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theerurishipper · 1 month

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I think the Batman's sidekicks equal child soldiers comes from them being called soldiers. Bat books seem to embrace the 'war on crime' narrative more as they are more gritty. On top of this Batman is emotionally incompetent meaning he treats his kids more like soldiers than children sometimes.

It's also quantity of sidekicks. Like, Barry had Wally. He didn't have any other kid sidekicks at the same time. Batman has a solid army and it often feels like one. They often feel more militarized than other 'fams'. Also, he is too controlling and doesn't treat this solid army of children well. So obviously when a character mistreats everyone around them, people are more likely to see the flaws. A kid cheerfully fighting aside their adult mentor isn't going to get called a child soldier but a kid written with a more gritty undertone is (especially because of the war on crime stuff).

He also had the whole 'good soldier' memorial which says he kinda viewed Jason, a dead 15 year old he adopted, as a soldier. Even though they were portrayed as a father son relationship so this immediately damages the perception of his relationships with his other children.

Also, the Under the Red Hood Movie is an entry level media for Bat fandom. It starred Mr Ackles of Supernatural fame. There is a huge child soldier narrative in the treatment of Sam and Dean by their father so Supernatural fans are more likely to see these themes. So Ackles fans watching the movie and then getting into the Batfam stuff will obviously latch onto this.

Also, this is not the only incident in superhero fandom where certain characters are singled out as child soldiers for other characters. This narrative is also present in some parts of the X-Men fandom, especially regarding the relationship of Professor X and Cyclops. As it is another incident of an adult character 'rescuing' a child in need and (I can't think of a better word) indoctrinating them to their cause.

I think another thing is the fact the Bats do not have powers. So narrative of 'with great power, comes great responsibility' only actually applies to Batman himself with his obscene wealth. So the classic narrative of you have power so you have to help people with them doesn't apply here. Most of the kids he recruits could have relatively normal lives. Jason, whose fans propagate this take heavily, did not ask to be Robin. Batman gave it to him. I also feel that Starlin was trying to have an arc about why having a child sidekick was bad in the Jason's Robin run so Jason's fans are more likely to be critical of the child sidekick thing. It basically goes 'maybe I should not have had this child fight crime' (while Jason is still alive) to 'it's Jason's own fault he got himself killed' which looks really bad.

So it just feels like a lot of factors give more and more people these kind of takes in a way that doesn't apply to other characters. Wonder Woman mostly fights alongside adults. The Flash is also adult heavy (Barry, Jay, Max as in adults that started as adults). Shazamily is all near is age (argument for Wizard perhaps). Lanterns, adults. Arrow family are usually a bit older than the bats and get less attention. Ect.

For me the thing is that... this is fiction. Not a one-to-one direct reflection of reality. In real life, we would frown upon vigilantism as a concept, but enjoying characters like Batman and Superman requires some suspension of disbelief. The same idea should be applied to the idea of sidekicks in general, something that would be very wrong in reality, but is acceptable within the fictional world of DC. Admittedly Batman is usually more grounded than the other books, but it still is within the fictional world of DC, where having child sidekicks in okay. Where letting children fight crime is not inherently wrong, and what defines whether it's good or bad is the intent of the person training/raising them (Bruce or Barry or Oliver as opposed to David Cain or Slade Wilson). We need to view it through that lens, otherwise it's kinda just bad faith criticism.

Another thing to consider is that Batman is an emotionally withdrawn character. It's pretty clear that he did not consider Jason a simple soldier for the cause, or his death wouldn't have ruined him the way it did. And honestly, for every Jason is a soldier case in the Batcave (something he got yelled at for btw), there is a Bruce giving Damian a heartfelt speech about how his kids aren't soldiers. For every moment Bruce treats his kids like soldiers, there is a moment where he openly admits to how much he loves them. I suppose after a point of time it's all up to interpretations, especially since the latter are far and few between, but canon has been pretty clear that Bruce loves his children above all else, and that he doesn't see them as soldiers. That's actually been a plot point a few times, so I think it shouldn't be a question that he sees them as sons and daughter and not soldiers. After all, the whole reason he does what he does for them is so that they don't turn out like him. Him coming off as seeing them like soldiers is not because it's the truth of what he thinks, it's because he can't express himself.

I did say there are plenty of other reasons to criticize Bruce as a character, one of them being the fact that he behaves abusively to his kids. But that's not a symptom of them being child soldiers. My post mostly stemmed from me seeing a lot of criticism of Batman "throwing kids into tights and a cape instead of getting them therapy," and it's like, nooooo. He very explicitly did not do that. They chose the life. Most of them would have done it whether or not Bruce was there. The kids being crimefighters isn't the problem.

If the cheerful thing is what differentiates them from others, the Robins have had that with Batman. Dick and Bruce actually had great fun as Batman and Robin, for instance, before things went sour. Jason may have been given Robin by Bruce, but he also loved being Robin and said it gave him magic. The inherent idea of kids fighting crime is not the issue in a fictional world. Robin in itself is something of a child empowerment kind of thing, a genre staple, at least in the beginning. We don't go around calling every child protagonist a child soldier, do we? It would be an inherently unethical thing in real life, but this is fiction. We have to have some amount of suspension of disbelief when it comes to that, just like we do for the idea of vigilantism itself. Otherwise, we wouldn't have a story.

My take on it is this: there are no child soldiers in DC (when it comes to the sidekicks). Because it's fiction. Within the conventions of the genre, it's well and good for Bruce or anyone to let kids fight crime. Bruce being an abuser is a different conversation entirely, one that should not be derailed with accusations of him raising child soldiers. Those are not a thing in DC, and we would all be happier if we accepted that. My post was specifically about that, that Bruce letting kids fight crime is not inherently a bad thing within the context on the world they operate in. I made the OG post because I saw a lot of criticism towards Bruce for the very act of letting kids fight crime, not because of how he treats them but because he apparently indoctrinated and manipulated them into his war on crime, just criticism for the very act of him letting them do so.

I've also seen talk about how awful it is for Bruce to continue to let kids be Robins after one died, and I just have to say, do you not want Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain and Damian Wayne and Duke Thomas and every other kid hero in the Batfam to exist? Because if Batman were to do the right thing, they shouldn't exist. But, again, this is fiction. It's a story about superheroes. As per the rules of the story, Batman needs a Robin. Someone was going to be created to fill the void, and it was Tim Drake.

And if we go down that route, what does this say about Conner Kent and Bart Allen and Cassie Sandsmark and the other heroes like them? Because if Bruce is in the wrong for letting kids fight after Jason died, so are the other heroes who allow kids to keep fighting after one sidekick died on the job. Was Clark Kent raising a child soldier when he allowed Jon to fight crime? And it's also funny to me cause again, Tim Drake practically forced Bruce to take him on as Robin, with the explicit blessing of former Robin Dick Grayson, and Alfred Pennyworth. Everyone else was already in the life, and Bruce just helped them out. They would have done it regardless of him. So, to frame it in a manner as though he forced them into it, or he didn't care that Jason died and that it could happen to them too is wrong.

Perhaps it's because Batman is the most popular DC hero, perhaps it's because he's had the most sidekicks, perhaps it's because one of them died, but it's still not a correct argument. Again, there are very legitimate criticisms to be made of Bruce, ones I can agree with wholeheartedly, but this is not one of them. He is toxic and controlling and abusive to his kids, but they are not child soldiers. It is that very specific thing that I am objecting to. And that's what I think a lot of replies to my post misunderstand, because they're conflating Bruce being abusive with Bruce raising child soldiers, and I while I agree with their general point, I disagree with the framing and the inferences made from it. And then there are the people who inspired me to make the post, who are just wrong.

So, I do agree with a lot of the criticisms of Bruce and a lot of your points! I can see where the idea comes from considering how Bruce treats his kids, but I don't think the correct takeaway is that they are child soldiers specifically. Victims of abuse from Bruce? Sure. Not child soldiers. I hope this makes sense.

Thank you for your ask!

Just... gonna leave this here...

#DC #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Batman #Nightwing #Red Hood #Robin #Meta #My meta #Asks #DC Comics #DCU

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snarktheater · 3 years

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Hey, d'you have any French book recs? I'm trying to work on my French, and rn I have downloaded one of my favourite book series' French translations, but I figured maybe books already written in French might work better? Also have you read the Ranger's Apprentice series? 1/2

RA's def flawed - the books' narration does like to point bright arrows at the protagonists' intelligence, and the last few books def have the tone of 'old white man trying to write feminism', although at least he's trying? - and it's aimed more to the younger side of YA, but it is still a very fun series, and I can ignore the flaws fairly easily, at least partly due to nostalgia? This rather long lol but I'm wordy.

I'll start with the second question: no, although every time the series is brought up I have to check the French title and go "oh, right, I've seen these books in stores". But I've never purchased or read them. It sounds like something I probably would have enjoyed as a teen but I just missed the mark, and these days I'm trying to drown myself in queer books, so that probably isn't happening.

As for your first question, geez, I haven’t read a French book in years, so this is gonna skew middle grade/YA, though that may not be so bad if the point is to learn the language. I will also say that as a result, these may read a little outdated.

I'll put it under a cut, even if Tumblr has become really bad with correctly displaying read mores. Sorry, mobile crowd.

It's also likely that old readers of the blog will have seen me talk about most of these. I don't feel like going through old posts.

One last thing: while I was curating this list I took the time to make a Goodreads shelf to keep track of those.

The Ewilan books by Pierre Bottero

(It's a testament to how long ago I read these books that these are not the covers of the edition I own, and I can't even find those on Google. I'm settling for a more recent cover anyway since it'll make it easier to find them, presumably)

There are at least three trilogies (that I know of) set in the same world.

The first trilogy is essentially an isekai (so, French girl lands in parallel fantasy world by accident) with elements of chosen one trope, though I find the execution makes it worth the while anyway.

The second trilogy is a direct sequel, so same protagonist but new threat, and the world gets expanded.

The third one is centered around a supporting characters from the previous books, and the first couple of books in it are more her backstory than a continuation, though the third one concludes both that trilogy and advances the story of the other books as well.

Notably these books have a really fun magic system where the characters "draw" things into existence. It's just stuck with me for some reason.

A bunch of stuff by Erik L'Homme

I have read a lot of this man's books, starting with Le Livre des Etoiles.

They also skew towards the young end of YA, arguably middle grade, I never bothered to figure out where to draw the line. They're coincidentally also using the premise of a parallel world to our own (and yes, connected to France again, the French are just as susceptible of writing about their homeland), but interestingly are set from the point of view of characters native to the parallel world.

It also has a very unique magic system, this one based on a mix of a runic alphabet and sort-of poetry. I'll also say specifically for these books that the characters stuck with me way more than others on this list, which is worth mentioning.

This trilogy is my favorite by Erik L'Homme, but I'll also mention Les Maîtres des brisants, which is a fantasy space opera with a pirate steampunk(?) vibe. I think it's steampunk. I could be mistaken. But it's in that vein. It's also middle grade, in my opinion not as good, but it could just be that it came out when I was older.

Another one is Phaenomen, which was a deliberate attempt at skewing older (though still YA). This one is set in our (then-)modern world and centers a group of teens who happen to have supernatural powers. I guess the best way to describe it is a superhero thriller? If you take "superhero" in the sense of "people with individualized powers", since they don't really do a lot of heroing.

...I really need to brush up on genre terminology, don't I.

The Ji series by Pierre Grimbert

This one is actually adult fantasy, though it definitely falls under "probably outdated". It is very straight, for starters, and I'd have to give it another read to give a more critical reading of how it handles race (it attempts to do it, and is well meaning, but I'm not sure it survives the test of time & scrutiny, basically).

If I haven't lost you already, the premise is this: a few generations ago, a weird man named Nol gathered emissaries from each nation of the world and took them to a trip to the titular Ji island. Nobody knows what went down here, but now in the present day, someone is trying to kill off all descendants from those emissaries, who are as a result forced to team up and figure out what's going on.

I'm not going to spoil past that, though I will say it has (surprise) a really unique magic system! I guess you can start to piece together what my younger self was interested in. Which, admittedly, I still am.

Once again, this one also has a strong cast of characters, helped by rich world building and the premise forcing the characters to come from many different cultures (though, again, I can't vouch for the handling of race because it's been too long).

The first series is complete by itself, though it has two sequel series as well, each focusing on the next generation in these families. Because yes, of course they all pair up and have kids. Like I said: very straight.

A whole lot of books by Jean-Louis Fetjaine

OFetjaine is a historian, and I guess he's really interested in Arthurian mythos especially, because he loves it so much he's written two separate high fantasy retellings of them! I'm not criticizing, mind you, we all need a hobby.

The former, the Elves trilogy (pictures above) is very traditional high fantasy. Elves, dwarves, orcs, a world which is definitely fictionalized with a pan-Celtic vibe to it. The holy grail and excalibur are around, but they're relics possessed by the elves and dwarves with very different powers than usual. Et cetera.

Fetjaine also really loves his elves (as the titles might imply), and while they're not exactly Tolkien elves, there's a similar vibe to them. If you like Tolkien and his elf boner, you'll probably like this too. And conversely, if that turns you off, these books probably also won't work for you.

This series also has a prequel trilogy, centered around the backstory of one of the main characters. I...honestly don't remember too much about it, but I liked it, so, there you go, I guess.

I said Fetjaine did it twice. The other series is the Merlin duology, which, as the title implies, is a retelling of Merlin's story. Note that Merlin is also in the other trilogy, but it's a different Merlin; like I said, completely different continuities and stories.

This one is historical fantasy, so it's set in actual Great Britain, and Fetjaine attempts to connect Arthur to a "real" historical figure...but, you know, Merlin is also half-elf and elves totally exist in Brocéliande, so, you know. History.

Okay, that's probably enough fantasy, let me give some classics too.

L'Arbre des possibles et autres histoires - Bernard Werber

Bernard Werber is a pretty seminal author of French sci-fi and I should probably be embarrassed that the only book of his that I read was for school, but, it is a really good one, so I'll include it anyway.

It's a novella collection, and when I say "sci-fi" I want to make it clear that it's very old school science fiction. It's more Frankenstein or Black Mirror than Star Trek, what we in French call the anticipation genre of science fiction: you take one piece of technology or cultural norm and project it into the future.

It has a pretty wide range of topics and tones, so it's bound to have some better than others. My personal faves were Du pain et des jeux, where football (non-American) has evolved into basically a wargame, and Tel maître, tel lion, where any animal is considered acceptable as a pet, no matter how absurd it is to keep as a pet. They're both on a comedic end, but there's more heartfelt stuff too.

L'Ecume des Jours - Boris Vian

(no cover because I can't find the one I have, and the ones I find are ugly)

This book is surrealist. Like, literally a part of the surrealist movement. It features things such as a lilypad growing inside a woman's lungs (and, as you well know, lilypads double in size every day, wink wink), the protagonist's apartment becoming larger and smaller to go with his mood and current financial situation, and more that I can't even recall at the moment because remembering this book is like trying to remember having an aneurysm.

It is also really, really fun and touching. Oh, and it has a pretty solid movie adaptation, starring Audrey Tautou, who I think an international audience would probably recognize from Amelie or the Da Vinci Code movie.

I don't really know what else to say. It's a really cool read!

Le Roi se meurt - Eugène Ionesco

Ionesco is somewhat famous worldwide so I wasn't even sure to include him here. He's a playwright who wrote in the "Theater of the Absurd" movement, and this play is part of that.

The premise of this play is that the King (of an unnamed land) is dying, and the land is dying with him. I don't really know what else to say. It's theater of the absurd. It kind of has to be experienced (the published version works fine, btw, no need to track down an actual performance, in my humble opinion).

The Plague - Albert Camus

You've probably heard of this one, and if you haven't, let me tell you about a guy called Carlos Maza

youtube

I'm honestly more including this book out of a sense of duty. The other three are books I genuinely liked and happen to be classics. This book was an awful read. But, um. It's kind of relevant now in a way it wasn't (or didn't feel, anyway) back in 2008 or 2009, when I read it. And I don't just mean because of our own plague, since Camus's plague is pretty famously an allegory for fascism, which my teenage self sneered at, and my adult self really regrets every feeling that way.

