#Arrowhead Trail

[chaddavisphotography]

Arrowhead Trail in Cook County, Minnesota.

[vandaliatraveler]

Photos from a stopover at Prickett's Fort State Park after visiting Blake's grandmother. You can search my tumblr for prior posts about the history of the fort and the Job Prickett homestead or read about it here. Broadleaf arrowhead (Sagittaria latifolia) is now blooming along the river and butternuts have started dropping, meaning the end of summer is not far off. Butternut (Juglans cinerea) is similar in appearance and closely related to black walnut, but has oval-oblong fruits rather than round ones.

[mugsylow]

A Walk Among The Pines

Will Abell Memorial Trail @ Arrowhead Ridge

Lake Arrowhead, Ca

[fadedncity]

wc: 1.6k (teaser)

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

cw: supernatural!au, werewolf(lycan)!jeno, vampire!reader, natural enemies to lovers/forbidden love type of situation, injuries, blood, full fic tags: smut, angst, mention of death and family loss, flirting, sexual tension, teasing, pet names, oral sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, way more plot than i expected, plus more

a/n: hey yall so i finished this fic a while ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts and then i was kinda unsure whether i wanted to post it but i still might. so lmk what you think!

TUESDAY [3:31 AM]

Rain pours in sheets, pelting against your skin. Your footsteps are silent as you sprint through the underbrush, hot on the heels of the Lycan ahead of you.

Even with his head start, it took you no time to catch up to the him. Your pace matched his as you zeroed in on his steady breathing and rhythmic drum of his footfalls. Lycans are fast, and he hadn't even shifted forms yet. But still, you had no trouble keeping up with him.

All the while you closely trail the Lycan, you're cautious of your surroundings, keeping your ears peeled for any sign of a presence accompanying you both in these woods.

Just as you were about to fall in line with him, an unexpected sound sliced through the night—a whistle, followed by the unmistakable twang of a bowstring.

An arrow whizzed past your head, embedding itself in a tree trunk to your left. Stopping in your tracks, you tilt your head, seeing sparks and smoke emitting from the arrowhead now embedded into the old pine tree. But you aren't given any more time to investigate as you're tackled to the ground by the Lycan.

Before you could push him off, his body shields you from the explosion of blinding light so bright you could've sworn it was day for a split second.

He just saved you.

"Are you okay?" Jeno asks, rain dripping from the ends of his hair as he stands from the dirt.

"Yeah," you nod, hesitantly taking the hand he offers. "Thanks," you say, looking at the tree bark melting off the trunk.

The humans have UV explosives. Great.

Both you and Jeno hear the sound of cars approaching from the nearby road and take off running again. Without a word, you plunge deeper into the forest, your movements synchronized with Jeno's by necessity.

"How did they even find us?" Jeno asks, looking over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the rain.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing."

The hunters were relentless, their shouts echoing in the distance, along with the pounding of their boots. You moved swiftly, navigating the maze of branches and roots with an ease born from decades of practice. The forest seemed to close in around you, the trees pressing in like silent sentinels bearing witness to your flight.

Then shots start firing off, the sharp cracks of bullets cutting through the air. It sounds like they were coming from every direction, the rain making it harder for both you and Jeno to locate where the hunters are.

A bullet soars past you and stops whistling in your ears when it hits flesh, tearing through skin and muscle. Jeno beside you roars out in pain and begins to slow down as the metallic taste of blood enters the air around you. You shoot him a look of concern over your shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he says. But when you see his hand pressed to his shoulder, blood seeping from an injury that should've already started healing, you know he's far from okay. "We need to get out of these woods," Jeno winces as he applies pressure to the gunshot wound.

"I know a place not too far from here," you tell him.

[6:37 AM]

The moon's silver glow was waning, giving way to the first light of dawn. The storm had passed, leaving the forest dank and muddy. Urgency rose as you were closing in on daybreak. You and Jeno raced through the forest, the scent of his blood and sweat mingling in the damp morning air.

Jeno's breath was labored, each step accompanied by a pained grunt as he pushed himself forward. The wound on his shoulder, though not fatal, was slowing him down.

"The sun's gonna be up soon," Jeno pants, his voice weary.

"I know," you raise your eyes to the sky, "But we're almost there."

As you ascend the mountain, you spot the entrance behind a thick curtain of ivy and moss. The camouflaged door was almost invisible against the rocky face.

The two of you approach the fortified door. But not before you start to feel the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles all over your body, a warning of the daylight's deadly approach.

The air grows warmer with the first rays of sunlight piercing through the treetops, casting long shadows stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground, leaving you exposed. You scream out in pain just before you can reach the door, feeling the severe burns blistering across your body under the sun's relentless gaze.

Without hesitation, Jeno quickly removes his jacket and throws it around you, shielding you as best as he can from the searing sunlight.

You reach the door with trembling hands and enter the security code to unlock it. You hear the mechanism click and attempt to push the door open, but it remains stubbornly shut. The hinges, unused for so long, now rusted, obstruct your entry.

"It's stuck," panic edges your voice.

Using his good shoulder, Jeno presses his weight into the door, helping you push it open. The thick metal gives way with a heavy creak, welcoming you inside. The moment you both are through, Jeno slams the door shut behind him, enveloping you in the safety of darkness.

The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows across the walls, the only source of illumination along the steps down to the bunker. You can hear the sounds of the forest growing distant, muted, and distorted through the layers of earth and stone as you descend further down.

With the adrenaline from the chase already simmered down, the reality of your situation sets in. Here you are, a vampire, with Jeno, a lycan, forced into hiding together by humans hunting you both. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words only filled by the sounds of Jeno's steps behind you.

Your burns are already beginning to heal now that you're out of the sunlight. The cool, dim interior of the bunker feels like a sanctuary, the pain in your skin subsiding by the time you lead Jeno into a high-ceiling room.

"Thanks, again," you break the silence, returning his jacket. Even in the shadows, you can see Jeno's eyes examining your burns. "I'll heal," you assure him. "You, on the other hand, aren't for some reason."

"I'm fine," Jeno lies.

"You're not. You're still bleeding out. I can smell it."

Jeno stays silent, knowing there's no use in arguing with you.

"I'll go see if I can find the generator and a med kit or something," you say.

The underground facility is large enough to house an entire clan and well-equipped for emergencies. Or at least it had been once. The walls, thick and impenetrable, provide a sense of security, but the darkness within was oppressive, the silence deafening.

You move through the narrow corridors, blindly navigating yourself through the place. The emergency lights give off a faint glow, barely enough to see by. The bunker has an air of abandonment from years of sitting unused here. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and dust motes danced in the faint light.

