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rosewaterandivy · 1 year ago

Text

i. aconite

Summary: there are strange things that go bump in the night, and then there’s steve harrington and his inexplicable nailbat.

Pairing: s.h. x f!werewolf reader

W.C.: 5.5K

Warnings: supernatural elements, questionable bodily substances in the adults only section of Family Video, steve gettin’ the heebie-jeebies

A/N: the thing that has been scratching at the back of my head for months tbh.

m.list | playlist

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

And if he’d only listened to Munson, he wouldn’t be out here in the middle of the night with a nailbat and a flashlight.

But Steve wasn’t in the habit of heeding the advice of the harbinger of Hawkins from the wrong side of the tracks.

Not when there were things afoot that tended to go thump in the night. Not when Munson’s girl wound up bruised and unconscious on his doorstep.

There had to be a logical explanation, right?

Unfortunately for him, these woods had secrets to keep and you had miles to go before you would sleep.

The moon shone low and lonely in the night sky, illuminating the man in front of you— his coif of hair and lazy swinging of the bat.

The weak yellow beam of his flashlight cast about this way and that with every step he took further into the woods past his house.

Picking your way across the pine needle-ridden forest floor, you trailed him at a leisurely pace. Senses heightened, you could hear the dry snap of twigs under his feet and the soft whistle from his lips; could smell the sweat beading on his brow, his cologne giving way to salty musk beneath.

Even in your sleep, you could track him— never mind how much you wish that weren’t the case.

Not, of course, that he knew any of this. Eddie had seen to that. And yet, despite the warnings, here he was: Steve Harrington ambling about the woods on the night of a full moon, seemingly without a care in the world.

And it fell to your lot to see that no harm befell him, even though he’d cast his crown aside long ago and traded it in for a rowdy bunch of kids and shifts at Family Video.

None of that mattered in the end, because King Steve or no you’d run until your feet were bloody if it meant keeping him safe.

That’s what you’d been born, cursed as you were, to do— protect.

Kill, if the occasion warranted it.

Though, it would help matters if he didn’t get himself into so much trouble.

But hey, we can’t have everything, right?

The first time it happened, it was a coincidence. The house did back up against a forested lot afterall.

The second time it happened, it was an accident. Cutting it too close to daybreak and utterly exhausted from activities hidden under a blanket of darkness.

The third time though…

The third time signified a pattern, and not one you could necessarily recognize.

Because when it happened, the wolf, the beast, the curse, what have you, the world narrowed to a singular point of focus.

Loping in the underbrush of the dense forest, pure instinct called you to follow a scent you couldn’t quite name— sharp, salty, with a tang that lingered on the tongue. Warm like the sun, and beckoning like a raging fire.

Mine, the beast purred from the depths of your throat.

In this form, the rational and logical part of you fell by the wayside as the beast unfurled and stretched to fill the caverns of your mind.

Retaining just enough of your waking self, you paused at the edge of the forest ears attuned to the sounds of the evening air. Radio frequencies, TV static, car engines turning over, water rushing through pipes.

Yet one sound soared above them all.

Stay, the beast hummed as you sat back on your haunches.

Foolishly, a part of you hoped to hear the bright sound once more, to have it fill the well inside of you and overflow into your veins.

A laugh.

“Robin, knock it off!”

The beast sighed as you settled against the underbrush, chest and stomach to the earth.

A surge of longing threatened to pull you under, a low whine eeking from the cavern of your chest. Laying your head down on the cool ground, you swallowed thickly around that hollow feeling.

Wait.

The last full moon had found you alone and waking up in the back of Eddie’s van as he drove down the quiet suburban streets of Loch Nora.

”Again?”

Your voice was barely a rasp, sore from disuse in its normal register, striking a muddled alto in the otherwise silent morning.

Eddie just sighed and reached over to toss an old Hellfire shirt and some boxers your way.

Shrugging off his jacket and the musty blanket he laid on you, you tugged on the worn raglan and shimmied into the plaid shorts. Once decent, you clambered over the console and tumbled into the front seat.

Your body, while sore and aching, didn’t audibly complain. Far used to rougher treatment by now, especially after a full moon.

He lights up a cigarette, not bothering to crack a window or look your way. Just simply and calmly states, “I told you so.”

Fuck.

The chains and aconite were supposed to be enough, that’s what all the books said. At least, all the books you could scrounge up in Hawkins.

A dull ache radiated from your wrists, telltale bruising from the shackles that were meant to contain the beast.

It was you, you were the beast— as if you could ever forget.

Lycanthropy by way of puberty, what a welcome into womanhood, huh?

”The chains are shot,” He says, turning onto the main drag. “Drywall too.”

You rolled your lip between your teeth and slumped down into the seat, heating in embarrassment.

”I’ll pay for the repairs.”

Eddie grunts and takes a long drag from the cigarette. He exhales slowly, rolling through a stop light before pulling off toward Forest Hills.

Silence from your best friend was never a good thing. All it signaled was a prelude to the inevitable rant driven by sheer boredom or hunger. But maybe, he was just tired.

You certainly were.

He parks the van and swings out of the door, loping onto the ground with the grace of a beleaguered old man, his knees cracking and popping like a bag of marbles. You follow shortly after, and no worse for wear, in spite of your bruises.

The comforting scent of tobacco and coffee hits your nostrils and the tension of your body melts away. Wayne left a warm pot on before passing out on the couch, and you tip-toe your way across the trailer as silently as you’re able.

You take a deep, bracing sip from a mug heralding Roswell as the ‘UFO Capital of the World!’ as cinnamon dances across your tongue.

Good ol’ Wayne.

Eddie is in his bedroom, cigarette dangling from his lips as he throws your backpack over his shoulder and eyes you up and down.

“Pants and shoes would be good,” He suggests, brushing past you on his way out the door. “We’re leaving in five.”

Setting the coffee aside, you scramble through piles of clothing, their cleanliness questionable, searching for anything that doesn’t scream ‘freshly fucked by Eddie Munson.’

You chug the coffee on the way to school, the sounds of Dio doing absolutely nothing for the throbbing pain behind your left eye. The van squeals into a parking spot just as the tardy bell trills.

Eddie’s hand braces against your chest, halting your exit from the vehicle and ensuring a pink slip from a hall monitor. The morning cigarette seems to have settled him, his gaze now concerned rather than annoyed.

”I’m sorry,” you say glumly, carding a hand through your tangled hair and tying it up in a loose bun. “I thought it would work Ed, I really fucking did.” Hands scrub down your face, desperately trying to hide your shame.

He pulls you toward him in a loose hug, his chin tucking over your head as it's buried in his chest. Soft, warm, familiar, his scent burrows its way into your consciousness calming the racket of your heart.

”We’ll figure it out, kid.”

And you’re about to laugh, can feel it wet and thick, currently lodged in your throat, when a maroon BMW swings into a spot not five paces away.

Tension cords the tendons of your body, a breath escapes you, as if it’s been forced from your chest. Pulse accelerating, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to just breathe.

Safe with Eddie. Safe with Eddie. Safe with—

A discongruent note of citrus and musk tinges the air. The sound of laughter, a euphoric baritone against a sputtering, higher-pitched explanation churns like magma through your veins.

You shudder in his hold, but it’s enough.

He tugs you closer and drops an affectionate kiss to the crown of your head before saying, “Okay, fuck this.”

The engine roars to life.

Before Eddie can hightail it out of the parking lot, your head swivels back to catch a glance from warm hazel eyes, and you can’t help the pathetic whine that eeks up your throat.

”So,” He clears his throat, hands fidgeting on the wheel, “It’s getting worse.”

Facing forward once the school is out of sight, you draw your knees into your seat and rest your head against them.

”Yeah,” you say glumly, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Later that week, when Steve and Robin are drawing straws for who has to wipe down the 'ADULTS ONLY' room and the crusty questionable remnants found therein, she asks:

”So, anymore of those weird dreams?”

Steve takes his time picking his straw, moving left and then right to gauge length before taking a step back and cocking his head.

Robin has her fingers curled in a tight fist, making it difficult to assess which straw is the shorter of the two. And Steve braved the room behind the little red curtain last week, so he’s not terribly keen to see what fresh hell is back there now.

”Not since I told you last time, no.”

Surprisingly, there is rather a bit of time to kill after the evening rush on a Friday night at Family Video. The girls coming in for candy and movies at their sleepovers, toddlers absolutely wrecking the shelves as they sweep through with abandon, harried mothers trailing in their wake.

As such, Robin has pitched herself as a quasi-dream interpreter after reading some book about the subject, much to Steve’s chagrin and her entertainment.

”Seriously, nothing?” Her eyes blow wide, eager for anything to alleviate her boredom.

Steve assesses his options, eyes narrowing and biting his lip as he goes in for the kill. He pulls a straw from Robin’s grasp just as the bell on the door chimes, signaling a new customer.

”Welcome in,” Robin chirps, unraveling her fingers to reveal her straw.

”Let us know if you need any help!” Steve adds on automatically, holding his straw to hers for measurement.

She groans when she realizes that she’s drawn the short straw, eyes rolling in distaste while Steve pumps his fist into the air in victory. Robin grabs the gloves under the cash register, a spray bottle of cleaning fluid, and a rag.

”If I’m not back in ten minutes…”

”Call the NRA—“

”EPA!”

”Yeah, yeah,” He smirks at her indignant squawk, “I know.” And waves Robin off to the back of the store with a lazy hand.

Steve leans against the counter, hand falling to a slinky resting on the laminate. He props himself up on an elbow, cupping his jaw with one hand, and wraps his fingers around the glorified silver spring.

He nearly forgets there’s a customer in the store until someone softly clears their throat. Letting the slinky drop with a metallic ching, Steve looks up to find a familiar face.

“Hey,” he greets as you slide the tapes across the counter, “Find everything okay?”

You nod, pulling out your wallet out of your pocket to count some bills as he tallies up the total.

It’s quiet, save for the rattle of the air conditioner and sound of plastic as Steve runs the tapes through the machine to unlock the cases. He can see you worry your bottom lip in between your teeth, the raw red of your lips a stark contrast to the white of your teeth.

And it’s not like he’s staring or anything; Steve’s mindful to keep his gaze moving, not landing in a particular spot for too long. That is until your eyes meet his and he drops a tape onto the floor.

“Shit,” He mutters, kneeling down behind the counter to reach it.

Your eyes aren’t normally that bright, are they? It’s just a trick of the light, surely.

He returns, momentarily baffled to find Eddie at your side, because he didn’t remember hearing the bell chime from the door.

Steve nods to Eddie in greeting and slides the case through the machine. He keys in a code on the register before asking, “Weekend rental?”

Again, you nod. Lip popping plump and full as your teeth retreat.

“Okay, so, Sunday night return,” Steve says and rattles off your total.

Sliding the bills across the table, his fingers brush yours just barely, and you retract your hand as if it’d been burned.

The register drawer dings open and before he can give you a receipt, you’re gone.

Eddie stands at the counter, the door swinging in the wake of your exit.

“She had to, uh—“ He begins to say, fingers drumming on the laminate. “Y’know what? It really doesn’t matter.”

He takes the receipt from Steve and shoves it into his pocket, leisurely backing toward the door.

“Dunno if you heard,” He says, voice raising just slightly as his back pushes against the glass and metal. “But there’s a party out on the lake, if you’re interested.”

”Yeah?”

He nods as Robin, dramatically shoves the velvet curtain open, the screeching metallic sound jarring as she stumbles toward the counter.

Eddie raises his brows in interest and bemusement, while Robin peels the yellow gloves from her arms and plops them into a nearby trash can.

”Yeah, some bonfire thing.” He kicks his foot back, the bell chiming as Eddie exits the store, “You should come by, if you want.”

Robin glances between Eddie’s retreating back and Steve, curiosity evident in her gaze.

”What was that all about?”

Steve shakes his head, momentarily transfixed at the memory of your eyes— so bright, they were nearly phosphorescent. Fascinating in the way they captivated him, both alluring and haunting.

He couldn’t recall seeing a color or hue quite like it, except for in his dreams.

The bonfire had been burning for a little over an hour by the time you and Eddie arrived on the scene.

You’d killed the time by categorizing the little baggies of his lunchbox, under the guise of double-checking that he had enough stock from Rick for the evening’s business. When, in reality, you were making sure none of your wolfsbane had made its way into tonight’s offerings.

Not that there would be much of the dried blue petals left to do much of anything to the average American teenager. You’d been pounding the stuff all week, as if it was going out of style.

Anything to keep the beast in its slumber.

Following Eddie as he made his way through the crowd of drunk or on their way to it teens, you pondered the recent uptick in Wolf-like Incidents you’d had to deal with.

Because, while incredibly annoying, the beast used to be reliable. Every full moon, like clockwork, you would up your intake of aconite in the days leading up to it.

And it used to be enough to quell the ache in your bones. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you wouldn’t even transform at all. Just wake the next morning feeling like fresh road kill.

But recently things had been… well, worse, for one.

The tinctures and teas didn’t cut it any more, so after copious research you had added chains to the equation. That helped, for a time. And that time was quickly coming to a close.

Now, even without the ticking time bomb of a full moon, you felt the throb of your canines pushing underneath your gums. You had blood in your mouth, more often than not. And your senses seemed permanently heightened— scent, sound, touch.

It made day-to-day life an over-sensitized nightmare that you couldn’t wake from.

At least under a full moon, the preternatural senses were a boon rather than a burden.

Catching your gaze, Eddie nodded before slipping off with a few customers on the outskirts of the group. You kept your eyes trained on them as they walked further into the woods, even though he said he could handle himself.

Yeah, you could count on one hand the amount of times Eddie had successfully “handled” it. Settling your back against a tree trunk, you cross your arms and wait.

Robin is still fixing her hair when Steve kills the engine of the beemer at Lover’s Lake.

“Seriously, you look fine,” He says, opening the car door and shoving the keys into his pocket.

He can hear the thump of the music and see the golden and amber flames from the fire a ways away.

Robin shuts her door and Steve crosses the hood of the car to sling an arm around her shoulders.

“It’ll be fun,” He promises, breath tickling against her cheekbone.

They shoulder their way through the crowd leading up to the keg, where Steve watches with a smirk as two linebackers haul out a replacement keg.

They stare at each other for a minute, brows furrowed as to how the beer possibly escapes a sealed keg while the line behind them grows restless.

Steve sighs and extricates himself from Robin, “Where’s the tap?”

”What?”

He rolls his eyes, “The tap? The plastic pump that makes the beer come out?”

The linebackers nod and make a show of looking for the elusive tap. After a few minutes of frantic searching, there’s a victorious crow from the crowd when the tap if finally held aloft.

But still, the linebackers seem puzzled.

Steve, having quite enough of their bullshit, takes the tap from their grasp and slams it into the keg, twisting until a soft hiss sounds.

”Great,” He says, taking a step back. “Now, get to pumping. If I’m back in two minutes and you dinguses haven’t figured it out—“

Robin drags him away before he can finish the thought.

They tramp through the woods, twigs breaking underfoot, as Robin drags him along by the wrist. Beer cans skitter with a metallic clink as their shoes kick them along.

Once at the outskirts of the crowd, Robin drops his hand and turns to him with an incredulous look on her face.

“What is with you tonight?”

Her arms are crossed, a sure sign that she’s peeved, and he must be really in for it. She taps her foot impatiently awaiting his response.

“Nothing.”

She balks, “Yeah, sure. Then why the sudden emergence of King Steve, huh?”

“That wasn’t—“ He sputters, carding a hand through his hair.

He fails to string together any semblance of a response. Has no reason or excuse for how keyed up he feels right now. Itchy as if his skin is too tight, an impatient feeling skittering underneath the surface. Something is off, but he doesn’t know what. Which makes him frustrated, hence the scene at the keg.

The dull sounds of the party drown out the strained silence between them, the timber cracking from the bonfire loud enough to startle.

Steve starts to think that maybe, this wasn’t a good idea. But then, Robin’s eyes light up at something behind him. Steve turns to look and sees the copper flash of Vickie’s hair in the firelight.

He huffs a laugh and turns back to Robin with a smile, he jerks his head behind him and says, “Go.”

Robin pulls her lip between her teeth, “Y’sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

A smile breaks across her face as she pulls him into a hug, “You’re the best, Stevie.”

Steve sighs as he watches her go. Luckily she refrains from her typical idiot run— all gangly legs and spaghetti arms— and sends Vickie a shy wave as she skirts the bonfire and makes her way over.

Something tugs low in his gut, snapping like a rubber band. It’s an odd sensation and not entirely unpleasant, and Steve finds his blood thrumming just under the surface.

A languid breeze passes through, carrying on it a smoky woodiness and subtly crisp scent.

There’s something comforting in it, something familiar.

A sudden note of pine and rain steals the breath from his lungs. He exhales as if it was shoved from his chest, a dull pressure on his ribs and something akin to nausea swaying beneath his lungs.

He stumbles back, bracing himself against a nearby tree. Takes slow, deep breaths as the world shifts incrementally.

Steve blinks, his vision going fuzzy at the edges. The glow of the fire seems very far away, the sounds of the party even further.

Stay, says the voice in his mind.

And he readily agrees, swaying slightly as he sinks to the forest floor.

Under the dull roar of the crackling bonfire and whoops and hollers from the party, there’s a distinct sound of heavy breathing.

Your head turns to the left, closer to the party, and you narrow your gaze.

A body falls maybe a hundred or so yards away.

You’re on your feet before you can think twice about it, heart beating a tattoo in the cage of your ribs. Keeping your footfalls soft, you slow to a stop just as Robin’s mouth falls open in a soft gasp.

“Steve.”

He’s conscious but somewhat slumped against the trunk of an old oak tree.

Part of you knows that you should give them space, it is the polite thing to do, after all.

But a larger, territorial part of you snarls to say, “Stop,” as you stalk over to where he is.

Robin, curiously, does what she’s told.

He looks up at you, squinting eyes and furrowed brow, but says nothing. He takes deep breaths in and out, his chest rising and falling in equal measure, while your eyes rove across him.

There’s no copper tang in the air, and no broken skin that you can see.

Steve sits up a bit, appearing more alert than he was before. He scrubs a hand down his face and sighs, cheeks growing pink under your assessment.

“I’m fine,” His voice is syrupy thick and sends your blood surging. “Jus’ light headed is all.”

Robin hesitates stepping forward, eyes falling on you, as if for permission. You nod, not trusting yourself to snap at her, and watch as she crouches next to Steve.

Clenching your fists, you will the burning in your chest to subside.

Everything is fine, you try to reason, Robin’s just helping Steve get to his feet. She offers her hand to him and pulls him upright. He leans back against the trunk of the tree, eyes dreamy and hazy.

His lips kick up in an easy grin at the sight of you. Turned toward him, the firelight illuminates one side of your face, the other cast in shadow. Crossed arms, stiff posture your entire vibe screams ‘fuck off’ yet here you are.

Steve didn’t even realize a rager at Lover’s Lake would be your scene, but then again, where Eddie goes you tend to follow and vice versa. A lot like him and Robin in that respect. Still, it’s a nice surprise to see you there, lip worried between your teeth.

He wishes you wouldn’t do that, has half a mind to pull it from your glorious maw himself. Steve shivers and blinks owlishly at the thought.

“Thanks for uh…” He worries his thumb at the nape of his neck, searching for the words.

“Don’t mention it.” You say, incisors gleaming in the firelight.

Steve swallows, audibly. Blood rushing straight down at the sight of your pretty face, lips flushed, and eyes bright. God, he really shouldn’t have worn the Levi’s tonight— there’s no fucking give in these things.

He coughs and catches sight of Robin’s smirk. As you look back toward the crowd, she takes the opportunity to waggle her brows mischievously. Steve’s about to mouth something like ‘fuck off’ back to her when you turn back toward them.

“Robin!”

She turns and waves at Vickie who has two solo cups in her possession. Her eyes light up at the sight of the redhead, and it’s fairly obvious what’s about to transpire when you clear your throat to say:

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Buckley.”

“You sure?” She looks to Steve, questioning.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

You snort, “Right, sure.”

Robin’s pointy elbow lands in a patch of soft tissue on his side, just between his ribs. “That’s so nice of you!” She says brightly, “Isn’t that nice, Steve?”

“Uh huh, nice.”

“Be good,” She calls over her shoulder and melting back into the crowd.

An awkward beat of silence passes between you. Steve toes at the pine needles riddling the forest floor and grumbles, “I really don’t need a babysitter.”

“Well,” You say with a casual shrug. “I don’t see any babies that need sitting on at present so.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “Mmm, clever.”

“I try.”

Joining him, you let your back rest against the oak tree, posture much more relaxed than when you first arrived. He can feel your breath as you exhale, the puffs of air brushing against his arm.

It’s a welcome distraction.

Because, let’s be honest, it’s not as if Steve really knows you. He remembers you, fleetingly, from the halls of Hawkins High— you and Eddie, bundles of frenetic energy careening from class to class. Loud, boisterous, and with an ever-present smile.

He remembers once overhearing the tail end of a conversation between you and Higgins about your “less than satisfactory” attendance. He’d been in the office with a doctor’s note or something, bargaining with the attendance clerk.

Higgins has his usual disdain written across his face, the stern line of his lips and arms crossed against his chest. You, however, were less than concerned. You shrugged on your backpack and left his office with a sarcastic salute.

“Aye, aye, cap’n!”

“Chief Hopper will be hearing about this, young lady!”

You turn, incredulous, “Oh," You lob back at him with mock sincerity, "Rest assured, sir, I’m shaking in my boots.”

And before Higgins can go postal on your ass, you dart past Steve and out of the office doors with a swiftness he could only envy.

So, yeah.

Steve and you had exchanged a grand total of maybe a dozen words the entire time you’d known one another. It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement for making any overtures of friendship.

Besides, you’re Eddie’s girl.

Everyone knows that, what with the way you’re attached at the hip most of the time. Your wardrobes are so intermingled by now, that Steve would bet good money you’d be hard-pressed to find a shirt that Eddie hadn’t wormed his way into.

He sighs, it’s better left alone.

Steve figures Robin will hitch a ride with Vickie or some band nerds whenever she’s ready to go and pulls his set of keys from his pocket. Before he realizes it, you’ve snatched the keys from his hand.

“What the—”

“Looks like I’m your chauffeur for this evening, Harrington.” Your tone brokers no room for argument as you twirl them in warm yellow light. “Where to?”

He trails after you, and your strides, oddly, rival his own.

“I really am fine,” Steve points out. “Seriously!”

You round the car and slide the key into the lock on the door, flicking your wrist to unlock the front cab. One hand catches the window of the door, resting casually as you wait him out.

“Sorry man,” You offer a non-apology with a shrug. “I’m not in the habit of distressed damsels driving themselves home.”

Steve colors at that, can feel the heat radiating from the tips of his ears.

“‘M not a damsel.”

“Really?” You drawl as you slide into the driver’s seat and slot the key into the ignition. “You nearly passed out a party, princess.”

And oh, hearing you say that should be illegal with the way it has his traitorous blood flowing due south.

He petulantly joins you in the car, raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

“If that’s not damsel behavior, then I dunno what is.”

The car roars to life, stereo playing a tinny version of “West End Girls” by the Pet Shop Boys as you navigate out of the makeshift parking lot. The sounds of the party fall by the wayside as you pull onto the country road that’ll lead back into town.