Okay, finally, some more lighthearted stuff, we gotta talk about the Belgian and French art of bande dessinée. How is it different from comic books or manga? Functionally, it isn't. It really comes down more to what gets published in the Belgian-French industry compared to the American comics industry, which is dominated by superheroes, or the Japanese manga industry, which, while I'm less familiar with it, I know has some big genre trends as well that are completely separate.

The Lanfeust series - Arleston and Tarquin

This is a YA mega-series, and I can't recommend all of it because I've lost track of the franchise's growth. Also note that I say "YA", but in this case it means something very different from an American understanding of YA. These books are pretty full of sex.

No, when I say YA I mean it has that level of maturity, for better or worse. The original series (Lanfeust de Troy) is high fantasy in a world where everyone has an individual magical ability but two characters find out they're gifted with an absolute power to make anything happen, and while it gets dark at times, it's still very lighthearted throughout, and the humor is...well, I think it's best described as teen boy humor. And it has a tendency to objectify its female characters, as you'll quickly parse out from the one cover I used here or if you browse more covers.

But still, it holds a special place in my heart, I guess. And on my shelves.

The sequel series, Lanfeust des Etoiles, turns it into a space opera, and goes a little overboard with the pop culture reference at times, though overall still maintains that balance of serious/at times dark story and lighthearted comedy.

After that the franchise is utter chaos to me, and I've lost track. I know there was another sequel series, which I dropped partway through, and a spinoff that retold part of the original series from the PoV of the main love interest (in the period of time she spent away from the main group). There was a comedy spin-off about the troll species unique to this world, a prequel series, probably more I don't even know exist.

Les Démons d'Alexia

Something I can probably be a little less ashamed of including here.

Some backstory here. The Editions Dupuis are a giant of the Belgian bande dessinée industry, and for many, many years I was subscribed to their weekly magazine. That magazine was (mostly) made up of excerpts from the various books that the éditions were publishing at the time; those that were made of comic strips would usually get a couple pages of individual scripts, while the ongoing narratives got cut into episodes that were a few pages long (out of a typical 48 page count for a single BD album). Among those were this series.

For the first few volumes, I wasn't super into this series, probably because I was a little too young and smack dab in the middle of my "trying to be one of the boys" phase. But around book 3 I got really invested, to the point where I own the second half of the series because I had canceled by subscription by then but still wanted to know more.

Alexia is an exorcist with unusual talents, but little control, who's introduced to a group that specializes in researching paranormal phenomena, solving cases that involve the paranormal, that kinda stuff.

As a result of the premise, the series has a pretty slow start since it has to build up mystery around the source of Alexia's powers, but once it gets going and we get to what is essentially the series' main conflict, it gets really interesting.

Plus, witches. I'm a simple gay who likes strong protagonists and witches.

Murena

There was a point where my mtyhology nerdery led me to look for more stuff about the historical cultures that created them, and so I'd be super into stuff set in ancient Rome (I'd say "or Greece or Egypt" but let's face it, it was almost always Rome).

Murena is a series set just before the start of Emperor Nero's rule. You know, the one who was emperor when Rome burned, and according to urban legend either caused the fire or played the fiddle while it did (note: "fiddle" is a very English saying, it's usually the lyre in other languages). He probably didn't, it probably was propaganda, but he was a) a Roman Emperor, none of whom were particularly stellar guys and b) mean to Christians, who eventually got to rewrite history. So he's got a bad rep.

The series goes for a very historical take on events, albeit fictionalized (the protagonist and main PoV, the titular Lucius Murena, is himself fictional) and attempts to humanize the people involved in those events. Each book also includes some of the sources used to justify how events and characters are depicted, which is a nice touch.

It's also divided in subseries called "cycles" (books 1-4, 5-8 and the ongoing one starts at 9). I stopped after 9, though I think it's mostly a case of not going to bookstores often anymore. Plus it took four years between 9 and 10, and again between 10 and 11. But the first eight books made for a pretty solid story that honestly felt somewhat concluded as is, so it's a good place to start.

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fairyscribbles · 5 years

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Where Wind Soothes - Crypt (Sehun, pt. 9) [Chronicles of the Wolf series]

I love you guys. Sorry for being gone for so long.

I hope this will help <3. I’ll start replying to all of your answers tomorrow <3

If you need to refresh your memory, and I know you do, read this!

Enjoy!

The mountains seemed even more ominous as you neared them, and you knew why it seemed that way to you. It was most probably a combination of all things- the sky was overcast, sun only slightly visible through the thick layer of grey; an omnipresent and yet still powerless deity, whose power would not reach where you were about to wander. The area surrounding the crypts of the ancient seemed match the atmosphere of a final resting place of dozens of warriors. The ground was hard and cold, and only the harshest and sturdiest of flora survived here, a clear sign for anyone and everyone, that this was not a place for the living.

All these thoughts came racing through your veins and down your legs, making it seem like iron settled around your ankles, and you huddled into yourself for security and the slightest, maddest of thoughts, that maybe if you cowered into yourself far enough, you would magically slip away from the situation that you found yourself in, and would be able to reappear back in your cozy and most importantly, safe house, far away from any wolves or deathbells or walking dead.

Bora didn't seem to be as affected by your adventure, and in the back of your mind, you knew you couldn't compare yourself to a person whose calling was killing of supernatural beasts. And yet you couldn't help yourself but be jealous of the easy stride she kept up, even though you saw the numerous daggers strapped to both of her thighs and the small bow flung across her back. In this moment, you didn't want to be a healer anymore. You wanted to become Bora, tall and strong and fearless, and selfless, so, so selfless, as she was putting herself in imminent danger to provide materials for a medicine that is so ancient, there is no knowing if it going to help or not.

Sehun kept silent on the road. You didn't know if it was purely the jealousy seeping through him that prevented him from having a civil conversation with you, or it was the stress. Maybe it was a bit of both, and it made you uneasy as well. Even if he didn't talk to you, he made it his point to stay near you, just an arm's reach away in case you tripped over a stray root while you were busy mapping your surroundings (however, you did think that there were some moments when the guiding hand on the small of your back was absolutely unnecessary, and the younger wolf was just yearning for touch. You let it slide, because the warmth of his hand made your fried nerves cool down as well).

You bypassed the main entrance to the crypt, a tall door with multiple locks strewn over the majestic wood as a clear sign that it was unwise to even attempt to disturb the dead. Many have tried, evident by the numerous slashes not only against the door but on the cobbled stones leading up to the entrances as well- swords, axes and arrows of thieves or just adventurers bored by the dangerous woods and abandoned villages, looking for treasure. Looking for fame. And after the fourth time the capital had sent the battle monks to contain hordes of decaying flesh wielding their old weapons as if they were part of their limb, the crypts were sealed off, guarded by protective wards which would make the intruders forget what they were attempting to do and send them off wandering into the wilderness, regaining their senses once they were far away.

Bora's sure steps leading all of you up the side of the mountain had you chuckling under your breath. "How often have you gone here, Bora?" you couldn't keep in the question, and the former captain turned to look at you over her shoulder, a slight smirk playing along her features. "I have a friend or two who recommended some weak spots in the chambers further in the crypts."

"I hope these friends aren't waiting somewhere in the shrubbery for you and little medic over here to slide away into a crypt to ambush us," Baekhyun hissed, making sure his suspicious voice was accompanied by a fake-enough swipe of the perimeter that it couldn't have been interpreted in a different way than a joke. "I'm sure that if Bora wanted us to be decorations of Wolfsguard barracks' walls, she would've lured us somewhere closer to the headquarters." Sehun piped in, offering you a hand once you were climbing higher on the rocks.

"Maybe it's something they like to do in their free time. Find out who makes a more fun hunger games for the guards."

"It's here." the playful speculations (only for the two participating wolves, Tao's shoulders tensed since the first mention of his mate betraying their pack) died down immediately when Bora knelt over a pile of seemingly inconspicuous rubble. Stone after stone disappeared, and an ominous wind moaned from the newly discovered crypt entrance, heavy with the stench of stale moss and rot. You came to appreciate your medical background, as the smell was something horrible to the untrained nose, as was evident from the way the wolves' grimaced and turned away, trying to guard their heightened senses.

The mouth to the crypt had a diameter just slightly big enough for you and Bora to squeeze through, but even as the former Wolfsguard asked Baekhyun to shine a bit of light into the first hall of the crypt, it was evident that there was no possible way either of the wolves could follow you. Bora turned to you with a tight smile.

"I know the layout of the crypt. We scour one, maybe two of the main halls, and that's it. They are big enough, and if the plant we're looking for is not there, it won't be anywhere else in the crypt." Squinting up at the sky, she did the math in her head.

"We have about three hours in the cave. Then we need to head back to camp, so we won't get caught in the dark out here. Check through your bag to make sure you have everything, and we can go."

The last command made it real, and you could feel your knees buckle slightly at the idea of having to go inside. However, you kept your deserter's thoughts to yourself, as you knew that if you would show any type of uncertainty infront of the wolf, Sehun would press the group to abort mission and return to camp. You have seen his injuries. You saw the way it crippled him from fully enjoying his time with the pack, hell, the way it robbed him of a good night's sleep or a pleasant meal. And with every wince during dinner time or on trail, you also saw Bora's eyes flicker with guilt. You knew that if you backed out of the plan, she would venture inside alone, even if it meant trying to find a long lost herb only by frayed drawing. She knew that apologies by words would not mean anything, she would press on, more ferocious in scouting the territory, in preparing the maps, in sharpening her arrows and daggers.

One of those weapons was currently hanging on your hip, surprisingly light for the metallic appearance of it. "Elven," Bora quipped when she saw your expression. "Very light but still able to deal a lot of damage."

Along with the dagger, you had a backpack slung over your shoulder, and in it were rough sketches of the plant you were looking for. It was a petite plant, reaching no more than over your ankles, all delicate vines and small, round leaves with gentle petals and a reportedly sweet odor. If the colors of the petals were any different, it would be an ideal plant to have in pots under your window, or strung together in a cute bouquet for a first date, be it not that the flower itself had the color of decaying flesh and the inner veins were fanning out in an ominous black, like the skin of a corpse left unattended for far too long. They were said to recieve this discoloration from their primary source of nutrients - they peeked out from half open coffins in murky crypts, or on battlefields where none had survived to bring the information to their allies.

As you checked the sketch again, your hands began to shake. The calming breath you took (four seconds breathe in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out) had no effect, and with an annoyed sigh you stuffed the sketch back in the satchel, pulling on the strings to close it. The paper was so old that you could only wish that the drawing was right. What if you had fallen for one of those books written only to scare people away from the woods and crypts? Who in their right mind would name a flower Deathbell, anyways?

It was then that two warm palms cupped your face, making you flinch away from the touch with a quiet squeak. You looked up at Sehun in bewilderment, whose face was clouded in worry.

"You don't have to do this." he told you, confirming all the suspitions you had before. Putting on your most convincing smile, you shook your head (or at least tried...it was hard to do so while it was held delicately in someone's grasp), patting the back of his hand reassuringly.

"This will help you, Sehunnie. It's going to be okay."

"It's not okay if you're in an enclosed space somewhere I can't reach you. There must be some other cure."

"But what if there isn't? What if this is the only way to make you feel better?" Sehun stopped to think his answer over, but you didn't give him the chance to say something stupid.

"And don't you dare say you don't need it. Your pack has wasted precious supplies if we don't at least try to get them." It was your turn to step closer to the wolf, whose glance was directed at the dirt on your shoes. Running a hand through his hair, you cupped his chin and gently lifted it up so he was looking at you. His worry for you was extremely endearing, and you reached up on the tips of your toes to press a small kiss against his nose.

"We will be fine. I promise." Before you had the chance to step away, Sehun was pressing his forehead against yours with a deep sigh, his hands slipping down to your throat, sliding down your arms. As his fingers entwined with yours, he slowly guided your hands to wrap around his waist, before he cupped your face again, being so close to you that you felt the breath from his lips fall against yours.

"The moment you so much as hear something moving in the crypts, you get out. Deathbell, no deathbell. I'm okay with being like this if it means that you're okay." the confession had silenced whatever cooing reassurances you had ready for the young wolf, because the amount of fire and passion in his eyes almost knocked you to your knees. The only thing you were able to do was surge up on your toes once more to press a deep kiss against his lips, hoping that it will convey all that you wanted to say.

I'm doing this for you. I'll be careful. I will succeed.

Wait for me out here.

Sehun moved away from you with extreme difficulty, his wolf howling at him to keep you in his arms, away from harm, away from the place you were about to crawl into that reeked of danger and death. He was rooted on the spot when Baekhyun light the girls' torches with an inextinguishable light.

Bora went first, agile as a feline as she slipped through the hole and landed on the crypt's floor with a mute thud. The height wasn't too bad, the only concerning thing for you was that you had to slip your satchel from your back to be able to get through the entrance and into the dungeon. As much as you tried to copy Bora's movements, they fell short and you landed with a much louder thud than the leader of the Wolfsguard, and for a heart clenching second, the both of you stood as motionless as the dead, ears poised to catch the slightest sound that you had woken what should never rise again.

As Bora gave the silent nod of her head, you turned one last time to look up at the entrance, where Sehun was peeking down at you with a mixture of annoyance, worry and fear.

It was the last look you saw on him before you took a quiet, deep breath, and stepped into the land which belonged to the dead.

The first thing you were surprised to see were the slight glimmers of light far in the crypt. Despite such heavy locks adorning the door, you figured there must be a priest who comes every now and then to check the grounds for any possible unrest. Your stomach still felt weak as you forced yourself to turn away from the lit corridor and inspect the hall you were in at the moment.

The hall that you dropped into was longer than you had thought, and what you had crawled through was a hole in one of the empty resting places reserved for the bodies. Looking around, the bodies were placed in cabinet-style stone constructions, lining both the walls of the hall you were currently in, as well as functioning as separators for different family clans.

Not every body was in a coffin, to your dismay. Quite the contrary, coffins were rare in the room you were currently scanning, making your heart drop. Most of the bodies rested on stone cold tablets, arms crossed on the chest. Even though most have been dead for many years, there were still corpses which clung to their weapons from their living days, as if they were ready to spring up and resume whatever battle had bested them before.

Pressing a cloth to your mouth and nose to guard it from the stench clinging to this place as well as acting as a hopefully effective enough prevention from sneezing at the unknown scents and large amount of dust, you took a small, uncertain step to the closest coffin to you, wedged in between an axe-wielding woman with no arm and a resting ground in which three decapitated heads were stacked neatly in a row. Ignoring the hollow looks in their eyes as best as you could, you brought the torch a bit closer to examine the cracked opening of the coffin.

You knew the chances were extremely low, but yet it didn't stop your stomach from plummeting in disappointment when there were no deathbells present. Fighting the sigh from escaping your lips, you turned to see where Bora had gone. Her torch was on the ground by her feet, hands gripping her bow and arrow, as she glared at the far away corridor light with torches, deep scowl on her face. Swallowing the question you had for her, you decided to sneak over to the next coffin (the clan you were currently inspecting had a total of four coffins to their approximately 30 bodies), trying to focus the most on what was important.

The lid of the other coffin was almost completely slid to the side, revealing the once surely majestic warrior whose hair was now falling out in clumps with the scalp, skin stretched tightly over his face and body. A huge hole hollowed his chest, most definitely the killing blow by something no smaller than a battering ram. However, his broadsword was laying in the coffin next to him, still ready if necessary.

However, no deathbells there either.

A sudden sound echoing in the darkness had you flinching horribly, heart beating erratically. Bora brought her bow up with lighting speed, aimed at the sound's source. It echoed again, a soft howl of the wind from the entrance the crypt now had. It was entirely possible that there were other holes in the crypt, much like the one you used to get in, and with the passage open, it was bound to happen that a few stones would tumble down, creating the scary echo. However, these rational thoughts did not calm your heartbeat, and even though they uprooted you from your petrified stance, it made your step quicker as you inspected another coffin. If your heart could have plummeted more, it would, as your new cache was without the treasure you looked for and the last coffin was still intact and sealed shut.