You quickly locate the electrical room and, after a few tries, manage to get the generator running. The lights flicker on, and the air kicked on, ventilating the compound. As you make your way back down the corridor, you pass the uniform lockers, and just with your luck, you find a med kit sitting at the bottom of the cubby. You grab it and hurry back to where Jeno's waiting.

You find Jeno right where you left him; leaning against the wall, face pale and drawn, sweat glistening on his brow, damp clothes clinging to his defined muscles. From where he stands, the light casts deep shadows across his face, highlighting the strain etched into his features.

"Sit," you say, opening the case of medical supplies on the table.

"I can do it myself," Jeno mutters, though his voice lacks conviction as he weakly pushes himself away from the wall.

"You look like you can barely stand on your own. Just let me patch you up so you can at least stop bleeding all over the place," your words are punctuated by the snap of latex gloves you slip on.

Jeno has no energy to protest. He drops his jacket onto a chair and peels off his shirt, sitting on the table in front of you.

You don't have much time to ogle over the Lycan's chiseled physique as your eyes are drawn to the skin turning black and blue around the bullet's entry point. In all your years of existence, you've seen some pretty bad shit. But even this sight—Jeno's bloodied and seemingly infected shoulder, is enough to make even you wince.

"There's no exit, which is probably why you're not healing. Whatever specialized bullet hit you is still in there," you observe, examining the injury closely.

"Great," Jeno groans, throwing his head back. "Think you can get it out?"

"Sure, but it's not gonna be fun," you tell him.

"Let's just get it over with."

a/n: please lmk what you think! if i do post the full fic it is 11k so be weary 😭 thank you for reading! <33 feedback is appreciated!!

[kurithedweeb]

I know we always talk about Garroth ending up looking exactly like his father, but what about Dante growing up to look eerily like Gene.

When he joins up with Phoenix Drop, he's still young. He's a little on the short side, still a bit too thin from life in the wild and imprisonment, and he's a little anxious and shaky around so many people after having grown unused to living in a village. The smiling faces of the citizens remind you of your old home, of clamoring crowds and standing frozen in the plaza as your brother . . .

Anyway, it's good here. It's easy to fit in. The guards joke around with you and make sure you're healthy. They don't know a thing about dual wielding, but you get plenty of sparring partners out of helping the local baker practice her magick, and you maybe make a friend too. You're not too sure how you feel about the Lord, but she's a kind soul and does her best to make sure you're comfortable here in town, and her kids are great. Babysitting the boys is easily your favorite duty. Yeah, it's good here. For the first time in a long while, you feel like you're doing good.

Then the war comes. The children and non-combatants are sent away. The jovial atmosphere of the guard tower has soured into solemn silence as you make your final preparations. In the morning, you step into the battlefield and you go to war for the first time in your life. You have a horrible feeling in your gut that it won’t be the last.

You, Sir Laurance and Sir Garroth make a good team. It makes you sick. The three of you cross the battlefield at a slow and inevitable pace, cutting down any soldier that dares stray too close, and together you cleave the enemy forces in half, scattering them. The killing comes easy to you. You had hoped that in this peaceful new village, with time, you would become unfamiliar to how easily you were once able to take a life, but right then you’re glad your body never forgot the motions of death. Glad for the blood that stains your hands—how can you be glad?

You can’t remember how long you fought for. Days, weeks? Surely not months, or so you think. Yours is a small force, and though Miss Lucinda is a good healer, she grows tired while the other army’s numbers are replenished time and again. You remember the bags under her eyes as she tipped a potion sip by sip into your mouth the time you were shot through the face.

You remember sneaking into the enemy camp in the dead of night, skirting around the edges of it to the back line where the archers rested. You quietly slit five of their throats before you were noticed, and managed to slash another across the belly before the arrow caught you in the side of the face, in one cheek and out the other. The wood of the shaft cracked when you bit down. It was everything you could do not to scream as you fled. Dale thought you were a fiend when you first stepped out of the shadows, face obscured in blood and cradling your jaw as you cupped a hand beneath your mouth in an effort to catch more blood before it left a trail. Laurance held you while Garroth split the arrowhead from the rest of it with a knife and pulled the shaft out the other side of your face, your jaw gripped tight in one hand to keep you from struggling. It took hours to pull the splinters from your cheeks and tongue before they sent you to wake the healer. The whole ordeal had been excruciating. You might have cried. You remember that a lot more clearly than most other times at war. After a while, it’s hard to tell which side spills more blood when so much is shed that red squishes out of the earth wherever you step.

Every day, you fought dawn to dusk. And then one day you won. By Nicole literally knocking some sense into her father, of all things! You find a quiet corner to throw up in and for a beautiful moment, you think life in this little town you’ve started thinking of as home will go back to being good. Until your Lord tells you to guard the village as she races past the gates, and she doesn’t come back. None who followed her do either.

For days, you stand waiting at the gates. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. O’khasis is gone, Scaleswind has made a refuge of the plaza, and still there is no sign of your Lord or your brothers-in-arms. You won’t even leave to have your wounds seen to. Nicole has to drag a doctor to the gates to treat you, and the entire time you watch the forest hoping that any moment they will reappear. You only step away when someone brings you news that the ship that took the children away has returned. You should be the one to tell them.

Zoey knows something is wrong the moment she sees you. Levin and Malachi smile and ask where their mother is—they call you ‘uncle’ while they do. You get down on your knees before them, and you gather them close in your arms, and you cry as you tell them their mother has been missing since the day the war ended. You’re still holding them when the exhaustion catches up with you.

Zoey is with you when you wake. She tells you you’ve been out nearly two days. She fusses over you, and you know you’ve worried her because that’s what she does when she’s worried. You’re a mess anyway, so you let her fuss. You drink the broth she makes you, you change into the clothes she provides, you sit still while she cuts the unruly mats of your hair and shaves your face. You used to cut yourself shaving all the time, no one ever taught you how and you were only six or so when Gene was learning to; you don’t remember now how he showed you each step or the laugh in his voice at the face of disgust you made when you slapped a little hand into the lather on his face and left behind a tiny palmprint. Zoey doesn’t cut you once. When she’s done with you, she takes you by the arm and guides you back into civilization, where everyone who remained has decided already on search parties to go out looking for your missing friends.