Steve resigns himself to his fate and lets his head fall back against the seat.

It’s dark on the outskirts of town, no street lights until you’ve passed the Miller's farm and enter into Hawkins proper.

Your fingers drum absentmindedly against the steering wheel as you drive, the chipped nail polish of your fingertips barely visible in the dim light.

And you’re not… unattractive. You’d just never really crossed Steve’s radar until recently, but that’s probably more to do his own headassery than anything else. You weren’t really his usual type— all closed off with stiff posture spliced and the chaotic stylings that come with being around one Eddie Munson.

Like a shower where you had to move the taps just so for the perfect temperature; sometimes you’re too hot, then in other moments too cold.

Steve could never really get a handle on that, how your demeanor could change in the blink of an eye. There was something more appealing about looking at someone like, say Chrissy Cunningham with her bubbly personality and kind eyes, than catching you in a mood, which can feel something akin to a sucker punch straight to the gut.

He can’t be bothered to make heads or tails of it as you roll back into town, the streetlights flickering through the windows of the car.

It’s there in an instant and gone in the next, and he’s positively sure that this isn’t some trick of the light.

Your eyes shift from their local color to something otherworldly, and he wouldn’t have caught it if not for the streetlight from the next house over.

“What?” Your tone is light, curious and absolutely nothing to be frightened of.

But watching as they shift again, from that luminous phosphorescence back to your normal eye color. It does something to him.

He slams the passenger door shut a little too forcefully and a bit too quickly. You raise your eyebrows at him over the roof of the car, tossing him the keys.

“You okay there, Harrington?”

He clears his throat and smiles outwardly.

“Yeah, totally.”

Because what is he supposed to say?

Actually no, I’m not fine because your eyes just like, changed in front of me? That’s not something that just happens, right? And how did you find me so quickly back at the bonfire— I couldn’t see you anywhere near me. Why is it that you smell so good, kinda how it smells outside after a rainstorm? And why is every instinct telling me to run?

“If you say so,” You nod and step silently from his drive, pink tongue gliding against a pronounced canine with a predatory glint in your eye.

Internally, Steve is both screaming and oddly turned on.

None of which, by the way, goes to explain why it is exactly that Steve is wandering the woods alone on the next full moon.

What could have possibly compelled him from the relative safety of his warm bed and into the cool spring night?

You, unfortunately enough.

It’s all your fault.

Because in an attempt to explain away the bruises braceleting your wrist to Robin, of all people (another go round with the new chains and repaired drywall in preparation for the full moon that weekend), you had settled on the completely rational response of:

“Oh, I sleepwalk sometimes.”

Her blue eyes blow wide, “Like, alone, at night?”

You nod and try to focus on the equations on the chalkboard as Mrs. G. drones on about something or other.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie chimes in from behind you, “Should put a bell on her or somethin’.” And his smile is that annoying one you’d like to smack off of his face, “Like a cat.”

And that was that.

Or, rather, that should have been that.

But Eddie and you were none the wiser as Robin relayed all of this plus the goings on of the band kids to Steve as he picked her up for work that evening.

“Yeesh,” He says, pulling into his spot behind Family Video.

“Yeah,” Robin says stepping out of the car. “And she was so normal about it. Like rambling around at all hours of the night completely unaware of your surroundings is a perfectly fine thing to do!”

Steve locks the car and follows her through the employee entrance to the store. He twirls his keys absently, trying to remember if he noticed any bruises on you at the bonfire last month.

She chats with Keith as he clocks out for the night, and shucks her bag on the sagging couch against the wall.

“What if they’re like, wolves out there Steve?”

So, yeah. In the end, he really has no choice about it.

Because there is definitely something out there.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #fic: itws #werewolf!reader

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stochastic-macd · 6 years ago

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Gold Trading Chart

Take a look at the gold precious metal chart. Take into consideration

the triangle chart pattern and its height (projection) to determine the price

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firstly hoping for the formation of the Bat pattern (ABCD).

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to determine the price-action’s possible path.

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method.

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#Gold Trading Chart #gold precious metal chart #precious metal #gold #triangle chart pattern #chart pattern #gold and silver #gold and silver day trading systems #silver swing trading systems #silver #Fibonacci patterns traders #Bat pattern #Andrews’ pitchfork tool #top-down trading #trading method

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sporadicthingcollection · 3 years ago

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Prompt: Dad Cad and his kids coming home/caught sneaking home drunk for the first time. They got it from their mom. Hilarity ensues. A hint of walk of shame maybe? 🤔

The Bounty Hunter’s Guide to: Breaking Curfew

Summary: In which the Little Lady stays out a little late, Bambi operates flight machinery under the influence, and Bane nearly wears a rut in the floor.

Pairing: Cad Bane x F!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Rating: General.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, nonconsensual drug use

---

Bane has spent an unhealthy amount of time taming his nervous tics. He's as cool as can be at all times -- no lip biting, no finger tapping, no pattern to his toothpick gnawing. He is completely unreadable in the face of an adversary.

...in the face of two missing kids, however, he might as well be a neon billboard.

His leg joggles. He drums his fingertips together. He bats his toothpick between the corners of his mouth with his tongue.

He wishes you were here and not out burgling trade secrets from an arms manufacturer. You'd know what to do. You're much better with the whole 'kids will be kids' thing. You call it mother's intuition but as far as he's concerned, it's extrasensory.

Like when you let the kids walk to the corner store for the first time. They took a bit too long getting home and he was convinced they'd been kidnapped. Turns out there was construction and they had to take a detour.

Or when they stole his gun belt. He was furious, but you told him to cool it. Turns out they were getting a nicer one made and needed the sizing right.

Somehow, you're always right about these things. He could use that assurance.

Part of him is relieved it's both of them missing and not just the Little Lady. Cold, perhaps, but she's fifty kilos soaking wet and just as pretty as you are. An easy target for an unsavory type.

Bambi, on the other hand, is sixteen years old, already taller than his daddy, and built like an upside down tortilla chip. He’s more than capable of protecting his big sister.

They're probably fine. He knows this. And yet here he sits, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and chewing his toothpick.

Sometimes he wonders when he went so damn soft. Was it when you handed him his son, minutes old and still covered in blood and amniotic fluid? Was it when he first laid eyes on the Little Lady, small and sweet and unmistakably his?

No, it was when he gave you that head start on Nal Hutta, all those years ago. Just moments after he fell ass over teakettle for you.

A hard thunk from the balcony catches his attention. He jumps to his feet, hand hovering above his blaster.

He sneaks over to the door and silently slides it open. He steps out and into the shadows. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon and there's still plenty of dark to conceal him.

A pale blue light grows brighter, accompanied by angry, slurred muttering. "...piece o' shit railin' an' boots an' fuck-all everythin' everywhere..."

The second voice is more enunciated. “Just shut up and try to stay even.”

A pair of thin hands grab the railing, and the Little Lady hauls herself atop the railing. She reaches downwards, but is rebuffed. Bambi tries to swing a gangly leg over the railing, only to get himself stuck. He taps at his wristcom to deactivate his boots, and the blue glow fades.

Bane watches him try to get over the railing. Slurred words, lack of coordination... The kid's drunk as an acid skunk.

The Little Lady tries to help, but Bambi shoos her away. “ ‘m fine. I can do it--”

“You’re gonna fall and break your neck is what you're gonna do,” she replies.

“ ‘m fine. S’all fine,” he slurs. He gets himself upright enough to straddle the railing. He lets out a dopey giggle. “Heh. Speeder. Nyoom...!”

He starts to tip and the Little Lady darts her hand out to snatch him by the back of the collar. "Shut up before Daddy hears you," she hisses.

And there's his cue. He tosses his toothpick away. "Li'l late fer dat," he says, stepping out of the shadows.

The Little Lady yips in surprise and whirls around. Bambi tries to reach for his blaster, but he's not wearing his holsters and he grabs air. He twists to find them and falls backwards over the balcony without a sound.

The Little Lady's hands fly to her mouth and her eyes go wide. "Oh shit."

Bane touches her shoulder to calm her. He tosses his chin at Bambi rising back over the balcony, a little rattled but no worse for wear.

"I knew it!" His hover is unsteady, and he struggles to keep himself upright. "Yer tryna flip-icide me!"

Bane raises a brow. He watches carefully as Bambi gets up and over the edge, landing in a heap of gangly limbs on the ground. Satisfied that the boy is safe, he turns his attention back to the Little Lady.

"Yer curfew's midnight," he says simply.

She bristles slightly. "It's not my fault!" she says. "He kept wandering off and I had to chase after him." The bristles fade as she crosses her arms. "He's completely zonked. He can barely walk."

Bambi makes a horrific retching noise, and the putrid smell of acid fills the air.

Bane's stomach churns, but he keeps his own dinner down. "Get one of de shitty towels and meet me in de downstairs 'fresher."

---

He feels a bit bad throwing Bambi into a cold shower fully clothed. But it'll wash him off and sober him up enough to function.

At least his whining is funny.

"Why do you hate me," Bambi grumbles, looking for all the galaxy like a kicked puppy.

Bane snickers to himself. "Suck it up."

"You suck it up." Bambi tries to grab a bar of soap -- your citrus-scented one, Bane notices -- only for it to shoot out of his grip. He grabs it again, only for the same thing to happen. He gives Bane a pathetic look. "Soap's broke."

Maker's sake. "Arms up, kid."

Bambi obeys and Bane lifts the shirt up and over his head. Tossing it into the laundry, he grabs the soap and gets to work.

He intends to manhandle the boy a bit. Treat him like everybody else he's had to clean up after a rowdy night out. Rough in his scrubbing and half-ass it enough to make it clear he'd done it begrudgingly.

But he doesn't.

A gentle touch comes unbidden, the same he used when Bambi was five years old and so sick with virid flu that he couldn't even keep water down. You had put him in the bathtub while you called a doctor, leaving Bane to mind him.

The poor kid was too exhausted to even cry. Just sit there and stare sadly at his little feet, eyes puffy from a lack of sleep, and occasionally retch up nothing.

Bane gave that boy the greatest bath of all time. Used the nicest soap, the softest washcloth, the warmest water. Bambi was dead asleep when the doctor finally showed up, bundled in a fluffy towel and smelling like a rose bush.

But Bambi isn't a baby anymore, and Bane knows this. He just cleans what he has to as gently as he can -- chest, neck, and chin.

Bambi doesn't say a word for a long time. Bane thinks it's out of embarrassment until he actually does speak.

"S'not my fault," he murmurs. "Only had two... But the secon' one wass... Had t’ve been spiked. Hit like a freighter."

"Gotta watch what ya drink, boy."

The retort comes in the form of a snore. Bane looks up to see Bambi's eyes closed and his jaw slack. His chest rises and falls in rhythm.

He can't help but chuckle. Switching off the shower, he leaves the boy to sleep it off.

---

Like you, the Little Lady eats when she's troubled. Also like you, she tends to go for cold cuts straight from the package. Today, it's the capicola.

He catches her mid chew, her eyes going wide as her jaw stops moving. A little spray of green dusts her cheeks, and she swallows. "So ya gonna rip me a new one, or...?"

"Don't see why I should." He peels a slice of the meat from the butcher paper and takes a bite. "Ain't yer fault yer brother got drugged."

She slumps. "It was meant for me," she says quietly. "The guy brought us two beers and I gave Bambi the one meant for me, just in case." She picks at the edge of the paper. "It wasn't right, I know, but the guy was greasy and I couldn't figure out a way to get rid of it and Bambi's got a hundred pounds on me--"

"Yer brother's smarter'n he looks," he says. "He probably knew and did it anyways 'cause he knew he could take it."

The Little Lady lets out a breath like she'd been holding it all night. "You think?"

He nods and eats another slice of capicola. "Ask him in de mornin'," he says. He levels a finger at her. "Regardless, ya owe him one."

She nods. "I know." She examines a slice of meat. "Are you gonna tell Momma?"

"What's it worth to ya?"

The Little Lady narrows her eyes. "You're seriously asking for hush money?"

He gives her a wry smile. "Doesn't have to be money. Could be time, could be a favor..."

"I already owe Bambi a favor," she grumbles. "And I don't like owin' too many people favors at de same time, so I got no choice. How much ya want?"

It always makes him laugh when he sees himself in her. The voice of an old crook, coming from the mouth of a young teenybopper. "Most I'll ask for is yer allowance," he says. "Somethin' like thirty creds?"

She curls her lip, but snatches her purse from its hook and roots through it. She finds the credits and plunks them down on the table. Shoving a piece of capicola into her mouth, she glowers half-heartedly at him as she chews.

He chuckles and pockets the money. "Pleasure doin' business, li'l lady."

"Up yer nose," she grumbles.

He decides to let that one slide.

---

"Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

#cad bane x reader #cad bane x oc #cad bane #dad bane #catch us if you can #99 problems #irno favara #reader insert #x reader #x oc #star wars #star wars oc #mezerel bane #winrel bane #emberly writes #thanks for the ask!

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chernobog13 · 4 years ago

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TITANIC TALES

Published in 1998 by Insight Studios Group out of Baltimore, Maryland, Titanic Tales is a wonderful homage to the great pulp magazines of the early 20th century.

The square bound magazine, which is actually the size of a trade paperback, featured the novel Bride of the Beast Man, three short stories, two poems, an article about artist Al Williamson, and a b&w graphic novel starring The Spider, as featured on the cover.

The Spider is often derided by the unknowledgeable as just another imitation of The Shadow, arguably the most popular and successful character in the pulps and on radio (where he got his start). However, while there were similarities between the two characters, the folks behind The Spider made sure their guy was different enough from The Shadow so as to avoid any lawsuits.

Yes, this crazy motherscratcher is swinging from the noose around his neck!

The Shadow chiefly dealt with gangsters and criminal masterminds, and while some of his opponents might seem other-worldly there was always a logical, (pseudo) scientific explanation at the end of the stories.

Whereas The Spider routinely dealt with genuine super-villains, madmen bent on domination of the city, country, or even the world.; megalomaniacs who utilized legions of zombies, or robots, or other bizarre weapons; and who frequently left the streets of New York City aflood with the blood of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocents.

The other thing that was distinctive about The Spider: the man was bat$#;+ crazy! He was like the honey badger of the crimefighting world: he didn’t care what other effect his actions had as long as they resulted in his enemies taking a dirt nap!

As depicted in the first picture above, The Spider is in the third disguise he donned when he battled the minions of evil: a horrific rubber mask with attached hair and false fangs. His earliest disguise was a simple domino mask with a black hat and cape, later replaced with make-up and fangs to give him the appearance of a vampire, before he finally settled on the above get-up (he would later add a hunchback).

[He never wore the spider-web patterned mask and cloak that has been popularized in the last ten years or so in the comics and on action figures. This was strictly a costume created for the two film serials in the characters appeared in: The Spider’s Web (1938) and The Spider Returns (1941). I will admit, though, that it is my favorite look for The Spider.]

None of the disguises were particularly effective, however, as many of his foes deduced that The Spider was in reality millionaire Richard Wentworth. In time, during the course of The Spider’s 118 original stories, half of New York City was convinced Wentworth and The Spider were one, and he was hated for it.

Nowadays, nearly 100 years after his debut, The Spider is - along with The Shadow and Doc Savage - one of the most popular and fondly remembered characters to come from the pulps of that era.

#Titanic Tales #The Spider #pulp magazines #digging through my storage unit

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redmaneroster · 4 years ago

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Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [2] [3] [4-5] [6] [7] [x-x] [10]

PART 8 – Permutation

Its almost strange to call it home, Yang thinks, staring up at the house she grew up in. She'd spent so much time in a cozy little dorm and a browning two-bedroom apartment that a house in the woods almost seems like a distant memory. (She hadn't spent Summer here either. She was in Menagerie with Blake then Mistral with her dad for a getaway, and the rest she spent kicking back with Jaune).

"A lot happened this year," she says.

Jaune's eying the woods around them, trying to see a break in the pattern outside of a few distant houses lost between the bark and autumn leaves. He swallows cause he knows that, if it weren't for Yang, he'd have been terribly lost. "Hm? Uh… huh?" he garbles, unable to hide the tinge of panic.

"A lot happened this year," she repeats. "What's up with you?"

"The woods are thick is all. How you only got lost in it once is beyond me… So, what's with the nostalgia? Old house got you thinking?"

"Something like that. Mostly, I didn't think I'd end up here, getting ready to reacquaint with Raven, and getting you of all people to meet my parents."

"Yeah, didn't think I'd end up introducing another blonde to my sisters either. Future seemed full of redheads and I stuck with it like an act of defiance."

"Defiance? Why's that?"

"If you haven't noticed, we're all terribly blonde. Even Adrian's hair is a dirty gold and we thought for sure he'd be a brunette. It's either a curse, or fate is terrible at jokes and uncomfortable at parties."

She chuckles. "Calling fate out like a loser isn't going to win you any favors. Besides, can't help it when both your folks are blondes."

"One of my sisters is adopted. A blind adoption, mind you. From Vacuo. You know what we got? Chocolate brown skin and dusty blonde hair. Boom. Curse."

There's the sound of fluttering feathers behind them. Qrow straightens his back with a snap as he shapeshifts. "Ngh, agh! Ha… What are two doing just standing outside? Expecting another invitation?"

Jaune and Yang exchange a look. "Stalling," they say in unison.

"W-what? How did you two…? Nevermind." He pinches his forehead cause the moment is too familiar and he feels an irrational envy creep up his cheeks. "You two coming in or not?"

"Why so impatient all of a sudden?" Jaune asks.

"I don't take enjoyment out of watching a train wreck but if I can't stop it, I'll at least hope it's over quickly."

Yang puts a hand on her hip. "Not very optimistic, are you?"

"I prefer cautious," he says as he waves a dismissive hand and stalks ahead of them. "Besides, I don't want you two walking in there expecting things to go off without a hitch." He glances back to see them roll their eyes at the same time and that uncomfortable shiver is back.

"Now that you're here, a disaster's all but guaranteed," Jaune quips.

Qrow glares but neither of them lose their cheek. He rolls his eyes too, but doesn't show them his smile when he's got his back turned. He isn't too sensitive about his semblance – if anything, he's glad Jaune can treat him like he isn't a wounded animal – but he notices the twitch in Jaune's eye. It's there cause he's too soft a soul to have all the bite that quips demand. He almost wants to say sorry for it. "He's a good kid,"

Qrow thinks.

With a twist of the knob, he opens the door and then kicks up his heel to slam it open the rest of the way. He wanders in with a swagger and a mischievous grin. Both fit him naturally.

"Rae!" he shouts. "Your brat and her boyfriend are at the door!"

Jaune balks and shoots Yang a look. She gives him a quick, "He's just like that when he talks to her," and ushers him in.

"And you didn't let them in like a normal fucking person!?" Raven shouts back and it's like a nostalgic gust has poured over Yang. Raven's every inflection is recognizable, echoing deeply from buried memories. They argued like this often when she was small.

"They can walk through a door just fine," Qrow says, swinging into the archway that leads into a tall kitchen. "And lest you forget, I'm a guest here, too. Not your chaperone."

Jaune lets Yang wander ahead, eying her backside as she inches a trail behind Qrow.

Yang peeks in to see her mother chopping something on the kitchen table by the sink. Bravado has taken a backseat and the very reality of the situation has settled in like a bat to Yang's blindside.

"Do you really have to be difficult with me right now?" Raven says with a huff but there's no bite to it, just lazy exasperation.

"Yeah, I do…" Qrow replies. "This is our normal. The minute I go easy on you, assume I'm dead and you've encountered a terribly tolerable doppelganger."

Raven's cheek quirks and it triggers in Yang things she half remembers, and half convinces herself she'd seen in a dream.

"Hmph. Bold of you to assume I won't just take the trade as an act of divine mercy. Maybe this doppelganger can cook for the house every once in a while instead of free loading off my dinner."

"If you wanted me to cook venison, you could have asked."

"Not the deer again… Tai hates it when you bring the kill into the kitchen. I personally don't care that you track blood on the carpet, but he refuses to agree with my sentiments about a house that's lived in and not one you find sterilized in catalogs. Ugh, I'm getting tired just thinking of that argument."

"I know," Qrow agrees, leaning on the counter. "That's why I do it on purpose."

Raven tilts her head back to give her brother a smirk. "You're a scoundrel, Qrow," she says just before her eyes catch Yang's.

"Hey, Mom," Yang says out of instinct. It's too late to take it back.

"Yang, you–" she crosses her arms, "–who is this?"

Jaune's heat presses against her arm like the partner he is. Not in front like her protector, but beside her like her equal. She can feel the way he's hiding his nerves with the shudder in his arm. "Dad didn't tell you?" she says. "This is Jaune. My boyfriend."

Jaune, borrowing confidence he's learned from her, doesn't back down. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he greets, standing proudly. His fingers twitch against Yang's arm.

"Oh, he told me about him alright. I just wasn't expecting a familiar face." Her eyes lock onto him. She smirks when she sees he doesn't flinch. "You're an Arc, I take it? I recognize that face. Your father was in the news once or twice."

"Oh, you heard about the manticore horde? Or was it the behemoth at Glenn?"

"Neither. He blew up a dust shop."

Oddly enough, Yang feels him relax.

"Yeah," he says, scratching his head, "Arcs really shouldn't have guns."

Raven nods. There's no tension here, and Yang feels it's gone all too smoothly.

"Perhaps you can tell me the story," Raven offers as she turns back to chopping. "I have an old bet with Qrow I'd like to settle."

"What did you bet on?" Jaune asks.

Raven snorts. "And let you lie to give my brother the win? Please. I know you two are friendly." She glances back. It's the only other time through this whole conversation that she's looked Yang in the eye and it's still only for a second. She goes back to chopping. "Why don't you two go into the living room and wait for Tai while my silent shadow of a brother here helps me sort out this recipe."

Qrow shrugs and continues to say nothing other than whisper something to Raven that makes her blush angrily.

Yang peels off of Jaune and her insides broil unsteadily.

"Sounds like she's changed," Jaune says when he's in the living room alone with her on a wide U-shaped sofa.

She shakes her head. "She hasn't though."

"What? But the way you described her before–"

"–is all hearsay. I had a mom who left out of the blue. Before that she was jabbing back and forth with Qrow, needing help in the kitchen, and trying her best to be on top of things. Everything I said about her between that time was just me making assumptions about a woman who wasn't around for me to judge in person. I never actually knew if she changed any since leaving."

"So this is Raven Branwen: Unfiltered? If this is what she was like before, then maybe she's just trying to fit back into place the only way she knows how."'

She raises her knees to curl up but she forces them back down. She doesn't want to appear too obviously vulnerable. Not when her mother is still in the house. She tosses Jaune a meaningful glance. "Is it wrong for me to hate that?"

"Some people might say it is, but I think it's too much to ask someone who has had to raise her little sister all on her own to let her absentee mother just waltz back into her life like nothing's changed."

"I still don't know if you're agreeing with me or not."

"Cause I don't know either. Give me a minute to think on it and I'll probably pick a side but I'd much rather stay right where I am. On neutral ground." He squeezes her hand. "I'm here to be your backup, not your coach." Because they don't solve each other's issues, not every time, but they always help each other along.

She knows this, of course. She hasn't deluded herself into thinking that they could crack every case just because love had lofty ideas about making everything right. Being in love doesn't solve everything, it just gives you a partner to solve them with.

