off from where you stand at the edge of the riverbank.

     “Just wait till you feel it, I’d take an army any day,” he mutters, retreating to the shore to fetch his sword.

     You test the temperature with the tip of your foot, grimacing as the icy water slides between your toes and sends shocks to the core of your body. It feels like fresh snow-melt, and you wish you had a fishing pole instead of a sword. You peel off your faded tights, noticing the blood that had crept beneath the thin fabric and left streaks along your legs, and begin unbuckling the many straps of your armor. Soon you are wearing only your underwear and a thin undershirt, balling up the rest of your layers and leaving them beside your shoes to wash later. You hadn't realized how much blood you had picked up during battle, but now all you can think about is washing it off, wanting desperately to see the clean, smooth skin that hid beneath the spatters of red.

     Castor and Nix finish changing and follow you to the widest section of the river, swords in hand. Nix wears the same thing as you, her lean muscles more prominent without her armor covering them, and Castor has taken off his shirt and armor, leaving him in only his tight pants that have been rolled up to the knee. The three of you don't have many clothes, so you take good care of what you do own, and hope that Pilgrim’s promise of Azra will also lead to a more comfortable life where you won't need to wear the same bloodstained armor for months.

     You stand waist deep in the water, your body shivering in retaliation to the freezing current. You glance back at Castor, who hisses as the water reaches his thighs. Nix wades past you to the deepest area, holding her sword above the murky water in preparation. You glance down, searching for flashes of life among the mud and algae that surround your feet. You feel something brush against your calf and you let out a surprised yelp at the sudden contact. Castor’s head whips up to look at you, making sure the noise was not one of pain. You laugh at your own outburst, and the tension in his shoulders releases at the sound. 

     You hear a loud splash and a satisfied grunt as Nix pulls her sword from the water, a large fish dangling from the blade. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you lean down in the abutting water to try and catch a glimpse of fins. A small movement catches your eye and you follow it, noticing the familiar shape of a tail. You hold your breath and slowly move your sword below the current, trying not to disrupt the surface of the water. The shape moves again, this time revealing just how large the creature you are standing over is. You motion for Castor to come towards you, pressing a finger to your lips in a silent warning to stay quiet. He obliges, moving slowly through the water to your side, sword poised above him.

     “We’ll have a feast if we catch this one,” you whisper, lowering yourself slowly into the water and closing the distance between you and the scaled creature below.

     “Be careful, Y/N. We don’t know what else might be down there,” he whispers in return, following your lead and creeping closer to the animal.

     “Now who’s worrying too much?” you smirk, your blade inches from the large fish.

     Castor doesn't respond, and you take the opportunity to stab swiftly down at the creature, feeling a solid impact as your sword sinks into flesh. Castor brings his own blade down, and the creature begins to writhe beneath you, attempting to escape your grasp.

     “Watch the head, I don't know if this thing’s got teeth,” you growl to Castor against the thrashing body, trying to dislodge your sword from the thick scales. A sharp pain suddenly invades your lower half and you look down, your gaze greeted by two menacing yellow eyes. The face of the creature stares up at you, it’s needle-like fangs sinking into your ankle and instantly drawing blood.

     “Shit, never mind, it definitely has teeth,” you fight back a pained groan as the animal releases you from it’s mouth, bringing it’s head back to strike again.

     “Y/N? Are you okay, did it bite you?” Castor’s eyes are immediately searching your face for signs of pain, and he watches as your returning gaze goes black.

     Your Gift is activated by the small injury, and your mind goes blank as your body stiffens and your muscles tighten in preparation for battle.

     You block out everything else around you, your only intent being to kill the serpent-like creature at the end of your sword. You hear a muffled protest from someone at your side, but you ignore it and lash out at the animal, your sword striking the fish’s long body over and over. You lose sight of which end is the head and continue striking blindly at the creature, stopping only when you notice the water turning a dull red. You look down, but find only mossy gravel and broken scales. Your head slowly clears and your eyes return to their normal color, and you look around in confusion for the large fish. That’s when you hear a low groan from beside you and you find the true source of the blood that billows out into the water.

     Castor is bent over, clutching onto a distraught Nix as he fumbles in the water. His bare shoulder seeps blood, a bite mark distinctly circling his chest and arm. You stare in shock and confusion, his heavy breaths hanging in the air as you feel guilt swell in your chest.

     “C-Cass, what happened? I thought I killed it, how-” you stumble, rushing to his side.

     “The damn thing escaped, but not before taking a chunk of my shoulder,” he grinds out, his lips twitching into a sarcastic smile but his face growing pale.

     “We need to stop the bleeding,” Nix says forcefully, taking his arm and guiding him to the bank of the river.

     You follow, your heart in your throat and your mind spinning. You had only looked away for a few seconds during the time that your Gift had activated, how had you not noticed Castor getting hurt? You can't shake the feeling of guilt that weighs on you as you watch Castor gingerly lower himself onto the grass beside the water. You had promised yourself you would protect him, and you had just been the reason he got hurt. Nix’s voice cuts through your thoughts, ordering you to get a bandage from her pack. You rush to where her things are piled beside yours and shakily dig out a long strip of gauze.

     You quietly sit next to Castor, watching as Nix cleans the blood from his shoulder using her water canteen. You realize with a start that despite Castor being injured, his eyes are still a clear blue.

     “Castor, your Gift...why hasn't it activated?” you look at him with worry, seeing the same fear reflected in his watery eyes.

     “I-I don't know,” he says softly, wincing at the end of the sentence as Nix presses the gauze to his wound.

     “I’m going to fetch Cressida, she’ll give you something to help,” Nix offers, passing you the bandage. You wrap it around his arm, feeling him tense under your touch. You ease the gauze around his neck to secure it and tie a knot in the back, your hands lingering on his bare skin. You can feel the warmth of it beneath the droplets of icy water that run down his back, and you watch as goosebumps break out across his pale skin.

     “Thanks,” he mutters, flexing his arm and breathing out a small sigh.

     “You shouldn't be thanking me, it’s my fault you got hurt,” you say quietly, not meeting his eyes.

     “What do you mean? Y/N, this wasn’t your fault, you couldn't control it,” he says, reaching out to touch the scabs forming on your ankle where you had been bitten.

     “I should have- Castor, if I can’t heal you, I need to make sure you don't get hurt. You’re sick, just admit it,” you plead, looking back up at him. The emotion in his eyes startles you, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

     “Look, I don't know why my Gift isn’t working, but I promise I’ll be fine. I’m already feeling better, I just need to rest,” he says, exhaustion evident in his gaze. Knowing better than to begin another argument, you nod reluctantly and help him up, retrieving both of your clothes and leading him back to the car. Nix stands waiting for you at the door, dressed and holding the fish she had caught earlier. You help Castor climb into the back, holding onto his side so he doesn't have to use his injured arm. Nix brings out a small pouch from her pocket, handing it to Castor as he lies down on the cushions.

     “Cressida says this will help fight infection,” she tells him as he pulls the strings of the bag, letting it fall open in his shaky palm.

     You watch him swallow whatever the High Priestess had given him and notice how the veins running along his wrists and neck have become more prominent. Your chest tightens at the signs of sickness, and you instinctively place a hand on his forehead to feel for a fever. He stares at you in slight surprise, and you retract your hand abruptly, heat crawling to your cheeks at the realization of what you had done.

     “Sorry, you just looked pale, I thought you might have a fever,” you scramble as your cheeks burn in embarrassment, but he gives you a soft look and you go quiet. The sun reflecting into the small room from the tinted window provides a halo around him, warming his features and making his pale blue irises morph into the cerulean calmness of the ocean. His hand reaches for yours again, and you allow him to bring it back up to his face.

     He presses your palm to his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut as you stroke your thumb across the raised scars. Your body is completely still as you trace his jawbone with your fingertips, but inside your heart feels like it is beating out of your chest as flames lick at your skin and heat your blood. Castor breathes out a sigh, letting his hand drop from your wrist but leaning into your warm touch.

     “I’m sorry,” he says, so quiet that you almost don't hear him.

     “What for?” you breathe, stopping your hand’s gentle movements and resting it where his uninjured shoulder meets his neck.

     He swallows. “For lying. I hate feeling weak, and I couldn’t admit that I was... especially not to you,” his breath trembles slightly, eyes cracking open to greet yours.

     “You are not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, being sick doesn't change that,” you reassure him, squeezing his other hand in yours. He blinks at you, appearing to be on the verge of saying something but holding back.

     “Let me take care of you, Cass. You shouldn't work yourself too hard, or you’ll never get better,” you murmur, hoping that he won't try to prove his strength and push himself too far.

     He stays silent for a moment, his eyes hooded and unblinking. “Just rest with me, I’m so tired,” he exhales, his hand in yours loosening as he lets sleep soften his edges.

     “Of course,” you smile, letting go of his hand as he moves to get comfortable on the padded bench.

     You take a spare pillow from the bench parallel to you and place it next to Castor’s head. The makeshift bed is hardly big enough for two people, but Castor shifts his body closer to the wall of the car to make room for you and you lower yourself down next to him.

     He opens his eyes again to look at you, and you marvel at how beautiful he is despite the scars that run in patterns across his cheeks and the dirt permanently etched into his skin. His lips curl into a lazy smile and he goes to move his arm, but before he can place it where he wants to his face contorts into a pained grimace, having forgotten the injury to his shoulder. You frown in sympathy and put a hand on his arm to stop him from moving it.

     “Stay still, you shouldn’t be moving this arm too much,” you chide him, letting out a breathy laugh when he pouts.

     “Just wanted a cuddle,” he complains, eyes closed and voice slurred with exhaustion.

     You smile and are relieved that he can't see the crimson blush that tints your cheeks at his request. Making sure not to jostle his injured arm, you move yourself closer to him, wrapping an arm over his torso and feeling his heartbeat beneath your hand. He immediately turns his head to rest it in the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin and sending a tingling feeling down to your toes. You stay completely still as he drifts off to sleep, not allowing yourself even the twitch of a finger in fear of disturbing him. You are surprised that the pounding of your heart doesn't keep him awake, especially when it almost stops altogether as he shifts and his lips brush against your shoulder.

     You hold him close, savoring the moment as best you can and trying not to focus on how badly you want to stay like this and never let go. You start to feel hot and clammy, and you move your hand to check Castor’s temperature again, frowning when it comes in contact with his forehead. The skin feels like fire to the touch, and it glistens in the dimming sunlight, creating the illusion of a glowing sheen of gold across his resting features. You delicately brush his tangled bangs away from his eyes and let your fingers dance softly over his face, wishing you could rub away the dark shadows under his eyes and bring back some of the color to his pale cheeks. He looks so fragile and vulnerable in that moment that you have to rest your hand over his heart to ensure that it is still beating.

     You don't remember falling asleep, but at some point your mind is swept away and your eyelids drop, whisking you off to another life. There is a small farmhouse, and birds are calling your name somewhere in the distance as a child with bright blue eyes smiles at you. The eyes are so familiar that you almost believe all of it is real for a moment, and you allow yourself to live in your fantasy for the time being. The dream feels like a warm embrace, as if the open sky is wrapping its arms around you and promising that all will be well when you wake.

                                                             …

     Three months had passed since that day at the river, and you filled the long hours of traveling miles across barren, unknown lands with weaving stories about what you would do when you reached Azra and patiently letting Castor heal, watching the light return to his eyes and the veins under his skin become fainter. His wound had long since closed and all that remained to show for the river creature’s attack was a cluster of small scars dotted across his shoulder. He grew happier and more energetic in the time spent lazing in the small car watching the hills and trees fly by outside the window, and you fell deeper into your own miserable, ill-fated love.

     You had found a deck of cards at one of the stops, and Pilgrim had taught you how to play a number of the games he claims originated in the Old World. You currently sit cross-legged on the floor, playing a heated round of what Pilgrim had called “Speed”. You’ve already beaten Castor three times in a row, leaving him to sit pouting by the window having been replaced by Nix, who you know will offer more competition. You can tell that he sometimes lets you win on purpose, because he never hides his hand of cards and you always catch the pleased smile that graces his face whenever you slap your hands down on the pile in victory. So you purposefully let him win sometimes as well, smiling innocently when he shoots you suspicious glances. He might be better in combat, but you have always been the born strategist.

     His Gift had slowly returned as his injury healed, and if there was a skirmish during your journey he fought alongside you, his eyes never once flickering back to the gentle blue that you vowed to defend. You are relieved that you don't have to worry about him being sick anymore, but you still have terrifying thoughts of him losing his powers during battle and being unable to reach him in time to protect him.

     Nix’s shout of victory draws you back to the game in front of you, and you let out a defeated huff, throwing down your hand. You had been playing for hours, so you stand up and stretch your limbs, leaving Nix to play a game of solitaire by herself. She knows more games than you and Castor do, and you are too tired at the moment to have her teach you another.

     “Any news on how far we are from the next stop?” you ask to no one in particular. 

     Nix is too wrapped up in her game to answer and Castor simply shrugs, “Go ask Pilgrim.”

     You leave the small room and poke your head through the drapery covering the doorway, “Are we almost to the next stop?” you ask him, scanning the rough landscape as it flies past you.

     Pilgrim remains staring ahead but answers, “Yes, Dear One. We are nearing the Bladland’s walls, so we must stop on the outskirts of the border in order to evade the barons’ checkpoints.”

     “They shouldn't be a problem, you've got us,” you scoff. You could fight off a small army in your sleep, especially with Nix and Castor beside you.

     “I know my child, but we must stay cautious. We do not know the Badlands like they do. We are strangers to these territories and will be treated as such both by both its inhabitants and the land itself,” his deep voice carries over the wind and you nod, taking one last glance at the rolling hills and returning to the car.

     “What did Pilgrim say?” Castor looks up as you reenter the small room.

     “We’re almost there, but we might meet trouble at a checkpoint if we aren't careful,” you relay what Pilgrim had told you, sitting beside Castor at the window.

     “I’ll be glad for some action, we’ve been sitting around in this car for weeks,” Castor sulks, leaning his head back against the car’s wall with a bored groan.

     “I just can’t believe we’re almost there. Azra has to be close, I can feel it,” you look longingly past him out the window at the fading sky, watching the clouds shift slowly across the horizon.

     “Me too,” he sighs, his eyes flickering from the skyline to you, lingering on your face as you close your eyes against the sunset’s bright orange rays.

                                                             …

     “Finally, the promised land is at hand.”

     You stand with Nix and Castor in front of the convoy under a canopy of green, the crisp forest air that breathes against your bare arms making you shiver. Pilgrim stops in front of you, holding up a compass and staring out at the open road. 

     You have entered the Badlands.

     It doesn't seem real after the years you’ve spent learning about Azra and preparing for the journey, and now that you’ve finally completed the first step, you are surprised to find that the feeling of overwhelming fulfillment is accompanied by a tight ball of apprehension that lingers in your chest at the realization of what this means for your future. Your entire life has been leading up to this moment, and despite how happy you thought you would be, you can't help but feel as if you are even more trapped than before, this time there being no escape from the fate that Pilgrim has set out for you. You watch the small log cabin and farm disappear into the fog of the Badlands, and you are powerless to stop it, even as the azure eyes of the child beg you to follow them away from the dusty road and away from Pilgrim.

     After walking a few miles down the dirt trail and leaving the convoy behind you, the trees thin out to reveal a large structure marked with a flowing silver flag that depicts the head of a fox. You recognize it from Pilgrim’s lessons as the symbol of Baron Chao. Archers stand atop the checkpoint, pointing their bows down at you and awaiting the orders to fire.

     “I’ve come to offer salvation. Lay down your arms and submit to your messiah,” you hear Pilgrim project to the clippers, and you prepare your swords for the inevitable combat.

     “On my command….” a clipper speaks from above you, and you take that as your signal to draw a thin cut across your arm, Castor and Nix following suit. “Fire!” you leap into action, your Gift giving you the ability to fly high into the air and deflect the arrows spitting in flurries towards Pilgrim.

     The three of you move to opposite sides of the checkpoint, easily slicing your way through each clipper and jumping to the next level to continue the massacre. You turn your head just in time to watch as Castor barrels down to the lower floor, hunched over a bloodstained white suit. His eyebrows pull together in sudden confusion and he glances up towards you, the black fog that had been swallowing his eyes dissipating to reveal white. He looks at you with a wide, fearful stare, and before you can jump down to him, a flash of white and the glint of a blade behind his lowered back catch your eye. You swiftly launch your sword at the clipper before he can touch Castor, anxiety gripping your heart even as he stumbles back and falls off the tower. Castor nods at you gratefully, tightening his fists and setting his jaw as the Gift washes over him again. You watch him cautiously for a moment before returning to help Nix fight off the last of the archers, but you are distracted by the unshakable fear that Castor’s sickness had come back.

     You pull yourself onto the front of the car with a blanket of dread draped heavily across your shoulders, stealing a glance at Castor as he limps past you and disappears into the dark interior of the vehicle. You catch Nix’s eye and she gives you a concerned look before leaping across the side of the moving car to where Pilgrim sits beside Cressida. You slowly approach the curtained opening and look past it to where Castor is sitting on the floor between the benches with his head between his knees. Pilgrim appears at your side with Nix standing behind him wearing the same fearful expression that you can feel spreading across your own features.

     Pilgrim pushes past you and kneels in front of Castor, lifting his face with a gentle hand.

     “I-I told you, I’m fine,” he stammers, pulling his legs closer.

     “Look at me child.”

     Castor tilts his head to the side and reluctantly meets Pilgrim’s eyes, his face weary.

     “The fight took a little more out of me this time, that’s all,” he mutters, eyes flitting back to his feet.

     You hold your breath and Nix speaks up, “admit it, you’re getting worse.”

     “I… I just need some rest, okay?” he looks back up at Pilgrim as if his gaze will validate his words.

     “You don’t have to prove how strong you are to me, I already know. I understand how hard this burden is on you. All of you. But I promise your Gift is for the greater good. Do you realize how special that makes you? How proud I am?” Pilgrim’s voice echoes softly inside the small room, and Castor looks down, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

     “Are we almost there?” he asks, avoiding answering Pilgrim’s words.

     “Soon. I promise,” Pilgrim gives Castor one last reassuring look before standing up and exiting the small car.

     You cast Nix a nervous glance before stepping towards Castor, taking a deep breath. He looks up at you, something shifting in his eyes, and he drops his arms from his knees. You don't know what to say, so you settle yourself next to him and lay your head on his shoulder, feeling his hair tickle your cheek. His breath catches in his throat but he doesn't speak, simply letting his head fall to rest on top of yours, his eyes closing as he breathes in your comforting scent. The moment only lasts a few minutes before Nix returns with an excited look on her face.

     “Cass, Y/N...we’re getting off. Pilgrim has stopped the convoy, he says there’s an island,” she speaks breathlessly, eyes wide in anticipation.

     You lift your head from Castor’s shoulder with surprise and he looks at you with brows raised, his mouth parted slightly as if he was going to speak before Nix came in.

     “...Are we really here?” he breathes, standing shakily from the tight space between the seats. You follow Nix to the front of the car, looking for Pilgrim for confirmation. He is standing in the distance in a meadow that runs along the road, across from a vast lake. An island with a small castle rising from it’s center sits a few hundred yards out, the building jagged and tall against the open sky.

     You gasp at the sight, your imagination turning the stone bricks into gleaming towers of silver to match the image of Azra that is burned into your mind.

     “We made it. After all this time...I can’t believe it,” you marvel.

     Castor smiles, mesmerized as he stares out across the glistening water at the island. “It’s real,” his whisper floats on the soft breeze that comes from the lake, the air around him absorbing the quiet sound.

     You share a look of hope and excitement as you follow Pilgrim towards the shore.

     As your hastily fashioned raft skims across the lake’s rippling surface, you watch the castle grow larger with each stroke of the paddle, your heart thundering in your chest as you dream about what you will find inside the ancient building. Castor and Nix are staring awestruck at your sides, and Pilgrim and Cressida stand poised on the raft in front of you, leading the hundreds of people who joined your journey across the water’s surface.

     “Do you think we’ll find remnants of the Old World here?” Castor asks from beside you, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

     “Possibly. It looks as if it’s been abandoned for centuries,” you reply, chest fluttering at the prospect of finding a piece of history from when Azra existed.

     As you reach the shore of the lake, Castor brushes his fingers against yours, looking away from the edifice to meet your wide-eyed gaze.

     “Stay close, just in case,” he tells you, his face conveying slight unease beneath his rapture.

     “Always,” you smile, taking his hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

     You stand in front of the towering wooden doors to the castle, lighting your torch and giving Castor’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and watching as Pilgrim pushes them open with a deafening creak.

     The floor is littered with dead leaves and the air smells musty, your torch casting a hazy orange glow over the stone walls. The gaping room is hauntingly dark, spare the pale yellow light filtering in from the stained windows above you, matching that of the windows in Pilgrim’s car. Large skeletal structures stand on the sides, held up by metal rods that force their bodies to reenact the shapes of a once living form. Cobwebs shroud every surface, and you brush them away as you slowly enter the room.

     “Let us give thanks, and behold the wonders of our new home. Please, go. Explore,” Pilgrim’s voice echoes throughout the tall chambers. Castor shoots you a reminding glance, and you nod, staying by his side.

     You follow him through a maze of artifacts, stone faces staring blankly up at you, pieces of history long forgotten and hidden away for centuries. Your torch casts long shadows over the shelves of unfamiliar objects, the strange heads of animals leering at you from where they hang on the walls.

     “Is this really the sacred ground of our ancestors?” Nix speaks as she surveys the tallest skeleton, it’s white bones reflecting the light of your torches.

     Cressida appears from the shadows behind the boned giant, “Don’t be deceived by appearances. Just as your body has meridians of hidden energy, so does the Earth itself. This place sits on a nexus of great power.” Her hand strokes Nix’s cheek and she smiles back at the High Priestess, but Castor looks on with a doubtful expression.

     A man speaks up from behind Cressida, “I can’t believe we journeyed thousands of miles, just for this ruin.”

     “Your leap of faith will be rewarded, but you must be patient,” Cressida assures him, and Castor meets your eyes worriedly, his hand moving slowly to the hilt of his knife. 

     “This place is a tomb,” the man snarls, walking away to rejoin a group of Pilgrim’s followers.

     You put a hand on Castors shoulder and turn him away from the man. “Pilgrim will prove to him that Azra is more than a fairy tale. We have to start somewhere,” you blink assuredly at him, and he nods, turning his head to face the staircase at the sound of Pilgrim’s commanding voice.

     “Brethren,” Pilgrim booms, slowly descending the steps.

     “Now, finally, we stand on Fate’s own doorstep, where we will build a new Azra. But instead of rejoicing, I sense remorse, demurral, and doubt,” he pauses, letting his audience fill in around him before continuing. 

     “I am the one to blame for failing you.” The man that had previously spoken stares at Pilgrim with a dubious frown, others in the assembly echoing his expression.

     “If I have led you to a place of doubt, then it is my own conviction that needs testing.” You look worriedly at Castor as the man approaches Pilgrim, a few of the other suspicious men following his movements.

     Pilgrim wraps a blindfold over his eyes and tells the men to draw their weapons, gesturing towards you and Castor to stay put as he senses your concern. You bite the inside of your cheek anxiously and wait, sword in hand in case you need to defend your leader. Castor and Nix do the same, standing stiffly beside you with their weapons drawn.

     “All I have is blind faith to protect me. Fate will decide if this is enough. I challenge you, strike me down if you can.”

     The men circle Pilgrim, leaves rustling beneath their feet. As soon as the first makes a move, Pilgrim springs into action, easily deflecting the blow despite being unable to see. He strikes down each man that comes forward using only his hands, leaving their bodies strewn across the stone floor. He looks up at the man who had spoken first to where he stands alone, his comrades now lying dead on the fortress’s dusty ground.

     He drops his weapons and stutters, “Please. I...I believe.” 

     Pilgrim approaches him slowly, the man shaking in fear. “Then you are already saved,” he speaks, embracing him. You allow your muscles to relax, your nerves calming as Pilgrim proves the undeniable power that Azra holds and subdues the reservations among his followers.

     “Remember, a man is only ever as strong as his faith.”

     The line stands out in your mind, and you try to ignore the tug of worry in your gut caused by his words. You don't want to think about it, but you can't help but wonder if they could have any relation to Castor’s recent sickness. What if it was caused by his faith in Azra weakening? 

     You look back to Castor and plaster on a smile, “Lets see what else this place is hiding,” you suggest, hoping that exploring your new home will take your mind off of things. He follows you down one of the dark halls to a smaller room where there are tables of mementos from the Old World.

     You let your hand drift over the foreign objects, wiping away the dust that had collected in the absence of people. Castor reaches out and takes a small piece of paper from a metal stand, an image of a statue pictured on its front, clouded by spiderwebs. Nix holds up a small box-shaped toy to her face, peering through a lens at the top.

     “This is incredible,” she breathes, letting out a small laugh.

     “What is it?” Castor sets down the small paper, taking it from Nix’s outstretched hand.

     You watch as he brings it to his eyes, squinting in the dimly lit room. “The Old World,” he whispers in awe, his finger resting on a small button at it’s side. The box must somehow hold pictures in it, you realize.

     You pick up a small plastic animal, it’s green skin rough beneath your fingers. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you wonder how many other animals existed before you had the chance to know them. 

     “What do you think happened to these people?” Castor asks, handing the box to you.

     “Pilgrim says they ignored the signs of their destruction, so Fate decided to punish them,” Nix answers matter-of-factly, picking up the small plastic creature you had set down next to you.

     You peer into the old device, pushing down on the button to change the images that materialize in front of your eyes. There is a rushing waterfall, and a tall green statue of a woman holding a torch. You press the button again and gasp, the next picture bringing goosebumps to your skin.

     “It’s Azra.”

     Nix whips her head up to look at you and Castor’s eyes widen, reaching out for the device.

