#just now my friend picked out a twig longer than my finger and as narrow as a hair from my head

[grecianheart]

I'm constantly catching twigs, leaves and seeds in my hair like a woodland creature living among humans and the trees know me and are all trying to touch me and greet me like they know me from home

#trees #idk #just now my friend picked out a twig longer than my finger and as narrow as a hair from my head

[tsarisfanfiction]

Libel

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, John

Words are powerful weapons.  It doesn’t matter how popular you are when the rumour mill turns against you.

Day three “Sticks and stones may break my bones but...” of @whumptober-archive and we’re using the prompts insults and “Who did this to you?” today.  Romantic trouble ahead, with cheating and nasty false accusations.

Scott slouched against the wall, feeling the cool but rough texture of the bricks pressing against the bare skin of his arms.  The day had been hell from beginning to end, and now he just wanted to go home, but it was a Tuesday and Tuesdays were special.

On a Wednesday and Thursday, he had to leave school the moment class let out to pick up Alan from daycare, because Grandma had her own commitments that she couldn’t reschedule and Dad was always too busy with work.  On Mondays and Fridays, John stayed behind for extra classes, so Scott would go home alone – or hang out with friends, or-

Well.

On Tuesdays, John had no extra classes, Grandma was free to pick up Alan, and Scott’s schedule was clear, so they made a point of going home together.  It was a routine they’d settled into almost immediately, and Scott enjoyed the quiet time with just his immediate brother before they returned to the chaos that was the rest of their family.

John’s last class was the far end of the campus from the gates, so Scott always made it to the meeting point first by a few minutes.  Sometimes several, if the quiet ginger got caught up talking to a teacher about an assignment, which happened more often than not.  Today, he’d been waiting for five, and there was yet to be a sign of him.

Today had been rotten. Scott didn’t want to still be on campus, conscious of all the eyes boring into him as his year mates moved past in packs.  None of their gazes were friendly; several were outright hostile, and he pressed back a little further into the wall of the math block in a vain attempt to escape.

His phone was in his hand, a message typed out by trembling fingers and waiting to be sent.

Sorry, something came up. I’ll see you at home.

A thumb hovered over the send key.  All it had to do was descend and then he could slip away from the hoards and their accusing eyes.  Escape from school and hide out in the woods for a while to try and come to terms with exactly what had happened before slinking home in time for dinner.

It would spare him John’s reaction for a little while longer, too.

But while John never said it in so many words, Scott knew that he looked forwards to their once-a-week walk home, too.  He’d be disappointed if Scott bailed on him – and confused, because Scott hadn’t bailed on him once all year, despite occasional social invites.  With four brothers, one-on-one time with any of them was precious, and Scott was always at loath to give it up.

“Sorry I’m late.” John was talking even before he rounded the corner to their meeting place, and Scott dropped the phone back into his pocket, unsent message still taking up the screen.  He hadn’t decided in time, or maybe he subconsciously just wanted to get the judgement over with.  “Mr Kemp-”

Scott looked up as his brother’s voice cut off, unable to muster even a faint grin at the sight of him. Turquoise eyes were wide with horror as John stared, whatever Mr Kemp had said or done immediately forgotten.

“Hey, John,” he greeted. His voice fell flat even to his own ears, and he watched as John stashed the tablet perpetually in his hand into his messenger bag before he hurried the last few paces towards him.

A pale hand rose up and lingered in front of his face, not quite touching as it traced something on his skin.  The black eye that had swollen his left eye almost shut, probably.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was glacier cold, and barely above a whisper.  It was less a question and more a demand – a copy of Scott’s own attitude whenever he found out someone was hurting his brothers.

John always was observant.

“It doesn’t matter.” It wasn’t a story Scott wanted to tell to anyone, and if it hadn’t spread far enough through the school to reach John’s ears during the day, then he wasn’t about to provide a second wind. “Let’s get out of here.”  He pushed off from the brick wall, gallantly ignoring the screaming protests of his battered body at the idea of moving.

Scott was pretty sure there was nothing serious, it just hurt and no doubt his skin was varying shades of bruised.

“Scott,” John warned, but he didn’t try to stop him.  Maybe he knew that Scott needed to get out – then again, Scott suspected that he was broadcasting that painfully loudly to his brother.

They left the safety of their meeting point and joined the throng headed for the gate.

“Bastard.”  It wasn’t clear where the word came from, but it was from somewhere in the masses of teenagers they were forging through.

“Creep.”

“Sick.”

“Filthy.”

“Slut.”

Each word, each insult, crashed into him and suffocated him a little more.  It hurt, pain adding onto the pain that had started it all in the first place – hurt more than his physical wounds, an almost-negligible throbbing that would probably make its presence known sharply once the haze of disbelief and emotional impact faded.

Beside him, John seemed to stand a little straighter, a little taller in a reversal of their usual stances, where the ginger was the one that tended to aim for invisibility and Scott was the one that strode ahead purposefully.  He cut a swathe through the milling, jeering crowds, forcing a path to open up for them.  If Scott could look anywhere other than the stained, chewing-gum riddled tarmac, he suspected he might find that John’s face was thunderous enough to cut through even the upperclassmen he usually ignored.

He was jostled suddenly, someone crashing into his shoulder hard enough to drive him staggering into John, and the cacophony of noise continued as he stumbled back upright with his brother’s hand now lightly holding his arm.  In his periphery, he saw John pluck his own phone out of his bag. For a moment his brother did nothing about whatever was on the screen, but then he was tapping out a message Scott couldn’t read before sliding his phone away again.

His other hand didn’t leave Scott’s arm.  Not when they reached the gate, and Scott stumbled over a stray ankle suddenly in his path, or when they passed it and a moped sped past close enough that he could hear the rider’s snarled insults over the roaring engine.

Not even when he diverted from their route home all of a sudden, nudging Scott down a narrow alley that led towards the woods, losing the crowds and replacing them with large, old trees packed closely enough together that the casual observer couldn’t see between them.

It was Scott’s favourite place to retreat when he needed his own space, and John – unsurprisingly – knew that.

“Scott, what happened?” John drew them to a halt under the reaching arms of a particularly large tree, branches thick and low and almost forming a cavern of brown and green.

He shook his head, not sure he could trust his voice not to betray him.  The soft fingers left his arm, and John moved to stand directly in front of him.  Scott looked at the ground, littered with broken twigs and the occasional fallen leaf, rather than meet his eyes.

He should’ve known better than to hope John would leave it alone.

“Something happened with Christie.”

It was too confident to be a guess, but that was John all over, putting the facts together and reaching the logical conclusions.

Scott sank down to the ground, his bag landing heavily beside him.  John followed more gracefully, crouching in front of him.

“Did she dump you?”

The noise that forced its way out of Scott’s throat was best described as strangled laughter, driven by despair rather than humour.  “No.” The word cracked in half.

Morning recess, leaving the cafeteria with her favourite chocolate in hand as a surprise. Rounding a corner into the locker corridor.  Christie with her tongue down another boy’s throat, top riding up indecently high with the guy’s hand clearly snaking inside her bra.

Heartbreak.

“I ended it.”

His brother inhaled sharply. “What did she do?”

What didn’t she do?  Breaking his heart was just the start; he was popular, but so was she, and the person who cried out that they were a victim first was almost always the one believed.

Popularity meant nothing against the rumour mill, and something Scott had never realised was how good an actress Christie was.  While he’d spent the rest of recess hidden away, choking out tears of betrayal and shock, she’d-

He didn’t even know why she’d done it.  It felt like a revenge tactic, but Scott had no idea what she was avenging, why she was suddenly so determined to ruin him.

Coming back to class, eyes still stinging, to find metaphorical daggers pressed to his throat by every student in the room, had been a shock.  Christie had been sobbing into the chest of Peter, a boy Scott normally got on with fine but suddenly looked like he wanted nothing better than to murder him where he stood.

It wasn’t until lunch time that he found out what she’d told everyone, letting the story spread like wildfire across their year group until Scott was the scum of the earth in the eyes of everyone.

She’d dumped him, the rumour mill said even though Scott knew for certain that he’d been the one to tell her we’re over while fighting back tears.  The chocolates had fallen to the floor and he had the stain on one sneaker to prove he’d accidentally stepped on them, too.  She’d dumped him, she’d claimed amongst floods of tears and ruined makeup, for pushing too far, for ignoring her boundaries, for taking more than she was willing to give.

They’d never even got as far as she had with the random guy he didn’t know in the corridor.

“I- I can’t,” he choked out, tears spilling out and stinging his cheeks as they slid down.  He swiped at them, trying in vain to hide them from the little brother regarding him with an ever-growing fury he knew wasn’t aimed at him.

“Tell me who beat you,” John insisted, thankfully changing tack although Scott knew the topic of Christie was only temporarily shelved.  “Did you see the nurse?”

Christie had two brothers, twins in their final year and both demons on the football pitch.  They’d always been reasonably chill towards Scott, at least much as older brothers would be, but just like any decent big brothers, took the distress of younger siblings very seriously.

They also had several friends who likewise adored sweet, charming Christie.

Even if he wasn’t still reeling from finding his now-ex girlfriend shacking up with another guy, Scott would never have stood a chance against the pack of upperclassmen. Stunned by the accusations hurtled his way, he’d been easy pickings.

He shook his head.

“Scott…”  John swallowed and slender fingers brushed against the side of his face, where he was no doubt a deep purple from the fist that had crashed into it.  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but if that crowd at the gate were anything to go buy, it’s only a matter of time before the whole school hears something. I can’t help if I don’t know what we’re up against.”

“We?”  The word slipped out without permission, a startle against his brother’s proclamation.  “No- John- This-”

“They hurt you.”  John’s voice was laced with stubborn steel.  “I doubt Grandma’s going to let you out of her sight for the rest of the week at least.  Talk to me, Scott.”

He shook his head.  The tears kept flowing, periodically yanking sobs from his throat; each one had him hunching over further, coiled across his tender abdomen as he continued wiping away the salty liquid to no avail.

John edged closer, slender hands gripping his shoulders lightly.  “I’m here,” he promised.  “I’m here, and I’m not letting them hurt you again.”

It shouldn’t be a younger brother reassuring an elder – that went against the rules engrained deep within him – but John was exuding confidence and protectiveness in a way that was reassuring.  After a day of being destroyed both emotionally and literally, the tattered remains of Scott’s psyche found themselves clinging to every word and gesture.

It was enough to, haltingly, summarise the story.  No details, no explanations, just a shaking recounting of how she’d cheated on him, how she’d fuelled the rumour mill, how her brothers had reacted.

The hug his brother pulled him into, gentle and warm but firm and protective, promised safety and love. Promised that John believed him, a fear he hadn’t even realised was lurking until it was dismissed.

"You’re not going in tomorrow,” John told him.  “Not with these injuries, and not with that mob.  Grandma will back me up on that.”

Scott wanted to protest, but even the thought of walking back into school again, with the hissed words following him and aura of menace honing in on him, was enough to have his heartrate picking up like a rabbit’s.  He said nothing.

John didn’t need him to, and the two of them sat in near-silence, wind rustling the leaves and tears dripping from his eyes onto his brother’s shoulder.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that as his tear ducts ran dry and eyes transformed into crusty, stinging messes.  Eventually, John pulled back slightly.

“Ready to go home?” his brother asked.

No.  No, Scott was not ready to go home and face his family looking like this, but he didn’t have a choice.  They’d find out sooner rather than later, and the longer he and John took to get back, the more Grandma would worry.

She was probably already frantic, he realised as his vision focused enough to register that dusk was hitting.  They must have missed dinner.

“Don’t worry.”  John pulled out his phone.  “I told Grandma we’d be back late.”  Scott caught a glimpse of Scott’s upset, we’ll be back late, and an answering I’ll save you some dinner, don’t stay out too long, amongst several messages of concern from her in the interim.  The timestamps were from just after he’d met up with John after school – long before he’d started talking to his brother.

He blinked.  That didn’t make sense.  How did John know?  Actually, how had John known that he needed to come here, and not home?

The phone disappeared back into John’s bag, but not before Scott spotted his name high up in the message list.  Too high, considering he hadn’t sent him a message in days.

He fished his own phone out of his pocket and glanced down at it.  Notifications of messages from half his classmates sprung up everywhere, the message previews full of nothing nice, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Sorry, something came up. I’ll see you at home, the screen said, the same text he’d composed while considering ditching John and running.  The same text he knew he’d never actually sent.

It was on read.

A split-second memory of being jostled while passing through the gate flashed through his mind.

“Thanks for deciding to wait for me after all.”  John plucked the device from his fingers, and scowled down at the screen.  “I’m holding onto this for a while.”

Scott didn’t bother arguing, even though he knew full well that John would be collecting as much data as he possibly could from every single threatening message and probably had less than friendly intentions for doing so.  He was just too drained to do anything about it, and now that he’d exposed the situation onto his brother, it almost felt like a relief to let someone else handle things for a while.

“Ready to go home?” John asked him again.

Home meant worried family and an inordinate amount of fussing over the injuries he had.  Home meant burnt dinner leftovers because it had been his turn to cook.  Home meant more questions to field when he just wanted to bury his head in his pillow and pretend the day hadn’t happened.

Home meant a family who would believe his side of the story.  Home meant unconditional love and support.

Home meant safety.

He nodded and let John guide him back to his feet, his brother keeping a supporting arm around him even once he was vertical.

Home sounded like the best place to be.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #insults #who did this to you? #thunderbirds are go #fic #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #thunderwhump #thunderangst

[sarah-sandwich]

"I need a hug" please and thank you!

Hi friend! Here it is! Remind me to never commit to a fic a day for an entire week again lmao

Happy last day of National Storyteller Week to everyone who creates or consumes stories! Jump over to my ao3 for 5 ridiculous parkner fics 👌✨💛

Peter, no

He probably should have clued in sooner, a lot sooner.

Him and Peter have been attached at the hip for three years, ever since Peter ran into the lab in the middle of a video call with Tony, shouted something about an arm-wrestling tournament with the Avengers, and begged, “You gotta come trash talk them for me! Please, Mr. Stark! No one roasts as good as you!” Then, after receiving Tony’s resigned agreement, exclaimed, “I��m gonna dislocate Captain America’s shoulder!” turned tail and sprinted back out, ignoring Tony’s, “Peter, no!”

It was over in under a minute but he was bewitched.

“Who was that? And why haven’t I met him?”

“I’ve been avoiding this day,” Tony said in a world-weary tone. “You’re either going to hate each other or get on like a house fire. Either way, I’ll never know peace again.”

In usual Tony Stark fashion, he was right.

He thought he’d seen every side of Peter there is. He’s seen him soft and sleepy under the blue glow of the television. He’s seen him wired and manic as he pursues a project on little to no sleep. He’s seen him broken and bleeding in more ways than he cares to count. He’s seen him laughing until he cries, crying so hard the only thing he can do is cry with him, too exhausted to feed himself, too angry to speak, and he’s been there when he’s on the cusp of dropping dead from embarrassment (usually pointing and laughing but hey, somebody’s gotta keep him humble).

He knows him like he knows his sister, like he knows his mom, like he knows himself.

His point is, it shouldn’t have taken this camping trip to put the pieces together. Realization shouldn’t have hit him like a log to the face when Peter rolled up the sleeves of his borrowed flannel and suddenly he couldn’t breathe for wanting to kiss him stupid.

Well, stupider.

A moment later, Peter picked up the bag of tent poles like they weighed nothing and somehow managed to dump them all over the side of the road like a can of pick-up-sticks.

It’s gonna be a long weekend.

~*~

“What’s this thing for again?” Peter asks, raising his arms high over his head to hold up the long swath of fabric two times his height.

“It’s a rain fly, Peter. It keeps out the rain.”

“It’s not supposed to rain. Trust me, Aunt May checked the weather like 50 times before she would let me leave.”

“We still need it.”

“But why? We could sleep under the stars.”

“It traps in heat.”

“Sounds like another tally in the cons column. It’s hot as fuck, dude.”

“Not tonight it won’t be. Temperature fluctuates a lot in the mountains, especially when the sun goes down.”

“Temperature fluctuates in the mountains,” Peter repeats mockingly.

Harley stops what he’s doing. “If you really wanna sleep under the stars I don’t have to share my tent. Enjoy the skeeters.”

“You love me too much to leave me to sleep with the wildlife,” Peter says, voice muffled from under the rain fly as he attempts to drape it over the erected tent.

His heart skips. Does he know? Has he been that obvious even while oblivious to his own feelings? Did Peter figure it out before he did? Has he been graciously not saying anything about his huge undeniable crush while—

Peter squawks and tumbles forward, the tent collapsing under him with a snap that echoes through the trees. The rain fly flutters over him like a burial shroud.

“Please tell me whatever just broke was a part of you.”

“Uhh, sorry.”

He sighs. He’s in love with an idiot.

~*~

The tent leans a little to the left when they’re done with it but he’s pretty sure it’ll hold up through the night. Just in case, they limit how often they go in and out of it (which, in his opinion, is the way it should be done regardless).

A breeze rustles the trees, scattering pine needles as birds chitter and small unseen wildlife scurries around the underbrush. He breathes in deep, savoring the scent of dirt, pine, and fresh air. He’s been in the city far too long.

Peter stands with his hands on his hips, dirt crusted on the knees of his jeans, his borrowed flannel pulling tight across his chest as he watches a puffy white cloud scoot by with a befuddled expression.

He turns to Harley. “So umm, now what?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want. You’re the one who’s never done this before?”

Peter stares at him blankly.

“Right. Forgot who I was talking to.” He shakes his head and walks over to the car with a sigh. “This way, city boy. It’s time you learned to fish.”

“Sounds smelly.”

“Mmm.” He pops the trunk and pulls out two fishing rods—one old and dinged up, the other brand-spankin-new—and he passes them to Peter so he can grab the tackle box and a white plastic bucket with a lid on it.

“And slimy,” Peter continues, wrinkling his nose at the bold ‘WORMS’ printed on the side of the white bucket.

“That it is, but there aren’t any rats and no one has pissed on the place you need to sit so it’s automatically better than anything the city has to offer.”

“We’ll see about that,” Peter grumbles.

~*~

“Y’know,” Harley drawls lazily, eyes half-lidded as he watches Peter jump from rock to rock along the shoreline, “usually when people are lookin’ to catch a fish they cast their line into the water rather than leavin’ it on the ground.”

“Oh is that how it’s done? I had no idea,” Peter says, stooping down to peer into a small pool sequestered away from the rest of the body of water. “What do tadpoles look like?”

“Uh, little squirmy guys.”

“Very descriptive, thank you.”

“Mhmm. Anytime, darlin’.”

Peter looks up at him, eyes narrowed and he jolts under the sudden scrutiny.

“What?” he asks. He always calls him darling. It’s just a thing he says—a southern thing. So what if over the years he’s stopped using the name for anyone else? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not weird.

“Are you falling asleep?” Peter asks.

“Pfft, no,” he says. The sun is deliciously warm, seeping into his skin and turning his bones to butter as the katydids buzz and birds sing. A warm breeze ruffs his hair and he finds himself blinking slowly.

“Dude, you’re totally falling asleep.” Peter grins playfully and hopscotches across the rocks back to him as he teases, “You know, usually when someone wants to catch a fish, they do it while they’re awake.”

“I am awake, dummy.”

“Not for much longer.” He comes to a stop at his side and tweaks the brim of his hat. “Look at you. You’re like an old man falling asleep in his recliner in front of the big game.”

“Napping is a perfectly respectable part of fishing,” he argues.

Peter throws back his head and laughs. Backed by blue sky and thickly forested mountain, sunlit from above, he’s never looked better.

Should he tell him? Is now the time? He can’t imagine living like this—knowing how he feels but bottling it up and keeping it a secret from his best friend.

Then again—

His fishing rod dips and he sits up with a start, hands already moving for the reel.

“Woah, is that a fish?” Peter exclaims, peering into the lake.

“Sure hope so. Can’t imagine what else it’d—,”

“Can I pull it in?” Peter asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excitable puppy.

“No, you if wanna get a fish you have to put in the work.”

“What work? Laying around half-asleep?”

“Yeah, exactly. I’ll let you take it off the line, how ‘bout that?”

“Eh, that’s okay. I’m good.”

He wrestles the fish out of the lake, a bass about two hands long, and then holds the flopping fish, hooked through the lip, out to Peter.

“There you go. Just pop that puppy off the hook and toss ‘im back in.”

“Wait, you don’t even keep the fish?”

“What would I do with a fish?”

“…eat it?”

“That’s a whole song and dance I ain’t got the tools or the patience for. Just grab the fish, Pete. Preferably before it suffocates.”

Peter makes an unhappy sound in his throat but reaches for the fish. Just as his fingers brush the scales, the fish gives a mighty wiggle and Peter flinches back towards the lake.

“Eep!” Peter squeaks and goes into the water with a splash.

Harley hunches over, laughing his head off as Peter sits up, water streaming down his face and dripping from his hair.

“I hate you.” Slipping and sliding in the muck, he makes his way through the mid-thigh deep water, back to dry land, and then keeps walking past Harley and up the hill to the trail that will lead him back to camp.

All the while Harley laughs and laughs, taking a moment to free the fish back into the lake before he sits down and tips his face to the sun, chuckling and committing to memory the way Peter’s soaked jeans and flannel clung all over his body.

~*~

“I still don’t see why—,”

“Shush,” Peter snaps, frowning in concentration over the tiny flame he’s been babying to life for the past fifteen minutes.

He sighs. He tried to convince him to wait until supper for a campfire meal but Mr. Eager Beaver insisted on trying his hand at it now. Had they made sandwiches they’d be done by now and could be hiking. But no. Peter wants to play Boy Scout so they’re going to sit here and starve until he gets a fire built just to spend five minutes roasting hot dogs and then have to put it out again.

To make matters worse, Peter’s no longer wearing his shirt since it got soaked in the lake. He’d gotten attached to how he looks in his clothes. Now he’s wearing on one of his standard nerd-pun tees and a wrinkly pair of khaki cargo shorts and he’s going to have to convince him to at least put on long socks before they hike or he’s going to risk getting poison ivy or poison oak all over his calves and ankles.

“There it goes! There it goes!” Peter exclaims, sitting up tall and motioning at him to look at the little flame as it eats up the pile of twigs and tinder.

“Very good, dear,” he says dryly. “Now see if you can keep it going with some real wood.”

Peter cocks his head at him. “Was that a double-entendre?”

“Why on earth would I imply that we should put a part of my human anatomy in the fire, Peter?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, squatting beside the fire as he breaks up a stick. “Dick jokes are funny.”

“You’re a child.”

“And yet you— Shit!” He flinches back from the fire and falls on his backside.

He comes alert with a spike of adrenaline, rushing forward to— to— pat out flames with his bare hands? He doesn’t know. “What happened?” he demands, checking Peter over for damage and finding nothing, not a burn or singe in sight.

Still sprawled on the ground, Peter looks up at him through his eyelashes with an embarrassed grimace. “I don’t want to say.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he sits up cross-legged and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He stares down at him as he looks down in his lap. “You’re really not going to tell me what just happened? I already saw you fall in a lake because you were scared of a fish. It can’t be worse than that.”

Peter looks up, neck crimped and mouth screwed into an unhappy pucker. “I thought something was on me but it was just the grass.”

Harley stares. “So, you thought a bug was on you.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this place.”

What has he gotten himself into?

~*~

Peter hasn’t stopped chattering about everything under the sun since they left camp. And considering where they are, there’s a lot to chatter about. From bugs to birds to types of trees and identifying clouds, he’s heard it all. It’s why he’s not paying attention to the path like he should, too busy watching the way Peter waves his hands animatedly as he rambles, the way the sun lights his eyes and makes his hair shine, the way his lips shape the words.

He hasn’t taken in a word he’s said for the past twenty minutes but he’s watched him with rapt attention while his mind churns through his options. He’s not one to ignore something once he knows about it. He doesn’t want to keep this a secret. There’s no reason to. It’s nothing shameful and if Peter doesn’t reciprocate then… well, nothing changes, right? He’s fine with that. Best friends is still good. Great, even.

But if Peter does reciprocate…

His breathing quickens at the thought. How did he not notice this ridiculous crush sooner? It’s like something has been awakened inside him and now it refuses to shut up and go back to sleep. He gravitates towards Peter like an orbiting moon. He’s a moth to Peter’s beam of light. Helpless under the thrall.

Peter suddenly looks right at him. “—you know what I mean?”

“Huh?” His foot lands wrong and rolls over a root. His ankle screams out and then he’s dropping as it gives out.

“Woah!” Peter catches him, one arm around his back and the other fisted into his shirt at his shoulder. His brain goes offline, only processing the way Peter is pressed against him, the way his face is angled over him like he’s on the verge of dipping him into a kiss, the way neither of them moves or speaks, staring instead with startled realization.

He thinks he imagines it when Peter’s eyes dilate but then they fix on his lips and there’s no way he’s imagining that.

Lights flash in his head and he forgets to breathe as they hang suspended in time.

Then Peter bites his lip and his cheeks flush dark pink as he yanks Harley upright.

He stumbles, unprepared, and his ankle gives out a second time.

Peter catches him by the elbows babbling, “Oh my God, I’m sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—,”

“I’m fine. I…” The rest of the sentence vanishes from his tongue as he looks into Peter’s eyes. He loves his eyes—warm and affectionate, they always give him away. Whether they’re bright with curiosity, sparkling with delight, wide with embarrassment, or narrowed in anger, he’s an open book. That’s why the look in his eyes now gives him pause. He’s never seen it before—or maybe it’s been there all along but he hasn’t noticed until now.

They’re dark and focused like he’s seeing through him into his soul and likes what he sees so much he wants to eat him alive.

His heart thunders as he lifts a hand to Peter’s cheek. This is it. This is the moment he tells him and finds out where they’re going to go next.

Peter’s eyes go wide and he swallows thickly, but then his gaze shifts beyond him and he freezes except to carefully grab his forearm in a too-tight grip.

“Bear,” Peter breathes.

His awareness of their surrounding returns so suddenly it hurts. Birds sing, bugs buzz and chirp, somewhere nearby a creek burbles, and behind him on the path, something scuffs the ground and then snorts and sniffs harshly.

“No,” he says quietly. No, he refuses to allow this to be his reality. This cannot be happening. He won’t allow this to happen.

“Harley, bear,” Peter repeats, grip tightening.

Oh my God, this is happening.

“Don’t run,” he says in an undertone. “You’re not supposed to run.”

“We gotta run.”

“Peter, no.”

“Harley, there’s a fucking bear.”

“Listen to me—,”

“I’m gonna grab you—,”

“—we gotta stay still and—,”

“I’ll carry you and—,”

“—non-threatening so—,”

“I’m going to get you up a tree and then—,”

“—it won’t chase us.”

“—the bear will chase me.”

“Peter—,”

“It’ll be fine.”

“—no.”

~*~

He waits in the tree for over an hour, ankle throbbing, sick to his stomach with worry, wondering if he’ll ever see the idiot he stupidly fell in love with ever again. Even if he didn’t get eaten by the bear, he’s no good out here in the woods. He could be lost. He could be too hurt to move. He could be—

—covered in what smells like animal shit and standing balefully at the base of the tree.

“I need a hug,” Peter says, voice small.

“Did you—,”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“So that’s—,”

“Don’t say it. Do you need help getting down?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t touch me.”

“That’s fair. I’ll be in the lake. Will you bring me all of the soap and soap-like products we own?”

“Yeah. Gimme a minute.”

“Thanks, Harley.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

I love you. I’m glad you’re not dead. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back. My life wouldn’t be the same without you in it. You’re everything I want.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

~*~

“Black bears can run 35 miles per hour,” he says conversationally. They’re sprawled on a blanket while the fire crackles nearby (but not too close, they’ve had enough disasters for one day). His foot is propped on the tackle box, elevating his ankle and Peter is beside him, flat on his back staring up at the stars through the trees, close enough that their arms brush.

“Trust me, I know.”

“They can also climb trees,” he continues reading from his phone. “You should never climb a tree to avoid a bear.”

“Harley—,”

“If a bear notices you, stay calm. Most bears don’t want to attack you.”

“Dude, I get it.”

“Move away slowly and sideways. Do not run. Do not climb a tree.”

Peter snatches the phone out of his hands and sits up. “I panicked, okay? I can’t lose you! I had to get you out of there.”

He goes still, the crackling of the fire and the crickets the only sound in the night.

“Say again?”

“Don’t,” Peter says harshly, still holding his phone far out of reach. “Don’t make fun of me about this one. You don’t get it, okay?”

This isn’t how he expected this to happen. Hyper aware of his heart beating in his chest, he asks, “What don’t I get?”

“I was terrified.”

“And you think I wasn’t?”

“Not in the way I was. I was— It was like— It was like if anything happened to you, nothing would be okay ever again. I don’t—,” He pulls in a deep breath, chest heaving as his eyes shine uncommonly bright in the firelight. “I don’t know. You’re— Ever since we met things have just felt right and good in a way they hadn’t before and I’ve already lost so many people and then you were in danger and I couldn’t do nothing. I couldn’t.”

“Okay,” he says gently, sitting upright and scooting over on the blanket. “Okay.” He takes the phone and sets it aside then takes Peter’s hand in both of his. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m okay.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Peter says miserably, sniffing and wiping his eyes with the back of his free hand. “I think I have been for a long time.”

“Well, that’s lucky because I think I’m in love with you too.”

“You— What?”

“Mhmm. Since at least this morning.”

Peter stares at him. His lips twitch. “This morning? For real? Are you teasing me?”

“A hundred percent serious. It hit me right before you dumped my tent poles all over 36th street. Unrelated, you should wear my clothes more often.” He pauses and then says, “I think today was the universe asking me if I was sure I wanted to be tied down to your dumb ass for the rest of forever.”

“And?” Peter asks, eyes wide in the firelight.

“Yeah,” he says, smoothing a curl away from his forehead. “I’m sure.”

Peter leans in and kisses him, soft and quick. “Is that okay?”

Heart in his mouth, he says, “I think you can do better.”

Peter laughs and smooths his thumb over his cheekbone. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin’.”

#writing prompt #peter city boy parker goes camping with harley country boy keener #shenanigans ensue #mutual pining #heh heh geddit? #they're camping in the forest with the pines #but also the regular kind of pining #friends to lovers #parkner #parley #peter parker/harley keener #peter parker #harley keener #playboyphilanthro-pissed

[yacoka]

the journey back

i. a life half-lived

character(s) — tsukishima kei, matsukawa issei

pairing — tsukishima kei x reader

genre — royalty!au, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

warning(s) — death, PTSD, loss, car accident

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

masterlist

The funeral is something you barely remember, white noise buzzing loudly in your ears as you move around almost mechanically. In front of all these people, you aren’t quite sure how to act, and the subdued pride in you refuses to break down so publicly.

You’re ushered around by warm hands, seated in chairs, drinks pushed into your still hands. Hushed whispers are exchanged above your head, but you can’t be bothered to figure out what it's about. All that runs through your mind is the scene of the accident playing on repeat. You watch it with a morbid fascination, eyes distant as you recall the burning heat on your skin, the stinging in your eyes, the aches on your body. The blood that trickles into your eyes as you scream yourself hoarse at the mangled bodies of your parents, how broken they were, how dull their eyes were.

You blink once. Twice. Thrice.

Cool beige walls greet you as you begin to take in your surroundings. A grey couch, an askew photo frame on the wall, a familiar shirt and worn sweatpants.

“Issei?” Your voice is small, and your breathing begins to quicken. “Issei!”

He comes darting through a door, a towel hanging around his neck. You jump to your feet and dash into his arms, gripping the soft material of his shirt tightly. His arms flail around in surprise for a second before coming to wrap around you tightly. He smooths your hair down, and the familiar action has you calming down.

“You’re at my apartment, it’s okay.” His deep voice grounds you, and you look around to see that, yes, this is Issei’s apartment. One that you’ve been to too many times to count. It is a place you’ve spent many days lounging in, and many nights sleeping over at.

Issei guides you back to the couch gently and you cling to him, refusing to let go of the one thing that was holding you back from tipping over the edge. There are so many words you’d like to say right now, but the only thing that comes out are strangled cries.

Everything that you’ve been holding back since the accident, everything that has been pushing against the flimsy door you’ve hidden it behind comes pouring out in the sobs that wrack through your body. Issei doesn’t bother with words; he knows they aren’t what you need right now.

What you need is family, and he’s all you got left.

“Issei!”

Sweat drips down your neck, soaking the flimsy shirt you wore to bed. All you could focus on was the screeching of car tires and the horrid, wrenching twist of metal twisting as your parents flew out of the car, their broken bodies strewn across the street. And all the blood, god, there was so much bloo-

Your door slams open, and Issei flies in, his hair sticking up in all directions as his sleep-clouded eyes are filled with worry. He slips into bed, kneeling in front of you. The heat of his knees brushing against your legs through the sheets has you shifting uncomfortably, though his presence soothes your panicked mind.

He doesn’t say a word, too accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night to your nightmares. He just sits and waits for your breathing to even out, eyes trained upon your twisting fingers. A familiar silence sits between you as you match your breaths to Issei’s steady breathing.

“I-I had the dream again.” Your voice is soft, trembling ever so slightly. You hate the weakness showing through, and you would give anything to put the usual mask of indifference. But this was Issei. Issei who had been there for you since you were kids, who had watched you skin your knees the first time you tried rollerblading, who had helped you sneak out of the house when your parents were fighting. He was the one who took you in after you lost your parents, and the only one you trusted enough to be vulnerable around.

“Do you wanna go walk?” Issei, ever the reliable best friend. He knows what you need before you even say anything. You nodded, letting him pull you off the bed. It is only with years of familiarity that you allow him to dress you in warm clothes without any shame. He’s seen all of you before, so what was the point in hiding?

You’re out of the house and walking down the dimly lit streets before you even realize, and the creeping shadows in the corner of your eyes has you shifting closer to Issei. He wraps a warm arm around you, pressing you into his side. He’s the only safety you’ve ever known, and that stays true tonight as your raised heartbeat steadies out.

The night is quiet, punctuated only by the distant sounds of cars, the soft rustle of leaves dancing along to a gentle melody playing in the back of your mind. You hum along to it, and Issei merely squeezes your shoulders in response. It’s a song you’ve sung a million times since childhood, and neither of you have bothered to acknowledge that it’s a song you’ve never heard.

You aren’t sure for how long you’ve looped the blocks, and when you’ve arrived back home. All you know is that your mind is no longer a panicked mess, and Issei is by your side, as he used to do, as he’s always done. You owe everything to him, and you would give everything up in the world for him.

“Do you have everything you need?” Issei fusses over you as you give him a tired smile. He had taken it upon himself to take care for you since the accident, and while you appreciated him for it, you didn’t adore the mothering he occasionally did.

“Yes, Issei. I have everything.” Your dry response has him raising his brows and backing away.