"I think I'm suddenly very tired," she says, leaning on his arm. "Wake me in an hour when dinner's ready."

"Uh… shouldn't it be done sooner?"

"Raven used to wake up at five AM to make breakfast in time for school. She takes breaks cause she doesn't always have the patience for it. Don't expect it to go any faster with Uncle Qrow in there. He's just there to make sure she doesn't skip any steps."

"That doesn't fill my with confidence," he says but she's already snuggling into his arm with a contented sigh.

With the sound of clattered pans and restrained yelling from the kitchen, Jaune decides to shut his eyes too.

-0-

Jaune is violently awoken by someone grabbing him by the collar and shaking him awake.

"You!" says the messy tuft of blonde hair presently pressed against his face. "You're… yer…. Hic!" The scent of alcohol is palpable. The smell is dizzying.

He blinks himself awake. "Uh, you're Mr. Xiao Long, I'm guessing? I'm Jaune. Yang said she mentioned me?"

The tuft of hair pulls up revealing the chiseled scruff of a well-worn huntsman. Faded scars litter his neck and chin, but that's where all the menace in him ends. Despite his tone, Taiyang has the look of a desperate man. His eyes are wide and a solid, beautiful blue. His cheeks have a slight plump to them that make him just shy of an Adonis.

Jaune makes the executive decision not to think along that line any further. But it's clear that Yang's got stellar genes and – No! Bad Jaune! Stop it!

Tai glances at the slumbering Yang, snoring softly against Jaune's arm. "What did you do to my daughter?" he says with a drunken pout that would look more intimidating on a pug.

"Uh, nothing!" he whispers urgently. "Nothing I swear."

He squints so much that he closes his eyes and nearly passes out before he jolts himself awake. "You… You and Qrow really are friends. 'Nothing,' he says… that's just code for plowed her till sunrise."

Still in a sleepy haze, Yang pushes her father's face away until he falls back onto the coffee table behind him. "Dad… leave him alone," she groans. "He wouldn't touch me even if I tore off his clothes and –" Her eyes shoot open, fully awake and painfully aware. Her scream then is almost silent, Jaune thinks, but he's pretty certain that's cause Yang's vivid horror is blasted like shellshock when she abruptly screams louder next to his ear and scrambles over the sofa to hide behind it.

He's still shaking his head to get the ringing out.

Qrow bursts in, Raven meekly peeking behind him. "What the fuck – Oh."

Tai is sprawled over the coffee table, squinting angrily at everything.

"Bird!" Tai accuses, swinging his arm out to point at him but slamming it on the hardwood coffee table. "Ow," he mutters as his aura flares.

"Drunk," Qrow greets. He hoists the man over his shoulder. "Sorry about this, kids. I think Tai's got his nerves bundled up again. I'll get him to detox upstairs after a nap."

"Uh, it looks like he'll be out for the week," Jaune says, shaking his head still. "I doubt a nap will fix him by dinner."

"Nah. Tai can burn all the alcohol out of his system with enough motivation and calories. He'll be ready by the time Rae manages to get something on the table."

Tai wiggles like an insolent child, fists lightly beating on the man's back. "Back off, Qrow!" he slurs. "You're not taking this one – hic – too… guh…"

"That's my twin sister, you dunce."

"Really?" Tai pushes his head up, eying Raven. "Pfft! Qrow, you are not that pretty."

Once the two of them have rounded the corner into Tai's bedroom, Jaune asks the quietly smiling Raven, "This happen often?"

"Not as much as it used to," she says. "Was a time when there were two whole families in this house and it was never quiet. Two men and enough testosterone to make a third made competition between them frequent. Qrow got Tai to drink and you can see that he hasn't acclimated to it as well as my brother does."

"Do you drink?"

"I'm a Branwen," she shrugs, "our blood is two parts alcohol. Small mercy that Yang hasn't picked up our habits. Or Ruby for that matter."

Jaune raises a brow. "Ruby's a Branwen?"

Yang nearly gasps from behind the couch, hands clutching her mouth.

"No," Raven says. "Well, she should have been but Qrow basically raised her all the same. He even knit her a tiny red hood when she was barely a foot tall, and it's been her motif ever since." Raven, eying him, closes her arms a little tighter around herself. As if guarded. Uncertain. "Despite how it may appear," she says, "I am glad my daughter found you but there's something you should know moving forward…"

Jaune prepares for the inevitability of the 'boyfriend' talk. It doesn't come. Raven is beside herself, eying the floor. "No matter what happens today, I do not intend to reconcile with my daughter."

He realizes that she doesn't know that Yang is in the room, just by the sofa. His heart knots. "You don't know if she wants that yet."

She laughs. It's bitter. "It doesn't matter. What Yang wants isn't coming into the equation. She needs to distance herself from me."

"What was the point of coming here if not to bridge the gap between you two?"

Raven chews her lip, wanting nothing more than to end the conversation and walk out of the room. She doesn't. Can't. "To prove that things have changed here. That me and my brother talk, and that Tai has… met me halfway."

"So this – all of this – is for show?"

Her features darken, her face hardens. "Yes."

He pushes himself up, almost prepares to march up to her. His feet don't push him any further. His willful restraint is there but it's paper thin. "And if she wants more?" he asks, inwardly begging her to give him a reason to meet her up close.

Her eyes narrow at the floor. "All you have to do is make her an Arc and she'll live a life better than anything I can give her!" Her gaze is at him, dangerous and unafraid, but its desperate. She's asking him a favor. "Asking me to be a part of her life is like active theft. You will give her all she'll ever want, but me? I'll only ever take things away. And if you give me the chance, I'll end up taking her too. She'll leave you like I did Tai."

The silence wanes and Jaune can hear the thumping in his own chest. She's making claims for things that haven't happened yet. As if she can't promise to give as well as she takes. As if she can't meet her own daughter halfway. As if she can't compromise. His ears strain to hear anything from Yang, but she's so deftly quiet that he feels alone in the room with her mother.

Muscle fastens onto bone, curling his fist inward till digs into his palm. His aura flares. The sound of it jolts him awake. He'd been holding his breath.

Then… he plops down onto his seat. Tension in his skin unwinds. All his disbelief slips away. Any anger he feels pools into his back to weigh him against the cushions. "But why?" is all he asks, looking up at her.

Raven is so taken aback by his sudden shift that she shows the tangled fear she'd tucked away for a moment. The question is genuine and – like her many nights moonlighting bars – she is tempted to bare her soul to a stranger. "Because I'm a Branwen," she says, eyes deadened. Scowling as if the name is a profane. "And even a terrible mother wouldn't wish that name on her daughter."

When she leaves the room, Yang rises from behind the couch. She doesn't focus on anything. She looks bewildered, pained.

Qrow comes down the steps and they look at him. He looks like how she feels. "I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting," he says.

Yang clutches the backrest of the sofa. "I don't know what I was expecting."

Qrow gives her a worried look. "Maybe… maybe it's better that way."

He wanders into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Jaune doesn't hold Yang. Instead, he fishes her gauntlets from the duffel bag, takes her by the hand, and pulls her outside.

-0-

She sets fire to a dead tree. The blast of Ember Celica ripples through the woods, scatters wildlife, shakes the canopy, and rustles the owls awake. She doesn't care. The blowback from her gauntlets as it makes contact with the deadwood is cathartic. Reflective of what she's feeling inside.

But it isn't anger.

"What does she even… Ugh!" Another blast, sending out a spent shell, light casting over her cheek and hair with accompanying heat. "I don't get it!"

She breathes in and out. Blinks moisture into her eyes. She's been doing the very opposite of crying and drying the liquid in her sockets. She's starting to feel dizzy. She slumps back onto a rock Jaune is sitting on, using his shoulder as a backrest. "I'm not… mad at her. I'm confused. And I'm mad that I'm confused. Does that make sense?"

"About as much sense as she was making," he says with a sarcastic smile.

She's trying to smile back. Even a little one might do but her lips down-curl. Her frown tightens and she sighs into the open sky. "I wanted to give her a chance," she says. "Maybe see where this goes but… now that I know she won't even try? How am I supposed to process this? Do I just do what she wants and not try either?"

He plucks a twig from a dead branch, snapping its length into little pieces. "Do you even want to do that? I mean, if leaving things as they are isn't what you want, then ideally how would you like all this to end?"

She takes half of the twig – snapping it between them. She picks it apart too.

An answer doesn't come.

They gather the tiny bits of branch and bunch it into Jaune's hands. Yang pulls out a fire dust shell from her gauntlet and cracks it open over them. Red particles filter over and into the loose wood bits. He spools them into a ball and his semblance surges over his arm.

His muscles tighten when he approaches the dead tree. It's barely as tall as he is now. His arm pulls back. The chunks in his palm ignite. He throws them like a man-propelled buckshot, scattering burning holes through it.

Even charred, the thing has dangerous embers dancing off its broken pieces.

"We should put this out," she says.

"Mm!" He kicks it down, unrooting it. Then he hoists it up. "Got another good punch in ya'?"

"I've got a few, yeah, but I'll save the rest for later. I only need one for this."

He crouches low, prepping to toss. "Ready?" he asks.

"Pull!" she shouts.

He tosses it into the air, scattering the scent of ash and char, and she swings her fist into it. The sheer force of the blow consumes the flame as it rockets and splinters into a tall rock.

"Y'know what?" she says. "If it's taking me this long to even answer, maybe this isn't what I want."

"So what now, chief?"

She snorts. "Don't give me ideas. Anyway, I say we take the aggressive approach. We got them a present, I say we break it out instead of handing them the box. Invite them to try it with us."

Jaune turns to the house where they left the duffel bag. He winces. "Are you sure about this?"

"I don't see an elegant solution. And it's probably stupid, yeah, but stupid has worked for us so far."

"Really? How exactly has it worked for us so far?"

"In what universe do hickeys stop two primed teenagers from having sex?"

"Ours, apparently…"

"Gets the tension out. Would be genius if I didn't find it by accident."

"Speaking of which…"

He comes up behind her and pushes her hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck.

"What are you – Ah!" she gasps when he bites her neck. Her aura lowers on instinct, letting him mark her.

He pulls away and wipes her dry with a handkerchief. "You taste like saltwater and ash."

She rubs her neck as the pain subsides rapidly. "We should bathe when we get back. What was that for anyway?"

"Revenge, mostly. Feeling petty."

"On me?"

"Your mom."

"Heh, yeah, she's gonna ask questions or implode trying not to. Actually, since we're getting shiners, we should get ones to match."

He doesn't protest but he's not happy about it. With a sigh he leans down but she's already jumped up to latch onto him.

She bites down so hard that he swears that she was actually trying to eat him. He'd be more okay with it if she didn't keep trying to one-up herself.

-0-

Dinner, somehow, is always pleasant. True to Qrow's word, Tai comes in completely sober. Jaune chalks it up to having a very useful semblance.

Tai is a chill dad. He nudges Yang when he sees the hickey, even when Qrow refuses to make eye contact with Jaune and Raven squints while warring with herself to say something but won't. Tai reintroduces himself and sits next to Jaune to strike up a conversation with him.

It takes minutes for Tai to fish out that Jaune has seven sisters, that he met Yang by throwing up on her boots, and that he used to have a crush on Ruby. The last bit comes as a surprise to everyone but Tai who pats himself on the back for having incredible girls in the family.

Jaune finds out that Tai is very much like Yang. Despite closing himself off for a good chunk of her childhood, he's clearly had a great influence on her disposition. Father and daughter joke and jab at each other, laugh just as loudly, crack the same kind of jokes (he tries not to think of them as mom jokes when he looks at his girilfriend).

Jaune eventually gets to tell the story of how his dad blew up a dust shop during his third year in Beacon. Just a mishap with a loose dust feeder, a weapon he didn't know how to use, and a particularly handsy bully. By the end, Raven cheers when she wins the bet. Apolian Arc punched a cop. Qrow bet that he punched a civilian.

They're unwinding in the living room when Jaune's eying the wall of photos. Summer's only in a handful of the group shots. Qrow explains that she insisted on being the photographer and didn't like being in photos herself. It's why she has the hood. It's comforting when she can pretend to be hiding.

She sounds like Ruby.

"I just noticed," Jaune says to Yang, "your mom's smiling in every photo. Qrow's the only one who occasionally doesn't."

"It was a different time," she says. "Qrow told me that she was cheery and crass. Would even crack a joke or two whenever she found the time to stop training and be a teenager."

"I'll be honest, it's still weird seeing her smile so much. I came in here expecting a variation of Glynda Goodwitch, not Qrow Branwen. Speaking of which," he glances back at the adults huddled laughing by the sofa, "we should probably break out the gift."

"Speaking of speaking of things," she rubs the hickey on her neck, "it still stings."

"Oh, sorry. Let me heal it."

She pushes his hands away. "No, I –" Her eyes widen. Pressing two digits into the bruised flesh, she feels the ache but doesn't hate it. "Okay, heal me quick before this turns into a fetish!"

Warmth pools out of his palms.

"Could you not make out in full view of her family?" Qrow calls from across the room, and they realize they're leaned a little too close.

"We weren't gonna!" Jaune calls out.

Yang rolls her eyes cause she's comfortable with them coming to their own conclusions about her relationship but Jaune's stint with Tai made him want to make a good impression. It was already easy enough what with Tai admitting that as long as Yang chose and continues to choose him, then he'll rest easy knowing she's in good hands, but Jaune wants to pile on the goodwill.

Those thoughts take a backseat when Yang reaches for the duffel bag by the coffee table. Goodwill be damned.

It's time.

Yang parts a few clothes and a hollowed-out cushion for their scrolls to fish out a crystalline bottle. "We wanted to hand this off in the box but we figured we might as well crack it open tonight."

With the way they're all staring at the bottle, it's clear they recognize it.

Qrow roars with laughter. "Ha! Diadem, the dirtiest fucking drink on the planet!" He comes up to it and holds the bottle aloft, fingers running over the bumpy, crystalline surface. "Ah, look at it. All prettied up for the upper class. Diadem used to be homemade and brewed in a shack. Used to be so strong that you could feel nothing for hours."

"'Course, the stuff's a little better refined nowadays. You used to taste fire dust in it too cause their shoddy furnaces were held together by spit and prayers. But look at it! Pricks like Jacques fucking Schnee or that Lucius ass-end-of-an-ass Merrigold would down this like it's water, having no idea that they're chugging the equivalent of desert moonshine."

Tai licks his lips and it almost feels like a bad idea before he shoots up from his seat. "I'll get the shot glasses!" he announces.

Raven is the only one not smiling. She's suspicious, but the minute the drink touches her lips and she's made wide awake, she melts into the same stupor as everyone else.

-0-

Yang barely registers what their plan was supposed to be. Loosening Raven's lips with the stiffest drink since frozen stalactites seemed a half-baked plan at best, but they didn't plan passed that. They might have been able to salvage it if they didn't take many drinks themselves.

Jaune took exactly one and he's already left her alone to start an intimate relationship with the toilet.

He did, however, get the ball rolling about last names for some reason. He might have explained why to her but she can't remember.

"They'll lose sleep over a friend who's had a bad day," Raven says with a snarl that isn't sincere so much as it appears to be her permanent tipsy-face. "Worrying up and down but will leave you alone after a smile cause that's all they need to calm their nerves. Their hearts are too kind…"

"Who…?" Yang slurs, struggles to think of the rest of the sentence, then starts over. "Who… who are you talking about?"

Raven scrunches her nose. "The Roses," she answers.

Yang buries her head in her hands and curls into her seat. "No… I don't wanna hear about Uncle Qrow's god-damn garden again…"

Qrow, sporting alcohol like one does water, kicks back beside her. There's something in his eye though. The alcohol is getting to him. "We're talking about the Rose half of the family. Y'know, Summer and Ruby?"

"Hm?" She squints. "Oh yeah… Ruby's a worrywart."

"Qrow!" Tai calls from beside Raven, looping an arm around her. "What's a Xiao Long like then?"

"They're all fucking crazy," he jabs. Yang and Tai simultaneously pretend to be hurt. "But! I've found that the more obnoxious they seem on the outside, the more worth you'll find underneath."

Raven leans into Tai and stares at Yang's feet curled up on the cushion. It's the closest she'll get to meeting her eyes. "They can be in your face," Raven says, "deftly abrasive, louder than foghorns, and wilder than ursa! But they're steadfast partners…" She looks up at Tai who has a half-lidded gawk to him that's like he's falling in love with her again. "Painfully loyal… and… dangerously persistent."

Yang feels a heat roll over her side. She leans into it until she realizes that Jaune's slid beside her and pulling her in by the waist. "She's right, y'know?" Jaune tells her quietly. "You never did listen when I asked you not to pursue me and, yet, here we are. You never did know when to quit but I'm glad you never quit on me."

She wants to return the sentiment somehow but words don't form and she's making faces that she worries he'll misunderstand. She's just mad at herself for not finding words. "F-fuck… That was a human sentence you just made. Why aren't you drinking?" she says instead, pushing an empty shot glass to his lips.

"No thanks. Diadem will literally kill me. I felt like I was throwing up my own organs. I swear I felt my lungs pull up into my throat. I am not touching that decanter ever again." He turns to Qrow who is squinting at them as if they're all out of focus. "Oh, shit, sorry, Qrow," Jaune says. Cause the man is sat alone in front of two couples.

Jaune tries not to wince when Qrow downs a shot and his eyes go glassy.

He is sat slumped at the last corner of the large U-shaped sofa. His scroll, set neatly below him on the coffee table, flashes over his gawk face as he leans into it. His hands are beside him, palms pointing upwards while his fingers twitch like roots animating in intervals. His slack jaw regards them with his deep gaunt, eyes meeting every face before he points his head to the ceiling as he falls back into the seat. Seems he's not quite as adept with so many drinks in him. Or maybe Diadem is a weakness.

He lets each eye blink individually before he announces, "I'm dating again!"

Everyone sits up. Okay, only kind of. They lean out but can't peel off the sofa. Except for Jaune who is sober. "Since when do you have time to date?" he asks.

"I don't," he chuckles, shaking his head as he comes back to his senses. "I flirt while on the job. Closest thing either of us will get to a date at this point."

Yang mumbles something.

Jaune strains his ears to hear her. Maybe the ringing from earlier hasn't stopped. "What was that? I'm sitting right next to you and even I couldn't hear you."

She pulls up before falling sideways onto Jaune's shoulder. "Who!?" she calls out to the room cause she doesn't know where Qrow is. Her eyes are still closed.

Qrow grins. "Winter… Schnee."

At first, when he starts talking about a mission they had together in Mistral, they think he's going to segway into a conquest. But he doesn't. He starts talking about how he and Winter shared in the fact that they both had a responsibility they shirked for duty. To protect the world their loved ones live in, they've chosen to abandon having lives of their own.

No one calls him out for clearly being drunk out of his mind nor for opening up.

He's got an anthology of moments with Winter. And each time he finishes a story, they're surprised whenever it doesn't end in heat. One time they do end it in a kiss, but it was on the cheek. She'd done it comfort him but they both knew it was hollow. It was an appreciated gesture, but it wasn't something that could help. They aren't wired to let something like that heal any kind of wound.

Winter doesn't know what it's like to have a delicate heart anymore and the idea of quiet comforts like a hug or a kiss feels so… unsubstantial to them both. They either needed more or that wasn't the kind of comfort they needed. Realizing this is why they started dating.

The stories are nicer then. They leave a movie theater ten minutes in when they realize that sitting around to watch actors pretend to be heroes isn't for them. They instead find a quiet corner in a bar but they don't drink. They talk and he jokes and she's smiling and they kiss and…

Raven is curled up into Tai now, staring at her brother with a look that can only be pride.

Jaune is smiling sleepily at him. Yang nestles into his chest as they scoop together on the sofa's corner.

Qrow gets up, scroll in hand, and leaves the room to call Winter.

Tai and Jaune fall asleep.

Yang catches Raven staring but is so out of it that she isn't sure if Raven caught her staring instead. The quiet makes the crickets fill the spaces beside something crackling outside.

"What are Branwens like?" Yang asks.

Raven squints, pulling herself out of her dreariness. "…What?"

"If a Rose cares too much but loves unconditionally, and a Xiao Long is a dependable but gets in your face, then what is a Branwen?"

She huddles into Tai, looking vulnerable. "We…" Her eyes narrow at the floor and she hisses quietly to herself. "I…"

A pang of empathy makes her sit up. "Mom…" she says consciously.

Raven stares at her. Yang can't tell if she's touched or just shocked, but when her eyes draw away and she clutches at Tai's shirt, words pour shaking out of her lips. "Branwens… are a curse." Something awful crawls into her cheeks, her features squeezing together so her few wrinkles cast shadows. There's a pain there that almost looks familiar, as if she'd had this look about her forever but only now is Yang seeing it for what it is. And whatever that pain is, it's old. Maybe even older than she is.

Raven whispers something to Tai before getting up. Halfway up the steps, she looks at Yang and Jaune before saying, "You should take him to bed. I don't care what you do with him but I'm sure he'll appreciate a warm mattress over a sofa."

"That's very considerate of you," Yang says as she eases Jaune's arm over her shoulder. "Thanks."

Raven blushes, deeper than the alcohol might, as she marches back up the steps. "Don't get used to it," she says, not meaning it.

Jaune sleepily wakes up with a good shake. "Ugh, babe, could ya' not?"

"Pfft! Since when do you call me babe?"

"In my head, mostly. Giving you a pet name will actively worsen my experience. You've got enough ammunition to tease me with."

"I'll fish them out of you yet. Pick up your feet a little. I'm taking you to bed."

"Please, no," he says, pretending to resist. "I'm still tender…"

She rolls her eyes. Even in a drowsy state, he still finds time mess around. "Don't cooperate and I'll sling you over my shoulder."

He scoffs playfully. "As if a free ride is gonna stop me."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm really going to do it."

"Whoa, whoa! Hey, I'll do it…" He yawns. "See?" His shin hits the coffee table and he stumbles.

Yang grabs him and leads him by the arm.

Tai stirs when they pass him by. "Honey?"

"Go to bed, Dad."

"Good night, Mr. Xiao Long."

"Please," Tai grins, "call me Tai."

Jaune squints. "Yeah, I'm not doing that."

"You're not –" Yang starts. "Oh, hey, look at us. Still in sync!"

"I think there just isn't a universe where I call your dad Tai." His nose scrunches up. "Yup, even sounds weird saying it out loud."

-0-

Yang's room is as she remembers it. Only, for once, it's completely tidy. She always had a habit of leaving a little mess somewhere. Sometimes it was hidden, like in a drawer or a corner under her desk, but not this time. Her dad (or maybe Qrow) keeps it cleaner than she ever would have.

Even her strung-up photos along the ceiling are still there. Dates and names and faces she thought would be her whole world. Only now she has a new circle of friends.

"This feels like a room for a different person," she says to Jaune after she's laid him in her bed. Her comforter is freshly pressed and still warm. "Like I'm looking at old me through a lens."

Jaune's eyes are still closed but he reaches for her hand over the sheets and says, "Or maybe this is the version of you your dad remembers. How different are you now from back then?"

"Not a lot, I think. I mean, we're only over a year apart," she spies a photo of her and Ruby glistening in the moonlight. It's of her last day in Signal. It was Ruby's last day too, apparently. "Or maybe I just haven't noticed." She shoots him a look and he can feel her stare enough to crack an eye open. "Comparing me now to when we met. Was I different?"

