#But these two are roaring in my head currently cause they go through similar circumstances with more than one persona and being a outsider

[ladychandraofthemoone]

🌻🌻

Did that one Steven universe meme trend with your two favorite comfort characters. What do you do when you put two characters who challenge the status quo, are doing their own thing and are now being wanted while being on the run in the same room?

A lot of things actually….

[kaijurakunsobs]

If requests are open could you do a Heisenberg fic with a teen or young adult reader(no older than 20 please) who stumbles into the village trying to get away from their parents and after they get attacked by Lycans Heisenberg patches them up and takes them in trying to hide them from his sister and mother miranda. Could you please do it with an AFAB reader who doesn’t identify as female? I am currently dealing with borderline verbal abuse from my conservative father who doesnt like that though I am AFAB I don’t identify as female.

first, baby, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I know how bad and mentally taxing that kind of living situation can get, I was in a similar situation and somehow managed to pull through.

you are not alone, you are loved and I hope everything gets better, never forget that it's you who defines yourself, your self worth should NEVER be defined by others

All you can think is...how cold everything is around you, how the freezing air burns your skin and lungs, but, you have endured something worst, physical pain can be healed with time, emotional and psychological pain is what hurts the most, what feels eternal and haunting, it coils around you, it grows and never let's go, like being branded, it leaves marks that never go away.

Running aimlessly through the snow feels like nothing.

What made you get out of the car?

Was it anger?

Desperation?

Does that even matter anymore?

You can't hear their voices anymore, so that's a win.

Farther away you see smoke and fain lights, distant sounds beckoning you closer to that place, and you let yourself smile widely when the silhouette of someone standing so close to you, you could get help, start somewhere new, be happy!

But it's so short-lived, that you question if there's divine retribution, karma, or just the universe laughing in your face.

Your "savior" is covered in blood, a man with a perpetual expression of agony lays in the snow, dead. The monster turns to you and finally the cold freezes you where you stand, it's not alone, and all the other creatures are looking at you, dark soulless eyes fixated on their new prey.

You have felt like that before under his gaze like if you were vermin, it made you furious how you were treated and consider as something lesser than a person. These things look at you the same like you are just a speck of dust in their path, and maybe you are, if the mangled body is any indication that taking a life will be nothing for them.

You see it from the corner of your eye, one of them lunges for you, and then? everything is a blur.

You remember kicking and punching wildly, adrenaline making you forget about the pain of the bites and scratches, there are memories of you running and using something to smash the head of one of the monsters, a rock, perhaps? But in the end, cold, blood loss, and exhaustion are enough to bring you to your knees. One of them grabs a fistful of hair and roars in your face and you know, that, this is it, you fought and did your best, but this is the end of your travesty...so much for your new life of freedom.

"Get the fuck away...I SAID FUCK OFF!" his voice is so loud that it makes you whimper and recoil "LET GO, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? LET GO, DAMN IT!" the smell of blood and a warm liquid hits you hard, but at least you are free, letting your body hit the snow

"What do we have here?...this one is alive, but ya ain't from around here, do you?" he's smoking and something small and silly wants you to tell him that smoking is bad, which makes you smile so softly "...Interesting"

Heisenberg rarely gets intrigued by anything, he hasn't found anything to spark his curiosity in so long, so of course, he had to come and see what was causing such a commotion. What he thought to be a villager, fist fighting the lycans so valiantly, turned out to be a teenager, he saw you from afar,  furiously kicking lycan after lycan, you didn't even notice the growing red spots in your clothes and the black eye, it was survival and feral like behavior. Truly interesting.

Now, what made him pick you up with care? years from today he will say it was just "Scientific interest kiddo! nothing more", but, it's the pain in your face that makes him act so soft, it's not the agony brought by your wounds, this goes deeper, it's different and he knows it very well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken you to Moreau, but he knows the loud mouth will give you to that bitch Miranda and that will be it for you. Dimitrescu is OUT of the equation, so does Beneviento, hell knows what her psychotic ass would do to you. So he brings you back to his home and takes time to clean your wounds, true, his stitching abilities are amazing...on corpses, and a lack of anesthesia and your occasional movements makes it hard for him to stitch you properly, but by the end of everything, you are bandaged and clean, isn't that the important part?

He’s done his part, the rest is on you. If you had the strength to fight and even kill a lycan, you might live to see another day

How long were you out?

You are warm and so fucking sore, cracking your eyes open is a big task and even harder to sit up in the bed you are laying on. The room is black and smells like tobacco, oil, and something you can’t place but it’s nice.

Barefoot and curious you start to get up, wincing deep and loud when pain floods your body, but you get up non-less, you feel the cold air hit your legs, and immediately pull down the shirt to cover yourself. Then it fully clicks, the jagged memories of what happened slaps you in the face and make you lose your footing, falling back on the bed you pry the shirt off from your body, you see bandages and patches placed on smaller wounds, your head is killing you and your right eye hurts like crazy.

With small breathes you pull the shirt back on and force your body to get up and investigate the room. There are piles of clothes and pieces of paper everywhere, picking one of the pants you sigh, these are yours, but they have been destroyed either by the beasts or by however brought you here. Looking around there’s nothing more, time to go out.

The only door leads you to an open room, the kitchen and living room placed together, in one of the sofas you can see someone laying down, their chest rising and falling softly, their face obscured by an old hat.

You try to be as quiet and sneaky as possible when getting back into the room “Where do you think you are going, kid?” his voice is thick with sleep but the sound is enough to make you yelp, slamming your shoulder against the door frame, the man jumps up and in a couple of strides he’s beside you “Can you more fucking careful? the stitches gonna get open and if you get an infection I ain’t risking my neck to get you meds”

He’s a bit taller than you with squared and wide shoulders, his face is stern and it seems like he’s annoyed about something, is it you? Did you anger him? You try to remember what could you have done to make him so mad but nothing comes to you, is not like you remember much, and what you do, is better to be left forgotten.

Heisenberg has seen many people look at him with fear, reverence even, but he has never been in the receiving end of a look like yours, he has to close his eyes for a second, carefully grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the kitchen, almost forcing you to take a seat in on of the wobbly chairs he owns.

“Well now that you are back with us, I can finally cook something to eat. You must be starving! I would too after the way you fought back there” he lets out a howl while he busies himself with pulling ingredients for whatever he’s cooking “I saw ya, you know? That was one hell of a show and I know about putting up good entertainment, you gave those lycans a good beating”

Lycans? So those things have names...uuuh, who would have thought.

"What's your name kid?" you get pulled out of your mind by his voice and the smell of cooking eggs, for a moment you wonder and think, that this is the time to be addressed by YOUR name "...I'm Y/N, sir"

"Cut the sir bullshit, you ain't trying to impress nobody here, you can call me Heisenberg, Karl if you wanna get my attention quickly, got it?"

"Yes...Heisenberg?"

He's rather harsh from what little you have seen of him, but he's careful when serving you breakfast, a steady hand serves you tea and makes quick work of a loaf of bread, whit that you two eat in relative silence, he eats like a wolf and that's enough to make you hide a smile.

"Once you are...better..." he's speaking between bites, eew "I'm taking you to get some new clothes, staying here ain't gonna be free, ok?" with his fork pointing at you he waits and continues without you answering "I'll have to teach you...that's gonna take time..."

"I'm a faster learner!"

Heisenberg laughs at the offended tone in your voice, taking a big gulp from his mug once he stops "I like ya kid, there's a fire in you and I respect that, we gonna get along"

It takes you almost 2 weeks to fully recover and be able to move without crying out in pain. On the day he announces that he must take off your stitches, he's kind when pulling on the thread, talking about how that same day he's taking you to the seamstress cuz he's "done" having you wear his stuff.

The seamstress in the Village seems flabbergasted when "Lord Heisenberg" comes into her house, demanding she makes you good sturdy pants and easy to move in shirts. From that sole visit is enough for people to call you "Heisenberg's assistant" whenever you are sent to the village or just went spotted by anyone. The Duke, the merchant that sometimes you have found yourself talking to, does nothing but fuel the rumor, people already fear Heisenberg on a god day, now they fear you might be spying for him.

You would be lying by saying that, Heisenberg is a normal man, he's flamboyant and loud, filled with pride, and what you can describe as...showmanship, he speaks with passion when explaining to you the ins and outs of the factory. He's always close, never breathing down your neck, just close enough to hear if you need help.

The first time you see him use his gift is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of your life.

You are working on some molds for pieces he needs to make from scratch, he taught you where you should work on that, away from whatever lurks in the lower areas of the factory. You were so engrossed in getting the mold out perfectly, tongue sticking out and heavy gloves helping you to pry open the damn thing open, you don't even jump when a hand lands on your shoulder, but you do when the ghoulish face of a corpse appears beside you.

He's running the second he hears you, a high pitched sound tearing through the noise of the machinery, he sees you bolting it towards him and a Zwei Soldat quickly catching up with you, the drill in its arm too close to your back, the moment you are close enough he pulls you towards and behind him, a metal sheet flying to the thing and beheading it in an instant.

"Kid...Kid, look at me, hey, eyes on me" you are not crying, there's no blood anywhere and nothing seems to be missing, you seem more startled than anything else, but you listen to him, concentrated on him and his voice "Y/N, it's ok kid, I'm here"

Then it happens, you let it slip. "Thanks...thanks dad"

You feel him go tense, the hands-on your shoulders shake for a second and embarrassment comes crashing down on you, you are ready for him to yell or push you away and order you to see if the mold is still useful, but he pulls you close, patting your back like you never said anything.

There are days when you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice growing irritated, and his explosive temper getting worst.

You are curled up in the crawlspace that he turned into your room, listening to him talking with someone, he sounds exasperated and nervous. This time he takes longer to come out from his room, a new cigar in his mouth and hammer over his shoulder, usually, he would tell you that he's leaving for a couple of hours, this time he's just there, tapping his foot and sparing quick glances at you.

"Get your coat, we need to leave"

That's new...he never takes you with him to wherever he goes, but you don't feel like arguing and do as he says, slipping your boots on and grabbing your coat.

Heisenberg is unusually quiet this time, only the snow crunching under your feet make enough sound to fill in the void, he takes you farther from the village and into a rundown church, you can hear new voices and the unforgettable sounds of the lycans snarling.

Inside the candlelight is soft and cast strange shadows of the people already waiting inside. There's a woman in a white dress that probably towers over you, another lady dressed in black and her covered, she sits in a corner with a creepy doll on her lap, and finally, a shy man who battles to cover himself with the torn cloth of his jacket.

"Is this why mother Miranda called us? Did you brought a new toy and never informed her? what a bad dog you are Heisenberg"

"Non of your business, Dimitrescu" Karl does everything to keep you behind him, away from the doll or the twisted man, but especially from the woman, Dimitrescu as he called her.

From where you stood, you could see how beautiful and regal she is, sitting with grace and a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. Noticing you, she moved slightly to get a better look, narrowing her eyes, making you feel small and like food. Before she can't even speak the sound of feathers caught your attention, giving Karl enough time to guide you to one of the pews, making you take a seat beside him.