     “It’s Azra!” you repeat, handing Castor the box so he can see for himself.

     He looks into the lens, speechless at the image of the sparkling tower. Nix takes it from him and stares at the picture, “It’s so beautiful. Do you think it’s close?” she asks in excitement, looking back up at you and Castor.

     Castor’s mouth parts and he stares silently at her for a moment before blinking and dropping his gaze. Your heart leaps in your chest, noticing the despairing look in his eyes. You walk closer to him as he brings a hand up to his ear, and you gently place your palm over his, removing it from his face. You examine the side of his head, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the blood dripping from inside his ear while he looks away indignantly.

     “Your ear…” you murmur, wiping off the blood and trying to meet his gaze. He turns his head away and frowns, eyes pooling with unshed tears.

     “It’s fine. It’s nothing,” he mutters, focusing on the air in front of you and avoiding your concerned gaze.

     “You’re a bad liar,” Nix speaks up softly from behind you, looking at him with a troubled frown. “It’s getting worse,” you agree, taking the hand that dangles at his side in yours and rubbing your thumb across the calloused skin.

     “Don't tell Pilgrim,” he looks up at you sharply, rubbing away the last of the blood. Nix bites back a retort and you frown, watching as he searches for words, his eyes glistening.

     “What if I don't live to see it?” he speaks shakily and finally meets your eyes, his hand in yours tightening.

     “We made a promise that we’d walk through the gates of Azra together,” you whisper to him, placing a warm palm on his chest.

     “Pilgrim won't let us down,” Nix harmonizes, her expression firm.

     Castor’s lips tremble and he looks away again, and you feel a piece of your heart break away in your chest. He gives a small nod and you press forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his shoulder in a tight hug. He brings his arms around your waist without hesitation and you sigh into the embrace. You can feel his rattled breaths under your chest as you place a soothing kiss to his shoulder, and he burrows his face against your neck, breathing into your hair and closing his eyes. You tighten your grip on him and try not to let the tears threatening to spill from your eyes show. You look at Nix from over his shoulder and shake your head, seeing the way she shifts on her feet to leave and tell Pilgrim. Her eyes plead to you from across the room, but you furrow your brows, setting your mouth in a tight line. You swear to yourself in that moment never to leave Castor’s side again. I won't let anything bad happen to you as long as I’m here, you silently promise him. 

     However much power Pilgrim has proclaimed to hold, you won't let him put Castor in a dangerous situation, even if it means disobeying his orders.

                                                            …

     It only takes a few days to clean out the castle and rid it’s floors of the cobwebs and dried leaves that infest every corner, and you work quickly to tidy one of the small chambers on the second floor that the three of you have claimed. You stand outside the tower, getting some fresh air after having spent hours sweeping away the debris from inside your new room. You take one last deep inhale of the motionless fog that wraps in tendrils around you before reentering the yawning mouth of the castle’s doors and climbing the stairs to check on Castor, who you had left to rest on a makeshift bed in your room. The familiar rasping of a blade from inside makes you stiffen and pause before entering, your hand moving instinctively to the hilt of your sword. You take a slow step forward, waiting apprehensively just outside the door. Suddenly, you hear a broken cry of anger and you jolt, rushing into the dim quarters and drawing your sword. You are greeted with a sight that makes your heart plummet to your feet like a brick and your lungs stop pumping oxygen to your brain. 

     Castor is standing in the center of the room, his face streaked in red, his hand shaking as he hovers a bloody knife next to his cheek. He glances up as you enter, his eyes widening as he notices your presence. You make a choking sound, running towards him and tearing the knife from his hand, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces at the overwhelming desperation on his face. He lets out a frustrated sob and drops to the floor, taking you with him as you hold onto him for dear life.

     He cries silently into your shoulder, his hands grasping at nothing as you cradle him, your throat turning to sandpaper when you try to swallow. It’s as if his tears wash away the Gift from his eyes, and you finally recognize just how hard it is for him to fight while never knowing if his powers will suddenly disappear for good. 

     “I-I’m sorry, I couldn't- it wasn’t working, I was just trying to-,” his voice cracks, face crumpling as he stares at his bloodied hands. 

     His whole body trembles against yours as you wipe away the tears mingling with the blood on his cheeks, feeling a wetness slipping past the barrier of your own lashes and onto your skin as you fight to stay collected.

     “Castor, look at me,” your voice shakes as you pull away slightly.

     He wipes his nose and stares at you through watery eyes, his tears leaving trails of pale skin beneath the blood that drips from his cuts.

     “Cass, I need you here, I-I can’t survive without you, so please...don’t try to fix anything by yourself. Cutting yourself won't make your Gift come back, you need to let your body heal,” you feel your own voice breaking as he curls his fists into the fabric of your cape.

     His breaths come in rattling, unsteady bursts, and he lets out a choked whimper, desperately holding back his loud sobs. You gently lift his head, and without giving it much thought, you place delicate kisses across his cheeks, following the map of raw slashes that bestrew his soft skin. He takes deep, labored breaths and closes his eyes, his lashes tickling your cheek as you rest your forehead against his.

     “...I love you, Cass” you whisper to him, trying hard not to look at his lips and focusing on his closed lids. He shivers and parts his mouth slightly, the blood that has dried on his face cracking with the minute action. His eyes slowly open, revealing the melancholy blue orbs that cause your world to spin on its axis. You’ve said it to him before, always platonically or in softer moments when one of you needed comforting, but this time feels different to you. You aren't sure if he notices the change, but you wouldn't have been able to see his blush anyway underneath the blood.

     You gather yourself, peeling away from Castor and helping him stand, leading him back to the bed in the far corner of the room. He still hasn't said anything, and you bite your lip anxiously, wondering if you had crossed a line. He sits upright on the small bed and you kneel beside him, bringing a hand back up to his face.

     “Cass, let me heal you,” you whisper, your voice pleading.

     He doesn't respond, his eyes flickering up to yours as he sucks in a breath. You close your eyes, drawing on the power within your body to allow it to flow into him again, feeling the cuts on his face closing beneath your glowing fingertips. You try not to use too much energy, remembering the effect it had on you last time you healed him. You open your eyes and feel the hot energy inside you return to your core as the power leaves your hands. Castor’s breathing is steadier and the wounds on his face are now only faint scars, but blood still lingers on his features, drying on the soft skin of his cheeks. You drop your hands and give Castor a wavering smile as you stand up slowly to get a towel to clean his face.

     Before you can leave, he grabs hold of your hand, an urgent look on his face. “I love you too,” he whispers faintly.

     It’s almost inaudible, but your heart melts at his voice, and you smile softly before giving his hand a gentle tug to free yourself from his grasp and leaving the small room to find medical supplies. 

     As you pass a larger room with a low ceiling, you hear familiar voices drifting from inside. “It’s a hard lesson,” Cressida’s low murmur sounds from behind the door. “Some must die, so that others can live. Castor’s final journey may come sooner than any of us hoped, but God will not allow that void to go unfilled,” your blood runs cold at the mention of Castor, and you press your ear to the window to find out who the High Priestess is speaking to.

     “A new Dark One has emerged. You must go and find them, and bring them back to join our fold,” Cressida finishes. Another voice answers, and your nails dig harshly into your palms as you hear Nix.

     “I can't leave Castor alone,” she replies softly, and you force your legs to move, wanting to be as far from their voices as possible. Your head feels stuffy and you ignore the rest of their conversation, too shocked by how unaffected Cressida seemed by Castor’s sickness. How could they so easily just replace him like that? How could Nix agree to do that to him? Your mind spins with confusion, your feet carrying you to the edge of the lake without you realizing.

     The peaceful forest surrounding the castle helps clear your head, and you remember what you came to do. Taking the small towel you had grabbed from one of the rooms, you dip it into the cool lake, soaking it under the crystal clear water. You stare down at the ripples caused by your movement, lost in thought, and fail to hear the quiet splash a few yards in front of you. As you twirl your fingers absentmindedly in the water, a dark shadow falls across the surface. You blink, glancing up and expecting to find one of Pilgrim’s guards, but are instead met by a fleeting glimpse of black armor and pale skin before you feel a heavy blow to the back of your head and your vision fades to nothing.

                                                          …

     Your head throbs as the reoccurring dream of the small farm and blue eyed boy dissipates, leaving behind only the darkness of your eyelids. The throbbing increases, and you blink open your eyes to a harsh light filtering into your room. You raise a stiff arm to touch your injury, your fingers grazing over a large bump on the back of your skull. You wince and pull back, sitting up on the makeshift bed that you are laying on. You glance around the room, noticing for the first time Castor’s sleeping form beside you on his own bed. You tense as you realize that you hadn't gone back to him after you had left to get water to clean the blood from his face. Who had attacked the castle? Had Castor been hurt in your absence? You fight the urge to wake him and question him about what had happened, leaving him to rest and gingerly easing yourself out of bed, holding onto the wall for stability as dizziness washes over you. You blink away the fuzziness in your eyes and search the surrounding rooms for Pilgrim or Nix, wanting answers.

     You catch sight of Pilgrim standing in the center of the main floor, speaking quietly to Cressida, and you make your way carefully down the stairs towards him. He looks up as you enter the large room, his solemn face morphing into a smile as he greets you.

     “Dear One, you’re awake. Is your head feeling any better?” he asks as he cups your face in one of his large hands.

     “Yes, Pilgrim...What happened? Is everyone alright?” you ask, looking around the room for signs of damage. There is blood spattered across the ground and walls, and shards of stone broken from the castle littering the floor.

     “Baron Chao sent her clippers here to kill me. She was angry with us for enlightening her people and helping guide them to the faith,” he spoke gravely, gesturing to the destruction.

     “Where is Nix?” you notice her absence, suddenly worried that something had happened to her during the attack.

     “She has been sent on a mission to find one of your siblings. Another Dark One has arisen, and she has been tasked with bringing them here to join our ranks,” Pilgrim explains, and your stomach clenches, remembering Cressida’s previous conversation with Nix.

     “Pilgrim...Will Castor be okay?” you ask hesitantly, fearing his answer.

     “Castor is sick, Dear One. He must rest and strengthen himself for what is to come. I sense tensions rising among the Barons, and war is more likely than some may think. We have made an alliance with The Widow, but an enemy with Chao. An enemy we must be well prepared to face again,” he narrates, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

     “Do not fear, my child. Castor’s Gift may be failing, but his faith will keep him strong,” he pronounces. You nod and leave him to continue his hushed conversation with Cressida, returning to your chambers.

     When you reenter the room Castor is sitting up in his bed, sharpening his knives with a small stone. You sit down beside him and watch him work for a moment before speaking.

     “Are you feeling better?” you ask as he looks up from the tedious task.

     “I should be the one asking you that,” he puts on a small, teasing smile and sets down the blade.

     “It’s just a small bump, I can hardly feel it. But Cass...do you want to talk about what happened earlier?” you pull your eyebrows together, watching his smile drop.

     “...Not really. I was upset, Y/N. Don't worry about it,” his lips draw into a thin line, and he turns away from you.

     “How can you say that? Of course I’m going to worry about you! Especially when you do something like- like that, and I can't do anything to help you. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to watch you do that to yourself? You’re my other half, Cass. If you’re not here, I don't know what I’ll do with myself,” your voice begins to shake again and you curse yourself for letting your emotions get the best of you.

     “Hard for you? You're not the one who’s Gift won't work properly, you aren't being treated like a helpless child by everyone you care about! Hasn't Pilgrim told you by now? I’m dying, Y/N. There’s nothing you or anyone can do about it,” he shouts, turning to look at you with fury blazing behind his gaze. You stare at him, eyes wide and glistening, his words entering one ear and leaving the other like an arrow splitting your skull.

     “W-what? Castor, you aren’t- that can't be. Pilgrim told me everything was fine, he promised us we would see Azra together,” you all but whimper, and his face softens, the anger evaporating and being replaced by a mournful stare.

“You’re my other half too, Y/N. I just can’t sit around waiting for death. It’s cowardly, and Pilgrim says a war is coming, so I have to get my Gift back by then,” he leans towards you, his beautiful eyes piercing through your veil of grief. You look up at him and he wipes away the single tear that has fallen onto your cheek.

     “I’m sorry for scaring you, Y/N. I just- I had to try something.”

     “You can’t bring it back through force, Cass. You have to be patient with yourself,” you murmur, letting him play with the tips of your hair as he watches you anxiously.

     “I know that now. I’m sorry,” he says again, letting his hands drop to yours.

     You play with his fingers, the feeling of his skin surprisingly soft against yours despite his hands’ constant use of weapons. He intertwines his hands with yours, your heart fluttering at how perfectly they fit together. You sit there silently, enjoying each other’s presence and letting the rest of the world fall away from you as the sun circles the Earth slowly, lighting up your small room and making your faces glow beneath it’s cleansing rays. It is a flickering second of peace within a lifetime of horror and violence, and you engrave the moment into your mind, saving it for times when there is only blood and death and you need to wash it all away with memories of kinder things.

                                                           …

     You are sitting alone by the stairs resting after helping clean up the damage done by Chao’s clippers when Nix returns. She enters the towering front doors of the castle with one of Pilgrim’s guards, carrying the body of a boy about your age. His arms hang limply at his sides and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat as they drag him into the dimly lit tower. You stand up quickly, catching her eye and setting your mouth in a tight-lipped frown. She had found the other Dark One. You watch her from a distance as she lays him on a pile of blankets in a nearby room and sits beside him, bringing a wet towel to his face. The gentle act makes your stomach clench, anger boiling inside you. How could she already treat him as if he were her brother? Had she forgotten about Castor?

     As curious as you are, you can't bear to watch her doctor the mysterious boy, too upset with her for ignoring Castor and leaving him while he was sick to find his replacement. You walk up the stairs towards your room, ignoring Pilgrim and Cressida as they move past you to meet the boy who had apparently regained consciousness. As you reach the top you hear an unfamiliar voice speaking aggressively to Pilgrim, and you turn back, glancing down uneasily and wondering if the newcomer would cause trouble. The dark haired boy was standing now, angrily approaching Pilgrim and trying to push past him. You watch in shock as his eyes go black, his Gift activating with no help from a blade. Pilgrim raises a hand and his voice reverberates as he speaks in the ancient language of his people, using his power to control the Gift and force the boy back to his natural state. You faintly hear Pilgrim order Nix to get food and wine for the stranger, and watch from the balcony as she hurriedly leaves, your jaw clenching in frustration. 

     Why is this boy being treated like an esteemed guest? He could be an enemy for all we know, you seethe, your nails digging into your palms. Pilgrim turns back to the boy and you hear him ask his name, and you strain your ears to catch his reply. 

     “M.K.” answers the boy quietly.

     Their voices grow too quiet to be overheard and you turn to walk back towards your room, but movement from the other side of the balcony catches your eye and you pause, noticing Castor in the dark lighting. He is standing stiffly beside a pillar with his arms at his sides, looking down at Pilgrim and the boy with glazed eyes, his breathing rapid as he watches Pilgrim help the boy across the room with a hand on his arm. You feel your throat tighten at his broken expression, your heart clenching as he blinks away tears and sets his mouth in grim determination. You wish you could tell him that everything would be okay, but even you are having trouble believing that. Castor’s condition seemed to be getting worse with each passing day, and you couldn't lie to him or yourself when both of you knew what it could eventually lead to if you didn’t find a cure. 

     You stand beside the table of ancient artifacts, the small room a living time capsule of the Old World. Everything around you is still preserved in a thin layer of dust, the only things lacking the grey filter being the small plastic animal that you now fiddle with in one hand and the box of pictures that rests on the table beside you. This room is the only place in the castle where you feel safe, and you use it as an escape from the real world. You are flipping through a small booklet you found detailing the flora and fauna of a time from before the Badlands existed when you hear voices approaching. You look up as Nix and M.K. enter your small safe haven, casting a dubious glance at the tall boy and setting the book down.

     “Y/N, this is M.K., I was hoping you could help me show him around,” Nix smiles at you, gesturing for him to come forward. He glances at her quickly before looking at you, nodding politely. He seems oddly nonthreatening, a drastic change from before, and you manage a half-smile of agreement.

     “Of course,” you say, picking up the toy box and sliding in the wheel of pictures. Nix’s face brightens as you bring out the small device and M.K. looks at it in confusion. You laugh softly and walk to stand behind him, bringing the toy up to his eyes and pressing the button on the side to show him how it works.

     He brings his hands up slowly, in awe of the images held in the small box, and you smile at the innocence of the activity.

     “Beautiful, isn't it?” you say as you hear a small gasp from the dark-haired boy. He chuckles lightly, turning around to face you.

     “Yeah, it’s beautiful,” his eyes are filled with childish wonder, and you smile genuinely for the first time in days. Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought, you muse as Nix takes the toy from him.

     M.K. opens his mouth to speak, but an angry voice from behind you interrupts, Castor entering the room wearing a threatening expression.

     “Get away from her,” he growls, breathing heavily as he halts a few feet behind you. Nix looks on nervously and M.K. tenses next to you, shooting you a questioning glance.

     “You go out without me one time...and you've already found my replacement?” He looks at Nix with hurt in his eyes, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. 

     “Replacement?” M.K. asks hesitantly. 

     Castor approaches him, his eyes wild. “I saw you with Pilgrim. You don't have to cut yourself, you're not like us,” he snarls, face inches away from the taller boy. Sweat drips from his forehead, his fever making his eyes glassy and his skin pale, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You couldn't let him start a fight, not in this state.

     You step between them, pushing Castor back, “Cass, calm down, it’s not what you think-”.

     “Then what is it? Is he going to share your bed too then, huh?” Castor shouts, pointing an accusing finger at M.K., his breathing rough as he stands inches from you. You stare silently into his eyes, startled by the bitter pain sheathed behind his blue irises.

     “Hey, don't talk to her like that-,” M.K. steps forward defensively, and you look at Nix in dismay, her eyes wide as they flit between Castor and M.K.

     “Why don't you stop me!” Castor shoves him backwards and you let out an alarmed cry, blocking him from M.K.

     “Get out of my way,” he looks at you, anger clouding his eyes. Blood drips from his nose and you reach up to wipe it off, but he pushes you away, rubbing it off aggressively with a shaky hand.

     “Castor…” Nix speaks from beside M.K., her eyes wide and sympathetic.

     “I don't need your pity,” he says roughly, his eyes burning with angry tears as he gives you one last look before storming out of the small room. You shoot Nix an apologetic glance before following him, not bothering to ask M.K. if he was alright. You are too focused on Castor, his outburst a sure sign that his fever was worsening.

     You find him sitting on his bed in your shared room, his fists clenched and his knees drawn close to his chest. You approach him slowly, his eyes focused intently on his feet as he sucks in heavy breaths.

     “He doesn't belong here,” he growls, his face flushed.

     “Give him a chance, he seems to get along well with Nix,” you speak softly, standing a few feet away from him.

     “He seemed to get along just fine with you as well,” Castor scoffs bitterly, and you are surprised by the hint of jealousy in his voice.

     “You're being childish, Castor. I was trying to be welcoming, I wasn't abandoning you for a stranger,” you reply sharply, tired of arguing with him over such trivial things.

     “He can't stay.”

     “Castor-”

     “If he stays, I become useless, don't you understand? I’m just extra baggage that's going to get thrown off the ship when you no longer need me!” he shouts, glaring up at you from where he sits. “If I can't fight, then what’s the point, Y/N? I cant stand being a fucking burden anymore. He’ll replace me, and you’ll forget I ever existed. Pilgrim’s already forgotten,” his voice grows quiet at the end, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stares at you.

     “I would never forget you,” you whisper, hurt swelling in your chest. “And the point is that you'll be alive. Isn't that enough?” your eyes brim with tears, and you squeeze them shut in an attempt to stop yourself from crying again.

     “I’m not going to get better,” he mutters, wiping his nose as more blood drips from it.

     “Yes, you will,” you fix your gaze on him, steadfast and hard. 

     He looks up at you miserably, sniffing and giving up on wiping the blood away.

     “Please Cass. For me,” you speak softly, your stern gaze evaporating into a look of pure desperation.

     “...Okay,” he murmurs, closing his eyes in defeat.

                                                          …

     When Castor doesn't return from the refugee camp, you immediately assume the worst. You blame yourself; he had gone without telling you or Nix, but you should have been there with him. You never would have let him go alone, he should be sitting beside you playing cards, not being held prisoner by The Widow. You hadn't even known he had left until Pilgrim told you what had happened when Cressida had sent him to ensure that Chau followed through on her promise of providing workers. You would trade anything just to know that he was safe, and you were angry with Cressida for sending him to fight when he was sick.

     Grief takes control, leaving you inconsolable. You can't bring yourself to eat, no matter how much food Nix sneaks into your room, and sleep escapes you, your head filled with horrifying images of Castor lying bleeding somewhere, left for dead. His empty bed next to yours only makes things worse, and you resort to sleeping on a blanket in the room of ancient artifacts, the solitude finally allowing you to cry without being seen by Nix or M.K..

     You are utterly helpless, unable to rescue him from The Widow and unable to bury the guilt and grief inside you. Worst of all, you are unable to tell him how much you love him, and the thought that he may never know causes your world to come crashing down around you, everything you had ever cared about being ripped from your hands and tearing a gaping hole in your heart.

     Two days pass before Pilgrim has any news of Castor, and when he does, the relief of hearing that he is alive makes you dizzy, the hole in your heart closing ever so slightly. But the grief that has been lifted from you is replaced with an overwhelming fear. He is still being held captive by The Widow, and before you could see him and prove that he is alive and breathing, he wasn't safe.

     You sit with Nix and M.K. in your room, watching absentmindedly as she teaches him a card game. You drift off, allowing your imagination to take you away, your dreams being much better than your reality. You can finally see why the eyes of the boy from your dreams are so familiar. They are Castor’s. You can tell by the way they glint mischievously when he smiles, and by the flecks of green and brown hidden under the icy blue that you know so well. How they reflect the sunlight and glow under the moon. You extend a hand, trying to touch the child, but he is just out of reach and your fingers grasp only air.

     Pilgrim’s voice shatters the daydream, bringing you back to your harsh reality. “We must take a trip to the mainland, my children. We are meeting with The Widow. Fate has ensured that Castor remains alive and is to be returned to us,” he speaks gruffly, and Nix looks at you with hope blooming in her eyes. 

     Your hands shake as you stand, your heartbeat increasing tenfold as you leave the small bedroom. When you reach the vast doors of the castle, you shoot Nix a terrified glance, wondering what state Castor would be in when he is returned to you. She takes your hand, squeezing it in reassurance, and you let out a deep breath, giving her a grateful look. 

     “He’ll be ok,” she whispers, staring out past the lake at the fields surrounding you.

     You nod, not trusting your voice, and follow Pilgrim to the rafts that would take you to the mainland.

     You stand beside Nix and M.K. in the large, grassy field opposite the island, watching as The Widow approaches slowly with a group of her clippers. There is nowhere to run, the field extending for miles on either side of you and lined with trees from the outskirts of the forest nearby. She halts in front of Pilgrim, her hand lingering on the sword at her side.

     “Where is my boy?” Pilgrim asks, his voice deep and authoritative.

     The Widow makes no movement, staring at Pilgrim warily as you watch with bated breath. “Where is Castor?” Pilgrim barks, “I won't ask again.”

     Without taking her eyes off of Pilgrim, The Widow gestures for her men to fetch him from the car. You watch in silence as two clippers carry a stretcher across the field, Castor’s red and black armor becoming visible.

     You choke back a cry of horror as they lay him down in front of Pilgrim. He is unconscious, and paler than when you had last seen him, his skin so white that each individual vein could be seen beneath the sweat-glossed surface. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, every intake of air a struggle as his eyes twitch beneath his closed lids. He looks so lifeless and small, and you feel your hand tighten around the hilt of your sword as you drag your eyes away from his body. This was all The Widow’s fault. You fight the urge to drive your blade deep into her chest and make her suffer like Castor, wanting revenge for what she had done to him. She had so quickly gone from being an ally to an enemy, and you were ready for Pilgrim to order you and Nix to attack.

     But her words come as a surprise, and your hand drops from your sword as she speaks. “We treated him as best we could, but his condition is worsening,” she says with sympathy, and you look at Nix in astonishment.

     “And why would you do me this kindness, I wonder,” Pilgrim stares at Castor’s body, his face emotionless and still.

     “Because a father should say goodbye to his son. And because I am not your enemy,” The Widow replies diplomatically.

     Pilgrim stares at her incredulously before turning and nodding towards Nix to take Castor. M.K. moves to help her but you shove past him, taking the front end of the stretcher and biting your lip to stop it from trembling as you look down at his face, his mouth parted as he fights just to get air into his lungs. Nix stares straight ahead, her eyes glossy as she lifts her side of the stretcher and slowly begins to walk towards your raft.

     Pilgrim turns back to The Widow, “Thank you for returning my son,” he says, his voice clipped but holding less anger than before.

     He follows you to the lake-shore, leaving The Widow standing in the field, and you take one last look at the copper-haired woman before gently placing Castor onto the raft and sitting down next to him, feeling the wooden structure sway below you as you are pushed out into the water and back towards the island.

     You sit on the makeshift bed next to Castor, holding a damp towel to his forehead as you watch him try to fight off the sickness that invades his body as he sleeps. The paper tapestry covering the window above you acts as a thin curtain, allowing a pale light to wash over his face and bathe him in patterns reflected from the images on the ancient mural. You brush back the hair on his forehead, every movement you make an act of tenderness that urges him to wake up. His mouth twitches and his eyelids flutter open as he regains consciousness, his blue irises glassy and unfocused as you stroke his cheek. He tries to lift his head, his mouth moving as he attempts to speak but no words come, and you place a hand on his chest, easing him back down.

     “Shhh. You're going to be okay,” you murmur, bringing the cool towel back to his face.

     He sighs and closes his eyes again, “I’m dying,” he rasps, his voice barely detectable.

