#I need to bring a metal camping cup here and leave it somewhere in the tree

[slavicafire]

a whole bunch of wagtails, yellow-bellied, sits in the blooming wild cherry tree that I'm, well, sitting in as well. I'm trying not to move - not to spook the birds but also not to spook the roe deer I can see sleeping in the blackthorn bushes below. the sun kisses my face fiercely as I look up to watch the buzzards circling above us: a pair, soaring and sky-dancing together, calling out loudly.

the young sorrel I brought with me up into the tree is overwhelmingly sour. can't wait until there'll be fruit, too, to balance it out - but for now it's just the wind that's sweet, and the water from the tiny mountain spring below me. and that's alright

[alwaysbeliev]

Snapdragons

happy (very belated) Valentine’s Day, @the-awkward-outlaw ! i hope you enjoy this!

summary:  Arthur Morgan has never been very good at talking about his thoughts and feelings. He finds it much easier to show them, and he hopes he's doing it the right way.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

word count: 1838

link on AO3

The First

Sunlight filtered delicately through the trees in the early morning. Birds chirped somewhere above, hidden among the flourishing summer canopy, a shadow dashing here and there between the branches. A squirrel scurried around roots on the forest floor, pausing only to dig at a spot and sniff before deciding it was fruitless and moving on. 

You idly watched them, bundled in your coat as you stood by the morning campfire, holding a tin cup of coffee in your hands. The heat had pierced through the metal and was warming your cold hands. In slow, deep breaths, you inhaled the fumes, grateful for the steam that wafted upwards. It would be another hour before the air truly started to warm up.

Most of the camp was stirring now. You heard the rustling of Pearson at his wagon as he dug through the cart in search of ingredients. Jack emerged from his family’s tent, Abigail’s voice trailing after him in kind fashion, followed by a grunt from John. Miss O’Shea was combing her fingers through her hair just outside hers and Dutch’s tent. It was nice to watch them all in these moments and learn more about them than they might know about themselves. They were tiny snapshots into their lives.

But the one person you enjoyed watching the most was markedly absent from the group. His cot was visible to all the camp in these summer months, the little table with the flower and the photographs pinned to the side of the wagon. There was no indication he had slept there last night. You inhaled deeply, allowing it to lift your shoulders as you took a drink from your cup again. You didn’t dare ask where he was. You were determined, for some unknown reason both to you and externally, that nobody knew you were sweet on Arthur. You were sure it might give people the wrong idea. 

For several months, you had been learning about the van der Linde gang. You had found them in New Austin, scouting the streets of Tumbleweed, and Dutch thought you were after them. Instead, you partnered on a score, and were ultimately invited to work with them permanently. “Family”, he said they were. You had never really known “family”, but were happy to be included. Now, you knew it meant you belonged.

Arthur had been wary of you for a long time. It wasn’t until Blackwater when he started focusing on keeping everyone together that he softened. “Softened” was the mildest word available for it, as he merely stopped shooting you disdained looks and avoiding you, but shortly after, he started having actual conversations with you. Not much longer after that, you would even call him your friend, and you wanted to be more. You knew his past now, though, and were sure it wasn’t in your cards. For now, you were content.

As you finished your cup and stepped away from the fire, the sound of slowly approaching hoofsteps made your head turn. Arthur and Hosea were riding back into camp, the former atop a new horse and the latter looking his age. You smiled involuntarily and hurriedly turned away in hopes that nobody saw. You busied yourself with placing your cup near the dishes that needed washing, certain you would be asked to do those later, and tugged your jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Someone called your name. You were surprised to see that it was Arthur, approaching you with a hand behind his back. Jack had done the same thing to you more than once, gifting you both frogs and candies on separate occasions. 

“Mr. Morgan,” you greeted with a genuine smile, “how are you gettin’ on?”

“Jus’ fine, thank you,” he replied. He smiled, too, but abashedly. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course, I just, ah… I ain’t very good at this kinda thing, but thought you might appreciate these.” With a clumsy flourish, the cowboy pulled a cluster of flowers from behind his back, gripped tightly in his fist. Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized your favorite, snapdragons, in the center. Your mouth dropped open and you fumbled for words. Emotions raced through your head too fast for you to capture any of them.

“I, er, heard you the other day,” he admitted, “tellin’ the girls that you missed having some color around. We was out huntin’ and I saw ‘em and, well…” Arthur was out of words. He offered them again. Gingerly, as if nervous they might disappear, you took them from him, carefully thumbing through them with your other hand to identify what else was in the bouquet. It looked as though they had all hung from his saddle on his return journey, the leaves a little wilted and dusty, but the gesture was enough to bring a small sting to your eye.

“Thank you.” You barely managed to get the words out. You swallowed the emotion before looking up at him again. “That was mighty kind of you, Arthur, thank you very much.”

“Course,” he muttered, one hand gripping his belt while the other rubbed the back of his neck. 

The Second

The gang had to move camp. Again. It felt like there was no chance to make a real home, more and more trouble coming your way. There were rumors of Pinkertons out here. How they had followed you through the mountains, you were at a loss, but there they were and away the gang had to go.

Following Mrs. Grimshaw’s orders, you helped Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth pack up the bed rolls and take down tents. You walked Horseshoe Overlook back and forth to make sure no identifying items were left behind. Soon, you were sitting in a wagon watching the fading camp. Recent memories of laughing, drinking, and even dancing with Arthur rolled through your mind. Mary-Beth took your hand and squeezed it. You gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. 

Since bringing you flowers, Arthur had become an entirely different person. There was a strange kindness to him. You had seen it before, but now it felt tenfold, and most of it was directed to you. He would share his treats, his coats, sometimes part of his meal if he thought you might still be hungry, even showing you some of the sketches he made in his elusive journal. Tilly and Karen hadn’t missed it. Mary-Beth even sighed dreamily over some imaginary scenario in her head and called it “romantic”. It made you feel giddy.

Charles greeted the head of the wagon train. After entering a cove of trees, the wagons rolled onto a grassy clearing that edged up to a lake. A large tree took up the center, providing a great ceiling to what you hoped was the last place you would have to make home. Everyone circled in and you were immediately put to work again. 

Hours later, the sun was setting on yet another day, and you watched it from a log on the lake shore. The smell of the evening stew was drifting towards the water. You had finally cooled off-- as much as you could, anyway, with the humidity-- and were just beginning to think of going for your shawl. Gravel crunched behind you and you turned to see Arthur approaching. He seemed down, the golden light highlighting all of his scars and frown lines. 

“Mr. Morgan.” You hoped your eagerness wasn’t visible to him in the low light. His face, however, lifted instantaneously.

“Hope your day weren’t too rough,” he mumbled, stepping over the log to sit beside you. Casually, as though he had done it a million times, Arthur pulled some flowers from his satchel. They were more snapdragons, different colors than last time, and your face split into a wide grin. 

“Well, it’s much better now.” Feeling a rush of bravery, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It was rough and smelled different than you expected, but it fit him perfectly. The tinge of red in his cheek might have been explained away by the sunset turning a shade of pink by someone who wasn’t paying much attention. The bravery was gone almost as soon as it had arrived and you turned your gaze back to the flowers in your hand, gently picking at the leaves. 

“Anyway, thank you,” you murmured. He grunted about it being nothing and you fell into silence together, your head burning with questions you were too nervous still to ask.

The Third

Early morning in Saint Denis had its own little charms. The city made you uneasy, that was for sure, and you knew you would long to return to the untamed wilderness soon, but as you studied the way the light shone on the buildings and listened to the sounds of the streets waking up, you could understand the appeal. Vines grew up the balcony, bees buzzed lazily between the small buds, the occasional neighbor greeted the other. Slowly, you grew aware of your immediate surroundings; the soft blanket, the real mattress beneath you, the new pillow under your head. Memories from the night before were beginning to set in and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning widely. 

Arthur had gone with Dutch and a few others to a party the mayor was throwing. You knew it was important, and what they were doing was dangerous, but he looked so good in his suit, you couldn’t find it in yourself to worry too much. The friendship between the two of you had blossomed into something more, something both soft and fiery, comforting and passionate. With the move to Shady Belle, you found yourself spending more nights in Arthur’s room inside of the house than on your bedroll outside. He seemed to have read your mind when he saw you looking at him dressed up, slipping cash into your hand and giving you whispered instructions to meet him at a hotel that night, after the party.

Inhaling deeply, you turned onto your back, stretching your arm over to find who filled the space beside you. It was surprisingly empty, and your head turned to find the blankets poorly pulled back into place. In the dip on the pillow, however, were snapdragons. Pink, red, white, mixed with a few other wildflowers. It was a bigger bouquet than he had given you in the past and it was tied together with a piece of twine. A paper with a short message was laying beside it. Picking it up, you read:

Went for a ride. We both needed to stretch our legs, you understand. I will be back soon. Stay in bed, I will have breakfast soon. Yours, Arthur.

He was yours. He brought flowers, he was bringing breakfast, and it was all for you. Finally feeling content, you closed your eyes again, allowing sleep to pull you away until he made his return. This was your happy place, you thought as you drifted off again. You could stay here forever.

[tintinwrites]

indelible | Comandante Veracruz x Reader | Part Two

A/N: There is a plot to this series, but for right now it’s smut!

Rating: 18+

Warning: Public sex against a car with a person standing on the other side of the car. Naughty words. Oral (M receiving, mention of F receiving). Veracruz is possessive but it almost seems like he cares maybe.

Word count: 2,099, apparently!!

Summary: Veracruz is keeping an eye on you to make sure Commander Axe doesn’t do anything when he is once again berated for his incompetence.

Part One

GIF credit: thewaythisis (Please let me know if you don’t want me using your GIF!)

Tags: @shadow-assassin-blix (Thanks for always helping!) @bisexual-space-slut (Thanks for always helping!) @damndamer0n @woakiees @anetteaneta @yespolkadotkitty @feelmyroarrrr @mynameiswhiskey @damerondjarin @arkofblake @spacegayofficial @perropascal @theocatkov​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ (If I forgot you or if you’d like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!)

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

You weren’t part of this whole military thing.

What little you knew was whatever Veracruz would rant to you before or after the two of you fucked, and other than that? You really didn’t care to know what fucked up things any of his people or the opposing side did.

He ranted to you in quite detail, so you probably knew more confidential things than you should have, but again; you didn’t really care.

That meant you knew about this ‘Commander Axe’ who was trying to take down terrorists that you weren’t even convinced were real and you knew that he was taken from your camp, and...he somehow escaped from the people who took him, which actually made you curious about the man.

There was this kinship and you decided to go see him under the guise of bringing Veracruz a cup of coffee.

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a suspicious gaze as you walked over to the tent where Commander Axe was splashing water onto his face, but he took the coffee from you and took a large sip before setting it down.

You listened to Commander Axe as he said some of the things that were done to him or almost done to him and you really didn’t hold anything against the man, but you couldn’t help giggling at the garish blue color of his camouflage.

“What?” He asked gruffly, with a bit of curiosity in his tone at the woman dressed decidedly not in fatigues standing next to Veracruz.

“I’m sorry, but it’s no wonder you were kidnapped...we’re not in the ocean.” The jungle was certainly no place for clothing that wasn’t green if you were in any military.

Veracruz smiled at you for this, seeming like he didn’t like Commander Axe very much as he slid his hand into your back pocket and squeezed you approvingly. The other man was letting his gaze roam over your body with some interest that was more than friendly once he realized you weren’t exactly like all these other soldiers, his eyes pausing on the bite marks that your comandante made fresh practically every day.

“Admiring my handiwork?” There was a smirk on his lips that you knew meant he was pissed, his hand moving out of your back pocket and taking hold of one of your hips, pulling you against his side possessively to show that you belonged to somebody else.

“I’m Sam,” the man sounded almost gentle now as if he was searching for something.

You opened your mouth to tell him your name, but Veracruz waved at the man to tell him they’d continue in a moment as he turned you around and walked you towards your tent. Wanting to show even more that you belong to him, he slapped your ass very obviously and practically yelled, “Back to our tent!”

Then he leaned down to speak softly to you, lips curling into a snarl you loved to see because you knew you’d turned him on, “For that, I will make you come on my tongue when I’m finished with this.”

When Veracruz ate you out, he did a very thorough job and you knew he’d leave your thighs shaking, so you happily nodded and made your way to your tent; a glance back showed him walking back to Commander Axe who looked at him with narrowed eyes like he didn’t trust him, but you didn’t want to be part of all this military shit.

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

True to his word, Veracruz used his mouth on you and made you orgasm twice once he was back in the tent, but then he changed.

“I’m going to be keeping an eye on you,” he’d said with his chin resting on your trembling thigh, before explaining that he didn’t trust Commander Axe not to do something to you.

He raised an eyebrow at you to see if you’d enjoyed Sam as he mentioned the man, if you held any interest for him merely because he looked you over like an object, and you quickly said, “I’m yours,” to which he nodded in approval after a long moment.

You were at his side anytime he wasn’t with Commander Axe, which you didn’t mind too much since he let you bring a couple books with you.

All of this was still too much for you to want to know, so you mostly kept to yourself and read during whatever duty he dragged you along to.

However, when things seemed to be getting a bit more dramatic and Veracruz hopped out of his car on the way to somewhere you didn’t remember to talk to Perez, you couldn’t help but set down your book, roll your window down a bit, and try to listen to what they were yelling about.

Perez was asking what they were doing, where Commander Axe and the others were, and Veracruz did his best to explain what they were doing.

The moment you heard Perez tell him that they would discuss his incompetence later, you didn’t need to guess the look on his face; you glanced out the back window anyway and saw him turning around with a scowl on his face, his eyes locking on yours despite the tint on the glass.

You were fucked. Literally.

You couldn’t help the thrill that went through you at the thought of his anger when his competence came into question. Would he take you here, in the car, when his men were piled into a truck in front of you and Perez’ in a truck behind you? When another soldier was in the front seat?

Perez and his men drove off and Veracruz stalked right past your window, and you wondered if he was too angry to even fuck you. “Vete!”

Once his own men were driving away, he stood there with his hands on his hips at the hood of the car for a long moment, his shoulders shaking. Then he walked over to the passenger side and urged the man you’d been traveling with, “Sal del coche.” It was his right hand man, so he jumped out of the car and walked around to the other side when Veracruz gestured for him to. He walked to your door and stared into the little sliver of the window you’d opened. “Get out. Now.” He didn’t need to tell you twice, stepping back as you scrambled out of your seatbelt and shoved the door open, sliding out of the car.

You knew not to say anything until he asked you a question, folding your hands in front of yourself and staring at the ground as he slowly looked you over. His hand shot out and gripped your jaw tightly, lifting your head to make you look into his eyes.

There was something about the anticipation of what he was going to do that only made you wetter, and he noticed the way you squeezed your thighs together, quickly shoving you against the car.

He put his forearms against the glass and metal on either side of you, leaning in close until his nose was pressed against the tip of yours.

“Take off your jacket.” One of his hands moved down to unbutton and unzip your jeans as you hurriedly tossed your jacket aside so you were just in a tank top, moaning as his fingers slid into your jeans to stroke you over your underwear. “You’re wet.”

You nodded, grinding down onto his fingers and practically begging with your eyes for him to touch your clit, not caring about the man on the other side of the car, but he pulled his hand away from you. He yanked your jeans down and left you to step out of them as he undid his own pants, taking his cock out.

Stepping out of your jeans and kicking them off to the side, you reached for him and were quickly pushed back, your legs hiked up around his waist as he practically crushed you against the side of the car. “You think I am incompetent, baby?”

You opened your mouth to tell him no, but all you did was moan as he slid your panties aside and pushed into you — how he could get you wet enough to fuck with a look and light touches, you didn’t know, but you liked it.

It took a moment of adjusting to how fucking good he felt for you to finally say, “No, Comandante.”

He started a fast pace against you and you weren’t sure whether you were imagining the car rocking or not, but you didn’t care. Fuck, part of you wanted it to be rocking from how hard his hips were snapping against yours, showing his right hand man how hard he was fucking you.

His hand wrapped around the side of your neck as if you weren’t completely pinned, a few grunts falling from his lips.

“Bet you wish I hadn’t sent my men away, hm? You’d like them to see you. I’d like them to see that you’re all mine and not just hear it.” Like the man standing around the other side of the car. He pressed his thumb under your chin, tilting your head back.

“Yes, yes,” this was partly the tingling between your legs making you say yes and partly you just loving the thought of all his soldiers watching him claim you. You were horny enough just knowing you were being heard.

“I’d like Commander Axe to see who you belong to.” The idea made him fuck into you harder, moaning softly.

Your walls fluttered around him slightly and you didn’t know or care how he was so good at making you cum. Was he just that sexy to you, that you could come with nothing but his cock inside you?

“You’ll ask me,” he reminded you, knowing your body well enough to know when you were going to orgasm.

His hand moved down between you to rub circles onto your clit, keeping his eyes on your expression as your brow furrowed. “Please, sir, can I?”

A short nod and you were clenching down around him, moaning loudly as his fingers worked your clit harder. “That’s right, louder.” His touch pressing down on your clit as he leaned in to bite your neck made you cry out, making sure you were definitely heard by the man standing on the other side of the truck.

He pulled out of you and let your legs fall away from him, putting his hands on your shoulders to push you down to your knees. You didn’t stop him, and if anything you only moaned when his cock was in your face and leaned forward without him even telling you what he wanted.

You’d tasted yourself on his fingers and his cock and you obviously loved it, taking him into your mouth as far as you could and sucking on him lightly. He was close, which meant you didn’t need to build him up like you did when you usually sucked him off.

“Good girl. You look at me.” He did his best to pretend he wasn’t putty in your hands when he was in your mouth, but you could tell by his dilated pupils and his groans how much he loved this.

Your eyes met his and his cock twitched as he grabbed onto you, starting to fuck your face like he often ended up doing. You would gag even when he wouldn’t thrust that deep because you knew he liked that, loved the thought of you taking him so well.

“Swallow all of it,” his warnings were gentle when he felt this good with you, his hips thrusting with a bit less of a rhythm until he pushed forward and spilled into you.

You swallowed around him almost eagerly, moaning as you tasted him and his cum, your gaze on his hooded one as he tilted his head back.

He let you pull away when you wanted, fixing up his pants and watching as you redressed yourself. “Sit up front with me.”

You did, and he kept his hand on your thigh as he drove in the direction where Commander Axe apparently was, with the other soldier now sitting in the back.

Maybe you didn’t know much about the military or all of what Veracruz was doing, and maybe your relationship with him was unique, but you couldn’t help hoping that despite the anger on both sides, everyone would come out unscathed and the two of you could return to your normal relationship.

[songbirdstargazer]

Resume Chapter 7, Goron City

This definitely isn't three days late

Why would you think that

I think I might have hesitantly settled on an update schedule of an update every other week? Maybe on a Sunday or Monday? Maybe? I struggle a little with schedules (if you've been following this story you probably know that though) so this is very hesitant and might not happen as well as I'd like, but I'm working on it?

Well, anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

oO0Oo

Zelda wiped the sweat from her brow, tying her hair back into a high ponytail. The heat was stifling, even with the fireproof elixirs that Link had bought at the stable. They were tromping up Death Mountain, on their way to see the leader of the Goron people and fellow Champion, Daruk.

Zelda wouldn't admit it, but she was apprehensive, especially after what happened at Zora's Domain. That's not to say that she didn't deserve it, because she did, but it ignited all the worst fears smoldering in the corners of her mind. Did the champions resent her? Did… did Link resent her?

She hoped not, but she couldn't blame them. It was her fault that this all happened. If only she could have just done what she was born to do earlier…

She didn't want to know. She didn't want to do much of anything, really, until she could get her thoughts sorted. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen.