The four adults greeted the new woman, the infamous mother Miranda, you have heard about her in the village and through small stories shared by the Duke, but mostly, you have heard Heisenberg curse the woman and call her every single name under the sun.

"Usually I wouldn't care for what my children do in their dominions, but, Karl, I must say I'm disappointed in you...to hide this child and avoid telling us?"

"I apologize, Miranda, the right opportunity never came" ooooh he's pissed

"I say you take his toy, Mother Miranda, and if possible, give me that lovely lady to me?" at that your gut twist uncomfortably, it's been some time since you were...addressed like that

"Excuse me?" Heisenberg cocks his head to the side, looking at Dimitrescu over his shades "Are you talking about my SON?"

"YOUR SON?! Don't make laugh, child, I can smell the sweet maiden blood running through her veins, that's a lady not one of your dirty lycans"

"And you are bitch no matter how well you dress!"

"ENOUGH!" Miranda's voice breaks them apart, everyone looking at her "Care to elaborate, Heisenberg?"

Karl takes a second to take a drag from his cigar and blow a cloud of some into the air "I found Y/N here, they fought hard to survive and I took them in, just like Alcina, and her lovely daughters...I decided it was my time to have a child of my own"

"That doesn't change the fact that you brought an outsider and didn't inform mother, and now you are trying to do what exactly? have...them...play house with you?"

"Lady Dimitrescu, that's enough" she's looking at you, mother Miranda in staring, and Heisenberg as a hand on your back, suddenly you are hyper-aware of everything, the sounds and smells, the movements each person in the room does, the way the candles flicker "I allow it, may this never happen again, Heisenberg. Next time there will be consequences"

You feel like passing out after that, the screams of Dimitrescu and the doll get drown by the ringing in your ears, everything keeping you together is Heisenberg's hand on yours cursing up a storm as he pulls you along with him.

The cold air feeling nice against your burning skin.

"Kid? I think you are ready" you are halfway through the trek back to the factory when he speaks again

"Ready for what?"

"To be introduced to the Heisenberg family true work, of course! What kind of father I would be if I don't involve you in our family's business"

You trip with your feet hearing him say that, so...he meant it? what he said in the church...that you are his son?

"Come on Y/N, I won't go easy on you because you are my kid now, quick quick"

Catching up to him is easy and you feel at peace when one of his arms wraps around you, he begins to talk about how many things he's gonna teach you and how exciting is to have a young mind to shape.

For the first time, you are eager to get back home.

[broomballkraken]

Title: A Dullahan and a Firewolf Walk into a Café...

Fandom: Cafe Enchante

Pairing(s): Kotone/Canus/Ignis

Word count: 3309

Warnings: None

Summary: ...and they eventually fall in love with the sunny and upbeat owner. This is a cause of tension between Canus and Ignis, who are normally the best of friends...that is, until they realize that they are in love with each other as well.

Enchanté had always been a place where Ignis could escape the constant fighting and the bitter cold of Bestia. Relaxing in the quaint café atmosphere with a nice drink and a filling homemade meal was always something that he had looked forward to.

This time, however, he was feeling anything but relaxed.

Ignis’ grip tightened around his glass of soda as he stole a glance to his right, where Canus sat sipping on his smoothie, his discomfort obvious due to the deep blue color of the flames that were ever-present around his neck.

They were currently the only regulars present today; Il was locked in his room playing the latest otome game, Misyr had business in the demon world, Rindo had offered to escort Kariya to his checkup at the GPM, and Kotone was off shopping for groceries. The fact that Ignis was alone with Canus only made this awkward silence between them more deafening. There was also a palpable tension in the air, and it had everything to do with the beautiful human who owned the café.

Ignis would be the first to admit that he had been wary when Kotone had taken over the café. Enchanté was his escape from the constant fighting in Bestia, and he didn’t know if it would be the same without Souan. However, he soon realized that his worry had been unfounded, because Kotone’s Enchanté was every bit as cozy and welcoming to non-humans as her grandfather’s had been.

It was even more so actually, as unlike Souan, Kotone had shown great interest in visiting the non-human worlds, even though she had ended up in the middle of a few terrible situations, especially in his own world of Bestia, and Canus’ home world of Medio. She had helped Ignis break free from his fate of becoming Vanar, so it was no surprise that he had fallen in love with her along the way, and luckily for him, she felt the same way.

This had surprised him, because while they all were helping Canus deal with the threat that Yggdrasil posed to Medio, Ignis watched as Kotone and Canus fell in love with each other. He had never considered the fact that she could be in love with two people at the same time, but that wasn’t really a problem.

No, the problem wasn’t that they both loved Kotone, it was that Ignis was also in love with Canus, and he didn’t know what to think of that. In Bestia, the beast-folk took on one mate for life, and Ignis had never heard of anyone forming a polycule of any kind before. He wasn’t sure what humans thought of that, and from what he had gathered about the fairy customs concerning romance, he really couldn’t fathom a guess at what Canus’ thoughts about it were either.

The more Ignis thought about it, the more he realized that he had probably been in love with Canus far longer than he had with Kotone, and he had just been too dense to realize it. He didn’t need to see Canus’ face to know that he was attractive; his kindness, loyalty, and passion for protecting others was more than enough to cause Ignis to fall in love with him.

When Ignis had found out about the horrible burden that Canus had been forced to bear for Medio, he had felt physically ill at the thought. Someone as kind-hearted and gentle as Canus had no business being forced to kill innocents against his will. Ignis had been more than happy to lend a hand in burning that bastard tree Yggdrasil down to nothing but a pile of ash.

Canus had been a big part of helping Ignis out with his own bullshit trauma, and Ignis really couldn’t thank him enough for helping Kotone keep him from passing that point of no return. They had developed a very close bond, and Ignis had realized that the line between friendship and love had been blurred for a long time. Now that he knew that line had indeed been crossed, he didn’t know what to do about it.

When Kotone had confessed her love for him, Ignis thought that would solve his problem once and for all by overwriting his love for Canus. However, those feelings persisted nonetheless, and it only confused him more when he found out that Kotone loved Canus too.

Ignis’ patience with this dilemma was wearing thin, and he knew that he needed to talk about this with Canus. He hated this awkward air that lingered between them now, and he decided that he was going to put a stop to it right now, one way or another.

Ignis downed half of his drink and slammed his glass onto the counter harder than he needed to, startling Canus. “Ugh, alright, we’ve gotta talk about this already,” he said, waving his hand in front of him as he turned to face Canus head on. Canus stiffened and he turned as well, letting out a deep sigh.

“Indeed. We have put it off for far too long.”

“So, you love Kotone, and I love Kotone.” Ignis decided to not beat around the bush at all, and he continued when Canus nodded, “And she loves both of us.”

“Yes, she has told me as much.” Canus crossed his arms over his chest, and his flames turned a radiant yellow in color, causing Ignis’ face to heat up at how pretty they were. “It was easy to fall in love with such a gentle, caring soul.”

“Yeah.” A soft smile crossed Ignis’ face as he placed an elbow on the counter and rested his chin on his hand. “She’s so compassionate, too much for her own good sometimes. Kotone really pulled us both out of some really dark places, huh?”

Canus’ flames flashed dark blue briefly, and Ignis winced as the awful memories resurfaced briefly. They both really had been through hell by being forced to kill against their will, albeit with different overall circumstances. All of their friends had been a great help, but Kotone had been at the center, for both of them, and had been a key factor in giving them both a happy ending to their ordeals.

“But,” Ignis continued as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, “is it really okay for her to be with both of us at the same time?”

“Hm, I believe so. Human relationships are varied and complicated. I have read in a few of the romantic magazines that Kotone has given Titania that some do in fact form polyamorous relationships.” Ignis was curious as to why Canus was reading those magazines in the first place, but he decided against asking about it. Instead, he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Tch, humans are stranger than I thought...I guess I can live with her being in love with both of us…” Ignis trailed off, failing to hide the disappointment in his voice, not at the fact that he had to share Kotone, but that he also wanted to be with Canus. Ignis wasn’t sure if he could stand to watch Canus give Kotone affection when he wanted it badly from him too.

But Ignis would try, because he loved them both, and if he had to suppress his feelings for Canus to make them happy, then he would make that sacrifice, no matter how painful it was. He stole a glance at Canus out of the corner of his eye, and even though he couldn’t see his face, Ignis could feel Canus’ intense gaze boring into him as the flames around his neck suddenly turned a light pink in color.

“...Yes, but with that being said...I do believe that I may have similar feelings for you as well, Ignis.”

Ignis had unfortunately been in the middle of taking a generous swig of his drink, and it immediately ended up all over the counter as choked on it and spit it out. His coughing fit was eased when Canus smacked a firm hand to his back a few times, and Ignis finally managed to squeak out a response after he wiped his arm over his mouth.

“...H-Huh??”

Canus lifted his hand to his invisible face and cleared his throat, his flames turning an even deeper shade of pink. “I, ah...I’m in love with you too.”

Ignis just stared at Canus, with his jaw hanging open with shock. He couldn’t help but wonder if fairies possessed some kind of mind-reading magic that he wasn’t aware of, but the thought was pushed from his mind as an incredible warmth erupted within his chest. Canus...really felt the same way about him, huh? Ignis definitely hadn’t expected that at all.

“If you do not feel the same about me, that is...quite alright.” The flames around Canus’ neck betrayed his actual feelings as it turned a deep shade of blue, and Ignis frowned at the sight. “I will suppress my feelings for you and we can focus on making Kotone happy-“

“Whoa, whoa, back up. Don’t just assume things without hearing what I have to say first,” Ignis interrupted, pouting as his eyes narrowed, “Because, ah, actually do, kinda, maybe feel the same way…” Ignis fumbled with his words and his voice trailed off at the end, and Canus just stared at him.

“I...don’t understand-” he started, and Ignis let out a frustrated noise as he shook his head.

“Gah! I love you too, alright?” he blurted out, his gaze falling to the counter as he rubbed at the back of his neck. He heard Canus suck in a sharp breath, and Ignis almost didn’t hear it over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears.

“O-Oh, you...you do, really?”

“Yes, really.” Ignis forced himself to look back up at Canus, “I’ve...loved you for a long time now, actually.” He swallowed thickly and sweat began to bead on his forehead as Canus stared at him, before his flames turned a bright yellow.

“I am so happy to hear that, Ignis. I...was honestly scared to tell you, given your relationship with Kotone.” He paused and rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t know if there would be room in your heart for me.”

“Oh fuck that, Canus,” Ignis said with a roll of his eyes, “For you, there was always a place in my heart. I was just too dense to realize it sooner, you know. You’re just...really easy to love.”

Canus’ flames turned a dark blue as he let out a deep sigh. “I never really thought that I was deserving of love, back when I was doing my duty as the Fairy of Death, but you and Kotone made me realize that I was wrong, and I cannot thank you both enough for that.”