You head each expedition. Dale brings himself out of retirement to watch over the town while you’re gone, and asks only that you also look for his son. Does he know you used to be a tracker, used to spend days in the woods trailing coyotes and runaways for enough coin to carry you through the cold months? You try for him, but the ground is soft still and every step anyone takes leaves a print, all overlapping and muddled. You keep an eye out as you circle the same stretches of woods for days, but you find nothing. Your group goes further and faster than any other, the first to find and dismantle bandit camps and dens of fiends, but no matter how far you go you find not a sign of anyone who has disappeared that day. It’s as though they vanished into thin air. Every time you return home, Dale looks at you with hopeful eyes, and every time you must take him aside and break his heart a little more. Eventually, he stops asking.

For a year, you search. The area has never been safer. You have never felt so alone as when people start to suggest that a funeral may be in order.

You feel like a monster for the rage in your voice when you denounce these people. You know they aren’t dead—you would have felt such a thing, you know, you would have felt pieces of yourself snapping like wire pulled too taut, you would have felt the sharp edges tangling inside you—it would have felt like it did when the brother you killed rose from the grave to slit your throat and cut your very existence from the memory of Boboros. You hear white noise rumbling in your ears when the first brave soul says Sir Dante, there’s been no sign for a year now, and your blood is boiling when you slap their comforting hand off your shoulder. You spit that you’re not giving up just because everyone else has taken no evidence of life to mean the surety of death, and with their pitying looks burning into your back to return to the woods. You scream into the trees until you can’t anymore. When it doesn’t help, you use your considerable tracking skills to hunt something, anything, until you feel human again.

You crawl back home the day before the funeral with your cape stained with blood; they held it back so you could attend. You polish your armor and swords until they shine, and the warped reflection of your own face makes you feel sick the way waging war did. You stand at attention the entire ceremony without moving a muscle. When Dale reads the names of the deceased at the end, offering their souls into the embrace of the Matron, you salute, and the clatter of your armor silences the crowd.

Everyone who fought in the war salutes with you. So do your Lord’s sons. You’re too tired to cry. You hold your salute long after everyone else has left.

The remaining forces of Scaleswind return home. One by one, family by family, the streets of your home empty. Without your Lord, without your guard, the citizens trickle out the front gates and never turn back. Some apologize to you as they say their goodbyes, and some of them you actually believe. You close the gate behind each of them until all that remains is you, Zoey, and your Lord’s sons. Then Zoey tells you she’s taking the boys to the Yggdrasil Forest. She holds you tight for too long and kisses your brow when you show them to the gate for the last time.

You can’t believe you ever thought you knew what loneliness was before this.

For five years, you are completely and utterly alone. You search and you patrol and you do your best to maintain the village. You don’t believe in Irene, but every day before dawn you stand before her statue and look down down down over the cliff’s edge and pray that this won’t be the rest of your life. That you haven’t deluded yourself into believing a fantasy, that you haven’t made such an incredible fool of yourself that people can’t bear to be around you, that you haven’t been forgotten. For five years, you pray that someone, somewhere, remembers that you exist. You look down down down over the cliff’s edge and have the terrible thought that you don’t know what you’d do if you were forgotten again.

The gate is falling apart. You don’t know how to repair the damage the weather’s done to it, you tried to patch the cracks but it never holds. With each year, you’ve been pushed further and further outtowards the coast. The only places you have the energy to maintain anymore are the guard tower and your Lord’s home. You blockaded the gates when the mechanism broke, you check it on occasion to be sure no bandits get in, and one day you hear voices from the other side. Familiar voices. You scramble up the wall and look over the other side at a boy you don’t recognize looking back up at you. He says, Is that Uncle Dante? and you climb down as fast as you can to embrace Malachi.

He’s nearly the age you were when you first met his mother. He’s grown tall, and strong enough to carry his brother on his back. Levin is fevered when you first see him, flush and hurting even as he dozes, and Malachi tells you he can’t walk from how bad he hurts. You remember how Zoey fretted over him when he was young, how sometimes he’d scream for seemingly no reason, and once you show them to their mother’s home Malachi refuses to leave his bedside.

You sit with them and ask where Zoey is. Malachi tells you of her obsession, and the relief that you are not alone in the belief that those who disappeared are alive feels like a hint of betrayal. You’re relieved that she’s driving herself into a downward spiral because of what? Because it makes you feel like you were reasonable to fight not to let their souls be put to rest?

You wait for her at the gates deep into the night and take her to her boys when she bursts from the woods, frantic that she’d lost them, and safe if your Lord’s home she holds you so tight your ribs hurt from the force of her grip. After so long, you’re not alone anymore.

You wake before dawn and strap your swords to your back. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe enough to go without your armor. You hike up the steep cliff to the Irene statue. You kneel before her to offer your thanks. You look into the pool at her feet and fear grips you by the throat.

Your brother’s face looks back at you.

You wear your swords the way he did. Your hair falls like his, dark in the shadow of Irene. Your face is gaunt and pale from old habits, eating only enough to sustain yourself so rations will stretch long enough for you to find more—do you remember how they starved Gene before they killed him? How they weakened him so he wouldn’t have the energy to fight? How pale and gaunt he was, dirt streaking over the side of his face, blood and grime drying in his hair, shaking and sweaty with how hard he fought back? Do you remember the scar that twisted around his throat when he returned from the dead to get his vengeance? Your collar is open over the scar he left twisting across your own, and it matches his own so very well. In the shadows of your eyes, you see his own staring back.

You think of the war. You think of how easy the killing was. You think of how easily Gene cut through the guards, the Lord, the memories of Boboros. The rage in his voice when he denounced you as his brother, the twist of his smile when he told you he would leave you to rot, Dante. No one will ever remember you. You can see that twist in the corners of your own smile, pushed into shape by the deep scars on your cheeks. You and your brother are the same.

You’re shaking too much to stand. You never go without your armor again.

[bite-the-bloody-hand]

Knight Commander Grenzel 'Zell' Hellsing - 10 of Swords

This piece has been so much fun to work on. I've learned a lot of new techniques and rekindled my love of illustration with this; I'm very excited to see where things go from here.

I went back and forth on doing a tarot-inspired portrait for my Knight Commander, partially because I didn't want to lean too hard on my gamer roots as a Dragon Age fan, partially because making a Tarot piece feel like it hit the mark is HARD.

Eventually I decided not to go for any one specific style and just let myself feel things out as I went, playing around with texture and composition until I landed on what looked and felt good.

As such, this turned into more than just a 10 of Swords piece, rather something that represents the full suite of Swords as well as the narrative themes that follow this particular character. Betrayal, Loss, and Anxiety paired with Clarity, Inspiration, and Ambition. Meanwhile, hidden in the background are clusters of six arrowheads representing victory within creative problem-solving. They look something like trees among winding riverbeds or nature trails- a reminder of his nomadic lifestyle and formative times in the River Kingdoms.