The main hall you were currently in held the bodies of approximately four clans. The different runes on the sides of the stone slabs indicated the names of the buried and the periods of their demise. If you knew you had more time (and your visit was much safer), you would love to spend ages in these halls, dotting down the nuggets of information that could prove useful. Warriors weren't the only ones who found eternal rest here - with the death of a clan leader, the maids, intelligence and healers were sent to the otherworld as well. You knew it was highly immoral, but if by chance you found a coffin of a healer with their tomes still with them, you would not be above taking it to rediscover cures for diseases that were swallowed up by time, and yet still made a comeback every now and then to wreak havoc.

Bora began moving as well, a soft sway here and there to make sure all the dead stayed that way, her bow and arrow still locked and ready to shoot. Keen eyes scanned the main hall, and yet they always returned to that narrow hallway leading most probably to a different room- crypts were often built with intermingling rooms designed for occasional pilgrims or guards, and so it wouldn't be surprising for you if it was exactly some descendants of the resting clans who took up the responsibility to protect the bones of the elders from grave robbers. Grave robbers like you, you realized with a wry quirk of your lips.

However, the light still made you feel uneasy, rightly so. It is strange to see something that so clearly indicates living presence in a place where everything should have been dead for decades. Trying to push that thought deep back into your mind (and turning around to see that the entrance to the cave is still a straight line and a few long strides away from you), you moved to inspect more of the graves. Bora was still on your left, snooping through the other clan's resting places. You knew that even though the warrior is checking out some of the coffins herself, you wouldn't be able to stop from checking them on your own as well. You wanted to get out of here, as soon as possible.

And your blood froze when from the corner of your eye, you saw a figure standing on your right.

A pained whine left your lips as your legs instinctively jumped away from the unknown character that was standing exactly in the mouth of the hallway that had you feeling uneasy. Your sound alerted Bora, and she was by your side in a moment, arrow already whistling through the air, aimed exactly at the figure's head.

His hand shot out and with a burst of blue energy, it knocked the arrow out of its intended trajectory, making your knees buckle. The person was clad in what most definitely were black robes a long time ago, but the time spent underground tattered the cloth and the dust ingrained itself in the fabric probably indefinitely. His hood was resting on his back, revealing an elderly man with his scalp left bare by his hair falling out in literal clumps. Two linear marks ran down his cheeks in the brownish color of dried blood, sliding down his neck and into the robes.

He tilted his head to the side curiously, crazed eyes bulging out of his skull as he stared at the two of you in extreme interest.

"Living brides? I haven't had those in a while," a voice crinkly as old papyrus cut through the tension of the room, and it was only then that you realized that what you first thought was just dust settling behind the figure were the spirits of two young women, looking both disconnected with whatever was happening to them, but sorrowful at the same time. The necromancer licked his lips, as if that would help the dry chuckle that ripped from his throat.

Necromancers were considered a myth in the capital. After they were banned from the mage's association, they were viciously hunted down for their predatory behavior and more than unconventional preferences. And yet here was one standing before you, and you suddenly wished you never opened the door for the strange party that went searching for you for help.

The wolves waiting outside must have felt the sudden change of ambience, because you heard distressed noises and a hiss of your name echo through the hole. You only had enough time to whimper Sehun's name back before the necromancer was swinging his hand in the direction of the entrance, and as the whole crypt shook, the rocks blocked your escape route. The wall shook at the hits from the other side, but the rocks did not budge. You were stuck.

You heard more whistling through the air as Bora tried her shot once more, only to be dodged by the necromancer, who did not appreciate her attempts at getting an arrow lodged in his eyes. Another swish with his hand had Bora flying into the side of the crypt, a hit tough enough to leave her crumbling on the ground to catch her breath. He frowned, looking over at you with an almost sympathetic look in his eyes.

"Why is your friend being so mean? I will treat you so well. Just ask the girls," he exclaimed, his arm swiping back to the looming spirits hovering weakly in the air. Your eyes filled with tears and with quivering hands, you reached for the dagger that was on your hip in a cutely valiant and yet apparently useless attempt to protect yourself from the menace standing in front of you.

"You do seem to be very docile dear, and I like that in my brides. She, on the other hand," he only flicked his head over to where Bora was already standing with a deep frown on her face, silently evaluating the situation, "needs to learn, that every action has consequences." Spreading both his arms wide, the blue energy that you witnessed moments ago burst through the hall in a blast that had you falling to your knees.

For an excruciating moment, you thought nothing bad happened, and maybe the necromancer was at his energy's end. Your heart lurched forward however, when you noticed another flicker of blue lights in your periphery, and you turned to look just in time as one of the dead warriors was slowly waking back to life, the blue flickering orbs illuminating the space where his eyes used to be.

The tall, lanky body stretched as if they were merely asleep for a very long time, cracking at the joints of their neck and shaking off the lethargy from their rotten flesh. A sudden clash of metal against metal had both you and the warrior jump in surprise. Bora had already engaged one of them, her shortsword looking pitiful against the battleaxe-wielding maiden.

It was surprising to still be able to recognize the deep hatred in a face stripped of all muscles.

"Aim for the heads, ___!" Bora yelled as she pulled a hidden dagger from her pouch and swung with her other arm, promptly dodging the already derelict helmet and striking the undead in the temple. The shieldmaiden stepped back from Bora as if she were confused, before collapsing into a heap of bone and rot and not moving again.

The bodies had a mind of their own. And their main thought was to fight.

With that thought you turned back to the body whose awakening you witnessed just moments ago and dodged a swing of his sword by a hair's breadth. You stumbled back to the ground and kept retreating from the numerous hits the evidently angry body rained down upon you, and in the process the dagger slipped from your clammy hands, cluttering pointlessly to the ground.

This was it, you thought. This was how you're going to die, cursed to become a bride for a deranged individual who preferred the company of aggressive dead.

"The HEAD, ___, get the heads!" Bora told you once more as an arrow swished past your shoulder and struck the incoming warrior in the forehead. In an attempt to escape being squished by the falling body, you rolled to the side, precisely on one of the already awakening warriors.

The shieldmaiden opened her mouth and screeched in insult, and it was an almost automatic response that you lifted the nearby goblet and jammed it into her head numerous times, not even realizing how soft the skull became. It must have been the magic that allowed the necromancer to give the bodies thoughts of their own but made them extremely vulnerable to being destroyed if you knew what you were doing.

You didn't know what you were doing. You were here to collect deathbells, and not to become fertile soil for them.

You stopped once the skull resembled more mush than bone, and you promptly turned over to heave your breakfast onto the ground beside you. Your whole body shook, and you wished Tao was there to stop time because you needed to take a breath, but the dead kept on rising, kept on turning their attention to the object that was moving around in the crypt the most. Bora almost looked as if she were dancing, the graceful movements of her sword slicing through her dead enemies that seemed to be coming in great numbers.

The wall where your entrance was before shook every now and then, trembling under the powerful blows of the three werewolves standing outside, however the necromancer must have fortified the fallen rubble because it did not budge even though you were sure that under normal circumstances the rocks would have been sent flying.

Trying to shake off the sickness that took over your body, you reached out for the mace that was placed right next to one of the still resting bodies. Just as you lifted it, the magical blue hue appeared behind its rotting eyelids, breathing life into the dead flesh. However, this time you were prepared for it and you immediately brought the heavy, jewel-studded head of the mace down onto the face of an ancient warrior, sending him back to timeless eternity. Learning your lesson from last time, you quickly turned away from the wound as to not make yourself sick again and looked over at Bora, who was slowly becoming overwhelmed.

It was a while since Bora's last opponent was something bigger than a fox, and a horde of undead warriors was no doubt a formidable enemy. Even if their movement was sluggish and uncertain (if you had the time, you would ponder in fascination on what made the monsters move, since all the nerves would be the first to rot away and muscles were found scarcely on some of the bodies, the polished bones shining against Baekhyun's torches abandoned on the ground), they seemed to have endless energy, and if Bora didn't hit them in the head, they would keep returning. You could already see some of the wounds on Bora's body- a cut here and there, blood that seemed to be far too fresh to belong to any of the dead bodies.

In a graceful move, Bora sliced off both of her enemy's arms in two swift strikes before kicking the skirmisher in the chest. The body flew back towards you, and you swung the mace just in time to strike the head and put him out of commission. Bora was able to spare you a small smile before returning to fight against the others. Glancing around you quickly, you noticed not all the dead were risen. Maybe not all of them could be risen, for one reason or another, which meant that soon, all the enemies in these halls would be defeated, leaving you with the necromancer alone. The thought fueled you with some hope, and you tripped an unsuspecting skeleton charging at Bora before thoughtlessly stomping on its' head.

The mush of the skeleton stuck to your shoes like sludge. There are other rooms in the crypt. More undead. No escape.

Isn't all your fighting futile? The rubble from the entrance does not budge, and only the one above knows where exactly in the crypt you were right now. Even if the wolves would find a way to open the magically fortified locked entrance, they would no doubt have to fight themselves through hordes of these monsters and numerous of the necromancer's brides before reaching the two of you.

And you were growing tired. And even if she didn't show it, Bora was growing tired as well. Once you killed all of these undead, what then? Face the most probably centuries old necromancer on your own, who is probably raising more undead while you tried to fight off the crawling torso of a body that Bora couldn’t kill perfectly?

Your arms trembled as you brought the mace down once again, and that was when you felt invisible arms wrap around you tight, so tight you were worried that your bones would break like twigs. The air was pushed out of your lungs and the mace you held in your hands clattered to the ground with a loud noise.

The tips of your toes weren't touching the ground anymore, and you were unwillingly turned towards the necromancer, who was holding his hand out, beckoning you to come to him, yellow and rotting teeth grinning at you maliciously. You felt as if you couldn't move, no matter how much you struggled, and in the background, you could faintly hear Bora's scream of your name as she fought more aggressively against the lasting five warriors.

"No, fuck! ___!!" The necromancer was closer now, and the closer he was, the more disgusting and terrifying he seemed.

"You will serve just nicely," he rasped, and you glanced past his shoulder to stare at the two floating spirits behind him, renewing your attempts to wiggle out his binds in whatever way, because oh my god, you're going to end up just like them.

You had a whole life ahead of you. You just found a group you felt like you can belong in. You finally found that spark in your profession that seemed to be long gone and you gave up hope in forever finding again.

Looking so closely at one of the dead brides, you recognized her face as one of the girls who disappeared years ago from the capital. Word was that she escaped from an arranged marriage to be with her lover and the commotion died down after a few months. Seeing her now, forever bound to a madman, face void of any emotion had tears pushing into your eyes.

Bora was still fighting in the back, two undead with large axes keeping her busy, but she still kept glancing over at you, which cost her dearly, as one of the skeletons was able to catch her off-guard and slice into her side. With a surprised grunt, she turned and caught its head with a dagger, making the body crumple down in a bone heap.

"Eyes on me, darling." a sweaty palm gripped your chin roughly and tugged you back to stare into the crazed eyes of the necromancer. He was breathing deeply, whitened tongue darting out to lick at the bottom of his lip every now and then as he assessed you.

"Yes...yes..." he murmured, fingers tucking back the strand of your hair behind your ear. "You will do just nicely."

"Fuck no, __!" The sounds from everywhere were overwhelming. Bora's desperate groan as she no doubt got hit again for being distracted, the whole side of the crypt thudding in powerful blows, the quickened breath of the psychopath in front of you, breath rotten that made your stomach churn.

Is this how you were going to die?

The palms gripping your head heated up, and they soon began to burn at your skin, making your whole head ache as if put through a torturing device. The aching burn slithered down your neck slowly, spreading over your collarbones and sliding down to the tips of your fingers, over your chest and hips. You squirmed in discomfort, the whine slipping past your lips pathetically weak.

"It won't take long, my love. You will be a fine addition, just don't move. It will be all over soon."

The ache traveled past your thighs, wrapping around your legs and knees in a vice, and you almost felt your joints dislocating under the pain. When it reached your toes, your whole body pulsed once, twice, thrice.

Before it re-started its trek up your body, leaving numbness behind.

You couldn't wriggle your toes.

You couldn't move your ankles.

The numbing feeling was moving higher up your body, and with it, it was taking your soul. Your eyes must have revealed their despair, because the necromancer laughed, moving so close your noses touched.

"Why are you so afraid, petal? It doesn't hurt, does it?" You wished it would hurt. Anything would be better than the slow and deliberate, fully conscious feeling of life leaving you.

Everything went silent, and that's how you could almost hear the blood flow in your body still. Your legs hung limply from the hold of the necromancer. You couldn't feel the tips of your fingers anymore.

"P-please don't do this..." you begged, voice quivering so bad it barely came out.

"Just a while longer," the man cooed, tongue licking over the bottom of his lip hungrily. "Just a while longer and your mine."

The bottom of your ribs began to tingle. Will your heart stop when it reaches them?

Your life flashed before your eyes, replacing the ugly murderer in front of you. You saw your cozy home, filled with vials that helped countless people. You saw your friends, laughing carelessly over the latest gossip and every handsome man that passed by your table. You saw Bora and the other mates, smiling at you warmly and welcoming you, a stranger, into their closest of circles.

You saw Sehun. Saw his smile. The way his bottom lip jutted out in a pout when his older brothers messed with him. The crease of his brows when the scar on his back began aching.

You saw how his whole body relaxed under your fingertips, as you cupped his face and stroked your thumb under his eye. The smile that slowly spread when you were the first thing he saw in the morning. His grin when he succeeded in teasing you. The way his lips felt against yours.

And you tipped your head back with the last surge of strength you could muster, snapping it back with as much force as you had.

There was a sickening crunch as your skull connected with the old man's nose.

You dropped to the floor, head banging against the cold stone. Your fingers twitched life back into them.

Swishing sliced through the air, before hitting its juicy target.

And as you looked up, the elven dagger glistened from the necromancer's surprised face. The body slumped back, hitting his brides, who disappeared into thin air.

The wall finally gave, and you heard three voices yelling your and Bora's names, although you heard it as if you were underwater.

And just as your eyes gave to the darkness, you glimpsed it right in front of you.

A deathbell.

#sehun #oh sehun #exo sehun #exo sehun story #exo sehun scenario #sehun exo #sehun exo story #sehun exo scenario #exo #exo story #werewolf #werewolf story #werewolf au #sehun werewolf #exo werewolf #exo werewolf story #series: Chronicles of the Wolf

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the-regal-warrior · 5 years

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Cadre Weaponry: Part Two

Alright, so here is part two, as promised! I want to thank all of you who liked, reblogged, and commented on part one - your feedback means so much to me!

Don’t mind the bit with all the references to Supernatural - it’s one of my favorite tv shows and it just sort of happened.

Summary: Welcome to Cadre Weaponry - the shop for all your weapons needs, both antique and modern! Join the boys of the Cadre as they become friends and tackle this thing we call life. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll even find love along the way.

Warnings: Things are heating up a little bit in this update, so there’s still no actual smut. Also, there’s probably some language. If I’ve written it, you can always assume there’s going to be language.

FOUR YEARS, NINE MONTHS, AND TWENTY-SEVEN DAYS AGO

Rowan was working the till when the beautiful woman with the golden hair came through the door.

Fenrys and Vaughan were out on a pick-up - some rare swords from Gavin’s era had come up as part of an estate sale - and would probably be gone until the afternoon. Gavriel and Lorcan were back in their offices, and Connall wouldn’t be coming in until later.

Unlike the customers who stumbled into the store not knowing what to expect, she seemed to know what she was looking for, despite the fact that Rowan had never seen her before. Content to let her browse on her own for a couple minutes, he went back to the order he’d just gotten, digging through their inventory to see if they even had what the customer was looking for.

By the time he looked back up, the golden-haired woman was standing in front of the knives, studying them with an intense look on her face. Stepping out from behind the counter, Rowan watched as she picked one up and weighed it in her palm, her eyes narrowing as she tested the feeling of the knife in her hand.