Ignis snorted and shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I’m surprised that you two still gave me the time of day after the bullshit you saved me from...but I’m really glad you two didn’t give up on me either.” Ignis smiled as Canus’ flames turned pink again, and he hoped that this wasn’t a cruel dream, because damn he never felt so goddamn lucky and loved in his entire life.

Canus reached across the counter and placed his hand over Ignis’, causing the latter to make a strangled noise in the back of his throat, while his cheeks turned a bright pink in color.

“You are rather adorable when flustered, Ignis.”

“S-Shut up.”

Canus laughed as his flames turned a lime green, and that was enough to cause Ignis’ face to flush an even deeper red while his heartbeat quickened considerably. He couldn’t stop a smile from crossing his face, however, and he entwined their fingers together as he gave Canus’ hand a light squeeze. His smile morphed into a grin when Canus’ flames turned pink again, and even though Ignis couldn’t see his face, he could just tell that he had the brightest of smiles on his face.

Suddenly, the bell at the door rang, prompting Ignis and Canus to look to see who would enter…

---

When Kotone pushed open the door to Enchanté, she hadn’t expected to see Canus and Ignis sitting together at the counter, and her eyes widened when they both turned to look at her. It had been very awkward this morning, when she had served them their drinks and quickly made up an excuse to rush off to the marketplace. She knew that she was the source of the awkwardness between them, and that made her feel immensely guilty.

She didn’t know how it happened, but she had somehow managed to fall deeply in love with both Ignis and Canus. She knew that it wasn’t fair to them to not pick a side, but her heart kept telling her that it was big enough for the both of them. Kotone was honest about her feelings when she talked to them, and they seemed fine with her also being with the other. However, she couldn’t help but feel like it would be better if they all could be in one happy relationship, but she had no idea how likely that was…

That is, until her gaze wandered to the counter, where Ignis and Canus’ hands were clasped together, and she let out a light gasp as she hurried towards them, as they both shot up from their seats.

“Ah, K-Kotone!”

“Er, hey…”

Canus and Ignis both turned and greeted her nervously, with the former’s flames flashing between dark blue and pink, while the latter’s eyes darted anywhere but to meet her own. A smile slowly spread across Kotone’s face when their hands remained clasped together in spite of their flustered states.

“You two are holding hands!” she blurted out, and Canus’ smoke flushed completely pink and Ignis glanced down at their entwined hands, before they both finally looked at Kotone.

“W-Well, yes...We, ah…” Canus mumbled, his free hand fiddling with his collar as he stumbled over his words.

“Ugh, we found out that we love each other too, okay?” Ignis interrupted Canus to blurt out a blunt explanation, and Kotone giggled, her chest flooding with an immense warmth. Knowing that they all loved each other equally was a dream come true, and Kotone couldn’t contain her happiness as she pulled Ignis down for a kiss, and then did the same to Canus.

“That’s wonderful!” Kotone exclaimed as she stepped back, and she looked back and forth between them a few times. Canus and Ignis just stared at her, looking a bit confused at her eagerness. She laughed and placed her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at them.

“Well? Are you two going to kiss now?”

Kotone brought a hand to her face as she tried to suppress another giggle when the two men before her bristled at the suggestion. They glanced briefly at each other before quickly turning away, Ignis’ face flushing a bright red to match his hair, while Canus’ flames turned a deep pink.

“Um, I...suppose that would be the next logical course of action…” Canus mumbled as he sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Y-Yeah, but...this is...embarrassing…” Ignis crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers digging into his skin.

“Oh?” Kotone cocked her head to the side. “But you two kissed me just fine.”

“T-That’s different!” Ignis sputtered with a firm shake of his head, “You already knew how we felt about you. Canus and I just confessed our feelings for each other…”

“Oh, then all the more reason for you two to have your first kiss now!” Kotone drove her point home by smacking her fist into her other hand and smiling sweetly. The sincerity in Kotone’s words must have reached them, because Ignis and Canus both fixed their gaze on her, both nodding as the former swallowed thickly, and the latter took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“...R-Right...”

“...U-Understood…”

They turned to face each other, and the comically serious expression on Ignis’ face combined with Canus’ stiff posture had Kotone snorting as she tried not to burst out laughing. Ignis stared at the ‘empty’ space above Canus’ neck with an intense look, his eyes narrowing as he slowly lifted his hands up.

“...Can’t even tell where your lips are…” Ignis mumbled, a grumpy pout crossing his face as he lightly smacked his hands against the spot where he thought Canus’ cheeks were.

“Ignis...there’s no need to hit me.” Canus’ flames flashed a dark blue in color, before snapping back to pink in an instant. Ignis opened his mouth to respond, probably with a snarky retort, but he froze when Canus’ hands moved to cup his face. Kotone watched the scene unfold with great interest, and a gentle warmth seeped into her cheeks when Canus lowered his face to Ignis’ and guided his lips to the proper place. She hadn’t really been sure if these two would love each other as much as they loved her, but looking at them now wiped all doubts from Kotone’s mind, especially when she saw Ignis’ lips curl up into a smile.

When they pulled away from each other, Kotone did not fail to notice the fond looks that the two men exchanged, before Ignis’ face scrunched up and he scratched at his chin.

“Huh, strange…”

Canus jerked backwards as his flames immediately turned a deep shade of blue. “Was it...really that bad?”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant at all!” Ignis quickly explained, shaking his head as he grabbed Canus’ hand, “It’s just...you’re ah, warm…” Kotone giggled at the exchange and nodded.

“Yeah, Canus’ kisses are always warm to me too,” she chimed in, and Ignis joined her in laughing when Canus sputtered, embarrassed, “It’s a bit strange that we can’t see your lips though.”

“I, ah, do have them, it’s just that no one but I can actually touch them, or any part of my head for that matter. But,” Canus’ flames turned a vibrant yellow as he placed his hands on Ignis’ and Kotone’s shoulders, “I...can feel how soft both of your lips are against mine and...it is a pleasant feeling.”

Kotone smiled brightly and laughed as she wrapped her arms around both of them, hearing them both make a startled noise as she pulled them into a tight hug. “I’m so happy that we all feel the same about each other! I really love you both so much!”

“Ah geez,” Ignis grumbled, and Kotone glanced up to see that his pouting face was flushed red, “I, er, love you both too.”

Kotone felt a rumbling chuckle roll through Canus’ chest, and she giggled when he leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek, before doing the same to Ignis. “I love you both as well, with all that I am.” His arms wrapped around both Kotone and Ignis and he pulled them against his broad chest. “I never thought that I would return to Enchanté to find not just one, but two people who I’ve come to cherish more than anything else.”

“Ugh, that’s so cheesy,” Ignis grumbled, hiding his beet-red face against Canus’ chest, but Kotone still caught the beautiful smile that was on his face, “Thanks for loving me you two, in spite of all the bullshit I’ve put you through.”

“Of course, you both are so easy to love…” Kotone said, letting out a content sigh as she melted into the embrace of the two men that she loved the most. As they stood in the middle of her Enchanté, Kotone would forever be thankful for the dullahan and the firewolf who walked in one day, and changed her life for the better.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Joke’s on You.”

Thank you to an anonymous reader who requested this prompt. I hope you find it entertaining. 

Krill emerged from his restful trance to the sound of cursing. Violent, aggressive cursing followed by the sound of ruckus laughter. He had been floating absently down the hallways of the ship suspended in his restful trance allowing the natural air currents of the ship to carry him from one end to the other. He was close to the crew’s sleeping quarters.

With a quick hiss, he released the hydrogen from its sack finally making contact with the cold metal floor to scuttle off down the hallway.

He made it to the crew’s quarters just in time to see Petty Officer Ramirez stumbling from bed face and right hand covered in shaving cream. The additional crew sleeping in the room sat on their beds giggling and jeering as the man cursed and stumbled towards the bathroom.

Towards the door Airman Young called, “APRIL FOOLS!”

The entire room went suddenly quiet. Expressions of amused laughter narrowed to deep expressions of distrust and paranoia. A few of the crewmen began glancing under their beds. One of the men even turned over his boot and shook it onto the floor as if he expected to find something there.

Krill didn’t like the look of that, and he didn’t like the sound of that either. He knew what a fool was, but he had no idea what an April was. It didn’t translate, so he couldn’t be sure what was going on. Not wanting any part in this, rill moved on down the hallway just in time to hear screaming from the female quarters of the ship.

Female humans were more likely to use sonic attacks than their male counterparts, plus they were better at it, though this one sounded more like a warning call than an attack, so he hurried over peering in to find Chief Warrant Officer McKay standing in a shower of glitter hands held out to her sides. Her uniform was absolutely covered in the tiny shimmering flakes all of which seemed to have fallen from her cap which she now removed in a glittery waterfall of horror.

“I am NEVER going to be able to get rid of this…. You A**holes.” Though she seemed livid, the anger on her face quickly melted away, and she began racing around the room rolling on the other women’s’ beds and hugging anyone she could make contact with. The screaming and laughing must have echoed down the hallway to the men’s quarters, and now they were cautiously peering out from their rooms testing the ground before them with tentative steps.

One of the men peered in at the glittery carnage and laughed in delight, “Glitter bomb.” He looked down at krill, “Better hunker in in prepare for war, this is going to get ugly.”

Krill stared up at the crewman in confusion, “Why?”

“Why my fine quadruped today is April fools, the day we humans use as an excuse to play mean jokes on each other and laugh.”

That was not exactly a good explanation for Krill, but the humans had already moved on before he could ask further questions, but he watched as the crew slowly moved up the corridor and towards the captain’s quarters. Trying the door handle, they found it to be locked.

The captain’s voice rose up on the other side of the door, “Not this year. No one waking me up with a chainsaw this year. That is not how this day begins.”

The crew looed slightly miffed, but shrugged it off.

On the sly, Krill thought he caught one of the crewwomen grinning evilly behind someone’s back.

A sudden loud clatter from the captain’s quarters heralded another string of cursing and a couple of loud thumping noises. The door hissed open and the captain stumbled against the frame, “Which one of you took the time to make a PERFECT replica of my leg with FOAM and then swamp if for my real one….. Who the hell does that!” In his other hand, he brandished a crumbled looking bionic leg. While the undamaged parts looked impressively like the real thing, the breaks clearly showed its truth. “This is!... Amazing actually really talented, but also its MEAN it steal from the crippled.”

No one seemed all that ashamed, not even when no one came forward to return the leg, and the captain was forced to hop his way down the hallway between bouts of cursing and laughing.

In fact, they all laughed.

Krill was very scared at what this day was to bring.

He honestly couldn’t have known that April fools generally doesn’t get this intense with most humans, but the crew of this particular ship had the unfortunate circumstance of being full of pranksters and misfits. It probably shouldn’t have happened that way, but sometimes the universe rolls an unusually exceptional hand.