She sighed. No use dwelling on it now. All she could do was keep walking.

oO0Oo

Goron City was just as she remembered it. Gorons rolled along metal bridges, never paying mind to the slowly flowing magma just underneath. Children laughed, playing their games without a care in the world as shopkeepers shouted their wares to the passing Hylians and Gorons.

Zelda sighed. It reminded her of Castle Town. They carefully crossed the hot iron bridges, making their way toward Daruk's house. He met them outside with a boisterous greeting, and Zelda's eyes were immediately drawn to the chipped rock all along his left arm. She looked away. Unfortunately, Daruk saw this. "Tiny princess! It's great to see you! We saw you and the little guy kick that pig seven ways to Tuesday! You two are alright, right?"

A small smile came to the princess's face at Daruk's usual cheerfulness. She was among friends. "Yes Daruk, I think we both are fine. Uh, pardon me for saying this but… what happened to your arm?"

Daruk's smile never dropped as he quickly changed the subject. "Just a scratch from the blight, I'm fine. He didn't stand a chance! What brings you two up here, anyway?"

Zelda tried to keep her smile plastered on her face. Someone else hurt because of her. Speaking of which, what was he talking about? A blight? She set that thought aside to mention later. "We actually came to talk to you about Goron City. Is there somewhere it would be best to talk?"

oO0Oo

Later, as Link and Zelda walked down from Daruk's house and back to the inn, Zelda contemplated how resilient her people were. Daruk had informed her that not only were the monster camps on Death Mountain taken care of by the Gorons and some brave Hylians, they had also started to push off the volcano, taking back control and stopping any major damage.

The princess smiled to herself. Her father would be pleased. She'd have to pen a letter once they reached the inn. They had actually planned to leave immediately in order to make it to Rito Village by the next day, but Daruk had invited them to a Goron feast, and, well, Zelda wasn't one to refuse him.

Once they reached the inn, Link walked to the desk to check in with the elderly goron sitting there. Zelda wandered to the stone surfaces and got out her stationary, wincing as she sat down on the hard surface. She needed to inform her father of the situation with the Zoras.

oO0Oo

Time passed quickly, and before Zelda knew it Link was offering his arm to her to escort her to the center of town, where Daruk, as well as several other gorons, were waiting. They crossed the short distance arm in arm, not talking much. The close contact was enough, especially after writing out the conversation with the King Dorephan for her father.

Link only let go of her arm when they reached the huge tables the gorons had set up. They approached the Goron chief, who greeted them boisterously for the second time that day, speaking loudly over the chatter of the crowd around them.

"Hello, Daruk! Thanks again for inviting us, we've had such a great time so far! It's been much better than travelling!"

"Of course, tiny princess! I'd never pass up seeing you and the little guy again! Now, enough talking, let's get eating!"

Zelda could practically feel Link brightening at the thought. She laughed at his expression, taking a seat on the stone bench. She quickly sobered when she remembered what she needed to talk to Daruk about.

She contemplated how to go about it while they were served, but she brightened as she watched Link and Daruk scarf down the food (or in some cases, rocks) in front of them. Laughing merrily, Zelda let herself relax and enjoy the time with dear friends.

Unfortunately, as all good things do in Zelda's experience, it had to come to an end. And with the Gorons stumbling home slowly, inebriated from the various ales they had enjoyed, Zelda knew the topic had to be discussed. She took a deep breath in, and began.

"Daruk, may I ask you something?"

Daruk looked up from the pint of ale he was drinking and grinned. "Of course, tiny princess! What's got you so glum?"

Link looked over to her at this, brow slightly furrowed. She met his worried gaze for a moment, but looked away, pursing her lips. She looked back to Daruk, who was also starting to look a little worried at the exchange.

"I… I was just wondering about the blight you mentioned… What was it?"

Daruk's face dropped, scowling momentarily into his cup. He quickly schooled his face though, looking back up at her with a neutral expression.

"It's nothing to worry about, just something Ganon spawned in Rudania. Had to fight it off to get control of the Divine Beast back. Not much trouble."

Zelda frowned at his clipped tone, glancing back at Link. He tilted his head from Daruk to his empty plate, then up to her. She shared a glance with him, and Zelda knew he was just as worried as her. She changed the subject.

"Well, it's getting late. We better be getting back, especially if we want to get to Tabantha by tomorrow. Link, are you ready?"

Link nodded quickly to her and stood, and she turned to Daruk, who had done the same.

"Thanks for the visit, princess, little guy! It was good to see you again! You get back down the mountain safely, alright? I'll see you again soon!"

A small smile came to the princess's face at the renewed enthusiasm as she left the table, waving. She looped her arm around Link again, leaning on him slightly as they walked.

Zelda contemplated bringing up Daruk's aversion to the topic of blights when they reached the inn. Link left her side again, though, to talk to the innkeeper about when to wake them up, and she walked slowly to the bed, pulling the curtain to change. The topic remained unapproached the short rest of the night.

oO0Oo

The next morning, Link and Zelda rose early, packing quickly and silently. As they walked out of the inn and down the sleepy mountain, the princess mourned the fact that they couldn't stay longer. Unfortunately, they were on a tight schedule, and they needed to leave now if they wanted to reach Rito Village soon.

It didn't stop her from missing the friendly and judgement free hospitality of Goron City, though.

oO0Oo

I hope you enjoyed, and I really appreciate constructive criticism if there was something you noticed. Comments are wonderful. Thanks for reading!

[lifeofroos]

Part 23. That I got this far already might be crazy,,,,,,

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In recent chapters, Nico has been trying to make amendments with his father. Now, he and Hades decide to go somewhere together, somewhere were Nico has an interesting revelation. The rest of the story is on AO3 and FanFiction.net! (Also in tags like Nico di angelo, fanfiction, trails of apollo etc. and here).  This might be crazy: Chapter 23: Black Coffee

‘Hey!’ I screamed as soon as I set foot into my fathers’ palace. 

‘Don’t go into the throne room!’ was my the warm welcome I got from my father. Today, I decided to listen to his wisdom. I went to the living room instead. Lo and behold, my father was there. 

‘Hey, dad.’

‘Because the last hey was just a general hey, not specifically meant for anyone in this palace where I am alone right now.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Dad, there are also spirits and skeletons in here. Thanatos might be hanging around as well.’

‘Hm.’ He was sitting on the couch, with some paper. I wondered what he was doing with it. He could be something harmless like making a sudoku, but he could also be writing Persephone a love letter (or at least trying to do so) or counting out how many souls there needed to go to The Fields of Asphodel to hit ten billion residents this year. Alright, some of those things might have been hyperbolic, but he really was doing strange, unforseen stuff sometimes. 

‘What is it that you want?’ he threw the papers to the other side of the couch 

‘I just wanted to see how my father was doing. Like regular teens do.’

He arched his brow. ‘Regular teens don’t randomly go to see what they’re parents are doing.’ Yes, well dad, good job figuring out that we are not a regular family. 

‘Well, I do.’ 

‘Hm.’

‘So, what were you doing?’

‘Nothing.’ He reached towards the papers and stuffed them under the pillows. ‘What were you doing before you came here?’

Hm. ‘I was training before, until I got some free time. Will was working in the infirmary, so I decided to go see you instead.’

‘Oh.’ He looked at his hands. ‘Ah-ha. Uhm, well, this time I actually have an idea about what you can do.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. We, uh… need special new chairs.’ I did not want to find out what he meant by special. ‘And someone needs to get them from Hephaestus’ workshop. Persephone still has to be on the surface for two months and I need them statt…’

‘We could go get them together,’ I quickly piped in. I was not going to be send out alone.

Hades stared at me. ‘...Yes,’ he answered. I could not make out if it was a ‘yes, I meant that the entire time’ or a ‘well, that is possible too.’ 

‘Well, then.’ It was silent for a few seconds. ‘When are we leaving?’

‘Right now.’ 

Less then a second later, before I had even noticed that my dad had teleported us, we were standing in front of Hephaestus’ workshop. Something about the place made me nervous. The doors were humongous, much bigger than any other gate I had ever seen. The doors of death would look like they belonged to a dollhouse compared to this. I heard my dad take a deep breath.

‘You’re not nervous, right?’ I asked. It came out before I knew, but my dad was so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard it. 

The gate opened with a creaking sound. The place was even more gigantic from the inside. It was hot and it was cold, it was blinding and it was dark, it was gorgeous and it was horrible. Slowly, and both more than a little nervous, we walked inside. 

When we were about ten metres in,  my fathers’ voice suddenly boomed through the workshop: ‘Hephaestus! Where are you?’ The sound bounced off from the walls, which amplified it even more. I pressed my hands against my ears. My dad shot a look at me. ‘Oh, sorry.’ 

‘It’s okay.’ 

We heard a clicking sound coming from the right. A few seconds later, Hephaestus appeared. I held my breath when I saw him. I’d be used to it in no-time, I tried to tell myself. But he was hideous.

‘Hades.’ He turned his attention to us. I looked at the ground. ‘Who’s the youngling?’

‘My son.’ It felt good when dad said that. He did not say it with a lot of affection, more as a matter of fact, but it felt good. 

Hephaestus nodded, with a boording expression. ‘Your chairs are in the back. You can take a look at them.’

‘Nico…’

‘He’s staying here.’

‘What? No.’

‘Hades, this is my workshop. I don’t want your son barging around.’

My father said an ancient curse that I did not understand. He went in the back without giving us another look. 

Hephaestus turned to me. ‘I’ll follow him soon.’ His voice was suddenly a lot softer. I looked up at him and forced myself to keep looking. ‘But I need to ask you if you are doing alright. You are the Nico di Angelo, right?’ 

‘Yes, I am.’ He reached for a thermoscan and a stack of metal cups that were seemingly just lying around and poured out two black coffees. I put my hand against my metal cup (which was just the right temperature, as if it was a metal cup made by a magical blacksmith), but did not dare to take a sip. 

‘I heard from my children that Dionysus is helping you with a few problems you have.’ 

‘Yes, he is… your children?’

Hephaestus snickered softly. ‘After… after the Titan war, and after my son Leo finished his first quest I… I decided it wasn’t enough to help my children from a distance. I…’ he shrugged and gestured at one of the walls, which was covered from top to bottom with crummy and slightly less crummy projects. ‘I have been collecting stuff my kids made forever, but I realised I needed to be there for them in the flesh as well, no matter how difficult it might be. Last time I was at the camp to visit them, I wanted to have a chat with Dionysus, because he is my best friend and I haden’t seen him for some time. That is when my children said he was busy helping you.’ He scratched the back of his neck.

‘Oh.’ Wow. Someone had really been trying to make amends. 

‘Eh, but what I actually wanted to say… you can trust Dionysus. He will help you. He won’t tell your secrets to anybody else. He helped me too, when I was wrapped up in feelings of guilt and revenge.’ He patted my shoulder. It felt like I was being crushed under a boulder. 

‘Ergh. Yes, I know. Thanks, lord. He is helping me feel better actually.’ 

‘That is... that is good.’ The blacksmith studied his cup, before downing it all at once. ‘You know...’ 

‘Hephaestus!’ My dad called from the other side of the workshop. ‘They are good, I guess, but how do I deactivate them?’ Hephaesus stopped talking and stared at an unknown point for some time. Then, he shook his head. ‘Let’s go see how your dad is doing.’

While we were walking to the back, I absentmindedly took a sip of coffee. I just managed to keep it inside. It tasted like motor oil. I much prefered Dionysus’ drinks. 

‘So. That has been fixed,’ Hades said, when we were back in his palace. I nodded. 

‘Uh-huh.’ 

He turned around, but did not make eye contact. ‘Uh…  I did not plan to take you to Hephaestus’ workshop. I just had to be there, and…’ he shrugged.

I shrugged back. ‘And you did not want to go alone.’

‘I would have gone alone otherwise. Of course.’ He turned back to the chairs. ‘Eh…’ another shrug. So I shrugged again as well. ‘I… you have been coming over more often recently. Is that… because you like it here? With me?’

I stared ahead of me. Suddenly, I noticed that I had never let go of the metal coffee cup. I took another sip and it tasted just as horrible. ‘Well, I have noticed that you want to put in the time and effort to spend time with me as well. And I like some of the time spend together.’ 

Hades stared at the weird furniture. What did he even need these torturous looking chairs for? They obviously weren’t for visitors or for himself, but he did place them in the living room. ‘So… not all the time.’

‘Some moments have been rough. But… that is only to be expected. The more time we spend together, the better it has become. Today was nice. Weirdly enough, I… I liked going to Hephaestus' workshop.’ Which wasn’t completely because of you, but then again, without you I wouldn’t have been there at all.

‘Eh… me too. I mean I liked spending time with you too.’ He shrugged again. ‘I hope… I hope we will have a relationship that can be called healthy when Persephone comes back. Then we can… adjust to that together.’ I did not fully comprehend the implication. ‘Will you work towards that, with me?’ As if I had not been the person clearly working the hardest. However, the spirit was there. 

‘Yes. Of course.’ I got a smirk on my face. Next time we have a father-son appointment we’ll go to home depot.’ 

‘To what?’

‘Let’s call it Hephaestus’ workshop, but way less cool and for mortal dads.’

‘Yes, well, we’ll think about it.’ So that’s a no. Drab. Oh well, it had been more of  a joke anyway. ‘Cool.’ Almost instinctively, I took another sip of coffee. This time, I spat it out. ‘Oh god, this is gross.’

‘Did you get that at Hephaestus’ place?’

‘Yes, but I did not plan to bring it here, or drink even a drop of it for that matter.’

‘I hope so.’ He shifted. ‘Dionysus helped Hephaestus, too, I heard. Eh… perhaps he should also have taught his friend how to properly make drinks.’ 

I snickered. ‘He should’ve. But then he might have put Dionysus out of business. Hephaestus is clearly much more efficient.’ 

‘Hm.’ Hades looked like he would not be incredibly sad about that. 

‘Eh… but I have to go back to training now.’ 

‘Okay. You’ll come again, right?’ I looked at him. He wanted me to come back, he really did. 

‘Yes, of course, dad.’  I put too much effort into mending this relationship to stop now.

He smiled and patted me on the arm. ‘Bye.’

‘Bye,’ I said, while slowly turning around. 

I was smiling when I came into camp. I felt like it was going better. But slowly, I began having doubts. I’d have to talk about those with Dionysus next time.

A/N: When I began this chapter, I did not plan on writing about Hephaestus, it just came to me while writing. Now it seems like the best part of the chapter. 

I toyed with the idea of having them go to IKEA, but that seemed out of style. Perhaps in a future chapter, if I get crazy enough (And honestly, this chapter already seemed out of my usual writing style).

I am not sure whether I should have shown some of the harder father-son sessions. Perhaps I’ll do that later. I wanted to do this, I thought it was more fun for both myself and for the people reading this (Who I appreciate very very much). 

I am thinking of a chapter where Nico talks to Apollo and where he talks to Hephaestus. But first Apollo needs to become an actual god again  I guess. That part will be out in a week or so.

[artsyclxwn]

New Face - Daryl Dixon x reader

Summary: Daryl and the group take in a new member and Daryl seems to take a liking to them.

Word Count: 1715

Warnings: Swearing, age gap

A/N: This is my first AU so it’s probably not the best, but I will be trying my best as this is for practice anyways! Also for the age gap: the reader is over 18 of course!

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

Rick, Daryl, Michonne and Glenn were out on a supply run to get more medical supplies for Hershel and baby food for Judith, not expecting to bring home any new company. That was until they made it to a store that was basically ransacked, little to no supplies, and a few walkers they ended up killing.. 

“Michonne, have you found any yet? Even a little bit?” Rick called out quietly as to not attract the attention of any lingering walkers nearby if there were any, continuing his search in his aisle. “No. This place has been swept clean of all the things we need…” She sighed defeated, “I guess we have to find somewhere else.” Meanwhile Daryl and Glenn were near the back, searching through the pharmacy for anything they needed and anything that seemed useful; stuffing their bags with pills and rubbing alcohol. When Daryl turned the corner, he didn’t expect to see this figure that looked quite beaten up and wearing tattered clothes, cowering in the corner. He immediately could tell they were scared, “Hey I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s okay, you’re safe.” You looked up at this strange man, watching him put his crossbow down and hold his hand out, seeing this other man come walking over to check what was happening out. 

“What happened to you? Why are you alone? Do you have anyone?” You shook your head and took the older man’s hand who helped you get up onto your shaking legs, looking down as you were alone. You lost your camp, your family, your friends. Everything and you had to keep running to survive on your own, running out of food and water. You were tired and weak, wishing you would get some luck in this building only to be surrounded by the walkers which forced you to hide into the pharmacy. “N-No, I don’t h-have anyone anymore. I thought I would finally find some food here, but there’s nothing…” That’s when you got dizzy, letting out a small whimper as they caught you. “Alright, you’re really weak, aren’t you? C’mon.” 

They brought you out to the front of the store to these two others who looked at you strangely, listening to the two men who found you explain to them. “They seem very weak and in need of some food. We can’t just leave them here to starve and die.” Everything was getting fuzzy, trying to look around to keep yourself grounded and awake; only to fail as you felt your eyes failing you and getting heavier each passing second - before everything went black. 

You had no recollection of how you ended up in what looked like a jail cell, hearing people talking right outside which made you look up to see the man with the vest sitting at a table not far from you, fiddling around with his crossbow. “W-Where am I?” Your voice was quite raspy, begging for water which made the man look at you. “You’re safe at the prison with us. Sorry you can’t come into the cells with us, we just don’t really trust you. But we’ll get you some food and water, alright?” He was speaking so softly to you, which surprised you as he didn’t seem the type to be that chill. But then again; you can’t judge a book by it’s cover. You just nodded and leaned your head back, not trying to sit up as you knew you’d just get light headed. 

“What’s yer name?” You heard him set his crossbow onto the table with a slight clunk to the metal, “Y/N. Y-Yours?” You took in a sharp breath, waiting for his voice to fill the silent air. “Daryl. You’ve got... a nice name.” His voice had a bit of a nervous tone in it, making you just lightly chuckle which hurt your empty, aching, stomach. “Sound nervous there. Shouldn’t that be me?” The man you now know as Daryl let out a small quiet snicker, watching him softly nod from the corner of your eye. 

You both looked over as you heard the loud metal bar down unlock and open, seeing a man dressed as a sheriff come walking in with a small ration of food, carefully bringing it over to you. “Thank you.” You forced yourself to sit up, taking a moment to regain your balance before taking the food and eating it slowly, enjoying the taste of food hit against your tongue for the first time in what seemed to be forever. “Oh, I missed the taste of food.” The sheriff - or what you assumed to be the sheriff - sat down next to Daryl, beginning to ask you a bunch of questions to which you answered truthfully. Telling him what happened with your last group, your name, all the little important basic stuff. While you were talking, you couldn’t help but feel Daryl’s eyes on you, watching you closely, examining you. When you looked over, you noticed how quick he was to look away before he got up and left, making you question if you did something wrong. 

Few months later, you happened to join the group, contributing in helping around the prison to make sure everything was in order and safe. Daryl and you happened to become quite close, bonding any moment you could get, with you starting to worry every time he goes out onto a run. You could tell Daryl started acting a bit different around you, looking at you differently than the first few weeks of getting to know him, seeing how he was more open to you than the others which surprised you. You remembered a conversation with Beth on how she thinks Daryl likes you, but you just laughed it off as a joke. I mean - why would he like you? You two had such a big age gap, you were probably not even his type anyways you thought. Those thoughts hurt you as you could feel yourself slowly starting to fall for him. There was just something about him that drew you to him, the way he was just so patient with you as you were to him, sharing stories you would remember of your past. Although he does refuse to say some, but you still knew some he never told anyone before. 