     You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes, “Don't say that. You promised me, remember?” you beg him. His mouth opens and closes as he takes labored breaths, his chest stuttering beneath your hand.

     “Pilgrim told us we would see Azra together, and we will,” you tell him, trying to convince yourself just as much as you are him.

     “Pilgrim is wrong. And if he’s wrong about that...then maybe he’s wrong about everything else,” his voice is weak as he lets out a shaky breath, opening his eyes to focus on your face. You meet his gaze, your lips trembling.

     “You can't lose faith in Azra, we've already come so far,” you whisper, dipping the towel in a bowl of cold water and returning it to his face.

     “We're never going to find it, Y/N. Azra is gone, it disappeared with the Old World, and maybe that's for the best,” he mutters, turning his head away from your hand as you move the wet towel to his cheek.

     “You're sick, you need to-” you reach out to touch his face but he grabs you by the shoulder and sits up, his face taut with anger.

     “We are not what he says we are!” he shouts, the abrupt movement throwing you off the bed and onto the smooth floor. You stare at him in shock, your eyes wide. He opens his mouth as if to apologize, regret instantly filling his gaze, when M.K.’s voice barks from the doorway.

     “Leave her alone!” he walks swiftly towards Castor’s bed, his lips drawn into a tight frown.

     You stand up, rushing to put yourself between him and Castor, “His fever is getting worse, you need to leave,” you say, your face rigid. You hear Castor moving behind you and you turn, holding M.K. back with one hand. Castor staggers towards a statue of ancient armor and pulls a sword from the figure’s belt, panting heavily as he turns and points it at M.K.. A feral look has clouded his eyes, the sword shaking in his outstretched hand as he glowers at the other boy.

     “You don't belong here,” he growls, taking an unsteady step towards M.K.. The dark-haired boy shoots you a worried glance, stepping backwards.

     “Castor, calm down,” M.K. puts his hands up, slight fear entering his gaze as he stares back at him. Castor takes another step forward and you turn around, making a desperate grab for the blade. He shouts out in pain as you shove him away from M.K., but dodges your attempt at stopping him and swings the blade violently toward the taller boy.

     M.K. ducks the blow easily and leaps away from Castor, but the feverish boy follows him, striking out blindly as he attempts to fight in his weakened state. He lunges forward just as M.K. steps to the side, his sword slicing through one of the armored statues that surround the small room.

     “Castor, stop!” you cry frantically, watching in terror as M.K. moves to defend himself. Castor wouldn't be able to win a fight against the stronger boy, his motions already growing sluggish as his body fights to keep him going through his illness. You rush forwards as M.K. grabs Castor and violently throws him down, pressing his body into the hardwood floor and twisting his arm to hold him in place. Castor moans in pain, his face screwing up as M.K. twists his arm back with more force. You shove M.K. off of him, throwing him to the side as you kneel over Castor and hold him to your chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as he drags in harsh gasps.

     Castor struggles against you, turning his head to M.K., “He’s a liar!” he shouts, blood dripping from his nose as he pants beneath your hold.

     “I know what you are,” he whimpers, “The Widow told me.”

     You look down at him in confusion, then back up at M.K. who is staring at the boy in your arms with shock, a sword dangling from his hand in case Castor tried to attack again.

     “Enough.” A low voice from behind you makes you whip your head around, watching as Pilgrim and Nix enter the room. Nix glances down to Castor, fear flickering across her gaze as she sees the sword in M.K.’s hand. You loosen your arms around Castor and he drops his head, his eyes following Pilgrim.

     “Your brother needs to rest,” Pilgrim commands, looking down at you with piercing eyes.

     You don't move, meeting his gaze in defiance. Nix looks at you with wide eyes, imploring you to stand up, but you glare at Pilgrim, pulling Castor closer.

     Pilgrim begins to speak in the ancient language of Azra, and Nix’s eyes dart back up to him, her hand reaching for M.K.’s. Pilgrim gives another sharp order and Nix slowly retreats from the room, pulling M.K. with her and staring remorsefully at Castor. You watch her go, a feeling of betrayal finally shattering your confidence in Pilgrim’s promises. You make up your mind as the last of your faith in him crumbles: you are going to get out of here, and you are taking Castor with you.

     “Dear One, leave us now. I wish to speak to Castor alone,” Pilgrim’s voice is dangerously quiet as he stares at you, and your heart thuds loudly in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

     “..No.” You are shocked by your own response, but you had noticed a look in Pilgrim’s eyes that scared you more than anything you had ever seen, and you refuse to leave Castor alone with him.

     Castor makes a small noise from under you, and you meet his gaze, your eyes conveying to him a silent promise. I'm here for you. And I’m never leaving again. He looks at you with a mix of pain and redamancy, his face showing a million different emotions at once. It is enough for you to know that he understood, and you untangle yourself from him, standing to face Pilgrim.

     “What did you say, my child?” Pilgrim’s voice is threatening, his eyes glinting with sudden malice.

     Castor gets shakily to his feet, standing beside you and matching Pilgrim’s lour. “She said no,” he speaks, taking your hand in his and gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

     “I will not allow disloyalty into my house,” Pilgrim’s eyes are wild with anger, his nostrils flared.

     Your knees feel weak with fear but you stand your ground, taking a deep breath. 

     “Then we’ll leave,” you say evenly, masking your terror with a calm expression.

     A wave of shock passes over Pilgrim’s face, and his eyes turn cold. “You will do no such thing,” he growls, his broad shoulders filling the doorway and blocking the only way out of your room. Castor’s hand tightens around you even more and you wince, blinking at him. He loosens his grip apologetically and moves toward Pilgrim.

     “I guess you'll have to wait and see,” his voice is gravelly as he stands shoulder to shoulder with your leader, the trembling of his hand in yours the only thing betraying his fear.

     Pilgrim’s eyes flash with outrage, and he makes a guttural noise in the back of his throat.

     “I do not want to hurt you, my Dear Ones. But you leave me little choice,” he threatens. “I am not blind to your feelings, I know what has brought about this sudden breach of faith. You care deeply for each other, and it has distracted you from your duty to Azra. I am no stranger to such emotions. But you must stay focused and not let your childish fantasies cloud your perception.”

     You are taken aback by his words, unaware that he knew of your feelings for Castor, and shocked by his proclamation that Castor returns them. This wasn't how you wanted to tell him you loved him. Everything about it is wrong, and your chest burns with frustration as you meet Pilgrim’s gaze.

     “I will give you one day to choose whether you leave or stay. Think carefully, my children, and do not make the wrong decision. Your disloyalty will not go unpunished,” he slowly backs away from the door, glancing at each of you one last time with an admonitory sweep of his dark eyes.

     You hold your breath until he has gone, standing stiffly beside Castor in front of the empty door frame. You can't bear to look into his eyes, afraid of the rejection you might find in them as he drops your hand. You turn away, taking long strides toward your bed, but Castor grabs your arm and stops you, forcing you to turn and meet his gaze.

     “Y/N-” he starts to speak, but you cut him off.

     “I’m sorry, I should never have put you in a position where you had to disobey Pilgrim. You're in danger now, and it’s my fault,” you croak, your throat tightening as he locks his eyes onto yours.

     “No, that's not what I-” he grabs for your hand again but you pull it away, the pain in your heart blinding you.

     “I don't know what Pilgrim was talking about, I…” you falter, your eyes brimming with tears.

     “Really? Because I do,” he stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotion.

     “What?” your breath catches in your throat, your world freezing in place as he takes a step toward you.

     “Do you really not know how much I love you?” he breathes, closing the distance between your bodies until he is standing directly in front of you, the tips of his fingers brushing your wrists.

     “Castor…?” your voice comes out like a whispered prayer, everything you had ever wanted to say to him escaping your mind as he looks into your eyes.

     “You're the only reason that I’m still living. Everything I do is for you, everything I’ve survived...I can’t tell you how badly I want to leave this place, to take you far away from the Badlands and never look back. And I- I thought that maybe you wanted the same thing,” his breath glides over your nose and your fingers twitch, reaching for him.

     He takes your hands, bringing his face down until his lips hover just above yours, only a sliver of air between you as you exchange breaths.

     “You have no idea how much I want that,” you shiver at his closeness, his eyes so clear and blue that you can count the individual specks of green and brown in them.

     “I’ve loved you for so long that I can't remember not loving you,” your words are swallowed by his sharp intake of breath as he stares hungrily into your eyes.

     “And I can't remember a time when I haven't wanted to kiss you,” he murmurs, finally brushing his lips against yours and cupping your face in his hands, tilting your head to the side as he leans into you.

     It’s as if the Earth melts and mingles with the sky, your mind going numb as you feel his lips caressing yours. All the fear, all the death and destruction you had witnessed falls away from you like an autumn leaf, and you shed your skin as you kiss him back, his lips burning against yours with years of suppressed longing. He curls his fingers into the hair at the base of your neck, urging your faces apart and taking a deep breath as your lips continue to search for his, eyes opening at his sudden pause.

     “Let’s leave. Tonight.” His voice is breathy, his lips a wonderful shade of pink from kissing you and his cheeks finally blossoming with color, giving his face life for the first time in months.

     “...Okay.”

     The dream comes flooding back, and you at last see why your mind had concocted the images of the small farm. It was a beacon of hope. A path leading you towards your future. You smile to yourself, grinning despite everything, and wrap your arms around Castor’s neck.

     “Just give me five more minutes,” you murmur into his skin, kissing up and down his neck. He hums appreciatively, tilting his head back as his eyes flutter shut, his features finally relaxing completely as you place tender kisses along his jaw, tasting the salty sweat on his skin. You move back up to his lips, capturing them in a slow kiss as he wraps his arms around you and presses you into him as close as possible. 

     “We should tell Nix,” Castor whispers against your lips, pausing once again much to your disapproval.

     “What? That we kissed?” you laugh lightly, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

     “That we’re leaving.”

     “...We’ll do it once Pilgrim goes to his chambers,” you reply softly, dropping your arms from his shoulders. He nods, resting his hands on your hips and blinking slowly, still caught up in another world.

     “In the meantime, we should gather anything we might need. Food especially,” you begin to map out an escape plan in your head, trying to pinpoint the exact placement of Pilgrim’s guards outside the castle walls. 

     Your room doesn't have any doors leading directly outside, so you would have to sneak out from the lowest floor. Your only consoling thought is the fact that no one but Pilgrim is aware of your situation, so if you ran into any of his followers, they wouldn't question two of his trusted Acolytes if they came across them wandering the castle at night. You had only a few personal belongings each, so packing up your things wouldn't be too hard, but stealing food and a raft would prove more difficult. Your biggest worry however is the fact that Castor is still very sick, and even though your confession seemed to have given him a newfound energy, he looks wobbly on his feet, his breaths remaining unsteady and forced, especially after your kiss.

     “Castor, when you were with The Widow...what did she use to treat you?” you look up from where you are kneeling on the floor, stuffing blankets from your makeshift beds into a small bag that you would take with you.

     Castor looks at you in surprise, his eyes showing a mixture of fear and regret. “I-I’m not sure...I was unconscious for most of the time, but I overheard her say something about medicines from outside the Badlands’ walls,” he sits beside you on one of the stripped beds, visibly relaxing as he finally gets to rest his legs, the effort of standing for so long making him short of breath. You give him a quick glance as you finish packing away the blankets, making sure he’s alright before standing up again.

     “I’m going to check if Pilgrim is still awake. Stay here and get some rest, okay?” you shoot him an affectionate smile, passing him your bag.

     He opens his mouth to protest, but thinks better of it and simply nods, grateful for not having to get up, his muscles burning as his fever rages on. 

     You leave the small room, scanning the hallways for any signs of Pilgrim or Cressida. Confirming that you are alone, you slowly descend the stairs, the room below you washed in darkness after Pilgrim had retired for the night, the fire in the torches surrounding the floor snuffed out. You know where to find Nix, but you doubt that Castor will want to say goodbye to her if M.K. is with her. You quietly enter the room that holds the toys from the Old World, and pause in front of the doorway as Nix and M.K look up in alarm.

     “Y/N? What are you-” Nix stands quickly, moving towards you.

     “I came to say goodbye. Castor and I are leaving,” you reply, watching with a twinge of guilt as hurt fills her gaze.

     “Leaving? Where will you go? What about Azra?” her voice trembles as you walk closer.

     “Castor needs to heal, and he can't do that here,” you don't tell her about Pilgrim’s threats, not wanting to destroy her faith in him as well.

     “Does Pilgrim know about this?” she looks at you uneasily, and you shake your head.

     “No. We’re going to sneak past the guards, but we have to get off the island by morning,” you look at the floor, afraid that Nix will try to persuade you to stay.

     Instead, you feel her arms wrap around you in a tight hug, and you let out a sigh of relief, returning the embrace.

     “I’m sorry I can't come with you,” she whispers, and you tighten your arms around her.

     “Do you need anything?” she asks, pulling away after a few more seconds.

     “A raft. But there are plenty on shore, we just need to be careful,” you look around the room, your eyes landing on the small box of pictures. Nix follows your gaze, her mouth twitching up as she sees the toy.

     She picks it up and hands it to you, pressing it into your fingers. Surprise fills your gaze, and her eyes twinkle, a bittersweet smile crossing her face.

     “For Castor,” she says, and your heart swells at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you smile, looking up, “He’ll love it.”

     M.K. stands in the back, watching you with a guilty expression, and you force yourself not to project your anger at Pilgrim onto him.

     “You should go see Castor before we leave, he’ll want to say goodbye as well,” you direct at Nix, her eyes filling with understanding as you glance back at M.K..

     “Of course,” she replies softly. You give her one last nod of thanks and leave the room, feeling her gaze burning into your back. You take two of the torches hanging from the walls of the castle and begin to make your way towards the room where the food is kept, keeping your footsteps light as you sneak past the guards watching the front doors.

     You grab as much food as will fit into your small bag, taking enough to keep you going for a few days. The bread is stale, and there isn't any fresh meat, but you’ll make do. You catch a glimpse of Nix from the corner of your eye as she ascends the staircase to say goodbye to Castor, and you watch her as she pauses outside the door, collecting herself before entering.

     If we leave from the back of the castle and take one of the rafts that are still in repair, we should be able to evade Pilgrim’s guards, you tell yourself, standing up stiffly and leaving the room before anyone can find you.

     You hurry back up the stairs, carrying the bag that is now heavy with food as you glance around the room to calculate the best escape route. Going out the back door would mean passing Pilgrim’s chambers, and you pray that he will be asleep by the time you leave.

     You return to your shared bedroom, entering just as Nix is standing up to leave. “Good luck,” her eyes fill with an aching sadness as she takes one last look at Castor before exiting the small room.

     “Are you ready?” you look down at Castor, mirroring the pain in his gaze. You understand how difficult this must be for him; Pilgrim was like a father to both of you, but Castor had always had a stronger connection with him, perhaps because he was the first to be brought under Pilgrim’s wing.

     “Yes,” his voice is low and hoarse, and you set down the food to help him up, his teeth clenching as he forces his body to stand. 

     He catches your concerned look, setting his jaw as he straightens, fingers curling around the bag of blankets. “I’m fine, let’s go,” he says forcefully, taking a step towards the door.

     You stop him to place a fleeting kiss on his lips, one last reassurance that everything would be okay before following him out of the room and not looking back.

                                                           …

     You watch the moon slowly fade against the morning sky as you drift across the lake, the sun’s rays peeking up from beyond the fields to wash away the stars with their warm light. You brush your fingers over Castor’s, feeling his hand resting next to yours as you let the island shrink away from you, leaving behind Pilgrim and his empty promises of Gods you no longer believe in.

     The air is chilly, the sun not yet high enough in the sky to have melted the night’s frost, and you watch your breath billow out in front of you, the small clouds of air disappearing into the layer of fog that covers the water’s surface. Castor is lying down next to you, his head resting in your lap as your fingers play with his hair. He looks exhausted, but he is smiling in his somnolence, his breaths even and relaxed. So much had changed in the past few days that it feels as if you are stuck in a dream as you stare down at the boy in your arms. His sickness is still evident on his features, the dark veins running across his cheeks and the fever burning his skin reminding you of the complications you will have to face on your journey, but nothing else could matter to you as you stroke your hands through his hair, massaging his scalp and helping him drift off as your raft rocks gently beneath you. 

     Your eyes raise to the brightening horizon, taking one last look at the ancient castle standing solemnly in the center of the lake, wrapped in fog and climbing towards the sky. As your raft bumps against the shore, the castle fades from view, obscured completely by the palpable mist trapped over the lake. You breathe out a long sigh, feeling your muscles relax as you finally let go of it all, your consciousness wiped clean as you are reborn with the day. This is a fresh start, a new beginning. Tabula Rasa, as Pilgrim would say. Castor’s eyes open, and you see your entire future within them, reflecting back into yours and blinding you from everything else. They are filled with rich possibilities, and for an instant, everything around you is washed clean in unearthly brilliance.

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[chillax-kass-w]

After All | RM1

[Reiner Braun/Reader]

[TW: Canon-Typical Character Death/Violence]

Happiness seems impossible for Reiner, but he may get there after all. 

Read on AO3

[As a note, the format of this story is as follows: chapters actually titled “Chapter _” are current to the Marley Arc, chapters titled “M_” are Reiner’s memories in succession, and chapters titled “RM_” are the Reader’s memories in succession]

Previous

It was a battle getting out of bed the day after graduation. In truth, she should have felt lighter than ever. Her goals were closer than ever, and yet, she found herself bogged down by the eyes of a former friend. As she rolled over again, begging for those few more minutes of rest, she saw them again.

Hazel...

Reiner had been so cold at the get together that night. She knew why, but that didn’t make the cold sting any less. She’d caught eyes with him across the room, a small smile curving her lips. She’d felt so proud of him, even after their falling out. All of their hard work had paid off. He’d been named second, and she, sixth. Their names were cemented amongst the most capable of Humanity. So, without a care for their mutual agreement to part ways, she grinned at him. She half expected him to return it, but he proved that wrong with what could only be called a glare. It lasted a millisecond, but it was worth two years in her mind.

To think they had cleaning duty together that day.

She really didn’t want to face him.

Despite the dread that curled in her stomach, she arrived at the meeting point for those tasked with cleaning the training facilities so an influx of recruits could make them their home for the next three years. What a send off, cleaning the day after graduation. She wished she would’ve been tasked with Wall maintenance with Eren and the lot. She’d much rather have a view while getting to work.

Thankfully, she was blessed to work with a girl named Sarah. Just the chance of being lumped with Reiner caused her anxiety to skyrocket. He didn’t look at her as he walked off to his station, and she tried to ignore the pit in her stomach as she followed Sarah to the mess hall.

Even so, it still felt as if he was there. He haunted her thoughts as she scrubbed the tables and benches. She wondered if the dissolution of their friendship affected him as it did her, or even at all. He certainly acted unfazed. She knew she needed to be the same, but questions kept her mind running.

Was she replaceable?

Too friendly?

Did he care about her at all?

Did he know about her little crush?

At the thought, she scrubbed harder. She needed to throw herself into her work, lest she throw herself into a trash bin. She had no idea how long she’d scrubbed but it came to a brisk halt when another cadet burst through the doors to literally screech:

“The Colossal Titan broke through the Wall!”

Any thoughts pertaining to trivial matters ceased in that moment, and she ran with all her might to get her gear. She barely registered that others were following close behind, nor did she heed the screams of fear coming from all angles. Her own heart was screaming with them, but she knew her duty was to protect the people without a way to protect themselves.

That had been her once.

Her harnesses had never been fastened so fast, nor had her gear, yet she felt it wasn’t fast enough. She regretted not wearing them despite her job for the day; these minutes could cost lives. She made a note to always be prepared. Next time, she’d be the first to action. Next time, there would be a next time. She had to be sure of it.

“Report to HQ immediately!”

Upon arrival, she recognized the organized chaos a breach brought. Soldiers were running left and right, refilling gas and moving equipment. She refilled her gas as quickly as possible before heading off to receive her orders. She barely had time to survey her fellow soldiers, lined up in rows, before a voice broke through the air.

“I want everyone split into four squadrons, as practiced! All squadrons are responsible for supply running, message running, and enemy combat under the command of the Garrison Regiment! The Intercept Squadron will be taking the vanguard! Cadets will be taking the middle guard, led by the support squad! Rear guard will go to the elites! I expect you all to man your posts knowing the Advance Team has been wiped out!” A collective gasp permeated the air. “That’s right; the outer gate is history! The Titans are in! This means the Armored Titan is likely to reappear! If and when he does, the inner gate will also be history! Right, those in the vanguard, be ready! The whole area is well-nigh saturated! Your mission is a very simple one: defend the Wall ‘til the evacuation’s done! Now, be aware, all of you, that desertion is punishable by execution! If it comes to it, lay down your lives! Dismissed!”

“Sir!” came the collectively determined and scared-shitless reply of the troops, their fists clenched tight over their rapid hearts. With that, they ran to their designated stations, and (f/n) followed with her eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t know if it was shock, rage, or fear that caused her tension, but she knew it was anything but good. She met up with her crew to find Floch,  Gordon, Sandra, Keno, and Sarah. They all appeared terrified, especially Floch.

She was too.

But she remembered that she was given a higher rank than these comrades. That weight on her shoulders, along with the weight of the lives of all the people of Trost and further behind Wall Rose, caused her to shelve her fears. She had to take charge and lead her friends to combat the Titans; that was her duty, and she would see that it was carried out. She would use all of the training she’d gone through. She’d lead them to see another day.

She wasn’t weak anymore.

“Alright, let’s head out! Gordon and I will take the front, Sandra and Floch will take the middle, and Sarah and Keno will take the rear. We’re ready for this! It’ll be just as practiced. Slice the nape, but only with an opening! If you see an Abnormal, do not engage without alerting the rest of the squad!”

Her words seemed to stir them a bit, but that innate fear still swirled in their eyes. She couldn’t help that. No words would do. She could only hope their training paid off in that moment, and that the sight of the Titans didn’t stop any of them dead in their tracks, literally. She led the charge by shooting her wires into the nearest building, propelling herself south toward the destroyed gate. She recognized the figures of other soldiers soaring between the buildings, but she didn’t set eyes on any foes in that first shot over the roofs. She continued on, looking between her destination near the center of the town and her comrades. Some determination shone through their fear, and she felt satisfied.

She hoped it would last.

“(f/n)! Titan approaching from the west!” came Gordon’s sudden call. She turned to her right to see what looked to be a ten meter Titan stumbling through the streets. It hadn’t seen them yet, or it was just dumb. Either way, it was a better start than an Abnormal, so she was glad for that at least. Still, fear welled up in her gut, and she barely contained the bile in her throat. She hadn’t seen one since that day in Shiganshina five years prior, but the fear was the same.

This time, though, she was prepared.

“Okay, we’ll split into two groups! I’ll take Sarah and Floch; Gordon has Keno and Sandra. We approach from the sides and the group it doesn’t face takes it out! Don’t get close unless completely open, alright?! Only engage if both arms are far from the nape!” She hoped her strategy was correct. She was taking ideas directly from the instructors, but that didn’t mean she was using them in the right situations.

“Yes, sir!” came her responses, and she almost choked at the title. Yes, she was their senior by a year, but that didn’t mean she was of a higher rank than them, explicitly at least. The top ten rankings really had no use in the different factions; she was a cadet, just the same as them. However, she had no time to form a rebuttal. They had a Titan to take down.

She ran as hard as she could along the rooflines, her chosen comrades behind her and Gordon and his charges directly opposite. The Titan took notice of them when they got within a hundred meters, and it showed this by stopping its sluggish waddling to all but charge at them. It seemed to take a liking to Gordon, and he jumped from the roof before its hand connected. It continued to thrash about in the opposite direction, so (f/n) decided the opening was adequate.

“Engaging!”

Her wires dug into the nape, propelling her straight into target range, as well as harm’s way. Gordon and his crew continued to maneuver back and forth on the other side of the building, drawing the Titan in and keeping its focus away from her. A rush of adrenaline pounded in her chest as she spun toward the nape, muscle memory kicking in from all that extra practice. The slice was clean; the Titan fell instantly. She retracted her hooks and aimed for the roof Floch and Sarah remained on, a grin of victory playing on her lips.

“Nice one, (f/n)!” Keno shouted from across the way. The other three made their way back to them as she scouted the area. They could never be too safe. “That was a good strat!”

“Yeah, we’ll keep on like this unless we spot an Abnormal.”

With a nod from her group, they started off again. They didn’t see another Titan for a while, and that worried the girl. Something terrible was bound to happen. She constantly checked to make sure her comrades were alright, while keeping note of her blindspots. It terrified her that she couldn’t be aware of all sides at once. Suddenly, she spotted a cluster of smaller Titans, and she alerted her squad to their presence.

“Alright, same formation!”

They closed in quickly, and the three Titans noticed immediately. They broke off, two heading for (f/n)’s group and the other went for Gordon’s. She jumped out of the way of a rogue hand, yelling for her group to separate to find an opening. Floch followed Sarah in the opposite direction as (f/n) carried on, the smaller of the two following her. She cursed at this, as she knew Floch was the closest to the other Titan. He couldn’t handle it on his own in the state he was in, but he had Sarah. Even so, she felt responsible for them, so she needed to get this one off her tail stat.

All the adrenaline in her blood reached a maximum, and her fear all but vanished in the face of a comrade’s life hanging in the balance. She turned suddenly, redirecting her momentum and shooting her hooks into the Titan’s shoulder. She narrowly avoided an outstretched arm, pivoting in the air and swinging up to cut the nape. It fell instantly, but it could never be quick enough. Continuing on, she found the other Titan reaching for a stiff footed Floch, his arms above his head as he cowered in the face of death. As she ran with all her might to save him, she noticed Sarah doing the same thing. The blonde was charging the Titan head on, and it barely missed a beat in snatching her from the roofline. (f/n) screamed; she pushed her legs harder, shooting her wires into the Titan’s back. She was so close. So close. So close. She positioned her blades to strike, her heart beating faster with every second. The Titan slowly brought Sarah to its mouth, her screams permeating the air. So close. So close. As she brought her blades forward to strike the nape, the Titan did something (f/n) would never forget.