When they finally stumbled onto the bridge past the trip wires and motion sensors, they found the entire room plastered with stick on googly eyes. Sizes on the googly eyes ranged from smaller than a fingernail to about the size of the average person’s head. Krill found the effect to be rather disconcerting, though it gave the ship a rather inebriated expression of lopsided misfortune.

The Captain seemed impressed, that was until he tried to sit down on the command chair. Someone had apparently gone in and loosened the bolts, which held the chair in place. Under the captain’s weight, the chair subsequently collapsed and spilled him onto the floor. The rest of the crew found that mightily entertaining until a few unfortunate crew members learned that the same trickster hadn’t simply targeted the captain.

Those chairs that had not been unbolted from the ground had air horns and canisters of silly-string locked into their springs. Krill was honestly afraid to move assuming a bucket of glue or pant would be dumped down on his head, or, somehow, he might step into a bear trap.

The captain still didn’t have his leg back, and seemed to be growing rather frustrated with his inability to move around properly. The rest of the crew seemed about 0% sorry for him laughing at his inconvenience.

But it didn’t end there, oh if only it had.

Someone had plastered clear tape over all the toilets and urinals causing at least two crewmembers to pee on themselves and at least four more to make a mess all over the floor. The captain ended up calling one of the younger airmen into the room, and in his rush, the poor boy missed the plastic wrap tied across the sliding door at about face level. He ran into the wrap, and the door closed behind him trapping him by his face against the door, while the rest of the crew laughed.

Someone somewhere tampered with the crew’s food, and the three crewmembers who had completely forgotten what day it was ended up with lower GI involvement, and at least half a day in the bathroom until Krill came to their aid with a neutralizing agent.

He honesty felt as if he was in a war zone slipping from one room to the next treating minor injuries and poisonings all the while attempting to dodge enemy attacks as the pranking grew in escalation.

Three humans, turned themselves various shades of neon colors when it was determined that the shower heads had been tampered with. The captain claimed responsibility for that one and additional responsibility when two dozen more crewmen had their hands changed color when trying to wash their hands.

Multicolored, and paranoid, the humans moved their way around the ship looking for the rest of the pranks, all while watching the captain as he went hunting for his leg. At this point he had appropriated two younger crewmen to help him as he walked.

Krill stayed at the very back of the group mistrusting every sound and doorknob they came into contact with.

One of the younger women was picked to check the next door, a cleaning closet, and as it opened, a thousand tiny black figures spilled from the door and onto the ground landing in her hair and on her uniform tiny legs splayed outwards.

The scream she let off could have shattered glass, and she danced away screaming and batting at her hair. She stopped once she realized the tiny black bodies weren’t moving, in grudging relief when she learned that they were only plastic.

The captain received a punch on the arm when he took credit for that one.

Similar pranks included rubber snakes tied by wire to cupboards and drawers.

Krill was forced to return to the medical bay for more minor-injury supplies, and was just leaving through the hatch when a low growl stopped him in his tracks. Trembling terribly, he turned and was confronted by a massive reptilian head mouth lined with huge glittering teeth. The high pitch shrill he let off would have deafened anyone were it within normal hearing range. He dropped the medical supplies screaming and running as the creature chased after him massive predatory head swinging and roaring.

He was going to die.

And then one of the crewmen stepped into his path elegantly clothes lining the raptor to the floor. A foot flew free from the raptor shoe, and Krill in his relief found a human encased inside the rubberized costume.

If he had a heart he would have had a heart attack, but there might still be a possibility of him having a stroke.

He still wasn’t sure that he wasn’t going to die. There was a very real possibility that that could still happen. No doubt in his mind.

The engine room was the last place to look. The captain doubted they fouled find anything serious in there, since the room was connected directly to the warp-core chamber, and no one should be dumb enough to mess around near the warp core.

He was partially correct.

They found the captain’s leg, and the captain’s dog.

They found Waffles, poor girl, sitting in the center of the room. The light tan of her fur had been died a bubblegum pink and her usual black collar had been replaced by a glittery bedazzled harness. Whoever had put her here hadn’t been a terrible person and left food and water for her.

With big mournful eyes she looked up at her captain head low tail wagging piteously sitting as she was above his bionic leg, which had been covered in zip ties.

“Hey girl.” He said, “What have they don’t to you, those terrible people.”

She seemed happy upon seeing him and perked up from her mournful state once she realized she wasn’t in trouble.

“Turned my dog pink.” The captain grumbled in annoyance as he examined the dog’s fur.

The expression he gave the bionic leg was not dissimilar to the dog’s mournful expression, “That will take forever to remove.

***

Things died down towards nightfall, and while the captain’s dog was still pink, he had at least released his leg from the zip ties, and was back to moving around the ship on his own power.

Krill was finally coming down from his stress high.

One of these days he was just going to drop dead, and he almost did walking into his office to find someone had plastered pictures of ballerinas all around the room. Everyone knew that they freaked him out, and apparently they thought it would be funny to continue the growth of his potential aneurysm

Krill wasn’t sure the real point of this, “Holiday or Tradition” the humans seemed to think it was downright hilarious, but some of it was pretty mean intended to scare or even hurt the other humans. No one seemed to mind too greatly, and most of them admitted to enjoying the day congratulating others on proper prank execution.

Chief Warrant Officer McKay was still shedding glitter, and admitted doubts that she would ever fully rid herself.

Krill wasn’t totally sure what glitter was, but he definitely hoped the humans wouldn’t realize its potential application for bio warfare. If glitter got everywhere than what would stop someone from using it as a delivery system for terror.

The thought made him shiver.

 Thank you everyone for reading. I was honestly thinking at first that the crew member dressed as a dinosaur would be wearing a costume like they used for the Jurassic park movies, but I realized the idea would be much funnier if they were just using one of those blow-up dinosaur costumes. You know the ones I am talking about

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 6: There Are No Saints in New Orleans

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Come one, come all to the exclusive (even among the elite) event of the evening; a show not to be missed and sure to be the talk of the town for years to come. That's right, you'll only find it here at Persephone. Werewolf vs. Minotaur — to the death!

[READ IT ON AO3]

An old-fashioned iron elevator lines Persephone’s back wall. Pull back the metal doors and step in to crystal-clear glass without a smudge or streak in sight. It would be a nice way to look down on the club’s main floor from above — to take in all the things limited by distance and closeness.

But when Taylor sees the equally-clear panel that slides aside to allow the elevator to descend into a plunging endless black he rethinks how cool it is. Like, immediately.

They approach keeping close behind Cadence and Katherine. Ryder catches him looking over his shoulder and throws a subtle arm around his shoulder, whispers “keep your eyes ahead, you look like you’re up to something” in his ear, and remains at ease.

Some people just aren’t used to this sort of life, but thanks for the tip?

An attendant presses the call button on the elevator’s rigging. Summons it from the topmost floor in the smoothest glide he’s ever seen. There’s no way that’s just human technology at work.

Another attendant — similar, not identical — pulls open the grate doors where a third steps aside for them to enter.

He guesses she’s fae by the way her skin shimmers like glitter beneath the surface and the point of her ears. Doesn’t say anything just in case he’s wrong and might somehow offend them, but the golden highlight under almost obsidian skin is breathtaking nonetheless.

Though she becomes breathtaking in a whole new way when Taylor watches her eyes drift subtly to the signet rings on the hands of their guides.

She holds up a long-fingered hand before Ryder, Taylor, and Cal can join them.

“Rings, sers.”

Ryder jumps at the opportunity — cocks a brow and starts what has to be a prepared monologue; “I knew you’d ask. Wouldn’t you know, what happened was —”

“Rings, sers.” She cuts him off, unfazed.

He looks behind her to Katherine; already inside the elevator and leaning against the back railing. But it’s Cadence who steps forward, places a feather-light touch on the attendant’s arm to draw her attention.

How the towering man manages to look so unassuming is a mystery. Even his smile seems genuine — but it can’t be. Especially not from the way Ryder spoke to him earlier. If Taylor hadn’t seen those red eyes for himself he’d have a hard time believing the man was anything potentially dangerous.

“I can vouch for them, miss.” He offers.

Just when it looks like he’s disarmed her with his smile, the fae shakes her head. Though when she replies she’s kinder in tone; recognizes his status as assumed by the ring.

“It is my job, ser.”

“I don’t remember security being this tight during the Lunar Eclipse.”

“Increased measures due to recent events, ser,” she nods imploringly, “all for the protection of the guests, Persephone-assured.”

Taylor blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “We just lost our rings in one of the rooms, that’s all!”

But it’s not enough. She starts to wave down the other two workers. “These things happen, ser, we understand. However until your rings are recovered we cannot allow use of Persephone’s services.”

When Katherine finally joins the conversation she’s got a furrowed brow and a hint of ire on her tongue.

“Jesus, Nik, leave it to you and your new boyfriends to make everyone’s fucking lives that much harder.”

Everyone’s startled for different reasons. Taylor and Cal exchange glances, mouth ‘boyfriends?’ in absolute bewilderment. Nik looks ready to smother her with his sleeve it it’ll stop her current train of thought. The attendant’s cheeks go slightly blue with what must be their version of embarrassment at her vulgar language.

Only she doesn’t stop there. “Let me guess — while you had me and Cade waiting at the poker game you were… what, getting off in the steam room?”

And because he’s always been a sucker for improv Taylor takes Nik and Cal’s hands in his and squeezes. “I don’t really think that’s your business.”

“What, my partner isn’t my business?” she snaps.

“When he’s with us he’s definitely not your partner, honey.”

Katherine’s got a twinkle in her eye — elbows Cadence into action subtly while the attendant looks between them to see if she can settle their tiff on her own or if she’ll need backup.

“Like I care what your newest little toy has to say,” Katherine rolls her eyes dramatically, “but you kept us waiting then and you’re holding us up now! If Izzy’s gone by the time —”

“Pardon her,” Cadence leans down and apologizes to the fae in a low voice, “she’s had a bit of a night.”

“I—I can tell.” Comes the squeaked-out reply.

“We really don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Of course.”

“Oh come on,” jeers Taylor — now fully in-character, “like poker compares to what we can give him? You’re out of your mind.”

Cadence hisses through clenched teeth and lets the fae fill in the rest for herself. This doesn’t have to turn into a big scene. You only have to let them through.

She finally cracks; lets out a helpless little noise and stands aside. “We’ll have the spa searched for your missing belongings. Forgive us for delaying your — er — Persephone experience.”

The attendants are probably meant to stay in the elevator for the duration of the ride but as the three of them shuffle in — Taylor and Katherine now coming to verbal blows about some throwaway comment from “Miami last year!” — she worms her way out, presses the button for the lowest floor behind her, and helps her fellow worker close the gates to send them on their way.

Only when the glass panels close and plunge them into darkness does the fighting end.

He can hear Katherine’s smirk. “Not too shabby… who are you, again?”

“Taylor. That was actually kinda fun.”

“You really dropped the ball there, Ryder.”

“Hey, Kathy?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance.”