He shuts his eyes again, but he finds her hand and tugs once. Yang willfully falls onto the mattress next to him. "Hm… well you used to have anger issues in the ring. Even Ms. Goodwitch is starting to notice how you've mellowed out."

"Heh, I guess I have you to thank for that."

He places a hand over her face. He's still not opening his eyes but his nose scrunches up again. "No you don't."

She moves his hand off her face. "Eh?"

"That's all you, Yang. You made that change. If I helped at all, our friends did just as much."

Her lip tilts. "I was trying to flirt."

"I know but… we can't about this. Part of me still worries we'll do that stupid couple thing and forget we have friends."

"Hey, we've been good so far, I think… Look, we can talk to them and figure things out."

"Yeah, compromises."

"Yeah!" She curls into his arm. "But not tonight, please… I've enough things to worry about right here."

"Right… Okay, big picture later." He kisses her forehead. "Now sleep. We've had a day…"

"Yeah, a day…"

She gets comfortable under the sheets and on his shoulder for exactly a minute before she remembers something. "Fuck…" she whispers as she pulls out.

"What is it?"

"Forgot the duffel. I'll go get it and be back in a minute."

"Leave it, Yang. Come back to bed."

"Not taking any chances without our scrolls. Ruby might call us." She's already at the door. "Just a minute, I swear."

She finds her dad slumped against the railing that overlooks the living room. Steam billows hazily off his skin and through his jacket, his semblance burning away the alcohol. The area smells thinly like Diadem but mostly of water vapor. Yang's nose twitches at the familiar scent.

He's blinking a lot, head shaking.

"Dad?"

He turns in a start. Breaths pass through him in labored chunks, chest heaving. His eyes are puffy. Fingers twitch and his eyes steal glances at her as he turns away. There's a want – need – to reach out but she can tell that he doesn't think he's worthy of it.

So, she crashes into his back and hugs him.

A palm runs down his face. "I'm so… so sorry, honey," he says.

He tucks his arms into his chest so she can hold all of him. His hands clutch over her encircled wrists. "Dad… Dad it's okay. You were in a rough spot…"

"That doesn't matter… I'm still your father. You needed a parent and you ended up having to be one for Ruby. I… I hate myself everyday thinking about how you didn't have anyone… I… I should have… I'm so sorry…"

She knows telling him that he didn't do anything wrong or that he didn't have any control over himself would only be excuses upon excuses, perhaps only a handful compared to the thousands he'd piled for himself over the years. He knew he did wrong, and none of her strength coming out the other end of it is going to change that.

So, instead, she shifts to his front and pulls up his head. She wraps her arms around his neck. "I don't care about any of that anymore… I already forgive you. I did a long, long time ago."

She feels his tears running down her neck. Then she realizes that some of them are hers.

-0-

Jaune winces. He's been up for over an hour now. Yang slipped into bed with him but she'd been shaking and sniffling. He could tell that she'd been crying but the tears had dried and she'd been fighting off all that was left of whatever it was in his arms. Now she's sleeping soundly while he's been trying to piece together what happened on his own whilst constructing a speech in case it's Raven's fault.

Finally, he settles with getting up and loosening his nerves before really doing anything. Yang groans from the missing warmth as he stumbles out, scroll in hand.

"No new messages…" he mutters. "I hope you're alright, Rubes."

Pushing the door open, he notices an orange glow coming from downstairs. Over the railing, there's nothing below but darkness and moonlight through the windows. Even then, dark shadows waft passed the moon, clawing darkness across the floor.

"Strong, windy clouds tonight… It didn't look like it was gonna rain earlier."

The smell of ash filters into the air. "Ick… Wait."

He's awake now as he stumbles down the steps. The shadows in the window are moving too rapidly for any passing cloud. That's smog, and it clears passed the window for a moment long enough to show the orange glow outside.

The forest is on fire.

"Shit!" he howls as he runs back up the steps. Thinking quickly, he sets his scroll to Seven Rapids and blasts the heavy chorus riff at max. Leaving it in the hall, he can already hear everyone else waking up, groans and thuds all.

He busts through Yang's door. She's rubbing her eyes awake. "Jaune, what –"

"Forest fire," he says quickly, pulling out their weapons from the duffel bag.

She shakes awake. "What?"

Ember Celica crashes into her hands when he tosses them at her.

"The forest is on fire!" he says, not even waiting for her as he busts through the door again and leaps over the railing.

He tucks and rolls along the carpet, nearly colliding with a lamp as he slams through the front door into the suffocating smoke.

Heat rolls through the air like he's sitting in a boiling pot. Even his aura flares at the licking flames that whip in the wind, coiling off the trees like infernal tendrils.

Jaune thinks back to the embers they tried to douse. "Did we do this?" He shakes his head. The thought is useless right now.

The fire burns over a host of trees like charred pillars to the darkened sky, but they're all centered ahead. Most the forest is untouched still. They can contain it if they hurry. They can't stop the fire, but they can stop it from growing.

So he speeds towards the outer rim of the roaring flame where the trees are unburnt and pours his semblance into his arms. One enhanced swing fells a tree, then another, and another, but he knows he can't keep it up. He can't cut these down so easily once he's out of juice.

Qrow blows passed him, slicing a tree himself, clad in only his pants and the greatsword in his hands. "I'm guessing you and Yang have the same plan?"

"Cut off its fuel?"

Tai runs by them as sand pours out of his skin in layers. He's using his semblance and earth dust in his palms to cover the dried leaves on the ground. "Fell those quick!" he shouts. "We don't have much time!"

On the other end of the fire, Yang and Raven are busting a row of trees. Yang's fists tighten with every strike, but even if she can split a tree in a single blow, her aura suffers from the blowback. It isn't any better with Raven whose forearms flare with every swing against the sturdy oaks.

"This isn't working!" Raven shouts.

Tai sprints passed them with the familiar glow of Jaune's semblance running over him like a white shell. A layer of sand up to their ankles forms underneath them, burying dry leaves and loose branches. They could really use Jaune's semblance too. Their arms are aching.

"There are people in these woods," Yang says. "We can't let this get any bigger. Vale's never gonna send any help here fast enough without someone getting hurt."

The fire spits pillars of ash and smoke their way by a rogue wind. They turn to shield their eyes. Yang blinks through the haze and sees something in the distant dark of the woods behind them. Glowing red eyes bob rapidly between the trees, charging towards them.

Yang growls. "Ugh, we do not have time for this!" The cylinders in her gauntlets click together as she loads in fresh shells. "Raven, you're clearing the wood better than I can. Keep at it while I cover you."

Raven's hand fall quickly on her shoulder. "No," she says sternly, "this is all pointless. We're destroying our bodies for a cause we've not the strength for."

"I don't care!" Yang hisses. "I'm still doing this. Whether or not you're behind me helping at all won't change that." And with that, she bolts into the dark and the twisting red eyes in the woods collide with her.

Flashes of her gauntlet colliding with grimm flesh light up the yawning dark. Blackened fur rimmed with pale external bone all scorch and smolder with her every blow, a comet to meet the streaks of vicious red eyes.

Raven backs away from the sight, seeing Summer Rose instead.

Jaune comes up behind her and Raven feels a rush of power coursing through her veins. Her pain vanishes. Her strength feels like it's multiplying. Trees fall with ease then, matching rhythm with her daughter as Jaune runs to her side to fell grimm together.

Raven sees Tai in Jaune's place too.

Minutes pass as the fire is choked on all sides but one. Raven sees Qrow and Tai on the other end, making progress. They're exhausted, heaving through labored lungs, and she can feel her own trying to crawl out of her throat.

She dares to glance back at Jaune and Yang. Something looms overhead of them: a single red eye in the canopy. There's no time to parse what it is. Raven's already sprinting over to them.

She cuts a portal mid-sprint and she leaps into it. Her momentum carries through and into the air as she rockets up from the other end of the portal that manifests at Yang's side. Omen surges with dust as she empties the canister in her sheath and swings into the red eye above.

Fire dust surges in a swath against a mass of stone and charred bark. It's a geist amalgamated into solid wall of wood and stone.

Raven swings again, ice dust crashing into it and pushing it up. Again and again and again. Wind, earth, lightning, gravity. The last one splashes a purple glow over the grimm as it slowly floats, all of its form ensconced in a gravity well that tugs it into the sky.

She swings but she's out of dust… And she's falling. Her skin rustles like pinpricks as she starts to shapeshift into a bird, but she stops when Yang zooms passed her. Jaune's semblance is folded over her, making her glow like an ascending meteor as she crashes dead center into the red eye.

With a thunderous crackle, she breaks through and the night sky gleams passed her. She whoops while she's up there against the moon.

Raven falls into Jaune's arms below. His semblance is already working its way to ease the ache but she pushes off of him. "Thank you," she manages behind a heave of her chest, "ha… but the boys aren't done yet. Help them with the fire. They'll need it more."

Jaune nods without hesitating and sprints off towards the remains of the flame.

Yang falls into a controlled descent as Ember Celica slows her momentum with a few blasts. Her arms aren't blasting evenly. They probably still hurt. She lands into a stumble and lets herself fall into a sitting up position. She's breathing a lot.

Raven sits beside her. Somewhere in the distance, the boys are cheering.

"We did it," Yang says.

"You sound surprised," Raven says.

"Cause just like you, I didn't think we could do it either."

Raven lifts a brow. "So why did you keep pushing?"

"To prove to us both that we were wrong."

And Raven laughs, hardy and true till she's tearing up in one eye for a moment. "You really are Summer's daughter," she says. Her smile is infectious.

Yang hides her smile in her knees, huddling them close to her chest. "I'm yours, too."

Raven's mouth thins sadly. "But you shouldn't be."

"I don't think you have a choice."

There's a blue shimmer through the treeline now. The boys are trying to finish this quicker by using ice dust to enclose the largest parts of the fire in pillars of ice. The pale light resembles frosted glass.

"We're pragmatists," Raven says.

"What?"

Raven tilts her head at her. "You asked what the Branwens are. That's it. Pragmatists." Not a curse this time. This is her honest answer.

Yang huddles closer as Raven's gaze turns faraway. She knows what's coming because Raven, in her disheveled shorts and worn shirt, her ragged hair and muddied skin, is vulnerable. Her artifice, the one of strength that championed her tribe, is gone.

"We like to pretend we have room for love," Raven continues. "That's never the case. Never true. My mother and father died at a burning beach while Qrow and I fled with the tribe. Nevermind that our eldest sister died with them, more brilliant than either of us will ever be. It didn't matter that she deserved a life brighter than either us could ever make it. A Branwen is hardwired to protect something bigger than they are. To us, that was always the tribe. The whole of it. Not its members, not its kin, nor the ones we dared to love. Just the tribe. The larger whole."

She sighs slowly, letting her breath catch in the now cold air. "Then Beacon came and Ozpin changed all that. Suddenly the tribe wasn't our greatest responsibility. Ozpin had drilled in us the want to protect the world of all things, and he gave us the means to do just that… I remember being excited to save lives. Plucking civilians from impossible odds and reveling in the praise. Summer and I even seemed like sisters for a while – we were so giddy. Like sisters…"

Yang unfurls when Raven tucks into herself. Yang's hand is warm on her shoulder. "The day Summer died was the day we realized we'd made her a Branwen. That she chose the world over us. Over her daughter." She glances at Qrow slumped against the ice wall. "Over her fiancé."

"It wasn't why I left, mind you. That was different. That was futility on my part. I couldn't save the world from something impossible, not with what Ozpin had us face. The tribe had to be my answer after that. Something I could save. Thought I'd find a little peace in scaling back. Scaling down. It felt like I was regressing but I wasn't like Summer. Didn't have the courage to face insurmountable odds like the compassionate fool she was…"

"Mom…"

"You… don't have to do that. You don't have to call me that. I know it doesn't mean anything."

Yang chuckles. "It means whatever I want it to. And right now, it means this." She squeezes her arm again. She knows it isn't forgiveness – not quite yet – but it's a step in that direction. More than she expects. More than she deserves.

"No room for doubt," Raven says. "You're Tai's alright."

"So, I've got some Rose and Xiao Long in me," Yang says proudly. "Doesn't mean there's any shame in having a part of me still be a Branwen."

Raven's lips thin. "Yang…"

"Hush," she says quickly. "Part of me still wants to save the world but I'm also in it for the thrills. I might not end up like Summer. I might not choose to martyr myself if I know I have people waiting for me. I can be selfish too. We all are. I think… I think there's value in being a part of all three."

"Four," Raven says. "That boy you've tied yourself to. You seem content when you're with him. Comfortable even. If he's involved, you're as much an Arc as you are a Branwen…"

"God…" Yang blushes. "You make sound like I'm married to him already."

"If it comes to that, you have our blessing."

"W-what!? Mom, isn't it a little soon for that?" Yang's shock fizzles at her mother's sad smile. "…Mom?"

Raven's gaze is on the house now. She's tearing up. "It's… it's funny," she says with some difficulty. Not through sobs but grit, almost anger. "I feel like I have everything I dreamed about having. I've got family again, a daughter that might love me, a loyal husband, an honest brother. I've even got a quiet home in the middle of the woods. It already has a rose garden and a dog. All its missing is the white picket fence." Her teeth grinds. Her head shakes in disbelief. "But I have to throw it all away…"

Yang's chest squeezes. "What… what do you mean?"

Raven won't look at her. "By Summer's end, that house will be empty. And it will stay that way until you decide to enter. To come back here." Raven's hand finds Yang's. "Because we – your father, uncle, and I – will be going back to Ozpin. We'll be gone for months doing work for him. And maybe we'll see each other again, but it won't be much and never for long enough."

Yang's skin grows cold and clammy. She doesn't like what she's seeing, the sheer finality in her mother's eyes. Resigned to some inevitability. So this is what it means to be a Branwen. Somehow, she understands but she has coasted along the unknown for long enough.

"What is Ozpin doing, Mom?" She asks. "He sent out Ruby earlier this week and –"

Raven jolts into standing. "What!? He has Ruby!?" Her eyes are white with fear. She doesn't wait for Yang to answer, sprinting back in the direction of the boys. "Qrow! Ozpin has Ruby!"

Yang follows, jogging behind her.

Qrow curses. "No, no, no!" Frantically, he fumbles for his scroll. "This can't be real…" His face is going red with panic.

Tai snatches his scroll from him. "Enough! The both of you!" He breathes. "Enough… If Ruby is with him, then she did so willingly."

"But she… she…!" Qrow stammers.

His hand goes to squeeze his shoulder. "I know…"

"I can't lose another Rose to him," Raven gasps. Her sword is already out, prepared to open another portal. Tai's hand takes her by the wrist.

"And we won't," he assures. "We'll cover every gap and protect her ourselves. Maybe even see her on the field."

Jaune joins Yang's side as the other three huddle together. "What's happening?" he asks her, squeezing her hand. "They mentioned Ruby and I'm more than a little worried right now, I'll be honest."

"I don't completely know either," she says. "But it's larger than we are… Than all of us."

Raven rips open a portal before hugging Tai. She nods to Qrow, and they step into it, leaving Tai behind. With a sigh, he ambles over to Jaune and Yang.

"We should talk."

-0-

Tai explains that they all had a job from Ozpin a long time ago. That there was a serial killer and a disgraced Atlesian scientist, and that those two unsavory sorts were only scratching the surface. It was saving-the-world type stuff, and along the way they lost Summer because of it.

It still isn't done. Those two are still at large and there's word of there being more in league with them. That's all he's allowed to say but Tai has – for the past few years – allowed himself to grow complacent since they went underground.

Not anymore. He, Raven, Qrow, and Weiss's sister, Winter, will spend everyday onward tracking them down.

He lets slip that there's whispers of missing huntsmen in Mistral. Yang mentions that Ozpin had Ruby go out to that kingdom to meet someone. Tai tries not to show how much that bothers him.

They won't be seeing each other much from then on, he says. They'll try to keep in touch but they'll be knee deep in places the CCT has no signal in. He doesn't look forward to it but it'd make Summer proud that they're out there doing what needs be done.

The next morning, Yang wakes up alone in bed.

She stumbles down the steps into an empty living room, but then she hears the clamber of porcelain plates in the kitchen. She runs in only to find Jaune at the sink.

Behind him, the dining table has five plates of a warm breakfast. Omelets, tiny sausages, and a minced venison smothered in soy sauce till it's a blackish brown. Three of the plates are half eaten. They were here but left in a rush.

She slides into her seat. The noise of the chair catches Jaune's attention. He drops a letter beside her. Both their names are scrawled onto the poorly folded note.

He sits beside her. "I didn't get to see them myself but I found this and a set of keys." She shows her the worn keys and drops them neatly by her plate. She recognizes them. They're for the house and they aren't spares. One of them even has the word "FRONT" roughly carved into it. It's filled in with golden stencil. She and Ruby did that, back when they were kids.

She opens the letter and reads it aloud. "Sorry. We'll try to be home by tonight. Don't wait. House is yours."

"Not very eloquent," Jaune says after swallowing, "but they were probably in a hurry."

"Eloquent?" Yang laughs. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"Weiss had a few choice words for my poor poetry back in first year. I told you I picked up a few things from her."

He's already finished the sausages on his plate. Yang remembers to eat.

"So, what now?" he asks her. "We house sit for a few days until Ruby shows up?"

Yang shakes her head. "No… that isn't what they mean by the house being ours. They don't actually know when they'll be back. School year might even end before they do."

"That's… a long time."

"It is, but in the meantime," – she wiggles the keys – "we actually own the house."

Jaune frowns. It's deep and it cuts just as well. "That sounds like a parting gift."

Swallowing an omelet, her head falls onto his shoulder. "It is."

Then the door busts open and they hear Qrow slurring in the next room. He's accompanied with another voice, Winter's, as she shoulders him into the kitchen. She's stringing together insults whilst blushing up a storm. They're quiet them when they find Jaune and Yang.

Qrow squints as if unsure of what he's seeing. "Ohhhh," he bellows before whipping his head back. "They're still here!"

"Ahem," Winter says. "Forgive my intrusion. Present company often ends our meetings this way."

"Which is weird," Jaune says, "cause Qrow can walk just fine when he's drunk."

"He can… what?" She shoots Qrow a glare and he gives her that stupid grin of his. He's not even close to sorry. She shoves him off her and blushes against her pale skin. "You're insufferable. Trying to get a rise out of me.."

He hobbles back a step but his grin seems carved into his cheeks. "Heh, nah. I just like being close to you."

Raven peeks into the room then with Tai close behind. Her hesitation lasts only a moment before she hurries in and Yang's already bolted out of her seat to hug her.

"You came back…" Yang says. Her hands reach out grab her dad so they can sandwich her mother between them.

Raven squeezes. "I'm as much a Rose and Xiao Long as you are. I figured the world could wait till we could all say goodbye. At least."

They pull away. Raven's age shows along the harsh circles around her eyes.

"So, this really is goodbye," Yang fathoms, weaving her digits into that of her parents'. "This… doesn't feel real. Everything's happening so quickly and I just got you back and… and…"

Tai pushes strands of her hair behind her ear. "Life's abrupt," he says. "Especially when you become a huntress. You'll often find that your whole world can change in a day. Adapting to that is a skill you have to learn."

Raven's eyes narrow. "But we're not worried. I was scared for you all my life but every time I looked back, you were already over another hurdle." She holds her daughter again. "And just like then, I'll miss you every day."

Yang's grip tightens around her. Like she's hanging off the edge, held on by a thread. She can feel it slipping, digging into her palm. She knows she has to let go but there's a part of her now that's made her an Arc. She's defiant. Foolishly, optimistically, defiant. And it's with that nonchalance that she peels away and suggests, "We're all home. We should have breakfast. Like a family."

Qrow's already sat down and Winter has already eaten most of his venison. Tai insists on sitting next to Jaune again, and Yang huddles the closest she's had in years next to her mother.

Ruby never makes it to Patch. All they get is a nerve-wracking call from her that's more apology than explanation. Qrow tells them she's in a good hands.

They don't tell him that that isn't the point.

-0-

It's halfway through their second year that Jaune and Yang step back into their dorm rooms. They'd come two days early since they didn't want to stay in an empty house and an empty apartment didn't feel much better.

Jaune finds Ren and Nora snuggling by a bean bag. (Nora's messing with his hair while he goes through a book on Vacuan flora). Pyrrha isn't home since she's with her family, but Sun is lying on her bed and he greets Jaune with the kind of enthusiasm he needed.

It takes him a while to realize that his smile is forced. "Sun, please tell me there's nothing wrong with you and Pyr."

"What? Oh, no! Everything's fine with us!"

"He's been fussing about something else," Nora chimes in as she twists knots in Ren's hair. "And he won't tell his big sister, Nora, so you know it's gotta be big."

"Uh, I'm a year older than you."

She squints. "Why is everyone older than me!? I know Ruby's sixteen but I'm starting to feel like a toddler here."

"Nora," Ren says, "I'm younger than you."

Nora wraps her arms around his head to squeeze him against her chest whilst clasping tightly over his mouth. "Shh, same age, honey."

Sun turns to Jaune. "What…?"

"Nora made them have the same birthday when they were kids. Flipped a coin on who got to keep theirs. Ren lost." Jaune decides not to mention that it was to simplify a holiday for two survivors in the woods. Less stress on their resources when they buy only one cake a year and have to share it. "But enough about them. What's got you all knackered?"

"Knackered? Who even says that anymore?"

"Ylda Braveheart. Now quit stalling! What's going on, man?"

There's a knock on the door. "Come in!" Ren says. He's already put his book down and is snuggling back into Nora. She and Jaune exchange a look. Something's up.

Yang and Blake walk in. Yang joins Jaune on the bed while Blake crouches by Ren and Nora who both drag her into the bean bag with a yelp. They laugh at her expense, and for a moment it seems like it's just a visit.

Then Weiss and Neptune walk in and stand there in front of them all, locking the door behind them.

There's a thickness in the air. Jaune and Yang are already holding each other for strength. Sun curls into his knees beside them but Jaune won't have that. He reaches over and grabs his shoulder. He shuffles a tiny bit closer in response.

Weiss shuts her eyes, squeezes Neptune's hand, and stands tall. Like a performance demands, she is rigid and neutral, but it's too much and her knees wobble. Neptune catches her and reaches for a nearby chair. He rubs her shoulders after he sits her down and she's starting to breathe evenly.

"Nice and quick," Neptune whispers to her, and it's audible in the relative silence.

Yang and Blake have been standing since she buckled, unsure if they should run over and hug her. She spots them and raises a hand. "Sit, please. This will be easier if I do this without having to cry on something…"

Neptune kisses her head. Her hand finds his massaging her shoulder, and her other balls into a fist. "I'm… leaving team RWBY."

PART 9 – Adaptation

Yang is afraid she's hurting Jaune when she hears the news and tenses up, her fingers closing tightly over his. Little parts of her feel pain, like her pulse is bulging in her veins and stretching out of her skin. Then she realizes that it's her body telling her to go and hold Weiss close. Stop her talking cause it's easy to see how much all of this is hurting her and she's still so painfully afraid that her friends are going to hate her.

Yang bites her lip and leans out. Her hand is suddenly cold. Jaune had let go of it. "Go," he whispers.