No, it didn’t eat Sarah.

It crushed her in its hand.

Just one squeeze, and all life ceased to be.

She screamed. She sliced the nape. She felt her friend’s blood coat her skin, mingling with the steaming blood of the killer. The adrenaline that had helped her before fizzled out, and she landed on the roof with little to no grace at all. Floch was screaming, his eyes tearing up above her. All she wanted to do was lay on the tiles of the roof, but she knew that was a far off dream.

Gordon’s voice rang through the air, as did Keno’s. Death rattling.

She shot off the roof, only knowing she didn’t want to experience death again. Keno was in the hand of the other Titan. So close. So close. She was closer this time.

She had to be.

Gordon was yelling for the Titan to put his friend down, but no openings were seen from his side. Sandra was further away, trying to get its attention as well. It just continued to morbidly stare down at Keno, whose lighthearted grin had given way to absolute terror. He was screaming for his mother. He was screaming for his friends. He was screaming for his life.

(f/n) would make sure he kept it.

A shout ripped from her lungs as she barrelled towards the nape, the opening as good as any. No focus was paid to her, not even after the howl that left her. Death was quick, but not for Keno.

She’d made it in time.

Her legs screamed at her despite the rigorous training she’d put them through. Even with that, flesh and bone was never meant to be pushed so hard. She knew she’d torn a muscle, or two, or three. But Keno was alive, and that’s all that mattered in that moment.

Sarah wasn’t.

She shook her head to empty it. She had to focus on getting them out of harm’s way. Keno was still shaking, as was Floch. Actually, everyone was.

Including her.

“Let’s get to higher ground!”

With that, they made their way to a tower not far away…

Without Sarah.

Next

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun/reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #character death #death

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

The Fairy King - Chapter 4

Fandom: Queen/Borhap

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: Queen X reader/ To be determined, x reader

TW: Mentions of death, sabotage, I don't think there’s anything else?

Genre: Fantasy. (Labyrinth AU)

Series: The Fairy King

Requests: CLOSED

Masterlist

(Y/N) already felt like she’d been there for hours, and if Roger’s words were indeed correct and time did pass differently, she most definitely had. She was also starting to believe that the worm had pulled her leg and sent her the entirely wrong way, because no matter where she turned, she didn’t appear to make any progress. Just after the worm had sent her on her way, she’d found a piece of chalk against the wall and had begun drawing arrows pointing in the direction she was heading. However, she soon realised they'd all been flipped and changed. Her eyebrows furrowed at the realisation and she let out a growl.

“Someone has been changing my marks! What a horrible place this is! It’s not fair!” She exclaimed, her hands slapping against her legs.

“That’s right! It’s not fair!” A new voice made (Y/N) twist around and she saw that the wall that had been sealed before had now become to doors with guards in front of them. One of the guards in front of each door was upside down, head poking out from the bottom of the shield and the other was stood upright, the shield held tight in its grip. The guards on the left held a shield with red details, matching the colour of the helmet on its head and the guard on the left held a shield with blue details. Each of the guards laughed at the comment, shaking their heads.

“This… this was a dead-end a minute ago,” (Y/N) mumbled aloud and the four guards looked between themselves before glancing back at her.

“No, that’s the dead-end behind you!” the blue upside down guard chuckled, and when she turned back, the wall had, in fact, closed up, enclosing her in with the guards. They all continued to laugh, borderline hysterically.

“It keeps changing! What am I supposed to do?” She huffed in annoyance and all the guards shrugged except for the upside-down red one who raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Try one of these doors.” He stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, causing (Y/N)’s skin to crawl in exasperation

“One of them leads to the tower and the other leads to-”

“Baba ba bum!”

“-certain death!”

She narrowed her eyebrows and folded her arms, examining the group.

“Which one is which?” (Y/N) requested, taking a few steps closer and knelt down to the upside-down guards as the group appeared to grow nervous. The two upside-down guards shared a glance before looking back to her.

“We can’t tell you,” The flipped red one answered.

“Why not?”

“Uh, I, uh… we don’t know!”

“But they do!” The upside-down blue guard butted in and the pair looked up to the normal guards.

“Oh, then I’ll ask them,” She stood back up and looked between the red and blue guards expectantly.

“You can’t ask us! You can only ask one of us,” The red guard corrected and adjusted himself, jostling the guard below.

“It’s in the rules. And you should know that one of us always tells the truth and one of us always lies. That’s a rule too,” The blue guard pointed to the red guard “He always lies.”

“I do not! I tell the truth!”

“Oh what a lie!” The two upside-down guards covered their mouths to stop their near maniacal laughter.

“He’s the liar!”

“Alright,” (Y/N) walked over to the red guard and placed her hands on her hips “Answer yes or no. Would he tell me that this door leads to the castle?” She pointed to the blue guard who looked at her, flabbergasted.

“Uh…” The red guard leant down so his head was hidden by the shield and began muttering to the upside-down guard. After a few seconds, he looked back up to her “Yes.”

(Y/N) paused and thought over his response, glancing between them both as she searched her own answer for any discrepancies.

“Then the other door leads to the castle and this door leads to certain death!” She said, feeling a strong sense of pride and accomplishment fill her body.

“How do you know? He could be telling the truth,” He replied, almost as if he was trying to persuade you to go into his door instead.

“But then you wouldn’t be. So if you said yes, the answer would be no,” She reasoned and blue guard seemed shocked, even more so than he had been before.

“But I could be telling the truth!”

“Then he would be lying. So if you told me yes, the answer would still be no,” She shot back and the blue and red guard looked at each other.

“Is that right?” The red guard asked and the blue guard shrugged.

“I don’t know- I’ve never understood it!”

“No, it’s right. I’ve figured it out,” (Y/N) insisted and walked over to the blue guards, who stepped aside, a little awkwardly, before taking a small step through the threshold “I could never do it before. I think I’m getting smarter. It’s a piece of cake!”  

However, just as she said that the floor opened from beneath her feet.  She let out a scream as she dropped but before hundreds of hands reached out through the wall and gripped onto her, slowly pulling her to a stop.

“Yuck! Help! Stop it!” She screeched, squirming in the grip of the dozens of hands. Suddenly, some of the hands joined together to look like a face.

“What do you mean help?”

“We are helping.”

“We’re helping hands!”

“You’re hurting!” She snapped, glancing around the darkened tunnel of hands.

“Would you like us to let go?”

As they let go, she continued to fall, another scream ripping from her throat.

“No!” She bellowed and the hands gripped onto her body once more.

“Well then, come on!”

“Which way?”

“Which way?” She repeated, shifting as the hands gripped tighter and began pinching.

“Up or down?”

“Oh…” (Y/N) muttered

“Come on! Come on!”

“We haven’t got all day!”

“Well, it’s a big decision for her.”

“Which way do you want to go, hmm?”

“Yes, which way?”

“Well… since I’m pointed that way… I guess I’ll go down,” (Y/N) said but instantly regretted her decision as the voices turned mocking.

“She chose down!”

“She chose down?”

The hands began leading her straight down and she tried to grip on to them to stop herself from descending further.

“Wait, was that wrong?” She questioned.

“Too late now!”

With that, the hands dropped her through a metal grate, which instantly closed behind her, and their harsh laughter echoed until it slammed shut. The room was pitch black and she looked around in panic.

Mercury was lazing on his throne leisurely, watching the girl through the enlarged crystal ball in the middle of the room. May and Deacon stood either side of his throne and the people of Mercury’s party crowded around the crystal, trying to eye where (Y/N) had found herself. May was beyond impressed that she had managed to solve the two-door prison - so many had lost their lives upon reaching the guards- but he had winced upon her saying how easy it was. That was one of the worst things anyone could say while trapped inside the King’s labyrinth. However, while May was impressed, Deacon couldn’t stop the worry rising in his body. She was a young thing, full of life, and clearly very intelligent but so naive. She was going to get herself killed if she continued the way she was.

“She’s in the oubliette,” Mercury observed and the room, beside the king, May and Deacon, burst into laughter, only to be silenced a second later with a harsh “Shut up. She shouldn’t have made it as far as the Oubliette. She should have given up by now.”

“She’ll never give up,” One of the guests replied, not taking her eyes off of the girl in the crystal.

“The pixie is about to lead her back to the beginning. She’ll soon give up when she realises she has to start all over again,” Mercury let out a dark laugh, slicing through the tense silence of the room “Well, laugh!”

Tags (for this series): @loveandbeloved29 @sam-mercurry-sixx@sunflower-borhap-boys @bouncingjoe @lets-go-panic-at-discos@storiesandcelestialbodies @everything-you-dont-wanna-be @sincereleygmg @mirkwoodshewolf@queendeakyy @sprinkle-covered-leeks

Tags:  @writingfortoomanyfandoms @metaphorical-love-for-a-car@queens-n-roses @freaky-dcaky@yourealegendfred@fierce-bab@dusthas-beenbitten   @bensroger@strangeandwonderfulconcepts@babebenhardy@benhardyjones @silvver-rose @psychosupernatural

#phoebe writes #tfk #the fairy king #queen #queen x reader #freddie mercury #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury imagine #rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek imagine #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #labyrinth

[esonikofanfiction]

K: TALES OF MIDNIGHT: CHAPTER IV: ROOK

"You should rest, Mr. Fushimi," The Captain offered.

"Like hell," came the reply. 

While all the ranks of Scepter 4 had been deployed from Headquarters and Akira Industries to the unlit realm of darkness that was Tokyo, Fushimi wasn't about to let the tediousness of sleep obstruct him from snatching his last opportunity to catch the aggravating Rei Kiyoka, the nemesis he loathed, the one with whom he shared an equal blame in causing recent events. The blackout, having thus deposited the city into darkness, cast it likewise into chaos, a chaos that the Blue King was then forced to sweep back into order, lest the city overrun itself. 

While, no doubt, the police were busy quelling violence springing up amongst the general populous, Scepter 4 had its hands full of criminality pertaining to the realm of the supernatural. Therefore, if Fushimi couldn't sleep on account of utter rage and a thirst for vengeance, it was a guarantee he would find no sense of peace when all of Tokyo lay a seething mass of lawlessness and turmoil. 

Fushimi's abrupt response to the Captain's thoughtful — albeit unrealistic — suggestion, was met with no resistance. The Captain made no effort to instruct him on the proper course of action he should take (or not take), nor to inquire as to what Fushimi planned to do instead. He said nothing, which Fushimi ascertained as an unofficial signal to continue in whatever manner he saw fit. It appeared that Munakata had some faith left in his favorite of the Blues, a sentiment that, earlier, Fushimi deemed as pointless and unnecessary. Only then did he discover (however faintly) that while faith was never needed for assurances of friendliness, it did have a way of making his job easier to do.

With this in mind, Fushimi ventured out alone into the dim of early morning, that unpredictable landscape to which, from every shadow in the city, all the little terrors had sprung, wreaking havoc in abundance, free from all restraint, until societal decorum should restore itself again. 

Fushimi had spent enough time in dismal situations both personally and — if one could speak thus of the likes of Homra — professionally to know what he was up against. He knew what sort of creatures lingered in the dark. He, himself, for all intents and purposes, was one of them. In places where no sense of light could penetrate, those unpredictabilities and dangers, held no power over him; nor at the very least, on his subconscious. Therefore not an ounce of fear prevailed itself upon him but the thought of Rei Kiyoka and the urge to bring her down.

Just one clue — abysmal and, in truth, perhaps a dead end — was left to him: the ‘circle’ was indeed complete, as Munakata said. The inner radius of Tachibana, Yotsuya and Yoyogi stations left some sleuthing still to do. 

If I'm going to find anything down there, he told himself, now's the time: while the city's in shambles. Wait too long, and whatever evidence is down there'll be long gone — that's even assuming something’s there to begin with. That psycho played me twice already. It's not like I'm holding my breath. 

Once again, Fushimi understood the sheer absurdity that came from his obsession; likewise he could see the paradox, grumbling at the actuality of it: I can't just leave a clue, no matter how pointless. What’s worse is that she knows it. 

If, by some odd chance, obsession and a hunch paid off, Fushimi had hoped to pick up Kiyoka's trail. But then, when are the odds ever reassuring? He fought inwardly, rubbing tired fingers over dreary, blood-shot eyes. Either it’ll lead me straight to her, or it'll be a shit waste of time, or both. Outwardly, he sighed. “Geez.”

Not long after, he was at Yoyogi Station, the most recent place in which he'd picked up Kiyoka's signal. In the dull, deserted station, he switched on his wrist device to reveal a holographic screen: a 3D map of Shizume’s metro system. However this one carried further into the deep labyrinth of windy sewers, tunnels, all those incomplete passageways beneath the subway lines. As it was, no modern map existed of the vast, elicit network known as the Shizume Underworld, nor would one have helped. Part of the mystery surrounding the Underworld was that it was constantly evolving.

Nevertheless, Fushimi had his ways of proctoring the data that he needed, layering what intel he could find until an adequate map had pieced itself together. Riddled still with gaps and forcing him, in sections, to maneuver blindly through, he carried on, unhindered in his search.

Silently, he trekked his way down concrete stairwells, past the service doors, scaling afterward, a rusted iron ladder, to the grime-filled sewers below: the upper echelons of the Underworld. 

It smelt of dank and thick precipitation, every little sound a harrowed echo running through an endless web of corridors. 

Approaching a massive cavern indiscernibly deep, he found another metal ladder that descended into it, seemingly to nowhere. Without a care, he ventured down, his holographic map his sole illumination in the dark. 

The ladder carried down about a hundred feet or so. When at last he reached the bottom, he was met with yet another set of stairs, at the end of which, passing through an arched walkway, he came upon a larger, surprisingly less disgusting chamber than the others; nor was it so life-suckingly dark: a vague inclination, he suspected. It was indeed a contrast to the overly decrepit halls left totally abandoned near the surface: A tactical decision, he divined. If it looks like no one's home, they won't be bothered by too many visitors — only those who come here looking for them. 

Further signs of life revealed themselves the deeper in he went. Observing the walls, he found them littered with graffiti, coded guiding signals, evidence of secret trysts: messages encrypted in the slang that only those within the Underworld could read. The damp, as well, had greatly eased itself; the smell of rot and filth had faded to a mild, somewhat cool scent of stone.

Fushimi had hypothesized that many of the Underworld had stolen street-side, no doubt anxious for a chance to enter the festivities. But surely not everyone, he figured, peering all around. The place had seemed unnervingly deserted up until then, an observation that had begun to make him wary. Even those astute in keeping themselves hidden from his eyes could not have managed to conceal a sense of presence that Fushimi would have naturally discerned, and yet he felt nothing, nothing whatsoever; until at once, he did. From utter emptiness to an all-invasive force, he sensed a set of eyes, distinct, pursuant of him and him alone, approaching from behind. 

Fushimi didn’t stop. Hiding his perception in his movements, he journeyed on as though he hadn't noticed. Meanwhile, his is slim daggers hidden neatly up his sleeves crept silently into his grasp.

He wound down more deserted halls and stairwells, following his makeshift map, thoroughly engrossed within the maze. The eyes followed.

After some time, sensing the inaction on the part of his pursuer, Fushimi began to feel a bit restless. Let’s see what you're made of, shall we? He decided. 

Abandoning his slow and steady course, he jerked himself around the nearest corner, feigning escape. 

He broke into a jog, weaving round one corner, then another. Then for the first time, he could hear the steps of his pursuer speeding up to match. Not just a pair of eyes now, are we?

Coming to a forked path, Fushimi didn’t hesitate. Picking one at random, he removed his wrist device and set it on the ground, the holographic map igniting him in dim electric hues. He quickly rose and crept his way down the adjacent fork, hiding in the shadows. 

A moment later, he could hear the steps of his assailant growing, thumping ever-louder before stopping altogether.

Peering from his hiding place, he saw the darkened silhouette of a somewhat slight figure, hooded, stooping to retrieve his wrist device. Silently, he crept out from the shadows, taking stance directly in the figure’s rear.

“Looking for me?” He said. Before another movement could be made, he had the figure pinned inside a power hold, a red-soaked dagger drawn below the neck.

His captive cried out in alarm. “Wait! Hold up! I didn’t mean anything, man! I swear!“

All at once the tension ceased. Fushimi slumped with thorough agitation. “You must be joking,” he said, spinning round the figure. Swiping back the hood, he found a grungy teenage boy, staring horrorstruck at him. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” He stumbled out, holding up his hands in a surrender pose. "I just thought I’d make an easy score, that’s all!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. Just an ordinary nobody.

“Look, man. Clearly I was wrong but –”

 “Damn right, you were,” Fushimi interrupted, releasing the boy with a shove. The boy gave back a slight, uncertain look. “Go,” Fushimi ordered. “And don’t come back.” 

The Underling perceived. He fumbled back a step, nodding furiously. “Y-you got it, man! I...thanks!” And with another a cautious glance back to Fushimi, he took off in a run, scurrying back the way he came. 

Fushimi ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling to himself. “Kids.”

After that, he met no other obstacles, nor could he detect the eyes of further Underdwellers lurking in the shadows far beyond. He was alone, almost uncomfortably so, and then he realized why. I must be getting close, he ascertained. Wherever there are aura-wielders, normal people tend to run and hide – If you could really call these people normal, he added, thinking back to the boy he nearly sliced up with his dagger by mistake. From the look of him, the boy was all of thirteen years of age, yet even then Fushimi saw in him a slithering creature doomed to a degrading life of darkness and betrayal, of filth in every aspect, of lying, cheating, stealing, of ignorance and carelessness to every other form of life beyond that which he knew; but above all, Fushimi saw death – not immediately perhaps, but slowly over time, a festering decay that eats the soul away until there’s nothing left to call a man human anymore. This particular thought brought to Fushimi’s mind all sorts of other things, things he had forgotten, things too close to home. Sensing this, he quickly pulled away as one might redirect himself on taking a wrong turn somewhere. Thereafter, he referred back to his wrist device, following his map as thoroughly as before, lest he start to wander once again throughout a set of mental halls more intricate than those inside the Underworld.

He guessed that he’d been wandering around for about an hour when he came across a thick metal door - the first he’d actually come to that wasn’t already open or partially broken in. On the contrary, this one seemed relatively new. Adding to suspicion, it was locked. Fushimi found this amusing. You’d be better off hanging up a sign that says, ‘Here we are,’ than putting something so obvious as a locked door here. Of course I’m going to go in.

Less than a minute and Fushimi had successfully cracked the keypad and trekked his way inside. 

Standing at the threshold, he peered into a room chock-full of blinking screens reflecting neon glimmers off the lenses of his glasses. "Now we're talking," he said, slipping inside. 

Near the end of the room, he found a small cluster of monitors and slid into the chair before them, pulling out a thin magnetic disk, which he plopped atop the drive. Instantly, he set to work, scanning lines of code, gathering what intel he could find.

As he did, a screen behind him sounded out a little ding. Spinning round, he found a small IM box open on the lower left-hand side. The chime had been an alert, signaling an incoming message. 

Sliding over to it, Fushimi skimmed its contents, subsequently pausing as he read the final line. 

“Kawaguchi Industries: Payment received from Aka Shinku Technologies - item K004: localization complete // algorithm link established.”

"A transaction?" He said, squinting. “So Kawaguchi Industries sold the algorithm? But that can't be right. The algorithm was stolen from Kawaguchi. How could they have sold something they didn't even have? And who the hell is Aka Shinku Technologies? Why do they need the algorithm? Or do they actually have it?" Skeptical, he read the message over. Localization complete. Algorithm link established. "But that would mean..." 

Scowling hard, his eyes roamed out to all the other monitors, their glowing screens replete with running lines of code. Subconsciously, he followed them, searching, thinking. Something didn't add up. 

"Wait a second," he said, checking them again. "The algorithm: it was never actually uploaded to any physical drive, was it? The reason why I haven't been able to find a location for it is because technically, it isn't anywhere. Or I guess, it's currently everywhere at once. It must still be swimming around in some sort of an online matrix. That way, it wouldn't need a facility to house itself, and you could feasibly tap into it from anywhere in the world and have instant, total access to it. And yet, its supernatural influence must be what's making it so impossible to find." Then all at once, it dawned on him. "So that's how she did it. The only way to keep it safe while letting it roam out there in the open is to tie it to an aura, a very unique aura, one that no-one else has. Therefore, the only person who can access it is - “

"The one who holds the aura," came a voice behind him. 

Fushimi whirled around, only to be taken all at once by supernatural arms that thrust him by the shoulders to the ground. His limbs as well were bound by glowing chains that suddenly appeared — conjured by two Strains who stood on either side. The more he tried to squirm, the more tightly they would bind themselves around him.

Their task complete, his attackers stepped apart, leaving him to fidget in his place. Struggling uncomfortably, he peered up to encounter Rei Kiyoka propped inside the doorway, her features calm, her arms crossed lazily before her. 

For a moment there was silence. Neither one of them moved. How long has she been here? Fushimi wondered. And how much did she hear?

"You'd be right, you know," Kiyoka informed him, stepping into the room. "As it is, you cannot access the algorithm. No one can. No one except me." 

Fushimi cocked his head, sending out a look of pure annoyance. "What you're saying doesn't make sense. What about Kawaguchi Industries?”

"What about them?" 

"You know damn well what. You said you created the Kawaguchi Algorithm, and yet you also stole it from them? Why would you steal something you supposedly created?" 

Kiyoka tapped her fingers on her chin, humming at the ceiling. ”Is it technically stealing if you're just taking back what’s already yours?" Peering back at him, her emerald eyes took on a neon glow from that of the screens.

"Kawaguchi stole it from me. I simply stole it back,” she explained. "Or rather, I stole all of Kawaguchi Industries in addition to my algorithm. Girl needs payback every now and again. So I guess you can say, I am now Kawaguchi Industries.”

Fushimi scoffed at her. ”You?”

"What? You don't believe that I would use the very algorithm I created to commandeer the company that stole it from me, so becoming the head of my own organization?”

"A corrupt organization, I'm sure,” he mumbled under his breath.

"But you're not so sure, are you?” She said, her eyes fixated on him, glowing, searching, eerily calculated. “I can see it,” she went on. “Something in your eyes that tells me, even in its smallest form, that you believe me. But of course, it's only natural that one creator recognizes another, you being the one who built the Yuishiki System after all." 

Fushimi scowled, taken aback. "How did you – ?"

“Admit it. You believe that I would create something as outrageous as the Kawaguchi Algorithm because it's something you yourself would create. You have already created it, in your own way. So why is it so hard to believe that someone else could ever be like you?”  

Blinking wide, Fushimi stared at her. Like me? He thought, suddenly speculative.

“But if you insist on being stubborn, go ahead, look into it," Kiyoka offered. "Take a peek inside Kawaguchi Industries. Plug it into your prize, the Yuishiki System, and see what you find." 

Hold on, He thought. Clearly she’d have a lot to gain from holding me captive. So why is she telling me all this? “Are you saying you plan to me go?” He said aloud. “Again?” 

Kiyoka shrugged. “I thought I made it clear - “

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can’t kill me because He wouldn’t like it. But just who is this ‘He,’ you’re referring to? Anyone I know?”

Just then a little glimmer flashed across her eyes; or perhaps it was the haze from all the screens. Either way, Fushimi caught it, and Kiyoka blinked away, almost self-consciously.

“So you let me go,” Fushimi said, ”And in the meantime, you just get to disappear, am I right? While you send me off on another wild goose chase, off you go scot free." He shook his head. “I don't think so. I'm going to find out what it is you’re planning, and when I do, I will stop you. You don't get to be the one left standing at the end of this.”

“And I suppose you believe that you deserve that right instead?" Kiyoka asked, recovering her playful attitude.

"No one deserves that right," he shot back. "Besides, simply being the one left standing doesn't necessarily mean that I've beaten you. You will have tried, failed, and lost, all on your own. And what do I get? Some pathetic sense of victory that doesn't mean shit. That's not winning. The rules of this world don't allow us the luxury of winning. That's why I change the rules. If I'm not the one left standing, it's because I will have made sure that you're the one to fall, even if it means tying a noose around both our necks. I'll take you down with me if I have to.”

Kiyoka clicked her tongue. ”What a stupid way to go." 

"For you, maybe. But not for me. Because unlike you, driven down against your will, I will have chosen for myself, a decision you will have failed to take away from me. As it happens, I will be the one who inevitably strips you of that right. That’s when I’ll know that I’ve won: when I’ve taken everything from you, even your ability to choose.”

At this, Kiyoka paused, nodding slowly. ”I see.” Eyeing a chair beside her, she reached her fingers out, fiddling the upholstery. “And are you so certain that I’ve not already made my choice? That I've not already found the path I wish to take down into hell, and that this isn't just my way of carrying it out?" 

Gradually, she turned to look at him, a darkness in her eye. 

“Perhaps this noose around my neck has already been tied, but it was I who tied it there; I who am now counting on you to let go of the other end, to give the final push. And for that, I can’t have you diving in head first before it’s time.”

”What are you saying?” Fushimi asked. “That you actually want me to kill you?" 

“Kill me?” She chuckled sharply. Then her tone fell flat. “If only it were that easy. No, what I’m saying is this: that if I can't rely on you, Saruhiko Fushimi, then what really is the point of you?” All at once her playfulness subsided, as though it were a mask, finally stripped away. Not even in her eyes did he detect a sense of cunning anymore. As it was, her bluntness, almost human in simplicity and earnestness, had thrown him off completely. 

“The hell?” He said in actual bewilderment. 