“Alright, alright. I get it. No more fussing.” He grins at you, hands raised. “Can you blame me though? You’re heading into college at last.”

A frown slips onto your face. “You’re only a year older than me dipshit. Stop making me sound like your child or whatever.”

“Ah, but you are now. My adoptive child,” he sniffs and pretends to wipe a tear away. “How they grow up so fa-”

The fist you send flying into his stomach is enough to knock the breath out of him, and he groans, dropping to the floor in his usual show of dramatics. You ignore him, stepping over his prone figure and head towards the door. But before your hand lands on the door handle, Issei yells at you to wait.

“What Issei? I’m going to be late at this rate.” He isn’t deterred by your sharp tone and gestures for you to wait as he disappears into his room. “Whatever, just hurry up.”

He comes running back out, brandishing a long, thin thing. Was that a stick?

A vision flashes through your mind's eye, only for a second, but the details are vivid - Issei looking as sleepy as always, but somehow different. His clothes were of olden style, his face littered with scars. And those hands, ones that you were so familiar with, large and calloused were holding a stick too.

You blink rapidly, washing away the lingering after images as Issei, your Issei, waves a lazy hand in front of you, the stick narrowly missing your eyes.

“Oi, earth to Princess.” You scowl at him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t zone out when I’m giving you presents.” He pulls a face at you. You mirror his expression, go as far as to stick your tongue out. Issei makes to poke it with the stick, and you lunge back with a shriek.

“Why are you even giving me a stick anyways?” You grumble. Honestly, nineteen years with this guy and you still have no idea how his brain works.

“Because it reminds me of you!” He grins.

Your face falls into a deadpan. “It what?”

“You know, stick, sticky? Like how you dropped your ice cream the other day?”

“You know, I worry for you sometimes,” you drawl, dead eyes boring into his smiling ones. “Besides, didn’t you bring me that already?”

His smile drops. “No? This is the first time I’ve brought you a stick?” Issei narrows his eyes at you. “Who else has been giving you sticks? Was it Makki? I’ll fight his ass!”

“No, it wasn’t Makki. You’re the only weirdo who gives me stupid things like this,” you snicker. “Can I go to school now?”

“Wait! Bring the stick with you.”

You gape at him, brows raising so high it was a wonder they didn’t jump off your face. “No.”

Issei pouts, though you could see the amusement shining through. “Why not? I got it for you as your first day of uni gift.” He shoves the stick closer into your face, and you bat it away.

“Because it’s a stick? And it’s too long for me to fit in my bag?” This doesn’t deter him, instead prompting him to break off a piece of the twig, shoving it into your hand before darting off to your room.

“Okay, here, now you can have a tiny piece of it to put in your pocket. I’ll put the rest in your room!”

“Issei, no-” The fight leaves you, knowing that your stubborn best friend won’t listen to anything you say. Stuffing the piece of twig into your pocket, you yell over your shoulder as you leave the house. “Whatever, I’m leaving.”

His voice calls out from where he still lingers in your bedroom. “Bye Princess! Have a good day at school!”

The journey to the university doesn’t take long, and before you even realize, you’re seated in your first class next to a lanky blond who has his headphones on as he messages someone. You frown slightly at him, an odd sense of deja vu washing over you as you stare at him. He must have felt your gaze on him, as he finally lifts his gaze off his phone to return your frown.

“Can I help you?” Despite the politeness in his words, you pick up on the slight undertone of annoyance. You shrink back from him, and mutter out a soft no, turning your head to stare down at the wooden table instead. You shove your shaking hands into your pockets, your fingers curling around a thin, rough object.

Please look away, please look away, please look away.

He huffs, and turns back to his phone, fingers returning to their rapid dance across the screen. Despite his chilly greeting, you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that settles upon your skin, clinging like spiderwebs. But there isn’t time to contemplate it, not when your teacher’s starting the lesson and your laptop hasn’t been set up yet.

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu tsukishima

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part six

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x Reader

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

      Posting new chapters every Wednesday and Friday!

          Getting to know you

While a certain member of the Seven entertained violent thoughts at the upper levels, Sarah sat at her desk filing papers. To be honest, she was studying more than she was doing her job, but there wasn’t much of a workload anyway. Keeping her textbook laid flat against her knees, she quickly went through the lines of text before typing away at her computer for a few minutes.

Martha was perched on her desk reading through some folders.

“You do know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Sarah sighed and finished the paragraph she was reading on molecular recognition.

“I know,” she conceded, before defending herself. “At least I’m doing something constructive.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and shot, “Look at Sierra, over there.”

Her friend moved naturally, looking over at the clock while noticing the young woman taking a string of selfies with her coffee. Martha grimaced, shaking her head.

“No girl, just no.”

“I know.”

“Someone needs to tell her, she won’t stop.”

Sarah laughed, “She’ll learn someday.”

Checking the clock herself, she found herself growing hot. She pressed her sweaty palms into the wood surface of her desk, letting her legs stretch out underneath it. Her fingers twitched slightly, and she masked her unease by bringing her hand back to her mouse, clicking away at the screen.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Sarah made a noncommittal sound, not letting her eyes move away from the screen in front of her.

“You look...” Martha trailed off before finding the right word, “squeamish.”

“Well that sounds lovely. Just what I like to hear.”

Martha sighed, her eyes narrowing at her friend. “You know I worry. You sure everything’s okay?”

The sight of Black Noir occupying her couch was seared into her mind. She could no longer hide. She could only face it and be smart about the information she disclosed.

Her friend was still watching her, and Sarah finally pushed away from the desk.

She pushed her glasses back up and, pinching the bridge of her nose, she bowed her head down.

With her hair falling around her face in soft curls, she murmured, “I’ve made a contact.”

Martha immediately put her papers down and turned to fully face her. “What do you mean?”

“Someone reached out. It’s dangerous, but it could be very rewarding.”

“Who is it?”

Sarah looked around and brought her hands back to the keyboard.

“I really can’t say.”

At Martha’s pointed look, she further explained. “I really can’t tell you. It’s someone—,” she wasn’t sure how she could describe Black Noir without giving it away. “It’s just someone really high up. Lots of info.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s B.N. isn’t it? You said he made contact.”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe.”

Martha stared at her for a few moments before accepting her friend’s silence.

“Just be careful, okay?”

Sarah nodded, “You know I am.”

Her friend shook her head. “I know you are, but we’re getting closer. Things could get hot.”

The room grew even louder and more boisterous as lunch time rolled around. Sarah proceeded to close the files she’d been working on.

“Oh, and you’ll have to tell me all the deets, understood?”

The young woman laughed, wondering deep down if she’d be able to tell her anything at all. The dead don’t speak.

“I’m ready for lunch, let’s go find Annika.”

.

The hours after lunch were spent worrying and suffocating that same preoccupation with fool-proof schemes. It was an endless cycle, really. Every time she found a flaw in her set of questions, it sent her spiraling into self-doubt. Could she truly pull this off?

She was more and more convinced that he hadn’t been sent by Vought, simply because he was a trained assassin who didn’t need these long and ambiguous methods to extract the information he needed. He was more than capable of inflicting mind-blowing amounts of pain. And pain always loosened the tongue.

So maybe he wasn’t doing this for Vought. Maybe his fixation and stalkerish tendencies towards her could be chalked up as misguided and genuine. In that case, he was still a dangerous wild card since she wasn’t who he thought she was. If he’s truly loyal to the company, her identity might prove to be an issue.

And so, it went on and on. She went through potential questions she could ask, and questions she should steer clear of. She recalled all the tips and tricks Mallory had taught her, from the phrasing of the questions, to the body language she should maintain. The goal was to ask a series of common questions and sparsely slip an inquisitive one into the mix. But would this work on him?

She’d have to work much slower to access some, if any, information.

Most of all, she was afraid of her body giving her away: her fast heartbeat and shallow breathing, paired with the subtle interrogation could give it all away. And this terrified her.

Sarah watched the clock tick closer and closer to five o’clock with increasing dread.

When it arrived, she waved over to Martha, gathered her things and walked out the door with as much confidence as physically possible.

.

In his living quarters, Black Noir stood in front of a mirror. He remembered Sarah’s reaction. The woman apparently concealed it well, but he’d caught onto her fear, her state of agitation and turmoil. Was it because of his dark appearance, or was it something deeper, a reaction to the violence he represented? He tilted his head to the side. Or did it have to do with her file, something she’s hiding?

The tall man couldn’t think of any way to convince her of his good intentions towards her. All he could do was respect her boundaries and listen to her; hope she’d accept him.

He usually avoided the mirror in his room, not really needing it for any aesthetic reason. He wore the same armored suit every day and was almost always covered from head to toe in tough black material. And yet now, he stood tall in front of it and took in the sight. He was closed-off, impenetrable, dangerous and stealthy. He appreciated the simplicity of the reinforced suit. It wasn’t flashy like the ones his teammates wore. And it didn’t convey any light-hearted or patriotic meaning. It was functional and allowed him to blend into the shadows and kill. His skull-like mask was the last thing many men saw before he proceeded in tearing them apart. Seeing it in daylight had nothing on witnessing it come out of the shadows at night. Like a nightmare taking form right before their eyes.

And now Sarah had witnessed a small violence on his part, the skull he hid behind and the strength he possessed. It was perfectly normal for her to be afraid.

But the knife, a small part of him reminded. Yes, that was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. But he’d take his time, god knows he could be patient. Especially if it was for her. The mysterious Sarah Burns.

.

As eight o ‘clock crept closer, Sarah could be found in her kitchen, finishing up her dinner. The creamy pasta she’d made sat heavy in her stomach, the knowledge of her impending doom adding an extra ton. After quickly washing the dishes, she sat at the table and scrolled through the memes Martha had sent her. When she realized they revolved around Homelander, she grew interested. There was no way the Seven’s leader would accept this, and the inner conflict it would produce was the perfect cover for her plan to proceed.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Sitting still, she tensed, ready to whip up and out of her chair. A dark clothed hand came up and over her shoulder moving towards her cell phone.

She almost jumped out of her skin as her mind thought of the worst possible outcome of having his hand so close to her neck. And yet, he simply leaned over and promptly pressed the heart icon below one of the memes. He liked the meme.

Sarah opened her mouth to speak and closed it a few times. He finally retreated from his spot hovering over her and went to stand at a respectful distance, his back to the wall.

She spun around and stood up, her heart still clogging her throat.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed, eyes wide and a hand raised to her chest.

He simply watched her with that magnetic gaze she couldn’t seem to escape. She picked at the hem of her shirt, not knowing how to proceed. How had he even entered the house?

His gaze settled on the small notebook she’d left on the table for their upcoming meeting. He moved slowly and gave her wide birth as he took it up into his hands. He flipped to a blank page and wrote.

Are you afraid, he paused before adding, of me?

He passed the notebook to her. She took it hesitantly, and once she read his message, her eyes kept flicking from the page to his mask. You could snap me like a twig. She was indeed very much afraid.

“No,” she answered, with a slight shake of her head.

He tilted his head slightly to the left before raising his hand to his chest. He lightly tapped right over his heart. Sarah initially didn’t understand the meaning of the gesture, but soon realized he was referring to her heartbeat.

She brushed it aside, “Oh...” You probably have a dozen different instruments of death concealed in your suit. “That’s nothing, I’m just jumpy, I guess.”

She hummed, looking for a way to grow her confidence and gain control of the situation.

“Plus, you kind of came out of nowhere. In my house.”

He was still, unsure of how his sudden appearance would pan out. He almost wanted to hit himself for not thinking it through.

“How did you even get in here? I know everything was locked.”

He shrugged, almost imperceptibly, before offering his hand. She passed him the notebook and pen.

Trade secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you :)

Her heart almost stopped cold before she regained composure. If it weren’t for the smiley face he’d added towards the end, she might have died right then and there. And she laughed, she actually laughed. Maybe it was the tension, or the insane fact that Black Noir was in her home, attempting to crack a joke.

“I guess I don’t really need to know,” she surmised with a small smile.

He nodded before adding more to the page.

Your day?

“How was my day?

He nodded, captivated by the fluid movements her hands naturally made as she spoke. He’d noticed it immediately the first night he’d seen her at the gala. Over the next week of watching her, he’d quickly filed it as one of her mannerisms.

“I can’t complain. Honestly, I don’t really like that job, it’s more something to keep the bills payed until I get the position I want.”

He wrote, PhD student. Applied Physiology

“That’s correct,” she confirmed. “Why am I not surprised you know that?”

I know some things. Not everything.

He wanted to apologize for making her uncomfortable but ultimately found it too difficult to actually write down. He wasn’t accustomed to apologizing; he’d never actually needed to. Not out loud, or on paper.

She accepted the quiet confession. “That’s okay. I’m not all that interesting, and there’s nothing to hide.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Black Noir understood her need to protect herself. She’d share the truth with him once he’d won her trust.

“How was your day?”

He straightened and thought of how to approach this question. Thinking on his toes, he went with the easiest, most believable story.

Meetings, promotional event. He added for emphasis. Boring. I slept.

There was no way he could tell her he’d spent most of the day fantasizing her ex-boyfriend’s murder, only to have it executed a few hours ago.

She laughed lightly, “Who knew, I thought you’d be off on some top-secret mission.”

Her hopes were crushed when he answered with a simple shake of the head. She hummed. He leaned against the wall, ever observant of the woman facing him.

“Oh, you can sit. Here let me—”

She got up to pull a chair out for him, but he stopped her with a raised hand. He crossed over to her side of the table and angled the chair she’d been previously occupying before abruptly standing and knocking it out of the way. She slowly sat and let him push her in. He calmly took a seat in front of her.

“Thank you”

I have manners :) 

She nodded, “Yes, you do.”

She squirmed under his stare, under the black mask she was starting to grow accustomed to.

Sarah broke the silence, “I wanted to thank you for the other day. I could’ve handled it, but I’m glad you intervened.”

He watched her and she continued, “It was a bad relationship, and seeing him really threw me off balance. Then you showed up, and I was just…,” she trailed off.

He reached out and briefly touched her hand before sharply retrieving it. It was what he’d seen other people do in society, or in the movies he watched in the privacy of his living quarters. As he understood, it was meant as a way to show affection and give comfort. But were they at a stage where he could do that? He honestly didn’t know.

He jotted down a line, I understand

“And thank you for the gifts, I mean, the flowers and the earrings—they’re all so beautiful but you really don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

I want to

She smiled reading the words. She leaned back in her chair and took him all in. Who was this man? The Black Noir she’d gathered intel on for Mallory was nothing like the man sitting in front of her. Well, maybe that was extreme, she had seen proof of his deadly work. And yet, she was not seeing the ferocious, sinister monster she’d come to imagine over the years.

He was a more complex sort of enigma, one that was maybe as complicated as her own. While she needed to maintain her guard around him, she found herself slightly relaxing in his presence. There were multiple layers to this man, and maybe she could appeal to the human, well-mannered side of him.

.

They spent the rest of the next hour exchanging questions. They mostly revolved around their likes and dislikes, jumping from books to foods, and finally to movies. She quickly realized he was well cultured on cinema, especially war and action movies which he clearly enjoyed.

“Hmm, how about Tears of the Sun?”

He nodded. A favorite.

“Black Hawk Down?”

The large man nodded with enthusiasm.

“What about Saving Private Ryan.”

He snorted. Don’t insult me

“What’s your favorite movie ever? Like the perfect mix of action, shooting and humor.”

He thought for a few seconds before deciding. Die Hard

When he pushed the notebook towards her for her to read, he emphasized his point by tapping on it and sitting back, arms crossed.

“Well, I like what I see. Yippee kay ye, am I right?” she said with mirth. “Yeah, I think that’s Bruce Willis’s best movie.”

He was glad she liked it as well. Early that morning, he’d made a rapid search on the Internet before having to attend meetings. He searched, “How do you know your first date is going well.” He wasn’t quite sure if it was an official date, but in his mind, it was as close to it as it could get. His search gave a wide range of answers. After reading through a bunch of them, he gathered that for it to go well they needed to click. There had to be a spark, whatever that meant.

More precisely, there had to be common topics, common likes and dislikes. The conversation should come easy, and awkward silences should be avoided at all costs because, while they might not disturb him, they may be uncomfortable for her. And while they’d gotten off to a rough start, things were now going quite smoothly.

Sarah thought long and hard, “What about Pearl Harbor? It isn’t as action-packed but it’s still a really good historical war movie.”

No

She nodded, and shyly added, “Well, if you’d like to, you could come over and watch it. Actually, we could watch Die Hard one time, and Pearl Harbor another.”

He watched her, the way she was so self-conscious. Sarah constantly touched her cheeks, her curly hair, her neck. If only she could see herself the way he saw her.

He wrote. I would like that

Checking her watch, she barely contained a yawn.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s just late for me,” she assured.

I’ll go

“No, it’s okay, really.”

He shook his head. I don’t need sleep. You do

I’ll be back for those movies

Sarah smiled, “All right.”

Black Noir rose to his full height and she watched him with a twinge of fascination. Who even was this man?

When can I see you

“Well, tomorrow night I’m going out with my friend, but we can definitely schedule Die Hard for the night after. Eight pm?”

I’ll be here.

She walked him to the door and leaned against the wood. The doorway seemed smaller as he walked through. He clicked the switch turning her porch lights out and quickly jotted a few lines down.

Turn them on when I leave. Safer

She nodded with a small smile. How could someone as dangerous as him be so concerned with her well-being, she didn’t know, but she found herself liking it regardless.

He quickly scribbled something down before shutting the notebook and handing it back over.

Facing her, he raised a hand as if he were about to wave. His hand twisted into a thumbs up before he took his leave. Walking away, he crossed under a single streetlight before disappearing into an alley.

She stayed there for a few more seconds, just peering into the darkness. Heeding his advice, she shut the door and switched the porch lights back on. Retreating further into her home, she flipped through the pages looking for his last note. It was a small smiley face he’d doodled on the edge of the page.

She steeled herself against feeling anything but contempt. She reminded herself of the danger he could pose to her. But as much as she wanted to suppress it, she couldn’t help the small smile on her face as she fell asleep.

Giulia

PART 7

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724​  @proximio-5​ @damiminator

Let me know if you want to be tagged!! Or you can like this post and I’ll add you :)

#the boys #black noir #black noir x oc #the boys amazon #the boys tv #the boys season 2 #the boys black noir #fanfiction #oc story

[multiverses-and-promdates]

It’s complicated - Monty/Alex

"You know, Monty beat the shit out of me once." "Why?" "It's complicated."

 (ao3 link)

 "What's he doing here?"

With a lazy groan Bryce turned his head, stretching his neck, looking over the backrest of the couch he was sitting on, following Montgomery's gaze to the foosball table behind him. Monty clenched his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line, as he looked at the platinum blond boy standing at the table opposite Foley. The latter was shaking with laughter and obviously talking to the skinnier boy, who was chuckling, no, giggling, his whole posture slightly bent forward, his shoulders raised, his head down, looking up at Justin with that look of insecurity and shyness and wonder Monty had observed many times on the blond boy's face. He couldn't hear what they were talking about or why they were laughing. The mixture of bass-heavy music, laughter, chatting and the shooting sounds from the videogame on the giant flat screen were drowning anything from that conversation.

"Alex Standall? He's Zachy's friend."

Bryce lifted himself up from the couch, patting Monty's knee in that movement, and met his eyes.

"Don't bother about him," he said and gave his friend one of his complacent smiles.

Monty didn't say anything, he didn't point out that that fag wasn't part of the team and this was supposed to be a party for the team. The team only. The team licking their wounds after that disastrous defeat against those suckers at Westwood.

He remained seated, watched how Bryce crossed the room, walking in his confident stride as if he owned the place. Well, he did own the place, after all it was his family's pool house. Bryce passed Foley, said something to him, which made Justin punch him playfully but hard into the shoulder and shake his head, chuckling. Bryce raised his hands as if in defeat, his lips forming an "Oh," his eyes widening in that ironic gesture, staggering backwards, closer to that blond boy. Alex Standall. Alex Standall, who was holding onto the rods of the foosball table the whole time, clenching his tiny hands around them, like they were some fucking lifeline. Bryce walked behind him slowly, coming very close, casually placing a hand on the scrawny boy's shoulder, squeezing it. His index finger touching the bare skin at his collar. Standall flinched, just a bit, and he drew his shoulders even further up, but he smiled, he smiled that strange shy smile, not even daring to look at Bryce's face, it seemed.

Monty's hands balled into fists.

He turned his head and noticed Scott and Nate standing nearby. He got up, walking over, then suddenly turning into a sprint in which he grabbed Scott's plastic cup out of his hand and ran off with it, laughing.

"Fuck you!" Scott yelled, pursuing Monty to get his drink back. They chased each other round the room, around the furniture, around people, with Scott almost catching up, but Monty always being ahead of him, always avoiding being caught. Laughing and mocking at Scott he was unstoppable - until he crashed into something. Something so light and offering hardly any resistance, not really stopping his motion. It just gave way and made him stumble and fall to the ground. Not the ground exactly. He found himself on top of Alex Standall's flimsy body, chest to chest.

Monty looked into the boy's eyes, bright blue eyes widened in shock. Staring at him. Then they narrowed. A frown appeared on the boy's brow, but that couldn't really distort those too soft features.

Monty's mouth was open, he could feel his own breathing accelerate, he could feel how it was reflected from Alex's face; he was panting from the little sprint.

"Get off me! Asshole!" Alex cried out, his voice almost breaking, tiny hands trying to shove Monty's massive body away. In vain. Monty didn't move, crushing the tiny body with his weight.

Seconds later, hands grabbed around Monty's chest and pulled him up.

"Fuck! Jesus, Montgomery." The tall dark-haired boy looked at him with a grim expression on his face, then he turned and helped Standall get up, literally picking him up and putting him back on his feet.

"You okay, Alex?" Zach asked, bending down, coddling the boy like he was some baby.

"Fuck! My shirt's all soaked. I'm gonna reek of that shit. My dad's gonna kill me when he finds out about the drinking!"

Alex had stepped back from Zach, looking down at his body. His slender hands pointing at the mess. The wet shirt clinging to his body, sticking to his flat chest and tummy. Dark stains were on his jeans too.

Monty looked down at his own body, raising his eyebrows when seeing that his shirt was wet too, but it wasn't as soaked as Standall's. He noticed the empty cup lying on the floor, spilling its remains.

"You can wash it off," Zach said. And Monty looked up again, seeing how Zach extended a hand and cautiously stepped closer to the boy who looked even tinier when standing in front of Dempsey.

"Yeah, well, thanks," Alex mumbled and walked off, leaving Zach standing there with his hand still raised. He caught Monty's eyes, frowned and walked into a different direction.

Monty hadn't moved an inch since Zach had pulled him to his feet. He'd been watching the scene like some unaffected bystander. Only now did he realize that Justin was doubling over with laughter the whole time. Monty's lips curled up into a smirk.

"What a fucking baby." He half-rolled his eyes.

He joined Scott, who was getting himself another drink. He made a half-hearted attempt at snatching it yet again, but didn't really try to. Scott quickly pulled away. They both chuckled.

Monty grabbed a handful of chips from a bag he found lying on the counter. Munching them, he headed for the bathroom.

When he pushed the door open, he heard an annoyed voice saying, "I'm busy in here!"

He nevertheless got in and closed the door behind himself.

"I need to piss," he said to Alex who was standing at the sink, frantically scrubbing his shirt under the running water, wearing nothing but his skinny dark jeans.

"Whatever." The boy hadn't even looked up for more than a second, then he was completely focused on his task again.

"Don't you wanna wash your jeans too? You look like you've pissed yourself."

Alex didn't even reply to that with more than an annoyed sigh and probably a "fuck you" muttered under his breath.

Monty strode through the room, lifted the toilet lid.

Looking sideways, he could see Alex. He was bent forward. His back curving. The white skin seemed almost translucent. He was so scrawny you could easily spot the ribs. And his arms, you could wrap your whole hand around his skinny arms. They looked fragile, like you could snap them, just like a twig.

"Your dad's really gonna kill you if he finds out you been drinking?" Monty's voice echoed in the bathroom.

"As if you'd care," Alex snapped, not looking up from his hands.

"Yeah, I don't."

Having finished, Monty flushed the toilet, turned and pulled up the zipper of his pants.

When he passed Alex, the boy stepped aside from the sink, taking the dripping wet shirt with him.

Monty stopped, looking at him, dumbfounded.

Alex looked back.

None of them moved.

"Don't you wanna wash your hands?"

Monty let out a laugh. "What?"

"Your hands." Alex pointed at them with the wet piece of clothing he was holding in both his hands.

As Monty only kept on laughing and didn't move, Alex rolled his eyes and was about to resume his task, when Monty decided to step closer.

"Oh, you find that disgusting," he mocked the weird boy.

"I don't give a shit, just - hey!"

In a sudden movement, Monty had covered the distance between them and was now directly in front of the scrawny boy. His hand reached out, touching the naked chest. He placed a large palm on the pale skin. Moving it, he felt the ribs expand as Standall drew in air in surprise.

The boy moved back, dropping the wet shirt to use both his small hands to push Monty away.

"Stop that! God! Stop!"

Monty stepped forward in that same movement and was even closer now. Both his hands on Standall's body, moving them on the naked skin, while the smaller boy tried to shove him away, hit him even.

The more Alex fought, the more Monty laughed, and his hands touched and grabbed and squeezed and pinched the boy wherever they could reach: his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his neck, his hipbones, his belly, his collarbones, his fingers, his hair, his face.

"Oh, oh, are you afraid of my dirty dick hands, Standall?"

He felt a rush of heat going through his body, his breathing had accelerated. Alex had retreated so far that the wall was now at his back, he was pressing against it, and he couldn't escape any further.

"Stop! Stop! You're gross!" There was a wild expression in the tiny boy's face, determined like he would never stop fighting, even though he was literally cornered now. Those tiny hands pushed harder, but still in vain. Monty's body pressed up against Alex's, their hips meeting. His hands were touching and touching, feeling that soft skin which seemed a bit cold. Monty was no longer laughing, not even smirking, his lips parted, as he pressed his large hand onto the boy's face. The heel of his hand on the lips, muffling his angry cries. He felt those wet lips move under his touch. He inhaled sharply. The blue eyes widened, the pupils dilating, eating that pale blue. Monty had come so close, his chest pressed against Alex's upper body, harder with each sharp breath he took. His other hand touched his neck, long fingers feeling the pulse racing under the skin. He exhaled and felt the warm breath coming back at his own face after blowing over those too soft features.

A rustling sound behind him made him spin his head around suddenly. Bryce was standing in the open door. - For how long?

Something snapped inside Monty, he tensed up. In the same split second, he smacked Standall's head against the wall. The face hit the tiles with a thud.

Monty stepped back, laughing, strained. His eyes on Bryce who hadn't moved as much as an eyebrow.

"Whiny bitch." He once more turned towards Alex who was covering his face with both his hands now. He couldn't see if the boy was really whining, but he probably was. That blow must have hurt.

Bryce didn't say a word, didn't even blink when he looked at him with a stern expression on his face. He pushed Monty aside, who automatically stepped back even further, and rushed past him towards little Alex.

Monty left the bathroom. Outside he pressed his back against the wall, next to the door in the hallway. His heart was racing. It was beating so fucking loudly and hard, he felt like it would burst through his throat. His hands balled into fists, he pressed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing.

When he opened them again and turned his head, he could see through the crack of the door into the bathroom. He could see the reflection of Bryce and Alex in the mirror, standing close to each other. Bryce touched the younger boy's face, carefully cupping it, tilting it, examining it. A thumb brushed over the cheekbone, the skin red. Alex flinched, but didn't pull away. A bruise was forming. Monty very well knew how those looked like. He could see that Bryce was saying something, hearing his familiar voice, but it was too low to catch a single word. The noises of the guys celebrating their defeat coming from the other room were drowning every syllable. Alex's lips moved in a quick reply. And whatever he said, it made Bryce laugh whole-heartedly and pat the boy's shoulder. Once, twice, three times. Then he squeezed it. Left his hand there when he handed something to Alex, something dark blue. A T-shirt. Bryce had brought one of his own shirts for the younger boy to wear. It would be too big on that tiny body. It would look ridiculous.

Monty froze. He hadn't noticed how Bryce had moved and opened the bathroom door. He just stared into his team captain's face when he was suddenly next to him.

Monty opened his mouth. Bryce just walked past him, not saying a single word, but looking at him with those eyes, making Monty shut his lips again, pressing them into a thin line, clenching his jaws and lowering his gaze. A strange feeling crept up his spine. As if he was being rebuked without even a single word.

#montgomery de la cruz #alex standall #13 reasons why #timothy granaderos #miles heizer #monty x alex #alex x monty #13rw #winston williams #bryce walker #zach dempsey #fanfic #ao3

[highgaarden]

in the woods, somewhere; He doesn’t want to tell her that he is tired of haunting her, that years have passed and the world is creaking with the weight of them, and that he loves, he loves, he loves her—

written for @klaroline-events​’ june kc bingo + ghost 2021 words, canon-divergence, romance 

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In another city in another country in another world, almost, a dead girl scrubs her dead lover from her skin in bubbles that smell of lavender and bergamot, eucalyptus and lemon oil. She wants new skin, a skin that has been taught to forget all things skins were sometimes sentimental about: silly things like the learned touches on her knees, the feeling of lips in the hollows of her, the cold of whispers in the swoop of her ribs.

She mourns the loss of her body, her heart, how they yearn to be covered by a man so burdened with age he should be ugly from it, but he is beautiful, beautiful, and she mourns him, too. Mourns the love she had planted in his chest like a garden grown from twigs and other broken things. Mourns his churlish grins, the quick of his fingers winding in her hair, mourns the ache in her teeth whenever he shows her his wrist like a quiet, quiet secret.

She mourns him, she buries him, and then she sinks lower into the water to drown in her pretty petal ocean.

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As all fights go, Caroline could hurl a vicious one, with fists and kicks and screams and bloodshed, but Klaus can deflect and duck and appear and vanish. When he comes back she is always curled in a corner, throat hoarse and nails bleeding, and he is always sorry.

“I love you,” she’ll say.

“I want you to die,” she’ll say.

And he always says, “No you don’t. No you don’t.”

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Somewhere dark and green, Klaus kisses her, a suffocating she has not felt since Katherine had pushed her last breath out of her. He holds her to a tree and curls his fists into her hair and fits himself against her so well, and there is an unravelling inside her.

She stumbles out of her stupor, dazed and blinking, and he looks back at her like he doesn’t quite know what’s happened either.

“That was a really stupid promise you just made,” she says breathlessly, for want of something to say—her lips are trembling, her knees.

“I know,” Klaus says, so brilliantly rueful. “Gods, do I know.

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A story needs a beginning, a middle and an end, but the story of Caroline and Klaus, the dead girl and her dead lover, start in the moments in between. He already knows her name when he meets her on her second deathbed, and the sound of him already puts pinpricks in her heart.

“I know you,” she says.

“I’ll heal you,” he says.

“And then I’ll be yours, and then my friends will die, and then the world will end.” She’s stubborn, once-golden curls a flaccid yellow on coiled around cracked lips. “Leave the poison in me. I’m dead anyway.”

He sends her a gaze so intent and curious one could forget that he is the one who put her in this bed to begin with, who put fangs in her and veins around her best friend’s eyes and a knife in Elena’s chest. He hovers over her like a ghost, flicks the bell on her charm bracelet like he expects choirs to erupt. He looks at her fondly, like they’ve known each other for years.

“Stop that,” she snaps. “You don’t get to sit on my bedside on my freakin’ birthday and harp at me about roses and cities I’ll never see, about music I’ll never learn the names of, about food I can’t even enjoy because all I crave now is blood.” She coughs, probably spittles over him some, but whatever, she’s dying.

It resounds in her like a gong, and she claws desperately at her sheets, wants to call for her mother, doesn’t want Klaus’ face to be the last one she sees before she bites the dust, kicks the bucket. She wants the sooth of her mother’s fingers in her hair; instead she gets the apple-white of Klaus’s brandished wrist.

“Go ahead,” Klaus says invitingly. “It tastes just like wine, I’ll bet.”

“I hate you,” she says, she cries. She’s so close she can taste it festering in the gaping maw in her neck, the one that’s bubbling with the scent of poison and wolf. “I want to die.”

“No you don’t.” He props her up against him, cradled almost gently in his arms, and she feels his hands in her hair massaging, she smells his wrist like her last supper laid out before her, and her mouth waters. She parts her lips, her fangs push out, she’s so miserable and she’s so hungry. “No you don’t.”

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In the woods, somewhere:

Klaus had told her about cities greater than God and cathedrals that swallowed you whole. She supposes one day she’ll see them with her own eyes, not in his mouth, always wondering which ones were made up truths and which ones were lies meant to lure her out of this town.

She looks at him, and she’s been told that it isn’t good to look at Klaus Mikaelson the wrong way, or the right way, or in any sort of way, but when Caroline looks she pierces, she wants, and she takes. She takes his heart and his teeth and his blood, collected in little vials in the grooves of rotten roots, and he tries not to look pleased.

It is a strange sort of understanding that they have, that the trees listen to. She is older now, but still young enough to know that nothing lasts forever, not really, and Klaus – Klaus just wants her to remember him when she leaves.

“Absconds,” he corrects himself after a fashion. “Like a lady in the night, gone forever.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” and it’s a promise as much as it is a confession to misery, “because somebody needs to keep Elena from you.”

Klaus looks thoughtful. “What if Elena doesn’t need keeping?”

“You mean: what if you killed her.”

And Klaus grins then, his eyes crinkling, his hair curling around his perked ears. “You are an absolute delight.”

“Flattery isn’t a ticket to massacre, buddy.” Caroline picks her way expertly through the dead roots in the forest floor, the muck of flattened leaves and jagged little stones. “She’s almost eighty, her birthday’s next week, and you are not writing her into your twisted little recipe book of Easy Make Hybrids, Holiday Edition.”

In this page of the book they are friends, somehow, and I’m sure you’re wondering how they end up the way they do—but as all good romances go, there is never a clear distinction when one crosses that threshold, is there? Caroline will wonder this herself, one day, in her perfumed tub in her smarting, raw skin.

“I do like you,” Klaus says, and Caroline wonders, too, if this is a step up from I fancy you. It’s a boyish admission, shy, almost – she peers at him sidelong, and scoffs.

“Flattery!” she announces to the woods. It rustles in agreement.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Klaus says reproachfully. “Why won’t you consider my offer?”

Caroline stops in her tracks, suddenly, and he almost bumps into her if not for the isms that make up the vampire parts of him. She turns now to properly look at him. Klaus looks at her the way he always does, like there is something stirring just underneath the stillness of him, the slow beat of his undead heart. And she asks, honestly, “Aren’t you tired of haunting me?”

“Not for a minute.” Klaus tilts his head. “What if I promised to stay away from Elena?”