She's off the bed and crashes into Weiss just as she's inhaling. Neptune backs away just as Blake runs over to join them.

Weiss stops talking cause she can't at this point. Her arms reach around them both but her nails curl into their backs as her fingers twitch and anything she wants to say is lost in her sobs.

"It's okay," Yang says. "We know you have a good reason."

"We'll still love you," Blake adds. "Doesn't matter if you're here or not. We're still a team."

To Weiss, that all seemed enough to uncoil her fears and breathe relief.

-0-

"I have to be his daughter. His heir," Weiss explains when they're all gathered at the empty cafeteria. "I'll have to play his games and do everything I can to keep my integrity and still be me."

Her sister informed her around the time of the boat trip that her father was planning to discredit her and seat her brother as next-in-line. "I know it sounds almost foolish but my plan was always to juggle life as a huntress and as an heiress. To prove that I could follow in my sister's footsteps without needing to make any of her sacrifices." Her hand, the one not holding Neptune's, falls to Myrtenaster resting magnetically at her hip. "Winter gave me so much when she trained me. I wanted to prove to father that none of that was a waste of time. It worked for a while, too. Atlas was abuzz with news on my departure. That I'd taken the strength of the old Schnee vanguard and vowed to marry it with the capitalist empire. That we were still the staunch knights we always were and that our nobility hadn't tarnished that."

"Why can't you just stay?" Nora asks, eyes gleaming like the absent Ruby. "Why does your dad get to take even more from you?"

Weiss smiles placatively at her and wishes Ruby was here too. "Because I've learned a lot in my time here with all of you. I've learned that Remnant will always have enough amazing huntsmen – there's already so many at this table." She eyes them all but stops at Blake. "But I've also learned that there's a lot of good I could be doing. A different kind of good for my people in Atlas. Human and faunus."

Blake gasps. There's a sting in her chest. "I'm… so sorry."

"Don't be. All that time staying up together has given me perspective. The kind I feel is uniquely distinct to a Schnee. I need to use that. Maybe get my brother to see it the same way."

"Will you have help?" Yang asks, locking eyes. "I'm not willing to let you go alone."

Weiss leans into Neptune. "I won't be alone."

"We'll have to keep our relationship secret," Neptune explains, "but I'll be at every function, every gala, every fancy dinner. Dad's a shipping baron so we've already let rumor spread that I'm looking into partnering with the Schnees to get trade into Vacuo."

"In a few months' time we'll be married, too," Weiss adds, giggling in way that's resigned and heartbreaking. "It's hardly the way we wanted it to go but it's how it has to happen so father doesn't marry me off for a business venture. We'd do it today if I was already eighteen."

"Are you sure he won't reject you at the door?" Jaune asks.

"Not when I come in as bargaining chip. I'll flirt my way through a few prospective suitors and he'll see I'm still too useful to throw out." She snuggles into Neptune's side and he wraps an arm around her. "We've spent weeks planning. And though I'm sure things are going to go terribly wrong at some point…"

"…We'll adapt," Neptune finishes.

Even though there's hope here, the moment feels strained. A tension in the air is either like knots in the heart or the tightening of a noose. So Jaune and Yang put on brave faces and stand up.

"This isn't how we should be spending this day together, isn't it?" she asks with a grin.

"It's a going-away party," he says, "so we should have a party. Ren? Join us in the kitchen. Let's bake a cake."

Nora's already on Weiss and Blake. "C'mon! I know a buffet outside of town that sells their raws cheap. I'll even show you two how me and Renny grilled fish! I guarantee that you two princesses won't find anything like that at your fancy dinners."

Blake opens her mouth. "Actually, we–"

"Hush! Mommy's talking."

Neptune and Sun trade looks.

"Should we get the drinks?" Sun asks him. "I know a way into campus we can smuggle alcohol through."

"Actually, just pump me full of sugar. This might be the last time I get to have soda since I'll be spending the next few years getting used to wine."

"Ew!"

"I know!"

-0-

When the semester starts, Glynda Goodwitch announces that Ozpin won't be back for a month or so still, so she'll be acting headmistress.

The sister teams are all worried about Ruby but she sends them messages with a few photos that she's on a mission with Ozpin and what looks to be a farmhand. They don't expect to be back for a while and she isn't even allowed to update them but she slips them messages anyway. (She doesn't know how long she can keep up the ruse that she had a spare scroll from before Beacon).

Yang's nerves get the better of her until Jaune convinces Qrow to give them an update. Somehow the photo of Qrow, Raven, Tai, Winter, and Ruby together like the disjointed family they are is a monumental comfort. She makes it her wallpaper. Jaune promises that they'll all get a chance to get in that picture together at some point.

With Goodwitch so busy, it leaves combat class to Professor Port. It's a blessing in disguise since the extra class drains him enough to sleep through most of his own class. He gets worried for a while until everyone gets visibly excited for what is effectively a free period and some students actually get comfortable enough to sit with him on his desk and share real stories for a change. He isn't always telling them this time either.

The teams spend a lot of time on the roof where they're allowed to grill. Jaune, Nora, and Blake make a show of their techniques and Weiss, who is sitting on the sideline, lets the collective aroma of their sizzling platters soak into her skin.

They also take turns teaching Weiss and Neptune how to cook. It'll be useful when they get a place of their own. They hadn't considered an apartment yet, actually.

"Trust me," Yang says, "after what you two are gonna go through, you could use a getaway that's just yours." She shares a meaningful glance with Jaune who blushes, suddenly unable to keep eye contact.

They make that second boat trip with the same crusty boatman. Sun and Blake tie on the number of lobsters.

They spend a night in the apartment, cramped together and drinking till sunrise. (Pyrrha learned to mix drinks with her uncle over the break and Jaune hasn't puked so much in his entire life).

They joyride in Jaune's new Highway Aries and the boatman's Beluga van to the same cabin they went to with Saph and Terra. Joan can drive too, apparently, and they decide that seating her next to the excitable Nora is a recipe for turning the winding country roads into a roller coaster. (Jaune, Yang, Weiss, and Neptune end up trailing behind the van because of it.)

They rent out a thawed ice rink and have their own school dance. (Jaune spent the week teaching Neptune how to lose his second left foot).

And they skip class on Friday to spend their last day together. Ruby even manages to call Weiss and they find out that they might even meet in Atlas for a while. (Jaune and Yang are starting to suspect that Ozpin already knows about the scroll).

In the next morning, Weiss's bed is empty cause she had to go alone in a separate flight. Neptune has to arrive a day later on a separate trip. It's abrupt and even though they all knew it was going to happen, it still feels like it came out of nowhere. The space Weiss leaves behind is palpable.

She manages to send them all one final message with a photo. She's holding Blake's little triangular team flags she made for them during last year's Vytal Festival against the window of the bullhead.

"We'll always be a team."

-0-

Jaune cracks an eye open at the sound of clicking on screen . He's in the apartment, in his room, but his door is open halfway. Through the dark he can see Yang and Blake's faces lit against a scroll on the couch. Blake is sleeping on her shoulder.

They set her up with the guest room (Yang's long since migrated all her things into his anyway) and they must've gotten up at some point last night to chat.

He shuffles out of bed, scratching his bare chest and blinking away his drowsiness.

Yang can hear him. "Mornin'… Evening? Morning. It's one-AM."

He peels around the doorframe. "Shouldn't we be quiet?" he says in a hush.

"Nope," she says, not even looking up from her scroll. "Blake said she wanted to wake up to the sound of people so the room feels less empty."

Regardless, he sits on the softly beside her. "Is that why she stayed up so late?"

"She used to wake up early with Weiss. Sometimes she'd fall back asleep when Weiss got her early morning shower, but with her gone she's hoping to sync up with me instead."

"Maybe Ren's more her speed. He gets up early to get breakfast prepped for Nora the rest of the team if she didn't eat it all when we got there."

"Too bad they're not roommates."

"Yeah…"

Blake shuffles. Her ears twitch and there's a smile on her lips.

"She seems comfy," he says, laughing. He can't help but think they've adopted a stray though he won't say it aloud.

Yang's thinking the same thing but keeps her mouth shut too. "She met with Sun and Ilia for brunch yesterday. She came in when they were already talking about him losing Neptune. She felt like an outsider listening in."

"She didn't walk away, did she?"

"No, she sat with them and they talked. Even admitted to how she felt. They tried to make her feel comfortable and Sun had no trouble talking about it, but even they admitted that it feels like she's just a step out of her element. She's going with Pyrrha to meet with them again later tonight."

"I'm guessing she's not particularly enthused?"

Yang nods. Blake stirs but doesn't wake. "She thinks losing Weiss is upsetting everything else in her life. She usually doesn't feel that kind of doubt when talking to them. Pyrrha's doing her best to help on her end, too, but she might need some more outside help to get her out of this funk."

Her scroll buzzes. Jaune instantly recognizes the sender. "Ruby?" His voice is hopeful, almost desperate.

She ruffles his hair. "Don't worry about it. If you start losing your cool, then I will too."

He rolls his eyes with a smile. "Sorry, I just miss her."

"She wanted to talk to you but she's only got enough courage to message her big sister. She's still beating herself up for being gone so long. She's afraid you might hate her."

He fishes his scroll out of his pocket, squeezes his face next to Yang and Blake's, and takes a photo. "Morning…" he types, "…Crater …Face." A moment passes after he sends it.

Yang's scroll is then blasted with exclamation points before a video call starts. Their hearts soar when they hear her whine for the first time in weeks. "Yang…! I wasn't ready!"

It's dark wherever she is, huddled in a closet judging by the hangars swinging above her. Zwei is whining and scratching somewhere in the background.

"Sorry, Sis, but we're a package deal now!" Yang says.

"We miss you," Jaune says, the look of him is anything but teasing.

"I miss you guys, too…" she looks away, head half hunched in shadow. Her expression is unreadable.

There's a shuffling on her end of the call, she looks up, eyes wide, as some light pours into the closet she's in. "Ruby?" a hushed boy's voice says. "Is everything alright?"

Her eyes dart and she gets up in a panic. Jaune and Yang stay quiet as the closet is shut and the scroll spins in the dark for a moment before her face shows up again next to the same farmhand in her photo with Ozpin. "Keep this a secret. Please?" she asks him.

"I… sure. Lips sealed. What are you–?"

"Yang, Jaune," she says quickly. "This is Oscar. He's my, um, partner for the mission I'm on."

"I, oh, uh, hi," Oscar stammers. "I'm Oscar." He slaps his forehead. "Stupid. She already said that…" Ruby giggles.

"Aw, Jaune," Yang nudges him. "He's you, freshman year."

Jaune huffs. "I like to think I was as confident as I was awkward." He gets up. "I'm getting peckish. You want any coffee?"

"The orange juice, please."

"Weak!" Ruby teases through the screen. "Milk is the way to go. Keep up the store-bought pulp and I'll be taller in no time!"

"I prefer oranges freshly squeezed myself," Oscar adds before he shuts himself up. He seems afraid to add to the conversation.

"They are freshly squeezed though," Yang says. "Right, Jaune?"

"If two days ago counts as fresh, then yeah. Reminds me of home."

Yang sniffs the air. "Are you cooking tuna and eggs again?"

"What? Clove didn't have much fish and poultry. We had beef, pork, and way too many vegetables."

"It's one-A.M.!"

"And we're out of snacks. Now do you want some of this or am I gonna split it with Blake?"

Blake rolls her cheek up the backrest to look at Jaune. The smell probably woke her. "Mm… You'll have no objection from me."

"He was a farmer?" Yang hears Oscar ask Ruby. "I thought he was a huntsman."

"Huntsman-in-training," Ruby clarifies for him. "He grew up in a farm. I don't think that counts as a farmer but he used to herd cows. Even had this brief stint when he was ten where he'd run with the farm dog and bark at the cows to help wrangle the cattle."

"Pfft!" Yang and Blake snicker. "What?"

"What are you laughing at?" Jaune asks from the kitchenette, stood in the lowlight.

"Nothing!" Yang calls back. "Feeling better, Oscar?"

"Oh. You noticed?"

"It's okay. Meeting new people can be scary. Can't have been any easier with Ruby."

"Actually, she could barely look me in the eye." Ruby bumps him but can't deny it. Oscar stays smug. "Ha ha… Had to ease into meeting her. She caught me in the middle of work and she scared me so much that I almost fell off the hayloft with the way she squeaked her greeting. I thought a mouse got in the feed again."

"Oscar!" Ruby whines. "I'm putting you through the ringer for this."

He looks scared. "Uh… mercy?"

They spend the some of that morning together. Ruby builds confidence enough to promise to make another call if Oscar can keep covering for her. They also find out Ruby is training Oscar and Yang couldn't be more proud.

They're somewhere remote and secret so Ozpin isn't taking chances with the security breach but Ruby hopes that a closet is enough to be inconspicuous. She still can't tell them why she's there but she will when they arrive.

They. As in both of them. Oscar is coming to Beacon. It should be exciting, even just a little bit. It's not going to fill the gap Weiss left behind but it means less quiet. Plus, Penny is with them and she might come too. But Yang picks up the sadness in Ruby's eyes whenever Oscar asks about Beacon. There's something wrong.

When Oscar goes off to distract Ozpin and Jaune takes Blake to the convenience store, Yang asks, "Sis, what's going on that you're not telling me?"

Ruby chews her lip. "I can't say," she says for the umpteenth time, but Yang can feel the weight of it now that it's coming out of her mouth and not through text on a screen. Somehow, that makes it harder to let it go.

"I'm scared for you," Yang admits, "I'm worried that something else irreversible is coming and…" No, she tells herself. She can't put this on Ruby. "It's okay. I trust you. I'm worried but I trust you and before you say anything, nothing you say will break that trust."

Ruby curls closer to the scroll, like she wants to hug her. "Thank you…" she whispers.

"Just come home safe…"

"I love you, Yang."

"I love you, too, Sis."

-0-

The dorm room doesn't have the comforts it used to. Yang almost feels ashamed for leaving it behind half the time but Blake tells her that it isn't something she should worry about. She always made time, even if her memories seem like a blur of blonde hair and blue eyes. It doesn't mean she valued her time with them any less.

No one can blame her for falling in love.

Still, with Blake snoozing under some double-wide bedding across the room, Yang feels alone in the room.

She sits up and she hears a startle somewhere. She realizes the silhouette she thought was Blake has been just a mess of pillows. (Blake pulled her and Weiss's beds together to get comfortable. Didn't work. All she's got now is more room to feel cold in. They still miss her).

Another hushed sound reaches her. She gets up and walks around but she stops when she spots Blake sitting on the floor against the wall. Her ears are twitching.

"What's happening?" Yang asks.

"I can hear Goodwitch in the JNPR dorm."

Yang shuffles closer. She can hear the faint tap of the headmistress's heels but nothing more. "What is she saying? Are they in trouble?"

"I thought so at first, but no. It's something about a transfer."

"A transfer? Like a student?"

"I don't know. I'll keep listening."

Yang wants to go back to bed and grab her scroll. Jaune could answer her if she asked. She bites her lip.

"There's someone else," Blake says. Yang's limbs stiffen again. "She sounds familiar but I could be wrong. She's talking about… Moving furniture?" She peels off the wall. "Maybe I shouldn't be listening in."

Yang realizes that she's probably working herself up over nothing too. "Maybe, but it got you out of bed at least." She laughs. "I've been worrying myself ragged about this team, but unlike the other two, you're actually here." Arms wrap around Blake's thinner shoulders. "I hope you aren't blaming yourself for all of this."

"I am but I know it's stupid," she admits. "Weiss having an epiphany was bound to happen anyway. And her father would have forced her to leave whether we turned out to be friends or not. But there's always that little side of me scraping at the back of my head. I'm so painfully aware that it's there that I could almost reach out and strangle it."

"Pfft! You sound like Weiss."

"Heh, well we'd spent over a year together. Some things were bound to rub off on each of us. In fact," she looks at Yang meaningfully, "you didn't explode once during that whole talk about Weiss's dad. Jaune have anything to do with that? You've been minding your temper."

She rubs the back of her head. "No, not entirely. I mean, we've helped each other along but we can't give each other all the credit. I've mellowed out cause we lost at Vytal and I crashed at a bar. Cause I came home a mess and you girls set me straight. I won't say that solved it completely. I think I gave myself enough time to ease out of my anger issues over the summer and finding Jaune and ending up in his apartment gave me places to feel normal and happy for a change." She's blushing now, can't help the heat rolling tight circles in her cheeks. "Did I ever tell you about that? No… I don't think I've told anyone. Being in that apartment let me glimpse a life of being a civilian. Not a huntress-to-be, just a girl living in the city she swears she'll die in. It felt simpler, domestic. And I kind of liked that. I kind of really, really liked that."

"I envy that," Blake says with a knowing smile lying sideways on her knees. "Not the civie life but the happiness. I'm glad you found someone. Honestly, it's kind of crazy you two aren't completely official yet."

"I, uh, I think we are? I mean, it's not like we've talked about it again since all this craziness happened but we've said the three-word thing, named our kids, we own a house together and –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What? Rewind there for a second."

"To which part?"

"I don't know, all of it?"

Yang shrugs and that is equal parts everything so like her and everything that's frustrating. "I don't know. They all just kind of… happened?"

"How do you just happen to own a house now?"

"A couple birds left it on my dining table and flew out the open door."

Blake squints. "I… I can't tell if you're joking."

Yang grins.

Blake's ear twitches to the faint sound of a door closing. "JNPR…" she mouths as she hears it. "…moving out?"

-0-

Blake thinks she heard it wrong. Yang tries to tell herself they could be misunderstanding something but when they meet with JNPR, they don't mention a thing. Jaune and Pyrrha are all smiles, whilst Ren is keeping Nora from any more antics. Nothing's changed.

It eats up at Yang more than she's willing to admit but Blake doesn't need to be told in order to notice her best friend writhing inside of herself.

On occasion she can see Jaune stealing glances at Yang. He's noticed that something's off too. Sure, Yang is keeping it close to her chest, but she isn't loose in the way she usually is. And even though her being a little more guarded might make sense given recent events, Jaune's been with her long enough to notice that she's been easing back into her old self. The regression should be obvious.

Blake nudges him at the end of Port's class. "Talk to her," she says.

He nods, a determined look to him. "I was gonna wait till she was ready. I guess I have to act this time."

Blake smiles. "Just like you, she'll need a nudge sometimes."

Jaune jogs over to Yang as she rolls her eyes at something Nora says. She should be laughing instead. His eyes narrow.

"Yang."

"Oh! Hey, sorry, I thought you were with Blake and Pyrrha. Did you need something?"

His hand clasp over hers and people around them pull away and snicker. He takes her hand and pulls her to the wall and out of the way. "Don't think I haven't noticed you worrying about something. What's wrong?"

Normally she'd come out and say it. Even before they got this close. Before they were together. She isn't the kind of girl that lets these things lie. But she's lost so much in the past few weeks and she's feeling more and more vulnerable. More and more fatigued.

And this? What she's worried about? Hushed whispers in the night that might ultimately mean nothing? Half of her thinks it's fears she's digging up for herself to pile on the already rich avalanche of things she has to deal with. Another hates herself for doubting him, and that she's ashamed to reveal she doubted him at all.

But they were supposed to be able to talk about anything, right?

Her mouth opens.

She remembers her mother. She'd looked so stoic when she said goodbye, daring not to fall apart and swallowing her fears. With a sigh, she lets it go.

"It's nothing," she says with an easy sigh. "I'll tell you about it later if you're so curious but I'd like to stop worrying about nothing and focus on the things that actually need my attention."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Now I'm hungry."

"We still have class."

She takes his hand. "I don't care. Your girlfriend needs a pick-me-up."

-0-

Yang walks back into the dorm with a spring in her step. "Evenin'," she greets Blake who's lounging on the bed.

"Had a good night, I see? He not kissing you goodbye at the door?"

"We parted ways earlier. Said he had an errand to run."

Blake stares at her with a smile. Yang returns it before going back to her scroll. Blake's nose scrunches in confusion. "Well?" Blake asks.

"Huh?"

"What did he tell you?"

Yang winks. "Sweet nothings if that's what you're asking."

Blake's face goes through a series of emotion. "Yeah. Good. Great. Perfect." She sits up as her ears sharpen. "But what about last night? With the whispering and all that?"

"Oh! I, uh, I didn't ask about it."

Blake slips out of bed. "Okay, I've had it. Waited all this time to find out so let's just go over there and ask."

"Right. Sure." Yang picks up after her and doesn't bother to put her school shoes back on.

Blake stops just as she exits the door. Across from them is the JNPR dorm and the door is ajar. She twists back to Yang. "Was that open when you passed it by?"

"I didn't notice."

They approach the door and feel a draft coming through. The door swings to the side as they enter and the thud against the wall is the only sound.

The JNPR dorm is empty. Even the blinds have been stripped away and one of the windows is cracked open.

A hole opens in Yang's stomach. Confusion, mostly. Anger, even if she can't place it. She doesn't know what's happening.

Blake's hands are sweating too when they reach for hers. "Your scroll is buzzing," she says and they run back to their room.

Yang has a message from Jaune.

'are you decent?' it reads.

'uh…. Yeah?' she replies after a cursory glance at her uniform.

'perfect'

Yang stares at the word. His scroll didn't even get to auto-punctuate it. She's already typing another message. Where are you right now? I was at your dorm and it's empty – She stops typing when they hear a grunt and a thud.

Blake's ears perk up. "Nora?"

Something breaks, like snapping wood, then Yang can hear it too.

"Hah!" Nora shouts. The thud after shakes something in their room. "Hah!" Another shudder, louder and resonant. "Hng…!" They can feel the way she's inhaling. "Hah!" Then their wall shakes.

"Hah!" Then a chunk of the wall pops out and swings aside like a portal door. They can see Nora behind the hole. She's in the next dorm room. They transferred next door instead of across the hall.

Nora peeks in with a wide grin, the light behind her shining over her features like a beacon. She pulls away and her hammer carves down into the hole till its roughly the shape of her silhouette. She kicks away the loose boards and cement around her and stomps into the room.

"Evenin' roomies!" she announces with gusto and caked in dust.

Jaune slips passed her in shorts and a worn shirt, pillow under his arm and eyes half awake. He walks up to Yang and takes her hand. "Sleepy?" he asks.

She realizes she's exhausted. Relief lets her body feel its fatigue. "Yeah…"

He pulls her to bed and they fall in together. She's confused but doesn't focus on it.

"What is happening?" Blake asks Ren as he comes in with Pyrrha in tow. (Who has already apologized but her smile doesn't slip away even once).

"Jaune said that it was starting to get a little quiet here in your dorm," Ren explains. "So, we hatched an idea to trade rooms with your neighbor's. Team ASHE took a room on a different floor instead of taking ours."

"Miss Goodwitch was very accommodating," Pyrrha says. "Went so far as to levitate most of our things from one room to another."

"She almost said no," Jaune says with a yawn, "but when I explained why we were doing it, she just sighed and drew up the permit."

"You need a permit to switch dorms?" Blake asked. "Wait, there's a permit for that?"

Nora hoists the hammer back onto her shoulder. "Permit's not for the dorm. It's for breaking down the wall."

Blake can't help but a feel a tingle under her skin, and it rolls into heat when Pyrrha and Ren squeeze her between them.