Kiyoka didn’t stop. “You know, it would be one thing if you were simply unreliable. But after what you just said — all that blind talk of taking me down with you — you're not even that, are you? You're worse. Because you still can't even bring yourself to figure out why you should be relied upon, and why it is you can’t be. You’re too busy obsessing over the wrong things to even notice the bigger picture.” She shook her head slowly. “Someone with that big of a propensity for oversight is nothing more than a waste of good intellect – not even useful enough to be used.” She made a turn for the door and paused, her voice weighed down, strained. “What a disappointment.” Then with a tired flick of her hand, signaling her men, she exited the room without another word.

Feeling oddly anxious, Fushimi opened his mouth to stop her. Her words, he found, had left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not that he quite figured what to say to make her stay, only that by letting her continue, to watch her walk away, out his sight, he’d somehow lose her further to the darkness, one that no one else could see nor venture through but her. Somehow, this unnerved him, and prompted him to call her back; yet as he did, the aura-chain that bound him rung itself more thoroughly around him, burning him as would a red-hot iron pressed against his skin. He let out an instant cry, mainly from surprise, and that’s when he heard it: the item he'd been waiting on: the metal disk he placed atop the computer drive let out its own alarm. 

Sudden action flooded into his face. With a rising grunt, he forced his limbs against the chains, unleashing both his auras in a two-fold blast that overwhelmed his captors, obliterating them, the chains, as well as half the computer room; more importantly, the evidence that he had seen regarding Aka Shinzu Technologies, information he was then certain Rei Kiyoka had no knowledge of. For once, he’d gained the upper hand.

Snatching up the disk, he ducked out through the newly blasted wall, only to discover a small army of aura-wielders in the presence of Rei Kiyoka, turned to witness the commotion.

For but an instant, their eyes met. Something of alarm — no; excitement, maybe? — carried in Rei Kiyoka’s gaze, and then she gave the order and her followers unleashed themselves. 

Fushimi held a lasting glance on Kiyoka, observing her, then drew his saber outward in a flourish of his power, and vanished into the darkness.

He could still hear the shouts of Kiyoka issuing her orders to pursue, even when he was certain of escape, and it was several more moments before the final hints of aura flashes dwindled away behind him.

At last, he gained the fresh clean air and early rays of dawn atop the surface, though feeling somewhat strange, empty, as though inside the darkness of the Underworld, where Rei Kiyoka lingered, a part of him belonged: where the fierceness of the light forever failed to penetrate.

Exhaustedly, he stared up at the sky, sensed a gust of wind and closed his eyes against it, letting out a long, unhindered sigh.

Reflecting on Rei Kiyoka’s words, everything about her, everything that happened, none of it made sense. She won’t kill me; she won’t take me hostage; she knows I’m powerful enough, and that those chains would never have held me had I really wanted to escape. She could have used her own aura to stop me, but she didn’t. She let me go. But she wanted me — no, she wanted them to think she did everything she could. 

Faced then with the unavoidable truth, he caved. She’s right, I’ve been obsessing over the wrong thing. There’s something more to it. I just can’t seem to see it yet. And that’s the thing: I do actually believe her, or rather, I believe that everything she’s telling me is just one piece of the puzzle - only half the truth. Before, I mistook that for lies, but now I get it. Only half a truth doesn’t necessarily make it a lie. It just means there’s more that needs to be told. And obviously she has a reason for not telling me, which makes her dangerous. I just have to figure out the rest of the puzzle. Only then will I be able to…

Again, he sighed, uncommonly troubled. 

Opening his eyes, staring at the yellow morning glow, he hailed the Captain on the comms. 

"I was wondering when I'd hear from you, Mr. Fushimi," the Captain answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Yes. No. Hell, I have no idea, he thought. Why does that question seem so hard to answer right now? Therefore, instead, he simply asked, “What do you know about an Aka Shinku Technologies, Captain?”

There was a slight pause. ”Very little, I'm afraid. Merely that it is an organization in name only, but that below the surface lies a collection of supernatural beings with, shall we say, questionable motives."

"You could just say 'terror organization,’ Captain."

"Very well, then. From what I’ve gathered, their primary focus lies in exercising supernatural dominance over those they deem as lesser or sub-standard.”

“Sub-standard? You mean regular humans?”

“Precisely. They believe supernatural beings should be at the forefront of society. Therefore, they employ certain criminal tactics centered on aggression so as to bring about fear, and ultimately submission to that same dominance they believe is owed to them. But why do you ask? What is their affiliation with this case?”

"I believe Rei Kiyoka is working with them. Somehow the algorithm's involved, too, but..." 

"But what?" 

“I’m not really sure. It could be just a feeling but…whatever it is she's planning, and whatever she’s about to do…I think she wants me to stop her.”

(Chapter III: Hakkā // Chapter V: Allegiance)

(K:Tales of Midnight is an Eso Niko Fan Fiction series based on the anime/manga series K, written by GoRa and produced by GoHands. All fan fiction works written by Eso Niko are categorized as ‘unofficial fan fiction,’ and are in no way affiliated to GoRa and GoHands.)

#k project #k project fanfiction #esoniko #esonikofanfiction #anime fanfiction #anime #manga #k #saruhiko fushimi #fushimi saruhiko #blue clan #scepter 4 #midnight #gora #gohands #writing #creative writing #fanfic #fan fiction #tokyo #scifi #scifi fanfiction #reisi munakata #munakata reisi #rei kiyoka

[saizoswifey]

Night Time Is Quiet Time

{SaizoxReader}

Genre: N//SFW / Angst Word Count: 9.034 Summary: Follow Saizo on a mission from Iga and witness the hardships that shape who he is.   A/N: I have been wanting to write a series of pieces following Saizo on missions for a while now. We always see him leave and come home but never the in-between and the intense situations he must face time and time again. The events of this story are not completely in chronological order, so I hope it won’t be too difficult to follow. Thank you so much for reading and I truly hope you guys enjoy this despite it being quite a bit darker than I usually post.  Additional Content/Trigger Warnings: Mention of young girls death(not shown), Blood, Blood mention, Death, Murder, Gore, N//SFW, Vaginal penetration, Unprotected sex  AO3: Read Here

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     Alone. He had found her there, alone—the young girl inside. Stashed like she was a mere sack of kitchen scraps, her bruised body carelessly tossed in a rocky crevice that lay inside of a shallow cave, hidden by a thickly wooded area. Her limbs still, twisted and bent in that unnatural way reserved only for the dead. There was much blood. But his eyes, sharp and unwavering in the face of death after all these years, were concentrated now on a particular spot. A smearing of red on her lips that stretched to her pale cheek. Spidering out the right side as if a Higanbana had sprouted from her stilled blue mouth. Morbidly fitting considering they were near a river, he thought.

     A sudden palpitation from her chest had dark understanding pulling at his features and he withdrew a short blade to end the last of her suffering. Saizo brought it to her flesh; just as pale, slicing just as easily under the sharpness, as silken tofu. Simple, clean.

     Now that she was at rest he reached into one of his many hidden pockets to retrieve a small wooden top. He held it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, inspecting it one last time. It wasn’t very large or ornate. Stripes of alternating red and blue had begun to fade with wear from its surface. It was carved from relatively light wood and there were obvious nicks he could both see and feel cut into the surface. Proof the child had used it well.

     Lowering himself onto one knee he placed it to the inside of her small palm with a delicate nature. Something inside of him stirred as he felt her cold hand pressed in his own, and he took a few moments to let that chill seep into him. A form of penance, perhaps. He could choke out some form of apology, but words were never more useless than at a time like this. It would only serve to drape another dark layer of senselessness onto the already haunting scene, and it damn sure wouldn’t make him feel any better.

     He removed her hairpin; a small sakura blossom that would never again see another spring. Then he left.

_____

     This day started as many did for Saizo. Following a sleepless night where he counted your breaths and poked an index finger, ever so gently, into various places while you slept to see just how much of a reaction he could elicit without actually waking you. A kiss as light and fleeting as an early winter snowflake on your cheek.

     He left the room you shared while he could still see his breath billowing and dissipating in the pale moonlight. Though, he wasn’t cold. In fact, the days had become increasingly warm as of late. A good and bad thing for shinobi. People stayed inside at night when it was cold. People hurried home when it was chilly. Now that the temperatures were rising you could find the streets filled with children and drunks longer and later into the evening. A greater chance he could be spotted.

     He made good time in his travel despite the mountainous terrain. The soil and grass beneath his feet gradually began to soak in the warmth of the day, the heat creeping up his limbs like a root draws water. When the sun was at its highest and there were signs he was approaching the river he sat on a large moss-covered rock and quickly ate a piece of dried fish. When he looked to the trees he saw Utsusemi among the gathering of crows, and she flew to perch herself on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything to her, just held a bit of fish for her to peck at and then stroked a finger over her feathers for a while in comfortable silence.

     Normally he hated traveling so far for a mission, but it had been a while since he’d done anything for the village and even he could only keep them off his ass for so long. He stretched the ache in his legs underneath the sunlight, but only for a moment, knowing it was foolish to remain on the ground or in one place for too long.

     The dried fish finished and his familiar flapping her black wings, making herself hidden in the distant branches once more, Saizo took to the trees knowing it would be the most opportune way to remain undetected now that he was so close to the village. As he made his way he often thought of you, the way you looked before he left. Peaceful, hair strewn about the bedding in that sleepily careless fashion. The taste of your dango, but more often than not, the taste of you. And the following weeks he would curse for keeping you apart.

_____

     “How many.”

     “Four, that we are aware of.”

     “That’s not very many…” Saizo cast his eyes to the side with a slight huff of annoyance.

     “One is more than enough, I should think,” the lord barked in reply, obviously unamused with Saizo’s lack of concern regarding the situation at hand. He snapped a fan open, fluttering his wrist back and forth in order to cool his fat face.

     There was warm tea poured into an ornate cup and set in front of Saizo. He did not drink.

     “Excuse me milord, but, the number has grown to nine presently,” a retainer corrected from the side of the room.

     “And you’re sure they didn’t simply elope with some young lovers from this village or the next,” Saizo inquired, face fallen back to that serious, unreadable mask.

     “Of course not. But that does not mean my suspicions are misguided, either.” His voice had picked up a haughty tone, and Saizo imagined how fulfilling it would be to reach out across the tatami between them and twist his neck to silence.

     “I’m simply making sure my time is not wasted on an impasse to discovering some village girl died in the woods gathering nuts.”

     The retainer cleared his throat to announce himself once more. “What milord means to inform you of, is, while the reported missing did contain some of marrying age, a few were of the…younger variety, as well.”

     Children. When Kiyohiro had dropped down from the eaves like a harbinger bat hailing from cave pain-in-the-ass, he had told him the mission involved missing women. That he’d been paid to sniff out the perpetrators and when they were uncovered…to do what the Lord Assassin does best. So this fat faced lord could get his daughter married off without interruption. And that would be just fine with Saizo. The minds of women and the men who would take them were easy enough to figure out. But children…that was not discussed.

     “Are you up to the task?” The Lord asked. However, his tone made it clear it was not a question but a challenge to Saizo’s skill, and a scowl deepened the lines in his face as he watched the tea in front of Saizo grow cold and untouched.

     “It’s going to cost you extra,” Saizo replied.

     The Lord slammed his fan down in anger. “Iga already agreed to and accepted our payment for this!”

     Saizo smirked, unflinching where he sat on the tatami. “By all means, try your luck with someone else and risk your daughter's marriage squashed under your own greedy heel when her intended finds out you can’t even control criminal activity in your own village. They’ve told you who I am. My reputation?” Saizo stood up from the floor, not bothering to be dismissed. “I am Iga, as far as you’re concerned. And I say it’s going to cost you more.”

_____

     He has a room just below, instead, Saizo lay with his back to the cold hard roof of the inn. His arms are stretched up above him, reaching for the moonlight that illuminates his widespread fingers, but the outline of his arm seems to wave and blur. Flex, fist, flex, fist—he opens and closes while inspecting them with narrowing eyes. The backdrop of glittering stars dotting the wash of dark blue sky makes the rest of the world feel hundreds of miles away. If only that were true. Even when the drunken footsteps and the giggles echoing from the mouths of dark alleys fades away, when he no longer smells the fragrant wafts of vegetables and spices cooked over flame, when all else has gone silent; there is still the wind. It shakes the leaves though he can no longer hear their rustle, curling around him like smoke, inculpatory and condemning whispers snaking along every knotting whorl. Reminding him.

     If his fists clenched any tighter he’d draw blood. And in the end, the will to avoid any more of that coppery stench wins out and sees him unfurl his fingers from his roughened palm one by one. And then all he can manage is a self-deprecating laugh, but even that doesn’t come out right. His jaw is too clenched, his throat is too tight and dry, his chest too heavy. The thin air pushes out with a strangled sound, like the whisper of the dead. Drawn out and haunting. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was the precursor to a sob. A lifeless wheeze, which makes him want to laugh all the more, but squeezing water out of rocks felt easier than getting his lungs to produce air enough for that right now.

     Two days, maybe three. His fever would alleviate, his minor wounds would mend enough. Two days, and he could be back to the Saizo that people waited for. Until then, he’d lay here and submit to the spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.…

_____

     He stepped through the noren and there was not a soul in sight to greet him. Empty tables and dusty streams of sunlight bursting from gaps in the wood and windows to illuminate barren tables of the restaurant. Had he been anyone else, the old boards beneath his feet would have creaked out his presence. But this was Saizo. Iga’s best ninja. And when he walked the world heard silence.

     Still, perhaps on intuition alone, an old woman poked her head from the meager kitchen like a mushroom pops from the forest floor, a sour look on her wrinkled face as she sized him up.

     “Sake?” She asked.

     “Food.”

     “I don’t have much, but-“

     “Dango.” Saizo sat down.

     “Just as well, the rice has gone cold anyway. No customers to keep it warm for these days.”

     Saizo heard a rustling in the kitchen when she disappeared, and a moment later she came shuffling over with a plate full of skewers and a cup of hot tea.

     “About that-“

     The old woman held up a hand to stop him. “I know, I know…can’t pay?”

     “I have money,” Saizo corrected, pulling a handsome pouch from his pocket as proof.

     She sat down across from him, and Saizo looked in her milky eyes as she inspected the contents, a mixture of awe and disgust forming from her wrinkles.

     “Awful lot of money for a mere traveling merchant…” She clicked her tongue incredulously.

     “As I was saying,” Saizo ignored her and continued, “why are there no customers?”

     The old woman sighed, her hunched back lifting and sinking with the labor of the breath. “Lots of women turning up missing around here. Some little ones, too…Oh, I hate to think of it.” Her face hardened. “Lords not doing anything about it, either. No matter how much we complain or beg. He’s got his family locked safe in his castle, why should he care what happens to us peasants, hm?” She sighed. “I’m not far from the village out here, but even so, people don’t want to make the trip with the way things are right now. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

     “Hm.” Saizo finished chewing and picked up a second skewer. They weren’t as good as his Little Lady’s. They weren’t really good at all. But they were something, even if that something was only a reminder that he had something to look forward to when he got home.

     They sat together in silence for a moment.

     “How much do I owe you?” Saizo asked.

     “Don’t bother, just finish your food and go. I had my suspicions when you first walked in…I may be old but I’m not a fool. You’re no ordinary traveler, and I have no need of your blood money,” she pushed his coin back towards him as she said so.

     Prideful idiot. Old woman or not, he wasn’t about to force someone to take his money. Especially not for shit dango. Saizo smiled politely. “Have it your way.”

     “And don’t come back,” she stood up from the table to take her leave, “I’ve had enough of your kind and seen enough bloodshed for a hundred lifetimes. I’ve had enough of the war and fighting you bring.”

     Saizo chuckled fondly. And when the old woman questioned in offense, he took a calm breath to explain. “It’s just that you sound a lot like someone I know.”

     “Hmph. No ordinary someone,” the old woman saw through him. “And you still continue to kill, despite how she feels?”

     “Mn,” Saizo took his time chewing the last of the dango, letting the skewer fall onto the plate with the rest. “I get paid to kill,” he admitted, waving the coin pouch as a reminder before tucking it back into his pocket. The corners of his mouth lifted to a sinister grin, a dangerous glint in his sharp eyes. He was a raging fire in a field of dry straw. The face of a killer. “And a lot of men deserve to die.”

_____

     “Genji!” She smiled as she called his name. The afternoon sun had not yet washed over Saizo’s face before her voice greeted his first step onto the street.

     Pinpricks. That’s what he felt as she waved to him from the front of her family’s Inn, where he was keeping a bed for the duration of his mission. Pinpricks of nostalgia, something eerie? He wasn’t quite sure. Because so much reminded him of you. And the way, so, so long ago, your tiny mouth split your cheeks in a grin so blindingly bright he had forgotten all about the cherry blossoms above your heads and the warm, salty sorrow of that day. He wished he could have known you while you were like this. Skinny little limbs peeking out from a pink kimono you were still growing into. Surrounded by friends, maybe he would have been one of them? Could he have been?

     Playing in the streets and occasionally blowing warm breaths on your tiny cupped hands to stave off the winter chill that still lingered in the air. But it was better this way. Just like this girl smiling before him, eyes wide and innocent and glimmering the way they did for the purely good. Better his Little Lady spent most of her childhood in the light. Before his shadow bled over her path and crept up to her feet. It was better this way because death was with him, always. Whether or not he was the one to call it. Hanging like a sharp naked blade over his outstretched neck.  

     “Staying out of the woods today, hm?”

     “Like I promised!” She replied proudly, practically skipping up to his side and nearly crashing into a woman and her produce in the process.

     Saizo tilted his head with a small smile. Her name was Miki, and she had become a familiar annoyance in his life here.

     Of course, he couldn’t mention this out loud. Or the way her darting up and over was just like a koi fish in a pond, mouth open wide as it surges through the water for a mosquito thrashing on the glassy surface. But would that make him the mosquito, then? He felt more like a field mouse to an owl with the way she gripped her tiny claws into his sleeve.

     He keeps his placid smile and pinches his brows above his nose facetiously. “Good. Perhaps you’re really not as dumb as you look, then.”

     “Hey! You-“

     Saizo’s hand ruffling her hair cut her off, and the kinako mochi he offered her next kept that silence. For a brief moment, anyway. With her right cheek puffed full of mochi she gave him as stern a look as she could muster, chewing the gripes, then turning her attention back to her friends and the crude circle they had fashioned in the street out of twigs, like a ring.

     “Argh…You really messed my hair,” she whispered to Saizo with a grumble, struggling to right her sakura pin she must have spent a great deal of the morning placing.

     It was not lost on Saizo the way her big brown eyes then, flustered as her fingers on her scalp, darted to her friend from across the twigs. A boy with a cheeky grin that reminded him so much of Sasuke. A boy around her age; which meant that while she was looking at him, his focus was still fixed on the ground, preoccupied with whether or not his wooden top would knock his friends outside of their makeshift ring. Not quite yet, little lady, he thought lightly. And one day soon, this will be quite the opposite. An amused chuckle handsomely danced up Saizo’s chest while he watched them, unnoticed by anyone but himself. When she still continued to fuss at her head, he deftly reached over and righted her pin for her with a sigh.

     “Aren’t you turning into quite the fussy little lady. Careful now, most boys don’t like a girl who’s so prissy,” Saizo teased, using his elbow to lightly nudge her towards the boy. So she knew that he knew.

     “Genjiiii,” she sulked, drawing out the last of his name with a quiet and annoyed huff befitting to a chagrin child in the face of his nettling.

     She used all of her strength to push his arm away, and Saizo mused at just how little of that strength there was, if there was any, despite how tough she acted. She couldn’t knock over a reed in a windstorm, he smirked, and if he wanted to he could counter her push with two fingers alone. But he was Genji; the gentle traveling peddler of medicinal herbs. Not Saizo, the Lord Assassin. So he pretended she had strength, let her knock his arm away playfully, and laughed again as she righted herself. Amused by how easily she flustered and how honest her feelings were showing. Pink dusting her cheeks which sat doughy on her face. So obvious. Yet the boys continued to wind and toss their tops, laughing and cheering and oblivious.

     “Not quite an apple yet.”

     “What are you saying now?” Miki groaned in confusion.

     No, not an apple. That was reserved for the inhuman shade only one person could achieve. “Strawberry,” Saizo decided.

     “What are you talking about strawberries for?”

     “Who knows?” Saizo smirked, poking at her cheek with his finger.

     “Cut it out!” Her little hands slapped to her face with lightning speed and she turned away, but a hint of a giggle she was unable to keep down burst like a bubble into the air. 

     “Hm, fine then. And I was just going to tell you there were crumbs on your face…”

     “What?! Where?”

     Mortified, she swiped her flattened palms against her mouth until Saizo, finally ready to show mercy, stopped laughing to reassure her. Another girl, already passing the boys in height, noticed the commotion and took slow dainty steps over to the circle to watch with the others.

     Clink-tink-tink. The tops knocked against each other in staccato. Three at once continued to dance together among the snapped twigs with their few spared leaves still attached and saluting proudly, like a banner flag of the zealous childhood. One top began to slow, then another, and in the end, one spun just a hair longer than the others and its owner cheered in delectation, scooping it up from his feet while his friends pat his back in shared victory.

     “Were you good at kenkagoma too, Genji? I bet you played a lot.”

     Saizo hadn’t even realized he had been watching so intently, and her voice startled him out of his reverie. The sky above was as brilliant and bright in cascading hues, as blue as the outstretched wing of a kingfisher, and the sun was high enough to begin to draw shadows from feet. Couples walked towards shops together. A cart carrying bolts of cloth rolled by, pulled by sweaty hands and wheels creaking over any rock larger than an umeboshi in its path.

     Men with sweat beading their brows and canes clutched in ghost-white knuckles carried bundles of straw on their backs and firewood to their homes to counter against the last string of winter nights. Women with rouge-painted faces ogled and crooned over various items, schmoozing merchants to haggle a price. A normal, boring, plain, village. Plain as any other.

     Saizo watched daily life in an unremarkable place happen all around him, hating the fact that he could never see it as such. If anyone knew just how often and easily even the thinnest veil of innocence can disguise the tainted and decaying within, it was Saizo as Genji. He’d watch this same scene play out before him time and time again. All his life. Faces contorting with their grasp for power. Voices once a source of warmth and acceptance turning to cold steel against your skin. Secrets collected and tucked away in provocative darkness. And what are we but a collection of our secrets? Slowly mounting over time, scattered and buried or used as a platform for deceptions.

     This place would be no different. And he was exhausted, having to be the one to lift that dark shroud knowing what lay underneath. A sea of reflective stares like mirrors against a black ink, numerous and glinting as the water-polished stones of a riverbed catching in the moonlight. Eventually, all secrets are revealed. They come wriggling, breaking through even the toughest earth like worms in the rain. And the rain always comes. No one knows that better than Saizo.

     There’s a tug on the sleeve of his kimono. “Hey, are you listening?”

     “Hm?”

     “I saaid, did you play kenka-goma when you were little, too?”

     Saizo does his best to lighten his voice, but there’s no mistaking the extra weight now pressing on his features. “Afraid I’ve never played, no,” he answers honestly, forcing a friendly smile from his pressed lips.

     “Never?! You are so weird, Genji…”

     “If you say so,” he says. You have no idea, he thinks.

     “Try it! You can use mine.”

     Miki presented her wooden top to him as if it was some grand antique heirloom in her hands. Knicks and all. In a circle she showed him how to twist the rope around the base in a tight coil, whipping her hand out from her torso in a tossing motion to demonstrate before handing it to him.

     “Here, look, once you have it wound like that you just make sure you hold the end of the rope here. Got it? Okay, then you just toss it. But make sure you hold on to the rope, okay? That’s important. And toss it like I showed you. Kinda like when you skip a rock in the water. But easier, my cousin can’t ever skip rocks in the water when we go down to the river but she beats me all the time with tops. It’s pretty easy. Wait, you have skipped rocks on water before, right?”

     “Do you want me to toss this thing or are you going to insist on talking about rocks?” Saizo replied flatly.

     “Whoops! Okay, I’m ready,” she replied, taking a step back to watch with wide eyes.

     A few others release their tops onto the dirt along with Saizo, but it’s clear as a toy launched by an adult that his is spinning much faster.

     Tink-tink-clink-tink. One top collides with Saizo’s, sending it careening towards the barrier of sticks where it topples over on impact. Two more continue their dance around, and its almost hypnotic the way they glide over and around little pebbles, wobbling and jutting back and forth as they weave trails. Another top slows, stutters and falls to its side in defeat before being scooped up and rewound for another go. Tink. The last two tops come together once again, and the boys are making fists of excitement and leaning in further and further. Some get on their knees for an even closer look.

     The last top falls and Saizo’s keeps on spinning and spinning round. She has a grasp on his sleeve still, Saizo notices, and she too is transfixed by the sound and the swerving. All of them hold their breath, anxious to see just how long it can keep going. A few are young enough to suspend belief, dreaming of a world now where this top just keeps on spinning forever and ever, rolling and bouncing for eternity over great mountains and frozen lakes translucent enough you can see the fish scatter from its path in fear. Some whisper in wonder to each other that this has to be the longest a top has ever spun in the history of history.

     Saizo watches with a blank stare, the red and blue painted lines of the wooden top. It moves so fast that the colors appear to expand and mix together, blurring to distort the once obvious line where one ends and another begins.

     There’s another excited tug on his sleeve, and he lets himself be honest that it isn’t bothersome. That maybe, if he were ever allowed to live as people did, he might then be willing to admit he wouldn’t hate the idea of a daughter—or children—at all. There was a time when Saizo could separate his feelings from the attachments people made to Genji. It was simply a game, and he was always the one holding the rope in the end. It was clear, once, where his emotions and actions as Genji ended and where Saizo began, and he could remove himself from it all when a mission ended. When he removed his mask. It was as simple as that to be free.