“You’ve made this promise before.”

“What if I promised to stay away from you?”

And this, this catches Caroline’s attention. He looks like he means it, and there troubles the part of her that is always trying to catch him in a lie, the part that longs to just try him, to call his bluff. She is older now, she’s no longer a prey to disillusionment, but Klaus—he is older now, too, but the world no longer marvels at it. Everyone’s older now.

“What do you want?” Her eyes narrow. Her heart races.

Klaus hums, Klaus smiles, and Klaus says: “A kiss.”

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When Caroline says Klaus is terrible at keeping promises, what she really means is that he keeps them.

She counts the vials of his blood, counts the different ways they catch sunlight.

She counts how many days have passed.

How many years.

Some twenty years later Elena dies, and she moves to a different city in another country in another world, almost, where the cathedrals swallowed you whole. Whether the sketch of rooftops around her were greater than God she doesn’t know, but one day Klaus finds her in a little café in the oldest part of the city and he sweeps her up and he kisses her the way he had in those woods so long ago, and this, if she had payed attention to anything other than the part of his teeth and the taste of his tongue, this is the beginning of their undoing.

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“I love you,” she says, vicious like her temper, spiteful, because these are words that aren’t true and Klaus knows that.

“No you don’t,” he says, and he tries to shush her, tries to cover her mouth, but the words keep coming, and he pushes away.

He doesn’t want to tell her that he is tired of haunting her, that years have passed and the world is creaking with the weight of them, and that he loves, he loves, he loves her—

“And if you’ll stop being stubborn you would shut that pretty mouth of yours and just listen—” His hands shake and he stills them with a quick flex, “I did not kill Regina, I did not order anything on her—”

“I did not spend a hundred years in Mystic Falls to watch Elena’s great-granddaughter fall prey to the kind of shit she went through,” Caroline hisses through her teeth. “You knew. You knew about Regina and you didn’t tell me—”

“Because you would have gone back,” Klaus says, furious and miserable, and – and just listen, love, listen—

“And if I had, she wouldn’t be DEAD!” She roars, and these are words that Klaus doesn’t understand, tears she’s shedding not because she’s seen the face of her friend die for the umpteenth time, but this. This is proof that Klaus, no matter what he says, no matter what he does, he will always be the monster she’d met on her second deathbed, will always put pinpricks in her heart.

Klaus reaches for her but she slaps his hands away, the room spinning around her with names Klaus finally sheds: Tristan, Genevieve, Marcel, an old curse, a new prophecy, the weight of the full moon, Regina. Regina, the final doppelganger, the last of the Petrova legacy.

“You couldn’t just let it go,” she whispers.

“We’re the same, Caroline,” he whispers back, and her heart breaks.

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This is not the ending, nor is this the beginning, but this is Klaus and Caroline sitting in the same room they had sat in so long ago, her second deathbed and his first lie. Only this time, she is holding a match.

Everyone they know is dead, after all.

“This way, we can start again.” She does not shake when she exhales.

Klaus says nothing, just breathes her in, eyes bright and wet and disbelieving - he loves her. The dead girl and her dead lover dance slowly in the middle of the room, the flame flickers between them, wavers, but never goes out. She could drop it any time, and the idea torments him as much as it tickles.

And then everything is on fire.

Caroline holds her hand out and he takes it, and she leads him out of there, tears drying on her face, the tail of his coat simmering and singed. She has new skin, she tells him, and he has new blood in his veins, and she’ll bet that it will not taste like wine.

#kcbingo2020 #klaroline #klaus x caroline #klarolineedit #loving klaroline #hannah writes things #hannah does kc bingo #anyway this is a breathless pieec of something because i've been majorly angsting over kc recently and needed some poetic clarity #but fret not it is not /that/ angsty - it's got an ending; a happy one - a hopeful one

[imcrushedbyarainbowoffical]

The Lone Snake (AU): Chapter 1/At The Edge of The World

Alright so...Remember this post from a couple of months ago? Well, I got around to writing the first few chapters and I thought to post Chapter 1 here. I’ll probably post more chapters as it goes along but I can’t guarantee when they’ll be out (knowing me it might be sporadic). Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy :) 

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A03: The Lone Snake

Characters: Deceit and Remus. The others are vaguely mentioned. 

Word Count: 957

Relationships: Kingceit (mentioned)/Platonic Demus 

Warnings: Blood and injury 

Descprition: After King’s untimely death, a heartbroken Janus leaves the Sides and escapes to the edge of the imagination in hopes that no one will ever find him there. 

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It happened so suddenly, like being drenched in an unforeseen rainstorm. Creativity, king of the imagination and beloved by all, was gone. Split into two sides, the first a young boy dressed in red and white and the other dressed in black and green. 

That day, all the Sides wept bitterly over the loss of their dear friend. However, there was one whose love for King was far beyond what anyone could comprehend, and when the news of King's death truly wrapped itself around Janus’s head, his poor heart couldn’t take it and so he fled. 

Into the night he escaped, to the very edge of the imagination he ended up and under the protection of the forest he lived. Not a soul knew where the deceitful side had fled too and he believed that no one would care. Janus would no longer bare judgment nor listen to their scornful words. He was gone for good and no one would ever find him, at least, that’s what he thought. 

Remus’s hazel brown eyes scanned the tall dark trees and the wilted grass that stretched along the ground. It was bare, that was for sure but he was still intrigued by this forsaken land. Remus often liked to come to the parts of the imagination he had yet to explore. With every resolve in his mind to discover new and exciting wonders. 

He swung his bag over his arm and placed his morning star across his shoulders. He grinned and stepped into the forest, his morning star gleaming in the patches of sunlight that leaked through the trees as he traversed the dirt paths.

He wished he could have brought Roman along for the exploration but his dear brother was much too busy to have come with him. Whatever he was sure he’d find something exciting to show off to Roman later. 

Remus sighed and wandered through the forest as he looked around for anything that seemed interesting. Suddenly, his ears picked up a scratching sound, curious, he changed course and headed towards it. 

Was it a dog digging up something? 

Was it an animal hiding its prey?

Was it a person burying a body?

The curiosity was exploding inside him as he reached the place where the sound was coming from. He peeked through the trees and bushes, noticing a hunched over figure digging its clawed fingers into the dirt. Why was it digging? Was it trying to hide something or find something? 

Remus took a step forward, trying to get a better look when a twig snapped beneath his boot. The creature whipped its head around, baring its white sharp fangs towards him in the shadows. 

He was very intrigued by such a creature, with its claws, fangs, and striking yellow snake eye but even more so by the green and brown scales that covered half its face and ran down its neck, chest, and leg. Though part of his scales was covered by some tattered black shorts it wore.

“Hello there,” Remus said, stepping out into the light.  

The creature hissed at him and crouched down low, seemingly ready to pounce at any moment. Which only added to Remus’s excitement. How fun would it be to battle this creature and bring it back to the castle? He didn’t want to hurt the thing but he still wanted to catch it. If only to answer the millions of burning questions in his mind.

How did it end up in the imagination? Was it really a creature at all or was it human? It certainly looked human, but did it bleed the same as a human would? Did it even have blood? 

“What are-” 

Before Remus could finish his question the creature charged towards him. He quickly threw his bag away and swung his morning star up, blocking the creature's attack. The creature then swiped its claws near Remus’s head but barely managed to cut away some hair. 

“Ooh, you're a feisty one, aren’t you? Well, now I’m definitely going to be bringing you back with me.” Remus said. He jumped towards the creature and slammed his morningstar down towards it but the creature dodged it with ease.

On and on it went, Remus swinging his morning star around and the creature dodging with slick ease, like his body was made of liquid. However, soon they both grew tired of this dance and they stood in a stalemate, heavy breath escaping their mouths as both prepared for one final attack on the other. 

Remus and the creature narrowed their eyes at each other as the creature brandished his claws and crouched down low, growling and gnashing his teeth towards Remus. The creature then pounced, going towards Remus's left as he swung his morning star towards it and then twisting its body towards the right of him, slicing its claws across Remus's right shoulder and deep into his flesh. 

Remus howled in pain and stumbled backward as he instinctively grabbed his shoulder. He peeked at the wound through his fingers and winced at the amount of blood seeping out of it. 

“Wow, your good,” he said. 

The creature replied with a hiss but Remus only smiled and grabbed his bag, lugging it over his uninjured shoulder. 

“Well, I guess capturing you is going to be harder than I thought,” Remus said. “No matter, I’ll only have to ask my dear old brother for help. Until then, you stay here okay? I promise to be back for you soon so just stay put like a good little snake creature thing.” 

With that, Remus took off scampering into the woods and towards home.

#remus sanders #deceit sanders #ts remus #ts deceit #sanders sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides au #au sanders sides #kingceit #new sanders sides au series #janus sanders #ts janus #janus is a feral boi

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Shinso Hitoshi x Fem Reader: Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary:

The family has to come together to make a tough choice after tradgey strikes. Shinso and (Y/n) share a moment of understanding, and grow closer. 

Series Summary:  

When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Author Note: This chapter can be heavy for some readers, so please mindful of the warnings and the tags. This is still a long chapter, but we are finally moving into the friends stage of this story. 

Warning: Cpr, blood, violence towards an animal, reckless driving, unwanted text messages, fear of home invasion.  

Last chapter: chapter seven 

Next chapter: TBC

The Right Choice 

   Finally, in my own room, I had the window open, my hand dangling over the flower pot below. Hisoka was sitting under my palm, purring contently, pawing at the dying flower steams. It was no wonder the cat hated being inside, he was a true mouser. He had brought me several birds and field mice since I gained his trust. Hunting was in his blood, and the cushy life was for soft cats. Not him, he lived for the chase and stopped by for affection on his own terms. Even sitting here out of pity with me, he had to occupy his mind boxing with dying flowers. Hisoka was allowed to be himself without hesitation or judgment. He was strong, resilient, and sensitive too.  

    Squashing his long fur between my fingers, I wished with all my soul to turn into a cat. So I could run to and from as I pleased, no one the wiser as to where I go, but they celebrate and host a feast for me when I return. Basking in the sun and chasing mice of the afternoon, curling up under the moon. That would be a more pleasurable existence than this.

    A buzz caught my attention, Hisoka taking my moment of hesitation as a sign he could leave. Reaching to my nightstand, I grabbed my phone.

   It was fully charged, finally coming back to life after draining the battery. Once the loading screen was done, ding after ding and message after a message appeared, all from Kira. The four letters flashed like a flipbook, emails, messages, voicemails, dropbox, and every other app singing out his name. Resting my fingers over the bandage on my neck, I froze up. Scanning through the messages, there were pictures of me in the hospital, even one of me getting into the car. Some of Shota buckling me in, and Hizashi driving us home. Home.

   "Help!" I slammed the window shut, tearing into the hall. Barley upright, I held my phone out once I was in the living room. The group fo pro all on their feet and ready to jump to action. "He was at the hospital. He might know where we are…I-"trembling, I hand Hizashi the phone, his eyes narrowing in on the texts. I hadn't even got a chance to read all of what he said. Looking at Uncle Sho for some sort of comfort, he instead shared a glance with Shinso.

   Shota and Shinso shut and locked all the doors and windows, glancing outside for good measure. Sho worked on shutting the blinds, and Shinso opened the front door and stepped outside.

    "Take a seat, baby." Hiazahi sat on the sofa and patted the spot beside him. Slotting against his side, he wrapped one around my shoulder. Sho started to comb through the house, putting his capture weapon around his neck, checking everything from the cupboards to the closets. Any other time I'd make a closest joke, but there was no laughing at this situation.    

     Hizashi scanned through the messages, taking screencaps with one hand. Resting my head on his shoulder, tears slipping onto his shirt. The minutes ticked by, the click of my phone's shutter feature reminding me that there were more messages than Hizashi's finger could keep up with. He had the sound off, but it was still vibrating.

  "No one followed us," Shinso broke the tension, shuffling his shoes off once again. Before he shut the door, I noticed that my bicycle was tied to the back of his trunk. I guess he went back and got it...that's kind of thoughtful.

   "The house is clear, too. We can relax, for now, the police said Kira didn't have access to transportation. We will have to be more careful when we come and go from now on."

   "We should turn your phone off and take it to the police tomorrow." Hizashi reasoned, pulling the battery out. "This is a sensitive situation, and as long as we stay calm, we can handle it."

   "I'm taking it tonight," Shota took the phone, shoving it in his pocket. "The faster we get this evidence to the police, the more we can charge him with. I trust you three to watch the house while I'm gone."

   "Don't go." I grabbed his shirt sleeve, using his arm as a crutch. He was in front of the door, about to put his shoes on. "It can wait. It's the night before the work week, there's probably a ton of drunk drivers out." It had been close to nine when we got home, but now it was closing time for most bars. "Don't risk your safety." Something fell outside, and I moved my grip to his waist. Burying my head into his back, I quivered. "Uncle Sho, please don't open the door."

   "I'm a pro hero (Y/n), have more faith in me." He ran his fingers through my hair and sighed, eyes closed. "There's nothing to be afraid of as long as Shinso and Hizashi are here. It's going to be okay."

   "Pro's get in car accidents and die like the rest of us." I shot back, tightening my hold. "There's a bad feeling in my gut."

   "This is important. I will go slow and text Hizashi when I've made it. Now go back to bed and rest like the doctor ordered."

   "But-"

   "No buts, now go to sleep." Begrudgingly I let him go, watching him pull his shoes on. When he opened the door, there was no barrage waiting to take him out or a loaded gun. Watching him safely walk to his car, I eased my nerves that Kira didn't know where I lived. Maybe I wanted to assume it was safe.

  "Do you have to go to work? The air quality isn't so great today. The doctor said you have to take it easy."

   "Nonsense, heroes always show up. Rain or smog, I have to go, honey." She kissed my forehead and locked the door in her wake.

   Shota was gone. I slumped to the couch and curled up on one half, plucking at the loose thread on a throw pillow. Hizashi and Shinso watched me curiously from the armchairs. Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep the best I could with a sling on. After an hour, Hizashi told me that Shota had made it and was doing some follow up questions. I just nodded and decided that it was safe enough to go outside. Someone would have broken in by now. Plus, Hizashi said there weren't any pictures of our house on my phone.

   It didn't matter if I was afraid or if someone was out there. The house felt smaller than ever, and I needed the wide-open space. Hisoka was chilling by my side as I sat with my feet hanging off the porch. Somewhere in my head, I convinced myself that fresh air would do me good. Crisp, cold fall air carried magic on its heels, and if I closed my eyes tight enough, I could see it slip through my lashes.    

   "Meow," A cat called in the distance. Hisoka was silent, so it wasn't him. Curious, I stretched my legs and used the porch as a crutch till my foot woke up. The pinpricks stopped, and I looked at Hisoka.

   "Come on, silly," I mumbled, picking up the cat and receiving a scratch on my functional forearm. "Be that way, I ain't no scaredy-cat."

   I approached the direction I heard the cat. There was another meow after a few minutes, and I froze to listen more intently. I was getting closer to the garage on the backside of the house. If I didn't know better, the cat was running from me, probably scared half to death.

   "Here kitty kitty kitty," I cooed, scanning the brush and upper tree branches. "I won't hurt you. You want something to eat? Meow meow." A twig snapped, and I caught a glimpse of something running.

   Going in that direction, I stopped when I saw Hisoka round the tree and hiss first. A catfight was surely about to break out. Before I could take more than two long leaps to break up the fight, a hand grabbed mine.

   "What are you doing?" Shinso refused to let go when I tried to wriggle free.

   "There's a cat-back here. Hisoka found it first, so I'm about to break up a fight…wait, he isn't hissing anymore." My heart leaped out of my chest, and I snatched my hand away and darted where I last heard the noise.

   "Hisoka, are you okay?" I called, stumbling over my feet. Rounding the corner. Hisoka had a gash along his chest. "Hitoshi, get the medical kit." I freed my arm from the sling and put Hisoka's warm body into the bottom, as not to add more pressure to his wounds.

   "What- shit." Shinso took his grey body from me and ran into the house. I followed suit, taking a moment to look for the other cat, with no luck.

   "Hizashi, where is the medkit," I began pulling cabinets open. Shinso applied pressure to the wound with a dishrag. Hisoka mewled in pain, unable to fight against being in the house.

   Hizashi ran out of his bedroom. "What's wrong with Hisoka?" Hizashi pushed me aside, pulling the medkit from under the sink, rushing it to Shinso. Hizashi was far better at first aid than either of us, being a hero for much longer.

   "A cat got him. There must a stray someone turned loose out there," I explained, putting myself to making a comfortable box to get him to the vet in.

   "It could have been a raccoon too," Shinso added, handing Hizashi the tools before he could ask. Hizashi placed swelling pads in the cut to stop the bleeding, then wrapped it carefully.

   "Here," I placed the box down by the coffee table and waited for them to put him inside. Getting closer, I could see his eyes had closed. His little body was breathing heavily. A pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Big crocodile tears swelled from my eyes. Mourning. I held back my sobs, not wanting to take away attention from my little friend. He was my friend…and I asked him to follow me to check on this stray.

   The scratch on my arm was proof that he was a fighter and didn't go down without a brawl. Hisoka wanted to live, no doubt. Hizashi placed Hisoka into the transport box I made from a laundry basket. I opened the front door and got the car keys. Our little group rushing to the car.

   "I got him, I'll sit in the back," I said, crawling in and taking him into my lap.

   "Is there even a vet open this late?" Shinso pulled up his phone, sitting on the passenger side. Hizashi rushed down our driveway, rocking the cab. I held the side of the basket and eased the shock of each bump.

   "It's going to be okay….you were so brave. You know that, right?" I cooed, running my hand over his favorite spot. "You must have known that was a mean cat and tried to protect us… we don't deserve you. But please stay with us." Shinso was giving Hizashi directions, both too busy to notice my encouragement.

   "It's half an hour away." Shinso looked back at me through the mirror, and I held his lavender gaze for a moment.

   "I can do twenty," Hizashi stated, pushing the gas down and tossing on his emergency lights.

   The back seat was lit up red and white—the colored light casting a sickly shadow on Hisoka. I hummed a little tune, running my fingers through his fur. Making sure his chest would rise and fall. My own body was in terrible pain, but I knew his was much worse. Still, I hadn't stopped crying; the tears had just run dry. There was so much more pain for me to let go of for Hisoka.

   It crossed my mind that if Shota had been home, he'd known what to do. We knew what to do, but Shota was so calm. I guess Shinso was rational, but I wanted Shota…not lent ball.  

   A small croak escaped Hisoka's lips, his breathing stopping. I lost my voice. What do I do? What do- "He's- Hisoka stopped breathing."

   "Watch out, Mic." Shinso unbuckled, crawling through the seats into the back.    

   "Can you help him?" I kept the basket in my lap but gave him access.

   "Let's hope so." Shinso turned Hisoka on his back and began pumping his little chest.

   "Turn right in five miles." Shinso's phone sputtered.

   "Hold on kids," Hizashi floored it.

   "Should I give him breath?" I asked, trying desperately to help.

   "No, just keep talking to him." Shinso was on his knees, holding the seat with one hand and pumping with the other.

   "Come on, Hisoka. We're almost there." I rubbed his forehead. "I know you want to be lazy, but you got to fight really hard for us."

   "Here," Hizashi honked the horn for the doctors and slammed the break. Shinso went flying into the middle console, and I took over compressions. I flung the door open with one arm and then bounced out. I stopped compressions and sprinted inside the little wooden clinic.

   "Help, my cats been attacked. He's not breathing." I caught the receptionist's attention.

   "Do you have money to pay for his care?" She asked, popping her gum as she hit a bell to summon the doctor.

   "Of course," Hizashi was the next one through the door. I was back at cpr, having the basket on the counter, waiting for the doctor.

   "I'll get an estimate after they look at him." She took him from me when no one came running and stepped into the back.

   The front door slammed, and Shinso put his phone in his pocket. "Mr. Aizawa knows where we are."

   "It's going cost between three to five hundred dollars," the women returned with a calculator. "Do you want us to start treatment."

   "Yes, why are you waiting?" I asked, knowing I had it in my saving if Hizashi didn't.

   "We'll need a down-"Shinso cut the woman off and slammed two hundred on the counter. "I'll let the doctors know." She sauntered into the back. My arms fell to my side, and I wiped my forehead. My body was rushing with energy, and nothing left to give it too.

   Once she was gone, I noticed the small room had chipped yellow walls, with a busted molding around the bottom. The place smelt like dogs, as to be expected. The pictures and information packets were all scattered about the lobby with little organization. Shinso's gaze met mine, and we both knew what the other was thinking.

   "Maybe the doctors are great." Hizashi was thinking the same thing too.

   "I pray so," I wiped my eyes and sat. The shaking wouldn't stop, no matter how tightly I held myself. Hizashi leaned against the one wall that didn't look like it was about to collapse, and Shinso murmured to him.

   When their conversation was done, Shinso went out to the car, and it was just Mic and me in the lobby. A few minutes passed, neither of us could find the words that generally passed so easily between us. The receptionist returned with a packet, and a cigarette loose between her lips.

   "I need you to fill this out." She motioned me over, and I quickly held my hand out for the packet. She dropped them on the counter, and they flew to the floor. She turned with a lackluster smirk. I swore she mumbled something under her breath, but I didn't really care.

   I bent over with my body making horrible popping noises. With the papers gathered, I sat on the wobbly wooden bench and started the information. The first few lines were easy enough to fill out. My eyes blurred, but I could still make it out.

   "How old is Soka?" I asked, using my leg as a support for the paper. My letters were coming out in loose swirls, and I slowed down. I didn't know as much about the cat as I thought I did.

   "Ten," Hizashi put his hands in his pajama pockets and looked at the floor. "He at least lived a long life."

   "Don't talk like that." I scolded him, writing the number down. The door opened with a cold chill, and Shinso returned toting a few items from the car. He handed Mic a coat and then turned to me with a scarf.

   "Give me your hand," He ordered, and I did so without much thought. "You can't have your hand down this long." He pulled out a packet of wet wipes, and cleaned the blood from my arms, focus on my fingernails and knuckles where my skin had cracked earlier.

   "I could do this," I murmured, looking down the hall where Hisoka was being cared for.

   "You're a clutz. I know you can do it, but I can do it better." A smug grin pulled at his lips. I supposed he was trying to be funny or light-hearted. But it was hard to dwell on anything but Hisoka.

   "Lint ball trying to be cute, huh?" I puffed up and turned my nose up. "Won't work on me. I know you got underlying motives." He flinched, pausing his work.

   "So, you think I'm a bad guy?" The question was light as every other, but I could see the line on his forehead, the slight force behind his smirk

   "At first, I believed you were an ass." I thought back to how he held Hisoka, how he held me and when he refused to hit me during our training… "But, though I'm not often wrong, you're half decent. Did I think you were ever bad? No. Prick. Yes."

   "I see." He glanced at the bloody wipes and then guided my hand to my chest, wrapping the scarf around me carefully. "So, the kitten's finally submitted?"

   I slapped his shoulder. "No, I have not submitted, I just don't hate you is all. You're tolerable. A decent dude to keep around. That's it."

   "You're turning red." I smacked my hand to my face, and he was lying. My skin was normal, no doubt.  

   "Don't tease me." I crossed my legs, trying to ignore his slight grin.

   "You are a little red," he insisted, "hold still." He pressed his brow to mine. "Hey Mic, come feel her forehead." His banter stopped, and now it was time for 'what else can go wrong' with (Y/n)?

   "This isn't about me, it's about Hisoka." I moped, clawing at my throat. Shinso took the papers from me and walked behind the desk. He came back with a clipboard and started to finish where I left off. Of course, he didn't care to just walk around like he owned the place.

   Hizashi pressed his hand to my forehead and knitted his brows together. Next, he felt my forearm and wrist. "You're a little cold. Do you feel alright?"  

   "I'm stressed." I brushed it off, closing my eyes for a moment. "I'm sure my body is having a meltdown." I leaned back and swallowed the flehm in my throat. A cat cried in the distance, and I bit down on my check. "When is Shota getting here?"

   "Soon," Hizashi pulled the coat around his waist tighter and sat beside me. I didn't recognize my body. I was drifting to a faraway place, where there was nothing but static echoing across my soul. His arm brushing against mine, and sweat was dripping down my neck. I wasn't okay. I wasn't safe.

   "I'm here," Shota burst into the small room, and Hizashi leaped from my side to his arms. I guess the hierarchy of who can break down on who ended with Shota at that top and me being the cry baby at the bottom. Still, I curled into myself.

   Another painful mewl stretched across the clinic. Gawking at the floor, I rocked slightly. The quick thump in my ears made me think I was going to die. Dying. Hisoka was dying in the back room. I dug my nails into my palm and shut out the conversation. How Hisoka got here mattered. It was protecting me, or following me, or whatever it involved me. I was the root of the problem. I was a problem.

   "I'm taking her out for a walk." A hand guided me up, and I zoned back in. "Those two need a minute," Shinso informed me, pulling open the clinic door and tugging me behind him. Hizashi was a ball on the floor, and Uncle Sho was nearly in tears. If we were gone, they could both let loose.  

   Shinso walked past the car and partly down the road before stopping. I landed in his back when he let me go, and instinctively I wrapped my arm around his waist. A small gasp left my lips before I nuzzled the curve of his spine. The wind was nipping at my neck. Leaves tickling my ankles. Smoke tickled my nose from a nearby bonfire.

   His hands crossed over mine. There were small hitches in his posture. Then the slightest whimper escaped his lips. I squeezed tighter, putting as much weight as possible on him. My head was spinning, it was my fault. Shinso was going to make fun of me, or ball me out for what happened. Fuck.

   I loosened my hold, and Shinso broke the silence. "Hisoka, he's-"his body racked, pulling away. He refused to look at me, blubbering cries escaping.

   I kneeled on the gravel road and listened intently. My skinned knees bursting under the bandages. This is what I deserve.

   There were no scars, only scabs. They told me you never really heal. You only learn not to stretch the damaged parts.

   "He's a fighter (Y/n), there's no reason to be so anxious." Shinso spat, looking at the sky. "I've known him since he was a kitten. I was the first person to notice him at Mr. Aizawa's house. My own cat passed a few years ago, and I'm not ready to lose Hisoka too."

   "I'm sorry." My voice betrayed me, and my broken tone caused Shinso to turn. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for him to get hurt." I grasped handfuls of gravel and let them fall through my fingers. "I've caused you nothing but trouble. Hisoka was on to that cat because I was out there. I encouraged him to follow me. I didn't know." I pulled my hair. "You must think I'm a monster. Even now making it about me, when it's about Hisoka. About the vet. About my uncle needing space to cry."

   "It's not your fault," Shinso affirmed. "I don't hate you." He kneeled in front of me and pulled my face up. "I actually like you. If I didn't, you know it by now."

   "What does that even mean?" I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. A car pulled in quickly. Grabbing Hitoshi, I pushed us off the road, rolling in the grass. Hitoshi rolled us over a few times to gain distance and landed on top of me.

   "Damn it. You hurt?" Shinso maintained his position on me, several more cars turning wildly.

   "I'm confused," I squinted past the headlights, blood oozing in my splint. The heat fading as it left my body. "Fuck, my wrist."

   "Let me see," Hitoshi pulled out his phone light and got off me. He examined my arm while I looked at the car caravan. Both of us stretched out in the grass.

   "I think they have a sick dog." I watched them walk their dog to the door. "He's upright, so hopefully their puppy is okay. Oww" Shinso applied pressure to my wrist.

   "You opened it a little. The stitches looked intact." He put his phone away and glanced at the clinic. "I know we pulled in fast, but we didn't almost kill anyone." I could see the tears that were still streaming down his cheeks. He really was trying to act cool.

   Leaning up, I ran my sleeve over his face. "It's going to be okay." He looked almost handsome under the moonlight, almost.

   "It will be." He smiled softly down at me, lowering his face till it was inches from mine. My throat closed up, and I held my breath. "Now you're really blushing."

   "I'm just stressed Lint ball, don't flatter yourself." I puffed out my chest but didn't move our position. "You're so lucky I'm not stronger or I'd have you quivering beneath me begging for mercy."

   "Oh, so you admit that you're weaker than me? You must have hit your head at some point to be making those kinds of statements." He put his arms under my back and sat me up so he could hold pressure to my wound better.

   "I must have," I just agreed with him, and I could have sworn his face dusted red. "It's cold out here Lint Ball, lets get back inside." He stood up and helped me.

   "You're really sticking with Lint Ball?" He took my hand and walked closet the road. I could tell he was still eerie of the cars that had just pulled in.

   "Yup," I popped the p, and winced, my foot curling around a rock. "Are you sticking with kitten?" He tugged me tighter to his waist.

   "Oh yea," he grinned before stopping. Mic and Shota were outside, and Hizashi was using his inside voice... "What's the update?" Shinso caught their attention.

   "They rushed the dog right back." Hizashi crossed his arms. "The poor thing swallowed a silica packet."

   "Let's just hope the vets are nicer than the night staff," I huffed. A small fog formed where my breath had been. "We can't be mad; their dog got help faster, but we can write an angry yelp review later. We just need to keep waiting for answers." I shoved my hand in my pocket and stood by Shota.

   "We do have an update." Shota glanced at Shinso, lips in a thin line. "He's stable for now, but it might be more humane to let him go."

   "Can we see him?" Shinso took a shallow breath and looked at the door.

   "In a few minutes, they are going to bring us back." Hizashi clung to Shota's arm, taking care to hide his tears.

   "Who makes the final choice?" I asked, holding myself the best I could with one arm. "What does the vet think?

   "We should make it as a family." Hizashi nodded, grabbing mine and Shinso's hand while resting against Shota. "First, let's go see him and really think about his quality of life."  

   The vet brought us back shortly after. We traveled in pairs to make it less stressful for Hisoka. I went back with Shinso, leading the way I opened the door and choked on my own spit.

   "He's stable like I said, but his vocal cords are snapped. We managed to fix his airways, but there's no grantee he'll be able to maintain breathing on his own." Hisoka was hooked up to a bunch of tubes that were helping him breathe. There were iv's and monitors all around the small cage they had him resting in. His throat was covered in bandages, and his eyes were barely open and lulled back in his head.

   I reached through the bars and held his giant paw, it was cold and lifeless. Words didn't describe what I was feeling. There were only the sobs echoing from Shinso that set off my own tears. Shinso kneeled behind me, caging me with one arm supporting himself against the enclosure and the other rubbing small circles on Hisoka's arm.

   "I'll give you two a minute." The vet left, shutting the door behind her.

   The analog clock mixed with the gentle beep of the heart monitor filled the small room. We couldn't stop crying, and I didn't think Hisoka would want us to cry. He was a fierce cat, the kind that took no fruff fruff bullshit. Hisoka loved killing mice, fighting off spiders, and rolling in the leaves. Sure, I didn't know him very long, but he was a great cat. He deserved to keep doing all those things, but this wasn't looking good.

   "(Y/n)." Shinso was in my ear, his voice strained and tired. "You know what we need to do, right?"

   "I don't want to say it, Hitoshi." My breathing was ragged, knees weak, and ready to give under me. If Hitoshi wasn't supporting me from behind, I'd already been on the floor.  

   "I'll say it for us. He's in pain."

   The drive had been quiet. Once we were home, we all went to our rooms and locked ourselves away. This time, Hizashi didn't pretend to fall asleep in 'his' room but went straight to Shota's. After I stopped crying, I showered off and went to bed. Tomorrow would be a new day. A sad day, but a new one.

   No one spoke at breakfast. Shinso had been the first up or hadn't slept at all, so he made breakfast. No one made a move to start up a conversation…which meant Hizashi was truly suffering. I didn't know what to do to help. There wasn't an easy answer to what was happening. We made the call to wait till morning and see if he improved. So now we were waiting for the vet to call.

   It was mid-afternoon when Hizashi's phone rang. He wouldn't tell us what was said, but he started to smile. Once he was done with the conversation, he activated his quirk. "The Vet said Hisoka is gonna make it!" Shota kissed Hizashi, and they both spun for joy.

   I glanced at Shinso, who was on the other side of the couch, we shared a smile and relief washed over us. Hisoka was going to be okay.

   "The vet said that Recovery Girl stopped by this morning and was able to help reduce the swelling that was constricting his airways. I'm so glad Shota called her this morning."

   "She deserves a Nobel peace prize," I said, not knowing who it was, but getting that she had a medical quirk from her name.

   "When can he come home?" Shinso went to grab his car keys.

   "They want to monitor his progress one more night, but we can bring him home tomorrow."

   "I'm so happy." I cheered, tears of joy flooding my sore eyes. He was going to be okay.

#violence #animal violence #blood #trigger warning #enemies to friends to lovers #shinsou hitoshi #erasermic #eraser family #hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #my hero academia #fanfcition #reader insert #x reader #bnha x reader

[astryelle]

Phantasm-Round 2

Author’s Note: A playlist to listen to while you read this because self control is not a thing I have. Each song relates to a part of the round!

(Chicken Boy is a nickname for Gakusa Oh)

(Image: Aerial of Taiyuu’s island, angle of the train coming in)

The end of the weekend brings the close Lana’s home visit. How Dinara almost managed to set the kitchen on fire for a third time is beyond her. Really, the sheer amount of chaos that happened in two days dumbfounds her.

A thin, wispy mist sits over the island, giving everything a hazy sort of screen. She was supposed to be back at 7, the night before, but a storm had the train delayed til the early morning hours. From her window, she can see the damp campus grounds, dull greys in the out-of-focus weather. 

The car is basically empty; Fujinuma and Spellman being the only other occupants of it. No one tries to make small talk; Fujinuma is nodding off in her sleep, and Spellman is scribbling something in her journal. There’s a stagnant, but peaceful atmosphere, much like the feeling the storm has left behind. As the train eases into the station, it stops with a quiet hiss and doors slide open.

“Mind the gap when stepping onto the platform. Mind the gap when stepping onto the platform. Mind the gap when stepping onto-” The automatic voice reminds her. 

“Have a good weekend, Ogura?” Spellman’s voice rings from above as her classmate is currently a whopping two and a half meters.

“My aunt almost burrned aparrtment komplex down,” she deadpans as they leave the station.

“Sounds fun.”

“No.”

Spellman laughs, bumping Lana with her shoulder as they reach the dorms. In the common room they part, with Lana continuing up the stairs to her room while Spellman stops to talk with Masaki.

There is a grand total of half an hour to get ready for school this morning. No run, just a quick shower, breakfast, and Lana is off for the academic buildings.

(Image: Wolfsboon, 1-B Homeroom teacher)

Wolfsboon looks about as thrilled to see 1-B as he was the first week. Kottoba and Chicken Boy “help” by having an insult battle (awful choice on Chicken Boy’s part, really). After they both get detention for the foreseeable future, announcements begin. “Today will be your first official heroics class,” he bites out, glaring at the whispering class. Once the room is silent, he continues. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes sir!”