The night draws down and they got rid of the bits of dust and talk about how they're supposed to tear the down the wall. They'll put up two beams they'll have to pay for themselves but the rest of the wall can go away and there will be nothing between the two rooms in a few days.

And when they're all cleaned up (and splitting two bathrooms between six people), they push the four RWBY beds together so they can crawl under the collective sheets. In the middle, Yang sees Blake shiver happily between Ren and Nora, calmer than she has been in weeks.

Nestled against the curve of Jaune's neck, she nudges him. "Thank you for this," she whispers.

"It wasn't all me," he murmurs.

She flicks his forehead. "You're allowed to take credit for the idea, at least. Besides, I feel like I should reward you somehow."

"Fine," he grumbles but his smile doesn't sell it. "As for the reward, I'd ask about the rent but I think we should stay out and keep the bill thin this month. I don't think I can meet the payment this time if it gets any bigger with electric and water."

Yang chuckles. "Hey, you asked for the heavy down payment so you could sidestep the interest. That car is a money sink and you should've seen this one coming." He whines and she kisses his nose, making him whine some more. "Still, I'll still have to find a way to thank you."

"Missionary always works for Sun," Pyrrha chimes in from behind her.

Jaune and Yang's eyes go wide.

"What?" Pyrrha asks as they stare at her. "Too vanilla?"

Yang squeezes a pillow to her own face. "Pyrrha!"

"What? Oh! Sorry. I hadn't realized that you… It's just that Sun's been gentlemanly and I tried to get him to talk dirty to spice things up so I ended up having to do it myself and –"

"Uh, Pyr?" Jaune stops her. "That's not it. We, uh, we haven't done it yet."

She tilts her head. "Missionary?"

"Sex," Yang whimpers.

Nora shoots up. "What!?"

Yang shrinks even further. "Are you all awake!?"

Ren turns an open eye behind him and Blake peers sheepishly over the length of his arm. No one looks sorry.

"Ugh…" she groans. "Is it too late to call this a bad idea?"

Pyrrha pulls her away from Jaune and into the collective cuddle of everyone else. "Not on your life, Xiao Long."

She mouths a "help me" to Jaune.

He reaches under his pillow, pulls out his scroll into its camera, and mouths a coy "No," before the shutter snaps.

The photo goes up with the rest of the stringed ones Ruby set up earlier that year. Eventually, they flood it with more memories till the ceiling is lined with their found family gleaming from wall to wall to wall.

#jaune x yang #yang x jaune #Jaune Arc #yang xiao long #rwby dragonslayer

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fandomsofafeather · 5 years ago

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Save Me From The Dark

Supernatural reversal!au

Angelic!dean

Human!cas

CHAPTER 1: DEATH'S DOOR

Introduction:

It's been months...

I can't take this life anymore...

I've given too much...

I'm sorry...

Castiel Novak the righteous man is the one to be the true sword. A vessel of sorts and he doesn't know it yet but he's in for an eye opening experience. His brother is the rebel of the two not always following familial orders from their father, and Balthazar is a loose cannon in certain situations.

Per usual they are traveling the states far and wide to a job and just waiting for something to strike. Feeling the sense of hunger kicking in for both

of the brothers they stop at a tiny restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Balthazar, "I'll grab food just keep the car warm". Cas nods slightly to balthazar hardly paying attention and listening to the hum of the radio. It takes a minute for castiel to realize his brother has completely disappeared. He gets out of the car and frantically goes into the restaurant to find defiled and dead employee's.

Cas, “son of a b-” BALTHAZAR!! WHERE ARE YOU!? He pulls his gun out as a precaution. He searches the place inside and out but his brother is long gone. He gets back into the car and drives immediately to Raphael's place.

He shows up in distress and Raphael is reading up on some lore as cas busts in like a bat out of the belfry tower.

Raph! I need your help, Balthazar is missing and there was sulfur so I'm thinking demons took him. Calmly Raphael replies, "what do you need Castiel? What do you mean demons took your brother? What could he possibly be needed for?" Cas, "I need a tracking spell maybe I can find him that way." Alright, I'll see what I can find and Castiel we will find him I promise you.

Balthazar wakes up in an abandoned town, now very acutely aware of the situation and is on high alert. Hello!? Is anyone out there!? No response for now but he reaches for his gun and it's gone. Damn, he says and marches out in search of someone, anyone. It takes a while but finally a noise is heard.

Balthazar, "HEY! WHO'S THERE? A timid and scared voice answers. They sound hurt as well, hello..? I need help, I'm hurt pretty badly... Balthazar now calmly goes into the building to find a short, light brown hair, pale from blood loss. M-my name is Nazeren I've been trapped here for months.

My name is Balthazar now softer in tone, hey tell me what hurts I can maybe patch you up just enough. I've lost a lot of blood, I think it's my leg and it's a pretty deep cut. I'll need stitches. Balthazar quickly works on the injury gathering enough material to make a tourniquet to stop the blood and maybe save this girl's life. Nazarene, "Wow I-I didn't know I'd be getting a doctor's worth of treatment." Balthazar, "I'm no doctor kid I just know how to make things work."

Castiel and Raphael finally figured out a tracking spell and were able to locate within a thousand miles. They notice a pattern of old churches and railways. Castiel, "a devils trap seriously? What are they trying to keep in?"

He thinks to himself quiet, and then it hits him. They are trying to keep in the gates of hell these churches were built way back when holy! Samuel Winchester was the most famous hunter of his time and he was so good at what he did he was able to retire out of life along with trading off his most prized possession...the colt it was the master piece of equipment. It's bullets would kill anything and everything.

Raphael takes a deep breath, "We've still got over a thousand miles of ground to cover." Cas, "we'll split up, I'll start at the center you take the outer portion and we will meet in the middle." Raphael, "What happens if we get cut off from each other or worse?" We need to prepare ourselves this is bigger than the three of us". Hell if your father knew you were going after demons he'd be pissed. Castiel, "your point? They have my brother!" I have to do this and I don't care if it kills us both at least we went down swinging!

Raphael sighs knowing there won't be a way to calm Castiel until his brother is found and he gathers up as much holy water and even makes a recorded exorcism on his phone just in case. Balthazar now carrying the woman to a more secure place in the abandoned town he notices an old church off in the distance and the cemetery to boot. "What are you looking for?" Nazarene asks.

"I'm looking for iron, maybe a safe space so I can maybe find some thread may not be the freshest thing in the world but at least your leg will be stitched up, and maybe we can get outta here, just bare with me for the moment kid," he says just barely listening as he heads over to the church and while noting the cemetery and spots a huge crypt in the middle and a devils trap on the door.

"Oh no", now realizing what that crypt is and why he's here with Nazarene "Kid we are screwed". Nazarene, "well obviously" she smiles and now out of Balthazar's arms. She's standing like nothing's wrong. Nazeren, "did you really think that I was here for the good of my health" she says as she pulls out a gun. It looks old 1800's almost and it doesn't help that it looks like the key to that crypt either. Balthazar, "Damn it and I thought it was going to be just fine, I'll help the girl and maybe get out of here but nope." Nazarene cocks the gun and points it at Balthazar.

"Well pretty boy let's get this gate open and let some demons out to play!" she sneers. She quickly runs to the crypt's door and sticks the gun in and Balthazar is hot on her heels and tackles her to the ground. Clanking and whirring can be heard from the door. "Hell on earth!" Nazarene smiles sinisterly. Balthazar rushes to get the gun. Finally, showing up to the party Castiel and Raphael just in time to see the gates to hell open.

Castiel, "WE GOTTA GET THIS CLOSED NOW!!" the wind howling as hundreds of demons escape. All three of them rush to shut the doors. They manage to shut them, Castiel pulls the colt from the door and notices it's cocked, he shoots Nazeren and they take off with the colt.

Balthazar, "Nice timing brother but how the hell are we going to clean up this mess?" Castiel replies, "I don't know I just know we need to get outta here, ya got that?" Raphael, "I'm glad your ok Balthazar and Castiel we are going to be in so much trouble." They get back and there waiting is Castiel and Balthazar's father Chuck.

"Where have you three been?" He asks calmly. Uh nowhere, I was working a job, and I was picking up supplies. Hoping that would satisfy their father and ease him into accepting that but he doesn't. Chuck, "liars" as his eyes flick yellow and a smirk is wide on his face. Castiel quickly cocks the gun again and aims it at their father. Balthazar speaks up in a stern and cold tone "what do you want?"

Chuck, "all I want is for our leader to play his part ya know and do something great! Ya know it's funny to me when I found out about you two, the boring brothers who will risk it all for each other." Well I'm not gonna stand around and wait for something to happen I'm gonna take matters into my own hands. Suddenly a swift and loud crack is heard by balthazar and castiel. It sounds like bones being broken and immediately Raphael drops to the floor and so does Balthazar. Castiel, "NO!" he says as it falls on deaf ears and then the demon leaves as chuck drops to the floor as well.

Castiel waits a few months and then finally makes the call to go to the crossroads. Broken and beaten cas waits for a demon to come and finally one shows. "Who dare summon me and for what reason?" The demon is stuck in a devils trap. "Aww look what the cat dragged in," the demon almost mocking Castiel. "I wanna make a deal," he says, desperate and tired. Really a hunter making a deal that's just pathetic but fine I'll bring' em back but you screw with the deal they drop. Also you get six months that's it and you go to hell. Hope what your after is worth all this.

Castiel, "deal."

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #misha collins #castiel #destiel #supernatural #reversal

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dustedmagazine · 5 years ago

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Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 1: Activity to Jeff Parker

Irreversible Entanglements

Six years ago, newly moved to Tumblr, we looked for a fresh take on the mid-year best-of list idea, partly to be contrary, partly because some of us had no interest in writing about the same records over and over again. After some discussion — well, a lot of discussion — we decided to turn our mid-year feature into a sort of secret Santa exchange. We’d each nominate two records and each review two records, but, here’s the kicker, they wouldn’t be the same records. We’d trade with our fellow writers, and if it meant that we had to listen to music way out of our comfort zone, so be it.

Since then we’ve had smooth exchanges and rough ones – last year’s was especially testy, but what can you do with such an opinionated bunch—but it’s become a favorite annual event. This year was no different, except that no one was truly revolted by their assignments.

Unlike some years, there was no clear dominant pick, though Six Organs, James Elkington, Makaya McCraven/Gil Scott-Heron, Cable Ties and Irreversible Entanglements all got multiple votes.

We’ll split our individual album write-ups into two posts. Today’s covers records by artists from Activity to Jeff Parker. We’ll get to the rest of the alphabet tomorrow. On the third and final day, we’ll post writers’ lists. Participants included Tobias Carroll, Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Arthur Krumins, Patrick Masterson, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw and Derek Taylor.

Activity — Unmask Whoever

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Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes, Tim said, “This music strains at the leash, held tightly in check by the motorik rhythms, while gaseous synths seek to permeate all corners of the soundscape.”

Ray Garraty’s take:

You wouldn’t know that it is a debut album, but then it’s a super band, so that doesn’t count. Vocalist Travis Johnson’s delivery reminds you a symbolist poet reciting some lines from his notebook, neither singing nor reading. Despite referring to violence in song titles and lyrics, this music is as far from violent as it can be. It’s too self-conscious to even carry symbolic violence but when on ‘Earth Angel’ the vocalist with the hook “I wanna fuck around” almost breaks into a scream, it turns into a whisper instead. It’s these small details that unmask the outfit’s postmodern disguise and show that Activity is the real deal, not a half-baked pastiche.

Decoy with Joe McPhee — AC/DC (OtoRoku)

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Who picked it? Derek Taylor.

Did we review it? Yes, Derek said, “Decoy is a working group and a heady amalgam that recalls a dream fusion of Atlantis-era Sun Ra, Keith Jarrett’s marathon electric stand with Miles at the Cellar Door, and Larry Young circa his Blue Note moonshot Contrasts, while still relentlessly retaining its own flight plan.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Wow. “A/C” is impressive enough with its wild unfurlings of trumpet and sax, its woozy meditations in bowed and plucked stand-up bass, its incendiary organ bursts, all rooted in jazz, but touching on the hot, experimental outposts of rock and soul and R&B, too. But the second side, “D/C,” is even more exciting, as the tumult of sounds gets more fevered and McPhee breaks out in song. Who can blame him? You want to join in. It’s a mind-bending swirl that boils up and over the edges, heady, excessive and exhilarating. So glad I got to hear this, Derek, and it reinforces the benefits of trading favorites, i.e. finding music that is way out of your normal circuit but, even so, exactly what you need.

Sandy Ewen — You Win (Gilgongo)

You Win by Sandy Ewen

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Andrew Forell’s take:

Experimental guitarist Sandy Ewen appears as much concerned with space as sound. On You Win, she treats her instrument as pure object to explore the minutiae of its potential. Patterns emerge like communications from distant galaxies or the gradual shift and warp of old buildings. The 5 tracks scrape and rumble as occasionally identifiable guitar sounds — feedback hum, plucked strings — flicker from the mix. Best heard through headphones, You Win demands concentration lest one misses the nuanced denaturing and subversion of Ewen’s work, which is as fascinating as it is challenging.

Fake Laugh — Dining Alone (State 51 Conspiracy)

Fake Laugh · Ever Imagine

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes Tim said, “These sharp, funny, warm-hearted songs are immediately endearing, yet shot through with bracingly sour ingredients.”

Andrew Forell’s take:

Dining Alone, Kamran Khan’s latest album as Fake Laugh, is a collection of pastel Day-Glo bedroom pop songs that breeze by leaving barely a hair ruffled in their wake. Khan has an ear for a melody, a wistfully pleasant voice and a talent for arrangement that make this album an enjoyable listen but there is a nagging feeling that he is holding something back. Tracks like the finely wrought “A Memory” and Supertramp update “The Empty Party” stand out but Dining Alone feels like an intermediate step on which Khan tries out ideas and seeks a way forward although there is enough here to be optimistic about what might come next.

Field Works — Ultrasonic (Temporary Residence)

Ultrasonic by Field Works

Who picked it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? Yes, in a May Dust, Tim Clarke wrote that “Stuart Hyatt’s latest compilation in the Field Works series is an absolute beauty — and timely given it’s being released during a pandemic whose origins may be linked to bats.”

Derek Taylor’s take:

Most of the listening that I do in the service of reviewing music revolves around discerning who’s, what’s and how’s. Those sorts of taxonomic identifications feel superfluous, not to mention futile when navigating the music on Ultrasonic. Sources I mistook as aquatic (“Dusk Tempi,” “Echo Affinity,” “Music for a Room with Vaulted Ceiling,” and “Indiana Blindfold”) are subterranean, specifically the echolocation emissions of bats. Harp and piano sounds dapple “Silver Secrets” and “Sodalis” as instrumental signposts, but they’re outliers in a program that feels largely electronic and beyond the scope of scrupulous inventory.

The closest, if admittedly antiquated, genre descriptors I have for these ecology-minded creations are ambient and new age. A seraphic, celestial quality suffuses most of them with sweeping washes of tonal color layering over more definable rhythms and progressions. The combination curiously reminds me of a distant temporal relic that served as childhood gateway to this sort of territory, my father’s vinyl edition of Ray Lynch’s Deep Breakfast. It’s another feeble attempt at a compass point and evidence of how difficult it can be to escape the ingrained habits that influence personal musical consumption.

The Giving Shapes — Earth Leaps Up (Elsewhere)

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Who recommended it? Arthur Krumins

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur said, “You feel like you’re being carried into a dream, familiar yet strange.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

There’s just something nice about a record where, a few minutes after putting it on, your partner suddenly remarks “you know, this is very calming”. It’s not that the work of Robyn Jacob (voice, piano) and Elisa Thorn (voice, harp) is soporific or somehow uninvolving, more that there’s a somehow centered kind of deliberateness with which they approach these songs that feels oddly reassuring. The way their voices often echo lines (or slightly altered lines) back at one another can feel vaguely Stereolab-ish, but rather than the coolly pulsing, layered grooves (and transient noise bursts) of that outfit, the simplicity of the arrangements here feels direct and clean and often comforting. But it’s the type of comfort that lets you see the difficulty you’re trying to tackle head-on, not the comfort that swaddles you away from having to deal with the world. It’s more bracing than lulling, in other words, and frequently beautiful at that.

Irreversible Entanglements — Who Sent You? (Don Giovanni/International Anthem)

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Who recommended it? Andrew Forell.

Did we review it? Yes. Andrew Forell wrote, “Who Sent You? is an extraordinary statement lyrically and musically.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

I’m inclined to agree with Andrew Forell. When I first encountered the vocal-focused free jazz of Irreversible Entanglements in 2018, I was more taken by the band’s focused exchanges of energy onstage than I was by their self-titled debut LP as a listening experience. But its successor steps up their already powerful game by easing up just a bit. They’ve let more air and variety into the surging rhythms and interweaving horn lines, opening up space for vocalist Camae Ayewa’s words to land with even more impact and staying power. Ayewa, who also records as Moor Mother, is more of a poetic declaimer than a singer or rapper, and her expressions of cultural memory and existential survival in the face of remorseless racism and economic terrorism boom over the music’s ebb and flow with inspiring authority. While her words are always applicable, this record sounds like it was made to be heard in a time of plague and revolt; when people ask in years to come what record sounds like the middle of 2020 felt, a lot of people will hold up Who Sent You?

The Jacka — Murder Weapon (The Artist / EMPIRE)

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Who recommended it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? Yes. Ray Garraty said, “this album confirms Jacka’s status among the greatest fallen soldiers of hip hop.”

Tim Clarke’s take:

Despite being a posthumous release whose title refers to the artist’s tragic death by shooting back in 2015, Murder Weapon by Bay Area rapper The Jacka is a surprisingly cohesive listening experience, largely thanks to the lush palette of old-school samples employed on many of these tracks. From the aching strings on early highlight “Walk Away” via the swinging funk of “Can’t Go Home” to the children’s choir on “We Outside,” there’s a warmth and humanity to this sad story that honors the artist’s memory.

Ka — Descendants of Cain (Iron Works)

youtube

Who picked it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? Yes, Ray said, “Descendants of Cain, Ka’s seventh album combines the epic bleakness of the Old Testament with Brownsville’s hopelessness.”

Tobias Carroll’s take:

Shamefully, this is my first exposure to the music of MC and producer Ka; it’s his sixth album overall, and I’ve got some catching up to do. For an album with a title and cover art that could just as easily fit on a doom metal album, what surprised me was how focused this all was. The album flows beautifully, with music that fits somewhere between sinuous soul and the art-damaged Americana heard on, say, Matmos’s The West — with a handful of cinematic samples topping it off. It’s a perfect match for Ka’s voice, which manages to be textured and beatifically smooth all at once. Some albums paint a picture for the listener; this one is wholly immersive.

Matt LaJoie — Everlasting Spring

Everlasting Spring by Matt LaJoie

Who picked it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No

Ray Garraty’s take:

Matt LaJoie’s technical verbosity is on the spot here, as all the man-made sounds can be mistaken for something Nature produced out of its vast resources. Everlasting Spring is like a small water spring which flows and flows but can’t eventually flow into a river, being forever condemned to be just this spring. Everlasting Spring lasts almost for an hour (if we count a bonus track), and it’s six minutes for every string LaJoie’s guitar has. Not many men can admire nature for that long. The whole album has that New Age-ish feel, when you can start listening to it from any track, and nothing will change in your views on it.

Maybe it does give a good mimesis of what spring sounds like but we still need a change of weather from time to time.

Mamaleek — Come & See (The Flenser)

Come and See by Mamaleek

Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan said, “Their dominant textures are still harsh and confrontational, vocals are still howled and shouted. But there are riffs. There are melodic structures.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

As black metal, Mamaleek would hold their own, but there's a persistent work to stretch boundaries here. Come & See keeps a core mix of sludge and anger, but the group's inventiveness keeps the album consistently surprising. The group finds brighter tones than anticipated, even while moving away from metal more toward alt-rock at times, and post-rock at others, and generally finding expressions that require a hyphen. An occasional breakdown touches on jazz or finds its roots in rock 'n' roll. “Cabrini-Green” functions like a suite — track the movements and break the track into its separate pieces — even as it avoids a sort of linear sequence. “Elsewhere” (and, indeed, much of the album) turns out a demented history of hardcore. The record probably won't find much of an audience outside of the metal scene, but listening past the obvious trappings reveals a wealth of influences and a complexity that makes for intriguing listening across genre strictures.

Jeff Parker — Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem)

Suite for Max Brown by Jeff Parker

Who picked it? Arthur Krumins

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur said, “Following the looped, electronic and eclectic New Breed, Jeff Parker’s latest album expands into an even greater range of off-kilter sonic experiments.”

Tobias Carroll’s take:

Before this year, my knowledge of Jeff Parker’s music came largely from his work with Tortoise. And that’s far from a bad thing; Tortoise is a fine band. But hearing Parker push further into the realm of jazz with Suite for Max Brown is its own form of delight, where precisely-played melodies meet instrumental virtuosity. It’s an eminently listenable album, and one where I’m still noticing new moments of subtle beauty in the mix.

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empress-of-xerxes · 5 years ago

Text

Homecoming (Pt. 2)

Braggart growled through a vox grille ruined with time and his every expanding form. A patina of discoloration trimmed every nook and curve of the giants warplate, if the armor could even be called such now. Jagged rents marked where bone and hellish crags tore through the war plate and seeped with the infernal energies barely withheld within. Braggart stilted breath caused the chest piece to rise and fall as if it were his very skin now.

"Divinity... and I mean this sincerely... what the fuck are you doing here..." He cursed with a litany of pain laced in the intonation. His words were directed and they slammed against the small woman that stood in his path daring to bar him from reaching his boarding torpedo. The woman sneered and a giddy lilt left her lips as she placed her hands on her hips.

+You are not to leave the ship. So ordered by the King of Snakes.+ Lyttle, the Throne of Courage, giggled at the absurdity of both the title and the request from Adrian. Even she knew that containing the Fiend of Zahr-Tann was impossible despite countless souls attempting such.

"He... is not here... He will not witness..." Braggart shuddered and Lyttle felt the murderous intent press against her like tidal fronts against the shoreline.

+A true assessment. What he doesnt see cant hurt him, right? I applaud you on your logic.+ She bows patronizingly and then quickly presses herself back with invisible force just in time to narrowly dodge the precise blow that would have caved her skull in. Braggart surged forward, adjusting with a brute's instinctive ease and narrowly missing Lyttle by another few inches. The Throne of Courage dashed and dove, deftly outmaneuvering Braggart's monstrous blows as the Beast pressed forward wordlessly.

+What... did I... say?+ Lyttle teased as she moved, finding little time to pause as the beast pressed the assault. Braggart was focused chaos, destruction honed and refined to a murderous, if blunt, fist. Even through the bloodlust, Lyttle could see the small calculations the brute was making to place the Throne where he needed in order to deliver the killing blow. A delicate dance Braggart had honed killing both the swordsman of his former Legion and the lithe weapon-dancers of the Aeldari.

The beast barrelled forward, shoulder first as Lyttle cartwheeled away like some court jester. He collided with a bulkhead, sending corruscating jags of energy spindling out from the impact sight. The metal yawned and groaned almost pained sounding and as Braggart pulled himself free the bulkhead wobbled as if it was a loose sheet of paper in the wind and barely held itself firm in the material plane.