The noise is first. Cheers of joy and frustration and a distinct thudding followed by the clap-clap of hooves.

Then come the lights; less fancy and bright than the ones back on the main level but they’re probably there for an ambiance or something — part of the fixation the rich have with things looking shabby and poor. And through the glass floor it doesn’t take long for their eyes to adjust.

The last piece of the puzzle is the smell — old things like rust on chain-link fences and concrete that bring him back to the city for a flash. And underneath it the sour, coppery smell Taylor’s only recently come to understand is blood, freshly spilled.

It’s not just a cage match — it’s a bona fide Fight Club being held a couple stories underneath the wealthiest properties in New Orleans.

The crowd hangs in a thick mass of sweat and expensive perfumes around the center cage. Sways like the tide to keep their eyes on the fighters within as they rumble around their confines.

Up high they get a rare chance to see the fighting full-blown. Rare, and terrible.

Taylor barely has time to clasp his hand over his mouth and hold back his exclamation. Watches as the hulking stone troll — it’s not Krom, it’s not Krom, it’s not Krom — with geologic muscles pounds its fists against its chest and rushes at a startling speed towards the opponent.

The owner of the hooves is a satyr; half the troll’s height with horns included and stocky rather than built. There’s a chip in the curved ram-like horns and blood running down its face from a broken nose.

It stomps against the concrete — and he has to ignore the splatters of dried blood in various colors to focus on the fight itself — and braces. Makes Taylor want to yell for it to move because there’s no way it can hold back the sheer weight alone of the troll. He almost can’t watch. But it’s like a train wreck — he can’t look away.

The crowd erupts with noise at the collision. The satyr is stronger than it looks; holds back the troll first with its horns and doesn’t give it time to grab for the softer, fleshier parts before charging, bull-like, to push the heavier opponent all the way to the other side of the cage.

Then it goes dark; the hand over his eyes just a little clammy. The troll roars in agony.

He pulls Ryder’s hand away just in time to see the troll fall face-first. Thin, watery blood pools beneath it. His confusion doesn’t last long when he notices a jagged, torn edge of the caging bent into the cage like a spike.

“No weapons inside,” Nik explains lowly; like he’s holding some sort of reverence for the troll now being dragged limp by its arms from the arena, “but that doesn’t stop the resourceful.”

A shirtless duo, what look like a brother and sister with a beauty so striking it can’t possibly be of this world, enter and take the satyr’s hands to raise it up as champion. Most of the crowd boos and jeers — Taylor can see why when the money begins changing hands near the shaded back of the space.

“People enjoy this?” He can’t help it when his voice cracks.

“Violence is just another luxury when you’ve got enough money.”

The elevator grinds to a halt and Cadence pulls the doors open for their exit.

“Keep close.” Ryder doesn’t give him much of a choice, what with the arm around his shoulders, but Taylor’s definitely not arguing right now. Not with what he just witnessed.

Several steps and something feels off — missing. Makes him look around to find Cal a few paces behind with a sickly pallor and his hands balled into fists.

“Cal, what’s wrong?”

It draws the attention of the others. Katherine follows the werewolf’s line of sight and mutters more than a few expletives under her breath.

The walls are lined with (no doubt expensive) graffiti and posters larger than life. Some are peeling at the corners and bear ink faded with time and what might have once been sunlight. Now they’re almost relics of a bygone era — no, eras — of fighting.

Nearest the elevator has to be the most recent title match. Glossy paper smoothed down and tacked in with polished nails, colors still vibrant and with a large piece of tape bearing SOLD OUT across the front partially obscuring the words.

But it doesn’t take a genius to piece it together.

MARDI GRAS EXCLUSIVE!! ONLY FOUND AT PERSEPHONE!! MINOTAUR VS. WEREWOLF!! $5K BUY IN!! ASK YOUR ATTENDANT FOR DETAILS!!

Before Taylor can reach his side Cal doubles over and empties his stomach at his feet. They’re far back enough that it doesn’t grab anyone’s attention. Already the next round of bets is beginning and the mob is losing itself with greed and a hunger for blood.

“Hey — Cal, hey,” he rubs the man’s broad back as he gags up the last of his spittle, “we’re here, we’ll get Donny before anything happens. He’s not gonna fight.”

Cal rights himself shakily; wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

“How do you know — guh — he hasn’t already?”

He doesn’t. And doesn’t want to try and give Cal false hope. But his face says everything before he can try to put on a smile — makes Cal nod grimly.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

A gaggle of goblin onlookers herd aside just in time for them to spot the bouncers haul away the unconscious stone troll through a metal warehouse door.

Ryder jerks his head that way. “Likely where they’ve got all the fighters.”

“So let’s go.” Cal growls; starts to push his way through the bodies before Ryder grabs him and holds him back. “What the hell?”

Katherine clicks her tongue. “You don’t know what match they’re on. Storm in there now and every fighter who wants to be here could be back there waiting to turn you into ground beef.”

“But Don —”

“We’ve come too far to risk it now, Cal. Please…” The wolf looks into Taylor’s eyes — then his shoulders sag with a nod.

“Fine. Just until we see what round they’re on.”

Ryder lets out a low whistle that draws Katherine’s attention. Sweeps her gaze over to what has to be some kind of VIP corner with a poor excuse for bleachers dotted with better-dressed guests smoking cigars and being served by attendants.

Most of those guests are crowded around an older woman in all black. Set lines from an unkind tussle with the years around her thin lips and deep in her forehead. She doesn’t sacrifice her wealth for her mourning; and the high-cut thigh slit on her gown isn’t something you’d expect at a funeral anyway.

“Let me guess, Izzy?” Taylor asks as quietly as he can — practically whispering it in Ryder’s ear.

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as Isadora's ruby eyes fall on their group from across the crowd. The same color as Cadence’s back up on the floor.

Oh.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Katherine scoffs; throws a dirty look back Taylor’s way before resuming her position on Cadence the vampire’s arm. “Don’t have any fun without us.”

With a tittering wave they’re gone — being let passed the velvet rope to Isadora's section and too far away for any of them to hear.

“What do you suppose they’re talking to her about?” He doesn’t bother whispering this time — knows they can hear him even if they don’t look his way before the movement of the crowd obscures them from view.

Ryder shakes his head grimly. “Nothing good. So let’s not be caught making it our business.”

Though the betters and onlookers are of the same caliber as the party-goers back upstairs, the ambiance of the space is just different. Taylor isn’t the only one who feels it, either. Every time he grabs for Cal’s arm to keep them all together he feels the shiver of goosebumps — the wolf within knows something here is inherently wrong.

Up above it hadn’t seemed like all that shining wealth could be housed within the same realm as the thing that had gone after him in the cemetery. Now, though, he gets it. This is the real world; all the paint washed off and costumes put away.

He definitely doesn’t find it as beautiful anymore.

An unseen announcer takes to a pitchy speaker system to let everyone know the next match is in fifteen minutes and that all bets are final. It incites those around them to start placing their final calls — jostles them like a sudden storm at sea.

He stumbles as a figure forces himself between Taylor and Nik. Scrawny shoulders like cut stones and a rusty mop of hair that ends just above a set of pointed ears suddenly turning to look at him with way too much malice for a stranger to have.

“Watch where you’re going, mortal.” When he speaks the fae’s accented voice cracks in a way Taylor’s all-too familiar with. It makes him grin despite himself and when the stranger takes an almost comical level of offense to it he laughs, too.

With no shame, of course.

“What in the blazes is so funny?!” It’s obvious the kid — god, he can’t be more than a teenager or… whatever that is in elf years — puffs out his chest to look a little bit more intimidating. Obvious and wholly ineffective.

Lucky for Taylor the only kind of people that make him look less masculine are preteen boys.

“I’m —” pause to breathe again, “— I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I…” No, yeah, he is.

“How dare you,” is the sneered response, “do you know who I am? When I tell my father of your impertinence you will rue this!”

Well that just kind of kills the joke. Makes Taylor look back to Cal who doesn’t make a show of hiding his curled upper lip.

“Whoa there. Calm down Little Elfen Annie, you bumped into my friend, here. So how about instead of empty threats you try an apology?”

Somehow the youth finds more of himself to puff out but it’s no match for Cal’s werewolf physique. He dwarfs the redhead effortlessly. And only then does the kid notice.

“Of course you’re a shifter. One of the impure, no doubt.”

Taylor gawks. “Hey, watch it. Now you’re just being a dick.”

“You vulgar —”

“You wanna talk vulgarity twerp you ain’t heard —”

“Oh god — N-Nik! Nik! Ni —”

They all three fall silent when Ryder’s calloused hand falls on the elf’s decorated shoulder. Makes him look up (and up) into the Nighthunter’s stone-cold expression with the barest flicker of fear showing through his bravado.

“Get. lost.”

Ryder doesn’t have to tell him twice. Though he does make it look like he’s choosing to leave — rights his blazer and mutters something in a lilting language under his breath that Taylor thinks he catches a bit of but, obviously, doesn’t speak so he lets it go.

“What the hell happened to ‘laying low?’” Nik scolds the pair of them. Barely enough to get Cal to calm down. “Put it on ice, Kujo. Before you get us kicked out and then no one’s gonna save your brother’s sorry tail.”

Whatever curse Cal throws at Ryder’s turned back is lost when the crowd starts cheering and chanting around the cage. Draws their attentions to the far end where the back door opens and a large, hulking shadow casts over the dim lit hallway beyond.

“We know you’re all buzzing for the fight of the night, folks!” comes the Announcer’s voice overhead. Cal whispers a “no…” and Taylor feels his stomach drop out from under him.

“But we thought we’d give the poor wolf pup a fightin’ chance. So who wants to see our reigning champion take on the as-yet undefeated Corbyn the Satyr?!”

All around come shouts and chants of “bloody him!” and “break his face!” — along with the odd “get me my money’s worth, damn goat!”

Then a loud snorting noise rings through the arena and makes a hush fall over the crowd.

“Min-o-taur.”

“Min-o-taur.”

“Min-o-taur! Min-o-taur! MIN-O-TAUR!”

Soon the chant fills the air like a gospel. Draws out the god in question from the doorway in a prayer.

The Minotaur is everything and more. Just like in the movies but real; a real bull’s head on top of a real hairy body covered in mottled scars and wounds that fade into two of the biggest blackest hooves Taylor’s ever seen.

Atop his head are polished horns that, even from a distance, he knows could impale him without resistance.

The Minotaur stomps into the middle of the cage and raises its large arms. Encourages the crowd to chant higher, louder, faster. It revels in the sound of its name; tips back it’s enormous head and lets out a deep howl that actually shakes the metal of the cage. The crowd bursts into cheers like animals possessed at the sound of it.

For the first time Ryder actually looks worried.

“We gotta find that kid wolf before that thing tears out his spine.”

Taylor cringes at the mental image. “Jesus, Ryder, have some —”

“No,” Cal interrupts hollowly; never looks away from the Minotaur as it riles up the crowd by hammering its fists on its chest and bellowing in their faces, “he’s right. Donny’s dead if he gets in that cage.”