“Hey, Y/N. Wanna go huntin’ with me? We need some more food.” Daryl called out for you who was currently busy helping to clean the guns, making you turn towards the man and give him a look as he knew well you weren’t good with a gun - or any weapon at that except a knife. “Are you sure? You know I’m not good at a gun, or bow, or whatever.” All you got in response was a little hum and a nod towards the door, making you roll your eyes and grab your gun that you never really used and followed him out to one of the trucks. You got into the passenger seat as he was insisting on driving, buckling yourself up just in case before you heard the engine start, and the truck started moving.

When you got out of the truck together, you followed him into the woods where he started to look for any tracks or signs of wildlife he could hunt. “Why do you need me to come with you?” You whispered to him not to attract any walkers, or scare away any nearby animals. “Just cause.” He shrugged before he stopped as he noticed a deer, silently pointing towards it to show you. “You see that deer? You’re going to shoot it.” You looked at him immediately quite confused on why he would make you do it. “Why? Why can’t you? I’m going to miss it and then-” You suddenly felt his arms wrap around you and pull you close before he handed you the crossbow, which you took hesitantly. You could feel your heart racing inside your chest at how close he was, how he was pressing his body up against yours ever so gently. What you couldn’t feel - or hear - was his heart beating against his own, him taking in a deep breath before he spoke once more.

“Hold it like this, and you look down here to aim. Keep your arms steady now- just like that. Whenever you’re ready, pull the trigger.” His tone was soft, yet nervous as he showed you how to hold it. You took in a deep breath as you placed your finger onto the trigger, waiting for the right moment before you pulled it with a small. You watched the arrow fly past the deer, scaring it off which made you huff and a soft “fuck!”. “Hey, it’s okay, it happens. Need some more practice, that’s all.” He grabbed the crossbow and went off to pull the arrow out of the tree, you following up behind him. “I can’t do anything. I can’t shoot a gun, a crossbow- I’m useless to the group-” That’s when you felt his hands gently cup your face, looking up at him to see how he looked at you, looking at you like his heart had just broken.”No, no you’re not useless, Y/N. You help a lot around the camp, you… you help me.” You couldn’t believe what you heard- that you help him? But why would that be? “What?”

He let out a soft sigh as he shook his head, leaning in as his lips connected to yours. You couldn’t believe what he just did. You couldn’t register it until the moment he pulled away - seeing you stare at him in so much confusion. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you helped me open up to someone like this. Actually make me feel alive, like a human. You make me happy. Now- I understand if you don’t want to be around me anymore, I mean I did just kiss you and I’m just-“ he was interrupted when you just grabbed him by his vest, connecting your lips once more. He was caught by surprise, his hands moving down to your waist as you two enjoyed sharing this amazing moment that you would definitely not forget. “I like you, Y/N.” “I like you too, Daryl.”

[fairyscribbles]

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait for me out here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, no deathbells there either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is this how you were going to die?

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

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

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

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

You couldn't wriggle your toes.

You couldn't move your ankles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A deathbell.

[ellaofoakhill]

Oak and Stone, Part Two

Oak and Stone was a bustling town, with fey and creatures briskly going about their business. There were mice like Jasper here, as well as voles, weasels, ground squirrels, tree squirrels, stoats, a few bats, and many other creatures Ella knew.

As well as a few she didn’t.

Creatures like the lizards Ella had encountered on Gaea, or a bit more commonly on Fey. But no lizard she’d heard of had four arms. The smallest of these was a head taller than her. Tusks twisted down from their jaws. Their bodies were a uniform grey-brown or mottled green, with frills on their jaws and crests on their heads, which many had painted or tattooed or pierced with rings and studs. According to Meline, they called themselves drakles, and most of those in Oak and Stone were sailors.

What most surprised Ella about this place—unknown beings were really to be expected—was the abundance of elves. Well, relatively speaking; abundance was not a word that fit well with elves. But there were more of them here than Ella had ever seen outside of Fey. To be fair, impeccable manners and upturned noses aside, elves were known more than anything for their love of the sea. And the sea Oak and Stone did have in abundance.

Meline showed her down to the shipyards, where vessels from across this world—the drakles called it Nidd—docked and unloaded their goods. These went to the seaside market, a paved square by the water with a stream running through. The stream allowed smaller boats to paddle or pole into town and drop their goods right by the stalls.

There were fabrics Ella had never seen, some softer than velvet, others smoother than silk, still others so strong Ella’s knife couldn’t cut them; according to Meline, those needed crystal-edged scissors to cut into shape. There were spices alien to Ella’s nose and tongue, including one somewhere between lemon and banana that she particularly liked; Meline laughed at the incredulous delight that flashed across Ella’s face when she tasted it. There were strange rocks and shells, scales shed by massive beasts, and gems that seemed commonplace here which Ella had only read about. There was a wood here, one a fairy could mould with her bare hands while it was green—or, more accurately, orange—and once it seasoned became like fairy silver. Ella shaved the hair from her arm with a knife made from it. There were metals as well—the mayor had banned the import of iron for all but a few specialized purposes—but this claywood, as it was called, was so easy to work hardly anyone used any metal not found as a nugget.

The moonbeams were strange too. Nidd had four moons and two suns, and each moon made beams different not only from Gaea’s moon, but from Nidd’s other moons as well.

Beyond the market were shops. There was a shop bordering the market that sold crepes filled with berry and honeyed cream; Ella laughed at the white moustache on Meline’s upper lip. Another sold kebabs of sweet and spicy fruits, of roots savoury, sweet, and spicy, and of the spiced meats of different fish and insects, or whatever the equivalent was here.

There were shops that sold fine berry wines, cordials, and ciders, and shops that sold candied chocolate mixed with granules of nuts and dried fruits. There was stronger drink as well, but Ella had hardly more than a sip of a spiced liqueur that made her fingers and toes tingle. Too much made a fool of anyone, and Ella was in a town she didn’t know, in a world she didn’t know, surrounded by fey and creatures she didn’t know.

And Meline knew a great deal about this town in another world. Many shopkeepers and stall-owners in the market waved or greeted her by name, and she knew not only them, but their families, and how business was doing. And she presented it all masterfully.

After they were quite full, Meline led Ella across the bridge and out of the square. Ella had heard the sounds of industry from this section of town for some time, but she suspected Meline had been building toward this.

Ella worked a wide variety of metals, woods, and some fabrics, but would have freely admitted her grasp of other materials was lacking. She saw a water fairy weaving six different materials into one cloth, a mole and a frog setting gemstones into a brooch, a squat, spiny

local—they called themselves ekidnes, according to Meline—throwing a clay pot, and a squirrel blowing glass.

Meline led Ella around a corner, and Ella’s fingers thrummed to the melody of hammer on metal. A shop with a sign depicting a hammer and anvil drew her. Beneath a slate lean-to, a drakle so green he was almost yellow held a bronze bar in two pairs of tongs while his upper arms operated a hammer and punch. Ella watched as he twisted and worked the cherry-red metal into a whorl of vines and leaves. He’d already finished the central portion, which had what looked like three vines braided around each other. He had two trays of tools in easy reach, and the fluidity and precision with which he picked up and set down tools—hardly taking his eyes off his work—gave Ella to know this drakle might have plied his trade as long as she had.

Finally he set the piece on a frame and stood, reaching for the ceiling. His crest and frills were bright red. He wore a thick apron, and heavy trousers with a third leg for his tail. He wore a grey sleeveless shirt with two wide armholes.

His eye wandered in their direction. “Ah, Meline,” he said, stepping out from under the awning, “good to see you again.” He had a thick, unfamiliar accent, with something of a lisp.

Meline went forward and took his hands—well, two of them, anyway—with a bow. “And you, Art.” She turned to Ella. “Ella, this is Arthur Bronzemonger, the best metalworker in Oak and Stone.”

Ella bowed. “It’s always nice to meet another of my kind.”

Meline turned back to Art. “Art, this is Lord Ella of Oakhill. She recently did me a great service, and to repay her I’m showing her around town.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Her smithing might give you a run for your money.”

Art raised a pair of scaly eyebrows as he took Ella’s hands and bowed. A forked tongue flicked out of his mouth. “You smell of metal, charcoal, and wood—mostly oak, but also willow and poplar—but you have overlaid it with lavender.” Ella reflexively moved back from the tongue. Art’s eyes widened, and he sucked it back into his mouth. His frill reddened more. “Forgive me. Fairies are new to Nidd, and your ways do not always come easily.”

“I could forgive a smith of your caliber far worse than a small eccentricity,” Ella said. She felt a flush creep up her neck. “Could you… would you honour me by showing us around your forge?”

Art’s eyes gleamed. “I would be delighted to show another smith my work.”

“Then lead on, good sir!” Ella said.

Arthur reached for a clay pitcher by a sturdy door leading into what was probably his house. “Would you like a glass of ice water?” he asked. “Smithing is good work, but hot.”

“How do you keep your ice?” Meline’s ear-points wiggled. With interest, as far as Ella could tell.

“Carters bring the ice down the mountain packed in crates with sawdust,” Art said as he opened the door to his cellar and hopped down. He came back up with several finger-sized chunks of ice, dropped one in each glass, and put the rest in his pitcher. “and I put it in my ice

box downstairs.” He took a long draught from his cup. Ella noticed his frill start to pale. “You can also have a water fairy freeze some water for you. But the genuine article tastes better. Now,” he rubbed two of his four hands together, “let me show you some of my projects.”

Hanging from the ceiling was a bronze-bladed scythe. On two hooks on the far wall were a pair of axes, one with a silver head, the other copper. Tools of various kinds hung on the wall, including a number Meline was unfamiliar with; the only one that stumped Ella turned out to be a set of scale clippers. A pair of silver shields shaped like gigantic scales intrigued her.

Art, unsurprisingly, proved a fount of knowledge regarding his craft. There were a few points he was unable to clarify for Ella, though she suspected this was due more to a slight want in his vocabulary than a lack of understanding. He’d no trouble making silver and gold as hard and strong as any fairy.

“I have a question,” Meline said, as she examined a set of caterpillar shears. Art and Ella both raised their eyes from the minutia of a serpentine-handled camp knife (which had a blade below the municipal length limit).

“What is it?” Art said.

Meline looked around the shop. “You have a lot of high-quality items here.”

Art’s eyes lit with understanding. “You are wondering how, in a busy port town, I keep thieves from walking away with my wares.” Meline nodded. Art looked between her and Ella. Ella felt her own eyes widen as a thought occurred to her.

“We’ve just met,” Ella said, “so I understand if you’re uncomfortable talking about the security of your forge. I don’t tell strangers about mine, either.”

Art smiled; Ella hadn’t realized a drakle’s grin split its head in two. He gave a coughing, raspy laugh. “From anyone else, I might have taken the question amiss.” He shook his head. “I will not go into details,” he lowered his voice. “But it stems from my kind being dragonkin.”

Ella felt the blood drain from her face. She remembered from long ago the whump of colossal wings, a roar that shook the bowels of the world, a column of flame so hot it burned white. A pair of eyes larger than she was, a five-part pupil so huge it could have swallowed her, slamming shut as the flame poured out. And a voice, so deep Ella felt it in her bones, howling fire and blood.

“Ella?” She jumped at Meline’s touch on her shoulder. Judging by her and Art’s concerned looks, she’d been elsewhere for a while.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, handing the knife back to Art. “Dragons have occasionally wandered into Fey.”

“And massacred and extorted everyone they could, I would guess?” Art asked. Ella nodded. “It is good to know, I suppose, that they are consistent.” Art hung the knife back on the wall. “They have been exacting the same cruelty on us since before our most ancient writings.”

He refilled their cups. “I have set foot beyond Nidd thrice in my life. Once to visit Gaea and learn a special technique for forging steel.” He held up a hand. “I have not used it in Oak and Stone, if anyone asks. Twice I visited Fey; yes, I visited your home world. Once when I was

still in my father’s care, and much later with my wife.” He sipped his water. “And it seems to me both worlds are less wild than mine. Though still full of dangerous creatures, I’m sure.

“Dragons are the worst, though wyverns and drakes are plenty vicious. Wyrms cause serious problems, though they usually stay deep underground. Sea wyrms are actually good to deal with; we give them baubles," he gestured to the silver shields, “and they leave our fishing vessels in peace. And the lung are kindly creatures.”

Ella leaned back. “So… this is where the lung come from?”

Art and Meline both stared at her. “I mean, yes,” Art said. “But they are rare on Gaea, much like the dragons, yes?”

Ella nodded. “I saw one once, shortly after I left Fey.” She sipped her water. “It danced on the clouds, even though it had no wings. And it conjured rainclouds as it danced, weaving in the sky like a glittering ribbon.”

She met Art’s eye. “They’re so different from dragons, I never made the connection before.”

Art shrugged. “Understandable. Take away the long bodies and scaly hides and there is hardly any similarity.” He looked at his own scaly hide. “But kin we all are.”

Ella did not ask which drakles were closer to, dragon or lung. Maybe they didn’t know. Either way, it seemed an unpleasant topic.

[helpinghanikan]

End of the game

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Game has played and the war has won, now live with it's consequences.

AN: My attempt at angst

Steve Rogers:

         It’s hard to hear what was being said from so far away. Mouths are moving after Sam approached. A small glance towards you before he was at this familiar stranger’s side.

           “It was beautiful,” said in the same tone as the rest but might as well be screamed.

           A verbal gunshot through your heart.

           Your bleeding out with realization with every clear cloud. When an opportunity arose to with the one you love nobody would pass it up. The years and decades you dreamed of, Steve had lived it without you, living in a house bought with a wife with someone else’s face, having children that weren’t yours.

           Your Steve had left in a machine of science-fiction come alive. It was easy to think of the billion different ways he could have been convinced to stay. Hug him tighter before he leaves, do more of those things he liked weeks before. Maybe you should hop into that machine yourself, try and start over and hope it’s good enough.

           It would never be, though. He was yours because he couldn’t have her.

           You were just borrowing him.

 Tony Stark:

         There is a weight on either side of you in the form of a person. Happy on your right and Rhodey to your left. Both there for their own grieving and to counteract the weight dragging you down towards the lake.

           Just like a wedding we’ve all had fantasies of our funeral. How we’d refuse the clichés and go our own route. That we’d be able to have a say in what happens. Change it from a day of mourning to that of celebration. Where there is to be nothing black, the music going, and drinks raised in our name. That won’t happened most of the time.

           Death is more likely to grab you before any plans can be put into action. What little can be done for the dead’s wishes still won’t change the “cliques”. Every story of a wild party, of the great deeds and everything he’s ever done that’d go in history was covered. A thick layer of depression frosting you were forced to choke down with every bite.

           You unknowingly start to waver back and forth. Happy’s arm slides into yours, your head resting into his shoulder, his head on yours.

           Pepper took the reins of the entire funeral. A strong woman handling a horrid time with the grace of a CEO. A wavered voice here and there, tears on the bridge of her eyes that refuse to fall but constantly threating to.

           That was okay, you could do that for her.

 Thor:

           “You’re still tired,” your hands disappear into his blonde beard.

           You were too after the long nights alone in New Asgard.

           “And you’re still gorgeous,” He says.

           He was probably hoping that his pick-up lines (which were starting to become cheaper than cute) would make up for his ‘loss of looks’ and detachment from you in the five years. Ironically you had gained muscle; Brunnhilde putting you to work minutes after arriving to New Asgard.

            “And I’m gonna throw up,” The, despite Thor’s protests, raccoon says from a chair somewhere in the background.

           You probably had roommates before, maybe even gone to college. But this ship, although massive on the outside, was cramped on the inside. Dorm with roommates wasn’t the best description of the ship. Camping would be a better way of putting it. Sharing a tent with several people, things and animal that yells at you is the best way to describe.

           There was no way Thor would leave the Earth again without you. With only one thing left to lose he wouldn’t be leaving you alone.

 Bucky Barnes:

         Bucky falls backwards like he’s full of cement. Although the comforter feels to be almost half a foot thick it still bounces you when he lands. He only made it to the middle of the bed, legs hanging off the side and spread out. With his long hair and beard it could be considered religious imagery.

           “You’ve slept way too much to be tired.” You comment, sliding along the bed until you were looking down at him.

           “Apparently I haven’t slept in five year.” He says, refusing to open his eyes. Another groan, bringing the metal arm over his already closed eyes. “Lights are making it worse.”

           Another headache.

           Reaching towards the lamp and clicking it off. The hotel room you’ve paid out of pocket was put into a shade of almost complete darkness. Light from the curtained window put the room into a blue haze, Bucky beneath you nothing more then a very detailed shadow.

           “How’s that?” You whisper, hands going to either side of his head.

           He nods slightly, letting his arm go down but kept his eyes closed.

           They shoot open when your hands go on either side of his head. Thumbs gently rubbing over the temples, fingers sliding through the brown hair and to his scalp.

           After the uncertainty of your touch is gone it’s like watching a full puppy. Trying their best to stay awake with a tummy full of food and laying down in a large blanket. Little noises at the back of the throat, whining that he was starting to fall asleep when he wanted to stay awake.

           His head curls backwards when your hands slide through his hair. Scratching your way back upwards and smoothing the brown locks back down.

           By the time your thumbs rub over his eyebrows his jaw slackened and let the moans out easy. Every hardship of the last day, past problems he’d live with forever were all gone. At least for a moment, with your scratches and gentle touch.

 Natasha Romanoff:

           The first invitation came minutes after your face is buried in Clint’s chest. Your hands are trapped between you, his head rests onto of yours. His arms around your back; holding your weight from falling to the ground then actually hugging you.

           He stayed in arm’s length the entire ride to the farm. Only letting go when the jet’s door opened and the yelling of “Dad! Dad!” comes with the air through the open door.

           You were the new adoptive member of the Barton family. An extra plate was added to the dinner table, a guest room was always ready, and Laura’s arms were always open when you entered the room and a beer was ready in the back, farthest part of the fridge when you would eventually need to talk.

           That entire time you kept it together; lips in a thin line at any mention of the past few weeks and always a half-hearted smile towards the children who look at you with questions they aren’t allowed to ask.

           It’s ironically little Nathan who breaks the hold on your emotions.

           “Where’s Auntie Nat?” A whispered question to the older, wiser, Lila unfortunately made in the same room as you.

           Trying to hide behind your book as the tears started running worked for a few seconds before Clint appeared in place of his children. Bottle opener ready in his back pocket for the next step of the healing process.  

 Bruce Banner:

           Even standing on the kitchen chair you had to stand on your tippy-tip-toes to reach the back of the arm strap. Bruce could probably do it himself, but he stays perfectly still until you tightened it perfectly.

           It horrible and unfair to say, but your lives had turned for the better in the five years. It was still a permeant memory of Bruce raising a human hand in a thumbs up for the last time before you slapped and turned on the machines.

           It took some more weeks before you felt as comfortable with this Bruce/Hulk hybrid. A horrid mix of uncanny valley and outright monster forcing a few foot gap between you for a while. When you finally closed your notebook, unofficially completing your observation, his hands almost absorbed your head when he cupped your face.

 T’challa:

         It was a waiting line to get to your man;

           His mother gets to him first. Cupping his face, kissing his face and forehead in quick succession. She coos in their mother language quickly. T’challa regressing to his mama’s little boy. Only able to stand there and take the affectionate assault.

           Next is his sister. A side arm bump and the Wakandan salute, Shuri immediately starts laughing after words. T’challa practically grabs her, pulling her into his chest in a hug that Shuri still laughs at. Better to laugh then to start crying as she so obviously wanted.

           Third was Okoye. She was respectful, butt of the spear slamming into the ground twice, an arm across her chest and fist over her heart. He, again, did the same, two handed version, of the salute. Bowing his head as she did hers.