As he walked up behind her, she shook her head slightly and set the knife back in its place, her gaze already moving over the others displayed on the shelf.

“Is there something I can help you with today?” Rowan inquired, walking up to the shelf next to her.

“No, thank you,” she replied, turning her head to face him. Rowan was stunned by her eyes - turquoise with a ring of gold around the pupil. “I’m just looking for a new throwing knife and I’m trying to find one that’s weighted right.”

“A new throwing knife?” Rowan questioned, even though he’d learned long ago never to judge the people who came through the door - they were constantly surprising him. “Can I suggest this one here?”

Rowan handed her a smaller knife than the first one she’d picked up. “Uh, no offense,” she responded, “but this is smaller than my other knives. I was hoping for the same size.”

“Just try it and see what you think.”

She cut him a look, but she took the blade from his hand. Rowan watched as she held it in her palm, her eyes lighting up as it balanced perfectly. With surprising ease, she flipped the knife in the air, catching it without looking away from him. She grinned as her fingers wrapped around the handle. “Okay, you were right. This knife is perfect.”

“Well, I’ve been told I know a thing or two about weapons - it’s probably why they let me be a part-owner.” He smirked at her as he said it, watching as she rolled her eyes at him.

“Well then, owner, I appreciate the help. I’ll take this one.”

Taking the knife from her, Rowan began walking over to the till, stopping when he heard her gasp from behind him. When he turned around, he found she had her gaze fixed on the swords hanging on the back wall of the store.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He murmured, awed by the captivated look on her face.

She just nodded, transfixed. “They’re exquisite replicas - I’ve never seen any this good. Whoever made them must be very talented.”

Rowan couldn’t help it. His jaw was somewhere on the floor - no one had ever been able to tell so quickly that they were replicas. “Replicas?” he questioned, confusion lacing his voice. “How did you possibly know they were replicas from all the way over here?”

Turning back to face him, she quirked one eyebrow as she said, “because I know who has the real ones.”

Rowan figured he should have guessed that someone with an interest in weapons would know who actually owned the three most famous swords in the country. “I see you’ve done your research.”

Her brow furrowed. “No, that’s not what I meant. Damaris belongs to my best friend, and my cousin owns the Sword of Orynth.”

“Dorian Havilliard is you best friend, and Aedion Ashryver is your cousin?” When she nodded in response, Rowan continued. “And what about the other one? How do you know its owner?”

“Oh, Goldryn?” She inclined her head in the direction of the sword. “Well, that was the one that I knew immediately was a replica. See, I knew it couldn’t be here because it’s hanging on my wall at home.” When Rowan’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead, she added, “my name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and Goldryn belongs to me.”

He just blinked at her for a moment, but quickly recovered himself. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you, Aelin. I’m Rowan Whitethorn.”

Aelin took the hand he offered her, smiling up at him as she shook his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you as well. You know, I’d be more than happy to bring Goldryn by for you to see, if you’d like.”

A grin lighting up his face, Rowan nodded at her as he set her knife on the counter. “That would be absolutely amazing.”

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, Aelin responded, “If you’ll be here tomorrow, I can bring it by then?”

Smiling, Rowan set about ringing up her purchase. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

FOUR YEARS, NINE MONTHS, AND TWENTY-SIX DAYS AGO

The sound of someone knocking on his office door pulled Rowan away from the new designs he was drawing up for the website. “Gavriel, what’s up?”

“Hey, man,” Gavriel smiled, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “There’s a girl out here looking for you?”

“Tell her I’ll be right out,” Rowan replied, nodding in Gavriel’s direction. “And wipe that look off your face!”

Gavriel just chuckled as he walked out the door, causing Rowan to shake his head. Taking a few breaths to calm himself, he stood from his desk and made his way out into the store.

Aelin, who’d been browsing their selection of short swords, looked up as he walked into the room, and the grin that lit up her face practically took his breath away.

“Hey, Aelin,” Rowan called, walking across the store to meet her. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Anytime,” she replied, placing the sheathed sword she’d been carrying on the counter. “Well, there she is. Go ahead and take a look.”

Rowan wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword, his fingers slipping into the crevices that had formed over years of use. Resting his other hand on the sheath, he pulled the sword free, drawing in a breath as he beheld Goldryn for the first time. His eyes traced over the blade, taking in every detail of the sword, from the finely honed edge to the beautiful etchings on the pommel.

“Aelin,” he breathed, “this sword… it’s absolutely beautiful.” He was absolutely awestruck by how beautiful it was, even after all these years. Clearly, Aelin, and those who’d had it before her, had taken very good care of it.

“I know, isn’t it?” Aelin’s fingers danced along the engraving on the hilt. “I’ve always loved this blade.”

“Thank you for bringing it in.”

“Yeah, anytime. I could probably bring Damaris and the Sword of Orynth, too. I’d just need to ask Aedion and Dorian.”

Rowan chuckled. “Name-dropping is like a normal thing for you, huh?”

She laughed in response, her grin making her eyes shine. “When you’ve lived my life, it’s kind of hard not to.”

Taking a deep breath, Rowan looked up from the sword he was still holding until he met her eyes. “Well, I’d really like to know more about that life. Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

Aelin blinked, clearly not expecting him to ask her out, but the smile that spread over her face when she recovered was so beautiful that Rowan didn’t care. “I’d love that.”

FOUR YEARS, NINE MONTHS, AND TWENTY-THREE DAYS AGO

Rowan stared at the beautiful woman across the table from him, watching as she laughed at something he’d said. He couldn’t believe Aelin had agreed to go out with him, couldn’t believe he’d been so lucky.

They’d been in the coffee shop for almost an hour, and the conversation had never once halted. Things had never gotten awkward, there had been no moments when they hadn’t had anything to say. Aelin was clever and sarcastic, and charming as hell. She was sweet and adorable - and Rowan Whitethorn was absolutely smitten.

And this was just the first date.

There was one thing he’d wanted an answer to, so he brought it up as her laughter started to die away. “So, there’s something I’ve been dying to ask you about.”

Aelin turned her mesmerizing eyes back to his, the tears from her laughter still sparkling in her eyes. “Oh, yeah?” she smirked. “What’s that?”

He grinned. “So, throwing knives, huh?” When Aelin merely raised an eyebrow at him, he added, “how exactly does one get into that?”

“It’s my dad’s fault, actually,” she smiled, her whole face lighting up. “He was in the military for years, and he introduced me to weapons - firing a gun, shooting arrows, throwing knives. We used to go to the shooting range every weekend. I could hit the center of a target faster than any of the guys there before I could drive.”

Rowan chuckled at that. “Why do I suddenly have the image of you just completely showing up some guy who was hitting on you at the shooting range?”

“Because that happened like three weeks ago.”

Rowan tipped his head back and roared with laughter, the sound of Aelin’s chuckle mixing with his own in a beautiful harmony.

Taking a deep breath to calm her laughter, Aelin studied Rowan, a thoughtful expression on her face. “So, how exactly does one become an owner of a weapons store?”

Smirking at her use of his phrase, he swallowed the last of his coffee. “Well, I met the other guys - there’s six of us - in college. We were partners for a project in a business class, and this was the business we chose. None of us expected for it to become our future, but suddenly we were graduating and it was becoming a reality. And now here I am.”

“That’s actually really amazing.”

Rowan nodded at her words, suddenly noticing how empty the coffee shop was around them. “Hey, it looks like they’re getting ready to close up for the night.”

“So it does,” she agreed, looking around them. “How would you feel about heading to the bar across the street?”

“I feel like that’s a great idea.”

~*^*~

Rowan watched as Aelin tipped her head back, a shot of tequila sliding down her throat as easy as water. She slammed the shot glass down on the table, groaning as the alcohol burned - she had no chaser in sight. He grinned before taking his own shot, the whiskey hitting as the glass hit the table.

They’d been at the bar for a couple hours, and Rowan was incredibly glad she’d thought of keeping their date going by moving across the street, because the longer he spent with her, the more convinced he was that this girl was the right one for him.

As the night wore on, they’d slowly shifted closer to one another, and the little flutter he got in his stomach whenever her shoulder brushed against his just solidified that belief.

Tilting his head down to look into her eyes, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as she grinned at him.

“Ro,” she whispered, leaning in so he could hear her, “I’ll be right back - ladies’ room.” Aelin hopped off her chair and made for the back of the bar, her hips swinging with every step she took.

The sultry grin she shot at him over her shoulder made him chuckle, even as she winked and turned away again.

Rowan had just hailed the bartender for another round when he felt fingers trailing over his shoulders and the back of the neck. Expecting Aelin, though surprised she was back so quickly, he turned, a witty retort dying on his lips as he realized who he was staring at.

Remelle.

He’d had a brief fling with her about a year back, but he’d ended it when he realized that they really had nothing in common. Remelle had never liked that he ended things, claiming that he’d never really given them a chance. So, whenever she ran into him, it was the same. She flirted, tried to win him back over and find her way back into his bed.

“Rowan, baby,” she cooed, her fingers sliding into his hair. “How’ve you been?”

Twisting his head to pull away from her fingers, he levelled a hard stare at her. “Remelle. I’m fine, thanks.”

“That’s good, baby. That’s really good.” She wrapped her hand around his arm, her fingers digging into his bicep. “I’ve missed you, Rowan.”

Shifting away from her, Rowan did what he could to pull his arm away from her, but she just dug her fingers in harder, her other hand fisting into the bottom of his shirt.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Don’t you miss what we had?”

He’d had about as much of her simpering as he could take, and he was opening his mouth to tell her so when another hand slipped around his neck, the fingers ghosting over the small hairs at the back of his neck as it did.

“Sorry love, there was a line for the ladies’ room.” It was Aelin, come to rescue him. Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his temple before turning to face Remelle. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Remelle - Rowan and I go way back. Who the hell are you?”

Aelin widened her eyes at her words, a look of feigned surprise spreading over her face. “Oh, I don’t believe he’s ever mentioned you. And as for who I am -,” she paused there to pull herself into Rowan’s lap, his arm falling naturally around her hips as she wrapped hers around him, “I’m Rowan’s girlfriend.”

Remelle gasped and stumbled away like someone had shocked her. “His girlfriend!”

“Yes, his girlfriend. And I really don’t think he appreciates the way you keep touching him without his permission.” Aelin smirked as Remelle spluttered in rage. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re on a date.”

Not giving Remelle time to reply, she just turned to Rowan and pressed her lips to his. He gasped into her mouth, and Aelin took the opportunity to deepen the kiss as Remelle huffed and stormed away.

Rowan felt himself come alive as Aelin moved her lips against his, her fingers twisting into his hair. He could have kept kissing her all night - he could already feel himself getting lost in it - but Aelin pulled away when she was sure Remelle was gone.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered as she jumped off his lap. “You just looked very uncomfortable and it was the easiest way to save you.”

“No, don’t apologize. Remelle’s an ex - if we can even call her that - who doesn’t know when to give up.” Rowan took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Besides, if that’s how you’re going to rescue me, you won’t hear me complaining.”

Aelin smiled at him, leaning in until her forehead knocked against his. “I guess I’ll have to rescue you again sometime then, since you liked it so much.”

“Actually, I have a better idea.” Pulling back enough to look into her eyes, Rowan took her hand in his. “If you would do me the honor of being my girlfriend, you wouldn’t need an excuse to do that.” He felt his smile turn sheepish, his nerves showing as he waited for her answer.

Aelin’s smile was brighter than the sun as she leaned in to kiss him once, twice, three times. “I would like that very much, my love.”

His own smile matching hers, Rowan just grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back into his lap, kissing her until he thought his lungs would give out.

FOUR YEARS, SIX MONTHS, AND NINETEEN DAYS AGO

Vaughan popped his head out of his office when the bell hanging over the door rang through the shop, alerting him to someone walking in. When he walked out to the front, he couldn’t help the nearly silent groan in the back of his throat as he took in the girl standing there.

From the dark hair piled on top of her head, to the oversized black shirt that practically hid the tiny shorts she was wearing, to the bright pink high top Chucks on her feet, she didn’t exactly look like their typical customers.

“Hi,” he called, walking further into the room. “Is there something I can do for you?”

She glanced over at him, her black eyes meeting his and allowing him to see that they were actually flecked with gold. “Yeah, I ordered a gun and I’m here to pick it up.”

Vaughan grinned, walking over to the shelf behind the till where they kept all their orders. “That’s definitely something I can help with. What’s the name?”

“It’s Sorrel. Sorrel Ferrum.” She leaned her arms on the counter, watching as Vaughan turned to find her order.

“Here it is,” he muttered, pulling a box off the shelf. He read over the papers attached it to make sure all of her background checks were in order before turning back to face her. “A Colt, huh? Are you sure your last name isn’t Winchester, and you placed an emergency order so you could hunt demons tonight?”

Sorrel laughed at that, a piece of hair falling from her messy bun as she threw her head back. “You caught me,” she got out between her giggles. “And here I was hoping you would just buy the story I was about to feed you.”

“Oh, and what was that?”

“That I collect old guns because my mom was one of the best sharpshooters the military had ever seen and I’ve always been intrigued by them.”

Vaughan chuckled, nodding once as he took in her story. “It’s a nice cover, but it’s weak. Next time, try this one: you saw me through the window and you wanted to impress me, so you ordered something you knew would do the trick.”

“Ah, is that what you think is better?” Sorrel arched a brow at him, a smirk growing on her face. “I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s one flaw with that story.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

Her smirk grew wider, as she answered. “I wouldn’t have the first clue how to impress you - I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Vaughan Osten,” he replied, picking up the slip with her order. “Shall I ring you up?”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking for your name.” She winked, a small giggle falling from her lips. “And sure, go for it.”

Vaughan chuckled as he started punching numbers into the till, Sorrel watching him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Is this cash or card?”

“Card,” she replied, sliding it across the counter to him, slate gray nails clicking against the card as he picked it up.

“Okay, just sign here and the Colt is yours - but only if you promise to take out a demon or two.”

She just shook her head as she signed the receipt, her lips pulling up at the corners. Sliding the paper back across the glass, she grabbed her box off the counter and made for the door, calling “I make no guarantees, but I’ll do my best” over her shoulder. “Thank you!”

He watched as she walked through the parking lot and climbed into a giant black Expedition. Vaughan couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him - the car was somehow entirely her. Shaking his head, he looked down to put her receipt away when he caught sight of something written beneath her signature.

It was a phone number.

Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he entered the number and typed up a quick message before hitting send. Hey, I think you dropped your number before you left the store. - Vaughan.

It was only a few seconds later when his phone buzzed with a response. At least I know it’s in good hands. Maybe you can return it to me over drinks sometime?”

Vaughan grinned to himself as he answered. You’ve got yourself a date.

FOUR YEARS, FIVE MONTHS, AND TWENTY-NINE DAYS AGO

The feeling of Sorrel’s back pressed against his chest was better than Vaughan had ever imagined it. When they’d gotten to the bar, she’d ordered each of them two shots, and as soon as they’d taken both of them, she was pulling him out on the floor.

Her hips moved against his in rhythm with the pounding bass of the house music, Vaughan’s hands squeezing her hips. One of her hands was resting on his, their fingers intertwined, and the other had wrapped around his neck, pulling his head down to her neck.

Vaughan pressed his lips to her skin, her head falling back to his shoulder as his breath skittered across her skin. Arching her back, she pressed her ass harder against his crotch, and he moaned as he kissed his way up to her jaw.

Sliding his lips even further back, he pulled her earlobe between his teeth, biting down on it gently before soothing the small hurt with his tongue. Sorrel moaned in response to his actions, and Vaughan pulled her body flush against his.

Moving his hips quicker against hers, he was just getting ready to spin her around to face him when someone cleared her throat next to him.

Sorrel pulled away from him just far enough that he could turn to see who was trying to get his attention, and Vaughan felt the blood rushing to his face as he saw who it was.

Anya - a girl he’d hooked up with several times over the last year. Vaughan was known for being a bit of a player, and clearly that was coming back to haunt him tonight.