     Not anymore, however. Like the colors on the top, he felt the line between Saizo and Genji blurring more and more. Could he say there was a line at all? Spinning, spinning, spinning. Red and Blue. Right and Wrong. Clean and Tainted. Light and Shadow. Unlike the toys in the ring, it seemed his life was always picking up speed. Faster and faster it swirled still, causing his ideals and past and present and everything he is to converge and bleed into one another. He’s waist deep in the hazy, murky aftermath, and he cant even tell who he is anymore. Sorting fact from fiction now would be like trying to put water back into the river once it's flowed into the ocean. Impossible.

     A chilly breeze coasts through the street as they watch the top finally fall. There’s a wave of awe and exhausted gasps when it happens, everyone gulping air to compensate for holding their breath. It doesn’t last long before the electric buzz around the circle dies down and another round of tops begins again.

     It’s already much later than he would like it to be. Utsusemi caws obnoxiously in the distance, no doubt annoyed by the time he’s wasted. Damn bird. It’s shrill enough to command his attention, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps down the street before he feels a tug. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. So he doesn’t.

     “What?”

     “Are you leaving again?”

     “For a bit.”

     “For work stuff again?”

     “Unless you know of a way these herbs will pick and deliver themselves.”

     “Can I go?”

     “No.”

     “And you’ll be back?”

     “Yep.”

     “When?”

     “When I’m back.”

     “You were really good at kenka-goma. I knew it. I knew you would be.”

     Saizo turned on his heel now to face her, a look of comical exasperation as he removed her clutched hand from his person like you’d remove a mouse from the clutches of an alleycat. “Is that what we felt was so important to say to me, then? I really need to be going.”

     “Mmhm. Well…also, I want you to take this.” Her voice is shy, a mousy wisp blown fast over the syllables.

     Standing there, she holds her arm out to him. A wooden top with red and blue stripes creates a divide between two lingering hands, and Saizo forgets to conceal his true shock for a moment as he accepts it. His eyes round in surprise but he recovers quickly, his cutting features melding into an incredulous expression.

     “And what, exactly, am I to do with this?”

     “Whatever you want. It’s yours now, keep it.”

     Saizo wanted to say several things. First and foremost, that he had no need or want of a child’s toy. Particularly one that was being actively used by said child up until a crows shit ago. However, the reply forefront on his tongue was, “Why?”

     “You said you didn’t have one as a kid… I dunno, I felt sad… I thought maybe now, if you have one, you can play with it.”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “And you can play with me.”

     Not gonna happen…

     “Plus, this way you don’t forget about me when you use it,” she continued, rocking on the balls of her feet a bit like it would help the words come out.

     “……”

     “Plus! I wanted a new one anyway, and now mom and dad will have to get me one.”

     A smile grows on Saizo’s face and he tucks the top away in his pocket. “You know, pretending to give someone a gift just so you can get a better gift is not only selfish, but rude.” Saizo clicks his tongue in disapproval. “And worst of all, it’s not very clever. Spilling your plans when I can just reveal your tricks to your parents…I guess I take back what I said earlier. You really are as dumb as you look.”

     “Wait! Then give it back!” She reaches for him, laughing, but he dodges before she can even finish her sentence.

     Saizo is already several feet ahead of her now, having weaved through the crowd of foot traffic surrounding them. “Grabby and greedy, too.”

     “Come onnn, give it back!” She chases him down the road, always just shy of grasping his kimono before he darts in another direction, leaving her panting in the dust.

     Saizo pops up on the other side of her, sending her jumping at the sudden shock of his voice. “Trying to take something you’ve already given… Tsk. That’s called stealing, you know. I’ll have to add that to the list as well, right under prissy. Perhaps I’ll pick up a pen and some paper while I’m out? At this rate, I’m going to need it if I have to remember all of these horrible things I’m going to tell your parents.”

     And as suddenly as he appeared, he’s headed up the road again. This time, she doesn’t try to follow him as he walks.

     “Don’t forget, I’m helping cook dinner tonight! It’s going to be reeeally good, so you better be back before dark!” Miki shouts to his back.

     Saizo glances back at her briefly, one last acknowledgment before continuing down the street.

     “Promise!” She calls. And his figure gets smaller and smaller. He doesn’t turn around or wave, but somehow she knows he heard her. Until he disappears from her view, she stands there in the street and watches him walk away.

_____

     This is what he hated the most. It had taken half a day longer than he anticipated to find the place, and now he was stuck crawling under the foundation like a filthy rat in order to hear information on their hideaway. The footsteps creaking in the wood above his head shift the boards and send sprinklings of musty scented soil straight into his face. This was the type of work for a lesser shinobi, laying among the mouse droppings and beetles in the dank darkness. He was going to have quite a few words when he got back to Iga.

     Above him, the men continued to talk. Saizo was just about to make his way out when something caught his ear.

     “So they caught another one?”

     “Yeah, found her out in the woods near the village yesterday.”

     Saizo’s throat cinches despite himself. In the darkness, his eyes narrow. It couldn’t be…she wouldn’t be that fucking stupid. And yet, every instinct wringing his insides of held emotions like an old rag, told him otherwise.  

     “Another young one?”

     “I heard she was a bit of a fighter, though.”

      “Those never last long with the boss…”

     They begin to make their way out, and Saizo draws his short blade. When the first one steps out, he slices through both heels in a flash, severing the flesh and taught muscle and sending the man’s body falling forward into the dirt with a thud.

     “What the fuck was that?!” One of the others yells, steps frozen in the entryway as he watches his comrade writhe and scream in pain. Blood pouring from his heels into the dirt to create a dark crimson mud.  

     From beneath the veranda, Saizo appears with inhuman speed, as if the laws of gravity suspend for one man, shaking the dirt from his silver hair and tugging his clothing back into place.

     Three more of you, hm?

     They’ve drawn their blades, but Saizo simply stretches the kink in his neck and takes a step towards them.

     “You bastard…” One plants his foot, sword pointed.

     Saizo’s face remains an emotionless wall. I don’t even need my katana for you. The cowards don’t get a single swing in before Saizo feels the resistance of steel hitting vital organs. They drop at his feet, blood pooling and leaking into the cracks of the floor, dripping down to where he lay just moments before. He flicks his blade through the air and watches the blood spatter onto their lifeless backs before tucking it away once more.

     The one in the dirt is still wailing. Saizo grabs the old chipped blade of one of the dead men and slowly proceeds out towards the field. His foot crushes down onto the man's sternum hard enough for a crack, and in the middle of the plea, Saizo dives the worn blade down for a killing blow.

_____

     It just had to be the damned rain.

     Saizo perched himself on a sturdy branch, looking up at the darkening sky. The rain would stop soon, but not soon enough. His thumb flicks, a pleasant and familiar click sounds in the darkness as his blade is released from behind his back. Their little operation has been found, nestled amidst tall cedars and mountain flowers, and the rain won’t stop him this time.

     The cold drops beat down harder now, masking his steps and pecking at his exposed skin. The chill each drop brings soaks right to his core, he can feel it in his bones but he suppresses the shiver. It’s not as terrible as his irritation, like needles under his flesh, pricking away at him in the darkness.

     He doesn’t bother to conceal himself. And when he kicks the door down an arson of wooden splinters surges forward into the dimly lit hut. Sword whipping a tight whoosh through the air and splitting several droplets of rain from the leaking roof in the process. They’re sleeping on the floor, some propped up against the wall. Some still awake but clearly drunk. There are many, but not near enough.

     Lightning cracks through the sky and illuminates his figure, making him look every bit as death himself. Some scream. No, no, he thinks with a grin, I’m just his messenger. But it’s every bit as frightening, he’s sure, as the hazy blue flashes crackle and spark through the clouds appearing behind his dark frame in the doorway.

     There’s a flash of red. With swift, practiced movements Saizo’s sword makes a path through every mans throat within striking range, collecting heads and spraying blood like crimson rain across the room. Dotting the horrified faces of the men now stirring at the sound of their companions choking on their own blood.

     In the chaos his eyes scan and asses from wall to wall. The fever is clouding his mind and weighing his lids but he pushes through, already taking stock of their weapons and headcount. Pathetic. He feels the weight of his blade in his hand, runs a thumb along the woven pattern as he’s done a thousand times prior, and flicks his wrist into position. When he spins now he leaves a path of limbs in his wake. Legs, arms, hands, they all sail down to the floor like petals in a spring breeze.

     To his left a blade swings with the intention to cut him, but Saizo catches the wrist with his left hand, using his force to twist until bone and tendon pop and the blade falls with a heavy clatter.

     Then—

     “Hng…” Saizo chokes on his own gasp, his body freezing in the moment.

     Shit. Shit. The rain really had taken more of a toll than he’d anticipated. He’s sluggish, and a wakizashi now presses firmly into his right side. Threatening to dig in deeper. Everything is slow, drowned in the sound of heavy rain pelting the roof. He cocks his chin up. Clenches his teeth to gnash the coppery liquid swirling on his tongue and seeping out between his teeth. From the corner of the ceiling, a dark shadow swoops down to Saizo’s aid, using its talons to claw his attackers' eyes with a fierce caw. Utsusemi.

     Saizo removes the blade from his flesh, an iniquitous smile now pulling the corners of his mouth. It’s been a while since an opponent has landed a blow. He thinks back to his days in Iga and his master’s blades, thrown with unforgiving speed and precision, and how it stung like fire when they found their target in him. He was too feverish to feel the hot sting now.

     Focus, he hisses at himself. Breathe, listen, recalculate, think…His stance widens, the ball of his back foot planted firmly into the ground, ready to spring himself forward. Another flash of lightning. Saizo’s underhanded swing splits the stomach of the man in front of him before the tip lodges into the side of the man on his left. He kicks the body off his sword, sending it careening into a wall and using that momentum to spin just in time to slash diagonally across the man approaching behind him. The last one. Saizo watches his opponents hands and the sword they were holding fall as he drops to his knees and collapses lifeless onto the floor in a thick pool of blood.

     Is that my own heartbeat, so loud? The fever makes him dizzy, the stench makes it worse. Tripping over a random severed arm he takes a rest against the wall which groans at the mercy of the wind.

A navy cloth is pulled from his pocket, and in silence, Saizo stands in a thick layer of cooling blood. He wipes his blade, as silver as his hair and glinting in the rare swatches of white-hot lightning. There’s a cave entrance not far up ahead, and while tucking his katana behind his back Saizo makes his way towards it. He’s not a person who’s ever relied on hope. But if he was, he’d hope he was wrong about what he would find inside.

_____

     The cold moon floats high above the trees, spreading ethereal blue into the translucent waters of the river at Saizo’s feet. Reeds dance in the night wind and lily pads as large as his head bob up and back in a mutual dance with the current. When he bends down to gather water in his cupped hands he winces, favoring his side only slightly when the wound he harbors screams in protest of his movement.

     “What.” Saizo’s voice cuts sharply through the quiet.

     From the shadows a figure appears, dropping down from a hidden branch to land silently in the grass below. Kiyohiro says nothing, he just stares.

     “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wash this shit off,” Saizo turns his back from the other shinobi and continues to splash icy water up his arms and torso. He’ll never be rid of the smell, and his skin prickles until numb with each chilling rinse, but he continues to wash until he can no longer feel a coating of sticky copper layered upon his skin and armor.

     Hm, the money, is it? Saizo had caught the unmistakable lump of coin tucked in Kiyohiro’s chest, heard the faintest clink when he jumped down from the tree. My hefty sum for a job well done. In his own pocket Saizo retrieved an item, taking a look at it one last time before tossing it into the dirt at Kiyohiro’s feet.

     “Give it to her family,” he says curtly. He needn’t say more than that for his subordinate to understand.

     After all…the idiot must have gotten nabbed while looking for him when he hadn’t made it back for dinner, he thinks, sinking down to sit at the riverbed.

     Kiyohiro picks up the hairpin, looking as if he was trying to put together some semblance of words but the sentences weren’t clicking.

     Don’t…Saizo shoots him a severe look. A string of silence followed as Kiyohiro swallows the bits of chopped, confused pity.  

     “There’s another inn not far from here,” Kiyohiro says, eyes glancing in a flash to the wound still weeping on Saizo’s side, “I’ll arrange a room for you.”

     He bows, then disappears back into the trees.

     Saizo sinks back into the plush grass, happy to have some silence for the first time in days.

_____

     Brilliant golden hues highlights shadows cast down by the branches of the tree Saizo sat resting under. He’d been zipping from trunk to trunk, pressing fingertips into soil indents, checking snapped twigs and scouting for hints of heavy foot traffic that could be signs of criminal activity. Signs that could point him in the direction of the disappearances and the answers to who was behind them. And now he was resting. The key word here being was. And when he popped one lazy eye open he saw the tiny foot shuffles he had been hearing in the leaves belonged to…tiny feet. A young girl attached to them.

     “What’cha doin out here?” She asked, peering down at him.

     “Isn’t that what I should be asking you?” Saizo opened his eyes wide in faux astonishment, ever the innocent Genji.

     “I live around here.”

     “In the woods?” Saizo replied, incredulous.

     She shook her head. “No, in the village nearby.”

     “If you live there then you must know young girls like yourself have been going missing, no? And that it’s dangerous?”

     “Are you a bad guy?” She took a hesitant step back.

     Saizo sighed. If all the girls in the village were this dumb, it’s no wonder they were dropping off left and right. Still, he should correct her.

     “I am a merchant. I was out here gathering herbs. As an adult. For my work. So what brought you out here?”

     She pointed up to the branch above him, Utsusemi’s wings flapping at the attention. “I followed it here, I was trying to feed it,” she admitted, unfolding her hand to reveal a wriggling worm dotted in soil.

     Saizo shot his familiar a sharp look, only to get an apologetic caw from the animal. “You won’t get her attention with that just yet.” Dipping into his pocket he pulled a chunk of dried fish until his familiar perched herself on his arm for a nibble.

     “Whoa!” She exclaimed with pure delight.

     “You can stroke her feathers if you want, but if she takes one of those little wormy smelling fingers off don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

     Cautiously, her hand reached out and pet the bird with slow, soft strokes. A beaming grin of elation grew on her face as she did so, for Utsusemi didn’t seem to mind one bit.

     “My parents own the Inn in town, you don’t have to sleep under a tree.”

     Wasn’t planning on it. “Do they? Well, that’s very kind of you. I suppose I could use a few nights rest in a bed, if you have a room to spare.”

     “Yep! I’ll take you there. My name’s Miki!”

     “Pleasure to meet you, Miki. I’m Genji.”

_____

     “Still waiting up for me, hm?” There’s no one around to hear the words he speaks from the rooftop. It’s closer to sunrise than anything, yet the lantern in your room is still burning its lambent orange welcome beacon.

     He’s checked himself so many times it’s to the point of being neurotic, terrified some blood stain has gone unchecked somewhere. Dropping down from the eaves, he creeps silently into his room and slides the door closed behind him. Just as he suspected, you were asleep. A hand and leg jutting haphazardly out from the nest of blankets. There was nothing in this life quite as enticing as those glimpses of soft flesh in the cool night air. Saizo hadn’t made it but a few feet towards you when his eyes were pulled elsewhere. A spot in the corner of the room that had his stomach harden and face fall flat. On the floor near the desk, a spinning top lay wound in its stark white rope.

    “Saizo…?!” You sat up drowsily.

     “Woke you, did I?”

     “No, I was up waiting.”

     “Liar,” Saizo smiles, dropping down to cup your face in his hands. He’d never be tired of the way your glassy eyes shined brightly for him. The image reflected back in them who he wanted to be, the warmest most tender version of himself.

     He knew you must be exhausted. His thumb sweeps where dark circles form under your eyes. But now that you’re awake there’s no way he can let you fall back asleep. Not just yet. He sighs inwardly, knowing he’s not much different than a selfish child vying for attention. His body calls for your healing warmth, so he deftly slips his fingers into your robe to seek it out for himself.

     There’s a mutual moan when his lips envelop yours for a deep kiss. If his soul can be soothed in any single way, it is in this. Your loving hands fixing themselves in his hair, pulling his clothing away from his body and dragging him to join you beneath the sheets. Your want of him only spurs his desires. He can’t control his hands, or the desperate way he stimulates your mouth and sucks on the tip of your sweet tongue.

     “I missed you so much,” the wet hot confession is a murmur into his bottom lip the first break for air.

     He never wants to see you cry. But when he pulls back just slightly and catches a tear fall from the corner of your eye, he thinks in these moments it might just be alright. Silly little thing. Don’t you know you’re his home, the guiding light on his dark path? He’ll always find his way back to you.

     “I need to feel more of you,” he admits.

     Emotion and dread well up like a wad of heavy cloth in his throat. His worst fears causing his hands to shake. Your face no longer rosy and smiling and warm, but still and pale and cold to the touch. It flashes in his minds eye, distorting you into a dead corpse in his arms. On your mouth a familiar spidering of red clamoring for purchase on the cheeks he once kissed pink. Saizo shakes the vision from his mind and feels for your heart.

     Thump-thump-thump. It’s there. Thump-thump. The beat quickens under his fingertips. The image melts like snow in spring. But he knows he’ll never shake the anxiety that as easy as it is for him to reach out and feel the proof you are alive and well, it could just as easily be taken away from him.

     “Wha…Saizo?” Your hands find the bandage over his side.

     “Mn. It’s nothing.”

     “Are you sure? It looks serious…What if it reopens?”

     He tries to kiss your worries away, swiping at your bottom lip with his tongue when he does so. “Is that your way of saying you’re willing to do all the work, little lady?” He teases.

     You nod, not even sparing the beat of a heart to think about it. “I don’t care, I just want to be close to you.”

     “Well then,” he switches you both, positioning you over his lap while he lays with his back to the floor, “show me just how much you missed me.”

     He’s hard and ready as he’s ever been, feeling your wet heat pressing against his bare length, and in an effort to distract himself he plays with the soft skin of your thighs and breasts when you begin to grind back and forth. It’s more than he can bear.

     “Put it in yourself,” he instructs. I want to see.

     “Okay…”

     You guide his twitching cock to your entrance, but as the tip presses in Saizo roughly pinches your nipples between his fingertips, his smirk making it clear he gets a rise out of your yelp and the way you buck up in shock.

     “Sahh-Saizo!”

     “Hm? Don’t let me distract you. Go on, now, naughty girl. Help me fill you up.”

     You’re tight, and warm, melting his very existence as you willingly press him inside of you. The feeling a gift he’s not sure he will ever deserve.

     “Ahh…” you still halfway down, struggling to fit him all right away.

     “Mmn, that’s it, s-slowly,” he whispers his guidance.

     Normally, he would have played with you much longer before penetrating you. He enjoyed getting you nice and wet, toying with you and teasing you. Building up your desperation until you were practically begging for him to fuck you. But he couldn’t wait, it’s been so long. So he runs the tips of his fingers over his tongue and with calculated swirls and practiced pressure he stimulates your clit until your thighs loosen their grip, opening and pleading to accept him all the way down to the base.

     “You like that, don’t you.” It isn’t a question. He can feel how wet you are, quivering above him as he slows his movements down, pressing just a bit harder to really stimulate your nerves.

     “Oh, Saizo...”

     He grabs each of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours and supporting you, watching your breasts bounce and your torso roll and the mesmerizing way your hips fuck him as you please.

     Every moan and whimper, every rock of your hips as you use him to bring yourself pleasure, is a bandage on his damaged heart and soul. Being close to you in shared vulnerability like this makes him feel whole again. And when you press him deep inside of your walls he can’t help but let his moans out, either. Nor does he bother to conceal the fervent heat blossoming on his cheeks in a plain declaration of just how badly he wants to fuck you. Hard.

     “Again,” he grips your hips to drive himself inside of you.

     “Saizo, hahh…s-saizo,” you whine, sweet and desperate.

     “Again, louder.” More, more…

     You scream his name just as he sits up, curling his fingers into your hair and manipulating the angle to expose the crescent of your neck. Where his lips find purchase to tease your prickling skin and the lobe of your cute ears. It’s here he can envelop himself in that honeyed scent he’s missed so much. His eyes practically roll back in his head at the scent of you.

     There’s no self-doubt, no anxiety, no icy chill in his bones or memories and regrets driving needles into his heart, stinging with every beat. He is healed now, by your touch. Your shared warmth. When you hold him tight. The way your voice vibrates and quivers as he bounces you mercilessly onto his cock, taking everything you have to give and more. Selfish, I know, but I need you…he thinks. And the way you squirm when he finally releases inside of you, filling you with his newfound hopes and dreams for days to come.

     Fluttering kisses on your heaving chest as he lays you down beside him, unwilling to pull out of you just yet. He feels your dainty fingers draw lazy circles into his back, wet with perspiration. And he captures your arm to draw your wrist to his lips. Committing to memory the feel of your strong pulse under his kiss.

     “No rest yet, little lady. We have a lot of days to make up for.”

_____

     The afternoon sun covers Saizo like a blanket where he lazily naps on the veranda, drunk on the warmth that sends him into peaceful reverie.

     “Hm, that’s odd,” he hears you mumble, light steps leaving the room to where he lay.

     “Mn.” He doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

     “Have you seen it?”

     “Seen what, exactly?”

     “Sasuke and I went into town while you were away and saw they were selling those spinning tops. I was supposed to show him how to play today, but now I can’t find it. I swore I left it right by the desk. You didn’t see one anywhere, did you?”

     Saizo rolls over, resting his head on his arm with a peaceful yawn that signifies the conversation is over. “Nope. No idea.”

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #saizo kirigakure #slbp saizo #saizo kirigakure fic #my writing

[takerfoxx]

RD Walpurgis Nights 8: Part 1

Then…

Homura, I’m scared!

Waking up seemed like it would be cold, wet, and painful, so she resisted it, mentally clinging to the dark that was just so warm and inviting.

…mura, I’m scared!

It wasn’t easy though. Now that the pain had been registered, it grasped at the ragged edges of her consciousness and, once it had a decent grip, began tugging. Once it had pulled enough out of the dark, the cold and wetness joined in, all of them working together to haul her closer and closer to wakefulness.

…I’m scared!

Her eyelids twitched. Her fingers flexed. Remaining unconscious was becoming more and more difficult. For one, something seemed to be wrapped around her arms, something sharp and metal that dug into her skin. For another, she didn’t seem to be wearing any clothes, and as noted, it was very cold out.

…m scared!

And finally, wherever she was, it seemed to be outside, and it was raining. Raindrops pelted her exposed skin like tiny, freezing hammers. Meanwhile, she was starting to become aware of other problems, such as the deep, rhythmic beating of what sounded like a massive clock, ticking away the second right behind her. Something was pressing against the flesh of her neck, digging in and making breathing difficult. Furthermore, her legs were stretched out in all directions, and were subjected to the same digging pain as her hands and wrists.

Also, she seemed to have way too many.

…scared…

Wake up. She couldn’t afford to sleep any longer. She was in danger.

…scared…

But she didn’t want to. Wakefulness was scary and painful. At least being asleep would shield her from the pain, would protect her from the cold. She didn’t want to wake up, she didn’t want to…

…scared…

…didn’t want to…

…scared…

…didn’t want…

…scared…

…didn’t couldn’t…

WAKE UP!

The freezing girl’s eyes snapped open, and she immediately regretted it. She was what had to be dozens, if not hundreds of meters up, tied to the front of a building during a massive storm, with a bizarre, twisting city stretching out below her.

She tried to scream, but the thing pressing against her throat choked her off.

…

Now…

Homulilly stood in front of the full-length mirror that sat in the nearly empty room. She carefully looked at herself from top to bottom, scrutinizing her appearance.

She liked what she saw.

She wore a full-length dark violet dress, sewn from a material that shimmered pink wherever the light caught it. It was sleeveless and open in the back and tied up in the front around her neck, leaving her bones bare. Her hair had been drawn up, curled, and carefully pinned in place by a pair of mother-of-pearl rods, with her spider-lily sitting perched in the resulting nest like a jaunty little hat. She wore a touch of blush on her cheeks, red lipstick, and just a bit of shadow around her eyes. Dark violet stones dangled from her ears.

It had taken her three hours to get all done up, but she was very happy with the results, even if the reason for prettying herself up was making butterflies churn in her stomach. But they were the good kind of butterflies. This was it. The day had finally come.

Another face appeared next to hers in the mirror, and a pair of slender arms slipped in around her waist. “You look beautiful,” Gretchen said as she laid her head against Homulilly’s shoulder.

Homulilly’s happy smile perked up a little bit more. “You do too,” she said, laying her hands on Gretchen’s arms.

Gretchen was also done up and wore a similar kind of dress, though hers was dark pink that shimmered rose, and a skirt that billowed out instead of hugging the hips like Homulilly’s did. Her dark pink hair, usually tied up in a pair of pigtails, now hung down her back and done in waves. She had on a silver bracelet set with pink stones instead of earrings.

“It’s kind of hard to believe, isn’t it?” Gretchen said as the pair admired their reflections. “All this time waiting, all this hard work, and we’re finally here.”

“Yeah. I’m kind of nervous though.”

“Of course you are! I am too. I mean, this is kind of huge. The end of one life and the start of another.”

Homulilly looked around the small dorm that they had been their home for the last five years, which pretty much made up their entire life until then. It had been stripped of practically all ornamentation, all traces that they had ever lived there, save for the bits of furniture that had already been provided when they had first moved in. All of their personal possessions had been packed up and now sat in a small stack of boxes in a corner, waiting to be removed.

She had to admit, she was going to miss the place. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was the only home she had known, and it had been theirs, hers and Gretchen’s. Their personal sanctuary, their private slice of Heaven.

Their time with the Freehaven Integration Bureau had been…nice. Sure, there had been some downs to balance out the ups, some rough bits, but on the whole it had just kept getting better as they got older. She really was going to miss the place, but she was also excited about what was coming next.

“It just seems so strange, doesn’t it?” Gretchen said, as if she had read Homulilly’s mind. “I don’t really remember anything else except for our time here, and now it’s just…done. We’re not coming back.”

“Well, don’t jinx it,” Homulilly teased her. “Maybe we’ll screw up so badly that they send us back.”