           Finally, there was you, hands behind your back. Pretending this was the same as any other situation you had ever been in.

           He doesn’t play this game for every long. The moment you were close enough his hand goes out to your face. Cupping your cheek, forehead pressing against yours.

           This wasn’t the first time you had seen him after he came back. The first lasted mere seconds before that wizard appeared and he was gone again. That hurt worst then when the snap took him from you. At least then he hadn’t left by choice.

 Pietro Maximoff:

         It’s hard to breath with your face pressed into a toned chest and long hair getting into what little opening your mouth could get.

           He had probably thought when he reunited with you it was be romantic. He’d hugged you tight, maybe spin you around. Do all that cute sappy shit you’d mock on all the movies you unironically watched.

           When he’d reunite with Wanda it would be more intimate in the opposite direction of yours. They wouldn’t have to say as much as all the cooing and almost tears he’d express with you. Try as you might, it would be hard to match the connection the twins had with each other.

           Now, maybe if he had seen you individually after the massive battle this could have happened. Instead he found you both at the same time. Wave of emotions for both of you combined until words were impossible. A combination of both scenarios when he rushed forward. No words, and a combination of a strong hugs pressed you both into his chest.

 Peter Parker:

         May holds herself on the armchair like a teenager. Knees pressed to her chest, tea on the coffee table forgotten seconds after being set down.

           It became a weekly tradition that you’d visit at least twice a week. May would open the door with tired eyes and an even worse smile. She’s been burying herself in charity work days after the Snap, staying up her eyeballs in work to keep from coming home and seeing the empty room.

           Conversation was never the reason for your visits. Instead just taking comfort in each other’s isolation on separate sides of the living room.

           This night was no different as your own tea was already gone. Laying the exact opposite way of May with your legs outstretched and arms hanging off the chair’s arms.

           Sudden light takes over a quarter of the room. May’s legs stretch out from the chair as slow as the light had appeared. You rose at the same speed. Coming together between the chair and coffee table. May holding your shoulder, both to throw you backwards or to stop you from going forward, her nails digging into your shoulder.

           It’s dark on the other side with the only color being shifting shadows.

           Color finally comes through in shiny shades of red and blue covering one leg. Then another. Both attached to hips and a torso, leading to a brown-haired head who can’t speak through his tears.

           “Peter…” May gets him first.

           He wraps both arms around her neck, almost crushing her in a headlock. He presses his face against the side of her face. May holds him with almost equal strength. Holding him against her the same as she had after the plane crash years ago.

           The golden circle tightens and closes behind them. It’s a tie between the circle and the extremely intimate moment that you kept a generous distance from Aunt May and Peter.

           “Oh, I missed you.” She said, starting to rock him slightly.

           “I’m sorry…” She says into her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

           Your phone had five years’ worth of texts to Peter. Little good mornings and good nights. A few “I miss you” and other small messages. That Peter would read through every single one when May lets go of him grew a guilt garden in your stomach.

           Your hand reaches out and touches his shoulder. When he looks up, sees your attempt of a smile, he starts sobbing even harder.

 Stephen Strange:

           His hands are shaking more then usual now. Old doorknobs were the enemy as every door you added a stop, only after permission of course. Any meals had to be pre-cut, you casually taking his plate and going to work without a single pause in conversation.

           It hard to say if Stephen still counts as mentally human by this point. That maybe God or the universe or whatever created the world in it’s infamy had no intention of humans knowing everything that Stephen now possessed. He combs over books he’s had to had memorized by now. Snapping them closed when you’d look over his shoulder. Warning you from trying to read some as you were either not prepared or just wouldn’t be able to handle the information.

           Stephen never outright told you he wanted to be alone. Instead moving through the sanctum at a pace you jogged to keep up with. Becoming more of a puppy or a side kick then as a romantic partner.

           It’s rare that he in body sleeps. No matter if he’s twitching beside you or an astral projection above you take possession of his body. Legs wrapped around his center, arms keeping him close as possible, everything to keep him from escaping from you again.

 Matt Murdock:

         Your mug shatters across the floor. White pieces of glass stop from skirting around the floor by socks with sweatpants tucked into them.

           You should probably feel bad that you basically took over his apartment. Turning the place into an almost shrine to your lost man. Coming in every few days to make sure it wasn’t broken into during the few days you stayed at your place.

           Matt’s head tilts side to side for a few seconds. The shattering mug probably sent his senses into a spiral for a few seconds. Focusing instead on you, his partner, who had a five-year difference in their smell, heart beat and overall feel.

           Your name coming from his mouth was the greatest song ever sang.

           Hands cupping his face without saying anything. Matt standing there as you basically frisk him. Making sure he was completely there and not just some dream here to mock you.

           “Um, Honey?” He says, using the almost mocking version of a pet name.

           “If you do this again I’m gonna fucking kill you.” You whisper into his chest.

           It was a promise you made every time he didn’t answer his phone or came home late. Unsure what was going on he said the same he did every time. “Wear something nice to my funeral.”

 Carol Danvers

This moment was for Carol, a woman desperate to get drunk on nothing but you. Holding you in your practically abandoned apartment, the heater and power still out. No blanket was needed, though. Just being the little spoon with a leg over yours to keep you still would do.

           It doesn’t matter how often or not she holds you. Nobody is ever prepared for that amount of heat to come from somebody. Her star’s breath on the back of your neck, nose in your hair and arms finding every inch to feel. Make sure nothing is broken and everything is the same. Even as a superhero, and a woman, she still found annoyance at the thickness of your bra cups.

           Your turn to check her over would come later. For now, you just enjoy reaching back into her new haircut. Just to make sure it was still able to be tugged.

[renwyck]

Icecrown: Reflections

[ Roleplay between @echoesofthelight and myself. Thank you for reading if you do. ]

Reflections | Breakfast

The icy winds of Northrend blew in against the tent for a moment, then released its tormenting breath to leave it alone. Echo did not seem phased however, quite concentrated on assuring the pieces of Renwyck’s armor were fit properly.

The dressing tent was large enough to hold a floor mirror and armor display, the priestess reflected at his side as she fiddled with inner catches of a pauldron he now wore. She wore thicker wool robes with fur lined hood and sleeves, a downy powder blue scarf loosely wound about her shoulders and throat. Soft, she looked, like freshly fallen snow.

“I knew it would be a good fit,” Echo spoke, smiling at him in the mirror, fully armored. “But what do you think?”

It had been over two years since he donned a suit of armor. Even then as he looked at himself in the mirror, Renwyck couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. His gaze trailing down the finely crafted chestplate, the light of a nearby lantern reflected against the polished steel. It was as natural as his own skin, yet at the same time, it was a bastardization of a man now dead.

It felt terribly wrong and perfectly right.

The sound of Echo's melodic voice drew him back to the present, the fallen watcher looking upon her in the mirror as she stood next to him. He forced a smile and nodded. "It's a good fit," he repeated her own words without fully recognizing. His voice was hushed and almost detached, his eyes lost within the same distance as his words. "Thank you."

Echo next helped him with the tabard of the Argents, a rising sun on yellow and white she draped over his chest piece. Smoothing down its insignia on the smooth metal, she looked back to his reflection, trying to catch his lost eyes.

"The Argent Watchmen here ride beautiful gryphon's that bond well to their rider's every command. Beyond the Tourney Grounds, they circle the whole of Icecrown and are the first to announce if a civilian settlement or military camp is in trouble, and call troops there. Without Watchmen, we all would be very blind to what is out there. It's a very important, respected role. That is why I chose the armor for you."

Echo looked back to Renwyck now with a kind smile, fingers tracing down the raised graphic of his tabard. "The insignia of the Argents is the rising sun. Hope. That is what it stood for me when I found direction, purpose. And when my mentor found me. This changed my life. I hope somewhere, it can help give its hope to you."

The sound of her voice drew Renwyck's gaze, the fallen watcher listening to her words. A soft smile peered across his lips at her message of hope, yet fell as quickly as it appeared. "Maybe it can," he replied in a hushed tone, yet the words seemed hollow.

Focusing on the emblem, his heart sank to his stomach. While it was a symbol of light, the darkness left by the Night Watch still hung over him. Another organization. Another opportunity for betrayal. He reached a gloved hand to Echo's, pressing her palm to the tabard.

For once, the restriction of gloves and armor silenced Echo to what the fallen watcher was feeling in that moment. But there was something symbolistic in his reaching that cast its light on her. Whether it was fear, loathing or disbelief that gripped him, she hoped he reached out to steady the chest that was clenching beneath his armor.

"It's okay," the words were a hushed sincerity, not knowing if they were exactly what he needed to leave the tent, but it was what naturally left the priestess. She held his gaze in a visual embrace, wishing to chase the hollow shadow that seeped into his dark eyes away. "I am here, Renwyck. And you can do this."

His fingers curled around the sides of her hand, clutching it to his chest. While the cold plate had silenced the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm, Renwyck took comfort in her presence. His other arm wrapped around her frame, drawing her close, their hands pressed between them. There he remained, wordless in their embrace as he struggled to keep his feet in the present for fear of falling further into the past.

Echo slowly blinked up at the struggling Renwyck as he closed her into an outright embrace with his free arm. She chuckled delicately, her other hand raising to rest on his armored shoulder, close to his neck. "Are...you teaching me to dance, or am I teaching you to joust, Ser Wyck?" The priestess peered up on him with a light amusement.

Despite the warmth of her laugh or playfulness in her words, the fallen watcher peered down on her with an unspoken sadness in his brown eyes. Struggling to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, he looked back to their reflections in the mirror, the priestess's diminutive form hiding his tabard from view.

"You're teaching me to move on," was his reply, his voice a breath over a whisper.

A hand reached to cup to his cheek willfully, feeling his surge of sadness wash back over her until it settled into her own eyes, dulling the light that set there.

"Maybe..." She spoke in her own whisper, trying to rise over the feeling of shot confidence and melancholy that trapped Renwyck with her faith in him alone. "You are taking the steps on your own. I am only the hand held out when the walk is hard. When you fall, to help you stand again. You will always choose how you move on, and if you do."

Her smile was faint and solemn, rolling her thumb against the ridge of his cheek. "This is your life, Mister Darrow. It's yours to live. You can take off this armor if you aren't ready for it, and I can bring you...maybe hot chocolate instead?"

Her eyes were wet now, yet she smiled on him with nothing but freely given tenderness. "Just as long as I can somehow help you find your smile again."

His hand held more tightly to her own; her touch a raft amidst a dark sea that kept him from drowning. He focused on her glistening eyes, his own tears threatening to fall. Turning his head, he moved until her thumb slipped across his lips, Renwyck gently kissing the digit.

"Just stay by my side," he whispered against her skin, his heart heavy with a mix of hope and hopelessness.

Echo swallowed briefly as his lips brushed their kiss against her fingertip, the solemn smile melting to something weaker with the sign of tenderness returned. She exhaled against his armored chest, pressing her cheek against it for the moment.

"As you wish it," she answered with a quiet grace. "I will be at your side, whenever you reach."

[rhysie-cakes314]

Day 9- Woods

Summary:

Loki doesn't take it well when Tony decides not to play along with their usual fun. Somehow that translates to Steve and Tony stranded in unfamiliar woods with no working tech.

At least camping is fun, and Steve has a good singing voice.

Steve could hear the asshole’s laughter from the other side of the portal as it shut behind them. Loki had been up to mischief as usual, but when Iron Man ended the battle too quickly for his liking, he got angry.

Loki causing magical chaos in New York was a pretty typical occurrence nowadays. Thor said it’s because he gets bored in Asgard and thinks humans are entertaining. The Avengers were used to it by now. Usually Loki would show up, scare some people, give the Avengers a run for their money, then leave with a happy goodbye before he could be captured. He rarely even caused injuries anymore, so Steve thought of it as harmless fun that helped the team train.

No one had warned Loki not to try anything in October, apparently. Tony spent every October in a month-long manic episode working non-stop. The genius did not react well to distractions from his work. Steve thought it was a bit much. Tony was probably exaggerating when he explained how many new inventions the board demanded of him every November.

So Iron Man had showed up to the battle ready to leave, and he went in hard. Loki’s magical birds that were harassing citizens and stealing food were felled in ten seconds flat when Iron Man shot small bullets at them all simultaneously. Loki’s grin had quickly morphed into a snarl, “In a hurry Iron Man?”

Tony didn’t even throw out a witty comment. “I’ve got shit to do.” The armour removed any inflection from the words, but Steve was sure they were irritated.

Loki didn’t find the answer satisfactory. “Oh no, the great Mr. Stark has such a hard life,” Loki mocked. When Tony made no indication that he’d return the banter, the god lifted his scepter threateningly. “Let’s see how important you think you are without your precious technology.”

The portal appeared just beside the armour, sucking Iron Man in. Steve jumped to grab the boot closest to him without thinking. His instinct was just to grab on and pull back. Instead of helping in anyway whatsoever, Steve just ended up falling through the hole as well just before it closed up around Loki’s cackling. Luckily for them, the other side of the portal was only a couple feet off the ground, so they only tumbled into a tree rather than fell from the sky.

Steve sat up with a sigh, taking in the new surroundings. Tony’s suit had stopped working as soon as it passed through the portal, so he was peeling off the useless metal in pieces. They were sitting in a thick forest. Steve could see nothing but trees in every direction, and didn’t even hear running water. He pulled out his cell phone and found that it, too, had become a useless brick. Apparently Loki’s portal ruined electronics. At least Tony’s arc reactor seemed unaffected.

“Goddamnit, that mother-fucking, piece of shit asshole!” Tony threw the last piece of armour at the nearest tree trunk to emphasize the last word. “I’m going to rip his tongue out and take everyone of his stupid capes and tear them to shreds and melt his crown and-”

“How about we just get home first, Tony.” Steve had no idea where in the world they were, or if they were even on their planet.

Tony looked at him petulantly for a moment, contemplating continuing his list of ways to sabotage Loki anyway. Steve just raised an eyebrow at the man, knowing what he was probably thinking. Tony huffed, giving up. “Fine,” he most certainly did not whine, “we’ll do it your way.” Tony stood, examining their surroundings closely. “Well, it’s not tropical, and I see no pine trees, so that narrows it down a little.”

“I could climb a tree and see if there’s a clearing in sight?” Steve suggested.

Tony shrugged. “Sure, I’ll stand guard down here,” his voice dry. Right, the man didn’t have a weapon. Steve handed him the handgun strapped to his leg. He had the shield anyway, and rarely used guns.

When he made it to the top, he craned his neck, trying to see as far as possible in all directions. The position was awkward because he had to hold onto a branch with one hand for balance, unable to just stand up straight on a branch. There were woods in every direction into the horizon. He could make our the winding opening in the canopy of leaves that must be a river. They could follow the river and hope for the best. There was usually civilization near rivers. He wondered what country they might be in. Not a lot of places were left in the world with forests this large.

“So, what’s the plan Captain?” While Steve had been climbing, Tony had managed to make a sack of sorts out of the sleeves of his undersuit that he cut off. Steve could see the pieces of the armor sticking out on all sides. It hung down Tony’s back, with it tied to fit like a sash in front of him, and it had to be heavy.

“Do you have to bring the suit?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer but trying anyway. They couldn’t risk a passerby getting their hands on the tech. When Tony didn’t deign to answer the question, he moved on. “I don’t see an end to the woods anywhere, but I can lead us to what I think is a river.”

“Sounds like as much as a plan as we’ll get, then,” Tony sighed. They began trudging through the woods, the pieces of the suits clanking with each step. The temperature was mild enough, but the air was humid and Tony’s arms were being eaten alive by mosquitos. If only he hadn’t needed the sleeves to carry the stupid suit.

Steve guessed it took them about three hours to reach the riverbed. He kneeled to drink some water. The daylight was waning, and they needed to find somewhere to camp out for the night.

Tony was thinking the same thing, and he spotted the perfect solution. “Hey look!” He pointed. Steve followed the line of sight before he spotted the small cave opening in a cliffside nearby. Steve hadn’t noticed that the land had such sharp rises in elevation from the treetops, the leaves had just sort of blurred together so everything looked pretty level. Their path to the river had been at a slight decline, and Steve guessed that if they had been just a bit further east they would have ended up climbing a hill to a dead end.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t already have a resident,” Steve said. He followed Tony as the shorter man took off at a jog towards the cave. He probably was anxious to rest, Steve realized. It was easy to forget that not everyone had supersoldier stamina, and Tony was walking with a lot of extra weight and probably hadn’t slept much lately. Maybe tomorrow he’d be able to convince Tony to let him carry the suit, though he doubted Tony would acquiesce.  

Tony reached the cave opening first, peering inside. It was too dark to see much, so he cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hello!” He shouted. Some birds nearby fluttered away in surprise. Tony could hear his voice echo back to him, but there were no growls or anything, so he took that as a win. He shared a look with Steve before Steve pulled out a lighter and they ventured in.

The cave was not big. The two of them could lay curled up, but there would only be room for a small fire as well as their bodies. Tony threw his pack to the ground and watched the armour tumble out with a loud clamour. “Home sweet home,” he muttered.

Steve was still inspecting the cave, looking for any signs that a predator was using it as a den at night. He didn’t see anything, and they needed to get some firewood while there was still some light out if they didn’t want to spend the night in total darkness. “Will you stay and guard the opening while I gather some wood? I don’t want another animal to steal our idea.”

Tony quirked his mouth sideways, unhappy. “We shouldn’t separate.” He seemed to mull their options over for a moment before shaking his head dejectedly. “Fine, but you better stay within earshot.”

Steve saluted the genius. “Sir, yes sir!” He considered it a win when Tony laughed. Sure, the situation kind of sucked, but they may as well enjoy themselves while they were stuck here. If anything, being forced to camp in the woods and be away from the stress of SI could be good for Tony.

By the time night had fallen, they had a nice fire going that made their cave feel cozy. Steve had a couple of meal replacement bars in his many pockets, so they didn’t have to hunt tonight. They agreed to eat only half of their bars, in case finding food tomorrow was harder than they expected. Both of the heroes were generally unworried. Despite Loki’s sureness that Tony would feel useless without tech or something, and the quite common assumption that he didn’t know how to rough it, Tony could handle the great outdoors just as well as anyone else. The only real threat other than bears or boars was boredom. Tony was used to having a computer available every waking moment, so he never needed to waste time without mental stimulation.

Tony took first watch for the night, making himself comfortable in the mouth of their cave. It had been their only disagreement so far in the adventure. Steve tried to cite the serum and saying he didn’t need as much sleep. “Steve, don’t be stupid. We can both sleep, plus I’m still too amped up to sleep.” When Steve had looked at him skeptically, Tony threw a pebble at him. “I have insomnia, okay!?”

Steve threw a pebble back, laughing. “Fine, fine, I’ll sleep first, but only under one condition.”

“Oh?” Tony crossed his arms, fighting off a smile.

“I get to pay for our next date,” he said smugly.

Tony rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss the supersoldier before walking towards the mouth of the cave. “Why are you like this?” he laughed through the question. “I’m literally rich. I should always pay.”

Steve settled onto the ground, smiling at nothing in particular. “I like watching servers’ reactions when the great Tony Stark isn’t the one paying.” He could hear Tony’s huff of laughter. Loki’s plan had certainly backfired. Tony was more relaxed and happy than Steve had seen him in weeks. Maybe he should coordinate for Loki to always do this in October, but act like it was villainy. Not that Tony would fall for it.

Tony doodled in the dust while Steve slept. He wished he had something to work on here. If it took longer than tomorrow to make it to civilization, he might just lose it. Tony was trying to push away the constant anxiety that he should be working, since of course it couldn’t be helped, but it was hard. Steve was probably the only thing that was keeping him grounded. The man was making an obvious effort to make Tony laugh whenever possible. Tony could appreciate the gesture, but he did really need to get home.