The scarlet halo suffused with blue light, and the blue cloth stained with blood, represent the constantly warring nature of his ancestries as a Dhampir and a Celestial. Heaven's light draws him, but also burns him, as represented by Lariel's flaming blade. Desna's butterflies remind his desire for freedom and secretly dreamy, romantic nature.

I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I do! Now to find somewhere I can get this printed onto a blanket or something.

[hassians-sernuk-boyfriend]

okay so hunting. bc I can't stop thinking about it.

under the cut bc talking about killing animals

okay so. disclaimer that I do not hunt so this is all just from me reading and thinking and interacting with people who do hunt.

so like. deer hunting, in general, is about shooting a deer and then tracking the blood-trail to find where it ended up collapsing from bloodloss. it's not a pretty instant kill and it's not very clean at all.

with a gun, you do a very targeted amount of damage with a fairly high piercing power, but despite that, you still don't really aim for the head, in general, you aim for the lungs, because flooding the lungs with blood will make the deer drop faster.

with a bow, it's generally considered the most humane to use the broadest arrow to do the most damage possible as quickly as possible, but the wider the head, the slower the arrow and the less penetration power it has.

(also, blunt arrows get used for lil guys but I do not think chapaa are small enough for that)

better material makes arrows go faster and bows hold more strength per inch or w/e, and various techniques can be used to make these more efficient, which is why a skilled weaponsmith makes a better bow even with the same materials available

we know that Hassian cares about getting a clean kill and respecting things and etc so applying this shit to The Headcanons

Hassian uses a bow, obviously, and we know he is a Good Shot, he Never Loses an Arrow, and he is Quiet, at very least.

this means we know he uses broadhead arrows and at most, a recurve bow for silence (the more recurved, the stronger the bow, but the the louder the spring)

he'd also want wide arrows + most piercing power, so higher pound of bow strength

if i remember right, bow strength goes from around 20lb for common use, up to around 30lb for hunting, then around 60lb for War, then up to 100lb for long range war, and then up to 125lb? for showing off (this is how much force is needed to pull back the string, and thus how much force is put on the arrow on release)

so probably makeshift bows are around 20lb, while the exquisite bow is, idk. 50? more?? who knows. which is why he talks about needing to master one to get a stronger one

I don't have a punchline for this but I Do imagine he's got a 100lb bow which means he can hold 50lbs of weight per finger if he's drawing the bow with 2 fingers

also imo he's a good enough shot to get the Head Shot, which is theoretically the most painless kill, but he can do it bc of his intense empathy for the animals, which lets him predict their movement enough to aim where their head will be by the time the arrow gets there (arrows are slow)

also a headshot lets him use less broad arrows, which lets him have a smaller bow i think??

also, just a collection of bow details bc im horny for bows

bows are generally left unstrung when not in use to make sure they can relax into their natural shape and retain their power

stringing and unstringing a bow, especially recurves and heavy bows, is incredibly dangerous, especially unskilled. (consider even 20lbs of force suddenly hitting someone in the form of a stick or whip)

bigger bows can hold more power but are obviously much harder to carry around, which is part of why things like recurves and reflex bows exist, so the bow can hold more weight without being as large.

composite bows are bows made of multiple materials, if I remember right. a skilled weaponsmith can make the front, back, riser, and limbs in materials suited to them

things that get used in bow bodies that I did not anticipate: braided cords. antler. leather straps

when you make an arrow, it's ideal to harvest all the feathers from it off 1 wing, because you want the feathers to rifle around in the same direction

feathers and arrowheads are attached with carving, string, and glue in various degrees.

[horrific-angelz]

Little head cannon of mine that I think literally everyone can agree with;

Venture/Sloan will go on hikes with you on trails on mountains and things and will specifically search for pretty rocks or arrowheads in the open ground. If they find the slightest thing and they hear you say ‘oooo’- guess where it’s going? In your hands or their pocket. You’re getting what you thought was pretty whether you like it or not.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Did some work on the next two chapters of tbbw instead of working on the rewrite, so here's a rare sneak peak:

“So, care to tell my why you insisted on being so cryptic over the phone-”

Klaus froze halfway inside the trailer Sam had directed him to with less than detailed instructions, eyes widening on the arrow embedded in Sam’s chest and the long, thin metal wire attached to it that led to a suspiciously shaped bomb-like box fixed onto the trailer’s wall.

“Let’s face it,” Sam said with a wince, standing very, very still. “This isn’t the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

Still, like he was, in fact, attached to a bomb.

“Sam,” Klaus said eventually, stepping fully inside and closing the door without taking his eyes off the bomb-like box, the pin attached to the wire shaking every time Sam breathed. “Tell me that is not a bomb.”

Sam hesitated for half a second. “It’s not a bomb.”

Klaus glared at him. “Sam.”

Careful not to twist his body, Sam turned his head towards Klaus, licking his lips nervously. “You know, if you think about it, this is all your fault.”

Klaus felt his eye twitch. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the one that told me to look into this Connor Jordan guy!”

Klaus gaped, face twisting with anger. “I told you to look into him, not to engage with him!” he hissed, stepping forward. His eyes trailed down to the arrow embedded in Sam’s chest, thankfully several inches too far to the right to have hit his heart.

“How was I supposed to know he had a bomb hooked up to his death-trap trailer?” Sam hissed back, earning him another glare that effectively silenced any further protests. “Look, can you, I don’t know, just cut the arrow out. I would myself but…” 

Sam raised a hand, moving to touch the metal wire attached to the bomb.

“Don’t-” Klaus warned, too late, closing his eyes when Sam flicked it, the vibration travelling all the way down to the pin. It didn’t pull out. Sam brought his hand away, making a sound with his mouth that mimicked an explosion.

“I’m going to kill you,” Klaus deadpanned.

“Not if the bomb kills me first.”

“Just-” Klaus snapped his mouth shut, using every shred of willpower he had to stop himself from strangling the idiot. “Don’t move. Let me think.”

He moved around to stand behind Sam, inspecting the arrowhead sticking out of Sam’s back as he contemplated his options. It wasn’t some amateur thing, crafted carelessly and put together - it was professional. A thick, sturdy, pitch-black shaft with a sleek metal head, dipped in vervain if the sting when he touched it was anything to go by. His eyes narrowed, grabbing a mean-looking combat knife the hunter must have left behind off the side and resting the serrated edge against the shaft, wondering if he cut the head off. He couldn’t break it with brute force - too risky. The jolt could set the bomb off.