Wolfsboon narrows his eyes for a fraction of a second, lips slightly jerking into what someone might call a smile. The expression is gone the next moment, as he moves on to who didn’t do their homework-Chicken Boy, who else?-and who would be washing the classroom because of it.

By the time Heroics rolls in, the clouds are threatening another storm. Other students have put on the long sleeved gym uniform, but Lana doesn’t care enough to change, so it is what it is.

Wolfsboon and Aurora spend a few minutes quietly arguing about something before the round is announced.

It seems deceptively simple.

Then the match-ups are announced.

‘Tokei Yameru vs. Ogura Svetlana’

Chicken Boy bumps her. “Have fun, Lanka.”

She replies by smacking him with her tail.

Everyone is sent to their respective side of the field and given ten minutes to prepare.

“Stay in your fields or collaboration zones, and do your best!” Aurora calls.

“Cheaters will be punished,” Wolfsboon adds.

She elbows him after she thinks the kids are out of sight.

(Image: Claws out; let’s go.)

Lana’s ten minutes are spent warming up. Tokei isn’t a person she’s very familiar with. They’re tall, quiet, and have some sort of time quirk that’s touch activated. Avoiding their hands is a given, but without knowledge of how long their quirk lasts, or if it has any disadvantages, she may as well being going in blind.

Dammit. She should’ve asked Chicken Boy when she had the chance.

The buzzer goes off and Lana descends on the city ground. She keeps to rooftops for the best view, hopping between buildings in purple puffs.

Below her, there’s a large flash with a white braid flying behind it.

Tokei.

Whatever they’re using their quirk for, it’s making them fast.

Her eyes catch on the glowing white circle in their arms.

(Image: Tokei Yameru running with the orb.)

Shit.

Lana appears in the street connecting to Tokei’s.

She just has to touch the orb and make it back to the goal.

Tokei turns the corner and Lana pounces.

With their advanced speed, the surprise doesn’t phase Tokei for long. Lana manages to knock the orb loose, but fighting Tokei for it is another problem.

(Image: Tokei’s quirk activates)

Lana tackles them, teleporting in several different directions within the span of a few seconds. She’s about to hop back as the orb falls, before a hand plants itself firmly on her arm.

Her limbs feel as if she’s trying to swim through a pool of syrup. Tokei stumbles back before regaining their balance and scoops the orb up. They take off in a different direction, not as quickly as before.

A minute later, the quirk cuts out and Lana hits the ground in a roll.

Tokei’s footsteps are fading. They don’t seem to be speeding themselves up anymore. That gives her more time.

It’s back to the rooftops; Lana takes longer jumps to get to Tokei’s goal-line first. It’ll take too long to find them, so cutting them off is the best Lana can do.

She drops at the goal line, just after an intersection with many dark alleyways.

Lana pauses, ears twtiching, before she straightens. “I know you’rre therre, Chicken Boy.”

(Image: Talking to Gakusa)

“You’re no fun, Lanka. And you’re on the wrong side.”

Lana huffs. “I know. What arre you doing?”

“Well, this is the collab zone, and I figured I come see my very best and conveniently useful friend-”

Lana shoots him a glare. “Get to the point.”

Chicken Boy rolls his eyes, a teasing smirk on his lips. “So mean to me. Anyway, what are you doing down here?”

“Waiting forr Tokei.” “Lost them already?”

She huffs.

“I’ll take that as a yes. You know they’re-” He squints at something to the far left. “-definitely not going the right way.”

Lana raises an eyebrow. “Rreally?”

“ ‘s what I said, isn’t it? They’re running toward your line.”

They must’ve gotten turned around after the confrontation.

I can work with this.

“Uh oh. Is my Lanka, God forbid, thinking?” Chicken Boy flicks her forehead. “I’m so proud. I could cry. Getting emotional just thinking about it-”

She smacks his hand away. “I hate you.”

He sticks his tongue out. “No you don’t. Whatcha gonna do?”

“I’m going to need coverr if I want orrb.”

Chicken Boy snorts. “Kemuri’s across the field. Maybe he’ll make you your own cloud wonderland so you can look even scarier.”

She swats him again.

There’s a dramatic gasp. “Slain by my very dear Lanka....whatever shall I do?” After the theatrics wrap up, Chicken Boy straightens. “I got a round to finish. See ya.” He snaps his fingers and then disappears down an alley.

Lana glances in the direction Tokei is in and then teleports into the next collaboration zone. Kemuri is drifting above the cityscape on a cloud, likely searching for his opponent.

“Kemurri. I need favourr.”

(Image: Talking to Kemuri)

The cloud drifts down to a rooftop. “What is it, Svetlana-san?” Despite the response, there are notes of resignation in what little is visible of his face.

“Could you put cloud coverr overr the field?”

“Why?”

“I need to catch Tokei.”

The boy pauses a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

(Image: Aerial, cloudy field)

The field, having already been a bit foggy, is now dense with clouds.

Lana turns back to him, ears twitching slightly. “Someone is in that building.” She indicates a tall shopfront a few streets away.

Kemuri raises an eyebrow, eyes sharper and posture taut like a bowstring. “Thank you.”

They both nod and return to their separate fields.

With the thick clouds dashing any hope of seeing Tokei on ground level, Lana stays to only the highest buildings, scanning for movement. Halfway to her goal, she sees the familiar glow of the orb radiating through the canopy of white billows.

Found you.

She drops down to the street.

(Image: Lana in the shadows)

Tokei’s looming figure staggers by, looking disoriented and dizzy.

Perfect.

She darts behind them. Tokei spins around, squinted eyes illuminated not by their quirk, but by the dull light of the orb. Lana lingers in the shadows of an alley, watching their posture shift to defensive. They tighten their grip on the orb and proceed with caution.

There’s a rock at her feet. Lana picks it up, hurls it at a window, and watches Tokei leap to face it. “Ogura-kun-?”

While they’re distracted, she comes up behind them, and swipes them off their feet with her tail.

They struggle to their feet, but Lana rams into them from behind, knocking the orb loose.

The second time they go down, Lana makes a beeline for the orb, scooping it up. She casts a quick glance over her shoulder.

Tokei’s arm shoots out, eyes beaming with signs of quirk use, all five fingers extended. They reach out-

(Image: Tokei slows the orb down.)

-and touch the orb, missing Lana in a purple cloud of smoke.

(Image: “You missed”)

It’s only a minute before Tokei realizes their mistake, but a minute is all Lana needs.

She behind them again this time, except this time, there is no chance to get back up.

Tokei hits the ground hard, head spinning.

Lana steps over them and closes the distance between her and the goal in three short jumps.

And as it had began, it’s over just as quickly.

“Lanaaaaaaa-chan!”

Between the short notice, and the fact that she’s exhausted, Lana has no time to dodge as Tokachi barrels into her, wrapping her in a hug.

The wind leaves her lungs, but she manages to stay standing. “Hello Tokachi.”

“Is your round over now? Did you win?”

“Yes.”

“Me too!” Tokachi lightly punches her in the arm. “Was it hard?”

“Harrderr than I thought.”

“Yeah. Tokei-kun is really strong. Do you think Gakutorii-ni will win?”

Lana gives her a look. “He’s a twig.”

“Lanaaa-chan! Don’t be mean!” There’s a pause before Tokachi starts laughing, serious expression cracking. “He is.”

“Wow. Nice to know how loved I am,” Chicken Boy deadpans. “Really, go on, guys. It’s very flattering.”

“Gakutori-nii! Did you win?”

“Of course I did-”

“Ameko-chan! I won!” Yukino pops up.

Tokachi gives Chicken Boy an amused look and pushes him aside. “That’s great Yukino-chan!”

The boy grumbles about his loss while the two 1-A students chat. “You lost the bet,” Lana says.

“Yeah, yea, I know-”

In the distance, there’s a deep rumble followed by a loud ‘boom’.

Silence sweeps the group.

“Was that a fucking building?”

“Lana-chan! Nowo cursing!”

And then it begins to rain, just as it had been threatening to do all day.

Of course.

@taiyuu-high-oct​

#taiyuu oct #taiyuu high #taiyuu #oc #bnha #mha #bnha oc #mha oc #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #round 2 #submission #tokei yameru #ogura svetlana #yameru tokei #svetlana ogura #lana #art #my art #writing #gakusa oh #oh gakusa #tokachi ameko #ameko tokachi #kemuri moya #moya kemuri #yukino zoe #zoe yukino

[thatkidwhodreams]

The Lie

Chapter One

Masterlist

Prologue

Warning: Smut, playful insults

*Three Years Later*

You and Shawn have been together for three years and today just so happened to be your anniversary. It felt like yesterday Shawn asked you to be his girlfriend, he just walked right up to you whilst you were in the library doing a little homework (mostly procrastinating) and he started saying the most random things about you. You can’t lie it did scare you a little but then he sang you one of your favourite songs and you died right there.

You were planning to do something special for your man and that included getting a new set of lingerie. You headed into Victoria’s Secret with your best friend Sofia as she thought you needed some quality ‘best friend’ time. You looked through the plethoras of underwear and undergarments until you found the one you knew would blow Shawn’s mind.

Sofia insisted that she inspects what you pick for your big night. She was VERY picky might you add so it took awhile for her to be satisfied although she wasn’t the only one who was going to be satisfied today *wink* *wink*. Once you’d picked out your new set for tonight you paid for it and then headed out of the store. Victoria’s Secret would finally be out tonight.

Shawn was at work well, that was what he said so you and Sofia had more time to yourselves. You decided on a few tv shows and frozen pizza you might as well eat up before the exercise later. Shadowhunters was currently on and you and Sofia were lowkey hitting on Alec Lightwood.

“He’s so handsome, it’s too bad he’s gay we would’ve made a cute couple.” You spoke dreamily

Sofia threw a pillow at you

“Ow WHAT THE HELL!” You screamed a little dramatically.

“YOU HAVE A FUCKING BOYFRIEND STOP HITTING ON ALEC AND LEAVE SOME ROOM FOR THE SINGLETONS!”

“SORRY” You replied sarcastically. “ I didn’t realise that I wasn’t allowed to like fictional characters.”

The discussion went on for hours from Stiles Stilinski in Teen Wolf to Jeff Atkins from 13 Reasons Why and how he was an adorable soul who deserved better.

“Let’s prank call Shawn” Sofia blurted out in sudden excitement.

“OMG YESSS GO AND GET THE BRICK PHONE THAT NOBODY USES!”

Sofia ran to the corner and picked up the Nokia 216. You took the phone off her and dialed Shawn’s number. It picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” A voice spoke from the other side.

You put on your best feminine voice higher than your usual one and spoke.

“Local sperm bank you jack it we pack it. Is this Shawn?”

“Erm….I think you might have the wrong number?”

“No, this is Mr Shawn Mendes right?”

Sofia was giggling in the background and you muttered a quick “shh”

You spoke again “Am I right?”

“Okay ma’am I think you might be confu-“ Shawn replied but you cut him off.

“You are the sperm donor right?”

“Erm…….” Then the line cut off. You and Sofia burst out laughing.

“What happened?”

“He hung up” you spoke as tears were in your eyes. “He was so confused.”

“Haaaaaaaa” Sofia’s mouth was wide open as she too was dying from this prank.

After a while you calmed down and had a sudden idea to get drunk for no reason after all it was still your anniversary.

Suddenly you heard the door open and a voice scream “I’m home.” It was a voice you knew oh so well.

“Sorry Sofie but bae is back!” You said rising from your current position. “Your presence is no longer required.”

“Hey! We were gonna get druuuuuunk!”

“Not today sis.”

“Before you go lemme just tell you, the craziest thing happened today.”

You and Sofia looked at each other.

“What happened?” You asked

“Some lady called me on an unknown number asking if I was a sperm donor for the local sperm bank. I don’t recall being a sperm donor.”

You and Sofia burst out laughing again.

“OH LORD!”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY BABE I WAS TRAUMATISED!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You walked up to him and kissed him.

“Mmmhhhhmmm it’s okay I’m feeling a little better anyway.”

“Oh yeah? The only sperm you’re going to be donating is in here.” You guided his hands to your private area.

“Erm….I think I’ll take this as my que to leave.” Sofia said awkwardly

“Wait, nooooo don’t go.”

“I’M LEAVING NOOOOW. BYEEEE ENJOY YOUR STEAMY MAKEOUT SESSION WITH MORE TO COME LITERALLY MORE TO CO-!”

“OKAY YOU CAN GO NOW!”

Both of your eyes followed her as she headed into her car and drove off.

“Wow she is a handful.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Heeeeey what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You and her are like twins. Seriously, you’re like a Jack-in-the-box popping out at random times and giving people the craziest shock of their lives.”

You gasped and folded you arms with a slight pout on your face. “That was mean!”

“I’m sorry baby hey I got you something.” Shawn pulled out a rectangular box. You looked over at it and still pouted in the corner.

Shawn sighed “Please forgive me babe.”

“NO!”

“Okay but you’re still gonna see what I got you, it just might change your mind.” Shawn opened the box and your eyes narrowed to take a little glance at it, you were trying to be as discreet as possible. He opened the box and it revealed a necklace with Shawn’s initials on it.

“You’re full of yourself aren’t you?”

Shawn chuckled “No babe it’s a reminder and a sign that I’m yours. You have one with my initials and I have one of yours.” He pulled out a necklace which laid on his chest that was hidden in his shirt and on it were your initials nicely engraved. You couldn’t hold your grudge any longer so your walls broke right there.

“Awwwww Shawn that’s so sweet. I LOVE IT!”

“Oh I nearly forgot your surprise is upstairs. I’m just gonna go upstairs and get it. Close your eyes NO PEEKING!”

“Okay babe.” Shawn said as he smiled at his beautiful girlfriend and soon to be wife who just so happened to be you.

You headed upstairs and got undressed to put on the lingerie that Sofia helped you pick out. Then you headed a call from downstairs.

“Princess, are you nearly ready. I’ve been waiting for ages!”

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see you do it. “Oh shut up! Your eyes have only been closed for three minutes!”

You heard him groan and sigh but you ignored him and carried on. Once you were done you looked at yourself in the full length mirror and adjusted a few things. You walked out of the room and stayed at the top of the stairs.

“Okay, you can look now.”

Shawn opens his eyes and his mouth was wide open.

“Babe……”

You didn’t know what was up but you began to feel a little self conscious. So you hid yourself a little.

“Do you not like it?”

“What! No babe I love it. You look so sexy right now.” Shawn groaned.

“Reeaalllyy?”

“Yes, ugh. I can’t even.”

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but all of a sudden your pride came back and you walked back into your bedroom knowing Shawn would look like a lost puppy and follow you.

“Hey! Babe, wait up.”

You giggled and sat on the bed cross legged and three seconds later Shawn burst in the room panting a bit. All the man did was run up the bloody stairs. It was only fifteen goddamn steps!

“So….this is my anniversary present right?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you thought it might’ve stayed there.

“What do you think?!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Shawn apologised.

You and Shawn has a playful relationship you’d just insult each other for no particular reason and pretend to be upset. But it all ended in kisses and cuddles later on.

You and Shawn just stared at each other like two pups in love until Shawn leaned forward and before you knew it your lips were moulded into each other. You leaned back into the bed leaving Shawn on top of you. Shawn broke the kiss taking his shirt off, your eyes seeing nothing else but his abs. Shawn continued to kiss you and leave a trail of kisses on your collarbone and down to your stomach.

“Babe, it’s not fair that I’m the only one taking something off.” Shawn said as he was about to tear your new bra off.

“Hey! Don’t tear it this is brand new okay. Be gentle.”

“Calm your tits! I’ll buy you another one.” And just like that he tore your bra open and you groaned in pleasure and annoyance. He muttered a quick “sorry” and continued his assault on your breasts.

You guided his hands down to your panties and bucked your hips into his hands.

“Shawwwnnnn!” You cried as he started taking your panties off in a more civilised way than he did to your bra.

You ran your fingers through his chocolate curls as he started pumping into you with his fingers.

“Gosh baby, you’re so wet.”

“What do you expect with you doing me like this?” You chuckled.

Shawn started laughing “Hush child.”

“CHILD?! I’m only two months younger than you!”

“Shhh” He said placing a finger on your lips. With his other hand he continued to pump into you and you moaned. He added another finger and began going a little faster, you were sure to break right there. Then he stopped.

“Heyyyyy!” You exclaimed and you hit his chest. He just kissed your cheek.

“Yup you’re ready for me now.”

“Ready for what? That tiny twig there? What’s its name again I think it was Frank or something.”

Shawn looked hurt but he knew you were playing around so he gasped in a fake manner. “Take that back!”

“Why should I take back the truth?”

“Because we know you want us and if you don’t take it back we won’t satisfy you.” He said getting up off the bed and walking out of the room.

“Wait you can’t leave me like this! Okay, okay I’m sorry! Come back! I need you!”

Shawn came back a few seconds later as he was hiding behind the hinges of the door. He didn’t really leave he was just waiting for an apology and if he didn’t get one he was planning on getting himself off.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Ugh I’m sorry, now please help me out. I know you need this as much as I do.”

You showed him your puppy dog eyes knowing that he couldn’t say no to you and just like that you had him wrapped around your little finger again.

He got back on the bed and finished what he was doing before and you sure as hell came.

He then started taking off his Calvin Klein boxers that he recently bought and modelled for you a few times. Now his ‘little’ friend was fully out.

“Are you okay? Is this ‘tiny twig’ too much for you to handle?” Shawn asked cockily (pun intended).

You scoffed “Pshh no of course not now hurry please.”

Shawn slowly slid himself into you and you moaned. He went a little slow at first, giving you enough time to adjust to him and he wrapped his mouth around your right nipple and started tweaking the other. Shortly, he switched and moved onto the other one causing you to let out a short groan which seemed to be contagious as Shawn groaned too. He began rolling his hips faster hitting a certain spot inside you making you scream and he shut his eyes harder which was a sign that he was about to come.

“I’m so close Shawn.”

“Me too baby.” He groaned. A few more thrusts later you both hit your highs and came together.

Shawn rolled off you and the two of you started panting like there was no tomorrow.

“So much for a tiny twig huh?” Shawn said sarcastically as he was holding you like a fragile being.

“Shut up!”

“Ha, I’m kidding. I love you so much babe happy anniversary.” Shawn kissed your cheek, nose then lips.

“I know right I’m amazing.” Shawn pinches your sides.

“Okay, okay I love you too honey happy anniversary I hope you enjoyed my little present.”

“I loved it!” And the both of you snuggled the whole night until you drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Two

A/N: This is my first time writing smut It’s pretty bad I know but I’ll get better at it. I’m not gonna lie but this is totally me if I was to ever be with Shawn. Feedback is always appreciated, I don’t bite.  ❤️

#shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes #shawn mendes smut #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fanfic #the lie

[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 6 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

Jess wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking, but the sun had changed position in the sky considerably since it had risen shortly after she’d left the camp. Her heels burned with the first signs of blisters and her stomach growled so loud, a jolt of anxiety came with it every time it protested at the lack of food. She was sure every animal and walker within a five-mile radius could hear how hungry she was, but she pressed on anyway, knife in hand and listening for the slightest snap of a twig or gurgle of a ripped-out throat.

With every glimpse down at her T-shirt came a reminder of the two walkers she’d already encountered on her travels. Blood from their battered and diseased bodies now covered the batgirl image on the front of the shirt. That, and a ring of sweat had already made itself at home around her neckline.

At least it goes with the two maps of Africa under my arms. She thought

Contrary to what she’d expected, she managed to eliminate both of the Walkers with minimal issues. A small stumble here and there and one missed attempt at impaling an eye and before she knew it, they were both down and she stood over them with a sense of twisted pride at her new skills. Ignoring the fact that she’d screamed twice and bit her own tongue when she lunged at the second corpse, she thought it to be a success regardless. She couldn’t deny that if it hadn’t been for Daryl and his insistence on teaching her how to defend herself, she would most probably have been dead by that point.

Her stomach raged with hunger once more and she wrapped one arm around her middle, hoping the pain of starvation would subside soon and she would enter into that strange, not so uncomfortable, over-hunger that meant her energy levels would plummet but she’d at least be quieter. Her bones were beginning to ache as she glanced up at the sky through the spiked branches above, it was lower than when she last checked and the air was beginning to cool. Night was approaching and she knew she needed to start seeking out a shelter.

She wiped the back of her hand across her soaking brow, grateful for the evening air that was now licking at the perspiration covered areas of her skin. Her sneakers continued to thud against the woodlands blanketed, mossy ground as her skin stung with every single step. She wished she had band aids, or different footwear, or a bed and a bath and food and all the things she took for granted before the turn.

In her heart, she had no regrets about leaving the camp. It felt like the right thing to do at the time and even as she trudged through the thick and imposing trees, all she felt was relief. Relief at not having to deal with Sarah or Jodie anymore, Relief that she’d managed to leave behind the gnawing nervousness that being around so many people she hardly knew induced. Above all, she was relieved that she would no longer have to invest any more of her time, effort and feelings into a man that thought nothing of her.

Just as she was beginning to imagine herself falling asleep as she walked and getting eaten by another human being, the ground beneath her feet changed from twig ridden to hard asphalt. She looked up, blinking sweat from one eye and inhaled sharply at the sight before her.

The windows were still intact and the door was closed. The forecourt and gas pumps were still neatly hooked up and the entire gas station and store was seemingly untouched. For a fleeting moment, Jess thought she may be hallucinating. A kind of mirage in the desert situation. She didn’t have such luck. Or, did she? Surely, she was due some. With a lingering look up and down the street, she took a deep breath and focused on the building. It was silent and inviting.

They sell maps. And food.

She surged forwards, her feet skimming across the roads surface and emitting hardly a scuff as she raced to the door. Peering through the glass, she rapped lightly on the frame and waited. Inside was dark and still like the night and Jess could see aisle upon aisle of food and supplies. Her head told her it was too good to be true and that she shouldn’t charge in expecting a three-course meal and a map to freedom. But her heart was arguing that what she could see in front of her was to the contrary.

Irrespective of her misgivings she tried the door and huffed in irritation when she found it locked from the inside. Searching the forecourt for something to use to break the glass, she resigned herself to entering back into the woods when she came up with nothing. Picking up a rock and heading back, she hoped with everything she had that the noise would not attract any Walkers from the surrounding woods.

The glass panel in the bottom of the door shattered with ease and allowed for a narrow but useful entryway into the store. Thousands of tiny blocks of glass littered the floor as Jess climbed inside and straightened herself up. She brushed her stained and dirty clothes down and set about filling her backpack with packets and tins. As she worked, she opened bags of potato chips and lined them up on a shelf, stuffing her face with a myriad of different flavors and wondering if she’d ever been so happy to see a gas station before. She moaned with happiness as she munched along the shelves, grabbing bottles of water and a can of soda for good measure.

“Maybe I should just stay here.” She said to herself. The sound of her own voice seeming so alien after hours of not uttering a word other than two panicked shrieks when she was attacked by Walkers.

Her heart nearly stopped when a hand slapped against the counters surface from below. She spun around, locking her eyes on the gnarly, discolored fingers with missing nails that were clawing over the counter for grip.

“Oh shit.” She whispered, sliding her knife out of her belt and gripping the handle so hard her knuckles turned white. Urging herself to remain collected, coordinated and quick to react, she heaved in a deep breath and stepped into the middle of the aisle. The Walker seemed to pause when it noticed her standing before it, knife raised and a bead of sweat racing down one temple. She slowly edged forwards with a sideways stance, ready to steady herself should she fall. It was another thing Daryl had taught her on one of their training jaunts and in that moment, while she stared into the dead, rotting eyes of a reanimated corpse in such an enclosed space, she was more grateful for the knowledge than she had ever been.

It lumbered towards her, rounding the counter and reaching out with bony, blackened fingers that made her empty stomach bubble with bile and pure disgust. The smell hit her like a freight train and only grew more intense with every step the corpse made. Like a million, rotting rats in a room full of pork roasts left to fester. Her senses were overwhelmed and she blinked back a wave of nausea as she forced herself to move and eliminate the threat lumbering at her from the dim, dusty corner of the store.

Squinting at the throbbing mass of maggots that were living in one eye socket of the Walker wasn’t the best idea she’d had so far, especially when it almost cost her life when teeth were gnashed at her arm, missing the skin by a hair’s breadth. Startled, she screamed and dropped her knife, shrinking back down the aisle and backing away.

“Oh shit. Oh shit.” She gasped, panic now driving her every move.

In the blink of an eye and without even registering the movement of her own body, she found herself running around the shelving, heading for the counter and hearing her sneakers slapping against the shiny flooring. Reaching the register, she dove behind it and frantically began scrambling around on the floor for something to use as a weapon. Her fingernails dragged over the surface of the wooden shelves below and her breathing was now thundering so loudly through her chest that the snarling of the Walker was now just a distant interval in a chorus of terrified gasps.

Cold metal against her skin stopped time and she widened her eyes at her discovery. Under the counter, mounted on two hooks was the most glorious sight. She ripped the shotgun from its place and swung it around just in time for the Walker to lurch into view around the counter and stepped over her. Her finger squeezed the trigger as her back hit the floor and all at once, a deafening bang blasted through her head, straining her eardrums and leaving nothing but a whistle. Red mist fluttered in the air and brain matter splattered her clothes from the one well-aimed bullet that had saved her life and completely changed the color of her clothes and skin. The Walker’s body slumped down onto her and her face crumpled with irritation and dismay. She shoved it off to one side and sat up, drawing her knees up and hugging them. She buried her blood-soaked face in her arms as sobs choked an escape from her throat.

Minutes must have passed but she wasn’t counting, consumed only by a baffling mixture of feelings that had risen in her chest and erupted from her body in a sudden and overwhelming rush. Her shoulders juddered as she sucked in breaths and rubbed her face on the sleeves of her T-shirt. Tears soaked the fabric and before long, she felt the niggling knowledge that it was too dangerous to have a breakdown in her current location.

“What would Daryl say?” She asked herself aloud. After all, it was Daryl’s teaching and insistence that she knew about self defence that meant she wasn't dead right then and there. “He’d tell me not to be a pussy.” She concluded.

Hissing a breath through her teeth, she reached up, dragging the heavy weight of her tired body from the floor and managed to stand on her feet again. She scanned the room, now coated in a thick layer of crimson and body parts.

For the next ten minutes, she found as many bags as she could and stuffed them full of food and supplies before heading back outside and skidding on her heels when she noticed a car parked at the side of the building. She crunched over the uneven ground towards the vehicle and opened up a map she’d retrieved on the hood. It took some time to figure out exactly where she stood on the map and after three incorrect guesses, she finally figured out her location. Checking the area around the pinpoint on the map, her eyes stopped over a large expanse of fields and she held her breath.

“The faire. I need to go back to the faire.” She whispered.

She threw open the car door and searched the glove box, the sun visor, every compartment and nook and cranny she could find but could see no sign of any keys. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she wished she’d led a more rebellious lifestyle, or at least one in which she would have gained the skill of hotwiring a car. Accepting that the most she’d been blessed with was a knowledge of weapons and armor from way back when, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing a discarded jacket with a name tag pinned to it.

Clive.

The pin badge boasted the logo of the gas station store and Jess quickly put two and two together in her head. Shooting across the empty gas station as fast as her legs could carry her, she crashed back through the stores door and sprinted to the counter, narrowly avoiding slipping on the wet, bloody floor. Bundling to her knees, she quickly searched what was left of the body that tried to attack her. Reaching into its pants pocket, she cringed at the thought of having to search a dead body that had tried to eat her previously but was soon over the notion when her fingers grasped a set of keys. She ripped them from the clothing and stood up, picking out one in particular that matched the make of the car outside.

“Thank you, Clive.”

Hoping with all of her heart that the car still had enough gas in it, she ran out of the store and jabbed the key into the lock.

  Three days had passed and Daryl still carried the weight of Jess’s departure upon his heart. Blaming himself for her decision, he considered that maybe if he’d had more understanding of what it was to be someone’s friend, maybe if he’d defended her when he should have done, maybe if he’d tried harder to tell her that he was grateful for her willingness to try and see past what everyone else couldn’t when they looked at him, maybe…Just maybe, she wouldn’t have left.  He tracked her with such determination that he had failed to eat or sleep much in the days that she’d been gone. Carol and Carl had asked for updates away from the listening ears of the others in the camp. He wished he had more to tell them and felt like a failure every time he shook his head and signaled that no; he hadn’t found anything.

With each new, more obvious part of a trail, his heart rate quickened and he tried to prepare what he wanted to say to her if he was to find her. But, the blank page inside his mind remained crisp and white. He didn’t know how to tell her that he missed her already, that he liked her company, that she made him smile and laugh for what felt like the first time in his entire laugh. He didn’t know how to tell her how her strange quirks and hobbies actually did interest him. He also didn’t know how to tell her that he cared about her and how pretty he thought she was. Difficult communication was a bridge he would have to cross if he ever managed to find her.

The trail in front of him became so pronounced that it made him stop in his tracks. Footprints from sneakers were clearly visible in the dampened mud under the trees and stretched for as far as he could see into the trees. He tightened his grip around his crossbow, well aware by now that if he did find Jess, there was a high possibility that she had succumbed to the bite of a Walker. Daryl wasn’t a religious man, but something inside him urged him to pray to whoever might be listening that his friend had come to no harm. That he would find her wandering the woods, lost and lonely and she’d beg him to take her back to the camp.

The footprints came to a stop in front of a tree and Daryl slowly raised his vision, taking in every slight movement and around from his surroundings. He froze when he saw the note pinned to the tree in front of him. A biro pen had been worked through the top of the paper and between the bark, a pen he recognized straight away.

I got her those.

He plucked the note from the tree and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the writing with fatigued eyes.

‘Well Stinky, if you’re reading this then you’re more stubborn than I thought. I’ll let you off the hook with anyone that’s actually asked about me. I’m guessing it’s Carol and Carl that wanted you to look for me. You can tell everyone that you found me just as I was being attacked by walkers. I fed them for days. The Twisted Sisters will cackle over that, I’m sure.

In the meantime, it might be beneficial that I unburden my soul right now as I will never see you again. At least this way I won’t be hurt by your indifference or disgust when you read it.

Daryl, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that someone like myself - A fat, irritating burden like myself remotely thought that we could be friends. I saw you as someone strong, brave and smart. You are a survivor. Someone I looked up to and could be myself around. I guess I took your quiet demeanor as acceptance when I should have understood that you were barely tolerating me. I get it now. I know you just didn’t want to tell me face to face and cause another embarrassing scene. Those seem to follow me around, right? I’m hoping by telling you this, it will release me from how much I cared about you.

But until then, Love, Jess’

The air left his lungs in an involuntary rush and he slowly turned, thudding his back against the tree as he gripped the note in his hand. He bit down on his lower lip as anger tightened his muscles and jaw. The words he’d read were still at the forefront of his mind. Tolerating. A burden. Irritating. Fat. He slid down to the floor, his crossbow clattering on the ground and he rested his arms on his bent knees with the note still screwed up and gripped in his fist.

No, Jess. No.

Unable to summon the motivation to get up, he stayed there until the sun started to lower in the sky, trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d managed to make the one person he’d ever given a damn about believe that he was merely tolerating her. Every conversation they had ever had was scrutinized inside his head and he could only conclude that which he had thought all along. It was his fault. Somehow. Someway, with the help of Jodie and Sarah, he’d driven her away. Although the words on the paper were now distorted and crumpled, he read them over and over again, each time worse than the last, before he finally shoved it in his pocket and headed back to camp.

  The camp’s atmosphere upon Daryl’s return was noticeably tense and if he was honest with himself, he struggled to care about any of the possible reasons. All he wanted to do was sit away from everyone and read Jess’s note, but such a simple desire was not to be. As soon as Rick and Shane saw him emerge from the trees, both of them stopped talking in their hushed tones and exchanged an awkward glance. Everyone else that was visible in the clearing wore the same expression. Daryl couldn’t be bothered with this.

“Merle! Get ya ugly ass out here! Ya get any whiskey?” He called out while skirting around the fire and stalking over to Merle’s tent.

“Um…Daryl?” Shane tried

“Merle!” Daryl shouted, ignoring his pursuer. He threw his crossbow down and swept a hand into the tent, tugging the opening to one side and finding it empty.

“Daryl, I need to talk to you.” Shane continued.

Daryl whirled around, noting the solemn look on Shane’s face and quickly checked everyone else as they gathered together. They were all staring at him as if he was a bomb about to go off.  

“’Bout what?” He wanted to know.

“Merle. There was a uh-a problem in Atlanta.” Shane told him.

His bones seemed to lock at the thought of losing both his friend and a brother in as many days. Merle wasn’t always the best big brother in the world. In fact, he was downright useless and more trouble than he was worth most of the time. But blood was blood and Daryl loved him regardless. He didn’t want to ask the question, but Shane was obviously struggling with something.

“He dead?” Daryl asked.

“I’m not sure.” Came the response.

Daryl furrowed his brow and once again, looked at the others for some kind of clue as to what had gone on. Carol hugged her own torso as Sophia clung to her leg. Sarah and Jodie, for once, were silent, their eyes locked on him as they slowly stood up from their chairs outside the RV. Dale’s gaze quickly shot from Shane to Daryl, then to Glenn and to Lori as if he was waiting for one of them to intervene, but no one did until a voice rose up from behind Shane.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” Rick announced, stepping into view. “Your brother was a danger to us all. He almost got us all killed. So, I handcuffed him to a pipe on a roof. He’s still there.”

Daryl’s entire demeanor and body language morphed into that of a brawler in a single second. His eyes narrowed and the veins in his temples protruded. He began to pace about in front of Rick, kicking up dust with every turn. Dale signaled for Carol to move the children back and Sarah’s jaw dropped open like a trap door.

“Lemme process this” Daryl snapped, whirling a finger around at the side of his head. “You’re sayin’ ya handcuffed my brother to a goddamn roof…” His voice was louder with each word and Rick prepared himself for what was to be an explosion of rage that was not only fueled by his actions against Merle, but by the loss of Jess also. “…and ya LEFT HIM THERE?!”

“Yeah” Came Rick’s feeble reply.

He turned his back to everyone, took a deep breath and spun back around, launching himself at Rick and tackling him to the floor. Withdrawing his knife with effortless precision, he raised the blade and prepared to deal out as much damage as would quell his fury. But Shane had other ideas, running at him from the side, he barreled into him, knocking him free of rick and maneuvering him into a chokehold. Carol ushered Sophia into the RV and continued to watch in horror as everyone else observed the drama with keen interest. Rick wasted no time in getting to his feet and gathering Daryl’s arms behind his back, disarming him as he bucked and kicked against the weight of the two men, gasping and grunting from the pressure in his head and neck.

“Chokeholds illegal, asshole.” He managed to wheeze.

“You can file a complaint.” Shane quipped in response. “C’mon now, I can keep this up all day.”