Tony tossed and turned, unable to sleep despite his body’s exhaustion. “Steve,” he whispered.

“Tony? You’re still up?”

Tony didn’t want to ask. He was embarrassed, but the tired homesick side of him won out. “Remember that time I had the flu and was delirious from a fever?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Can you sing that song to me again?” His voice sounded small. He was glad the fire had died down enough that Steve probably couldn’t see him blushing.

Steve chuckled. “I honestly didn’t think you remembered that. But sure.”

Tony met his eyes in the dim light. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Steve felt butterflies in his stomach. It was a feeling he thought would fade with time, but dating Tony felt permanently like being a love-struck teen. He didn’t need to sing above a soft rumble, the small cave’s acoustics making everything louder.

Whispering breezes gently are blowing.

Still in the night the fire light is glowing.

Feed the fire, my friend and brother.

Shall we ever see another.

Tony drifted off to the amber honey tones of Steve’s singing. Maybe there were some upsides to camping, not that he’d admit it out loud.

Tony did not wake up to the gentle sound of Steve like he had hoped, but instead his left arm was itching. Stupid bugs. Tony slapped at his arm without opening his eyes. Maybe he could fall back asleep. “Ow!” He sat up, startled.

Steve startled as well. “What’s wrong?”

Tony pulled his hand away from his arm and investigated in the dawn light shining into the cave. He could see two smears on his hand that had clearly been spiders, and they had both bitten him before they died. “Stupid spiders, yuck!” He wiped his hand off on the ground beneath him.

Steve ventured further into the cave, sitting beside Tony. “Do you think they were venomous?” He bit his lip with worry.

Tony shrugged. “No clue. It only hurt for a second, though, and there’s not that many deadly spiders to adult humans. Probability is on our side.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. “Okay, I guess. Tell me if they get worse, though.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay mom,” he said sarcastically. There was no malice behind it, and he placed a kiss on Steve’s nose to make it obvious. “You have quite a voice for lullabies, by the way.”

Tony was so thankful that the cave was facing the rising sun so he could fully appreciate the blush that coloured Steve’s cheeks. “It’s, uh, thanks. It’s a Hungarian folk song, actually. I learned it abroad during the war from a jewish family fleeing their home. We ended up sharing camp with them one night, and traded songs around the fire. It wasn’t until I woke up in this century with the internet that I knew what any of it meant and found a translation,” he smiled sadly, a distant look in his eyes. Tony watched him with baited breath. Steve sometimes reminisced about WWII when he was feeling particularly vulnerable and loved.

When Steve didn’t continue, he asked “You still remembered it well enough to look it up?”

Steve’s smile turned more bittersweet than nostalgic. “Eidetic memory from the serum,” he pointed to his temple. “Though I know that’s technically only for images but I pretty much remember everything like a recording.”

Tony pulled the man into a hug. That was news to him. He didn’t need to be told the underlying statement there. Steve remembered every horrific memory perfectly, too. Tony couldn’t imagine remembering every liberated holocaust camp Steve must’ve seen. He stood and held his hand out to Steve. It was time to get on their way. Steve didn’t need any more reminiscing right now, and Tony had work to do.

It was two hours into their hike that Steve began to notice Tony’s discomfort. He kept adjusting the weight of his sack, grimacing when nothing seemed to help. “Do you want me to carry the suit for a bit?”

Tony scrunched up his face in irritation. It was a testament to how uncomfortable he must be that he didn’t fight it. Tony would normally run himself into the ground before letting people help him; it drove Steve insane. “Actually, yeah. I think I slept on my shoulder wrong.” He rubbed the offending shoulder as he stretched it. Steve was grateful that the makeshift knapsack fit around him, though it was tight. He had a broader chest than Tony. Tony looked up at the tree above him thoughtfully. “I think I’m gonna check the view again. Maybe we can see civilization now.”

“I can do it,” Steve tried, but Tony shook his head. “But your shoulder…”

“It’s just a little sore, I’ll be back in a minute.” Tony made his way up the tree, admittedly a little slower than Steve would’ve, but the burn in his muscles felt good. When he looked ahead, following the river from the new view, a slow smile crept across his face. They could definitely reach that city by nightfall. There’d be phones. They could be home tonight!

In his excitement, Tony climbed down faster than he should’ve. He didn’t slip, he was a graceful athlete thank you very much, but the nice exercise burn had turned into a throbbing ache in his one arm, and he was sweating by the time he reached Steve. “I saw it, babe! We can reach a city tonight!” They threw their arms around each other in excitement. This adventure hadn’t even gone as badly as their usual.

Even without the weight of the suit, Steve watched Tony become drenched in sweat over the next hour. He was rubbing at his left arm and shoulder every few steps, too. “Tony, are you okay? Is it the bites?”

Tony turned to face him and he looked kind of pale. “Actually I’m not great, it might be the bites.” He moaned, then suddenly turned away to vomit on the forest floor. Tony put his hand out to steady himself against a tree. His whole upper body was achy, he felt hot and sweaty, his head hurt, and he was kind of dizzy. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, because they couldn’t slow their pace if they wanted to reach the city tonight.

Steve placed the back of his hand to Tony’s forehead. “Maybe we should take a break,” Steve prodded gently. “You feel feverish.”

Tony shook his head. “We can’t” he groaned. “If it is something to worry about, we definitely need to get somewhere with antivenom.” He heaved again, but there wasn’t much in his stomach anyway. He wiped his mouth and stood, squaring his shoulders. “C’mon Steve.”

Steve had no choice but to follow. He wanted to argue, wanted to comfort Tony and magically wish away the symptoms, but Tony was right. There were two options. Either this was the worst of it and Tony would get better, or it was going to get worse and the city was their only hope. He watched Tony carefully, for any sign of stumbling. Tony didn’t let them stop for a meal, so Steve ate the rest of his bar while Tony merely drank some river water.

His nausea subsided as they walked, but the rest of Tony’s symptoms only got worse. He felt weak and shaky. It was fortunate that Steve could easily carry his shield and the suit, because there’s no way Tony would be able to carry anything like this. It took enough effort just to keep placing one foot in front of the other. Tony had survived much worse than spiders. He could do this.

Steve didn’t catch him in time when Tony crumpled to the ground. “Tony!”

Tony groaned, looking up at the blond miserably. His breathing was shallow and his eyes glassy. “Steve, it’s too much. I feel like I can’t get in a good breath and everything hurts.” Tony gasped as his left arm spasmed painfully.

Steve scooped up Tony. This wasn’t the first time he thanked God Tony was small. Even with the serum, carrying all of this was work. “Just stay with me, honey, we’re almost there.” He felt Tony nod into his stomach. His labored breathing set Steve on edge. What was he going to do if the man stopped breathing altogether? All of this was from a couple of spiders. Knowing Tony’s luck in particular, Steve would bet money that the effects of whatever venom this was probably wasn’t even supposed to be this severe. Tony was overworked, underfed, and already had breathing problems from the diminished lung capacity. Having a giant electromagnet in place of your sternum and taking of some of the pleural space would do that. It’s why Tony couldn’t ski anymore; the risk of altitude sickness was too high.

Steve was sweating himself when the city finally came into view, the trees becoming less dense very suddenly. “Tony we made it.”

Tony groaned, but he was still awake. “Thank the universe,” he muttered. It sounded like a curse. “I hate camping.”

As soon as they reached a main road, Steve hailed a cab, asking them to step on it to the nearest hospital. They were safe now. Tony hadn’t gotten any worse, and he was sure there’d be an antivenom. “I think I finally agree with you,” Steve whispered. He ran his fingers through Tony’s sweaty hair where his head lay in Steve’s lap. “No more camping.”

[empressofbones]

OC Interview meme

Thanks to @sunshinemage for tagging me!

Tagging: @procrastinator-kinn ; @swords-starships-and-salad-girls ; @moodybidoof ; @donvex ; @princeofmorley

 1. What is your name?

Sekka! Sekka Ittetsu.

2. What is your real name?

Ha, how do you know? Did you ask Thancred before...? Y’shtola? Neither of them knows and you won’t either! My parents’ name isn’t important anymore.

3. Do you know why you were called that?

Well, I was born during a string of snows. It means snowflake. There you go!

4. Are you single or taken?

Woah, the tough questions already?! I have no idea. It’s complicated. I’m popular, you know? She winks. And I can’t choose right now... 

5. Have any abilities or powers?

Yeah, sure, all kinds. I’m the Warrior of Light and that means I can apparently do anything I want. It’s pretty cool and I feel grateful for Hydaelyn’s blessing and everything... But, I can’t choose between all that either!

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Hmmm, you’re not the first one to call me that, strangely! I have plenty of flaws, like, I’m so short. Also Hydaelyn’s blessing does not grant me any kind of stellar intelligence. I mean... she mumbles on about some superficial flaws she thinks she has.

7. What’s your eye color?

Blue! My race also has those curious rings on the iris’ exterior. Mine are a brighter blue than the rest. And that’s it, pretty blue!

8. How about your hair color?

It’s also blue! I tried dying it but everyone told me they liked my old color so much. I mean, I liked changing but I didn’t like being told it was better before. Flore told me I shouldn’t cave in but I did. I like my blue hair but... Sometimes I get sick of all this blue, you know?

9. Have you any family members?

Damn, can’t we go back to the vanity questions? No...? Well, fine. I think my mother is still alive, somewhere in Yanxia. She tried to sell my sister and us to solve her debt... It’s what started me on the adventurer path, I suppose.

My sister and my father are dead and I’d rather not extend myself too much on this, right?

10. Oh? What about pets?

Oh, I have tons! It’s kind of a hobby of us adventurers, it seems! I had to hire people to take care of them in my house, it’s crazy! 

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

Yeah it’s cool! I don’t like meat! And plenty of other things, like Allagans, Primals, traitors, Primals, not sleeping, Primals, not eating fish in too long, Primals and Primals.

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

I love doing interviews! But, huh, more seriously, I love fishing. I just, like, pop out my stool, sit down and fish for hours on end. It’s perfect.

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

Yeah, plenty of people and beasts and things. Most deserved it!

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

Yes.

15. What kind of animal are you?

Me, me? I mean, you know, an au ra. A raen one, so no, I don’t have a tribe name! And no, I’m not a dragon! If you meant like, metaphorically, I’d say... I feel like a big, blue goobbue but I’d love to be a whale: free to roam the oceans, gulping down all the fish I come upon, singing all the time... But not a blue one please.

16. Name your worst habits.

I only eat fish! I know it gets bad for my health at times, when I binge too much on it. I just love it and I don’t quite like the meat. I get into a lot of fights because I love fighting a bit too much, it seems. Sometimes I resort to violence first to solve my problems and it causes me to get fines. Also, as I said before, I’m a bit of an uncommitted person and sometimes... you know, sometimes I don’t tell it to my partners and it backfires. I think I’m also terrible at communicating. Like, I could just have said I’m undecisive and leave it at that, yeah?

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Of course! Lots of people look up to me and, you know, I play it off. I’m like this little celebrity and sometimes I love the attention. But I’m an idiot, in my life; I’ve lived things but I’m still so young. I may be gifted but I’m not foolish enough to believe I know everything, right? So yeah, I look up to my fellow Scions a lot, Cid, Raubahn... They’re all amazing!

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

I’m a lesbian, yes. Never was quite into boys, ever. Maybe when I was younger but I don’t remember many children my age back then; it was mostly my parents and my sister.

19. Do you go to school?

No, I never got any kind of formal education except from my guilds.

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Absolutely! I... I mean, I daydream too much about my wedding, even though I don’t know even know who’ll be the other bride! As for kids, I’m all for it, always loved kids. Not going to have one by myself though, you know?

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

Yeah! So. Many! They’re like, all taller than me, many older than me, a lot worthier than me! They love me as if I was their own sister. It’s wonderful but I hardly understand how they can’t see through the Warrior of Light façade. I feel like I’m barely older than a kid, not like I’m a role model!

22. What are you most afraid of?

Honestly? Not much. What I was afraid of was losing my sister. I did. Nothing worse can happen now, yeah? I feel like I could save the world 12 times over, it wouldn’t tip the scales in my heart because this failure weighs so much more.

23. What do you usually wear?

Armors, all kinds, depending on which job I’m channeling at the moment. Usually some kind of black or dark leather with colorful trims and bits of metal here and there. I feel like that’s what goes best with my blues and my skin!

At home, a black robe of some kind. Another one to go out casually... Maybe I should diversify a bit!

24. Do you love someone?

Yes. Too many ones!!

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

I bathe daily! So, today!

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

... What do you mean... ?

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

Oh, huh, I think I’m sort of high class. I mean, I have a personal house and a few gils to my name. I’m doing well!

28. How many friends do you have?

Plenty! Thanks to my charms and alluring face!

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

Fish pie is the only pie!

30. Favourite drink?

FISH SAUCE!

I’m kidding... heh. I like sugary drinks, alcoholic or not.

31. What’s your favourite place?

My home! It’s the first time I’ve had my own home since I fled my parents’! There’s nowhere best.

32. Are you interested in someone?

I think I said enough on this topic, right?

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

It’s plenty obvious there isn’t much going on here. Let’s not bring it up, right?

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Any water is great to get wet!

35. What’s your type?

Taller girls, assertive girls, tough girls. Of course, I’ve fallen for every opposite of these, so I don’t think it’s anything important.

36. Any fetishes?

Ha! Date me and find out!

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

Okay, okay, I can give you that one. Both!

38. Camping or indoors?

Indoors! I’ve gotten too used to it by now, I guess.

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

Yeah, I need to pee and I’ve got a craving for some fish.

40. Now it’s over!

Thanks for hearing me out! See you around!

Thanks for the tag honey <3

[pythonees]

Old Friends - III - S.Harrington

December 18th, 2017

Word Count: 2,449

A/N: Probably won't be able to post the next chapter till after Christmas, since I have a boatload of people coming up from the 20th ‘till Boxing Day. 

Part: I -- II -- current -- IV -- V -- VI

Dustin and Y/N stayed at the cellar entrance while Steve went looking for Dart. Y/N took this time to get some answers from Dustin. He gave her an edited, very short version of what happened last year. How Will didn't get lost in the woods but was instead in an alternate dimension, which they called 'The Upside Down.'

The Demogorgon was also from The Upside Down, which was what killed Barb, a girl a year younger than Steve and Y/N. Eleven, the kid Y/N saw at Mike’s house last year, was the one who opened the gate.

"So you thought-"

"I know."

"Okay, you knew that thing was a baby Demogorgon, but you didn't think to tell anyone?"

"Well, no one was answering," Dustin all but shoved his walkie-talkie in her face, waving it around as if to prove his point, "That's why I got you two to help."

A light coming from the cellar startled them, and the two turned their attention to Steve, "Get down here."

They rushed down the stairs, where Steve was holding skin at the end of the bat.

"Ah, shit," Dustin said, but Steve wasn't done, turning his flashlight to the corner of the room. The beam lit up a gaping hole, "oh shit. No way, no way."

They decided to camp out at Steve's, seeing as his parents were away for the weekend yet again. They set Dustin up in the gest room, and after much persuasion, Y/N took the couch in the living room.

After a quick breakfast the next morning, they went to the butcher shop to get spare meat and set out to the forest, where Lucas finally radioed Dustin back. Dustin explained the situation, and after a brief argument on why Y/N and Steve were there, Dustin told him to meet them at the old junkyard.

That's where they were now, a bucket of meat in each of their hands as they travelled along the train tracks, tossing the chunks of cow along the way.

With some probing from Steve, Dustin confessed that he kept Dart to impress the new girl, which Y/N though was stupid. From the description he gave of Dart, it seemed like it was slimy and nasty looking. Not something one would use to impress a girl.

Now, Steve was giving Dustin advice on how to get the girl, and if Y/N was being honest, it fucking sucked. He was telling Dustin to  'act like you don't care because it'll drive them nuts.' Then he had to wait for the electricity, the sexual electricity. It was there that Y/N stopped listening, turning up the pop music coming out of her walkman to drown them out.

Y/N was bopping to the music, dancing along the train tracks while throwing the cow pieces around her. Distracted by the song, she didn't notice Steve had stopped moving and ran into Steve's back. She stumbled back a bit, but Steve caught her before she could fall over. Steve was still focused on Dustin however.

"You're not falling in love with this girl, are you?" Dustin was quick to deny it, "Okay good. Don't, she's only gonna break your heart and you're way too young for that shit."

They continued walking again, but only for a couple of seconds before they stopped again. Steve turned to Y/N, giving her a half-hearted glare, "You too Y/N. If you tell anyone, you're dead, I don't care how long I've known you."

"Okay...?"

Setting up the junkyard was a pain. Thankfully, Lucas brought Max, who turned out to be the new girl Dustin is crushing on along with him. Dustin and Lucas were currently arguing behind a car, leaving Y/N, Max and Steve to do the heavy lifting. Which meant not a whole lot was getting done in the little amount of time they had left.

Steve let out a sigh, dropping the sheet of metal he had in his hands. He stomped over to where the boys were, swiping up a pipe on the way. Dusting and Lucas didn't see him coming, so Steve used that to his advantage, hitting the car next to their heads to scare them.

"Hey, Dickheads! How come the only ones helping are Y/N and this random girl. We loose daylight in forty minutes let's go."

Once Steve kicked their asses into gear, setup flew by in a flash. It felt like only minutes past before it got dark and they were couped up in the abandoned bus. Y/N was huddled up next to Steve, tucked under his arm to keep warm. He was playing around with his lighter, and Y/N was watching it while trying to ignore Dustin's pacing.

"So, you really fought one of these things before?" Steve nodded, pulling Y/N in closer when he feels her shiver, "And you're like, totally 100% sure it wasn't a bear."

"Holly shit, don't be an idiot!" Dustin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Y/N looked up at the boy in confusion, and Max looked just as surprised as she felt, "It wasn't a bear. Why are you even here if you don't believe us? Just go home."

"Yeesh, someone's cranky. Past your bedtime?" With that max left, climbing up the ladder to where Lucas was. Y/N could feel Steve's silent laughter against her side.

"That's good. Show her you don't care."

"I don't. Why're you winking Steve? Stop."

Dustin continued his pacing, and after a while that, mixed with the sound of Steve's lighter clicking was oddly relaxing to Y/N. She found herself leaning heavily on Steve, almost forgetting about why they were out there in the first place.

All of a sudden there's a roar in the distance that jerks Y/N awake. Steve and Y/N instantly get up to look out the window with Dustin worming between them. There's thick fog covering the grounds, blocking their view. Y/N desperately scans the area, but can't see movement at all. Lucas cries out Dart's location, and they only have to wait a moment before it's visible.

Dart stops in front of the gasoline covered pile of meat they left as a trap but doesn't try to eat it. Instead, it looks like Dart is scanning the area himself, like it knows it's not alone.

"What's he doing?" Y/N whispers, squinting to get a better look.

"I don't know," Steve says as they watch Dart survey the area, "He's not taking the bait. Why's he not taking the bait?"

"Maybe he's not hungry."

"Maybe he's sick of cow."

"Steve, no," Y/N knew what he was thinking, and she didn't like it one bit. Steve backed away from the window, and Y/N grabbed his arms, looking up at him desperately.

"Y/N I have to. We don't have another choice," Steve took her hand, pressing the cold lighter into her shaking hand. He bent down slightly so he could look her in the eyes, "Hey, I'll be fine."

"I just got you back, I don't wanna lose you," Y/N sniffed, refusing to cry in front of the kids. She needed to be strong.

"You won't, okay? You won't," Steve cupped her cheeks, bringing in her forward to plant a kiss on the top of her head. He gave her a bright, though forced smile, then turned to the door of the bus. Slowly, Steve crept outside, and Y/N reluctantly closed the doors behind him.