“So, how well did you know this Pastor Young?” Sam asked to fill the silence as Klaus worked, grunting a little as Klaus began to try and saw it off. He reached down to the table next to him to grab one of the pieces of paper strewn all over the surface, ignoring Klaus’ earlier warnings of staying still. “Did you talk to him much at your mother’s Ball?”

Klaus didn’t look up from his work. “I can’t say I did. Why?”

“I think he’s the one who contacted your hunter,” Sam said, causing Klaus to look up. He raised the letter, so Klaus could see it. “Mad as a box of cats by the way. He wrote a letter about sacrifice and war brewing in Mystic Falls.”

Klaus paused what he was doing to look over Sam’s shoulder at the letter, skimming the contents. “A greater evil is coming?” he read aloud, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, crazy, right?” Sam hissed as Klaus resumed his work, grunting painfully as the arrow shifted inside him. He forced a smile, tilting his head in Klaus’ direction. “Hey, do you think he was talking about you?”

Klaus sent him a mock-glare, unimpressed. He ran the blade across the arrow’s shaft perhaps a little too forcefully, nudging it inside Sam’s flesh, causing the younger hybrid to wince, stifling a cry. He nearly didn’t remember to remain still in time.

“I can’t cut it out,” Klaus decided, observing this and stepping back. He dropped the bloody knife on the table. “It’s too thick and one small movement, it’ll get very messy very fast.”

“Then what do we do?” Sam asked, voice shaking. His brave bravado was finally cracking.

Klaus stared at the arrow embedded in Sam’s chest, gaze flickering up to meet his. “You’re going to tear it out.”

Sam frowned, looking quite annoyed. “And how does that stop me from getting fried again?”

“You tear it out and I’ll flash you to safety before that bomb ignites.”

Sam paused as he thought that over. “Are you sure you’re fast enough to do that?”

Klaus turned, opening the door of the trailer, knowing that was one less obstacle he had to worry about. “Only one way to find out,” he muttered under his breath. Sam still heard him.

“That’s not reassuring, Nik,” he said, eyes slightly wide, almost pleading. “I don’t want to end up as a human kebab.”

Klaus raised a challenging eyebrow, stepping towards Sam and grabbing his shoulders. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No.”

“Then human kebab it is,” Klaus declared, nodding. “On 3?”

“Fuuuuck,” Sam whispered, breath shaky.

Klaus ignored him, beginning the countdown. Sam raised his hand, carefully wrapping his fingers around the end of the arrow’s shaft.

“1…2…3!”

Sam yanked the arrow out and Klaus heard the click of the pin flying out but he was already moving, hands gripping Sam’s shoulders, pulling him with him as he flashed out the trailer. The world blurred around them and behind, the air roared as the bomb ignited, exploding through the trailer and blasting out the windows. The heat of the explosion licked at their backs, the force of the blast sending them flying several feet before crashing into the ground, saved from the worst of it. Groaning, they both rolled onto their backs, Sam the first to sit up on his elbows and survey the damage.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” Sam commented, eying the smoking wreckage.

As if taunted by his words, there was a terrifying hiss from the trailer and a second later, the gas supply had ignited, a secondary explosion ripping through the structure, blasting it to smithereens. Pieces of roofing and wall were thrown in every direction in the ensuing fireball and they both ducked, flinching away from the dangerous fiery projectiles as they crashed to ground all around them.

Slowly, Klaus turned to look at Sam, his expression thunderous. 

“You were saying?”

[askmstau]

note: you're the worst (i love you)

wc: 1356 rated: teen warnings: none pairing: jimmy/scar

fic under cut!!

Considering that it’s the weekend and that it’s now Hotguy’s time to shine since he has the free time to do something that isn’t petty stealing from Canary; today sure is boring. 

There was nothing actually interesting happening, and he's already done his once-over from a bird’s-eye view to see if there was anything that he could jump in on. Alas, he came up with nothing. He decides to fly up once again- higher compared to before -and scans over the surrounding area. 

No Watcher shenanigans today, it seems, since there was a lack of pink, gold, and white. However, there appears to be a certain yellow-winged bird on patrol. Well, he definitely knows whose attention he’ll be looking for today. He flies back down, landing in the general vicinity of the Rank 6 hero dubbed Canary. He winces a bit at the harsh landing, but he manages to shake it off rather easily.

There is no specific plan of action today, he just feels like being a general nuisance. Even if there were one, he has nothing other than his bow, arrows, and a few smoke bombs, so he couldn’t do damage even if he wanted to. Other than murder- which isn’t exactly his style. 

(But to be fair, neither was targeting heroes to the degree he has been as of late. Let alone specific ones. That was usually M77’s job.)

He notches an arrow into his bow and aims right at the side of Canary. Far enough away so he doesn’t get hit, but close enough to spook the songbird.

 

“Hawkeye!” The arrowhead firmly embeds itself into the wall next to the hero, making the man jump- just the reaction he was looking for. 

The canary hybrid spins around swiftly, his eyes landing on the shapeshifter- who was currently a wood elf that is very proud of himself.

“Well, hello there!” He waltzes up to the avian, casually pulling the arrow out from the wall, assessing the damage done to the point, and putting it back in his quiver. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Canary… didn’t look the happiest. Which- to be fair he did kind of scare him. And he’s been stealing from him for the past month, so it’s not like it’s unjustified. It’s just- not the desired reaction! Okay, wait, that sounds kind of bad, pause-

“You.” Uh oh, off the wingfolk goes- or, that’s what he thought. Rather than the usual frustrated spiel he was expecting, he felt a gloved hand on his exposed back push him roughly into the building, knocking some of the breath out of him. His trusted bow gets knocked out of his hand, landing on the ground unceremoniously with a thump against the worn dirt.

Oh. This ones new. He’s definitely not going to be thinking about that later-

He feels his hands being moved behind his back, and he hears a metal click.

Oh. He’s being arrested. He really should have expected this to happen. Shame- disappointing, even! He thought Canary was better than this! The cuffs aren’t even power dampeners, just plain old metal! Shouldn’t he know that they’re basically useless to him?

At least he jumps on opportunities- “I’ve been looking for you, you know.” Which- wait, what? He gets tugged back by the handcuffs on his wrist, and he feels his face flush pink at getting manhandled like this.

“I- what- what? You have?” Usually, heroes don’t go looking for him unless he’s done something to warrant them looking- which to be fair, he’s been stealing Canary’s things, but he’s done plenty worse! This really shouldn't be the breaking point! He hasn’t even done anything today! Well, outside of scaring Canary at least- but that’s not even a criminal offense!

“I- hah, not that I wasn’t expecting a cat and mouse chase, of course. That’s usually how it goes with me and he- roes…” He trails off at the hand on his chin, gently coaxing him to look at the songbird. 