Just as the creature huffs in a group of faces at the front there’s a hot breath on the back of Taylor’s neck. Makes him yelp and jump sky-high away from the shiver that curdles up his spine.

“Hnn what the hell?!”

The perpetrator, a lemon-yellow goblin with a head almost as tall as his torso, grins his equally yellow teeth at them with fingers folded at his chin.

“Did Meerl hear right?” the goblin eyes Taylor up and down like a snack and it’s an experience he never wants to have ever ever again, “When Meerl was hearing that little mortal man wants in cage?”

Meerl (apparently) wiggles his fingers like long spider legs. “Meerl can make this happen.”

“Wha —” — nope, nope, a big fat fucking nope — “— no way, I —”

“Yeah, we want in.” Nik interrupts, holds Taylor back and snaps several times to grab Meerl’s glittering glance.

“How much?”

Cal snarls. “Ryder, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, wolfpack,” then he repeats; “I asked how much, worm.”

“Meerl only asks for small percent — small percent of mortal’s winning.”

“That’s assumin’ he wins.”

“Meerl can make this happen.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, yes. Come speak with Meerl — Meerl will make mortal rich.”

Before Taylor can protest any further Meerl starts off; pushing his spindly way through the throng just as the cage door shuts with the satyr Corbyn and the Minotaur locked inside.

He grabs onto Ryder in a panic. “What are you doing?!”

The answer he gets isn’t verbal — instead it’s just a look on his bodyguard’s face that (against his body’s wishes, very much so) makes Taylor’s heart do a backflip and stick the landing.

“Do you trust me to keep you safe?” Nik doesn’t take. Not this time. Instead just offers his hand cuts and all. He can hear Cal start to protest behind him and, farther up, sees Meerl turn and give them what he probably thinks is a sweet smile and a wave of his claws.

“Taylor.”

Nik’s voice brings him back to himself. What the fuck am I doing?

He hesitates… then puts his hand in Nik’s.

“I trust you.”

“Then come on.”

He throws back a pleading look at Cal — who definitely still opposes, but follows with a single nod.

Nik pulls him along in a secure grip to where Meerl waits. The closer to the cage the tighter the fit but they manage. All the way across the room to the metal door guarded by two suited stone trolls.

“Shit,” says one, and looks the three of them over, “you actually found one?”

“Meerl does good business, should not doubt Meerl,” the goblin croons. With a doubtful glance to his companion the troll shrugs and opens the door.

“Come, come friends,” Taylor tries not to let the goblin’s chuckling dissuade him from trusting Ryder as they’re led inside, “good business to be done.”

If he squeezes Nik’s hand a little tighter when the door slams shut, the hunter is a real bro and doesn’t mention it.

The thing about Meerl’s deal is that it isn’t a bad one in theory.

It’s Their way of keeping the fighting interesting and preventing people from accusing the club of rigging every match. Bring a Joe Schmoe in from the crowd itself and, should he win, most of the winnings are his. It’s a good return of investments for those who spend a little bit too much time and money betting on fighters.

And little Meerl gets a cut of the winnings. Not even half, not even a quarter! There would definitely be enough left over for the inevitable medical bills.

So it’s a sound theory — for someone like the Minotaur.

For the human going up against said Minotaur? Well yeah it’s a fucking death sentence; a warm-up routine for the hulking creature and an easy paycheck for the goblin whose job it is to bring in fresh meat.

Not that any of this is said out in the open but it’s obvious. Like, painfully obvious.

Which is why Ryder isn’t actually considering entertaining the idea.

Wait… right?

The fact that they’re led to a small room with only a desk and some paperwork should raise way more alarms on his so-called ‘bodyguard’ than his behavior would suggest.

Cal tries to keep out of the way; “I’ll wait out here, keep an eye on things,” but Meerl isn’t having it and ushers him in alongside. Closes the door to give them ‘privacy to discuss business matters,’ or whatever.

Doesn’t stop the wolf from nudging Taylor’s arm and jerking his head back out to the dark corridor. Not that they’ve gotten close enough in the—oh—three, four hours they’ve known each other by now but he doesn’t have to be psychic to get it.

Cal’s caught Donny’s scent. They’re in the right place at the wrong time.

The goblin scrambles to work; a fire lit under his yellow ass as he starts grabbing and shuffling piles of paper, packets, and waivers of various official pastels. Starts explaining everything in that hasty way one does when things aren’t completely legit. But Ryder eats it up like he’s just won the lottery.

Frankly it’s disturbing seeing him smile that much.

Before they suffer death by a thousand paper cuts, though, he puts his palm down on the already too-high stack of liability forms. His smile is so greasy it makes the goblin look positively angelic.

“I think this is a great starting point, Meerl,” he grabs Taylor by the shoulder and shakes him with camaraderie, “but this is my kid’s first fight — cold feet, you know.”

“Oh yes yes, yes Meerl knows.”

“So may~be you could gimme a few minutes with him? Help settle those nerves in a special way.”

It’s the wink that makes Taylor lean back. “Uh, excuse you?”

But Meerl is already stood and skittering towards the door. “Oh yes — yes Meerl sees this quite often, Meerl does. Give you, hm, say five minutes, yes?”

“Ten.”

“Six.”

“Fifteen!”

Turns out yellow skin goes sort of orange when it pales. But Meerl accepts with a huff and a nod. “Ten minutes, Meerl will give. Then new mortal will face champion — then champion will face wolf pup.”

The pop pop of Cal’s cracked knuckles as he clenches his fists echoes through the concrete walls.

“Or maybe the new mortal — er, me, you know what I mean! — maybe I’ll face the wolf pup.” Taylor jibes.

Any sensible person would take the way the goblin throws his head back in laughter as a clear sign to get the hell out.

“Yes,” Meerl’s tone is nothing short of placating as he closes the door behind him, “yes maybe—maybe…”

And though he may not be perfectly sensible, Taylor’s sensible enough to smack Ryder over the head the moment they’re all alone.

“Hi, yeah remember that ‘trust’ you asked for? It’s waning — fast.”

Maybe a little less so when Ryder scoops the paperwork onto the floor in a colorful confetti-like array. There’s no imagining his satisfaction.

“I got us back here, didn’t I?”

“With the sleaze-ball right outside the door.”

Ryder ignores him for Cal; “Can you track him from here?”

“He’s definitely close,” he’s almost breathless with anticipation, fear, worry; “he’s terrified.”

“I would be if I had to face that thing, too.”

Either the stone walls suck at muffling sounds or the crowd is losing its collective shit over the match. He knows which is more likely.

Ryder continues; reaches into one of the inside pockets on his coat and winds something long and dark around his fist. “So we’re all clear on the plan?”

Cal nods tersely. Taylor, not so much.

“Uhm, when was there a plan? Did I miss talking about a plan?”

“Jesus,” the hunter pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m gonna start calling you Rookie if you can’t keep up.”

Before Taylor can protest, though, Cal comes to his rescue. “Same thing it’s always been. We got in — now we find Donny and get out as quick as we can. And probably try not to get our faces busted in on the way.”

“And once we’re out?” He looks back and forth so fast he gets a bit dizzy, “You said Kristof was sending some of the Pack after him. Won’t you be on the run?”

“You let me worry about that. I’ll get you your Sage and we can part ways.”

Ryder nods curtly; flexes what Taylor can now see clearly as a thickly braided leather cord between his hands. “Sounds good.”

“No, no it doesn’t!”

“Taylor,” and Cal shouldn’t sound as sure as he does given his situation — not just the one he’s in but the one he’s going to be in, “hey — we’ll be okay. Thanks for the concern but… we’ll be okay.”

It’s likely Ryder’s keen Nighthunter-honed senses that spring him into action because any more time to delay and Taylor might just talk them into a newer, tighter corner than the one they’re already in. But just abandoning Cal after, well, after everything? It just doesn’t sit right in his gut.

“On my signal.”

He barely paints the fake smile back on before rapping his wrapped knuckles on the door. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Is that the signal? No, because he doesn’t move when the wiggly door knob turns and Meerl’s scratchy voice sing-songs through the gap; “Good good! Meerl promises —”

No, the signal is the cutoff and choking gasps of Nik winding the bulk of the cord around the goblin’s skinny throat. Hands flailing, grasping for purchase where there is none while his tongue lolls out and eyes bulge even farther out of their sockets than they already do.

“Knock him out!” hisses Ryder through clenched teeth. Angles their dear friend Meerl over to Cal’s drawn-back fist.

The punch collides with a sickening cracking noise; something definitely broken in either the wolf’s hand or the goblin’s face. Taylor and likely the betting crowd outside would have all their earnings on the latter.

But just before he falls Meerl manages a single attack; sharp nails digging unforgiving into Ryder’s forearm before his eyes roll back into unconsciousness.

Ryder recoils and the body falls through the doorway just as Taylor catches the sound of footsteps halting. His heart stops — only barely starts back up again when he recognizes the distinct metal-tipped sound.

Cadence peeks a head around the doorway; pushes up his glasses before they fall off of his nose. Behind him Katherine appears with a long dagger in hand.

“Here they are.” Cadence announces with all the glee of a man stating the obvious. He catches sight of Meerl and quickly steps away from the long tongue just an inch from his boot. “Ew.”

He gives Taylor a slight wave. Entirely too optimistic for the current situation. Unsure of what else to do Taylor just… waves back?

Ryder, however, is furious. “Kath—what the hell —” he looks around them both to check the coast is clear, “— are you doing back here?!”

Katherine barely has time to return the dagger to a well-concealed holder on her thigh before Cadence pulls her in for a disgruntled side-hug.

“She was worried about you.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t need to,” he admonishes, “I could tell. Kept watching them during our meeting with Isadora — she noticed, by the way. So thanks for that.”

“You didn’t hire me to kiss her ass.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Without being asked Cadence joins Ryder in dragging Meerl’s body fully into the room.

Cal looks between them as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “If we’re done with the childish bullshit? My brother’s about to get beaten to death.”

He pushes past Katherine with nothing more than a grunt. If she wants to say anything she doesn’t; bites her tongue and probably everyone’s benefit.

Taylor calls out, “Cal, wait up!” and follows on his heels as quickly as he can. Doesn’t look back to see if the others will follow but he doesn’t have to.

Bodyguard, remember?

The corridor seems to stretch on forever. Open doors lead to empty rooms and closed doors — well — Cal may be in a hurry but he has the sense not to open them without being absolutely sure what’s on the other side.

They’re so far back he can barely hear the noises from the arena. All it takes is one look down to his feet and he collides hard into the werewolf’s solid muscle. Flails a hand out only to be caught by his strong grip.

“Here — he’s here! Donny! Donny can you hear me?! It’s Cal! Donny!” He tries the handle; growls in primal frustration at the lock. Starts trying to knock it down with the brunt of his weight in a frenzy.

“Donny! Donny hold on!”