Max came down the ladder, moving to stand next to Dustan at the window, "What's he doing?"

"Expanding the menu."

"He's insane."

"He's awesome."

Y/N watched Steve through the windows next to Dustin as he taunted Dart. He was swinging his bat around, trying to get Dart's attention, when Lucas yelled from the top of the bus once more. Max, Dustan, and Y/N all turned to '3 o'clock' to find even more Demogorgon's moving in on Steve.  

Y/N ran to the bus door, Dustin hot on her heels. She ripped it open, "Steve," Dustin yelled, "Abort, abort!"

At that point, everyone was yelling, trying to get Steve to come back into the bus. Y/N watched as they all lunged at him. He dodged to the side, sliding over the hood of a wrecked car. He batted away one that went to attack him, then used the opening to run back to the bus.

Dustin and Y/N pulled him in, and they fell to the ground just inside the doors in a help. Steve slid the door closed with his foot, then grabbed a piece of sheet metal to block it.

The bus shook as the Demogorgon's jumped onto the bus, throwing everyone off balance. Y/N got up, pulling Dustin up with her as Steve did the same. A clawed hand burst through the metal that Steve immediately started beating with his bat.

Y/N herded the kids to the other side of the bus, moving them away from the danger. Dustin was hiding behind a bus seat, calling for anyone to come and help them on his walkie-talkie. There was loud thumping on the roof, and Y/N followed the dents it made as it walked to the opening on the roof of the bus.

The Demogorgon stook its head in, opening its mouth to let out a roar. Max screamed, and Y/N didn't even think twice, pushing her and the kids back to put herself between them and the monster.

"Get back! Get back!" Steve yelled, running over to hit it away.

It only seemed to anger the Demogorgon, and it reared back to dive in, but then it all stopped. The Demogorgon's all ran away into the forest, the roars echoing into the night as they chased something only they could hear.

"Are you guys alright?" Y/N asked, turning around to check the kids over. Dusting was the closest, so she took his face in her hands, turning it this way and that to look for any injuries. When she couldn't find any she moved on to Max, who squirmed under the attention, and finally Lucas, who batted her hands away with a huff.

Y/N felt Steve move away from her towards the front of the bus. Everyone followed close behind, looking out the windows to see if they could see anything. They all got out of the bus, looking around the now less fogy area.

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

"Steve scared them off?"

"No, they're going somewhere."

"You're positive that was dart?" Lucas asked.

After deciding that it was a bad idea to stay at the junkyard, they were all going back the way they came, walking along the train tracks as they scanned the trees for any movement. Y/N, Steve and Dustin were in the front, while Max and Lucas were following behind them.

"Yes, he had the same yellow markings on his butt."

"But he was tiny two days ago," Max said from beside Lucas.

"Well, he's molted three times already."

"Maulted?" Y/N laughed at Steve's pronunciation.

"Molted. Shed its skin to make room for more growth. Like hornworms."

"Well, when's he gonna molt again?"

"It's gotta be soon. When he does he'll be fully grown, or close to it. So will his friends."

"Yeah, he's gonna eat a lot more than just a cat." As soon as the words came out of Steves' mouth, Dustin's step faltered. He tried to play it off, but Lucas had already heard.

Lucas ran in front of Dustin, grabbing his shoulders to stop him, "Wait, a cat? Dart ate a cat?"

"No, What? No."

Steve looked confused, "What are you talking about, he ate Muze."

"Muze?"

"It's Dustan's cat."

"It was Dustin's cat," Y/N stressed. Steve gave Y/N a playful shove, rolling his eye's at her.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Lucas didn't even know Dustan kept Dart, let alone that he ate Muze. The two of them started arguing, Max adding in her two cents when her name was thrown into the mix.

There was roaring in the distance, dragging Y/N attention away from the kids and towards the trees. Y/N tugged on Steve's shirt, gesturing in the direction the sound came from.

"Hey, guys?" The kids were arguing so loud they couldn't hear Steve, so he tried again, raising his voice, "Guys!"

When the roaring continued Steve ran towards the sound, Lucas and Dustin close behind.

"Damn it. Come on Max!" Y/N called before running after the boys.

They made their way through the forest fairly quick, since Lucas had been close to the lab the year before. When the got closer to the tree line Y/N and Steve moved to the front of the group, leading them through the trees as the tall building came into view

"Hello? Who's there?" a male voice called, and as they passed the last of the tree's Steve shined his light on a surprised Nancy and Jonathan.

"Steve?" They both called, looking even more confused as they noticed the kids come up behind them.

The two of them were looking for Mike and Will and figured they were in the lab. There were distant roars coming from the building, and Y/N hoped that Mike and Will, along with whoever was with them, got out okay.

Y/N was only half-listening, turning to Steve to find him scanning the treeline, "Are you okay?"

Steve turned to Y/N, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, "What?"

"Earlier, when the Demogorgon's left, I forgot to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine, they didn't even touch me."

"Are you sure?"

"Y/N," Steve reached out to grab her shoulders, rubbing his hands down her arms to hold hers, “I’m fine, okay? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Y/N nodded, giving Steve a small smile while gripping his hands tightly. More roars sounded from the lab, but Y/N could only pay attention to how hard her heart was pounding.

M A S T E R   L I S T

Tagged: @clickyourheelsandaskforseb -- @stevieboyharrington -- @cherriesinspring

[captainderyn]

"I may be an idiot but I’m your idiot.”

Oh look I got the whole gang together for some Rakata Prime shenanigans. Blame bringing Rielay through the flashpoint I suppose. 

Rielay+ @delavairesslegacy​‘s Esrin (+Emeldir)

“Remind me again why we’re here?” Rielay peeled off her boot, dumping ocean water and shaking sand out. Still, when she pushed her foot back into her boot it squelched and she scrunched up her nose. 

Rakata Prime, a beautiful planet made up of tropics and ocean, if one could look past the Revanites and Rakatian people trying to shoot them down at every turn. The humidity stuck her shirt to her back and plastered her hair to the back of her neck–already the beautiful white sand and crystal blue skies were becoming less of a perfect image and more a mockery of her discomfort. 

“Technology. We’re here to destroy technology.” Even Emeldir was struggling, already his blaster had overheated and left a nasty reminder across his off hand. 

“Riigghtt we’re here because your job sucks.” Rielay wrangled the boot back to where it was supposed to be and stood, nose wrinkling further when her foot made another squelching nosie in her shoe and she sank into the sand. 

Emeldir ran a hand through his hair–tied back away from his face for once–and his shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Yes, my job sucks. I blame you, Taqq.” At her offended huff his lips twitched up into the barest hints of a smirk. “You can still walk back..” 

“And miss all the action? I didn’t take a nice afternoon swim to miss all the fun.” She took a few steps forward, boots squeaking and trousers sticking to her legs, then threw her hands out and raising an eyebrow. Emeldir glanced over at Esrin, then back at Rielay with a look of feigned sympathy. 

“It’s not my fault you’re short.” Emeldir dodged Rielay’s fist, nearly stumbling in the sand. 

She planted her hands on her hips, good eye narrowing dangerously. “Short it an understatement. Don’t patronize me.”

They had needed to go through a small inlet of ocean water to avoid detection by a very large group of wild animals and while Emeldir had only been up to his knees, and Esrin hadn’t needed to worry at all, Rielay had been wading through up to her waist. 

Esrin just shook his head and fixed them both with an exasperated look. “We’re never going to get anything done like this. Theron told you our updated destination?” 

Emeldir nodded, gesturing out in front of them towards a thin path that snaked through the dense brush. “It’s still the temple, we’ll just need to cut through one of the Rakata camps.” 

Rielay should have learned never to go anywhere with Emeldir. Ever. Especially on a job and especially if that job had to do with saving the galaxy. Trouble always found them. 

It wasn’t like she could have refused, she wasn’t actively on a job and his crew was taken out by some brutal cold-like sickness that was bound to happen with all the stress they were under. She had Esrin with her, Fashira and Zasharr were working on a job of their own, so to Rakata they came. 

And from Rakata she would appreciate leaving in one piece. 

“Kriff!” Rielay threw her blaster aside after it whined and spluttered mid-charge. The damn humidity was frying the delicate sensors, which would explain why none of the Rataka people they had faced had been using similar blasters in hindsight. The blaster spat out it’s charge in the sand and Rielay jumped to the side, steadying her blaster with her off hand. 

It took one shot for her to drop the Rataka chieftan that had been hounding her to his knees, a second shot to still his movement. Patches of flame danced around her and she lifted an arm to wipe away the sweat dripping into her eyes. Behind her she could still hear the Rataka’s war beast roaring and storming through the sand. 

A pivot on her heel and a quick glance around was all she needed to find Emeldir crouched behind a stray piece of metal, firing over the top while Esrin pounded round after round of fire into the creature’s back. 

Most of the fire just glanced off, making the creature even angrier as it lumbered around for a target. That was…problematic. She pulled a shrap detonator from her belt, pulling the pin out and recharging her main blaster. 

When she threw the detonator it may not have punctured the creature’s hide, but it sure as hell made it mad. Shit. She yanked another detonator from her belt and threw it, setting it off with a shot from her blaster at the war beast’s feet. It continued to lumber after her and she took several hurried steps back, feet sliding in the sand. Fuck. 

Fire from her blaster continued to glance off the creature’s hide, shot’s from Emeldir’s own blasters sending up red sparks while Esrin’s blasts beat onto it’s shoulders. 

Rielay stepped into shadow and could almost feel the looming metal wall-like structure looming behind her. The creature had pushed her back, idiot, nearly into a corner. She set her jaw, raised her blaster up and fired several rounds without stuttering. The beast roared–a shot had caught it in it’s eye!–and she let out a breath, before sucking it right back. 

Almost in slow motion she saw the creature’s arm swing back towards her, her feet seemed to not move at all as she tried to dart to the side. Her back hit the wall and her vision flashed white before everything went dark. She felt her body hit the sand and she flopped onto her stomach, blinking rapidly as she heaved and choked on breath that wouldn’t come back. 

A coppery taste filled her mouth, each little breath she was able to regain painful but after enough blinks the sand came back to focus and the ringing in her ears sharpened back to the creature’s roar and the whine of blaster fire. 

She pushed herself onto elbows, then to her knees, fumbling for her blaster. Her movements were slow, hands uncoordinated as she held up her weapon and flicked the charge. The metal joints in the fingers of her left arm protested the movement and distantly she wondered if she had broken the cybernetics there again. Half of her vision was dark, but whether it was just now dark or if she had flicked off her cybernetic eye because of the sensory overload she wasn’t sure. 

She also wasn’t sure why the ground shook until she focused back on the war beast, that wavered and collapsed where it stood several feet away from where they had been, several blaster shots finally smoking through it’s hide. Her own blaster thumped down to rest across her lap. It hadn’t fired. 

“Taqq!” “Rielay!” By the time Emeldir and Esrin reached her she had found slightly more coherent thought, though breathing was still a chore and standing was completely out of the question. Esrin sank to his knees in front of her and he looked worried. There wasn’t anything to worry about, she was still on her feet after all–well…

“Rielay are you alright?” One of Esrin’s hands gently cupped under her chin, raising it up so his eyes could search her face.  

Somewhere off to her left Emeldir was pacing, blasters still leveled like he was expecting another wave of enemies. It almost looked like his own limp was heavier than usual. 

“Rielay.” Her eyes snapped back to Esrin’s. 

“M’fine.” she assured, though to her own ears her voice sounded strained. Her cybernetic hand curled around his forearm her other hand rested heavily on his shoulder. With a grimace she went to push herself to her feet–

And sank to her knees again, face twisting. “Kriff.” Esrin’s hands were immediately on her shoulders, steadying her even as his words were coated a falsified calm. 

“What hurts?” 

She could answer that in two words or less, most everything, but instead she frowned. “Did I…did I deactivate my..eye?” If she hadn’t then that would explain the throbbing setting up shop inside her head, banging around in her skull like a very unwanted but very enthusiastic party guest. 

A moment of silence, probably as Esrin tried to figure out for himself whether that was an actual question or if she was suffering confusion from a head injury. Which wouldn’t surprise her, at this point. 

“You did, just before we got to the beach.” He said slowly then paused like he was going to repeat his initial question but she beat him to it, pulling her hand from his shoulder to feel around on her belt. 

“That answers that.” She found what she was looking for and palmed it–a kolto injector and then started digging again. “Feels like I’ve been punched by a very heavy war beast.” Finding her second prize she took the kolto injector first. “Head, and uh…ribs or back, I’m not really sure which. It’s just all one big..” she made a noise of discomfort and raised a shoulder. She held up the injector, with her thoughts coming back to her in steady form instead of fragments she could only think of pressing on.  “Can you uncap this? I think the joints in my off hand are fucked.” 

Esrin did as she asked, pressing it back into her hand so she wouldn’t drop it. The cold rush of the kolto was a welcome buzz as it dispersed to ease some of the pain but when she grabbed the next thing she had pulled out Esrin’s hand stopped hers. 

“Rielay wait, what’re you doing?” He still didn’t seem convinced she wasn’t going to keel over onto the sand if he took his hand back and her sudden drive seemed to throw him even more off. 

Rielay’s eyebrows drew together. “It’s a stim…so we can keep going.”  As if it was the most obvious thing. It was, how else would she make it through the many scraps she had been in in her time spent in the shittiest parts of the galaxy? This one she managed to work the cap off with her teeth and injected the stim before she could be told otherwise. 

When she tried to stand again, using Esrin’s shoulder as a support she made it to her feet, through still nowhere near steady and not without another hissed out curse. 

His arm that wasn’t pinned by the grip of her cybernetic one drifted down to steady her at her waist. He was still kneeling, so they were near eye level and he was frowning. “Maybe you should stay here…or somewhere around here?” 

“What? No!” Rielay winced as her own exclamation sent a stab through her head. 

“We still have a long way to go, I think you’ve hurt something in your back–” if he was referring to her own self assessment she wouldn’t be so sure. But considering that standing, even supported was not a nice feeling, or even that the slight pressure of his hand was uncomfortable over her right hip. 

So maybe he was right. That didn’t mean she had to listen. 

“–and I definitely think you have a concussion. So it might be best  if you…stay here.” Esrin finished with a sigh, already seeing the determined gleam in her eyes and the set of her jaw.

“You guys aren’t leaving me here.” She said firmly, starting to lean down to pick up her discarded blaster. Esrin handed it to her instead, slowly getting to his feet, keeping his hand steadying her as long as he could until he moved it to her shoulder. “Thank you.” She holstered her blaster back on her belt, not even trying to look for the one she had thrown away earlier. 

Emeldir reappeared from around one of the metal ‘walls’. “We’re all clear. There’s nothing else to worry about around here.” He was definitely limping heavier than usual and there was blood trailing from a gash above his eye but the sharp grey eyes he turned on her were clear. “Taqq, you good?” 

“Better than ever.” She offered as best a smile as she could manage. 

“Good,” There was no way he believed her, it was written all through his eyes but his worry was buried deep beneath his sarcasm. Another force damned bad habit he had picked up from her no doubt. “Try not to get punted by anymore beasts, it was terrifying to see.” 

Esrin made an unhappy noise, his hand tightening on her shoulder. “I’ll try not to.” She promised, lifting her hand to cover Esrin’s briefly before dropping it to her side again. 

Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty they say, and by that logic Rielay should have had the best sigh in the whole galaxy. 

They were moving slow, all of them beat up from their encounters with the war beast and the force sensitive Revanites they crossed. Emeldir took the brunt of the attacks with Rielay shooting as best she could while leaning on Esrin. It wasn’t pretty fighting, it wasn’t even all that functional. But it got the job done. The kolto and the stim were doing their job, but not good enough and Rielay was beginning to wonder if it would have been better for her to stay down in the circle of metal after all. 

Then again, there wouldn’t have been a way to get her out necessarily and the risk of more Revanites stumbling in on her was too great for her to have ever allowed it and she wasn’t so sure Esrin really would have left her behind. 

“Will you be alright here?” Esrin let Rielay sink to the ground behind a supply crate. Emeldir’s voice carried across to them, clipped and cold for a man going toe to toe with a colonel and a darth. 

Rielay nodded, grimacing. Her breath came sharp, painful inhalations and exhalations. “I’ll be fine.” She waved over her shoulder towards Emeldir, where his voice was overtaken by Darok’s. Esrin got her meaning and reluctantly drew away, shouldering his weapon. She let her head rest back against the crate, trying to steady her breath. 

Any progress she might’ve made shattered when the combined sounds of blaster fire and a lightsaber igniting tore through the air. With an effort she heaved herself up so she could look over the edge of the crate. Her heart jumped into her throat at seeing Emeldir and Esrin locked in a firefight with Darok and Arkous. Esrin had himself between the crate she was behind and Darok, while Emeldir drew the sith pureblood further down the rooftop. 

Rielay gripped her blaster in one hand, ready to charge it and pull the trigger at a moments notice. But she was having a hard time focusing without her head worsening and with a frustrated growl she reached up to fumble with the control for her eye. Immediately she gasped, buckling over on herself. Too much, too sharp, information all at once–to much. Finally half her vision went dark again and for several seconds she remained buckled over, head throbbing in time with her skittering heartbeat. Kriff she had really done it this time.  

From her vantage point she could peer around the box and watch the fight without fear of being noticed and she remained poised to shoot, aim as off as it might be. Esrin seemed to be gaining on Darok, the colonel appeared to be injuries and failing fast. 

Emeldir and Arkous were locked in a deadly dance. Her own fight style relied on outsmarting her opponent, wearing them down and using her size and agility to her advantage. This was an entirely different beast entirely, even if most of Emeldir’s technique had been learned from her. He moved fluidly, dancing just out of reach of Arkous’s blade while firing his own shots. A defense shield flickered around him and he darted and dodged. But as she watched Arkous switched tactics, falling back as Emeldir’s shield flickered. 

She was already jamming the first two stims she could fish from her belt into her though and scrambling to her feet when the bolts of force lightning froze Emeldir where he was before throwing him to the ground in a convulsing heap. 

Darok dropped when Emeldir did, body smoking slightly. Esrin turned just in time to see her limping and struggling towards the sith and her fellow smuggler, detonator in one hand her her blaster in the other. 

She might have been afraid of getting Emeldir caught in the blast at any other time but she needed something to break Arkous’s concentration. Her detonator knocked Arkous from his feet momentarily, long enough for Emeldir to grab for his blaster and claw to his feet again. Arkous wheeled on her and Emeldir scrambled back. Her first shot went wide, her second hitting the Sith in the shoulder. Her third hit sparked the ground at his feet and  with a motion too swift for her to see she was thrown to her knees, lungs struggling for something to breath and her airway struggling against the sudden pressure. 

Eyes streaming she fired off several more shots, pulling the trigger wildly rather than aiming. She heard a cry of pain and desperately hoped that she hadn’t shot down Emeldir or Esrin. Another blaster shot echoed and the pressure around her throat released. She dropped her weight onto her hands, sucking in deep lungfuls of air even though it hurt. 

Someone’s hand rested between her shoulder blades, a voice that she could identify as distinctly as Esrin’s was saying something but the words simply blurred together…

Then the platform of the roof began to rock and acrid smell of scorched metal swept over them. She was pulled to her feet and urged along, more words blurring into a general sense of urgency. Her feet felt clumsy and she stumbled several times, lagging even as she told her body move faster. In one motion she was swept off her feet and everything faded. 

–

Esrin wasn’t angry with her. Or at least, she couldn’t immediately place it as anger.

 They were back on the Promise after a comparatively short visit to a medcenter, where it had been confirmed that she could add a concussion, several bruised ribs and something to do with her back–she had stopped listening completely once the med droid had started droning on in technical terms–and she had promptly been ushered into their quarters.