It’s reached the point where he can’t even act like denying it. He’s definitely going to be thinking about this later.

“Sure have, sweetheart.” Okay. He feels his face burn red. He didn’t have to do that to him- “Remember the notes you’ve been leaving? The ones that appear after something has conveniently gone missing?” The Rank 6 pauses, giving Hotguy a chance to respond, but is met with silence. In his defense, his brain is going a mile a minute, and with no room to spare for a reply.

The canary hybrid continues, “I read them. I've read them, and you’re not sorry, are you? I- This is just a game to you, isn’t it? You’re not very subtle about it, Hotguy.” He's shoved back into the wall and released from Canary's grip, making him stumble slightly from not relying on the avian’s hold.

Since he's now mobile, he flips around to look at Canary face to face and- wow he's closer (and much to his chagrin prettier) than expected. The man is wildly gesturing with his hands while talking- which he distantly thinks that he should probably start listening- but that doesn't mean he will.

“Not a word I said went through that pretty head of yours, huh?” The villain sputters an excuse and stumbles forward from the collar of his shirt getting yanked by the shorter. “I- ah- listen! Listen, I was a bit preoccupied but- but! I am all ears now, yup! Absolutely!”

“I- Why did I even bother. Of course you weren’t listening.” Canary mutters and sighs and lets go, putting a hand on his hip before being met with a face full of blue and orange feathers, accompanied by a lack of a certain shapeshifter. He sputters and spits out any that managed to get into his mouth, before looking around for the archer.

Nothing, which honestly isn’t a surprise in the slightest. It’s more of a wonder that he didn’t run off sooner. He picks up the bow that was left pathetically on the ground before dusting it off. Well, he supposes two can play at the stealing game. At least until Hotguy inevitably returns for his bow- and to probably steal some mundane item he has for attention.

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

Cub doesn’t even blink twice when Scar suddenly appears in the room, purple particles surrounding him, and his hands behind his back. He sends a dead skulk tendril to easily break the metal without looking up from the papers he’s grading. It was routine at this point, and they went through the motions like clockwork.

Scar waltzes up to vex hybrid, his body shifting to mirror the vex features. His wings twitch at the new thrum of magic in his veins. ”Well hello there, Cub!” He uses the table to stabilize himself, an ache in his knee presenting itself after his adrenaline started to die down.

“You’re here early. Aren’t you- aren’t you usually out until dusk?” He looks up from the research papers he’s reading for the first time since Scar came in. “Something must’ve happened if you’re back here, man. You good?”

Scar’s face changes from being winded, but still happy, to a flustered scowl. “Canary happened.” He looks off to the side while Cub leans in, abandoning grading essays altogether, far more invested in what Scar has to say, now that he has his attention.

“Oh? You have to- you gotta tell me what happened then, man. As long as it isn’t the same two stories you’ve been telling, I’m all ears.” Scar moves over, grabbing a nearby chair, and pulling it in. “So even though it’s the weekend, today’s been pretty boring, right?”

.

.

.

(Unbeknownst to Scar, the interaction between Canary and Hotguy was somewhat planned. Canary knew that the handcuffs weren’t power disablers, because he never wanted to capture him properly in the first place. He isn’t even able to properly arrest him, he’s too low ranked. 

He just… wanted to say what was on his mind…. sure. And maybe watch the shapeshifter squirm- but that’s between him and whatever deities are watching, and whichever poor reporter managed to witness whatever happened.)

[vintagelasvegas]

Arrowhead Trail, 1931

Postcard from Oakes Vegas Studio, Las Vegas.

Routes through the southwest in the 19th and early 20th century were known as the Old Spanish Trail, the Mormon Trail, the Old California Trail, and the Arrowhead Trail. These passed through Las Vegas, which offered water from its springs and green grass for animals.

In the 1910s, the Arrowhead Highway was created for automobiles, the first all-weather road in the west, connecting Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. Las Vegas Blvd North mirrors the former the Arrowhead Hwy north of the city. South of Las Vegas the hwy traveled close to the future paths of Boulder Hwy and US 95.

Arrowhead Trail, americanroads.us. The Arrowhead Trail Highway to Las Vegas, quehoposse.org

[mochalottie]

She stands, framed by the bright crackling fires, silhouetted with black smoke and cutting a fierce figure. One hand holding a human high above her head, the other jamming an arrowhead into every part of their body that isn’t protected by the flimsy company provided armour. 

Blood trails down her arm, and splatters against her cheeks. Like some kind of war paint. Around her, other soldiers lay in various states of distress, and the heavy breaths escaping her lungs give all the context Spider needs. 

You’d think that seeing her in this way would have become normal by now, with how many times he’s seen it. But Spider still finds that a little piece of him still flinches when her bright yellow eyes turn to him. Steeped with wrath and fury, her jaw clenching around a growl, or a hiss or both. 

Spider blinks at her, shakes a hand when a trail of blood reaches his fingertips. Her ear flicks, and her grip loosens on the human, who drops to the ground with a wet thud. She paces forward, just as she has many times, movements smooth and slow like a predator. Inching across the deck to Spider, until she’s eye level with him. 

[eggedbellies]

You knew there would be exotic wildlife when you agreed to go with your friends on this jungle trip, but you had no idea what you were in for until it plucked you from the forest floor!

Your guide made absolutely clear to stay together and stay with the group, and you had been keeping up with everyone, admiring the myriad of sights and sounds the deep jungles had for you…until you caught a scent. It was subtle amid the rich variety of smells, but it was *pleasant,* drawing you off the trail toward its source. The aches in your muscles from the terrain gradually melted away, replaced by a need you couldn’t place, only that this scent promised fulfillment if only you followed it on.

You didnt see the web until you walked right into it, and even then its thin strands could only be seen by the sheen of condensate on their strands, but it held you in place sure as anything. The vibrations of your collision alerted something, and you heard branches snap and alarmed animals flee as something big and heavy descended from the canopy, its presence announced by numerous legs touching down. You couldn’t move your head to turn and see it, but you didn’t need to, as that pheromonal scent became almost overpowering, the ache deep inside you rising in response. The creature approached you, and you could feel long thin arms tipped with claws touch you with a gentleness that belied awful strength. It took several sharp inhales of you, taking your own scent, then one more from between your legs — and then you felt the web vibrate as it positioned itself, pressing you into the web with its bulk.