It seemed like forever that the three men remained there with an enraged Daryl struggling in their grip. People had started to make whispered comments to each other.

“We’re going to have a nice, calm discussion on this topic. You think you can manage that?” Rick hissed at Daryl as his breathing began to slow from its rapid speed. A small nod from Rick to Shane saw Daryl released and tossed onto the dust.

“What I did was not on a whim” Rick insisted as he knelt down in front of Daryl “Your brother does not work and play well with others.”

Before Daryl could answer, screams pierced the atmosphere and people started to run at him, darting past him and every which way, so fast he couldn’t see what was happening. Rick stood up and accepted a rifle passed to him by Shane. Daryl scrabbled back on the ground, turned around and staggered to his feet in enough time to retrieve his crossbow before the first bullets started flying. As his vision cleared, he could see at least a dozen Walkers emerging from the tree line, all evenly spaced out as if they were the soldiers of some kind of miraculous and coordinated attack. In the chaos, the panicked shrieks of children rang through Daryl’s ears and he zoned in on Sophia, who was being hurried behind Carol as Rick triggered shot after shot at the approaching Walkers in front of them.

His crossbow popped as a bolt was released, hitting a walker square between the eyes just as it reached for Sophia. He hurried to his feet and raced over to her, swinging the weapon from left to right to check for any more threats. Seeing an opportunity, he swooped Sophia up into his arms and sprinted to the open door of the RV, where Dale stood, firing off shots from an ancient looking rifle.

“Carol! C’mon!” Daryl yelled behind him, willing Carol to follow him. She complied and left Rick, who by now was edging towards a truck that he could see Lori and Carl climbing into. Shouts and yells filled the area and it was difficult to distinguish between instructions, cries for help and screams of pain and death. Daryl shoved Sophia, then Carol into the small space behind Dale.

“I got this, get the engine started!” he ordered. Dale gave him a nod and disappeared inside as Daryl inched forwards, firing bolt after bolt and reloading faster than he had ever done before. His fingers were raw from the crossbows drawstring but he paid it no mind as he successfully managed to rescue three people from being bitten. Seeing some of the camps occupants flee into the trees on the other side, he decided to follow them.

Jodie was a sight to behold as he shoved through the thick bushes and found her on her knees and clinging onto a tree trunk with one hand. Her neck sported a gaping hole, flesh literally torn from the bone and blood pumping from the wound in waves. He slowly approached her, crossbow raised and ready to pick off any nearby Walkers. When she saw him, she reached a shaky hand up to him, her blood-soaked fingers sprawled out, begging for assistance.

“Please, help me.” She croaked.

He aimed the weapon at her head as tears fell down her cheeks. There was no helping her even if he wanted to. They now lived in a world where a single bite could kill, reanimate and turn a corpse into a disease of pandemic proportions. A bite that literally triggered the end of the world.

“No. Please. Daryl. No.” She begged.

“Sorry.” He grunted, squeezing the trigger. The bolt shot through her skull like it was butter, pinning her to the tree, silencing her and freezing her face into the same pleading expression she had used to beg him to spare her. Had she been aware at the time, she would have known he was in fact showing her mercy above all else. He stepped closer, tugged the arrow from her head and moved on as if it was nothing, because to him, it wasn’t. Jess and Merle were gone and he wasn’t sure if he had much else to live for.

Pushing his way out of the trees, he witnessed the trucks and RV heading off down the graveled path to the highway. Everyone was leaving with a trail of Walkers behind them. Glancing to his left, he spotted Merle’s motorcycle and was revving the bike to life before he even had time to think about it. Walkers were now emerging from everywhere around him but his fear was still minimal. Fear wasn’t something that came easily to Daryl after growing up beside it like two best friends. Fear guided him through his darkest moments, it wrapped him in its arms while he tended to his wounds and warned him not to disrespect or answer back. That was, until he reached an age where he could use his fear to fight back. It was what had got him where he was in life and now, at the end of time, he had almost disowned it altogether.

The bike roared to life and he eased the clutch out, swerving grasping, rotten hands and following the taillights of the RV.

“WAIT!”

A desperate cry came from behind him. He knew the voice and as a result, opted not to turn around. Instead, he watched Sarah run at him in his rear-view mirror with two walkers on her tail. Her feet were bare, her long, peroxide hair was being ripped from her head and her face was twisted into a terrified, doomed grimace.

“Daryl! Please! WAIT!’” she tried.

But Daryl only gave the bike more speed, approaching the RV faster and joining the rest of the group in abandoning their camp. He knew there was space on the bike for her. He knew he could slow down, hit both walkers with bolts due to his exceptional aim and save her life. But he did no such thing. He watched in the mirror as she was dragged to her knees, her arm yanked out and subjected to the vice-like grip of a Walkers teeth. Her screams seemed to melt into everything else. The sounds of engines and rubber on gravel, the sobs of people sat in the flatbeds of trucks, the gunfire still going on from somewhere, the growling, gurgling and rasping noises of the dead. She was just another noise and for a few seconds, he allowed himself a vengeful satisfaction.

You got what was coming to you.

  Jess had been in the city for two days and was in the middle of clearing an apartment block to live in. A tall, secure building with small windows and a heavy front door that she struggled to open on her own. Each apartment she’d worked on so far had only contained one walker each and by the end of the first day she had cleared two floors, reinforced the doors and blocked the stairs with shopping carts, boxes and trash to prevent any unwanted visitors from the upper floors without making a hell of a racket.

Re-visiting the Renaissance faire had not only provided her with chain mail that did a good job of protecting her arms and torso while she was checking the rooms of the apartments, she had also gained a bow and arrows, three daggers and a sword that she was still unsure of using, preferring the distance and lightweight ease of the bow over anything that involved too much close combat. She just needed practice, practice at everything. Finding a closet full of Kevlar and a case of handguns and ammo in one of the apartments was even more of a win and she considered that maybe, just maybe, her luck was about to change due to someone’s one upon a lifetime gangster activity.

A camping store was her aim for day three. She watched over it for an hour from the rooftop of a building opposite and saw no obvious signs of danger on the outside. The street was quiet save for two walkers ambling along a couple of blocks away. She was confident she could get in reasonably quietly and without being seen if she managed to gain access to the roof. She pulled her plain, black bandana up over her mouth and nose and set off for the stairs that scaled the side of the building. Aside from not being the nimblest person, she also wished she was a little lighter footed, her new, heavy boots only making her approach seem even louder than it was. When she scuttled along the alley beside the camping store, she raced up to the roof and was surprised to find the door open and a trail of blood drops leading down the concrete stairs inside. She pulled a flashlight from her belt and clicked it on, following the blood but hearing nothing that would indicate the presence of any Walkers. 

At the bottom, she tapped on the metal railing with the handle of one of her daggers. The noise was louder than she expected and even she startled when the clink rang through the open door to the aisles of the store. Nothing, but still, she waited.

Give it a minute. You’ve got this wrong before.

She swiped at a stray piece of hair that had worked free of her ponytail and slowly shone the flashlight into the store as she crept through the door. Hearing no movement certainly didn’t mean there wasn’t anything inside that could kill her, a lesson learned the hard way when she wandered through the Faire, expecting it to be empty. It wasn’t and she’d left completely exhausted and glad she had Clive's car to drive herself back to the city.

As she started to quietly pick at the shelves and select appropriate clothing for all sorts of weather, her boot hit something in the darkness that felt soft and more human than a fallen backpack. She pointed the light at it and gasped when it moved. It was a man, a live man. He lifted an arm across his face, shielding it from the light. At the end of his arm, was a bloody stump, dressed with thin, bleeding bandages. Jess’s body stilled with shock.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She whispered.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The man croaked.

“Merle?!”

Next Chapter

Soundtrack Inspiration

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl x oc #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixion imagine

[igshar]

Chapter 0 - Amelia Brandt

The first chapter of my novel! Because I love the 70 people who follow me still even though I never ever post anything lmao. You guys are the best, so have a free sample of the first meeting of Amelia and Lucille and all the weirdness that surrounds such things.

The cylinder of a six-shot revolver broke open, shattering the silence of the evening as two emerald eyes checked the bullets loaded into the weapon: three were forged of dead-man’s blood and the others glowed a subtle shade of blue. Her feet clacked along down the sidewalk, boots falling heavy on the concrete. The night was dark; the moon a thin sliver in the sky. She spun the cylinder and clicked it shut, testing her aim as she walked. A twig cracked behind her and she wheeled about, aiming the weapon dead ahead, steady despite the sweat beading on her forehead. She could see nothing in the dim lights of the streetlamps, not even beneath that one that flickered half a block down. She dropped her arms and turned back to walk forward, further. “Where are you, Greg?” she mumbled under her breath, eyes scanning the area. Drumming her right hand’s fingers on her hip, she spun the gun in her other hand and holstered it, dropping thumbs to hang on her gun belt. A heavy groan escaped her lips and she looked skyward, watching the clouds float to cover up the waning crescent. She plucked her phone from the front pocket of her jacket and woke it up, staring at the blaring digits, indicating it had been two hours since the phone call saying to meet him here in ninety minutes. “Irritating,” she said, shutting off her phone screen and dropping it back home.

When she looked back up, she found herself staring down a man in a hooded sweatshirt, walking straight toward her. She blinked and waved, “Hey, is that you, Greg?”

The figure sped up, walking a bit faster. She took a step back, pulled out her gun, and aimed. “Stop right there, cocksucker! I’m not afraid to shoot!” Her static posture and narrow gaze betrayed truth in her words.

It stopped, then, and threw up its hands, hissing, “Relax, Amelia! Put the gun down!” He threw back the hood, revealing a pale white visage with two red-sclera eyes set within. Visible red veins wormed from his eyes, through his cheeks. The man grimaced a bit, flashing his sharp canines.

Amelia released the hammer and held the gun up. “I almost shot you, Greg.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t be so trigger-happy.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t pick a meeting spot on a dark street at midnight.”

“It’s not that dark.”

“Like half the lights don’t work, and half of the others flicker on and off every few seconds.”

He looked around, confirming her words. Scratching at his chin, he grumbled, “Whatever, come on.” He motioned with his head and turned around, trotting back the way he came.

Amelia tucked her weapon away and jogged to catch up. “You’re making this seem a lot sketchier than it is. Why are you wearing that?”

“People here know me, Amelia. And you, too. You should be wearing a disguise…”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Nobody’s gonna run into us except maybe the cops.”

He nodded. “Right. That’s pretty true. I’ve just gotten really used to night time. This is like noon for you, for me,” he said with a chuckle. “And winter means longer nights. The best time of year.”

She smiled. “You seem to be getting accustomed to your lot.”

“Hard not to. Been turned for…” He held up his fingers to count. “Almost seven years, now. Any progress?”

“None. I looked a little, but can’t find anything about turning you back. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve already helped more than you know.” He led the girl off the sidewalk and through some underbrush to a large, rusted warehouse set in an otherwise vacant lot on the edge of town. He rapped his knuckles on the door and said, “Here we are. This is the place I was tasked with bringing the cargo.”

“And the cargo is… a girl, you said?”

“One who needs your help, yeah.”

Amelia nodded, folding her arms before her. “Right.”

Dropping to a squat, Greg pulled the door to the warehouse up, holding it for Amelia to slip inside, which she did, followed shortly by the vampire. It slammed shut behind them. “Alright, I told her to wait ahead in the back room.”

“Lead the way.”

Greg nodded as he unzipped his hoodie, slipping it off. Beneath that, he wore a black vest over a white button-down with a red-and-black striped tie tucked into the former. He was a stark contrast to Amelia’s more casual light brown soft leather jacket over a black thermal undershirt and leggings tucked into matching brown boots. She followed along behind her friend for a time, their footfalls screaming metallic echoes into the hollow space. He paused at a door and tugged it open. “Ladies first.”

Amelia laughed. “No.”

Greg rolled his eyes and slipped in ahead of her. “Still don’t trust me, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re not special.” She froze just inside the doorjamb, staring dead ahead. There, sitting on a lone chair in the well-lit room was a woman with charcoal-grey skin and a pair of glowing yellow eyes that flashed orange the moment Amelia entered. She wore jean shorts and a tattered black tee with her feet bare against the stone floor.

Tucking black hair behind her ear, she blinked. “Is that her, Grigori? Is that really Amelia Brandt?”

As if the outfit and skin weren’t enough to draw her eye, this woman also sported a pair of orange horns, jutting from her forehead and a long, thin tail with a spade at its end, which swished forth and back as she spoke.

“Yeah, that’s me,” replied Amelia, letting her left hand fall back to the stock of her revolver as the door shut behind her.

∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞     ∞

Amelia Brandt sat alone in a house, feet kicked up on the coffee table as her body was sunken deep into the soft cushions of her sofa. She licked the spoon clean of ice cream, emerald eyes transfixed on the screen as she caught up on her favorite show. Finding time to watch it was difficult, to say the least, with her schedule. Tonight was an exception. Tonight, she had plenty of time to watch her show in peace. That was, until her phone started wiggling its way across the hardwood table, vibrating violently as if mocking her and her inability to ever take an evening off. She leaned forward, setting her tub of ice cream aside and checking the phone. Grigori Rasmus. Her brow furrowed and she paused the show, holding her phone up. “Greg? This is unexpected. How’re things going with Greight?”

“Great!” he said with a chuckle.

“Now I remember why I don’t call you.”

“Hah. I’m on a delivery right now, driving back home. Was wondering if you might be in town?”

She drummed her fingers on the table. “I can be. Do you need me for something?” She was definitely not dressed to go out. Tonight was a relax-and-watch-shows night.

“I don’t, no. My cargo does.”

Her eyes widened. “Elaborate.”

“So my current job is to deliver this girl to a warehouse near Aisor. She claims she was sent topside by the devil to kill you. I personally…”

“Pass.”

“I didn’t finish!”

“I’m not gonna meet someone who wants to kill me, Greg. I get enough of that from real jobs.”

“Can I at least finish her pitch?”

Rolling her eyes, Amelia dropped onto her back on the sofa. “Yeah. Sure. Go for it.”

“Right! So she was sent here to kill you. I personally believe her. She also said that she needs your help, so she asked me to introduce you to her. Apparently the devil had her seek me out, since I have direct access to you or something. He’s offering to cure me if I help her kill you.”

She narrowed her gaze. “He’s starting to play dirty, then.”

“If you can’t figure it out, it’s impossible. No way do I believe the devil. Don’t worry.”

“So the girl is tasked with killing me and wants you to get the two of us alone in a room together?”

“Three of us. Anubis thinks I’ll help her.”

She scratched at her cheek and rolled over, staring at the frozen television. “What does she need my help with?”

“Wouldn’t say.”

“That’s not suspicious, at all.”

“So what should I tell her?”

“I’m not gonna walk into a trap, Greg.”

“Alright, hold on a sec. She’s riding shotgun.” She heard shuffling and then his voice, a bit quieter. “Sorry, Lucille. She said no. She’s worried you’re tricking her.”

“But I’m not!” came a shout from an unfamiliar voice.

“Wait, hold up!” Amelia shouted, sitting upright in a hurry.

“One sec,” Greg said, before his voice became louder again. “Did you say something? Had the phone away from my ear.”

“What’s her name? You said her name.”

“Lucille. Why?”

“Lucille? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“I’m in.”

“What? Say that again? I thought I just heard you completely change your s–”

“I’m in. I’ll take her case. Send me time and place in a text. I’ll be there.”

“Sure. I’ll have Lucille text from my phone. Driving and all.”

“Yeah, you’re supposed to be a law-abiding vampire, Greg. A lot has changed since we last saw each other.”

He laughed and said, “Alright, I’ll see you soon, Amelia. And thank you again.”

“I don’t do it for the thanks.”

“I know.”

“See you. I gotta go get ready.” She hung up and clicked off the TV. Exhaling, she looked down at her hands. “Lucille…”

∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞    ∞

“Yeah, that’s my name,” the gray girl responded, pushing to her feet. Amelia clenched the stock, finger resting alongside the trigger.

“Stay right where you are. I’m warning you,” Amelia hissed, looking from the girl to the vampire and back.

Greg groaned and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Amelia.”

Lucille held up both hands and nodded. “Will you really help me? Can you really help me?”

Amelia stared her down. “That depends on whether or not you’re serious about wanting it, and this isn’t a trap.”

Lucille nodded. She reached for her ear and plucked from the lobe a small ruby gem, set into an earring. Tossing it to the floor between the two girls, she explained, “That’s my contact with my dad; called a chatterrock.”

“Your dad?” she asked, relaxing her grip on the gun. “You mean Anubis?”

The girl nodded again and Amelia released her gun, exhaling and instead folding her arms before her chest. “Okay, got it. So what do you need help with?”

Lucille blinked. “Can I move, now?”

“Yeah.”

She shuffled up to Amelia and held out her hand. “I’m your biggest fan, miss Amelia.”

The girl furrowed her brow and shook the woman’s hand. “Thank you? Why would you be my fan?”

“Because you’re awesome. I’ve heard lots of stories.”

“Like what?”

“Well…” Her yellow eyes scanned the woman up and down as her hand retracted. “It’s hard to believe them, now, seeing you in person, but…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Amelia grumbled, tugging her arms tighter.

Lucille reached out and poked at Amelia’s arm. “I mean… you’re so squishy. How did you beat ten werewolves when they wanted to eat you?”

“Well, I–”

“And you’re supposed to be the only human to ever kill a spirit, but you’re so…”

Amelia blinked. “That was…”

“Baphomet.”

“Yeah, that was his name.”

Lucille furrowed her brow and took a step back. “It’s just odd. I pictured you to be different. Like… lots different.”

“Yeah, I figured. Probably imagined me prettier and without glasses.” She adjusted the frames on her nose.

“No, I was gonna say I pictured you taller.”

Amelia felt her face flush a bit and she shrugged. “Can’t help my height. You’re only a couple inches higher up there than I am, either way!”

“Still taller,” Greg chimed in.

“You shut it, vampire!”

He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry.”

Amelia tugged her jacket tighter around her shoulders. She blew a lock of brown hair out of her face and stared up at the demon before her. “So, anyway…”

“Ah! Right! My dad sent me here to kill you, but I don’t want to do that. You’re always nice to monsters like me.”

Greg cocked a brow and said, “Oh, you’re gonna strike a nerve.”

Amelia cut across, “You’re not a monster, Lucille. Monsters kill people and do bad things. I go by a mantra of person until proven monster. So far, you’re the former.”

Lucille looked down. “Oh, well…”

Just then, there was a rumbling sound.

“Shit, that’s the front door,” Greg hissed. “I’ll go stall for time. You two get out of here. That’s probably the devil’s hired muscle.”

“How did they find us?” Amelia pondered after Greg left.

Lucille kicked the ruby on the ground. “I think he can track our chatterrocks.”

“Right. Well, let’s head back to my place, then. We’ll discuss your case more, there. It’s more comfortable than this old warehouse, anyway.” She snapped her fingers and a wooden door appeared before them, in the middle of the room. “After you.”

“What?” Lucille squeaked.

“Go through the door.”

“Where does it lead?”

“My home.”

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you go first?”

“When I go through the door, it closes behind me. So…”

“Okay, okay. Got it.”

Lucille’s fingers wrapped around the handle and the latch clicked when she turned it. The door was easy to push open, and functioned just like an ordinary one, except when Amelia followed behind, it slammed shut on its own, locking the pair of women in a wide open living room. Hardwood floors, sofa, coffee table, perfectly domestic. Amelia tousled her hair and dropped her hands to her hips.

Lucille looked around in awe at how peaceful everything looked and felt. Cozy, warm, and quiet.

“Welcome to the Shack. Make yourself comfortable.” She lazily motioned to the couch as she walked off toward another room. “Need a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Water, soda, iced tea… I’ve got no liquor in the house.”

“I think I’m fine, thanks,” Lucille said, dragging herself toward the couch. Amelia vanished through an open doorway and the girl flopped face-first onto the soft cushions.

“And be careful not to break anything!” she shouted, “Most of the stuff here is antique!”

She picked herself up and found a pillow stuck to her face! Tugging the ruined fluffy square from her horns, she panicked and stuffed it behind the seat she was on, looking around for something to busy herself with. Laptop on the table, television with no remote in sight, perfectly positioned chess set… her eyes finally settled on the shelf hanging over the television.

Her yellow eyes scanned left to right along it, checking out the various little figurines. There were crudely-made clay models of monsters and creatures from mythology coupled with exquisitely carved and painted pewter statues of same. She pulled down the model of a demon. A hulking brute with huge horns and orange lines painted into its gray skin. Its face had similarly orange eyes and open mouth. Pure terror in tiny stone form.

“Boo.”

Lucille leapt out of her skin, the little demon flying in the air as the shelf rattled. An ornate hourglass set upon the shelf wobbled. Amelia caught it with her free hand as Lucille fumbled to catch the little figure, setting it back in place as she clutched a hand to her chest.

“My mom made the pewter ones. The clay ones were by her great-grandma or something. Super old. I got you some water.” Handing over a water bottle, she smiled.

Lucille took it, cracked the top, and drank a swig. “Thanks,” she mumbled, shuffling a step away from the woman.

“Do you want a tour or…?” Amelia stepped away to set a guitar down carefully on the sofa. She drank from her own bottle, downing over half of it in just a few moments.

“Yeah, I guess a tour would be nice.”

“Right! So this is the Shack.”

“You said that already.”

“It’s been my family’s home for give or take thirteen, fourteen hundred years, maybe longer. It’s nestled safely away from all sorts of danger, warded against pretty much the entire gamut of terrible beasties, and has a door that only responds to those who bear our blood in their veins.”

She nodded, looking around the room some more. Her eyes settled back on the figurines.

“It’s kinda boring living alone, so we gotta do something to pass the time. Mom carved statues, I play guitar. Anyway, this is the living room. Nice comfy sofa for lounging. Over this way–” she grabbed Lucille’s wrist and tugged her along toward the way she had gone before. “–is the kitchen. There’s a table for eating, stove and oven for cooking, fridge for storage.” She nodded and smiled. “And that’s the back door,” she said, motioning to the glass sliding doors across the room. “It’s not a portal like the front one, it actually just opens into the backyard. We’ve got swings and a fence and a patio with a grill.” She shrugged and walked back toward the passage. “Behind this door,” she tapped on it, “are stairs to the basement. It’s got some nice wards, and it’s where I stash all my excess ingredients for more advanced witchcraft. Up these stairs, you’ll find the toilet, shower, and beds. Mine’s last on the left, yours is last on the right. Try not to snoop, too much.”

She shuffled back toward the front door, pulling open a closet to hang her jacket and kick off her boots. Making her way around the sofa, she plopped her bum down onto the sofa cushions and pulled the guitar up from the floor. With her sock-hugged feet kicked up on the table, she settled in and began to tune the instrument as Lucille looked on from the entry to the kitchen. “Why is it called the Shack?”

A shrug responded. “Dunno. My mom told me that’s its name.”

“Where is your mom?”

“Dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s been seventeen years. I’m good. Take your shoes off and relax. I won’t bite.” She smiled at the demon and patted the couch beside her.

“Right,” she mumbled, doing as she was told. Her bum hit the couch, causing Amelia to bounce a bit. She mimicked her host, feet up on the table.

“That’s more like it,” she cooed, strumming out a chord.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Depends what kind.”

“Why did you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you. I just believed you.”

“Why did you believe me, then?”

“I’m a glass half-full sort of person.”

“But, I’m a demon.”

“And I’m a witch. Let’s call it even,” she hummed, in tune with the last few string plucks.

Lucille nodded and shut her mouth, holding her arms across her chest.

“Anyway, back to your case.”

“My case?”

“You asked for my help. I’m helping you. That makes you my client, and it makes this business arrangement your case. Just terminology I like to use. Makes it seem more professional.” She nodded.

Lucille wasn’t quite sure she liked the word “seem” being involved there, but she relented with a curt nod.

“What sort of help did you need? There’s no way to turn a demon into a human, if that’s what you’re after. You wouldn’t believe how many spirits ask me for that sort of help.”

“No, I need you to help hide me.”

Amelia paused her strumming and shifted to face the woman more directly. “Alright. Hide you from what, exactly? Or, who, I guess? Anubis?”

She looked down.

“I’ll level with you – I’m not the best person to shack up with if you wanna hide from Annie. I’m his number one target, right now. Smack dab in the middle of his crosshairs, lately.”

“Because you killed Baphomet?”

“Mostly because of that, yeah.” She tapped fingers on her guitar. “Baphomet and Aine. Those are the names of the only two people I’ve ever killed. I think it’s pretty good for being eight years in the game.”

Lucille nodded. “Why did you kill Baphomet?”

“Revenge. I’ll tell you the whole story another time. Tonight, let’s talk about you.”

“No. Don’t people usually do these things, uh, no questions asked, or something?”

“Not me. We’re dealing with some seriously dangerous stuff. I need details.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I just need to stay away from Anubis. He let me come topside, and I never want to go back. Okay?”

Amelia stared into the woman’s eyes, hummed a little, and then started plucking strings with her fingers, playing the notes of a song. “Deal. I’ll do everything in my power to stop him from getting you back. Other than that, I have a proposition for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you like to be my partner?”

Lucille’s gray skin flushed orange and she began to stammer.

Amelia looked at her and cocked a brow. “I’ve been hunting alone since my last partner left, and I could really use someone to watch my back. You’re a freaking demon, so I figure… if you’re up for it, that is.”

“Oh!” That made more sense. She exhaled a sigh of relief. “I could give it a shot.”

“Excellent. There’s just a couple ground rules you need to follow, if you wanna work with me.”

“Of course!”

“First,” she held up one finger and furrowed her brow. “We’re not hawks. We don’t kill.”

“Hawks?”

“It’s what people call the Nightstalkers, for short, since they used to wear these stupid hawk masks. Their mission statement, according to them, is: To save humanity through the systematic eradication of the corrupt, monstrous creatures that lurk in the night. Basically, they kill monsters to help people.”

“Right. That sounds like an extreme measure.”

“It is. Last resort. For you, that means that, no matter what, I need to give explicit, direct permission for you to be allowed to kill someone – or something – that we end up fighting with.”

Lucy nodded in response. “I’ll trust your judgment going forward.”

“Good. Second rule: I’m not the boss, outside of the first rule. My judgment is not infallible. Pretty clear, since I’ve got two dead on my conscience. Don’t be afraid to speak up if you think I’m wrong or you have a better idea for something.”

She nodded, a bit unsure about that one. Lucille had never really considered herself a particularly smart person…

“Third, we’re gonna be traveling the world and staying in motels of questionable repute. I always spring for the cheapest option. That’s usually a room with just one bed. Since you’re literally made of fire, I’ll sleep under the sheets, you’re over at least one. Boundaries.”

“O-Okay.” That one went way over her head. She’d have to just see that to get it. Her brow furrowed as she agreed.

“And lastly, trust is earned around here, not freely given. I’ll be packing contingencies for if you turn on me, so don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll do my best to earn your trust, then.”

“Good luck,” Amelia exhaled, fingers plucking at strings.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

She laughed. “I don’t.” Her emerald eyes flashed to the demon. “In fact, I’m so confident that, if you ever successfully earn my trust, you’ll also get a voucher, from me, redeemable for anything you want, so long as it’s within my power to give.”

Lucy cocked a brow. “Deal.”

“Now, I’m gonna stay up for a bit and play. Music calms me down.” Her hand split from the strings to roll the wrist in a circle, stretching the strained joints. “You’re welcome to stay and listen.”

“Okay, I will.”

The guitar sat lightly in her lap, each strum helping her tightened muscles relax. Her left hand’s fingers slid easily along the frets, her eyes fluttering shut as she let the vibrations of the strings course through her form. She exhaled, long and low, transitioning from random chords here and there into a light, lilting melody that reverberated within the heart of the wood-bodied instrument. It was soon accompanied by her voice, singing about her desire to be wanted and needed, and how her life had been a series of failures up to that point. It was a slow, almost haunting melody. Above all, though, Lucille thought Amelia had quite a lovely singing voice.

[alydiarackham]

(Cover by me)

Linnet and the Prince by Alydia Rackham

Chapter One

          “Linnet! Come down!”

         “But I can see it from here!”

         “You will tear your clothes. Mother’s told you not to climb trees anymore. You’re too old.”

         I ignored my older sister far below me and adjusted my hold on the beech tree, amongst whose pale branches I stood. It was early spring, so the leaves did not obstruct my view of the vast rolling emerald hills in the east. I smiled as I gazed over them, and saw the gray ruins of Tilmidel skirted in mist. It was cloudy, so the morning sun did not get in my eyes. I had never seen Tilmidel so clearly before.

         “How far away is it, do you think?” I called, not taking my eyes from the distant castle. My sister, Aeleth, sighed.

         “Too far for you to try to make it there before it is time to get ready for tonight, so don’t even think about it.”

         “I wasn’t,” I lied, smiling at the castle.

         “You are ridiculous.” I could just see Aeleth shaking her blonde head as she picked berries from the thicket below. “Most girls of fifteen are more interested in chasing boys than exploring haunted ruins.”

         “Sixteen,” I reminded her. “I’m offended, I think.” I glanced down at her, arching an eyebrow. “You arranged my birthday party.”

         She lifted her head and her azure eyes sparked at me, set out by her plain blue dress. I had always thought that my sister was uncommonly pretty, what with her perfect, pale skin, slender form, plaited golden hair and graceful hands, and she could be pleasant to be around if she was not in one of her mothering moods.

         I, on the other hand, had chestnut hair—which was not considered as beautiful as gold by anyone I knew—and though I was slender too, and had blue eyes, I was shorter than she was. Besides which, I had calloused hands from handling bow and blade, and I was one of the few girls allowed to wear a long tunic and trousers instead of a dress. And I was not always known for being pleasant.

         “Anyway, you’re a princess,” Aeleth said. “Which means that you should not be climbing trees.”

         “It doesn’t matter what I do,” I replied, watching a sparrow that had landed on a twig not three feet above me. “You’re the one who will be queen, not me. I’m just here to protect you.”

         “Then it would still be inconvenient if you broke your neck. So come down.”

         I sighed, took one last look at Tilmidel, then swung down, thudding to the grass right next to my sister. I grinned at her as I arose and dusted off my hands and brown sleeves. She just shoved a basket of berries at me. Making a face at her, I took it and resumed helping her pick the berries, disheartened that I could no longer see Tilmidel because of the stretch of thick forest that stood in the way.

  LLL

            “I have not torn my clothes for years,” I huffed as I walked beside Aeleth on the narrow, winding path back home. The breeze rustled through the new leaves overhead, and sunshine—which had just come out—dappled the young grass and ferns all around us.

         “You did tear your clothes,” Aeleth insisted, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. “Just this past Haventide you—”

         “Sh.” I halted, and grabbed her elbow. “Hear that?”

         She frowned. I held my breath, listening. I heard it again: laughing, struggling, shouts.

         A fight.

         “Hold this.” I shoved my basked into Aeleth’s hands.

         “Linnet!” Aeleth objected, but I took off down the path, my soft boots thudding on the dirt. I pumped my arms and breathed rhythmically, my gaze darting ahead of me. The noises grew louder, and when I wheeled around the corner, I met the source.

         Two tall boys my age flung another boy onto his back. The tall ones looked like brothers—blonde and blue-eyed. The one who struck the earth had black hair and tanned skin. The brothers wore fine clothes of the country gentry—I did not know them. But the fallen boy’s name was Gar, and he had been my friend from childhood. The strangers were hitting him. And that made me see red.

         “Get back!” I commanded, leaping in front of Gar. The blonde boys jumped away, startled. I heard Gar’s labored breathing behind me. I turned to him and bent down. His plain brown clothes were torn and dirty, and when he lifted his bright black eyes to me, I saw his lip and nose were bleeding, and the star-shaped scar on his left cheek stood out, enflamed. I helped him to his feet—he only stood an inch taller than I.

         “Are you all right?” I asked, dusting him off. He ducked his head.

         “Lin,” he muttered, shooting a chagrined glance at the others.

         “Oh, they can bile thar haids,” I growled.

         “What do you think of this, Chais?” one blonde chuckled to the other. “The Badi half-breed needs some girl to defend him!” And he shoved my shoulder.

         I whirled, grabbed his elbow and delivered a chop hand to the side of his neck. I kicked forward and whipped his leg out from under him. He thudded to the ground. A gasp snapped out of him and his eyes went wide. Chais jumped over his brother, roaring, and charged at me. I leaned down and struck his chest with my shoulder. He stumbled back and tripped over his brother. He landed on his back on his brother’s chest.

         “Get off!” the first one choked. I leaped on top of Chais, pinning both boys down. Chaise glared at me.

         “Listen, you—” he started.

         I slapped his face. He sucked in his breath. My eyes blazed.

         “I am Linnet, second daughter of King Peliar and Queen Ealasaid,” I hissed, leaning down and pointing a finger right at his nose. “I have been trained since I was born to bring men to their knees to protect my sister—and I will also protect my friends from the likes of you stuffed-shirt, ignorant country rats.” I got off them and backed up to Gar’s side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aeleth arrive, still bearing both baskets. She only watched—she had seen this before.

         “What made you think he was one of them?” I demanded.

         “The scar on his face,” Chais managed. “It…well, it looks like a Badi symbol!”

         I looked down my nose at the strangers, who now scrabbled up and blushed, hardly meeting my eyes.

         “My friend Gar lived with his family at the base of the Black Steps when he was little,” I told them, my voice low and deliberate. “One night, a group of Badi raiders captured their home. They burned his mother and father alive on spits, cut off their heads, and branded Gar with the iron they use on their horses.”

         The brothers stood together now, heads bowed. I wanted to hit them again, but restrained myself.

         “How dare you call him one of them?” I snarled. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

I slid my hand down and took hold of Gar’s. He said nothing—his eyes shimmered with tears. I started down the path again, Gar in tow. He squeezed my hand. I returned the pressure.

I heard Aeleth’s skirt whisper as she passed the brothers.

         “I hope I do not see you two at the feast tomorrow,” she said, her tone regal and cool as my mother’s. And then she caught up to us, and walked on the other side of Gar. She gave him a winning smile, and handed him a kerchief.

         “Are you ready for the festival tomorrow, Gar?” she asked effortlessly lifting the mood.

         He managed a smile and wiped the blood from his lips.

         “Yes, thank you, ma’am.”

         “I hope your uncle is bringing his special cider,” I said.

         “Oh, he is,” Gar nodded. “Would…Would the two of you like to come taste it?”

LLL

            “Where have you two been?” my mother, a solemn, blonde beauty like my sister, but with less light in her eyes and a firmer mouth, asked as we came in. She wore a deep emerald gown with bell sleeves, and was arranging blue and white flowers in a vase on the broad main table. I shut the thick wooden door behind me, my basket resting on my hip. My sister, who had entered first, strode into the long hall and smiled at Mother.