“Not likely.” Then Gretchen’s smile dipped down a bit.

Homulilly, of course, noticed. “What is it?”

Gretchen sighed. “Oh, I was just thinking…How long do you think it’s been? In the…the other world, I mean.”

Ah. Yeah, that was something of a mood killer. “No idea,” Homulilly admitted. “I tried to do the math once, but I just got a headache. Apparently the time difference isn’t even consistent. Not long though. Maybe a few weeks.”

“It’s so weird. I mean, we probably still have families out there that are still looking for us. They must be worried sick, and here we are, in such a happy place. Kind of doesn’t feel right, you know what I mean?”

“I do,” Homulilly said. “You’re right. It doesn’t seem fair at all.”

“You know what’s really weird though? I kind of wish they were here. I mean, I have no idea who they are or what they’re like, but I wish they could see us now.”

Homulilly thought on that a bit before saying, “I don’t think that’s weird at all.” She turned in Gretchen’s embrace so that they were facing each other. “But you know what? A long time ago I decided that I can’t live like I’m dead. I can’t be the ghost of someone I don’t remember. There’s nothing we can do about any of that. So let’s not worry about it, and just live our best life together, okay?”

Gretchen’s smile returned in force. “I like the sound of that.” She rose up to kiss Homulilly gently on the lips. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s live our best lives, for them and us.”

…

“…and as that part of your lives comes to an end, your real life begins,” said Corrie Linemann, Freehaven’s mayor. A black girl with as much hair as Ophelia, she was wearing a charcoal suit and standing at a podium set atop of an outdoor stage set up in the FIB’s courtyard, addressing both the attending audience and the current integration class. “As mayor of Freehaven, I am proud to welcome you not only as full residents of our wonderful city, but of this…extremely weird, but very magical world. Congratulations!”

The residents of Freehaven that had gathered for the graduation ceremony all started applauding loudly, while Homulilly, Gretchen, and the rest of their class waved, some of them joining in the cheering themselves.

The FIB courtyard was decked out for the graduation, with an oval stage surrounded by balloons set before several rows of folding chairs for the students, both the ones set to graduate and the younger classes come to watch. On either side of those were several metal bleachers. And the bleachers were filled with the people of Freehaven. For a ceremony involving people with access to both magic and extraterrestrial technology, it was very simple seeming, but Freehaven did like reverting to a more “rustic” aesthetic when it could.

To Homulilly’s surprise, there was a pretty good turnout. She hadn’t expected many to show up, given that none of them had families and very few of them had friends outside of the bureau. However, as it turned out, graduation day was something that many people showed up for anyway, simply as a sign of support. She appreciated the gesture.

Which wasn’t to say it was all strangers. Candeloro, Charlotte, Ophelia, and Oktavia were all there, of course, as were a few outside friends of the other girls. There was also a smattering of nonhumans here and there, most of them liaisons from other territories, but a handful actually lived in Freehaven and had showed up on their own.

The mayor backed away from the podium to join the rest of Freehaven’s elders while Vionna, the FIB president, took her place. As she did, the caretakers signaled for Homulilly and Gretchen’s class to rise from their seats and line up next to the stage.

“We will now be introducing our new citizens in alphabetical order, by first name. Please remember to hold your applause until after they all have been introduced. Now, please welcome to Freehaven…Amaya Alverez!”

Gretchen and Homulilly stood hand-in-hand next to one another, each anxiously waiting for their turn. Their class was small, and they were in the first half, so it would come very soon.

“Brittney!”

If one were to get technical, Gretchen would actually have to come a few names after Homulilly. After all, her full name was Kriemhild Gretchen. But she was so used to going by her second name that she had requested to be introduced by that instead. Besides, that meant that the two of them would be introduced right after each other. And it wasn’t as if there was some kind of Gretchen clan to dispute the change.

“Carly Sanders!”

“Lucy, put your head back on,” Dr. Cynthia whispered to the remainder of the line.

“Oh, come on! Please?”

“No, put your head back on.”

“You never let me have any fun.”

“Claudia!”

“This is it,” Gretchen said in a loud whisper. “Our life begins now.”

Homulilly stuck out her lips in a mock-pout. “What, everything up until now wasn’t living?”

Right behind her, Jordan Lewis said, “Well, if you want to get technical about it…”

Then it came. “Gretchen, Kriemhild!”

Shooting Homulilly a nervous smile, Gretchen released Homulilly’s hand and strode across the stage over to where Vionna, Corrie Linemann, and the rest of the elders were waiting. She was handed her certificate and exchanged a handshake and a bow with Vionna.

A wide grin splitting her features, Homulilly shot a glance up at their friends, who were technically following the mandate of holding their applause, but were still expressing their approval with a lot of arm pumping and upper body dancing.

And then, “Homulilly!”

Homulilly took a deep breath. Then she ascended the steps of the stage, one shaking step at a time. Thank God her dress was full length, else everyone would see her knees knocking.

And yet…not for the reasons one might expect. It was stage fright, nothing more. Her arms were bare, her bones exposed, and she didn’t care. She was more concerned about accidentally stepping on the hem of her dress. But beyond that, she was actually kind of excited. Happy, even. She had made it.

Careful to keep the hem of her dress a few centimeters above her feet, she walked over to where the smiling elders were waiting. Vionna handed her a rolled-up piece of paper sealed with the Freehaven crest. They shook hands and bowed their heads to one another. Then, before she exited the stage, Homulilly paused for just a second to look out over the crowd.

All eyes were on her, from her friends to her classmates to the teachers to the counselors to the caretakers to the therapists to the elders to complete strangers. And there she was, bare-armed for the world to see.

And yet…she didn’t mind. She looked out into the sea of faces and saw so many people as strange as her. She saw faces of every known hue, eyes of every imaginable color. She witches and magical girls, humans and aliens, all sitting next to one another without fear.

Maybe in another world she would be considered a freak. Maybe in another world she would be thought a monster. And maybe in another world they all would be enemies, from magical girl versus witch to human versus alien, and everything in between.

But not here. Oh, this world had its problems. It had its prejudices and its monsters. But at the very least, someone as strange as herself could fit right in.

Then the moment ended, and Homulilly snapped back to reality. Clearing her throat, she hurried from the stage before anyone noticed her hesitation.

She descended the steps, and almost immediately Gretchen threw her arms around her.

The rest of the names passed by in a happy blur, and when Zhao Ming had joined them, everyone in the crowd stood up and starting cheering loudly.

Their arms around each other, Homulilly and Gretchen looked out at all the people as they happily welcomed them into their lives. Homulilly found herself fighting back tears. She had done it. She was one of them.

…

Ophelia raised her shot glass. “All right. To our weird family of freaky, adorable, and really hot dead monster girls with superpowers, and to its newest permanent additions! Welcome to the family!”

“Cheers!” Everyone clinked their own glasses against hers.

Homulilly was about to knock her shot glass back with everyone else, but then she hesitated. There wasn’t even a mouthful, but it was still more than she was used to. She had only ever had anything with alcohol a couple of times and never enjoyed it.

She glanced over to Gretchen, who was eyeing her own with the same dubious expression. The two exchanged glances, and then Gretchen shrugged, smiled, and gulped hers down.

Well, bottom’s up. Homulilly threw back her drink and swallowed it quickly.

It was…interesting. It burned a little, it fizzed a little, and it tasted a lot like minty mouthwash. Not bad, per se, but not good either. And it had a pretty weird aftertaste.

But before she could finish sussing out her opinion was when the alcohol hit.

“Bleh,” Gretchen said, making a face. “BLEH!” She hastily grabbed her glass of soda and swallowed several mouthfuls.

The others laughed. “Yeah, it’s very interesting, isn’t it?” Charlotte said. “You get used to it though.”

“Why?” Gretchen said with a violent shudder. “I mean, what’s the appeal?”

“The kick in the head and the rush of power!” said Ophelia.

“It’s a kick of something all right,” said Homulilly with a shiver of her own. “Whew. Did you guys really drink these back when you were in the program?”

“These? Nah, this fancy stuff is for celebrations. But yeah, we did have some fun times back when we were in the program.” Then she frowned. “Which…kind of became a problem after a while.”

Candeloro grimaced. “That it did.”

Oktavia made a face. Charlotte sighed.

Homulilly frowned. Usually her friends were very open about their escapades when they were younger, especially the alcohol-infused ones. This was the first time any of them had looked at all uncomfortable about it. “Why?” she asked Candeloro. “Did they get into trouble?”

Candeloro winced again. “Actually, it was me.”

“You?!” Homulilly and Gretchen exchanged a look of disbelief. Out of all their friends, Candeloro was the last one they would have suspected to ever have had a drinking problem.

“Me,” Candeloro admitted.

“Not just you,” Ophelia said.

“Well, it was mostly me. Anyway, I won’t go into details, but an intervention was staged, and since then we’ve all agreed to keep things in moderation.”

“So hey, you guys want some really important advice?” Ophelia said. “Have fun, but remember to keep it under control. Most things just suck if you do too much of it.”

“What happened?” Gretchen asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Oktavia hastily interrupted. “Let’s…leave that in the past. Besides, we’re celebrating your futures, not digging through out past mistakes.”

Something about the way Oktavia said that told Homulilly that this was a subject better left dropped, so she let it drop.

Their party had gone to the Sea Breeze to celebrate, which was popular Japanese steakhouse in lower Freehaven. The chef was a witch who had as many arms as Gretchen had legs, and had entertained them with deftly cooking up a banquet on the griddle set right into their table. Homulilly’s favorite part was when she made up several cool onion volcano things, and flicked a fried onion to each one of them in turn, letting them try to catch them in their mouths. Homulilly had actually managed to snag hers, though Gretchen had almost missed the one flipped her way, but had managed to catch it with one of her legs before it hit the floor, getting a laugh from the group. Now they were relaxing and munching on pieces of steak and chicken.

“So, now that you’ve left the innocence of childhood behind and joined the boring, dreary world of being a grown-up, what’cha think?” Oktavia said around a mouthful.

Homulilly and Gretchen glanced at each other. Gretchen shrugged.

“Uh…well, the drinks taste nasty, but at least I don’t have math class anymore,” Homulilly said.

“Not so fast,” Charlotte said. “There’s still college.”

Homulilly made a face. “Oh. Right. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Eh, don’t sweat it,” Ophelia said. “College is way more fun. Once you get all the gen ed crap out of the way, it’s pretty much just spending all your time doing stuff you’re actually interested in.”

“But I still don’t know what I’m even going to major in!”

“Me neither,” Gretchen sighed.

Ophelia shrugged. “So? I didn’t figure it out until like a year and a half in! Relax, most people don’t know at first.”

“I did,” Oktavia said smugly.

Charlotte flicked a rice grain at her face. “You’re a fish that was keeping us up screwing around on your keyboard less than two years into the integration program. It was pretty obvious that you’d be spending the rest of forever making music and exploring the ocean, looking for sea monsters.”

“Sea monsters?” Gretchen said.

Oktavia’s face lit up. “Yeah, I didn’t tell you? There’s karnuk somewhere near Freehaven!”

“A what now?”

“You know how they closed off Celeste beach and all swimming outside of the protected zone?” Charlotte said.

“No,” Homulilly said.

“We’ve been pretty busy this week,” Gretchen added.

“Fair. Okay, well, they did, and the reason for that is that some kind of nasty from the same planet as the butontikos and the nask got into Freehaven waters.” Charlotte motioned over to Oktavia. “Tavi here’s been working with the coast guard to try to capture it before anyone gets hurt.”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Oktavia said, looking entirely too happy for someone who was apparently spending a lot of time in the same water as a sea monster. “I never thought I’d get to see a karnuk in our waters!”

Homulilly’s face screwed up in confusion. “I never heard of a karnuk before. Are they dangerous?”

“Extremely!”

“Oh.”

“But why is it so hard to find?” Gretchen asked. “Don’t you have all those really powerful scanners and stuff?”

“You’d think! But okay, you know how butontikos are like all transparent and stuff?” Oktavia continued. “Well, karnuks are the same way. Plus, for some reason magic and sensors seem to just slip right off it. It’s what’s making hunting this guy down so hard. We’ve been having to go out and search by eye, and since it’s practically invisible, you can see how that would be complicated, it’s crazy!”

“Aren’t you scared?” Gretchen said with a shiver. “I mean, if it’s as dangerous as you’re saying…”

“Aw, I’m fine,” Oktavia said dismissively. “It’s not like I’m out there alone. There’s a whole team of us armed to the gills. Besides, it’s not like it can kill me. Swallow me whole, sure, but that just makes it more thrilling.”

“I’m with the kids with this one,” Ophelia said. “I still don’t like it.”

Oktavia shot her a look. “Come on. I can handle myself.”

“Sure. Right up until you get bitten in half.”

“Fee. Really. I’m literally the most qualified person to be out there.”

“I thought you weren’t scared of the water anymore,” Homulilly said.

“I’m…mostly not,” Ophelia said. “That doesn’t mean I like the idea of my girlfriend hunting for invisible sea monsters. I’m just…worried, is all. I’m entitled to be worried!”

“Ophelia. Come on. I got a freaking force field on. That thing tries to take a bite, its teeth will break right off.”

Ophelia sighed. “I guess…”

Homulilly shook her head. “Well, anyway, if what you are decides what job you get, then that means I’m going to end up as a florist and, uh…” She looked down at her arms and frowned.

“Taxidermist?” Oktavia suggested.

“That’s skin,” Charlotte said.

“Masseuse?”

Homulilly stared at Oktavia. “How does that even work?”

“I dunno, some people like bones!” Oktavia said with a shrug.

“This is some weird sex thing, isn’t it?”

“You said it. Not me.”

Gretchen lifted a couple wires, wriggled them around, and let them drop. “Well, I’m probably going to end up as either a plumber or something.”

“Why a plumber?” Candeloro asked.

“Because I can stick my legs as deep into any pipe as I want,” Gretchen told her. “Sure, it’s useful, but it’ll also end up being completely disgusting.”

“Pretty sure they got technology that lets them do that without sticking actual body parts into anything.”

“That’s what she said,” Oktavia muttered by reflex.

Then Candeloro brightened. “Oh, that reminds me!” she said, reaching down. “We have something for you two!”

“Something for us?” Homulilly said in confusion.

“How the hell did that remind you of those?” said Ophelia as Candeloro lifted up a pair of sizeable wrapped gifts.

Candeloro ignored her. “Here you go,” she said, placing the gifts on the table, one each in front of Gretchen and Homulilly. “A little housewarming gift.”

Both presents were pretty large, thought Gretchen’s was longer and flatter while Homulilly’s seemed a bit bulkier. “Oh, wow!” Gretchen said as the two of them tore into the wrapping paper. “Thank you! Let’s see, what do we have…”

Then the two of them stared in bewilderment into what was inside. Gretchen was gifted with an archery bow, a pink one with a pole designed to resemble a rose vine, with an imitation rose sticking out of its top and leaves clustering at the bottom. Homulilly had some kind of metal disc the size of large frisbee, with a sort of spiral design set with three golden spheres on the front and a metal strap on the back. It looked kind of like a small shield.

“A bow?” Gretchen blinked in confusion as she lifted it up. “Well, it is pretty, and-”

Then realization hit her, roughly around the same time it hit Homulilly.

“Wait.”

The two gaped at each other, and then down at the pair of armaments.

“Oh, my God,” Homulilly whispered.

“Is this what I think it is?” Gretchen said in much the same tone.

Ophelia grinned widely. “Well, I’d say that reaction pretty much confirms things.”

“We got in contact with Doomsday Clock’s SSSR,” Candeloro explained. “Turns out, they keep very clear records of everyone they retrieve, and we were able to find your entries without much fuss.”

“Not only that, but they also hang onto any weapons that might have been left behind by accident,” Oktavia added. “You know, just in case. Given what you guys had said about your first day, we were able to put things together pretty easily.”

“We figured that since you’re part of the family now, it’s only right that you have your own spots over the fireplace,” Ophelia said.

Oktavia looked from Homulilly’s face to Gretchen’s. “So…do you like them?”

Homulilly couldn’t respond. There seemed to be something in her throat, something keeping the words from coming out. Also, her vision was getting a little blurry.

She had made her peace with the death of her former self long ago. She knew that she was never going to find out who she was, what kind of person she had been, or even what her name was. And that was fine, because as much as she might’ve liked to know, she didn’t need to.

But while learning about her past was never going to happen, she now had the one memento she would’ve been able to bring over. It had never really sat right with her that she hadn’t managed to hold onto it, and while there was no way she could’ve known, the fact that their friends had all managed to keep theirs and she and Gretchen hadn’t just didn’t seem all that fair.

But now it was hers again.

She blinked away tears and looked over to Gretchen, who was staring at her bow like it was her long lost pet, suddenly come home. Her eyes were as wet as Homulilly’s, and her chin was trembling.

Gretchen glanced up at her, and as if on cue the two of them embraced.

This got a round of applause from the rest of the group. “I’ll take that as a yes!” Oktavia said.

Laughing, Gretchen released Homulilly, put her bow down, and rushed around the table to wrap her arms and several legs around their friends. Homulilly’s wasn’t far behind.

“Thank you,” Gretchen said, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “This means…this means more…”

“I think we get it,” Candeloro said, cradling Gretchen’s head. “Welcome to the family.”

A bit later, after the last of their meal had finished up and their bill settled, the group headed out of the Sea Breeze and into the streets. Gretchen was cradling her bow to her chest, while Homulilly had figured out how to strap her shield to her arm. She had to admit, there was something comfortingly familiar about feeling its weight there.

“So, you thinking of taking some archery lessons or something?” Charlotte said as they started up the hill.

“Uh, maybe?” Gretchen frowned. “Do you guys know how to use your weapons?”

“What’s to learn?” Oktavia said. “It’s a sword! You stick the other girl with the pointy end.” She slapped her thigh. “Besides, I’m not exactly equipped for sword fighting anymore.”

“I tried it for a bit,” Ophelia said. “But turns out that spear has this weird segmented thing going on. A couple of twirls, and the whole thing just came apart and whacked me in the head. So that was pretty much the end of that.”

“I’m not really into marksmanship,” Candeloro said.

“And I got a stick,” Charlotte said. “I know it probably does some sort of magic whatever, but eh.”

Homulilly was fiddling around with her shield. Part of it seemed to be on some kind of swivel. Was something supposed to happen when she turned it into place?

“Well, actually, I think I might look into it,” Gretchen said. She twanged the bowstring like a harp. “I always thought I should learn some kind of-”

Suddenly a pair of strong arms slipped in around Gretchen’s waist from behind and yanked her fully off the ground.

“-erk!”

“We did it!” Mitty cheered as she swung Gretchen back and forth, causing her legs to flail about. “We did it, we did it, we did it!”

Gretchen hastily squirmed out of Mitty’s embrace and practically collapsed into Homulilly’s arms. “Y-Yeah,” she stammered as she struggled to regain her sense of balance. “We did. Yay.”

Homulilly sighed.

“Damn straight!” Mitty crowed. “Now we’re free, free, free…” It was then that she caught sight of the five pairs of eyes staring at her, and realized that Gretchen was currently in the company of others. Her face went pale. “Oh.”

Oktavia snorted loudly. Charlotte breathed out. As for Ophelia, she noisily cleared her throat and said, “Hello, Mitty. Congratulations!”

“Um…thanks!” Mitty squeaked. She winced. “So…nice to see you all! Nice bow, Gretchen! I’m going to…go. Bye!”

The six of them watched as the girl all but fled over to where her girlfriend Alyssa was standing and watching with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Homulilly couldn’t hear what they were saying, but apparently it had something to do with Mitty’s little faux pas and the incredible amount of chagrin it had brought her.

“Is it just me, or has she gotten even more…excitable lately?” Charlotte remarked.

“It’s not just you,” Gretchen said. She managed to get all of her legs on the ground and stand up, albeit a little shakily. “She’s been hyper all week.”

“Well, graduation is worth getting excited about,” Candeloro said. “Though that doesn’t explain why she suddenly got so embarrassed when she saw us.”

Oktavia coughed into her fist. “I’ll give you three guesses,” she said. Then she pointed at Ophelia and Charlotte. “And the first two don’t count.”

Charlotte stared blankly. “Me? Why me?”

Oktavia opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment a girl they had never seen before suddenly approached the group.

“Um, ex-excuse me,” she said, wringing her hands. “Are y-you Charlotte Walpurgis?”

Charlotte’s head snapped back, and she blinked several times in quick. “Uh, ah, yes! You know me?”

“I do! I love your books! Um…” She held up her phone. “I don’t suppose I can get a picture?”

Charlotte looked honestly tongue-tied. Fortunately, Candeloro was on hand to act as her in-between.

“Of course you can!” she said. She gave Charlotte’s calves a small kick. “Right, Charlotte?”

Charlotte jolted. “Oh, o-of course!”

After the picture was taken and the girl had left, Ophelia started snickering. “So was that enough of an explanation, or should we draw you out a flowchart?”

“Shut up,” Charlotte said, though it sounded more like a reflex than anything. In fact, she was kind of beaming.

“Do we need to start searching the bushes for paparazzi?”

“Shut up, Fee-fee. I’m not that popular.”

“But you know, we all kind of are,” Oktavia chimed in. “I’ve got my music, you got your books, Fee’s got her dancing, Candy’s got her baking awards. Put all of our followings together, I’d say we equal at least one and a half soap opera actress!”

Homulilly sighed. “Gee. Thanks. It wasn’t like we had enough pressure going on about our futures. Now apparently we need to do something to make us famous too.”

“Ah, plenty of time for that! Now, let’s get out of here before an autograph line starts forming. We already gave you your new keys, right?”

Homulilly nodded. She pulled her key ring out of her purse. “Got it right here. And-”

Then she frowned. “Oh. Oops.”

“What?” Charlotte said. “Don’t tell me you lost yours already?”

“No, but I forgot to turn in my dorm keys,” Homulilly said, tapping a plastic card that was still stuck onto her key ring.”

Gretchen blinked. Then she pulled out her own key ring, which also still had her card key. “Um, looks like I did too,” she said sheepishly.

“Oh, you girls,” Candeloro sighed. “All right, we’ll swing back at the Bureau before heading home then.”

“Can we stop at our old dorm first?” Gretchen said. “You know, just to say goodbye to the place?”

“So long as you’re fast and clean up after yourselves,” Ophelia said. “They’ve probably already disinfected the place. It’s not polite to leave behind any-”

Charlotte swatted the back of her head.

“-ow!”

…

For the very last time, Homulilly and Gretchen entered their dorm.

All of their possessions had been removed and were on their way to their new home. The double-bed that they had shared for the last few years had been removed, and the pair of twins had been brought back and put in place. The room had been carefully cleaned and tidied up, with all trace of their presence cleaned away.

And on the mantle, that old clock was back, slowly ticking away the seconds.

Tick-tick-tick.

Homulilly had hated that clock when they had first arrived. It had reminded her too much of that huge clock tower that she and Gretchen had been bound to during their first few minutes. Eventually they had requested that it be removed and replaced with a digital timekeeper.

But now, she was kind of glad it was back. It would remain there, looking over as generation after generation of the newly dead came through that same room, keeping track of the time for them. As far as she was concerned, some things ought to remain consistent.

Tick-tick-tick.

“This is weird,” Gretchen said as they stood hand-in-hand, looking around.

“But good.”

“Good, yes. But also weird. This is it.”

Homulilly took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Then she grinned. “So…one last time? For good luck?”

They stood in the middle of the room and kissed, this time long and deep, arms wrapped tightly around one another while six of Gretchen’s legs wrapped around Homulilly’s calves and waist.

For a moment, the ticking of the clock seemed to stop. All that mattered to Homulilly was the feel of Gretchen’s body pressed against hers, Gretchen’s taste in her mouth, Gretchen’s scent in her nostrils.

Homulilly closed her eyes, just enjoying everything about her. Sure, she was still nervous about their future, but wow, if every kiss was going to be like this, then they were going to be fine.

Then they finally parted. They were breathing hard and their cheeks were flushed. “Wow,” Gretchen said. “Way to end things on a bang.”

Ophelia would probably have something smart to say about Gretchen’s choice of words, but Homulilly decided not to fill in for her. “Yeah,” she said. “It is.” She released Gretchen’s waist and gripped her hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

They left the dorm for the last time and locked the door behind them. Then they headed off together, to both turn in their key and leave that chapter of their lives for good.

It was early evening, and the light shining in through the windows was of a soft gold. In a way that made Homulilly feel even better about what was ahead of them. It didn’t matter what happened next, they would still have the same sky overhead, the same sun shining down on them.

Well, unless they moved to a different territory, then the sky and sun would technically be entirely different, but…

Homulilly decided to stop thinking about the weird metaphysics that governed their world and just concentrate on the positives.

They turned the corner, and something caught their eye. One of the caretakers was there, and she was gently holding a crying green-haired girl in her arms. For a moment Homulilly was confused, as she had no idea who that girl was.

Then she understood. It had to be one of the newly arrived, someone who had died very recently and only just wound up in Freehaven.

Despite her good mood, Homulilly couldn’t help but feel a little sad. Just as she and Gretchen were finishing up that part of their lives, that girl and others like her were just beginning theirs. And the first part was always the worst. Everything was so new and strange and scary, and coming to terms with their own deaths was just awful, especially if they happened to be Puella Magi and not witches, as the girl seemed to be.

Homulilly and Gretchen exchanged a brief, sad look. Freehaven may be a wonderful place, but those first few months were always hard. Homulilly wished the girl well. She was going to need all the help she could get.

The pair passed by the two as quickly and quietly as they could so as not to disturb them.

And then, right before they were almost out of the door to happily embark on the next chapter of their lives, one word brought it all crashing down: one three-syllable word that was called out so loudly that it was almost screamed.

“MADOKA!”

Homulilly froze in place. She did not know that word, and yet…she kind of did. There was something about that word that tugged at her mind, something triggering something buried deep in her memories.