If it were up to her she would be on the bridge. But after whacking her head and severely crashing from the over aggressive use of adrenaline stims it ‘wasn’t a good idea’ for her to be piloting.

 While it may save her ship from becoming scrap, she didn’t like the idea of handing off control of the Promise to anyone else without her supervision, even Esrin. They had made it into the air though and Esrin had returned to curl up with her after getting cleaned up.

 She was drifting in and out of dozing, his arm warm against her side and his forehead resting against her shoulder. When he spoke his breath ghosted across her skin. “You’re an idiot sometimes.” 

It wasn’t anger. It was…tiredness, no, weariness and some amount of exasperation. She snuggled closer, wiggling around so that she could look at him. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

He sighed, frowning slightly. “Seeing that Rataki creature just..toss you aside and then Arkous…” He trailed off, not finishing the thought. He didn’t need to. She knew enough to finish it and it sent a chill of guilt through her. 

“It all worked out.” She brought her hand up to brush across his jaw, drawing his attention back from the direction his thoughts were headed. “I’m still here, in one piece.” 

“You are.” Esrin drew her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re still a little bit of an idiot.” 

“I may be an idiot, but at least I’m your idiot.” Rielay sighed out her next breath, letting her eyes drift closed again. 

“That you are, Rielay.” Esrin’s arm settled back over side, his voice quiet. “That you are..”

[mylife-bytes]

58 Lost But Never Forgotten

It’s been 45 days since my life was threatened doing something I love most; attending a country music festival. Route 91 Harvest Festival is something we look forward to because of their fan-based experience. This festival makes sure that everything they put into it is for the fans. From venue size to vendors to the mix of artists performing, it’s all for the fans from a fans point of view. As a lover of live music and rising artists, the festival was awesome. I came out with minor cuts and bruises and of course some mental damage. I do not consider myself a survivor. I am simply lucky to have come out unharmed.

Like everyone else, we heard what sounded like firecrackers. We were hanging out in between the back of the stage lawn and the chair coral on the right side of the stage. Given my fiancé and I’s military background, we weren’t phased as much by the sound. We thought about it and disregarded it. His aunt and uncle gave us the same look and disregarded it as well since we didn’t think much of it. Next thing we heard were bursts of the same sound. We continued to stand there confused as to what was happening. We started watching people move towards the exits and others were running. Searching for the direction of what we now knew as gunfire we immediately turned back to each other, I remember my fiancé saying, “active shooter, run.” I quickly turned to my friends who I had gotten wristbands for only a week ago, and tell them to run. “It’s an active shooter you gotta get out!” She responded, “Hell no, let’s go!” And reached for my hand to run. I’m not sure why I pulled away but I did. I had to stay with my family, I had to make sure everyone else was also taken care of.

My fiancé and I proceeded to run as side by side as we could towards the chair corral in order to get further from the line of sight of the shooter. “Get down!” I heard him say to me as we simultaneously dropped to the ground next to others who were also there. Looking back at this moment, I’m not sure if these people were on the ground by choice or not, but I do remember thinking as I was lying on the turf among beer cans, cups, trash, camping chairs, and people, why aren’t they trying to run? We started low crawling and I realized I still had a large bottle of water which I had bought not too long before this. I thought to myself, what am I doing? I let go of the bottle and it became a part of the rest of the items on the ground. We heard the fire lift so we again simultaneously (we must be telepathic) got up to keep moving as we have trained many times. I took off towards a small gap between the right side of the bleachers and the back side of some of the vendor tents unaware that I was running towards a funnel of people. As we got up to run my fiance realized his aunt and uncle were still attempting to follow us so he briefly looked back only to not see them there. He turned back towards me and I was also gone. I looked back as soon as I hit the funnel of people and realized I had lost him as well. 

I was calm but the adrenaline was running through me. I was stuck in a lake of people and I was now alone. I began looking behind me frantically while still trying to move forward to get out through a small opening we were all moving towards. I couldn’t see him, I wanted to yell his name knowing we usually find each other this way. I couldn’t, I knew the minute I started to do that I would just become a part of the crowd around me, afraid, panicked, with terror seeping through their screams. I had to keep it together, I had to keep going, so I turned around and focused on continuing on. 

We were sitting ducks everywhere we managed to maneuver on the ground. As I am waiting to move forward in this lake of people not knowing what we are waiting on, I quickly become surrounded by others behind me. I’m only 5″1′ so I quickly became lost among the crowd. In front of us, there was what seemed like a hot dog stand next to another stand blocking the pathway towards this walkway behind the vendor booths. It was a small gap but we were all attempting to jump over it. It was my turn. I went to grab the metal pole with my left hand, it was wet, why was it wet? I jumped over and onto a stack of maybe 7-10 wooden pallets. My leg slipped through one of the horizontal gaps scratching up my leg. I went to pull myself out efficiently and then I felt it. My silicon camo Qalo ring began to leave my finger as I lifted myself out of the pallets. This ring was the only thing I had at the moment that was still connecting me to my Fiance. I was already out and ready to keep moving but part of me wanted to stop and grab it off the ground. “Gaby keep going, just leave it!” The words ran through my mind so I kept running. At the end of what seemed like a hallway, some went left and others went right through the back of a vendor stand. I decided to go right. Everyone was trying to squeeze through this small opening. I hesitated. Not knowing what would await me on either side I went ahead and grabbed the tarp wall and pulled as hard as I could to widen the opening. I crawl through and the adrenaline came back to me. I was free I could run faster than I ever desired to, at least that’s what my mind was telling me. My feet weren’t on the same page yet. As I went to take off running I immediately slip, fall, tumble, and get back up all in one. as I was trying to run towards the exit on the left side of the Next from Nashville stage. I noticed some people standing on the corner of where I came out of, next to a vendor stand and across from where the palm tree was, very carelessly just standing there drinking beer. I looked back after I get up and let them know “I’m good!” and keep running out. Not sure why, but they continued to stand there and yell after me “don’t run, it’s all good!”

I was running, my throat was dry, and my phone kept ringing. Selfishly I didn’t care about anyone at the moment except my Fiance, I needed to know he had made it out and that we could meet at Hooters. I’m not sure why I picked this destination, at the time it just seemed like the furthest building away from the festival but close enough to run quickly to in order to seek shelter. I had tunnel vision, I had one destination in sight and I was to get there all while rejoining my fiance and friends if possible. I made it to the back doors of the hotel where housekeeping brings in linen and take out the trash. The entrance had a downward ramp with cement walls. I waited here and used the wall as cover while I called my fiance in hopes of leading him here so we could go inside to safety. After many attempts, we connected, and with his hoarse voice and out of breath, we managed to exchange conversation and we attempted to let each other know where we were. After letting him know where I was he said “I see Hooters! I’m coming around the white wall.” I said “ok, I’ll wait here and stay on the phone with you until I see you.” As I waited and kept looking around to ensure I was still safe I noticed a crowd coming around the right side. My back was facing the doors at this point. “Gaby I can’t go to Hooters, there’s another shooter, everyone is running out” he hoarsely lets me know over the phone. “I see everyone running from the side…Chris, I gotta get inside, they’re closing their doors.” “Ok, get inside and we will find each other later, I love you.” “I love you too.” 

For the next 7 hours, I was in a room full of strangers. A nice woman from New Zealand opened her room door and let a good 15 of us in. She was unaware of what was happening but let us in any way. We were all still in shock and our adrenaline was high. I found a place between the bed and the wall and sat on the floor, away from windows, doorways, and anything else that could be considered dangerous. This wasn’t over, I knew it wasn’t, so I made sure to continue to take as much cover as I could. As I sat there I continued to make contact with Chris. Turns out he ended up in a bush somewhere taking cover and he was unsure of where he was. I made a phone call to an Army friend who I knew lived in the area and worked nights; luckily he answered. “Hey I need a huge favor, I don’t know if you’ve heard or not but there was an active shooter at the festival we were at and I lost Chris. He’s hiding in a bush somewhere and doesn’t know where he is. Can you please go get him and let me know when you have him and that he’s safe?” His response, “Ok I’m going right now.”

I continued to sit in that hotel room as everyone around me was still frantic, crying and still trying to make sense of what happened a few minutes ago. I turned to social media to let everyone know I was safe and began texting and emailing those close to me as well as my bosses and even teachers, letting them know what had happened and that I was safe. Suddenly the girl sitting next to me just lost it, tears began to fill her face and she began shaking. I remember assuring her that she was ok and safe, and then my body wanted to break down as well. I briefly began to shake, that lump in my throat formed, and tears tried to escape my eyes. I stopped myself, I reminded myself that this wasn’t over and there was no time for crying, Chris wasn’t to safety yet. By this time, it may have been about 1045 when I was safe inside this room, and about 1125 when I received a phone call saying Chris was now safe and they were on their way to pick up his aunt and uncle off the strip somewhere. I was relieved and happy to hear they had made it and were on their way to safety away from the strip at their hotel the Cancun. As I continued to sit on the floor and search through social media in hopes of finding out what was going on outside, the girl next to me gasped and pointed out that my leg was bleeding. I hadn’t felt anything to notice that my leg was scratched up from the wood pallets and tripping over myself. Dried up blood, of course, I said: “It’s ok, it will be fine.”

It was a long 7 hours. We had the news on in the background and we began telling each other how we ended up here, at least everyone else did. I kept to myself. Everyone else had someone with them, a friend, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, spouse, and I was there alone. I just wanted to get out and get back to my family, I didn’t know how I would, maybe I would call someone, or maybe I would have to walk, but I was going to get to them. Once S.W.A.T came by and cleared every floor of that hotel the nice gentleman who was staying with the woman from New Zealand offered us all a ride back to our hotels. I was immediately afraid. What if I get into this man’s car and I get kidnapped? Or what if I get murdered? I didn’t just escape gunshots to get murdered by a stranger. With hesitation, I let him know where I was staying and thankfully I was getting dropped off first, this brought some relief. We began walking out and took the elevator down, what I saw when those doors opened was eerie. People were scattered all over the casino floor with blankets, towels, sleeping on the floor, sitting with their loved ones, sitting with strangers. As we walked past, we were all hesitant to keep up with the man giving us a ride as we were still traumatized and unsure of what was outside. Walking by everyone on that casino floor knowing you were going back to your family, was like knowing you were getting adopted from the shelter. I felt good but I also shared the fear and broken-ness in their eyes. 

After a few missed turns and off ramps I ended up being dropped off last. I was anxious and all I could think of was, what am I going to say when I see Chris and my family? Would I say anything? Would I tell them my story? The nice man dropped me off and said, “I’m going to turn around but I will wait here to make sure you make it inside ok.” Next I knew Chris opened the side door to the stairs, I waved goodbye to the man, and then turned around to hug Chris and just lost it for a quick minute. I saw the tears forming in his tired eyes and at that point knew, I was safe, it was over. I was home. 

I am thankful for everyone who texted, Facebook messaged me, or checked in with me in any way. I am also thankful for those who constantly messaged me while I was alone during those 7 hours. To my Army friend, words will never be enough to express how thankful I am for you. To the generous family from New Zealand who gave us shelter and a ride home, I am thankful. And to all the strangers I was with whom I was too afraid to speak to while in the room, I hope I find you and we keep in contact. This was a very tragic event for our country music community, friends, and family. We are all healing in our own way. Although it took me a bit over a month to finally get these words out, I am doing better. The nightmares are coming to a minimum, the sleepless nights are getting better, and the trauma of the whole situation is becoming more manageable. Some days are better than others, but music is healing. It simply was not our time to go and I am thankful to be able to wake up every day. Unfortunately, this will never leave us, but at least in this family, no one fights alone. 

[ecotone99]

[FN] The Weald, Part One: Cleric

North of the Guardian’s Road, in the High Weald, the paths are not to be wandered aimlessly. Fortunately the eastern reaches of the Weald have been extensively explored and good maps can be bought at reasonable prices in any of the larger towns which cluster around the Redwall to the East, below the steep switchbacks which lead upward to the highlands of Ferise.

While the danger here is far greater than the the Low Weald, people still inhabit the forest in great numbers harvesting crops and spices which grow faster and in greater number than anywhere else in the world, or mining the thick seams of rich ore which bubble up to the surface. It is the High Weald’s fearsome reputation which makes trade here especially lucrative - most merchants operate exclusively in the Low Weald, paying inflated prices while trying to compete with the buying power of Cerezi industry. The huge port city at the western edge of the forest holds the Low Weald in a relentless grip, dependent upon the resources of the forest to feed the hungry mouths of millions of workers and the fires of its furnaces.

No, a canny entrepreneur will seek their fortune beneath the quiet canopies of the High Weald, famous across the world as the forest of magic and monsters, children’s tales and folklore. Do not take these tales lightly, dear colleague: every fantastical tale of letches and arrax, of barbecks and narrids pale compared to the very real threat posed by the creatures which skulk in shadows cast by the trees, but the risks they pose can be largely avoided by following three simple rules.

Do not enter the Weald without a destination in mind. Do not go too deeply into the forest, remain within a day’s hard travel of its edge. Most importantly do not, under any circumstance, travel the Weald at night.

- From The Golden Road, A Merchant’s Travel Guide, Second Edition by Elber Finn.

​

The last of the rain pattered softly on distant leaves overhead, little green hands outstretched to cup raindrops shed by the retreating storm which hung, teetering, before being released from the canopy with each gust of wind, falling through the deepening shadows and splashing onto my exposed head, each droplet a pinprick which chilled in the evening air. Hollow thunder rolled long and low in the distance; while the storm had been ferocious it had at least pushed past with relative swiftness, though within that short time I had become thoroughly sodden. I made a brief effort to wring the worst of the water from my threadbare robe but quickly gave up the task as hopeless and adjusted my burden across aching shoulders, feet slowing but never stopping on the the thin, straight track cutting through the great forest that men called The Weald.

The rain had come suddenly and while there was nothing growing on the track the intensity of it had turned the ground to a smooth, slippery mulch. My iron-shod greatboots squelched in the mud with every step, protective banding around them proving more hazard than protection in these conditions as particularly soft or uneven patches of ground threatened to relieve my feet of the rest of me. Shafts of wan evening light falling through the canopy gave the forest a last chance at daylight; the clouds overhead had broken enough to let the sun give a last performance before it fell below Old Hob, the great grey mountain that crouched in the range to the West, dwarfing its brothers and sisters despite ending suddenly as if a giant had decided that two thirds of its great height was plenty and hewn off its peak, leaving a curiously flat top.

This far into the High Weald the abundant fertility that showered the forest’s farmsteaders with continual, bountiful harvest ran out of control. Tree trunks were covered in vast colourful splays of mosses and vines, some in such quantity that only the branches emerging into the forest canopy high above served as evidence that the trees they grew on even existed. Yellow, red and violet competed with green, brown and black in a mad ocean of life, striated slashes of some moss or vine covering another, and another covering the first in an endless war for supremacy which tangled the forest beyond the path in a dizzying clash of colour. Small insects and birds flitted between the tightly packed trees and drooping vines, going about whatever business such beasts pursue. Fortunately this part of the Weald did not harbour too many of the biting insects that plagued the wetlands and fens to the south, and I was largely ignored as I went on my way.

I pressed onwards, doing my best to ignore the soporific effect exerted by the High Weald, a numbness of mind and body that grew in intensity the further into the Weald one travelled. It began around a day’s travel from the edge of the forest, nothing more than a slight feeling of fogginess upon waking, quickly overcome. This far into the Weald, the effect was so strong that it tried to drag my eyelids closed at every step, consuming my focus and making my thoughts slow and sluggish. Step, step, step, my mind instructed my body, thought beyond simple action difficult to form and even harder to hold onto.

Constant and irritating though it was, the narcotic effect of the forest was not the whip that drove my weary feet forward; the sun sank and the forest was falling slowly but inexorably to night. Very shortly darkness would rule beneath the canopy of the forest, and if I had not found a place to stop and light the forest around me losing my footing would be the least of my worries. At night the strange power of the Weald waxed, and its less favourable inhabitants roamed beneath the trees.

I trudged doggedly forward, head down, hoping to come across somewhere more suitable than the centre of the track to stop and make camp, sticky mud splattering my tattered robes with every step. My robes of office had been grand things, rich and flowing and decorated with the sigils of the Bright Order in thread-of-gold: once a symbol of my ascension to the clergy, now worn more for practical purpose than any other, allowing me to pass unchallenged and unmolested through the frequent human settlements that littered the eastern limits of the Weald. No sane person would dare challenge a Cleric about his business. Of course, there were no farmsteads this far West, no more than a day’s hard march to the slow waters of the Ash River and the Ashenweald on its opposite bank.

My left foot caught momentarily in the soft earth and I stumbled slightly, my cudgel shifting in a loop on my belt, bulbous hunk of metal on a long haft. It swung and rebounded against a tortured knee sending a shock of pain up my leg. I cursed myself for allowing my mind to wander, despite my own admonitions I had allowed the spell of the Weald to take me. The cudgel continued to swing, almost unbalancing me for a moment as my boots skidded in the loose mud of the track before I could lay a hand to the haft and bring it under control. Despite the inconvenience of its bulk the weapon had served me well and I would not be without it. It was large, perhaps overly so, but I had always enjoyed its balance, allowing the momentum of the swing to carry me along with it suited both my poetic nature and fighting style. Lines of coloured glyph-runes carved into the uneven mass of the cudgel’s head seemed to ripple, whether reflecting the light around them or possessed of some inner power, I couldn't say. Pagan things of course, perhaps useful, perhaps not; but I would not have walked the Weald for nearly so many years were I unwilling to grasp every conceivable advantage.

A sharp ache began running down my spine, so I shifted Brother Azagad to a more comfortable position on my back. He was still now, head resting against the nape of my neck, arms hanging across my shoulders. I regretted the delay to my journey - I would need to spend at least another night out of doors for bringing him with me - but I would not leave him to be consumed by things unknown. I had caught up to the old Cleric among the charred ruins of a homestead two days past, a small place of little import, a half dozen houses which were probably unknown to anyone but the occasional merchant from the endless caravans that travelled into the Weald to suckle upon its wealth.

The people there had been farmers or woodsmen. Simple folk. There had been no sign of anyone but Azagad, the families there had either died in the fire or fled into the Weald. They would not return. A mindless flight into the High Weald at night was a death sentence as surely as jumping from the cliffs in the East. I had carried him since; I did not regret bringing him though I could not help feeling restless at the delay. Time was an even more pressing enemy than the strange creatures the Weald belched forth, further delay to my journey would undo me just as completely as tooth and claw, and while coming face to face with one of the Weald’s monsters was no certainty, time’s endless, insufferable progress was.

Though the light faded into deeper murk as the evening bore restlessly onwards, the splays of colour from the foliage kept their intensity, seemingly unaffected by gathering shadows. However, fauna noticed the change, small animals, birds and insects growing sparse as they sought refuge in nest, den or burrow before the true onset of night. A calm quiet fell as smarter beasts bedded down, leaving me as the only one unwise enough to be abroad so late. The beat of my greatboots hitting the earth with a clump-splash-slurp carved a hypnotic rhythm through the cool evening air, exacerbating the weariness that took my whole body and the insidious effect of the forest itself. Combining, they threatened at every step to drag me down; muscles screamed with fatigue, my eyes were gritty and tried to close. I concentrated on the pain of the Mark on my left hand to keep me focused.

It gnawed quietly, a constant pain that dimmed but never disappeared, crawling from the slashes crossing back of my hand and wrist, skin torn and ridged to either side as if the wound were from yesterday rather than decades ago. Sickly yellow light glowed dimly within the deep slashes, the light itself coalescing within the wounds of the Mark like the clotted blood of some diseased god. Quiescent for now, it was both curse and gift, both a test of fortitude and a sign of strength, bestowed upon Aspirants before their final test. Those who survived the marking and the subsequent testing were ascended to the Bright Order, branded and holy, sent forth into a world unravelling in chaos.