         “We picked enough berries for practically everyone to eat tomorrow,” Aeleth announced, gracefully avoiding the subject of the scuffle, as she always had before.

         “Good! I have been longing for berries all winter,” Mother said, dipping her hand into Aeleth’s basket and taking one out to eat. I glanced up and down, noticing that Mother was alone in the tall-ceilinged, grand hallway. I always took a deep breath when I came in here—it smelled of burning pine and cooking pheasant; and footsteps and voices echoed warmly against its wooden walls, hung shields and arched rafters. I moved to the main table and set my basket there, then sat down on the stone floor in a square of bright sunlight that came in through an upper window. Leaning back, I closed my eyes, and halfway listened to my mother and sister discussing the state of the berry bushes.

         “You shouldn’t sit in the sun like that,” Aeleth scolded.

         “She’s right,” my mother agreed. “Your skin will turn brown.”

         “So?” I raised my eyebrows but did not open my eyes.

         “I’ll not have you look like a filthy Badi. Get out of the sun.”

         I bit back my reply—my mother was relentless and severe on this point, no matter how much time I spent outside, and how much tanner I got than my sister because I practiced my shooting or riding. Letting out a breath, I slid to my feet.  

         “Come with me, Linnet,” Aeleth beckoned, giving a half smile. “Help me pick out something to wear tomorrow night.”

         “Don’t trust her judgment, Aeleth,” Mother warned her as I took my sister’s soft hand and we trotted toward the door.

         “Linnet will have you dressed in trousers!” My mother despaired. “Aeleth, you pick something for her to wear, and make sure she looks presentable this time!”

         Both of us just laughed as we dodged out of the hall and down the narrow corridor toward my sister’s rooms.

  LLL

             “Please pay attention—I really do need your help!” Aeleth called me out of my reverie—I had been gazing out the window of her chambers at a large group of happy, loud-voiced, well-dressed peasants making their way down the winding road from the mountains to the town. I turned and faced my sister, leaning back on the windowsill.

         She had opened her trunk and flung out every dress she owned across her broad curtained bed, her two other trunks, and her vanity table. Two even lay on the rug. Equally, her jewelry box had been dumped out on the pillow, and the treasures glittered in the light that came in through the window behind me.

         “Come out of the sun!” Aeleth scolded me again, pushing a strand of hair away from her face and picking one of the dresses up.

         “No,” I said. “I spent all winter practically freezing to death—I am not about to hide from the light like a mole. Besides, you can smell the heather now—smell it?”

         “Yes, I smell it,” Aeleth muttered. “The red gown or the green one?”

         “Mother is wearing red,” I answered, propping my elbow on the sill and glancing back over the fields and wandering road. I let out a slow breath. “I really thought Father would be back for this festival.”

         My sister’s bustling halted. After a moment, she cleared her throat.

         “Yes, well, it’s because of him that we can actually have the festival. If he doesn’t keep the Badi beaten back, they’d overrun the kingdom. And I’m sure the festival wouldn’t be in the Badi’s taste. They’d probably rather eat raw horse meat.”

         “You think they would leave us alive to discuss the particulars of a festival with them?” I raised an eyebrow at her. She folded up the red dress and put it back.

         “I don’t want to think about that,” she said. I began to smile.

         “What would you rather think about?”

         “Nothing,” she insisted. But she blushed.

         “It’s William,” I guessed. Her eyes flashed at me.

         “Shush,” she hissed. “It is not.”

         I was grinning now.

         “You are going to see him at the feast, aren’t you? You’re going to dance with him, even though Mumma said you shouldn’t.”

         “I don’t care what Mumma thinks,” she said, lifting her chin, but her cheeks were scarlet. “And I don’t care what you think, either.”

         I laughed out loud. She slapped my shoulder.

         “I’ll not be laughed at by a baby sister,” she snapped. “Especially one who has been no help, and probably wants to wear one of my dresses.”

         I covered my mouth with my hand.

         “I’m not laughing,” I mumbled.

         “Good,” Aeleth gave me a sharp look. “Then tell me which gown I should wear.”

  LLL

             Twilight fell as I left the mead hall, wrapping a woolen shift around my shoulders. The air was chill, and smelled of peat fires. My footsteps padded on the dirt road as I headed down the hill, and passed between the blacksmith shop and the tanner. I left the road, turned left and walked around to the back of the smith, then smiled at the figures that waited in the gray light.

         Elb, a lanky young man with bright brown eyes and messy brown hair, who had been my best friend since birth, glanced up from where he sat gave me a big grin and waved a long-fingered hand at me.

         “Hello, Lin!”

         “Cheers,” I said, coming up to stand beside him. Gar sat on Elb’s other side, and only sent me a short look and a nod. Both stretched their hands over a low pit where a tame fire danced. It made their faces glow with orange light, and enlivened their eyes.

         I plopped down next to Elb, still enjoying the freedom of my tunic and trousers. Elb towered over me, since he sat on a stump. I eyed him.

         “You need new clothes,” I remarked. “Your trousers are too short and your shirt sleeves practically come up to your elbows.”

         “Yes, I know—I can’t really help that,” Elb said, tossing a twig in the fire.

         “You eat like a horse,” Gar noted, rubbing a finger across his hurt lower lip. “You are already taller than your father, and you’re still growing.”

         “You are lucky I am,” Elb answered back. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to get that lost arrow for you.”

         Gar scowled.

         “I would have preferred getting shouted at by my uncle—maybe that would have kept me out of the woods and in the shop where I belong.”

         “Listen, that was not your fault,” I spoke up. “Those brick-heads were looking for trouble already—I just wish I had been able to give them more than they bargained for.”

         “I heard about that!” Elb crowed, slapping my back. “Well done!”

         I laughed.

         “Did Gar tell you?”

         “No, I saw those two—limping and dusting themselves off like beaten whelps,” he grinned. “I heard the fully story from William—Aeleth must have told him what happened.”

         I looked to Gar.

         “Why didn’t you tell him?”

         He sighed and narrowed his eyes.

         “Listen, it’s just a wee bit embarrassing to have to be saved by a girl, all right?”

         “I resent that,” I replied. “I’m not just any girl. And there were two of them.”

         He was not listening. He was staring into the flames, running his thumb across the brand on his cheek. My light mood vanished.

         “Gar, I know it’s tradition,” I murmured. “But you don’t have to tell the story tonight if you don’t want to.”

         “Oh, psh,” he snapped, throwing a leaf in the fire. It sparked. “I am not that much of a weak-liver.”

         “Well…” I shrugged, teasing. He tried to scowl at me, but I gave him such a big smile that he had to chuckle.

         “All right, fine,” he sighed.

         “Oh, good,” Elb rubbed his hands together. “My festival was going to be ruined otherwise.”

         I agreed with him, but I would never have said so—I had not wanted to pressure Gar. The story he had told us every eve of the Spring Festival since we were young was a favorite amongst the Steps people—all of Hilrigard had heard it since Gar’s coming, of course—but to this day, no one could tell it better than he.

         “Long ago, in a land that is far from this one,” Gar began, leaning forward and capturing our eyes. “There lived a Badi king…who was afraid of Death.”

         A chill ran down my back as I wrapped my arms around my knees, already breathless. Gar gave a small smile, and went on.

         “He was very wealthy, and had many wives. Nothing he desired was ever denied him. Because of this, he feared to lose it all. It worried him so much that he could not eat, and could not sleep. At last, his advisors urged him to open a door deep in a cave—a door that had never been opened, for it was the doorway to the mansion of Death. They told him to bargain with Death and learn the key to immortality.” Gar paused and an owl hooted. I scooted closer to Elb and leaned against his leg. Gar folded his hands and continued.

         “And so, the magic men and the advisors and the king gathered in this dark cave, and drew circles in the dirt with their blood, and chanted spells and incantations to open the door. They did this for seven days and seven nights. The king was about to despair—when lo!”

         I jumped, then bit my cheek. I always jumped at that part…

         Gar raised his hands, close together, then slowly spread them apart.

         “The stone door in the back of the cave slid open, and a great dark chasm waited behind. None of the advisors or magic men dared to pass through, but the king burned to learn the secret, and so he stepped in.

         ‘There inside, he came face to face with Death—a towering black shadow clothed in night, leaning on an axe that bore the blood of every mortal who had ever died. The Badi king fell on his face.

         ‘Who are you?’ Death hissed, in a voice like a thousand snakes. ‘And why have you troubled me? For I am due to wander far and wide tonight, and take up five and twenty lives.’

         ‘I have come to learn the secret to eternal life,’ said the king. ‘I love my wealth and my life is pleasant, and I never wish to die.’

         ‘That secret has never been told to any man,’ said Death. ‘For no man has ever been able to match my price.’

         ‘I can surely match it,’ said the king. ‘For I am the greatest, mightiest ruler that ever lived, and can grant you any request.’

         ‘Very well,’ said Death. ‘Go home. A fortnight from now, I will come to you, and tell you what you must do.’

         And so the king went home in high spirits. But his men and wives could not bear to look at him, for his face bore the look of the dead.”

         “What exactly does that look like?” I wondered to Elb. “The look of the dead? How can he look dead and not be dead?”

         “Shush!” he nudged me. I flicked his knee, but his attention never faltered from Gar. Gar’s serious eyes flickered with mischief for a moment, then he kept on.

         “A fortnight passed, and the king slept well. But then, one night, Death appeared in his chamber. The king fell on his knees before Death, and held out his hands.

         ‘What must I do?’

         ‘First, you must pull down the forests—uproot the trees and lay waste to the woods. Life, my great enemy, has a foothold there, and this will be a mighty blow against him. Do as I say, and I will tell you the secret.’

         And so the king went out and uprooted the trees. He pulled down the forests and burned them, and turned the woods into a rolling desert where the sun baked the land and the bones of animals came up and bleached white. Then, Death came to him and said:

         ‘You have done well. But it is not enough.’

         ‘What else must I do?’ the king asked.

         ‘You must conquer the great plains, where Life is at his grandest, and you must kill everyone who lives there and bring their heads back to my cave on spits. That is the sacrifice I require.’

         And so the king went out and conquered the great plains, slaughtering all of its people, taking off their heads and bringing them to Death’s cave on spits. The rivers ran red with blood, and the Badi swords became dull with the carnage. When none were left alive, Death came to the king and said:

         ‘You have done well. Now I will tell you the secret: when you are old and full of years, I will come to you. I will wait at your door, and you will see me. Tell your sons to move fast—tell them to wrap you tight in linen and pour oils over you, then place you in an oaken box covered in your finest riches. Tell them to seal you within a chamber and wait for you for seven days. At the end of the seven days, you will rise from the dead as a young man, and you will never die.’

         ‘I will surely do as you say,’ the king said.

         ‘But remember,’ Death warned. ‘You must be sealed in the chamber before you breathe your last breath, or you will belong to me.’”

         “Uh, oh,” I gave a wicked grin to Elb, who returned it.

         “Shush,” Gar said this time. “Anyway…So the king lived to be very old, and when he lay on his death bed, he told his sons what to do. They did as he said, and carried him to the chamber.

         “But they did not move quickly enough. The king let out his last breath as he entered the chamber, and the door sealed half a moment too late. Because he had not been burned, his spirit could not be released into the arms of Life. However, neither could he be swallowed by Death, for the bindings and sacred oils that covered his body. Death, in a rage at the imbalance, shook the chamber and collapsed it, killing the king’s sons and wives and children, and burying his wealth.”

         I sat still, cold, staring at Gar. This part always chilled me to the bone…

         “Now, even to this day,” Gar murmured. “The Badi king’s soul, caught between both Life and Death, is forced to wander for eternity over the desert he created, crying for his sons, for his lost wealth—searching for the gate to Death’s house to beg him to let him die. But Death, who holds a grudge, will not let him in.”

         We all sat motionless for a long time. Then, I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.

         “That scares me every time,” I admitted. “And on the walk home I have to remind myself that it isn’t true or I will have nightmares.”

         “The Badi would tell you different,” Gar said, flicking a twig into the fire. I frowned at him.

         “What do you mean?”

         He looked at me.

         “The Badi believe it’s true. And the search for immortality goes on. Why do you suppose they are so bent on killing everyone?” Gar’s voice lowered as his expression darkened.  “Ask anyone and he will tell you it’s so. The Badi are the servants of Death.”

 LLL

 As the afternoon of the festival deepened and the sunset lit up the sky, flute music and laughing filled the air, as did the smoke of party fires and the aroma of cooking food. Out on the grassy slope in front of the royal house, the entire population of Hilrigard had gathered, dressed in their finest and brightest, to celebrate the first day of spring. The fore part of the lawn was arranged as a dancing glen, and beyond that stood dozens of long tables for the feast. I watched the bustling crowds by my sister’s side, atop the highest step of the royal house. Aeleth was dressed in a pearl-colored gown with beads embroidered into the bodice. Her hair was done up, and white buds surrounded the small silver crown on her head. Her white cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes vibrant. She looked like a new blossom next to my proud-headed mother who, wearing scarlet with her rippling hair draping down to her waist, and bearing a taller silver crown, looked like a rose in full bloom.  My mother’s features were sharper, stronger than those of my sister and me. She always carried herself so proudly—a queen without effort. And her sapphire eyes saw everything.

I was wearing the simple blue dress Aeleth had worn earlier to pick berries. It was pretty enough for my taste, and my hair hung down simply, with no adornment except for my own crown, which was just a silver circlet. The only weapon I wore was a long knife in my boot.  

         The fresh breeze blew through our hair and skirts, bringing the scent of roasting game hen, flowers and incense to me. I took a deep breath and smiled. Horns sounded, and then a flute, lyre and group of singers broke into song, singing a lively spring madrigal. Mother descended the stairs, Aeleth behind, and me last.

         We stepped down to the grass yard and into the crowd, and they put out their hands so that Mother and Aeleth would touch them. All of them smiled, and many of them handed my mother and sister flowers. One little girl pressed a posy into my hand, but most of my people just inclined their heads to me. I smiled back, and kept close behind my sister, as always. I caught sight of Elb, since he was so tall, and Gar beside him. I gave them a small wave. They returned it with big waves. I grinned.

         We trailed through the people as they called my mother’s name and shouted springtime greetings to their queen. We approached the long table, overhung by an arbor of blooming roses and decked out with silver platters full of fruit and meat. We came around and took our places behind our chairs—Aeleth beside my mother, and I beside Aeleth.

         The brilliant sunset just above a hill before us—gold, orange and red—shone in my eyes, and glittered off the silver goblet my mother raised into the air. At that sign, all the hundreds of people gathered grew silent, and turned toward us.

         My mother, her face aglow, smiled and cast her gaze over all of them.

         “Friends,” she called, her voice carrying easily over the crowd. “Welcome to Hilrigard! My daughters and I thank you from the depths of our hearts for coming down from the mountains to our home to help us celebrate the long-awaited arrival of spring!”

         All of the town cheered, clapped, and tossed flowers high over their heads. I beamed as white petals showered down like snow—they looked pink in this light.

         The musicians began to play—it was a lively dancing tune that we all knew. My sister clapped, and I hid a smile as my mother commanded that the dancing begin.

         All the young people paired off, and the children and elders backed away, making a circle around the dancing lawn. The partners faced each other, bowed to each other, and then began the dance.

         I sat down in a tall wooden chair, as did Aeleth and Mother. I always loved watching the dancing—I was fairly good in practice, but no one ever asked me to be his partner. Elb and Gar had flatly declared dancing to be silly. It was still enjoyable to watch the high leaps of the others—how they spun, and stepped around each other, one arm high, the other lowered, their hands graceful—how they shot stunning smiles at each other, and how the ladies’ skirts and hair streamed out behind them.

         My sister kept clapping in time with the dizzying music, and I just smiled, happy to feel the evening breeze, and to smell of the flowers and food on the table.

         A young man approached us, coming up to my mother. He was tall, with light brown hair and a short beard, and wore simple but lightly-worn green trousers and tunic. He bowed low to my mother, but glanced up at my sister. I hid behind the vase of flowers to conceal my smirk. This was William.

         “My queen,” William said, his head still bowed. “May I have the honor of dancing with your daughter?”

         I could feel my mother’s disapproval ripple down the table, but as my sister was not engaged with anyone else, and she clearly wished to join in the dancing, mother sighed, and simply nodded.

         Aeleth got up, beaming, and swept around the table, offering her hand to William, who glowed at the sight of her. He led her right into the dance, and soon they were leaping and spinning with the best of them. I sat back in my chair, tapping my fingertips on my armrest, pondering the fact that my mother had not asked William to clarify which daughter he wished to dance with. But then, she never did.

         The dance ended, mother and I clapped, and the dancers laughed and bowed to each other. My mother rose to her feet again, and by the look on her face, I knew what was coming. She was about to call the tune—the famous tune beloved by all of us: the springtime welcome my father had written before he went to war a year ago.

         The crowd quieted. Aeleth and William stayed side by side, hands clasped, faces flushed. I folded my hands on the table and looked to my mother.

         “I have never seen such splendid dancing,” my mother declared, and everyone chuckled. She lifted her bright head and went on.

         “I hope to see more as the evening goes on—but I wish all of you would do your best with this one, for it was written by my beloved husband, King Peliar—”

         “King Peliar, may he live forever,” all of us echoed.

         “—and if he were here, I know he would take particular pleasure in seeing…” My mother trailed off. Her eyes flickered. The smiles faded from the people’s faces. Silence fell.

         And then I heard it. Rather, I felt it. The table beneath my hands began to vibrate, ever so slightly—and so did the earth beneath my feet. I stood up.

         Now, the sound reached us. It was a low rumble, like distant thunder, or waves upon an unseen shore.

         And then a figure appeared on the top of the hill, silhouetted by the stunning orb of the setting sun. It was a man. And he was running as fast as he could.

         Cries of alarm rose up as the people turned to see him. The men pulled their women closer. I reached down in my boot and slid out my knife, and set it on the table. He was following the road that none but soldiers ever took—the road that led down to the valley and the Black Steps.  

         “Aeleth, come here,” Mother commanded, never taking her eyes from the approaching man. Aeleth broke from William and came around the table, eyes wide. I grabbed her arm and put her behind me, keeping hold of her wrist. The rumbling grew stronger.

         “Make way!” the stranger shouted, his voice strained with gasping. The crowd parted for him, and he broke through them, staggered, and fell to his knees before our table. I sucked in my breath.

         He was bleeding from his blonde head, and his clothes were torn and dirty. But I could still recognize that he wore the leather uniform of one of our father’s soldiers.

         “Who are you?” my mother demanded, fire and ice at the same time. The young man lifted his head. His face was streaked with sweat, and his eyes were glazed over. He could barely speak because every breath rasped in his throat.

         “My queen, we are undone,” he managed. My mother stilled for just one instant. Then, she narrowed her eyes.

         “Speak plainly.”

         “I am, my lady,” he swayed forward, but caught himself. “We received word that the army was taken by surprise by Niro, king of the Badi, on the plains of Seshem. They surrounded them and routed them, and drove them east. From there, they were pursued by his son, Prince Rajak, as Niro left off to fight the plains kingdom. It was not ten miles hence that King Peliar was shot with five arrows.”

         I went cold.

         Father…

A shudder ran through me, and I would have sat down if Aeleth had not clamped down on my arm with all her force.

         My mother went ash white. But she spoke.

         “Who survives?”

         “Only I do, my lady,” the soldier fell forward onto his hands. “I managed to escape so that I could come here…and tell you to flee.”

         “What of the garrisons at the Black Steps?” my mother snapped. “What of the watchtowers of the Twin Hills and in the—”

         The man was already shaking his head.

         “Overwhelmed, my queen. That is where I was stationed. Rajak’s army is all on horseback, with siege engines that can demolish our watchtowers with a single blow. We tried to muster in time to meet them, but they came so quickly…like lightning…”

         “How could Niro’s army overwhelm five-thousand men?”my mother demanded—but she was leaning on the table now, too. I felt distant, as if I was watching myself from above. The runner gathered himself, shaking his head again.

         “They captured the water, and would not let our army near it,” he said. “And they are all deadly with a bow—Rajak most of all. They shot down anyone who tried to take word to you.”

         Faraway cries came over the hills—cries urging horses forward. I swallowed. I recognized the sound, now: horse hooves. Thousands of them.

         “And my lady,” the messenger sighed, his brow furrowing, his eyes tired. “They say that Prince Rajak is steps away from finding the key.”

         I had no idea what he meant. But my mother did—I could see it in her frame. My sister trembled behind me, and did not let me go. My mother lifted her eyes to the top of the hill, to the blazing sun: the place where the Badi army would appear.

         “And now they are going to kill us all,” Mother murmured. The runner did not answer. My mother’s jaw tightened.

         “We will not flee only to be shot in the back. If that animal that likes to call himself a prince wishes to slaughter us, he will look us in the eyes.”

         Mother stepped around the table and passed the runner, her train whispering over the grass. I stayed where I was, my gut twisting as if I had been stabbed there.

         “Oh, Linnet,” Aeleth whimpered just behind me. “Father—” Her throat shut, and I felt her lean her forehead against the back of my hair. My lower lip trembled. I kept my eyes fixed on my mother.

         The men closed in behind their queen, and she stopped in the middle of the crowd, facing the west. I held my breath.

         The top of a spear appeared, rising up over the edge of the nearby hill, and with it came the figure of a man on horseback, black against the blaze of the sun. Beside him came another, and another, until the entire horizon was lined with horsemen. And then they poured over the hill, like a slow, inky flood, the thunder of their hooves shaking the stones.

         They spread out, covering the road and then some, gravel crunching beneath. They passed the border of the town—spilled between the blacksmith, the baker and the tanner’s buildings like lava between stones.

         As they neared, and came out of the shadow, I could see their forms better. I had never seen the Badi—I had only been left to imagine. But what I beheld was worse than even my nightmares.

They all rode sleek, black, armored horses, and wore black clothes and leather breastplates, bore gleaming bronze shields and shining black helmets with red plumes. Long, curved swords hung from their belts, bows rested across their shoulders, and they also carried long, spiked spears. The skin of their faces and hands was dark, tanned, and their eyes like night.

         The two men at the front of the company drew my attention. They both wore black, high-collared, long-sleeved tunics and black trousers and boots like the others, but one had a scarlet stripe across his chest, and the other…

         The other’s horse was decked in gold, and he jingled with every step. The man’s tunic was embroidered with swirling red patterns, and his helmet bore red jewels and hammered gold atop the black metal. I could not see his face, but I knew who he had to be.

         Prince Rajak.

         The first man, the one with the scarlet stripe, lifted a hand, and the vast army drew to a halt. Horses snorted and stamped, and tossed their heads. Harnesses jangled. My people stood still.

         The man with the stripe handed his shield and spear to his squire—or one who acted as his squire—reached up and pulled off his helmet. His hair was black; he had a large nose, and dark, cold eyes.

         “You are very brave, Queen Ealasaid,” the man decided, his voice deep, his accent strange. “Braver than your king.”

         “Who are you?” my mother demanded. “And what gives you the right to march on these lands?”

         The man regarded her.

         “I am Commander Hashim,” he said, in the universal language known as the Common Tongue. He lifted his chin. “And the Badi own these lands as of this morning, when we killed your husband and all his men.”

         A suppressed cry ran through the crowd like a needle through flesh. Commander Hashim smirked. The shining helmed head of the man next to him turned to him. Commander Hashim cleared his throat, and raised his eyebrows at my mother.

         “Woman, how many people live in this…village?” He cast a narrow glance around at the lawn and the houses before regarding her again. My mother did not answer.

         “Speak!” Hashim barked. “Or the chance you have to spare your people may be lost with our patience.”

         “About a thousand,” my mother replied, her voice flat.

         “And how many in the hills beyond?”

         My mother hesitated again, but the spears of the Badi rattled. She took a breath.

         “Perhaps thirty thousand, according to the census five years ago.”

         Hashim glanced at the one next to him. The shining head nodded. Hashim sighed and his jaw tightened, but he turned back to my mother.

         “Prince Rajak is inconvenienced by the effort of bloodshed, as duties back home call his attention. Therefore, he wishes to offer you a bargain.”

         “Then let me hear it from him,” my mother shot back. “Unless the famous prince is deaf and dumb.”

         A shiver traveled through my people. And a murmur, like a covered hornet’s nest, disturbed the quiet of the Badi. The one beside Hashim raised his hands and lifted the helmet off his head.

         His hair was like a raven, mussed and wild. He had a young, narrow, handsome face, and a dignified nose. He had a scar on his right cheekbone, and a stern, frowning mouth. But the look he gave my mother with those blazing obsidian eyes ought to have caught her on fire.

         He handed his helmet to Hashim, kicked his leg over the back of his horse and slid to the ground. He landed soundlessly, and stepped toward my mother. Our men backed away—it was as if they could not help but shrink from him. I swallowed hard. Rajak was a good head taller than any of the men in my town, and power radiated from him like heat from the sun. His look fastened on my mother. He stopped before her, and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

         “I am Prince Rajak,” he said quietly, with perfect diction. “And you will address me with respect or be flogged before your people.”

         My mother did not answer. I knew he would do it—or at least he would try. My mother was a second sister, as I was. She could fight just as well as I could, if not better. But if she decided to fight, and the Badi retaliated…

         My mother stayed still. I clenched my teeth. Prince Rajak cast his gaze over the crowd. They cringed. Then, he returned his attention to my mother.

         “My proposal is this,” he said, his voice still soft. “My forces will now occupy this land, claiming it in the name of my father, King Niro. However, I will not slaughter its inhabitants on one condition.” His eyes searched past my mother, and found the royal table. And his gaze fell upon my sister. “You will give me a princess for a wife.”

         Aeleth’s hands locked on my elbow so hard I thought she would break my bones.

         “In this way,” Rajak went on. “My people will share a bond with yours, and be less inclined to destroy you. In the same fashion, you shall be less inclined to defy my father, as I will have hold of your heart. Consider my offer carefully, as it will not be extended again.”

         “Impossible,” my mother protested. “I cannot and will not—”

         “This is my condition,” Rajak’s voice rose, and he stepped back toward his horse. “Not a one of you will live should it be broken.” He mounted his horse again, took up the reins, and looked down his nose at my mother. “Believe me; my father would never be so generous.” He nodded at Hashim, then turned his animal and pressed back through his army, until I could not see him. Hashim now spoke to my mother.

         “You have half of an hour of privacy in which to discuss my prince’s proposal.”

         “Surely you must give us more time than—” my mother tried.

         “Oh, of course,” Hashim’s tone was caustic. “So that you can spirit her away and poison the wells for us.” He shook his head. “Woman, you are fortunate to be alive at this moment. Now go.” He waved toward the royal house. “You now have less than half of an hour. And I advise you not to wait that long. The prince has even less patience than I do.”

 Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Linnet-Prince-Alydia-Rackham-ebook/dp/B01D9ENUPK/ref=pd_sim_351_26?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B01D9ENUPK&pd_rd_r=ab4fb6b5-49d1-4487-8f53-b4faab2e1ead&pd_rd_w=gei4t&pd_rd_wg=0OAir&pf_rd_p=5abf8658-0b5f-405c-b880-a6d1b558d4ea&pf_rd_r=X3Z9XWPB99TZP0VET3J6&psc=1&refRID=X3Z9XWPB99TZP0VET3J6

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[nin-jay-go]

Shadows of Envy - Chapter 1

When you dismiss a dark thought, where do they go? To your shadows, of course. Kai’s jealousies get the best of him, and he gives into the temptation of the darkness, his own shadow posessing him. Yeeted from his body, Kai must figure out how to stop his shadow from ruining absolutely everything and hurting the people he loves.

Tagged on my blog as either Shadows of Envy or ekau 3!

Contains no romantic pairings aside from Pixane and hinted Geode

It was a quiet night at the Destiny's Bounty. Too quiet. It was WAYYY too quiet and Kai was getting a bit restless. To kill his boredom, he took to pacing through the halls while performing some Neat Sword Tricks. Flipping it around, spinning around with it, setting it on fire, the usuals.

Eventually, he paced right into the living room, where everyone else was gathered. Cole floated on the couch near Jay, who was bouncing his leg and fiddling with his gi. Zane was probably asleep already, as was Nya, but Lloyd still wasn't. The green ninja sat on the floor near the couch, reading a Fritz Donovan comic, which Jay was looking at somewhat wistfully.

Kai's preparations for starting up a conversation from the doorway were thwarted when Cole took that job from him. “Ugh, I hate not being able to sit on a couch anymore,” he complained. “I just gotta float above it now, instead of actually making contact…”

Jay pat the ghost's shoulder as best as he could and laughed. “You don't like being a ghost? I would've died to become a ghost!” A round of chuckles came from the room's occupants.

“I mean, becoming the Green Ninja and growing up was an experience too,” Lloyd spoke up. “Would it be any better than, uh dying?”

Cole gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “Well I'm mostly fine! I don't get hungry anymore so there's that…”

Jay put a finger up to his face, scratching at it slightly. “Wow, you two have really gone through some rough shit over the time we've been ninjas. It leads me to wonder,” he continued, crossing his legs, “has something exciting and life-changing happened to all of us?”

“I'd say so, yea!” “Yea probably.”

“Ok ok so,” Jay started, “we have you,” he pointed at Cole, “who died and became a ghost, you,” this time at Lloyd, “grew up and got ‘chosen by destiny’ as the Green Ninja-”

“And got possessed by my weird emo cousin and then forced to watch my dad die… twice in a row,” Lloyd added. The others got a good laugh at that traumatizing memory. “What about you, Jay?”

“Well, I was bitten by the Serpentine at one point and almost turned into one. Plus, I kinda found out something pretty big recently..” He panicked slightly when Cole and Lloyd stated expectedly. “It-its private personal stuff!! Nothing you two should worry about, nope totally not haha!” He waved them off quickly.

“Well, uh, Nya became the water ninja,” Lloyd continued, shrugging it off, “and Zane turned out to be a robot.”

“That and the only one with a functional relationship right now,” Cole quipped.

Kai, still semi-eavesdropping, now realized he was the only one not talked about. Either he had some SUPER life-changing event, or…

“What about Kai?” “Kai? Has he had a cool thing happen to him?” “Not that I remember… Oh! He had Chen's staff for a bit!” “Yea, like for a length of not even a minute.” “His sister got kidnapped?” “That adds onto more of a Nya thing though…” “He got addicted to twitter! That counts, right?” “Jay, no.”

They continued debating but Kai didn't want to hear any more. He heard the truth right then and there- he had an absolutely boring life. There was nothing to be talked about. He was worthless. So he left. He walked out of the doorway and onto the patio, sword strapped on his back. Looking into the forest they were currently parked over, he took a deep breath and jumped, activating his Airjitzu on the way down. He needed to release some steam.

The forest was awash with beautiful greens and blues, basking in the light of a full moon. Light crunching noises of twigs sounded underneath Kai's feet as he trudged through. Eventually, he made it to a clearing. A few tall bits of grass lined the trees, and a stump sat in the center.

He went over and flopped himself down onto the stump. Crossing his arms, he began to grumble. “Stupid everyone, thinking they're better than me, being special. Nya and Zane have cool lives, Jay has some big secret, Cole DIED, and Lloyd is the goddamn green ninja! They all think they’re so special, they don’t care about how I also have a cool and special life too! I’m interesting! They’re all just some.. insensitive jerks!”

“Couldn’t agree with you more.”

“Yea, I know ri-” Kai stopped in his tracks when he heard a voice in the clearing. It was… somehow familiar. He stood up and looked around, scanning the area. “Who’s there? Who are you?”

He heard a snort. “That doesn’t matter too much. Just think of me as… someone who wants to help.”

“Help? Help who, me? I don’t need help. I’m just here to blow off some steam,” Kai continued searching, rooting around his memories for who’s voice that was.  

“Yea, but I get what you’re saying,” the voice continued. This got Kai interested. “You do?”

“Well yea, I do. You feel jealous, envious of your teammates and friends. They’re all special, they have exciting lives, and you’re not, and you hate that. I know what you’re thinking, dude.”

“...where are you going with this?”

“I can give you a deal. I can make you… special, like the others. You can finally brag to them about having a cool thing happen and they’d be put in their place. After all, they don’t really like you. They’re special…” “...and I’m not,” Kai finished. “You can do that? Make me cooler?”

“Would I lie?” “I literally just met you, dude, you might as well be.” “Fair enough.”

A soft breeze blew through the night. The moon glowed, full and pale overhead, casting shadows all over. Kai narrowed his eyes, continuing to scan the forest for the voice’s origin, despite noticing it resounding all around him. “What do I need to do?”

A chuckle. “It’s simple. I’m gonna need you to say something, just a phrase or two.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow, hoping the voice saw it. “Just… saying something? And I’ll be cooler?”

He could almost feel the voice nod. “Just repeat after me. Omnis ignis ab umbra..” The voice took on a darker feel, deeper and more threatening. This went unnoticed by Kai, who mulled it over in his head some before taking a deep breath.

“Omnis ignis ab umbra.” No sooner had the words left his mouth when the wind picked up around him and the moon seemed to get even brighter.

“Tenebrae praete eum,” came the voice from directly behind him. He turned around briskly to see nothing there but his own shadow. A shadow that had two red orbs staring straight at him and slowly glowing brighter. A section where the mouth should be parted.

“...et novam vitam accipere.” It finished, and Kai saw nothing but black.

When Kai opened up his eyes, he immediately felt something was off. His feet felt glued in place, and a sense of vertigo and weightlessness overcame him. Somehow he figured out he was on the floor, yet when he looked up he saw…

Himself. His own body standing there, motionless, staring out at the trees. Suddenly, his body began to shake. Seconds later, it was shuddering with peals of laughter escaping, from his own mouth. His head turned to where he was and snapped open his eyes.

They were horrifying.

Where his irises were once a dark brown, they were bright red, almost glowing red, staring daggers at his own. The whites were pitch black, dark as the shadows around him. They stared at Kai with a feeling of madness.

“Hey thanks, dude!” The voice said. His voice. “Thanks for letting me borrow your body for a bit! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you while you’re afk.” He cracked his neck casually, not breaking eye contact. “Wh-what? Who the hell are you?!” Kai yelled. He tightened his hands into fists but it didn’t seem to do much. It didn’t even feel like he did it or not.

“...Yea I have no idea either,” the body-snatcher confessed. “I mean, we’re both exceptionally stupid, ain’t we?” He stretched his arm out. “But from what I gathered over how long we’ve been alive, I’m your shadow. I am every negative thought and bad action fused into one formless being, forced to follow you around and eat your thoughts you banish from your mind. They aren’t that tasty, not advertising them.”

“So… you’re my shadow? And, and you.. possessed me?” Kai tried to wrap his head around the situation. “And if you’re me then… then how did you know that spell, or wh-whatever that was that did this?”