Lyttle was flustered now from the chase, a slight trickle of drool trailing down her chin as she licked her lips. Braggart stood motionless before her, helm lenses glaring at her with seething hatred. Lyttle chortled merrily, extending her left arm and making a pulling motion. The action sent a shrill note through the recycled air as the Throne pulled her mace free from it’s warp prison. The tetsubo like bat was oily black with 4 leering oni-faced grins serving as its head. She gave it a twirl and pointed it at the beast with a sly grin.

+Okay! I see now I cant change your mind. That's fair. So what do you say, dog? Why don't we both go over to that ship now?+

"He isn't... here to soothe me over... with honeyed words..." Braggart hissed. "He isn't here... to keep me from... shattering your soul..."

Lyttle sighed dramatically, +Don't press your luck. I've been entertained so far, but if you continue down this path...+ Her eyes widened then as she felt the pressure of movement from behind her. There was something there, moving in with jaws ready for the bite. But if she turned from Braggart she would definitely be ruined. Hesitation, in the end, cost her and the beast struck from both sides.

Lyttle braced with a maddened grin as her mace met with Braggart's power fist and the force normally reserved for the movement of earthen plates reverberated out from the collision sending a wave of pain blooming out from the epicenter. The Throne had barely had time to react and deeming Braggart the greater threat she endured the coming pain from behind.

She felt a stinging wetness pierce through the first layer of defense that was the reactive force shield of her mind. Then the jarring pain as a dagger slid into the small of her back. It bit deep, pressed into place expertly to connect with the bone of her spine. It was supposed to be a crippling blow and if Lyttle had been anything less she would have been sundered. But she was a Throne of Xerxes and even this far from the planet's influence she had much power to spare.

+F-filth! How dare you...+She growled but was quickly silenced by the violent twisting of the knife against her spine. She felt every inch of it pressured against the bone and scrape with agonizing bliss. Her eyes wavered for a momentary ecstasy and she could only rely on instinct to guide her mace to counter the obvious follow up blow from Braggart. The weapons met once again and Lyttle fell to one knee and twisted around to see her other attacker. Refractive plating blurred her vision with only the faintest outline of the warrior beneath the modified armor. But she knew the raven's soul as intimately as Adrian’s and she felt the eternal agony of a schizophrenic mind and enraptured body. Nia's entire existence was a painful monument of the Third Legion's experiments into stimuli and even the softest brush of a lovers hand could not sooth the Raven from the excruciating agony of a rewired body.

"Pitter-Patter."

Nia muttered a litany of annoyed rhyme as his precise attack had proven to be nothing more than a jarring discomfort for the Throne of Courage. He released his knife as the daeva broke away from the brutal blows of Braggart to swing her mace around in a deftly spun arc. The mace narrowly missed the raven and Nia grimaced as he rolled, the desensitizing pads of his armor pressed against his flesh numbly. Lyttle was gaining composure quickly, reaching behind her and quickly removing Nia's knife to send it skidding across the deck.

Braggart did not relent pressing forward to bullrush Lyttle and beginning to trade blows anew. A wicked backswing was met with the skilled counter of the daeva weapon, bashing aside Braggart's assault only to place the beast in a more opportune position. Braggart hissed steam from the many vents of his armor and his power fist rippled with contained energy as it met the flat ended head of Lyttle's mace. Both of them snarled in unison.

Nia watched on, his element of surprise gone and what should have been the fatal blow nothing more than a distraction. He took a few steps back as the daeva and Adrian's favored clashed in percussive bouts of maddened rage. He was studying the display, both amazed and slightly disgusted by the closeness in skill between the two. One was flesh and blood close to ascendance, and the other was immaterial wearing a stolen form in mimicry to mankind.

Lyttle bared her teeth in feral appreciation for the animosity directed at her. She often took great joy in being hated and it was in these moments that the attention threatened to overwhelm her as she felt herself begin to drool. She wiped her lips in a brief moment of respite before having to raise her mace to bat away Braggarts devastating blows. Her robes rippled around her as she danced with the beast, the dark grey feathers of her folded wings beginning to shudder with annoyance.

"Should have... snuffed that mongrel soul of yours... ages ago..." Braggart hissed through his vox, feigning a series of blows but not feeling the pattern of this bout reaching a climax anytime soon. Many times he had pressed her into opportune strike paths only to be met with her inhuman deftness. The daeva could twist and contort at will and with a swiftness that should have shattered bone and torn muscle. Yet Braggart could feel his ire worming it's way into the daeva. Anger was contagious when directed so finely.

Nia blinked behind his helm. His tuned senses could make out the infernal heartbeats in Braggarts chest, could hear the subtle creak as the armor yearned to give and unleash the barely contained beast within. Nia often wondered what the outcome of such an action would have. Could the Infernus Cage of Sarn be opened? What was the man within even like? He chittered joyfully at this line of thought but remained an impassive watcher of the duel of death.

Lyttle was a lithe dancer that disobeyed the laws of real space to weave her own melodic strut. Braggart's calculated grandeur was all but muffled by the decadence and sublimity of the Throne's movements, always shying just inches away from calamity but teasing the giant on as if daring it to land that fatal blow. Her dress fluttered out as loose feathers trailed in her wake from wings that itched to take flight but were grounded by the confines of a ships walls. She wore a harpys grin and sneered at every jest. Braggart would never hit her.

+Divinity... am I...+ She taunted as she leaned away from a concussive fist, tapping out with her feet to kick away from her tormentor. +To even fathom touching this body of mine... you must break away those suffocating shackles.+ She chittered and spun, drifting through the air as if gravity was non-existent. Braggart followed on, snarling and barking pained intonements of savagery.

#long drabble #homecoming #oc #drabble #warhammer 40k #writing #saving this here!#more to come #xerxian lore

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celestial-leaves · 5 years ago

Text

Underwater

Section I/AO3 Link

The house broke on a Sunday.

The electricity fizzled out first, with it went the small space heater. And the land line. The radiators. The stove. The hot water tank. The local phone lines went last, his cell flickering piteously as its bars dropped to zero. The ankle deep water in his basement had been the final straw.

Ever since the storm had first been announced, Mag had been suggesting that he relocate to Northwood. At least until the “worst of it passed,” she’d said. Albern had held firm, citing his duties to the forest as too important. Which was true, someone needed to safeguard the woods, but that was not his whole reason for staying. The city where Mag lived did not sit well with him. There was something about the atmosphere that muddied his senses and left him feeling slow. Never a good experience for a ranger to have. The lack of cellular service did not bother him, should the need arise he had other means of communication. However, the lack of heating was another issue entirely.

Sighing, he locked the basement door and etched the containment sigil into the wood with his pen knife. The pentagram flared brightly before fading back into the surface leaving behind only the faintest etchings. Albern retreated up the hall, crossing the small main room that doubled as his living area and kitchen to retrieve his field bag from the table. He checked its contents - Oku’s food, his archery supplies, prosthetic - before swinging it on. Oku bumped into his side, pushing his head up under his arm.

Albern scratched behind the dog’s ears, gave the space one more look and stepped out on the porch. The door shut with a heavy thunk, the swollen wood necessitating a firm tug to drag it into place. Oku darted ahead to the car with his head tucked low.

“Sorry, boy. This way,” Albern said and walked into the trees. There was the rapid pitter patter of paws and then the wolfhound caught up, tail wagging halfheartedly. The rain slipped through the canopy, pin balling off the leaves to land on the ground with a steady sound that muted everything else. Albern enjoyed walking through woodlands - be it rain or shine - it was part of why he loved his job. The heady scent of wet mulch and mud was a constant, promising new birth once the skies calmed their fury. Oku slunk along beside him, occasionally giving a desolate shake that served him little.

As Albern walked, his thoughts ran rampant flitting between meal plans to patrol schedules. Regularly checking on the woods would be imperative. Though the park had been closed since the weather turned foul, there was no accounting for poor decisions. He’d been called to retrieve some lost tourist too frequently to expect a peaceful break. The fact that there hadn’t already been an alarm sent out was a miracle.

Automatically, his hand drifted up fingers tapping against his necklace. The beads remained cool to his touch, not-transmitting. Should his help be required they would warm, alerting him to the coordinates via an embedded voice.

Oku barked.

Albern spun, turning slowly to eye the underbrush but all he saw was his dog dashing off, his tail held high in a 'follow-me' gesture. Albern ran after him, skidding on the wet ground and tripping over various roots. He caught up as the ground rose, the wolfhound having paused at the top of a gully. "Hold Oku!" Albern called, “hold!”

The dog, muscles bunching as if he’d been considering scrambling down the embankment, looked back at him. Albern dropped his bag and rushed over, grabbing hold of Oku’s harness. Oku settled immediately. Crouching, Albern gazed over the edge. Where normally a stream ran dancing amidst the stones the water now rushed sending up a constant spray.

He saw it then. A flash of red through the trees. A color out of place for both the location and the season. "Tiss," he said softly, and eased closer to the embankment, shielding his eyes with a gloved hand. The red flash came again, moving erratically through the trees. It was heading in his direction, he noted, if it kept going that way it would run into the gully.

He frowned, turning his attention further downstream, where he knew an old bridge to be. He stood, collected his bag, and made his way along the gully; Oku followed behind, a large lump of sopping fur that occasionally let out displeased woofs.

To his great relief, the bridge had not yet flooded although the water lapped threateningly at its underbelly. The wooden planks were slick beneath his boots, the railings too gross to touch even with his glove. Eyes narrowed against the increasing rainfall he pressed onward, seeking any sign of the red flash, but it was nowhere to be seen. There was a stillness in the air that hadn't been present earlier. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He adjusted his bag, sliding it down onto one shoulder and eased forwards.

Oku barked. Loud and jarring. Albern dropped. The dog cleared his back easily, a bristling mass that stood in front of him. Keeping low, Albern took shelter behind a tree and peered out. It took a moment of careful searching but he soon spotted them. Three figures, the smallest of whom wore a red coat. The other two stood unnaturally, bent near double so that all four of their limbs touched the ground. Yet, they did not appear to be animals for their coloring and stance was like nothing Albern had ever seen.

"Quiet, Oku," Albern said, setting his bag down. The trio remained focused on each other. The creatures appeared unwilling to engage the figure in red, shifting their weight about yet not advancing more than a foot. With deliberate slowness he unzipped his bag and leaned the top portion against the tree. Eyes never leaving his targets, he withdrew a handful of arrows, grasped them gingerly with his teeth and strung his bow.

Thus armed, he picked a position that gave him a clear line of sight on all three and shoved the arrows into a tree trunk. The situation did not clarify itself despite his new position. The largest of the beasts - fur like a tiger’s but possessing three tails too many - lurched forwards suddenly.

The cloaked figure dove out of the way with an inhumane speed. Albern fired. The creature landed, spun and leapt again only to stagger. An arrow protruding from the back of its head. It wobbled, swayed and collapsed in an ungainly sprawl of limbs.

Without pause, Albern snagged an arrow, slotted it and fired once more. The projectile flew true but the second beast moved faster, a barbed tail batting the projectile aside. It caterwauled, an ear ringing sound, and skittered forwards. Its feet seemed to dance across the ground.

Albern took advantage of its inattention and reloaded. The creature was still stalking the figure in red. Albern inhaled slowly, bit the leather strap firmly and fired on the exhale. The arrow skidded across thick scales, leaving an indentation that promptly began to ooze black gunk. The creature turned its head - 360 degrees - and moved.

Calmly, Albern yanked an arrow out of the tree, lined his shot and fired. Once. Twice. Thrice. The creature tanked the first two hits, barreling through them with terrifying determination. The third caught its bulging eye and carved a path along its face. It cried out, slowing slightly. Snarling, Oku moved forwards.

He grabbed another arrow, straightened up and the world went white. Cursing, Albern dropped his bow and rubbed at his eyes. He could hear Oku whimpering, could smell the scent of burned flesh and the sudden warmth of sunlight dispelling the rain. Blinking - eyes watering - he looked about. The whole area was awash with daylight and though the rain still fell it glittered like miniature diamonds.

Oku was nearby, rubbing at his own snout and whining. A few feet from the dog lay the scaled beast, smoke drifting off its corpse. Frowning, Albern adjusted his bow and approached. “Well aren’t you just the ugliest thing,” he said. It looked almost like an armadillo with its hard scales if said armadillo had had an abnormally large growth spurt. Curled up as it was, he could not tell its full size but even that length was longer than Oku’s. “What dark hole did you crawl out from?”

The creature did not provide a satisfactory answer, neither did its compatriot -patterned like a tiger - but more humanoid in appearance. “Or science experiment,” Albern muttered.

Albern tapped his necklace thoughtfully, animals did fall under his jurisdiction but these were not regular animals. A groan attracted his attention. “Oku,” Albern called and walked towards the noise. The daylight still covered the area, a spherical surface that screamed of magical interference.

The groan came again more articulate this time and sounded frustrated. He saw it then, the figure in red, slumped at the base of a tree. Even as Albern approached, it moved - standing up only to collapse onto its knees - coughing. And that was Trade. Human then, Albern decided.

“That was an impressive display of magic, friend,” he said mildly.

The head snapped up, rain slicked white hair, tanned skin and oh. Albern re-evaluated rapidly. Not human then. At least not entirely. “First time seeing creatures like that all the way out here,” he continued. “Smiting them seems to be pretty effective.”

“It is.” Tone dry. Voice raw like it had been used a little too frequently.

“Impressive,” Albern said again and smiled.

"Not particularly,” said the other, finally making it to his feet and staying there. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, friend. What are you doing in these woods?”

There was a faint narrowing of the man’s eyes, and pointedly with a visible slowness, he looked around. Albern rolled his own eyes, “not here specifically. Just in the area.”

“I see,” was the reply. The man stepped forwards, limping a little and approached one of the creatures.

“What are these then?” Albern asked. Three strides brought him parallel with the man, on the other side of the body. Closer inspection revealed the red fabric to be a trench coat -ripped and muddied - but still serviceable.

“Carcasses.”

“You don’t say,” Albern dead-panned. “And what type of carcasses might these be?”

“That is little concern of yours.”

“Considering that I killed one of them, I would disagree.”

The man gave him a look, thoughtful almost, but before long he sighed deeply and spoke. “My apologies. It would seem that I have been presumptuous and acted discourteously in turn.”

“You’ve been quite rude,” Albern agreed. “The creatures?” He nudged at it with his boot. “They look like some grad student went at it a little too hard for their final exams.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the man said. “It was by accident that I encountered these two.” He knelt and rolled the carcass over. Two eyes - devoid of life - but visibly human stared up at them. Albern swallowed, turning away. He spotted Oku sniffing at the scaled creature, and whistled.

The wolfhound perked up and came over, tail wagging. “Good boy,” Albern said quietly. “What a brave boy you were.” Oku pressed against him, demanding affection with careless delight. Affection that Albern was more than willing to bestow.

“Handsome dog you’ve got there,” the man said. He’d abandoned the body but appeared disinclined to stand up. The light shone on his skin, highlighting the sweat that coated it and giving him an unhealthy sheen. Albern grunted an agreement, giving Oku a firm pat. The dog left his side, sniffed the carcass inquisitively - abandoned it and shoved his nose in the man’s face. “Hello to you as well,” the man said. He chuckled and something shifted in Albern’s stomach at the sound. Resolutely, he forced his attention elsewhere.

There was an ‘oof’ from behind him as Oku knocked the man over and proceeded to clean his face. Albern left the dog to it, retrieving his bag and storing his bow away. When he returned, the man had made it to his feet though he was still bent over, Oku seated before him and clearly enjoying the thorough ear scratching.

“Do you have a cell phone?” The man asked, intent on his task.

“No.”

That drew him a concerned look, “you live all the way out here with-”

“It died,” Albern interrupted. “Yours?”

“Woefully misplaced,” the man said, “Is there a phone booth or landline nearby?” He gestured to the bodies, “I should call these in.”

“Phone lines are down,” Albern said, “your best bet would be to head city-side and call it in from there.”

“You have no means of communication?”

Concern was seeping into the man’s tone again and Albern bristled. “I am well equipped to deal with the woods,” he said sharply. “This is not the first storm that Oku and I have weathered.”

“Of course,” the man said although he still looked dubious. Albern ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the rain. His hood had fallen back sometime during his run, leaving him with little protection. The sunlight was beginning to fade, the sky returning to a muted gray.

“You’re still several miles away from the city,” he said, “Not an unreasonable distance but who knows what might happen to these creatures while you called it in.”

The man nodded but said nothing so Albern continued. “My cottage is closer. It would be possible to contact HQ from there.”

“If it’s not an imposition,” the man said, “I would prefer not to leave these carcasses unattended.”

“No imposition,” Albern said. He eyed the two bodies and after a moment moved to the armadillo. The scales were unpleasant to the touch, warm and slimy like a worm’s skin. Nausea rose in his throat but he fought it down and hoisted up the creature. It remained a partially curled mass that dripped down his shirt and blocked his view.

“Would you prefer the other?” The man asked.

“No,” Albern grunted and whistled for Oku. With the addition of the carcass, retracing his steps became harder but Albern had been blessed with a good sense of direction. There was little spoken between the two. Albern could feel the man’s gaze fixated on his back - assessing him no doubt. It was off putting. The people he usually encountered in the woods were either grateful to see him or angry. He suspected that his lack of right arm might be responsible. He’d considered putting on the prosthetic when he’d departed but ultimately rejected it, rainwater tended to gum up the system. Albern rolled his shoulders as best he could and walked a little faster.

Up ahead the old bridge still stood, water splashing over the surface. Oku - brave soul - did not hesitate to run across. He skidded a little, tail pinwheeling but arrived on the other side safely. Albern was more careful in his crossing, placing each foot down with care. The man did not appear to have the same apprehension, walking so closely on Albern’s heels that he could hear the trench coat swishing.

The trail continued for some time, seeming to draw out for much longer than it had on his exit. The rain seeped through his outer clothing, soaking his undershirt and running in rivulets down his neck. Albern shivered. Oku had run on ahead, barely visible through the gray sheet of rain. His fingers had gone cold and he was losing feeling in his feet, water sloshing with each step. Belatedly, he remembered that the lack of electricity meant that the cottage would be frigid. He doubted that the fireplace - something that Albern had never needed to use since he’d moved in - would magically fill itself with dry lumber.

“Almost there,” he said, more for his own benefit than his shadow’s. The cottage came into view. A stout one-story building possessing a wrap-around porch and slanted eaves. On its eastern side, a stone shed had been built and it was to this that Albern brought his quarry. He deposited it roughly by the door and bent over, breath coming rapidly and strained. His glove and sleeve were coated in the creature’s blackish blood, it stuck to them like a particularly distasteful asphalt.

Groaning, Albern straightened up and slid the door panel open. The man - appearing unbothered by the weight of his own carcass - stepped past him and set it down in a corner. The same twisting feeling from earlier returned, and Albern frowned shoving the armadilloesque creature inside.

Oku was waiting in front of the door looking for all the world like he was trying to open through sheer will power. “Alright alright,” Albern said - laughing a little, “Scoot over.”

He unlocked the door, needing to give it a firm shove when it remained stuck and stepped inside. Oku barreled past him, making a beeline for where his food dish lay. He let out a truly tragic howl when he discovered it missing. “It was packed away, remember?” Albern said, adding “don’t look at me like that,” a moment later.

“Cozy place,” the man said.

“It has its perks,” Albern agreed. He shoved the door back into its frame and forced the various locks shut, before turning to his guest. “There’s a bathroom to your right, second door at the end of the hall. Just leave your wet clothes outside, I’ll hang them up.”

“And what shall I wear in the meantime?” The man asked, eyes glinting. In the building’s interior they appeared to glow more than they had outside.

“I’ll loan you something,” Albern replied. He eyed his glove miserably for a long moment before using one of the deadbolts to pull it off instead of his teeth. Freed of the filthy item, he set his bag down and tiredly began to unbutton his own overcoat.

“You will?”

Albern looked over. The man was smiling. With the same deliberateness that he had surveyed the woods earlier, the man’s eyes slid down and then back up. It took a second for the gesture to register, but when it did Albern felt his cheeks heat up, both from embarrassment and from the subsequent image that had appeared.

“You’re not that much taller!” Albern exclaimed. Face burning he spun away, tugging roughly at his coat. It fell to the ground, adding to the ever growing puddle of water. His shirt and undershirt were next. There was a strangled noise, and he looked back to find the man hadn’t moved . “Bathroom!” Albern ordered, arm flailing in what he hoped was a menacing manner.

“Right,” the man said looking rather distressed. “I’ll be going-” He disappeared down the hallway.

Muttering a few choice words, Albern retrieved a towel from the kitchen and called for Oku. The dog was more than willing to wriggle his wet and stinking body under the cloth. “People these days. No sense of courtesy,” Albern told him, pressing his still heated cheeks against the dog’s coarse fur. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would ya boy?”

Oku licked his nose.

Albern released him, laughing despite himself. He hung the wet clothing on the drying rack. He glanced towards the bathroom and saw that his guest had done as bid. Swiftly, a little nervously, he retrieved the stack of sodden clothes - neatly folded as if that would help - and hung them up as well. He heard the shower kick into gear with its usual stutter, and clambered up into the loft.

When he had first moved into the cottage - nearly a decade ago - the loft had been a dusty storage area replete with rat chewed documents and a horrid stench. It had taken some time to make it habitable, but now there was nothing to prevent him from collapsing onto the mattress that took up most of the floor. The sheets were icy. With a foul word, Albern rolled across the surface to his dresser and rooted about inside.

Years ago, Sten had given him two muscle tees - souvenirs from a trip he’d taken with Mag - which Albern primarily used as sleep shirts. Either one of them would fit his obnoxiously tall -but shorter than Sten - guest. Albern snorted disparagingly and held up the first muscle tee; the stylized ghost adorning the front stared back at him. “Yeah, no,” Albern muttered tossing it aside. The second - a lovely black shirt with PRIDE stenciled on the front - received the same treatment.

There were precious few other options, but eventually he came across one of his old k9 unit sweaters. Not as baggy as the shirts perhaps, but not as blatant either. He collected it, a pair of shorts, and his own change of clothing before returning downstairs.

“Ah,” the man said, looking up and Albern froze part-way down. “I hope you do not mind, but I took a quick shower. Your hot water appears to be not-functioning.”

“I - I heard,” Albern replied, caught in the uncomfortable position of not knowing where to look. Dressed in a trench coat, stooped under the rain and liberally splattered with mud, the man had not appeared that stunning. Now though, clean and lacking any garments other than Albern’s towel, he found the man to be more akin to a bronze hero of olden times. Albern swallowed, once and then twice for good measure, gaze fixating on the ceiling. “Sorry about the hot water. It failed awhile back.” He shifted on the ladder, realized his own state of undress even as he made to hold out the spare set of clothing, and recoiled.

“Are you quite alright, friend?” Somehow the man managed to sound concerned, amused, and smug simultaneously. He took a step closer, head tilting inquiringly.

“Ye’P’. All good. We all good,” Albern said, the floor was no more appealing than the ceiling had been. Feet appeared in his line of vision, and then a hand - oddly warm - pressed gently against his forehead.

“Are you sure?”

The man truly had no business sounding that compassionate. As if he had no idea of the effect he was having. “Truly, I’m well,” Albern said haltingly. He lifted his gaze and immediately regretted, for he saw that they were now of an even height. Up close the man’s eyes were truly mesmerizing. The voice that lived in the back of mind - it sounded awfully like Mag - insisted that he should shove the clothing at the man and make his escape. The rest of his brain though, thought that would be a shame.