Unbidden, a vivid memory rose through my mind, reaching out and spreading like roots through my sluggish consciousness. So many years ago, but so real I could almost reach out and touch it. A scrawny youth, sixteen years old, stood quietly in the great chamber of Crucible’s cathedral. His posture was penitent, face fearful but determined. Thin and hard with a carefully tamed mop of brown hair, the boy’s hollow, haunted eyes gazed enraptured upon the flaming figure before him. He gave no concern to the fantastic architecture or the riches on casual display - fanciful columns, beams and domes carved by masters of their craft, gold leaf climbing walls and coating ceilings, rich tapestries of thread-of-gold, fanciful stained glass - he had eyes only for the Bound God.

Bound in service. The catechism rang in the boy’s mind, as clear as it had been during his first days as an initiate to the Order. Flames wreathing the deity’s form reflected in the boy’s dark eyes, bones black as pitch in the withering inferno, flesh burned away to nothing.

Bound in penitence. The heat from the flames was almost unbearable; the boy’s skin prickled in the dry heat, a sheen of sweat starting to form on his brow.

Bound in fire. The god’s skull was turned towards the boy, eye sockets empty black holes, its jaw locked in a constant sickly grin. A jolt ran through the skeletal form, an unseen force causing its body to shift and its head to turn fractionally, causing the empty sockets to gaze directly at the boy, meeting his eyes.

For an infinite moment the youth could see tiny points of light flashing far within the skull’s dark interior, incandescent glimmers that pierced his mind and outshone even the flames with their radiance. Momentary glimpses of wide skies and green plains overtook his mind, interspersed with visions of glittering starfields and vast, explosive expanses of rock so hot it flowed like liquid or dead and dusty ground reaching out in every direction; each vista perfectly clear for the briefest of moments before flowing past, one after the other, numerous as silver slivers of rain.

Contact broke as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the boy blinking and swaying, impressions of alien landscapes still stark in his mind. Had that been part of the test, he wondered. Nobody else seemed to have noticed, indeed, the ageing Deacon was gesturing to to him in irritation. Blinking away lingering, images, the boy hurriedly yanked up the coarse left sleeve of his robe, exposing a thin, pale arm which he now offered, shaking, to the outstretched skeletal hand of the burning god.

The hand moved suddenly and without warning, closing in a flash, bones clenching around the boy’s hand and wrist. The grip was like iron, he could not pull away with his feeble tugs. Pain blossomed through him, burning agony running up his arm and infesting every corner of his body, ripping breath from his body and sending him to his knees. The boy had only, until now, experienced physical pain: the crack of the cane, the slice of the whip, the dull ache of carrying rocks in penance; this was so much more, as if he were discovering real pain for the first time, and nothing until now had been anything but a fleeting shadow of what true agony could be. Every fibre of his being burned in terrible concert. The boy looked up at the skull through agonised tears; it seemed to laugh at him, a terrifying, blazing rictus which howled along with the flames that engulfed it. The skeletal form held the boy there for a what felt like hours, every moment burning deeper, turning first skin, then muscle and sinew, finally bone to greasy ash, scattered and disparate. The boy’s mindless cries of pain rang against the pitiless ears of the clergy, no more sympathy in their expressions than was in the ancient stone of the cathedral.

It ended suddenly, the boy’s arm was released and he sprawled bonelessly onto the cold marble floor, sheathed in sweat, cradling his shaking left hand. Already the skin blistered, red and angry, around scars which welled up with brightness as if crazed lines had been carved in the flesh by some mad butcher and filled with molten gold. The smell of burned flesh caught in the boy’s nostrils drawing lumps of hot, rancid bile up his throat.

The toe of my boot caught on a stone sticking up through the mud, sending me staggering and cursing myself. The forest was creeping into my mind, insidious tendrils growing like creepers, wrapping my consciousness in soft petals and loamy earth. I growled, the deliberate noise helping me to focus, pushing the memories of that boy back down where they belonged. I barely recognised him, shaking with fear and pain as the Mark was branded into his flesh. Too many years separated me from the boy I’d once been, weakness and fear burned away by a life in the clergy; though poor decision-making certainly still connected the two of us. A man who made good decisions would certainly not be trudging down a muddy path in the High Weald at the edge of nightfall.

I shook my head, drawing myself back to the moment and casting doubt aside. I have never been a particularly contemplative person, and this was hardly the place to start. Evening drew close, true night was coming, and the less desirable residents of the forest would soon be abroad. In the world outside the Weald mothers threatened insolent children with tales of letches and blightflies, half-believed tales which seemed beyond belief. If you don’t eat your greens then the monsters will get you. Blightflies come for naughty children who don’t stay in bed. The creatures of the Weald, considered elsewhere to be as real as faeries or pixies, were not idle threats here, letches being strong enough - and entirely willing - to tear a grown man’s arm from his torso and blightflies fond of laying eggs inside a victim’s skull with their long barbed proboscis. Families in the Weald didn’t speak such nonsense; precautions could be taken which made living in the forest safer but every year a few homesteads or farms would simply be erased overnight, stout timbers and locked doors smashed to splinters, dark blood the only evidence people had ever lived there.

I slowed on the path, looking past gaps in the forest canopy as the sun gratefully dipped its bulk down in the west, silhouetting Old Hob in a majestic corona and making it seem as if the giant flat-topped mountain were afire. Out of time. The final rays of the sun fell behind the mountain, the fiery aura faded from around the mountain, and night snapped shut like a vice. No period of twilight here; one moment the forest blazed with colour, lush with the rampant overgrowth of life, the next everything was blanketed in darkness, shadows piling upon shadows in every direction, the layers of verdant hues replaced by greys and blacks, stark and intense, marching away into the unseen distance. With light and colour the soporific haze vanished in an instant, clarity of mind returning like a flag snapping suddenly taut in high wind. I spent a moment simply standing and blinking, my mind reeling at the sudden return of faculty.

The feeling passed and I exhaled slowly. I had not experienced the transition to night this far into the High Weald in many years, and its intensity was startling. Farther from the Ashenweald the effect was far less disorienting, and at the edge of the forest almost unnoticeable. I shook my head, pulling myself together, and continued my way down the path, ever more anxious to find somewhere to stop, shoulders hunched against the towering shadows to either side of the path.

I spent the next half hour pushing forwards, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as swiftly as possible while trying to look every way at once, ears straining for the sound of any pursuit. Despite the continual prickling up my neck and an uncanny feeling of being watched, no sound reached me save the wind running gently through the undergrowth. Presently I came to a likely space, the path intersected a small clearing perhaps twenty feet across, the walls of tree and bush spreading out around a small area of short, tough grass, gaps in the canopy overhead revealing twinkling stars in the inky sky. With a sigh of relief that I could not hold in I relaxed my shoulders, preparing to unburden myself.

Rustle.

The sound brought me up sharply; it was quick and gone in an instant but noticeably different from the gentle whisper of the wind through the forest canopy. I looked about at the forest, engulfed by darkness. Pale light from an unseen moon filtered through the canopy and illuminated the small clearing and the path marching away to either side of it. The path itself, nothing but dirt and mud by day, glowed with a soft and eerie light where the moonlight touched it. I stood completely still, moving only my eyes, straining to see whether the sound came again

Rustle.

Somewhere out in the forest to my right something shifted under the vegetation, unable to dampen the noise of its passage. Try as I might, my eyes could not penetrate the murky darkness beyond the edges of the clearing; I squinted, straining my senses to try and track whatever it was but all was quiet, even the wind had died to nothing, silence now reigned in the dark forest.

I shifted the old cleric on my back again, muscles groaning in protest as I tried to find a position which gave me better mobility. I had fashioned a harness of sorts to carry him; a crude arrangement of rope which tied him to me and kept my hands free, but was supremely uncomfortable and did little to counter the encumbering weight of another human, leaving me unbalanced on my feet and at further disadvantage should the thing waiting in the forest attack.

It wants him, a traitorous thought rose up in my head, leave him here and go.

No! I thought back stubbornly. I had not carried him on my back for two days simply to leave him as a free meal for one of those cursed creatures. I still had use for Azagad.

Rustle.

The sound was closer, proximity now making it easier for me to pinpoint the location of whatever disturbed the tangled brush. The shrubs, bushes and small trees were a double-edged sword for whatever stalked me tonight; the wild foliage which massed together in a crazed tangle of branches, leaves, stalks and buds obscured my sight but made it impossible for the thing to traverse the forest without making a sound. Other places in the Weald were not like this; bare tracks of earth beneath thick, dark canopies made the hunter both soundless and almost invisible. The thick undergrowth and the track cutting through the forest at least gave me a fighting chance, able to both hear and face whatever it was, rather than have it at my back. I tried my best to relax my muscles and closed my eyes - they were useless anyway. I stood still, breathing evenly, waiting for the thing to move again.

Rustle.

Much closer. I opened my eyes and scanned across the dark brush in the direction I placed the sound, straining for any sign of movement in the melded branches… there!... A small patch moved unlike the rest of the forest; an inky blotch slightly different to the rest of the darkness. I let my vision go slightly past the patch, relaxing my eyes and unfocusing a little to make it easier to see movement in the gloom.

Rustle.

The patch shook violently and shot toward me at speed, barrelling forwards a few feet then stopping, closer but still a way short of the edge of the clearing. Its movement was deliberate, trying to gain on me before I could locate its true place in the undergrowth. Clever thing, I thought. My right hand fell to the smooth haft of my cudgel and without taking my eyes from the creature’s last position I pulled its mass free of its hoop on my belt and held it forward, letting the thing know I’d seen it in case this alone might ward it off. A gambit unlikely to succeed, but it cost me nothing and I preferred to avoid a confrontation.

As soon as I pulled my weapon free it stopped rushing and began moving forward more slowly and deliberately, its passage now clearly visible. Clearly whatever it was understood that I was wise to its presence now, so it abandoned one plan for another. I watched it creep forwards, ignoring an almost overwhelming itch between my shoulder blades which screamed at me to cast my gaze around in case this thing was one of several. Traitorous paranoia; if there was one behind me I was dead. If I looked away from this one to confirm my suspicions I was dead. I steadfastly ignored my instincts and kept my eyes locked forwards, keenly aware that my survival was dependent upon dumb luck; I found myself fervently hoping this particular creature was antisocial.

It was close now; the foliage displaced told me it was perhaps fifteen feet away, though without knowing its shape it was impossible to say for certain how close it was to being able to attack me. I made sure to keep half an eye the low bushes that surrounded the clearing; it would not do to lose a leg to an unexpected strike from below.

As it drew nearer the camouflage lent by the forest began to fail. Leaves parted to reveal a flash of segmented armour, insectoid in appearance, coloured a deep bronze and mottled with dark blotches. Undergrowth fell away for just a moment from a body, sparsely furred by short, bristly hairs, the skin only just opaque, showing glimpses of wriggling entrails and organs just beneath the surface. It stopped and settled back, the joints of six legs covered in the same white bristles as the body rising through the undergrowth, making ready to spring the thing forwards. The shape of the legs was almost like those of a huge spider, though where a spider’s legs were thin, spindly things, these were thick and bulky, rippling with dense muscles which stretched pale skin, delicate webs of veins pumping dark ichor visible through the short fuzz.

This one would most likely be called a narrid, though trying to put a creature into anything but a loose category was futile. There was no set template in any as one would find in a dog or a cow or a man. Two beasts of the same type could have different numbers of legs, different heads, or look halfway between this type and that. A letch was a letch, but how many legs did it need before it would be called an arrax? If it had wings, did that make it a blightfly? The Order’s scholars referred to the various types as analogues; stuffy words used by stuffy people that would doubtless soil themselves at the first sight of any such analogue. Sensible people didn’t quibble over such distinctions; sensible people stayed well away from anywhere such distinction might be needed. Unfortunately I have never been well known for being particularly sensible, hence standing before this particular analogue on this particular night.

The narrid - or whatever it might be - inched forward, twigs and branches cracking as it pushed itself forward, keeping its body close to the ground. So far as I could see, this was not a particularly large specimen. I’d heard tales of these things with bodies larger than horses and standing fifteen feet or more; from what I could see of this creature I estimated it would stand perhaps six or seven feet. This was fortunate, though in a relative sense, like falling down a deep hole instead of a very deep one - better by far to avoid either.

Leaves in front of me shook and parted as the narrid eased its way to the edge of the undergrowth, revealing flashes of its nightmare features. Its head was tall and narrow, like the head of an axe held vertically, covered with shiny bronze skin which was stretched so tight over its frame it seemed ready to tear. Cheeks protruded from the smooth surface, bony outcrops which turned the skin white with tautness. On each side of its head, a jet-black eye protruded in a dome, each swivelling a glowing blood-red pupil independently. Below it all, the clattering maw gnashed; huge, serrated fangs which overlapped each other, sticking out at wild angles as if two sets of teeth had been mashed together and allowed to simply grow at whatever slant they happened to take.

Scarlet pupils stopped swivelling with an ominous suddenness, and the thing affixed me with a terrible glare. The creature opened up its crazed serrated maw and roared, a high-pitched scream of fury which shook the very marrow of my bones, making my ears ring and causing the bushes around it to buck and convulse.

I stepped forward, ears all but useless from the deafening din, cudgel held aloft as I shouted defiance back at the creature. I shook my left arm free of its tattered sleeve and shoved it directly towards the thing. The Mark carved into my skin blazed with agonizing fury, casting the forest before me in sudden radiance. My arm burned as if it had been pushed through the grate of a roaring furnace; but despite the pain I hefted I held my weapon steady, allowing the rising thrill of impending violence to focus me.

The narrid backed away from the light of my Mark, eyes glittering with dark malice. Its limbs shook the foliage around it as it strafed this way and that before me, sudden bursts of movement taking it left and right, trampling the undergrowth as it sought a way around the light, teeth gnashing with frustration. It made as if to strike, but pulled back when I did not flinch. It snapped towards me, questing for flesh but finding only a short strike from the haft of my cudgel connecting briefly with its thin head, not hard enough to do damage, or indeed even hurt the thing, but warning it that I would not go quietly.

Its head darted this way and that in front of me, looking for an opening. I was steadfast, standing solidly before it and not backing down. The Mark continued to grow in both luminescence and pain as I concentrated; it felt as if nothing should be left of my arm but ash.

The creature roared again, a terrible, earth-shattering sound which made my tortured ears pop and rattled my teeth in my skull. I roared in response, a throaty bellow, throwing my agony back at this dreadful creature. You shall not have me, my roar said, I have suffered too much to end this night as your dinner.

We faced each other for a moment that stretched out and hung between us; two roars competing against each other for air, a burning brand on my arm lighting the forest in crazed hues, six legs trying to propel the narrid’s bulk forward against the will of its malicious intellect. This was its undoing, and my advantage; what is clever enough to hold malice is clever enough to know fear. This thing knew fear; it feared the Mark upon my arm as it feared the strength of my purpose.

With a final scream it retreated suddenly, rushing away like a stormwind, blowing aside bushes and small trees as it fled, roaring frustration into the night.

I let out the last of my breath, wheezing and wilting as the Mark faded, the pain receding somewhat as the light faded, and dropped my right arm to my side, suddenly aware of the weight of the cudgel. I panted, sucking cool air to calm my racing heart and cool my blood as the forest fell back into darkness.

Listening for a few moments more brought no further sound to my ears, strain as I might. It was gone. I sank to my knees and loosened the knots of the ropes tied about me, releasing then gently lowering Brother Azagad to the ground. I allowed myself a few foolhardy moments, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, panting, sweating, before pushing myself back into action. It would not do to wait here until another creature tried its luck.

I pulled off the rest of the harness and the pack which I had been carrying as well as Azagad, dropping it to the ground and scooping nearby twigs and leaves into a pile ready to ignite. The creatures of the Weald could not stand light; it was humanity’s only safeguard against being washed from the forest by a tide of teeth and claws. Fires would be blazing across the High Weald in villages or homesteads, lit at dusk and tended all night to ward away the creatures. In the Nightmire at the northern border of the Weald the canopy grew so thick overhead that the creatures might come any time in the permanent twilight. The hardy folk that made their homes there burned torches night and day as they dredged the various winding channels that crossed the land like latticework for precious metals washed down from the mountains. Only in the Ashenweald across the river did creatures roam day and night, and nobody lived there.

I sat on the ground next to Brother Azagad, unhitching my pack and searching within for my firepouch. The fat oilskin was filled with a sticky sap which would ignite if struck by a spark, whatever the weather. I smeared some of the stuff onto dry kindling I took from a bundle at the bottom of my pack - the ground of the clearing was littered with twigs but I would not go into the forest for anything larger - and struck my flint and tinder.

The fire crackled merrily into life and light sprayed into the woodland, lighting blacks and greys to greens and banishing some of the ominous feel of the Weald. As it took, I looked to Azagad. Dried blood crusted around his mouth and chin, covering his serrated teeth and making them look almost black in the flickering firelight. Looking at that ghastly maw, I felt suddenly grateful I had never gone so far as to file my own teeth while I was lost in the madness of the clergy.

I had finally found Azagad hunkered down in the burning homestead as he tore the flesh from the severed leg of a child, chewing on the raw meat, hot blood coursing down his chin and neck. And so the young sustain the old in their piety, I thought, quoting mentally from the Script of the Cleric, one of many manuals I had studied as an Acolyte, and so they shall give of themselves for the servants of the land. Clearly he had taken that particular line of scripture quite literally.

Digging a sharp knife from my pack, I pulled one of his arms straight and stuck the tip into the elbow joint, parting the sinew with a brief sawing motion before pulling the bone out from the joint with a soft pop, allowing me to separate the forearm. The corpse lay there, uncomplaining, as I cut strips of meat from the dismembered limb, hanging them to sizzle above the fire.

We had fought in that burning place, Azagad and I. Flames had coursed into the sky leaving charred timbers askew in the dirt like broken fingers. The harsh, flickering light of a dozen fires cast stark shadows as they raged untended while we set to each other with weapons and hands. Most of the woodsmen had already fled Azagad, but corpses had lain in our way, great rents and wounds still weeping where his spiked mace had stuck them. The other Cleric was old, but wily, and the madness burned strong within him; still, eventually I struck him down, pinning his left arm and crushing the Mark beneath my cudgel. I had sat on the ground for a long while when the deed was done, looking into his grey, glassy eyes as his life seeped from his veins and gathered on the ground.

Watching small beads of fat break out from the meat and fall sizzling onto the crackling wood, I considered the corpse of the old Cleric. I would eat, though the old hunger no longer burned in me; I no longer craved the flesh of men but one of my own kind would certainly sate me, if only for the satisfaction of vengeance against the Bright Order, knowing the rage the disappearance of another Cleric would cause the Archdeacon in Crucible. I imagined him incandescent in fury, throwing papers from his desk, falling to his knees and pounding the ground.

I spent the time waiting to eat in an idle daydream where I took some identifying curio from Azagad and sent it directly to the Archdeacon, taunting the old man with the loss of one of his rabid dogs. The widening of his blue eyes when he realised it was me. But no, far too risky. Anything that might tie me to a Cleric’s death was a risk I could not afford for now; tomorrow I would take Azagad’s place, guiding his Acolytes to their testing in the beating heart of the Weald. Of course, the Archdeacon would certainly hear of that, and he would know who was responsible, but by the time word reached him I would be far away.

I didn’t fight the grin pulling at the corners of my mouth.

​

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This is the first of five connected short stories I've been working on. Any feedback, critical or otherwise, greatly appreciated.

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