His “shadow” clicked his tongue. “I just kinda knew the words for some reason! As for what it did, we most likely switched places!” He sneered with Kai’s mouth, an expression that shouldn’t look so at home on his scarred face, scars that looked paler than ever.

“But yea,” he continued, “clearly those guys need to be put into their places, since they think they’re all so special. Self-centered, all of them. I’m gonna borrow your body to get our vengeance, since I know you won’t.”

Kai did not like this one bit. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Why was this happening?! He didn’t want to be here.

Seems like his brain listened, and he found his feet no longer glued to the ground, and the weightless feeling vanished. Opening his eyes, Kai found himself looking at his possessed body from a different angle, from the shades of the trees. His body looked around, and his gaze settled on him. Smirking, he closed his eyes.

“Well, at this point, I’m so filled with burning hatred I can’t be called Kai anymore, now can I?” Kai grasped his arm. It didn't feel all that solid. “What are you proposing?” His eyes opened, normal and brown once more. “How’s about you call me… uhh…” His eyes filled with confusion. Kai swore he heard him mutter “shit I didn’t think this far ahead uhh what’s a word for really hot- got it.” He cleared his throat. Pretending he didn’t mutter anything, he looked at Kai once more. “Call me Arid.”

“Arid...:” Kai rolled it around on his tongue. It fit such a dry, blazing shadow such as the one in his body. “Now that you have a name, I can call you out on shit you do. Just give my body back, Arid! I just felt a bit salty, you don’t gotta do anything bad to them!” “You don’t understand, Kai,” Arid stalked over to him. “Every bad thought you had belongs to me now. You felt salty, bitter, even, at your ‘friends’ for making fun of you, and wanted them to shut up.” He shrugged. “I’m just fulfilling your wishes, or I guess, my wishes now.”

He began to walk off. “H-hey wait! Where are you going?!” Kai called after him, running in his direction. The second his fingers left the shadows of the tree, they began to burn. He let out a yelp of pain and recoiled into the dark.

“Can’t go into the light now, can you?” Arid sneered. “You’re a shadow now, Kai. You don’t exist like I do anymore. Light will hurt you.”

“Duly noted…” Kai hissed back, cradling his hand. “Where are you going,” he restated.

Arid shrugged. “Back to the Bounty; where else am I supposed to go? I am Kai right now, after all.” He found the edge of the clearing and looked back at Kai. “Cya~!” He stuck out his tongue at him and spun into a flawless Airjitzu as he flew back to the Bounty, leaving Kai to stare up at the blinding moon.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fanfic #fanfic #shadows of envy #ekau 3 #ekau #ninjago kai #kai #kai smith #ninjago jay #jay #jay walker #ninjago cole #cole #cole brookstone #ninjago lloyd #lloyd #lloyd garmadon #arid #oh man ive had this planned since a looooong time #long time coming id say #glad i finally put fingers to keyboard and wrote it out! #so here yall go #a fanfic #how do ppl usually tag their fics? #i dont have ao3 unfortunately :/

[faveficarchive]

A Third Death

By: C.L. Bactad

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Desperate to have his Warrior Princess back again no matter the cost, Ares forces a deal with Xena in order to save Gabrielle’s life. Will they recover from what happens, or will they be forever parted?

Prologue

The warlord looked wearily at his mug of mead and momentarily contemplated the request which was just put forth. He looked across the table to the dark-haired man that occupied the chair and currently his time. "I need some guarantee." The warlord spoke, his voice hoarse from his recent siege.

The stranger smirked. " A guarantee? Of what? That you won’t get a boo boo?"

"Hey look! I’ve tangled with her before. She’s changed, but not that much." He took a large swig of his mead as if trying to chase away the memory. "She’ll kill me without hesitation. How do you think I got this scar?" He jutted a stubby finger up toward a long diagonal slash across his face. "Last time we met she just about ripped my - "

The other man held up is hand to quiet the whining warlord. "Spare me the sob story. I know perfectly well what she is capable of." Smiling, he turned his hand over to inspect his nails. " I made her what she is you know, all that leather and rage. Mmm, a masterpiece."

"Yeah, well your ‘masterpiece’ isn’t doing your bidding is she?" The warlord grinned thinking he bested the dark god sitting across from him. Proudly, he allowed himself another swig of his drink but before his lips touched the mug his throat became constricted. Gasping for air he looked wide-eyed across the table and tried to force out an apology. "Ar.." He started but he couldn’t get enough breath to push out the words. He clutched his own throat.

Across the table an evil smirk flashed uplifting the edges of a neatly trimmed goatee. "What is it Mercurio? Are you trying to say something? Seems like a God has got your tongue." Clenching his teeth he could see the warlord could not breathe at all now. He let the big, lumbering man struggle for breath a fraction of a second longer then released him.

Sputtering the warlord fell forward on the wooden table his forehead landing in a puddle of his own spilt mead. His back was heaving as he tried sucking in the breath that was taken from him. "Ares, I didn’t mean - "

"Shut your trap before I kill you!" Ares’ spat in disgust "Listen to me, Mercurio." His voice became quiet as he lowered his head toward the now frightened warlord. "Xena is not the one that you need fear the most." He paused for effect. "Do you understand?" Mercurio shook his head furiously in agreement and started to speak but thought better of it.

‘Mortals are so weak...well, except for Xena.’ The God of War silently mused then turned his attention back to Mercurio. "Good now have some more mead and I’ll tell you what you’re going to do."

Part one

Chapter 1: Declarations

All the while, believe me, I prayed

our night would last twice as long.

-Sappho

The sun began its ascent above the eastern mountains. The sleeping form underneath the blankets began to stir as the first rays of light fluttered across her eyelids. Gabrielle opened one eye cautiously fearing the rude brightness would jolt her too quickly from her slumber. The forest was covered by dew and a mist could still be seen floating in the cool air. Reluctantly, she opened the other eye and looked up into the forest canopy. Shadows and bright light battled against the large tree boles. The clarity of the early morning light sharply defined the green foliage above, which now came into a clear focus. Lifting her arms above her body, she stretched her torso trying to loosen the morning stiffness. Her nostrils picked up the drifting smoke of a small campfire. Xena was up, of course.

She focused on the figure kneeling by the fire feeding it small branches. "When will I ever see you sleep past dawn?"

Xena smiled as she heard Gabrielle’s voice, which was still rough from sleep. "And when will I ever see you get up at dawn?" She looked over to the woman who was still tangled in blankets. The bard shifted onto her side so she could see Xena more clearly, careful to keep the blanket tucked tightly around her bare body. She looked at her lover who was already dressed in her leathers. Her appreciative gaze did not go unnoticed by the dark warrior. Gabrielle smiled and effectively melted Xena’s heart at the same time.

Xena’s azure eyes locked with the grey green of her companion. Suddenly, overwhelmed with her own emotion she mouthed the words "I love you." She had not meant it to be silent but she could not will her voice to tone. The noise would seem like an intrusion.

Gabrielle closed her eyes and rolled over onto her back letting the silent words wash over her. Her reality was now better than her dreams. Three moons ago she would never have imagined that this was going to happen. Her love for the warrior was best kept to daydreams always pushed back at the first questioning look of her traveling companion. Now it was real and she still couldn’t believe it. She had what she wanted. What they both wanted.

"Xena."

"Hmm?" The warrior was tending the fire and looking intently at a small flickering flame.

"Come here."

Xena looked over to Gabrielle who was now holding the blanket open to her lover, exposing her naked flesh to the cool morning air and to Xena. The warrior stood and began to walk over to the shivering bard. One eyebrow raised on her beautiful face as she knelt beside her bard, eyes mesmerizing her insatiable lover. "Do you ever get enough?" She smiled knowing the answer already.

Gabrielle shuddered at her lover’s tease and memories of the night before warmed her body. She parted her lips to answer but that was all Xena needed before she descended upon Gabrielle. A groan escaped from the bard’s throat as Xena hungrily pressed her lips against her lover’s. She felt the warriors strong arms around her back supporting her just inches off the blankets. Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Xena’s neck pushing herself into the leather clad chest. The urgency of the kiss heightened into a blinding passion. Each woman pressing fiercely against the other, lips parting, pressing, heads shifting, separating and coming back for more. Gabrielle’s heart felt as if it would burst from the pressure of beating too fast.

Breathless, Xena forced herself to pull away. "We can’t...not now."

"Xena please don’t..." Gabrielle muttered still searching for Xena’s full lips.

"Gabrielle we have to travel today. I promised Celeste that we would be in Crete in three days." Lovingly, she stroked Gabrielle’s reddish-blonde hair still keeping her lips out of reach from the persistent bard. Gabrielle threw her head back in compliant disappointment. She knew if Xena made a promise she intended to keep it even at the expense of her highly aroused lover. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to see the amused look on the warriors face. Xena’s blue eyes shone brightly and a crooked smile accented her flawless features. Gabrielle was caught and try as she might, she could not help but stare into the eyes of her love. Focused on each other the world fell silent.

"Gabrielle," Xena spoke softly. "I want you to always look at me with those eyes." She reached out to run her index finger along the bard’s jaw-line. Gabrielle was stunned at the simple sincerity of Xena’s words. Trying to gain control of her now spiraling emotions she closed her eyes to the blue lights boring down into her soul. And then she heard her own voice. " Each breath I take is for you." She grabbed the hand touching her face and held it against her beating heart using it for strength and to still her own trembling. The bard opened her eyes and her heart instantly ached. Xena’s face was stoic as usual but tears ran freely from her eyes, unchecked by her need for control.

"What’s wrong?" Startled, the bard sat up not used to seeing her best friend and lover cry. Worry crept into her voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

Xena realized that she had been crying. " Wha...no Gabrielle." She reached out to grasp the blondes’ shoulders. "You have done everything right." Pulling her into a protective embrace, Xena now whispered. "I have come to need so much. I’m afraid for the first time in my life Gabrielle." A darkness came over the warrior who was angry at her own fear and want.

Gabrielle sensing the change in Xena pushed herself tighter into the warrior. "Xena I...I know what you’re afraid of. Your darkness won’t scare me away because I know that you would never hurt me. You aren’t that person anymore. There’s more love inside of you than hate. I feel it and that’s why you’ve captured my heart so completely. I’ll never leave you don’t you understand that? Every day I thank the gods that they have allowed me to find the other half of my soul. Some people search a lifetime for what we have. I can’t live without you."

They sat there holding each other underneath the rising morning sun. Energy passing between them and reaffirming a bond that no man, woman or god could break. Or so they thought.

In the forest a twig broke under pressure. Xena jolted back to reality jerking her head in the direction of the offending noise. Eyes narrowing she scanned the surrounding tree line still heavily shadowed. She detected a slight movement. "Stay here." She growled and the ice in her voice told Gabrielle that is was a command not a request. Quickly, she grabbed her sword and chakram and silently moved away from camp stalking her prey with feral grace.

Watching Xena stealthily slide out of camp Gabrielle quickly moved to her clothes. The last thing she wanted was to be attacked while nude. Fully dressed, she crouched down in a ready position. Staff in hand, she listened into the forest. She was not listening for Xena. She knew that she would not hear her. Instead, she listened for something else, fleeing footsteps, heavy breathing or perhaps a struggle. Gabrielle remained low and keenly alert to the stillness around her. She clutched her staff tighter steeling herself for a possible attack. ‘Traveling with an ex-warlord has it disadvantages’, she silently thought to herself. However, Gabrielle realized a long time ago that the adrenaline she felt in situations such as these also made her feel alive. A smile crossed her lips as she realized the other advantages of traveling with Xena. Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus. A lesson learned from her warrior.

She remained silent for what seemed like an eternity and looked around to Argo who was tethered to a nearby tree. Xena’s armor still lie next to the saddlebags. Gabrielle’s heart began to race. "Gods, she doesn’t have her armor on," she muttered to herself. The bard knew that many serious injuries had been deflected by the armor lying in a heap by Argo. For some reason, not entirely known to Gabrielle, she felt panic. Intent on regaining control of her racing heartbeat, she concentrated on her breathing. Slow steady breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. Pushing away the panic Gabrielle was now bent on finding Xena.

A hand reached out and grasped her shoulder. Gabrielle turned on her bent knee swinging her staff in a low arc. Twisting her hips she continued the swing across her body and around her back. It was a fast, low swing that would have broken the shins of the offender. However, Xena, aware of the muscle twitch in Gabrielle’s back jumped easily allowing the staff to pass underneath. Landing squarely in front of the bard, she had a proud grin on her face. "Well, nice to see you too."

"Xena! Do you have to do that? Can’t you make just a little noise when you come back to camp?" Gabrielle stood abruptly putting her index finger and thumb close together to illustrate her point. The exasperated bard narrowed her eyes at her lover. "You know I used to think that - that sneaky thing was amazing and even a bit cute. Now I find it really annoying. Just save it for your enemies okay!"

Xena arched her right eyebrow and looked down at her furious bard. "Are you done?"

"Am I done?" Gabrielle looked at her incredulously. Tilting her head, she tried to stammer out a response. "You...is that all...can’t you..ughhh!" She shook her head looking down at her feet. The warrior knew that this was a gesture of passive frustration. It was soon becoming a trademark of Gabrielle and it amused Xena greatly. "Yes, I’m done."

"Good" Xena whipped her head around to her armor and quickly moved toward it.

"So, are you going to tell me what or who that was?" Gabrielle watched as Xena reached over to pat her horse then stooped down to pick up her arm bracers.

“I couldn’t find anyone," she stated flatly. "Must have been an animal." ‘That was no animal’, grimly, she thought to herself but she didn’t want to frighten her friend. She hoped that it was a hunter or a traveler passing through but every warrior instinct in her body told her different. Xena knew that she should have followed the tracks farther but didn’t want to alarm her lover.

Gabrielle could tell Xena wasn’t telling her everything. However, she knew not to push the subject. "Oh, well that’s a relief."

Xena adjusted her breastplate and scabbard. "Gabrielle, can you eat breakfast on the road? We need to get moving if we want to make it to Crete in three days." She waited for a nod of agreement then turned to saddle Argo. A sarcastic smile crept upon her face. "I’ll try to be louder next time I come back to camp. I didn’t realize you were getting so jumpy." She tried to hide the amusement on her face as a bedroll came flying at her.

Chapter 2: The Chase

The scout ran into the center of the large camp collapsing in front of a large white tent. Gasping for air, he began to push himself to his feet. Two stubby hands gripped the boy’s shirt helping him to his feet. The scout found himself face to face with Mercurio. The scout tried to turn his head away from the warlord’s foul breath. "Well!" Mercurio boomed into the young boys face.

"I found them sleeping," The scout was still trying to catch his breath. "in the forest about a half a days ride North of here."

"And" Mercurio released the boy from his grasp.

"And the darker one woke first and built a fire. The younger one slept a few candle marks more then awoke. They seemed very affectionate and - ow!" The scout startled as Mercurio slapped him across the face then grabbed him once again by the sweat soaked shirt.

"I’m sure the scene was very touching but I don’t give a rats ass about fires or who woke first!" Mercurio threw the boy down in disgust. "What I want to know, you idiot, is which way they’re headed." With that he belched. The boy flinched in disgust as he once again struggled to his feet.

" Okay. I didn’t get as much information as I wanted. I was moving in closer to camp for a better look and I stepped on a twig snapping it in two."

"You what!" Bellowed the angry warlord.

"I...I barely heard it. I have no idea how she heard it. I was a good league away from her camp. You would have had to have...I don’t know, but nobody could have heard that." Noticing the warlord’s impatience, the scout quickly moved to finish his report. "Anyway somethin’ must have spooked the dark one because she jerked her head up in my direction." His eyes grew wide as he further explained his situation. "She started to move away from camp like some animal; a cat perhaps. I felt as if she were stalking me." He shivered at the thought. "I had to move quickly but I assume she didn’t see me. Probably thought it was some stag or somethin’." He shrugged his shoulders happy with his explanation. "As best as I can figure out it looked like they were making their way south toward the coast."

Mercurio cocked his head to one side and smirked at the boy. Young as he was, he was still his best scout. ‘I suppose I let him live this time,’ the warlord begrudgingly told himself. "You know..." The warlord stopped realizing that he didn’t even know this gangly scout’s name. "What is your name anyway?"

"Julian, sir."

"Julian huh?" Mercurio wrapped his meaty arm around the thin boy’s shoulders. "Do you know who those women were? You know the ones that I sent you to spy on?" The boy shook his head no. "Oh that’s right. I didn’t tell you. Well that woman, the one with the dark hair that was Xena" He thrust his fingers in the air signaling quotation marks. "Warrior Princess and the blond is her personal bard-slash-sex-kitten."

Julian’s jaw went slack. "Xena?" Recognition washed white against the boy’s face.

"Oh so you have heard of her." Mercurio once again grabbed the scouts abused shirt. "So you know not to make assumptions of what she does or doesn’t realize." He threw Julian down into the dust. "You are very lucky pissant. It’s not every day that you survive your mistakes." With that he retreated into his tent bellowing for his second in command.

Julian remained seated in the dirt shaking his head in disbelief. ‘She did hear me’ he thought grimly. "Wait a minute; sex kitten?" The poor boy was so confused that he did not even realize his last thought was audible to a passing soldier. The soldier stopped in his tracks and looked down at the now very dirty boy. "What did you call me?" Julian shook his head. ‘This day just keeps getting better and better’ was his last thought before a large fist connected with his nose. Julian was out for the day.

Chapter 3: Color

The road was well traveled and worn into a pale brown, while the rest of the country side remained green. The sun was directly overhead and the hotness began to sear into Xena’s bronze back. Dark brown leather, although useful in battle, acted as a heat sink and got to be unpleasant during the warmer seasons. Shifting in her saddle she thought of it only as a minor inconvenience while others would think it excruciating. She moved the horse closer to the side of the road trying to take advantage of the shade provided by the thin trees.

The dust swirled under the tan warhorses’ hooves. Each stride releasing a whirling coalition of air and particle. Xena turned her head to look back at her bard wondering if the dust was beginning to bother her. Gabrielle was walking behind them but slightly to the side to avoid the worst of it. "Whoa Argo." Xena gently cooed to her horse. She stopped and waited for Gabrielle to catch up.

The bard was quickly beside her. "What is it? Why did you stop?" Xena looked down at her dusty lover. The leather of her saddle squeaking as she shifted her weight to extend a hand to Gabrielle. "Why don’t you ride up here with me?"

"Xena, you know how I feel about riding. I would rather walk. And besides, Argo really doesn’t like me." As if on cue Argo shuffled slightly and snorted. "See what I mean?" Gabrielle shook her head, "Nope, I’m perfectly fine down here."

"Gabrielle that’s ridiculous now get up here." Xena jutted her hand out again and shot the bard her best warlord glare. Gabrielle almost took the hand that was extended to her but a nasty little stubborn streak once again got the best of her. Her eyes narrowed and she deliberately pointed her staff at the warrior. "Xena don’t look at me that way."

"What way?" Xena feigned innocence.

"What way?" Gabrielle mimicked earning a dry look from her lover. "That way, the ‘don’t mess with me the mighty warrior because I’m always right’ way.’"

Xena studied the slightly cranky Amazon Queen for a moment before a sly grin touched her features. "Gabrielle I think the sun is getting to you. Maybe you should sit in the shade for a moment." She gracefully slid off her horse. "You look a bit flushed." With mock concern she reached her hand out and checked Gabrielle’s forehead. The bard rolled her eyes as Xena teased at her expense. "Hmm you don’t feel too warm." With a sigh, "Well I guess we’ll keep moving." She turned and started toward Argo.

"Xena"

"Yeah?" Xena replied as she was grabbing the saddle horn to mount her horse.

"That’s because you’re not feeling the right places." Xena stopped just as she was going to swing her other leg upon the worn saddle. Her eyebrow shot up and a crooked smile danced across her bronzed face. Slowly she turned her head looking at the strawberry-blonde over her shoulder. "I’m not huh?"

"Nope." The bard replied quickly watching Xena’s reaction and loving every minute of it.

"Gabrielle," The sleek warrior walked toward her prey.

"Yes Xena?" replied Gabrielle innocently while a wicked smile was fully displayed.

"I think we need to find a nice shady spot."

"What about Crete and the three days thing? I really don’t think we can spare that kind of time." The bard looked hungrily at her approaching lover. Her breathing now becoming ragged as the warm blue eyes lavished their attention on her body.

"I’ll make it a quick stop." In two steps Xena had grabbed Gabrielle around the waist and ushered her off the road into the seclusion of the green underbrush.

Some time had past before Gabrielle could get herself to roll off the spent warrior. "Mmm, I do love shady spots." She let her stomach relax with laughter. She looked down at her lover who seemed perfectly content to lie there all afternoon. However, the nearness of her sword and chakram belied her true readiness. Still Gabrielle had never seen her so peaceful. ‘Gods she’s so beautiful’, the bard mused. "Xena," the bard toned gently. Xena smiled, eyes still closed. "Open your eyes."

Xena turned her head in the direction of her bard’s sweet voice. Slowly, she forced her heavy eyelids open. With abated breath Gabrielle looked into Xena’s eyes. "They are so beautiful. I want to memorize every coloration, every speckle. They change color you know?" Xena’s left eyebrow shot up in a question.

"I love that" Gabrielle smiled as she ran a finger over the raised eyebrow. A moment later she continued her previous thought. "It was your eyes that I noticed first. The color, the way they could look right past me and not even realize their effect." Xena started to say something but was quickly quieted with a soothing look from her lover. " Right now I would describe them as a cloudy blue somewhat paler than they are normally." She looked up at the sky noticing the high clouds thinning and separating only to be rejoined again. "They’re that color."

Smiling up at her bard Xena decided she would take a moment longer to indulge herself before pushing onto Crete. Only Gabrielle could make her feel so calm and she was learning to appreciate these times more and more. "I didn’t know that there could be more than one color blue."

Gabrielle adjusted herself up against a tree and pulled Xena so her head rested on her lap. She loved the moments where she could get Xena to just sit and relax. "That’s better." She once again started to stroke her lover’s eyebrow. "There are many colors of blue. All of which can be seen in your eyes."

"Really?" the warrior asked incredulously.

"Hmmm, right before and actually in battle they get intense, so clear. The blue becomes almost a white; mere backdrops for your jet black pupils. I guess they sort of glow." Gabrielle couldn’t help but put a bit of her storytelling flair into her apt description.

Xena let out a laugh. "Well there’s a definite advantage of glowing eyes to scare an opponent. They probably think I’m insane." She stopped to ruminate on what she just said. A dark thought rushed to the surface before the warrior could push it back. "Sometimes I probably am."A moment of sadness flickered in the eyes the bard was now studying so intently.

"Xena, what’s past is past but I’ve seen you fight many times." Xena saw Gabrielle give a slight smile. " It’s not insanity. It’s determination. You’re so confident in battle that victory isn’t even a question for you. That is what frightens your opponents. Your eyes see everything. I’m glad that I can be a part of it...a part of you. Right now...the way you’ve turned your life around and your quest for atonement. Not very many people could do what you’re doing."

"What have I done?" A tone of regret crept into Xena’s voice. It was the same sound Gabrielle always heard when she comforted Xena through her nightmares. It broke her heart.

"Xena you’ve faced your past. Everyday you face it and beat it back until I can feel you hurt. That would have broken weaker people a long time ago...but each day you force yourself to do it again. Your pain manifesting itself in nightmares because you can’t take the time to look out for yourself. You’re too busy saving the world....saving me." Gabrielle closed her eyes and laid her head against the tree. She spoke the last sentence in a whisper. "Xena, one day you have to forgive yourself."

Xena turned her head in her lover’s lap letting her gaze rest on a distant cloud. Solemnly, she replayed the bards words in her head. ‘I wish it was that easy my love’, she thought to herself. Gabrielle didn’t know the true horrors that were nestled in a warlords nightmares. She couldn’t let her know just how complete Xena’s descent into evil had been. How could she forgive herself when she knew that Gabrielle would reject her so completely at the full knowledge of her cruelty? No, forgiveness was not a luxury she would let herself own. She was not sure that a lifetime of redemption would ease her soul either. What she did know, however, was that the only peace she had came from this woman beneath her. This fact haunted her because she didn’t fully understand what she had done to deserve it.

"Gabrielle we need to go." Xena said flatly as she pushed herself up to her feet. She whistled for Argo.

"Right, Crete in three days." Gabrielle reluctantly followed Xena’s lead. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I’m fine we just need to get moving." Feelings locked tightly inside she was once again in full warrior mode. Without looking at the bard she mounted Argo. "Will you ride up here with me? Please."

The other woman was about to refuse but thought better of it. Xena’s use of the word please wasn’t really a question but more of a gentle command. She grabbed Xena’s outstretched hand letting its strength lift her effortlessly onto the gigantic horse behind the warrior. "Xena I love you." The warrior pressed back into the bard. She smiled and with a quick nudge into Argo’s sides they were off.

Chapter 4: Capture

The second day had been uneventful so far. They were back on schedule due to Xena’s relentless pace. Gabrielle remembered when she first started traveling with the reformed warlord that this pace was grueling. The bard never did say a word about it in fear that she would make Xena angry or worse make her want to leave her behind somewhere. She followed biting her tongue and at night aching from the soreness of legs and feet. Now after more than two summers, she kept the pace easily. Her legs had become stronger and she could see the definition of her thighs contracting at each step. Her muscles were well defined and all traces of baby fat gone. She liked who she had become. More confident, wiser and very good with a staff. She smiled looking up at Xena, stoic and quiet as usual, astride her tan mare. She had shaped so much of her life in a short period of time. Gabrielle had grown physically and emotionally. Her love had no bounds, her gratitude no depths. Xena was all there would ever be for the bard.

"What?" Xena’s colorless word broke into Gabrielle’s thoughts.

"What?" she said squinting up at the warrior.

"You were smiling and not talking."

"So?"

"It was...odd." Xena smirked at the blonde who had been easily keeping pace with the mare.

"I was just thinking."

Xena rolled her eyes. "About your next story I presume." She knew when Gabrielle had ‘that look’ she was concocting some sort of tale with her usually as the star. "I told you that you need to be more aware of your surroundings on the road." she said slightly irritated. "Don’t let your mind wander so much. You need to save some of your focus for the things around you."

Gabrielle nodded at Xena knowing that it was a lesson she had tried to teach before. Awareness is what kept them both alive. She needed to stop being so reliant on the warrior to be her ears for her. Gabrielle sighed. Bards were dreamers with the compulsion to share them with others. Daydreaming was one of Gabrielle’s favorite past times.

"Xena I wasn’t concocting a new story."

"No?" the warrior raised an eyebrow obviously not believing the bard.

"No" she patted the warriors firm thigh.

Xena, against her better judgement, was intrigued. "What were you thinking about then?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "I’ll tell you later. Hey let’s play that game ‘Who am I’."

"Gabrielle," Xena’s low tone was meant to send a warning to the bard.

"Just go with it....I’ll tell you when we get to Crete. C’mon, is this person tall?."

Xena looked back down the road a crooked smirk draped upon her face. Sorry that she had reprimanded her friend she decided to let the bard have her way. "Fine. No."

***

Mercurio’s men were set up along the side of the road. A blind corner and lush vegetation proved to be the perfect ambush spot. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, he had brought at least fifty of his best men. Of course, he knew that some of these men would be sacrificed to the warriors anger. It almost saddened him but only because he didn’t want to go through the trouble of recruiting and training more. ‘Oh well,’ he thought to himself.

The pudgy warlord sat hidden among the bushes. Five mercenaries were precariously perched on limbs overhanging the road. A thick net camouflaged with foliage stretched among the branches. The rest of his men were hidden in positions along the road. A deadly trap had been set. Mercurio let a sick smile flood his thick face. Xena had taught him well. As a soldier in her army he was careful to observe every move the warlord made. Her success in conquest obviously proved that she was a worthy teacher. He had followed as they pillaged town after town. Those were the good days before she found her conscience and hooked up with that little do-gooder. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath. She was the reason Xena gave him his facial scar. A little reminder that the bard was not to be toyed with. Luckily, Xena was merciful that day or he would surely be dead. Of course, that bard bitch urged Xena to spare him. Strange, he reflected, but he hardly gave it a thought as he ran from the tavern. Perhaps, he would have his fun anyway.

As luck would have it the wind had shifted and they were upwind. Another card dealt in their favor. One element of chance taken away from the warrior. She would not be able to smell them until they were right on top of her. Quietly he and his men waited for their prey to arrive.

***

"Is it Draco?" Gabrielle asked.

"Finally. How many questions do you need?" Xena let her amusement show in her voice.

"Draco. Yuck. What made you think of him?" Gabrielle was slightly irritated by the warriors choice and the fact that it took her so long to figure it out.

"Why not? We both know him?" Xena stopped Argo suddenly. Her head jerked slightly to her right. They had just come around a sharp corner and now she sensed something was wrong. She thrust her hand down to Gabrielle "Get up her now!" she yelled but it was too late.

Men came out of the trees one after the other. Xena let out her battle cry as she vaulted off her horse. Landing in front of two rushing men she jumped up letting each foot connect with their chins. Quickly, she unsheathed her sword spinning around and thrusting it into another. Her clear blue eyes searched for Gabrielle; she saw her furiously battling a group of three with her staff. The bard’s movements were quick and fluid as the staff whooshed around sending one of the men crashing to the ground. Xena launched her chakram towards the group slicing through one of the men before returning to its mistresses’ grip. Gabrielle quickly finished the other one. Xena turned her attention back to the mass of men now rushing her at once. Her eyes became wild as she took one out after the other blood coating her sword and splattering her face.

"Xena!" It was Gabrielle. Without a thought, Xena spun towards the voice. Breathless, she called for her. The bloodied warrior’s face paled at the sight before her. A net was now discarded by Gabrielle’s feet and her staff lie a few feet away red from use. She was slumped down to her knee with her body bent as if protecting ribs in pain while blood trickled down her face from a head wound. Her eyes pleading as if to say sorry. Her arms stretched out to the sides held by men.

"Gabrielle!" Xena growled as she started in a dead run towards the bard ready to kill her captors.

"Oh not so fast now Xena." Mercurio stepped from out of the trees behind Gabrielle. A knife blade flashed around to the front of Gabrielle’s neck. "I would hate to have this lovely girls blood on your hands." He pushed the blade into her neck drawing a trickle of red and causing the bard to let out an involuntary whimper.

Xena skidded to a stop. Fear blended with anger in her eyes. Mercurio had the upper hand. "If you hurt her I’ll kill you....painfully." She spit out through clenched teeth. ‘Please don’t let anything happen to her’, Xena pleaded inwardly scared far more than her exterior would allow her to show. "Gabrielle don’t move."

"I’m okay, Xena" Gabrielle fought for control of her own voice.

"Shut up, you little whore!" Mercurio pushed the blade roughly against her neck making the cut sting even more. He smiled at Xena. "I’ve waited a long time for this Xena. Who say’s revenge doesn’t pay? You see all I have to do is apply a bit more pressure and I’ve slit your precious little bard’s throat." He laughed amused by the fact he had the great Xena exactly where he wanted.

"You son of a bitch I’ll send you to Hades’ doorstep before this is all through." Xena’s voice shook in controlled rage. "You always were a wannabe warlord. Never had enough courage to fight me evenly. I should have killed you when I had the chance, but I let you run out of that tavern; a coward just like a dog with its tail between its legs."

Mercurio’s quick temper took over. How dare she insult him in front of his men. "We’ll see who the coward is!" He pulled his blade from Gabrielle’s neck thrusting it above her chest instead. "Say goodbye to your precious before I thrust this blade through her heart!" His hand began to descend in a quick motion.

Gabrielle looked up at the knife but she couldn’t even scream. Inwardly, she said goodbye to her love.

"No!" Xena saw the blade, her fear apparent, she reached out but knew she was too far. "Gabrielle I’m..." She stopped in mid-sentence.

Right before the knife broke the bard’s skin, it dissolved, vanishing from the angry warlord’s grasp. He stared wide-eyed at his now empty hand.

"Now Mercurio, that wasn’t our deal," a wicked drawl sounded in the nearby trees. A dark haired man bounded out as if on cue.

"Ares" Xena spat in disgust. "I should have known you were behind this. Mercurio doesn’t have the brains for something this elaborate.” Mercurio, hearing the remark, grabbed the bards hair jerking it back painfully. Causing Gabrielle to gasp in pain.

"I’d be careful if I were you." Mercurio stated.

Xena winced knowing her temper was causing her love more pain. She looked into Gabrielle’s eyes seeking reassurance. It was there but fading fast.

Ares walked over to Mercurio and Gabrielle making sure he was a safe distance from Xena. Even gods have been know to get a good whack from the Warrior Princess every know and then. "Mercurio there is no reason to be so rough with our little friend here." He touched Gabrielle’s face before flashing a wry grin towards Xena. Still looking at Xena, he pointed a finger at Mercurio letting a flash of white light hurtle towards the unsuspecting warlord. The impact of the light sent the weighty warlord tumbling from behind the bard. Ares looked down at the man sprawled out in the dust. "That was for disobeying me."

Gabrielle let out a sigh thankful that the warlord was not standing behind her. Ares saw this and directed his next comment toward her. "Oh, just wait, Xena’s annoying little friend. Your ordeal is far from over. Oh no. Your fate now lies in the hands of your beloved." Again, he flashed a wicked grin. "Tie her up". The two men holding Gabrielle’s arms quickly pulled them together and bound them tightly.

"Ares what do you want?" Xena said cooly. She barely had control of her raging emotions. Her mind was racing to come up with a plan.

"Ah Xena...what do I always want?" He paused waiting for a reply. Xena merely lifted her eyebrow. Realizing she would not take the bait he continued. "Why I want you of course."

The acid dripped from Xena’s voice. "Well you’re accomplishing quite the opposite."

"Umm, I don’t think so." Ares took seat on a nearby log. "It’s perfect really. You let yourself get too close to someone, caring for them and even, excuse me while I hold back my lunch, fall in love with her." He shook his head feigning disappointment. "How quickly you forget all my lessons. Now you have a weakness and target. Poor Gabrielle. She’s just an innocent you know. Annoying as she may be, she really doesn’t deserve what you bring her, pain and suffering." Ares let out an exaggerated sigh. " Oh well, you live and learn." He allowed himself an even bigger smile as he motioned the men to stand Gabrielle up and move her closer to Xena.

"Wait that’s enough. Not too close. I just want Xena to be able to smell Gabrielle... to hear the fear in her breathing."

Xena fought the urge to run to Gabrielle now standing a few feet in front of her. She locked eyes with her instead trying to reassure the obviously frightened bard. Ares was right; Gabrielle didn’t deserve this. Mercurio started to stir behind them.

Ares noticed. "Mercurio. Good you’re awake. Come over here and enjoy the fun. I was just going to explain to Xena why she’s going to come back to me. Come on." He ushered the warlord over with a gesticulating hand. Mercurio wearily came to stand by him. "You look a little pale..you should listen more carefully next time. Now, I want you to go and reposition yourself behind Xena’s little wench."