“Vaughan,” she murmured, leaning in closer so he could hear her, “it’s been a while.”

“Anya, hey,” he muttered, not liking the way Sorrel was slowly pulling away from him.

“We could fix that later, if you wanted.” Anya reached out to run her fingers across his jaw, and Vaughan jerked his head out of her reach. Her hand fell awkwardly to her side, and she gave him a confused look.

“Sorry, but I’m actually here with someone.” He pulled Sorrel back against him, listening as Anya huffed a breath before turning away, clearly irritated with the way he brushed her off.

“Who was that?” Sorrel questioned, her fingers carding through his hair.

“Just someone I used to know.”

She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, but just pressed her body back against his as her hips started to sway to the music again.

They stayed like that for a while, their hips moving together as the music played. At some point, Vaughan shifted his leg between hers, and their dancing morphed into something a little less polite, Sorrel practically grinding her center against his leg.

Vaughan’s jeans had become uncomfortably tight by the time he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Think we should get out of here?”

Sorrel just nodded, too breathless and keyed up to respond, so Vaughan wrapped his hand around her shoulders to guide her through the throng of dancing people.

~*^*~

They were barely through Vaughan’s door before Sorrel had his shirt over his head, her fingers scratching over his back.

He returned the favor, unzipping her dress and watching it pool around her feet. As soon as it hit the floor, she was kicking it out of the way as Vaughan lifted her into his arms, his hands gripping her ass as he carried her into his room.

He tossed Sorrel on the bed, his laughter joining with hers as he climbed on top of her. “You’re sure about this?”

Reaching down and popping the button on his jeans, she leaned up to press her lips to his, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. Vaughan couldn’t help the moan that escaped his throat when her fingers wrapped around his cock.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, her fingers slowly working him as he kicked his pants off. “I’m absolutely sure about this.”

Vaughan just grinned and pressed his lips to hers again, his hands skimming the outside of her breasts as he moved to undo the clasp on her bra.

FOUR YEARS, ONE MONTH, AND TWENTY-FIVE DAYS AGO

Fenrys looked up from the display of spears he was restocking as the bell above the door jingled and footsteps sounded across the shop. Standing up, he was confronted with the sight of a blonde woman in a pair of shorts-overalls and black Nikes.

At the sound of him walking up behind her, she turned, and he was taken aback by her eyes - they were a deep piercing black with little gold flecks in them. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Hi,” she started, gesturing to the wall of swords behind her. “I’m looking for an Ironteeth sword - one of Blackbeak make, in particular.”

“Well, all of our Ironteeth blades are going to be over here,” he said, gesturing to the cluster of swords off to her left. “But as for them being of Blackbeak make, that’s nearly impossible to tell.”

“For you, maybe. But I’ll be fine.” She inclined her head at him once before turning to the swords he’d indicated.

Fenrys just blinked at her. “Oh you will?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I will.” Her tone was biting, and her eyes flashed in warning. “I happen to be an expert of sorts, if you will.”

“Well, so am I, so how could you possibly know the difference when I don’t, and none of the other owners do, either?”

“Because I’ve seen Wind Cleaver with my own eyes. I’ve literally held it in my hands.”

Wind Cleaver. The most well-known and renowned Blackbeak blade ever forged. That this woman had actually touched it - Fenrys couldn’t help himself as his jaw dropped open. “How did you manage that?”

“I happen to be quite close with its owner.” When Fenrys only continued to give her a questioning look, she added, “my name is Asterin Blackbeak.”

“So that means…”

“Yes, that means Manon Blackbeak is my cousin.”

Fenrys swallowed, his face heating up as he felt his expression turn a bit sheepish. “And it would explain why you know so much about Ironteeth blades.”

Asterin smirked, one eyebrow perfectly arched as she studied him. “Yeah, it would.”

“You’ll have to forgive me - it’s been my experience that people who come in here claiming to know more about weapons than all of the owners are usually talking out of their asses.”

Asterin laughed at that, her expression lightening. “It’s alright, I know I can be a bit arrogant. And I know it’s incredibly difficult to tell the three makes apart.”

Fenrys nodded at her, his eyes widening with realization. “But you know how?”

She nodded, lips quirking to one side as she realized what he was about to ask.

“Do you think you could teach me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

~*^*~

Fenrys was completely enraptured with Asterin. She’d spent the better part of an hour teaching him not only how to distinguish the slight differences of the blades, but the history of all three Ironteeth bladesmiths: the Blackbeaks, the Bluebloods, and the Yellowlegs. As it was a part of her family heritage, she knew more than any of the other weapons experts he’d ever talked to.

Finally having found a Blackbeak sword that suited her needs, she’d handed it to Fenrys and asked him to check it out for her.

Fenrys did so happily, and he had just handed the wrapped blade over to her when he said, “Thank you again, for everything. I was wondering if maybe you’d let me take you for drinks some time, as a way of showing my thanks?”

Asterin winked at him, already reaching for the notepad on the counter next to the register. “You know, if you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask.”

Fenrys chuckled at that, though his breathing turned shallow as she met his gaze. “Well, in case, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“That’s more like it,” she laughed, scribbling her phone number on the paper. “Text me and we’ll figure out a date?”

“You can count on it, pretty girl.”

Asterin blushed at that, and Fenrys couldn’t help the flush of pride in his chest as he realized she liked the nickname. Grinning at him, she grabbed her sword and headed for the door, making the “call me” motion with her hand as she walked outside.

Fenrys winked at her and grabbed the piece of paper with her number on it, already looking forward to their date.

Tags: @highqueenofelfhame @city-of-fae @musicmaam @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @tacmc @tangledraysofsunshine @lordof-bloodshed @how-to-be-a-bad-ass-be-me @nalgenewhore @bookrebelwordwarrior @sleeping-and-books @froggy-waddles @mis-lil-red @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars

As always, if you would like to be added to my tag list, please let me know - oh, and let me know if you want to be added to my permanent tags or just my tags for this fic!

Thank you all so much for reading - part three comes out tomorrow night!

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theobsessor1 · 4 years

Text

Curious Happenings

summary: Thomas’s great grandfather has recently passed and in his will, he left his large house and giant sanctuary reservation attached to it to Thomas. Only Thomas comes to learn that it’s not quite as it seems, as every day it seems to get stranger and stranger.

pairings: none yet

Warnings: mild language Word count: 4089 co-written with my friend @i-crave-luck , if you wish to be added to the taglist let us know.

(previous chapters ch.1 )

Chapter 2 of Right Here by Your Side

Thomas groans, turning over to his back as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Warm golden light leaks in from the window, lighting up the room.

It takes a moment for Thomas to remember where he was as he sits up, confused, realizing he wasn’t in his old Florida home anymore but was in Oregon in his grandfather's home. A small meow catches his attention as the cat from yesterday sits at the door of the room, watching him.

“What? Are you hungry?”

The cat meows again, more insistently this time, before trotting off.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Thomas gets up from the bed, wrinkling his nose at the fact he fell asleep in his clothes from the day before. Heading to his room, he takes some clean clothes from the closet before looking for the bathroom. Trying to remember where it was.

The cat seems to glare at him, making an annoyed sound.

“Okay, I get it, I’ll feed you in a sec. Unlike you, I can’t lick myself clean.”

Thomas isn’t sure if he imagined it, but the cat seemed to be disgusted by this, turning around and haughtily leaving once again.

Rolling his eyes he takes his time to shower, enjoying the warm water, washing away the anxieties of the previous day. He has time to think, a particularly distressing thought crossing his mind and causing him to pause in washing his hair, realizing he spent possibly the whole night with the giant cat in the bed...yet he’s fine? He usually has an allergic reaction to cats! Did he even remember to pack his epipen or pills?

He would have to check his room before going downstairs, maybe take the pills just in case when he finds them. Could a giant cat like that even be hypoallergenic? You would think not, with all that fur.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he finishes up his shower. Finding his small case he had stored his medicine in, taking out some pills before heading down the stairs.

He’s wonderfully surprised by the scent of something good cooking. He goes down the stairs and pauses, shocked to see Logan in the kitchen making breakfast and humming quietly. The cat was happily sitting on the counter next to him, drinking from a mug that looked like one of the many from the upstairs bedroom they found the cat in yesterday.

Logan looked really different from yesterday, his skin strangely tinted green and ears extremely long and pointed. When the light hits his eyes they would almost appear to glow.

Thomas took a few steps closer in awe and confusion, though honestly he should be probably questioning how he got back in the house instead of his new appearance. “Logan?”

Logan jumps slightly, turning to Thomas with wide eyes and brandishing a wooden spoon. “Oh, Thomas! Apologies, I hadn’t noticed you come in. You are wearing a protective charm, correct? That would explain why I appear to have trouble sensing you.” Logan grabs a plate from behind him, handing it to Thomas, stacked with scrambled eggs and wild berries. “Now that you are here you must eat up, there is a lot of work to do to get this place back into proper shape, and I hope we can start as soon as possible.” He sets a plate in front of the cat, snatching away the mug, to its annoyance.

“Oh, uh, thank you, uh, what exactly is there to do?” Thomas asks, bewildered. What did he mean by protective charm, or this talk of sensing him? Logan’s ear twitches, catching his attention.

“Well, how much do you know?” Logan has begun cleaning up the utensils he used for cooking, and now that Thomas looks around, the whole kitchen looks a lot cleaner.

“Well, uh, depends what you mean.” Thomas shakes his head. “Okay, wait a moment. Could you explain why you look like that first?”

Logan pauses in his cleaning, tilting his head to look at Thomas, eyes glinting. “What do you mean? I am an elf, this is how we naturally look.” He squints at Thomas, metaphorical wheels turning in his head. “Thomas, what do you believe Alkwin did here?”

“He took care of hurt or displaced animals, right? I don’t-- I don’t understand, elves aren’t real, those are all just in movies and books.”

That cat makes a sound akin to laughter behind Logan, causing the elf to turn to him with a glare. “Remy, this is not a humorous matter. If you will not help, then I must ask you to leave.”

The cat huffs, taking the time to stretch before hopping off the counter and wandering off.

Thomas can’t help but feel nervous when Logan turns his dark gaze back onto Thomas with a sigh. “I assure you the Elven race is real, among many other creatures and legends. Please tell me you know something about this? Had Alkwin, or your parents, ever spoken of such things to you at all?”

Thomas takes a moment to process how strange the cat was acting and Logan’s information before registering the question. “Uh, well, I remember being told stories as a kid, sorta. It’s a bit hazy. But my parents adamantly disapproved of all that, especially after...Well, after they stopped letting me come around.” Thomas rubbed his knuckles on his chest self consciously before forcing his hand back down. The prominent scar across his shoulder blade and arm itches, reminding him that it’s still there.

Logan glared at the counter top, grumbling something in another language. If Thomas were to guess, it was probably some not-so-nice things. “I can’t believe your parents would raise you to such naivety, your mother was mostly raised here, like you were to be! Growing up knowing the truth!” He shakes his head, closing his eyes with a huff. “To have locked you away from such knowledge and your own family like that is disgusting.”

Thomas clears his throat awkwardly. “Okaaaay, but you can’t possibly be an actual elf right? You’re just pulling my leg?”

Logan glances up, looking deeply into his eyes, taking a deep breath to cool his temper. “I am not ‘pulling your leg,’ I am serious. Alkwin helped creatures, yes, but not just ordinary ones, he helped all range of creatures, magical and supernatural alike... Myself included.”

Thomas blinks, brows furrowing. “But...they can’t possibly exist?”

“Yes, they do! I am standing right in front of you, clearly not human!” Logan groans in annoyance. “Alright, alright. This is fine, we can go out and show you a few things to help bring your fragile human mind to peace with this. We can use this to start teaching you proper etiquette and care with creatures around here.” He grumbles.

Thomas nervously spoons some eggs into his mouth as Logan starts mumbling more to himself. This morning has been all kinds of strange.

The cat, Remy, jumps onto the kitchen bar next to Thomas, startling him. He hadn’t heard the cat return. He might need to buy him a bell so that doesn’t keep happening. Remy was most likely seeking attention if anything from yesterday was to go by, the attention hog. But Thomas was happy to provide, petting the cat as he finished his breakfast.

“Very well, I believe I have come up with the best course of action. You will accompany me to check on the calmer creatures to help ease you into all this and your role as caretaker. We will be leaving as soon as you’re ready.” Logan looks at him expectantly.

He freezes, mind turning blank “Oh, uh, should I bring anything? Or change?” He asks awkwardly.

“You will want to be adequately dressed for traipsing around the forest. A dagger would not hurt.” Logan suggests coolly, before turning to leave. “I’ll be out back waiting for you, do hurry. I like to keep to a schedule.”

“Wait! Why would I need a dagger?”

“Well, it is better to be safe than sorry as that saying goes, correct? There are many creatures that inhabit the forest and not all are friendly, though I doubt they’d attack with me around.”

Thomas watches as he leaves, feeling his anxiety grow. It would be fine right? They would be safe? He forces himself to take a deep breath, it will be okay. He isn't a scared little kid anymore, he’s not some easy prey like he was back then. He can handle the woods.

He probably didn’t need to change? Wearing jeans and tennis shoes would be enough, and he hadn’t exactlly packed much of his closet, so he would have to wait for the rest of his wardrobe that's packed away in the moving truck that’s on its way. That would be alot of unpacking when it arrives...and probably a lot of rearranging too.

Steeling himself for his adventure into the unknown, he leaves the kitchen looking for the back door, Remy silently at his heels.

He finds Logan standing at the border of the tree line, leaning against a tree, inspecting an arrow. He had equipped himself with a quiver full of arrows and a bow, along with several daggers strapped to his person. Where on earth did he get all that?

He looks up as Thomas approaches, an ear twitching. “Stay close and do not stray, we do not need you getting lost. If you do, Remy will keep you safe until I find you again.” He puts the arrow back in his quiver before heading down a slightly worn path into the trees.

As Thomas follows Logan, he can’t help but notice how smoothly he seems to move and traverse through the forest, each of his movements precise. It was like the plants around him moved out of his way.

He looks away, aware he might have been staring, focusing on not falling on his face. It’s wild wrapping his head around all this. “You uh, knew my grandfather right? Since you said you worked with him?”

It’s silent for a moment, making Thomas question if he heard him before Logan finally responds. “I was a colleague of his, yes,” is the short clipped answer he gives.

“Did you get to know him well? He was a pretty awesome grandfather and I had hoped he had some good friends that stayed with him, since most of the family kinda avoided him.” Thomas knows he may be starting to ramble but he can’t help it, feeling nervous out in the woods does that.

Logan stops himself from turning around, jaw clenching slightly. “Possibly.”

“If magical creatures are real? Then how come the entire world doesn’t know this?” Thomas could hear Logan huff in front of him. “ Simple, really. Most creatures keep hidden from humans or humans mistake them for other creatures, subconsciously refusing to believe them as real.” Logan turns his head to look at Thomas from the side of his eyes, baring his teeth frustratedly, slightly sharper than the average person. “You would know all this if your mother hadn't acted so rashly about a simple mistake-- disregard that.” He quickly cuts himself off, eyes widening, before turning his head back forwards to focus on where they were walking, speeding his pace.

“Wait! Did you know my mom too?” Thomas attempts to clumsily speed up to walk beside Logan, who keeps silent.

“You do, don’t you, you mentioned her earlier too!”

“I will not admit to such things,” Logan hisses, moving faster.

Thomas groans childishly with annoyance, stumbling a bit to try and keep up pace with the more nimble of the two. He was starting to sense a pattern with these conversations. It seems Logan liked to avoid talking about his folks.

He cries out, tripping over a tree root. Unhelpfully, Remy sits in front of him with a light mew. “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he states dryly, before flipping over to his back to catch his breath.

He couldn’t hear Logan, so he could only hope he hadn’t kept walking without him.

A chittering sound off to his left catches Thomas’s attention. What looked like a rabbit was peeking out of a burrow in the ground, under the tree roots. Keeping still to not scare it away, Thomas watches with awe as the animal skittishly comes out, its little nose twitching and sniffing.