Cadence and the Nighthunters arrive just as Cal lets out a bestial growl; teeth grit and definitely more canine than human as he gives a final shove and breaks a splintered hole in the door. Knocks it off its hinges and sends it flying inward.

Cal rushes in — zeroes on a dark-haired and twiggy kid pressed against the bars that hold him captive.

“Cal!” The kid cries, voice thick and choked with eyes red-rimmed from tears. His hands shake as they grasp for one another like sheer force of will can make the bars disappear between them. Cal buries his nose in the mop of dark hair and inhales deeply, lets something wild shift underneath his skin before it settles; satisfied with the scent of kin.

“Christ, Donny —” he pulls back and thumbs away a fresh wave of tears, “— you’re such an idiot! I was worried sick about you!”

“I’m so sorry Cal, I’m so so sorry.” Donny hiccoughs; tries to right himself like he has something to prove.

But how can anyone prove themselves trapped in a cell? One of a dozen on either side stretching further into the labyrinth underneath Persephone.

Taylor and the others follow in — no door to close behind them but they’re far beyond that now. Take in the state of not only the kid but a couple others who press themselves up to their bars in desperation.

“Please get me out of here!”

“I’ve got the money, I swear! Get me out and I’ll pay off Lady Smoke I promise!”

“Please, please!”

“I don’t want to fight anymore!”

It’s involuntary how Taylor turns away and into the newfound safety of Ryder’s shoulder. He can feel the shaking of the man’s hand as it falls on his back.

Katherine lets out a choked noise beside them. “Holy shit, this is…”

“This is too far.” Cadence answers; knows they were thinking the same thing by the way she’s left speechless.

His grunts of effort and frustration fill the room as Cal tries to yank off the door — instinct overriding common sense.

Ryder reaches out, tries to stop him, but ends up on the business end of those same pointed teeth when the wolf rounds on him with bright yellow eyes.

“Whoa now,” Ryder holds up his hands and shimmies down his left sleeve to show a long metal tool, “I’m just tryin’a help.”

“Cal — I already tried that.” Donny reaches out and his touch soothes the beast within. Makes Cal remember himself enough to give Ryder an apologetic nod of his head before stepping aside.

He huffs in silence like he’s the one caged, not his brother. But not all cages are metal, are they?

Ryder takes a knee in front of the door, starts to fiddle with the lock. Katherine takes his cue and procures a lockpick of her own to start working on the other cells.

Cadence keeps his distance from the occupants but looks them over with almost medical appraisal. “You’re here because you owe Lady Smoke on some level?”

A few cells down hooves echo and a woman leans forward; presses her face against the bars and peers at them through two swollen blackened eyes. The centaur leans down and rubs the tight muscle of one of her front legs — she favors it when she shifts in place.

“Some of us couldn’t pay up; others just not in time.”

“Were you given a choice to fight?”

She nods. “Again; some. I wouldn’t fit on her private floor, though, so I was just brought down here to fight.”

It makes Katherine let out a wordless, mindless shout of anger. She struggles with the lockpick. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s gotta be illegal…” Taylor tries. Only to be met with pitying faces.

Cadence shakes his head. “Not here. Though when it comes to Lady Smoke they’re lucky to still be alive.”

The centaur scoffs. “At least if I die in the cage there’ll be a body to bring back to my wife.”

It makes his blood run cold. “Who is this Smoke woman?”

Not even the captives have anything to say and that says a whole lot. Whoever she is she’s a part of this world that he doesn’t want to get involved in — that much is clear.

A thunk and Donny’s door swings open. He and Cal embrace without restraint this time and there’s such a heavy importance to it that Taylor finds himself looking away. Like he’s intruding.

Ryder moves on to the next cell and together he and Katherine work as quickly as they can to free the others.

Katherine sweeps the trail of her dress aside in front of the centaur but stops when a hand of bloodied knuckles rests over hers. Looks up into the human face with reverence.

“Don’t. I asked for this.”

“You didn’t. Nobody asks for… for this.”

“It was fight or let them take my home; my livelihood. It’s hard enough for the glamourless to get by these days. I didn’t want my wife to lose the roof over her head, too.”

Kathy’s jaw sets. “Then we’ll find you a new livelihood. Get you and your wife out of the city —”

“And where would we go?” Her laugh is rueful with a whinnying touch. “My family cast me out for marrying a biped. This is the only place we’ve found to call our own.

“Sssh, Nighthunter,” her thumb caresses Katherine’s hand gently, “no more arguments. I do not intend to die in a cage. And when I return to my love we’ll be free of the Smoke’s reins.”

“She deserves to keep her choice, Kathy,” Ryder coaxes her up and though his touch might intend to comfort her it doesn’t; makes her pull away as if in pain.

In that intimate moment Taylor was sure he saw a different person in her eyes. But whoever that person was — maybe caring, maybe mournful — she’s gone now. Replaced with Katherine and her hard edges.

“Whatever.”

The four other freed prisoners don’t stick around long enough for similar sentimental moments. Hopefully they’ve been down there long enough that they know their way out.

Donny, his hand in his brother’s like a vice, tries to follow them. “Let’s get out of here.” But Cal doesn’t move — makes him try again. “Cal, come on. I hate this place let’s go.”

There’s an unspoken understanding between those left standing.

It’s not enough to just open the doors. The cage needs to be torn down.

Cal sighs in defeat. “Well, they were promised a wolf in the cage. I can go — hey, what the—?”

They all watch as Cadence rounds on a metal heel and abandons them. Katherine barely has time to look back before hiking her skirts up for her dagger and following; calling out for him to wait for her to catch up.

“What’re you thinking? Cade? Cade! Cadence Smith you stop right there! Or at least let me catch up!”

Everyone catches up in time for Cadence to shove the back passage door open.

The pair must have initially gone through without confrontation — judging by the surprised looks on the guard trolls faces. One reaches out with a large sandstone grip but the vampire is too fast for him — moves faster than Taylor can blink and turns the tables with a grasp of his own.

“Oi — let me — GAH!”

He’s too loud not to be noticed. Draws the attention of the nearest patrons and from there it’s a domino effect as the mob pushes and jostles one another to try and get a look at the action.

The stone troll holds up a stump where his hand used to be. Looks down in horror at the remains of two limp fingers and the rest of his hand as a pile of sand. Cadence steps through the pile rather than over it. Leaves him to his agony without so much as a word.

Even the Minotaur — now alone in the cage and egging those still watching on with demonstrations of rippling muscles and the shine of its nose ring — stops. And that — that gets the arena’s attention.

In one last attempt to stop him Katherine reaches out; misses him by a bare inch and can’t stop Cadence from grabbing the announcer by the throat to pin him to the cage.

The seemingly mortal man is already red in the face from his work shouting. Lack of oxygen makes him almost purple under the flickering lights. Anger, outrage quickly melts into confusion then fear when he realizes his large and seemingly impenetrable guards aren’t coming to rescue him.

“I—gek—Can I hh-elp you, frie-end?” He chokes into his mic.

Before Katherine can lunge forward Ryder grabs her; holds her back. For her own safety.

“Cade — don’t do this!”

Her protest falls on deaf ears. When the vampire answers he does so close enough for the speakers to catch him — his barely repressed rage translates even though the static.

“Tell your audience your main event is canceled!”

And doesn’t that get everyone riled up.

“Wha—what?!” He covers the mic with a shaky purpling hand. “What the fuck are you on, man? Le-et me do-own!”

He falls back on his feet. Just in time to catch Cadence’s suit jacket before it hits his face; blinds him.

Cadence liberates him of his microphone for his trouble. “Though first you should tell them that your promised contender is nothing more than a child!” A jabbed finger parts the wealthy sea; Donny clings tighter to his brother as all eyes fall on him. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the werewolf that was promised! Not a wolf but a cub — who you would see torn limb from limb!

“And because I know there are far too many of you who aren’t sickened — nay, repulsed — by the idea of a child being mauled for your delight; to those I offer you this sobering thought! Not much of a fair fight, is it?!”

His words spread like a wildfire — dissent beginning to rile those who have shared money and hands through the night. Taylor catches sight of a man too late — doesn’t have time to stop him from shoving the announcer back against the cage with a shout.

“I should’a known this shit was rigged!”

“Hey, watch it pal!”

“No, you watch it!”

There’s electrical feedback as Katherine renews her attempts — tries to wrestle the mic from her employer to no avail. He brushes her off like a hurricane would a butterfly.

“Fear not, vermin, you will get the fight you were promised. And a fair one at that.”

He’s done with it now; shoves it into Katherine’s claws and busies himself rolling up his sleeves.

“Cadence — you’re not yourself.” And because he doesn’t know better she actually sounds afraid.

“How do you know?” There’s a dry laughter to his words. “You don’t. I don’t, either. But maybe this is it — maybe this is me. And even if it isn’t I’m not going to let a child pay a debt like a man.”

But Cal’s had enough. “If they want a wolf they’ll get a wolf! This isn’t your fight!”

“No,” and it’s with a foreign tenderness that Cal removes his spectacles and pries the single golden loop from his ear; drops them into Katherine’s waiting hand, “but neither is it yours.”

“Don’t let him do this.” Taylor tries to push his way through the crowd; but is stopped by Ryder’s hand on his jacket sleeve. He’s deceptively stronger than he looks. “Nik!”

“No, Rookie. We’re sitting this one out.”

Taylor struggles but to no avail. “But—”

“I said no.” Means it, too, by the end-of-discussion way he clips his teeth. “This guy is nuts, Kathy.”

And it seems the Nighthunters have finally found one thing on which they agree.

“Yeah,” she can’t — or won’t — look away from Cadence’s back, “desperation does that to you.”

When he’s ready, scarlet eyes fall on the announcer still shivering in place. Make him jump to Cadence’s attention.

“Open the cage.”

[knightfury1895]

Fatigue and Anguish

There is the sound of a bird scolding somewhere nearby - the alarm-call immediately alerts me in my hiding place and I tense, preparing myself for another long run should Moran appear. Already I am weary, having received more exercise in two days than would usually be forced upon me in a year, but if I am to live long enough to return home to London I must endure still more. All is silent around me now, bringing a sense of foreboding and for a moment all that I can hear is my own heartbeat and the blood roaring in my ears. Then I become aware of another sound - there is but a faint sound that is similar to the rustle of fabric, coming from behind me and I turn my head slowly. The red eyes of a gigantic adder gleam at me from beneath a nearby fallen tree and I almost give a cry of terror as I scramble backward from my place of concealment, all thoughts of Moran and his gun dashed from my mind at the sight of this new foe.

Exhausted as I am, running proves to be futile - I feel as if I am doing little more than jogging on the spot, while the monstrous serpent glides after me in a manner that seems effortless. I leap over obstacles, bound through streams and across ditches as I become increasingly desperate to escape, but the snake remains forever at my heels. My chest is burning, my vision dimming, every part of me aches with fatigue and there is now an unpleasant, fear-induced discomfort in my lower abdomen. I know that I cannot go on! In one final attempt to increase my speed I try to drag myself up a steep incline on all fours but I am badly winded and shaking. My strength is beginning to tell and the adder would seem to know it. I am lost.