Xena’s eyes widened and she began to move forward but a warning hand from Ares stopped her. "Xena don’t worry. Mercurio isn’t going to hurt your little friend..." The lightness in his voice took on a menacing tone "..unless I tell him to."

Xena shot the dark god an icy glare. "God or not you’ll pay for this."

Ares rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but I don’t think so. Now let me tell you how this thing’s gonna play out. I have been trying to show you how silly this path of atonement is and well you’ve been very stubborn about it. It’s become very clear to me that I can’t just kill the whiny bard because she already gotten to you. Telling you all sorts of crap of how you can fight your dark side blah, blah, blah. And then there’s that pesky Artemis. She told me that if I shed what’s her names blood she’ll...well it won’t be pleasant. This is where Mercurio comes in. She said if I shed the blood, not some insignificant mortal. You see I have tried everything and I’m just about at my wits end-"

"Could you speed up the story I’m getting bored," Xena drawled with steel in her voice.

"Very well. If your not coming back to me I’d rather see you suffer. Thus, to make that happen I have to take away your happiness. Since I can’t kill her Mercurio will."

"What the..what about Artemis?! She’s her chosen and Queen of the Amazons!" Xena spoke desperate to make an argument.

"Well what Artemis doesn’t know....besides it would be worth the torment. I’m a bit twisted that way. Anyway, Mercurio is gonna kill her not me."

"Just because your hand doesn’t touch the blade doesn’t absolve you from the crime," Xena growled. Her fist clenching at her sides willing herself to remain calm and try to find a way out of this. She now knew her options were few if any.

"Touché...But don’t look so sad we haven’t come to that yet. There is a way out for sweet Gabrielle."

"What is it?" Xena spoke her heart already sinking. She knew now that Ares wasn’t bluffing. He had gone over the edge willing disfavor with Artemis.

"You have to give yourself back over to me. Become the warlord you were meant to be. No resistance...completely, fully, sacrifice yourself."

Xena stood looking at Ares. Her face betrayed nothing of her inner turmoil. Silently, she stood searching for a solution. The God of War had finally got her. Gabrielle was her greatest weakness. Xena knew it and so did Ares. Evenly, she began to speak. "How do I know you won’t kill her?" She saw no way out. They were surrounded and there was no way to get to Gabrielle before the knife cut into her throat.

Gabrielle watched the interaction but what had just transpired sent her into a panic. "Xena you can’t be seriously thinking about this...don’t." She felt a sting as Mercurio slapped her ear.

"Gabrielle please," Xena pleaded with her while trying to remain in place instead of running her sword through Mercurio. Instead, she looked directly at him letting her rage become fully exposed. She was satisfied when she saw him flinch.

The sky began to cloud and darken as she shifted her attention back Ares. "Like I said, what guarantees?"

Ares smiled sensing victory. "Gabrielle will not be killed unless she *purposefully* seeks you out. For some reason she is favored by Gods other than Artemis and it would be a very ugly situation for me if I killed her anyway."

"What about Mercurio?" Xena asked secretly wishing she would be able to kill him for this later.

"Mercurio will not remember a thing. In fact, when you give yourself back over to your evil, neither will you. In your mind, you have been leading an army with no recollection of the past two years. In your mind, and in everybody else’s, you will have spent the last two seasons being a very diligent warlord."

"I won’t remember anything?" Xena spoke in a whisper.

"Sorry, your bard won’t even be a memory."

"You bastard!"

"Her pull on you is much too strong, Xena. I can’t have you going around thinking that you can be someone different." He laughed clasping his hands. "Delicious isn’t it? It will be what...your third death? Only this time you will be reborn into what you really are."

Gabrielle had silently began to cry. Her world was falling apart and she was utterly helpless to stop it. Xena had indeed been dead to her before. She couldn’t believe it could happen again. "This can’t be happening."

Ares walked over to the crying bard bending down to look into the tearing eyes. "Oh don’t worry little bard. You’ll still have your memories but you will be the only one. To everyone, the Amazons, your family, you’ve been traveling with some nameless, faceless friend that nobody will remember. Your memories, however, will be clear and oh so painful. Oh, and one more thing... mentioning the name Xena will not help you. People will think you’re crazy. Remember she has been warring and pillaging at the same time you were gone. No time to carry on with a lonely peasant girl."

Gabrielle looked up into the black eyes of the vengeful god and spit. "You will not win!"

Ares wiped the spit of his face then reached out to tenderly touch the bards face. "I already have."

Xena’s body now shook with raw emotion. "How can you be so cruel? Let me die to her!"

Ares stood up and walked over to Xena. "Let’s just say I’m a little irritated by how hard I had to work to get you back. Somebody’s got to suffer." A sick smile before he continued. " Do we have a deal or do I let Mercurio finish the annoying brat?"

"Xena please don’t...please..you promised." Gabrielle was now sobbing wildly and thrashing at her bindings. She was about to lose her one true love. Her heart was breaking as she tried to reach Xena. "We can win..don’t go back!"

Gabrielle’s words pounded against the armor of Xena’s chest. In all her life she had never surrendered but now it was inevitable. Perhaps it was better this way. How much longer could her lover survive Xena’s dark past? Regretfully, she would always be a target. Tears came to Xena’s eyes. Inwardly, she cursed herself for letting Ares and Mercurio see this emotion. She looked at Ares her chin pointed up never ceding defeat. "Yes, it’s a deal. Don’t kill Gabrielle let her live in peace." The words came out of her mouth but she didn’t hear them because she was about to lose everything that ever mattered to her. She looked down at her lover who was now gaping at her in shock. "Let me say goodbye at least." Ares nodded for he knew better than to push it.

"Alright, but leave the sword and chakram here and I’m going to have to bind your hands."

"You what?" Xena asked her eyes narrowing.

"Look, I can’t trust you completely. I’ve seen you escape from situations worse than this. Don’t try anything... for the Queens sake."

"You piece of horse-"

"Uh uh, be nice or I take you away now."

"Fine." Xena put her hands in front of her while two men quickly bound them. She walked over to her love kneeling in front of the weeping woman. "My heart" she said quietly.

Gabrielle held her breath wanting this to be some part of a plan Xena had for their escape. Upon looking at her lover’s face the tears she saw said otherwise. "Xena." Sobs began to wrack the bard’s body forcing her to stop. She looked down at the ground unable to see the defeat in Xena’s blue eyes.

"Gabrielle please look at me...I need to talk to you." With bound hands she lifted Gabrielle’s chin forcing her to meet her gaze.

‘Please don’t,’ the bard silently pleaded to herself ‘don’t do this’ but she knew it was too late. Slowly, she met Xena’s eyes.

Xena smiled but the pain was clearly written on her face. She was about to give up the one thing that has ever brought her happiness or true redemption. She could feel her heart already going cold. "My love....we have to say good bye."

"No!" Gabrielle yelled out in a sob. "I can’t do it...please don’t do this Xena, please." Still on her knees with her hands tied in front of her, she inched her way forward resting her head on Xena’s shoulder. "Don’t give up. We can get out of this."

Xena buried her head into her lovers neck. She let the emotions assault her body more painful than any physical blow. "No we can’t Gabrielle. I’ve already thought it through, gone through every scenario." She braced herself for the bards reaction. "This is the only way. I’m sorry."

"Then they might as well kill me! I’m dead already without you." Gabrielle struggled to stand but Xena held her back gripping her arm tightly.

"Gabrielle no! I will not live with your blood on my hands!" Her voice, an octave louder, warned the bard to stay down. "Can’t you see that I’m doing this for you? Of all the things I’ve done in my life the only thing I’m proud of is keeping you safe." A slight smile came to her face. "Well, relatively safe."

"Please....don’t joke Xena"

"I know I’m sorry...I just can’t bear the pain." She moved her mouth closer to her bard’s ear whispering so only she could hear. "My love please forgive me for what I’m about to do but there’s just no other way. If I watch you die knowing that it’s because of me I...I don’t think that I could survive. Ares would win regardless. That’s not what you want right?" She felt Gabrielle nod against her shoulder. "I have to give you this chance to live, you’re so young and full of love I can’t see that stripped from this world. Live in peace as your life should have been before me." Xena paused. The words that she was about to speak hurt her to the very core. "You’ll find somebody else..."

Gabrielle’s grief now turned to rage. Jerking her head up to glare at the suffering warrior her green eyes were wide with fury. Through clenched teeth she began. "If you think that I will ever be able to love another then you are sorely mistaken. For two years I followed you around and felt my love grow for you each day. I can’t imagine anyone making me feel more complete than you. How can I move on when my soul is being ripped out of me? You think I’ll find peace? Xena you saved me as I saved you. For me there will be no other...joy and peace will become words that have no meaning for me. So don’t tell me that I’ll find somebody else or to enjoy my life, it’s not going to happen." Her green eyes dimmed as the truth of her words stung Xena. "You have no right to make this choice for me!" Gabrielle could no longer hold back the violent rush of emotions and her body began to shake bitterly.

Xena closed her eyes to the bards desperate words, shutting down her own needs in the process. "Maybe not Gabrielle, but you have to hear me. Please listen to me before Ares takes me away." The warrior steeled herself against her own words; the words that never did come easy to the hardened woman she had become. "Do you know that you’re my light? You have been keeping my darkness at bay vanquishing an angry ex-warlord with kindness and love. If you die so does my hope. Do you understand?"

Gabrielle struggled to understand but the hurt was now so immense. Numbly she nodded "yes" without knowing why.

Xena reached up to stroke her love’s face with bound hands. Gabrielle relished the feel of the warriors calloused fingertips only increasing the depths of her sorrow. "My sweet bard, please don’t let the warmth in your heart die. You must move forward...it is your destiny." Xena could almost laugh at the irony. Just months before Gabrielle had pleaded with Xena to realize her destiny. ‘The fates are truly cruel.’

"Xena-" The bard started put was quickly quieted by fingers pressing against her lips. Xena understood the question in Gabrielle’s voice. Softly she spoke. "No, you won’t know me again after this. Don’t try to find me." She took Gabrielle’s hands and squeezed them gently. "Promise me...I don’t want you dead." She looked down unable to control the tears. "Especially by my hand."

"Xena you could never hurt me. I know in my heart."

"You don’t know what I was. I’ll be giving myself over completely. Ares will accept nothing less. The battle for my soul is over Gabrielle. The Xena that saved you from the slavers won’t exist anymore. When we met, I understood the evil and the need for redemption. You helped me find my way. But the warlord I had become after Caesar only understood one thing: death. Gabrielle, I have killed merely for the pleasure and power." Her voice shook at this admission. She had to make Gabrielle understand. "I would run through villages like Potidaea ravaging everything. Taking and killing what ever got in my way. I didn’t care I had no remorse. I captured girls like you taking them to my tent and-" A slap stung her face.

"Enough!" Gabrielle could endure no more. Ares smirked at the violent display.

"Promise me." Xena’s voice was low but demanding and her face burned from the bard’s desperation. Gabrielle shook her head not wanting to believe the blackness that lie in her love. Xena felt her anger rise. "PROMISE ME!!"

"Yes! I promise." She collapsed fully to the ground. Her stomach tightening in seizures of pain. Her promise lay heavy on her soul.

"Xena, I think it’s about time to-"

"Shut up!" She turned to glare at Ares who had dared to speak, coldness vocalized as she requested more time. "At least give me this." He nodded in affirmation but he would not wait much longer.

Tenderly, Xena lifted Gabrielle into a cradling embrace. Rocking her lover, she pulled her closer protecting her from the eyes of men. The two lover’s sat exposed by the side of a road surrounded by what remained of Mercurio’s fifty soldiers. The sky darkened and heralding thunder announced the torrent. Xena moved her lips down beside the bard’s ear. Taking a moment to relish the scent of her hair. "Know that I will always love you. The Xena you helped to create will love you forever." With these final words she lifted Gabrielle’s face placing a delicate kiss on trembling lips.

A white hot light shot through both of them. The pain in Gabrielle’s head was unbearable. Desperately she brought her hands up to her temples. Teeth gritting she called out to Xena. The rain had started to fall and Gabrielle could feel the drops like tiny needle pricks. Although, her eyes were closed from the agony she could still feel Xena’s embrace tightening around her like a vice. The rain was now a deluge beating on them with extreme gravitational force. The pain was intensifying. Through closed eyelids, Gabrielle could only see a flashing of white and black dots. Through the sheer strength of her will she cried out in despair. "No!! Don’t let this happen!" She felt Xena’s grip loosen then was gone. She heard the warrior’s voice as if she was traveling down a tunnel. It cried out to her. Gabrielle collapsed, only seeing black.

A Third Death: Part 2

Chapter 5: Potidaea

Hours had passed as the spent bard lay unconscious in the field. It was raining lightly as the day’s sun began it descent into the night. The tall grass and dimming light hid the strawberry-blonde from view of all living creatures. The bard’s lips started to move as if she were to tell a story. She began to gingerly move her head side to side with the silent mutterings now finding a voice. With her eyes still shut her brow creased displaying fervent concentration. Instantly her upper body shot up into a sitting position and her mouth gasped for air. Her eyes flew open wide in terror. "Xena" the word left her lips as a moan. Hoping that it had all been a terrible nightmare she scanned her surroundings. It was getting dark. She fumbled to her feet searching for a sign of Xena. There was none. ‘This can’t be.’ Gabrielle searched for an explanation. She felt a stinging sensation at her neck. Absent of mind she reached up to feel what was causing the discomfort. Her fingers felt a wet residue. She traced it with one finger and felt it form a thin line directly under her chin. ‘Blood?’ With that thought Gabrielle knew the hurtful truth. Ares had taken her beloved. She had to go find Xena. "Promise me!" The words echoed in the bard’s ears. She stumbled from the ricocheting sound. Her promise was the last sentence to the warrior. A heaviness pushed her back down to her knees and she wept with abandon.

***

Lila had just finished preparing dinner. Her mother, Hecuba, was setting the table for them to eat. She could hear the rain still beating on the tiled roof. "When will this rain cease?" She asked to nobody in particular. She thought it was strange that it would be raining like this at this time of the season. Earlier at the market others had also expressed the same thoughts.

Herodotus burst through the door. "What in Hades name is this weather doing?" He started to shake his body flinging moisture in all directions.

"Herodotus you’re as bad as a common dog, quit that." Hecuba moved quickly to his side trying to rid her husband of his wet belongings. After thoroughly scolding him, she sent him to their room to get ready for dinner. Lila laughed at the whole scene.

Eventually, the three of them sat at the table. Food was passed from hand to hand while they each told of their day. Lila, of course, had monopolized much of the conversation. "And then I told him that there was no way that I’d spend that kind of dinar.." Her hands in a flurry as she conveyed her story to a half-listening Herodotus and Hecuba. "He, of course, was adamant about the price but - what was that?" All three of them looked at the door.

"Are you expecting anybody Herodotus?" The matriarch asked her husband.

"No, it’s probably just Frankifus needing help with his flock. He never did know when to bring them in. Hold on I’ll get the door." He stood irritated at the thought of being disturbed at dinner.

"What is it -" He started as he flung the door open to speak with his annoying neighbor. "For gods’ sake. Hecuba come quickly." He reached down to pick up the crumpled form that had collapsed in his doorway. It was a woman, he could tell that, but by the way she was lying he could tell little more. Gingerly, he rolled the woman over to get a look at her face. His sharp intake of breath frightened his approaching wife. "For the love of - it’s Gabrielle!"

Hecuba almost stumbled as she knelt down by her unconscious daughter. Her hands quickly felt the bard’s skin. It was cold as ice. She turned to call out to her other daughter but found out that Lila was standing directly above her trying to get a look at her sister. "Go quickly get the healer." Lila was out the door moving faster than Hecuba or Herodotus had ever seen before. "Move her to her bed husband. We need to get her warm."

Herodotus picked up his daughter’s limp body moving her to her own bed. Her room had not been changed since she left. "What has happened to you Gabrielle?" He muttered as he laid her amongst the blankets. Silently, with much worry, the couple stood there looking over their daughter. They both knew that something or someone was missing but they couldn’t place it. Their concern soon overtook their curiosity.

The healer worked quickly. The frail women steeped herbs in hot water and force fed the semi-unconscious Amazon queen. It appeared that the girl had been traveling for days by the way she looked. She had also been in some fight by the scratch across her throat. She had seen enough wounds to know that it had been made by a knife. She neglected to tell that to her family. It was up to the girl to tell them her story. The healer was there only to treat wounds and sickness. After stitching the girl and placing more blankets upon her, she went to talk to the worried threesome. She knew the girl would be all right but would sleep for a very long time thanks to her herbal tea.

"How is she?" Hecuba raced to the healer as she stepped out of Gabrielle’s room. The healer took Hecuba’s hands before she spoke. "She is going to be fine. She looks exhausted and getting caught in this nasty rainstorm didn’t help much. She just needs her rest and after that she should be as good as new." Her words allowed Hecuba a sigh of relief. "Strange though..." The healer continued. "I thought your daughter left with someone all those moons ago."

Herodotus nodded. "She did but she has been gone so long I don’t remember much about this person. I do know that they better have a good explanation for leaving my daughter like that."

"Perhaps they parted a while ago father." Lila was also trying to remember her sisters traveling companion. " Gabrielle was obviously on her way home. She must have misjudged the severity of the storm."

"Hmmp," The stern father tilted his head in reply. "Gabrielle was never much good about getting out of the rain."

After the healer left they went back to their cold dinners. This time there was no evening banter. Each was lost in thought wondering about their wayward daughter and sister. Slowly, they finished their meals and went to bed.

Chapter 6: Differences

Two days had past since Gabrielle returned home. She had awoken only a few times. Just long enough to relieve herself and to be fed by her sister. Each time she had barely spoken a word. It was if she was just going through the motions not really aware of where she was. Lila had begun to worry. ‘Surely the healer could not be wrong,’ she thought to herself as she fed her sister some broth. "Gabrielle," she again tried to reach her despondent sister. The bard didn’t bother making eye contact. She stared across the room at the far wall opening her mouth only to receive the bland soup. "What has happened to you sister? Can you not even spare a smile for your family?" She put the bowl down and positioned herself in Gabrielle’s line of sight but Gabrielle didn’t even blink. "Gabrielle, what is it? Can you see me?" She waved a hand to test the bard’s eyesight.

"I can see you sister." Gabrielle replied in a scratchy voice but did not change her eye position. "I just need some time Lila. Please give me more time." She rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. Lila nodded silently to Gabrielle’s back. She pulled the sheet up over her sister, picked up the bowl and retreated out the door.

"How is she?" Hecuba questioned as Lila returned with the unused broth.

Lila shook her head not really sure what to say. "Still no change."

"That girl better snap out of it right quick, "Herodotus spat angrily.

"Herodotus, you leave her alone. You hear me?" Hecuba reprimanded her impatient husband. "Gabrielle will be better soon and back to her old self. Perhaps then we will find out what happened to her."

"I hope so." Lila nodded absently in agreement. "I don’t know though. She seems so...sad. It’s almost infinite. I can feel it when I’m around her. I’ve never seen her like this she’s so different."

Gabrielle lay in the darkness of her bedroom. She could hear the muffled voices of her family down the hall. She knew that they were speaking of her. She just wanted to stay here, wrapped up in blankets with her eyes closed. She could see Xena then. Her head resting on her lap looking up at her with sapphire eyes and smiling. Gabrielle felt the familiar pain around her heart. She cried out in vain into the air. "Xena," Her cry was nothing more than a whisper. Slowly, she let sleep mercifully take her into unconsciousness. Her pain dulled.

Four more days had passed and the family from Potidaea had just risen to do their daily chores. Hecuba was in the kitchen preparing the morning meal. Herodotus had already left for the fields. He would be back later to eat. Lila was at the well fetching water. A few days ago the weather had returned to normal and the first rays of light were beginning to show on the trees outside. Hecuba was lost in thought slicing fruit when she heard a voice behind her.

"Mother." It was faint but Hecuba heard it. She whirled around to see Gabrielle standing in the doorway. Her daughter looked horrible. The bard was dressed in a beige shift and her eyes were bloodshot. She was squinting due to the lack of any real light for several days. Her hair was a mess and her skin was a pasty white. Hecuba had never been more relieved in all her life. She rushed over wrapping her daughter in a motherly embrace.

"Ugh, mother it’s nice to see you too." Gabrielle returned her mother’s hug in earnest. "I hope I didn’t worry you too much."

"Yes, Gabrielle you worried us very much but I’m so happy to see you up and out of bed." She let her daughter disentangle herself from her mother’s now suffocating clinch. "You look a fright. We need to get you cleaned up."

Gabrielle artfully dodged her mother’s advance. " I know mother. I was just so...tired. I’m still feeling rather weak. I think I need some solid food before a bath." She reached out to grasp her mother’s hand forcing herself to give a reassuring smile.

"Of course, here eat this fruit. I’ll make you some eggs." With that, Hecuba set the kitchen ablaze with a flurry of activity. It was enough to make the bard feel somewhat nauseous. Cautiously she brought the fruit up to her mouth. She had not eaten in days so she knew she should eat slowly. She was relieved, however, that her infamous appetite finally made a comeback.

"Gabrielle!" A shrill shriek came from the doorway. Lila dropped the two buckets of water she was carrying onto the stone floor inadvertently spilling most of its contents. "You’re up."

The bard smiled at her shocked sister. "Yes Lila, I’m up. Now I suggest you clean up that water before father comes back from the field."

Lila looked down at her sopping feet. "Geez." She reached for a cloth ignoring her chuckling mother. She bent down to wipe the floor her eyes fixed on Gabrielle. "I was just surprised. I’m glad you’re finally feeling better, but you still look horrible."

Gabrielle smiled showing her obvious amusement. "Thank you sister. Mother also pointed that out to me. I need some food before I bathe."

"Here eat this, it’ll bring back some of your strength." Hecuba placed a large plate of fried eggs in front of her daughter. "I want you to eat all of it."

The smell of the eggs sent Gabrielle’s stomach into a low rumble. Her resolve to eat slowly vanished as she plunged her utensil into the eggs. "Yes mother." She replied with a mouthful of food.

Hecuba and Lila sat silently watching Gabrielle devour her eggs and fruit. Satiated the bard leaned back in her chair letting her food finally digest. "That was delicious." A smile came to her face as it often did upon finishing a meal.

Hecuba smiled. "Good, now let’s get you cleaned up." She stood lifting Gabrielle with her. "Lila fetch some more water for your sister’s bath." Quickly, she turned dragging her daughter down to the bathing room.

***

Gabrielle, now clean and looking remarkably better, once again joined her mother and sister in the kitchen. She had dressed in a simple blue skirt and a white tunic. Her honey hair was down loosely around her shoulders. She was beautiful but had nobody around to truly appreciate it. Her mother and sister also noticed how differently Gabrielle looked when she re-entered the kitchen. Not only was she clean and her hair neatly combed, her physical appearance looked different. She had muscle where once there was only baby fat. Her face was thinner and she stood straighter with more confidence. She seemed so much older than when she left. In fact, so much older than she really was. They both looked at her as she sat in a chair by the wall.

"What?" Gabrielle responded to the questioning gazes.

Lila began. "It just that you look so different Gabby."

"I know, you already said I look horrible."

"No, it’s not that." Hecuba jumped in at Lila’s defense and perhaps her own. "You looked horrible because you had been ill. But now that you’re cleaned and fed you still look different. You’re not the girl that left us more than two summers ago." Gabrielle looked down at the floor unable to meet the inquiring looks in fear that she would burst out into tears. "What has happened my daughter? Why are you so sad?"

Gabrielle took in a deep breath. She knew that she would have to explain why she had appeared on their doorstep in the worst condition of her life. Her explanation, however, would not reveal the true reason for her sorrow or its depths. Slowly, she began and in true bard fashion she picked her words carefully. "When I left here, I left to travel with someone. Someone who I thought could bring me adventure, to teach me things I had only read about before. Do you remember?"

They both nodded then Lila spoke. "Yes, vaguely but I can’t remember much else other than it was a woman."

Gabrielle smiled at her sister as well as at her own memories. "Yes, it was a woman. The strongest woman I had ever seen. She saved us from slavers that day. Fearless in her fury she dispatched those men as easily as swatting at a fly. After that I begged her to let me follow her. She refused at first. Who would want an innocent peasant girl and bard wannabe trailing along. I was, much to her chagrin, very persistent and finally won her over with my cooking skills." Another smile but Hecuba and Lila saw it quickly vanish in a mask of pain. "We had many adventures over the seasons. We would travel from village to village helping people who needed help. She saved my life so many times I had lost count before our fourth moon together. I had many things to learn and she had many skills to share. That was one of her favorite sayings." Gabrielle lowered her voice emulating Xena’s. "‘I have many skills.’ She could be very funny when she wanted to be." Her voice softened but her eyes became vacant.

Gabrielle begun her story again trying to understand it herself. "Anyway I followed, documenting our adventures on my scrolls thankful that she hadn’t left me in some village along the way. By the end of our first summer we were close. Good friends and that friendship would only deepen. There wasn’t a thing that I wouldn’t do for her." Gabrielle looked down at the cold stone floor. A tear escaped and dropped. The bard watched its descent pausing before returning to her story.

"What happened Gabrielle?" Lila urged the bard on.

"Before we met, Xe...she had made some enemies. They were always looking for a way to get her. Eventually they did. Several days ago my friend was killed but I was spared. I made my way back here...to grieve. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you." Gabrielle broke down in tears before her last sentence was finished. She wasn’t just grieving the loss of her friend, it was the loss of her very soul. The hardest part was that she was to be alone in her anguish. The bard couldn’t even seek comfort from her family. They probably wouldn’t understand anyway.

Lila spoke in a soothing tone. "I’m so sorry Gabrielle." A brief pause before she asked. "What happened to your scrolls? I would like to read about her."

Gabrielle looked at her sister. "They were destroyed when we were attacked." She knew that she could never share her scrolls.

***

Hundreds of miles away night had fallen in a small village off the Eastern coast of Greece. Two armies had clashed battling for control of this village as well as another one farther south. It was a short but bloody contest. The defeated army losing many soldiers to the swift, organized operation that descended upon them. A message was sent that day. The victorious army was a force to be reckoned with. The warlord Xena would not be denied the territory that she sought. Word traveled quickly and the whole Eastern Coast braced themselves for things to come.

With the village firmly under Xena’s control she set off for the tavern. The villagers, who knew that they were just pawns in a game between two warlords, parted for her as she walked down the street. Each was careful to bow their heads slightly as to not make eye contact. The way she looked right now would cause children and people of peace nightmares for nights to come. Her black hair was windswept and hung wildly around her face. Her body was covered in dirt and blood. Her black leather had several gashes and her armor was discolored and her backplate bent from a sword strike. On her right arm was a gash caused by a dagger. That dagger was now embedded in a young man’s head. It was not this physical appearance which was so frightful it was the look in her eyes. The pale blue stood out against the bronze of her face, still wide with battle lust. Killing would be instinctual; people had reason to fear.

Xena entered the tavern with several of her men behind her. She scanned the room for a table and found the one she wanted. In the back by the wall. It was occupied. Her eyes narrowed as she made her way over to it and its patrons. Quickly, without a word it was deserted. A chair, still warm, was pulled out for the bloodied warrior. "Get me a port," she said to one of her men who had followed her in. "The rest of you leave me alone. Enjoy the night. We’ll stay here for a couple of days." The soldier she had dispatched quickly returned with a full mug of port. The warlord took it without emotion. "Go back to camp. Tell Mercurio that his squad will be on first watch. Nothing gets past the perimeter of this village. Do you understand?" She looked at the soldier, her eyes narrowed.

"Yes my lord."

"Go then." Xena flicked her wrist shooing the soldier away.

She leaned back up against the wall swallowing the port hard. It wasn’t the best she had tasted but it would do to take the edge off. She felt the slight stinging in her arm. She looked down to see what was causing her discomfort. Oh yes, the dagger, she sullenly thought to herself. She would have her healer look at it when she returned to camp.

She looked around the tavern. She noticed that most the villagers had quietly exited leaving only herself and her men behind. She smiled. She enjoyed the fear that she was instilling in these sleepy villages. Her campaign was well known. ‘Destroyer of Nations’ how fitting’. She smiled at the thought. Just then, another large group of her men came into the tavern. They were not part of the squads that were to have watch that night. Each one looked around then all eyes came to rest on the warlord in the back. Each bowed in supplication. She bent her head slightly forward in recognition never taking her eyes off of them. She then gestured with her hand, allowing them to partake in what the tavern had to offer.

Xena understood the needs of her men as they were her own. Surviving battle heightened your senses making you edgy. The adrenaline coursed through your body for hours afterward. If you weren’t injured seriously, you were euphoric. Most of her soldiers didn’t want to let go of this euphoria. Most wanted to enhance it. It was battlelust and Xena knew it well. Unless they were near a brothel, however, her men had to find other ways to take care of their lust. Xena’s code would not allow her men to take women unwillingly. If they did, their punishment was swift and cruel. This warlord had no mercy for rapists.

Seduction, on the other hand, is something Xena understood very well. She knew how to make a previously unwilling participant quiver in anticipation. It was one of her many skills. She had learned a long time ago that her body could be a powerful weapon, men or women it didn’t matter. Although lately, she had more of a taste for women then men. The softness of their bodies, the sweetness of their skin only served to heighten her lust.

"Would you like some more port?" A feminine voice brought Xena out of her contemplation. Cold blue eyes looked up to see a small barmaid holding a jug. She was attractive with delicate features and honey-blonde hair. Xena noticed that she was also seemingly more attracted to blondes lately. Her eyes were brown and the warlord found herself wishing they were green. This woman would do nicely, however.

"Yes, thank you." Xena pushed her mug away from her and smiled seductively at the barmaid. The barmaid’s stomach seized. She didn’t understand her fascination for this woman who had blood and dirt smeared all over her. Xena was the most feared warlord in all of Greece. Her power was awesome and terrifying. It repulsed the barmaid but also kept her at the table longer than she should have been. The barmaid smiled back and with a trembling hand she tilted the jug toward the mug.

"Is it cold in here?" The warrior’s voice had lowered slightly, her inflection becoming richer and deeper.

"What?" The barmaid over filled the mug and some port dribbled down the side.

"Your hands are shaking. I was just wondering if you’re cold." She reached out to grab the woman’s wrist. Her thumb circling behind to find the pulse point. She smiled as she felt it quicken.

The barmaid flinched and tried to pull away but Xena’s tight grip held her in place. "Yeah, I guess I am a bit cold, but I’ll warm up if I get back to work." Xena recognized the plea. She chose to ignore it. Instead she pulled the frightened woman closer. "Are you the only barmaid working?"

"Uh, yes." The blonde’s breath was now raspy. She struggled to remain calm. The warlord was still gripping her wrist but her thumb was making tiny circles on its underside. Her knees were trembling. The touch was tender and entrancing the barmaid with each movement. She had to get away but could not make herself to struggle against the hold. "Please...I need to get back to work."

"Of course." Xena released her grip. She raised an eyebrow as the barmaid almost stumbled back. "Are you all right?" A seductive smirk displayed on her beautiful but grungy face.

"Yes, I just lost my balance." Quickly she turned back to the bar. Xena knew that this game was far from over.

The scene did not go unnoticed by two of Xena’s men on the far side of the tavern. "I don’t understand it Terris. What does she have that I don’t?" The young soldier took a large swig of his mead still watching his commander by the wall.

"Which one?" His companion looked up from his meal.

"Which one? What do you think? Xena of course, you moron."He shook his head in frustration. "Look at her. She almost had that barmaid begging to squirm around on her lap. Why can’t I do that?"

His companion laughed. "Look at her you fool. I’d give my right eye to bed her."

The other looked at the now leering Terris. His hand shot up to his friends shoulder. "Easy, I bet she *would* take your right eye if she caught you looking at her like that. Without much pleasure for you I might add." A shudder ran down Terris’ spine. He quickly looked down at his meal. They both finished in dejected silence.

Xena continued to watch the barmaid as she finished her port. ‘Time for refill,’ she stood up and made her way to the bar. The blondes back was to Xena and she did not see her approaching. Suddenly, cool metal was pressed up to the bare portion of her back. A lean arm snaked around her right side holding a mug in strong hands. She could feel warm breath on the back of her neck. Unconsciously she leaned into the woman behind her.

"I need a refill." Xena said directly into her ear.

The barmaid started to turn around but was stopped by a firm hand on her waist. "No need to turn around my mug is here in front of you."

The bartender surveyed the situation and for some unknown reason felt the urge to protect his young barmaid. "Antonia could you come over here I need some..." Xena turned and shot the meddlesome bartender a warning glare. "Never mind, I can manage." He moved to the opposite end of the bar.

The warlord turned her attention back to the seemingly confused blonde. "Go ahead Antonia, pour the liquid into my mug." She moved closer letting her knee touch Antonia’s leg through her woven tunic. There was a perceptible shudder from the nervous barmaid. It took all her concentration to fill the vessel for the now demanding but gorgeous warrior. ‘Ahh, how easy they succumb’ Xena smiled and brought her free hand up to lightly trace Antonia’s shoulder blades. She moved her head in closer to smell the blonde shoulder length hair. "Mmmm, you bathe in jasmine. Very nice." She reached up underneath the barmaid’s hair to run five fingers up her neck and to the base of her scalp. Antonia’s knees weakened. "Would you like to show me where I can find some of that jasmine? I do need a bath." Xena had now taken Antonia’s earlobe into her teeth gently biting the sensitive zone.

Antonia couldn’t believe what was happening and right here in front of everybody. She was mortified but her body wouldn’t let her turn away. She was ashamed of the growing wetness between her legs and groaned as Xena continued her ministrations with mouth and hand. "Please I can’t. I’m to be married."

Xena spun the barmaid around quickly. Her cold gaze holding the brown eyes of the barmaid easily. "Perhaps you should rethink that decision Antonia." She forcefully pulled Antonia’s hair so that the barmaid head was tilted slightly back. She heard a gasp then saw parted lips. An invitation. "Your body tells me that you aren’t ready to settle down." She descended ready to crush Antonia’s lips with her own.

"Xena!" Her name traveled from the door.

Irritated with the interruption, Xena let go of the barmaid pushing her back in the process. She turned to glare at the person who dared to bother the lusting warlord. A heavily armored soldier made his way to the bar. He noted Xena’s glare and quickly rushed to an apology. "I’m sorry, I could see you were occupied but I have some scouting reports that need your immediate attention." He bowed slightly upon reaching Xena.

Xena looked down at her second in command. He was her most trusted and valuable soldier. She would forgive his intrusion. "Dimitrius, let’s discuss this back at my tent. Send someone to round up the men. I want them back at camp." He nodded and she walked out the door without even a backward glance at the barmaid.

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #mature #author: cl bactad #fanfiction #femslash