As it hops slightly out of its home, Thomas realizes with a start that it is not an ordinary rabbit. Mini antlers protrude from its head, and- oh my gosh are those wings!

He has to keep himself from squealing, seeing something so cool as this. Oh gosh how cute would the babies of this thing look!

“That is a wolpertinger.”

“Jesus!” Thomas jumps, startled by Logan’s sudden presence as he stands by his head. Thomas’s sudden exclamation and movement has scared the bunny creature back into its burrow. “Dude! Warn a guy before sneaking up on them!” He might need a bell for Logan too, gosh.

“Apologies, I did not mean to startle you. I thought you were aware I was still here. We will have to work on your perception skills, it seems.” Logan offers a hand to help him up.

Thomas shakes his head, taking the hand. “It’s fine, uh, what did you say that thing was called?”

Logan perks up, smiling slightly, happy to teach. “A wolpertinger, they are native to Germany, though many of them have been displaced and have been scattered about in sanctuaries to protect the species.”

Thomas looks up to Logan, bewildered. “Wait, there’s more places like this?”

“Yes, of course, sanctuaries like this are built all over the world. Many are disguised as regular sanctuaries, much like this one here.” Logan motions for him to follow as he talks. “Magical creatures around the world are often harmed or displaced in the modern day, with the ever expanding human race. Places like this allow for them to continue to live safely and usually within their native type of habitats, undisturbed by technology.”

“Huh, that’s really cool. Like, it sucks to hear that they have to leave their homes but it’s pretty cool that my grandfather is one of those people that were helping them find somewhere safe.”

“Indeed.” Logan steps through a curtain of leaves, glancing around at the trees scattering the area.

Thomas doesn’t understand what he’s doing until the wood on the trees seems to ripple and shift. Small children, maybe young teen size begin, to separate from them, wandering over to Logan like little kids ecstatic for their parents to be home, even though they left only for a few hours.

They all seemed to be made of earth, skin dark and different shades of dirt, hair made of vines and leaves, eyes grey like stones. Logan welcomes them with open arms, crouching down slightly as they all hold tightly to his sleeves, bouncing about and seemingly speaking to him, though it was in no way that Thomas could understand.

“Hm, yes, it is good to hear the population is rising. Though, we will have to be careful to watch the numbers, we don’t want them having too many kids now, no matter how adorable they are.” Logan tilts his head to another that’s wildly gesturing to him. “No, I believe it will rain later today, don’t worry your little heads about that.” He perks up, ears standing straight. “Oh yes, I brought someone along today.”

Thomas gives a shy wave as all of them look at him “This is Thomas, Thomas say hello to the nymphs. They are nature spirits that live in most of the plant life found around the world.”

“Uh, hello.” The nymphs are suddenly surrounding him, tugging at his clothes and touching his skin curiously, making a range of chattering sounds as they excitedly bounce around him like a gaggle of school girls.

“Apologies for their wildness, there is not much one can do in manners when it comes to nature. They are just trying to get to know you, touch being one of the ways they primarily communicate with one another alongside gestures. I believe you humans have something similar called sign language, correct?”

“Yeah, people with hearing impairments usually grow up learning it.” Thomas squeaks when one of them touches his butt, jumping away with a light blush. The nymphs collectively make a sound like a chorus of giggling.

“Alright, that’s enough. Leave him be, you little heathens.” Logan fondly shoos the nymphs away from Thomas. “There’s a reason in myths why men would often be running after them, ugh, the little beasts will tease until you give chase before disappearing. A game of theirs that’s usually harmless but not everyone appreciates.”

“I--” Thomas again jumps, a sudden ringing and buzzing from his pocket as his phone goes off.

Logan flinches away, wide eyed. “What on earth is that?”

“Shoot, I hadn’t realized I left that on.” Thomas sheepishly takes out his phone. Looked like Joan was trying to call and check on him, but the service didn’t look like it was going to cut it to make a functioning call. He can try texting him real quick. As he does this, Logan creeps closer till they are practically butting heads.

“What is that?’

“Have you never seen a cell phone before?” Thomas peers at him after sending the text.

“There is the telephone on the wall in the house, but I have never seen something like this, is this some kind of advanced rune magic? No, that can’t be it, you humans don’t use magic anymore. Technology, then, correct?”

“Uh, yeah, It’s technology, it’s like a mini computer in your hand, if that makes sense?”

“Not really, I have no idea what a computer is.”

“Oh.”

Well, guess the first thing he is going to need to do to the house is get some proper wifi and a computer. He’s sure Logan would have a blast with the internet...Or possibly want to destroy it. It could go either way.

A loud shriek goes off further in the forest drawing their attention. Logan stands straight, looking off to the distance and ears up twitching slightly. A few of the nymphs have appeared again, feverently chattering to him, looking upset.

“There’s a problem, let’s go.”

Shit! Thomas could hardly keep up with his long legs as Logan runs expertly through the woods. He has nocked his bow, that can’t be a good sign.

Going a bit further into the woods, the trees noticeably becoming much larger as they traverse to a large clearing, finally slowing down, Thomas leans against a tree to catch his breath as Logan continues on ahead. Remy went with him without a second glance. In the clearing stood three gryphons, all looking rather disgruntled and upset, screeching at each other angrily.

Logan raises a hand towards them, giving a sharp whistle to announce his presence. Each of them turn to him with more angry sounds. “Shush, what's got you all upset? Shouting amongst yourselves will solve nothing.”

They ruffle their feathers unhappily, trilling restlessly at him. Thomas approaches slowly, he’s watched Harry Potter, he knows how this works. Of course, that doesn’t make it any less scary when the giant angry creatures turn their gaze to him.

“Thomas, I suggest you don’t come any closer. Gryphons can be quite-- what are you doing?’

Thomas cautiously bows to the gryphons, feeling a bit ridiculous as he glances at them. Everyone is staring at him.

Logan watches with surprise as the gryphons bow back, puffing out their chests and pleased with this show of respect as they straighten. “What? You said you didn’t know anything about magical creatures!”

He chuckles abashedly. “Ok, well, um, I don’t really, I just remember a few things that Hagrid said in Harry Potter, that gryphons should be treated with high respect was one of them.”

The gryphons seem to like this response, chirping happily. Logan looks rather bewildered. “I don’t know who this Hagrid or what Harry Potter is, but you just earned their undeniable respect easily! That takes years to earn!” Logan frowns, putting a hand to his chin. “I will need to study this man you speak of later, he seems to have a good knowledge of magical creatures.”

“I’d be glad to show you the movies sometime.”

Logan furrows his brows, opening his mouth to ask a question when something bursts from the tree line, screeching furiously, causing Remy to yowl loudly in alarm. “Fuck!”

The gryphons shriek angrily, stomping and flapping their wings at the new creature in the area. It seemed to be a deer-like creature, covered in shimmering teal and gold feathers. It’s hind legs ended in wickedly sharp talons that it dug into the ground. It had a gorgeous peacock tail that it spread angrily, stomping its hooves and throwing its head, showing off it’s antlers. It screeched at the gryphons again, baring too-sharp teeth and flapping it’s gleaming wings.

“Thomas, I suggest heading home as I try to get this peryton back to its proper territory,” Logan says calmly as he nocks an arrow back, shooting it to the ground near the creature’s feet, startling it in the opposite direction a few steps, flapping its wings some more with an angry, spooked snort.

“But--”

“Go!”

Thomas’s breath catches in his throat, watching Logan and the gryphons continue to shepherd the creature back towards the trees. He feels Remy rubbing against his leg, insistently, glancing at the cat before he can find himself move again and do as he is told.

Hurriedly, he follows Remy back, hardly paying attention to the trees as they rush past him. His lungs shudder harshly with the need for oxygen as he runs, having been quite far from the house. When he makes it back to the house he quickly shuts the door, leaning his back onto it as he steadies himself. Taking extra care to take deep breaths and calm his heart rate.

His scars seem to burn with the memories that seem to be taking joy in torturing him at the moment, brought back by the startling encounter.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Wait a moment, that burning wasn’t just in his head. Reaching under the collar of his shirt, he takes out the small amulet he always wore. When he was younger, after the accident in the woods his grandfather had given it to him, promising it would keep him safe. It had originally been his, taking it from around his neck to give to Thomas. And so Thomas had kept it, always wearing it for good luck, in a way.

He’d never suspected it was anything other than an old locket, though by what Logan said, it seemed to be more.

Curiously, Thomas held it in his palm. The metal of the locket seemed to be heating up a bit and glowing a slight red. Something scratched at the door and he turned. It was probably Remy, right?

Something stopped him from opening the door though, a cold feeling of dread as he spots Remy a few feet away, fur raised, baring his teeth and hissing.

He doesn’t move, holding his breath he hears something breath heavily outside with a strange inhuman noise. If it were Logan he would have spoken up and attempted to open the door to just come in, he reasoned.

The amulet burned in his hand, pulsing as the red glow grew stronger. He winces, dropping it and letting it fall to rest back around his neck again, the burning smothered slightly by the fabric of his shirt. There are more scraping sounds from outside before it goes silent. Remy quiets down, still wary.

The amulet slowly cools and loses its glow.

Whatever had followed him seemed to have left. He found himself too frightened to turn and check the window, for fear it may be there. Remy comes over to him and mrowed.

He waits a moment more, just to be sure whatever creature that had been there was gone before finally taking a desperate breath of air and sliding to the ground with relief. Remy happily plops himself into Thomas’ lap, butting his head against his chin.

He’s going to need to talk to Logan about that when he returns.

Unaware of the old claw marks in the door frame, left by that very creature long ago.

#sander sides au #thomas sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #inheritance au #Right Here by Your Side #writing is hard

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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years

Text

The Breakdown Ch2

genre: supernatural gay ghost story

rated: M

words: 4.2K

summary: What do you get when you combine an urban legend turned real, a psychic hick, and bunch of ghost hunting Yankees? A bad time.

All Kevin Lampton wants to do with his summer is stop The Lady in White from killing anymore road trippers in the middle of nowhere Kentucky. Unfortunately, a group of ghost hunters looking for answers makes his job a lot more complicated.

Chapters: One, Two

Website⭐Ko-Fi ⭐Patreon ⭐ WordPress⭐Twitter

89 More Days

The sun was slowly leaking in through plastic blinds and striping the thin motel carpet with light and half the single bed in the center of the room. It was bare and rustic and cleaned with something quietly made of bleach and something more than bleach. Kevin flopped down on the bed without looking and reminded himself he had homework, milk to throw out, nails to cut, and a haircut to get.

It was sometime in the morning, a summer morning that didn’t need any definition or permission to exist. A time undomesticated by human concepts of time, it was just early and would be early for a while.

Kevin had homework to do.

He fell dreamlessly into deep musty sleep and didn’t wake again for 8 hours.

It was evening again when he blinked into consciousness, groaning and reaching for a half-filled water bottle and his laptop. He rolled onto his back and traced the ‘K’ on the ceiling with his eyes, written in cracks and imagination. He did the math in his head: he’d have approximately five hours of “Kevin-Time” now.

He indulged in several more moments of moping before stacking himself upright like a new game of jenga and unfolding. He forced himself to the shower, letting the lukewarm water work its way into his clenched muscles.

He closed his eyes, but not for long. There were hands in there, hands and eyes and a pale bruised gaze.

He sighed from deep inside himself and staggered to wipe the sleep out of his eyes and stand in front of the mirror. Kevin Lampton was lean, not tall, but the leanness gave the impression of at least a couple more inches of height.

He was springy in the way of wound-up corkscrews, sunburnt in an offhand way and long in a compact sort of way. He had a long face, almond-shaped, and a sloping jawline that was the opposite of the Hollywood box; those were his father’s features: soft and bordering on strange.

His nose was his own but only by way of being small and aligned with his ears.

His eyes were not his own, suspicious things with long dusty eyelashes and shifty movements, always breaking and starting and breaking again.

His teeth belonged to no one and he was lucky they weren’t more crooked, but they still overlapped here and there enough to dispel any wide smiles on his part in school pictures. His hair was the color of damp sand, not yellow, but a grainy brown that was lost to him in the way sand was. It was too long right now. It crept down his neck and hung over his eyes in wavy stiff tufts.

He’d have to get that taken care of, especially before class started again at the end of August. He sighed, August.

He was ready for August.

He gave himself another push and dug out his busted Lenovo computer and a Snickers bar from the back pocket of his other pair of pants. Four and a half hours.

He got to work and munched quietly.

89 more days on Sumpter Road, six more semesters of school, five if he got his shit together, one year at an internship, two years as any sort of underling and then… time spread out before him in a red jagged roadmap and he traced it with his eyes unblinkingly.

He looked back down at his online econ homework and typed as quickly as he could without his laptop limply falling backward in it’s continual over dramatic death throes. Bastard.

Four more hours.

A family pulled into the motel parking lot and he heard a shower turn on from somewhere beside him and rancorous yelling from somewhere above him. He imagined himself in a woody green forest, throwing up thick bark and leafy branches so the tiny waves didn’t hit from either location.

Someone was angry. Someone was having a very successful journey of self-exploration in a grungy motel shower. Kevin wasn’t really interested in either and frowned until the forest grew roots and blocked everything out.

The sun sank down in a bloody red bath outside and Kevin stuffed his pockets with more purified rock salt and packets of lamb's blood. He slipped his expression into something more than “tired and constantly terrified” for his cars sake and went out the door.

89 more monotonous days of trying to not let strangers die on a haunted road.

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

Kevin expected three things: that the elastic of his lucky boxers was probably going to snap soon. He was going to graduate college with full marks or die trying. He was going to meet a lot of strangers on Sumpter Road and then never see them again.

Some of the strangers may or may not piss themselves and it was his job to both stop them from being murdered and graciously look away from the aforementioned soiled pants.

He drove fifteen minutes from the highway motel back toward his night watch. His phone buzzed five times before he flipped it open.

“Hello?” He answered flatly, he was good at flat, he had a lot of practice.

“Kevin, me boy,” A smiling voice addressed him, Kevin glanced at the car visor and back down. “What do you want me to do with your shit?” Kevin twisted his mouth to the side, “Can I get someone to pick it up? I can get someone.” He lied easily and panicked quietly.

“Sure, sure,” Stevie said carelessly, “but you sure you don’t want us to keep it here? It’s only 3 months dude, don’t make us get a new roommate for next semester, I can already tell the Freshman are gonna fucking suck.” Kevin breathed out easily, “I’ll figure something out.” He said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Can’t do the summer though, I’ll get someone to get my things soon.” The ‘someone’ was whoever he could bribe to drive his few personal items from Lexington to his dad’s place in Frankfort.

“God, dude, please tell me you’re at least on some sort of vacation. Like, with a mimosa, a beach, and a girlfriend that isn’t your damn right hand.” Stevie tossed something across the room with a tin sound and gentle crash. Kevin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, she’s a real livewire, way more hands than me.” He said dryly. In fact, she had three more hands than him, five, six, seven sometimes.

“Whatever man, I’m telling you one of these days you’re gonna pop with that stick shoved so far up your stress hole that not eve-” Kevin paused, his eyes went wide, he approached the part of Sumpter road just outside of Reginald. “I have to call you back Stevie.” He cut off whatever new romantic metaphor his roommate was going to plunge into. “Somethings come up.”

“Fine, fine, avoid my damn point. But yeah, come get your shit.” “See you.” Stevie Johnson was a “friend,” but Kevin did not have friends that he couldn’t immediately hang up on. He hung up.

Kevin’s knuckles bleached on the steering wheel; the crickets chorused mockingly around him as he slowed down. The last bits of sun reflected, shiny and angry against the side of something very big and very black. A sore thumb in the dust, the type that wasn’t so much a bruise itself in this place but something about to bruise everything else.

Kevin’s nostrils flared; he wasn’t the type of psychic that could predict the future. He couldn’t pick out numbers from thin air or tell you the description of your true love. He couldn’t sell you your destiny or the identity of your true love for $4.99 a minute.

He considered himself a pretty shitty psychic, but even he could tell this didn’t mean anything good. There was a big black van.