You felt something ridged and spiny run itself between your legs — when did it remove your shorts?? — narrowly grazing your lips as if to tantalize you. it ran its length between your legs a few more times, getting closer and closer with each stroke, before a flared tip plunged itself inside you. the arrowhead-shaped organ plunged deep into you, making a smooth entrance; withdrawing was quite another matter, as those same ridges and spines raked against your walls, and the head of it prevented exit. it seemed to expand inside you, widening you by degrees, the sensation amplifying and the scents intensifying, before—

You felt it run up the length of what you quickly realized is an ovipositor, the arrowhead tip having opened up your womb, and with a little more pressure — pop! its spherical density passed and settled inside you. another one quickly rolled up the ovipositor, pressing those spines and ridges into you even harder, the pressure sending it through with another pop! again and again it sent more of those eggs into you, until your belly had begin to push outward with their mass. just as you were certain you couldn’t take anymore, one last pop! sent you over, and its strong limbs took hold of you as you went limp and faded from conscience.

you awakened back at camp, your friends and the guide as confused as they were relieved to see you. amazingly, you found your way back alone, unharmed and relatively unblemished, sleeping in your tent! you were ready to write it all off as some weird fever dream when you sat up and felt several somethings shift within your belly. putting your hand on it and gently pressing it confirms what you already know: it wasn’t a dream.

You wonder how long you'll carry the cargo before it demands to come out, how soon it'll be before you start to show, if you start to show at all. But you do. You return home from your trip, and people think you're pregnant, as you continue to grow and grow until you're so gravid you can only waddle, too ashamed to tell people that you were bred by a drider... and when you finally lay your clutch, your body aches so badly you cant help but book a trip right back.

[captmickey]

15. “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes.” Three Adventurers?

The water drops echoed against the cave’s walls. Leading the way with an outstretched arm gripping a torch, Link looked at his surroundings, making sure to keep his eyes and ears alert to anything out of the ordinary. Trailing just a few steps behind, Guybrush and Graham followed, with Graham taking shakier breaths than usual.

And naturally, the two noticed his sudden silence as he looked around the cave with a heightened alertness. 

“You okay, Graham?” Guybrush asked, accidentally startling him.

“Y-yeah, yeah… just…” Graham looked around, though it was hard to tell if it were for words or danger, “...on edge.”

“Noted.” Guybrush said.

Graham opened his mouth, ready to say something when he heard rumbling and halted dead in his tracks. His hands quickly rushed for his archery kit, his breath quickening as he began to look around in a frantic panic. It was here… he could feel it, the monster was here and he was the only one that knew. He could see the flames in the distance, the one belonging to it.

“Graham?” Link looked, stopping his walk and trying to walk over to him but froze when he saw the faint glint of the arrowhead aimed. 

“W-whoa, hey, hold on…!” Guybrush said, trying to move between Graham and Link. “Easy now, it’s just Link!”

“It’s here… the dragon, it’s here…” Graham muttered, his hands shaking just slightly.

“Dragon?” Guybrush muttered and his eyes widened as he looked at Link who was sporting a similar expression of realization. “No no no, it’s not a dragon. Like I said, it’s just Link.”

Link quickly snuffed out the torch, thankful for the slight light from the bioluminescence moss clinging about. 

“See? No fire.” Guybrush tried to smile, putting a hand over Graham’s. 

Another rumble and Graham let out a startled gasp as he clung to his bow, his eyes frantic looking for it, taking a step back away from the others as he searched for the dragon.

“Graham?” Link tried carefully calling out.

“It’s here…” Graham said, looking around. 

The two looked around in confusion. If it were here, the corridor that they were in was much too small for a dragon. At least, for a grown dragon… a baby one was still debatable. 

“I don’t think you saw a dragon.” Guybrush concluded. “Whatever you saw or heard, it’s not here… your mind is playing tricks. I ah… would know about that kind of thing.”

“B-but it’s here…!” Graham insisted. “I-I saw its eyes! I–”

A low rumble was heard. Guybrush, in a moment of panic, slapped his hand over Graham’s eyes, shutting the archer in darkness as he carefully held his head. It was definitely not his smartest course of action, but if that rumbling was going to set them back, this was never going to end. That, and his patience was diminishing slowly.

“Okay, Graham? I need you to breathe. I need you to pay attention to my voice. Can you do that?” Guybrush asked.

Graham, still shaking from the sudden action, gave a meek nod.

“Alright… alright, good. We’re gonna go down this path, okay? I’ll guide you the whole way down. Which means I’m gonna need to hold your hand. So all I ask is, whatever you do, don’t open your eyes.” Guybrush said, holding carefully Graham’s arm. 

Once more, a bit more certain, Graham nodded his head.

Guybrush looked at Link and gave a nod with his head to continue leading the way as he held Graham’s hand. Every now and again, for every low rumble, he would give Graham a small squeeze to let him know he was still here. Still safe. Link, occasionally, would look over his shoulder and check on the two, noting that Graham appeared much calmer compared to how he was just moments ago.

Finally, after reaching the end of the hallway, Link and Guybrush looked at the opening of the room, catching the source of the rumbling noise.

A roaring waterfall centered the room as various bioluminescent moss and plants covered the walls. Occasionally, from time to time, they would notice a small creature scurry past, going to who knows where.

The two looked at one another before Guybrush let go of Graham’s hand, noting the startled gasped.

“Alright Graham, open your eyes.” Guybrush said.

Slowly, blinking his eyes back into focus, Graham looked at the room before him and his shoulders sagged. Awe and wonder coursed through him before the immediate sensation of pure and utter embarrassment overwhelmed him and he slapped his forehead.

“Are you kidding me…? A waterfall?” Graham bemoaned. 

“Eh, it happens to the best of us.” Guybrush playfully punched his arm. “Nothing to fret over.”

“It did sound like a dragon.” Link admitted. “And the critters here did move about so, technically, you did see eyes.”

“Still…” Graham mumbled, “I jumped to the worst conclusion.”

“Yeah, but how many times did I do that when we run into a carnival or something?” Guybrush pointed out. 

“I lost count.” Link shrugged.

“Rude.” 

“You asked.”

“I asked Graham, not you.”

“I answered for him.”

Graham chuckled as Link and Guybrush continued to argue and looked back at the waterfall and the critters he could not see hanging about. It was funny how the mind could play tricks on people… how it could make them think they’re seeing their worst fears made real, but with the right people to help and guide, even the scariest illusions weren’t so bad.