“I do not think that hu - ah.” The man stopped and then to Albern’s simultaneous relief and despair backed away, his hand returning to his side. “Do you know when this storm will calm itself?” The man asked, no longer facing Albern but the window instead.

Albern didn’t dignify that with an answer, too busy burying his face into the pile of clothing. When it felt as if he could breath without embarrassing himself, he climbed the rest of the way down to set the clothing on the table. “Weather reports have been inconclusive,” he said.

“Clothing’s on the table, they should fit even your build.” The man nodded, without turning and Albern retreated to the hallway, grabbing his flashlight on the way. Knowing the basement to be flooded, he left his own spare clothing outside and unsealed the door.

Water lapped at the stairs, splashing high enough to hit his toes. Albern groaned sweeping the flashlights beam across the surface. It was at least knee high, perhaps more for the floor was not flat. Sighing he made his way down the steps, wincing as soon as he breached the surface. The com - protected by a metal box - was where he’d left it, hovering mid-air and smack in the middle of the room. Albern had always been told that the com should not leave the basement so as to keep its functioning optimal, but he was not about to spend who knew how long standing in waist deep water.

The box fit in the crook of his arm, deceptively heavy for its size and he nearly dropped it, transferring the flashlight over. He returned to the main room, where his guest now sat, and plunked it on the table. “Com line. Just input 1-20-5-12-6-5-17, and it should activate,” Albern said. “Hang on, let me write that out.” He looked around but a hand covered his own, and he stilled.

“1-20-5-12-6-5-17,” the man repeated. “Thank you.” His smile, Albern decided, could light up a whole room. “You’re cold,” the man added a moment later, “perhaps heating the water for a bath would be advisable.”

It was a valid suggestion but the sight of the man wearing Albern’s clothing was doing odd things to his innards. A cold shower was rapidly becoming a necessity. “I do not mind the cold,” he replied instead.

“I can see that,” said the man. Albern blinked down at him, caught sight of his own bare flesh and through sheer force of will overturned his instinctual grimace into an arched eyebrow. “That said,” the man continued, “it is inadvisable to wander around open areas with little protection. I would hate for my savior to catch something.” So saying, he squeezed Albern’s hand gently between both of his own. The sheer sincerity in his expression, the faintest furrow of his brows, and that damnable smile were all combining to chase Albern’s common sense out there door.

“Unless you’re offering to heat that water yourself, I’m afraid that I must decline for I’ve run out of firewood,” Albern said and after a breath freed his hand, “though your concern is noted.” He trailed off, brain short-circuiting for the third time that day. “I’m afraid that I must apologize, friend, I’ve quite forgotten to ask you your name.”

The smile transformed into a smirk within the span of a heartbeat. “It is polite to introduce oneself first,” the man said. The glint in his eye was rapidly veering towards devious.

“You’re wearing my name,” Albern said, and because he hadn’t been granted the common sense that the gods had given squirrels leaned forwards to poke at the embroidery.

“A. Teeel-fer?” The man shifted under his hand, leaning back to tug at the sweater. “A. Aaron? Axel? Abrahim? Alexander?”

Despite himself, Albern chuckled and straightened. “Albern Telfer, that lazy pup over there is Oku.” He gestured towards the corner where his wolfhound was curled up.

“A courageous hound to go with a noble man,” his guest said and stood up, holding out his hand. “I am Jordel of the family Adair, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Albern answered, shaking his hand. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of a shower to scrub this grime off.”

#The Nightblade Epic #Underrealm #Jorbern #jordel adair #albern telfer #Who gave me a pen?#someone please save me from my poor life decisions #in today's issue of how many times can i change the plot #Plot: flirt?#me very ace: what is flirting?

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katalinhunter · 6 years ago

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Tranquility

The pub had reopened. It had been a good night, crowded, a bit of fun. She had slipped outside to talk with Arik on some matters and get a better feel for him. They had talked some of their pasts, she had noticed a bit of surprise when he learned she had been with the Adders. Some more from her when she learned of his time as a gladiator.

That led to talk of the Proving Grounds, the au ra warning her about how dangerous the fights there could get. She was fully aware of that part of it but wasn't concerned. She'd been in hard fights before, doing what she had to to stay alive. What she wanted was to not rely on that instinct, not depend on that feral nature rising in her. The point was to test her control, have fun, put on a show, give a good fight and trade some quips and not get her ass kicked. Oh, it would be great to win, but after provoking all the other fighters she wasn't expecting an easy time of it, especially for her first fight there.

The pendulum was already swinging though.

A friend of hers dying, Boon getting stomped on. She had grabbed his assailant, threw him against the wall. No more than that though, everyone involved was part of the company. Instead, she just picked up the sharp and jagged pieces, felt them cutting and leaving her bleeding even as she tried to hold them together.

The next day, a lightening. She spent some time by herself, running and swimming, getting tired and working out stress. Later, back in their common room, there was some reconciliation, some promises of retribution, a fucked-up attempt at atonement, a close friend and occasional lover returning. She knew the pattern by now, knew better than to expect that things were actually getting better. She played nice, got along, while inwardly cringing and waiting for the next strike.

It didn't come.

There was an outing. She was with the healers and a couple of escorts, collecting water from Urth's Fount. Supposed to have some special purity to it, be useful to have in the medbay. The others were having a hard time of it, battered by swarms of bats then feeling extreme unease as they made it to their goal. Even Emeline, who had been this way before, had a moment of terror, clinging to Katalin for protection while Jun looked on sour-faced.

There was a feeling of being watched there, a sense of the grave about the area. At the same time, it was beautiful, wonderful, calling to her. Walking through the waterways, peace surrounding them. Oh, it was the peace of dead things and their spirits left behind and there was a building storm, but the overall effect on Katalin was serenity, a calm sense of delight.

She had bathed her head in the waterfalls, tossed a smile to the same person she had thrown against a wall only a couple of nights ago. She could feel a presence watching, but didn't think of it as malevolent. It felt like the spirits in the area was giving them a reminder that this was not their place unless they were prepared to lay and join with them. Emeline seemed ready to slip in peacefully; Maeze had the opposite reaction, the entire outing having been a nightmare that she needed to escape from.

Katalin didn't feel the fear, but she wasn't ready for the offered solace yet either. She helped gather the party, walking with a distracted Ashe as they led the group away. She knew the time had come to leave, hadn't looked back as she felt the storm building. Some had, had cried out in dismay. She turned towards them then, saw nothing but a hint of spirits flickering away.

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She slipped into comfortable clothing before relaxing in the music room with a half-dozen others. Catherina was playing beautifully.

Katalin sat on the floor, leaning back to a wall as she listened and thought on the outing. She could still feel the melancholy peace of the place, feel it resonating with the music. The linkpearl in her ear sounded with a request for her. She slipped outside of the room to respond in order to avoid interfering with the soft notes.

Another talk, filled with soft words which soothed emotions and acknowledged pains without hurling them at one another. Plans to rebuild, renew, a bright future for them to share.

Let the pendulum arm hang there, poised. She would enjoy these moments, take them while she could. If it struck again, when it struck again, she would take it. She would have to. Should never let that interfere with the rest though, never let that control you. Relax, calm, savor when you can. There's always a storm brewing behind you, let it be, let it blow over you, then see what is left in its wake. Things may surprise you.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp

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marketzone · 6 years ago

Photo

Gold is near the PRZ (Potential Reversal Zone) of a bearish Bat pattern #HarmonicTrading Since its price broke out of a short term downtrend line, Gold exploded higher and it is now approaching a weekly Resistance Zone (1350$). Just below the weekly Price Zone, near 1340$, we can see potential completion of a bearish harmonic trading pattern - a bearish Bat. According to Harmonic Trading rules, the stop loss should be above 1350$. If you want to try and trade this potential reversal pattern, I suggest placing your stop loss above the weekly Price Zone - Above 1360$. Potential Target Zones (for a swing trade): 1305$ 1290$ #Forex #Trading #TechnicalAnalysis #Trader http://bit.ly/2WlWaqZ

#IFTTT #Instagram

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confinesofpersonalknowledge · 7 years ago

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Die for You

Summary: But for now, they are at peace. For now, Patton sits next to Virgil’s hospital bed and watches the rise and fall of the hospital-sheet covered chest, and reassure himself that his younger brother breathes on.

Warnings: Guns, knives, descriptions of blood, assumed character death, hospitals. This is angsty. Very angsty.

Word Count: 3076

Relationships: Platonic LAMP

The sea is restless. Waves crash onto the shore unrelentingly, a dark storm gathering in the skies above; harsh winds tumble through the air, sending sprays of salt water into spaces already long-accustomed to the sea’s moodiness. Imagine: a scenic beach, the edge of a cliff and a storm brewing above; spelling out chaos and order existing in the same liminal space; harmony no stranger than the storm above.

For a moment, time is endless and eternal; stretching out in every direction, limitless to the mind’s eye. For a moment, time is nothing, non-existent; unable to be felt even as it brushes by, fingers caressing the world as if time was a gentle mother, and the world her dying child.

Now imagine: a boy, sitting at the edge of the cliff, long legs swinging through the air as if he was a small child. Imagine, the foreknowledge of grief in its rawest form, dangling in front of him like a string, ready to be cut if he so chose to. Imagine, a decision made easily, without thought to consequences; the launch off the side of the cliff, the ease of a dive made into turmoiled waters.

The sea pulls him in, inviting and enticing.

Picture, for a moment: two boys, not young and not old, with misery in their eyes. Picture two boys with their foreheads pressed together; one desperately apologetic and the other unimaginably sad. Picture the lighter of the two boys pierced with a knife through his heart; an unforgettable grief sending pangs of terror through him even as he knows that they still have time left, who closes his eyes and tries to press impossibly closer. Picture the darker of the boys - who traded away his life for the one of his brother; who does not close his eyes until he has no choice.

Hold it in your mind, the image. Make it one you cannot forget; the two boys, bound by laws in the land where very few laws exist; peace in the face of an oncoming storm. This is not a lasting image. Eventually, time’s illusion will shatter, a mother shrinking away from her child to let it become its own. Eventually, Virgil’s time will come, a void in a space already dark with loss. Eventually, Patton will have to stand by and watch Virgil as he slips away, a silent sailor on a ship made of the shackled strength of men who had no other choice.

But for now, they are at peace. For now, Patton sits next to Virgil’s hospital bed and watches the rise and fall of the hospital-sheet covered chest, and reassure himself that his younger brother breathes on.

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They’re walking home when it happens, when Patton disappears from Virgil’s side in a brief jerk of a movement. For a moment, Patton doesn’t understand the shift of setting, sudden darkness making his already weak eyes falter in sending information to his brain. As his eyes adjust, Patton is suddenly affronted with the wavering stance of a man in rags. There’s a feral look in his eyes, blown wide with desperation and fear. A shaking hand points a knife in Patton’s face.

The man gestures to Patton’s pockets, fiercely whispering for him to empty his pockets. Above the alleyway, lightning crackles as the sudden flood of Floridan rain begins its downpour. Somewhere in the distance, the low grunt-hiss of a vulture sounds, louder than it has any right to be. Somewhere between lost flashes of lightning, Virgil appears at the opening of the alleyway, bad lighting extending his shadow to cover Patton’s face.

Within a few strides, the boy is holding himself in front of Patton, arm raising to bat the robber’s knife away from them. Anger emulates from Virgil, terse movements defining him even as he shoves Patton gently behind him. Patton’s hands tremble as they grasp the back of Virgil’s jacket.

And then, suddenly, there’s a shuffled movement, a scuffle between Virgil and the man that Patton can’t fully see. Virgil’s pushing him back, pressing Patton into the shadows and then Patton’s eyes catch the glint of a small handgun in the flash of lightning that illuminates the alleyway.

Patton sees it - the moment where Virgil’s face tenses and his body curls inward as he stares down the barrel of the gun. His eyes widen, hands drawing up in a half-aborted motion Patton knows won’t change anything, but Virgil doesn’t back down.

He stares the robber in the eyes, body awaiting the inevitable deliverance of pain. Behind Virgil, Patton stands half-hidden in the shadows and by Virgil’s body - and if that doesn’t hurt, that Patton is absolutely powerless to move to help his friend, to protect him because Virgil refuses to let him - and is struck with the absolute knowledge that nothing will be the same after this moment.

Somewhere, a car backfires and Patton catches Virgil’s falling body, uncaring for the would-be robber that disappears into the alleyway.

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Virgil doesn’t know what to do; what words he can say to comfort his elder brother, who slips in and out of blurred vision as hot tears drip down onto Virgil’s face. He clings to what little consciousness he can manage. Awareness flickers in and out for him, brief flashes of moments, as unconjoined as they are confusing. Loud noises invade his mind, shrieking sirens and medical jargon that leaves Virgil in a confusing haze, wondering who exactly was hurt - after all, he doesn’t recognize the hoarse, guttural screams until his chest begs for air that Virgil lacks the strength to draw in.

Logan is there at some point, pale face staring at him even as a hand holds the door open, and the faint booming noise of what can only be Roman’s voice echoing in the hallways echoing in Virgil’s mind. Steady beeping echoes in his ears, beat slightly offset and too-fast for comfort flickering in and out of what Virgil can recognize.

Exhaustion and apathy pull at his eyelids. Some distant part of him wonders where Patton is before the next wave of darkness takes him over.

The moments fade into each other, lost in some fog that permeates Virgil’s mind as he waits for the next breath of clarity to reach him. Sometimes it’s brief - the small glimpse of a blood bag hanging near his head as it sways to an unheard beat, or the ever-present, slightly too-fast beeping near Virgil’s ear. Other times it’s voices, telling simple stories and happy memories that echo in Virgil’s mind with a sense of familiarity he can’t place. Sometimes it’s foreign voices discussing things Virgil doesn’t understand; it makes the beeps race, faster than what should be allowed until the deep baritone of Logan’s voice breaks forward, and Virgil lets himself relax.

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Logan struggles to reign in his emotions. Unnecessary and obstructive, they choke Logan, irritatingly pushing tears forward when he knows, logically, that Virgil should be fine. When he knows, by all means, the bullet had been lodged deep inside Virgil’s body - and not his own, that aches ridiculously as he gazes upon the sleeping form of his brother.

A quiet voice in Logan’s mind wants his to shake his brother’s frail body, to arouse the unconscious boy and see the flood of strength into a body that should not look as weak as it does between the thin sheets of the hospital bed. Logan has never noticed how worryingly thin his brother is, and his mind involuntarily casts into his memories, trying to determine if Virgil has always eaten what can be sufficient, or if Virgil’s eating patterns were just as malicious as Logan’s.

He doesn’t indulge his nonsensical urges, instead choosing to suppress a sigh and run a hand through Virgil’s hair. The boy’s head turns into his hand, unconsciously seeking comfort where it is offered, and Logan allows himself to smile. “Wake up soon, Virgil.”

From nearby, he hears Patton’s high pitched squeal, and with a twitch of his lips, allows stoicism to overtake his face once more.

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Roman is at work when he gets the call from Patton. He can’t decipher what the bespectacled man is trying to tell him, his words lost in nonsensical sobs and hysterical apologies. What little he can understand makes his world fall out from under his feet - for a moment, Roman can only think that Virgil has died, that he has lost his little brother before he could really see him grow into himself, that one of the people that matter more than the world has left him.

He’s running out of the theatre, phone pressed to his ear, costumed unchanged and people shouting after him, before his twin manages to wrestle the phone away from Patton. Logan’s voice is calming - though Roman doesn’t miss the quiet wavers of his brother’s voice as he explains, quietly, slowly, what’s happened.

Patton and Virgil were mugged, Logan explains, voice low. The mugger had a gun, and it went off. As if those words are enough to encompass the devastation Roman feels. And Roman - lost, wandering, waiting for a Lyft he doesn’t remember calling - knows that they’ll never be the same again.

Roman is alone when Virgil wakes up. Virgil doesn’t make a big deal out of waking up - there’s no dramatic gasp or bolting upright or panic, but moreso that between scrolling through Twitter on his phone, Roman looks up and finds Virgil quietly watching him.

Virgil huffs a little laugh when he notices Roman’s disgruntled look, though his face is quick to fall when he shifts his shoulder trying to sit up. Roman gives him a wry smirk, leaning across the boy to press the button that would raise his bed. He’s pleasantly surprised when he feels the sudden, soft pressure against his shoulder, a hand lifting to cradle Virgil’s head as he awkwardly settles on the bed.

He doesn’t say a word, just presses his little brother closer to him. If his shirt collar grows wet after a few moments, he doesn’t say a word, only curls his fingers into his brother’s purple-dyed hair.

When Logan and Patton enter the room a few minutes later, Virgil has wiped the tears off his face, a small smirk already settling into place. He doesn’t let go of Roman’s hand.

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Virgil knows there are going to be issues before he’s released from the hospital. He loves his brothers, he’s ready to sacrifice anything for them, but he’s well aware of their nature to be overbearing.

And overbearing they are. For the first few hours, it’s nice, having everything served to you hand and foot. He definitely enjoys the multiple chocolate chip cookies Patton readily provides and takes great joy in Roman’s face of horror when Virgil devours the oatmeal raisin cookie that Roman wanted to prank him with.

It’s fine for a few hours. Even amusing and silly.

It’s been a week now. Virgil hasn’t been allowed to do a single thing for himself - if he wants a snack, Roman is there with a tray of food high-stacked. If he wants something stimulating, something entertaining, Logan is there, with a book or a musical ready for Virgil.

They won’t even let Virgil go to the bathroom on his own. It’s like they’re afraid that if Virgil leaves their gaze for even a moment, he’ll disappear forever. And Virgil understands - he has his own anxiety whenever one of his brothers leaves the house without him, but he’s finding it hard to bear not even being allowed to go to the bathroom on his own.

Everytime he tries to broach the topic with one of his brothers, the conversation is almost exactly the same. Like the one he’s about to have with Logan, who has found Virgil on his way into the kitchen.

“Oh, hello, Virgil. If you’d required something, you should have simply called. There’s no need for you to rise.” Logan offers him a quiet smile, setting the book in his hands on the couch and approaching Virgil.

“I just didn’t want to bother any of you. It’s not like I can’t get a simple snack on my own, you know?” Virgil has a futile hope that maybe this will be the time one of his brothers allows him to act on his own.

Which is immediately dashed when Logan responds with a hand on Virgil’s uninjured shoulder, encouraging the boy to sit down.

Virgil sighs, and sits down.

It’s the same thing with Roman too. It’s as if Roman has some secret third sense for whenever Virgil is bored or wants food, because the younger twin is almost always there before Virgil can even begin the motion to get up. And these days, it’s hard to find Patton around the house. It’s almost as if Virgil’s older brother is avoiding Virgil - which is stupid and irrational to think because Patton wouldn’t do that.

Right?

So why does some small part of Virgil disagree? Why does some part of him refuse to listen when he knows, he knows - logically, emotionally, in every way Virgil understands possible - that there’s no way Patton could blame him for the sudden changes in their life? So why does guilt curl needlessly, insidiously, where it does not belong and convince Virgil of what can only be false?

But the truth has always been easier to misconstrue with baseless, useless lies. And Virgil’s always been good at magnifying things beyond recognition. After all, the signs are obvious to those who bother to look - Patton rarely approaches Virgil himself, always sending Logan or Roman in his stead; avoids looking Virgil in the eye when he does talk to him. It’s as if all of the great affection Patton holds for the youngest of his brothers has drained away, leaving only an unbreachable gap in between.

After all, it’s not as if Patton has his own misplaced guilt that curls its cold hands around his heart and squeezes; as if there’s not a feeling of ‘it should have been me’ every time he sees Logan changing Virgil’s bandage, or when Roman has to get Virgil his favourite snack from the top shelf because Virgil can’t raise his arm above his shoulder without fear of pain overcoming every sense Virgil has. It’s not as if Patton is afraid to face his brother, when he knows that it was his job, his place to protect the younger, and beyond all, beyond every fact that Logan can present against the contrary, Patton knows that he has failed Virgil.

Misunderstandings are the destruction of every family. Who’s to say the Sanders are any different?

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It’s little things.

It’s a vacuum, a hole that sucks and pulls everything into it, leaving the bare minimum for the survivors to scrap together into something work looking it. It takes, and takes, and takes until there is nothing left except for a void where a heart should be, and the soft gasp hidden behind the backfiring of a car. It echoes, and echoes until it’s all Patton can hear, every moment left reliving that gasp, reliving the sudden weight he’s left holding, and the absolute terror that sits like a million pound weight in Patton’s heart.

It’s a shared experience that both parties remain unaware of, unknowledgeable to the similarity of the anguish that sits in both their minds. It’s the singular thought of displacement, and the guilt and blame they push onto their own shoulders because they think it will make themselves feel better; the multiple books Logan downloads onto his nook about care of wounds, and risks; it’s the overprotectiveness that burns in Roman’s stomach when he stops Virgil from taking the simplest of action. It’s the rage that sings in Logan’s eyes when he hears of further gun violence in Spectrum’s hourly news report, and the protests and raids that Roman makes an appearance at without fail. It’s the frustration that they both can see clear as day burning in their brother’s eyes, and their own inability to stop themselves from interfering, as if their presence now will make up for not being present when Virgil needed them the most.

It is Virgil, who carries guilt like a familiar burden on tired shoulders, and the dark circles he hides behind black eyeshadow. It’s the coolness of absence that hovers where a brother once did, and sleepless nights left staring at closed doors that were once open.

It’s the little things, small moments. But they’re more than enough to fray at their edges.

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Happy endings are rare and few; it is a quiet instance when a family truly has a happy ending. They’re sparse, a commodity hard-earned and unaffordable, granted after thousands of moments of pain that build onto each other like an emptiness filling itself with undesirable debris. In the end, there is very little that can prompt what most people call a happy ending; should they happen, they happen naturally and often without notice.

Patton and Virgil evade the conversation for as long as they are able, neither fully able to gather the courage they need to approach each other. Eventually, Logan tires of their antics, pulling his twin into a plan to get the two to converse. It is a long, elaborate plan, ridiculous in nature, but it is effective.

The conversation lasts hours, involves copious amounts of tissues and several bottles of water delivered to an otherwise-locked room, but when the two exit the room, there are shaky smiles adorning their faces and dried tears on their cheeks.

The conversation between Virgil and the twins takes longer to happen because it is a while before Virgil recognizes the guilt his brothers carry like 50-kg suitcases on their backs. It takes him almost tearing open his wound before Roman acquiesce that there was nothing he could have done to help the situation. Logan is more stubborn, simultaneously more practical and unforgiving in his world view. Virgil has to hide the family supply of Crofter’s before Logan agrees to listen. It takes the brothers another month before they allow Virgil to function for himself.

Things changed after Virgil got shot - Patton become more protective, Logan and Roman gained a tendency to hover, and for the longest time, neither Patton nor Virgil could truly listen to a car backfire without flinching. But eventually, things heal in their own way.

In the end, despite every odd, the Sanders’ story is a happy one.

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This is the longest thing I’ve ever written. Please give me feedback, I doubt this is very good but I wanted to post this anyway.

#polyamsanders #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #platonic polyamsanders #an writes #my writing

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