A big black van sat in the middle of the road, not off to the side, not in the grass, but on the very center ridge. Kevin narrowed his eyes so hard at it that he expected they might just become slitted peak holes. Officially, Sumpter didn’t have two lanes, but that didn’t mean sitting in the very center of it was not an absolute asshole move.

Kevin slowed to a stop in front of it to point out just how much of an asshole move it was. The windows were tinted completely black, the sides faceless, body high off the ground, and something was blinking green on the dashboard.

No, he swallowed thickly and wished he go back to dealing with that hippy couple who were convinced the ghost was an angel trying to contact them. They were babbling about that right up until the Lady on the Road started strangling them.

He would take the car of flower children smelling of skunk and rosemary over this any day.

He had a stare-off with the big black van and didn’t seem to be winning.

He glanced back at the blinking green light on the dashboard and Kevin parked close enough to recognize it as a black box and he had a feeling a little red arrow was on the other side.

Both the driver and passenger seats were empty, but he could see the occasional movements behind the seats in the back. He knew what this was.

No, Kevin had a sudden sneaking suspicion this was retribution for his last job. He had watched, just watched, in his little visor and bright red shirt as a teenage girl had put ketchup in her milkshake. She put it directly in her milkshake without an ounce of shame. He just stood there and did nothing.

This was what happened to people who didn’t stop crimes, even after saving a considerable number of other drivers from a supernatural death.

He put his forehead on the center of his wheel and sighed, big and gusty and quite frankly one of his more impressive ones.

Maybe he should have expected this. People talked, online forums talked. The devil lived on the “Supernatural and Alien Experiences” reddit boards. Kevin watched the van until the sun succumb to a soft and hematic death on the horizon, and the black box blinked green.

He had found a new least favorite part his self-assigned job.

Kevin finished a burger he bought from a corner shop near his motel and his big gulp filled with shitty coffee he made himself. It tasted like dirt and grit, and he probably deserved that too.

The van looked new.

Kevin took his time checking his pockets, thinking about his homework, his hair, and then getting out of the car. The moon was a low half-coin in the sky, and he couldn’t put this off for any longer.

The night cast long shadows over everything like a paint brush that only knew two colors: silver and grey. Silver light licked up across the grass to the point you forgot they were ever yellow, and Kevin swore he saw more imaginary lightning bugs again.

A rusted white shack sat in the difference with small bent trees dotting the area around them; Kevin put his hands in his back-pockets and approached the big black van. His stomach sank as he saw his own reflection in the shiny surface.

His tank top was now upgraded to grey one instead of white, but his skin was still ruddy with summer heat and expression less than authoritative, mouth pinched and jawline obstinately soft. Throwing lambs blood was easier than this.

He trained his expression into something unflinching and private. He knocked on the side of the slide door with his knuckles and roved his brain for appropriate accompanying sentences. A stillness followed and he knocked again.

“Jesus,” a breathy voice said from within, “is that her?” The van shifted slightly, the sound of footsteps on metal, “Ghosts don’t knock.” Answered a much less breathy voice.

Kevin inhaled deeply, “Can I have a talk with you folks?” His voice sounded small and flat against the flat landscape.

Another thoughtful pause followed.

“Do ghosts usually ask to be let in?” “Smart ones do.” Kevin blew air out of his nose, “I’m not a ghost.” “That’s exactly what a ghost wo-” “Shut up Collie.” The door slid open and a blast of cool air rolled out and Kevin blinked into it for a moment. He looked up from two brown men’s oxford’s and confirmed his own worst fears.

There was a whole slew of wires and blinking lights and screens on the inside of the van. Electronics were stacked and piled and obviously not part of an FBI headquarters- or if it was FBI then the government was in far more trouble than anyone suspected.

Three people were inside. A girl was cross legged, another was stooped over a monitor, and one young man hung over Kevin like a loose bent tree. The whole group was dressed in black t-shirts and black pants, leather belts and heavy boots, a match set. Some sort of massive green goggles held one of the girl’s curly hair back and the young man had thick sunglasses with a similar green sheen to them. At night.

Kevin ran a hand through his hair and tried not to yank it, “Don’t mean to intrude.” He began, just as his grandma would have liked. “But I thought I should pay you a visit.” The three ghost-hunters exchanged a long look between them. The two young women had strikingly similar features, tan skin and darker brown hair tied up in wavy buns. They were both on the short side and had mouse-like noses in Kevin’s opinion.

Their eyes were similarly bright and curious, sisters? He didn’t have time to place it.

Kevin was trying not to look directly at the young man in his terrible oxfords above him.

“Well,” the man, boy? spoke first, breaking the silence, “We were just debating on the same thing when we saw you.” Kevin raised his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“That’s you, right man?” The guy pointed to his tiny hatchback and it somehow felt like a slight.

Kevin forced himself to look up, “Yeah.” The young man was broad-shouldered and annoyingly upright, the type of upright money could buy. He had a stretching expanse of neck, square jaw, and his face was easy in all regards. Roman straight nose, mouth that was far too satisfied with itself, and diamond shaped features.

His hair was carefully curled at the top, a whip cream swirl on a professionally made cafe drink, brown and thick and very obviously never exposed to shampoo that stripped the roots.

Kevin employed a very small and very squiggly frown. The young man smiled, his teeth were straight, boxy, and streak-less, also the type money could buy. “Yeah, you should be careful,” he spoke with a flattened accentless-accent, not from here but from anywhere at all. “This road is haunted.” Kevin refused the temptation to roll his eyes. He cleared his throat instead and began carefully, briefly debating if he should shave off his local accent or soak his vowels in it like making backwoods rum pudding.

“Reckon everyone should stay away from it then,” he said pointedly, “must be dangerous.” He decided on rum pudding. The young man regarded Kevin through green-tinted glasses, unpolite and clearly not playing this game. He smiled with wicked delight, “Who are you?” It was asked in the way someone confirms a surprise purchase or family secret from a gossipy aunt. Unsurprised and yet ever so pleased about it.

Kevin took a deep breath and refused to duck down or look away, “Nobody. Just thought I should warn you as out-of-towners.”

The young man took the time to squat, a quick and accusatory movement. “And what are you doing here, Nobody Man?” He was poking at something and Kevin thought a bit of lamb’s blood on his cheeks might improve his very smug appearance.

“Woah, woah, have you seen anything?” One of the girls asked, but the young man was still leering over him in a way that made him much more of a priority.

“Trying to stop anyone from getting hurt,” he said truthfully, “You should get out of here before,” he coughed into his hand, “Anything.” He didn’t need to give them any hints. The young man’s smile widened like a length of rope a magician kept pulling out of his sleeve. There just seemed to be more and more. “My name is Nathan Calvin,” he put his hand out to shake, “Those are the Alvarez sisters.” One of the sisters gave in a slight salute and the other one turned to him with an unhappy eyebrow twitch.

“How would you like to come up here, Nobody Man?” Nathan Calvin’s hand was still dangling in front of him, “You’re letting the cold air out here man and you came over to talk, right?”

The snake was wiggling its way in front of him in a very slick dance that meant very little to him.

Kevin hunched slightly, “I think it would be better if you considered hurrying on,” he gestured up the road, “this isn’t really a populated area. The highway is that way. And the nearest hospital is even further.” He stated without inflection. Nathan Calvin retracted his hand, but he didn’t seem any less pleased. “Come on up, come chat with us.” He boomed, “I’ll make it worth your while.” Kevin shoved his hand through his hair again, tired of this. “This isn’t the type of ghost you want to hunt.” You’re making my job harder.

Nathan cheered, “Somebody knows things!” He sang with a laugh, “what about some beer for your troubles? Money? Heck, Diana might give you kiss.” “That would take more beer than even you can afford Nathan.” Diana, the sharp-looking sister, said without looking up.

“Alright,” he chuckled, “no kisses, but I don’t think that’s what you’re here for anyway.” Kevin elegantly rolled his eyes this time, “If I talk to you will you leave?” Nathan Calvin just kept smiling. Kevin closed his eyes for a moment and then slipped his phone out to look at the time, 10:10.

“You have thirty minutes.” He climbed into the stupid shiny black van, “And then I’m escorting you out of here.”

Idiots.

They move aside and close the door behind him.

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

Belly of the Beast

Kevin was regularly uncomfortable- it was more of the jacket he wore for the possibility of rain and forgot to take off. His discomfort spiked as the light of the summer moon cut off as they shut the door, a pulled plug plunging him into a cavern of beeps and blinking things.

The sisters were curious, the boy was anticipatory, none of them were afraid in the slightest. Idiots.

Nathan Calvin took a seat cross-legged next to one of the sisters and patted the floor of the van in invitation. “Tell me your thoughts!” He yelled far too loudly in the echoey dark van.

Kevin narrowed his eyes at him, “Ghosts. Danger. Dying.” The boy laughed in answer. “Somebody take notes ladies.” One of the sisters, the one with the goggles looked up. “Have you seen her kill anyone?” Kevin’s frown became a tightening black hole on his face. Nathan put a hand up, “Hey now Collie,” he stopped her, “Let’s start with the small stuff.” He tilted his chin up, “Has she ever tried to kill you?” Collie, the goggles sister, was taking notes now. “No.” Kevin said truthfully, “But she will go after you,” he looked up at the ceiling, “It’s harder the more people there are.” Idiots.

Kevin discerned the groups feelings, not the fresh ones, but the dangling roots that burrowed deep and colored their every movement. There was a shimmering veil of glittering silver and gold guarding them. It was thick and glorious, their mothers had no doubt swaddled them in it from birth and let them walk out into the world armored, invincible, and foolish. It was the type money could buy. Nathan Calvin threw his arms in the arm, “Elaborate!” He was enjoying himself like a polo-shirted boy at a private swimming pool that was already two margarita's in.

“You’re making my job harder.” Kevin only had so much room in himself for elusiveness, “I’m trying to help, what will it take to leave this road, money? Beer?” He turned Nathan’s words on him brashly, “I’m sure we could find someone to kiss you.” Nathan Calvin became somehow more delighted.

The other sister, goggle-less, tilted her chin up proudly, “We’re prepared,” she said simply, “Though this is a nice confirmation that she’s really here.” Alright, well maybe it’s time to leave them to their fate, he could use some more sleep and less animal blood on his hands. Haircut, milk, homework.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the fantasy wash over him- the one where he left here and sank into a nice long nap. Then he opened his eyes again, “Tell you what,” he spread out his own smile, more brittle, less careless, but fireproof all the same. “I’ll tell you everything I know, we could do it over a burger, there’s a 24-hour diner at least fifteen minutes away.” It was more like thirty, but they didn’t need to know that.

Nathan Calvin drenched his smile in lighter fluid, “When does she usually show up?”

Kevin clenched his hands by his side and narrowed his eyes, “When your guard is down.” “Our guard won’t be down,” said the stony-faced sister.

“We could let it down,” Nathan Calvin contributed and for all of his easy smiles he was very difficult.

Kevin blew air out of his nose, “Fine.” He sat down heavily on the floor, “Damn yankees.” He muttered that last part to himself. Nathan leaned back, “you’re local then, right?” “Do you like, protect this road?” Collie asked quickly. “You’re not dead, right?” “We’d know if he was dead.” “Speak for yourself,” Collie waved a hand dismissively at her sister.

“How’d you find her?” Nathan asked next.

“And what should we expect?” The other Alvarez sister wasn’t looking directly at him, but she was looking all around the van anyway, alert. Alert was something at least.

Kevin waved a hand in front of his face; they were lucky Kevin didn’t only save people that he liked. Kevin growled, “I’m sure she’ll be here and answer your questions.” “Does she talk?” The goggles sister, Collie, buzzed. She had a heart-shaped face, soft round cheeks, and an exceptionally soft mouth; Kevin looked away. “That would be perfect.”

“No, no talking. And I’m Kevin,” he finally said. “Who are you?”

“She doesn’t talk?” The alert sister noted.

“What else does she do?” “Tries to murder you,” Kevin responded tartly.

Nathan shifted, putting his arms on his cross knees and leaning forward, “but not you.” Kevin looked up at the ceiling, “look, I don’t know what y’all are doing here but-” “Isn’t that obvious?” The alert sister said, who he was also now classifying as the ‘Mean Sister.’ “-but this isn’t a joyride,” he finished bitterly, “I don’t want anyone getting hurt on my watch.” He looked down at his phone clock, 10:31. It’s still early, he reminded himself with even breaths. “On your watch?” Nathan repeated his words with relish, “God, look at this Diana,” he looked back to Alert Mean sister, Diana. “And Misty said this would be a bust.” He laughed.

Collie crawled closer to Kevin, “What’s up then? Are you not a ghost hunter too? You’re just like, a grumpy guy on this road?” Kevin pinched his brow together, “No.” He said ruefully, “I’m not a ghost hunter.” Nathan stretched his long neck back, “This is going to be fucking amazing. Anything on the instruments, Di?” Diana checked the instruments, she rose one eyebrow and shook her head curtly.

“Do you want to die?” Kevin burst out, sitting up straight and trying to hold their leader’s gaze through his tinted sunglasses.

Nathan chuckled, “Tell me,” he clucked, “What do you do with this ghost then, Nobody Man?” Kevin groaned, he felt like he was having several conversations at once and no conversations at all. “Kevin.” Was all he said, a stony tone that hung in the air long enough to settle into burnt quiet.

“Well, I’m Colleen Alvarez. You can call me Collie,” Collie broke the silence, “That’s my sister Diana.” “Older,” Diana added as if to explain something. “Right, I’m Nathan and you can call me Nathan.”

“I know. You said,” Kevin glared at all of them, “and have you all ever met a ghost before, ghost hunters?” Nathan and the Alvarez sisters all exchanged a poignant look. And then something started beeping.

Diana turned on her heel, “The EMF is picking up on something.”

“Woah!” Collie chirped as well. “The digital thermometer is shitting itself.” The temperature in the van rapidly sank.

Kevin ignored them and checked his clock, 10:37, she was early, but ghosts were rarely reliable. “Shit.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a growl rumbled through the small space like a rolling thunder storm.

Here she came.

<===== Previous Chapter Next Chapter =====>

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#ghost story #supernatural story #mlm #urban fantasy #original story #my work #original novel #the breakdown #LBTQ fiction

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xchaosandmagic · 4 years

Photo

Moments. A Handon Story.

Written for my best friend (@naturesloopholed) for our discord verse with prompts from https://sentence-prompts.tumblr.com/. Prompts are both in italics and bold print.

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Hope has a lot of moments in her life that she remembers. Good moments and bad moments. Moments.

Moments she wants to remember forever, moments she wishes she could just forget.

Funerals and parties and fights.

Moments of joy and moments of sorrow. Moments.

Some of her favorite moments are with her family, some with her friends, and some with him.

Out of everyone she shared moments of her life with, the moments she spent with him were the most varied. Most of them were happy, but there was a lot of sad ones and frustrating ones too.

As she stood there, dressed in black, screaming out at the wind, their moments together flashed through her mind.

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She reminded him of a lightning storm, beautiful but dangerous. He told her that once, right after they’d made love. She was pregnant and knew it, but hadn’t told him yet. They were in love, but that was yet another secret that was kept tucked away at this moment.

There was a bit of sunlight creeping in through the window, highlighting the red in her auburn hair, making his green eyes shine bright.

She was curled in his arms, partially laying on her stomach and staring up at his face. He was laying on his back, his shoulders and head propped up by the pillows against the headboard. He drew absentminded shapes on her skin, heart and swirls and stars.

“You remind me of a lightning storm.” He told her, looking at her lips before bringing his eyes up to meet hers, only to find her frowning at him. “Beautiful, but dangerous.”

She grinned, of course she would, both of those words were compliments to her. “Well thank you very much, Mr. Kirby.” She told him before shifting so she was sitting alongside him, she kissed his cheek. “I have to go now, I’m meeting my aunt Bekah for brunch.”

“Have fun with that.” Landon smiled softly at her, cupping her cheek to bring her in for a soft and slow kiss.