As for Gretchen, she let out a small gasp. It was clear that she had been affected the same way.

“MADOKA KANAME!”

Homulilly and Gretchen both turned. It was the newly-arrived girl with green hair. She was no longer crying in the caretaker’s arms but was instead staring at them both, her eyes wide with shock, with the caretaker standing behind her looking totally befuddled.

“It is you!” she exclaimed, hands covering her mouth. “It is you! I found you!”

“Wh-What?” Gretchen stammered.

“Madoka, don’t you recognize me?” The girl held a hand to her chest, her pale green eyes pleading. “It’s me, Hitomi!”

…

Oh, I’m sorry. Were you expecting a return to the slice-of-life cuteness, something breezy and fun for the final chapter? Oh nooooooooooooo! Who exactly did you think I am? We are doing this, bitches!

Until next time, everyone!

#Walpurgis Nights

[kootenaygoon]

So,

The Americans were close, he could smell it.

Shuswap Joe parted ways with the Commissioner and the horses around 4 a.m., within sight of his distillery, which was chugging away relentlessly with its giant paddle wheel. Morning was approaching, but it hadn’t arrived yet, so the structure was drenched in shadow and nestled into the black foliage. From where he crouched amidst the bushes he could see men wheeling wooden barrels out into the open, preparing them for the journey down Salmon Creek. They smoked cigarettes and told jokes, with no idea that the world around them was burning to the ground. His eyes stung from exhaustion, his body was battered and bleeding, and still there was further to go. 

As he leaned against the nearest tree, panting, Joe caught a silvery flash of pallid flesh through the tree trunks. He watched as the figure came to a stop for a moment, like a giant white arachnid, then launched into the looming trees above. It was Nanor, come to collect the dead, and chances were the freak wouldn’t be disappointed. However things shook out, that night was going to be some sort of bloodbath. He pictured Nanor slinking into the water to retrieve the corpses, lashing them to his hellish floating tree trunk, then transporting them past the veil of reality and into a new sort of oblivion. He had to stop that from happening.

The years that Joe had lived on the banks of the Adams River had given him an unusual kinship with the trees, not unlike the relationship he had with the slaloming water that had delivered him to the Shuswap in the first place. As he decided to give chase to his albino nemesis, Joe found himself leaping from one branch to the next in the moonlight. Nanor pranced ahead, ascending into the foliage a hundred feet above the forest floor. Within moments Joe had reached the zenith of his particular tree, but lost sight of the hateful wraith. He curled his arm around the trunk and scanned the horizon.

“You think you’re here to fight, but you’re actually here to dance,” said Nanor, appearing at the top of a nearby tree. 

“This has to stop. Too many people have died.”

He cackled, hanging limply from the tree with one skeletal arm. “And I’m the one to blame? Seems to me Special Agent Gord Trapper is to thank for the gruesome murders of those poor women.”

“But you’re behind this, you’re behind all of it. I can feel it.”

“I am a mere servant of the river eels. I merely deliver the corpses I find to them, I don’t create them. I am not a killer.”

“You tried to kill me at the Adams River. I’ve been running from you ever since.”

At this moment, a clang echoed out in the darkness. Joe shifted on his tree so that he could view the creek below. Sure enough, the Americans were assembling on the bank with their Gatling gun. Trapper was gesturing broadly in the dark while the agents toted their machine guns and disappeared into the woods. He had a clear view of the distillery too, sleepy-looking and vulnerable to the incoming onslaught. Joe wondered where the Commissioner was, whether he’d successfully warned the men.

“You put this into motion. You can stop this,” Joe said. “I’ll give you whatever you want. You win, okay?”

Nanor giggled. “You can’t bargain with fate, boy.”

“I’m begging you. Whatever conflict we have between us, don’t take it out on my men. Those are honest Canadians down there, just trying to make a living. Think about all the families you’ll ruin for no good reason.”

The Shuswap sky was violet, the moon looming orb-like and pulsing above them. Nanor and Joe faced each other with night wind roaring down from the mountains to fill the air with its river-like voice. They both understood what was about to happen, as their eyes met. This was a rematch that had been coming for decades, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Swinging from the trunks of their respective trees, they threw themselves into a midair embrace of gnashing teeth and thumping fists. Slave to the law of gravity, they tumbled to the branches below and snapped their way to the forest floor continuing to grapple and grunt. A branch sliced open Joe’s forehead, and as he collected himself on the bed of fallen leaves where they’d landed blood began to steep into his right eye. He limped over to where Nanor lay facedown.

Joe rolled him over, expecting him to be unconscious, but Nanor was grinning up at him with bloody teeth. They’d landed within twenty feet of the distillery’s paddle wheel, which chugged away behind him. The Americans seemed to be having trouble getting the Gatling gun into the proper position, and he could see their shadows as they argued in the dark. 

There was still time. He shook Nanor violently. “It was you, wasn’t it? That poisoned the Shuscotch. You knew the Americans would overreact, that they would come up here looking for blood. You orchestrated this right from the beginning.”

“And you’ve been dancing to my tune ever since. It’s been beautiful watching your life burn.”

He hauled Nanor to his feet, wretched in his black rags. “That’s how I can stop this. Those men over there are innocent, but you’re guilty. I’ll give them the real culprit.”

Nanor laughed. “You still think you can fix this.”

Joe watched in horror as Nanor’s face began to cave in. His skin turned from white to an ashy grey, then began to transform. His rags dropped to the forest floor as his entire body began to sway loosely in the wind. Finally his flesh changed before his eyes, shimmering for a moment before taking on the texture of insect wings. He gasped as his opponent’s face became hundreds of moths, all taking flight. They beat their wings collectively towards the night sky, all singing the same song. As he stood watching them, Molly and Lucy appeared on either side of him. They smiled grimly, and each took an arm.

Molly looked up at him. “Are you ready to dance, Joe? The music is about to begin.”

The Kootenay Goon

[werewolfdays]

snippet-

ok i’d go so far as to say this is a snippet more than a drabble. really wanted to write a werewolf fight and quite liked it so why not post it. also has Nayda’s reaction to seeing Jayde kill someone for the first time. all in Nadya’s pov and here’s a song rec  

I retreated to the far corner of the living room, scrambling backward on the ground. There were multiple lacerations that had started bleeding from me being pushed through the sliding glass door. One in particular was screaming at me more than the rest. I could feel there was a chunk of glass buried in the back of my shoulder, but I couldn’t think about that right now. The massive grey wolf approaching me, snarling and preparing to pounce was where all of my focus was.

The wolf stalked forward and I knew I had no chance. I was caught off guard, weaponless, cornered, bleeding. The odds were definitely against me. Was this it? After everything I was going to have my throat ripped out by a werewolf in an abandoned house, hundreds of miles away from home and even further from the life I used to have.

Like a last minute miracle, Jayde came bounding around the corner in her wolf form. At the sight of me and my condition I saw fury burn in her golden eyes. The grey wolf hesitated when he saw her which gave her enough time to firmly place herself in front of me. A moment of relief washed over me. I had every faith that Jayde could handle this situation, but I also became scared of what I was about to see.

Jayde started to growl. I’ve heard dogs growl. I’ve heard big dogs growl. But nothing compared to the deep, threatening rumble coming from the white wolf in front of me. It was menacing in every sense of the word and seemed to vibrate the air around her. The sound activated something primal within me. A shiver went down my spine and every instinct I had told me to run. I couldn’t even imagine what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of it.

The hostile werewolf took a couple steps back, instinctually bowing his head. I hoped that he was surrendering, but then he shook his snout with an indignant snort, baring his teeth in a challenge. Jayde’s body tensed, as he began to pace in front of us. The loud snarl of frustration echoed through the empty house as he sized Jayde up and looked for an opening. I wasn’t sure who would make the first move. I remained completely frozen, enthralled by the display in front of me and held my breath in anticipation.

I wasn’t sure what set her off. Maybe she saw something I didn’t; the twitch of a muscle, intent in his eyes. Or maybe she just grew impatient; her rage reaching a boiling point with the scent of my blood surely filling the room. Perhaps it was all of those things. Either way, in the blink of an eye, Jayde shot forward to attack.

Jayde slammed into the other wolf so hard that she knocked the both of them into the wall. The drywall caved in like paper, the impact shaking half of the house. Both wolves became a ferocious blur as they traded blows, their battle moving towards the kitchen. It was brutal and violent and soon I caught the glint of blood on the tiled floor. I just sat there like a terrified idiot, unable to do anything but watch.

The male wolf managed to get Jayde beneath him. He went for her neck, biting down and shaking his head to rip through her. My heart stopped at the high pitched whimper she let out. I had to do something. Searching my surroundings for anything I could use, I spotted a large jagged piece of glass lying on the floor from the broken door. I scrambled up and grabbed it. The edges would surely slice through my palm if I gripped it any tighter, but I would need to if I had a clear shot.

By the time I turned to go to Jayde’s aid, she had already escaped from the other wolf’s grasp. Crimson stained her snow white fur in a few places now and the other wolf looked just as rough. His back was to me. If Jayde distracted him I could make a move.

They seemed completely preoccupied with each other to notice me so I silently made my way towards him, the piece of glass raised and ready in my hand. The tension and fear in my body made me grip it harder than I intended to yet. I could feel it cut through the skin, but I had to ignore it. I also had to ignore the blatant danger I was putting myself in. Not just my life, my humanity was at stake. All it would take was one bite, a little of either of their blood to get into one of my open wounds to turn me. Was I prepared for that possibility?

Jayde noticed me approach, panic flashing across the wolf’s features. She barked at me in a clear warning to stay away and the noise was startling enough to make me stop in my tracks. Our foe didn’t bother to check over his shoulder to see what Jayde was barking at. He took the opportunity my unintentional distraction offered to strike at her again.

They sped off once more, tangled mess of gnashing teeth and furious growls. I wasn’t sure what to do. There was no way to get to the werewolf attacking her without getting in the middle of all that. Even if I did, I realized I would just do more harm than good. Jayde would be distracted by trying to keep me alive and that would surely get her killed. It would get both of us killed.

Frustrated, I threw the piece of glass down and tried to track their movements while staying out of the way. Jayde could handle this, I knew she could. I just had to stay out of her way no matter how badly my heart screamed against it.

The two wolves broke apart again. Their hard breaths filling the eerie silence as they circled each other. Jayde’s terrifying growls sounded again in a last warning to the other wolf. This fight was far too progressed for either of them to stand down. They both knew it. I knew it. Only one of them would get out of this alive. A huge part of me didn’t want anything to do with the scene before me. The thought of watching the end to this made me want to puke. But I wouldn’t leave Jayde.

In a shocking burst of speed, Jayde leapt forward and toppled her adversary off balance. With deadly accuracy, her jaws clamped down on his throat. She used the leverage she had to force him down while increasing the pressure to cut off his air. The grey wolf thrashed beneath her in a desperate attempt to free himself, but Jayde’s grip was far better than his had been. His back legs clawed at her stomach, even slicing through her flesh. It was like she didn’t notice as she kept biting down with more force, a snarl ever present rumbling in her chest. The amount of pressure must have been tremendous because I suddenly heard the sickening sound of bones snapping and crunching. Jayde just crushed the other werewolf’s neck. His thrashing ceased and the wolf’s body twitched once before completely going still.

I stood there, horrified at the sight. Jayde told me she’s killed before. Even admitted to liking it sometimes. I was determined not to judge her, but hearing about the things she’s done and witnessing it in person were two completely different things. The way she just killed someone in front of me, however necessary, frightened me. I could tell the sound of his neck breaking would never leave me. He was dead and the fight was over, but Jayde still held him down. I saw a merciless brutality in her then that made me feel like I was looking at a completely different person. Jayde was capable of things that I didn’t even think to imagine before.

It was then that I remembered something she told me after she revealed herself to be a werewolf, “I’m not interested in being a monster. At least not to people like you.”

When she finally released her death grip on the dead wolf, Jayde looked up at me. The expression on my face must have conveyed what I was feeling because I actually saw her look guilty. Jayde looked down at the body, then back up at me like she realized exactly what she did right in front of me. She took a couple tentative steps towards me and without thinking I took a step back. In and effort to not seem threatening, Jayde lowered her head submissively. A quiet whine sounded and while keeping her body low she tried to move towards me again.

This time I let her because I felt bad. It was hardly fair considering she just saved my life. I understood why she did what she did, but it was still jarring. Something about seeing someone commit an act that I could never imagine doing myself was visceral. Jayde had so many sides to her that I have gotten to know. She had walls, but she was kind and vulnerable. She was hard and damaged, but she was gentle too. This was a side I haven’t seen. If I wanted to move forward from this I would have to accept that part of her that scared me.

The white wolf reached me, head bowed in shame. Careful not to touch any of her wounds I reached out with a trembling hand and placed my uninjured palm to her forehead. Jayde leaned into my accepting hand, silently thanking me for it. I pulled my hand away and casted one more glance to the dead wolf.

“We should go.” I murmured. “I want to go.” I knew that both of us needed some sort of medical attention, but I couldn’t be in the presence of that body any longer.

Jayde huffed in agreement and disappeared around the corner into one of the rooms. A few minutes passed and she returned in her human form, fully clothed. She must have left her clothes in one of the rooms when she turned. I could see the blood from her injures was already staining her shirt, but she didn’t seem at all concerned about it. The bite on her neck was what I was most worried about and now I could see that the werewolf’s aim had been off. His teeth sank more into her shoulder that her neck; a deep gash ran across her collarbone.

“I’ll be fine.” Jayde said somberly when she noticed I was staring. I saw that the back of her hand was wiping at her mouth and I thought maybe she had a split lip or something, but shortly realized she was wiping his blood off her mouth and chin.

I had to force myself not to shy away when she came up to me again. At least I recognized her this time. She was bruised and bloodied, which was a sight that I begrudgingly grew familiar with. Jayde’s expression was a mix of deep concern and guilt as she studied me carefully. I could see the internal battle she struggled with, unsure of her boundaries right now.

“Are you okay?” She eventually asked, looking at me with pain in her eyes.

It was then that I fully remembered my pain, “I will be. I just want to leave.”

“Okay.” Jayde nodded, not really making eye contact with me. “Come on.”

Hours passed before she really spoke to me again. We carefully patched each other up with hardly any words between us besides the apologies Jayde gave when she pulled the chunk of glass out of my shoulder. She would barely even look at me. But four hours on the road, deep into nighttime, she finally said something.

“You’re scared of me now.” Her eyes didn’t leave the road in front of her.

I looked at her for a minute or so, trying to think of what to say. “I don’t know, Jay.”

“I would never hurt you.” Jayde said quietly.

“It’s not that.” I told her. I knew she would never hurt me. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was so afraid of when I saw what she did, but I couldn’t help how it made me feel.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” Her tone made the question almost sound like a child had asked it.

I took a while to contemplate that. While Jayde’s ability to be brutal and violent disturbed me, I still couldn’t fully bring myself to think of her as a monster. The way she treated me, the people she cared about, was the furthest thing from monstrous. She was unconditional in her love and had one of the biggest hearts I have ever seen. And the situation we just went through wasn’t her fault at all. Jayde put her life on the line to protect me. The other werewolf didn’t give her a choice.

Taking a deep sigh to release all the bad energy I was feeling, I answered honestly, “No, I don’t. That werewolf that tried to kill us; he was the monster. You protected me. You saved me.”

I actually saw Jayde’s muscles relax in relief and felt even more bad. She didn’t deserve the cold shoulder I had been giving her. In not saying anything until now, I realized she was giving me space and time to process. I could only imagine how hard that must’ve been for her. Not knowing if I would accept her or fully reject her.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Jayde finally looked at me, eyes glinting with tears.

My eyes didn’t leave hers. “Don’t be. I understand why you have to do those things sometimes and I don’t blame you. I trust you. I trust that you do what you have to do.”

Jayde turned her attention back to the road and nodded. Even though she relaxed somewhat I could tell that she was still holding something back. Seeing her grip loosen and tighten on the steering wheel, I realized that usually by now she would have reached for me in some way. The fact that she hadn’t told me that she still thought her usual boundaries were closed off. They weren’t. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me again. After all, this was torture for me too.

Silently I reached my hand out, palm up in an invitation. Jayde glanced at it, then at me, unsure of what I wanted. I gave her a small nod. It’s okay. I want you to.

Hesitantly, like she thought I would change my mind, Jayde’s palm fit against mine. I laced our fingers together and smiled at the feeling. Finally, I was starting to feel better about the past day’s events. I could handle it. I could accept Jayde in her entirety. She was scared I couldn’t, but I did despite both of our fears. Isn’t that what love is?

#original writing #original characters #original story #werewolves #ocs #I started writing this TODAY #and finished it..... TODAY #how crazy is that?? #it usually takes me 80 years to finish anything #anyway as always ignore the shitty grammar/punctuation #and just enjoy the badass werewolf fight and angsty gays #My writing #Jayde #Nadya #my ocs #Nadya pov

[necromatador]

Couriers: The Temple Pt 3

The party headed through the door to the next room, stopping immediately upon entering as the floor is a noticeably different tiling pattern and some torches flare to life at either end of the room.  Runes along the bottom of the floor read something like "sometimes life leads you on dark paths and all you need to do is see the light” (I forgot to write that one down too ;;).  Keyleth stepped forward and the tile he steps on pressed down and shot needles up into his boot.  We noticed that all the tiles have little holes for needles.  After some deliberation, Nimh chimed in with “well if every other puzzle has required me to be thrown into the darkness, why not this one” and has Styrmir extinguish the torches on the other side, while they extinguished the ones on our side.  With the lights out, we could see a pathway of glowing tiles on the floor.  Testing them revealed they didn’t shoot needles, so we made our way across to the other side and through the door.

~~~

This doorway led through a broken and twisted metal archway with a dented metal door thrown from its hinges several feet ahead.  Across the top of the arch was the partial runic phrase of “when the sunrise cannot be-” before it became too twisted and broken to read.  Looking out into the room, there were a series of walls rising almost all the way to the ceiling (with about a 5 or 10 foot gap as some were crumbling and some were busted down entirely).  We could see a broken chain hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

Moving through, we split up a bit.  Keyleth and Aeron headed towards the broken chain in the center (Keyleth’s ghost sense was going nuts).  Nimh and Kaicis headed to the south end of the room.  Kaicis and Nimh found a big, long dead worm seemingly made of shadowy chitin that was crumbling from age.  There was also a skeleton nearby it.  Keyleth and Aeron found a slightly cracked crystal orb at the end of another length of chain that had clearly broken from the dangling piece above.  Before we could manage to do anything about any of it, however, we were attacked by strange shadow creatures that moved in and out of the walls.

We all get hit by these shadows except Nimh, and each have our Strength scores drained.  We learned to keep away from the walls so they can’t hide and sneak up and escape as easily.  Aeron managed to entangle one in the tentacles of Arms of Hadar.  Eventually we managed to defeat them all, with honestly minor damage except the Strength reductions.  We took a short rest as Keyleth explained the ghosts from before, and that these shadows were the remaining ghosts.  He and Kaicis also tried to figure out what the worm monster was, but couldn’t identify it.

After our short rest, our Strength scores fixed themselves, and we moved to the broken chain, where we re-tied the chain on the crystal orb and used it to refract the beam of light at the exit door, which opened.

We found ourselves next in a large open room with 6 lightly glowing pillars surrounding an odd pile of stone and crystal.  The refracted light was shining directly into it.  As we entered the room a little more, it shifted, and the door behind us closed.  The pile of stone and crystal rose to form a humanoid crystal shape wearing stone armor.  Then it picked up a stone sword hilt and formed a blade of pure light.  Then it attacked.

We fought for a while, dodging its sword and killing these little minion monks of fire that it kept summoning.  Nimh stopped a huge charge attack it tried to do.  Aeron kept getting knocked on his ass by the pillars sending out pulses of energy.  After a while it switched to a more armored form, and we got pretty beat up as it gained extra resistance to damage.  It picked Nimh up and threw them across the room at one point.  Then Keyleth got downed because he didn’t Disengage before trying to move away.  A big ol’ slice from the energy sword, burning a line from shoulder to hip.  Not long after that we managed to chip away enough armor to make it fall away and the crystal creature speed up.  It threw Kaicis into Kelvayla, knocking them both to the ground.  Eventually Aeron managed to take it out with Eldritch Blast, and it crumbled, leaving behind the hilt of its sword, now deactivated.

With the fight done, we finally noticed that the edges of the room were filled with much more chitinous remains like the dead worm out in the previous room, though these were far more broken.  Kaicis went to examine the sword hilt, and when he grabbed it he saw a flashback to the time the guardian was created, and how it was the ultimate final test for any pilgrims who came to test themselves and make offerings.  Some approached it for combat, others with knowledge and stories of things they’d learned, some with physical offerings of food or treasure.  Each was in turn either let in or turned away.  The penultimate vision was of a scared monk from the temple, telling the guardian that it needed to protect the temple from anything that entered at all costs.  The monk ran past into the final chamber, and the guardian took its post to defend against a sudden onslaught of shadowy monstrosities that made it through the door and surged forward.  The final vision was from a much weakened guardian, raising its head after hundreds of years, and seeing a familiar adventuring group enter...then taking up its position to perform its sacred duty.

After a short rest to heal up, as we were all at half health, the party continued through the now open final door.  Through another hallway, with a mosaic of proud people and runes reading “welcome to the worthy” we make it to a massive room made out of a crater that was completely covered in volcanic glass as the floor and the ceiling tiled like a star-filled sky.  In the center was a huge pillar on top of which was a dais with a watermelon-sized iridescent stone on top.  A stone bridge connected it to both sides of the room, while below in the crater was a massive pit of treasure.  Kelvayla carefully stepped forward, keeping an eye out for traps and the like, and eventually let the others forward.  At the entrance, everyone was able to enter just fine...except Kaicis and Aeron who were met with a slight resistance.

Aeron and Keyleth immediately went into the treasure pit and started filling up the bottomless box and their backpacks.  Kaicis went to the dais and found a skeleton, the monk from the vision of the guardian’s past, and she was holding a crystal staff made of the same material as the crystal guardian.  In a rotting pack beside her were a few scrolls.  Once the pair in the treasures were done filling the box, and partway filling their bags, Kelvayla cautiously removed the gem from the dais.

Everything began to rumble.

#D&D #dungeons and dragons #couriers campaign #nm plays D&D

[haropla]

Gundam SEED Episodes 20-26

Putting more episodes here because there really isn’t much that goes on compared to the individual episodes that follow this bunch. It’s more retreading that ZAFT is actually in the right and anyone actually fighting ZAFT at this point support a military force that has committed the war crime that started the entire conflict.

I do however, have a lot to say about the Ramba Ral and Hamon stand-ins, how they’re made less effective than their originals. 

Well, there’s also terrible CGI in droves more than any episode we’ve seen thus far. It’s clear that this is a budget-saving measure, which doesn’t make any sense when SEED had the budget it had. 

So Andrew and Aisha are obviously the stand-ins for Ramba Ral and Hamon. They’re both fond of the protagonist and the female character accompanying him when they meet outside of battle, showing an unusual amount of respect than what’s normally allowed soldiers from the opposing side.

There are numerous differences between these pairs of friendly enemies. Andrew and Aisha are younger and more distinguishable compared to the generic mooks that Kira deals with, whereas, save for Ramba Ral’s blue uniform, he wasn’t that different visually from too many of the other Zeons. Andrew and Aisha don’t command any more respect than say, Rau would from Athrun and co, whereas 0079 goes out of its way to establish that Ramba Ral and civilian Hamon have earned the respect and admiration from those under their command. Ramba Ral and Hamon also don’t wax rhetoric about “when will the fighting stop,” when Andrew’s quip about “the fighting doesn’t stop until either of us are dead” is recalled numerous times in SEED’s famous repetitive flashbacks.

The biggest difference is that Andrew and Aisha don’t get the nail-biting last stands that Ramba Ral and Hamon got that nearly brought down the White Base crew.

Ramba Ral’s and Hamon’s encounters with Amuro and the White Base is one of the many things that cements Amuro’s growth as both a character and a pilot. It’s clear that without Amuro personally improving as a pilot, he wouldn’t have been able to maneuver as well as he did against Ramba Ral’s Gouf.

When Kira just activates protagonist factor to get himself out of the same predicament.

And it’s around this point that despite claiming to not like fighting, Amuro has attached more of his self-worth and even some amount of pride to piloting the Gundam. In a fit of pique, Amuro does take and run off with the Gundam when he’s been threatened with being taken off as the Gundam’s pilot but comes back as soon as he hears the White Base is in danger. Of course it’s selfish, but his coming back shows he’s choosing to actually fight for the sake of others now and of his own volition, and not just for his own sake.

Meanwhile Kira’s just. Kira. No growth or any development. Just. “I DON’T WANT TO KILL PEOPLE” when he could just as easily fight to disarm enemy mobile suits.  

Ramba Ral’s and Hamon’s attacks also speak to the worldbuilding of 0079. Ramba Ral got his status as an ace from a time before mobile suits were the norm. And even when Amuro disarms his mobile suit, he still comes back to launch a nearly-successful guerilla attack on the White Base. Not to mention Hamon’s last attack nearly destroying the White Base outright and still requiring Ryu’s heroic sacrifice for the crew to come out of it alive.

There’s nothing that makes Andrew and Aisha different from other soldiers in this regard, and nothing they do that wasn’t already done better with Ramba Ral and Hamon.

And here’s that retread.

No, you’re fighting because you’re ignoring how ZAFT wants retribution for the hundreds of thousands the Alliance killed without justification. 

The show wants to keep framing both sides as equally justified/equally at fault for fighting but the fact of the matter is that no matter how you slice it, the Alliance started everything. Whether it was by discriminating against the Coordinators in the first place or nuking an entire PLANT full of innocents.

Nothing some fanservice won’t fix, apparently. 

#gundam SEED