I jerk awake, still being chased by the giant adder of my dream, and attempt to bring my racing heart and breathing under control as I realise that the vision, though vivid, was not real.

Every last part of me is aching, paining and protesting. My head, my eyes, my jaw, my arms, legs… I have more discomforts than I could possibly catalogue. Should I attempt to stretch or remain still? Would it make a jot of difference? Even my hair and fingernails seem to hurt, so most probably not. I very much doubt that I have been in slumber for long.

Whilst trying not to move, I study my surroundings to the best of my ability, doing my utmost to forget that dream. By the fading daylight and the glow of the fire I can see that I have been moved to the settee. Watson is stretched out in his armchair and I can dimly see that the poor fellow’s face is streaked with tears and creased with worry. What have I done to him?

Further inspection of my surroundings informs me that there is a bucket on the floor, close to my head, I have been covered with rugs and there is a pitcher of water on the coffee table. Oh. Just the sight of that pitcher is enough to send me into a state of near-panic. Whether it is indeed due to the horribly vivid nightmare or the amount of water that I have been plied with I am not sure, but I have to move myself somehow or else Mrs. Hudson is going to be rather angry with me.

Carefully, I force myself into an upright position. I must not move too quickly or else I might faint. That, in my current condition, would no doubt be disastrous. Just keep calm Holmes, for Heaven’s sake! You can wait. Slowly… Gently… Oh God! This is simply not normal; my bladder does not feel as if it is full in the slightest and yet my wretched body is threatening me, warning me that I am moments away from making a frightful mess on the floor! What is happening to me?

I had not realised that I had made a sound, but I have somehow alerted Watson. The fellow chooses the most inconvenient moments to be damned observant.

“What is wrong Holmes?” he asks as he approaches me. “I can see that you are in distress.”

I groan and gesture in the direction of the washroom with a less than steady hand. I cannot wait! I can feel my wretched body rebelling.

“I am going to urinate!” That was nice… I could have at least attempted to remain polite. An outburst like that would have earned me a sound beating from my nanny when I was a child and if I was expected to control myself then I should be able to do so now.

“Do not panic,” he advises me in an annoyingly calm tone. “If you keep calm it will be easier to control yourself. Now, lean on me. Yes, that is it. The lavatory is only a few steps away; you will be all right.”

I heed his advice to the best of my ability but I am too desperate to remain calm. I am shaking with effort as much as the urgency of the situation and still I can feel myself losing control. I want to run, but that would only increase the difficulty that I am having. What is happening to me? Why is it so hard for me to wait? This should not be difficult!

“Watson…”

He nods and gives me a reassuring smile as he coaxes me ever onward. “Nearly there Holmes. Nearly there. You are doing very well.”

No I am not. I fear that I am about to disappoint him terribly! My body is rebelling horribly and it is taking all of my strength to counter it. I should not be in this situation! Even when ill, I can wait for hours on end without difficulty - regardless of the level of my discomfort - as cases will sometimes dictate. The thought of losing control of myself here in my sitting room in front of Watson, like a helpless infant, is ridiculous to the extreme!

Despite my best efforts, one of my careful steps causes my wretched brain’s appendix to gain the upper hand for a moment and I hasten to squeeze my legs together. I can only be thankful that the nightgown that I am wearing should conceal it and hope that my friend is unaware of what has just happened. With a groan I press on, keeping my steps measured and trying not to breathe.

As we step inside the washroom, I almost lose the battle with my wretched body completely. I know not whether it is due to the chill in the room and the cold tiles beneath my bare feet or simply the knowledge that I am in such close proximity to the lavatory. Whilst avoiding my Boswell’s gaze I begin to step awkwardly from foot to foot in a final effort to control myself.

“Excuse me please Doctor,” I snap at him as I resist the urge to relieve myself while he is still in the room. “I can manage now.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” he retreats hastily, for which I am grateful, though he leaves the door ajar. “It is not shameful to sit, rather than to stand, when one is unwell,” he reminds me quietly from behind the door, as if he fears that I might collapse were I to attempt remaining on my feet.

Hum. Perhaps I should not maintain my upright position simply to be contrary… I am feeling far worse than I ever remember feeling before. I might actually consider never partaking of cocaine again!

As I tend to myself and attempt to bring the trembling in my limbs back under control, I wonder again why this has happened. Why did I almost make a puddle in the sitting room, when I should not have even felt a strong need to visit the lavatory? Is there something wrong with me? Should I inform Watson?

I hear Watson tap at the door when I am washing my hands. “Are you all right Holmes?”

I nod without so much as turning to meet his gaze.

“Come on then, we should get you back to the sofa. Um… do you want to change your clothes?”

I freeze at the question. What is he implying? Does he know that I was not altogether successful in waiting until the right moment?

“I noticed that you were perspiring Holmes,” my Boswell clarifies patiently. “Do you want to wash and change into a fresh nightshirt? I imagine you are feeling somewhat uncomfortable.”

I confess that I am. I should like to know why I am sweating so profusely while I am so cold though. Does cocaine usage usually affect me in such a manner?

“I truly am dreadfully sorry Holmes,” my friend tells me as he escorts me from the washroom and sits me upon the settee once more, having assisted me in washing and dressing. “I shall not let this happen again.”

“What is happening to me?” I ask of him, still feeling rather unnerved by the recent incident.

“You are ill old fellow! Things like this happen sometimes. You were simply too weary to be aware of nature’s calling to you until it was almost too late, that is all. You did very well under the circumstances - I have seen far worse, you know.”

Is the knowledge that he has seen worse truly supposed to reassure me? I avoid meeting his gaze. I should tell him that there is something wrong, but it is embarrassing and I am not quite sure how to articulate the problem in any case. Not knowing what else to do or say, I again begin to apologise.

“Please don’t,” he begs of me. “I know that you would not do this deliberately old fellow; you can stop apologising. Besides, you did warn me that you were in a hurry - and I shall be more inclined to listen in future.”

“Thank you.”

He nods and pats my knee with a compassionate smile.

“Should I feel like that again…” I shudder at the thought.

“If you become as desperate as that again I shall give you something to use,” he informs me firmly. “That is precisely what I should have done this time, when I saw the level of your distress. I should know you well enough to realise that you would not make such a fuss unless you truly doubted your own ability to control yourself - and I should be apologising to you!”

I would rather not be treated as an invalid, but if it is that or a repeat performance of what could easily have transpired in our sitting room moments ago I suppose I have no choice in the matter. At least my companion is still treating me with as much dignity as he can.

“Is there anything that I can do for you?” my companion asks once I have been made comfortable and the fire has been tended. “You must be terribly bored… I could read to you, if you would like.”

Watson often read to me when I was ill and weary before my hiatus. I missed that terribly - much more than I would have expected - on the last occasion that I was unwell. I missed him more than I could ever have imagined! I smile at him.

“Yes please,” I mumble as I pull the rugs closer to me. I want to tell him how I have missed his narratives, but after the harm that my proposition caused this morning I am afraid to speak a word.

He nods and addresses me with a small smile. “Poetry? Shakespeare?”

“Shakespeare.” I would have to be ill indeed to want to hear poetry! Though, I must confess, I did read some Browning and a little Keats and Wordsworth during my hiatus, when I was feeling particularly homesick, and imagined that it was Watson who was reading it. It worked for a week or two, but soon wore off with overuse.

His smile broadens. “Of course. Do you have a preference?”

“Surprise me.”

He drags his medical bag closer to his chair and rummages in it. Then, with a nod, he withdraws a book from it.

“Do you always carry books with you?”

“Ever since I found that it helps you to settle,” he responds as he stands to sit at my ankles on the settee, bringing with him his bag and the book that he has already taken from it. “I carry a little poetry and one or two stories; they often help to soothe a troubled patient. Particularly fretful women and children. I should thank you.”

“Thank you Watson. I am not behaving like a fretful woman or child!”

His face flushes under my annoyed stare. “No, of course not. I was not suggesting that you were. I only meant that reading to a fretful patient has proved to be beneficial and that I only tried it because I had already discovered that it would seem to be of comfort to you.”

Ah. I try to dismiss the irrational irritation, but it is still present and no doubt brought about by the narcotic more than anything else. “I would not have thought that you would have time for such things during your rounds.” I am not put out, merely surprised by this revelation that this is not special treatment which is reserved just for me; after all, I am Watson’s closest friend!

“I am sometimes the only fellow at hand who is able to read and write Holmes. Under those circumstances, I read something and then advise a family member to make up stories or to perhaps sing quietly.”

I nod and settle back. Now I understand; it is simply a case of when needs must. That makes perfect sense.

“Now, shall I begin?” he asks as he makes himself comfortable.

I frown at him. “Why are you sitting there? Would you not be better off in your chair?” I do not wish to be seen in the throes of a nightmare - I feel that I have endured quite enough humiliation for one day! Besides, I might lash out and injure the dear chap.

“I want to be close if you need me. I do not want you to vex yourself needlessly old fellow. Now, shall I begin?”

I nod and close my eyes with a quiet sigh. I suppose the doctor knows what he is doing better than I do.

With closed eyes and my heightened imagination (courtesy of the cocaine still coursing through my veins) I can easily picture the scenes depicted in the tale. It takes the briefest of moments for me to become calmer.

When the story reaches its conclusion and I am still awake, my companion asks whether I am in any discomfort. I could easily snap at him - after all, I am aching terribly with fatigue so the answer is quite obvious - but I refrain. Watson did not have to return to care for me any more than he has to stay; if I become difficult, he has every right to send for a different doctor and abandon me in favour of his less ungrateful and stubborn patients.

“No more so than I have been since before you returned,” I respond in what I hope to be an airy manner.

He grimaces. “Poor fellow! I wish I could do more for you. I could give you something for your pain, but it would have to be mild and would most likely do no good.”

I nod in understanding and sneeze loudly.

“Bless you. I hope that you have not caught a cold, on top of everything else.”

If I have, it is my own fault and I tell him as much. “If I become unwell it will due to the many sleepless nights, missed meals and cold and dirty rooms in which I have stayed.”

“Hum, and quite probably the upset and overuse of cocaine that I have caused with my fit of temper as well.”

I sniff. “That was my fault.”

“According to you, everything is!” he shakes his head and rubs a hand across his eyes. “Let us just agree that we were both at fault, that we are both sorry and that, should such a dispute begin again between us, we shall discuss our differences like civilised adults as opposed to storming out without resolving the matter first.”

I nod my agreement. “Very wise.”

“And now you should rest,” the doctor advises me with a pat to my ankle. “Even if you cannot sleep, you should at least attempt to stay quiet, still and relaxed.”

That is easier said than done. I am feeling as restless as I am fatigued. All the same, my Boswell is near and I know that I am safe while I lower my guard. I could always rely on Watson.