“Mmm.” Hope hummed when he pulled back, her eyes staying shut for a moment before only opening halfway. “Keep doing that and I might forget about brunch completely.”

“And then your aunt will know we were...you know.” Landon replied, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“So? I’m a big girl.” Hope told him, despite still being a month from turning 18. “My aunts both know that I do what I want.”

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“No I’m not being creepy! I’m staring at you with a sketchbook. That’s universally deemed uncreepy.” Hope had told him one afternoon as they sat in the park, Landon playing his guitar and writing down a few unspoken words here and there, they must’ve sounded good with the chords in his head or something.

“You are being creepy, Hope.” Landon chuckled at her, not looking up from his notebook. “You are silently staring at me.”

“With a sketchbook.” Hope reminded, speaking slowly to make a point. “And if you would pay a little more attention to me, maybe I wouldn’t seem so creepy.”

“I am paying attention to you.” Landon finally met her eyes. His seemed bright, and happy. She made a mental note about that, reminding herself of how she could always tell his emotions by how his eyes looked.

“You haven’t said two words in the last half an hour.” Hope pointed out, it might have seemed like she was trying to start a fight if she hadn’t been smiling.

“I’m trying to write a beautiful ballad about your beauty.” Landon tried to say it with a straight face but failed miserably, he was writing her a love song but how he said it made it sound so corny.

Hope laughs softly and pushed him backwards, grabbing his guitar and setting it off to the side, along with her sketchbook, before she leaned down and kissed him.

Landon stared up at her like she held the stars in her eyes. “You know there are kids around, right? This just makes us both seem creepy.”

Hope laughed and swatted his arm lightly. “You can be such an asshole, Landon Kirby.” She was teasing him. They hardly ever had real fights, or at least not over stupid and petty stuff like this.

“Hmmm...Can I? I did not know this.” Landon joked sarcastically back, sitting up when she finally stopped leaning over him. “So you have my attention, what now?” He asked, his eyes shining even more, if that was even possible.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she feels a tightness in her chest, a new fear falling over her suddenly. What if he was upset? What if he decided he didn’t love her anymore? Or that he didn’t want the baby? They could very easily get rid of the baby girl.

“You...are pregnant…” Landon said slowly, the shock evident on his face and in his voice. “Well, I always dreamed of us having kids together, of course I thought we’d be older, but we can do this...right?” Landon asked, an unsureness in his voice.

Hope smiled at him and nodded. “We can.” She said softly, reaching out to take his hand in her. “Together.”

“I just hope our child isn’t as creepy as you are.” Landon grinned at her after saying that.

Hope gasped, a small giggle escaping her lips. “You are such a jerk!” She shrieked at him, pushing him back down and kissing him.

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“If I didn’t love you, I’d beat your ass for that.” She’s angry because he put himself in harms way, but he was only trying to protect her and their baby from getting hurt, and he always comes back.

“Phoenix, remember? I die, I come back.” Landon said, looking up at her from the pile of ash they he had yet to fully stand out of.

“But what if one time you don’t come back?” Hope was obviously very emotional and scared, maybe it was from the hormones or maybe it was because she was honestly scared.

Landon was quick to get up and go to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. “That won’t happen.” He whispered reassuringly.

“You don’t know that.” Hope said quietly, her head resting on his chest as she cried softly.

Landon rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to you or our baby.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Well can you do that without dying?” Hope begged, if she wasn’t still so scared she would hate how weak she sounded. But it was him, and she didn’t mind him seeing her weak, as long as no one else did.

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But this was one moment she wanted to forget. Because, now came the saddest part of any relationship, the goodbye.

He was wrong. It did happen. He died and didn’t come back. A phoenix doesn’t have many weaknesses, but there was one. And one weakness was all it took. Gold. More specifically, a golden tipped arrow straight to the heart.

He was dead and not coming back. Stone cold. Pale. Lifeless.

And Hope never felt such pain before. Not when she lost her mother, not when she lost her father, not eve when she thought she had lost their baby girl. This was different. It was like someone completely ripped her heart out. He was her soulmate, she was more convinced of that in his death than she ever had been when he was alive.

She blamed herself, even though it wasn’t really her fault.

A supernatural headhunter, someone who had a kill list that contained one of every supernatural being on it, except for a phoenix. Which he got right before Hope proceeded to rip his beating heart from his chest. That gave her a small sense of gratification when she plunged her hand into his chest, hearing and feeling how his heartbeat quickened at the knowledge that he would soon die. She took pleasure in ripping it from his chest. Screaming out as she clutched it, crushing it as the headhunter’s body fell to the ground.

She stood there a moment before screaming, dropping the heart as she fell to her knees in the October mud. They were out enjoying a beautiful day with their little girl. Enjoying the early fall weather, it was crisp but not cold.

He would never see his daughter grow up.

The day of the funeral, the temperature dropped and a sudden wind chill came in. Hope, as the young widow, had to go to the funeral even if all she wanted to do was stay home and cuddle her baby. She left Addy with Rebekah for the day, deeming it too cold for the almost three year to be out.

All throughout the funeral, she held it together. Didn’t shed a tear the entire time, forcing herself to just keep it together.

She stayed until everyone else left, staring at the casket at the head of the church, she had insisted on his having a proper funeral. And a proper grave, so that Addy could visit his grave.

Hope didn’t know that Lizzie had stayed behind to make sure she was okay, not until the blonde followed her out of the church. “You can’t just hold it in like that.”

“He’s gone, like really gone, Liz.” The raw emotion in Hope’s voice was almost enough to make Lizzie break down in sobs.

“You need to grieve, there’s nothing wrong with grieving, go ahead and let it out.”

Hope was silent for a moment before screaming and letting her magic wreak havoc on the ground and trees in front of her, her scream quickly turned into a wail, and she stopped her magical assault on the trees as she fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

Lizzie was at her side as fast as the siphoner could be, dropping to her knees beside her friend, not caring that her white tights might be ruined by mud or dirt or torn up by twigs. She carefully pulled Hope into her arms as the tribrid sobbed.

Hope clung to her friend like the blonde was a liferaft, keeping her from drowning or drifting away. Like Lizzie was the only thing currently tying her to life.

“You’re not alone.” Lizzie whispered to her, holding on to the auburn haired widow. “You are not alone, Hope.” She placed a kiss to the crown of her best friend’s head and held her until they absolutely had to get up to go to the burial spot.

Lizzie walked beside Hope through the cemetery, watching as the pallbearers carried Landon’s casket to the grave sight. If it hadn’t been for the blonde, Hope might’ve collapsed and not been able to walk to the grave.

“Goodbye my love.” Hope whispered, tears brimming her eyes as she took a handful of dirt in her hand, letting it fall into the grave as Lizzie squeezed her other hand and Rafael gently rubbed her shoulder, both trying to offer her their support.

The end.

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#story #landon x hope (naturesloopholed)#discord verse with naturesloopholded

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badmoonrising-spn-fanfictio-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter 5 Bad Moon Rising

After breakfast we packed up our stuff and checked out of the motel, I unwillingly gave up the key to the pool while the boys waited in the car. We were heading out to Bobby’s to help with a case he’s been working on as the Winchesters drove out to the town to get a hands on look at the bodies. If we worked on a case with the Winchesters I preferred being out in the field with them because then I could be with Sam but they claimed that every time I was there helping Bobby with the research, things always got figured out faster. I suppose that it was true but I knew that the real reason was because no one wanted me to get hurt, being a girl and the youngest, I guess. On the bright side, I was the one who got to call Sam or Dean when we figured things out and I loved the praise I received for saving their butts. Don’t get me wrong, Sam and Dean where a hundred percent capable of finding the information that Bobby and me did but in reality it took us less than half the time it would have taken the Winchesters.

As Ian drove I lied down in the backseat reading and re-reading the notes I had taken as Bobby spoke to me about the case over the phone. Hoping something would pop out at me or jog my memory of anything that might be related. So far I had nothing. I hoped Bobby would have more to go off of by the time we got there and that the Winchesters had gotten a look at the bodies. Giving up for the moment, I pulled out my iPod and put my headphones on, starting an instrumental playlist that always helped me think. With my eyes closed and relaxed, it was the closest I could get to sleep while in the car. I was in the middle of an Ólafur Arnalds song when I heard another song over my headphones. Hotel California by the Eagles was playing on the radio, West was singing and Ian was hitting the steering wheel to the beat. I yanked off my headphones and popped my head in between the boys, harmonizing with West.

I didn’t notice when Ian stopped hitting the steering wheel, but I did notice something was wrong as we started swerving into oncoming traffic. West grabbed the steering wheel swerving back into our lane with no time to spare while I looked at Ian. His face was slack, his eyes had rolled up into his head and I shook him as hard as I could from the back seat, no response.

“Ian! Ian! WAKE UP!” I yelled, but to no avail, Ian didn’t wake.

It took less than twenty seconds to pull the car over, pull Ian into the back seat and for West to take his place, driving to the nearest hospital. I sat in the back with Ian, holding his head in my lap, constantly checking his pulse and trying to wake him. We arrived at the hospital, West hastily spoke to the doctor and held his arm around my shoulders keeping me close. But I couldn’t hear them, I could barely feel West’s warm body heat, all I could do was clutch my charm bracelet to my chest and watch as they quickly rolled Ian away on a stretcher into a room and shut the curtains.

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The charm bracelet had been in an old antique shop that we’d visited for a case around my sixteenth birthday. Ian had asked me over and over again what I wanted as my gift, and every time I’d respond with a different type of weapon that could help fight the supernatural. Ian, still being stubborn about not wanting me to hunt would deny every answer I gave him, until I finally got tired of getting rejected and said that all I wanted was a chocolate cake and a bag of hard candies. In truth, it’s all I really did want, new weapons where fun, but they were for work, sitting down with family as they sang happy birthday and laughed while eating cake was such a normal thing, and since we weren’t normal, it was something I loved to do. Getting away from the real world of our crazy lives, momentarily forgetting about the people we lost and just being happy. So we did this, West bought a chocolate cake with my name written in icing and they sang to me. Ian and West by my side, the Winchesters and Bobby over speakerphone, Sam even called from Stanford and for a little while, we were a normal family.

Two days after my birthday, however, we were in the midst of figuring out a case, and the need to identify some old symbols brought us to an antique store owned by an old woman who happened to be an expert on ancient Arabic symbols. I’d been speaking to the woman as she explained the symbols to me as I took notes. She rustled papers around trying to find a picture to show me and as she did this more and more of the stuff in the glass case became visible. When she picked up the last paper, the sunlight that shone through the shop window beamed on the antique jewelry inside. A light was reflected back at me, glimmering, as if taunting me to look. Forcing myself to stay focused, I didn’t look down and examined the picture the woman was translating to me.

A customer opened the store door and as it closed again the light shook and glimmered again, I couldn’t help but look this time. The piece of jewelry that had been teasing me with light was a silver charm bracelet, adorned with a couple of charms, a tree, a cross, an angel’s wing, a wishbone and a pentagram. Thinking it was pretty; I went back to listening to the woman. Trying to stay focused was almost impossible; it was almost like I could hear the bracelet whispering to me to try it on, to admire it and to take it with me.

We finished up with the woman, my notebook with multiple pages full of information. With one last, longing, look at the bracelet I knew I could never afford, my brothers and I left the store. I re-read my notes sitting shotgun while Ian drove.

“Find anything you liked in there?” Ian asked me.

“Ah…” I hesitated a little bit, thinking of the bracelet. “No, not really” I finished, there was no point in talking about something I couldn’t have, it was best to forget about it.

“Really? You love old things, and that was an antique store. We used to drop you off at one and you’d spend hours looking at everything while we worked on a case.” Ian reasoned.

“Ok well I didn’t really get to look since we were working, so I didn’t get the chance to like anything.” I explained. Ian took it and didn’t speak about it again until later.

We’d closed the case a few hours later, killing an Arabic witch, who hexed people so differently than normal witches that I could write myself a whole book on the things they did differently. West and I were in the hotel room watching an old Nightmare on Elm Street movie when Ian got up and simply said that he had something to do. We didn’t think anything of it, it was something that Ian needed sometimes, some time to himself, and we all did at some point.

A few hours later he came back into the room trying to make as little noise as possible, as West and I had already gone to bed. Of course, in trying to be quiet he made so much noise that I woke up to the bathroom light shining in my face. Not wanting to wake up fully, I just rolled over, turning away from the light.

The next day, we were back on the road, Ian was driving and I sat in the front editing my new notes to add to my own journal on the supernatural, and West annoyed us by being the music DJ, constantly changing the song halfway though due to indecisiveness. Ian’s phone rang, and I had to pat all his pockets in search of the phone while he continued to drive. As I patted one pocket, Ian gasped and muttered ‘oh yeah’ under his breath, knowing full well that I couldn’t feel the phone in that pocket I moved on. Finding the phone, I put it to my ear in time to hear Bobby calling someone an idjit.

“Who’s an idjit?” I asked, not bothering with hello.

“Tori?” asked Bobby.

“Who’s an idjit?” I asked again, obviously it was me.

“Guess.” Bobby told me.

“Is Dean complaining about someone eating his pie again?” I asked rolling my eyes, knowing I was right. “So what’s up? Need something?”

“Sometimes I wonder if you can tell the future, Tori.” Bobby said laughing slightly, confirming my suspicion about Dean. “Just had a question about vampires, are there other types of vamps that go by different names?”

“Well sure, lots of different languages have a different word for vampire and the type varies slightly as different regions believed they had different abilities.” I fired off easily, barely having to think about it, “But, in Greek mythology there is a creature that goes by the name Mormo, m, o, r, m, o, and they were said to bite children, and thus often being linked with vampires. I’ve got a lot more about it if you want me to send you my vampire file.” I offered.

“Sure, that would be great, thanks Athena.” Said Bobby, I smiled at him calling me Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, it always made me feel so good every time he did that.

“Anytime, Bobby” I said before hanging up.

Tossing the phone onto the dash in front of me I turned to face Ian.

“What’s ‘oh yeah’?” I asked curiously. Ian smiled and all of a sudden West sat up in the backseat popping his head in between us with a bright smile on his face too.

“Give it to her!” West said excitedly.

“Give me what?” I asked nervously.

“This.” Answered Ian, dropping something on my lap. I picked up a small box wrapped in newspaper and turned it over and over in my hands. I looked at my brothers, completely unsure of what to expect was in the box, maybe it was a joke, we never did this kind of stuff.

“Just open it already!” my brothers said simultaneously, so I did as they said, I tore off the newspaper and opened the little box. The box contained a silver charm bracelet, the same bracelet that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of in the antique store. Pulling it out I examined it closer, hanging from it was the same five charms as before, but three new charms had been added. I instantly recognized one of them as the anti-possession symbol, a pentagram with flame-like lines around the circle, another was a bow with an arrow and the last was an Athenian owl. I continued to daintily touch all the charms while my eyes filled with tears until the bracelet in my hand was just a blurry silver blob. Soon enough the tears pooled over my eye lids and slid down my face.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” asked West, his tone worried, “We saw you basically unable to take your eyes off of it at the store.” He added. I laughed at what West said and wiped my face. They had reason to be concerned, I hadn’t cried about anything since I was in the hospital after getting drained by a vampire when I convinced Ian to let me keep hunting.

“No,” I laughed again, “guys, I love it, its beautiful, I’m crying because I’m happy, this bracelet just seemed to call to me at the store.” West squeezed my shoulders gently.

“Well it screamed Tori, it’s basically you in a bracelet.” Said Ian. This made more happy tears fall from my eyes, because it was true. Smiling, I held out my wrist to West for him to put the bracelet on, it fit perfectly, not too loose and not too tight. Still blurry eyed, I leaned over the back of the seat and wrapped West in a long, tight hug. Then I turned to Ian, he wiped the last tears from my face, and I slid down the seat right next to him, wrapping my arm around his midsection and he slung his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head.

“Thank you.” I said simply, because there where no words to describe how much I loved it. We sat like that for the while, my arm around Ian and his arm over me as he drove down the highway with one hand.

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #bad moon rising #original character #greek mythology

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