[horrorlesbians]

i had a dream the other night where i was wandering alone through the woods on a cold overcast day and on the ground i found a tooth, then an arrowhead, then a huge antler, all laid out like a trail, and around this large boulder at the edge of the woods by an abandoned highway i came across a doe and a buck laying with their necks intertwined. the buck was dead with an antler missing and the doe stared at me with her big black eyes. i remember the sound of crows overhead. i was terrified so i took the things i found and ran down the highway into town where i sought refuge in a diner full of old lesbians. lol. they were about to reveal some cosmic horror to me when i woke up :(

anyways, i thought you’d enjoy <3

when I die I want to find refuge in the diner full of old lesbians about to reveal a cosmic horror to whoever stumbles upon us

[kagedbird]

Cicero Loves You, Listener!

TESSDE AU - Dark Brotherhood route

~ [First] ~ [Next] ~ [Prev] ~

Cicero has been very…

Clingy.

Which has been fine! With the others out on contracts, it’s really been just us, Gabriella, Astrid, and Arnbjorn. Veezara, Nazir, Babette, and Festus were all out, and I wasn’t keen on getting close to Astrid or Arnbjorn.

I was fairly certain they were talking shit about Cicero and I behind closed doors.

Gabriella was sweet! I think she and I were becoming fast friends, despite her reluctance to be near Cicero, who all but refused to leave my side after our little, uh, heart to heart yesterday.

Which made it all the more difficult to get him to leave us be while Gabriella checked my leg, which absolutely had a damned arrowhead stuck in it.

I was sure Cicero was going to break down the door as I suffered through Gabriella removing the damnable thing. I was given many tight hugs for comfort afterwards, whether I wanted them or not.

It was kind of nice though? I guess?

Touch was very weird. I wanted to hold others or be held, but the moment it happened, it was like a surge of agony ripped through my skin. Overstimulation times ten.

I always felt bad for having to tell Cicero that I wasn’t good for long hugs or back touches, but he seemed content with holding my hand when I could handle it.

Today I was kneeling in front of Mother while Cicero fetched us some food. He admonished me for eating so little when I was left to my own devices, but I had to admit to him that I genuinely just… couldn’t feel hunger until it was a painful ache.

He’d then taken it upon himself to be my meal time reminder. Sweet man.

I was sending my thoughts of thanks to Mother and Lord Sithis for having such a kind Keeper aid me in my time of need when he reentered the sanctuary. Of course, I didn’t hear his footsteps, but I did hear the minor creak of the door, and the still air being moved.

“Ah, sorry to disturb, Listener…”

I smiled up at him, giving a shake of my head. “No apologies needed, Keeper. Come sit, let’s have a meal with Mother today.”

He perked up, happily trotting over and placed the food that I assumed was mine on the table, before settling himself on the bench behind me. “How wonderful! I’m sure Mother is very appreciative for the company, oh yes! Poor Mother has been alone and distant for so very long, it’s like a breath of fresh, bloody air! Haha!”

I felt my smile dim lightly before I stood and plopped down next to him, taking in my bowl of stew. It was very hearty looking, with beef, potatoes, and carrots.

I blinked at the smell that wafted through my nose, frowning slowly as my head thrummed with images that flickered too quickly to see.

What was that?

I’d had this meal before. Many times.

Was this my favourite?

Who did I used to eat this with? Was it those men?

Mother hadn’t answered me on where they might be, nor Lord Sithis. If they had no answer, surely it meant they were alive somewhere, right? If not within their respective realms, they had to be out there.

Were they looking for me? Did they love me as much as I remembered loving them?

What was I to them?

Who was I?

“Listener?”

I took in another deep breath, blinking as I felt something trail down my jaw, and rubbed it away; surprised to find tears smearing across my hand.

“I…”

“Is the food not to your liking?” He asked quickly, a panicked look in his eyes. “Oh foolish Cicero! He should have asked! He is so very sorry, please forgive your Fool of Hearts!”

“…I’ve had this meal before.” I settled on, swallowing thickly. I settled the bowl onto my lap, forcing myself back into the present with the burning heat searing my legs through my soft pants.

“…Oh! Is Listener… remembering?”

“I… I don’t know.” I said, wiping my face carefully. Sniffling, I took a spoonful and blew on the stew carefully before taking a bite, unable to stop the flooding of tears that followed at the taste.

It was so good. It tasted like home.

An older man with dark brown hair and lightly tanned skin and scruffy facial hair came to mind, cooking with me in a tiny kitchen.

A tavern keep, blond, was pointing at another blonde woman, the two clearly teasing one another.

A family of three— a mother, a father, a child— welcoming me with open arms.

Those three men and I seated at a table, the three of them leaving me pouting from their own teasing.

Home. I wanted to go home.

I ached so horribly. It was hard to swallow the food. It sat heavily on my tongue, overwhelming my senses as I tried to choke back the flood of emotions that leaked down my face.

Cicero’s hands cradled my face, turning me to him, as he tutted and wiped me clean with a dry rag.

“Listener does not have to lie to Cicero if the food is not to her liking. Silly Listener…”

I shook my head, tucking my food into my cheek, and sniffled. “N-no… I love it. It… tastes like home.”

His hands stilled. His eyes were wide.

Did I say something wrong?

I worried when he didn’t move for a few beats. Eventually he came back from whatever was in his mind, fingers trailing softer against my cheeks.

“Cicero… is glad to provide. He is eager to please.”

Well… at least he wasn’t mad.

I eventually did manage to eat the entire bowl of stew, somehow able to swallow it down despite how tight my throat was. But it left Cicero in a genuinely jovial state, despite my messy form.

“Perhaps it would be best to gather your strength and rest, my Listener.” Cicero suggested, setting his plate to the side to offer me his hand.

I nodded, taking it, unable to keep my eyes open for much longer with this damnable headache that seemed to always be just a moment away.

“Please…”

“Your Keeper has you, my dearest Listener.” Cicero responded quietly— or at least, quietly for him— gently guiding me to the bedroom. “He will keep, keep, keep, as is his duty! Keep vigil for ne’re do-wells that would attack you in your dreams. Stab, stab, stab, until their gone, gone gone. Nothing to fear with Cicero near! Hahaha!”

I let him settle me onto the bed and crawled under the covers when he lifted them, curling up onto my side. He tucked me in, taking time to lift the blankets from my feet, just as he had every day since my first request.

He returned to my head to gently pat it, and I caught his hand to squeeze it tight.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for… all of that. But I’m grateful.”

His hand returned the squeeze, his thumb stroking my knuckles softly. “Anything for Cicero’s dearest friend. Rest well, my Listener! Sweet bloody dreams.”

He seemed reluctant to leave, but eventually did slip his hand from mine and out the door.

I pulled my pillow close to my chest, hiding my face into the plush cover.

I wanted to go home.

But how on earth could I even find it when this was supposedly where I belonged?

Could I return to that old life?

Did they want me back?

…

I needed to get out of this den and see the sun. Desperately.